Various - Histories and Biographies for the Young

Various

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STEM Publishing : For the Young : Missionary Life in Uganda

From Scottish Moors To African Swamps.

A Story of Missionary Life in Uganda.

By C.J.L.

London: G. Morrish, 20 Paternoster Square, E.C.

Contents.

Chapter 1. A Missionary Exhibition

Chapter 2. A Scotch Laddie

Chapter 3. A Mother's Influence

Chapter 4. A Boy's Request

Chapter 5. First Thoughts of Africa

Chapter 6. School Life and Business Training

Chapter 7. A Long Journey

Chapter 8. Fever and Famine

Chapter 9. On the March

Chapter 10. Fresh Trials

Chapter 11. Uganda at Last

Chapter 12. Dark Days

Chapter 13. Unfriendly Arabs

Chapter 14. Letters from Home

Chapter 15. Market-Day in Uganda

Chapter 16. A Royal Funeral

Chapter 17. Boat-Builders

Chapter 18. The New King

Chapter 19. Testing Times

Chapter 20. A Noble Army of Martyrs

Chapter 21. Great Changes

Chapter 22. Friends from Afar

Chapter 23. Called Higher

Chapter 1.

A Missionary Exhibition.

Not very long ago what was called "A Missionary Exhibition" was held in one of the largest buildings in London; for the three weeks during which it remained open it was visited every weekday by numbers of people. Grown-up people were there in crowds, but there was also a fair

sprinkling of boys and girls, who took an intelligent interest in what they saw, and really wanted to learn all they could about the dark places of the earth. They will not, I think, soon forget the delightful stories, told by more than one missionary, of the people among whom he or she (for more than one lady missionary told us about Chinese women or Indian schoolgirls) had been seeking to make known the sweet story of salvation through the precious blood of Christ.

"What was to be seen?" I am afraid that if I were to try to write down the names of all the articles exhibited you would not think the first chapter of "From Scottish Moors to African Swamps" an interesting one, and might not even care to read the second; so I will only name two or three.

In the "Indian Court" some very beautiful shawls were shewn, made by native workmen. A loom, so simple and almost clumsy that it was not easy to believe that stuffs so varied in design and rich in colour could have been woven upon it, was also shewn. Carved work in ivory, and chains and necklets of Indian gold met the eye at every turn, but from all the forms of beauty and blaze of colour many turned sadly away to look at the idols, of which quite a number were on view. Some were large, others small � all were ugly, and some almost shapeless; and yet these senseless idols are feared by millions of men, women and children, many of whom obey the same laws as ourselves.

In another court, bright with Chinese fans, lanterns and umbrellas, a medical missionary, at home on furlough, was telling how sick people are often treated in China. They cannot have a good time, and often have to suffer a great deal of needless pain. A native doctor has no need to learn much about different kinds of illnesses, their cause and cure; he will not be required to "walk the hospitals." His stock-in-trade usually consists of one or two books, some packets of herbs, a bundle of charms and a few large, dirty needles. Chinese doctors are, as a rule, very fond of using these needles, but as they take no trouble to keep them clean, their use often not only causes severe pain, but leaves worse trouble than the doctor at first attempted to cure.

A poor woman who was quite blind had, the doctor said, been brought to the Mission Hospital where he had worked, and to which he hoped very soon to return. She had been suffering from bad headaches, causing great pain in her eyes. She was taken by her friends to a native doctor, who said he must prick her eyes to let the pain out. He did so, in such a way that her sight was destroyed, and for the rest of her life she was hopelessly blind.

When a sick person goes to a Chinese doctor, who usually wears a long, loose coat (something like a dressing gown, made of green or plum-coloured silk), very large spectacles, and has his finger nails sometimes from two to three inches in length, carefully protected by small coverings of bamboo, the doctor opens a box about two feet in length, mumbles a charm over it, and after in a very solemn manner opening it, tells the patient to take one from a number of small bamboo canes, on each of which a number is given, and the sick man pays his fee, and goes away quite satisfied with the care bestowed upon him.

A peep at the "Far North" would be interesting, but we must not linger among the snow huts in which the Esquimaux live and sleep. They take long journeys in sledges drawn by reindeer or dogs and have very clever ways of catching seals and fish. The brave little band of missionaries who live and work in these cold countries often have to endure great hardships and as mail steamers only visit some of the ports once a year, we may be sure that their opportunities of getting home-letters and new books are few and far between.

But I have not told you anything about the African exhibits, and we shall find them of more than common interest. Day after day groups, varying from ten to twelve and fifty to sixty, gathered round a printing-press. Was there anything remarkable about it? I think not. It was old-fashioned, a trifle clumsy, and had few, if any, of the improvements that of late years have done so much to perfect the art of printing and yet the hearts of christian men and women were deeply moved as they read on a card the simple but touching story of how on that very press, in far-off Uganda, in the very heart of heathen Africa, the first scripture portions ever seen in that dark land had been printed.

"Who took the press there?" Alexander Mackay, who will long be remembered as the pioneer missionary of Uganda. The story of his useful and unselfish life is a deeply interesting one, and if in thought we follow step by step the way in which he was fitted for his life-work among African swamps, we shall, I hope, learn some lessons of patience, courage and simple trust in God.

His life-story, written by his sister, lies before me as I write, and from it we learn that on a dull, cheerless day in the autumn of the year 1849 there was rejoicing in a Scottish home over the arrival of a baby boy. The father, a godly, well-informed man, who preached every Lord's day in the neighbouring church, or "kirk," as he would have called it, and when not visiting among his poor or sick neighbours spent much time in his study, decided that the little stranger should be named Alexander.

The father looked with a strange blending of pride and tenderness on his firstborn, and when his eyes turned from the face of the unconscious infant, they rested upon a picture that always hung just above his writing-table. It was that of a man somewhat past middle life, whose strongly marked and almost rugged features told their own tale alike of suffering and resolution. It was that of John Knox, the Scottish reformer, whose fearless preaching had kept a purer faith than that of Rome alive in many of his countrymen and women.

"God bless the wee laddie," said the father, "and grant that he may grow up to love and serve his Maker as John Knox did, who never feared to preach the faith of his fathers before priests, and did not quail before the sceptre of a queen."

"If he be like his mother he'll have a gentler spirit and a softer heart than that good man had, though I doubt not that he was raised up by God to meet the need of the times he lived in, sir," was the reply of Annie McWilliam, the old housekeeper who had lived for many years in the family, and like most upper servants in those days stood on very friendly terms with her employers.

Chapter 2.

A Scotch Laddie.

Alexander Mackay did not walk out of the pages of a story-book to enter upon his life work in Uganda. He was a real boy, fond of fun, ramble and adventure; but also gifted with rare powers of observation and a quiet thoughtfulness beyond his years.

Surrounded from infancy by the influences of a godly home, he was early taught the way of salvation. Naturally warm-hearted and affectionate, the "wee laddie" soon became a general favourite, not only in his home circle, but with the simple country folk who lived near his Highland home, and who, even not more than forty or fifty years ago, clung to their old habits and ways of life in a manner we may not find it easy to understand. They would often walk from five to six miles to attend the preaching, and the same distance to return to their scattered homes. Neither rain, snow nor storm kept them away, and to make their homeward way seem shorter than it really was, they used to form little companies, telling each other all they could remember of what they had heard, while the children were encouraged, not only to answer, but to ask questions.

Many of the women wore no bonnets, only high-crowned white caps, the wives and daughters of farmers being known by their closely-fitting bonnets, made of cardboard covered with black silk. When one was worn out, it was replaced by another of exactly the same pattern. Each carried her Bible, neatly tied up in a large, white pocket-handkerchief, with a sprig of some sweet-scented plant, while the other hand held the family umbrella, usually a green cotton one, for however bright the morning, a "Scotch mist" or drizzling rain might come on at any time.

Perhaps, next to his parents, there was no one the boy loved better than his kind and faithful nurse, Annie McWilliam, or, as she was more often called in the house and parish, "old Annie." Age had bent her form and silvered her hair, but she was true and godly, and loved her young charge dearly. One among the stories told of Mackay's childhood is that as on an ironing day he watched Annie deftly smoothing snowy linen and dainty lace, he suddenly exclaimed, "Annie, you like to look nice! Why don't you smooth the creases out of your neck, and iron the wrinkles out of your brow?" Annie stopped in her work for a moment, but her only answer was, "If 'tis fine on the morrow, we'll gang to Blackfells farm for a day or two."

"Oh, that will be delightful" the boy replied, clapping his hands; "but tell me, Annie, what made you look so sad just now? "

"It's because you didna ken me when I was young."

"I'm glad I didna, for then you would not have been old Annie, and you could not have told me half the things I want to know," was the boy's answer.

The following morning was all that could be wished, so after an early dinner the two set out for the farm, fully six miles away. Both were good walkers, and long before sunset had received a warm welcome from the farmer and his wife, who were old friends of Annie's, having known her in her young days. Their long walk had sharpened their appetites, and they were quite ready to do justice to the home-made bread and butter and new-laid eggs with plenty of fresh milk set before them (tea-drinking having in those days hardly found its way into Highland homes). After sundown, as the evenings were chilly, the party drew round the cheerful fire, built of pine logs, that blazed and crackled merrily; the wide chimney was open to the sky, while from the rafters near hams and flitches of bacon were in process of curing. The farmer and his sons went out to attend to the cattle, and the women plied their knitting needles.

Annie and her friend talked over old, times, and told stories of the Covenanters, of their sufferings for their faith, and of the hardships and dangers they so often had to face. Forbidden by unjust and cruel laws to worship God according to their own consciences, enlightened as many of them had been by the teaching of the Bible, they had found comfort and help in secret gatherings, often after nightfall, and always in lonely, out-of-the-way places, often in woods or caves. But even this was not allowed them, and if, as was sometimes the case, the time and place of these secret assemblies became known to their ever watchful enemies, a party of Claverhouse's soldiers would be sent to surprise them, and any who were unable to escape were hurried away to prison; some were sentenced to death for no other crime than reading their Bibles and meeting for prayer and praise with others who thought and felt as they did; while others dragged out long and weary years of imprisonment.

To such stories the boy would listen with great attention, and when overcome by the excitement and fatigue of the day he could no longer keep his eyes open and was sent to bed, the two friends talked to each other of the look that had made that bright young face so grave and thoughtful, and said, "May the good Lord bless and keep Sandy (his household name), for surely some great work lies before the wee laddie."

And they were right, but before he could enter upon it, many and varied lessons had to be learned, not only from school-books, but in the battlefield of life. Alexander Mackay did not attend a day school till he was fourteen; up to that age he was taught by his father, who took great pains with his education. Gaelic was at the time of which I am writing largely spoken by the simple country people among whom Mackay's boyhood was spent, but from his early childhood he spoke English with ease and correctness, and his father took care that he should be well grounded in Latin and mathematics.

Many outdoor lessons, remembered in later years, were learnt as father and son made collections of flowers, ferns and mosses, or watched the ways of birds and insects. But perhaps his mother, a woman of gentle spirit and deep piety, had no small part in moulding the character of her boy.

Christian missions had a large place in her thoughts and prayers, and she would often tell her son stories of perils from robbers, floods and wild beasts, that had been so bravely faced by African explorers and missionaries. Sunday evenings Mrs. Mackay usually spent with her children, her husband having gone to preach at some distance. Bible verses committed to memory during the week were repeated, and if the lesson had been well learned the reward was a missionary story.

Chapter 3.

A Mother's Influence.

Alexander Mackay was a merry-hearted, fun-loving boy. Few things gave him greater pleasure than a long ramble across the moorlands, sometimes stopping to watch the flight of a flock of grouse or wild ducks the noise of his approach had startled from their hiding-place among the heather; at others he would stop to gather some rare fern, to be carefully dried and pressed on his return home. From his father he had learnt to observe, so found never-failing interest in studying the ways of birds and insects. Being a good walker, he was often his chosen companion in the visits that from time to time he paid to people who attended his preaching, but who lived in outlying, often faraway places.

During those walks many a never-to-be-forgotten lesson on natural history or botany was given and received, for Mr. Mackay had read and studied much, and his son was early taught to trace the goodness and wisdom of God told out in His care even for the smallest and weakest things He has created. Often father and son would repeat together, "Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created." (Rev. 4: 11.) Or, after an interval of silence, they would sing such words as

"The Lord my pasture shall prepare,

And feed me with a Shepherd's care;

My noonday walks He shall attend,

And all my midnight hours defend."

And their voices would awaken many an answering echo in the surrounding hills�

hills the boy dearly loved to climb. We almost wonder if, as he scaled their rugged heights, he ever thought of himself as one day to cross African swamps, or as climbing mountains to which the heights on which he then stood were mere molehills in comparison.

We do not know, so we will not venture to guess, what his day-dreams were; but we are sure of one thing, that Alexander Mackay was being even then shaped and moulded by God to fit the niche he was one day to occupy.

His early training was just what he needed to fit him for his lifework as a pioneer missionary in Uganda.

But you must not think that he was allowed to run wild, or that he was an idle, careless boy. Naturally thoughtful and fond of study, his lessons were almost without exception well and thoroughly learnt. Several hours each day were spent in his father's study, where sometimes he read aloud, at others committed to memory large portions from books selected by his father. As he grew older he sometimes helped by copying MS., answering letters, and other things. In all such work great neatness and accuracy was required of him.

To his mother, whom he loved with all the devotion of which a deep, strong nature is capable, he doubtless owed much of the missionary spirit that in after years led him to leave his loved home circle and his native land, to help carry the gospel to one of the darkest of the dark places of the earth, Uganda, which at that time was wholly heathen.

Mrs. Mackay was descended from an old Huguenot family, and would often tell her children how, after the "Revocation of the Edict of Nantes," they were obliged either to escape from France, or attend the mass. They chose the former and after many hardships and dangers reached the coast, and finally settled in Scotland. Their property, and much of their worldly goods, had been left in France, but like the Hebrew believers to whom Paul wrote, they were enabled to "take joyfully the spoiling of their goods," for in Scotland they were free to read their Bibles in broad daylight, and worship God according to the teachings of that blessed book.

These stories made a life-long impression upon the boy, but Sunday evenings in the old manse were rich in holy, happy memories to all the younger members of the Mackay household, for when the verses of scripture learned during the week had been correctly repeated, mother was always ready either to read aloud from some interesting book, or to have what her children loved to call "a missionary talk."

Let us take a peep at the little group one Lord's-day evening. It is a winter's night, rain and sleet beat against the closed window-shutters, and the wind moans and howls outside. Inside all is warmth and brightness. The mother and children are seated round a cheerful fire; lessons are over, and Alexander claps his hands and cries joyfully, "Now, mother, we are all ready for a story, please!"

"Do you remember the one I told you last week? "

"Oh yes, mother, it was about Henry Martyn, and his work in India, and I can say the verse of the missionary poem you taught us."

"Light on the Hindoo shed!

For the maddening idol-train;

The flame of the suttee is dire and red,

And the fakir moans with pain;

And the dying faint on their cheerless bed,

By the Ganges laved in vain."

"And what Indian custom is referred to by the word 'suttee'?"

"That of burning a widow alive with the dead body of her husband. You told us, too, that when more than seventy years ago a great part of India came under British rule, laws were made to punish those who attempted it. There was only too good reason to fear that in out-of-the-way places, or where there were few if any British officers, it was still carried on, though not so openly as before. But, mother, will you tell us to-night a story from the very beginning; when did you first begin to think about missions?"

"I was quite a little girl, not more than eleven or twelve years old, when I heard there was to be a missionary address in the church I attended with my parents. I did not expect there would be anything said that I should find very interesting, but I knew the gentleman who was going to speak. He was a friend of my father's and often came to our house; he loved children, so I felt I must listen to every word he said. I had even heard that he had a great wish to go to the heathen, but had been prevented.

"I shall never forget that night. The church was very full; we went early to get a front seat, as my father's hearing was not good. Two short verses of scripture were read, 'Jesus said, If ye love me, keep my commandments,' and 'Go ye therefore, and teach all nations,' and as the address went on, I felt as I had never felt before. Child though I was, I felt sure that I loved my Saviour, and so much was said about the honour and happiness of being a missionary, and seeking to bring souls to Christ, that I longed to be old enough to go and teach little black children about Jesus. At the close, prayer was offered that some among his hearers might be constrained by the love of Christ to go; and that others, who perhaps could not go, might by prayer and gifts help to send others.

"That night I could not sleep. I got up very early, dressed, put on my sunbonnet, and went out into the garden. It was a lovely June morning, roses were everywhere. I went into a quiet spot, and kneeling down, asked God to let me help the missionaries. If I could not go, even a little girl could, I knew, pray; and perhaps when I was older He would shew me some other way in which I could help.

"From that day to this my love for, and interest in, missions has never died down."

Chapter 4.

A Boy's Request.

"Would you like me to go as a missionary to Africa, mother?"

"If God prepares you for it, my boy, but not unless. You may be a true missionary, and yet stay at home; you must first come to Him, and if He has need of you in Africa, He will call you in a way you will not mistake. Should the message, 'Depart, for I will send thee far hence,' ever come to you, take care that you do not disobey it. Remember what Jonah got for his pains."

It was in the "quiet hour" Mrs. Mackay and her children loved so well that the boy listened to his mother's words; the impression they made upon him was deep enough to influence his whole after-life.

Every now and then business of importance rendered it necessary for Mr. Mackay to leave his Highland home and visit Edinburgh. In the spring of 1859, when Alexander had not passed his tenth birthday, father and son were on their way to the railway station, where Mr. Mackay was to take the train for the great city; he was driving, his son accompanying him in order to take home the trap kindly lent by a neighbouring farmer. They had gone more than half way when Mr. Mackay broke a silence which had lasted some minutes by saying, "Sandy, what book would you like me to bring you from Edinburgh?"

This was the opportunity the boy had been longing for, he could not afford to lose it, though he was by no means sure that his request would be granted. "I think, father, if it would not cost too much, I should very much like to have a printing press." Mr. Mackay dropped the reins for a moment, then said in a voice of mingled surprise and displeasure, "A printing press! Whatever can you want with a printing press? What you have to do is to become a good scholar; be that, and then if you ever write anything worth reading, any one will print it for you. Why, only last week when I called upon Mr. Smith at Keig I found one of his sons lying on the study floor, poring over a great Hebrew Bible, and you talk of wasting your time over a printing press!"

"But, father, do you really think it would be wasting time? I have often heard you say that skill takes up no room in the pocket or travelling bag, and some day I may find it very useful to know how to print."

"My dear boy, do you not know that the desire of my heart for you is to see you one day become a preacher of the glorious gospel of Jesus Christ?"

"Yes, father, but Martin Luther said that printing was the latest and greatest gift by which God enables His servants to advance the tidings of the gospel."

The railway whistle was heard, Mr. Mackay's train was due, and with a hasty good-bye at the station, father and son parted. Alexander watched till his father was out of sight, then drove carefully home.

As the train bore Mr. Mackay along, he thought over his son's request. "A printing press! What could have put such a thing into the boy's head? I expect it is the part printing played in furthering the work of the Reformation. I know he has been reading D'Aubign� lately. He does not play like other boys, but devours every book he can get hold of; yet every now and then he seems hankering after some kind of manual work. When he has a free hour, if he is not in the study with a book, I find he goes down to the carpenter's shop, handling all kinds of tools, and now and then lending a helping hand. I think the best thing will be to send him to school. In the meantime, I must look for a book that will make him forget the printing press."

A few days later Mr. Mackay entered the well-known publishing firm of Messrs. Blackwood. New books in every variety of style and binding there certainly were in plenty, and yet he could not find exactly what he wanted. He was a well-known visitor and always welcome, and was soon engaged in friendly chat with the head of the firm. Before they parted, he spoke of his son's desire for a printing press, to which Mr. Blackwood laughingly replied, "He wants a printing press, does he! Well, my dear sir, there is no need to worry yourself about it. Let him have one. We cannot all be on the same lines. I believe that boy means to strike out a course of his own. Give him a free hand, and he will come out all right in the end. You get the press, and it will give us pleasure to make him a present of the type. But tell him, that even if he prints your books, we do not give leave to publish them."

So the printing press was bought, and in due time, with a large and varied collection of types, packed and sent off. No words can tell the delight with which it was received by its young owner. For some weeks every spare moment was devoted to making himself thoroughly acquainted with every part of his new possession. At first he found considerable difficulty in getting good, clear impressions, but he kept on trying, and in time was able to produce really creditable work.

How little any one thought that one day, in the very heart of "Darkest Africa," upon that press the first portions of scripture that were to bring light, peace and joy to many of the sons and daughters of Uganda were to be printed. We can only say that in that quiet Scottish home God in His love and wisdom was preparing the future workman for his work.

Chapter 5.

First Thoughts of Africa.

Up to sixty or seventy years ago very little seems to have been known about Central Africa. I remember, when quite a little girl, having read in an old geography book that the greater part of that vast continent, lying nearest to the equator, was supposed to be only a sandy desert, with here and there pools of water, round which a few native huts, in shape very much like beehives, were clustered. In some very old maps of Africa a great river has been traced, but as no one appeared to be quite sure of it being there at all, it was often left out altogether.

Several explorers had tried to trace the river Nile to its source, and about the time that Alexander Mackay was making his first attempts at printing, a great deal of attention and interest had been aroused by hearing of wonderful discoveries. Yes, the old maps were, after all, right. The Congo, a mighty river, was really there, also lakes. Uganda was not a barren waste, but a well-watered and well-peopled country. Every new discovery formed a fresh subject of conversation in the boy's home, and few things gave him greater pleasure than to trace the journeys of Livingstone and Stanley on the map that when no longer required in his father's study, he carried off in triumph to his own room.

"Father," said Alexander one day, "there is one thing that puzzles me very often. I know that till quite recent times, when any skilled work such as building bridges, piers or lighthouses had to be done, we had to send across the Channel for engineers and they had to bring their own workmen with them. Have we had to send for missionaries too? Livingstone and Moffat were, I know, Scotchmen, but I see that quite a number of the missionaries in Africa are Germans."

"Well, my boy," was his father's reply, "you see the field is so large, and so many stations needed to be filled, that it was difficult to find a sufficient number of really suitable men at home who were willing to be despised, unknown missionaries, and a large missionary institution at Basle, in Switzerland, responded nobly to the call for the foreign field."

"But, father, why did you say 'despised missionaries'? I have always thought it was a great honour to be a missionary."

"So it is, to those who are constrained by the love of Christ to carry the glad tidings to heathen lands; but any who have not that constraint had better stay at home."

Soon after this conversation, the boy confided to his father his great desire to become an engineer. Mr. Mackay, who had long noticed his son's growing love for mechanics, was not surprised, though his own hopes and plans for the future of the boy had been quite different. He heard him patiently, and explained kindly that to place him as a pupil with a good firm in Glasgow or Edinburgh would cost a large sum of money, much more than he could afford. He advised him to go on with his studies, and when old enough, try to win a good scholarship that would carry him through the University, and in wearing college cap and gown he would, he told him, forget all about saws and hammers.

In the spring of 1860, when "Sandy" (as he was still called in the home circle) was just entering his eleventh year, he seemed to lose his robust health and high spirits. His lessons were, as a rule, well and faithfully learnt; but it was easy to see that his heart was no longer in them. He did not complain, but grew thin and pale; he lost his appetite, and his parents grew anxious.

He was seen by a doctor, who owned he could not tell what ailed the laddie. His father took him to Edinburgh to consult a physician, who gave as his opinion he was not really ill, but had grown beyond his strength, and advised change of air and a long holiday. Acting at once upon the advice of the doctor, his father took him for a tour in the Highlands. In later years he often recalled the happy, restful time he enjoyed during those weeks, specially when a friend lent him a strong Shetland pony and he was able to take long rides over the moors, and get delightful glimpses of lake and mountain scenery.

Three months of free, out-of-door life did him good in more ways than one, and he returned to his home greatly improved in health; but though he did his utmost to please his father by attention to his studies, his old love of books seemed almost a thing of the past. He was still gentle and thoughtful, and very kind to the younger members of the family, but he never seemed more happy than when engaged in some kind of manual labour. It was "Sandy" who shovelled and swept the snow that often lay in deep drifts blocking the way, and almost preventing visits to or from neighbours. He would clear and weed the garden paths; and sowing and reaping time always found him ready and willing to lend a helping hand. Small repairs, requiring the use of carpenter's tools, soon began to be looked upon by the family as his work, and he rather enjoyed, than otherwise, taking a turn at wood-chopping.

And so the years, happy, busy years, passed on till the boy was fourteen, and his parents felt it was high time he should be sent to school. Much prayer about it was made by both; for kind and amiable as he naturally was, they were not sure that he had really decided for Christ, and they feared that his affectionate, confiding disposition might, in the wider world of schoolboy life, expose him to temptations he would be unable to resist.

He had never had a boy companion, and looked forward with great delight to a promised visit, during the holidays, from a youth of about his own age, the son of an old friend of his father's who, like himself, was about to enter the Grammar School at Aberdeen. On the appointed day, John Hector, who in after years went as a missionary to Calcutta, arrived at the manse, and the two lads soon found that they had much in common, and, as the parents of both had hoped, a warm friendship grew up between them. They were left pretty much to themselves, and took long and delightful rambles, sometimes visiting a neighbouring loch or waterfall, at others fishing or bathing in some mountain stream.

Chapter 6.

School Life and Business Training.

School Life was the turning of a fresh page in the lesson book of men and things to Alexander Mackay, but he took to it kindly. His home training had formed habits of thoroughness and industry; and even before his conversion "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might" (Eccles. 9:. 10) seems to have been the motto of his life. He did not lose his love of machinery, and took a lively interest in all the buildings in course of erection in the neighbourhood. He still studied well, and if ever he felt himself tempted to be idle or careless, the thought of how disappointed and grieved his loved ones at home, most of all his mother, would he if he failed in his examinations, or his report proved anything but satisfactory, spurred him on to renewed diligence.

He was a day pupil at the grammar school, and during his first half-year formed one of the family circle in the house of an old friend of his father's. For several reasons, however, it was thought best that lodgings should be found for him, and to satisfy herself that he was comfortably placed his mother undertook a journey to Aberdeen.

For some months Mrs. Mackay had been far from well, and her doctor advised her not to go till the weather was warmer. But to think of herself, her own health or comfort, when others were to be helped or served, would have been unlike her gentle, unselfish disposition. So she went, and the memory of the ten days mother and son spent in the great city was one that, to the close of his life, Mackay loved to recall. It was holiday time, so that he was her companion in her walks and visits to places of interest. How little he thought, when he saw her off at the railway station, that the end of her journey was so very near.

A chill, taken on her homeward journey, proved too much for a frame already weakened, and three weeks later the boy received a hasty summons home as his mother was dangerously ill. He remained with her a week, and, as she appeared much better, returned to school; but she had not strength to rally, and a few weeks later calmly fell asleep in Christ. Her death was his first great sorrow, and as he stood by her grave, he felt as if he never could be a light-hearted, fun-loving boy again.

He was not with his mother when her home-call came, but her dying charge, "Tell Sandy not only to read, but to search his Bible, and to meet me in heaven" (faithfully repeated to him by a relative), was never forgotten, and proved a turning-point in his life. Religious knowledge, godly training, were not all, he saw clearly enough. He must have to do with Christ as a trusted, personal Saviour. He took his place before God as a lost sinner, and that he was "on the Lord's side" was well known among his friends and schoolfellows from that time.

He still had a great wish to become an engineer, a wish that for some years his father did not feel free to encourage.

Writing to a friend in 1866, he said: "I cannot see my way for the future, but I feel certain that the Lord will make it plain in His own time. I believe that God gives each of us some talent that we are bound to turn to the best possible account, therefore I must go on with engineering. You say it is impossible, as my father cannot afford to give me the help I should require. But if I cannot overcome a greater obstacle than that of my father not being a rich man, I shall never make a good engineer; therefore I must go on with engineering; for He who gave me the desire will in some way grant it. This I feel sure of."

And in ways that perhaps he did not expect the way was made plain. In 1867 the family removed to Edinburgh. The six years that followed were very busy ones. Time was, he felt, very precious, and hardly a moment was wasted. Two of these years were spent as a student in a training college for teachers. Afterwards, he took a course of study in engineering and other subjects at the University, and that he might get a practical knowledge of the different kinds of work he might one day find himself required to do or to superintend, he worked for a time in the well-known firm of Messrs. Miller and Herbert.

During the greater part of the time, in addition to his other work, he taught for three hours, almost daily, either in public or private schools, and in this way earned money enough to pay his class fees and personal expenses. One of his most valued friends was Dr. Horatius Bonar, the author of the well-known hymns,

"I heard the voice of Jesus say,"

and,

"I was a wandering sheep."

The close, personal friendship and counsel of this ripe and matured Christian were an unspeakable help and comfort to the younger, and deepened his desire really and truly to serve his Lord and Master.

School and college life lay behind him, and as he was just entering his twenty-fifth year Alexander Mackay took passage on board the s.s. "North Star" for Hamburg. He had a twofold object in going. Having already made some progress in the German language, he wished to perfect himself in it; and some things connected with the profession he had chosen could, he felt sure, be more thoroughly learnt in Germany than in London or Edinburgh. It was soon after the Franco-German war, and trade was very dull. However, he soon obtained employment in a large firm. It was just the kind of work he liked, and he put his whole might into it, but he sorely missed his christian friends.

Many among his workmates were openly freethinkers, and by hard questions, and clever, though unsound arguments, did their utmost to shake his faith. "Indeed," he wrote to his sister, "if it were not for daily Bible-reading, and that every time I open the word of God I get a fresh ray of light, I think I should give way altogether."

"The Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy," and before many weeks had passed he had found in Dr. and Mrs. Baur just the friends he so greatly needed. They did not speak much English, and his German was at that time far from being fluent; but they loved the same precious Saviour, and had much in common. "Come and see us whenever you like; you will always find a welcome," said the doctor, as with a warm hand-shake he bade Mackay good-bye at the close of almost his first visit.

Always frank and open, he spoke out his desire not only to visit but to live with his newly-found friends, adding that, surrounded as he was, not only at his work, but in his lodgings, by infidels, he longed for a quiet, christian home. So he was received into their family. Dr. and Mrs. Baur soon learned to love him almost as if he had been their own son, and found him a useful and trusted helper in the home mission work in which they were actively engaged.

Chapter 7.

A Long Journey

The employers of Alexander Mackay soon found that, in addition to more than common talent, he was industrious and persevering, and several very important pieces of work were left almost entirely in his hands. Still he did not allow his weekday duties to occupy his whole time and

thoughts. Remembering that he was not his own, but had been bought with a price, "the precious blood of Christ," he really and truly desired to serve his Lord and Master. His Lord's days and evenings were either spent in Bible study, happy, helpful intercourse with christian friends, or visits to the sick and poor.

One bitterly cold night in the winter of 1875 he finished reading a book in which he had grown deeply interested, "How I found Livingstone." It was at that time quite a new book, written by the well-known African explorer, Henry Stanley, who tells in its pages how he and his men, in their search for the pioneer missionary, Dr. Livingstone (who had not for a very long time been heard of by his friends in Scotland or England), had crossed rivers, climbed mountains, and for days and even weeks together forced their way through forests where the trees grew so closely together that though the sun was shining brightly overhead they had sometimes, even at noonday, almost to grope their way.

As he read, all his old interest in and love for Africa seemed to revive. He lingered for a few moments over its last page, then closed the book. As he laid it down, his eye fell upon a packet of books and papers sent from his home in Scotland. Hardly knowing why, he took one up and read with delight, not unmixed with surprise, an appeal for christian men who wished to devote their lives to the Lord's work to go as missionaries to Uganda, in the very heart of Africa; its then king, Mtesa, being, it was said, quite willing to receive and welcome them. It was already past midnight, but Mackay felt he could not sleep until the first step had been taken, and a letter offering himself for Uganda was at once written.

Some correspondence followed, after which he paid a short visit to London. Early in the New Year he received a letter telling him that he had been accepted, and asking him to get ready for a voyage to Zanzibar as soon as possible.

Just at that time he was more than usually busy with work for the firm by which he was employed. He had invented a machine in which a great number of different parts had not only to be made, but fitted together, and he did not feel free to leave until the whole was in proper working order. However, he replied that he hoped to be ready to sail about the last week in March. But a great domestic sorrow, the sudden death of a younger brother, a bright, noble boy to whom he was greatly attached, prevented his going so soon. He did not sail till towards the end of April.

How glad he must have been when fairly out at sea! The three or four weeks before his departure had been such busy ones, that the friends who bade him good-bye at Southampton thought he looked very worn and weary. What a number of packing-cases he had seen labelled "Zanzibar" and lowered into the hold of the ship!

The contents of these cases were very varied. All kinds of tools, several machines, presents for Mtesa and other native sultans and chiefs through whose dominions the missionary party would have to pass before reaching Uganda, and bales of cloth and bags of beads, the two latter to be used as money in the purchase of food and other things that might be required, coins being quite unknown in that part of Africa to which they were going. A medicine chest and some books had not been forgotten.

On the voyage to Zanzibar the party met a merchant who had known the missionary, Dr. Livingstone. He had done business with him and been impressed by his fair dealing and kindness. He did not speak very good English, but when asked what he thought of the doctor, replied: "Livingstone very good man, yes, very good man; Livingstone the best man I ever have seen; good for rich man, good for poor man, good for every man."

For the first time in his life Mackay had an opportunity of seeing something of the horrors of the slave-trade. A British man-of-war and several gunboats did good work against the dhows. During one week no less than one hundred and fifty poor slaves who had been stolen from their homes and sold to Portuguese or Arab traders were set free and helped to return to their villages. "The boats and men are," he wrote home, "all too few for the work required. It is like catching a few of the stolen horses after the stable door has been left open."

To tell of all the difficulties, dangers and disappointments of the journey from the coast to Uganda would make the story far too long. Day by day, and hour by hour, "ye have need of patience" seemed to be saying itself over and over again. But the lesson was by no means easy to learn.

A good deal of time had to be wasted in getting the different parts of their boat, "The Daisy," out of the Custom House. Part of a valuable engine had been lost and was never heard of again. There was difficulty, too, in getting porters to carry the boat and other heavy baggage up country. The friends at the French mission station gave him all the help they could, but so many broken articles had to be repaired, and so much blacksmith's and carpenter's work had to be done before the party was ready to start, that sometimes it seemed as if they would never start for Uganda.

Black men, however heavily loaded, always sing at their work. One day Mackay got a number of natives to carry the boat (ten men to each piece) for some distance, and as they tugged and pulled and groaned under heavy burdens, they chanted, "White man give plenty pence!" They thought themselves well paid when each man received the value of twopence for a couple of hours hard work!

A page from his note-book will give some idea of how busy his days were. "Got up at daylight. Coffee, oranges and quinine at 6 a.m. Weighing goods, packing them into bales of 60 lb. each, till 7. At 7 sound the drum and take out my men for drill; 8 o'clock till 10, busy packing. Hard work at any number of things till lunch, then at work till dark. Numbers of visits from natives of different tribes, all good at looking-on, but have no desire to help. After dark, dinner, then at work again. So far it has been hard times for most of us, physically and mentally."

"The Daisy" had been built in three sections for transport by land to Lake Nyanza, but as they were found much too heavy to be carried any great distance, Mackay set to work to take out screws and rivets, so as to divide it into small pieces which could be carried by two men. This, of course, took some days of hard and seemingly fruitless work, but after delays and much trouble in getting porters, they were at last ready to start.

Tools, books, machinery, valuable instruments and many other things were to be carried by native porters, of whom, after considerable trouble and many delays, Mackay succeeded in engaging about two hundred.

His home letters and journals shew that he felt it was no easy task he had undertaken. He wrote, "Suddenly to have stepped into the place of father to so large a family of children, who are every day crying out, 'Poss-ho!' which may be translated, 'Give us our daily bread' is by no means an easy task. All their little disputes and complaints I have to settle. My interpreter is very poor in English, so he often misunderstands, and makes fresh trouble by doing so. Still we get on wonderfully well, and it often comes to my mind, If two hundred men on march can give such endless trouble, what an anxious time Moses must have had all through the long years of the wilderness journey!"

It is a great comfort and help to remember that hour by hour we can commit our way to the Lord and He will give all needed wisdom and grace for guiding.

Over-strain, alike of mind and body, brought on frequent attacks of fever, and at times Mackay was so weakened as to be quite unable to walk, and needed to be helped to mount his donkey. Still, there was very little sickness among his men, for which he was very thankful.

Chapter 8.

Fever and Famine.

As days and weeks went on, the work of the pioneer missionaries to Uganda seemed to grow more, instead of less, trying and difficult. "The Daisy," stores, and many other things, all had to be carried for hundreds of miles on the shoulders of men, and he found himself obliged to take the command of a caravan of more than two hundred. Very often the road lay through marshes, where they were forced to wade knee-deep through stagnant water, quite unfit for drinking, and even when boiled and filtered still dirty and ill-smelling. Repeated attacks of swamp-fever left him so weak that some days he was too ill to travel at all, and more than once he thought himself dying. But his work in Africa was not done, and through the mercy of God he recovered.

Small-pox broke out among his men, and though he used all the means in his power to prevent its spread, several of his native porters died. Writing to his sister, he said, "It would have shocked an English doctor to have seen my donkey-boy, almost covered from head to foot with small-pox sores, wading for a couple of days through the swamps with very little clothing on; but here he is to-day, quite well, and with hardly a mark upon him."

Most of his provisions were either lost or stolen, and sometimes the whole party knew what it was to be short of food. It was no uncommon thing for a porter to throw down his load and run away, and when they came near a native town, or even a cluster of mud huts, the chief, or headman, never failed to expect and demand large presents in the way of cloth, salt and beads.

Soon after passing Mtamburu, Mackay was seized with such a severe attack of fever that in his already weak state he could scarcely bear even to be carried in a hammock. His companions decided that he must return to the coast, but he was with difficulty persuaded to do so. Mackay at last consented, and set off eastwards, carried by two strong men, and eight others with his tent, clothes and other things on their shoulders. With this small party a rapid journey to the coast was made, and there a sea voyage in the mission steamer "Highland Lassie," did his health good.

When he was again fit for work be set about collecting another caravan for the relief of his companions on the Nyanza, intending to go with it in order to join the party he had accompanied in the autumn. Porters were more difficult to obtain than when the previous caravan had started, so he made a tour of three hundred miles northward and back along the coast to collect men. Often he and the few men who were still with him had to wade for hours across swamps where they were waist-deep in mud and water, sleeping in the open air or in cow-sheds, and living on roots, berries, or anything they could get.

Before setting out again for Uganda, Mackay received instructions to try, if possible, to construct a road, the first ever made in Central Africa, and though a severe attack of fever forced him to be idle for six weeks he was soon at work collecting men and tools. The Sultan of Zanzibar seemed much pleased at the proposal, and gave Mackay a fine horse to ride on.

By May day the work was fairly begun, and to his great delight he was able to engage as his personal servant and interpreter Susi, an old servant of Dr. Livingstone's, one of the faithful few who helped to carry his body to the coast, and afterwards went with his remains to England. He could speak several native languages, and proved a real help and comfort to the lonely missionary.

The slave-trade was still a cause of great trouble and anxiety to Mackay. He writes "How many poor slaves are being nightly driven to the coast no man can tell. A well-beaten track leads from here to the sea, and every time I cross it, I shudder to think of the unhappy men, of the helpless women and children who, after being stolen from their homes, are being driven along it to be crowded into the hold of slave-dhows.

A British man-of-war, for the suppression of the trade, was stationed off the coast; but its boats and men were too few for the work that needed to be done. The Sultan could, he said, do nothing to prevent the slave trade, and Mackay soon found that the native interpreters, who were engaged to help the British sailors, were often bribed by the slave traders to allow their dhows to pass unnoticed, or to say that the women on board those captured were the wives or household servants of the owners.

Still he kept bravely on, and his home letters were bright and cheerful. Here is one. "I am well again, thank God, and camp life has set my spirits up. My horse, my dog, my goat, my oxen and donkey, with my household of nearly seventy men and a few women, are enough to feed, and quite enough to look after at one time. It is now dark and all is quiet, my men are going to rest. I have given them their food, and they know I shall take a good day's work out of them to-morrow. The insects are hard at it again; midges, flies and mosquitoes above, and ants and other creeping things below. A cup does duty for my inkstand, with a little powder mixed with water for ink; but eight or nine o'clock is bed-time when one is on the march or in camp, and I must turn in, so good night."

Day by day the work went on; miles of forest and jungle had to be cut through, trees felled, and river banks sloped down. Herds of elephants roamed through the jungle, and tracks of the lion and panther were often seen. Camp-fires had often to be kept burning all night, but the party were preserved from the attacks of wild beasts, and in rather less than twelve months two hundred and thirty miles of road were completed.

The business of road-making over, Mackay was once more free to set out for his beloved Uganda, though it was still six hundred miles away. He was advised to travel by bullock-cart, and to his great delight found a young Englishman, an earnest Christian, and by trade a carpenter, had been sent out to help him. His new companion proved of great use in improving or repairing the native carts, and as his strength had not, like Mackay's, been wasted by frequent attacks of fever, he was able to manage the wilder oxen.

At last they started. Six large carts loaded, eighty oxen, sixty men, half of whom were drivers, the rest porters, five donkeys, a flock of sheep and goats, with six dogs, made up the party.

But every day the carts upset, sometimes two or three times; and in some places the jungle was so thick that it was found that twenty oxen yoked to one cart were hardly able to draw it.

Chapter 9.

On the March.

I almost seem to hear some of my young friends saying our last chapter was not a very bright one, and it made them feel quite sad to read of the difficulties and dangers Alexander Mackay and his friends had to face in their attempt to carry the gospel to the then darkest part of "Dark Africa."

Well, dear ones, if I only told you of the bright and pleasant things, and left out all the trials of faith and lessons of patience that had to be learnt by the way, I should expect you to say my story was not a true one, and then you would not care for it.

Frequent attacks of fever thinned their numbers, and the few who survived were weak and often suffered greatly. Crossing rivers was often no easy matter, and in a letter written to friends in the homeland, Mackay tells of one that must have needed not only all the nerve and courage he possessed, but much real confidence in God.

He wrote: "I have just arrived at the Rukigura river. It is at present in flood, a mighty, rushing river, neck-deep. How I am to cross it I cannot tell. By putting up ropes and pulleys, much in the same way as for the life-saving apparatus in shipwreck is done, I think I could manage to get the men and most of the stores over, but eighty oxen, the carts, and several donkeys will, I am afraid, prove slow and troublesome work. Still, I must make the attempt, or stay where I am till the flood is past, and I cannot tell how long that may be, as we are having thunder-storms with heavy rains day after day. A few of my men have run away, taking cloth and other things with them; those still with me are, I think, on the whole, fairly faithful. They are all sad cowards, and when any danger arises take to their heels, leaving their master to get out of it the best way he can.

"Just now a scorpion (one of a kind much feared by the natives, as its bite is almost always fatal) crawled over me as I sat writing. It would make you shudder to see half the horrors of this kind one meets every day. Snakes glide about in the soft, slimy mud through which we have, often knee-deep, to wade. Several kinds of flies draw blood with every bite, and they can bite too! Last night I was quietly sleeping when the growl of a hyaena just at my ear made me start up, seize my rifle, and fire; but Bobby, my dog, was before me, and set up such a lively bark that the hyena was off before I had time to present it with a bullet."

Heavy rains had made deep ruts. Large felled trees and bushes often lay right across the road, and the rough, uneven path was so wet and slippery that one or other of the carts seemed almost always in trouble. Sometimes the pole ox would fall and upset the cart. It must have been trying to find, as was often the case, that everything breakable was broken, and nearly everything that could be spoiled was so. But Mackay was not a man given to crying over "spilled milk"; so the cart was reloaded, and making the best of what could not be helped, they were soon again on the march.

About this time an accident rendered him lame, and for more than a week he was unable to walk. While helping to get one of the carts out of a rut, a bush caught his foot and he fell, the wheel going twice over his leg. Two of his men put their loads into a cart and carried him in a light hammock; but as cart after cart upset, they did not make very good progress, and weary and almost fainting from pain and loss of blood, the day's march ended, and they reached a village. The chief, hearing of his arrival, brought six or seven sick people to be treated, and one little boy he wished to be cured of spinal disease.

Weak and worn out as he was, the sad news that reached him while still some distance from Uganda, must have added greatly to his sorrow and anxiety. There had been fighting in a district through which they still had to pass, and two white men and about fifty natives had been killed. He did not need to ask who the white men were. Too well he knew that two of his missionary friends, with whom he had sailed from England, Messrs. Smith and O'Neill, were the only Englishmen within many miles; and he felt their loss deeply.

Soon after he wrote "There were eight of us sent out; two soon found they could not stand the climate and had to return broken down in health, four have gone home, only two are now left. Poor Africa! But the work of God will proceed, even if we break down."

The next stage of the journey lay through a plain thirty-six miles in length. He was only taking a few of his men, carrying small loads he was unwilling to leave behind, and as he knew robbers were often to be met with he ordered them to keep close to each other.

Towards evening of the first day, one of them fell a few yards behind, when a party of robbers sprang from their hiding-place, and striking the hapless man a heavy blow with a club, seized his load and disappeared. To attempt to follow them would, he felt, be worse than useless; but the con- tents of the stolen load could ill be spared. All the food supplies on which he depended for several days were gone, also his candles and matches. Perhaps the loss that tried him most was that of two ounces of quinine, a medicine he had found very useful in keeping off attacks of fever.

The robbers were hardly out of sight when a caravan drove up. The leader was an Arab trader, who was crossing the plain in a very comfortable way. He had a nice large tent, with Persian carpets, cooking utensils, sweets, coffee, plenty of rice, and many other things. He behaved in a most friendly manner to Mackay, and gave him a good dinner of rice and curried fowl, and before saying good-bye made him a valuable present, a packet of candles and a box of matches!

He had no quinine, so the next day Mackay sent back one of his men a distance of thirty miles with a note, begging that the precious powder might be sent to him with as little delay as possible.

Chapter 10.

Fresh Trials.

Writing to his sister in June 1878, Mackay says, "What a forlorn hope our mission to Uganda seems to be! I am almost the only one still living of the missionary band who sailed from Southampton little more than two years ago. Very few could endure the hardships we went through in the early months of this year. The loss of so many valued friends and fellow-labourers is a great grief to me. But God's ways are not our ways. I am now in some thirty miles of desert, and am going (D.V.) to the island of Ukerewe, to see the king who so lately murdered Lieutenant Smith and O'Neill. I have just had a bad turn of sun fever, but am quite well now."

Elephants, hippos, giraffes and zebras were frequently seen in the desert. After an evening march Mackay and his porters arrived just before nightfall at a deserted village. They were all very tired, but having found water, lighted a fire, cooked some potatoes and nuts, and lay down to sleep. Mosquitoes, however, were very troublesome, and about ten o'clock an alarm was raised. Loud reports as of guns were heard, and flames seen in the direction from which the sounds came only increased the alarm.

The men made up their minds to be off at once. They left their pots, gourds and half-cooked food all lying about, and packing his clothes and other belongings in less time than they had ever required before, by their very terror forced their leader into getting up, though he was at first very unwilling to do so. There was no moon, and the night was dark and cloudy. On they went, tripping, slipping and stumbling at almost every step, till, after a two hours' march, they reached another village, where the people were friendly.

Their next day's march brought them to a third village, where the cattle lived and slept in the same huts as their owners. The men wore no clothes at all, and little girls and young women only a small apron made of beads.

His socks were all worn out, and Mackay suffered greatly from blistered and often bleeding feet, when marching across sandy deserts or through brushwood. A few days later he caught the first glimpse of the lake, and enjoyed the refreshing breeze that cooled his sunburnt cheeks. On the shore of the lake lay the mission boat, "The Daisy," overgrown with grass, and very much the worse for its long rest. The machinery, too, was in a very bad state, and many valuable tools lying about were either broken or so injured by rust as to be useless.

Soon after he had a message from the king, who seemed to be greatly in fear of the white man, and said he had no quarrel with the murdered missionaries, and that the slave-traders were the only persons to blame for their death.

One or two extracts from his notebook at this time are interesting. "I have," he wrote, "sorted and assorted machinery, nails, screws, etc., till quite done up, and much has still to be done. To-morrow is the Lord's day, and I cannot tell you how gladly I shall welcome its rest. May I have grace to use it aright."

The morrow brought him an early visit from a neighbouring chief, who wanted to know why he and his followers rested on that day. Mackay told him the story of the six days of creation, and how God rested on the seventh day. The chief listened well, and seemed to understand what he was told, but the scripture lesson was a good deal disturbed by the cattle, who took to fighting while it was being given. Mackay wrote, "It does seem as if Satan is doing his utmost to prevent even a little gospel light entering this dark land."

The natives advised Mackay not to trust Lkonge, the king, as they were sure he intended to poison him. They told him that after the murder of the missionaries, Smith and O'Neill, he had persuaded their men to lay down their guns, saying that he was their friend, and wished only for peace. They believed him, sat quietly down, and began to cook their food while they were so engaged, Lkonge's men fell upon them, and many were killed.

Mackay felt his position to be one of danger, but it was a cheer to remember that the God whom he served was able to shut the mouth of the lion, and that it was not for his own pleasure or profit, but in the service of his Lord and Master. So leaving himself and the whole matter in His hands, he went quietly on, alone, for his men were so overcome with fear, that they begged to be allowed to go to their villages.

King Lkonge, who was at that time little more than twenty years of age, seemed more anxious than before that Mackay should believe his account of the murder of the white men. But when, as a proof of his friendship, Mackay asked for the book in which Lieutenant Smith had been seen writing only a few hours before his death, as he wished to send it to his friends in England, he was told it was lost, and could not be found. He was also told that guns and other things that had belonged to him had been carried away by his people, and he did not know where they were.

Mackay replied, "Lkonge says he is a great king, A great king need only tell his people to bring back the articles, and they will soon be here."

The king said he would look for them. He then asked a great many questions about England, and expressed surprise on hearing that the subjects of Queen Victoria greatly outnumbered his own. Several days, however, passed, but neither the book nor other lost property were forthcoming. Mackay felt that to wait longer would be a mere waste of valuable time, so after presenting the king with a red blanket and a dressing-gown, they wished each other a friendly good-bye, and Mackay returned to where he had left "The Daisy," and at once began putting her under repair. The natives gave him a warm welcome, and came in crowds to watch the progress of the work. All were good as lookers-on, but had no idea of giving any real help, and as all the heavy part of the work had to be done by his own hands under the rays of a burning sun, a sharp attack of fever again laid him up for some days.

Chapter 11.

Uganda At Last.

After many days of very hard work the mission boat, "The Daisy," was repaired, and with a glad and praise-filled heart Mackay, in company with a missionary friend, set sail for Uganda.

For the first four days everything went smoothly, but on the fifth a terrible storm arose. Heavy seas broke over the little vessel, and the blacks, who formed the crew, were so overcome with fear as to be worse than useless. "The Daisy" was fast filling with water, and there was nothing for it but to let her drift on to a barren and somewhat rocky coast. The natives were friendly, brought food, and built a hut to shelter the white men and some of their goods; but the work of repairing the boat had to be done almost all over again, and as the weather continued wet, with frequent storms of rain and thunder, only slow progress was made.

After a delay of eight weeks they were afloat again, and after a rough and trying voyage, on November 1st, 1878, they came in sight of Ntebe, the port of Uganda. The natives saw them and manned a canoe, beat drums and appeared very pleased to see him. Five days later they reached Rubaga, the capital. King Mtesa was, they were told, too ill to see them, but sent his salaams (greetings), and two very fat goats as a present.

On the 8th Mackay wrote, "This has been an eventful day. Word came this morning that the king was somewhat better, and wished to see us. We (that is, Wilson and I) set off at once, carrying our presents, as everybody seemed too excited to be of any use. Messenger after messenger came running and shouting like so many madmen to hurry us on, but we did not mean to give way, so kept up a steady step. After a long walk we reached the palace, when the gates were opened, and the guard presented arms. We were ushered through long rows of soldiers and attendants to an inner room. At the end of a large hall we found the king, seated upon a mat. He wore a long white robe, something like a dressing-gown, and a black coat, richly embroidered with gold thread. He bowed politely, and stools were brought for us to sit upon. Several gaily-dressed attendants were seated on the ground, and an old woman, at a little distance behind the king, seemed greatly interested in watching us.

"For quite ten minutes we just looked at each other in silence, as it would not have been polite for us to speak first. Then a little talk began. We presented our gifts, one being a large musical box, which we set playing 'The Heavens are Telling.' He seemed pleased, but after a time said he was too ill to sit longer, and we might retire. The whole court rose when we left, and followed us for some distance, small boys being, as usual, well to the front. In the evening the king sent a present of cattle, tobacco, coffee and honey."

Any of our readers who are fond of history will perhaps remember that in Saxon times the smith was considered a very important person, and treated with great respect. Next to him ranked the worker in metal, closely followed by the physician. In the royal court of Wales the smith was allowed to sit with the king and queen in the great hall; at least, so we are told by Dr. Samuel Smiles in a chapter of his interesting book, "Industrial Biography," in a chapter all about "Iron Workers and Tool Makers."

From his great skill in all kinds of metal-work, Mackay soon became almost as important as the Saxon smith had been. All kinds of broken articles were brought to him for repair, and the natives were never tired of watching him at his work, and admiring the brightness of the polish he put upon much of it. Native workmen could, it is true, make hoes and hatchets, and a few could even manufacture knife blades, but the art of tempering metals was unknown, and when one day he rolled some logs up an inclined plane, he was followed by a wondering crowd, who shouted, "Mackay is the great spirit; yes, he is truly the great spirit."

King Mtesa was very intelligent and quick to understand anything that was properly explained to him. Mackay told him about railways, and steam-boats, and delighted his majesty by describing the wonders of the telegraph and telephone. One day he said, "King Mtesa, my forefathers made the wind their slave, then they put water in the chain, they next enslaved steam, and now the terrible lightning is the white man's slave, and a capital one it is too."

On another occasion he gave a magic-lantern lecture before the king and his court on "The Human Body," pointing out the wickedness of selling a boy with a body made by God with such wondrous skill and care to an Arab slave-trader for a piece of soap! The king paid great attention and said, "From this day no slave shall be sold out of my country." Mackay was delighted, and told him it was the best law he had ever made.

Busy as Mackay always was, he did not forget that his real object in going to Uganda at all was not so much to make roads, or teach useful arts to the natives, as to carry the glad tidings of salvation through the finished work of Christ to those who had never heard the gospel. In all the haste and bustle of preparation for his journey the printing press that had been the delight of his boyhood had not been forgotten, and he was soon at work translating and printing some short scripture portions.

About this time almost every page of his notebook has some such entry as, "House, or rather hut, full of boys, who come for a reading-lesson, and take a great interest in watching me at my work." "A chief, who brought a canoe, spent last night with me. I gave him one of the white blankets off my bed, and we had a long conversation. I tried to tell him as clearly as I could the way of salvation; he asked many questions, and shewed a good deal of interest. The longer I live among these people, the more I learn to admire, and even to love them."

Every Lord's day Mackay, by royal invitation, went to the palace, when a short gospel service, to which many came, was held. For a time the king shewed great interest. On one occasion he was so deeply impressed that he said to his people, "Isa [Jesus], was there ever any like Him?" Mackay rejoiced, and hoped the day was not far distant when Uganda would be ruled by a truly christian king.

But this state of things did not last long. More missionaries were on their way to Uganda. Some of them thinking that to sail for some distance up the Nile, and then across Egypt, would be a quicker and easier way of reaching that country, chose that road. This displeased the king greatly. For some time he had not been on friendly terms with the government of Egypt, and his suspicions were aroused. In vain Mackay assured him that the missionaries were not sent by Queen Victoria or General Gordon; that they did not come to spy out the country, and would not be followed by soldiers who would bring many large guns. The king was frightened and angry, and the outlook was certainly not a bright one.

Chapter 12.

Dark Days.

A Few mornings later, as Mackay and a missionary friend were at breakfast, a messenger arrived breathless with haste. The king had called for them! They must go at once. On arriving at the palace, they found his majesty excited and angry. Two white men (Frenchmen) had, he had been told by an Arab trader, landed at the port. Who were they? and what was their object in coming? were questions he wished to have answered at once.

The strangers were Roman Catholic priests, and Mackay explained to the king that though they believed in the one true God, and also in the Lord Jesus, they thought more of the Virgin Mary than of the Lord Himself; and prayed not only to God, but to people who had been dead for hundreds of years. They also taught that the Pope was to be obeyed rather than their own king.

The king listened, but it was easy to see that he did not understand. He looked bewildered, and said, "Who am I to believe? How can I tell which is right?" The slave-dealers, who disliked Mackay, because he had on more than one occasion exposed their wickedness and done all in his power to put a stop to their trade, lost no opportunity of trying to persuade the king that while pretending to be his friend the white man was really his enemy, and would, sooner or later, bring ships and soldiers and take possession of his country.

The Lord's day that followed must have been a time of more than usual trial. The preaching service could not be held, as the king gave a grand reception to the newly-arrived, who made him large and valuable presents, while the beating of drums, firing of guns, and shouting of an excited crowd of onlookers, made it impossible to get a moment's quiet. The priests shewed a most unfriendly spirit, and Mackay felt that if they were allowed to remain it might be well for him and his missionary brethren to leave the country, as their preaching was put a stop to, their usefulness hindered, and their lives in danger. The king was ill again, and they were told that should he die, the chiefs intended to kill every foreigner in the country.

Still, in spite of difficulties and discouragements, they held on bravely. Going to the palace one Lord's day morning, Mackay asked the king if he should bring his Bible and read to him. The king said, "Yes, bring the book." He also asked many questions about the future state and the resurrection of the body. He did not, he said, wish either English, Scotch or French teachers to leave his country.

For a short time after this visit things went on more quietly. The preaching services were again held, and the printing-press was at work, for as the number of those who wished to be taught to read was increasing, scripture portions and reading-sheets were badly wanted.

The next serious trouble was with an old woman who said she was a witch and could cure the king of his illness. She saw him very often, and though his health did not improve, Mackay was grieved and disappointed on finding that to please her he had returned to many of his old heathen ways.

"How I wish I had learned to sew before coming here!" Mackay wrote one day in his journal. His clothes were all but worn out, and to dress himself with any degree of respectability was not easy. "I had a day at tailoring yesterday," he wrote. "A coat of checked tweed which one of the Nile party hung up in his hut at night on his way here, was partly eaten, and partly built into the wall before morning by the white ants; he made me a present of the coat, and I have patched and darned till the result is quite a tidy garment. But my needlework will not bear a very close inspection."

The mission stores were very low indeed. Hardly any barter cloth was left, so as Mackay and his friends were no longer able to buy food, but were obliged to live almost entirely on what the king chose to send, it was decided that he should again go to the coast to bring up supplies. Taking a few of his boys, he set out with as little delay as possible, but the journey was neither an easy nor a pleasant one. At every village, however small, they were stopped by its chief, who expected tribute or presents of cowries (a small shell, used as money in many parts of Africa), cloth, knives, or beads.

At one village be was obliged to wait for many days, as its chief was not content with such things as Mackay was able to give him. But his waiting time was not wasted. He spent much of it in teaching his boys; they in return told him many things he had not known before about the people, their customs, and belief in witchcraft.

At almost every stopping-place he was surrounded by crowds of women and small boys, who came out to indulge in a long stare at "the white man." Sometimes he would take out his musical-box, with which they were always delighted. In almost every case their favourite tune was "God save the Queen."

Often, when after a long day's march they stopped at some village, his rest was broken by the bitter wail of some mother whose son had been stolen and sold to the Arab slave-traders. Kid- napping boys who, when employed as shepherds or goatherds, were often too far away from their own village for their cries to be heard, was, he found, quite a common practice. There were always plenty of traders ready and willing to buy them; in some places hardly a boy was left. How he longed to do something to suppress, even if he could not stop their wicked trade!

But at last the object of his long and wearisome journey was gained, he got the needed stores, found porters, and started on his return journey.

When still at some distance from Uganda, his three faithful boys narrowly escaped a violent death. While they were sleeping in a hut behind the one in which Mackay (who was again down with fever) lay, some natives with whom they had quarrelled during the day rushed in upon them, firing their guns as they entered. The lads fled for their lives and Mackay, though feeling very ill, forced himself to get up, and after some trouble persuaded the leader of the party to sit down and talk to him. Other natives came up, all fully armed. The boys remained in hiding until far into the night, when after a long and exhausting debate, Mackay was able to induce the whole party to fire off their guns and go quietly to their homes.

Chapter 13.

Unfriendly Arabs.

New Year's Day, 1881, found Mackay and his brother missionary passing through a time of more than usual trial.

Mackay often thought of the home of his boyhood. The hills there were now covered with snow, almost dazzling in its whiteness. Under the hospitable roof of his father, friends and relations from whom he had been long parted were meeting; the fire burnt brightly, and everything spoke of comfort.

How different all was in Uganda! The drought which had set in some weeks before still lasted. The cloth, beads and other things brought for barter were all gone. The chiefs, though they found Mackay plenty of work, were unable to pay for what they required; some were so poor that they had been obliged to send away their many wives, who had gone to their country homes, and were living as best they could upon the roots they dug up. From early morning till late at night the tired missionary might have been seen busy at his bench, yet times were so bad that he was sometimes obliged to beg food, and often suffered keenly from hunger. He had to keep a sharp look out over the brass taps and other fittings of his engine, or they would have been stolen and worn as ornaments.

It was weary, up-hill work, and they often said to themselves, or each other,

"Now, the sowing and the weeping,

Working hard, and waiting long,"

and if they had not with God-given faith and courage looked on to an

"Afterward, the glorious reaping,

Harvest-home, and grateful song,"

they would have given up, and taken the first opportunity of leaving a field so unpromising as Uganda. But they did not give up; though often "faint," they were "still pursuing."

They went quietly on, teaching a few boys who came to them and using their spare time, when they had any, in translating the Gospel by Matthew into the language of Uganda. Mackay wrote: "In studying the gospels, word by word, I see in them more beauty than I ever saw before, and I pray that the Holy Spirit may bless them greatly, not only to my own soul, but to the faithful native boy who is my helper."

Letters from home, always so welcome to those abroad, and eagerly looked for, were due, and ought to arrive not later than the middle of January, also books, clothes and goods for barter. But instead of these, a bitter disappointment had to be faced. The stores had to be brought from the coast by Arab traders. The traders arrived, but upon being closely questioned, confessed that they had left the letters and goods with which they had been trusted at Kagei, a place at a great distance, from which they were not likely to arrive for many days, perhaps not at all. The king, though of uncertain temper, had learned not only to like, but to respect Mackay; he evidently did not wish him to leave the country, for sometimes he would listen with seeming interest to the gospel message.

The Arab slave-traders, who had never been friendly with Mackay, were now his bitter enemies. It would not be easy to decide which they hated with the more deadly hatred, the man who had dared to expose their wickedness, or the faith he taught. They lost no opportunity of trying to poison the mind of the king and his chiefs against him and his teaching, and tried in every possible way to hinder his work.

Long and trying interviews with the king took up much of Mackay's time during the next few months. Would the king allow any of his subjects who wished to become Christians to do so was a question to which it seemed impossible to get an answer. At one time the king would say, "There are many witches in Uganda [mostly old women] who have great power, and if I consent, they would kill any one who turned away from the gods of the country." To this Mackay would reply, "Mtesa says he is a great king, and if he gives liberty to his subjects to become Christians, the witches will not dare to injure them."

"I give liberty," said the king, "to all my subjects to learn to read. You may teach reading to any who wish to be taught."

"But learning to read does not make any one a Christian," urged the missionary. "The liberty for which we ask is for any who in their hearts believe in the true God, and His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, to confess their faith by baptism."

"If I consent," said the king on another occasion, "can I have an English princess, a daughter of Queen Victoria, for my wife?" Mackay smiled, but prudence suggested the answer, that as he was not an English princess, he was unable to say.

Frequent attacks of fever, quickly following each other, sometimes as many as three in a single week, weakened Mackay greatly. He wrote in his notebook, January 6th, 1881: "At midday, the usual hour, a bad turn of fever came on, in just the old way: cold shivers, pain all over the body, most severe in the head, and sickness. Got into bed, but a hundred blankets, even if I had had them, would have been of no use. A fire lighted close to my bed, on the floor, gave no warmth in the first stage of the attack. The coldness was followed by a burning fever; a few cups of hot tea bring on perspiration, and after a night of broken sleep and frightful dreams, leaves one the next morning weak, sick, and fit for nothing."

The Arab traders were a never-ending source of trouble and annoyance to him. Though there was not a word of truth in the stories they told the king about his past life, and his reasons for coming to Uganda, at times the king seemed inclined to listen to and believe them. The king really disliked, and knew he could not trust the traders, but as they brought him presents of guns and gunpowder, he did not wish to offend them.

Mackay next asked for permission to leave the country and return to England, but this the king was unwilling to give. He at first refused, and afterwards made excuses to delay his departure.

Chapter 14.

Letters from Home.

For a time at least, day after day seemed to bring some fresh trouble to our missionary friends. The much-dreaded plague broke out in the palace, and several of the king's wives died within a few hours. The king and his chiefs left with all possible haste for the hills, and Mackay and his friend, Mr. Pearson, had to endure many hardships and privations. They were often hungry and in want of proper clothing.

Under date March 13th, 1881, Mackay wrote in his notebook: "The hours of daylight are very precious, as we have only one candle left, and we do not know when we may get more. Fat and oil are not to be had, hence every hour of daylight must be filled up with useful work; so after dark we must just sit in the dark, as we have had to do at intervals many times before. I miss a nightlight for reading or writing a little. There is so much to be done, that I always grudge the hours of daylight for these purposes, but now I must do without my evenings. How I thank my dear father for the pains he took to store my mind with useful knowledge. When I cannot read or write, I often enjoy a quiet hour spent in recalling much that I learnt when quite a boy."

Food, too, was scarce and dear; sometimes for days, or even weeks, they were unable to get anything except a few plantains, and to buy these they had to part with all the clothes they could possibly spare.

March 14th "I had been busy all the forenoon translating, and had just got to work printing our first book of texts. I had my composing-stick in my hand, and was just in the middle of the verse, God so loved the world, that he gave...' when I heard a shout outside. It was our boys, who had set it up to welcome the man we had sent down to the coast for letters two months before. Down went my work, and on went my sun hat and white canvas coat, and I was out in a moment, just starving for home news and letters. Pearson was letter sorter. He had fifteen letters, but I had forty. I just hugged them with delight, and asked for the books and papers my dear ones at home never failed to send me. But none had come, so we began to read our letters. We read while daylight lasted, and as the moon was full and the sky clear, we were able to read by moonlight for some hours longer. Then we lighted our one remaining candle, and finished our piles. We were too happy and excited for sleep, so talked to a late hour.

"We have nothing to go by here as to when we may expect letters. After about three months, we begin to think that in another three months we may get home letters, but we often have to wait much longer. When we send off our letters, please don't think all that is needed is that they should be stamped and posted. First we have to consider which of our men we can best spare. Perhaps those we fix upon refuse to go, and we have to try others, till a party of four is made up. Each man asks for a gun, powder and caps; also calico to wear, and calico to buy food with. If he has any small debts, we are expected to pay them. We have also to settle with the owners of some canoes about to cross the lake for the passage of our letter-carriers. We are glad when their backs are turned, as we have been writing late the night before, and the packet has to be made up, sealed, sewn into a piece of strong calico or bark-cloth, with a string for hanging round the neck of the carrier."

The king, who for some time had been suffering from several diseases, was again seriously ill. His mother (the Queen Dowager), who had her own court at some distance, paid him a visit. She was a heathen, and had always been unfriendly to the missionaries; but on this visit her object was to attempt to cure the king of his sickness. All the donkeys were, she said, to be killed, or sent out of the country before the king could recover.

The mission house, or hut, was three miles away from the royal palace, and as the long walk was trying in the great heat, Mackay had for some time been the owner of a donkey, not so much for his own use as that of a fellow-worker. The king did not order it to be given up, but sent two of his pages to "borrow" it. The donkey was never seen again.

Still many pupils, both chiefs and slaves, came to Mackay, all anxious to be taught to read, and amid all his troubles he was often cheered and encouraged. Sometimes they were only allowed to visit him for a short time, and were ordered off to some other part of the country. But as they had all, or nearly all, very good memories, and learned to read quickly, it seldom took more than two months to teach one of the younger boys to read fluently. Their teacher was not discouraged, for he felt sure that they would carry the good news they had heard, also some sheets of texts, into places where he could not go himself.

In one of his home letters Mackay described himself as "engineer, builder, printer, physician, surgeon and general artificer to Mtesa, King of Uganda, and overlord of Unyoro."

The summer proved a more than usually hot one, and the plague spread rapidly. Many died, and though Mackay felt it would be unwise, as he did not really understand the disease, to attempt to do much for those who were really down with it, he spent a good deal of time in trying to make the king understand how much might be done to prevent the terrible disease from spreading.

The king gave a patient hearing, and said something ought to be done. But though numbers of women and slaves were set to work to sweep and clear the roads, the huts remained as dirty and ill-smelling as they had been before.

A young elephant was captured in the forest, and of course presented to the king, who handed it over to the care of the missionaries, with a request that they would teach it to obey, carry loads, and do other useful things like the tame elephants of which he had beard in India. The time and trouble this would involve was by far too great an addition to their regular work, beside, they could not afford to feed the hungry animal. So Mackay sent it back with a message that if the king would build a suitable house, send two men to attend to it, and send daily food enough for the elephant and its keepers, he was quite willing to look after it. This, he knew, the king would not be likely to do, and no more was heard of the elephant.

Chapter 15.

Market-Day in Uganda.

From early morning till night Mackay was hard at work. For many weeks all the time he could possibly spare was spent in building a house, "fit," as he said, "for an Englishman to live in."

Perhaps the weekly rest of the Lord's day had never been more welcome to him than at this time. Under date January 8th, 1882, he wrote, "Had a pleasant afternoon with my young men, studying two of the psalms. How glad I am when Sunday comes round, bringing as it does a few hours rest and quiet, and giving me a little time to get food for my own soul, never more needed than in this dark and heathen land."

The house was finished at last. The people�rich and poor, high and low�came in crowds to see, admire and wonder. Indeed, on some days Mackay had so many visitors that for hours together he was able to do little except answer, or try to answer, their questions. Windows! and doors with locks and hinges! a double story, and a staircase with a handrail! and if last, not least, an oven in which Mackay and his friends could bake their own bread! Such wonderful things had never before been seen in Uganda!

But the greatest wonder of all was a cart, built by his own hands, and painted red and blue; it was drawn by a couple of bullocks he had broken in and trained to pull.

Such a thing as a market had never been heard of in Uganda. But one day when the king asked how it was that many other countries were so much richer than his own, he was told that one way by which not only men but nations became rich, was by trade.

They had markets, in which they bought and sold. He thought it would be a very good thing to have a market, and ordered that a piece of ground close to the palace should be cleared and enclosed at once, though almost his next words shewed that he really did not know much about buying and selling, by making a law that any one offering articles for sale in any place but the market should be chopped in pieces!

Busy as Mackay had been, he had never lost sight of his real object in going to Uganda, which was to help carry the glad tidings of the gospel to its dark, ignorant people. In weakness and weariness he and his fellow workers had sown the "good seed," and the God in whom they trusted gave the increase.

In the spring of 1882 he was greatly cheered by the baptism of the first native converts, five young men who had, there was good reason to believe, received a saving knowledge of Christ. Several among his older pupils had also asked for baptism, but it was judged best for them to wait. All the pupils were, however, invited to be present, and all greatly enjoyed a treat of beef, plantains and other good things that had been provided for them.

Mackay wrote to friends in the homeland, "Our daily prayer for these dear lads, all of whom have reached the years of manhood, is that they may be kept faithful, and that the Lord may give them much grace. They may be called to suffer for Christ's sake, but each may be 'a light shining in a dark place,' and may, we hope, be the means of leading others to the Saviour."

In reply to a letter urging him to leave Africa for a time, and take a year's rest at home, he wrote, "I cannot forsake my work till God gives me some plain proof that the time for me to do so has really come. Our mission party is much too small for the varied kinds of work going on, and I have no right to leave while I have strength to stay."

On one occasion he put the bullocks into his cart and drove to market, a distance of three miles from the mission station, as he wanted to buy a load of plantains; but when he reached the market no one was there. The king, on hearing of his arrival, ordered his wives to go at once and sell plantains, bidding them also take a good look at the cart, as, though he would not go out himself, he wished very much to know what it was like.

Mackay gave an amusing account of his return journey. In the first place the people wondered how he got his oxen yoked. Did he tie them by their tails? "Off we went," he wrote, "down the steep hill, with the crowd after us. When I clapped on the brake, they all yelled with delight; at every yell the oxen went faster, and the crowd grew thicker; on they ran, some before, and some behind, till at last I had a procession of not less than a thousand. But oh, the noise they made! It was no easy task to drive. We however reached home without any mishap."

Chapter 16.

A Royal Funeral.

We know something of the many ways in which Mackay had made himself useful to the king and people of Uganda, but a new kind of service, neither expected nor wished for, was forced upon him. Early in the spring of 1882 Namasole, the Queen Dowager, died, and in great haste the king sent for Mackay. He wished to know how the kings and queens of England had been buried. Mtesa wished equal, or, if possible, greater honour to be paid to the memory of his mother, who died as she had lived, a heathen. He pressed Mackay to act as undertaker.

Printing, teaching, translating and other work made his life a very busy one but he did not wish to offend the king, so he consented.

The court presented a strange scene, All the chiefs and nobles were dressed in rags, and as each pretended to be crying, but was really yelling at the top of his voice, it could have been no easy matter to hear his own voice, or find out what the king really wanted.

Court mourning in Uganda lasts thirty days. No letters could be sent away, as no boat was allowed to start. No native must carry a load, and no work of any kind could be done till the royal lady was buried. Mackay, however, was toiling from morning till late at night, for everything had been left to and depended upon him. The king said the funeral was to outdo in every way, both in cost and grandeur, that of any former king or queen, and a tax of two thousand native or bark-cloths was at once laid upon his subjects.

Coffins for the dead were things unknown in Uganda, but on hearing that at the funeral of an English king or queen three coffins, two of wood and one of lead, would be required, the king said it was "good," and asked Mackay if he could make three coffins. Little knowing the task he was undertaking, he said if Mtesa would give him wood, metal and men to help he would try. The king said he had no lead, but would give him copper and bronze trays and bowls, of which he had a great number. These were sent to Mackay, who at once turned the school-house he was building into a workshop, and all the smiths who could be mustered were set to work to hammer them into flat plates. Like most of Mackay's native helpers, they were of little real use, as, though they had no objection to looking on, it was almost impossible to get them to work for any length of time, and, of course, the funeral could not take place till the coffins were ready.

Unforeseen difficulties now arose. The grave, Mackay was told, would be a deep pit, so the coffins must be made very, very large. Mackay told the king that he should require much more wood than had been supplied, so men were sent into the forest to cut down trees; but the planks they brought were so crooked and uneven as to be of little real use. A large tree had been chopped up to make two boards!

He next asked for logs. These, he was told, could not be had. But as he said he must have them, or the work could not go on, the men said they would try. The next evening about two hundred shouting and yelling men appeared, some pulling, others pushing, a thick slice of a tree, dragging it along the rough ground by the climbing stems which still clung about it.

Mackay laughed, and told them he could carry it alone. They looked their wonder, and it was easy to see they only half believed his words, but when he lifted the body of the cart off the wheels, and strapping the log to its axle with leather ropes, with one hand pushed it along, the crowd grew thicker, their yells louder. They danced, clapped their hands, and cried out, "Mackay is truly the lubare!" (the favourite idol of Uganda).

To write the story of all the trouble and worry Mackay had in performing the task of undertaker to the dead queen would make my chapter far too long. Every day, and sometimes several times during the day, pages were sent from the palace to report the progress of the work. With one or two exceptions the native workmen ran away, and Mackay was left almost single-handed to complete the work. From early morning till far into the night, and sometimes all night, saw and hammer were in his hands.

The Arab traders, who had all along disliked and tried to injure him, shewed the same unfriendly spirit. They told the king Mackay was wasting his time, and keeping back the wood that had been sent for the coffins to build his own house. For once, however, the king refused to believe their reports, and remained friendly.

At last all was ready, and the day of the burial fixed. The pit was of great depth; thousands of bark-cloths were neatly spread along the bottom, or fastened on to its sides. Into it the coffins were, with great labour, one by one lowered, the space being then filled up with more cloth, many hundred yards of English calico being added. Mackay said afterwards he did not think there could have been so much cloth in the country, and when he and his brother missionary tried to put into writing the actual value of the cloth, beads and other things put into the grave, they found it came to little short of fifteen thousand pounds in English money.

How sad it is to think of all this reckless waste at the burial of one who had turned a deaf ear to the gospel message; who died trusting to idols, and hoping the bundles of charms put into her coffin would secure her happiness after death!

The day after the funeral every man, woman and child had their heads shaved, and laid aside the rags they had worn during the court mourning. Mackay was, we may be sure, glad of a little time to rest his aching limbs and toil-hardened hands. One native workman, the head blacksmith, had stood by him. This man soon after became an inquirer, confessed his faith in Christ, asked for baptism, and proved a bright Christian and a faithful friend to the missionaries.

Chapter 17.

Boat-Builders.

After the royal funeral, things in Uganda went on much as they had done before the thirty days of enforced idleness always required when the court went into mourning. Mackay, who had been again (after an interval of two years) suffering from attacks of fever, sorely needed rest. Friends in the homeland pressed his return, if only for twelve months; but though it must have cost him a great deal to refuse, there was, he felt, so much to be done, and so few to do it, that he decided, if possible, to hold out for another year or two.

The Roman Catholic priests left the country, taking with them about fifty small boys they had purchased and were teaching to say Latin prayers and make the sign of the cross. Shortly after their departure another missionary, Mr. Ashe, arrived at Uganda. This was a great cheer to Mackay who, during the six years they worked together, found in him not only a devoted fellow-labourer, but a true friend and brother.

Early in the year 1883 a letter was received at the mission station from Urima, a district at the south end of the lake. It was a letter of only three words, "We have arrived," and Mackay was left to guess who the "we" were. About a month later he heard that stores and other things he had been for some time expecting had been sent on by an Arab dhow and were lying at the port. With the help of a young chief he got porters to carry the loads, and before sunrise the next morning set off with a donkey and four men, himself walking most of the way, in the hope of shaking off a threatened attack of fever.

On reaching the port they were sorry to find that all the calicoes, barter cloths and other things had suffered severely from the wet, but it was too late in the day to do much in the way of opening the bales and drying the goods. A young Arab gave the tired missionary part of his supper of rice and gravy, and cleared out half his tent for him to sleep in. The chief, who was quite an old friend, sent as a present a sheep and some sugar-canes. About midnight a fearful storm of thunder and rain came on, and Mackay, who was lying on the ground with the donkey's saddle for his pillow, soon found that the thin calico tent was no protection from the fury of the storm; and as it was on the open beach, no shelter was to be had. His blankets were dripping, and the floor flooded; he got to the top of a bale, and sat there, half asleep, till the morning.

The rain lasted all day. The next night he got a hut, if such it could he called, for it was a cow-shed. The swarms of fleas and mosquitoes made sleep almost impossible. Next day the work of looking over and drying the goods began. Many bottles of medicine were broken, and the oil-cans leaked badly. This was a great loss, as night in the tropics comes on quickly, and it meant often being obliged to sit through the long hours of darkness without a light. After repacking the bales, he engaged more porters, but just as they were about to start, rain came on, and they all ran away.

Many delays followed, but at last he reached a place nine miles from the mission station. The people came in crowds to see and hear "the wisdom of the white man," as he told them of the one true God, and tried to shew them that the charms in which they trusted had been of no use to keep away the plague, from which many had died. He advised them to clean their houses and roads.

A week later Mackay wrote, "Many visitors to-day. One man had been a witch-doctor and fortune-teller. His master, a sub-chief, had taken very kindly to learning, and wished to have all his people, women as well as men, taught to read, but by the king's orders was suddenly sent away to a great distance. But he had not forgotten us, for the old man brought as a present from his master � a fine fat bullock. The old man said that since hearing his master taught about the one true God, he had thrown his charms into the swamp, and no longer believed in witchcraft.

"Another old man came in who said he had heard of the fame of our wonderful house at the other end of the lake, and had travelled many miles to see it for himself. We had some interesting conversation, and before leaving his faith in charms was somewhat shaken, as he owned they could not keep sickness and death away. He promised to come again to hear more, and said he would bring a friend. We hope they will come, and that the Holy Spirit may so open their eyes that they will not only throw away their idols, but believe in the Lord Jesus Christ as their own trusted Saviour."

Boat-building was the next large piece of work Mackay had to undertake. A boat for the use of the mission had been sent out in numbered sections, but when he reached the place where they had been left, he saw the task that lay before him would not be an easy one. The covering that had been put over the sections to protect them from sun and rain had been stolen. Bolts, iron plates, nails and screws were all missing, and the planks had been so warped by the sun that many of them were quite useless.

He was in a district ruled over by a king who had never seen a white man, and was not at all sure that he would be allowed to stay long enough to build a boat. The king accepted a present of cloth and other things, but refused to see Mackay, saying he was afraid of the white man, though he wished to be friends with him. He was afraid to let him stay in his village (ten miles away), and he must only stay for a month, as no rain would fall as long as the white man was near, and the crops would be spoiled. The people came in crowds to see the strange white man, and he was able to tell them that it is only God who can give or withhold the rain.

After a great deal of very hard work, the "Eleanor," as the boat was called, was built, painted and launched. It was not roomy or comfortable; a Scotch herring-boat would, he said, have been far better, but such as it was, he was thankful for it.

Chapter 18.

The New King.

The year 1884 was one long to be remembered in the history of missionary work in Uganda. During its early months Mackay made several journeys to the south side of the lake Nyanza.

On one occasion, as he had been unable to get bread, plantains, or other food supplies on board before starting, the missionary and his crew were very hungry, so they made up their minds to try, if possible, to land upon the large island of Sesse, where he hoped to find friendly natives who would be willing to sell food. But in this he was disappointed, for they no sooner caught sight of the boat than they ran down in crowds to the beach, uttering frightful yells, throwing stones, and shaking their spears and war-clubs in a very threatening manner.

Mackay stood up in the boat, and holding up cloth, beads, and a string of cowries, did his best to explain that he had not come to rob, but to buy of them, but could not get a hearing. It was as much as he and his men could do to keep the boat out of the range of the stones, which at times came flying in showers. Still, in the goodness of God, no one was hurt. He then asked if, as they refused to let him land, they would put out a canoe and bring food for sale, but even this they could not be persuaded to do. It was trying to be obliged to go away hungry, but he wrote in his journal: "These poor people have been so badly treated, and so often robbed and even murdered by Arab traders, that I was not surprised that they were afraid to allow strangers to land. Had we persisted in landing, it is quite likely they would have all run away, and I should have been no nearer buying food than before."

For several years King Mtesa had been in failing health, and day by day he grew weaker. To the end of his life he continued in a half-hearted way friendly to the missionaries, but gave them no ground for hope that he had really accepted Christ. His illness was kept a great secret, and he had been dead for some days before the news got abroad. The death of a sovereign in Uganda had always been a signal for plunder and bloodshed, and there were grave reasons to fear that for some time neither life nor property would be safe.

Mackay was away at the coast when a messenger arrived with the tidings, at the same time telling him that four of his men whom he had sent to the port for stores had been robbed, and forced to run for their lives. Houses and gardens were being robbed, and the mission house was to be burnt or pulled down. Nearly all his men were away, but he felt that he ought to return at once.

After many hours hard work the boat was launched and safely anchored near the shore. On the return journey the boat narrowly escaped being swamped during a violent gale, but by the good hand of God no lives were lost.

The morning after his return to the mission premises, Mackay received a message from the chiefs, who had sent a party of a hundred armed men to escort him to the palace. They could not settle the question of who was to fill the throne left vacant by the death of the king till after his funeral, and Mackay was required with all possible haste to make the coffins. The palace presented a strange scene. Thousands of women were weeping, or pretending to weep, and uttering mournful cries; while the men were yelling and roaring in a way that in one of his home letters he described as "simply frightful."

They wanted three coffins, but after a good deal of talking, said they would be content with two. Mackay went back to the mission house for tools and some zinc cases to be hammered into plates, collected as many native helpers as he could, and set to work with a will. By dawn the next morning the coffins were finished and the funeral took place.

The king had many sons, and the new king was to be chosen from among them by the chiefs. Their choice fell upon Mwanga, a youth of about seventeen, who bore a strong likeness to his father. His mother became at once a very important person, and the queen-sister, or maiden-queen, was at once chosen from among the princesses.

The missionaries were pleased that Mwanga had been the prince chosen to succeed his father. They knew him well, as he had often visited them and received instruction. On one occasion he had been asked how, if ever he became king, he would treat his old friends the missionaries? His reply was, "I shall like you very much, and shew you every favour." But he was no sooner raised to the throne than he forgot his promise and behaved very badly.

On their first visit to the court after his accession he refused to see them, and when, after long waiting, they obtained an interview, his manner was rude and insulting in the extreme. He received their presents of cloth, beads, and a large umbrella, but was very haughty.

It was not long before he shewed himself in his true colours as a bitter enemy of the gospel. Several of the chiefs, seeing the temper of the king, made the most of their opportunity to still further poison the mind of Mwanga against the missionaries, though still making a shew of being friendly to them. Persecution broke out; a plot to entrap Mackay and the native Christians, the firstfruits of his work in Uganda, was laid.

It was again a needs-be that Mackay should take a journey to the south side of the lake. Permission to go was given him by the king, also by a chief through whose district they would have to pass. He started with a fellow missionary and two of his christian lads. As they were about to enter a dense forest they were met by a party of armed men, who drove them back, and after tying the hands of the boys, carried them of as prisoners. The missionaries never saw them again.

Chapter 19.

Testing Times.

Unable to learn what had become of the two christian boys who had been so roughly taken from them, they went to a chief who, only a few days before, had made a great profession of being their friend, and begged to know the fate of the boys. They could not get a hearing, and were treated with great rudeness and violence. King Mwanga had, they were told, given orders that all the Christians in Uganda were to be burnt.

With almost breaking hearts the missionaries left, and making all possible haste to the mission premises, told their pupils of the state of things and urged them to fly and hide themselves in the woods, but had great difficulty in persuading them to do so.

Later in the day they heard that the mission boys had, with another young man, also a Christian, been burnt to death. The young martyrs had, they were told, boldly confessed their faith in Christ. Some said that after the fire was lighted they sang in their own language a hymn beginning with, "Daily, daily sing His praises."

Mackay wrote, "Our hearts are well-nigh breaking! Our Christians are all driven away, and we are lonely and deserted, sick and sad."

Under date February 8th he wrote, "Ashe and I have been all this week busy printing. It is quite likely we may be driven away, and if so, we cannot do better than leave as many scripture portions and gospel books as possible. These will be treasured by the Christians, and so the work of God may go on, even if our voices are no longer heard."

King Mwanga sent for the missionaries, and pretended that the boys had been burnt without his knowledge or consent. Mackay did not believe this, and spoke very plainly and faithfully to the king, though knowing that he risked his own life by doing so. He told the king that the boys had not been guilty of any crime, and to burn them because they loved the Lord Jesus and read their Bibles was to commit a great sin against God.

Amid all the gloom and sorrow the Lord did not leave His servants without encouragement. Night after night numbers, mostly young men and boys, came to the mission house, and said they wished to confess Christ by baptism. They knew the danger, but were, they said, willing to face it, and many were baptised. Some even found courage to visit the missionaries during the daytime, though such were always advised not to do so, as the mission premises were closely watched, and any native found there might be burnt!

News of the wreck of the mission boat, "The Eleanor," now reached Mackay, but without permission from the king or the head chief, he could not go to the lake to see for himself the extent of the damage she had suffered. To obtain this was difficult and trying in the extreme; much valuable time was wasted, as the chief to whom he first applied sent him to the king, and the king back again to the chief. And when, after many delays, the order was given, and Mackay started with a party carrying ropes, boathooks, axes and other things he expected to find useful in the work of repair, he had not gone far before he was met by a party of armed men, who said they had orders not to allow him to reach the port. There was nothing for it but to turn back, and again taking with him a present, seek an interview with the king. The present was accepted, a fresh permission given, and he again set out to reach the lake.

"The Eleanor" lay on her side, almost covered with water, but after a great deal of very hard work was raised, and drawn up high and dry on the beach, the water baled out, and the boat found very little the worse for her supposed wreck.

There were many points on which the king and his chiefs could not agree, and more than once it looked as if a rebellion was about to break out. The missionaries gave themselves to prayer, feeling almost sure that if the chiefs got the upper hand they had nothing to expect but martyrdom. For once the weak king acted with firmness, he deposed the rebel chiefs, and several who were friendly to the mission were put in their places. "By this act," Mackay wrote, "the king has saved himself and us. God be thanked!"

Mackay's skill as boat-builder, carpenter, printer and in other ways again gained him a measure of favour. The king sent for him, said he was much pleased with a shelf he had put up for his clock, and expressed a wish to be again on friendly terms. The chiefs said, "The white men are men of truth, they do not, like the Arab traders, mix ashes with the salt to make it look more."

Mackay told the king that by being ahead of his subjects in reading and knowledge, he would set them a good example. Mwanga said he had often wished to learn to read, but had always been opposed by his chiefs. Mackay told him he was king, and could be powerful when he liked.

For a little while things went on more quietly. Mackay had many opportunities of speaking very plainly to the king, and told him that the blessing of God could not rest upon his country as long as robbery and murder were allowed. He also urged him to make a law putting a stop to the slave trade. Much might, he saw, be done to prevent the spread of plague and small-pox, from which great numbers were dying, if the people could only be induced to keep their persons and houses clean, and not allow rubbish to stand in rotten, ill-smelling heaps before their doors.

Chapter 20.

A Noble Army of Martyrs.

"Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;

The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;

When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,

Help of the helpless, O abide with me."

The well-known lines I have just quoted must often have been the language of the sorely-tried missionaries in Uganda, for every day King Mwanga seemed to become more cruel and blood-thirsty than before. It was very seldom that a week passed without some of his unfortunate subjects being cruelly put to death. In August, 1885, the king took a trip on the lake, and ordered Mackay to accompany him. The very first day twenty poor natives whom they met were killed. Mackay writes in his diary: "This wicked work must stop. I hope to try by God's help to shew the evil of such murder, and if it continue I must enter my protest and return to the capital."

Not long after a fresh trouble caused deep sorrow to Mackay and his friend, Mr. Ashe. One day they heard that white men with a caravan were entering Uganda by a road that the king called his "back door," and the next the sad news reached them that the whole party, who proved to be Bishop Hannington and his followers, had been murdered by the express orders of the king, who knew that they had brought large quantities of beads, barter cloth, and other things which fell into his hands, and which he had brought to the palace by night, as he did not wish the news of this fresh crime to get abroad.

The missionaries spent much of their time in translating and printing portions of scripture, feeling sure that if they were obliged to leave the country, or, as it often seemed likely, called upon to lay down their lives for Christ's sake, God would still watch over and bless His own written word.

Many of the native Christians had been killed. Some were burnt, others killed by the sword. They witnessed a good confession, and boldly owned their faith in Christ, and the head executioner told the king that he had never killed such brave people. "They died," he said, "calling upon God."

It was well known that any native found on the mission premises, which were often closely watched, would at once be arrested, and perhaps put to a cruel death; yet many, mostly young men and lads, found courage to visit them, some in broad daylight, though by far the larger number came by night. All received scripture portions, and many were baptised.

Sometimes the missionaries thought that the time for them to leave the country had really come, but without royal permission it would, they knew, be impossible for them to do so. Mackay had made himself far too useful as builder, doctor, worker in metals, carpenter and undertaker, to be readily spared. Though more than once he was told by the king that he intended to kill all the white men in the country, permission to leave was refused. "A great king like me," said Mwanga, "must always have a man of skill to work for him; I will not let you go away, not even if they send seventy letters for you!"

Still, week by week the christian company grew larger, and on July 25th 1888, the missionaries' journal shewed that two hundred and thirty-seven persons had been baptised. Several christian couples had also been married. On that date, under cover of darkness, fifty converts ventured from their hiding-places, and met at the mission house, where, at midnight, they united in remembering the Lord's death.

The king called for his fortune-tellers, and ordered them to find out by the use of charms and devil worship if it would be safe for him to kill Mackay. Mr. Ashe had at last been allowed to leave for England, and Mackay was alone.

Some of the friendly chiefs disapproved strongly. "No, you must not kill Mackay," they said, "he is your friend; he buried the old queen-mother, he buried Mtesa, he is a man of great wisdom." The king was angry, and said he would go with armed men and fight and kill Mackay, but the God in whom the lonely missionary trusted kept the wicked king from carrying out his threat.

The Arab traders, who had never forgiven Mackay for exposing their evil deeds and trying to put a stop to the slave trade, made many false charges against him, telling the king that white men would take his country and crown from him. The witch doctors were then ordered to bewitch Mackay and all the Christians in the country; but, as he wrote, "if they are content to stop at this, no harm will be done."

Meanwhile things were not going well with the king. First he had sore eyes, for which, of course unjustly, he blamed Mackay; then his palace was burnt down, and all his goods lost. His gunpowder kegs, which he kept in a straw hut where a fire was constantly burning, blew up, and great damage was done. Many were killed by the explosion, and others wounded. His Majesty then took refuge with his head chief, but he had only been there a few days when the house was set on fire by lightning, and the powder exploded.

The king was now in a terrible fright, and said he was bewitched, and must kill Mackay. Food supplies often ran short, and anxiety, hard work, want of sleep, and frequent attacks of fever told greatly upon Mackay's health. One day, to his great surprise, the queen-mother sent him a present of a fine fat cow, without begging for any gift in return.

Chapter 21.

Great Changes.

After many delays, and a great deal of trouble and annoyance, Mackay got the king and his

chiefs to consent to his leaving Uganda for a time; perhaps a year or longer. But it was not to visit the scenes of his boyhood, though he stood sadly in need of a real holiday. Constant work, hardship and privation, with frequent attacks of fever, had done much to injure his health; he was often weak and suffering. The Roman Catholic priests who had returned to Uganda would, he knew, rejoice at his going, as it would allow them to have things much in their own hands; but this, he felt sure, would not be God's way of blessing for the country and its people. So he gave up all thought of a visit to the homeland, determined to go only to the south side of the lake, there to see how far it was possible to carry the glad tidings of a Saviour's love to the tribes living in villages along the coast, to whom the gospel had never been preached. He also intended to wait for and welcome fresh missionaries, who were, he had heard, on their way from England.

The journey took many days, and while on the road Mackay wrote to his sister: "Every half-mile or so along the coast we come upon a tiny hamlet of from twenty to thirty round huts, surrounded by a rough fence of cocoa logs, with, of course, a kraal for cattle in the centre. These villages are of great interest from a missionary point of view, they are just so many fields, I will not say 'white to harvest,' but where a great deal of ploughing and sowing needs to be done, and there may have to be long and patient waiting for the reaping time, but come it will. One great difficulty is that hardly two of these villages speak the same language, and as we cannot stop long enough at each to learn more than a few words, we are unable to do much in the way of giving them the gospel."

The printing-press had not been left in Uganda, and Mackay was soon hard at work printing scripture portions and reading sheets, which he hoped to send to Uganda. House building also took up a good deal of his time, for the expected missionaries might arrive any day, and he wanted to be able to give them at least the shelter of a roof.

They came at last, a party of six, one of their number being Mackay's old friend and fellow-labourer, Mr. Ashe. It was a great pleasure to the lonely missionary to welcome his brethren, and they had many happy seasons of prayer and fellowship together. Within a fortnight after their arrival two of the party received their home-call. They had appeared in perfect health, but could not rally from their first attack of fever.

One day Mackay received a letter from Mwanga, the king of Uganda, asking him to send, with as little delay as possible, the new missionary who had come with Mr. Ashe from England. Mr. Walker went, Mr. Gordon having already gone to supply Mackay's place as far as possible. The king, on Mr. Walker's arrival, gave him quite a grand reception, and seemed to wish him to think that though as a sovereign he had great power, his desire was to be on good terms with the missionaries.

Mr. Ashe, whose health again broke down, was obliged to return to England, so again Mackay was alone. But, as he said, he had not time to be lonely, so much needed to be done. Crowds of natives came to look and wonder at the wisdom of the white man, and all who could read received some portion of scripture.

A tribal war was going on, and as a large number of boxes, bales and packages belonging to the great African traveller, Stanley, had been sent on to his care, it took much thought and time to find safe places in which to hide them all until the trouble was over.

Great changes were taking place in Uganda. The cruelty and greed of the king had long caused a great deal of discontent, and at last the chiefs took up arms against him, made justly angry by finding that he had intended to ship his body guard to a desert island, and there leave them to die of starvation. The king fled in haste and fear to the lake, followed by a number of his women. Only one canoe was to be had, so most of the women had to be left behind, but he reached an Arab station on the south coast of Speke Gulf.

From there he wrote to Mackay, begging him to come quickly, and take him away from the Arabs, who were robbing him. In the true spirit of Christ-like compassion and love Mackay felt sorry for Mwanga, and more than once sent him barter goods with which to buy food and clothing. After many troubles the exiled king was able to return to Uganda, and at last to his capital and palace.

But how had Messrs. Gordon and Walker been faring in Uganda? It was months since Mackay had heard of them, and he often felt anxious and longed for some letter or message from his absent friends. One morning the mission boat, "The Eleanor," came in sight, and to his surprise and delight the missionaries were on board. They were thin, pale, sick and almost without clothing, for, as Mr. Walker said, they had just been bundled on board, but without their bundles.

They had a strange, sad story to tell. For a week they had been imprisoned in a wretched hut, where they were kept almost without food, with only a blanket each, and had to lie among filth too horrible to write about. More than once they had expected to be dragged out and cruelly put to death; but the good hand of God was over them, and their lives were spared.

When they were pushed on board "The Eleanor" they had very few clothes, no food or bedding was given them, and they had no protection from sun or rain. They would have been well-nigh starved had it not been for the French priests who were on board the same boat, who, being a little better off than themselves, kindly shared with them what food they had. Mr. Walker had only saved two books, one being his Testament, but these were taken from him and thrown into the lake.

Many Christians who had escaped from Uganda found their way to the mission station, and though the Africans are not naturally fond of work, Mackay did his utmost to shew them that the blessing of God cannot rest on idleness, and some became his willing helpers.

Chapter 22.

Friends from Afar.

Something unusual must have happened, or was going to happen, for though it was hardly daybreak, every one at the little mission station where Mackay had so patiently awaited the arrival of the great African traveller, Henry Stanley, was astir, and every one was busy. A fine goat had been killed and roasted, fresh bread baked, and everything, indoors and out, put in readiness for the guests who might arrive at any time.

Again and again watchers were sent to a hill at no great distance, from which a good view could be had, and when at last the news came that though still at some distance, the long line was really in sight, Mackay put on a white linen suit, and sun hat, and went off to welcome Stanley, his friends and followers. They were a large party, consisting of Mr. Stanley, Emin Pasha, with his daughter, and about half a dozen other gentlemen, while their following of soldiers, baggage-carriers, drivers and others, numbered nearly eight hundred.

For many days they had forced their way along, sometimes wading knee-deep through swamps, sometimes through forests where the trees grew so closely together that it was dark even at noon-day. Food supplies had often run short, and they were all very tired. So for nearly three weeks they rested. To the missionary, who for months together had worked single-handed in the midst of heathen darkness and superstition, the society of Mr. Stanley and his friends was a great pleasure. They had much in common, for the man who had found Livingstone had learnt to love and value his Bible.

"How was he led into the light?" some of my readers may ask. I will tell you in as nearly as I can remember his own words. "I was down with fever," he wrote, "and lay in my tent very sick and lonely. I badly wanted something to read, but most of my baggage had been left on the road, and all that could be found was an old English newspaper and a Bible. I tried the newspaper first, but soon grew tired of it; then I took up the Bible. I read it that day as I had never done before; and alone, in the heart of that African forest, I remembered my Creator, and as I read the New Testament peace came to my soul."

Stanley strongly urged Mackay to leave his work for a time, perhaps a year or so, and return with him to England. He had been so long at his post, had suffered so much from fever, and was looking so ill and worn, that he really ought to have a rest. All this was true, friends in the homeland were writing by every mail pressing his return. But he could not be persuaded to go. The long, dark night of cruelty and persecution in Uganda was, he believed, nearly over; the gospel was winning its way, there were many inquirers; and until some one came out to take his place and carry on his work, he was not at liberty to go.

And so the parting came. Good-byes were said, and Mackay, who had walked for some distance with the caravan, returned to his mission station. Stanley soon after arrived in England and found himself a popular and much-talked-of man. He was received by royalty; honours were heaped upon him. Perhaps Mackay little thought how very soon higher honours and richer rewards were to be his: the home-call and the Master's words, "Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."

Busy days followed. A great deal had to be done to get the mission boat, "The Eleanor," into good working order, for though new boilers and other parts had been sent from England in numbered sections, it had been impossible to get them together before. They had suffered greatly from rust, and some parts were so bent and damaged as to be quite useless; nails and screws had been lost or stolen.

All through the winter of 1889 and the first weeks of 1890 Mackay was toiling from early morning till sunset at his forge, or turning-lathe. His evenings were, with the help of two or three native converts, spent in translating or printing portions of scripture; at noon, while his workmen were at dinner, he had a reading class for boys. "To be always at work was," he said, "the only way to keep well in Africa."

Nearly all the chiefs or headmen in Uganda were professing Christians, and there was good reason to believe that many were really "children of God by faith in Christ Jesus." They wanted preaching-places and schools opened all over the country, and Mackay wrote to friends at home, asking if there were no godly, devoted young men who were willing to go out as missionaries to Africa, love the people, live among them, for Christ's sake "endure hardness," and so have the joy of leading precious souls to the Saviour.

"In Germany, and some other countries of Europe," he wrote, "every man is trained for military service, and expected to be a soldier; and are not all Christians Christ's soldiers? And where can soldiers be more needed than out here, where the fight is so fierce and the soldiers so few?

At last the gospel appeared to be taking root in Uganda, and on every hand there were cheering tokens that the long time of weeping was about to be followed by a morning of joy, and though Alexander Mackay was very tired, still his home letters were brightly written, and often all aglow with faith and courage. One of his great desires was for the construction of African railways. Good railways would, he felt sure, not only help missionaries who were obliged to take long journeys to reach the places where they were most needed, but also do much toward putting a stop to the slave trade.

Chapter 23.

Called Higher.

"But one morning early in February, 1890," so wrote his sister, "the clang of the iron hammer was hushed; the glare of the furnace had faded, the last blast of the great bellows had been blown, and all was still and silent." Where was Mackay? Only the day before he had been busy in the workshop. In the evening he had helped his fellow-missionary, Mr. Deekes, whose health had completely broken down, to pack and make arrangements for his return to England. He had, he said, a cold, but it was only a cold, which be thought he had taken through getting over-heated, and then working knee-deep in water to finish some needed repairs on "The Eleanor." But the next day he was down with fever, and on the following day he was delirious. It was no common attack, and the worst was feared. His boys, who loved him dearly, were quiet and tearful. They moved about with silent foot-steps and sad faces, and whispered to each other, "Will he die?"

They did what they could for him, but it would have taken a journey of hundreds of miles before a doctor or nurse could reach him. He was only ill four days, and then the home-call was given, and he passed peacefully away. For him all was well: no more toil, no more pain, no more sorrow, but the presence of the Lord he had loved and served so faithfully.

During his short illness he did not appear to suffer much pain, but was delirious nearly the whole time. He often spoke of Mr. Stanley, who he seemed to think was still his guest, and asked again and again if he and his party were being made comfortable. All his remarks during the four days he was ill were made in English. In his delirium more than once he threatened to leave the house and sleep in the forest.

His brother missionary, Mr. Deekes, wrote to his friends in Scotland: "I had a coffin made from planks he himself had cut for the boat, and at 2 p.m. we buried him by the side of one who had already fallen on the mission-field. I tried to read some passages of scripture, and offer a few words of prayer, but quite broke down through grief and weakness. Our boys, with a number of native Christians, stood round the grave and sang, with tears rolling down their cheeks, 'All hail the power of Jesus' name,' in Luganda, and we returned to the house. Never shall I forget that day and many others that followed it. God, and He only, knows how I miss my friend. Those were sad days. I dismissed the porters who had been sent to carry my loads to the coast, and prayed that God would give me strength to hold the post till others could arrive to carry on the work; and so far my prayer has been answered, for my health is much better, and more missionaries are, I hear, on their way to Uganda, and may arrive in about three weeks."

We may say of Alexander Mackay, that

"He laboured awhile 'mid burning sands,

When the scorching sun was high;

He grasped the plough with a fevered hand,

Ere he laid him down to die;

But another, and yet another,

Has filled the deserted field,

Nor vainly the seed they scattered,

Where a brother's care had tilled."

We may not understand why one so fitted for and devoted to the work of carrying the glad tidings of the gospel to the tribes, living in what, not many years ago, was the darkest part of dark Africa should have been so early called from the service of earth to the rest of heaven; but we are sure, quite sure, that God knows best. He makes no mistakes, but doeth all things well.

The work of God in Uganda went on. Long and patiently Mackay and his fellow-labourers had toiled, sowing the good seed; many were the hearts in which it took root, and with the blessing of the Lord brought forth much fruit. The work of translating the Gospel by John, on which he had been engaged the night before his fatal illness came on, was completed by a fellow-missionary, and many of the portions of scripture he had printed found their way into far-away places, and were the means of leading many souls to Christ.

To-day there are schools and preaching-places in almost every town and village in Uganda. Whole tribes have thrown away their idols, and said they wanted to love and serve the true God. Nearly all the children in Uganda go to Sunday-school and sing the same hymns (translated into Luganda) to the same tunes we have at home.

Abler pens than mine have told the story of Alexander Mackay, but if through reading it one dear boy or girl is led to see the beauty of an unselfish, useful life, it will not have been rewritten in vain. Remember he was only a schoolboy when he yielded his heart and life to the Saviour. We may not all be called to do some great work, but every life is full of opportunities; we can all do something to help or comfort others. Little things, if done from love to Christ, are precious in His sight, and may have results we never thought of or expected. "Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right."

STEM Publishing : For the Young : The Boyhood of Well-known Christian Men.

The Boyhood of Well-known Christian Men.

by G. W.

London Gospel Tract Depot, 20, Paternoster Square, E.C.

Contents

William Farel

Philip Melancthon

George Whitefield

Adoniram Judson

William Wilberforce

The Earl of Shaftesbury

Present Lessons

A Fearless Preacher in Reformation Times.

William Farel.

The early days of William Farel were spent in a mountain village bearing the family name, near the town of Gap, in Dauphiny. That beautiful and fertile province in the South-east of France, is situated by the Italian frontier, and overlooked by the majestic Alps, with their snowy summits

and interesting scenery. His father was a nobleman, living in the honour of his earthly position, so that the old family mansion was greatly superior to the humble homes of the villagers near. William was born in the year 1489 � one long to be remembered by the poor suffering Waldenses as that of fierce persecution, which had also characterised the previous year. Cruel scenes of bloodshed, therefore, were enacted not far from the beautiful home of the Farels, but being staunch papists, they sympathised with the oppressors, and the cry of the oppressed troubled them not. Ah, little could bigoted man foresee, that that helpless babe coming at a time when papal rage was triumphant, would, in the vigour of manhood, break its yoke from many a neck, and unmask its evils, with an unsparing hand!

William's lot was cast in a religious home. That means one, in which a constant and careful observation was given, to those works of the flesh, which were considered good and acceptable to God. Instead of accepting His terms, and His free gift, the natural heart of man labours, in its ignorance, to do that which is impossible. The Holy Ghost has written to us regarding this error, in Romans 8: 8: "They that are in the flesh cannot please God."

William Farel's youth was spent in the blindness of unbelief and superstition, and though he early learned to read, he knew nothing in those days, of the only Book in the world which is of infinite worth. Instead of learning that there is only One who can hear and answer prayer in the name of Jesus, the credulous boy was taught to pray to angels and saints, while his mind was filled with foolish fables, and supposed miracles. It was truly the blind leading the blind, and the plastic mind of the child was the soil in which the enemy sowed these false traditions, by means of deluded parents.

Farel was wont to relate some of the follies of those early days, as in after life he remembered, with regret, the sins of his youth. He acted ignorantly and in unbelief, no doubt, but he afterwards learned that his darkened state did not excuse the deeds of darkness flowing from it. God in His mercy has made provision for sins of ignorance, and the believer can say that "the blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from all sin." Many a soul, even in the present day, seeks to cover its guilt by the simple words, "I did not know;" but the word of God plainly shews that we are responsible to know what He has revealed.

In John 7: 17, we read, "If any one desire to practise his will, he shall know concerning the doctrine." (New Trans.) Human will and ignorance are generally closely allied, and the former is simply pleasing one's self, which conscience and the scriptures make plain to the soul, can never be pleasing to God.

After the light of the written word had shone in on Farel's soul in later days, he wrote and spoke of his youth in no measured language, as he grieved intensely over the guilt which he felt had been his.

When only seven years of age, he went with his parents to see a piece of wood, which the priests affirmed to he part of the cross on which the Lord Jesus was crucified. It was ornamented with copper, which was said to have been part of the basin used by the Son of God to wash the disciples' feet.

I do not tell you all that was thus falsely affirmed of that so-called holy cross, for it would only fill the mind with the repetition of folly and wickedness. The child, young as he was, felt greatly disturbed in his mind, but the parents questioned not the truth of all that they saw, and the wonderful tales poured into their ears. They did not dare to allow even a thought that anything could be untrue or unholy in the ways of priest or people, whatever the outward appearance might indicate. Many things therefore combined to make religion an unsolved problem to that young thinking soul.

William possessed a reflecting mind, but was not the less behind his brothers, nor other boys, in the adventurous pursuits of his mountain home. In common with those who live amid such wild scenery, he delighted in the difficulties, and feared not the dangers of the Alpine height, or rocky gorge. He entered into all with boyhood's keen enjoyment, both using and invigorating his health thereby. So adventurous and full of spirit was he, that his father thought a soldier's life would be the most suitable one to give scope to the energy of his character.

William, however, soon manifested desires after a totally different life to that proposed by his father. He wished for earthly fame and greatness, and thought that to be a man of learning and an author, would best accomplish this ambitious purpose. Thus we see how all the natural thoughts of the human heart revolve around one's self, as the only object to please in life, while in reality God has given this brief span, that we may learn therein how to live to His glory. It was not in the days of his boyhood that Farel learned this, but his desires towards education were overruled by God, to bring him within reach of the glad tidings of salvation.

The father by no means approved of the son's desire to study, yet he yielded to his wishes, and was willing to let him have a tutor, to give him lessons in Latin. But no such teaching was to be found near Farel's home, and he searched in vain for some man of sufficient Latin education. He was horrified to find, not only ignorance where he expected learning, but also sinfulness, where he thought to see holiness. He saw how hollow were all the vain pretensions of the priests and monks, and how little faith they themselves seemed to have, in the routine of their religious lives.

God thus used this educational disappointment to shew that earnest youth the utter vanity of a form of godliness, which denies the power thereof. "Not of works, lest any man should boast." In God's purposes too, the inability to find a tutor was the means used to lead him to the place where he would be taught of God, and learn, for the first time, the way of salvation, as all of grace.

William's next attempt to reach his mental goal, was to request his father to send him to Paris University. The capital was a long way off, and travelling not so rapid as in our day. The separation, therefore, seemed greater then than now, so that the parents' consent was only reluctantly obtained. On receiving this permission, however, the son eagerly set out to meet the accomplishment of his cherished hopes and desires, and he reached them eventually, far beyond his expectations. He was twenty years of age when he thus exchanged the parental roof for a student's life in Paris. We can now look at him only for a little longer, and leave William Farel as of age � a boy no longer. In Paris, Latin lessons were easily obtained, while Hebrew and Greek were also within reach. He was therefore able to gratify to the full his great desire for study. This extended to the reading of the scriptures, which shook the idolatrous foundations on which his religion had hitherto rested. As a soul groping in darkness, he had long desired to meet with a man devoted to his creed. This was attained in Paris, when he met with Faber. They became fast friends, and God converted both Farel and Faber, and used them mutually to each other's blessing.

The former had reached the years of manhood, before he knew these two facts � what sin deserves, and what the heart of God has given. Till he learned these, his life-work had not begun, which was to dispel error by the manifestation of divine truth. True, it was not always done gently and quietly, for a good deal was accomplished by force, both by voice and hand, but much courage and faithfulness were displayed, with no small amount of success.

The century in which Farel lived was a very remarkable one, because of the revival of great and precious truths, which had been long hidden from sight.

An extraordinary impetus was also given to learning, by the labours of men who were life-long students, and able teachers. We can scarcely understand the difficulties which lay in the learner's path in those days, for things were not made so easy and pleasant as they are now. The invention of printing took place about the middle of the sixteenth century, and greatly facilitated the spread of truth and literature.

William Farel shared in these blessings, and, by the grace of God, was wisely directed to see the all-absorbing importance of God's revelation to man. We cannot pursue his life further, however, but leave with the young reader the different steps from childhood, boyhood, and youth, which led to the way of peace, in manhood's riper years. As we see divine love thus following the child, the boy, the lad, till union with Christ was consummated, we may well exclaim with Paul, "O, the depth of the riches, both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable his judgments, and his ways past finding out!"

A Light-Bearer in Moral Darkness.

Philip Melancthon.

Piety and learning, gentleness and youth, are qualities which immediately suggest themselves to the mind, at the mention of this honoured and well-known name. It may be that association with the more stern and aggressive Luther, has brought into relief the retiring disposition of Melancthon, and that the striking contrast between the two men made their respective characters more distinct. Be that as it may, each had his own peculiar place, doing a needed work in times of great moral darkness, while as warm, devoted friends, they encouraged one another in difficulty or danger.

The great movement in which those two friends figured, is familiar to our ears as "The Reformation." Though men were used in it, and nations were even politically affected by it, the active power which was really at work, was "the sword of the Spirit which is the word of God." The world, the flesh, and the devil, had all gained such power over the church, that the full and free salvation of God was put aside for a way in which man could boast. The reading of the scriptures was neglected, and preference given to human teaching, so that Luther and his associates did no ordinary thing when they studied and taught the revelation of God's mind to man.

Forgiveness of sins through the blood of Jesus, was the truth of God written to ruined man, hundreds of years before. In Acts 13: 38, we read: "Through this man is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins; and by him, all that believe are justified from all things, from which ye could not be justified by the law of Moses." The veil of unbelief had hidden this from the eyes of needy sinners, and now, the Holy Ghost not only bestowed spiritual sight to see that which was revealed, but gave courage to proclaim a divine message in the face of the most violent opposition on every side.

Such were the days in which Melancthon's lot was cast, and a share in this wonderful work was, in the wisdom of God, accorded to him. The days of his childhood were spent in a religious atmosphere, where good works and prayers held a prominent place. If these were the results of faith in the heart, they must have been profitable, but if not, however devout his parents may have been, all would be vain.

When only ten years of age, Philip was called to his father's death-bed, to hear his last words and counsel. It is recorded that the dying parent said, "I can foresee that the world is about to be shaken by terrible tempests. Great events are about to happen. May God guide and direct thee!" With the light of subsequent events thrown upon them, these tones seemed forcibly prophetic. The father died two days after, but even before the end, the boy was hurried away that he might not have the sorrow of this death-scene in his home. The sad event made a change of residence necessary for Philip and his brother George, and they then found a home with their grandfather, who gave them equal advantages with his own son.

Under the care of a wise and able tutor, encouraging results were obtained, for God had bestowed on the youth extraordinary mental capabilities, which rapidly developed. With the faculty of gaining knowledge, he possessed the power of a retentive memory, so that he not only learned easily, but remembered and profited by his studies.

Philip's surname was "Schwarzerd," which means in German, "black earth." "Melancthon" has the same meaning in Greek, and this is the name by which he was known through youth and manhood. The change was made by the learned professor Reuchlin, and soon became generally adopted.

Two traits in the lad's character were very attractive to those who knew him, and won for Philip many friends. He was of a gentle nature, and was particularly unassuming in the possession of more knowledge than was usual at his age. His grandfather being a Mayor, received visits, from time to time, from men of note, intellect, and learning.

The boys had the mental advantages of such society, but when this relative died, they were obliged to go elsewhere, to pursue their studies at school.

Their home-life was then spent under the roof of a lady who was sister to the well-known Reuchlin, and there they frequently met with him. The latter was greatly drawn to Philip, and gave him two valuable gifts, one of which was priceless above all else on earth. These presents were a copy of the Scriptures, and a Greek grammar. How much the recipient valued and studied both, his after life makes strikingly manifest!

Eager in the search after knowledge, Melancthon next passed on to the university of Heidelberg, and thence to Tubingen, which was also a seat of learning. He was everywhere recognized as an unusually clever and studious youth. His strict adherence to the word of God was much observed, but not so applauded as his education. So attached was he to his Bible, that he considered it no trouble to carry the precious book in his hand, even when its presence excited suspicion. Bibles were much more bulky then, than now, so that this youthful student in the sixteenth century, sets us a worthy example, in having the scriptures always at hand.

A prayer-book would not have been remarked in the hands of the youth, nor would it have so engaged the attention of others. But being larger, and receiving a greater share of attention, than any empty form of man's arrangement could command, its happy possessor was misjudged and blamed, for they said he was studying a class-book during religious ceremonies. Thus the soul who dares to prefer the simplicity of the word of God to the interpretation put upon it by man, must suffer for its courage and zeal. Satan and his emissaries are ever on the watch, to bring in false witnesses against the upright.

It must have been a beautiful sight in those benighted days of gospel truth, to see this clever young man ever preferring as his choicest company, that holy blessed Book. To be characterised by its presence was an honour, but to be recognised as one who sought to live out the spirit of it day by day was infinitely more. "The letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life." (2 Cor. 3: 6.) So far as Melancthon had learned the scriptures in power, he held fast that which he knew. He also firmly rejected what human teaching he saw to be opposed to the simplicity of the word. Thus was he led on to learn, to believe, to obey, and to teach.

At fourteen years of age, Melancthon had taken his degree of bachelor, and two or three years after he was doctor of philosophy, and began to give lessons. His teaching was greatly prized, and even at eighteen he produced written works, which were used and valued for years, in German universities. By Reuchlin's recommendation, a most honourable position in Wittenberg university presented itself, and at twenty-one, the youthful savant began his labours there. Little was expected from Melancthon at first, for his boyish appearance did not betoken such intellectual powers as they had expected.

But these learned professors soon found themselves greatly mistaken in the opinion thus prematurely formed. When the unostentatious youth began his public speech a few days after his arrival, he astonished all who heard by the talents which they saw he possessed, and the cultivation of them which application to study had produced. Even Luther wrote, "Let us beware of despising his age and person, for he is worthy of all honour," and he again mentioned him at this early stage as one "who incites all, of whatever station, to the study of Greek."

We shall not further pursue this remarkable life, as it passed onwards in the current of the wonderful events then taking place. Boyhood was over, and the work of the man entered upon, when, hand in hand with Luther, he sought to use these wonderful talents for God. We do not know much about Melancthon's inner thoughts, but we see the outcome of them in the use which he made of the knowledge he possessed, and the cultivation of the mind which God had given him.

Love for the scriptures is one of the most direct indications of spiritual life, and this was a most prominent feature in that remarkable man, even from boyhood. It does not appear to have been natural courage which enabled the gentle Melancthon to identify himself so fully with the written word, in an age when by many, it was neither known nor valued. But a holy boldness seems to have been manifest, and the power of God sustained him, as he witnessed to the purity and power, of the Book which was his precious and constant companion. How this developed in manhood into defence of the truth, and the high and holy privilege of circulating it, was fully apparent in subsequent events of his life. Luther had need of help in the translation of the Scriptures which he had warmly at heart, and Melancthon's aid was most valuable to him and greatly prized.

We must not confound the natural amiability of character in the latter, with the fruit of the Spirit in him as a child of God, however pleasant to nature the former may have been. Scripture shews that gentleness and meekness ought to be manifest in the believer, as the result of the indwelling of the Holy Ghost. Hence that which was the outcome of divine power within him, could only bear the impress of the Spirit of God. Nothing short of this is of any value in God's sight, for He has said: "The flesh profiteth nothing." All therefore, that was profitable in this honoured man, came from God, all that was only human nature, was powerless to act for Him. The Holy Ghost used the unerring word by Philip Melancthon, making his life and lips to testify to its divine and abiding simplicity, and of him we may say, that he lived, "holding forth the word of life."

An Earnest Soul-Winner.

George Whitefield.

The early days of this remarkable man were spent amid the uninteresting surroundings of a house called "The Bell Inn," in Gloucester. He was the youngest of seven children, and had only one sister. He lost his father when only two years of age, but the business was continued under his mother's care. She was anxious to give George a good education, and for this, the free Grammar School of his native town afforded every opportunity.

Being quick to learn, the boy made rapid progress, so it was with no small reluctance that he was compelled to relinquish his studies at the age of fifteen, and, in obedience to his mother, seek to assist her at home. Think of the altered life for a lad who loved books! � to turn from mental culture in school-life, not only to domestic work, but to sell beer, and wait upon the people who drank it.

Poor boy! he felt the contrast keenly, and was wont to steal away into any retired place he could find, to enjoy the companionship of some favourite work. Dramatic reading suited his tastes at that time, for he knew not God, nor understood the evil of his own heart. He had not been more than a year thus occupied, when his mother transferred the care of the inn to her eldest son, but poor George obtained no change of employment thereby. His aversion to the work was heightened by the presence of his sister-in-law, instead of his mother, and the boy continued unhappy. He had no alternative, however, for a time, but God's eye was watching him, till the moment arrived for deliverance from such uncongenial surroundings. Another brother who lived in Bristol, asked George to spend a little time with him there, and the invitation was gladly accepted. Some preaching to which he listened, while in that city, impressed him greatly, but the only immediate effect visible upon him, was that he began to write sermons, and thought of becoming a clergyman. His studies thus took a religious turn, but he did not know Christ yet, so he could only endeavour "to make a fair shew in the flesh."

Returning to his mother's house in Gloucester, he there met with a young man who had been at school with him, but who was at that time studying at Oxford. He was occupied in waiting upon other students, and for this work received a sufficient equivalent to enable him to meet the expenses of his own education with them. When George heard that in this position of servitor, he might maintain himself while pursuing a course of study, as his old school-mate was doing, he began to think about applying for such a post. His mother agreed, and preparatory to the university training, George went again to the old familiar school, to spend his time over Latin and Greek, till he could be received at Oxford.

His mother aided in the project, and at eighteen years of age, the desired opening was obtained through her efforts, and her next care was how to provide a suitable outfit, and travelling expenses.

Sufficient for these needs was lent by a friend, and bright with hope, young Whitfield diligently began his studies at the university. He soon repaid all the expectations which were centred in him, by applying himself, with great energy of purpose, to his books.

Charles and John Wesley were then studying at Oxford, and had gathered around them some religious companions, who were wont to meet together for mutual help and encouragement. Whitfield soon heard of this little company, and longed much to get acquainted with the two brothers, who were thus seeking to influence others for good. After he had been in Oxford about a year, a circumstance occurred, which brought him into contact with these young men, in a very simple way. Becoming interested in the sad case of a poor woman who had endeavoured to commit suicide, he wished much to help her morally, but knew not how to set to work. He thought of Charles Wesley as the most suitable person to advise, and therefore sent to enquire, if he would see her. The messenger was directed not to give Whitefield's name, but did so, and the result was an invitation from Wesley, to breakfast with him next morning.

Whitefield gladly responded, for he was secretly longing for spiritual help, and this, he thought, he might obtain from these earnest men. They were kind to him, lending books which were helpful at the time, but, like a true-hearted soul, Whitefield did not stop to measure himself by his friends, for he pressed on, till he knew more than they. He planted his feet on a divine foundation, when that truth laid hold of his soul in power: "Ye must be born again." He was not ashamed to write to his relations, telling of the necessity of the new birth, nor feared to press the same on others.

Though greatly opposed by many, George Whitefield made his soul's salvation his one care, and unmoved by man's disapproval, gave himself to such work as he thought would please God. The "sick or in prison," received his attention, so did the poor and needy, in other quiet ways. He had some reproach to bear on account of his zeal, because being poor, and in earnest, he was disliked, and spoken against, by those who were rich, and lived in ease. More over he endeavoured to bear all that came upon him as for Christ's sake, remembering that He will abundantly make up for all that His disciples may give up for Him.

In spite of George Whitfield's devotion, however, he was not yet at rest, for he had not learned a full salvation, in God's simple, perfect way, but was really labouring to reach it. He made known his state of unrest to his respected friend, Charles Wesley, for, finding out the evil of his own heart to be incurable, according to the scriptures, he longed for deliverance from its power. Had he turned direct to God, he would have been encouraged, but by reading the books they lent to him, he only got further astray, and grew disheartened in his search for light. Endeavouring to follow the rules given in these, the poor seeking soul only got deeper and deeper into the mud of human imagination, of which man is so foolishly vain.

Whitefield's days were, at this stage, spent in prostration of body, and a forced humiliation, in the futile hope of reaching God's free gift in this way. He had not yet learned "That no flesh should glory in his presence;" for his constant cry was for a better heart. God's answer to the suppliant shewed him how ineffectual all his efforts must be to remedy that which God had condemned and judged in the death of His beloved Son.

Whitefield sought to conquer his will according to the instructions given in the books he read, and thus hoped to obtain salvation. Alas, that unbelief should so deprive many an earnest soul of that divine deliverance which is the practical consequence of knowing that the believer has died with Christ! Not only that Christ has suffered for sins, but that, in his death, everything belonging to the flesh has gone from God's sight, in the perfect oblivion of the grave. The soul which knows this truth practically, no longer vainly seeks to master or keep in check the will, but refuses to own it at all.

Another of these false religious rules was, to remain in the seclusion of his room, till he could come up to a certain standard which was set before his mind. Rigidly following out every regulation laid down in his books, the poor misguided soul was only plunged deeper into darkness and distress, by the deceitfulness of his natural heart. Many painful efforts were made, such as fasting, praying out in the cold at night, preserving an unusual silence, and similar religious follies, but all was in vain. His beloved friends, Charles and John Wesley, sought to dissuade him from such foolish doings, but he heeded them not, and thought it right to give up their hitherto valued company.

At last, the hand of God was gently laid upon him, and this divine chastening sufficed to draw the weak and ignorant sufferer to a knowledge of God's love in Christ. For weeks and months, he thus learned in the school of God, and then his soul emerged from the mists of earth, into the brightness of a new and divine position, for George Whitefield had, at length, obtained peace in believing.

When convalescent, the young man went to his own home, and there gave himself to the study of the word of God. Then he began to feed upon Christ, and his soul learned the liberty which results from the ungrieved action of the Holy Spirit. All seemed new, and he owned now that a few weeks' study of the Scriptures, taught him more than all the writings of man he had ever perused. Whitefield found out too, what it was to have God's thoughts instead of his own, thus tasting the sweetness of communion.

But we must now take our leave of the boy George, for at this stage, he had reached the years of manhood, and the restless strivings of his youth gave place to active faith, in riper years. Ere long, he awoke the British Isles by the earnestness of his gospel preaching and burning love for souls. The power of God was with him, and in days when open-air gatherings for the gospel were rarely to be seen, Whitefield's zeal brought thousands to listen, and many to be blessed. Multitudes of souls dead in sin were reached, and numbers of sleeping Christians woke up, to find that God expects reality.

Thus George Whitefield became an honoured servant of the living God � a man in earnest, having one purpose in life, and he nobly fulfilled his aim. Willing to be anything that he might win souls for Christ, he was an out-and-out man in his onward course, and the seal of God's approval of his faithfulness was given in the awakening of thousands to a sense of their need. Wherever he turned his steps with God's glad tidings, in England, Scotland, Ireland or Wales, multitudes flocked to listen, and hung with marked attention on his wonderful message from God. Across the wide Atlantic too, he carried the glad news, bringing blessing to souls, not only in America, but on board the vessel that carried him thither.

Beautiful indeed is the picture presented to our minds by the record of his voyage, and the manifest tokens of the power of God, in a man who burned with love for precious souls! When he set sail from England, he found himself in the company of unbelieving ones, godless, indifferent, and hardened, to whom his only opportunity of testimony was a turn of the head, and a look towards some sinner more bold than the rest. He had not even a quiet spot where he could be alone with God, and preaching, or even reading with those on board, seemed, to the natural eye, well-nigh impossible.

"According to your faith be it unto you," is a divine principle for blessing between the needy soul and a giving God. Whitefield expected blessing, and the Lord gave it, first a retired place for prayer, then a way to the hearts of many, and eventually opportunities in which to minister to the sick, and the frequent preaching of the gospel, till the blessing of the Lord had spread over the ship. Looking back on this voyage, he thus wrote in after years: "A consciousness that I had in view the glory of God, and the good of souls, from time to time, afforded me unspeakable satisfaction."

This is only one example, among many, of the way in which Whitefield began on barren soil, labouring with God, in patient perseverance, till the blessing came down in rich abundance through the Word. At Bristol, his open-air preaching to twenty thousand colliers, moved hearts there, and melted to tears multitudes unaccustomed to weep and mourn over sin. In other large cities and towns, he attracted immense crowds, always to pour forth the burden of his heart, which was the need of lost and ruined souls "Ye must be born again."

Whitefield was greatly ridiculed because of the constant reiteration of this all-important truth, and if he knew popularity, he also experienced persecution.

Attempts were even made to take his life, but he could afterwards rejoice that curiosity to see the preacher on whose life murderous hands had been laid, only brought an increase of numbers to hear the gospel. Thus lived and laboured a devoted man, till in the fifty-sixth year of his age, he entered into rest on the 30th September, 1770. Though long in a condition of weakness, even the last day spent on earth found him sounding forth the glad tidings of salvation, from lips so soon to be sealed in death.

"They that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness, as the stars for ever and ever."

A Gospel Preacher to Heathen Hearers.

Adoniram Judson.

Enlightened America gave Adoniram Judson birth, benighted Burmah witnessed his life-long labours, and the boundless ocean received his dust, when the spirit returned to God who gave it. Sixty-one years of precious time lay between that cradle in the West, and the lonely grave in Eastern seas, making up a life full of talents, and pursued with rare devotion, during half its course. The simplicity of infancy, the expanding intellect of boyhood, even to the self-will of youth, were each, in turn, divinely overruled in the preparation of heart, which is from the Lord. Then when the light of God shone in upon his soul, and love divine was made known to his heart, the vigour of manhood was yielded up to God, and Christ, not self, became the object of life.

Young Judson's father was a man who commanded the respect of those who knew him well, and therefore exercised his own peculiar influence over the early life of this promising child. He expected a wonderful future for his boy, so much as to predict for him, at the age of ten, a distinguished career, in the few brief words, said in affection, "You will one day be a great man." This prediction came true in later years, but his life-work needed the preparatory training which he received in boyhood, that the clay might be formed in the hands of the Potter, and the vessel made meet for the Master's use.

Adoniram began to learn his letters when only between two and three years of age, and being easily taught, he made rapid progress, and was early encouraged to read the Scriptures. Even at four, the child showed an innate desire to impart to others what he had already learned, often gathering around him a little group of children, in his play, and talking to them in a fashion that was meant for preaching.

Study frequently superseded play with Adoniram, for while other boys were in the enjoyment of needed recreation, he might have been seen in some distant nook, enjoying his valued pastime in the productions of a favourite author. His father's library did much to form his mental tastes, and he made the most of his access to its treasures, in the cultivation of his mind when at home.

Young Judson's earliest thoughts regarding his soul's salvation, seem to have arisen during a very serious illness which brought him to the verge of the grave. The boy feared to enter eternity unsaved, and because of this, his sins rose before him in alarming magnitude. Anxiety lessened after the crisis was over, and then earthly aspirations seemed to smother, for a time, his desires for something real and morally profitable.

At times the beautiful life of a humble follower of the Lord Jesus, would open out before him; and he wondered in himself if that were not the truest greatness. As he pondered the fact, that "the time is short," he could not deny the inward suggestion, that at last, it would be more satisfactory to have pleased God rather than men. In the multiplicity of his thoughts he found out a most important truth, in the discovery that, at heart, he really did not wish to be converted. The Spirit of God was thus revealing to this inquiring soul, its own state � the first need of the sinner. "The carnal mind is enmity against God." (Rom. 8: 7.)

At the age of sixteen, young Judson went to college, and there devoted himself thoroughly to study, carrying off the palm, though in the list with the most clever competitors. When the president of the college wrote of this to the father of the successful student, he entered more into particulars than the youth had done, while he also commended him very highly, and touchingly expressed a wish for his conversion to God.

Alas! how busy and eager the enemy of souls was to beguile that favoured youth, round whom so many hopes were gathered! One college friend became his constant companion; for, being clever, bright, and witty, he had soon gained young Judson's affections. A dangerous companion he proved to be, for he was one of those subtle reasoners who refuse to believe what they cannot explain in the word of God. Such cavilings seem plausible to the human mind, for the natural man does not know his own condition of moral blindness. Only the Holy Ghost, who wrote the scriptures, can explain them, and He has written, "No prophecy of the scripture is of any private interpretation."

Judson's friend did not deny the existence of God, but he did not own a revelation from Him, and was thus a daring and avowed deist. The former was therefore soon and easily entangled in the meshes of human reasoning and unbelief � professing to doubt that which he did not understand. Filled with ambitious thought as to the profession they should choose, these young men spent their time in folly, "having no hope, and without God in the world."

In the mercy of God, a parting time came, and the two met no more on earth, for a brief period of time irrevocably decided eternity for each. The deist died shortly after, leaving no trace which could give hope to his startled friend, of any submission to Christ, without which there could be no salvation. But God had bright and happy days for young Judson, who was shortly after brought to see himself a sinner, and after many a struggle, yielded to Christ, under the constraining power of the Spirit of God.

Before this, the most important event in his history, took place, he passed through varied circumstances, which served to teach him his own folly and need, as well as the longsuffering of God. Wishing to see a little of life, Judson set out on a tour through a part of his native land, with that object in view. In New York, he found his way one night to the theatre, and the next he had joined the theatrical company, imagining that seeing their life would be a help to his literary pursuits.

For eight days, Judson indulged this exercise of his will and desires, before any marked disturbance of his mind took place. But longer he could not stay, for thoughts of his parents' grief stole over him and touched his heart, while doubtless, their prayers were also moving his conscience by the Holy Ghost. In short, he became really anxious about his soul, but still endeavoured to hush its cravings after something holier and more satisfying than the empty frivolities which surrounded him.

As the young man thought of his danger, he tried to make himself believe that he was not afraid, and that it was necessary he should thus see life. But conscience triumphed, and instead of continuing his pursuit of the drama, he bent his steps to the home of a relation, intending to travel still farther. There again, God met him, and spoke to him through an earnest preacher who was staying in the house at the time. Occupied with divine things himself, he spoke out of the abundance of his own heart, and the young man was irresistibly drawn towards him. Not only was Judson's heart attracted, but the conscience was also reached, and his guilty state before God, alarmed him. The arrow of conviction lodged within, for the Spirit had wounded that He might heal, though the smitten one did not fully realise his condition of great need and imminent peril.

Judson was endeavouring to continue his intended tour, when he heard of the death of his deist friend, and then utterly wretched, he turned his steps homewards instead. In short, the Holy Ghost had implanted life in his soul, and he saw what his natural state was as a lost sinner, but he did not know what it is to have peace with God, for he had not trusted Christ as his Saviour. At last, he saw that the precious blood had been shed, which cleanseth from all sin, and believing, he got peace.

This was the turning-point in his life. The question now was, How could he best spend his life for God? Ambition was put aside; earthly greatness had no claims. One thing alone impelled him, and that was the constraining love of Christ. The overflow of this was the desire to serve. Ecclesiastical positions of eminence, and brilliant prospects opened out before him, but Judson quietly put everything of the kind aside, for the loneliness, the sorrow and the sufferings of a missionary's life, in heathen Burmah. He preferred thus to labour in telling dark souls of a living Saviour's love, rather than enjoy the ease and luxury of an American home.

From the time that the desire thus to serve took possession of his soul, till the closing hours of a useful and devoted life, love for the Master going out towards the perishing, filled his heart with an all-absorbing power. Oh, what a reproof to lives of pampered ease, was that of the devoted and honoured Judson! How one sees the power of one Object in the path, characterising the servant, as he pressed on in obedience, according to his light.

My reader may not feel called to any prominent service, either in this or heathen lands, but the future is greatly determined by the present. If God has given you desires after Himself, look to Him for power to carry them out. Let not one fall to the ground through moral laziness and apathy. You will get what you aim at, for, if your mark is Christ, the Spirit of God, who forms your desires, will surely work them out into the reality and practice of daily life. Desires lack not, for God never fails, but the moral power to deny self, is frequently the point where we come short.

"If any man serve me, let him follow me, and where I am, there shall also my servant be; if any man serve me, him will my Father honour."

The Slave's Friend,

William Wilberforce.

William Wilberforce was the only son of a prosperous merchant in Hull, and was born on the 24th of August, 1759. His circumstances were, therefore, easy and comfortable, and so far as this life was concerned, he possessed a name which had long been influential and respected in Yorkshire.

He was a delicate child, and small for his years, but his mental powers amply compensated for lack of physical strength. That which characterised the man was early manifest in the boy, namely, the mind rising superior to outward influences instead of being overcome by them.

With much vigour and intellect, Wilberforce possessed keen affections, and a heart readily occupied in the welfare of others. He was remarkably thoughtful in his ways for a child, and this beautiful trait in his childhood is worth remarking, as strikingly indicative of the character afterwards developed. A friend who was often a visitor at his home, was greatly struck with this exceeding thoughtfulness, and wrote as follows: "I shall never forget how he would steal into my sick-room, taking off his shoes, lest he should disturb me, and, with an anxious face, looking through my curtains to learn if I was better."

At the age of seven years, Wilberforce was sent to the grammar school in his native town, and gave great satisfaction to his masters during two years of study there. He had the comfort and privilege of home in the evenings, and the valuable training of a good schoolmaster and his assistant by day � advantages not to be lightly prized in the life of any child, rich or poor. Death soon entered the former, however, and the associations of the school were broken up in consequence, but in after-life, the master and pupil had opportunities of shewing, by an increasing friendship, their continued appreciation of each other.

In consequence of the death of his father in 1768, William was placed under the care of an uncle, and this necessitated a change of residence. His home was then, for a time, in the house of the latter at Wimbledon, where he was again sent to school. There however, he was a boarder, and thus lost the influence of home-life, for which there were no advantages obtained at school which could compensate for the loss. Two years were thus spent, happily broken at intervals by the holidays enjoyed at his uncle's, a visit now and then to a relative in Nottingham, and also to his own home in Hull.

A marked influence was exercised over the boy in that Wimbledon household, for there christian principles were instilled, which, in their vitality, were new to the fatherless child. His mother was not then converted, and could not therefore appreciate the training given by her brother-in-law and his wife, who were thus occupied with the soul's eternal welfare.

Before William had reached his twelfth birthday, he had already given evidence of much interest in divine things. The years which unhappily followed this seed-time, so smothered the thoughts and feelings of these hopeful days, that he seemed scarcely able afterwards to say, whether eternal life began then or not. His own words ran thus: "Under these influences my mind was interested by religious subjects. How far these impressions were genuine I can scarcely determine, but at least, I may venture to say that I was sincere. There are letters of mine, written at that period, still in existence, which accord much with my present sentiments."

If the boy was happy at Wimbledon, however, the mother in Hull was ill at ease about him. Strange to say, she was greatly alarmed regarding her son's state, and feared intensely that he would become a methodist, if longer left with his uncle and aunt. She therefore removed her son from their home and influence, and, sad to relate, sought to divert the mind of her child from spiritual things to worldly.

It was with feelings of the keenest regret that the youth left the pious influence of the home circle which for four years he had increasingly enjoyed, even though it was to return to the parental roof, to have his mother's care and his sister's company. He afterwards spoke of being almost broken-hearted at the separation, for he had no taste for the worldliness which he received in exchange, and in heart he was with the methodists still. Affection was sorely tried, but what he did not then understand, he could afterwards see was God's overruling hand, to serve a purpose in his life.

Regarding this matter, Wilberforce afterwards wrote: "If I had stayed with my uncle, I should probably have been a bigoted, despised methodist; yet to come to what I am, through so many years of folly as those which elapsed between my last year at school and 1785, is wonderful. Oh the depths of the counsels of God! What cause have I for gratitude and humiliation."

Wilberforce was twelve years old, when he returned with his mother to Hull, and even at that tender age, he was led into the folly and excitement of a purely worldly life, and encouraged to pursue its course, till early impressions seemed gone. His references to this in later years, is full of profit and warning; "This mode of life was at first distressing to me, but by degrees I acquired a relish for it, and became as thoughtless as the rest."

He was very musical, and excelled in singing, making his company strikingly attractive in a world which needs to be amused. In course of time, he found out how such natural gifts became ensnaring to his soul by their very attractive qualities, for they made him an object of admiration, and fostered the desire for it. Love of pleasure rapidly took possession of the youth, and lessened any inclination for the steady application which his studies required. His compositions cost him less labour than his schoolfellows needed to give to theirs, but instead of improving the extra time thus gained, the hours were only idly frittered away. He not only produced his exercise more speedily, but also in a far superior style, to any of his class-mates.

That abhorrence of the slave trade which led Wilberforce onward till he was the means of emancipating thousands of slaves, was manifested in action, even at the early age of fourteen years. The following story was related by a gentleman in illustration of this, recalling the days when they were at school together, and is thus recorded in his biography: "He boarded in the master's house, where the boys were kept within bounds. I lived in the village. One day he gave me a letter to put into the post office, addressed to the editor of the York paper, which, he told me, was in condemnation of the odious traffic in human flesh."

Wilberforce entered Cambridge University at the age of seventeen, with scholastic attainments of no mean order even then, in spite of the time he had wasted in the indulgence of his love of pleasure in the world. Alas! college life only brought fresh and powerful temptations to the attractive youth, and for a time, he yielded to society which was depraved and debasing. But the transition from folly to vice, was not gradual enough to ensnare him fully, for he loathed the sins that were so daringly committed, and his first year saw an end to this unholy intercourse.

For two years more, the worldling pursued his self-pleasing course, but then it was in company which did not so roughly shock his sense of right and wrong. He was courted and flattered because of his talents and his wealth, while his generous hospitality, and affectionate disposition, also gathered many around him. Some true friends he met, whose intimacy survived to later years, but the majority of his companions only exercised a pernicious influence over him, judging from the statements he made when he knew himself better.

Wilberforce did not require to push on for the same reason as poor students must do, for time had no money value for him. Even when he wished to study, his companions would remind him of his ample means, and tell him that he need not apply himself so vigorously. Thus he was led on farther and farther in his blindness, fully illustrating the words of Scripture: "Evil communications corrupt good manners." His rooms were frequented by a set of gay and pleasure-loving young men, and his liberal means enabled him to spend freely towards their entertainment. As is usually the case in such circumstances, the centre of the circle was the man who could best minister to their worldly desires, as they did to his vanity.

Though this condition of things was very sad indeed, yet the young man was mercifully dealt with, in being preserved from the excesses in which his companions delighted. Although, as he said in after years, "he could not look back without unfeigned remorse," yet, he never seems to have plunged into the grosser and outward forms of vice. This looks as if the conscience which was early brought into exercise by the piety of his uncle's household, had never entirely lost its sense of the heinousness of sin, in some of its aspects at least.

The same compassionate interest which Wilberforce had shewn when a lad of fourteen in the condition of the poor suffering slave, was again manifest when about twenty-one. In those boarding-school days it was the African negro which had occupied his thoughts; seven years later it was the slave population of the West Indies. A friend of his was about to sail for Antigua, and to him he therefore addressed himself, asking if he would obtain some information on the subject when he should reach his destination. In requesting this, the hope was also expressed that some day he might "redress the wrongs of those wretched and degraded beings."

On leaving college, Wilberforce repaired to his own home, carrying in his heart the decision formed at Cambridge, of refusing his father's business which was open to him, and to enter public life instead. He therefore set himself to obtain a seat in parliament as member for his native town. In this he succeeded, and it was in that position that he came forth to prominence, on behalf of the poor down-trodden slave, though it was only gradually that the subject pressed itself upon his notice.

The impelling power to action came at last from a woman's heart to this champion of the oppressed, whose sympathies were ready to take definite shape in pleading with power for them. This instrument was Lady Middleton, who had heard from friends once resident in the West Indies, of the terrible cruelties connected with the slave trade. Britain's guilt and responsibility pressed upon her, causing her to ask her husband whether he could do anything to bring the national iniquity before parliament. He said he could not plead, but when some one suggested Mr. Wilberforce as having the gift of eloquence which he lacked, Sir Charles Middleton met his wife's wish in the matter, and wrote to him.

This letter called forth the existing sympathies of its recipient, and he henceforth laboured incessantly to bring the British people to a knowledge and sense of the awful character of the sin which was being countenanced by a nation called christian. After rousing public feeling by the facts brought to light, Wilberforce nobly succeeded in pleading the cause of the oppressed to such a powerful extent, that one difficult step after another was gained, till finally his efforts were crowned with success.

It was impossible to set free, in any general way, the multitude of slaves belonging to British subjects, or stop the trade between one country and another, without having a distinct act of parliament; but this could only be obtained by the influence of public opinion. Wilberforce knew this, and laboured, in much bodily weakness, but with great mental energy, to obtain the necessary decision. He was evidently moved, in his desires for the relief of suffering humanity, by the fact that he wished to live to some good purpose in the world, and believed that to influence the British people and government to abolish slavery, was the way given to him whereby to serve God. Little by little, he was led on, till the grand and needed end was accomplished, bringing about that state of things in Her Majesty's dominions, which enables us to say that a slave cannot breathe on English ground, because the moment he touches British soil, he is free.

Wilberforce had many friends with him in his public efforts, but the desire to accomplish the work went upwards to God, and he owned Him and His might, both before and after. "There will be a day of retribution" he pleaded, "wherein we shall have to give account of all the talents, faculties, and opportunities which have been entrusted to us. Let it not then appear, that our superior power has been employed to oppress our fellow-creatures, and our superior light to darken the creation of our God."

We cannot follow the course of events which led on to the desired consummation, because it would involve subjects beyond our present scope. Suffice it to say that Wilberforce succeeded in his gigantic undertaking, after the persistent and persevering labours of nineteen years. Patiently and vigorously did he pursue his aim during those many eventful days, in which his persuasive eloquence, coupled with a feeling heart and ready sympathies, won for him the final accomplishment of his desires under God.

The abolition of slavery became the law of England on March 23rd, 1807. The following touching remarks proceeded from the pen of Wilberforce immediately before the successful issue. "Never surely had I more cause for gratitude than now, when carrying the great object of my life, to which a gracious Providence directed my thoughts twenty-six or twenty-seven years ago, and led my endeavours in 1787 or 1788. O Lord, let me praise Thee with my whole heart: for never surely was there anyone so deeply indebted as myself; which way soever I look, I am crowded with blessings. Oh may my gratitude be in some degree proportionate!"

Shortly before his death in 1833, he breathed the same pious spirit in the words, "I thank God that I should have lived to see the day when England is willing to give twenty millions sterling for the abolition of slavery!"

Who can adequately imagine the joy of that emancipation that followed, when thousands of men, women and children, long held in slavery's cruel chains, emerged into the unwonted freedom of a life of liberty! Ah, how dear a treasure is this on earth, and yet, infinitely greater is deliverance from Satan's terrible bondage, and the liberty which the glad tidings of God's grace gives to the sin-bound creature! But alas, the deceitful heart of man knows not the fetters of the enemy nor appreciates the liberty which God alone can give!

My reader, are you in slavery? Will you be made free? The Lord Jesus said on earth, (and His words are for every unconverted soul still), "If the Son therefore, shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed."

A Friend to the Friendless.

The Seventh Earl of Shaftesbury.

The name of Lord Shaftesbury has long been held in honour and esteem by many a man, woman, and child who has lived in England during the nineteenth century. It is linked in our minds with a long and useful life, spent in the alleviation of misery in varied forms, from the vigour of his youth and manhood, till the feebleness of fourscore years and more. As a nobleman, and in parliament, he first came forth to public life in England, in occupation with the affairs of the country which had given him birth. Soon, however, the pressure of other and higher claims upon him, gained the mastery of his soul as a Christian, and then a position of prominence before the world, became the result.

Lord Shaftesbury was deeply interested in the needs of the poor and the friendless, and warmly advocated their cause in public, with untiring zeal. Much of the work with which he was associated, was done on a large scale and widely known, so that his name is familiar abroad as well as at home. The rarity, too, of one from the circle of aristocratic life, finding his joy in seeking to lessen the misery of his fellow-creatures was probably the means of bringing the willing worker to the front, at the call of others who regarded the eminence of his title and name.

Before noticing the early days of this well-known nobleman, we may profitably look, for a little, at the expressed habits of his spiritual life. His own statements give a beautiful and instructive key which opens up to view the place he trod on earth. Lord Shaftesbury was a man of prayer, habitually looking to God in dependence before acting, and turning to Him with thanksgiving afterwards. His first speech in parliament, was delivered, after asking most earnestly for aid and courage, and when it was over, the applause of his friends was not allowed to interfere with a speedy return to his own room, there to give thanks to God his Father. "Give unto the Lord the glory due unto his name;" was thus a principle very early made manifest in his career. His own words on the subject ran thus: "Prayer to begin, prayer to accompany, and prayer to close any undertaking for His service, is the secret of all prospering in our ways."

Let us go back to the opening years of this useful life, and, see the subject of our chapter as Lord Ashley, for he reached the ripe years of manhood, before succeeding to his father's title and position. His childhood was not by any means bright, but he learned to trust in the Lord Jesus Christ then, and early experienced the peace which flows from faith in God. Therefore, out of the saddest of his days, the greatest blessedness sprang, which far more than outweighed the sorrows of the child, and the absence of natural joys in his youth.

"Oh the joy for ever flowing,

From God's thoughts of His own Son!

Oh, the peace of simply knowing,

On the cross that all was done!"

The surroundings of Lord Ashley's infancy were of the most worldly character, for his parents were occupied with the things of time, and could not train the child for God. The Lord had fitted another in the household to do this needed work, however, and the lack in the family only brought the child more constantly under the power of a godly influence in the nursery. This was a faithful old servant who had been Lady Shaftesbury's maid before her marriage, and continued to serve her mistress after that event, in her new home. She eventually accepted the responsible position of nurse, and in this capacity, was used of God, to sow the good seed of the word in young Ashley's heart, though she did not live to see the manifold results. The noble work of moulding an infant mind in wisdom's ways, was thus committed to a woman's trust, who was walking in the fear of the Lord herself.

A strong attachment bound those two hearts together, the elder nearly done with time, the younger only entering into life. The pious nurse became the confidante of all the little sorrows of childhood's day, while the precious soul for which she was responsible, was carefully taught in the ways of the Lord. The child eagerly drank the water of life, and greatly prized the dear faithful woman who brought it within his reach, by the word of God. The glad tidings, of salvation gave joy to their hearts, because they not only heard, but also believed. "Let him that is athirst come and whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely."

Well and wisely, did that pious woman do her work, and she may have been able to rejoice that her labour was not in vain, in the Lord. The child was only a few years under her care, yet before he had reached the age of seven, she had nobly used the golden opportunities in her cherished charge, to do a work which none could ever undo. In many little ways, the fruit, even then, must have been seen, and the loving confidence of the gentle child amply repaid the nurse's love. As time sped on, the good seed of the word became more manifest in the fruit of the Spirit, whether in the devotion of Lord Ashley in youth, or in the pious activity of his manhood as Lord Shaftesbury, on to the mellow maturity of a ripe old age.

That a valuable lesson is here for the godly mother, governess, or nurse! � a soul committed to a woman's care, a service done to a living Saviour, the blessing added that maketh rich, and multitudes are blessed in consequence. "In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand: for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good."

At the tender age of seven years, the quiet of the nursery in the parental home was exchanged for many an unhappy day in school routine, under a stranger's roof and charge. Taken thus from his best and earliest friend, brought into contact with rough and older boys whose wicked ways he loathed, this young nobleman experienced sorrows in these first days at school, of which children in humbler life know little.

Unhappy at home, the child had always had the comfort of his nursery friend to turn to, but now, away in a cold and chilly moral atmosphere, he was truly friendless, because there were none to meet the full need of his heart in companionship. While these days of misery passed slowly on, the first overwhelming sorrow of his life came upon him, in the death of his beloved nurse. The painful certainty that he would never see her again on earth, added greatly to the discomfort of those bitter school-days.

�All things work together for good to them that love God." These words of holy writ were abundantly verified in Lord Ashley's youth, as well as in the case of many a precious soul on this wide earth. This bereavement was for true soul-blessing, from the heart and hand of One who makes no mistakes. If with his dear old friend he had learned of God by the scriptures she loved, how much more need was there to read them himself, now that he stood alone in his soul's great need! So the boy in his loneliness sought the comfort of the Book she had valued, and the Father who had taken her in love, drew the youthful believer the more to unburden his heart to Him in prayer. Thus early began, through death, the habits of his youth, manhood and old age � the word for counsel, the throne of grace for help in time of need.

The trials of school life became considerably less when young Ashley was removed to Harrow, at the age of twelve, to continue his studies under much more pleasant circumstances, and in a happier home than before. Those years of trouble, between seven and twelve, taught the youthful believer to walk alone in faith. While he greatly missed the brightness which at his age it was natural for him to expect, his soul learned many a deeper lesson such as more cheerful surroundings might never have brought within his reach. The Lord, in His perfect wisdom, was winning the confidence of a young and tender heart, which shrank from a cold unfeeling world, and could confide in none on earth, at the time. The holy habit of referring everything to God, was thus begun in youth, and became the joy and delight of a lifetime.

The first distinct bent of the boy's mind towards the voluntary occupations of future years, seems to have been consciously felt, during these school days. A very common circumstance, that of an obscure man being carried to the grave, was the apparently insignificant event which the venerable Lord Shaftesbury spoke of, seventy years afterwards, in the following terms: "God called me to the work, and gave me strength to do it; and I can see now the very spot, and I could almost tell the hour of the day, at which the thought first entered into my mind, when a boy of thirteen or fourteen years of age, at Harrow School."

It was a painful sight to the eye, and equally unpleasant to the ear, which thus met the thoughtful boy in his lonely walk that day, and so far determined the whole course of his life as a man. No special interest in the dead, nor sympathy with the living, animated the youth, but the helplessness of the dust to be consigned to the earth, and the sin of the men who bore it, deeply stirred Lord Ashley's soul, as he looked on in horror. The cold clay within that rude coffin was carried by men so intoxicated as to reel and totter in their steps, while they dropped their lifeless load, and poured forth from their lips language only in keeping with their vile and depraved condition.

Five debased drunkards formed that funeral; none to grieve, none to pity, none to speak of death, eternity and God, in that pitiable group, only a dead body carried by men living in the flesh but wholly dead in trespasses and sins. This revolting scene which attracted the schoolboy's attention on Harrow Hill, and touched his heart with that genuine pity which only God can give, constituted him the only true mourner as he watched the progress of the miserable company. "Can this be permitted," he exclaimed, "simply because the man was poor and friendless?" There and then the desire was formed within the boy, to take his stand beside the needy and the helpless, though years passed over his head before it took shape in practice, when the instrument had been made ready for use by the hand of the divine Master.

On leaving Harrow, Lord Ashley was placed under the care of a clergyman for two years, when study was greatly neglected, but a fresh start was given, when he proceeded to Oxford at the age of eighteen. His mind then seems to have expanded to a considerable degree, so that its cultivation was more rapid and steady than before. There, in his student life, the energy and perseverance became manifest which so marked his long career of usefulness to the close. At twenty-one, he gained a first class in classics, and four years afterwards, he took his place in parliament.

On the threshold of his life-work we must leave the young Lord Ashley as one who was, ere long, to be known among rich and poor, high and low, possessing a heart which felt for others' woes, and constantly labouring to assuage the sorrows of many. Above all, the seventh earl of Shaftesbury was known by the holy honoured name of Christian, in its truest sense; that is, not only one who took the name of Christ upon him, but one who belonged to Christ, and was seeking to occupy, "till he come."

Nature had many charms for Lord. Shaftesbury, for he greatly enjoyed its varied beauties, with a mind simple and appreciative. He saw in creation the hand of the Creator, and loved the workmanship because he loved the living God, and knew him by the tender name of Father. Thoughts were suggested about the coming One, by the blue sky or the clouds of heaven, and a lonely walk afforded occasion for "a silent prayer in solitude and contemplation."

Like every one who seeks to serve "Jesus only," this devoted man knew what it was to practise self-denial. He was of a sensitive nature, and loved retirement, yet he went forth in public in the face of much that touched him keenly, that he might serve rather than rest. He loved the quiet of home, and the society of friends, and valued time for mental enjoyment. Instead of yielding to these tastes, however, Lord Shaftesbury sought to soothe the sorrowful, relieve the needy, encourage the weak, raise the fallen, and befriend the friendless. So to the front he went, with much moral courage, seeking to deny himself that he might benefit his less-favoured fellow-men.

We have seen how large a place prayer had in the varied events of the life whose early impressions we have been recording, though only to a small extent, for there is much in a dependent spirit, that is hidden from the eye of man. It is fostered by feeding upon the word, and he who speaks much to God, cannot fail to delight in what He has written.

Of this matter, Lord Shaftesbury expressed himself in the following words: "The Bible, the whole Bible, and nothing but the Bible!" "Amid all the conflicts of the nations coming upon the earth, that Book shall be our life, our light, our security, our pillar of cloud by day, our pillar of fire by night, our guide through all our perils; and none but those who have the Bible in their hearts, will be able to meet the great conflict, and stand in their lot, at the end of the days."

Present Lessons from Past Labours.

Of all the millions of men who have trodden the earth, our minds have been occupied in the preceding pages with only six, and of these, the most insignificant part of their lives has claimed our attention. The child or the boy may pass unnoticed, but when the full development of manhood is reached, it is then the mark of the mind is best seen, for good, or for evil. If boyhood, however, is less prominent, it is a period of life of the greatest importance, for the principles and habits acquired then often follow one through many, many years.

We have seen these six men living for the benefit of others less favoured than they. The whole course of each life was coloured with the object which was so dear to the heart, and everything was looked at in its relation to the one desire which governed the person. This mental purpose was cherished and pursued, from very small beginnings to the final triumph, and a grand and visible success.

Most people would enjoy the achievement of a long cherished desire, but fewer have the moral courage to follow the first faint wish from its occurrence in the mind, to a successful accomplishment in action. One must be content to be led on little by little, through good report and through bad report, by the rough ways where self is denied, or the difficult steps which incur reproach.

William Farel waged war with error, but he did it at the risk of his reputation, and even life itself. Philip Melancthon held the scriptures in such unwonted prominence, that he incurred blame in his student days, and was misjudged even when only carrying a copy. George Whitefield feared not to be accounted mad, if only he could awaken souls to a sense of their danger, and lead them to Christ. Naturally, young Judson seemed fitted to shine in America, but to preach to the heathen, he was willing to hide himself in Burmah, away from the surrounding civilization and enlightenment of his youth. Wilberforce laboured, in the face of much opposition, to influence individuals, till he succeeded in touching the whole British nation with a sense of what was due to God, and the slave as His creature. And lastly, Lord Shaftesbury had to undergo the bitter but necessary training of friendlessness in youth, before as a man he went forth to befriend his fellow-creatures in their helplessness and misery.

Perhaps the young reader of these pages has felt the desire awakened in the soul to live to some good and noble purpose in life. If the opening years of those valuable lives have set before you lessons which are profitable and worthy of attainment, then remember those true and familiar words � "There is no royal road to learning."

Many valuable old maxims were brought before me in the days of my childhood, when my brain was only developing, as that of my young readers may also be, at the present time. These have formed substantial principles in after life, for which I have frequently been thankful, and am still. I was often reminded of the fact, that "a man is known by the company he keeps, and by the books he reads." This is simply because the mind which controls the movements of the body, instinctively associates itself with that which suits it, whether in living individuals or inanimate books. Tastes and desires are also strengthened or acquired, in the time thus spent, and the mind so engaged.

Boys have generally more time for reading than girls, for the needle occupies the gentle fingers during many moments which the boy can freely spend on his much-loved book. It may be well that it is so, for some girls have a taste for reading of a less solid character than suits the mind of the future man. It is a well-known fact, that what is called light reading tends to unfit one for practical duties, whereas books which give more exercise to the mind than a mere record of frivolities, form thoughts and ways of greater activity and energy.

We are careful as to the kind of nourishment taken into the body, why should we be less particular as to mental food? Scripture says, "Take heed what you hear;" "Take heed therefore how ye hear." Both thoughts teach us the importance of keeping out all one can, that would not be profitable to the soul, which is reached through the body. The formation of the mind depends much on the outward influences brought to bear upon it under God. He can overrule all, and speak to the heart at any period of life, but His own perfect word commands, "Train up a child in the way he should go."

Two well-known rivers, on whose waters I have sailed, rise before me in memory, when I think of how mentally the youthful life is moulded by surroundings of good or evil. The Rhine and the Rhone first see the light of day in the same beautiful country, and only a short distance apart. Like the youthful mind, they begin small, and very little would turn their course in any given way. A stone, a rock, a bank, suffices to give a certain turn or bend to a river, which will shape the direction it takes, till its existence on earth is over. So with your mind, dear young reader! formed, moulded, bent as it is in any particular direction according to the influences brought to bear upon it, how needful then it is that you should shun that which is evil, and choose only what is good!

The destiny of the Rhone is the beautiful Mediterranean, therefore turning south, it runs with short and rapid flow through the magnificent country that lies between those sparkling waters and its source. The surroundings are those of a sunny clime, and charming scenery, with a southern warmth ever increasing in the river's onward course. I spent twelve hours one autumn day sailing down to Avignon, and nature seemed most fair and lovely on each side of its broad waters, and as far as the eye could reach. In the hand of God the Creator, the Rhone is useful to man, His creature, but I leave my reader to gather lessons from its course when contrasted with that of its early neighbour in Switzerland.

The Rhine, like the Rhone, soon leaves the land of its birth, but while the latter speeds on through sunny France, the former is slowly passing through German territory, and becomes both widely known, and greatly praised. Increasing in width, usefulness, and beauty, it pursues a steady northward course, where the German nation boasts of its greatness, and profits by its presence. On, on, on to the sea, never ceasing, never idling, but in the hands of the Creator a comfort, a blessing, a profit to many, the beautiful river makes haste to begone! Lingering not by vine-clad heights, or scenes of human greatness, it leaves alike the busy town, the prosperous village, the stately castle, to seek the cold grey sea in the north, where its waters mingle with the ocean, and finally encircle the earth.

"The ear of the wise seeketh knowledge." So wrote the wise man in his book of Proverbs, as inspired by the Holy Spirit of God. Following out this thought, you and I, dear reader, may gather a few lessons from the far-famed Rhine, that will help us in life's journey to live for others' good. Infinitely more than a creature of earth, the believer may shine for Christ in the new creation, where "all things are of God."

Begin at the cross, my unsaved reader! that as a needy sinner you may be saved by a loving Saviour, who "died for all" there. Then, as a child of God, by faith in Christ Jesus, let the Holy Ghost lead and guide you, bending your steps on earth as suits his perfect wisdom, and you will leave behind you traces of moral beauty, marvellous because divine. A well-ordered mind should produce a well-spent life, hearing such useful results as will call forth praise from many a heart to God.

Then, beyond the banks of your God-given life, beyond the inhabitants of the places where you have lived, the glorious infinitude of the future lies before you, in all its great and wonderful reality. There in divine perfection and bliss, your spirit, soul, and body, will be for ever occupied with one centre of glory and adoration � God's Son as your Saviour! His Christ as your Lord! His Lamb as your Redeemer!

To stimulate the believing youth to holy deeds of love, as he passes on to eternity, the record of these young lives has been written, but for the unsaved boy who remains so, I can only sorrowfully add, that no deeds worth remembering, either great or small, can be done by the soul that continues to be a great sinner, and despises in his neglect, a seeking Saviour!

"In the place where the tree falleth, there it shall be." � Eccles. 11: 3.

"Life is brief � a span, a shadow,

Vapour vanishing from sight;

Time is short � each moment bearing

Mortals, in its rapid flight.

"Precious soul of God's creation

What to thee are time and life?

Are they spent for Jesus only?

Or with self and folly rife?

"Endless, boundless is the future �

Full with bliss or woe to thee;

See the end of all thy labour �

After time, eternity!"

STEM Publishing : For the Young : Stories of East London

Stories of East London

or,

(Peeps into Busy Places).

by C.J.L.

London Gospel Tract Depot, 20, Paternoster Square, E.C.

Contents.

Chapter 1. Jute Hands

Chapter 2. Blind Maria

Chapter 3. Among The Match Girls

Chapter 4. Match Box Makers

Chapter 5. Fancy Boxes

Chapter 6. Toy Makers

Chapter 7. Working In The Dark

Chapter 8. Working Girls

Chapter 9. Brush Makers And Braille Makers

Chapter 10. Among The Hop Pickers

Chapter 11. Surgical Bandage Makers

Chapter 12. A Rock-Bound Coast

Chapter 1.

Jute Hands.

Who is willing to join me in a ramble to-day? We have taken some pleasant ones together. Many a bright autumn morning has found us on the sands or by the shore, hunting among sea-weeds and pebbles for crabs or starfish, learning a little more than we might have known before of the wisdom and power of God in His care for such weak tiny things as sea snails or hermit crabs.

But our walks on this occasion will not take us within sight or sound of the sea; we are not going to the fields to gather flowers or to the woods to return with baskets well filled with nuts.

Ah! I see you are beginning to wonder where I am going to take you. To pay some visits, and get a few peeps at the working girls of East London.

Edith looks up with a smile and says, "It will be delightful," for she has read of little children who work at match box making, and would very much like to see some of them.

Match box making is only one of many occupations in which we shall find the girls we are going to see employed, and though I am glad to be able to tell you that the amount of child-labour in East London is not nearly so large as it was before the law of England required that every child in Great Britain should receive some education, still we shall find much that will, I hope, prove interesting.

Where shall we begin?

Suppose we visit a jute factory, and take a peep at "the hands," as the working girls are called, who spend so much of their week-day lives within its walls.

But perhaps before we ring the bell I had better tell you where all the jute comes from.

It does not grow in England, so has to be sent over from some other country. Much of it comes from Russia and the cold countries north of the Baltic.

Frank says, "It is an import."

He is quite right, and I should have used the word myself, only I was afraid some of my very little friends might not know its meaning.

Many shiploads of jute come into the Port of London every year. If we were to visit the Docks we should see it lying about in large bales.

It is a vegetable fibre, not unlike flax or hemp. It is largely used in making ropes, coarse sacks, and for other purposes. Some of the very same jute, too, spun and dyed, re-enters the market under another name. It is the ice wool some of our girls are so fond of working into shawls, caps and other pretty and useful birthday or New Year presents.

But the jute as we see it in the Docks is what is called in its raw state and must pass through many hands, as it needs to be cleaned, combed, sorted, etc., before it will be ready for use.

Let us go into the factory. What a busy scene it is! Great numbers of girls are at work picking or combing the jute. They seem very poor, but most of them are clean, and we are glad to notice the rooms are airy and well lighted in which their work has to be done.

Many of the young work-people attend Sunday school or Bible class, so they have heard the sweet story of a Saviour's love, and there is reason to hope that a few at least have not only heard but believed the gospel message, and are seeking in their daily walk and ways to please and honour the Lord Jesus.

One who knows the jute girls better than I do, has often told me how for quite a long time any attempt to bring them under the sound of the gospel seemed such very discouraging, almost hopeless work, that several who had tried, gave it up, saying, "It is of no use." For, though perhaps it would be going too far to say that even at the time of which I write there were not one or two christian girls in the jute factory, taking them as a class they were perhaps the wildest and roughest of all the working girls of East London: hardly one went to Sunday school, and when any were invited to attend they would refuse, saying, We don't like to sit with girls who wear better clothes than ourselves."

But "God, who is rich in mercy," had thoughts of peace and blessing even for these poor neglected girls: He wanted them to hear of His love to sinners, and the story of how a Bible class for them grew from a very small beginning will, I feel sure, be read with interest by all our young friends.

Chapter 2.

Blind Maria.

Oh, how I wish I could get just a few of those poor jute girls to come to my house sometimes! I would, with the blessing of the Lord, teach them to read their Bibles, and tell them of the love of God in the gift of His Son. But I have asked them ever so many times and they will not come.

Thoughts something like these you have just been reading were passing through the mind of an earnest worker for Christ as one Sunday afternoon he passed the jute factory on his way to school, where, as he knew, the girls of his Bible class would be waiting for him.

He might not like me to tell you his real name, so we will call him Mr. Marks. That he had very often tried to make friends with the jute girls was quite true; but perhaps it was because they were so little used to kind words they seemed afraid to trust him.

Sometimes they would run away laughing loudly, in a way that seemed to say, "Oh, you don't want us, we are only jute hands;" or, what was even more trying, now and then one would say, "Yes; I should like to learn to read," and would promise to go to his house for the first lesson on the very next evening, a promise that had never been kept.

But Mr. Marks had done more, he had taken his desire to help and teach the jute girls to God in prayer, asking Him to shew him a way by which they could be reached. And though I think he hardly knew himself how it came about, on that very afternoon he closed his Bible five minutes before the time for lessons was up and began telling his girls of his great wish to form an evening class among the workers in the jute mill. He asked any who had begun to pray for themselves to pray for the talked-of class, and said he should be glad of any help they could give.

Among the girls who had listened to him was one who was quite blind, Maria as she was called by all who knew her.

She went home that day with one great desire filling her heart, a longing to please and help her much-loved teacher. It did not seem as if a blind girl could do much, but Maria was going to try.

She knew one of the jute girls, whose mother had often worked for her mother, and in some way she contrived to get to her house at a time when she knew Rose would be likely to be at home.

"Please, Rose, I have come to ask you if you would do something very kind for me. Will you take me to school next Sunday?" Maria said, and gaining courage as she went on, continued, "I do love going, and sometimes my brother has to go out on Sunday for the gentleman he works for, and then I have to stay at home, for you know I can't go alone, only when somebody takes me."

The last appeal was too much for Rose. While she did not care about going herself, she felt as if she could not refuse to take a little trouble to give so much pleasure to her sightless friend, and though I think she began to make some excuse about not having any clothes fit to go in, you may be sure Maria did not leave till Rose had promised to call for her the next Sunday.

She kept her promise most faithfully, and I shall leave you to judge for yourselves of Maria's delight as she said to her teacher, "Please, sir, Rose works at the jute mill."

After school Rose found herself staying behind with Maria and Mr. Marks, talking to the latter as if he were an old friend.

"Yes," she said; if he did not mind beginning a class with only two girls, she would be willing to attend, and she could, she thought, promise that the girl who worked next to her in the mill would join it too, for they were great friends and always loved to do the same things and go to the same places.

And so the class was begun, and though for some weeks Rose and her friend were the only ones who came, it soon grew into quite a large one, and before the winter came on, a christian lady, on hearing that many of these poor girls had never been taught to sew, offered to teach any who would meet her after work hours in a bright, pleasant room, how to cut out as well as how to make and mend their clothes.

After a few months it was encouraging to see how much more tidy many of the girls began to look; their manners, too, were less rude and noisy.

But, better still, a few were beginning to ask, each one for herself, "What must I do to be saved?" And we know one only answer to that question could meet the need of any soul who, led by the Holy Spirit, really longs to know Christ as a Saviour � "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." (Acts 16: 30.)

Chapter 3.

Among the Match Girls.

A visit to a match factory, would, I think, surprise most of us greatly. We should say on leaving that we had never even guessed that half so much work needed to be done before the logs of wood, sent by shiploads from abroad, and brought to the factory on waggons so heavily laden that a whole team of horses is often needed to draw them, can be sent out again as matches, neatly packed into the small boxes we all see, and perhaps use, so often.

It would be interesting to go through all the sheds and rooms in which the different parts of the work are done, and to listen while the manager tells us the names and uses of the different machines, many of them working by steam, needed for splitting, sawing, and in other ways getting the wood ready for the use to which it is to be put. We should notice with pleasure that the rooms in which the girls work are airy and well lighted.

But as an account of such a visit would perhaps not be quite the kind of story suited for this little volume, I am going to propose, by way of a change, that instead of watching the girls busy at their work we meet them as they are leaving and ask one or two of those we know to tell us a little about their employment.

Shall we suppose ourselves in East London, just outside the gates of Bryant and May's, one of (if not the largest) the East End factories?

The handsome clock on the outside of the building is on the point of striking six, and as the last stroke dies away the gates will open and the work-people, to the number of several hundred, come out. Here they are, and for a few minutes Fairfield Road will be a very busy scene.

The girls we are waiting for are not among the first comers, so we shall have time to look a little at their companions.

Taking them as a whole they are a rather rough class of girls; many of them say that they like working in the factory better than to go to service. Nearly all wear clean white aprons, and we cannot help noticing that almost every girl has a large feather (blue, white, green, or red) in her hat.

Here are two, neater in dress and quieter in manner than most who have passed us � Carrie and Emma.

They greet us with a pleasant "good evening," and we soon find they love to hear and speak of the Lord Jesus as the Saviour they have begun to trust. They say there are some decided Christians among the workgirls, and we know that each one, if true to Christ, will be a "light shining for Him," for we, who "have tasted that the Lord is gracious," need to be often reminded that we are to be here for Christ.

But Carrie says she cannot quite understand what it means. Only the Holy Spirit can really teach any of us how very real and blessed it is to be for Christ here now; but perhaps some words that helped me may help Carrie too.

I am not sure that I remember them exactly, but their meaning is, that if we are Christians we belong to Christ, and so everything we do is to be done in a way that will suit and please Him.

Our bodies, too, are the Lord's, and so we are to use them in His service, just as a slave would use his time and strength in doing the very kind of work his owner wanted.

Carrie and Emma are sisters, and their mother, who is a widow, is very often ill, and does not seem quite willing that her daughters should leave home, so they go on working at the factory, and their earnings are a great help in keeping the little home together.

Emma says, "We had rather a rough time with the other girls when we were first converted; but it did us good, for it made us feel we needed to pray very often that we might be kept from doing or saying anything that would grieve the Lord. But when they saw we did not mind being laughed at or called names, many of them left it off and began to be kind to us, and one or two have gone with us to the Bible class or to hear the gospel preached."

Are the match boxes made in the factory?

"Oh, no; they are the work of our outdoor hands, who make them at their own homes and bring them in ready to be filled."

In our next chapter we may perhaps take a peep at "Match Box Makers," and learn a few of the secrets of one-room life.

Chapter 4.

Match Box Makers.

The poor children who are employed in making match boxes we have all heard of, or read about, but perhaps few of us have really seen them at work.

I have many times, and I am going to tell my young readers a little about their work and the places in which it is done.

What is Nellie saying? She thinks our story, as it is all true, ought to begin by telling you where the match box makers live.

Match box making is carried on in many parts of East London � Shoreditch, Spitalfields, Whitechapel, Bethnal Green, Hackney Wick, and several others.

We cannot visit them all at once, we know, but a short journey by train will take us to Old Ford, and a walk of only a few minutes from the railway station will bring us into a road where quite a number of match box makers live.

It is quite early in the afternoon, but as it is holiday time the Board schools we pass on our way are closed, and we know we shall be likely to find the children at their work.

The houses, though not large, are often let to two or three families; in many cases the rent of one room is all that the people, most of whom are very poor, can afford to pay, and the boxes are made in the room in which father and three or four children live, eat and sleep; sometimes it is done in a small kitchen or washhouse.

Our knock at one of the doors is answered by a bright-looking little girl about ten years of age. "Yes," she says, they are quite busy; work has been very slack, but mother got an order this morning for six gross of boxes, they will be wanted tomorrow, so they must all work away."

We follow her, and find her mother and four other children sitting round a low table. Each worker has a pile of very thin strips of wood, a tin of paste and a packet of printed labels.

How quickly their fingers move! In less time than it takes to write about it the flat strips of wood are one at a time folded into boxes, pasted, labelled and thrown on to the heap of those already finished.

Talking need not stop working, and the mother, who seems glad to have a visitor, says, "There is not much doing in the trade now, so many of the cheap matches being made in Sweden and Germany."

She used to help her mother to make boxes when quite a little girl herself, not more than six or seven years old, often working from six in the morning till eight or nine o'clock at night, and was always kept away from school in busy times.

Children, she tells us, do not work such long hours now, they get more play and all attend school, but hers are always willing to "help mother" when she has any work.

Can they earn much? we ask. She shakes her head, saying, "Not a great deal, as the price paid for the work is very low, and though the wood and labels are supplied when the work is given out, they have to find their own paste and keep a good fire for drying, as wet work would not be passed by the overlooker."

Would the children like to hear a true story while they work?

It is pleasant to see how their eyes brighten, and we know by the look on their faces they are all going to listen,

"Not very long ago a young girl, who had begun to trust the Lord Jesus as her own precious Saviour, left her home in the country and went to a place of service in London. It was a large household where many servants were kept.

"Mary, as I am going to call her, was the kitchen-maid, an under-servant, the youngest and in a way the lowest of them all. She saw it would not be her place to talk much to people so much older than herself, but she prayed that the Lord would give her grace to live for Him, and I am going to tell you how her prayer was answered.

"Her master was obliged to leave his town house, and was away for many weeks.

"On his return he told his servants that he was so pleased with the way in which they had served him during his absence, he was going to give them what he thought would be a great treat, every one was to have a free ticket for the theatre. All but Mary had got their tickets; when her name was called she went up to her master, saying in a shy way, 'Thank you all the same, sir; but if you please, sir, I don't want to go.'

"'Don't want to go! what a strange girl you are, you must tell me why not.'

"'Because, if you please, sir, the Lord Jesus loves me and I love Him, and I know He will not be there.'"

Chapter 5.

Fancy Boxes.

Please do not think, dear young readers, that because in our last chapter we took a peep at "one-room life," and saw just a few of the children whose work is done very often after school-hours in their own homes, that match boxes are the only kind wanted, or in making of which we shall find large numbers of girls employed.

We have all seen the pretty fancy boxes so largely used by drapers, grocers and confectioners; and although it is quite true that a few of the large firms have the boxes in which their sweets and chocolates are to be packed made on the premises, so many kinds of boxes are wanted that it would surprise some of us to hear how many gross can (in busy times) be sent out in a single week from some of the warehouses in Hoxton or Bethnal Green.

Very few of the fancy box hands work at their own homes.

Some of the warehouses employ from fifty to sixty girls, while by others the work is given out to persons who will promise to get a large quantity done, and who engage and pay a few girls to help them.

Shall we look into one of the smaller workrooms and see what the girls are doing?

Piles of cardboard, reams of coloured paper, and cans or tins of paste are on the tables, while at one end of the room two girls are pasting bright scraps or pictures on boxes that are soon, we are told, to be filled with cracker bon-bons.

Their fingers move very quickly, and they seem to work in a willing, cheerful way. Nearly all are doing what is called piecework, and are paid for just as many boxes as they make; their earnings are not more than five or six shillings weekly, though a few earn more. A great deal of time is often lost by having to wait for work.

We know several of the girls, one or two are old scholars, and as the forewoman does not object, we soon find ourselves talking, not about boxes and how they are made, but about a gospel meeting some of us attended not very long ago, and a sweet, true story we heard from the evangelist who spoke to us in his Master's name.

"A story," Maggie and George are saying, and Nellie asks if I would mind telling it over again. Well, dear, I am quite free to do so, for it interested me so greatly that I told Mr. M. I should like all the boys and girls I know to read or hear it too, and he was kind enough to say I might have it for my new volume.

"Caught up, caught up." The words seemed to be saying themselves over and over again to George F. as he went home from a meeting where an address on the coming of the Lord had been given.

The son of christian parents, from a child he had known "the holy scriptures," but till that night had never really felt his own need of salvation. As he drew near his house he noticed how dark it looked. He had been used to find a bright fire and lamp, supper and a loving welcome had always been ready for him, but on that night all these were wanting.

"I hope the Lord has not come yet," he said, as he entered the house, "Father and mother, and all who belong to Christ would be caught up to meet the Lord in the air, but I should be left for judgment." He sat down and fell asleep. How long he slept he could not tell, but when he awoke the house was still dark and silent.

He could bear it no longer. Lighting a candle he went to his father's room, it was empty; the Bible George had so often seen him reading lay open on the dressing table, but neither his father nor mother were in the room.

"If the Lord has really come I am sure Mr. M. has gone too," was the boy's next thought. It was not far to his house and George felt he must go and see.

He was soon there, and creeping along the garden path saw to his great delight, as the blinds had not been quite closed, the well-known form of his friend, who, though it was very late, was still busy writing.

"The Lord has not come, I have another opportunity, I may be saved tonight," George said with a great sigh of relief. That very night he owned to God that he was a lost sinner, and trusted the Lord Jesus Christ as his own precious Saviour.

Three evenings later he went to Mr. M.'s with such a bright, happy face, that his friend almost guessed the good news he had to tell before he had time to say, "I came on Tuesday night to see if you had been caught up to meet the Lord in the air, but if He comes to-night I know He will take me too, for I do trust Him now, and I am saved through His precious blood."

Caught up to glory, or left for judgment. It must be one or the other when the Lord comes. Which will be your portion?

Chapter 6.

Toy Makers.

If we want to see the toy makers really "at home," we shall have to say good-bye to the working-girls of East London and pay a visit to one of the quaint old towns of Germany.

We should find numbers of children, some of them not more than five or six years of age, very busy making toys, not to play with, but to sell, for quite a number of the toys we see in the windows of the toy-shops are made by the children of Holland and Germany, who do not seem to think it at all hard to have to begin early to help their parents by working.

But we cannot take such a long journey to-day, and yet I shall, I think, be able to shew you a few of the child toy makers, for a great many Germans live in the East of London, and some of them work at their old trade in the land of their adoption.

Who will go with me to a poor but quiet street in Shoreditch?

Lizzie and Florence are quite ready for a walk, but before we reach the house we are going to Lizzie has noticed that though the houses are small, many of the windows are large and flat, and wants to know why they are all of one shape?

Ah Lizzie, the windows you are looking at always interest me greatly, for the very old houses in which we still see them were built many years ago; in them French silk weavers set up their looms and worked at their own trade, weaving rich silks and soft velvets, costing I should be afraid to say how many shillings a yard.

Nearly all these weavers, or their fathers, had made a noble choice to suffer for Christ's sake rather than deny His name, to leave their pleasant homes and pretty gardens in France rather than give up their Bibles.

But what is Florrie saying? That she has heard of these weavers, who were sometimes called Huguenots, but thought they lived at Spitalfields.

Florrie is right, by far the largest number really settled there; but we are only a short walk from Spitalfields, and so many of the houses in Shoreditch and Bethnal Green are built with the windows Lizzie noticed, and which are, I believe, called "side lights," and we may be sure that many of them lived and worked in this neighbourhood.

But if we talk any more about the weavers we shall not have time for our visit to the doll makers.

How busy they all are � father, mother and four children. What are they making? Wooden dolls.

Can they get enough work to keep them employed all the year round?

"Oh, no," the father, who speaks English very well, says. There is not much doing in the doll line, for it is really cheaper to get toys from Germany than to have them made in England; but now and then, when they are wanted in a hurry, he gets an order for a few dozen, and then the whole family work till they are ready to be sent to the warehouse.

He is cutting out dolls from pieces of wood, while the eldest son rounds off all the arms on a small turning lathe.

When ready they are passed on to a girl, who fastens arms and legs on to the bodies. The mother paints the faces. Two younger children are busy "helping mother," and we think of the old proverb "Many hands make light work."

It is cheering to find that this industrious family have a Bible in their own language, a Bible that is greatly valued and often read. The father sometimes tells his children stories of Germany, "the Fatherland," as he loves to call it. One they like very much begins something like this:

"Through an old town in Germany,

Four hundred years ago,

A little boy, barefooted,

Went singing through the snow."

And goes on to tell how Martin Luther, of whom we have all heard and read so much, was, when a boy, so poor that while attending school and working hard at his lessons, was often obliged to go, with a few other schoolboys as needy as himself, into the streets and sing, hoping to receive a little food or a few small coins.

But God was leading him on step by step to the great work of his life.

A time came when, after having long felt the burden of sin and tried in many ways to save himself, he was at last enabled to turn away from his own doings and trust only in the finished work of the Lord Jesus. Then, but not till then, he was free to tell others of the Saviour who had sought and found him.

Perhaps another time I may tell you how graciously the Lord helped him to place numbers of gospel books and tracts in the hands of thousands of German readers.

Chapter 7.

Working in the Dark.

Lily is saying, "What a strange title!" while Harold, who is fond of guessing, says he expects that instead of having our usual talk about working girls I am going to ask you to visit some home where no ray of sunlight ever enters, and where all would be in darkness if the lamps of the miners did not shine brightly and throw a few gleams of light into its long winding passages.

Ah Harold, you have guessed wrongly this time, for our walk to-day will not take us out of London. We have been invited to pay an afternoon visit to a school for the blind and watch the pupils busy at their work.

Before entering the classroom we are shewn quite a number of articles made in the institution: brushes of various kinds: baskets, some very large and strong, others so light and pretty that we cannot help being surprised at the skill and taste displayed, as we remember with perhaps a shade of sadness that they were made in the dark.

Here is a pile of mats; one or two of the older boys have had a few lessons in wood-turning, and the spoons, bowls and other things they have made shew good progress.

Now we are asked to look at knitted stockings, socks, comb-bags and shawls; some of the latter are very fine and the patterns and work are really beautiful.

A white shawl, knitted in Shetland wool by the pupils of a blind school in the North of England, was one among the many presents received by the Princess May on her marriage.

We should like to see how brushes are made, so we follow our guide into one of the workrooms. Quite a number of girls and women are at work, each sitting before a small vice firmly screwed on to a long wooden table, and for a few minutes we watch, without speaking, what is going on.

How quickly many of them take just the right number of bristles from the heap placed near each worker, fix them for a moment in the vice, and in less time than it takes to tell it, draw and fasten them into their proper places.

Hair-brushes are being made to-day, and the part of the work we are watching is called brush-drawing. Putting backs on the brushes is men's work, also finishing.

We are told of some who learnt brush-drawing when at school who carry it on at their own homes, and so are able to earn, if not quite a living, still what they find a great help.

"Are the girls taught basket making?"

"No, not now, only boys and men; for some years we taught the girls, too, and found they learnt just as quickly; but as the canes used in making baskets have to be kept wet or they would break instead of bending, and so many of our girls took bad colds from working in damp clothes, it was thought best to employ them in other work."

We have only time for one more visit, so we go to the schoolroom, where a party of blind children are busy in the Kindergarten class, stick-weaving, paper-folding, bead-threading, and even making clay models of fruit, walnuts, etc., and several other occupations are shewn, and the teacher, who is herself blind, seems really pleased by our interest in the children and their work.

But we should feel quite disappointed if we had nothing to remember about our visit but having seen a number of useful things made by the blind.

All the pupils are taught to read, and though we may not find one who has a whole Bible, it is a cheer to notice with what real pleasure most of the young people answer our questions by saying that they have one or two gospels or a few of the epistles in raised or dotted type which they read by passing their fingers lightly over the letters or dots.

Several say they have friends who write "Braille," and sometimes they get a real letter.

One has a daily text-book with verses of scripture and hymns for a month. But she says she has learnt every word in it, and though it has been a great comfort, she shall be so glad when the friend who sent it has time to dot her another.

She had a New Year's card with such a lovely text "But I am poor and needy; yet the Lord thinketh upon me." (Psa. 40: 17.)

But we must say "good-bye" to our new friend, so we leave, commending her and all her sightless companions to the love and care of that great, good Shepherd, who gave His life for the sheep.

"And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight." (Isa. 42: 16.)

Chapter 8.

Working Girls.

Shall we, dear young friends, take a peep today into City workrooms, and see how some of the girls we meet so often in a Bible class are occupied?

Our first visit shall be to a large factory, where about three hundred girls are employed, though, of course, they do not all work in one room.

They are capmakers, and, as we enter, the click of quite a number of sewing machines makes the scene rather a noisy one.

All work quietly as long as the forewoman is present, but she has just got a message that she is wanted elsewhere, and as soon as she leaves the room there is a good deal of loud talking and laughing. It is almost leaving-off time, so we shall not have long to wait for Jessie.

Here she comes, looking a little tired, and there is a cloud on her face.

We think of the time, not many months ago, when, as we believe, the Holy Spirit led Jessie to decide for Christ.

The Bible class was just over when Jessie's teacher, who felt sure that for some time she had been anxious and unhappy, felt she could not let her go without a few whispered words as to her personal need of salvation.

She felt and owned her need, and it was not long before she was enabled to rejoice in knowing that she was saved through the work and by the precious blood of Christ.

And now came the question, how could she serve and please the One who had loved and given Himself for her � the Lord Jesus?

She must, she knew, go on with her daily work; but she longed to do the old work in a new way, as one should who belonged to the Lord, and though, like most who are only just converted, I do not think she knew or thought much about the new power that could alone enable her to do this, the Spirit of God, for a time Jessie was very bright and happy.

Why, then, was she looking so sad?

Her story was soon told. "When I was first brought to the Lord," she said, "I thought I should never be tempted to do wrong any more, and that even if the girls I work with were rude or unkind to me, I should not mind it at all, but would go on praying for them; but I do not find it easy work, and sometimes I almost wonder if I have ever been converted."

You will wonder, Jessie dear, as long as your eye rests on yourself. Peace is in looking to another Person altogether, "Looking unto Jesus."

One of the lessons we all have as children of God to learn is, that we were not only a great deal worse than we thought ourselves, but that there is no good thing (apart from Christ) in us at all.

But it is a great comfort to remember that God knew just what we were before He took us up in grace. He allows us to find out how bad we are that we may turn away from ourselves and trust simply in Christ, glad, so glad, to be set free by His death to enjoy His love in the new place where He now is.

"All thy sins were laid upon Him,

Jesus bore them on the tree;

God who knew them laid them on Him,

And believing thou art free."

And as Jessie looked away from herself to her Saviour the clouds passed from her face, the trouble died out of her voice and she was again enabled to rejoice in the Lord, who had loved her and washed her from her sins in His own blood.

I know that this book will be read by quite a number of boys and girls who can say of the Lord Jesus, "He is my own precious Saviour," and perhaps one of those who may get it given them is just a little "discouraged because of the way" and is saying sadly, "Jessie's trouble is my trouble."

Is it, dear young believer? Then let Jessie's Saviour be your Deliverer too. Let Christ set you free.

I have seen sometimes when a shop has been shut up, a bill pasted on the shutters or in the window saying it would be re-opened under new management. Let the Lord who bought you take the management of your life. Let Him do for you by His power, the power of the Holy Spirit, just what you cannot do for yourself.

But I must not forget that we have other workrooms to visit, and in closing this chapter will give you a sweet little text, "We love him, because he first loved us." (1 John 4: 19.)

Chapter 9.

Brush Makers and Braille Writers.

Have you, my dear girls, ever tried to work in the dark?

I do not mean just running upstairs after the evening closed in and before the lamps were lighted, but doing real work such as sewing or knitting.

Nellie answers with a merry laugh that when she was quite a little girl she used very often to shut her eyes and try to go on with her sewing, but she found it almost impossible to work neatly and so soon gave it up; and Percy, who is fond of reading about mines and mining, reminds us that a great deal of work must be done in darkness before we can enjoy the warmth and light of a coal fire.

No ray of sunshine ever finds its way into the long winding passages and galleries of a mine.

Each miner, however, carries a small lamp covered with a network of very fine wire, and the light from these lamps shines out so brightly that there is always light enough to work by.

Percy is quite right, but as a visit to a mine would take us quite away from East London, and Mabel and Ruth would like to see a few more of our working girls, they shall go with me to pay an afternoon visit to two of my blind friends who live together, and though it would be too much to say "earn a living," are yet able to add a little to their small income by working each with her own hands, one as a brushmaker, the other as a Braille copyist.

There is no need to tell them who their visitors are, for the present is far from being our first visit, and they are quick to learn and remember voices.

"What a nice light room yours is," some one is saying.

One of the blind girls, Annie, as we will call her, answers with a pleased smile, "We thought of that in coming here, for though we cannot see the light for ourselves we know a room that is always dark cannot be a healthy one, and we enjoy pure fresh air."

Mabel is looking at the knitted window curtains, which are really very pretty, and seems quite surprised at being told they are the work of Annie's blind friend, Ellen.

Ellen is a brushmaker by trade, but not having had many orders lately has been able to do a great deal of knitting, and shews us a shawl made of wool so fine that it looks almost like lace.

We have seen blind brushmakers busy at their work, so after watching Ellen for a little while we ask what Annie is doing.

"Copying Braille," she says, and hands us a sheet of paper covered with rows of dots hardly larger than the pricks of a pin.

Ruth says she cannot make out even one letter of the alphabet, and finds it rather difficult to believe that dots mean not only letters but very often words.

Annie replies in such a bright pleasant way, "Ah, you would find it easy if you had learnt the system," and holding out her hand for the pricked sheet begins to read aloud:

"Now have I seen Thee and found Thee,

For Thou hast found Thy sheep

I fled, but Thy love would follow �

I strayed, but Thy love would keep."

Do Annie and Ellen know anything of the joy of having been sought and found by the Lord Jesus, the Shepherd who gave His life for the sheep? This is a true story, and I am very glad that I can say "Yes" in answer to your question.

So our blind friends have "light in their dwelling" � the light of a risen Saviour's love. Like the blind man of whom we read in the Gospel of John, Annie and Ellen can say each for herself, "One thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see." (John 9: 25.)

Annie tells us that Ellen and she were converted when quite young before leaving school, and were happy in knowing that their sins were forgiven for the sake of the Saviour who had loved and given Himself for them, and so for some years they went on content to know that they were saved through the precious blood of Christ, but going on with many things that they see now were not suited to the Lord.

But a time came when the Holy Spirit led them on, and they saw from the word of God that the Lord Jesus Christ has present thoughts and desires for His dear people.

His heart wants to have gathered to His name where He is owned as Lord, and the Holy Spirit ungrieved and unhindered is free to lead in worship, and so in obedience to His word our blind friends are found with those who while they wait for their Lord's return shew forth His death in the breaking of bread. (See 1 Cor. 11: 26.)

Chapter 10.

Among the Hop-Pickers.

Alice is saying that I promised to tell you stories of East London, and she is sure hops would not grow in the small gardens that we who live in London or even a little way out of it see so often.

Alice is quite right, and I agree with her in thinking that a chat about hops and hop-pickers does look a little like running away from my promise; yet so many girls whose homes are in East London are found every year in the hop gardens of Kent and Surrey, that it seems only fair to give them a place among our working girls.

Many of my readers will have been away for a pleasant two or three weeks in the country or by the sea during the summer months, and will, 1 think, like to know something of the way in which hundreds of poor children enjoy a holiday that is not "all play."

If we could pay a visit quite early in the summer to one of the crowded streets in Limehouse or Bethnal Green, or join the children in the playground of a Board school, we should most likely hear a good deal of talking about hops, and find that by the end of August whole families � fathers, mothers and children � would be quite ready and very glad to join the hop-pickers, and so get into the country for a few weeks.

Nearly all the railway companies run cheap trains from London to the hopping districts, and some of us who have been on the platform of a city station just before one of these trains started will not easily forget many things we noticed.

Taking the pickers as a whole they are cheerful and good-tempered, and though Carrie wonders why so many babies and children too young to pick are of the party, those of us who have visited the hop gardens know that even these tiny ones will give very little trouble; those who are old enough to run about are sure to have a good time on the soft grass, while a cosy nesting-place quite close to mother's bin will be found for the babies.

Most of us have seen hops grow, and will hardly need to be reminded that the plant is a climbing stem, and if not tied to a pole would be spoiled by trailing on the ground.

When the hops are ready to be gathered, these poles are pulled up by men, who in

doing so break or cut the stalk of the plant.

They are carried to the bins, where the picking is done by women and children, who are paid, not for the number of hours they work, but for the quantity of hops they pick, and we may be sure that the work, that looks at first very much like play, becomes tiring when it has to be gone on with all day in the hot sun, or when the clothes of the pickers are wet and uncomfortable through being soaked with rain by the heavy showers we get sometimes even in the hot days of August and September.

But I want very much to tell you a little about the way in which the gospel is carried into the hop gardens, for we must not forget that the soul has needs deeper and more enduring than those of the body, and for many years past some who love to tell

". . . . the old, old story

Of Jesus and His love "

have felt that the opportunity afforded by having so many people together is for gospel work a golden one and far too good to be lost.

Meetings for preaching are held nearly every evening, and a good deal of quiet but very happy work for the Master may be done during the day by going from bin to bin, giving gospel books or text cards or saying a few earnest words about salvation to the workers.

Now and then, too, the heart of the faithful servant is gladdened by finding one who can say of the Lord Jesus, "He is my own precious Saviour."

Then there is sure to be one or two gospel meetings for the children, and one only needs to look at their bright faces and listen to their hymn-singing to know they greatly enjoy their own meeting.

A friend, who was speaking to some young people not very long ago, taught his hearers four lines of poetry. I do not know who they were composed by, but I thought them so good that I do not think I can close our talk about hops and hop-pickers better than by copying them.

"'Tis not for what I give Him,

It is when I believe Him

I feel His love and hear Him

Bid me be happy near Him."

Chapter 11.

Surgical Bandage Makers.

Is it to visit some hospital we are going today? and are we to pass from bed to bed seeking to cheer the sufferers by a few whispered words about the love of God in the gift of His Son, see some sad sights, and listen to still sadder stories?

No; we have been invited to take a peep into another workroom, and we accept the invitation with real pleasure, for two of our own girls are among the workers, and Lizzie and Mary would feel almost neglected if we passed them by without a smile or word of encouragement.

The room in which the young people work, though smaller than some we have visited, has two large windows, and one side is almost taken up by a cupboard with glass doors.

What a stock of bandages, lint, splints, and other things of which we do not know even the names or uses are on its shelves.

The forewoman, who has a pleasant face and a kind manner, explains by telling us that many of the oddly-shaped belts, etc., we are looking at will be returned in a few days to a maker of surgical instruments, who sends them to their firm to be lined, etc., a part of the work that requires not only great care and neatness but skilled fingers, as the slightest roughness or crease would give pain to the wearer and so render what was intended to be a help and comfort worse than useless.

We wonder where all the bandages, chest protectors, etc., will be wanted or used, and are told that some of them are intended for the children's ward in one of the London hospitals.

We remember a visit paid not so very long ago to a hospital in which all the patients were children, some of them dear little babies of not more than a few months old, and wish we could take all our young friends for an afternoon visit to one of its pretty wards.

Some of the tiny patients were asleep in dainty swing cots, vases of fresh, bright flowers were on the table, and a canary in a gilded cage sang his sweetest song at one of the open windows.

Ah! but we saw many things besides birds and flowers during that visit. There were little children with pale, pain-worn faces; children who would never walk again or join in the merry games of their playmates.

One small boy, who was run over nearly a year ago and so badly hurt that the doctors were obliged to cut off both his legs, gets about the ward quite quickly on his crutches and we notice a fair-haired little girl who looks very pale and ill.

Her name is Jessie, and the nurse tells us that a fall when she was quite a baby caused such severe injury to the spine that Jessie has never walked and is always obliged to lie quite still in her white cot. She is a gentle, patient child and very fond of singing hymns, and there is reason to hope that her young heart has been touched and won by a Saviour's love.

We are shewn more bandages and told they are going to be sent to far-off India, where a missionary, who is also a doctor, will be very glad of them for use in a small hospital he has opened, where any of the natives who are ill can go and have advice and medicine without having to pay for it.

The hospital is open all the year round, and day after day its small waiting-room is crowded by dark-faced people who speak a strange language.

Many of them worship idols, and come to the mission hospital, glad to get a little medicine for their sick bodies and with little thought of their never-dying souls.

But before the doctor sees one of his patients the doors are closed, and for a few moments every one is very quiet, for they are listening to Bible words as some one reads one of the Lord's parables or miracles of healing, and then they hear � some, perhaps, for the first time � of the one true God, the Creator of heaven and earth, and of His love in sending His only Son to die upon the cross for sinners.

But this wonderful story, so wonderful because it is all true, would be only half told if Mr. S. did not go on to speak of the Lord Jesus as a risen, living Saviour and of the new place where He now is.

Mabel says, in almost a whisper, "He is in heaven."

Yes; and if we turn for a moment to one of the letters written by Peter, we shall read: "who is gone into heaven, and is on the right hand of God." (1 Peter 3: 22.)

Chapter 12.

A Rock-Bound Coast.

My dear girls, please do not think because we have visited quite a number of workrooms during the year that nothing is left to be seen or learnt about the working girls of East London.

Lillie and Florence are, we fear, feeling just a little hurt on finding that our walks have not taken us so far Citywards as Fleet Street, for there we should have found them each busy at her work: Lillie among the bookbinders, Florence as an envelope-folder in one of our large city firms.

We know both girls well, we have met them so often in a Bible class, and it would really have been pleasant to watch their bright faces and busy fingers for a little while.

But if we cannot stop to visit City workrooms, it will be pleasant, and I hope profitable, to spend half an hour in the inspection of the "South London Workshops for the Blind."

Stockrooms and a shop in which articles made by blind workmen and workwomen are exposed for sale occupy by far the greater part of the ground floor. But when the manager says "Would you like to see our basket and matmakers busy at their trades?" in such a bright, pleasant way that we feel sure he will not mind the trouble of shewing us over the building, we are glad to avail ourselves of his kind invitation, and follow our guide.

The basket-makers are very busy, several fresh orders having been received by the morning's post, and as we watch how quickly and deftly the willow-canes, after having been first steeped in water to soften them, are handled and woven into baskets differing greatly in shape and size, it seems difficult to believe, and still more so to realise, that all the workmen are blind. But baskets are far from being the only things made in this department, though it is called the "basket-shop." Cane and bamboo chairs, bed and leg-rests (the latter to be used in the surgical wards of one of our London hospitals) and many useful things are the work of their skilled fingers. And when we remember how many difficulties had to be faced, and often the temptation to say "I'll give it up; I cannot work in the dark" must have come to these blind workmen, one cannot but feel ashamed of so often giving way to fits of depression and not always trying to do our very best.

But our guide has more to shew and more to tell. The mat-makers are busy people, too. Though their work is not so varied as that of the basket-shop, their mats are so strong and well made that they will stand hard wear and often last for many years. The brush-shop also presents a busy scene. It would take up far too much space were I even to attempt to give the names of all the different kinds of brushes required for use in yard or stable, to say nothing of household and toilet use. The smaller and finer kinds are generally made by girls and women; each works upon a board in which a number of very fine holes have been drilled, through which the bristles are drawn or passed; this part of the work is called brush-drawing. When ready the brushes are taken to another department, in which the backs are shaped and fastened by male workers.

But I must not stop to introduce you to blind shorthand typists, teachers of music, pianoforte tuners, carpenters, picture-frame makers, and other workers who have found ways and means of making themselves useful.

As we say good-bye to our sightless friends our hearts thrill with the longing that each dear, blind worker may learn what it means to "walk in the light" in the simple, happy consciousness of being "children of God by faith in Christ Jesus." For such the darkness in which their outer lives must be spent cannot last long. Soon, it may be very soon, the shadows and gloom of earth will give place to the cloudless light and joy of being for ever with the One they have through grace learnt to love and trust.

This may be my last opportunity of having a quiet talk by way of pen and ink, and I want very much to tell you another true story of a young girl who in her far-away home in one of the Shetland Isles was allowed to do a work that will last when everything we can see with our eyes, or touch with our hands, has been worn out and forgotten, for it was work for God, and when any who belong to Christ work from the sweet constraint of love to Him, it is really of no consequence how small or feeble the work may be, it is sure to last.

Some of our friends who have been to the Shetlands tell us it would be difficult to find a more delightful place in which to spend a long summer holiday.

Live seals may often be seen basking in the sunshine or sporting among the rocks, and the silence is broken by the shrill cry of many a sea bird, almost if not quite unknown on our southern coasts.

The simple islanders, too, will not be easy to forget by those who have spent even a short time among them. The only way in which people who live in the different islands can get at each other is by boat, and some of the smaller islands can only be reached by such narrow openings among the rocks that visitors can only approach them in fine, calm weather.

On one of these islands lives a fisherman � I am not sure that he would like me to tell you his real name, so I will call him Donald.

Donald was a very busy man, but at the time our story begins he was not a happy one.

Light from heaven had shined into his heart, and in that light he had seen himself to be a lost sinner, and the thought that one day (he did not know how soon) he must leave his fishing, and then, ah, then! his soul � that soul that must, he knew, live for ever � would go into eternity, made him very unhappy.

But the light came from God, a God who loves to bless, and as it grew clearer he saw that there was salvation for him as the free gift of God (Rom. 6: 23), so in simple faith Donald took the gift and thanked the Giver, and a strange new joy, the joy of forgiveness, filled his soul.

But for a long time he treated this joy in much the same way in which a miser hoards and hides his gold, he kept it to himself, he did not tell his friends or neighbours of the Saviour who had sought and found him.

He only talked of these things to his little daughter Agnes, and she, too, loved and trusted the same precious Saviour, and so you may be sure that father and daughter were great friends.

But the One who had saved Donald and Agnes wanted to have a witness for Himself in that lonely sea-girt isle.

Other fishermen and their families lived near Donald's cottage and the Lord Jesus loved and longed to bless and save them too. He wanted them to hear through Donald's simple words of His great love.

Donald, however, was not quite ready to be His messenger. He had to learn in the school of sorrow that the Lord who is mighty to save is also able to comfort.

Agnes was taken ill, and before many days her almost broken-hearted father saw that his dearly-loved little girl was dying. But even on her sick bed there was a work for Agnes that perhaps no one but herself could have done.

The Lord had given Agnes a deep, faithful love for souls, and she longed that not only the fisher children she used to play with, but their fathers and mothers should know the One who had saved her. So she asked her father if he would promise her "one thing," that when she had gone to be with the Lord he would get the neighbours together and, preach Christ to them.

He said, "It is of no use for me to promise, I cannot preach."

Such a troubled look came over the face of the dying girl, and for a moment she seemed disappointed. But only for a moment, for she asked, "But, dear father, if you cannot preach to the grown-up people, we have no Sunday school here, won't you tell the children about the Lord Jesus?"

Donald said, "I'll try," in a voice almost choked with sobs. And he has kept his promise, too.

He began very soon after dear Agnes fell asleep by holding a meeting for children in his cottage, but very soon fathers and mothers began to attend, and now Lord's day after Lord's day Donald is telling "the old, old story" of Jesus and His love to nearly all the people who live in his island home.

STEM Publishing : For the Young : Martyr Tales and Sketches

Martyr Tales and Sketches

for the Young.

By G. W.

London: G. Morrish, 20, Paternoster Square, E.C.

Contents

The First Martyr � Stephen

Vivia Perpetua at Carthage

Youthful Witnesses � Cyril, Denisa, Marcus and Marcellanius

Rome and Popery

Spain and the Inquisition

Maria De Bohorques at Seville

John Rogers at Smithfield

William Hunter at Brentwood

Chapter 1.

The First Martyr � Stephen.

It is indeed a happy task to bring before the youthful mind that which is bright and pleasant, as well as profitable.

Many things, however, we may learn with profit, which are neither bright to the eye, nor pleasant to the ear. Besides, there are subjects presenting beauties to our mental sight, which far exceed any seen by the eyes of the body. It is with the desire that the young mind of my reader may be occupied with that which is morally lovely, that I relate these Martyr Tales.

The scenes are far too harrowing in many cases for us to be able to follow them fully, nor need any unnecessary details be given. Yet, it will not do to turn from sorrowful sights, because they distress us, if, in looking on, we are learning needed lessons. Therefore, if under the blessing of God, the stories of these dear suffering ones lead your hearts to value the many privileges which you enjoy, they will not be lost. Should one note of praise from thankful lips, for the great goodness of our God, be the result, these tales will not have been told in vain.

It is good for us in this land of liberty, to look back on less favoured times, that we may learn our responsibilities in the present. It is well, also, to remember that if we are called upon to suffer, others have endured a vast deal more. In the sunny lands of the far south, brave spirits have yielded up their all for Christ. Under a scorching eastern sun many a faithful one has died the martyr's death. In the cold north, too, warm hearts have been found, who counted not their lives dear, when truth was at stake. Yes, and in the countries of the west, in our own favoured Europe, men, women, and children, have bled for the peerless name of Jesus.

In that day when our precious Lord makes up His jewels, not one so dearly bought by Him can possibly be missing. From the north, the south, the east, and the west, He will gather His own to sit with Him in the glory of His kingdom.

Will you, dear reader, visit with me a city in the East, while in thought we gaze upon a scene once enacted there? Outside its gates and walls an angry and excited crowd were seen, furiously stoning to death a helpless man. The men thus occupied were not the low, rough fellows of the city, but those who took the place of servants of God! It was the learned and religious men of the land who were there, and all shewing feelings of hatred and excitement. Even those who ought to have been the leaders of the people in peace and justice were only present to give vent to their rage.

The object of their wrath and malice was, however, much more to be envied than they, for he was really gaining a victory. From the cruel hands of his countrymen many a stone had been fiercely hurled, for his plain and fearless words had stirred up their hate and enmity in rage and fury. But while it was easy for them to destroy the body, they could not touch the soul.

Wounded, suffering, and dying, Stephen received no mercy from his enemies, while those cruel missiles did too well their deadly work; yet the falling stones touched not that brave man's inner life, though they had given the death-blow to his mortal body. That gentle voice, which had so often spoken for the One he loved more than any on earth, was then heard speaking to his Lord and Saviour in confidence. Listen to those wonderful words, as, with meekness and joy, they fall from his dying lips: � "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit"! And can we not most truly say that the cry was heard above, in the sympathising ear of the now exalted, but once rejected Christ of God?

But that dying cry was not his only prayer. His last thoughts on earth were for his enemies � those very men who in their hatred and envy, had put him to death! Forgetting his pains and wounds and suffering, that dying man, with voice which all could hear, gave utterance to the fervent prayer � "Lord! lay not this sin to their charge"! Stephen was full of gentleness and love towards his cruel persecutors, while with firmness of purpose, he owned Jesus of Nazareth to be his Lord on high.

After thus committing himself into the Lord's eternal keeping, and asking forgiveness for his foes, Stephen slept the sleep of death, and his spirit went to be for ever with the Lord.

Thus died a holy, God-fearing man � stoned to death by those of his own nation who were considered to be religious! And why had he thus to die, and be cast out from the earth? Because he had spoken boldly the truth of God. Fearing not the face of man, he had dared to tell the members of that Jewish Council that they had murdered their long-looked for Messiah.

Let us return for a brief space to look at the circumstances which led to the death of this the first martyr for the name of Jesus. Stephen was a Jew, and had been brought up in the Jewish religion. The nation was looking for the Deliverer who had been promised by God long before � the Messiah, or the Sent One � who would free them from oppression, and rule in glory and power. There were many prophecies in the Old Testament which spoke of the great things to be done by Him, and the victories of His reign. These were treasured and valued words, yet, strange to say, many other scriptures which were equally distinct, were blindly passed over. While the former spoke of a victorious King, the latter told of "a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief." The truth that the Royal Messenger was first to take a lowly position, and pass through death before ruling in power, was not understood, and, therefore, not believed.

Unlike the mass of the nation, Stephen believed that Jesus of Nazareth whom the Jews had lately slain, was the Son of God, the Messiah, long promised to His people. Indeed, we may look upon the first martyr as a man to whom Christ was everything, for he was known as "a man full of faith and of the Holy Ghost." No one can possibly be in that condition without a great change having taken place, for it is the Spirit of God who occupies the heart with Christ. In our natural state, that is, with the nature which we have on being born into the world, we can do nothing to please God. Nor do we love Him in any sense, for our deceitful hearts are full of enmity.

When we turn from our own ways and doings to trust in the finished work of the only perfect Man who ever lived, we are said to be converted. It is a wonderful change when the sinner looks to God, confessing his sins, and owns Jesus Christ as his Saviour. Such a change Stephen must have known, and consequently the Spirit of God dwelt in him. Much power also marked his course from this time, so that he did great wonders and miracles.

Stephen was one of the seven disciples who were chosen to take charge of the distribution of money to those who were in need in the church. This duty was undertaken in order that the apostles might be more free for preaching and teaching the word. In addition to this, he was fearless in speaking the truth of God, so that those who opposed him "were not able to resist the wisdom and spirit by which he spake."

The rage of his opponents could not vent itself on him as a guilty man, and so they invented things to say against him and thus brought a godly man to trial before the Council, by false accusation. Stephen stood before his judges, and the untruthful witnesses did their best to stir up the leading religious Jews against him � a faithful man, who had done them no wrong.

Most remarkable must that face have appeared to them as it rivetted the gaze of each one! Never could such a wonderful scene be forgotten by any who saw it that day! With a beaming face, and the love of God in his heart, that noble witness to a crucified Christ poured forth his faithful, telling words. The very look on his face was heavenly, as even his enemies did not fail to see. To them it was "as it had been the face of an angel."

When the high priest put the question, "Are these things so?" Stephen answered by giving a powerful address. Going over the history of the nation, from the beginning, when God had called Abraham and led him forth, he spoke of Israel's ways and God's doings. He reminded them of Jehovah's faithfulness, of their own frequent failures as a nation, and their unbelief as the people of God. The climax was reached when this bold and courageous witness came to speak of the Son of God � the despised Jesus of Nazareth � whom they had cast out and murdered.

Then the rage of these outwardly religious men broke forth in all its fury, and in their hate they gnashed their teeth against the godly, truth-speaking Stephen.

Nothing daunted, however, that brave man fearlessly stood a witness for God, but only to increase the violence of their enmity. Full of the Holy Ghost, he turned his eyes to heaven, and there a sight, unseen before by mortal man, met his upward gaze.

Stephen saw "the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of God." He told the Council of those opened heavens, and the Son of man in the place of honour and power, but his words only the farther increased the fury of his enemies.

Desiring to hear no more, they raised their voices, stopped their ears, rushed upon the defenceless Stephen, and cast him out of Jerusalem. Then, as we have already noticed, they speedily sent home to the presence of Christ, this first martyr to the name of Jesus.

How like his holy Master was this witness! Hated because he did what was right, and said that which was true, cast out because of his faithfulness, and praying for his very murderers, he committed himself into divine keeping, "saying, Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." What an entrance into the presence of God must his have been � the first redeemed one who had sealed his testimony with his blood!

Have you, my dear young reader, learned to confess the name of the meek and lowly Jesus, whom men despise? If so, you will be sustained, as Stephen was, when called to pass through suffering. For you, too, glory lies beyond this passing life, and for you the Christ of God lives at the Father's right hand.

But, dear reader, if unsaved, unconcerned, unconverted, how will you meet God? Will you run the risk, by continued delay, of finding yourself in the presence of Jesus as a Judge? Mercy's voice is calling to you to come "To-day." The risen Jesus bids you come as you are. Come now. To-morrow may be for ever too late.

Chapter 2.

Vivia Perpetua at Carthage � A Wife and Mother Torn by Wild Beasts.

Vivia Perpetua was a lady of high rank, whose heart had been won, and whose faith was upheld by Jesus Christ the Lord. She was a wife and mother, yet, with her child, she was torn from her home by cruel men, and cast into prison for the name of Christ. Her sorrowing relatives did all they could to obtain her release, but in vain. Liberty could only be procured on one condition, and that was that she would declare herself no longer a Christian. But she refused to deny the name of Him who had given His life's blood for her, so that her release was impossible.

The visits of her aged father from time to time, tried and tested both her faith and affection. For, in the agony of his grief, he besought her with tears, to deny the truth for which she was imprisoned. The sight of his sorrow was most depressing to his affectionate daughter, and, much as she loved him, it was a relief when he did not come.

Amongst the four other Christians who shared the same dungeon with Vivia Perpetua was a woman who had been a slave. How unlike had been the lives of those two women � one brought up in the midst of luxury, the other accustomed to hard work and toil. Now through their faith in the Lord Jesus, they had much in common, for they were enduring pain and suffering for the name of Christ.

At the time when these five were imprisoned, they were known to be receiving instruction in the truths of Christianity with a view to their being baptised. And the prison happily did not hinder that desire from being carried out. They had the intense joy and privilege of putting on the name of Christ by baptism, in their miserable yet happy cell.

This great pleasure was speedily succeeded by a change of outward circumstances for the worse. These dear suffering ones were afterwards removed to another dungeon, into which no light entered. That cruel mode of punishment was most trying to these five prisoners, for the want of fresh air was added to the misery of darkness.

How little do we know what utter darkness means, who have the bright sun by day and the moon and stars by night, and have our rooms cheerfully lighted up within! During the hours of rest darkness is an aid to sleep, but our waking eyes naturally prefer the sunlight. Terrible indeed must it be to wake up in the morning and see no sun to pass the long hours of day and still no ray of light, each day and night repeating the same dark and dreary tale! No wonder that total darkness makes one sad and ill and had not some relief been speedily given to these captives, death would soon have ended their imprisonment.

A person interested in those sufferers contrived through bribing one of the guards, to obtain for them the privilege of getting out of their narrow cell for a short time daily. Though not out of the prison, yet a purer air and the precious boon of daylight were much valued, and thankfully received.

What a sorrowful sight could then be seen, as their pale faces and wasted frames showed the dire effects of the gloomy dungeon! Each looking upon the other must have been painfully conscious of the decline of health during those days of darkness. But they were also able to speak words of cheer and comfort to the heart, and see the eye light up with joy and brightness � a joy and brightness that sprang not from the earth, and which the dungeon's gloom failed to touch or to mar.

In the light of day, Vivia Perpetua could now look upon her helpless babe, and profit thereby in mingled joy and sadness. The dear infant child was the companion of its mother's outward misery, yet was it happy in the mother's love. Child-like, it understood not its surroundings, so that its spirit was unaffected by them. As for the mother, she was happy and cheerful in spite of all her painful circumstances.

These days, however, came suddenly to a severe and testing end. In the midst of their prison meal they were one day unexpectedly startled by the presence of a company of soldiers. These men had come to take them to the place of trial before their judges. There, questions were asked of them which only gave to all an opportunity of declaring their belief in Christ Jesus their Saviour.

At the moment when the lady Perpetua was being examined, a very sorrowful and trying scene took place. The aged father once more appeared, and appealed to his daughter on the ground of her natural affection. "Have pity on your babe," he implored. The judge also made an appeal for both father and babe. "Spare the grey hairs of your father, spare your infant, and offer sacrifices to the Emperor." Heart-broken though the daughter must have felt, yet she faltered not. When the judge finished his appeal with the question "Are you a Christian?" it only drew from the lady the decisive reply, "I am a Christian."

To add to the anguish already rending her heart, she was called upon to bear still more from her persecutors. Her poor old father was torn from her side, and ordered to be beaten because of his daughter's steadfast faith and confession! Very keenly did Vivia Perpetua feel her parent's sorrowful position in being thus shamefully treated for her sake; yet true and firm the woman's heart was kept, for neither as a loving daughter, nor a youthful tender mother, was her brave spirit allowed to yield. No, like Paul, she was able to count everything but loss that she might win Christ.

The sentence pronounced upon Vivia Perpetua and her four companions brought a trying prospect before them. It was one very common in those days of heathen power, but none the less shocking and painful to those persons who were thus called upon to die. They were condemned to be torn by wild beasts who had been kept without food for some days to make them more fierce and hungry. Only think of these wild ravenous creatures being let loose on weak and helpless women, by the wish and will of human beings! Yet with such a death before them, it is said that they "went back with cheerfulness to the prison."

The choice had been given these five faithful ones of avoiding that sentence of death by yielding to worship idols. But no, life was too dear for them at such a price, since it meant disobedience to the word of God. The prospect of the end was sweeter far to souls who knew and loved the Saviour for His own matchless worth. The meek and quiet behaviour of these five condemned prisoners spoke of the divine life which God had given. None might touch or take from them that precious treasure. The Lord while on earth had said, "I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish, neither shall any pluck them out of my hand."

In the lowly example of the suffering Jesus they found a perfect pattern, and they sought to follow in His steps. The men who had charge of them were moved with compassion when they saw their gentle ways, and granted them favours which they were not ordered to give. They willingly permitted friends to visit them during their last days on earth. This was a great boon, giving opportunity for farewell words of love and affection to the dear ones from whom they were parted.

At last the solemn day dawned, when Vivia Perpetua and her four companions were led forth to die. Once more a determined effort was made to get these Christians to deny their Saviour. They were requested to bow down to idols, and thus own themselves heathen worshippers. But not even immediate exposure to the fury of those wild beasts sufficed to make them yield. These faithful ones preferred the cruel death that was before them, rather than to save their souls by dishonouring the name of their Lord.

We shall not follow that heart-rending scene through all its horrors, for they are too awful to relate. When death did at last release these captive ones from earth, it was only joyfully to usher them into the presence of their Lord.

Such was one of many displays of man's hate to God in the early centuries of the church's history. Raised seats overlooked the open space where the animals and victims were placed. And strange to say, many a human eye gazed upon those cruel sights, and took pleasure in the martyr's sufferings and death.

But other eyes than those of men, looked down upon the inhuman spectacle. God, who "with-draweth not his eyes from the righteous," watched over those patient, persecuted saints, and turned the eye of faith upward to Him. With what tender pity did the Father's heart feel for them! And how must the blessed Lord, for whose name they had endured such sufferings, have looked down upon them in loving sympathy! Angels, too, gazed upon the sorrowful sight, and it was theirs to minister to those whom man despised.

What a scene to call forth our mingled feelings, as in thought we retrace the long centuries of the past! Under the promptings of Satan, man was following out the desires of his own evil heart. On the other hand, dear saints of God were patiently enduring, not only shame and scorn, but actual bodily pain. God sustained them, and the Spirit comforted till death snapped the tie that bound them to earth, and set them free for ever. Then had the blessed Lord the unspeakable joy of having His own with Himself in peace and love without alloy.

One cannot help pitying the aged and affectionate father in the helplessness of his grief. Oh, if he had only known the Christ of God, who was the object of his daughter's heart, how different would all have been! He would then have been able to understand that his beloved daughter possessed a hidden imperishable treasure, of more value than even life itself. His own heart too, would have been comforted by the presence of a sympathising Saviour and he could then have looked forward to a reunion in glory. But he knew not the secret strength which was her stay, nor the living Person who upheld her and therefore could only see sorrow and gloom. The old grey-haired gentleman was completely bowed down with the agony of his grief. Little wonder was it indeed, for the affectionate father only saw his loved one about to die. The gloom of death seemed to him to separate them for ever. One can only hope that in his sorrow he may have turned the eye to the Saviour, who has said, "Him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out."

Chapter 3.

Youthful Witnesses � Cyril, Denisa, Marcus and Marcellanius.

Many hundred years ago, a little boy of the name of Cyril, was called upon to lay down his life for Christ. His father was a heathen, and hated Christianity, yet his youthful son did not hide from him, or from any, the fact that he believed in the Lord Jesus. Unhindered by the fear of man, Cyril was known as one who prayed to God, and neither punishment nor aught else could make him desist.

Enraged at this conduct, the cruel father sent him from his home, sternly declaring that he would no longer regard him as his son. This young believer was then taken before a judge, who endeavoured to reason him out of his faith. He told Cyril that he ought to obey parental authority, and that if he would do so he might return to his home, and all the past would be forgiven.

The noble-hearted boy knew that he was called to obey One higher than his father, and the latter only "in the Lord." Since his parent was not allowing him to own the Lordship of Christ, he chose "to obey God rather than men," like the apostles of old. Cyril told his judge that he must ever be obedient to the Lord Jesus Christ, adding, "I am not sorry because I am turned out of the house, for I have a better mansion and I am not afraid to die, because then I shall have a better house."

Still hoping to make the boy yield, the judge endeavoured to frighten him into submission. He therefore commanded him to be fettered and taken from his presence, as if about to be put to death. But yield he would not, in spite of all that the judge could say or do, and even the flames before his eyes did not alarm him. Truly God alone gave the needed strength to that youthful witness, and stayed his heart upon Himself. "I am going to a better home," said he, "and greater pleasures; make haste and kill me, that I may enjoy them."

Some wept as they looked upon that young and courageous boy on the brink of the grave, while full of health and vigour. To these, Cyril said, "Oh, you know not what a city I am going to live in, or what a hope I have!" His longing was soon realised, for the precious young life was quickly taken, and that happy spirit freed to enter into the presence of the Lord. There, with the blessed One whom he had loved and trusted on earth, dear Cyril entered into rest, in the spring-time of his youthful days.

My dear young reader, would you thus willingly die for Christ, if life were offered on such persuasive terms? You could only do so by having the heart first "set on brighter things above." Jesus Christ, the Son of God, must be known as your Saviour, ere you could say in confidence that your home is with Him. Yet the grace that was given to Cyril, is also free for you.

Death may overtake you, therefore why remain undecided any longer? Choose while young the way of life that leads to pleasures which are at God's right hand for evermore. Jesus saith, "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life; no man cometh unto the Father but by me."

Many a grey-headed old man would give all he possesses to have the opportunity of giving to God the best of his days. Yes, and strong able men in the prime of life, have frequent regrets that they turned not to God in their youth. Oh, it is a privilege far beyond what you my youthful reader can at present understand, to be the Lord's while you are young! "Turn ye, turn ye . . . . for why will ye die?"

I should like also to tell my young readers of a young girl, who like Cyril, suffered in those early days of Christianity. Her name was Denisa, and her age sixteen, when she comes before our notice in history. The circumstance which made known her faith was a sudden exclamation from her lips as she gazed upon a suffering Christian. The latter was a man who had been commanded to sacrifice to idols, and at first firmly refused, but being put upon the rack the pain at last became more than he could bear. In such an hour of weakness he denied the faith for the sake of life!

No sooner had this denial fallen from his lips, than the intensity of his suffering so rapidly increased, that he died immediately! Denisa had been looking on this scene, and was greatly appalled at the sudden and solemn occurrence. On the impulse of the moment, she exclaimed with great feeling, "O, unhappy wretch! why would you buy a moment's ease at the expense of a miserable eternity?"

Optimus, the pro-consul of Asia, under whose direction the torture had been going on, overheard her words, and quickly asked, "Are you a Christian?" Denisa replied by boldly confessing Christ, as she owned with courage that blessed name.

Immediately the hatred of the pagan was aroused by the mention of the holy One whom he despised and hated. He commanded the young girl to offer sacrifice to the idols, but all he could say was unavailing. Denisa stood firm, and bow to other than the one God, she neither would nor could. Optimus, in great wrath, then delivered her into the hands of two brutal men she was placed wholly in their power, and her position was terrible in the extreme.

God interposed, however, on behalf of His suffering witness, and those wretched men became powerless to do her harm. At the dead hour of night they were startled by a sight which alarmed them greatly. So much were they overcome by the effects of that vision of the night, that they even cried to her for mercy. Throwing themselves at the feet of the helpless girl, they entreated her to pray for them, fearing that they were about to suffer at the hands of God for the evil done to this Christian.

That midnight scene makes one think of the words of Eliphaz the Temanite in the book of Job. "In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on men, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to shake." The heart which knows God in Christ need never be afraid, for nothing can overtake that soul for hurt. David, the psalmist, says, by the Spirit of God, "The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them."

If the words of Eliphaz might have been uttered by these wicked men, those of David were true in Denisa's case, for God protected her in youth and helplessness. One would have thought that Optimus would have feared to lay hands on her again. But daring as ever in his wickedness, that cruel man soon gave orders for her execution, and rudely brought that precious life to an early and untimely end. Denisa was beheaded, but, like many others, only to leave a scene of sorrow for a home of eternal bliss.

A christian lady many hundreds of years since Cyril and Denisa ended their brief young lives, has written:

At thy right hand there are pleasures,

There are pleasures for evermore;

In the depth of thy glory are treasures �

A measureless, countless store."

And surely could they speak to us from their happy abode on high, their words would only confirm the truth of the word of God expressed in this beautiful verse.

Not only is there infinite and eternal bliss at God's right hand, but there is a risen glorified Man there, who waits in patience to have His own in that bright scene with Him. It is to Him the eye of faith is directed, and with Him the waiting believer desires to be. Ah, if we long to see His face, how must He also be looking forward to the moment when He will come from that radiant place for us, His blood-bought people! We rest in the faithfulness of His parting words, "I will come again and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also."

"What will it be to dwell above,

And with the Lord of glory reign,

Since the blest knowledge of his love

So brightens all this dreary plain?

No heart can think, no tongue can tell

What joy 'twill be with Christ to dwell."

At the time when these young Christians' lives were rudely snatched from them, the trial of their faith was different from that which was given to others in after centuries. Yet, in each case, through nearly nineteen hundred years, the true test has been the name of Christ. Circumstances only changed as time rolled on, and the persecuting power was not a heathen one. In those early days the demand was � worship idols or die. In later times it was a contest between a true and a false Christianity.

Different modes of punishment were adopted in those early days, which usually corresponded with the habits and ways of the people. Cruelty in varied forms was ever exercised, and men grew ingenious in their plans when devising the most painful kinds of torture. But though the times grew darker and increasingly dangerous, yet the few believers in Jesus scattered here and there were kept faithful amid much temptation. As it was said in the days of the Judges, when Israel's history was indeed a dark one, so may we say of the true-hearted in those early centuries: "The word of God was precious in those days."

After shewing the faith of this little boy and girl, I want now to tell my reader about two brothers, as an instance of faithful witnesses whose words and conduct brought blessing to others. Marcus and Marcellanius were young Romans of noble family who lived towards the end of the third century. (Cyril and Denisa confessed Christ and died. Marcus and Marcellanius believed in Jesus and were permitted to live a little longer.) These two boys were under the charge of tutors while receiving their education. The guardians to whom they were thus committed were Christians, while the parents of the children were heathens. As such they would, in all probability, have brought up their boys, had they been more directly under their care.

The fact therefore of these brothers being brought up under christian influence caused them to be closely watched. Their conduct evidently proved them to be Christians, and they were accordingly arrested. They were first cruelly put to torture, and then condemned to die. Their friends pleaded for the sentence to be delayed for one month, and that request was granted. During that period, parents as well as relatives, used every effort to make them abandon the christian faith, but all without avail.

God kept these two dear boys faithful amid all these temptations, and then largely rewarded their faith and firmness. The consequence was that the whole family nominally left Paganism, but whether every one turned to Christ I cannot tell. When the father was examined about the faith of his sons and if he had succeeded in getting them to turn again to worship idols, he startled the judge by telling him, that on the contrary, he was himself a Christian. Proceeding then to tell the prefect (who was questioning him) of the truths he held, he so fully convinced him of the reality of Christianity, that the latter turned from idols to serve the living God. Thus the testimony of these christian brothers was blessed to not a few in the course of a very short time.

Chapter 4.

Rome and Popery.

What memories of persons, events, buildings, secular and sacred, are called up before the mind when we utter the name of Rome! How they crowd before the mental vision, and call forth varied feelings of admiration, pity, enthusiasm, or indifference! Rome on her seven hills, ruling the earth, calling herself "the eternal city," and claiming to her name the admiration of all � proud, imperious, powerful in the past! But Rome of to-day tells of departed greatness, of empty state, of power lost, and the vain show of a nominal greatness is all that remains. Such is that proud city in our time, a city which once made herself supreme in the church and the world.

If the greatness of Rome is a thing of the past, there still remain the relics of what it has been. The place itself is therefore a spot of absorbing interest to many a one in our own day, as well as in times gone by. In writing of it at the present moment, my object is not to tell of what the city has been, nor what it now is, but to explain a little the different terms in common use concerning Rome. That my young reader may clearly understand, it becomes necessary to touch on this well-known name.

The "Church of Rome" is a familiar expression, which as commonly used, does not refer to a building. Nor does it refer to the church of which God speaks in His word. The Romish church is a religious system in which the people who belong to it, are ruled over by a man who lives in Rome. I should like to tell you by-the-way, that at the present time the city itself possesses more than three hundred religious edifices of various kinds.

Some of them are considered places of great attraction, and are remarkable for their historic interest. As buildings, their value, beauty, and grandeur, have gained a world-wide fame. St. Peter's, whose dome rises high above the city, was 120 years in building, and is the largest in the world. Rome of to-day has still much in common with the past: its grand old hills, its flowing Tiber, the sunny sky of Italy and the verdant lands of a southern clime. The vine and the olive, the orange-tree and the citron, still flourish around as in days of yore. But the size of the city is only one-third of what it once was.

The church founded by the Holy Ghost on the day of Pentecost, did not long retain the simple character of its early days. At first the fact was very fully owned that the people of God were separated to Himself. This implied practical separation from everything that was not according to God. But as time went on, errors crept in; little by little hearts got away from the Lord, and were thus exposed to the temptations of Satan.

When the church and the world came to be on friendly terms, the name and place of a Christian were less despised. Hence many took the name and followed the outward thing, who in their inmost souls knew not God. Such had no scruples as to what they did, but considered that they might do that which pleased either themselves or others. With no life in their souls, they were but empty professors, understanding not that God alone was to be satisfied. And thus meaningless forms and ceremonies took the place of that which the Lord had enjoined.

There was one class of men who took upon them to approach God on behalf of their fellow creatures. Assuming to be better than their fellows, they called themselves by the name of priests. A little attention to the word of God would have saved them from taking such an unwarranted place. For the Holy Ghost in the Scriptures distinctly speaks of all believers as an "holy priesthood." "Praise to God continually" is the only sacrifice which is asked from those who have trusted in Christ. He offered one sacrifice for sins. But these self-made priests said that there must be a daily repetition, in which the bread used to remember the Lord's death would actually become His body again. That empty ceremony, so contrary to the teaching of the word of God, is called "The Mass;" and it is actually being performed daily at the present time.

In addition to the ordinary priests, one man from their midst, considering himself still better than they, took a yet higher place. That priest said that Christ had appointed him here on the earth instead of Himself, now that He had gone to heaven. The man in that position received the name of "Pope," which is a word meaning "father." Such a place was never given to mortal man, for none could represent a holy God. That title is expressly forbidden by the Lord in Matthew 23: 9. When Christ, the Head of the Church, went on high, the Holy Ghost was sent to be here on His behalf. So neither the first pope, nor any who succeeded him, could have any scriptural authority for taking such a position.

Of "the heavenly gift" Peter thus spake to the Jews when the Spirit came down. ". . . . Jesus hath God raised up . . . . therefore being by the right hand of God exalted, and having received of the Father the promise of the Holy Ghost, he hath shed forth this which ye now see and hear." (Acts 2: 32, 33.) The Lord also had said while on the earth, "The Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things." (John 14: 26.)

Having therefore a divine Person dwelling in the church of God, the believer ought to submit to His rule, and to those whom He appoints. Hence the assumption of a class of men to be priests, and one man to be pope, are distinct errors which gradually crept into the church hundreds of years ago. No wonder then, that godly souls have been found in all ages who have refused to own such men as part of the Church of God, willing rather to submit to death than bow to them.

The word pope was originally given to every bishop, but principally to the bishop of Alexandria. In time, however, it came to be a title belonging only to the bishops of Rome. The latter city then took an important place, as being the abode of him who styled himself "Head of the church" and "Vicar of God." When, therefore, a man and a city were in such prominence in the church, it became known among men as "the church of Rome."

Obedience to the pope had taken the place of obedience to Christ. Hence, though it is christian in name, the term popery more truly stamps its character. In the Epistle to the Ephesians we read "The church is subject unto Christ." But the professing church had submitted to the pope, and dared not call in question anything which that dignitary said or did. Still, even when things had reached this corrupt stage, not a few true believers were to be found therein. Though a mass of people had come in who were Christians only in name, yet God had still the wheat where the tares abounded.

With an empty religion and no Christ, with dead works and no faith, we need not wonder that the scriptures were set aside and tradition accepted. The pope ruled instead of Christ, and the followers of the former had corrupted Christianity into popery.

The secret of all this failure lay in the lack of separation from the world and the neglect of the word of God. In proportion as Christians were true and faithful to their heavenly calling, so was the church a witness for Christ. But when the ways of the world were brought in, the name of the Lord was dishonoured. The results of fidelity in the few who remained stedfast were simply suffering and persecution in some form or other. It is the old hatred of men and Satan to the Person of the Lord Jesus, because, as the holy One, His presence condemns all sin. Listen to the parting words spoken to the disciples whom He loved while He walked this earth: "If the world hate you, ye know that it hated me before it hated you. If ye were of the world, the world would love his own; but because ye are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you." (John 15: 18, 19.) But who and what is the world? one may ask. Let John the apostle give the short but divinely inspired answer. "All that is in the world . . . . is not of the Father, but is of the world." Scripture does not, in these verses, speak of the earth on which we live as the world. Nor does it refer to the number of human beings composing it, as we often use the term. But it is applied to everything which is only of man, and not of God in any sense. Speaking of Him who delivers us from "this present evil world," Paul says that "Our Lord Jesus Christ gave himself for our sins . . . . according to the will of God our Father." (Gal. 1: 4.)

When the Spirit of Christ was lacking, men began to interpret scripture according to their own ideas. As these were false and their hearts corrupt, all went wrong. "The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God . . . neither can he know them." The popish authorities then began to compel all to do as they did or die. Thus they imagined that they would uproot every thing and person opposed to them. Ah, their poor deluded souls little dreamt that the life was eternal that they were endeavouring to touch! Vain was the attempt in their self-will and ignorance. They were fighting against God and could not overcome.

Those who dared to differ from the Romish church were called "heretics." The fact of their faith in Christ and resistance to popery was styled "heresy." Heresy and heretics are words which have often been wrongfully applied. In Paul's able speech at Caesarea before Felix the governor, he used the word, saying, "After the way which they call heresy, so worship I the God of my fathers." The papists apply the term "heretic" to all who are not of their creed. There are other Christians also who dare to speak thus of those who differ from them, yet cling to the word of God. Let us remember that heresy is one of the works of the flesh, as mentioned in the Epistle to the Galatians, and that it is the same word as sect or schism.

Even supposing, however, that every one who differed from the Romish church was a heretic, scripture gives no authority for putting such to death. No, nor yet putting bodily suffering of any kind upon them. A schismatic or heretic may be looked upon as one who breaks from the path of walking in truth. The word of God counsels the saints to admonish such a one. If he remain hardened after this has been once or twice done, then he is to be rejected. (Titus 3: 10.) Thus men, instead of acting in the blindness of a zeal without knowledge, would have done better to have listened to the voice of God, and not to that which is always wrong, the "evil heart of unbelief."

"The atoning work is done;

The Victim's blood is shed;

And Jesus now is gone

His people's cause to plead:

He stands in heaven their great High Priest,

And bears their names upon his breast."

Chapter 5.

Spain and the Inquisition.

I have no doubt that many of my readers would like to see the beautiful sunny shores of Spain. The very name makes one think of flowers, fruits and sunshine, blue skies and balmy air. The lovely waters of the Mediterranean on one side, and the bold free Atlantic on the other, give to the peninsula a very attractive coast-line. The country itself has an interesting variety of hill and dale, river and plain; hence the climate also differs much, according to the height or exposure of a place.

Oak and chestnut trees clothe the hills in the north, and the valleys produce rich and abundant harvests. That part is therefore in a measure like our temperate isles, only there may be greater fertility and richness. Towards the south the climate partakes of a semi-tropical character, and therefore life and vegetation are both abundant. What child does not connect oranges, grapes, and raisins with the glowing southern shores of Spain? The middle of the country is not so pleasant. The scorching heat of a burning sun at one time, and the cold of a piercing wind at another, are extremes which some find very trying.

From the beginning of the christian era till within a few hundred years ago, Spain was very different from what it is now. To-day, the mass of the people are very ignorant; formerly, it was a land noted for its learning. At present its possessions are few, at one time they were far and wide. That "the sun never sets on her dominions," is said of our own beloved land now, it might also have been said of Spain some centuries ago. God's glad tidings were also preached, but for a time refused, and now consciences are fettered, and the people kept in ignorance of the word of God. In the days when such hindering influences began other evils crept in, and Spain's bright days of learning, power and freedom were over.

It was necessary in a former chapter to explain the words pope, priests, popery, and heresy. Another name, well-known only a few hundred years ago, comes under our notice now. I refer to the wicked Court of the Inquisition established by the Church of Rome, and with which Spain was very intimately connected. The object of the Court was the punishment and destruction of "heretics," and many faithful children of God were tortured and put to death by its means. This Court was composed of a number of men who made a show of justice, but from the moment that a person suspected as a heretic came before it, persecution and revenge � not justice � marked its course.

In many a popish town those dark and gloomy prisons rose to view, striking terror when the thought of being within came before the mind. Their iron bars, the strong and cheerless walls, their size and gloom, all told a tale of unrelenting power and cruelty. Having once entered, the victim would there remain, or only pass outward to the flames as the end and aim of all. There were many cells, some of which were below the level of the streets; and some were even cut in the rocks, and were very cold and damp. The light of day never reached them, nor could any groan be heard above. Neither the passer-by nor the cruel persecutor need be disturbed, for the loudest cry could reach no pitying ear.

Force was the ruling power there, while violence was displayed in its direst forms, for the working of this awful Inquisition was fully in keeping with its dark and gloomy cells. Deeds of darkness of various kinds took place within its walls; but the vilest thing was the fact, that all was done in the name of Christianity and zeal for the church! The Court which was held there consisted of three men in prominent positions in the land. All were, of course, keen advocates of Romanism, and filled with deadly hatred to all who differed from them in their religious opinions. Especially was their enmity directed against the word of God, for that would have given light to a people whom they desired to keep in ignorance.

Over two thousand years before, David the King of Israel, wrote as he sang one of his sweet psalms to Jehovah: "The entrance of thy words giveth light, it giveth understanding unto the simple." In all ages, the sons of men who have turned from their own ways to serve the living God, have found these words true; and, consequently, they have cherished the precious life-giving word of God.

As the scriptures were read, so individuals made progress in the truth of God; taught by the Holy Spirit, they followed the Christ of whom these testified; thus their lives became known and their enemies began to watch for opportunities of reporting them. It is a person's works which make manifest that which he is in heart; so the scriptures tell us, "Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit." (Matt. 7: 16, 17.)

Let us follow a little the usual mode of procedure when a victim was obtained for the Inquisition. We take an imaginary case to shew its character as carried out in many. A young girl in a certain town is observed to be reading the Bible; she has even been heard to sing a hymn. The empty forms of the religion in which she has been brought up have lost all charm for her. The mass she no longer attends, and she has ceased to make the sign of the cross. Her ways are quiet and her behaviour gentle, being more dutiful to her parents than before. All that she is in herself, however, will not make amends for this marked fact, that the Romish church obtains no honour from her now. The pope, the priests, the people, all demand this homage, or the fearful alternative � her life.

Some bigoted Romanist observes the change, and reports her to head-quarters; that is, he tells a priest or some official in authority who is a papist. The person who carries the tidings of what he sees is a "spy," and obtains an expected reward for the tale he tells. Alas, it usually brought death to the unsuspecting victim!

Not only were spies employed to give information, but other mean men were employed to fetch the victim, and these messengers of the Inquisition were called "familiars." The latter took care that it should not be easily known who or what they were. A long dark cloak was worn, the hood of which covered the head and face. The only parts of the body exposed were the two eyes and hands.

The time considered most suitable to set out on their errands of cruelty was night, as the person would then be more easily found. In day-light the knowledge that the "familiars" were on their way, might however give time to escape. Not so at night, for then the surprise was perfect. In the sweetness of sleep the victim would be suddenly roused, and sternly ordered to follow those wretched messengers.

And whither go they with that gentle maiden in the dark hours of night? On to the cruel gloom of the Inquisition; and soon they have led their unresisting charge before their superiors. In them the same cruel spirit is brutally manifest, and no mercy can be expected there. These so-called judges then go through a pretence of an examination. Perfectly needless indeed it is, because their one intention is to punish the victim now in their grasp. Justice was a meaningless name, but it suited their purpose thus to speak of their proceedings.

In the dark shadows of a dimly lighted room sit the judges. Before them stands a cross of wood, and on the table lies a paper containing the accusation. Whether true or not it matters little to them; all they want is something on which to condemn. Hence the most dreadful untruths were frequently written against one who was no criminal, and guilty of any offence. As it was with Daniel, so the only true occasion these enemies could often find, was "concerning the law of his God."

The accused, being charged with the things written, was not allowed to say much. But generally the answer given was a brave and noble confession of faith in Christ. Frequently a fearlessness of death was expressed, and oft-times it was esteemed a privilege to die. Coaxing, threatening, entreaty � everything was tried to get the accused to say that Rome was right. In other words, the arrested person was asked to give up believing in Christ, and to set aside the word of God, for both were implied in the denial of that which was felt to be true. To go back to the Church of Rome was the one thing demanded.

Sometimes terror drove the victim to give up Christ for the pope's authority. This was called "recanting," that is withdrawing a former opinion. It is also spoken of as "abjuration," when the recanting is by oath. Many stood firm, refusing to deny their Lord. Where Christianity had only been an outward thing, it was natural and easy to recant to avoid suffering. But where through fear a child of God did so, it was generally followed by deep repentance, and the sin confessed before others.

When persuasion failed, the next step was to shew the arrested person the instruments of torture soon to be felt. For if first attempts availed not to produce recantation, fresh efforts were put forth when the prisoner was on the rack. The latter produced the most dreadful sufferings, every joint in the body being dislocated. The instruments of torture are too awful to dwell upon, so I shall simply mention another. Besides the rack, a second mode of causing agony was before the victim's gaze. A pulley raised the person from the floor, after heavy iron weights had been attached to the feet. The cord was then let go, and the helpless one suddenly dropped to the ground, grazing his back on spiked rollers as he descended. Such are specimens of the cruel tortures of the Inquisition.

Everything that wicked hearts could suggest and brains devise to inflict suffering, was to be found in those dreadful rooms. After the savage persecutors had retained their prisoners long enough to suit their fiendish purposes, they led them forth to die. Most were rendered unable to walk, crippled for ever by what they had undergone. The cold, damp dungeon had been a relief; and death was looked forward to as ending their terrible sufferings. No wonder then, that they left their gloomy cells frequently with joy as well as peace upon the heart and countenance; for a speedy release to the presence of the Lord lay in prospect for them.

The greatest efforts were made to extract from the prisoners, such information as would lead to the arrest of others. In great bodily pain, this was sometimes obtained, but most very nobly maintained silence on the point. Great courage and patience were shewn by very many, which must have spoken loudly to hard and stony hearts; and they sought not to avenge themselves, but � "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord."

Chapter 6.

Maria De Bohorques Martyred at Seville.

Maria De Bohorques was a Spanish maiden, only one year younger than the mother of whom a former chapter tells. This young lady lived some hundreds of years later than the noble Vivia Perpetua. Both, however, were alike in the fact, that their earthly position was good, and also that they preferred death rather than to deny their Lord. The home of each was in the sunny south, but the blue waters of the Mediterranean rolled between. The lady Vivia Perpetua lived and suffered in Carthage, while Seville was the scene of the martyrdom of Maria de Bohorques.

All that wealth and rank could procure lay before this Spanish daughter, for her youth was passed with every luxury surrounding her. None of these things held her heart, however, for she possessed a better and more enduring treasure, which far outweighed them all. Maria de Bohorques knew Jesus as her Saviour, and was happy in the sense of His everlasting love. In the sixteenth century in which she lived, there was more gospel light in that priest-ridden country than at the present time. There were many homes in Spain where the word of God was read, believed, and valued in those days.

The gentleman who acted as tutor to the young Maria, was one of the most learned men of that day. His name was Dr. Gil. He was a Christian, and the Bible was to him no sealed book. His youthful pupil had with him the great advantage of studying the scriptures in the original language. God gave His own blessing in the gift of eternal life through Jesus Christ the Lord. He, and He only, can bring home with power to the heart, the written and the living Word.

Like many more, this young lady learned alone with God that His salvation is full and free, and that it is to "whosoever will," that the water of life is freely offered. You, my reader, do not live in those trying days when it was considered a crime to be seen reading the Bible. Yet, it may be, that you know not Christ, and are as dark in mind as any popish child. Oh, it will indeed be a solemn thing for you, if you "neglect so great salvation" � you who have the Bible in your native tongue, and whose privilege it is to hear the joyful sound of God's glad tidings. Come, oh come, "while it is called to-day," and trust the loving Saviour in glory, who once died for sin, but is now alive for evermore.

In the days when Maria de Bohorques was drawn to Jesus, every Christian was closely watched. As soon as they were known to be such, many eyes were upon them; yes, and many a heart thirsted for their blood. Spies were never lacking to make known the victim, and the awful horrors of the Inquisition speedily became a reality to the persons arrested. The Inquisitors of Seville were not less severe in their dealings than those of other Spanish towns, and the mode of suddenly claiming a victim was as Satanic as elsewhere.

The dear, gentle Maria knew the outside of the gloomy prison, and had heard not a little, doubtless, of the proceedings of that well-known Court. And full well she knew the possibility of her feet having to pass within those gates, to suffer for Christ when her faith should become known. Therefore, alone on her knees, she ofttimes cried to God for strength to meet the arrival of that dread hour. When the moment did come, her prayer was answered, and meekly she met the prospect before her. Suddenly, the high-born maiden was snatched from the comforts of her luxurious home, and led within those dismal Inquisition walls. There she was taken to a secret room, to be questioned as to faith in Christ or allegiance to Rome.

Human friend or helper she had none, when, in the defencelessness of her youth and sex, Maria de Bohorques stood before those heartless judges. The room was quite in keeping with the dark deeds enacted there, for all was shade and gloom. Enveloped in shadow, and scarcely recognisable, sat those men who professed to try the suspected one. But it was a poor trial where justice was unknown, for the sentence was sure and certain, whatever the accused might say. Like cruel hawks, those keen-sighted men were only eager and ready to pounce upon their prey. All kinds of inducements were held out, to make a timid one deny the faith, but promises made with this object were usually broken, and death was certain to be the result.

At first, persuasion was tried in Maria's case, and smooth words were spoken. The judges declared that their desire was to restore her soul, which, they said, had wandered from God and the church. These statements did not succeed however in entrapping the courageous girl, but only drew from her lips an open confession of her faith. Her would-be judges then became very angry, and threatened to make her yield. But neither had this method any effect, for the cry of her heart was going up to God, and He strengthened her to be faithful. The instruments of torture were shewn, and Maria was made to understand that her body should soon feel their power. Yet even the sight of those awful horrors failed to make her courage give way. She refused to call herself a papist, or acknowledge, in any way, the Church of Rome.

The next step was an effort to get Maria to mention any others who were of the same faith. To this they at first received no reply, for their victim would not give the slightest information. But, alas, for human nature! the reply was at last obtained. When put upon the rack she owned, in her agony, that her sister had conversed with her about her faith. This was told in a moment of bodily weakness, and most bitterly repented of, for it brought to torture and to death her own beloved sister, and this was no small grief. Yet who could wonder at the dear suffering girl if, to stop her agony, her firmness gave way for a moment, and the fatal intelligence was given?

The joints were starting from their sockets, and her body felt as if being torn limb from limb. And men, inhuman, hard-hearted men � whose bodies could feel like her own � turned the awful instrument, and gloated over her sufferings like wild beasts! How comforting to know, that that once suffering child of God is now for ever with the Lord, having entered into rest! The body waits the resurrection-morn, and the spirit has returned to God who gave it. Departing to be with Christ, which is far better than earth's brightest scenes, the noble, true-hearted Maria de Bohorques left behind for ever the sorrows of the way.

Maria was taken from the rack to a cold damp cell, where, at least, rest and quiet were to be had. Even the discomforts of that dreary place were welcome, after the horrors of the rack, and the ceaseless voices of her tormentors. There in calmness she awaited the expected end, while she encouraged herself in the Lord her God.

Once more an empty form of trial was gone through, and then sentence was passed upon the already crippled victim. Maria de Bohorques was condemned to be burnt at the stake, with other believers who, like herself, preferred to die rather than deny the Lord. One would have thought that the helpless condition of the dear young sufferer would have drawn pity from the hearts of the men who judged her. Alas, they were too hardened by such sights, and too greedy of their prey, to be melted by any such feeling. Unable to walk, from the effects of the rack, Maria had the additional pain of being borne by those who only hated her and sought her destruction. No love was there to brighten her earthly path as it neared the end, yet the love of God shone in her heart, and gave her a joy beyond that of earth.

The quiet of the cell into which she was carried was soon broken in upon by visits from various priests. Her rank and position made them eager to win her back to the Romish Church, if at all possible. Every plan they could think of was tried, to persuade the courageous girl to recant, but all were alike useless. She must have been wearied with their foolish arguments, yet patience was given her to endure. Wisdom, too, was not wanting to return the fitted answers, while a firmness, which God alone could have given, kept Maria de Bohorques stedfast and true.

Gentle firmness marked the ways and words of that Spanish lady, and true nobility of character shone out in those closing days of her youthful life. But God was the Giver of all, for the natural heart could never have produced such gentleness, wisdom, or patience. The same beautiful spirit towards all, was shewn to the end of that brief life. The Great Square of Seville was chosen as the public place whence this young believer was to depart to be with Christ. Even her last evening on earth was disturbed by the crafty priests again visiting her in her place of imprisonment, hoping to see her yield at the last through fear of death. But death had no sting for that courageous heart. The popish hopes of restoring to the Church of Rome that gifted daughter of a noble Spanish family, were therefore dashed to the ground. And well that it was so since life could only be obtained by denying Him who had shed His blood for her.

Once again that youthful witness was carried from her miserable cell, but now borne forth to die for the Lord she loved. She was not only peaceful, but a surprising cheerfulness was distinctly manifest. Being happy herself, that dear one was free in heart to encourage and cheer her fellow-sufferers. Other women were amongst the number, and she spent life's last moments seeking to strengthen their faith in God. Maria shewed neither fear nor timidity, but a holy boldness marked her rejoicing end.

When bound to the stake, she asked her fellow-martyrs to join her in singing a psalm. That was more than her wicked enemies would allow. It made the dying ones too much like victors (as they truly were), when they could praise God in face of death. So they gagged the mouth of Maria de Bohorques, that she might cease to lead others to praise the living God. That was an indignity not usually put upon women, so Maria was distinguished by this additional suffering for the name of the Lord.

Before the pile of wood was lighted, the gag was removed, the sentence again read, and a last appeal made for the martyrs to abjure their faith. The same calmness continued unbroken as Maria distinctly uttered the words, "I neither can nor will recant." At a later moment, with the lighted torch before her eyes, she was again entreated to own the Church of Rome. She replied with a repetition of her faith, and continued speaking till the moment when, in their wrath, they strangled her, and thus added to their own guilt and condemnation. On the 24th of September, 1559, Maria de Bohorques was "absent from the body, present with the Lord," and the lighted fagots soon consumed her body to dust which now awaits the resurrection-morn.

Chapter 7.

John Rogers � A Husband and Father Burnt at Smithfield.

In these days of liberty in our cherished England, it is difficult to realise the bondage of the past. That there was a time when it was considered a crime to read the word of God, seems hard for us to understand. A great deal depends upon the sovereign, and we owe much, under God, to the peaceful reign of our honoured Queen. There have been monarchs on the throne of England who would neither read the Bible themselves nor allow their subjects to do so. In their self-will and ignorance, they quite overlooked the fact, that a man's conscience is not a thing which a sovereign can order, as he would a servant. He may command his subjects outwardly to accept the religion preferred by royalty; but a man can never be made to believe that which he doubts, even at the command of a monarch.

Such a vain attempt did Mary, Queen of England, make, in seeking to compel her people to follow popery. For there beat honest hearts on English soil, who would not forswear their conscience to suit a monarch's folly. Consequently such faithful ones were made to suffer, and many to die, to please the blood-thirsty queen. Her reign was so full of bloodshed that her name is handed down in history with that word which ever reminds us of her ungodly deeds.

The young King Edward VI., who preceded her, had honoured the Bible and given perfect liberty in his kingdom regarding the sacred book. Nay more, he encouraged the study of it, by having a large copy placed where any one might read. This plan for bringing the scriptures within reach of the people had been adopted by his father, Henry VIII., sixteen years before, though not from any personal love for the word, as was the case with the young king. It was usual to fasten it by a chain, to a stand or desk in the churches.

It was only within the means of a few to possess Bibles in those days. One copy cost many pounds, and was too large and bulky to be carried about like the present pocket Bibles. In addition to these difficulties, there were few who could read, so that not many could directly profit. It was therefore no uncommon sight to see a number of people around one person, a little more learned than themselves, who read to them the words of life. It must have been a very interesting scene when the eye lighted upon such an earnest group. I am sure my young reader would have been delighted to look upon those earnest faces, and to listen to a style of reading which would be difficult for us to understand now. Jeremiah the prophet could say to God, "Thy word was unto me the joy and rejoicing of my heart," and so doubtless could many a soul say in the days of King Edward VI.

That brief reign of six years and a half brought these happy peaceful days to an end. For the accession of Mary after his death brought a bigoted Roman Catholic to the English throne, and liberty for the conscience was unknown in England while she lived. The result was that able, learned, and God-fearing men, in common with all, were expected to bow to her wishes in religious matters, whether it suited them or not. That the queen should be obeyed was right and lawful, they very well knew, but that she should rule their consciences was a thing to which they could not agree. The reason was simple � the word of God and the queen's wishes were not alike, and consequently obedience to the monarch meant disobedience to God. Therefore sorrow and trouble became their earthly lot, yet withal, many grew brighter in soul as the days of persecution increased in fury.

When command and threat alike had failed to cause a faithful man to deny the truth of God, nothing but death remained for him. Consequently, many a noble-hearted believer in Jesus was speedily sent from earth to heaven by the fires which popery kindled in the reign of Queen Mary. A brief examination settled the point of guilt. The suspected person was brought before his judges to answer them on one particular point. A word was sufficient, and on it, hung the doom of the person suspected. The whole thing hinged on whether one error of Rome was believed or denied. That was the false and foolish Romish doctrine, that the bread, used to remind us of the body of Christ, actually became His body of flesh after being blessed by the priest. When these faithful ones denied that error, only the stake and the fire remained for them on earth.

The first to suffer was John Rogers, a faithful and much-loved preacher of the gospel. During a residence on the Continent, he had met with such pious and learned men as William Tyndale and Miles Coverdale. These, and other Englishmen, were exiles from their country because of their faithfulness, and were occupied in the translation of the scriptures.

The society of such Bible-loving men was good for John Rogers, and he too gained an intimate knowledge of the word of God. During Edward's reign, Rogers returned to this country to preach the gospel. He continued to do so after Mary had ascended the throne of England, but it was only for a brief space. A notable sermon which he preached at St. Paul's Cross in London, brought upon him the displeasure of the queen. He had openly warned the people against the popish errors so soon, alas! to be forced on them, and bade them stand true to sacred writ. When put upon trial and ordered to make his defence, he did it so ably, and with such power, that he was allowed to go free. Regardless, however, of punishment or danger, he continued to preach the truth of God.

Once again the brave John Rogers was called before a council of bishops, because he would not give up Christ for popery. The queen had commanded that nothing but her corrupt religion should have any liberty in her realms. It was disobedience to this unrighteous law, that brought that persevering servant of God again into notice. He was ordered to be kept shut up in his own house, as within the walls of a prison. But that kind of imprisonment, trying as it was to him, was not severe enough to please his enemies. Bonner, bishop of London, a man notable for his cruelty and wicked zeal, arranged to have John Rogers taken from his home to a common prison. Within the walls of Newgate therefore, that christian man was forced to pass his days among the worst criminals of the land.

Still, all that indignity and shame were only leading on to more and more. A day arrived when he was awakened from sleep with the startling news that he was to be committed to the flames. Only one request he had to make, and that was harshly denied. It was, that he might see his beloved wife before being taken to the stake, but even the melancholy satisfaction of a sad farewell to those he loved, was too much for his cruel persecutors to grant.

Before leaving the jail, the sheriff, as the representative of the law, called to ask Rogers to recant. The answer of the latter was clear and decided: "That which I have preached, I will seal with my blood."

"Thou art a heretic," the sheriff said.

"That shall be known at the day of judgment," answered Rogers.

"Well, I will never pray for thee," said the sheriff.

"But I will pray for you," was the Christ-like reply, called forth from lips so soon to be silent in death.

The victim was led to Smithfield with a heart so sustained by God, that he comforted himself by repeating a psalm as he passed along. Many who looked on praised God for the grace given to that beloved man, so cheerfully going to death. His wife, carrying her babe, and accompanied by their ten children, met him as he went onwards. Oh, how she and they must have longed for a parting word! But, alas, it only the further pleased the persecutors, thus to tear a good man from his wife, his family, and every earthly tie. Whatever he felt, he looked perfectly calm, and did not allow natural affection to hinder his dying testimony.

"The fires of Smithfield" bear to us even now an awful meaning, for we know that many a precious one was there committed to their mercy. But oh, to those who lived in those days, what a scene of dread and suffering would the very words present! Those who were faithful to God and His word, must often have trembled when the possibility of such a death came before their minds. Yet, when the moment arrived, the weakest believer found that an unchanging God was on his side. The calm peace, and even cheerfulness and joy, manifest in such circumstances, shewed that the source of all was not of earth. The apostle Paul wrote, "If God be for us, who can be against us?" and, quoting David's words, he adds, "For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter." Those early martyrs knew something of that condition, and yet they could have said with Paul, "Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors, through him that loved us."

Let us look for a little at the scene around John Rogers at the stake in Smithfield. Mary, the Queen of England, was about to send him from her presence, but God was going to receive his soul on high. That was a place of which she knew nothing. Noblemen, officials in authority, private persons who were rigid Romanists, besides men who loved the man about to die, were assembled to see the end. As usual, an endeavour was made to make him deny his faith in Christ, and own the Romish Church. A pardon was brought and offered, if he would only recant. But no, not even a pardon tempted him; he desired only to be kept faithful. The patience manifested by this worthy man was most remarkable, and his stedfast spirit was upheld to the end.

When the fire had been lighted, and even had begun to do its work, the flames seemed to possess no terror for him. He was seen to put his hands amid the flames, as if washing them in the coldest water. Then, lifting them towards heaven, he remained in that position, till they were burnt in the fire as it rose. Speedily that fire at Smithfield did its work, and nought remained but smouldering ashes. The body of John Rogers, the faithful servant of God and preacher of the gospel, was reduced to dust, and his enemies were satisfied. But every atom in these ashes is precious in God's sight, as part of a body purchased by the blood of Christ.

And thus was a happy believer set free from the pain and sorrows of earth, to pass into the paradise of God. Fire was but the gate of entrance � the flame only snapped asunder the last link with earth. Our hearts go back with pity when we think of what those martyrs endured, yet let it also be with hearty thanks-giving. For, surely, we may truly thank God that He kept them "stedfast, unmoveable," as only divine power could. It is easy for us to say it now, but may we not also thank the Lord that men have been honoured to die for Him? Even face to face with death, many a martyr felt it a holy, happy privilege thus to shew to the world that Christ was dearer than life.

Chapter 8.

William Hunter � A Young Man Led to the Stake at Brentwood.

William Hunter was a young man whose home was at Brentwood, Essex. He was employed in London as a weaver, but while his daily life was passed in the busy city, his father's house in the country was dear to him, and there he spent many a quiet time. William loved and could read the Bible, though he did not possess a copy. He was therefore in the habit of repairing to the chained treasure within those well-known walls in his native village. There, in the quiet stillness of the place, he delighted to read and study the precious book. God had given to this young man a desire for the "sincere milk of the word," and truly he grew thereby in the divine life.

One day, William was observed by a papist to be thus engaged, and taunted with attempting to explain the sacred volume. The boy answered gently and respectfully, that he did not do so but, he said, "I read it for my comfort." A conversation followed, in which William spoke modestly of his belief in the scriptures, but the papist spy only answered with hate and scorn. The latter then left the building, that he might bring a priest to see this "heretic." That official spoke in the same threatening strain, and plainly shewed that fatal results would follow.

The young man immediately returned to say good-bye to his parents, and left for London without delay. William considered that the only hope of safety lay in flight, for the attitude of those two enemies had been too plain to be mistaken. To leave his parental home and become a fugitive for the truth's sake seemed the only course open to him.

Popery was too thirsty for the blood of the saints to be thus baffled. The father was sent for, and demanded to give up his son. "What, sir," he asked the priest, "would you have me seek my son that he may be burned?" Yet with these words of parental affection on his lips, the old man was forced to set out at once in search of his son. He hoped that he might not find him, but suddenly and unexpectedly he found himself face to face with his beloved boy. William had seen his father in the distance, and made haste to meet him. When he heard on what errand his parent had been sent, he immediately desired to return, that he might save him any further trouble. It was a difficult position for the father, but he gave in to the wishes of his son, and the two returned to Brentwood the same evening.

During the darkness of that night, the papist messengers came for their victim. In their cruel hands, there remained little else but suffering for William Hunter. He was, however, kept cheerful in his spirit, and thus the name of the Lord was honoured. He passed twenty-four hours in the stocks, and then with day-dawn, his persecutors began their efforts to make him recant. By the grace of God given in that hour of need, every effort was unavailing. The next step was to send William at once to the Bishop of London. The latter, in his turn, tried every possible way of making the young believer deny the truth, but equally without success.

The bishop's mode of seeking to overcome the youth was very cunning, and had William not had divine wisdom given to him, he would have yielded. That unprincipled man endeavoured to get his captive to believe that anything which he might say would be in confidence. But that young witness was not to be beguiled into saying aught to such a man, other than a repetition of his faith in Christ, and in the teaching of the word of God. Therefore, by all his wiles and worldly inducements, Bishop Bonner failed to make William Hunter recant. This being the case, poor William was again sent to the stocks, there to remain for forty-eight hours. A crust of bread and a cup of water were put by his side, but were left untouched at the end of that time.

When the bishop came to see this young victim in the stocks, and saw that he had eaten nothing, he ordered him to be taken out and breakfast given to him. After the meal, the crafty Bonner once more summoned William before him. Again he demanded whether he would recant, and again he met with a firm refusal. Bonner then taunted him with denying the faith in which he was baptised. "I was baptised in the faith of the Holy Trinity," said William, "which I will not go from, God assisting me by His grace."

The bishop further asked how old he was. On making the reply that he was nineteen years of age, he said, "Well, you will be burned ere you be twenty years old, if you will not yield yourself better than you have done yet."

"God strengthen me in this trouble!" was the brief but earnest reply of William Hunter, and thus closed his interview with the Bishop of London.

That wicked, cruel man had not done, however, with his young prisoner. He kept him in captivity for nine months, and during that period, he called him five times before him. The money spent daily on William's food at that time, was the small coin of one halfpenny. So, while the bishop was living in comfort and luxury, he was keeping a young man, in the bloom of youth, starving and suffering within those prison doors. The instructions given by the bishop when the imprisonment began were, that the jailer should "put as many irons upon him as he could possibly bear." There, within those gloomy prison walls, that bright young spirit was kept till the final sentence was given. Still, however, William Hunter clung to the word, and trusted God through Christ.

Once when the bishop sent for the young man, in the hope that prison life had made him willing to yield, he offered what was a considerable sum in those days, if he would only abjure his faith. Then he proposed to make him steward of his own house, but neither temptation could move the stedfast youth. "My lord," he answered, "if you cannot persuade my conscience by scripture, I cannot find it in my heart to turn from God for the love of the world; for I count all worldly things but loss, in comparison with the love of Christ."

Seeing that nothing succeeded, the angry bishop then gave orders that the courageous witness should be burnt at the stake.

A month afterwards William Hunter went again to his beloved Brentwood, knowing full well that he entered the little town only to die. As the place was too small to possess a prison, he was taken to an inn, and a guard set to watch him. There he was visited by his broken-hearted mother, for the constables had been unable to resist the sight of her grief and affection. It was a very great comfort to that sorrowing mother to witness the calm firmness and courage of her imprisoned boy. Her heart and thoughts were turned to God, and found relief in praising Him for the faith given to her son.

William comforted his mother with these touching words: "For the little pain which I shall suffer, Christ has procured for me a crown of joy; are you not glad of that, mother?" There together, for the last time, they knelt in prayer, when the mother commended her son to God, and asked for needed grace in the dying hour.

When the day dawned on which William was to die, he was led forth with a poor empty show of law. Needless, indeed, it was to guard him by constables, for he was submissive enough, and turned not from the death appointed. A sheriff, and the men calling themselves justices, had little need of expending their energies on that happy, radiant martyr, yet they formed part of the procession to the stake. Priests, too, were there, in their endeavours to carry out an ignorant zeal, but better had it been for them to have been less active. To add to the number of that imposing company leading a young man to death, were those miserable men who were to carry out the final sentence. What a mockery! what infatuated zeal was this in the garb of religion! Ah! for every deed of darkness God has yet to reckon with them, unless any afterwards turned to the blood that "cleanseth from all sin."

On the way from the prison to the stake his father met the procession, and in bitterness of soul poured forth his heart's deep affection. But while his tears fell fast, his farewell words were full of hope as his wife's had been. "God be with thee, son William!" The quiet and loving response was, "God be with you, father! be of good cheer; I trust we shall meet again, where we shall rejoice together."

As he passed that which had been his home, he could only give a passing glance of love on his weeping sisters. To the companions of his youth and childhood he expressed an affectionate farewell, and indeed, to all whom he knew there. Many a tear of sympathy flowed for William Hunter, that day, from eyes that were not wont to weep. When the place of death was reached, he was bound to the stake by a chain, and fagots of wood were heaped around, for all had been carefully prepared. Then the victim having been secured, the fire was speedily applied to complete the Satanic work.

Once more William was asked to deny his faith, and pardon was promised if he would. "No," he answered firmly, "I will not recant, God willing." He then turned to the people, and asked prayer for him in the moment of need. One cruel, blasphemous man, whose position was nominally that of a justice, scornfully replied, "I will no more pray for thee than I would for a dog." With touching meekness, the young believer gave the gentle answer, "I pray God this may not be laid to your charge at the last day."

Expressions of sympathy broke forth from some of the bystanders, when the final scene began. The lighted fagots burned readily, for a malicious care had been taken that they should be dry for the occasion. William held in his hand a copy of the Psalms, which he was able to throw to his brother who stood near. The latter on receiving that dying gift, cried, "William, think of the sufferings of Christ, and be not afraid!"

"I am not afraid," was the prompt reply, and then the inspired prayer broke from his dying lips, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!"

Soon the crackling flames rose high, and consumed that body which was so precious in the sight of God. And thus died William Hunter, in the middle of the sixteenth century, in our own beloved England. In the morning of his days he trusted in Jesus, and he early entered into rest. An old elm-tree near the spot, serves to shew the place where his spirit passed from earth to heaven. The happy confidence in God which marked his brief course and early end, may teach both old and young; and "faithful unto death," might indeed be written over the spot where he now rests.

Persecution is not confined to time or place, and history records its dire deeds again and again. These few chapters travel far and wide, both as to locality and date � from the glowing East, to our grey cold Isles in the West, and down the long vista of sixteen hundred years of time.

We have noticed the martyrdom of Stephen as given in holy writ, in the seventh chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. The place was outside the city of Jerusalem, and the time shortly after the beginning of the christian era. Next we followed the Lady Vivia Perpetua, from the home of her married life in Africa, to prison and to death with four christian companions. It was heathen hate which took their lives, early in the third century, on the southern shores of the Mediterranean. Cyril, the child who suffered in the province of Cappadocia; Denisa, the girl martyred at the age of sixteen; Marcus and Marcellanius, the twin brothers, were each and all examples of very young Christians in the early centuries of the church's history.

Those followers of Christ were hated and despised because they refused to worship idols, and found their delight in the true God; therefore the rage of the heathen vented itself on them, and pagan rulers sent the Christians from the earth as often as they could. But the days changed when persecution came, not so much from the Jew, nor yet from the Gentile, but from that which was called the church of God.

The corruption of that which was so fair and beautiful in its beginning, led on to many wicked methods of obtaining submission to the Church of Rome.

Maria de Bohorques was a victim to the latter, and the spot whence she passed from earth was the Great Square of Seville. Over fifteen hundred and fifty years had run their course from the church's beginning till then.

Following the flow of time, popery in England came before us, the fires of Smithfield were lighted, and persecution raged fierce and keen. The good and brave John Rogers headed a long list of suffering witnesses, following each other in rapid succession. His death, and that of the youthful William Hunter, took place on English soil, in the middle of the sixteenth century.

We thus see the grace of God shining out in every relationship of life, in various paths on earth; the wife and mother, the husband and father, the young man and maiden, even to the little child, proving the reality of those divine words, "As thy days, thy strength." The unchanging God who stood by them to strengthen in their hour of need, will never, no never, forsake His own beloved people, thus divinely taught to trust in Him.

We may not be called upon to die for Christ, but let us be able to say from the heart, like Paul, "For me to live, Christ, and to die, gain!"

STEM Publishing : For the Young : Mayken Karlzon's Diary

Mayken Karlzon's Diary.

A Story of the Inquisition in Spain and Holland.

By C.J.L.

London: Morrish, 20, Paternoster Square, E.C., 1921.

Contents

Chapter 1. Stories of Sunny Spain

Chapter 2. The Gathering of the Storm

Chapter 3. The Field-Preaching

Chapter 4. Julianillo Heramdez, Muleteer and Martyr

Chapter 5. Images and Image-Makers

Chapter 6. One Stormy Night

Chapter 7. How They Kept the Faith in Holland

Chapter 8. "William the Silent"

Chapter 9. Dark Clouds with Silver Linings

Chapter 10. Faithful Witnesses

Chapter 11. A Strange Story

Chapter 12. Birds of Passage

Chapter 13. "The Noble Army of Martyrs"

Chapter 14. "Stormy Wind Fulfilling His Word"

Chapter 15. The Siege of Leyden

Chapter 16. The Defence of Leyden

Chapter 17. The Relief of Leyden

Chapter 18. "Joy-Bells Ringing"

Chapter 19. Henry of Navarre

Chapter 20. The Nun of Jourre

Chapter 21. Among the Heather

Chapter 22. More About the Huguenots

Chapter 23. The Edict of Nantes

Chapter 24. A Great Sorrow

Preface.

The days which are portrayed in the following pages were stirring and eventful ones. Though Germany was, as we know, the birthplace and early home of the Reformation, gleams of gospel light were seen here and there amid the darkness that had for hundreds of years hung over nearly the whole of Europe; and in Spain, some whose hearts had been prepared to receive the Glad Tidings came boldly out as witnesses for their Lord. San Roman was the first, though far from being the last, of the "noble army" of Spanish martyrs.

The Siege of Leyden is far more than an interesting page of history. It is a record of the goodness and faithfulness of God.

The days in which you and I, dear young friends, are living are not less solemn and eventful. The effort of the enemy on every hand is to take away our Bibles, not by threats of imprisonment, or death, but by trying to shake our faith in the Bible as The Word of God.

May the simple record of what has been suffered for the truth's sake in Spain and Holland be an encouragement to us all to prize our Bibles more than we have ever done, knowing that "ALL Scripture is Given by Inspiration of God."

C. J. L.

Chapter 1.

Stories of Sunny Spain.

May 1st, 1565. This is my birthday, and I am twelve years old today. I think it is very pleasant to have a birthday. I am quite rich in presents. Darling mother has given me a beautiful new hood and a hymn-book, and Truyken, the faithful old housekeeper, who has lived so many years in our family that she was my father's nurse when he was only two years old, bought me a work-bag with my name, Mayken Karlzon, embroidered upon it in crimson wool, a most useful present; for, as she says, I am getting too old to care for toys, and it was very kind of her to take so much trouble to give me pleasure. But I think the present I like the very best of all is the one I received from my dear father. It is a large, thick volume, bound in brown leather, and in gilt letters on its cover are the words, "Manuscript Book." It is not like any book I have ever seen before, for it must be written before it can be read, though I suppose this is true of all books; but the strange thing that makes it seem so different from other books is, that I am to write it; father says so, and as I always try to do as he wishes me, of course I shall try.

When I asked father, "What shall I write?" he answered, "True stories, Mayken; but they must be ALL-TRUE. Let every one be a page of history. Some will belong to the past, some to the present, for Holland may yet count her martyrs by scores, perhaps by hundreds, for King Philip of Spain cares little that his subjects in the Netherlands are loyal, peace-loving and industrious, as long as they refuse the authority of the Pope and desire liberty to read the word of God for themselves."

So I must begin at once. I think that next to the Bible stories, which I never tire of listening to, the stories that interest me most are those mother tells me in the quiet hour on Sunday evenings before the lamps are lighted. Some of these stories are sad ones, for when she tells me about the Spanish martyrs, who laid down their lives rather than deny their Lord, her voice is very low and sad, and more than once I have seen by the firelight that tears were in her eyes; I felt ready to cry too, but she kissed away a tear that was just ready to fall, and said, "Do not weep, Mayken, but rather rejoice, as they rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer for the Lord they loved; their sufferings were quickly over, but their reward is eternal." "They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more . . . for the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." (Rev. 7: 16, 17.)

All mother's stories are so interesting that I hardly know which to choose, but perhaps her own account of something that happened when she was a very little girl ought to come first.

I think her home must have been a very happy one; she was not, like myself, an only child, but had brothers and sisters, who loved her and used to play with her. Her father, who would have been my grand-papa, died when she was too young to remember much about him, and after his death her mother took her children to live in the house of her mother, who was, like herself, a widow. Their home was in Valladolid, a beautiful Spanish town. But dearly as she loved her mother and her home, some very happy weeks were spent every year in the cottage of her old nurse, Annetta, who had married a vine-dresser named Ambrose, and lived a little way in the country. When there, she was allowed to run about the garden, feed the chickens, help or hinder Ambrose as he trimmed his vines, and do many other things that were a never-failing delight to the town-bred child.

One morning, soon after sunrise, she was roused from sleep by Annetta's voice saying, "Awake, little lady, it is the 'fete,' and my darling will see wonderful sights to-day. She shall have her best dress on, for the princes and nobles will be there, and bishops, and priests, and grand ladies with their court dresses all ablaze with jewels, and there will be music, and the choir boys in their white robes will sing. Ah, it will be a beautiful show."

Every one in the little household was soon ready, and my mother, after being dressed by Annetta with more than usual care, garlanded with white roses, and adorned with some golden ornaments that had belonged to Annetta's great-grandmother, was seated upon a donkey, which was carefully led by Ambrose.

The Grand Square was crowded with people, all dressed in holiday attire; but getting out of the throng as quickly as possible, they went to the house of Annetta's sister, whose windows looked out upon the square.

No market of fruit and vegetables was held in the square that day. In the centre a platform had been raised, on which stood a tall, green cross; twelve large wax tapers were burning round it, though their light looked pale and dim in the glory of the sunshine that flooded the whole scene. The cross was guarded by monks, who wore long, black robes, while a guard of soldiers stood around.

After they had waited a little time, the procession came in sight. First walked the choir boys, then a large silver cross was carried, followed by a great number of monks and priests; then came the mayor and great men of the city, followed by the nobles on their beautiful horses. But just behind the cross walked several men wearing such strange dresses that at first my mother thought it was to amuse the people they formed part of the show. But they looked grave, and it was easy to see that they did not enjoy it, for almost every one pointed at them, and so she began to wonder what it all could mean. Some carried crosses and were dressed in black; but others wore long, loose coats painted all over with red tongues of flame, the points turning downward. But she soon forgot to look at the gay ladies, or the fine horses of the nobles, one man had so fixed her attention, and indeed every one seemed to be looking at him, and all around her she heard whispers, such as, "Look at him, he is still obstinate. He will not confess to a priest, or even kiss the holy relics. He must truly be a wicked man. The priest says it is sin even to pray for him."

But my mother thought he did not look like a wicked man. He wore the same ugly dress as the others, with this difference, that on his yellow robe the flames pointed upward, as real flames always do. His head was covered by a high pasteboard cap written all over with black letters. He was not an old man, she felt sure of that, and yet he walked with a slow and tottering step. A number of monks, called "Black Friars," kept talking to him in loud, angry voices, as if they wished to force him to do or say something. At first he tried to answer them, but they would not listen to what he said, so he was silent, but every now and then he looked upward with such a peaceful, happy look, and his lips moved as if in prayer.

After a little while San Roman, for that was his name, was placed upon a platform, just opposite to the cross, and one of the friars went into a wooden pulpit, covered with crimson cloth, and it sounded just as if he were scolding San Roman. When that was over, the whole company knelt down and repeated in Latin the Roman creed. I said the whole company, but there was one man who remained standing, and that was San Roman. This seemed to make the monks more angry than before. Two went up to him and, taking hold of him quite roughly, tried to make him kneel down, while a third held a crucifix close to his face which he wanted him to kiss. But though San Roman looked ill and was very pale, he would not kneel or kiss the crucifix. Then an angry murmur rose from the crowd, and she heard some one say, "He must have an evil spirit since even the rack failed to bring him to his senses." What could it all mean? If San Roman had been a very bad man would his face have been so full of peace and even joy? There was beautiful music, but she did not listen to it, for her eyes and her thoughts were fixed upon San Roman. What would happen to him? The soldiers made a passage through the crowd, and after all the men who were so strangely dressed had knelt at the feet of a tall, dark man, who they told her was the General of the Inquisition, San Roman stood alone.

Then the friars tried again to make him do as they wished, but he still refused so they led him down the steps and placed him upon an ass, for he was too weak to walk, and the people cried, "Away with him, he is not fit to live." Two friars led the ass away and the people saw it and its rider no more, but the look of peace was still upon his pale face.

But mother is calling "Mayken, little daughter, where are you?" so my story must for to-day be an unfinished one.

Chapter 2.

The Gathering of the Storm.

May 15th, 1565. Can it be only a fortnight since I wrote even a page of my MS. book? Only a fortnight, it seems longer; perhaps because so much has happened; we are living in such strange times, when so much, not only of the history of our own Holland, but of the progress of the reformed faith in France, Germany and England is being written, that I feel sometimes as if I never could be a happy, thoughtless child again.

I left the story of San Roman unfinished, for mother was calling me, and I entered our family sitting-room, which I always think a very pleasant place, with its high-backed chairs covered with crimson damask, and the large, open fire-place, from which, when I was a tiny child, mother gave me such sweet, simple Bible lessons � for the pictures are nearly all of scripture scenes � that I seemed to know David slaying the lion and the bear, or Ruth gleaning in the fields of Boaz, almost as well as I know Paul Brock, the cripple son of Hans Brock, the weaver, who was my earliest, and I was going to write, my dearest playmate; but then as I never had any other I can hardly tell.

Father, mother and my aunt Ursel were all seated round the wood fire, for though the day was fine, the air was chilly, and as my mother, who is far from being strong, seems to miss the bright skies and glorious sunshine of her early home among the vineyards and orange groves of Spain, we have fires in the sitting-room, I think, longer than most of our neighbours.

Aunt Ursel and I are great friends; she is always very kind to her little niece. Her presents were a large pot of choice tulips, just unfolding their bright red and yellow blossoms, and a large cream cheese of her own making, as her contribution to the birthday feast. When I had kissed and thanked her, she said, "I have brought news to-day, Mayken; there is to be a field-preaching to-morrow, and it is decided that you shall accompany us, as we think that you are old enough now to share our privileges, even if you share our dangers."

I did not understand what danger there could be in going anywhere when my father, Herr Mark Karlzon, who is just as brave as he is kind, was to be of the party.

When I was not more than five or six years old, Truyken taught me to knit, and I often wonder now at the patience with which she used to pick up my dropped stitches; but as, with all her kindness, she was very firm and would never allow me to begin a fresh piece of work till the one already in hand was completed, I had better finish the story of San Roman, who was, mother says, the first martyr of the Reformation in Spain, before I write about the field-preaching.

When I asked mother where they took him, and if she ever saw him again, she said there was not much more to tell. Placed upon an ass, because the tortures he had suffered during his imprisonment had rendered him unable to walk, surrounded by the Black Friars, and closely followed by a guard of the Pope's soldiers, he was taken to the place of burning. All this she was afterwards told by Annetta; the friars with their hard faces and ugly black cowls kept pressing him to recant, and promising that his life should be spared if he would only say he believed that by saying five Latin words over a piece of bread, a priest could change it into the real body and blood of the Lord Jesus Christ, who, the Bible says, "is gone into heaven, and is on the right hand of God." (1 Peter 3: 22.) But he stood firm, and again refused to kiss a crucifix, which is an image of Christ on the cross, and he would not confess to a priest. As the crowd made way for him to pass many mocked at the yellow robe he wore, and called him hard, bitter names, but he did not seem to hear them; some who were near enough to see his face said that it was full of peace, and even joy, a smile played round his lips, and his eyes had a far-away look in them, as if he saw the light of the home he was so soon to enter. Indeed, some one told Annetta that San Roman looked more like a man going to his bridal than to a martyr's death. And yet the priests had said it was a sin even to pray for him!

They bound him to the stake, but as soon as the faggots were lighted his head sank upon his breast. The monks thought this was a sign that he was penitent and had him drawn out, but with a faint smile he said, "Did you envy me my happiness?" and they thrust him in again. He was not left to suffer long, for almost before the flames reached his body, he was suffocated by the smoke. And so for him there was no longer the mocking crowd, or the damp, dark dungeon.

But I must return to the field-preaching, and as the preaching was to be held in a wood at some distance from the town, we had to start early. Truyken did not at all approve of our going, which she said was like tempting providence by flying in the face of the king; and even if nothing worse came of it, we all should, she knew, catch our deaths of cold through sitting so long on the grass; she even wanted, as a protection from possible danger, to tie round my neck her most precious earthly possession, a relic which she believes to have been the tooth of some saint, enclosed in a small silver case, hardly larger than a sixpence; it had been highly prized by her mother and grandmother, and was looked upon as a kind of charm to keep sickness and trouble of all kinds at a distance; but as her grandmother was drowned, and her mother died of a fever, I cannot see that the relic did much good to any one.

Truyken said, when a slight shower of rain fell the day before that appointed for the preaching, that all through the night the clouds would pour down torrents, and the flooded state of the roads would prevent our reaching the place of meeting. But contrary to her expectations, the morning was fine and almost cloudless, with a light breeze and plenty of bright sunshine. We were ready to start in good time. My pony, Jock, neighed with pleasure as I stroked his mane and fed him with some bread I had saved from my own early breakfast. I rode by father's side; it has been my place ever since I was a child of not more than five years old, when he lifted me on to the back of a white donkey he had bought for me at the cattle fair, and taught me how to hold the reins. Mother and aunt Ursel followed on their mules.

When we were well out of the town I asked father what the danger Truyken had spoken of could possibly be, "for," I added, "she is never so afraid of our taking cold when we go for a pleasure party and lunch in the woods."

He looked grave as he answered: "Faithful old Truyken, though she still counts her beads, and says her prayers in Latin, a language of which she does not understand a single word; she is a good woman, loyal and true to those she serves, and she loves my Mayken almost as if she were her own child. Yes, little daughter, there is danger, and you in some measure by being with us to-day are a sharer in it; it is only fair that you should understand something of the risk to which we are all exposed. Still," he added, and his smile as he spoke, though grave, was very sweet and tender, "nothing can happen to one of the children of God except what He allows who maketh even 'the wrath of man' to praise Him.

"The King of Spain is at present Master of the Netherlands, through his sister, the Duchess Margaret, assisted by Counts Egmont and Horn, and is a stern, unyielding Roman Catholic. His will is that all his subjects should be Roman Catholics too. He has been heard to say that he would rather reign over a desert than over a nation of heretics. When one of his own nobles, who had been condemned to death for no ether crime than that of having a Bible in his house, ventured, on his way to the stake, to appeal to his majesty, the reply was, 'I would carry a faggot to the burning of my own son if he were such a wretch as thou.'

"But King Philip has not been alone in the work of rooting out heresy,' his most zealous and trusted helpers are the officers and soldiers of the Inquisition. Although only established in 1536 by Pope Paul III., acting on the advice of one of his cardinals, who succeeded him as Pope, it has worked with such right goodwill for what it calls the 'stamping out of heresy,' that numbers in every part of the king's dominions have been thrown into prison, or put to death by its orders.

But many, even in our own city of Antwerp, not fearing the wrath of the king, are hungering for the word of God, and though all the king's subjects are commanded to attend mass, there are many who, while they see the storm gathering, will, I believe, have faith and courage to obey God rather than man.

"But we are no longer alone, and it is not safe even to speak of these things in public. If you, my little Mayken, should ever see your father and mother led away to prison, do not attempt to follow us, but trust in God, and return as quickly as possible to Truyken; I know of no one who would risk more to protect my child."

Then father rode on to speak to some of our neighbours, who were, like ourselves, going to the preaching; and I followed him but slowly, for I felt as if a great weight was upon me. Father and mother taken to prison! Oh, it would be dreadful, and not even to be allowed to be with them. Of course, I would obey father, but I shall pray that if it be the will of God I may be spared this sorrow.

Chapter 3.

The Field-Preaching.

May 25th, 1565. The day of the first field-preaching I was allowed to attend is one I am not likely to forget, but perhaps I had better write down a few of the things that impressed me most while they are fresh in my memory.

After father, who was riding a little in advance of our party talking in low, earnest tones to our burgomaster, Von der Werf, who is, like himself, a cloth merchant of Leyden, had told me of King Philip's orders that all his subjects should attend mass, I seemed to understand what the danger Truyken had feared for us was in a way I had not done before. I felt as if I had suddenly come to a place where some great battle was being fought.

It is a real battle, too, between the law of the king and the will of God. I am sure it cannot be right to pray to pictures and images, and I remember now, that although Truyken is allowed to have her own way in most things in our household (more of it, Aunt Christiana says, than is good for her), there was just one thing in which both my parents stood firmly; and much as Truyken wished it, she was not allowed to teach me a single Latin "Paternoster," or "Ave Maria," so the first words of prayer I ever lisped were learnt from the lips of my own dear mother.

God, who is just as great as He is good, will, I feel sure, take care of those who really wish to please and obey Him. But perhaps He will not do it just in the way we should expect, or think best. He did not send His angels to take San Roman out of the hands of those who were leading him to a martyr's death, and yet I know He could have done so if He had pleased. But then, as father said the other day, when he and mother were reading a letter telling them of fresh sufferings inflicted upon their brethren and sisters in the faith in Spain and France, it was because the Lord had far better things in store for them than liberty, or even life upon a sin-stained earth could have been, that they were allowed to suffer and even to die for the Lord they loved. So "I will trust, and not be afraid."

We were quite early at the place where the preaching was to be held, so that I had time to look round before the service began, and I hardly know whether I was most surprised or delighted to see my old friend and playfellow, Paul Brock, lying upon his little bed, which had been carefully lifted into his father's cart; and though the long ride must have made the lame boy very tired, there was a flush of pleasure upon his pale face.

He greeted me warmly, saying, "Oh! Mayken, this is lovely. I was wondering if heaven itself could be much more beautiful. It seems like being in another world, just to hear the wild birds singing, and to see the flowers growing, making the grass look like a beautiful carpet; but the best of all will be that we are to hear in our own tongue the word of God read and explained.

"I begged very hard before father would consent to bring me; he said that as these field-preachings are forbidden by the king, and those who are found attending them run the risk of fines and imprisonment, he did not care to expose his cripple boy to danger. But I pleaded that being a cripple did not shut me out from being one of Christ's soldiers, and all real soldiers expect to go to war; that even if today our company should be routed by the Pope's soldiers, it would only be a common danger, and I should share it with those I loved best on earth."

I hardly knew how to reply to my little friend; but as I saw his eyes rested with a gaze of wistful longing on some large white daisies growing near the hedge, I ran and gathered them for him. Soon after mother called me, and bade me sit beside her, so I did not get another opportunity to speak to Paul that day.

The people now began to arrive in great numbers. Every one looked grave, and took their places in silence, while an outer circle of men, many of whom wore swords, and among whom was my father, burgomaster Herr Von der Werf, and several of our neighbours, seemed to be keeping a kind of guard over the whole party. Armed men stood like sentinels at the end of every woodland path leading to the open space where the company, which now numbered several thousands, had assembled. I noticed, too, that the horses and mules were not turned loose to graze as is usual when we go into the country, but fastened in such a way that at a moment's notice their riders could be in the saddle. The women and children were for safety seated in the middle, near the preacher, the men stood or sat in groups beyond, or took turns in relieving those who formed the outer circle.

Sellers of portions of scripture, hymnbooks, and some Martin Luther's writings translated into Dutch, moved silently about offering their books for sale. They had no need to press for customers, for every one seemed eager to buy, and yet all these books are forbidden by the Pope. To possess even one was in the eyes of the Inquisition a crime worthy of death.

The preachers for the day were Francis Junnis and Peregrune de la Grange. Both belonged to noble French families, and had already suffered much for their attachment to the reformed faith. A great silence fell upon that vast congregation as Pastor Junnis mounted a wooden stand or reading desk that had been prepared in order that he might be better seen and heard by the people, and began to read in a clear, distinct voice one of the psalms.

He had not read more than two or three verses, when the cry, "The soldiers are upon us," was raised. The women drew closer together, but did not speak or scream, while the men mounted their horses and grasped their arms. But the alarm was a false one, and in a few minutes all was quiet again, and the preacher went on as calmly as if nothing had happened.

The singing made me feel as if I must cry. It was so solemn, and yet so beautiful. It seemed as if one heart and one voice was telling out a great need, and asking a great help from God.

The last note of the hymn died away, and for a moment the only sounds heard were the murmur of the brook, or the restless pawing of some horse; then one voice was speaking, and though at first its tones were low, it grew louder as the speaker prayed not only for the great company before him, but for brethren and sisters in the faith who, he knew only too well, were even on that bright spring day pining their lives away in dark, gloomy prisons; some might, perhaps at that very moment, be undergoing the torture of the rack, or even being led to the stake.

A portion of scripture read by another pastor followed the prayer, and then the sermon began. The preacher did not try to hide the danger we all stood in. He even said that some who heard his voice might be called upon to lay down their lives for Christ's sake. But it was, he also said, far better to suffer for their Lord than to deny Him, and he told us of four martyrs who only a week before had been burnt at Lisle, by order of the Inquisition.

One, who was only a youth, had to suffer what must have been a sharper trial even than flames. As he and his three companions were being led to the stake, his aged father pressed through the crowd, and falling upon his son's neck, sobbed out: "My dear child, are you going to die thus?" The young man answered in a calm and cheerful voice, "It is a small matter, my father, for now I am hasting to live for ever." But as the poor old man still wept, and clung to his son, the youth's firmness gave way, and he wept too; then turning to the priests who were urging him to recant, he said, "Oh! ye priests and friars, if we could have been prevailed upon to go to your mass, we had not been here now. But Christ Jesus has not instituted any such sacrifice." The soldiers forced the father away, and the four martyrs were led to the place of burning. As the fire was lighted, they sang with one voice, "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?" and again, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace." And then � absent from the body, they were present with the Lord.

The preacher went on to tell us how God does not promise to keep His children from trouble, but to give them strength according to their day. His word does not say, "You shall not go to prison," but "I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee." He may allow some to die as martyrs, but His word is, "Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life."

But the preacher's voice rose as he went on, and his faithful words of warning were followed by what seemed almost like a ringing trumpet call. He urged his listeners to prize their Bibles as their greatest treasure, and bade them be willing, if needs be, to suffer the loss of all things rather than give them up. He said too, that he believed that as surely as God raised up Moses to deliver His people Israel from the bondage and brick-kilns of Egypt, so surely would He in His own time and way raise up one who would deliver poor, down-trodden Holland from the yoke of Spain.

As we rode homewards after the preaching, my father and Herr Von der Werf were talking very earnestly together, and though I could not understand all they said, I made out enough to he sure that they and many others are thinking of the Prince of Orange as the one by whom God will yet save our country. They say he is a good man, and strongly attached to the reformed faith. His soldiers love and trust him greatly, though he is a man of so few words that he is known through the ranks as "William the Silent."

Chapter 4.

Julianillo Heramdez, Muleteer and Martyr.

July 1st, 1565. Sunday evening, when we are alone and mother feels strong enough to sing hymns with me, or tell me stories of her own girlhood in sunny Spain, is always a pleasant, restful time; but the last two have been, I think, more than usually happy. Father left home quite early in the afternoon to carry food and a few needed comforts to one of our brethren in the faith, who succeeded only last week in escaping from France (where a good deal of persecution is going on) with his wife and one of their three children, a girl about two years of age.

Father says that though M. D'Ampter is a man of great learning and piety the disguise in which he passed the frontier was that of a bricklayer's labourer; he carried a bag of tools and was supposed to be looking for work. His wife, who is related to some of the best families in Provence, was dressed like a peasant woman going to market. The risk of travelling together would have been too great, but by taking different roads, husband and wife under cover of darkness reached the port in safety, and getting on board the same vessel were soon out to sea.

We have been able to sit out-of-doors a good deal lately. An old rustic seat under the shade of the linden trees is a spot where some of my happiest hours have been spent. We were sitting there, mother and I, only a few evenings ago; I was not sure she really intended telling me a story, for she seemed at first as if her thoughts were far away, and she hardly cared to talk much. But after a little while she roused herself, and said, very softly, "I hardly know what it is, Mayken, it may be the glow of the setting sun, or the scent of the limes, but I seem almost as if I was again in my old home at Valladolid, and I can recall the faces, and fancy I hear the voices of some early friends who went years ago to join the noble army of martyrs.'" I nestled closer to her, and begged for a story.

There was a secret in our family, Mayken, a secret which, although quite a number of persons were allowed to share it, was long and faithfully kept. My grandmother's house at Valladolid was for some years the meeting-place of the Reformed Church in that city. Great care and secrecy had to be used, so as to escape, as long as possible, the notice of the terrible Inquisition. Those who were of our little company always came singly, and by different roads, the same care being taken when the hour of departure arrived, and yet the danger was braved again and again, and persons of all ranks found their way to these secret meetings. As we children grew up and were thought old enough to be trusted, we were, one by one, taken into confidence, and always looked upon it as a great treat to be allowed to be present. We usually paid great attention when the word of God was being read or explained; it was all so new and fresh to us, to hear in our own Spanish the wonderful story of the death and resurrection of the Lord Jesus. Sometimes a pastor was present and preached, while at others, one of the company would read part of some book or tract written by Martin Luther, the German monk who had dared to make such a bold stand against the sale of indulgences, and had made the Pope so angry by telling people that it is only God who can forgive sins.

I often wondered how it was that so many new books reached our house, and when I asked my mother, she replied, 'Little Julian, the dwarf muleteer, is again on his way across the mountains, and we pray that by the good hand of God he may reach us in safety. His service is one of no common danger, and we count him worthy of all honour. But wait, and you will know.'

"It was, I think, during our very next meeting that Liza, a faithful old servant, came in a somewhat hurried manner to tell my mother that little Julian had just arrived from Granada, bringing a pack much larger than usual, which he said contained jewels of such value that he would not allow even her to open it, but bade her tell her mistress of his arrival, as he could trust them to no hands but hers.

"No one appeared to mind the interruption, and my mother left the room, returning a few minutes later, followed by the smallest man I had ever seen, who seemed to stagger under the weight of a pack larger than himself. He was a peasant, I saw that at a glance from his dress and bearing; but high-born Spanish nobles went forward to relieve him of his load, while others grasped his hand, called him 'brother,' and told him how they had been praying for his safe return.

"For a moment the little man seemed confused, but quickly recovered himself, and said, simply and humbly, You make too much of my poor services. It is true that there are dangers and hardships in my work, but it has its bright spots as well. Judge of my joy not long ago, in calling with my wares at a convent, where I had heard that the prior wished for a Spanish New Testament, to find not one only, but six monks all eager to receive the truth. But my faith is far from strong, more than once I have hidden in some hole or cave among the hills, and the soldiers of the Inquisition, who were sent out to arrest all heretics, and burn all forbidden books, have been so near that I could not help overhearing their conversation; on one occasion they galloped over the hole in which I lay trembling, and thinking every moment that I should be discovered, and either killed on the spot or dragged away as their prisoner, it did not seem easy to trust quietly in God. Do not speak of my faith, for it is poor and weak, and I pray daily that when the hour of trial comes it may not fail me altogether. It is the goodness of God, who still takes care of me, and often gives me the joy of knowing that He hides me under the shadow of His wing.'

"By the time that Julianillo had done speaking, willing hands had unstrapped his pack, and its contents lay in disorder on the floor. Very carefully his pieces of silk and rolls of velvet were lifted, and when a slight rustling sound betrayed the presence of a few sheets of paper, great was the joy of the finder. There was more than one Spanish New Testament, though for greater safety the precious volume had been unstitched and a few concealed in each roll. There were also Spanish translations of some of Luther's writings, which were greatly valued, and some portions of which I afterwards heard read and explained.

"The meeting closed with prayer, and then little Julian, as he was often called, was asked to give some account of his journey, and the openings he had found for circulating the scriptures.

"I cannot remember all he said, but I know we all listened with interest and attention. The journey across the mountains had been one of more than usual danger and difficulty, owing partly to the bad state of the roads, the larger stock of books he carried, and partly to the fact that parties of soldiers, having received fresh orders to seize all forbidden books, and arrest all suspected persons, were scouring the country in every direction.

"And yet on more than one occasion, when some slippery place in the passes had proved too much even for his sure-footed, patient mules, and he had been compelled to struggle onward, bearing part of their burden, a kindly soldier had helped him, and for some distance carried the very books he was commanded to seize.

"On reaching the next town, as he passed through its main street with his usual cry, 'Come, buy my silks, come, buy my laces, come, gentle ladies, buy,' he was stopped by a stranger, who bade him go to a convent at a short distance from the town, as he had heard that its prior was in want of some rich Genoa velvet for church furniture. At first he did not feel sure that he ought to go. It might be only a plan to get him into the power of the priests.; every convent had its dungeons, and he might never again be allowed to breathe the pure mountain air he loved so well, or to bask in the golden sunlight; or it might be that God had opened a door, and he ought to enter. He would trust, and not be afraid, and so he went.

"A somewhat sullen-looking porter unbarred the gate and bade a lay brother take him to the apartments of the prior, who, as soon as they were alone, locked the door and asked Julian if his packs did not contain copies of the scriptures and the forbidden writings of Martin Luther. ' I,' said the prior, have heard of you and your work, and for many days one whom I can trust has been on the watch for your coming. I do not want your velvets, though I shall buy, to prevent your real errand being suspected, but I and several of my monks have been reading the Testament, and we cannot find anything is written about prayers to the Virgin Mary, or the worship of relics and pictures, and we want to know more.'

"'Great was his joy and mine,' said Julian, 'when he received a copy of Luther's Notes on the Epistle to the Galatians.' 'But,' he added, 'the porter must not suspect your real errand. I would gladly retain you as my guest, and talk far into the night of the truth I have learned of late to love, but you must go to supper with him, it will disarm suspicion.'

"Brave little Julianillo; he was allowed to make several more journeys, each time bringing a fresh supply of books, and then � his name was added to the list of those who had joyfully laid down their lives for Christ's sake. When led to the stake, he spoke bright words of faith and courage to his fellow-martyrs, and continued to bear a bright testimony for his Lord and Master until silenced by the gag."

Chapter 5.

Images and Image-Makers.

September 17th, 1565. I cannot understand why the Bible should be a forbidden book, or why people who wish to read it for themselves should be punished with fines, imprisonment, or even burnt at the stake, as San Roman was only twenty-two years ago.

When I asked father, he answered with his sad but very sweet smile, "Your question, little Mayken, is one that wiser heads than yours or mine have ached over in trying to answer." Now my father is very wise, at least, I think so, so if he cannot tell I do not expect it would be of much use to ask any one else, only I really do want to know, for I do not see why God should have such a wonderful book written if it was not intended to be read.

But there are houses in Holland, even in our own city of Antwerp, in which the forbidden book is safely hidden, and ours is one of them. I am glad there is a secret book in our family, just as there was in mother's when she was a little girl, though our secret, like hers, is shared by quite a number of people. I knew the precious volume was hidden, and only brought out after the lamps were lighted, and the window shutters closed and fastened with a stout wooden bar, but it was a long time before I discovered its hiding-place.

I think it is quite two years ago, I had been playing in mother's room, when my ball rolled behind a large oaken press; I tried to reach it, and in doing so suppose I must have touched a spring, for a sliding panel flew back, and much to my surprise I saw a small, dark cupboard; I could not see into its depths, but when I put my hand in a little way, I touched a book. I was pleased, yet half afraid that mother might not like what I had done; so I went at once and told her just how it all happened, but she only smiled and said, "We always intended that some day our little daughter should share our secret, but now she has found it out for herself and we are not afraid to trust her."

And after that the book was oftener brought out and read, and sometimes neighbours would come in, and say that they too were longing to hear the beautiful Bible words; but as they could not afford to buy even a copy of the New Testament for themselves, they would ask father to read to them. So, though still hidden, our treasure was shared with many.

I love to listen when father reads, even though I cannot always understand it all, but then dear mother is willing to go over the chapter again with me, and explain what I find difficult. We had such a lovely time together last Sunday evening. I must try to write down as much of what mother told me as I can remember. Father had been reading the nineteenth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, which gives an account of how, when Paul preached at Ephesus, a silversmith named Demetrius made a great uproar by calling his fellow-workmen together, and telling them that their craft was in danger, and their goddess Diana would be despised. So they were very angry, and all cried together, "Great is Diana of the Ephesians."

I asked mother to tell me about Diana, as I thought her name was something like one of Truyken's favourite saints, about whom she sometimes tells me wonderful stories: But mother said that the old Greeks and Romans, who did not know the true God, had a great number of false gods and goddesses, one of whom was Diana. Her temple was very beautiful, much more beautiful than the church Truyken attends, and I think that must be a lovely place, for she has told me so often about its grand pictures, and statues of marble as white as snow. But the temple of Diana was called one of the wonders of the world. And amid all that was pleasing to the eye, the supposed image of Diana was nothing but an ugly, shapeless, black stone, which the priests told the people had fallen from Jupiter.

The "craft" of the silversmiths was the way in which they got their living, by making small silver images and altars, which they sold to the people who came in crowds to worship at the temple.

And then mother told me the story of another silversmith who laid down his life rather than deny his Lord. The martyr-death of San Roman had not at all the effect the priest and officers of the Inquisition expected or intended it should have. It seemed more like a match applied to a ready-laid fire for many who had learnt from him to love the truth, but had been afraid to let it be known even by their dearest friends, seemed to grow stronger, and braver, and were often found at the secret meeting for Bible-reading and prayer held in the house of her grandmother. Among these was the silversmith, Juan Garcia. His chief trade at that time lay in making images of the Virgin Mary, silver candlesticks, vases for holy water (so-called) and such things, and as he was a workman of no common skill, he often received orders from rich noblemen, and was sometimes employed in helping to decorate the churches. But by some means he had heard or read from Luther's translation of the Bible the words, "Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth: thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God." (Ex. 20: 4, 5.)

Do what he would, the words seemed to follow him. The work on which he was engaged sometimes fell unheeded from his hands, while he tried to find an answer to the question, If the Jews, who were God's earthly people, were so plainly told not to make or worship images, could it be right for Christians to do so?

He prayed for light, and as the days went by he saw more clearly that his work was a dishonour to God, and by going on with it he was helping others to dishonour the God of the Bible. But great difficulties were in the way of his giving it up. His skill had brought him into notice, and he often received orders from persons of rank who were not only able, but willing, to pay large sums of money for images to adorn their private chapels, or as presents to convents and churches.

He knew no other trade by which to earn a living for himself and his family, and, worse still, to refuse such orders would be to own that he was no longer at heart a Romanist, and this once suspected, he might at any moment be arrested and thrown into prison, or even sentenced to death as an obstinate heretic.

He dared not even tell his wife anything of the anxious time he was passing through; she could not, he felt, understand his feelings, for she was a devout Roman Catholic, completely under the influence of the priests, whom she thought it right to obey in all things. One thing puzzled her a good deal. Juan frequently went out in the evening, and was absent for hours, but did not tell her where he went.

She noticed also his want of interest in his work of making images, and that he was no longer in any hurry to complete his orders. She told both to the priests, who perhaps before had their suspicions aroused; and they told her that by following her husband the next time that he left home, finding out where he went, and who were his companions, she would render a great service to the church, and so make herself pleasing to God.

She had not long to wait for her opportunity. The secret character of the meetings prevented their being held at any stated time, and Juan Garcia was always willing to be the bearer of the day and hour of the next gathering to his brethren and sisters in the faith.

The shop was closed, and with a kindly word of farewell to his wife, Juan went out. Hastily putting on her hood and mantle, his wife followed, taking care, however, to keep well within the shadows cast by the high stone houses; she dogged his footsteps through the principal street of Valladolid, taking special note of the houses which for a few moments he entered, the last being the one used as a place of gathering for the Protestant Christians of the neighbourhood.

Her husband's secret had become hers at last, base and unworthy as the way was in which it had been obtained, and she lost no time in reporting it to the priests. No further evidence was asked or needed. Juan and many of his friends were arrested and thrown into prison. The officers of the Inquisition usually visited the houses of those suspected of heresy as near midnight as possible, and before the sun rose the one against whom the charge was brought was a prisoner in the dark, damp dungeons of the inquisition.

Little more can be told of Juan Garcia, but it is believed that he witnessed a good confession, and died in prison, but whether from the effects of torture, or from the poisoned air of his cell was never fully known. A pension for life was allowed to his widow, "as a reward for the great service she had done the church," so the priests said; but I think she behaved very badly, and I am sure she could not have been very happy when she remembered how cruel and cowardly her conduct had been.

About the time of Juan's arrest the Christians meeting, like those of Valladolid, in the house of a rich widow of Seville passed through a time of great danger. Maria Gomaz, a widow, who had for some time been one of them, suddenly became insane, and had to be placed for care in the house of a doctor. She seemed to take a violent dislike to those she had before loved, and finding some means of escape from the house of the doctor, went at once to the Inquisitor-General, and gave him the names of about three hundred persons who attended the secret meetings. But the good hand of God was over the poor, frightened sheep. The doctor was a secret friend of the Protestants, and was able to persuade the Inquisitors that the lady was out of her mind, and no weight should be attached to her statements. So nothing came of it, but a warning was given to the doctor to take greater care of his patient.

Chapter 6.

One Stormy Night.

December 10th, 1565. We had an unlooked-for pleasure last evening: Dr. Louis Jean, who, like many other French Protestants, sought refuge in Holland from a terrible persecution then going on under the Duke of Alva, joined our party. My little friend Paul Brock and his father were also present. It was a very happy evening, for the doctor told us such an interesting story of the flight for life and liberty of an English lady and gentleman, that I will try to write it down; for if the duke, who is said to be a stern and hard-hearted man, brings his army to Holland, as many think he will, and we too are obliged to leave home and friends, it will encourage us to be reminded of how really God cares for and helps those who trust in Him.

One wild, stormy night, early in the year 1555, a man and woman carrying a young child might have been seen walking with slow and weary steps along the road leading to Wesel, a German town on the banks of the Rhine. The travellers were drenched with rain, and almost covered with mud, for they had already walked upwards of five miles, and at every few steps the lady seemed ready to faint from fatigue for in spite of her draggled and forlorn condition she was one who, until a few weeks before the story begins, would never have thought of going, except in a carriage, outside her own grounds. Still they kept bravely on, feeling sure of finding food and shelter as soon as they reached the town. But though they presented themselves at the doors of more than one inn, the landlords, fearing that they might get into trouble by receiving guests who, it was easy to see, were gentlefolk, and were travelling without luggage, servants or carriage, refused to take them in; while to make matters still worse, they could not speak a word of German, and could not find any one who understood either English, French, Italian or Latin, in any of which languages Richard Bertie, for that was the name of the gentleman, was able to converse.

The rain began to fall in torrents, and the wind howled in wild and angry gusts. He must find shelter for his wife and child. Seeing a large stone porch at the entrance to one of the churches, he left them there, while he went to try to buy a little food. But the shops were closed, and though there were lights in many of the houses, no one seemed willing to open their door to a stranger whose language they did not understand. He was on the point of giving up in despair, when two schoolboys passed, one reciting a portion of Latin grammar (perhaps his morrow's lesson) to his companion. Mr. Bertie spoke to them in that language, and to his great delight found that he was understood. There were, he knew, several earnest Christians, who had fled from other countries to escape persecution, living in or near Wesel. The boys were quite willing, for a small reward, to guide him to the house of one of these, and returning as quickly as possible to the church porch where he had left his wife and child, they set out again, this time in better spirits. The house they were most anxious to find was that of the pastor of the Reformed Church, whose name was Perusel, but the boys, not knowing where he lived, offered to take them to a house where he was, they said, well known.

It was by no chance, but the guiding hand of God, that Perusel was, on that very night, a visitor in the house to which they were taken; and though at first he did not know who the wet and weary wanderers were, his surprise was very great when he recognised in the lady one whom, in the days when he lived in England, he had known as Lady Catherine Willoughby, Duchess of Suffolk, the dear friend of Queen Catherine Parr, and the martyred Bishop Latimer.

We may form some idea of how welcome rest, warmth and food were to the tired travellers. Better still it must have seemed to them to be with friends who understood that it was for the name and sake of the Saviour they loved that they were on that stormy night homeless wanderers.

They had fled from England for the truth's sake and also to escape from the revenge of Bishop Gardiner, a man who, though he stood high in favour of Queen Mary, never forgave a real or fancied injury, and whom the Duchess had, when quite a girl, offended by some thoughtless speech, and so made him her bitter enemy.

Her mother had been one of the Spanish ladies who came to England with Catherine of Aragon, the first wife of Henry VIII. This lady was greatly attached to the unfortunate queen and named her little daughter after her royal mistress. Her two brothers died early, so that Catherine became, when little more than a child, a wealthy heiress. The death of her brothers was quickly followed by that of her father, and she became the ward of the king, who appointed the Duke of Suffolk as her guardian, on the understanding that she was to be married to his son. Catherine was then ten years of age, and the next five years of her life were happy ones, for she found a true friend in his gentle wife, the princess Mary, sister to Henry VIII., who had her educated with her own daughters, the Ladies Frances and Eleanor Brandon (Lady Frances was in after years the mother of Lady Jane Grey); but this amiable lady died in 1533, and the young duke, who was to have been Catherine's husband, died the next year.

The duke saw that the only way to keep Catherine's large fortune was to marry her himself, and so the girl of fifteen was married to a man of fifty. The duke, however, proved a kind and indulgent husband, but lived mostly at court. For some years Catherine's cup of happiness seemed full. She had youth, wealth, rank (in those days there were only two dukes in the United Kingdom, and she was the wife of one of them), she was clever and accomplished, and her merry temper and pleasant manners made her a general favourite. Her husband loved and trusted her, and she had two sons, boys of rare promise and beauty.

But God, who had thoughts of peace and blessing for Catherine, was about to lead her, in His own way, to seek and value "eternal things." We do not know who was used to open her eyes, or to lead her out of the darkness of popery into the light of Bible truth, but it may have been the aged Bishop Latimer, for whom, she had almost the affection of a daughter. Suffolk died in 1545, and Catherine, a rich widow, became again the ward of the king, who, as he did not insist upon her marrying one of his favourites, but allowed her to live quietly at her own beautiful castle of Grimsthorpe, in Lincolnshire, we may suppose really wished to be kind to her. For the few years that followed she devoted herself to the education of her sons, while her tenants and servants found in her a kind mistress and a true friend.

King Henry died in 1547, and his son, Edward VI., came to the throne. Those who had been taught by the Holy Spirit to love and value the word of God, rejoiced on hearing that it was the wish of the young king that a copy of the Bible should be placed in every church throughout his kingdom. The duchess was well known as one who had taken a stand for the truth she prized far above her earthly riches. She sent her elder son, who was then about thirteen years old, to Court, under the care of a learned and pious man, as a companion to the king, and her younger to St. John's College, Cambridge.

But soon that loving mother was called to drink of the cup of sorrow, for during an outbreak of what was then known as the "sweating sickness," both her sons died within a few hours of each other.

Early in the reign of Queen Mary, the duchess gave her great offence by marrying Richard Bertie, a christian gentleman, who for some years had been her faithful friend and adviser. Bishop Gardiner thought the opportunity of getting her into trouble much too good to be lost, and both her husband and herself were in such real danger that they were obliged to fly from England. They could not, however, escape together, and the poor lady had more than one narrow escape from the officers sent by Gardiner to take her as the queen's prisoner to London. At last, to the great joy of both, they met, but new trials awaited them. On the way to Wesel they were waylaid by robbers, who took from them nearly all they possessed. They must have been very glad to rest for a little while at Wesel, where they found christian friends and received much kindness, but it was not for long, for being warned by a friend that Gardiner had discovered the place of their retreat, and issued orders for their arrest, they fled into Poland where for a time they endured great hardships, sometimes being without food or fire. But God, in whom they trusted, did not forsake them, and brighter days were in store for Catherine, her husband and children, for Queen Mary died in November, 1558, and in July of the following year the exiles felt it would be safe to return to England. They were kindly received by Elizabeth, and the property of the duchess restored to her; her son born abroad was made an English subject, so that on the death of his mother he might inherit her estates; and, better still, the son of parents who had suffered for the sake of Christ grew up a man who loved and feared God, and enjoyed the confidence of the queen.

Chapter 7.

How They Kept the Faith in Holland.

May 1st, 1566. It is just a year since I began to write down some of the things I most wanted to remember, and now so much is happening in Holland and even in our own city of Antwerp, that I am not sure that I shall have room for any more of dear mother's stories of sunny Spain.

I am sure the home of her girlhood must have been a happy one, for when she tells me of the old garden in which she and her sisters used to play, her voice is always low and tender, and once or twice I have seen tears in her eyes; and yet she was glad to quit the land of her birth. She has often told me how, on the night of her escape, with father leading her mule, in the silence and darkness of night, they crossed the frontier, leaving Spain by a narrow and dangerous mountain-pass, neither daring to speak even a whispered word to the other. For a band of the Pope's soldiers, who had been sent to guard that very pass, were so near that they could hear their voices, but as they were playing cards, and were too much absorbed in their game to notice the almost noiseless tread of the mule, by the good hand of God my father and mother got through safely.

I am thirteen now, so I understand better than I did a year ago why my father looks so grave at times, and why the voices of many of our friends often sound so full of trouble. The outlook is certainly not a bright one. King Philip is more determined than ever to burn all the heretics in his dominions, though the people he calls heretics are only those who wish to read the Bible and obey its teachings.

We hear, too, that some of his subjects have grown restless and impatient, and think of taking up arms against the king, but our good burgomaster Van der Werf, my father, and a few others are doing all they can to persuade them to trust in God and wait patiently; so I hope and pray that they may see that such advice is wise and good, and be content to follow it.

All the time father can spare from his business correspondence, which takes up the greater part of each working day, has been devoted lately to writing letters of cheer or sympathy to friends far and near who are suffering, or may at any moment be called upon to suffer, for the truth, or seeing people who come to him for advice or help, so that he is very seldom able to take me for a walk; but yesterday was a public holiday, owing to the opening of a new bridge across the Scheldt, and I went with him to see the procession. It was a pretty sight. Our burgomaster and counsellors looked quite grand in their robes of office. The city guilds carried large, gaily-painted banners, as well as symbols of their various trades or industries.

Colours were flying from the windows and roofs of many of the houses, a band of musicians played lively national airs, friends and neighbours were greeting each other, and yet I could not help noticing that almost every face wore a troubled or anxious look. I felt I must ask father to tell me why there should be so much sadness, and I had not long to wait for an opportunity, for as we were returning home by the quay we saw some fine ships in full sailing making for our harbour.

Father stood silently gazing at them for a few moments, then, turning to me, said sadly, "Those ships are sailing the wrong way, Mayken."

"The wrong way, father!" I exclaimed in surprise, "What can you mean?"

"They are laden with Flemish silks and woollen cloths, the work of Dutch weavers, who sought refuge in England from the persecution that has been going on ever since the Inquisition came to Holland.

"Ten years ago they would have sailed from Dutch sea-ports, many of them from Antwerp, so bringing trade and wealth to our shores; now they sail from English ports; and I believe the blessing of the Lord will rest upon the country that gave them a welcome and a home. The towns of Sandwich and Norwich, where so many of our countrymen have settled, are, I hear from frequent letters, prosperous and peaceful. Our brethren have not only been encouraged to set up their looms, but some are employed in teaching English workmen the art of our woollen manufacture. Many of my best workmen have already left me, others are, I know, more or less secretly, preparing to follow. I cannot forbid their doing so, I would not if I could, and yet their leaving will render me unable to fulfil my contracts; and the factory, in which only a few years ago so many weavers were earning good wages, will have to be closed from want of hands to work its looms."

"Is the Bible a forbidden book in England? I asked half timidly, for I felt at that moment as if a great tide of hope and joy that I could not put into words was sweeping over me.

"No, Makyen," he replied. "Our brethren not only read it in broad daylight, 'none daring to make them afraid,' but are allowed to meet together to worship God in the way in which they believe the Bible teaches; they also openly instruct their children in the scriptures and the doctrines of the reformed faith. While the laws that have been framed to prevent any of the inhabitants of the Netherlands from leaving the country are very severe, punishing with fines and imprisonment any who are found attempting to leave the country, the captains of ships and masters of sailing vessels being also forbidden to allow them to take passage, it is a cause of constant surprise and rejoicing that so many of our brethren and sisters in the faith have been thus far preserved and watched over. God has prospered them, and more than once they have sent money to be distributed among families that have been plunged into poverty and distress by the husband and father having been found guilty of possessing a New Testament, or of teaching his children other than Latin prayers, and been thrown into one of King Philip's prisons."

"Why then, father, cannot we escape to England?" I found courage to say. "You and I and mother, and Paul and his father, and Truyken, good, faithful Truyken! We could not leave her behind, for though she calls herself a Catholic, and says what was good enough for her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother is good enough for her, I am sure she loves God, and one day when mother was speaking to her of the Saviour's sufferings, I saw tears running down her face, and after, as she went about her work, I heard her say, as if talking to herself, 'For me, for me! Oh, if it was really for me, how wonderful! But it is almost too good to be true.' Besides, it would almost break her heart if we were to leave her. Oh, do please take Truyken."

Father drew me a little way from the quay, and after looking round to be sure that we were alone, said: "Your question, Mayken, is one that I have often asked myself, and even talked over with your mother. Why do not I with those near and dear to me seek, as so many of my countrymen have done, for some way of escape from the despotic rule of the King of Spain? For many weeks and even months I was uncertain what I ought to do; I took my difficulty to God in prayer, asking for light and guidance. At last, I believe I saw clearly that while there seemed some good reasons for going, by remaining I should be doing the will of God.

"You know that your Aunt Ursel and myself visit the prisons whenever we are allowed to do so. Among those undergoing punishment for various offences are several who have been arrested on suspicion of leaning toward the reformed faith, or on the charge of having absented themselves from the mass; but as no orders have been received concerning them they are still awaiting trial. At any moment they may be removed to the dungeons of the Inquisition, or even led forth to die as martyrs; but while they remain in the common prison, we are able now and then to visit them, speak words of encouragement, and do what we can, by supplying them with food and clothing, to make their situation a little more comfortable. And what a joy it will be if one day the Lord should say of such little service, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.' (Matt. 25: 40.)

"Then, too, if I quit my post, the factory must close at once, and some of my workmen, who for family reasons cannot leave the country, would be plunged into the deepest distress. Peter von Roph has not only a sick wife, but is the sole support of his aged and almost blind mother. Trade is so bad, not only in Antwerp, but all over Holland, that it would, I am afraid, be difficult for them to find employment elsewhere. So for their sakes I am willing to remain, and if needs be 'endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.' (2 Tim. 2: 3.)

"I will give you just one more reason why I should remain where I am. I, with many others, believe that God is about to raise up a leader who will deliver the Netherlands from the yoke of Spain. It may, and perhaps will, be William, Prince of Orange. Many who would have stood by him in the coming struggle for truth and freedom have already left the country, and he must not find, when he comes, that all have gone. No, my Mayken, we will 'be still,' and quietly trust in God."

Chapter 8.

"William the Silent."

January 1st, 1567. New Year's Day again, and though I think we are all trying to look cheerful and give each other good wishes, it is easy to see that no one is really happy, or at rest; the very air seems full of trouble. Trade is almost at a standstill. Father says he cannot fulfil the large orders he has received for woollen goods, as nearly all his best workmen have left the country.

Only this morning, when Truyken went as usual to the baker's, she found the shutters had not been taken down; it was still early, so thinking he might have overslept himself, she knocked loudly, but got no answer.

After some time a neighbour looked out of the window of a house on the opposite side of the street, and said, "You may knock till you are tired, for the house is empty, the whole family sailed last night for England." We knew them to be of our faith, and father prayed very earnestly that the good hand of God might be over them, keeping and guarding them from all the dangers of the way. Mother says we must bake our own bread. Well, I think I shall rather like that. I only hope the miller will not go to England just now.

So many things have happened in our city of Antwerp lately, that I hardly know how or where to begin telling the story of the sorrowful times in which we are living.

It was a wild, stormy afternoon late in October, when we noticed that quite suddenly our quiet street was filled with crowds of people, all going in one direction. Father went to the door, and after exchanging a few words with a neighbour, came in and began to put on his cloak and hat. "What is the matter, Mark?" my mother asked; "is there a fire?" "There will be one to-morrow, dear wife," he said, as he kissed her tenderly; "that is, if the deed of darkness is not done before the morning, for King Philip advises that instead of being publicly burnt at the stake, heretics should be drowned or strangled secretly in their prisons; but our brother Christopher Fabricius, who has been for some months in prison, is to die a martyr's death to-morrow, and our brethren are on their way to the prison in the hope of being able to encourage him by singing psalms and repeating passages of scripture. If he is not gagged they may even hear his voice through the barred windows of his cell."

"But must you go, Mark?" mother pleaded. "See, there are so many; your voice will not be missed; cannot you stay with us?"

For a moment father stood as if not quite sure whether he should go or stay, then said very gently, "There will not be one too many, Constanza, and would you wish the Saviour to say to me, 'in prison, and ye came not unto me'?"

Mother understood him and said no more, but I saw tears were in her eyes. That evening seemed a very long one. People were still passing our house, many of them carrying lanterns, for the night was dark and starless. We did not talk much, but I am sure we both prayed that God would bless and keep my dear father. Then the bible was brought from its hiding-place and mother read me such a beautiful story of how, long ago, God sent an angel to deliver the apostle Peter from prison (Acts 12), and mother said that even if God saw it best to allow Fabricius to be burnt at the stake, to be with Christ in heaven would be better than even to walk a free man through the streets of Antwerp. So we were comforted for him, but when our usual time for saying "Good- night" came, mother said she could not possibly go to bed, but would sit up and wait for father.

So I begged that I might share her watch, and though I believe that after a time I fell asleep, my head resting on her knee, I hope I was of some little use, as mother said afterwards she would have felt more lonely if I had not been with her.

I think it must have been morning when father came back. He looked pale and tired, but said that though there were great crowds outside the prison, all were quiet and orderly, and there was no disturbance, and no fresh arrests were made. The burning was, he told us, to take place the next morning, and many who lived at a distance had not attempted to go to their homes, while fresh crowds kept pouring in. Father also told us that many believe that the friends of the reformed faith are strong enough in Antwerp to take Fabricius out of the hands of the soldiers, but he does not think the attempt would be a wise one, and he is sure the martyr himself does not wish it.

Father could not stay with us long, though mother and I tried our utmost to coax him to take rest and food; he ate a few mouthfuls, just to please us, and then was off again. On his return, some hours later, he told us that even before daybreak crowds gathered in the market-place. The peasant-women, who always came early, bringing eggs, butter, fruit and many other things, were turned back with their loads, as there was to be no market that day. A space had been cleared in the middle of the square, to which some men were silently carrying faggots, while a few mounted soldiers were on guard. The silence was almost painful. No one spoke, but all faces were turned towards the street leading to the prison. Soon the soldiers came and formed a passage for the monks who walked with the prisoner.

As they passed near father, Fabricius said in a calm, clear voice, "My brethren, let none of you attempt to release me; but suffer God to accomplish His work in me." A deeper hush came over the crowd, and for a few moments all was still; then with one heart and voice they sang the psalm,

"Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord."

As the place of burning was reached, the voice of the martyr was again heard as he begged the people not to forget the truth he had taught them. Many voices spoke words of cheer, and one bolder than the rest cried out loudly, "Fight manfully, my brother, be thou faithful unto death." The priests were very angry and ordered the officer in command of the troops to arrest the speaker, but the crowd opened right and left and made a way for him to pass, and he was soon lost to sight. When the stake was reached, the martyr knelt down and would have prayed aloud, but the monks would not allow him to do so, and he was at once chained to the stake. Again the crowd tried to sing a psalm, but the soldiers tried to silence them with blows, which were returned with a shower of stones. A fight followed, during which some of his friends made a rush at the stake with such effect that monks and soldiers fled in confusion. Friends were round the martyr, but it was too late, a soldier as he fled had struck him on the head with an axe and the blow was fatal.

We were all greatly pleased to hear that the Prince of Orange was expected, and would, it was hoped, soon be in Antwerp. It was even said that the Duchess Margaret had written begging him to come and help her, as she found the people of the Netherlands growing more discontented and unruly every day. A great many of the nobles of Holland and Flanders have banded together to try if they cannot get King Philip and the duchess to respect what they call the charters, which, if I understand it rightly, means that promises made by the king to his Dutch subjects have not been kept. They went to see the duchess, shewed her great respect, and presented a petition. She seemed troubled, but would not make any promises and said she must write to her brother, the King of Spain. As they were leaving, one of her advisers was heard to say to her, "Why should your Royal Highness be afraid of them? they are only gueux,'" a Flemish word meaning beggars. So they have adopted the word as the name of their party. Many of them wear a grey cloak and doublet of coarse cloth, and carry a beggar's bowl and wallet.

But I must not forget an event so important, that for many days before it took place people seemed to think or speak of little else, namely, the coming to Antwerp of William, Prince of Orange. Father says the nation seemed to feel a thrill of new hope and courage at the very mention of his name.

When it was known that he was really on his way and would arrive within a few hours, thousands of people lined the streets. The magistrates and merchants of our city, among them being my father, rode a few miles into the country to meet him and give him a fitting welcome. A pistol was to be fired as soon as he came in sight; the report was no sooner heard than such a welcome rang out. Everybody was so glad, so very glad, that the man to whom they looked as the deliverer of Holland was really among them, that they could not help trying to make him feel how much he was wanted.

But amid all the good wishes and cheering that greeted him, the Prince did not seem flattered, indeed, many thought he was not even pleased. Those who were nearest to him said that his face wore an anxious, troubled look, and that he was more grave and silent than usual. It had been proposed that the ringing of bells, lighting of bonfires, and great public rejoicings should close the day of the Prince's arrival; but when the people saw how ill and worn he looked, and that he wished for quietness, they shewed their love for him and respect for his wishes by going quietly to their homes.

He began work that evening, and now he has been here for some weeks. Father, who is with him a great deal, says that he works almost night and day. So many people have to be seen, and every one, whether high or low, rich or poor, is sure of a patient hearing, and of justice, while far into the night he sits at his desk; such piles of papers have to be gone through, letters and petitions read and answered.

Amid all the hopefulness the outlook is not very much brighter; for though the Prince has been able to induce the duchess to allow the reformed preachers and those who wish to hear them the use of one church a little way out of the city, King Philip has issued fresh edicts, forbidding any of his subjects to leave the country. Captains of ships must not take them as passengers, no one is to give or sell them food, and any person giving information of any attempt to leave the country will be rewarded with half the property of the accused persons.

Chapter 9.

Dark Clouds with Silver Linings.

December 31st, 1567. It seems a long time since I wrote anything in my MS. book. A great many things have happened since I last turned its pages, but some days were so dark and sorrowful that I had no heart to write at all; and yet, hardly an hour ago, as dear mother and I sat alone enjoying the cheerful blaze of the wood fire, just before Truyken brought in the candles, and talked over the story of the year that is just closing, we felt, as well as said, that God had been very good to us, "a stronghold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him." (Nahum 1: 7.)

It is a great trial to us to have my much-loved father away from home, as he has been for nearly six months, but how much better it is for him, and for us too, that he should be free and able to help the Prince of Orange, than if he had been wearing his life out in one of King Philip's dungeons; for he has been in prison, but by the good hand of the Lord was able to escape before being tried and sentenced.

It is nearly a year, I think, since two very grand marriages took place at Brussels, one being that of the young and brave Baron Montigny, the other that of Prince Alexander of Parma, son of the Duchess Margaret. Great public rejoicings were ordered, and not to be outdone by other towns the citizens of Antwerp voted quite a large sum of money to be spent on shows, fireworks, bonfires and street illuminations. The streets were gay with many-coloured flags and banners, and the shopkeepers made a grand display of life-sized figures of the bridegrooms and their brides.

I went with Truyken to see the fireworks; they were really very pretty, but I could not help noticing how little groups of people, just "twos and threes," got together and conversed in low, earnest tones. One of these groups, consisting of three middle-aged men, was so near me that I could not help hearing part of their conversation.

"We are all under sentence of death, and it may be carried out at any moment," were the words that first attracted my attention. I wondered what the speaker could mean; soon after I heard him say, "For once King Philip seems likely to keep his word, for if his last edict is carried out, it seems likely that he will soon rule over a desert. Heresy is at all costs to be rooted out, and Holland may yet count her martyrs by hundreds."

"We must not talk of these things in the public street," quietly said another, and the group broke up. I did not care to look at the fireworks any longer, and begged Truyken to take me home.

As we turned to leave the market-square, I had a strange, almost uncomfortable feeling that we were being followed, and on looking round I saw a tall, grave-looking man who kept very near us. I thought it was the one who had said we were all under sentence of death, but I could not be sure, as I had not seen his face, for it was dark, and his features were almost concealed by the broad-brimmed Flemish bonnet he wore. He kept near us for some time, but without speaking, till Truyken, seeing an old friend in the crowd, stopped to speak to her. The stranger touched me lightly on the arm, and said in a whisper, but in such a kind, gentle manner that I was not afraid, "Do not fear me, my child; but tell your father to be careful; his name has been sent to the officers of the Inquisition as one strongly suspected of holding and teaching what is called heresy. Tell him the message was given you by Herr von Delph. But you must say this to your father when you are alone with him. Good-night, and may God bless and keep you and yours." And without another word he was gone.

Truyken was again by my side, and asked what the stranger had been saying. But I only answered, "I think he knows my father very well, for he gave me a message for him," but I did not tell her what it was. We were a little late in reaching home, and found father, mother, my aunts Christiana and Ursel, and one or two other friends assembled in the family sitting-room, about to begin the evening meal. How I longed to get father all to myself just for one minute, that I might tell him of the warning I had received; but he was about to ask a blessing, so I must wait until the meal was ended.

A few minutes later we heard a knock, and Truyken, looking pale and anxious, came in to say that two strange gentlemen, who said their business was of great importance, desired speech with her master. I thought of the warning I had received hardly an hour before, and grew sick and faint with fear; but father went out of the room in his usual quiet way. Truyken was on the alert, and told us that after a few minutes' conversation (she could not catch all that was said, but thought his help was asked for some man who was said to be dying) my father took his cloak and hat from a peg in the hall, and went with them out into the darkness. Truyken watched them, as far as she could see, but after going a short distance they turned into a passage, and she saw them no more.

Our meal that evening was a very silent one; the hours passed slowly, and when the hands of the great Dutch clock in the hall pointed to half-past ten and father had not returned, mother, who had tried for our sakes to appear calm and cheerful, could hide her anxiety no longer, but sank sobbing into a chair. Aunt Ursel did not try to check her sobs, but said very gently, "Let us pray." In a moment we were on our knees, and I feel sure we all felt less alone, and less afraid after we had taken our trouble to God in prayer. Truyken stood just outside the door, but quite near enough to hear every word, and I heard her join a very hearty Amen to ours for the safety of her master.

Soon after my aunts took their leave, promising to come or send very early the next morning. As soon as I was alone with mother, I told her of my strange meeting with Herr von Delph, and of the message I had been unable to deliver. I felt as if I had in some way been the cause of the trouble through not having given my dear father warning on the moment of my return. But mother understood it all, and soothed me so tenderly, though she said her worst fears were confirmed.

Herr von Delph is, she told me afterwards, a Flemish noble who, though he has not openly joined the reformed party, has in more ways than one proved himself a true friend. Mother would not go to bed, for she had not lost hope that father might yet return, and she should not like him not to find her watching and waiting for him; besides, if he came, he would, she added, be cold and hungry, and a cheerful fire and hot soup would be very welcome.

I begged to be allowed to sit up with her, but she would not hear of it, and at last, feeling quite worn out, I sobbed myself to sleep. Truyken, if she had gone to bed at all, must have risen very early, for long before daylight she was at mother's side with a tempting little breakfast, which she had great difficulty in coaxing her to eat. Poor Truyken! Her eyes were so red and swollen that I felt sure she must have cried a great deal; she was kindness itself, though more than once she said she always thought these new-fashioned ways would bring trouble on the house of Karlzon.

During the day many friends came with words of sympathy and offers of help, but we had no tidings of my father; in this way six long, weary weeks passed; mother seemed to grow paler and thinner every day. My aunt Ursel spent a good deal of time with us; she still visited the prison and made garments for the poor, but she moved and spoke in such a sad, weary way, that it almost made me cry even to look at her. But brighter days were drawing nearer than any of us really believed.

I often helped Truyken by going on errands, and one morning I was crossing the market square when I saw Herr von Delph coming in an opposite direction. My first thought was to run to him, tell him of our trouble, and beg him to get some tidings of my father, but he waved me back and walked quickly onwards.

A few moments later a poor, ragged boy dropped a crumpled paper at my feet, but he, too, hurried past me. I felt strongly impelled to pick up the almost dirty paper, and it was well that I did so, for it was a note addressed to my mother. I made all possible haste home, and we read it together. It was very brief, but as we read we were almost beside ourselves with joy.

"To Constanza Karlzon,

"Leave the side door unlatched and watch to-night, but without a light. You may see your husband between 10 and 12 p.m.

"Herr Von Delph."

Oh! how we watched and waited � mother and I, Aunt Ursel and Truyken, none of us daring to speak a word. A few minutes before midnight we heard a slight sound, then the latch was lifted, and we knew it was father who stood amongst us. Mother drew him into the sitting room, where a fire was burning, and for a little while they were alone together; then the door opened, and we all went in. Father looked ill and worn, and his clothes were torn and his hands bleeding; but he was free, and we were all very happy.

He told us in a few words how the men who came to our house led him into a dark passage; there he was gagged and after being told that he was their prisoner, was taken, not to the common prison, but to a strongly built house at some distance from the town, his place of confinement being an upper room, the window of which was guarded with iron bars. Here he saw no one but the man who appeared to be his jailor. A small quantity of bread and water was placed before him each day. One day, much to his surprise, he found an iron file concealed in the bread, with a note bidding him use it to remove the bars from his windows; the next day a rope of sufficient length to reach the ground was also somehow conveyed to his room.

Herr von Delph had not spared gold in bribing the jailor to give him these things, and had planned everything for his escape. But he could not stay with us, and we knew it would not be safe for him to do so. His friend was waiting for him with a boat; so after a prayer that was a thanksgiving, and a hasty, though tender farewell, he was gone.

Chapter 10.

Faithful Witnesses.

October 17th, 1568. "There is sorrow on the sea; it cannot be quiet." (Jer. 49: 23.) For many days past the Bible words I have just written have seemed to be saying themselves over to me. Sometimes like an anthem, set to grand but mournful music; at others I seem to hear them as the autumn wind sighs through the branches of some almost leafless tree; and yet I have never seen the sea, and mother says that the waveless, sometimes almost stagnant water of our dykes can give me but a very faint idea of what the sea is like.

But at one of the few field preachings we were able to attend I heard it said that God in His word uses the waves of the sea as a picture or figure of nations, or people; and I am sure this must be true of Holland, for there is sorrow everywhere, and no one seems happy or at rest.

But I must not forget or be unthankful for the bright gleams that God in His mercy sometimes sends to lighten the gloom that hangs over the Netherlands. We have seen my father again, though only for a very short time, and more than once he has been able to write to mother; and it is such a joy to know that he is well and able to help the Prince of Orange, who is very kind to him, and has shewn in more ways than one that he looks upon him as a faithful friend.

Our meeting was a very happy one. Father felt it would be unsafe to come to the house, but a messenger from the friend who had given me warning on the night of his arrest, told mother that a lonely marsh at some distance from the town was the appointed place of meeting. So under cover of darkness mother and I set out, guided and attended by Truyken, who would not be persuaded to remain at home when it was possible that she might get sight or speech of her much-loved master.

We had some time to wait, but father came at last, and told us how, on the night of his escape, his friend, Count Herr von Delph, waited for him in a boat, moored at some distance from our house. He was taken to a castle belonging to the count, where for ten weeks, seeing no one but two old and trusted servants, he had remained, treated as the guest of the friend to whom under God he owed his liberty, perhaps his life. But the time had come when it was judged safe for him to leave, and though he must not be seen in Antwerp, two courses lay before him: the count would either use his influence, and his gold, to procure him a passage to England, where, though we could not accompany him, he hoped later to find means of sending us; or he might join the Prince of Orange in Flanders, where he was greatly in need of faithful friends and trusty helpers. Drawing mother to him, he said very gently, "Constanza, you shall decide; which path shall I take?"

Mother was silent for a few moments, and I think I understood something of what she felt, indeed she told me afterwards how the vision of a home in free, peaceful England, where we could all be together, rose before her. On the other hand, she saw for him the hardships and dangers of a soldier's life. But she knew how loyal he was to the prince, and how he loved his country, and how a still higher and purer motive would guide him in his course, his desire to do the will of God so forcing back the tears that were ready to fall, she answered, "Dear Mark, you have given me my choice, but I cannot, dare not decide for you. Do what you believe to be God's way for you. I know it will be best for each and all of us."

We knelt together on the thick rank grass with which the moor was covered, and father prayed, oh! so earnestly, for his loved ones and himself. Then loving words of farewell, in which Truyken was not forgotten, were spoken, and that night father was on his way to join the prince in Flanders.

There have not been any public burnings in Antwerp just lately, but the prisons are said to be full, and we often hear from other parts of Holland of the faith and courage given to those who were called to suffer, or even to die for the Saviour they loved. We can never forget the brave old soldier martyred at Mons, who said, as they bound him to the stake, "I have risked my life often for the emperor, and shall I shrink from offering it now to my Saviour?"

A father, mother and four sons suffered together at Lisle. When the officers of the Inquisition arrested the elder members of the family, two sons, quite young boys, were absent; but on hearing what had happened, they gave themselves up. "Will you also go to the New Jerusalem?" asked the father. "We will go," the boys replied. And they have gone.

One young wife in another place was remanded for a time after all she had loved best on earth had died at the stake. "Ah, my lords," she said, "I have languished long enough in prison. Why do you keep me any longer? I feel strong enough, God be praised! to follow my father, husband and brother." And before many days had passed she too had joined the "noble army of martyrs."

Many hundreds of people, most of whom belong to the better class, have joined the ranks of the "gueux." One bright, spring day great crowds assembled in the most perfect order in the market-square to await the result of an interview the Duchess Margaret had consented to grant to several noblemen who, headed by Louis of Nassau, brother to the Prince of Orange, again presented a petition begging the King of Spain to allow religious liberty to his loyal and faithful subjects of the Netherlands. The duchess seemed even more troubled than before, and tears rolled down her cheeks; but they were tears of passion and wounded pride, and nothing has as yet been gained. Only we see the beggar's dress everywhere; young nobles who not many months ago would not have appeared in public without embroidered cloaks and velvet bonnets, now wear suits of coarse grey cloth, but in many cases the beggar's bowls and wallets they carry are inlaid in silver, with the names or crests of their owners.

We hear that the prince is not pleased with the way in which many of them are acting, and has expressed a fear that they will do more to hinder than to help the cause of truth and freedom. He is still working almost night and day. Truyken, who always speaks her mind pretty plainly, thinks that they are playing beggars, much in the same way in which children sometimes play being soldiers, and that their dainty little bowls will soon be thrown away when there is really nothing to put in them. Truyken, though "no scholar," is, as mother sometimes says, "a woman of quick understanding," and often seems to see a long way before her.

The prince had no easy time of it. He seemed to be wanted by every one at once, and his presence and advice were asked for in so many places that he must often have found it difficult to decide where he was most needed. He had been appointed to act as deputy-governor of Holland and Zealand, and though the terror of the Inquisition still hung like a dark cloud over the whole country, much had been done to bring about a happier state of things, and in some places those of the reformed faith were even allowed, though under certain restrictions, to hold services, conducted by their own pastors. If we could have stayed in Antwerp father thinks the outbreak, that will make the 15th of August a day to be long and sorrowfully remembered, would never have taken place; but just a week before he had left for Brussels, having received an urgent message from the duchess that she needed his help to protect her from the nobles, who were getting so angry that no notice had been taken of their petitions, that she was afraid they would take up arms against her.

A great festival was to be held in honour of the Virgin Mary, but there were many in the town and neighbourhood who saw that it was wrong to worship pictures and images. These were, for the most part, orderly and peace-loving people, who would have been content to shew their disapproval by not joining the procession; but the gueux and their leaders seemed ready for any wild and lawless undertaking; they were quickly joined by others who, though they cared nothing at all for the gospel, were impatient under the despotic rule of King Philip and the duchess.

On that day a grand procession always took place. A very large image of the Virgin Mary, dressed in costly robes, glittering with gold and jewels, was carried round the city, accompanied by bands of music, and attended by priests and choir boys, who chanted a litany composed in honour of "The Queen of heaven."

And what was the idol? Just a lifeless image, a helpless, dressed-up, wooden figure, that could have had little, if any, likeness to the lowly and gentle Mary of Nazareth, whose own words, "My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour" (Luke 1: 46, 47), God has had written in the Bible for us.

We heard that there was to be a rising of the people, but only half believed the report. The procession was followed by a crowd of wild boys and men who were, it was easy to see, ready for any mischief. Truyken, though she did not join the procession, placed herself at the door, kneeling and crossing as the image passed. At that moment one of the boys threw a handful of mud, aimed not at Truyken, but at the image; some of it fell, however, upon her snow-white apron, and this double insult made her very angry; she ran after the boy and boxed his ears soundly.

Mother was very thankful, and so was I, that the riot did not begin at our doors. The procession got fairly well through the city streets, and the image was replaced in the church, though idle crowds still lingered round the doors. Some of the wisest of our neighbours tried to persuade the people to go quietly to their homes, but they were too noisy and excited to listen to reason, and as the counsellors could not agree upon what was best to be done, they did nothing to prevent the riot, that we had only too good grounds to fear would follow.

Chapter 11.

A Strange Story.

December 1st, 1568. It was a white world I looked out upon from my bedroom window this morning. For some weeks past we have had wild, wintry weather with frequent showers of snow; but last night there was a heavy fall, and when the sun shone brightly, as it did for a little while after breakfast, I thought I had seldom seen anything more beautiful than the almost unbroken lines of white-roofed houses; while the icicles that hung from the rigging of the ships in the harbour, or from the branches of leafless trees, glittered and sparkled in the sunshine till I thought the diamonds I once saw worn by the duchess on some state occasion were not so bright and beautiful.

But about noon the weather changed again. Heavy clouds covered the sky, while showers of sleet made the day anything but a pleasant one. And now, as I have finished my task of needlework, Truyken is busy in the store-room, and mother and Aunt Ursel have gone to carry some nourishing food to a sick neighbour, I will try to fill a few pages of my MS. book with the strange, sad story of what happened in Antwerp two days after the procession, in honour of the Virgin Mary, I have already named.

We hoped that when the wild, disorderly crowd had tired themselves out with hooting and shouting they would disperse, and go quietly to their homes. But all through the night groups hung about the door and windows of the cathedral. No one seemed to know what was going to happen, but they were ready for any mischief. The day of the procession had been a public holiday, and on the following no one seemed ready for work. Several friends, who feared an outbreak, tried to induce them to go away, but were only able to succeed with a few of the better disposed. On the morning of the third day a crowd had collected; an old woman who used to sit on the marble steps leading to the porch, selling tapers, medals and small pictures of the so-called saints who had shrines or chapels within the great building, had her basket snatched from her and her stock-in-trade scattered on the ground. Soon after the mob entered the beautiful old church, and the work of destruction began.

A fight took place between a young sailor, a devout Romanist, and a man in a ragged, black cloak, who had mounted one of the pulpits and was saying rude, mocking things about the begging friars and their ways; both fell, rolling together down the pulpit steps, and the crowd grew every minute more excited and angry. Images were torn from their places and dashed against the walls, or thrown upon the marble pavement. The great image of Mary was dragged round the church with ropes, and then broken into a thousand pieces. No women were present but a few of the lowest class, who, with yells and coarse jests urged the men and boys to finish the work they had begun. And yet, strange though it may seem, no lives were lost; even the old taper-woman was protected from injury. The gold and jewels were not stolen, but thrown into dark corners, or left among the broken fragments, as if they were things of no value.

We did not think it would be wise or safe to go out of doors while the tumult lasted, but a day or two after Truyken came in from the market crying bitterly. I had not seen her in tears since the night of my dear father's arrest, and putting my arms coaxingly round her neck, I begged her to tell me the cause of her trouble. For some minutes she seemed unable to speak; at last she said, with great sobs almost choking her voice, "The saints! the blessed saints! they are torn to pieces."

For a moment I felt quite puzzled, for I did not know of what had been taking place in the church, so I said, "Not the saints in heaven, dear Truyken; they are safe." "Oh, yes!" she answered, still weeping, "Thank God! the mob cannot touch them." "Is it the saints in Holland?" I asked eagerly, "Has King Philip given fresh power to the Inquisition? Are there to be more burnings or drownings in Antwerp?" " If so, I have heard nothing of them," was her reply, "It is the saints in the cathedral I mean; they are all broken to shivers, heads, arms and legs strewn about in every direction; and the beautiful robes of the Virgin Mary all embroidered with gold, and sparkling with gems, are torn to shreds. Oh, that I should have lived to see this! Poor Truyken! She threw herself into a chair, covered her face with her hands, while large tears dropped through her fingers and fell thick and fast upon her spotless apron.

I was deeply touched by the sight of her sorrow. At last I said, "I am sorry, very sorry, that so much mischief has been done, but the images are only wood or marble. They could not feel the blows that were showered upon them." But still Truyken refused to be comforted.

From the cathedral the mob went to the other city churches, where the same work of destruction was carried on. Mother says that the story of the seven days and nights during which "The Antwerp Fury" lasted will always be a blotted, tear-stained page of our country's history. The duchess was very angry, and it needed all the influence of her friends and advisers to prevent her from flying in hot haste from her palace at Brussels.

I hardly know whether the Romanists, or we of the reformed faith, were most troubled about this outbreak. The Romanists were angry because their images had been destroyed, we were deeply grieved, for all the blame of it was laid at our doors, and we feared what might follow.

For a little while all seemed quiet, and we began to indulge some faint hope that the storm might blow over. But only a few months passed, and on a bright morning toward the end of May, the old cruel edicts of persecution, revised and re-written, were once more exhibited on the doors of public buildings, or posted at the corners of the principal streets; and as we read, it seemed as if for us all the brightness had faded out of the glorious spring day, for we were reminded that all grown persons who had attended a field-preaching might, if the charge was proved against them, be hurried off to prison, or even sent to the gallows; little children were to be beaten with rods, while all who had sung Protestant hymns at the burial of a relation, or bought any of the forbidden books, or said a word against a priest, were under sentence of death; all their property would be claimed by the Inquisition, half of it being given as a reward to the person or persons who had informed against them.

For a little while we were afraid to speak, almost to breathe; for there was not a single member of the little company in Antwerp who wished to worship God according to the teaching of His word against whom it would not have been easy to prove one or more of the offences named in the edict. But the king, we heard shortly afterwards, considered the edict far too mild and merciful, and, acting upon the advice of the cardinals, had ordered the Duke of Alva to enter the Netherlands, with as large a force as he could collect, and crush out heresy. No one was to be spared. Fire and sword were to do their worst, and truly, as Herr von Delph had said, the whole nation lay under sentence of death.

We had not had a letter from father for more than a month, and were getting anxious for his safety, when one night, just after supper, we were startled by a loud knocking at the front door. As Truyken opened it, we saw our unlooked-for, and certainly unwelcome visitors were the chief constable of Antwerp, followed by a party of the servants of the Inquisition under the command of one or two petty officers. The constable handed a paper to Truyken, telling her in a gruff, harsh voice to give it to her mistress, and not keep honest people waiting in the cold. It was an order giving them liberty to search the house for forbidden books, as such were known to be in the possession of Mark and Constanza Karlzon.

Mother turned pale, and I felt as if my heart stood still with fear, for there was hardly a drawer or cupboard in our house that did not contain some book or letter, the possession of which would be treated as a crime worthy of death. She moved a few steps forward, but would have fallen if Truyken had not caught her, and placed her in a chair. "Stay where you are," she whispered, "I will go, I understand these people better than you do." And she led the party from room to room, opening cupboards, and shewing them the springs of secret drawers, with a politeness and seeming readiness that puzzled us greatly.

But to their surprise and disappointment they found nothing. The papers in father's desk were contracts with regard to goods sent out from his factory, or receipts for monies paid to the wool-merchant. They were baffled, and some spoke of leaving the house, when the constable cried out, "Halt! I am too old at my work to lose the scent so easily. I came to find forbidden books, and I believe they are to be found. We may yet find a secret cupboard in the large bedroom." We trembled, for we knew that our most precious, as well as dangerous books, were hidden in the recess I had discovered in my play so long ago; and we were not sure that even Truyken, dear, faithful Truyken, knew their exact hiding-place. But she still led the way, and even drew aside the bed-hangings, saying, as she did so, "The Karlzons, as everybody knows, come of as good a stock as any in the Low Countries; and every old family has its treasure cupboard. But we have no need to fear to open ours to you. The constables of Antwerp are no thieves, but keepers of the public peace."

So saying, she pointed to the secret panel; it flew open at a blow from a heavy staff one of the men carried, and the search began. What did they find? A little plate, some old-fashioned gold and silver ornaments, dresses, and high neck ruffles that had been worn by my father's grandmother sixty years before; but no books, till in the very far corner of an old press, the quick ear of one caught the rustle of paper and he dragged it out. Yes, there was a book, the leaves were yellow with age, and when he brought it to the light, which Truyken still held, it proved to be an illuminated Roman Catholic mass book. Throwing it upon the floor with a gesture of contempt, he turned and left the house, followed by his men, while Truyken made a great show of picking up the book, wiping the dust from its covers, and saying, in a very loud voice, that when she was young good books were not trodden under foot.

What became of our books? We do not know till this day, for Truyken still keeps her secret, and as her courage and faithfulness have under God saved our lives, mother does not feel that we have any right to force it from her; so we can only think that in some way she had received warning of the intended visit and buried or destroyed all that would have led to our arrest on the previous night.

Chapter 12.

Birds of Passage.

May 1st, 1569. It is not really so very long ago since we left our dear old home at Antwerp; and yet so much has happened, and we have been often such weary wanderers, that when I try to recall the peaceful, happy days of my childhood, it all seems like a dream, and I find it hard to believe that we were not always the "birds of passage" we have been during the last six or eight months.

The last entry I made in my MS. book was an account of the fruitless visit paid by order of the Inquisition to our house in search of forbidden books. The officers were very angry, and though many friends said that Antwerp was no longer a safe home for us, and advised our leaving with all possible speed, my father was still with the Prince of Orange, and mother would not act without knowing his wishes.

Hardly a week had passed when a trusty messenger brought a letter in his well-known handwriting. He was well, and though the Prince's army was small, and he, with others, often had to endure great hardships, he was hopeful that Holland would yet be free. His fears were for us. We must leave Antwerp at once. No one was safe. The Duke of Alva with his army had already entered the Low Countries, and terrible cruelties marked their progress. He shewed no mercy either to Romanists or Protestants, for the chief friends and advisers of the Duchess Margaret, the Counts Egmont and Horn, had been arrested by his orders at Brussels; and Count Egmont was, as every one knew, a zealous Catholic. Father wished us to go to Friesland, partly because he had a little property there, and partly because it would, he thought, be easy to escape from there into Germany, where so many in the faith had already taken refuge.

Aunt Ursel decided to go with us; her brother would, she said, never forgive her if she refused to share our fortunes; besides, she loved us, and were we not one in faith, and so one in danger? Mother said at first that it would be better not to take Truyken. After so many years of faithful, loyal service to the Karlzon family, it would not be fair or kind even to wish her to share the privations we might be called upon to meet, for we should be very poor; for though father had been one of the richest merchants of our city, the closing of the factory had meant the loss of nearly all our worldly goods, and trade was so bad everywhere in Holland, the small income from other sources we had hoped still to call our own did not come regularly.

Truyken had saved a little money, had relations in the country, and it would, mother thought, be much better for her to spend her few remaining years in quiet and comfort.

We all felt the parting would be a very hard one, but to our great surprise, when mother first proposed it to her, she did not object, as we expected she would. She listened quietly, and went out of the room wiping her eyes, but there was a smile playing about the corners of her mouth I did not quite understand. However, with her usual good sense and promptness, she set about packing the few things we felt we must take, and they were very few, for nearly everything of value had to be left. Perhaps it was as well that the boat was to sail in three days, for we were all too busy to have any time for regrets.

All was ready, and as the boat would sail in an hour, we must go on board at once. But where was Truyken? We dreaded saying "Good-bye," but it must be done. She was nowhere to be found. What had become of her? she had prepared our last meal, and even packed some food to be eaten during the journey; but no one had seen her since she left the room laden with packages.

We dared not linger, and though I could not forget my dear old nurse, the bustle and excitement of going on board for a time put other thoughts out of my mind. When night came, we three, mother, aunt Ursel and I, wrapped ourselves up in our cloaks, and lay down upon deck, the air of the tiny cabin was so close and stifling. We did not talk much, for the day had been a sad and trying one. At last from very weariness we fell asleep. What was our surprise to be awakened by a familiar voice saying, "We land here, but you must drink some hot coffee first." The voice was Truyken's. We started up and rubbed our eyes. Were we really awake, or still dreaming? It was no dream, and in another moment I was in her arms. "Truyken, Truyken," said my mother, with a half- choked sob, "How did you come here?" "The same way that you did," replied Truyken coolly "by the boat, only I was on board an hour before you were. Did you think Truyken was such a fair-weather friend that she would let you go out into a cold, hard world without her, and you as ignorant of its ways as three babes?" So we kissed our faithful friend and said no more. What more could we say? But ever since we have been glad, so very glad, that Truyken cast in her lot with us. Her hands never seem to grow weary of serving us, while her strong common-sense and ready wit have helped us over many an unforeseen difficulty.

We landed at a quaint little wharf, and when Truyken had collected our belongings, which she had taken care were not more than we could carry, our long, wearisome overland journey began. Everywhere the news of Alva's approach had struck terror into the peaceful inhabitants of towns and villages, and it was said that one hundred thousand houses were deserted. The gueux had broken up, and the few who remained were for the most part leading lawless, reckless lives. Some lived in the forests, and were known as the "wild gueux," others formed a small fleet of boats, and called themselves "sea beggars." Strange, and often sad stories were told of them and their doings, but we remember with thankfulness how, under God, we owed a very narrow escape to a party of gueux.

We were met by a band of Spanish troopers, and hope seemed to die within us, for in their eagerness to root out heresy, Alva's soldiers held no code of honour, but attacked the unarmed and helpless, while neither women nor children were spared. Flight was impossible, and they were within a few yards of us, when we heard the old cry, "Vivent les gueux," and a mounted party dashed out from the forest. A fight followed, in which several troopers were killed, and the rest fled in confusion. The gueux followed them a little way, but soon returned to us, and in the leader of the band we found an old friend. We slept that night under their guard, and in the morning continued our journey on horses belonging to the troopers, which had been captured by the gueux.

We found that for a time at least we could not reach the old house, half a mansion, half a castle (for the Karlzons were descended from a family of Flemish nobles), as the place was already occupied by Alva's troops, so gladly fell in with Truyken's proposal that we should all go to her uncle's farm on the north-eastern bank of the Zuider-Zee. "Uncle Jacob is," she said, "a good man, and a true Christian, though he is neither Catholic or Lutheran; he calls himself a Baptist. I think you Protestants are a quarrelsome family, but when trouble comes you do hang together, and that's not a bad thing in any family."

It was night when we reached our destination. We were cold, tired and hungry, when a light in a long, low building seemed almost to promise us a welcome. Its friendly gleam seemed to give us fresh strength and courage, and we were soon there. "What can they be doing in the great barn?" said Truyken, "harvest was over quite a month ago." But we were not left to wonder long. Under cover of the darkness a few Christians had left their scattered homes, and were holding a meeting for prayer. As we stood outside, not wishing to disturb them, we heard the voice of old Jacob Anderzon lead in simple, but heartfelt thanksgiving for the mercy that had once more allowed a few poor, scattered sheep of the Saviour's flock to come together. Then the barn door opened, and though the little company seemed at first startled by the sight of strangers, a few words from Truyken explained all. We were led to the house, where Jacob, and his German wife Freda, seemed to vie with each other as to which could shew the greatest kindness to their unlooked-for guests.

Rest and food were very welcome; we were all too tired that night to talk or even to think much, but as we sat at breakfast the next morning, Truyken said, "Uncle Jacob, when I saw you last, three years ago, you were a hale, strong man. You have not yet reached three-score years, how is it that you are so lame and bent like a man of eighty?" Uncle Jacob, as we all soon learned to call him, smiled a somewhat sad smile, and answered gently, "Our Lord and Saviour has allowed me, in some little way, to have fellowship with Him in suffering since you were here, Truyken."

He would have changed the subject, but Freda added, "Ask the priests, who bent and crippled his strong, straight limbs upon the rack. A great persecution arose in this part of the country against the Baptists, and Jacob was thrown into prison, and tortured on the rack because he would not betray his friends, or give the names of those with whom we had met to worship God."

Jacob interposed, "But, dear wife, remember how much we have to be thankful for. It is very few who fall into the hands of the priests who come out until God sees fit to set the spirit free from the poor, maimed body. It always seems to me as if God must have sent His angel and delivered me out of their hands."

After family prayers, our kind hosts proposed taking us over the farm. Freda had all the pride of a true German housewife in her poultry-yard and well-filled cheese presses, and as mother was able to pay a small sum for our board, it was settled then and there that we should remain at the farm till we could safely continue our journey.

I can never forget the happy months we spent at the farm. I enjoyed the free, country life fully, and after a few days, Freda let me help her feed the poultry, and taught me how to milk Whitestar, a remarkably gentle and good-tempered cow. Mother said, though there were no vine-clad hills, she seemed almost to be living over again the days of her own childhood, and her visits to Annetta's farm.

Chapter 13.

"The Noble Army of Martyrs."

March 11th, 1570. It must be nearly a year since I wrote even a page in my MS. book. The months we spent at the farm seemed often marked by the change of seasons, or the rotation of crops, rather than by great and stirring events; and we heard so little of what was going on in the great world outside the dykes, that sometimes it seemed hard to believe that we had ever lived in the constant stir and bustle of a busy sea-port town.

It was very seldom that father was able to write to us, or, I should have said, to get an opportunity of sending his letters; and when they were delayed longer than usual, mother, though she was just as kind and ready to help others as she had always been, would move about the house and farm with such a sad look on her face, and such a tone of wistful patience in her voice, that it made me feel almost ready to cry every time I looked at her, or heard her speak. If father could only have paid us a visit now and then, our days at the farm would have been very happy ones. We had only intended to stay a few weeks, but weeks grew into months, and still we were the guests of Uncle Jacob and his wife.

Truyken, with her willing hands and strong common sense, proved a great help to Freda in all kinds of house and farm work, while mother and aunt Ursel were always willing to undertake any light duties; and I, well, I fed the chickens, dusted the rooms, and, later on, taught the little ones; for, by twos and threes, six orphan children were received into our small household. Two of these, Max, a curly-headed, blue-eyed boy of seven, and Whilma, a quiet, gentle little girl of six, were the children of parents who had chosen death at the stake rather than a denial of their Lord and Saviour. The four others were all of one family, whose father had been killed by a band of the Duke of Alva's soldiers while vainly attempting to defend his home and family, the mother dying shortly afterwards of grief and privation.

We were a very happy household; "Uncle Jacob," as we all loved to call the dear old man, said it made him feel quite young again to have so many children round him. On summer evenings, when the work of the day was done (for there were no drones in our hive, and even the youngest were taught in some way to be of use to others), we used to gather in the large, old-fashioned. porch, while Jacob read from his well-worn Bible � a costly possession, valued first for its own sake, and also as the parting gift of a noble exile, a brother in the faith, who for many weeks had found rest and a safe asylum in Jacob's humble dwelling; when he closed the book our voices would mingle in a hymn of praise, or we knelt in prayer, while Uncle Jacob committed his household and himself to the care of the One who neither slumbers nor sleeps.

I noticed that at first Truyken used either to busy herself about some household task, or, with her knitting in her hand, seat herself at some distance from the group; but little by little she drew nearer, so that at last she could not help hearing all; and then a change came over her, her knitting dropped unheeded by her side, as, with a look of fixed attention, she would seem to drink in the sweet Bible stories, just as the thirsty ground drinks in the rain.

In the winter our gatherings were in the farmhouse kitchen; and after the children were in bed Uncle Jacob would read to us, very often the letters of the martyrs. Some of these touched me so deeply that I begged him to let me copy one or two. There was one from Jeronymus Sergersin to his wife that we never seemed to tire of hearing. They were imprisoned together at Antwerp, though not in the same cell, in 1551; but they did not die together. Many of their letters were preserved and treasured as very precious things among the little groups of believers scattered here and there in the Low Countries; and many tears have, I believe, fallen over those true and tender words, traced by fingers made stiff and trembling by the torture of the rack. I will copy a few lines mother and I liked so much.

"Great peace, gladness, joy and comfort," he wrote, "a firm faith and good confidence with an ardent love to God, I wish to my most beloved wife, Lysken . . . . I pray the Lord very earnestly for you, that He will comfort you, and remove what is too heavy for you. I know well, my beloved, that you are greatly distressed on my account; but put away all sorrow and look to Jesus. Think only what a faithful God we serve. Know that I received your letter by my mother, which I read with tears. I thank you that you so truly comfort me, and rejoice in hearing that you are so well contented.

"I cannot sufficiently thank the Lord for all the strength He gives me in this trial. He is such a faithful Leader, He gives His servants such courage, and so strengthens them that they do not fear. Let us guard this treasure, for we have it in earthen vessels; but it is much too precious to be hidden. One (in this prison) calls to the other, and pours out his treasure, so that it may be seen. We are so happy, everlasting praise to the Lord! We call upon Him, we sing together, and find great joy in comforting and strengthening each other. I also have seen from afar the promised land, and hope soon to enter the beautiful city; there is no night there.

"May the almighty God so strengthen you with His blessed word that you may abide faithful to the end! Then shall our despised bodies be glorified, and fashioned after the likeness of His glory. Then shall our weeping be turned into laughter, and our sorrow into joy. Yes, my Lysken, God shall yet wipe away all tears from our eyes. Then there must first be weeping. Let us be content, nay, even joyful in sufferings here, for we shall soon be clothed in white robes. Oh, what a glorious company we shall form when united with the great company of the redeemed of all ages!"

Jeronymus was burnt at the stake on the 2nd September, 1551. To the last he witnessed a good confession, and died rejoicing that he was counted worthy to suffer for the sake of Christ. Lysken was kept in prison for some months longer. Her faith was firm and bright to the end. The last time she was seen she was standing at the window of her cell singing a hymn. When at last the day of her martyrdom was fixed, some of her friends, hearing of it, arranged to meet in good time outside the prison, in the hope of being able to speak cheering words to her on her way to the stake. But they were too late; between three and four o'clock in the morning she had been taken to the river and drowned. But a few who were astir, even at that early hour, saw the deed of darkness, and said Lysken walked firmly to the river's brink, and her last words were, "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit." We will not sorrow for our friends, for they are beyond the reach of sorrow, sin or death, "with Christ, which is far better."

One beautiful story we often begged Uncle Jacob to tell was that of a martyr who died not only for his faith, but for his kindness in saving the life of the officer who had been sent to arrest him. It happened only two winters ago. As Dick Williamzon was fleeing for his life across one of the frozen dykes, closely followed by his pursuers, the ice cracked under his feet, and a black, yawning gulf behind him lay between him and those who were in full chase. For a moment he was safe, and he knew it; but looking back he saw the foremost of his pursuers struggling and in danger of drowning in deep water; Dick stooped over the edge of the ice, and at the risk of falling in himself, saved the drowning man, who, grateful to his deliverer, begged that he might be allowed to go free; but the officer in command would not consent; he said they had come out to arrest Williamzon, and arrest him they must; and so he was bound, taken to prison, and a few weeks later burnt alive.

We got to know quite a number of the christian friends of Uncle Jacob and Aunt Freda. At first we, or perhaps it was only myself, were half afraid of them, they were so grave in their manners and conversation; but as I got to know them better, I found much to admire, and even to love. They were so godly in their lives, so simple in their habits, though sometimes I could not help thinking they were somewhat narrow and one-sided in their judgments; but mother said that that may be partly owing to the hardness with which they have been treated. Many have suffered fines and imprisonments, and some, like Uncle Jacob, even the terrible torture of the rack, just because they would not deny their faith, or betray their friends. There has been so little sunshine in their lives, that they could hardly help living in a kind of twilight. Yet they were most kind and self-denying, and when they heard of any cases of special need among their brethren, they would forget their own poverty and send help to any in prison, or to the widows and orphans of the martyrs.

I hardly know who watched with the greatest interest during the weeks of early spring for the return of the storks, I, or the children. For several years a pair of very large birds had, on their yearly return from their winter home in Africa, built their nest in an old cart wheel that had been fixed upon the roof of the farm on purpose to encourage their visits. Though their nest was somewhat clumsy, and not so neatly built as those of smaller birds, it was so pretty to watch them feeding their young and teaching them to fly. Aunt Ursel told me of a pair of storks who had built their nest upon the roof of a wooden house that caught fire. They could easily have saved themselves by flight, but they had a pair of young ones, more than half grown, but unable to fly. Each parent bird gently lifted a young one from the nest, and tried to fly off with it; but the young birds were too heavy. Then they stood still for a little while, as if considering what was best to be done; then they tried to carry one between them, but were only able to fly a few yards; the roof was by that time in flames, but returning to the nest, they laid the baby birds down again, and themselves perished in the flames rather than desert their offspring. Numbers of people in the street below saw and admired, but were unable to help the brave birds.

Chapter 14.

"Stormy Wind Fulfilling His Word."

February 4th, 1572. It seems almost like a dream, and yet I know it is all true, and we are really in the old moated house in which my father spent some happy years of his boyhood; every room from the ivy-covered turret down to the servants' hall, every nook in the delightfully old-fashioned garden, has its story, and Aunt Ursel knows them all, and never seems to tire of telling them to me and the orphans.

For we are all here, Uncle Jacob and Aunt Freda (as we all call her now). We are very happy, and if father could only be with us, his presence would banish that sad, anxious look I notice so often on dear mother's face, and then I should not have anything left to wish for; but she never complains, and tries to encourage us to be thankful that God not only allows him to take part in the struggle that will, we hope, when it is ended, give religious liberty to thousands of Christians in the Low Countries, but that we have been so wonderfully cared for and kept unharmed in the midst of so many dangers. And so we have; for though our peaceful retreat at the farm was swept away by a flood, and everything Uncle Jacob possessed carried away by rising waters, we were not, like many of our neighbours, left homeless and destitute.

It was a strange, never-to-be-forgotten experience. We had been having quite a long spell of wild, wintry weather; for some days the waters of the Zuider-Zee had been slowly but steadily rising, and by the end of October it was thought well to collect the cattle from the low-lying pasture lands, and bring them for safety into the outbuildings on the farm. But still we had no thought of danger, though we knew that the field upon which the farm stood lay many feet below the level of the sea. On the 1st of November heavy masses of dark clouds drifted across the sky, and the autumn wind moaned and whistled with a strange, threatening sound. Uncle Jacob and Truyken brought the cattle from the sheds into two of the lower rooms, and we all were together in the topmost story. No one felt like going to bed, though one or two of the youngest of the orphans slept amid all the raging of the storm without.

Uncle Jacob took his well-worn Bible and read such a beautiful psalm; part of it was, I remember, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea: though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah." (Psa. 46: 1-3.) As I listened I found myself wondering if David had ever listened as we were then listening to the sullen roar of waters, that were every moment rising higher and higher.

With the first grey streak of dawn the crash came. For a few moments we heard nothing but the rush of waters, then the house shook to its foundations, and we knew that the dykes had given way, and the country for miles round was under water; as daylight advanced we saw the roofs of a few scattered homesteads looking like islands in the midst of a great sea. It was a moment of real peril; we thought that our last hour had come. The children, roused from sleep, clung to us, crying piteously; but we all grew strangely calm and still, as dear old Jacob Anderzon said, "Let us pray." We all knelt, and in very simple words he told God as his heavenly Father of our great danger, and asked Him to do that which would be most for His own glory. I do not know how long we waited after that prayer; to me it seemed a very long time, but mother says she does not think it was more than half an hour. At last we heard the splash of oars; the farm servants had, with great difficulty, and at the risk of their lives, got out the boats, and one by one we made our way through a skylight on to the roof, and were taken off in two boats.

For some hours we tossed about on that wild waste of waters, hardly knowing what to hope for, or what lay before us, for the flood was still rising, and one by one the roofs that had looked so much like little islands were lost to sight. We were chilled to the bone by the bitter wind, and drenched with spray; we had not been able to carry either food or water away with us, the children cried with cold and hunger, and hope seemed almost to have died out of all our hearts, when we saw a ship in full sail coming towards us, though still too far off to decide if she would prove a friend or a foe. If she proved to be a Spanish cutter, it would be better, we all felt, to die where we were than to allow ourselves to be taken prisoners. We strained our eyes in trying to see what colours she carried at her mast-head; but in vain.

At last one of the men who was helping to row cried out, "I have seen that trim little brig before; she is 'The Water Witch.' Her captain and crew are 'Beggars of the Sea,' they will take us on board, we shall yet be saved!" And so we were! We were all taken on board, food and hot drinks given to us, and on finding where we wished to go, the captain changed his plans, sailing round the north coast of Holland to take us to the old home of the Karlzons. Uncle Jacob and his wife are to make their home with us, and we are all very happy about it; for, as mother says, we can never repay the kindness we received from them, or forget how freely when we were homeless wanderers they opened their home and their hearts to us; and now that their little farm and all their worldly goods have been swept away by the flood, we are so glad that though we have only a little, we can share it with those who have lost their all.

No word of murmur or complaint is ever heard from Uncle Jacob. Once, when I heard Truyken ask him if it did not sometimes seem hard, that after so many years of toil everything should have been swept away, he only bowed his head and said, "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord." (Job 1: 21.)

The orphans are all with us, and though it is not always easy to provide food for such a large and hungry family, "the blessing of the Lord" seems to make a little go a long way. We have a cow, and as Truyken and Aunt Freda are clever at all kinds of dairy work we have no lack of milk, cheese and butter; we grow our own vegetables, and Uncle Jacob is busy about all manner of occupations in the house and garden, for the old place has been neglected and allowed to get very much out of repair. We often fear he is working far beyond his strength, as we cannot help noticing how feeble he has grown during the last few months; his sight, too, seems to be failing; he can seldom see now to read his long-loved Bible, but many psalms and chapters are stored in his memory, and one or other of us is always ready and glad to read to him.

The other day I was reading to him the fourteenth chapter of the Gospel by John; he listened with a look of deep peace on his face; when I had finished he said, "I often think I am almost at my journey's end. Day by day as the lights of earth grow paler, the light of 'the many mansions' grows brighter, and my homeward way cannot be a dark one. I have learnt to love you, Mayken, almost as dearly as if you had been my own child; but if, before the return of your father, my home-call should come, I am content; for I shall leave you in better care and in safer keeping than his or mine, in that of the Saviour-God, who has led me by the right way, who was near me in prison, who will never fail me, nor forsake me."

Father's letters are still few and far between, but they are so bright and cheerful that their coming always seems to bring a ray of sunshine, no matter how dull or dark the day on which they arrive. He says very little about the hardships of the campaign; the long, weary marches, the cold and hunger often suffered by the prince's troops, for money is very scarce with them, and many who had made high-sounding promises of help failed in the time of their greatest need. Father has been employed by the prince on several missions in the hope of raising money to pay his soldiers, one being to England, where so many of our brethren in the faith have already found peaceful and prosperous homes. But they had scarcely reached the English coast when they were forbidden to land and driven away by order of Queen Elizabeth, though we cannot believe that at heart she is really unfriendly to the Protestant cause, but acted under pressure in consequence of some treaty she had made, or intends to make, with Philip of Spain.

Some victories have, however, been gained, and more than one town in the Netherlands has opened its gates and given a right hearty welcome to the prince and his troops. He has pawned or sold all his own plate and jewels, and never seems afraid to face toil and danger if the cause of freedom is to be served by his doing so. Father writes, that amid all the stormy scenes of camp life the prince still finds or makes time to read his Bible; and his quiet but firm faith in God has been a great help and encouragement to himself and many others.

I sometimes find myself wondering how all this will end. But I am, I think, learning one thing to say from my very heart, "What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee." When I see what care God takes that there should be seeds and berries for the birds, and sunshine and dewdrops for the flowers, I feel sure He will not forget His children.

Yesterday was quite an eventful day in our little household. In spite of all the mending and patching that has been done the children's clothes wear out so quickly, that to keep them from being in rags has needed a good deal of time and thought. Mother said one day, "How I wish your Aunt Christiana could see the poor little things! She has a kind heart, and her linen chests are well filled." So it was arranged that mother and Aunt Ursel should visit her in her home at Leyden, which, though not so large or grand as the one she and her husband had been obliged to leave in great haste at Antwerp because my uncle, John von Brock, was known to be one of the friends and supporters of the Prince of Orange, was still very comfortable and nicely furnished.

They returned the next day, bringing Aunt Christiana with them. The sight of the children seemed to touch her deeply, and as their clear young voices joined in their evening hymn, I saw a tear steal quietly down her cheek. When they were in bed, and we sat talking, she said suddenly, addressing my mother, "Constanza, if you would trust me with that blue-eyed boy who sang so sweetly, I should like to take him to bring up as my own child. Since my darling Henrich died, my heart has often seemed empty and hungry for affection, and it will do us good to hear the patter of a child's feet, or the ring of its laugh about the house."

We were all so pleased and thankful, as we knew not only that it would be a good and happy home for our little Max, but that as both my uncle and aunt were true Christians, he would be wisely and lovingly trained. When told in the morning that he was going to leave us, he cried so long and bitterly that we all felt it would be cruel to force him away.

For a few moments we were all silent, hardly knowing what to say or do then Bertha, a gentle child of six, nestled close up to her side, and slipping her hand into hers, whispered, "I should like to go with you, but please will you take Bertrand, too?"

Aunt Christiana did not say "No" to the little pleader, and when on the next day she set out for Leyden with her two little charges, we all thought she looked happier than she had done since the death of her only child.

Chapter 15.

The Siege of Leyden.

May 29th, 1574. It must be quite two years since I wrote even a page in my MS. book. I might not find it easy to explain why I have neglected it so long. So much has taken place in Holland lately that it cannot have been that I had nothing worth writing about, but that I had no heart to write it, for it is always sad and weary work to tell the story of disaster and defeat. When we waved our good-byes to Aunt Christiana and the orphans, whom she has since loved and cared for almost as if they had been her own children, we were bright and hopeful, telling ourselves and each other of the good times that were, we said and believed, not far off. So many towns in the Low Countries had opened their gates to the prince, so many hailed him as the long-looked-for deliverer of Holland, that it seems hard, very hard, to believe that such bright visions were to end only in failure and disappointment; not that we have quite lost hope, for the prince still lives, and we are still told to "have faith in God."

The army of the Prince of Orange! Where is it? His best and bravest generals have fallen on the field of battle, and the army, scattered and discontented because the prince was unable to pay them longer, have, with the exception of a faithful few, broken up and returned to their homes. We are in Leyden, with no prospect of being able to leave it while the siege lasts. This is the second time this year that the city has been besieged; in the spring it was relieved by Count Louis, but he has fallen. The prince, we hear, worn out with sorrow and anxiety, is dangerously ill, and unable to rise from his bed, so he cannot at present come and help us. The Duke of Alva and his army are outside our walls, and for the last four days the roar of their cannon has hardly ceased; they have, it is true, proposed conditions of peace, but Alva and his soldiers are too well known for our citizens to trust high-sounding promises. Wherever a town or city has surrendered they have broken faith with the too trustful inhabitants, and cruelly put them to the sword; and we all feel that we would rather die within the walls of our besieged city than fall into the hands of the Spaniards.

Just before our coming to Leyden father was able to pay us one short, hurried visit, but he was the bearer of such terrible news that our delight at seeing him once more was strangely mingled with sorrow. He looked so ill and worn that for a moment even mother hardly knew him; but when he said, "Constanza, Mayken," we knew his voice, just as full of tenderness as it used to be in the old, happy days at Antwerp, and we were more than content.

He told us of the defeat of the prince's army, and of the sickness of its brave leader; many prayers are, we know, being offered for his recovery, if such be the will of God, and we cannot but hope that he may still be spared to us. Father's visit has confirmed our worst fears for our friends in France. We had, it is true, heard rumours of a great slaughter of Huguenots, as the Protestants of France are often called, having taken place on the 24th August, 1572, but hoped things were not quite so bad as had been represented; we had yet to learn the double dealing and unfair means by which it had been brought about. The story of "Black Bartholomew" will, I think, always be one of the saddest and darkest pages in the history of France. I cannot write much about all that happened on that dreadful night. Father would not tell us all, but as I recall what I heard, my very blood seems to turn cold.

The leader of the Huguenots was the young and gallant Henry of Navarre, afterwards Henry the Fourth of France. He was a brave soldier, and his high sense of honour had given him a warm place in the affections of the Protestant party, who hoped much from the fact that he had warmly espoused their cause. Next in command was Admiral Coligny, a man whose sterling worth had greatly endeared him to the soldiers. Both were greatly disliked by Catherine de Medici, the Queen-Mother, though she made a great profession of friendship, and did all in her power to induce them to attend court; failing in this, she tried another plan, and arranged a marriage between her daughter and Henry of Navarre. The King, Charles the Ninth, at her bidding wrote a flattering letter to Henry, offering him the hand of his sister Margaret, and soon after the betrothal, the marriage took place amid great rejoicings. Paris seemed ablaze with fireworks, bonfires and shows. A great number of Protestant gentlemen had been invited to be present at the ceremony, and many came.

A letter was also written to the Prince of Orange, promising that an army should be sent to help him to defeat the Spaniards. But all the time the Queen-Mother was working secretly for the murder of the Protestants. Four days after the marriage Coligny went to the palace, and in company with another Huguenot gentleman played a game of tennis against the King and the Duke of Guise.

The king chatted with the admiral in a very friendly way, told him how pleased he should be to place him at the head of the army that would, he hoped, in a few days be in readiness to march into Holland to the help of his friend and ally, William of Orange, against Philip of Spain. How little Coligny thought, as he left the Louvre that day, that he was being closely followed by an assassin who had been hired by the king and his mother to shoot him. The shot, however, only wounded him in the hand and arm, and though in great pain, and faint from loss of blood, he was able to reach his hotel, where he was visited by the king, who pretended to be angry that his old friend should have been so badly treated, and promised to punish the man who had fired at him if he could be found. He was well known to the king, who, instead of punishing, gave him a reward of two thousand crowns and a badge of honour.

While Coligny lay suffering and helpless from his wounds, the Queen-Mother was busy calling together her friends and advisers. She held a secret council, and when all was in readiness for the wicked deed she had planned went to the apartments of her son, and with a great show of concern for his safety said she had discovered a plot, by which Coligny and a number of Huguenots had bound themselves to kill him, and assured him that all the Protestants must be swept from the land, as they were enemies alike to his person and his throne.

The king believed her every word, and cried out in a passion of rage and fear, "Kill all! Let no one escape to reproach me with the deed." Two hours after midnight the dreadful work began, and before it was over five thousand Protestants were murdered in one day in Paris, and a hundred thousand throughout the country. The admiral was one of the first victims. A party of ruffians, led by the Duke of Guise, went to his hotel, and bursting open the outer door fired upon his followers in the courtyard. Roused from an uneasy sleep by the noise of the shots, the admiral fled for safety to an upper room, but there he was followed, and stabbed while leaning against the wall. His body was thrown out of the window into the court-yard and treated with every mark of disrespect.

But the noise of cannon and the sound of battering rams will not let me forget that the Spaniards are outside our walls, and though the citizens have no thought of surrender, it may go hard with us, for already it is feared that our food supplies will not hold out for more than a few weeks, and it is being proposed that every family should bring whatever stores of provisions they may have into one of the public buildings, where a small quantity will be given out daily to each man, woman and child in the city. Come what may, we dare not, must not open our gates to the Duke of Alva and his savage soldiery. The terrible lessons we have learnt from the fate of towns that have done so seem to have been burnt into our very hearts.

Zutphen and Naarden, where are they? Ah! what tales of sorrow those smoking ruins, that were all the soldiers left to mark the spots where busy and prosperous towns had stood, could tell. Beguiled by offers of pardon, they threw open their gates, received the soldiers willingly into their houses, and gave them in the way of food and drink of the best they had. How were they repaid? Every man, woman and child, even little babies were put to the sword. May God in His mercy save us from such a terrible fate. We can hardly hope to hear from father while the city is blockaded, but in some mysterious way our burgomaster received good news yesterday, news that seems to have given us fresh hope and courage. The prince appears to be on the road to recovery, and intends, as soon as possible, to come to our help.

Chapter 16.

The Defence of Leyden.

December 31st, 1574. The story of Leyden, its terrible siege and brave defence, will, mother says, form a never-to-be-forgotten page of history, and yet I do not think that I shall find it easy to write down even a few of the things that happened during the dark, anxious days the siege lasted, days that grew into weeks, and even months, while we watched and waited for the relief that seemed so long in coming.

When I wrote last the siege had lasted four days, and even then some fear was expressed that provisions would run short. During the two months that followed the repulse of the Spanish army by our brave troops, under the command of Count Louis, brother to the Prince of Orange, they had withdrawn themselves, and we, too, blindly hoped they would trouble us no more; but the brave count has fallen on the battlefield. At least we know that he is dead; whether he lies among the heaps of slain, or was drowned in attempting to cross the river, or perished in the burning into which, with horrible cruelty, Alva's soldiers drove the conquered, no one seems to know, but we believe that, whichever way it was, he met death like a true Christian and the brave soldier he was.

We were not so well supplied with stores of food as we should have been. Perhaps our relief at the absence of the Spanish was so great that we would not believe they were likely to come again. So we spoke hopefully, and tried to believe that, after their repulse under the command of Count Louis of Nassau, the Spaniards would raise the siege. But the Duke of Alva was a man of iron will; he had received royal commands to stamp out heresy, and if it was not done, it should not, he determined, be any fault of his. So with a larger army he again attacked our city, and cannon roared, and large, heavy guns poured out a constant volley of shot and shell. Our walls are, however, as strong as they were on the first day of the siege, and we hope, will remain in good condition for weeks to come; but the Spaniards have not been idle, and a circle of well guarded forts have grown up with what seems to us wonderful rapidity. Several times the principal citizens have been summoned by the burgomaster, and councils lasting several hours have been held, all, we were rejoiced to hear, being of one mind.

They will not listen to Alva's proposed conditions of peace, or enter into any treaty, knowing only too well that it would be made only to be broken, and that if our gates are once opened to the foe, fire and sword will follow, leaving only smoking ruins to tell their own sad story. There is just one gleam of hope in the knowledge that the soldiers are divided among themselves; it is nearly two years since they received any regular wages, and though when a victory is gained they are encouraged to plunder and spoil to their hearts' content, they are, we hear, getting restless and discontented, and have more than once broken out into open mutiny.

Early in June famine seemed almost to stare us in the face. The councillors were buying up all the food the town contains. Large stores of grain, meat and other foods are being carried to the public buildings, and daily rations given out: half a pound of meat with the same quantity of bread for each man, and less for women and children.

Small as the daily portion was, we noticed that Uncle Jacob ate only a very small part of his. Day after day he would insist upon sharing it with one or other of the orphans, and when we saw with tear-filled eyes how very thin he was, and tried to coax him into being just to himself, even if he could not so often indulge his love of giving, his gentle voice would answer, "Do not be anxious for me. My journey is almost ended. The children need the food more than I do; they may have many years of life before them; God is very good to me; I am not allowed to suffer from the keen gnawings of hunger. My strength is, I know, failing; before Leyden opens her gates to her long-looked-for deliverer, the Prince of Orange, I shall be safe home, 'where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.'" And so it was, for only a few days before the horrors of actual famine were upon us, with tender good-byes to us all, and the name of Jesus upon his lips, our dear old friend fell asleep. We felt his loss keenly, but for him all was, we knew, well. Like Stephen of old, "devout men carried him to his burial," and while the noise of war raged around our walls, we laid him in a quiet grave with words of faith and hope, and returned to our home sorrowing, but yet rejoicing.

Food supplies failed, day by day the allowance grew smaller, and then ceased altogether. Truyken and Freda did their very utmost to keep the hunger wolf from our door, and displayed great skill and patience in trying to make wholesome and even tempting food of all manner of unsavory scraps. Sometimes the children and I would go out in search of food, but long lines of trees from which every leaf had been plucked told us that we were too late � others on the same errand had been before us; grass too was very scarce, our baskets were not half filled, when we turned our steps towards the churchyard, where a few nettles still grew among the graves. How eagerly we gathered them, how proudly we carried them home, yet not without some attempts to conceal our treasure, lest any one, perhaps more keenly pressed by hunger than ourselves, should rob us of our prize.

Aunt Ursel proved herself a born nurse. Sometimes in the hospital, where her gentle touch and kind but firm manner did so much to relieve the wounded; sometimes on the ramparts, where, even though bullets were falling around her, she would carry water to the soldiers, or kneel to dress and bandage some gaping wound, never moving, till her work was done. There was so much to be done at home that I could not be spared very often, but now and then I was free to go with her to the hospital, so glad of any small service I could render. I read to the sick and wounded, now and then I wrote their letters to loved ones in village homes, or took messages to and from the hospital. We all began to feel the pressure of hunger. The few horses that had not died of hunger were killed, and for a few days we rejoiced in having a small allowance of horse-flesh served out to each person; but that did not last long, and the starving people ate cats, dogs and rats. To add to the horrors of siege and famine, plague broke out in our midst, and it was said that nearly twenty thousand people died. We grew almost used to the sight of the dying and the dead.

One afternoon as Aunt Ursel and I were leaving the hospital, passing down one of the poorest streets in the town, our attention was arrested by the crying of an infant, such a low, piteous wail; we felt as if we could not go on without trying to find out, if we could not do something soothe and comfort it. We knocked several times, but getting no reply we opened the door and went in. Never can I forget the sight; an infant of not more than a few months old lay upon the low but clean bed, tightly clasped in the arms of its dead mother. We thought at first she had died from the plague, but found afterwards that it was really from hunger. The infant, though very thin, appeared healthy; so having obtained permission of the proper authorities, we took it home till such time as it should be claimed by its relations, if it had any. But none came, and for more than six, months baby Matilde, as we call her, has been the pet of the entire household.

Twice or three times during the siege the prince was able, by the use of carrier pigeons, to send us letters, in one of which he asked if we could hold out for three months longer, by the end of which time he was almost sure of being able to come to our relief. "Three months!" what a long, weary time it seemed to look forward to, for we had only provisions enough to last four days. There was not much actual fighting all the time the siege lasted. Shots were fired at the walls, but the officers in command of the Spanish troops knew that we were very short of food, and as they thought it would be easy to starve us into surrender, made no attempt to force the gates.

General Francesco de Valdez, to whom the Duke of Alva, had entrusted the taking of Leyden, seemed at last to grow tired of waiting, and sent a flattering message to the citizens, in which he said that he quite admired the gallant way in which they had held the city, but begged them, in the name of King Philip, not to continue to suffer all the discomfort of having an army quartered just outside the walls. Would it not be better, he said, to open our gates, and accept a free pardon for having so long rebelled against the authority of our lawful sovereign, King Philip of Spain. A meeting of the principal citizens to consider his proposals was held. The answer they sent was short and to the point. Mother was able to get a copy of it: "The fowler plays sweet music on his pipe while he spreads his net for the birds."

Then they began to taunt us with being rat and cat eaters. The answer they got was, "While a dog barks or a cat mews within our walls, be sure we will not open our gates; and when the last is eaten, rather than surrender, every man will eat his own left arm, keeping the right hand still to hold his sword."

And so the weeks went on, weeks that seemed like months, or even years, and the prince did not come. We knew that he had been very ill, the army he had collected at such cost had broken up; still he had not given up the hope, of being able to come to our relief, and begged us to hold out a little longer.

Strange news reached us at last, though we hardly knew at first whether to be glad or sorry. The prince had collected another army, small, but brave; but as the Spaniards had four men to every one of his, and were in possession of sixty-two forts, all well garrisoned and supplied with large stores of arms and ammunition, the prince and his best generals were of one mind, namely, that it would be useless even to attempt to reach us by land; one hope and one only remained, to relieve us by water. But as Leyden lies fifteen miles from the sea this way of getting at us seemed at first sight almost, if not quite, impossible. It was certainly a remarkable idea, but the Prince of Orange is a remarkable man, and he believed that it was God who had given him the thought, and he trusted in Him for the needed wisdom and strength to enable him to carry it out. The country for miles round lay lower than the sea, and had really been won from it at great labour and expense by building dykes. Why not let the sea have the land once more, and give the prince and his followers a chance of coming to our help?

The Government gave him leave to cut through the dykes, saying it was better to ruin the country than to lose it; so the prince set to work to form "The Beggars of the Sea" into a fleet sufficient to man two hundred flat-bottomed boats, many of which were well laden with provisions, and then the work of cutting away the dykes began.

But all this took time, the Spanish army was still outside our walls, and we were starving. How slowly the days seemed to pass! How truly we felt that if God did not deliver us, no one, not even the prince, could.

Chapter 17.

The Relief of Leyden.

January 1st, 1575. On August 12th the burgomaster and citizens of Leyden received a letter from the Prince of Orange telling them how much pleasure the courageous way in which they had defended the town had given him, and begging them to hold out till he, with his fleet of flat-bottomed boats, could reach them. Their reply was, that there was only food enough in the town to last four days. When that was gone, nothing seemed before them but starvation.

The same evening another letter was brought in by one of those brave runners who all through the siege now and then, almost it seemed as if by a miracle, contrived to escape the fire of the Spaniards, in which the prince told us that the dykes were cut through, and the water was slowly but he hoped steadily spreading over the land. The news seemed almost too good to be true, but William of Orange had never given us occasion to doubt his word, and for a little while we were almost beside ourselves with rejoicing. Flags waved from the roofs of public buildings, and many of the private houses were decorated, as if in readiness to welcome the long-looked-for deliverer. Bands of music processioned the streets. How the Spaniards must have wondered what it all meant!

But the longed-for relief did not reach us till October 3rd, and the weeks that lay between were very dreary and sad ones. When I try to remember how we lived through them I find I cannot; their story seems like some troubled dream. Many, very many died from hunger, and the plague carried off still greater numbers. Two of our little family of orphans died, not exactly from hunger, thank God; but our blue-eyed Freda and her little brother Casper had always been delicate children, and could not endure privation so well as the stronger ones. We loved and missed them, but we could not sorrow, for we knew they had both early learned to love the precious Saviour, and it was sweet and restful to think of them as safe with Him, whose kingdom is of such. We were all starving, and there were two less to suffer.

But why did not the prince come? Most afternoons I went to the hospital with Aunt Ursel, and after having done what little we could (and it seemed so little when we had no food to give the poor famine-stricken patients) we went to the watch-tower in the centre of the city, said to have been an old Roman fortress, and from its guard-room we were able to see for miles over the country. Yes, the dykes had been pierced, thousands of acres of land were ruined; but only a few inches of water covered them, the Spanish army was still outside our walls, and the prince, who had risked and suffered so much to help us, was still fourteen miles off, and there seemed but little prospect of his being able to reach us.

Hope and courage seemed once more to die down in our hearts. The citizens sent an urgent appeal to the Government, asking if nothing could be done to help them? Had Leyden been forgotten in the hour of her utmost need? The reply, which will, I believe, be written in "The History of the Dutch Republic," was, "Rather will we see our whole land and all our possessions perish in the waves than forsake thee, Leyden. We know full well, moreover, that with Leyden all Holland must perish."

The electors would have helped us if they could, but the Spanish army had a complete circle of forts round the city, and though other cities gave large stores of food for our relief, there seemed no way by which these gifts could reach us. All this time very little fighting went on. The soldiers who remained in the city were so enfeebled by hunger and disease that there was not the shadow of a hope that they would be able to force a passage through Alva's well-fed, well-disciplined troops; and the generals in command of his army seemed so sure that hunger would compel us to open our gates, they seemed content to wait. From time to time conditions of peace were proposed, and offers of pardon made, if we would surrender. But we could not forget the terrible lessons we had learnt from the way in which they had broken faith with all who had trusted their fair promises; and though some in our midst talked more or less openly of surrender, and even went so far as to say that even if the prince had intended to come to us, he must have seen how impossible such an undertaking was, and given it up as hopeless, most of us still felt we would much rather die from hunger than fall into the hands of the Spaniards.

Some said the water would never rise to a sufficient height to float a fleet of boats; but mother and Aunt Ursel and I believed it would, for we remembered how of old God made a passage through the Red Sea for the children of Israel, and was it not as easy for Him to cause the sea to cover the dry land?

All through "The Sea Beggars" did valuable work, not only in cutting through the dykes, sometimes under heavy fire, but in driving off the Spaniards, who tried in every way to hinder their progress. Sometimes the water rose high enough to allow the boats to make some progress, but a sudden change of wind drove them back again to the sea, and more than once the boats were stranded in a few inches of water.

Admiral Boisot, who was in command of the prince's fleet, was very hopeful that in a few days at most he would be able to reach Leyden, but again for more than a week the boats lay in shallow water, unable to proceed. For some days we had noticed how rapidly Truyken's strength seemed to be failing. Sunken eyes and hollow cheeks were far too common to attract much notice, but one morning we found her unable to rise, and almost too feeble to speak; but when we tried to coax her with a morsel of food a neighbour had given us, she opened her eyes, and whispered faintly, "Let me die, for now I can no longer serve you; the trees are leafless, and there is not a single nettle left in the churchyard. I could not, dare not let you even guess where or how I obtained the untempting food I have cooked for you during the last few days; I am one more to feed, I can only be a drag upon you, it is better for you I should be gone. You will not forget how I have loved you all; but you need not grieve for me, I have trusted my soul to your Saviour, and I know whom I have believed; He will not cast me out." I noticed that she was not wearing her silver relic-box; she must have read my question in my face, for she said, "Oh! Mayken, when you were quite a tiny child, I intended to leave my relic to you as the most precious possession I had, but it went weeks ago, I sold it for two handfuls of bran. But I do not want it, I do not value it now."

We tried to soothe our faithful old friend, and moistened her parched lips with a little wine; for, strange to say, our wine held out long after every morsel of food was gone. At last mother said, "Mayken and I will go to the burgomaster's house. He may have received news of the prince, or even have a little food to give us." We begged Truyken to lie still till our return, but she only moaned, and did not answer us.

We went; a corpse lay just outside his door; but we were so used to sights of horror that we hardly noticed it. He was not at home, but we were told that there had been a tumult among the people, and he had gone to the market-square to try what could be done to restrain the few who, having lost heart and hope, talked of taking forcible possession of the keys of the city and opening the gates to the Spaniards. The corpse, we learned afterwards, had been placed outside his door on purpose to reproach him with being the cause of the misery. We followed him. He was standing upon a raised platform, from which public notices were read.

One glance at his face told its own story. He was painfully thin, he had not suffered less from hunger than any of the famished crowd around him, but there was a look of deep peace upon his brow, and a light in his eyes that all the misery could not quench. At first all we heard was a confused murmur of sounds, it seemed as if every one was speaking, and no one listening. But waving his broad burgomaster's hat, Adrian von der Werf commanded silence; then a hush fell upon the crowd, and though his voice was thin with hunger, its tones were clear and firm.

"What would you, my friends?" he said, "Why do you murmur that we do not break our vows, and surrender our city to the Spaniards, a fate more horrible than the agony she now endures? I tell you I have made a vow to hold the city, and I pray God to give me strength to keep it. I can die but once, whether by your hands, the enemy's or by the hand of God. My own life is indifferent to me, but not so that of the city entrusted to my care. I know we must soon starve if not relieved, but starvation is better than the dishonoured death, which is our only choice. Here is my sword, plunge it into my body, and divide my flesh among you. Take my body to appease your hunger, but expect no surrender while I remain alive."

His brave words seemed to put new courage into the hearts of all who heard them, and with voices broken by sobs the crowd promised, by God's help, to be faithful to him and to the city. When all had dispersed, mother and I told our sad story. Tears were in his eyes as he listened, then he said, "There will be meat to-morrow. The two cows that have so far been kept alive to supply the infants with milk are to be killed this evening. Come to my house, I can give you a few drops of milk. It is the last you will get, but it may revive your faithful servant; to-morrow I will see you have your share of meat." We hurried home with a small jug holding barely half a pint of milk, but the room where we had left Truyken was empty. We called and searched for her everywhere, but she was nowhere to be found, and to add to our trouble and surprise Aunt Freda was gone also.

The next time we went to the watchtower we found a crowd there before us, and in the distance, perhaps not more than five miles away, we could plainly see the flash of powder and hear the sullen roar of guns. "They are gaining ground," said the onlookers, "they will soon be here, but fighting is going on; they are having to force their passage."

On the 28th September a carrier pigeon brought a letter to the burgomaster from the admiral, saying that the fleet was making every effort to reach Leyden, and he hoped in a day or two at the most to be his guest. The burgomaster ordered the church bells to pour out a joyous peal, but there were no flags or bands this time. On the following day the water was again sinking, and the fleet, though in sight, unable to reach us.

On October 1st a carrier pigeon brought in another letter from the admiral. Nothing now remained between the famishing city and food but one Spanish fort, only two hundred and fifty yards from our gates. All through the night a strong north-east wind was blowing, piling up the water in the remaining dykes, and reminding us of the gale that had swept away Jacob Anderzon's farm; then it changed suddenly to the south-west, and blew the piled-up waters over the land. God had surely fought for us. All through the night we saw lights gliding backwards and forwards upon the waters, and with a terrible crash part of the city wall fell. Early in the morning the prince's fleet sailed under the very cannon of the fort, but not a shot was fired; and then we learnt the truth, the enemy had taken fright and fled in hopeless terror and confusion, and soon the flag of Holland was waving on its ramparts. The ships sailed under the walls of the city and the sailors seemed unable to wait until they could land, but threw food from the ships to the starving people on the land. In a short time the stores of food were carried to the public buildings, and in perfect order distributed among the citizens. Oh, how we thanked God for bread! We who had said grace over a dish of nettles, and often been unable to find even such poor food!

Chapter 18.

"Joy-Bells" Ringing.

January 15th, 1575. Food for the famishing! Loaves of pure, wholesome bread � and only an hour before we had been thankful if a few crumbs fell to our share. It is really true, though at first, from very gladness, we could hardly believe that the Spanish soldiers had either been killed or fled in terror and confusion. Leyden was delivered, and though many were too weak from hunger to say more than "Thank God" a praise-song seemed to be making music in every heart.

Aunt Ursel was recovering, though very slowly, from an attack of famine fever.

All through the long, weary months during which the siege lasted she had worked far beyond her strength in the hospitals and upon the ramparts, and many, I believe, have thanked God not only for her skilful nursing, but for "words fitly spoken" with regard to their eternal interests.

But amid all the joy mother and I were restless and unsatisfied. Though we went from group to group of the Zetland sailors who had manned the prince's fleet, and often stopped to ask questions, father had not come to us, and we could hear no tidings of him. We knew that his first thought and care would be of and for us, but how and where should we find each other? The streets were thronged with happy, excited people, and for a few moments we stood still, uncertain which way to go.

"Let us ask God to guide us, Mayken," mother whispered softly, and I am sure that an earnest if a voiceless prayer went up from the hearts of both. Then like a flash came the thought that father would seek us in the house where we had last met and parted. It was only a heap of blackened ruins, having shared the fate of many of its neighbours: a shell falling upon its roof had set it on fire, and only the walls were standing; but he could not know that, so we made the best of our way thither.

But father was there before us, and I will not attempt to describe the joy of that meeting. At first mother seemed almost overcome by the glad surprise, and we thought she had fainted, but father's arms supported her. I ran to a spring for water, and she soon opened her eyes and smiled, then lay her head upon his shoulder with a look of such deep content that I seem to see it even as I write. When we had taken a little food, and it had been impressed upon us that though there was food in abundance, we had all suffered so much from hunger, that those who did not for the first few days eat very sparingly were likely to be very ill, and might even die, we formed a procession, headed by our burgomaster and the admiral, and went to church to give thanks to almighty God for His great goodness in sending relief just when it was so sorely needed.

As we walked homewards, in passing down a poor street we heard something, we hardly knew what, but it sounded like a low moan, and seemed to come from what appeared to be the lower room of an empty house. We wondered afterwards that we had heard it at all, for the bells of all the churches in the town were pouring out such joyous peals. We stood still and listened. Mother said, "O Mark, let us go in! Perhaps in the general rejoicing some poor sick one has been forgotten, and I cannot bear to think when God has been so good to us, and we are so happy, that one whom we could help is alone, suffering and perhaps even dying from hunger."

We went in. The room was quite dark, and the moans had ceased, but when father said in his kind, cheery voice, "Is any one sick here? we are friends, so do not be afraid," we heard a faint cry, and in a moment the truth flashed upon us. Father struck a light, and we saw it was Truyken, our good, faithful Truyken. She was very weak, but joy seemed to give her strength, and she said feebly, "Now my prayers are answered. Oh! how much I have longed to see you all once more. I have nothing more to live for now, you must let me lie."

We were overjoyed, and said we must take her home, but at first she refused, saying, "No, let me die; I know you would all give me your last morsel, but I could not take what my mistress and Mayken need more than I do." We told her the days of famine were past, and no one needed to be hungry; then father, seeing she was too weak to talk, left us to watch her, while he went to find a conveyance. We took her home, and did all we could for her, but it was many days before it seemed possible she could recover; but slowly she began to recover, and after some weeks of careful nursing was able to tell us a little of what had happened during the time she had been away from us. Of her own sufferings and privations she said very little; how she had existed at all seemed little short of a miracle; Aunt Freda had been one of the first victims of the famine fever, but her death had been peaceful, and even happy.

The day after the relief the Prince of Orange himself entered Leyden, and if the citizens were too weak to cheer loudly, the welcome they gave him was not less loving and loyal. He appeared deeply touched by the sight of the long-continued suffering that met him everywhere; but he told us how pleased he was with the way in which we chose rather to suffer than surrender, and offered Leyden her choice, either to be always exempt from paying certain taxes, or to be made the seat of a University. It did not take the councillors and citizens long to decide upon the latter, and already the buildings are in progress, and it is expected that students will arrive from all parts of Holland, and perhaps from Germany and Bohemia.

The first day that Truyken was able to sit up in an easy chair, propped up by pillows, we all took our evening meal in her room, and father told us his intention of going to Antwerp for a few days, as he had some business there. Truyken listened with great attention, beckoned mother to her side and said, "Tell master to go to the old house, and dig underneath the seat where you and Mayken sat so often on summer evenings, the one beneath the linden trees I mean, and about a foot, or it may be a foot and a half deep he will find a tin box, and in that box safe and sound the books and papers the officers of the Inquisition had such a hunt for; it was almost more than I could do to keep from laughing, when leaving the house as they did by the side-door, they passed through the garden, and as nearly as possible walked over the very books they were under orders to seize. What a lot of trouble they took, and all to no purpose. How they did hunt! 'Upstairs and downstairs, and in my lady's chamber.' But those who hide know where to find." And Truyken laughed her old merry laugh, and looked and spoke more like the Truyken of former days than she had done for many months past.

"But, Truyken, how could you have known of their intended visit?" mother asked. For some moments Truyken did not reply; I thought she had not heard, or had failed to understand the question, and was about to repeat it, when, rousing herself, she said, "Is there not something in the Bible about casting bread on the waters, and finding it again after many days?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "Do you remember the widow Kusel, and how one winter when her children were all down with fever, you would not let me go, but day after day you went yourself to carry soup and other things you thought good for them; and how, when her little Carl died, you tried to comfort the poor mother. The family were, as you knew, Roman Catholics, but help was needed, and you did not hesitate to give it.

"Well, to make a long story short, the widow was grateful, and in a way none of us looked for found an opportunity of returning your kindness. After some years Andre, her eldest son, was taken into the service of the Inquisition, where his uncle was also employed. He did not like the work, but as you know times were bad and the pay helped to support the family. Andre heard the order given to search your house, though he was not one of the party told off for that purpose; in some way he contrived to let his mother know, and she at once made up her mind, at all risks, to give a friendly warning. But she dared not go to the house, as if seen it might have excited suspicion; she knew at about what hour I usually went to market, so she watched and waited for me; she could not speak plainly, but in broken sentences and mysterious hints, as we chatted with a market-woman over the price of cheese and butter, she made herself understood.

"But there was no time to be lost, as that very night the search was to be made. I prayed, as I think I had never prayed before, that God would help me, and shew me just where to hide the books. Before I reached home my plans were all made. The Frau Von Brock had not been well for some days, and you and Mayken were, as I knew, going to see her; so far, all was well; before you had left the house an hour I had collected the books and papers, but I dared not begin to dig till after dark. I do not remember a day in my life that seemed to pass so slowly as that afternoon, my fear being that the officers would arrive before I could complete my task. The shadows fell at last; I was afraid even to let the sound of digging be heard; but with the help of a stout piece of wood and my hands I was able to complete my task only a few minutes before your return. The search-party was in the house an hour later."

"And did not the freshly-turned earth excite any suspicion?" mother asked. "Was no notice taken of it?" "Night," said Truyken, "is the time they usually choose for their deeds of darkness, for I know full well that very few of them would bear the light; but the linden trees had shed their leaves, and I took care to strew the ground pretty thickly with them."

"But the secret spring and the sliding panel in the best bedroom?" mother said, with a tremble in her voice that told me tears were not very far away. Truyken smiled as she answered, "Dear heart, Truyken knew every hole and corner in that old house long before you ever set foot inside it. More than once the Karlzons have hidden money and other valuables just where you hid your Bible and the writings of Master Martin Luther, about whom I never believed half the wicked things that were said."

"Dear, good, faithful friend," said my father, who had entered the room while Truyken was speaking, "how can we thank you as we would? But the risk to yourself was very great. Had the officers arrived only an hour earlier, and found you in the very act of trying to hide forbidden books, you would have been made their prisoner, and I do not know but that the Inquisitors might have considered it a crime worthy of being punished with death."

"Do you suppose I did not know as much?" Truyken said very quietly, "But I remembered that I had heard you read in your Bible that Christ laid down His life for His enemies, for the very people who hated Him, and wished Him to be crucified, you said it was; I only risked mine, and it was for those I loved better than my life, so small thanks to me for doing just what I chose to do.

"Well, I am glad there is no Inquisition in Holland now; it seemed to hang like a dark cloud over the land, and I believe the Roman Catholics were as heartily tired of it as the Protestants were."

We all share Truyken's gladness, for Philip of Spain is no longer ruler of the Low Countries, and with the withdrawal of the Spanish army, the terrible Inquisition went too, and a praise-song is in every heart.

Chapter 19.

Henry of Navarre.

June 1st, 1575. Several matters of business detained my dear father in Antwerp longer than he or we expected; but he came at last, bringing the recovered books which, thanks to Truyken's care in packing, have suffered very little from damp or mildew. I cannot find words to express our joy at having once more a whole Bible, larger and in better condition than the one dear old Jacob Anderzon loved and studied so well, and many of the writings of Master Martin Luther. And we may now read them openly, and in broad daylight, for Holland is free. The power of the terrible Inquisition is broken, and the haughty Philip of Spain is no longer master of the Netherlands. All that we suffered during the siege of Leyden seems but little when we think of the great joy that is now ours. No one is compelled to attend mass, and great numbers, who had not openly declared themselves on the side of the reformed faith, have given up doing so, and attend service in the Protestant churches; while hardly a week passes without some pastor, who had been obliged to fly from the country to escape arrest, being welcomed back by his old friends.

Father did not return alone, and though mother was in the secret, I did not even guess at the delightful surprise he was going to give me. He brought with him my old friend and playmate, Paul von Brook, still lame, but a tall, blue-eyed youth of eighteen. He is to be one of the first students in the University, the walls of which are rising, and our home will be his; for he has lost both parents. Soon after we left Antwerp, his father was arrested on the charge of heresy, and died in prison only a few hours before the time on which his trial before the court of the Inquisition was to have taken place. His widow, who had never been strong, drooped and died, the neighbours said from grief, in less than three months after the death of her husband. Paul was quite alone in the world, but his youth and friendlessness touched the heart of a merchant, who was, though at the time secretly, a friend to the reformed faith, and he gave Paul some light employment in his counting-house, and though more than once he himself stood in danger of arrest for having dared to give shelter to the son of a heretic, he would send Paul into the country for a few weeks, and when the storm had blown over, Paul was again at his old desk in the office.

He is more ardently attached to the reformed faith than ever, and is delighted at the prospect of being able to study under the professors who are expected to hold classes and give lectures in the University, as his great desire is to become a pastor; though sometimes I think he would have chosen the work of a colporteur, his lameness would render it almost impossible for him to take the long journeys over moors and mountains that fall to the lot of these brave and faithful men.

I must not forget to write down something else over which we all rejoice greatly. Father will remain with us in Leyden, as the prince has appointed him steward to the new University; and we are already looking forward to the time when, as we hope, in the long evenings, little knots of students will assemble in our house to read and study the word of God.

During the long and dangerous illness of the prince, father was sent as the bearer of important despatches into France, where he remained for some weeks in the suite of Prince Henry of Navarre, and learnt so much about the boyhood of the brave young nobleman, that Paul and I feel almost as if we ourselves knew and loved him. He is at present the leader of the Protestant party in France; and it is not unlikely that one day he will occupy the throne. Great things are hoped from him; but father fears that some at least of his friends will be bitterly disappointed. The young prince is a brave soldier, and has much in his natural disposition to win affection and command respect; but his desire to please, and to be on the best of terms with every one, may lead him into slippery places.

He was the third son of Antoine and Jeanne de Bourbon; the two baby princes who had preceded him had both died before reaching the age of two years; the firstborn had been given into the care of a middle-aged lady of good family, whose one great fear appears to have been that her little charge should "catch cold." Large fires were kept burning by night and day in the royal nurseries; the windows were seldom if ever opened; and even on a bright summer's day it was not thought safe to take the baby into the fresh air; so the little prince grew paler and weaker, till at last he drooped and died, like some sickly hothouse plant.

The second son might have fared better, but was killed through the carelessness of a nurse, who let him fall down a steep flight of stairs. Their grandfather, King Henry of Bearn and Navarre, was disappointed, as he began to fear there would be no male heir to his throne, so he got his daughter Jeanne, who had been married to a prince of the house of Bourbon, to promise that if she had a third son, she would allow him to have the child brought up as he thought best. So when in 1553 the infant Prince Henry was born, his grandfather claimed him when only a few hours old, and lifting him in his arms rubbed the baby's lips with a clove of garlic; then gave him a drop of wine from a golden cup, saying as he did so, "There, thou shalt be a true Bearnais." This, father says, was an old custom common in France, and supposed to make the little prince strong and healthy.

The nurse chosen for him was not a high-born lady, but a sturdy peasant woman, who was ordered by his grandfather to take him to her own home among the mountains, and bring him up as simply as she would had he been her own child. And so the little Henry of Navarre grew from a delicate baby into a bonny, healthy boy. "He had," says an old writer, "few toys, and no flattery, but his childhood was a very happy one; he was allowed to run about all day among the mountains, bareheaded and barefooted, his friends and playfellows were the peasant children around, and he shared all the fun and frolic of the village boys."

When Henry was little more than two years old, his grandfather died, and his father, under the title of King Antoine, succeeded in right of his wife to the throne of Navarre. At that time a great struggle was going on between the Roman Catholics and the Protestants, who were gaining both in numbers and influence. King Antoine was looked up to as a leader among the Huguenots, as the French Protestants are called. His wife, a lady of great ability and noble character, seemed for a time uncertain which were in the right. But if she did not grasp the truth quickly, when once received, she held it firmly, and after a time became one of the most ardent and devoted friends of the Reformation. But as the wife went forward, the husband went backward; his old Roman Catholic friends were very anxious to have him on their side, and spared neither bribes nor flattery. In the end they succeeded only too well; he first grew lukewarm, then openly went over to the Roman Catholics; he tried in every way to induce his wife, the Queen of Navarre, to go to mass with him, and when she refused tried by threats and even blows to force her to do so; but she stood firmly; for with her it was a question of loyalty to Christ.

As Henry grew older his mother was able sometimes to have him with her, and the affection between mother and son was very strong. The boy was devoted to his mother, and she not only took great pains with his education, but lost no opportunity of teaching him the truths she had learned to love.

On one occasion the boy was present when his father was trying by force to compel his wife to attend mass; he sprang to his mother's side, and tried to defend her from the cruelty of her husband. King Antoine was very angry, and commanded Henry's tutor to give him a sound whip- ping; but it did not shake the boy's loyalty to his mother. It was a sad day for both when Henry's father decided he should be sent to France, to be educated with his cousins, the Dukes of Guise. They parted with tears, and Henry promised his mother he would never forget what she had taught him, and that he would refuse to attend mass, a promise which the poor boy must have found very hard to keep; he loved his mother dearly and wished to do what would please her, but with him it was his mother's God, his mother's faith, not his own.

It was a gay, pleasure-loving court in which the young prince found himself. Every day he saw and heard things of which he knew his mother would disapprove. The young king of France, Charles IXth, was a youth of thirteen,* and his mother, the haughty and cruel Catherine de Medici, had things very much her own way. Like every one else she took a fancy to the bright, fearless little prince, of whom even his cousins found it hard to be jealous, he was so kind and generous, so ready to please and be pleased.

{* French sovereigns were considered to be of age at thirteen.}

King Antoine died in 1562, and his mother paid a visit to the French court, in the hope that her boy would be allowed to return to her and grow up under her care. But she was coldly received, and Catherine flatly refused to give the boy up, and so she had to return alone.

Soon after the Court paid a visit to Bayonne on the borders of Spain. Balls, shows and amusements of all kinds were provided, but a great deal of plotting was going on. The Queen Mother, as Catherine was called, held long interviews with the Duke of Alva. No statesmen or counsellors were present, but Henry, then a boy of eleven, was allowed to run in and out as he pleased; no one thought he would listen or understand, but he did both, for his quick ear had caught the word "Huguenots," and he knew they were his mother's people. He heard the duke say, "We must kill the heretics; kill them all. No one who has ever held that religion ought to be left alive."

These talks were the foreshadowings of the terrible massacre of St. Bartholomew's, which a few years later filled all Europe with such horror. The bright, quick-witted young prince understood enough to know that his mother and her chosen friends were in danger, for were they not all Huguenots? Going to one of the Protestant gentlemen about the court, the boy told him what he had heard; a letter of warning written in cypher was sent to the Queen of Navarre, and though the courage and presence of mind of her little son did not prevent the murder of thousands of French Protestants, there is no room for doubt that it was delayed by the Protestant leaders having been put on their guard.

Chapter 20.

The Nun of Jourre

September 17th 1575. Father only returned home a fortnight ago, after an absence of nearly three months. He has been again in close, almost daily attendance on the Prince of Orange; he

received a summons to join the prince at Heidelberg in Germany, where, for more than a year, Charlotte de Bourbon, the lady who is now Princess of Orange, has been the loved and honoured guest of more than one Protestant family. The letter father received was in the prince's own handwriting. It was, he said, only right that one who had so bravely shared with him the hardships and dangers of the battlefield should share his joy in being the accepted suitor of one who had, he believed, been trained by God in the school of sorrow, and so fitted to adorn the high position to which He has now called her. They were married on the 10th June.

The life-story of the lady William of Orange has made his wife, but who, not so very long ago, was Nun and even Abbess of Jourre, is indeed a strange and eventful one; I will write down as much of it as I can remember.

Charlotte de Bourbon was the second daughter of the Duke of Montpensier, and so nearly related to the reigning house of France. Her mother, whose eyes had been opened to see the errors of popery, was warmly attached to the reformed faith. Her father, a proud and stern man, was a Romanist; during the wars in which France was so often engaged his property had become reduced, and, as he said, he could only afford to give one of his daughters a marriage portion suitable to his rank. His choice fell upon the elder, and he determined that Charlotte should spend her life within the walls of the nunnery of Jourre, a small town in Normandy.

Charlotte had at that time no desire to become a nun, and shed many tears when informed of her father's decision; but the sorrow of her pious and gentle mother was far deeper, as it sprang from the knowledge that her much-loved child would, besides being taught many things contrary to the word of God, be surrounded by the superstitions from which she herself had been delivered. By every means in her power she tried to induce her husband to change his mind, but in vain; the only favour she could obtain was a promise that Charlotte should be allowed to remain under her care till she was thirteen years of age.

This was, she felt, her God-given opportunity, and she set herself in faith and prayer to make the best possible use of it. Spending several hours each day alone with her daughter in her private apartments, she instructed her in the truths of salvation, taking great care to store her mind and memory with passages from the word of God. Charlotte promised to try and remember all that her mother had taught her, and they often wept and prayed together. The days passed all too quickly, and the time came when Charlotte must enter the convent; her father announced his intention of himself taking her to Jourre.

The parting between mother and daughter was a very sad one; with tear-filled eyes the lady of the castle watched the departure of her beloved child. Would she ever see her again on earth? Perhaps not, for as she was well known to be a Protestant, she might be forbidden to cross the threshold of the convent, and even if allowed to enter its reception room, she could not hope to see her daughter more than once, or at the most twice a year, and could only speak to her through an iron grating, and in the presence of others; while Charlotte, she knew, would not be permitted to write or receive any letters except such as were approved by the Superior.

I do not know very much about convent life, but mother says it is a strange, gloomy system for which there is no authority in the word of God, though she believes that in many cases monks and nuns have taken the vows with a real desire to serve God. Master Martin Luther was at one time himself a monk, but finding as he did in the library of that old convent a copy of a Latin Bible, light from God shone into his soul, and he went forth in more ways than one a free man, free to speak of the One who had saved him, and to give not only the people of Germany, but father believes through them many other lands, Bibles in the language of the common people.

Nuns spend a great deal of their time repeating Latin prayers. They make a vow or solemn promise always and in all, things to obey one of their number who is chosen to rule over each house, and is called the abbess, or Lady Superior. They also take what is called "the vow of poverty," that is, that though the order to which they belong may be very rich, no nun can have anything, not even a thimble or a book of her very own, all belongs to the order.

But I am forgetting Charlotte de Bourbon and her story. Soon after entering the nunnery she became a novice, or one who intends, or is intended to become a nun. Then came the day of her profession, a day, there is little doubt, spent by her mother in tears and prayers. Her long, beautiful hair was cut off, and she was dressed, according to the rule of the order, in a loose gown of coarse serge, tied round her waist by a cord. She was required to walk barefoot, and with downcast eyes, through the stone-paved halls and passages of the convent, and had to submit to many hard and trying things.

At first she really wished and tried to remember the teachings of her pious mother, but she was very young, and every means was used to lead her to forget that salvation by faith in Christ is the free gift of God; she was told that her own sufferings were pleasing to God and were merits by which she might hope to enter heaven. At last she fell into the snare, and was one of the most zealous of the sisterhood. She fasted very often, slept at night on the stone floor of her cell, and spent many hours kneeling either before a crucifix or image of Christ upon the cross, or a picture of the Virgin Mary. She was much looked up to by the other nuns, and after some years was chosen to fill the position of Lady Abbess. Her mother had fallen asleep in Christ, and for a time her teachings seemed to have been almost, if not quite, forgotten. She really wished to set a good example to the nuns under her charge, and the nunnery of Jourre became famous throughout France.

But a mother's prayers were remembered by God, and He was about to answer them in His own time and way. No one seemed to know exactly how light came into that convent, but it came through Protestant books; they were read by the abbess, and also some of her nuns; and as she read the memory of all she had heard from her mother seemed to revive in her memory. Again she seemed to hear that loved voice pleading with God for the salvation of the child so soon to be parted from her. She saw clearly that her own so-called good works could not earn or buy salvation. She must receive it, as her mother had done, as the free gift of God. Very simply she accepted Christ as her Saviour and peace filled her soul. The life she was living as Abbess of Jourre became distasteful to her. She was not really free to worship God according to the teaching of His word, and she was, she felt, leading others in a path of error. Was there no way of escape? She prayed and waited, and in a way she did not expect God opened the doors of the convent that had become to her little better than a prison-house.

In the year 1572 the noise of war raged round that quiet convent. While many of the nuns sought the protection of their favourite saints, Charlotte de Bourbon prayed to the living God. The soldiers came nearer and nearer, calling upon the nuns to open the gates; this, however, they were afraid to do, so they were broken open, and the nuns fled in terror, spending the night in the woods. But Charlotte was free, and she resolved that all the powers of Rome should not again imprison her within convent walls. There would, she knew, be many dangers in an attempt to quit France, but she was willing to brave them all for liberty to worship God in the way she saw to be right; and the God in whom she trusted not only guided her steps, but in a remarkable way raised up friends to assist her in her flight.

Dressed as a peasant woman going to market, she fled through part of France, often walking during the hours of darkness, and hiding in the woods till after sunset; more than once she narrowly escaped being taken prisoner by a party of soldiers, who had been sent out to search for her, and before reaching the frontier she was obliged to change her disguise; but after many dangers, tired and footsore, she reached Heidelberg in Germany, where she found christian friends, who gave her a cordial welcome, and were able to protect her from the Romish priests, who were very angry that a daughter of the noble house of Bourbon, who had herself been the Lady Abbess of Jourre, should cast in her lot with the despised Protestants.

Disguises were now no longer necessary; Charlotte de Bourbon openly united with the little company of Christians who, like herself, had found a temporary asylum in the old German town, and used every opportunity of becoming better instructed in the word of God. Humble and gentle, she soon endeared herself to many; the Prince of Orange, hearing her story, became greatly interested; personal acquaintance only strengthened the high opinion he had formed of her, and he made her an offer of marriage, which she accepted; and we are all so glad that after so many stormy and sorrowful years, spent as they have been in the cause of truth and freedom, he should have a prospect of domestic happiness, for father believed that his choice had fallen upon one in every way worthy of him, and we trust that her example, both as a Christian and a wife, will be a real help to the women of the Netherlands, but perhaps most of all an encouragement to mothers wherever her story is read or told.

[I should like to add a few lines to Mayken's story, as it will, I believe, not be without interest to know that the present sovereign of Great Britain, King George V., traces his descent in a direct line from Charlotte de Bourbon, Princess of Orange. Her daughter Louisa was the wife of the Elector Palatine of the Rhine, Frederick IV., and grandmother to Sophia, Duchess of Brunswick, who was the mother of George I. of England, whose great grandson, the Duke of Kent, was the grandfather of his late Majesty King Edward VII.]

Chapter 21.

Among the Heather.

January 6th, 1580. The MS. book father gave me on my twelfth birthday was filled long ago. Its brown leather covers are faded and stained with the waves that so often threatened to swamp our little boat on the never-to-be-forgotten night when dear old Jacob Anderzon's farm was swept away by the terrible flood that followed the bursting of the dykes; more than one ink-blot disfigures its pages, but he says I am not to destroy it, as the account I have given of the siege of Leyden is really a page of the history of the "Dutch Republic," so he wishes me not to destroy it and as on New Year's morning I found a new and much larger MS. volume upon my dressing-table, I think I will begin at once to write down some of the events of the last five years, for though many changes have taken place, we, as a family, have proved again and again that "the Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him." (Nahum 1: 7.)

The Prince of Orange has proved himself worthy of the affection and confidence of the people over whom for the last five years he has ruled so well and wisely. Father, who knows him in both his public and private life, always speaks of him as a man whose one great desire appears to be to do the will of God. He cares little for worldly honours, and though he never wishes to give offence, is not easily turned from a purpose when once formed by the praise or blame of others. His marriage with Charlotte de Bourbon proved a very happy one, but his life is still a strange and stormy one; several attempts to shoot or stab him have been made, the last being nearly successful, when a ball fired at him by a would-be assassin entered his cheek, coming out in the lower jaw, and carrying away two teeth in its passage. For many weeks he lay between life and death, nursed with unwearied tenderness and devotion by his wife, who could hardly be persuaded to leave his side to take the rest she so greatly needed.

In answer, as we believe, to a nation's prayers, his life was spared, and he began, though at first very slowly, to recover; but in the midst of our rejoicings came an afterclap of sorrow; we were shocked and grieved at hearing that his faithful wife, worn out with anxiety and watching, had taken a fever, from which she was too weak to rally, and before her husband was able to resume his public duties, she calmly fell asleep in Jesus. The sorrow of the prince was very deep and lasting, but it was, he said, "the will of God," and he must not, dared not, repine.

Now I must record some of the Lord's gracious dealings with my loved home circle. Mother, my patient, gentle mother is far from strong. We think the long strain of the siege of Leyden, and the privations from which we all suffered, told greatly upon her health, for she has never seemed quite the same since; she never complains, and will not own to not being well; only last week we all noticed how pale and thin she was looking, and father pressed her to see a doctor, but she said with her old smile, "O Mark, why should I give the doctor needless trouble when there are so many sick people for him to look after? I am not ill, only tired."

I am so glad that my being still at home relieves her of nearly all the burden of household cares. She is, if possible, more unselfish than ever; and though sometimes when I look at her pale face and think how empty our home would be without her, a dull pain seems to go through my heart, I am learning, I trust, to cast even this care upon the "Burden Bearer." Truyken is still with us; she is feeling the weight of years, and is not so active as she was, even a few years ago. With all the strength of her warm, loving nature, she has turned away from Rome and its teachings; for "how," she asks, "can a tree be good whose fruit was the terrible Inquisition?" Nearly three years ago she united with the little company of Christians here; she has lost much of her old sharpness of manner, and it is encouraging to watch her growth in grace.

Father is still engaged acting for the prince as steward or secretary of the University. The number of students who attended its opening session was greater than we had even dared to hope. They came from all parts of the Netherlands, Bohemia and Germany. Several of the professors, and nearly half of the students, are openly attached to the reformed faith; and for such our house has all along been a gathering place, many happy hours having been spent in Bible study. How wonderful it seems to us to be allowed to read our Bibles openly, and even in broad daylight! we who so long read them with closed shutters, and kept them in strange hiding-places. But I must not forget my old playfellow, Paul von Brock. He decided to study medicine, for, as he said, few doors were closed to a doctor. His services would be needed alike in the castle and the cottage, and in each, he believed, God would give him opportunity of witnessing for Christ.

He worked hard, and during a four years' course of study won several college honours, and nearly two years ago sailed for Scotland, where, he said, God would give him an open door, not only in the practice of his profession, but in making known the glad tidings of the gospel among the students who thronged the Scottish capital. The seed-sowing must, we all knew, be a very quiet work, for there is no religious liberty in Scotland, and the Inquisition has a good deal of power; still, as he believed God was directing him there, we dared not urge him to stay with us.

It seems almost too good to be true, but only a few months ago I paid a visit to the land of the heather � such a happy visit! I was away from home nearly six weeks, accompanied and attended by Truyken, as it was not thought safe for me to travel alone. We were the guests of a Bohemian merchant, Herr von Velt, and his sister, the Frau Dorotha Richer. They have been such true and faithful friends to Paul, and it came about in a somewhat remarkable way.

Herr von Velt has been for some years a widower, with one little girl, Elspeth, a sweet little maiden of eight, who won my heart completely. Soon after his arrival in Edinburgh Paul was called in to attend the child, who was ill with a mild form of fever. She was very restless and appeared excited. As Paul took her hand in his to feel her pulse, she said, fixing her large, bright eyes on his face, "You will not tell me to say my prayers to the Virgin Mary, will you? Liza does, but I tell her No, I will only say them to the good Jesus, He loves the little children.'"

"The poor child is wandering; the fever was very high this morning," said her aunt, looking somewhat anxiously at the doctor. "Would to God we were all in our right minds, as this dear child now is," replied Paul. The merchant, who had been listening unobserved, now came forward, and grasping Paul's hand warmly, said, "If I mistake not, we are brothers in the faith." From that moment they were firm friends. Persecution had driven him from Bohemia; business had detained him in Scotland, and though it was dangerous to meet openly, many a little knot of Christians often met for reading and prayer after nightfall at his house, arriving and leaving singly to avoid notice. At these little gatherings Paul, with one or two of the students who were, he believed, interested in the truth, was often able to be present.

Herr von Velt had much to tell us of the sufferings of the Christians in Bohemia. I had often heard the names of John Huss, and Jerome of Prague, and though I knew that they led its noble army of martyrs, he told me their stories at far greater length than I had ever heard them, repeating the remarkable words John Huss is said to have uttered at the stake. "You may burn the goose (the name Huss means goose in the language of Bohemia), but within a hundred years God will raise up a swan you will not be able to burn."

It must have been a vision of things to come such as God sometimes grants to the dying, for though Master Martin Luther has many enemies, he still goes on with his work of preaching, writing and translating, work in which he is not alone, for God has given him a band of helpers who in Holland, England and Germany are busy translating not only the scriptures, but the writings of the Reformers, into the language of the people of these countries.

One of Paul's patients was a poor widow woman, Anne Kerr. He found her in a very poor cottage, little better than a hut, and seeing she was very ill, and hardly likely to recover, asked her if she was afraid to meet God? Almost to his surprise she replied "No," and went on to tell him that she was trusting in the precious blood of Christ. Four years ago she had heard one of God's faithful servants preach at the Market Cross; gladly she had drunk in the truth that salvation was by faith alone, and longed to know more.

But the next thing she heard was that the preacher was thrown into prison, and soon after that he had been tried by the Inquisition and sentenced to be burnt alive on the charge of heresy. She could not get near enough to hear his dying words, but she saw his calm and even cheerful bearing, and went to her poor home feeling sure that by his words God had wrought a work in her soul. She had not had courage openly to break with Rome, but when asked by the priest why she did not attend mass, replied that, being very poor, she helped to support her family by acting as a sick-nurse among her neighbours, and not knowing when her services might be called for, seldom left her cottage. When on her sick-bed, it was a source of bitter grief to her that she had not told the whole truth, and so been more faithful to Christ.

Chapter 22.

More About the Huguenots.

October 17th, 1580. Mother sometimes says we have not many bright days in Holland; that our skies are often dull and overcast for days together, and cold winds from the north bring winter early. I think she misses the glorious sunshine and the scent-laden breezes of her girlhood's home in Spain. But to me it seems as if the sun was always shining; we are so happy, not only in our family circle, but in seeing everywhere tokens of the loving-kindness of the Lord. The University is making itself a felt power for good throughout the land; the number of students who have openly confessed Christ is larger this year than it has ever been and several who have finished their studies and returned to their homes as doctors, lawyers, or pastors of Reformed Churches, are doing splendid work for the Master they love and serve. Paul writes often; his letters are always bright and cheerful, and while he does not try to hide that he is often exposed to danger from the spies and servants of the Inquisition, he rejoices in his wonderful God-given opportunities of making the glad tidings known, and thinks there are quite a little band of students (perhaps six or eight in number) who, when the test comes, as it may any day, will not be afraid to witness boldly for Christ.

Letters from our brethren and sisters in the faith who left their country and homes during the dark days when the terrible Inquisition was in power, tell of prosperity, both spiritual and temporal. Sandwich, where so many of our most skilled weavers and cloth workers have set up their looms, begins, they write, to have a very homelike look, and might easily be mistaken for a Dutch or Flemish town. Quite a colony of French silk-weavers have been encouraged by Queen Elizabeth to settle in Spitalfields, while many more are living and working at Canterbury, and are even allowed to hold their services in one part of the great cathedral, where, father says, an archbishop, Thomas a Becket, was murdered in the year 1170.

But while we are rejoicing, we must not, would not forget those who are still suffering. The French Protestants, or Huguenots as they are often called, are passing through dark and troublous times. They have little or no liberty to worship God according to the simple teaching of His word, while fresh edicts make it more and more difficult to get their living in France, and yet they are forbidden to leave the country; any found attempting to do so are to be punished, not only by fines and loss of property, but by being thrown into prison, or sent to the galleys, where, chained to thieves and murderers, they will be forced to work, some for many years, others till death sets them free.

Protestants are not allowed to hold any public office; they cannot be doctors, lawyers, or professors in the colleges; while Protestant teachers in public and private schools are to be imprisoned if they attempt to teach the children anything but reading, writing and arithmetic. Even carpenters, shoemakers and vine-dressers are to be refused employment unless they conform. Bribes, too, are freely used, but from all we hear, those who accept them are such as have never had any real love for God and His word.

Henry of Navarre will, it is thought, soon come to the throne as Henry the Fourth of France. But even those who love him best know that for a long time his professed attachment to the faith of the Bible has been wavering, and it now seems almost certain that, sooner or later, he will go over to the Roman Catholics. He is a brave soldier, and his natural disposition is kind and generous; but if he was a Protestant only to please his mother, it does not seem unlikely that he may turn Roman Catholic to please his wife's relations. Father says it will not do to act upon the faith of others, we must each have to do with God for ourselves, and I believe he is right.

Fathers and mothers in France are having a sad, anxious time; for if children, even little boys and girls of only seven years old, can be induced to enter a Roman Catholic church, or to say they wish to be Roman Catholics, the priests and nuns have power to take them away from their parents and send them to a convent school, where their parents are forced to pay for their board and education; while in some parts of France quite a number of children have been stolen from their homes, some never being heard of again, while others were discovered shut up in convents.

And yet in spite of all these cruel and unjust laws great numbers have succeeded in leaving the country. The story of some of these escapes seems really wonderful. One can only say they must have been hidden by God Himself from those who sought their hurt. Few of these stories have, I think, interested me more deeply than that of a Huguenot family who, though in comfortable circumstances, finding that there was no hope of being allowed to live quiet, peaceable lives in their own loved country, determined to leave all rather than give up their faith. They were able to conceal some money and several articles of value in quilted silk petticoats, made by the mother and her daughters; these they sent to England. They knew escape would be impossible if they remained together, so the two elder sons were the first to leave the country, and reached England in safety; there remained both parents, one daughter, a girl of sixteen, and two little boys, aged four and six years.

Some hasty preparations for their flight were made, but at the last moment the father was betrayed and taken to prison. His wife and daughter visited him in prison, when he begged them with tears to get away as quickly as possible, adding that he still hoped one day to be able to join them on English soil. That night his wife, wearing a disguise, and attended by a faithful man-servant, set out for the nearest port, which she reached in safety; there she arranged with the master of a sailing-vessel for passages for her three children and herself; the servant then went back to fetch them, while she remained hidden in the house of a friend till they could join her.

On his return the daughter dressed herself as a peasant girl going to market; her next care was to put her little brothers each into a large basket or pannier slung across the back of a donkey; after covering them up carefully with fruit and vegetables she put some poultry in a basket on the top.

The little boys had been told that whatever happened they must not speak or cry, as if they were discovered they could never hope to see either father or mother again. The servant, in the dress of a country farmer, rode on horseback a little in advance of the others. It had been arranged that he should not take any more notice of his young mistress than if she had been a perfect stranger, but he took good care not to lose sight of his charge.

They generally travelled by night, hiding in the woods during the day, but as they made only slow progress, when they got near the end of their journey they began to be afraid that the captain of the vessel would not be willing to wait longer for them, so were obliged to hurry on during the day. They were met by a party of soldiers, who stopped the donkey and asked the girl what she had in the panniers. Before she had time to reply one of them thrust his sword into the basket in which the youngest child lay concealed, but not hearing a sound, thought all was right and turning his horse's head galloped off, followed by the whole troop.

As soon as they were out of sight, with trembling hands and a quickly-beating heart the brave girl threw off the covering, half expecting to find only the dead body of her brother, but he held up his arms to her; they were covered with blood. He had received a deep sword-cut in one of them. His sister bound it up and soothed and petted him as well as circumstances would allow. That night they were with their mother. Soon after they were on board the ship in which their passages had been taken. How glad and thankful they must have been when, with all her sails set to catch the breeze, the ship was well out at sea. They reached England safely, where friends gave them a loving welcome. It is some years since this happened, but the father has not been able to join them; all they can learn about him is that he is still a prisoner.

But though many French Protestants did succeed in leaving the country, finding homes in England, Holland and Germany, great numbers failed in their attempt to reach one of the ports. Two young ladies of noble family, who, though they had grown up surrounded by all the comforts and many of the luxuries of life, decided that it was better to forsake all than to deny Christ, disguised as boys, set out in company with three Protestant gentlemen, hoping to reach the coast. Their way lay under dripping trees, along rough and broken roads, and through thick forests; still they kept bravely on for some days, but being at last so pressed by hunger that they were obliged to enter a town in the hope of being able to buy a little food, they were all arrested and taken to prison; the prison was crowded, but on finding among their fellow-prisoners several Huguenots, they wept for joy. On making their secret known to the gaoler, he removed the young ladies to a separate cell; but all that we have been able to learn about them is, that after being tried before the judges they were sent to a convent.

Chapter 23.

The Edict of Nantes.

May 1st, 1599. My birthday once more, and as my MS. book lies open before me my thoughts go back to the one father gave me when I was twelve years old, and I seem almost to see the cosy little room in our old home at Antwerp in which its first pages were written. It was quite at the top of the house, but I liked it all the better for that, as from its window, draped like the bed with curtains of snowy whiteness, the special care and pride of our good, faithful Truyken, I had a view of the river, and from quite a tiny child I loved to watch the ships, and soon learnt to know to what country they belonged by the flags that floated so proudly from their mastheads. Many changes have taken place since then; but to-day with a praise-filled heart I can say, "The Lord is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him." (Nahum 1: 7.)

Charles IX. of France, though he could have been little but a tool in the hands of his mother at the time of the massacre of St. Bartholomew, only outlived it by about two years. Sleeping or waking, its terrible memories seemed to haunt him; he grew pale, haggard and miserable. Attacked by a painful and incurable disease, he was attended by a Huguenot doctor and nurse; he would often wake from an uneasy sleep, exclaiming that he heard dreadful cries, and would insist upon his attendants going out to see that his subjects were not rising against him. When on their return he was assured that all was quiet, he cried out: "Oh, why was I so led astray? What shall I do? What will be the end of all this? I am utterly lost! I see it now it is too late!" He died, calling upon God for forgiveness, but without one gleam of hope or comfort.

The vacant throne was filled by the king's brother, the Duke of Anjou, who took the title of Henry III. He disliked all state business, grew angry if he was asked to attend to the affairs of his kingdom, and spent most of his time playing with an ivory cup and ball, or teaching his pet dogs to perform tricks; but as he thought himself a good Catholic, he would now and then ride at the head of a procession in honour of some so-called saint. When he appeared in public it must have required all the politeness for which the French as a nation are noted to prevent his subjects from laughing at his ridiculous appearance: his face was painted red and white, his hair powdered, and he usually wore a black satin bodice trimmed with costly white lace.

Like all his family, he hated the Huguenots, and ordered fresh edicts of persecution to be issued against them; but the King of Navarre raised an army and came to their help; about the same time the Catholics, who knew that Henry of Navarre was the next heir to the throne, and were resolved that they would not have a Protestant ruler, banded themselves together to form what they called "The Holy Catholic League," but as they were very much disliked and tried to injure all Huguenots, we think the word "holy" is quite out of place.

Several battles were fought between the soldiers of Henry of Navarre and those of the League, the latter being under the command of the Duke of Guise, who was very popular among the Romanists. The weak and foolish king sometimes took sides with one party, sometimes with the other, the result being, as he might have foreseen, that he was trusted by neither.

After one of these battles the king invited the Duke of Guise to visit him. Father says that a royal invitation is a royal command, so of course he went; he had no sooner entered the palace than the gates were barred behind him; the duke entered one of the state rooms and stood by the fire, waiting till he was sent for by the king. At last the summons came, and as he drew back the hangings which covered the door to answer it, he was met by forty-five men with daggers, who stabbed him; he fell covered with wounds. On hearing that he was dead, the king entered the room and spurned the lifeless body with his foot, in just the same way in which the duke had treated that of the murdered Admiral Coligny. Hearing of this brought the Lord's words, "With what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again" (Matt. 7: 1), vividly to my mind.

About eight months after the death of the duke, Henry III. was prevailed upon to lead his soldiers to the field. One day a monk entered the camp and, on telling the guard that he was the bearer of such important news that he must have a private interview with the king, was conducted to the royal tent. He handed the king a letter, and while he was quietly reading it, stabbed him with a knife. Hearing his cries, the guard rushed in, but too late to save the king's life. The monk met death calmly, and was afterwards placed on the list of Romish saints by the Pope, who said that by killing the king he had rendered a great service, not only to the Catholic church, but to the world.

Though Henry of Navarre was the rightful heir to the throne, he was not allowed to take peaceable possession of it. The League bitterly opposed him, and two great battles were fought, in both of which Henry's troops were victorious, the most brilliant being that of Ivry.

Just before it took place Henry of Navarre bound a snow-white plume in his helmet, and addressing his soldiers said, "Comrades, if our standard-bearer falls, do not lose sight of my white plume; you may find it in the thickest of the fight, but it shall lead you in the path of honour, and I hope of victory also." The troops replied with a ringing cheer, and fought with more than usual bravery. The ranks of the League were broken and fled in confusion. Henry shewed a noble and generous spirit towards his conquered foes, and soon after was publicly crowned under the title of Henry IV. of France.

He was no sooner firmly seated on the throne than what many had long expected took place. On Sunday, July 25th, 1593, in the church of St. Denis, he made a public profession of the Roman Catholic faith. Before doing so he was heard to say, "I shall make a somersault on Sunday, but my kingdom is worth a mass." If he expected by so doing to gain the goodwill of the Catholic party, he must have been disappointed on finding that he had as many enemies among them as before.

But I must not forget one act of his reign for which we are all deeply thankful, the passing of a wise and just law known as "The Edict of Nantes," by which protection and a large measure of liberty is granted to his Protestant subjects. They are now free to worship God according to the simple teaching of His word. Many public offices are now open to them, and their children are to be admitted to schools and colleges; any one wishing to employ them as workmen or servants is quite free to do so; and we hope that brighter days are in store for those who have already suffered so much for Christ's sake and the gospel's.

The edict only became law on February 25th, 1599, and though we hear that in many towns and villages where the Catholic influence is strong the priests and councillors are doing all they can to prevent its being carried out, many workmen, mostly silk-weavers and vine-dressers who had left their homes during the dark days of which I have previously written, have returned already. Trade is in a more flourishing state than it has been for many years past, and hardly a week passes without some pastor of a little company of Christians being welcomed home by the friends who love him and have long mourned his absence.

Henry shews a real care for the well-being of his subjects. He is a wise and able ruler. He has often been heard to say, "I will so manage the affairs of my kingdom that the poorest peasant may have meat every week-day, and a fowl to put in the pot on Sunday." More than one attempt has been made upon his life by the Jesuits, who cannot forgive him for the bold stand he once took as the friend and helper of the sorely oppressed Protestants; but so far he has escaped, and as it is long since France has known so much of peace and prosperity, we hope he may long be spared, and pray, "God save King Henry of France and Navarre."

Chapter 24.

A Great Sorrow.

December 31st, 1599. My MS. book has been neglected for many months past; not from the want of something to write about, but just because I had no heart to write. Throughout the Netherlands the days, or at least most of them, have been dark and gloomy. As the news, which seemed so terrible that at first we almost refused to believe the report, that William, Prince of Orange, had fallen by the hand of an assassin, spread from town to town, from village to village, rich and poor, high and low, wept as children might weep who had lost a wise and loving father. We did not even try to comfort each other, for what with surprise and sorrow we had no comfort to give.

Five previous attempts on his life had been made; once, as I have already recorded, he had lain for weeks hovering between life and death. He had through the good hand of God escaped so many dangers, and had never seemed to be more greatly needed than at the moment of his death, that we never thought such a sad ending to the story of his brave and useful life would one day have to be written.

Father often said of him that he had never known a man whose life appeared to be more governed by one desire, "to do the will of God," and though we cannot understand why God allowed his enemies to triumph, we bow to the stroke, and own how little of God's purposes we really comprehend; but we are sure, quite sure, that He is wise and good and loving, for "Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him." (Ps. 103: 13.) Perhaps some day, in the clear light of eternity, many things that perplex us now will be made plain; till then, we will "trust and not be afraid."

But I must try to recall how it all happened. About two years after the death of his dearly-loved wife, Charlotte de Bourbon, the prince married Louisa, the widowed daughter of the French Admiral Coligny. She, too, had known sorrow. "Black Bartholomew," as it is often called now, must have been a day of sad and painful memories to her, as both her father, and her first husband were among those killed. She, too, proved herself an affectionate and devoted wife, and their union, though not of long duration, appears to have been a happy one.

Well and wisely as William ruled over the Netherlands, he had many bitter enemies among the Roman Catholics, who never forgave him for the bold stand he had taken for truth and liberty. He was by no means ignorant of their feelings towards him, but leaving himself in the hands of God quietly went on with his many public duties. Those who sought his life, at last accomplished by cunning and deception what they had failed to do by force.

A young man, whose name I do not care to record, for it does not deserve to be remembered, obtained several interviews with the prince; he professed to be the son of a martyr, always carried a large hymn book under his arm, and talked loudly of his zeal for the reformed faith; but he was really an agent of the priests, from whom he had received instructions to take the life of William of Orange, and made himself as far as possible acquainted with the home life and habits of the prince. He knew there was no small degree of risk in the attempt, but the priests had not only given him absolution, or, in other words, a full and free pardon for the crime he intended to commit, but had assured him that by killing William he would render a great service not only to the Roman Catholics but to the world. If he could escape, a rich reward was promised him, but if not, his family would receive a pension, and a patent of nobility.

The opportunity came at last for which the assassin had for some time waited. On that day the prince dined with his family, and appeared more than usually cheerful. As he rose to leave the table his wife called his attention to a dark figure muffled in a cloak, who stood in a recess near. The prince replied, "Oh, it is only some one who has a petition to present," and began to ascend the stairs leading to his private apartments. He had only taken two steps when the assassin followed and stabbed him.

He fell, mortally wounded, and expired shortly afterwards. The assassin was not suffered to escape.

There is not a single blank page or even a spare line in my MS. book, and there is no need that I should begin another. The children of bygone years are the men and women of today; a new generation is growing up round me, and I can only hope and pray that the story of the dark days in which all the power of the inquisition was used to oppress and crush the followers of Christ (many in both Spain and Holland who, though weak in themselves, had learnt the blessed secret of simple faith in a risen living Saviour were "out of weakness made strong," and cheerfully, often joyfully, laid down their lives rather than deny their Lord) will help the boys and girls who read it to value their Bibles more than they have ever done.

STEM Publishing : For the Young : Wycliffe's Work for England

Wycliffe's Work for England

L. Laurenson

Contents

1 The Most Interesting Book in the World

2 Rome: Mediaeval and Modern

3 Conversion and Conflict

4 Wycliffe and the National Opposition

5 Wycliffe and the Bishops

6 The "Poor Priests".

7 More about the "Poor Priests"

8 Rome attempts to extinguish the light

9 The Wonder of the Book

10 The Oldest Book in the World

11 The Early Christian Centuries

12 The Rise of the Papacy

13 Christianity in Early Britain

14 The First English Bible

Chapter 1

The Most Interesting Book in the World

What is the most interesting book in all the world? Perhaps different people would give different answers to this question. Boys might think of books describing the lives and actions of great men in history: the battles they fought, the brave deeds they did, and the wonderful things they accomplished. And girls might think of the life-story of some noble woman, less prominent on the world's stage but equally brave, and perhaps more useful and helpful to those with whom she came in contact.

But while such books are both interesting and helpful, yet there is ONE BOOK that far surpasses all others, not only as a book of history and narrative, but in every other way. That book is THE BIBLE.

In it are found stories of the very earliest times. The first of all stories and the most wonderful of all stories is found in the first Chapter of Genesis. There we read how God, in six days, prepared this world to be the habitation of men, providing for their use, with gracious care, every tree pleasant to the sight and good for food. Then, when our first parents had sinned and brought ruin and death into the fair scene, God in wonderful grace gave them the promise of a SAVIOUR.

Moreover, we know from the Bible that God will again prepare a new Heaven and a NEW EARTH wherein righteousness will dwell and into which sin cannot enter. Between the accounts of these two most wonderful events we find other stories of great and good men, brave and strong men, wise and noble men; of gentle and loving women, faithful and true women, kind and useful women.

All these stories of men and women who have lived for God are recorded for our example, for only those who are really good can ever be truly great.

But that which makes the Bible the book of supreme interest is that in it we find the wonderful STORY OF LOVE — the story of the Life and Death, the Resurrection, and Ascension to Heaven of our Lord Jesus Christ. All who know the Saviour love the Bible, for everything in it, in some way or other, speaks of Him. The Bible thus becomes to them a very precious possession. H. M. Stanley, the great explorer, when he set out to find Livingstone, took with him one hundred books to read while on his journey. As the difficulties of the march increased, and the loads of the carriers had to be lightened, everything not strictly necessary had to be thrown away. One by one the books followed, until ninety-nine out of the hundred had been left in the swamps of Central Africa, and only ONE remained. Which book do you think that was? It was the Bible. Stanley had selected the hundred most interesting books, but he found that the most interesting of all the hundred was the Word of God.

In our days Bibles are so common and so easily procured that we are apt to think that they have always been so. And while we are deeply thankful for an open Bible in our Protestant land, yet we do well to remember that England has not always been a Protestant country, and the following pages are an endeavour to trace how the Scriptures came to us, and what a noble Englishman did and suffered in order that we might be able to read the Scriptures in our own language.

We shall have much to say in the following pages about the "Church of Rome"; therefore it will be well to remember that the Papacy was only a sect which broke off from the early Church, and introduced a great many unscriptural doctrines and practices in total contradiction to the teaching of the Lord Jesus and His Apostles.

The early centuries of the Christian dispensation were ages of marked intellectual ability. The great names that are mentioned in history confirm this. Tertullian in the second century wrote his famous Apology. Origen manifested his zeal and learning by editing the celebrated Hexapla edition of the Holy Scriptures. Jerome translated the Old Testament from the Hebrew, and the New Testament from the Greek originals into the Latin, then the language of the West. John, called Chrysostom, or the "golden mouthed," was the greatest preacher of his time. Augustine was the greatest teacher. Many others might be mentioned who were not only familiar with the Scriptures but did everything they could to make their contents known to others.

But when the bishop of Rome adopted the blasphemous title of Vicar of Christ and became a temporal sovereign, all this was changed. Rome's motto then became, "We do not want learned men, we want submissive subjects," and of course the more ignorant the subjects were, the more submissive they became.

Private confession to the priests of Rome has been called the foundation stone of popery, and this "stone" was laid as early as the fifth century by Leo I. With audacious blasphemy, priests of Rome, sinful men themselves, and ofttimes both ignorant and wicked, were supposed to be able to "forgive sins." Succeeding popes followed this policy because it increased their revenues, and these men, though living always in luxury, and ofttimes in idleness and vice, were ever on the outlook for fresh fields over which to extend both their temporal and spiritual sovereignty.

Cardinals, archbishops, bishops, and all the multifarious hierarchy of popedom were appointed by the Pope on condition that he was well paid for doing so. These men were under his power, and, even among the sovereigns of the nations, few were found that dared to disobey him.

Every effort was made to keep the people in ignorance and darkness, and at the same time everything that Rome supplied had to be bought with money. One has well said, "Not an article was there in her creed, not a ceremony in her worship, not a department in her government that did not tend to advance her power and increase her gains. Her dogmas, rites, and orders were so many pretexts for extorting money. Images, purgatory, relics, indulgences, pilgrimages, jubilees, canonisations, miracles, and masses were but taxes under another name, so many drains for conveying the substance of the nations to Rome."

A "pall for an archbishop" cost from £1,000 to £10,000, and every new "saint" that was canonised cost the country of his birth 10,000 crowns. "Truly," says another, "Rome takes your gold and gives you nothing in return but words."

In short, nothing could be got from Rome without money, and nearly everything for it

These years are known in history as the "Dark Ages," and one reason among others for this prevailing darkness was the fact that the settled policy of Rome was then, and is yet, to keep the Bible from the people.

And we can well understand why she did so, for in the Scriptures there is the light of Truth which exposes and condemns all the false pretences of the Apostate Church. The people had been taught that there was a series of priests, popes, and "saints" between them and God. From the Bible they would learn that there is One Mediator — the Man Christ Jesus. Rome taught that pardon was to be purchased by paying her priests to say "masses." The Scriptures declare that "we have redemption THROUGH HIS BLOOD, the forgiveness of sins according to the riches of His grace" (Eph. 1: 7), and that "BY HIM all that believe are justified from all things from which they could not be justified by the law of Moses" (Acts 13: 39).

Rome may well fear an open Bible. The power of the priest is at an end when we learn the pardoning love of a Saviour God through virtue of the finished work of Christ at Calvary. For about nine hundred years from the time that the monk Augustine, in 597, landed with his forty followers, England was more or less under the power of the Pope. Augustine thought that "faith and holiness were less essential to the Church than authority and power, and that its work was not so much to save souls as to collect all the human race under the authority of Rome." This man's character has been summed up as a mixture of ambition, superstition, and zeal. As soon as he got a footing for himself and his attendant monks he began his work of aggression against the British Christians, and he and his successors did not rest until the papal supremacy was established all over the land.

And this is just the attitude of Rome to-day. Her age-long motto is "Semper eadem" (ever the same), and she is working harder to-day than ever before to recapture England. Monasteries and nunneries are more numerous in our land to-day than they were before the Reformation. Priests and Jesuits enter in ever-increasing numbers, and each and all are doing their utmost to overthrow the good work of the Reformation. Romanists are active and awake; Protestants are in many cases half-hearted and asleep.

Chapter 2

"Rome": Medieval and Modern

Carry your mind back for just over six hundred years. It is the year 1324, and at that time was born a man who in the good providence of God did much to deliver England from the thraldom into which she had fallen, both socially and religiously. That man was John Wycliffe. And the England of the fourteenth century was a very different country from what it is to-day. The population numbered only about three millions, and fully one-third of these were slaves or serfs (villeins), who cultivated the ground for the lords of the manor, and were bought and sold with the land whenever it changed owners.

Edward II. was reigning, but his feeble career was drawing to a close. During his reign the nation had lost much of the power and prestige it had acquired under his warlike father. He had applied to the Pope for at the Pope's "shop" you could purchase anything — for "a box of ointment to make him brave" before he set out to conquer Scotland. But in spite of, or because of his "box of ointment," his Scottish wars ended disastrously. He lost both his battles and his courage, and perhaps his "box" as well, and fled back to England to save his life. Then his struggles with the barons further added to his unpopularity. We read of misery and sickness caused by poor harvests. "The dead bodies of the peasants were found by the roadsides. The dead in cities were buried in trenches; the gaols were full of thieves; people were driven to eat the flesh of dogs and horses and even of children."

Amidst all this misery we get a glimpse of some wise men who could make good laws. It was enacted that "less grain be made into beer and more into bread." Our land would be all the better were this ancient policy in force to-day.

But as usual, while the common people suffered so sorely the upper classes were living in luxury, and most of all the monks and friars who were "at no period so splendid in their equipages and households." Again, we read of a "dole" of bread being given out at a rich man's funeral in London, and so great was the need of the starving poor that over fifty people, old and young, were crushed to death in their efforts to secure a portion.

London had already become the headquarters of all the colours of the begging friars. Whatever the good intentions of their founders may have been, corruption and decay soon set in among their followers. They rapidly fell into the besetting sin of everything connected with Rome, and began to "add house to house and field to field."

The Dominicans reached England about 1220 and settled in Holborn. Though vowed to poverty, they soon were able to put up a convent, the most splendid in London. The Franciscans followed a few years later and settled at Cornhill. Within twenty years their brotherhood numbered eighty friars, and a church and convent was built by them far surpassing in splendour those of their rivals.

Following hard upon the Franciscans came the Carmelites in 1240, and still another of the begging orders — the Austin friars — arrived in 1253. Like a cloud of locusts they covered the land, licking up every green thing, so that it was reckoned that in the time of Wycliffe nearly one-third of the nation's wealth belonged to the Church of Rome. These men were directly responsible to the Pope, and were known as the regular clergy in distinction to the parish priests, who were the secular clergy and were under the rule of the bishops.

It is interesting to hear Wycliffe's opinion of these "holy beggars" in his own times, when they had further increased both their wealth and their begging effrontery. From the initials of their names he formed a word which we should call an acrostic — "CAIM." The Carmelites supplied the first letter, the Austins, the Jacobins (or Dominicans), and the Minorites (or Franciscans) completed the fanciful idea. This word he connected with Cain who slew his brother, and he found many analogies wherewith to make vigorous and trenchant exposures of their hypocrisy, greed, and evil deeds. Their so-called poverty, he says, is nothing but a lie, for it is based on the lust for wealth and robbery, and is really an inspiration of the devil.

He shows us also how their practice of entering the parishes of the secular clergy and persuading the people to "confess" to them, led to a fearful increase of licentiousness and sin. "For thus did they whisper to one another, 'Let us follow our pleasures: some friar whom we never saw before and may never see again may come this way. When we have had our will we can confess to him without trouble.'"

Is the system of Rome any better to-day? The poor deluded votary goes to "Confession" and thinks he can procure forgiveness from a "priest," then being "absolved" he is free to go on again in his course of evil.

We can thus see how this unscriptural system sears the conscience, belittles sin, and blinds the mind to the holiness of God who has appointed a day in which HE WILL JUDGE the world in righteousness by that Man whom He hath ordained, whereof He hath given assurance unto all men in that He hath raised Him from the dead.

Thank God, the Lord Jesus Christ to-day is a SAVIOUR, and this is the Day of Salvation. The day is fast approaching when He will take the place of a Judge and then the Day of Salvation will be over.

Chapter 3.

Conversion and Conflict

Let us now return to the early days of Wycliffe, and see how he was prepared for his great work of reformer before the Reformation.

As we have seen, he was born in a Yorkshire village in 1324, where his family had been lords of the manor since the Conquest. No records of his childhood or youth have come down to us; so we cannot tell how his boyhood days were spent, but, as youth is the formative period of life, we may conclude from what we know of his later years that he made the best of whatever opportunities he had.

Character is built up step by step. Single actions repeated, form habits, and habits form character. At an early age his parents sent him to Oxford. In those days boys of fifteen years of age were entered as students, so it is likely that Wycliffe began his career at Oxford about the year 1340.

His habits of diligence and application served him well at the University, for even his enemies bear witness to his proficiency and abilities. One of his bitterest opponents says, "He came to be reckoned inferior to none of his time in philosophy, and incomparable in the performance of school exercises, a man of profound wit, and very strong and powerful in disputation, and who was by the common sort of divines esteemed little less than a god." In later years, after he had taken his degree of doctor of divinity, he came to be known as the "Evangelical Doctor," and he required all his "profound wit," learning, and ability to meet the assaults of his enemies. Doubtless, in the providence of God, he was being prepared in those early years for the service he would be called upon to perform in later life.

So the early years of his scholastic life passed on, and while he was still a young man an event happened — the most important event in the life of any man — Wycliffe was converted to God. About this time Europe was visited by the dreadful pestilence known in history as the "Black Death." Such an awful scourge may well have brought all thinking men to face seriously the issues of life, death, and eternity. Many were led to true repentance towards God. Many others became callously indifferent to all the sorrow and suffering around, or saw in it only the means of enriching themselves at the expense of others. Crossing from Asia to Constantinople, then to Italy, its ravages swept away half of the population. The filthy condition of European cities in those days provided a fruitful soil for contagion, and all suffered alike. It has been estimated that in Europe 25,000,000 human beings perished, though this number is no doubt greatly exaggerated. London had a comparatively small population, but 100,000 of its citizens died. Huge pits were dug to hold the bodies. Rivers were "consecrated" by the priests for the same purpose. Everywhere death stared men in the face. Even ships at sea were attacked, and when all their crews had died, drifted aimlessly until stranded on some shore to spread still further the infection.

In the midst of this convulsion of society the young and learned Oxford student was driven to study the Scriptures, and, like Luther later, in them he found the words of eternal life. At this time he wrote his Commentary on the Apocalypse. With other pious men of his time, he seemed to think that the dreadful woes overspreading the earth, coupled with the moral and spiritual corruption of the Church, pointed to the time of tribulation spoken of in the Apocalypse.

Now we know that this was not so, but Wycliffe used the circumstance as a call to the unconverted, and from this time we can trace his closer application to its study. When in later years he became a professor or lecturer to Oxford students he insisted on the authority of the Scriptures.

It has been said that pagan Greece or Rome never had so many "Gods" and "Goddesses" as had the Roman Catholic Church of the Middle Ages. Wycliffe had learned much when he boldly announced that "Whosoever entreats a 'saint' should direct his prayer to Christ as God, not to the saint but to Christ. Nor does the celebration or festival of a saint avail anything, except so far as it may tend to the magnifying of Christ. Hence not a few think that it would be well for the Church if all festivals of that nature were abolished. For the Scriptures assure us that Christ is the mediator between God and man. Hence many are of opinion that when prayer was directed only to Him for spiritual help the Church was more flourishing than it is now, when many new intercessors have been found out and introduced."

Words like these were something new to men of that time, but they were also true, and truth was not wanted by the priestly authorities. When warned of his danger Wycliffe replied: "I have learned from experience the truth of what you say. The chief cause beyond doubt of the existing state of things is our want of faith in Holy Scripture. We do not sincerely believe in the Lord Jesus Christ or we should abide by the authority of His word . . . which is of greater weight than any other. . . . It is His pleasure that the books of the Old and New Law (Old and New Testaments) should be both read and studied, and that men should not be taken up with other books, which, true as they may be, and containing even Scripture truth, are not to be confided in without caution and limitation. If we follow this rule the Scriptures will be held in becoming reverence. The papal Bulls will be superseded as they ought to be."

These were bold words to speak in 1372 and were enough if reported to Pope Gregory XI. at Avignon to cause the poor man to gnash his teeth.

That Wycliffe recognised what they might entail we learn from another sermon: "For the believer," says he, "in maintaining the law of Christ should be prepared as His soldier to endure all things at the hands of the satraps of this world; declaring boldly to pope and cardinals, to bishops and prelates how unjustly, according to the teaching of the Gospel, they serve God in their offices; subjecting those committed to their care to great injury and peril, such as must bring on them a speedy destruction one way or another. All this applies indeed to temporal lords, but not in so great a degree as to the clergy, for as the abomination begins with a perverted clergy, so the consolation begins with a converted clergy. Hence we Christians need not visit pagans to convert them by enduring martyrdom on their behalf, we have only to declare with constancy the law of God before Caesarian prelates, and straightway the flower of martyrdom will be at hand."

Loving the book with all the depth of his powerful nature and finding in it truth to meet the conscience and satisfy the heart, he determined to translate it into the common language of the people, so that all might hear the word and understand the message.

But this, he felt, would be a matter of time, and while it was important to translate the Scriptures, his busy mind formed another plan for spreading the truth until his great work of Bible translation could be accomplished.

This plan was no less than to send out men whom we should now call home missionaries, who, travelling from town to town and village to village, would preach to the people in simple language the Gospel of God's free Salvation through the finished work of the Lord Jesus Christ.

These men came to be known as Wycliffe's "Poor Priests," and we shall learn more about them in a later chapter.

Chapter 4.

Wycliffe and the National Opposition

So far we have been tracing the history of our Reformer in his work and teaching at Oxford. But events happened about this time which brought him forward in a more public capacity as a champion of national freedom against the usurpation of Rome in the State. Other men had done so before Wycliffe, but he did not stop here; he saw that the Pope's usurped control over the consciences of men was a worse thing than control over their bodies and goods, and so he set himself to oppose both.

To trace the course of these events we must turn back in history for over one hundred years to the time of King John, who, as we all know, had yielded up England and Ireland "to St Peter, St Paul, and Pope Innocent III." John abjectly laid his crown at the feet of the haughty Pandulf, the Pope's legate, who is said to have kicked it and rolled it in the dust of the muddy floor as a worthless bauble. However, he very condescendingly allowed the humbled John to resume it on condition that he would pay the Pope £666. 13s. 4d. per annum and also become his vassal.

This payment had been very irregularly made, and since the majority of Edward III. it had been entirely discontinued. Suddenly Pope Urban V. in 1365 sent in a claim not only for the annual amount, but also for all the accumulated arrears. The papal Court has been famous at all times for its love of money, but at this time the Pope could not help himself. It was the period of the "Babylonish Captivity," when the papal Court had been transferred from Rome to Avignon, and was therefore under the power of France. Charles the Wise of France hoping to humble Edward the Warrior of England had forced the Pope's hand. This situation gave Wycliffe his opportunity and produced events the benefits of which we are reaping to-day.

But Edward III. was no weakling, as was King John. The man who had humbled France at Crecy and Poitiers, and who at that very moment was titular monarch of one-third of its soil was little likely to yield to the insolent demands of Urban, who was but a tool in the hands of Edward's enemy. So Edward wisely said "No," and summoned his Parliament to support him.

The Commons complained that the Church drew five times more money from the nation than did the King's exchequer. Moreover, they were not afraid to criticise the morals of "His holiness," and these were certainly open to criticism, for at this time the Papacy had probably reached its lowest stage of corruption, degradation, and debauchery. At Avignon benefices in every part of Europe were openly put up for sale and handed over to the highest bidder. The purchaser in turn squeezed out of his parish not only enough to repay his outlay, but sufficient to allow him to imitate the luxury of his superiors. So the Commons of even Roman Catholic England might well complain of the simony and corruption of Avignon.

All these evils were coming to a head when it pleased God to raise up His servant Wycliffe to oppose them. At this time he was a King's Chaplain, and his principles influenced both King and Parliament. The prelates were in an unfortunate position. They had either to become traitors to the Pope or traitors to the King. If they disobeyed the Pope they risked their spiritual dignities. If they disobeyed the King they risked their worldly possessions. They were wise in their generation, and submitted to the power nearest at hand.

"With the other dukes, earls, barons, and great men" they answered that neither King John nor anybody else could give away his kingdom and his people without their consent.

But though the prelates had betrayed the interests of their master the Pope, the friars were not so disposed to yield. They declared that, according to the Canon Law, the King, having defied the Pope, ought to be deposed. Then the question arose, what did the Canon Law say, and the Oxford professor was at once appealed to.

But Wycliffe neatly turned the tables on the friars by declaring that the point was not what saith the Canon Law? but WHAT SAITH THE SCRIPTURES? It was language new to the men of that age. "Canon Law," said he, "is of no power when it is opposed to the Word of God."

But God had more important work for Wycliffe than worldly politics. His lectures to his students were those of one "having authority." Other masters taught from the Sentences of Peter Lombard, which Sentences, as their name implies, were a collection of aphorisms compiled from the works of Augustine and other of the early "Fathers" on various points of Christian doctrine. But Wycliffe went direct to his Latin Bible and showed his hearers that in the Word of God there was not only the way of life, but the rule of life, and that both flatly contradicted the doctrines of Rome.

It was about this time no doubt that he began to gather around him many of those friends who became light bearers all over England in later years, and who helped to spread the truth and light God was graciously revealing to the people.

How thankful we should be that, although wicked men, led on by Satan, have often attempted to suppress both truth and light, they have never quite succeeded. Such attempts were made later in the time of Henry VIII. who "broke with the Pope" only to set himself in the Pope's place and measure out, if that were possible, equal cruelties against the saints of God. Again, the Queen who has earned the unenviable title of "Bloody Mary," became an abject slave of the Papacy, and by its instructions condemned to the awful death of fire three hundred of the best men and women in. England. The haughty prelates of the Church of England, at the Restoration, thought themselves vastly in advance of papal Rome, yet they continued the old persecuting spirit and brought in oppression, both sustained and severe, against the Puritans, who were the most godly people in the nation at that time. On Black Bartholomew's day (24th August 1662) over two thousand ministers were ejected from their parishes for refusing to accept the Act of Uniformity, and were "left without house or bread, their people unable to help them and not daring to do so even where they could." Mr Jeremy White compiled a list of 6o,000 persons who between the Restoration in 1660 and the Revolution in 1688 had suffered on account of their religion, 5,000 of whom died in prison. In Scotland during the same period some 28,000 lost their lives under the persecuting monarchs, Charles II. and James II.

The same principles are at work to-day, for Rome never changes. In our country she cannot appear in her true colours just yet, but she has been steadily working ever since the Reformation to undo that great work. The way to defeat the works of darkness is to spread truth and light. Is a candle brought to be put under a bushel or under a bed and not to be set on a candlestick? It is the duty and privilege of all who have the light to "let their light shine."

From exposing the wicked practices of Rome Wycliffe was led on to denounce her evil doctrines, and while the first offence might be ignored, the second must be dealt with and punished without mercy.

We shall see in our next chapter what means Rome adopted to do so and how far she succeeded.

Chapter 5.

Wycliffe and the Bishops

We noticed in a previous chapter that our Reformer was now devoting himself more and more to the study of Scripture, and it was by this means that he was able to deal those resounding blows to the Papacy, the echoes of which reached to Rome itself. So the Pope issued a Bull enjoining the English clergy to crush "this formidable heresy," for such the plain teaching of Scripture was called. The priests needed little incentive.

Courtney, the Bishop of London, "a proud and fierce man," energetic in all he undertook, and "possessed in full the violent manner and overbearing temper of a great noble," roused up the meek old Archbishop Sudbury to persecute the Reformer. "By the report of persons truly worthy of credit," says the papal missive, "it hath become known to us that John Wycliffe, Professor of Divinity, or more properly, a Master of Error, hath proceeded to a degree of madness so detestable as not to fear to assert . . and teach propositions, the most false and erroneous, contrary to the faith, and tending to weaken and subvert the whole Church." As every reader may see, Wycliffe is here falsely accused of doing what the popes for nearly one thousand years had been really doing. They were the men who had laboured to teach and enforce by fire and fagot "propositions, the most false and erroneous," and utterly subversive of the truth of the New Testament.

But with the true spirit of popery the epistle goes on to say, that "means be taken with the said John Wycliffe to commit him to prison and retain him in sure custody."

Sudbury seems to have been a quiet, peaceable old man, more interested in collecting his revenues than in caring for the good of his people, as the people remembered against him in the day of his extremity. His own friends accused him of allowing the "evils" of Wycliffism to go on till it was too late to arrest them. "Too late the bishops roused up their father the arch-bishop, as one from a deep sleep . . . or rather as a hireling drunk with the poison of avarice, to recall the wandering sheep from feeding on the food of perdition, to give him to the keeper of the sheep for cure, or, if need be, for the knife." The last three words express papal policy in short and forcible language.

The "proud and fierce" Courtney cited the "wandering sheep" to appear before "the hireling drunk with the poison of avarice." Poor Sudbury! We could wish that his friends had given him a better character to hand down to posterity, for next time we see him he is deserving of all respect.

Four short years afterwards he had to take refuge in the Tower of London in hopes to escape from the rebels during the Peasants' Revolt. With the mob raging round the doors he calmly celebrated the Lord's Supper, preparing both himself and his fellow-prisoner — the Treasurer Hales — for death. Then, when the ruffian crowd burst in, the brave old man quietly accompanied them across the moat to Tower Hill, there meekly laid down his grey head upon the block, and so finished his course for good or evil.

Meantime Courtney took charge of the proceedings against Wycliffe. He had been cited and he did not fail to appear. "His right hand is raised, clutching his tall white staff. His clothing consists of a dark simple robe, belted about the waist, and dropping in folds to the feet; while above that grey and flowing beard you see a set of features which speak throughout of nobleness, and which a man might do well to travel far even to look upon."

With Wycliffe came his serving man carrying his books, and especially THE BOOK, for he knew that the strongest weapon in the battle of truth was the Sword of the Spirit. But with Wycliffe came two powerful friends. The one was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster, and the other was Lord Percy, Earl Marshal of England.

An immense crowd thronged the approaches to St Paul's Cathedral. Insults were offered to the old man by some of the ruffian mob, and loud hootings by the partisans of the priests filled the building when he appeared. Courtney ordered that the prisoner should stand to hear his indictment read. Percy ordered him to sit. "You have much to reply to and need a soft seat," said he to Wycliffe. Courtney insisted. The Duke lost his temper and abused the priest, "muttering in his beard that he would drag the bishop out of the church by the hair of his head." Others of the mob now broke in, and a wild melee took place between the citizens and the soldier guards of the noblemen. The assembly broke up in confusion "before nine o'clock," Wycliffe being the most unmoved person in it. What he thought or said we do not know. But next year a new set of papal Bulls arrived from Rome. Three were addressed to the priests, one to the King, and another to the University of Oxford.

It is interesting to look over the shoulders of the writer and see what Gregory XI. thinks of the man about whom he has taken the trouble to write five letters. He is both "surprised and indignant" that the heads of the University, "notwithstanding all the privileges granted to them by the See of Rome, had, through sloth and negligence, allowed tares to spring up among their wheat." Then he seems to have quite forgotten that the Lord Jesus said in the same Scripture from which he quoted (Matt. 13), "Let both grow together till the harvest," for he goes on to root up the tares by "seizing the person of the said John Wycliffe and delivering him a prisoner to the Archbishop." Sudbury, as we have seen, was a man who was willing to have peace at any price, Courtney was a man of a different stamp, but both had to obey the Pope's behests, and Wycliffe was cited to appear before the bishops at Lambeth. This time no powerful earthly friends appeared on his side. His patron, King Edward III., had just died. His previous protector, John of Gaunt, wrote to him beseeching him not to "ruin a fine political career by an insane love of the truth." Whether the opposite course would ensure a "fine political career" we cannot say, but evidently John of Gaunt thought so. Here the two men part company and Wycliffe had to face his enemies alone, and yet not alone for God was with him and gave him grace to witness a good confession.

But the priests had again overreached themselves. No brief from the Pope could have authority in England without the King's consent, and this had not been obtained. In the midst of their proceedings the royal messenger, Sir Henry Clifford, arrived from the Queen Mother to forbid the court. The citizens of London had also veered round from their attitude of the previous year. They were ever jealous of their privileges and would allow no interference with what they considered their rights, and, though papists, they were ready to cry "no popery" when it suited them. So the bishops, as the old writer scornfully says, "became as reeds shaken with the wind. Their words were softer than oil. They made public shipwreck of their dignity. You would have thought that their horns were gone."

Thus a second time Wycliffe was preserved from his enemies to continue his work for God. He produced a paper setting forth his faith in the Word of God, and again protesting against the errors of the Church. In the first place," said he, "I am resolved with my whole heart, by the grace of God, to live as a sincere Christian, and, while my life shall last, to profess and defend the truth of Christ as far as I have power." Sometime shortly after this Wycliffe fell suddenly and dangerously ill. He was now an old man and had lived a life of incessant labour coupled with harassing and persistent persecution which had told seriously upon a constitution never very strong. The priests, and especially the friars, whose vices he had so scathingly exposed, were delighted. They hoped now to get rid of their life-long enemy. But greater far would be their victory if they could induce him to recant. So a deputation was formed. It consisted of a representative from each of the four begging orders of friars and some of the aldermen of Oxford. They proceeded to his lodging and were admitted into his chamber. We can imagine how hypocritically they condoled with him on his illness, and then exhorted him, as a dying man, to do all in his power to atone for the injuries that their society had experienced at his hands.

The old man listened in silence, and then ordered his attendant to raise him up in the bed. Looking sternly at his visitors and gathering up his strength he cried, "I shall not die, but live, and again declare the evil deeds of the friars." They left the room disappointed and in confusion, and the Reformer recovered, as he had prophesied, to go on with his work.

It was at this time that the great papal schism occurred (1378) — an event which greatly helped to free men's minds from the foolish belief that creatures so utterly wicked and fallible could ever be "infallible popes."

Gregory XI., the last of the "Babylonish" popes, returned from Avignon to Rome in 1377. Next year he died and Urban VI. was elected; the first time a pope had been elected at Rome for seventy-five years. Urban was a man of mean birth, so "harsh and offensive in his manners" that thirteen of his cardinals forsook him and elected another "infallible pope," who styled himself Clement VII. The northern nations, including England, supported Urban. The southern countries, including France, Spain, Naples, also Scotland, supported Clement. Immediately Urban issued Bulls of excommunication against his rival, calling him a heretic, a liar, and anti-pope, and every other evil thing he could remember. Clement replied with like vituperation, and who was in the right or who was in the wrong no man knoweth till this day. This dual popery continued for nearly forty years, and all that time "two popish heads were inside one popish crown" and little love lost between them. Then in 1407 all the cardinals of the opposing camps got tired of the game at which the two popes had been playing, and, assembling a Council at Pisa, they deposed both and elected another, whom they called Alexander V. But as both the old popes refused to be deposed and there was now a new one elected, the only result of the celebrated Council of Pisa was that there were now three popish heads inside one popish crown, and no love lost among them at all. Alexander died, and John XXIII., who had been a pirate, reigned in his stead. We shall notice only one event in the five years of his history he condemned all the writings of Wycliffe to be publicly burned on the steps of St Peter's. The popes hated each other well: they hated the truth more.

One pope was bad: two popes were worse: three popes were unendurable. At the Council of Constance (1414-15) all three were deposed: John because of his "evil deeds," and the other two because they refused to attend. So, John of the many numbers stole out of the city "on a sorry nag" and fled. But he was caught and put in prison where, it is hoped, he had time to repent of his "evil deeds."

This digression comes into our story only to show the effects all these events had on Wycliffe. Up till the time of the papal schism he had recognised the Pope and tried hard to reform him. Now with the monstrous spectacle of "two heads" to the Church, and both "infallible," he saw that reformation was impossible. Henceforth he banished both of them from his scheme, and lost no opportunity of exposing the unscriptural, worldly, and wicked character of the whole papal system in spite of its pretensions to sanctity.

He continued to preach at Oxford, and we find him getting access to many pulpits even in London. He wrote tracts, both in Latin for the learned and in English for the common people; but the heaviest blow he inflicted upon the Romish Church was his attack upon and denial of the doctrine of Transubstantiation. This blasphemous doctrine (of which we can use no milder word) was a terrible engine in the hands of Rome, and it was round this doctrine that the battle of the Reformation raged. If this point was gained, the power of the priest over the conscience was gone and he became weak as any other man. So all the armies of the Prince of Darkness were marshalled to defend the citadel. Alas! that in the Church of England to-day so many of her so-called "priests" are going back to the darkness and delusions of Rome, to deliver them from which many of our forefathers suffered imprisonment, torture, and death.

A few more years pass. It is 1381, and the "proud and fierce man" Courtney is now Archbishop. He had marched to the archiepiscopal throne over the dead body of Sudbury, murdered, as we have seen, during the Peasants' Revolt. With the proud title of "Primate of all England" he would see if he could not do what he had failed to do as Bishop of London. Assembling a Convocation at Oxford, Wycliffe was again summoned to appear.

The indictment was read and he rose to reply. As of old, he repelled their charges and challenged them to convince him of error before they condemned him. "Ye are the heretics," he cried, "who teach your foolish traditions instead of the truth of Scripture. Why do ye propagate such errors? Why? Because, like the priests of Baal, ye want to vend your masses. With whom think ye that ye are contending? With a frail old man on the brink of the grave? No, with truth, which is stronger than you and will overcome you."

His judges were astounded at his bold words which they knew to be true. They had no legal power to detain him, so he left the court unmolested. Though now an old man, "on the brink of the grave" as he said, yet the greatest of all his works was yet to be done. We shall see later what that work was and how he accomplished it.

Chapter 6.

The "Poor Priests".

We have already seen that Wycliffe's progress as a Reformer began with his attacks upon the wicked practices of the priests of Rome. From the Pope downward he unsparingly exposed the hypocrisy of men who professed to be followers of the meek and lowly Jesus, and yet lived in pride, luxury, and sin. But by and by he came to see that not only were the deeds wrong, but that many of her doctrines were wrong also. And as he had now learned, in everything, to refer to the Word of God as the sole authority, he saw the importance not only of denying what was false but of affirming what was true.

To do so, he was led to turn to that great plan first practised by the Lord Himself on the green hillsides of Galilee, and enjoined by Him upon His disciples in all ages. Wycliffe's plan was to PREACH THE WORD. But how could one man, and that man advanced in years, hope to reach many with the sound of the Gospel? If he could not do it single-handed he could induce others to help. Sometime, then, between the years 1375 and 1380, that band of men were gathered together who were known as Wycliffe's "Poor Priests." Rome, too, had her preachers, and they were found mostly among the friars. But they were by no means poor priests. They invaded the parishes of the secular clergy, who hated them just as bitterly as both combined hated the Reformer. Under their wide flowing robes they carried large bags into which they put the gold, silver, or provisions they succeeded in begging from hall or hut wherever they went. They well deserved the name of Mendicants, for their principal business was filling their wallets. Their "preaching" consisted in telling stupid, foolish, and fabulous stories of the "lives of the saints," too silly to repeat in our pages, or legends from the Siege of Troy. Afterwards, they spent their time in the alehouses or at the gaming-table.

When they came into a town they proclaimed to all that they had power from the Pope to pardon all sin. Relics of wonderful virtue were produced from among their other treasures capable of performing all kinds of cures, either upon man or beast. These relics usually consisted of old sheep's bones or other similar rubbish. But though easily procured and easily carried, they were parted with for one commodity only — money, and still more money. And one of the curious things about them was that if you purchased your old bone for silver your crops increased only twofold, but if you gave the rascal friar gold for his old bone, then, in some way which neither he nor we can explain, your crops increased fourfold. So the wily friar defrauded the poor people, enriched his greedy order, and offended a holy God.

In all this we see but a baptized paganism, much worse than even that of heathen Rome. In the "good old days of Rome" the priest believed what he preached. Here we find men who knew that they were deceiving the simple people, yet deliberately continuing to do so in order that they themselves might amass wealth by robbing the poor.

Wycliffe's "Poor Priests" seem to have been friends like-minded with himself who had gathered round him while he was at Oxford. We get a glimpse of them as "men travelling barefoot." Their clothing usually consisted of a "long russet gown reaching down to the heels, without pockets." The last two words remind us of our Lord's instructions to the seventy disciples sent out to preach the Gospel (Luke 10), "Go your ways: behold, I send you forth as lambs among wolves. Carry neither purse, nor scrip, nor shoes: and salute no man by the way. And into whatsoever house ye enter, first say, Peace be to this house." This seems to have been the model on which the Wycliffe preachers were formed, and it might truly be said that they went forth as "lambs among wolves."

The bishops had recourse to their usual weapon persecution, and had a law passed for any King's officer to arrest the preachers and commit them to prison. The parish priests and friars, though they agreed on little else, agreed on this and acted as policemen. When the humble evangelist began to preach, they set off for assistance. But the Gospel was a sweet sound in the ears of the people, and they at least had a welcome for the preacher, so that ofttimes when the King's officer appeared to arrest him, a "body of stout men stood forth, surrounded their preacher, and bore him off in safety."

When persecuted in one place the devoted missionaries fled to another, and, whether seated in castle hall or beside cottage hearth, whether preaching to the crowd at the cross-way or to the merchant in the busy mart, they spoke of full and free salvation by grace alone, not of works lest any man should boast.

It was hardly to be expected that seeing all the corruptions both of life and doctrine which Rome had introduced they would abstain from attacking her errors. And here indeed there was scope and matter for all their fiery indignation. There was the hypocrisy of the friars, who pretended to be poor men, but who were bent only on enriching their order. There was the worldliness of the higher clergy, who were more interested in State preferment than in performing their spiritual duties. There was the pollution and degradation of the papal Court itself, which instead of setting a standard of righteousness was at that time sunk in the lowest depth of infamy.

Then it became their duty to warn the ignorant people that payment of money to a priest or friar could not put away sin; and that the worship of images was no part of Christianity, but only a pagan practice introduced by Rome. How very true this charge was can easily be verified. Rome taught then, and teaches now, that without baptism there can be no salvation. She thus makes the way of salvation baptism instead of the Lord Jesus, who alone could say, "I AM THE WAY." So far is this false doctrine pressed that even infants are included, in express denial of the beautiful words, "Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven" (Matt. 19: 14).

Rome's fond deceit is "justification by works," but the Scriptures say, "BY HIM all that BELIEVE ARE JUSTIFIED from all things from which they could not be justified by the law of Moses" (Acts 13: 39). The heathen nations of old were required by their priests to do works of penance and self-mortification, even cutting their flesh with knives like the priests of Baal, whom we read about in 1 Kings 18: 28. So Rome teaches that God is not satisfied without tortures of the body and penances without number. But this is a denial of the value of the FINISHED WORK of the Lord Jesus Christ and of the PRECIOUS BLOOD that alone cleanses from ALL sin.

Again, we read that just as there is One God, so there is "ONE MEDIATOR between God and men, the man CHRIST JESUS" (1 Tim. 2: 5); but Rome puts the Virgin Mary in a higher place than the Lord Himself. A well-known Romanist tells his readers that the sinner who ventures to come directly to Christ may come with dread and apprehension of His wrath, but that if he comes through Mary, the wrath of "her Son" will be at once appeased.

In the days of Jeremiah (Jer. 44: 19) the paganism of the heathen nations had invaded Judea, and women were seen offering cakes to the Queen of Heaven. The same Scripture gives us the origin of Rome's blasphemous "Mass." The "cakes" that were offered to the "Queen of Heaven" were small, round, thin wafers, the pattern of which we have with us to-day in Rome's "wafer god."

The doctrine of purgatory and prayers for the dead comes from the same heathen source. Neither the one nor the other is found in the Bible, but both go hand in hand with Rome, for they are two of her best money-making devices. For no prayers are of any value except the priests' prayers, but "no pay no prayer," so that unless the priest be well paid, purgatory holds the victim.

It is difficult to write calmly about this atrocious system of deliberately making merchandise of the tenderest feelings of the human heart sorrowing over departed loved ones. Priests of paganism in Egypt or in Greece, priests of the Jews, or priests of papal Rome have all alike been adepts at "devouring widows' houses."

Again, the idol worship of Rome might well arouse the indignation of men who had learned the truth of Scripture for themselves. A Romish procession, bearing a figure either of the Virgin Mary or some other saint, might well remind us of what Isaiah says: "They lavish gold out of the bag, and weigh silver in the balance, and hire a goldsmith; and he maketh it a god; they fall down, yea, they worship. They bear him upon the shoulder, they carry him, and set him in his place, and he standeth; from his place he shall not remove."

Pagan idolatry in principle has been deliberately annexed by Rome.

Now, all these things were the recognised order of things in papal England in the fourteenth century, and we have to thank God that we are in some measure delivered from it, and think ourselves too wise to go back to it; yet Rome to-day is making an insidious, determined, and untiring effort to reintroduce the same conditions into this Protestant land.

Alas for men's poor man-made religion in contrast to the glorious Gospel of the blessed God concerning His Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. His finished work on Calvary settles every question of sin, both to the glory of God and the blessing of men, and He is to-day the Only Saviour of Sinners. From the glory He is saying to-day, "Come unto ME and I will give you rest."

Chapter 7.

More about the "Poor Priests"

It is interesting to trace further what the men of that day, whether friends or enemies, thought of Wycliffe's "Poor Priests," and we will begin with our old acquaintance, the proud, fierce man," Courtney.

He had reached the lofty position of Archbishop, as we have seen, over the headless body of the murdered Sudbury. One of his first efforts to extinguish the new movement was to call a council at the Convent of the Blackfriars in London, which then stood where the offices of The Times newspaper stand to-day. So these great men assembled — eight bishops, twenty doctors, fifteen friars, and four monks — and their object was to put down the new opinions and prosecute all who were suspected of holding them, especially John Wycliffe. Here Wycliffe's doctrines were examined and, of course, condemned by all present. But an event happened on the very day of the council meeting which completely destroyed the effect of the council's decision. "About two o'clock that afternoon, while the Churchmen were sitting round the table at their pious work, a terrible earthquake took place which struck all with panic except the zealous Archbishop."

These things were not looked upon as accidents in those days, and the friends of Wycliffe loudly proclaimed that "their Master had been condemned by the bishops, but that the bishops had been condemned by God."

Courtney was not content with mere councils, however. King Richard II. was no statesman like his grandfather Edward III., and he foolishly allowed Rome more power than was good for either his kingdom, his people, or himself. Courtney saw his opportunity and had an Act passed, in spite of the opposition of the Commons, to make persecution legal.

But Englishmen as a nation are not a bloodthirsty race. Torturing, maiming, and burning to ashes living men and women were strange sights to them, and sights at which the native character revolted.

This policy of fiendish cruelty had its origin at Rome. For the century and a half it existed in our country, during which its tracks were marked by bigotry and blood, the councils, both of the Church and of the nation, were swayed by the agents of Rome. When the last popish King and humble servant of the Pope stole out of his palace and fled secretly, with no man pursuing him, then men began to breathe freely. They awoke, as it were, from a hideous nightmare and determined that as far as in them lay, they would take steps to prevent such chains ever again being riveted either on their own necks or on the necks of their children.

We may well be thankful for the liberty we enjoy to-day, and we should ever be thankful to the brave men and women who won that liberty for us. Many of them loved the Lord Jesus more than they loved their own lives. May we be as true to the truth we know as they were!

So Courtney's Act read that: "Sentence being duly pronounced, the Magistrate shall take into hand the persons so offending and any of their supporters and cause them openly to be burned in the sight of all the people, to the intent that this kind of punishment may be a terror unto others, that the like wicked doctrine . . . be no more maintained within this realm."

Courtney had triumphed for the moment, but his triumph was short-lived. The Commons returned to the matter next session. "Whatever was done," say they, "was done without our consent. Let it now be annulled, for it is not our intention to be tried for heresy or to bind over ourselves or our descendants to the priests more than our ancestors have been in the past."

There is a ring of sturdy independence about this deliverance which later Parliaments might have copied with profit. So the Commons rescinded Courtney's Act, and not till 1401, in the reign of Henry IV., was the infamous "burning statute" passed. History will ever record it as a disgrace on the reign of a king whose father was a friend to the great Reformer.

But Henry IV. had arrived at the throne by the defeat and murder of the rightful King and the help of the priests. To maintain his usurpation he had to bind himself to "support the Church." The priests were overjoyed. They seemed like bloodthirsty animals let loose, and for the next hundred years and more they literally revelled in the blood of the saints of God.

We may here look forward to an incident which illustrates the above remarks, and which shows both the savage cruelty of men calling themselves priests and the bigoted folly of a man calling himself a king. The event to which we refer took place in 1413. Henry V. was reigning. Sir John Oldcastle, who had been the King's companion before he came to the throne, and one too who had fought bravely in the King's service, had become obnoxious to the priests because he had embraced the reformed doctrines. The "fierce and cruel man" Courtney had died in 1396 and gone to his own place, and the "crafty Arundel" was now Archbishop. He had been banished as a traitor by Richard II., but made himself useful as a tool of the Duke of Lancaster who effected the revolution of 1399. The priest having helped the King, the King's son will oblige the priest. Sir John was arrested and lodged in the Tower. His good confession is worth recording, but first the King in person will try to induce him to abjure his faith.

To the King he said, "I am, as I have always been, most willing to obey your majesty, as the minister of God appointed to bear the sword of justice for the punishment of evildoers, and the protection of them that do well. . . . But as to the Pope and the spiritual dominion which he claims, I owe him no service that I know of, nor will I pay him any, for as sure as God's Word is true, to me it is fully evident that he is the great Antichrist and son of perdition."

Before the priests his words were of no uncertain sound. He declared in plain language his denial of Transubstantiation, the idolatry of image worship, and the folly of pilgrimages. Then turning to the people, he cried, "Look, good people, for the breaking of God's law these men never cursed me, but for the sake of their own law and tradition most cruelly do they use both me and other men."

Such opinions Rome could only meet in one way. When reason failed, force might succeed. He was condemned, but escaped from the Tower. Four years afterwards he was recaptured and the original sentence carried out. He was hanged (as a traitor) over a slow fire, in order that he might at the same time be burned as a heretic. Truly the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.

Chapter 8.

Rome Attempts to Extinguish the Light

We saw in a previous chapter that the Commons had repealed Courtney's persecuting edict, but with the deceit to which Rome often descends, the bishops concealed and denied the fact. There were no Parliamentary Reports in those days, and no daily newspapers: few would have been able to read them even had they existed. So Courtney determined to use his present authority to purge Oxford if he could.

This brings before us some glimpses of others of Wycliffe's friends and followers at Oxford who became his helpers in the work of the Gospel. Dr Nicholas Hereford had learned much from his master at Oxford, and was so ardently convinced of the truths of Scripture which Wycliffe had opened up to him that he thought all men would believe the truth of the Gospel as soon as it was put before them. His faith took in even the Pope himself, and he promptly set off to Rome to show him a better way.

Alas, he did not know the Pope. Urban VI. was no better, and he could hardly be much worse than some of his predecessors. He promptly thrust into a Roman dungeon for life the man who should dare to question Rome's best money-making conceit of Transubstantiation. And life with Hereford, if left to the Pope's tender mercies would have been short indeed. But the city that was governed by the "Successor of St Peter" and the "Vicar of Christ," as the "Holy Father" loved to call himself, was possibly the worst governed city upon the face of the earth. The miserable inhabitants, goaded ofttimes to fury, made periodical risings against their "Holy Father," stormed his castles and emptied his prisons. Such a rising took place after Hereford had been two years in captivity, and he having escaped as a bird from the snare of the fowler, wended his way back to England, a sadder and a wiser man. But he could not now go back to his lecture room at Oxford, so he joined Aston and some others of the brethren in the west.

We are grieved to find that this man, who in his early zeal aimed at converting the Pope himself, after preaching the Reformed doctrines for some years, "made his peace with the Church and rose to high preferment." Do these last four words convey the reason of his falling away from the truth? Only grace can keep anyone. Let us not judge him. The paths of these early confessors were spread with thorns, and to all is not given the courage to resist unto blood striving against sin.

John Aston, Master of Arts, was another of those who were brought up before Courtney as "one who troubled Israel," and one who had "cost the Bishop of Lincoln many a sleepless night." Now if the good bishop had been as anxious to put the truth before the people as he was to keep it from them he would have had our sympathy, but this was far from being the case. Dr Aston is described by his enemies as "a man of great scholarship and of ardent zeal and earnest effort," but his efforts in preaching the Gospel to the People were not at all to the liking of his enemies. They said he was "like a bee, always on the wing," or "like a hound, ever ready to start up from his repose and bark." And the bishops did not like Aston's "bark," There was a menacing ring in it that spelled the downfall of their power and pride. There was an echo to it that made the walls of their princely palaces to shake.

The question against him was again the old fable of Transubstantiation. This was the key-stone of their arch on which all their power over men's consciences was built. Were this knocked down, many other things would follow. So Aston was called upon to answer to certain questions in relation to this doctrine, and he replied that his faith on this subject was the faith of the Church, meaning the true faith of the true Church. Then, speaking no longer to his judges, but to the great congregation of people who had crowded in to watch the proceedings, he declared what the true faith of the true Church was, until he was hastily called to order, and "commanded to speak in Latin that the people might not understand him."

In the end his opinions were condemned, as we should expect, but as yet the bishops had no power to arrest his person, so "this long lean man" went forth again to travel on foot from one part of England to another preaching with the zeal of an apostle," and "like a bee ever on the wing." Like a bee, also, he carried a sweet message of truth and grace to many a heart tired of the penances, pilgrimages, and works of merit, which could give neither peace to the conscience nor rest to the heart. It was a new and a joyful sound to hear of ONE who could say, "Come unto ME and I will give you REST."

And there were many who received and rejoiced in the new-found truths. Beginning at Lutterworth, which was Wycliffe's parish, as a centre, we find the new doctrines extending north through Leicester, Loughborough, and Nottingham; going west there were many of Wycliffe's followers found in Coventry; in Worcester — where the poor bishop had "so many sleepless nights," and in Hereford. Further south the light spread to Gloucester, Berkshire, Wiltshire, and in the extreme south Sussex also came under its influence. Even in the Archbishop's own town of Canterbury were found many who had passed out of the darkness of Rome into the light of the Gospel.

Nor must we overlook the life and work of Dr John Purvey, who was one of Wycliffe's closest friends, and who rendered valuable help with Bible translation as we shall see later.

Possibly Purvey was one of the most able and learned men among the early Reformers, and when Wycliffe and his friends were finally expelled from Oxford, Purvey resided at Lutterworth and helped in the publication — if not even in the writing--of the many books and tracts issued during the closing years of Wycliffe's life. The efforts of the latter during these closing years must have been incessant and untiring. Over ninety tracts and pamphlets were issued in Latin for the learned, and some sixty five in English for the common people. Some were written as instruction for his "poor priests," some dealing with the way of Salvation; many, as we should expect, attacking the manifold errors both of the Pope and of the papacy.

After Wycliffe's death Purvey joined some others of the company of "poor priests" in the west, and continued the work of Evangelisation. The little community were residing in an old disused chapel, where there still remained a wooden image of "St Catherine" standing in a corner. Finding themselves short of fuel one cold evening, they pulled down the image and promptly split it up for firewood. When knowledge of this "terrible act of sacrilege" came abroad it caused a great sensation, as we might have expected. But it also led people to think. Why should they worship stocks and stones as pagans do? Were they not, in name at least, Christians? So the fire lighted by the broken fragments of St Catherine helped to shed additional light, both on the errors of Rome and into the minds of the people.

We meet with Purvey again nearly twenty years later. There is another fire before him this time, more fierce than that kindled by St Catherine. At this time, 1401, the "crafty Arundel" had succeeded in getting the Act, "de Haeritico Comburendo," placed on the Statute Book, and William Sawtre, the first of England's modern martyrs, was wrapt to glory in a chariot of flame. He had dared to say to the priests, "I will worship Christ who died on the Cross, but I will not worship the Cross on which Christ died."

Three days after Sawtre had gained the martyr's crown, we listen sadly to Dr John Purvey reading a recantation, at St Paul's Cross, of all he had said and done. And so the old man passes into the shadows.

As far as we can trace he was the last of the Oxford scholars that had originally gathered round the Reformer, but they had done their work. The seeds of truth they had sown bore fruit in the next generation. The banner of truth had been raised, and though many standard-bearers fell on the field of conflict, others were found to grasp what soon became indeed a bloodstained banner and bear it on to victory. The death fires which were first lighted in 1401 continued to burn till 1558, and never more fiercely than during the last six years of that period. Men and women, even boys and girls, sealed their testimony with their blood. To read the Scriptures or even to possess a Bible was considered a crime only to be expiated at the dreadful stake. Tortures, conceivable only by men inspired by the devil himself, were inflicted on delicate women until their poor bodies were so maimed and broken that they had to be carried to the death fire and chained erect to the post. Men had their feet burned to the bone, and were then put in the stocks the night before they were to die, in order to add to their sufferings. All these things were done by the priests of Rome, and all these things were suffered by the martyrs of Jesus. We, to day, have our liberties as the result.

Chapter 9.

The Wonder of the Book

It is a day in summer in the year A.D. 33. A large crowd of excited people are gathered together in an Eastern city. They have come from many parts of the world and speak many languages. Some have travelled from Parthia, Media, and Elam in the north; others from the far east of Mesopotamia; many from the west of Asia; and some from the distant south of Egypt and Cyrene.

But the remarkable thing about their meeting to-day is that they are listening to men otherwise uneducated, who yet are able to speak to their audience, to each man "in his own tongue wherein he was born." Then the subject of which they speak is of the deepest importance, for they are declaring to the assembled multitudes the "wonderful works of God."

We all recognise this as a story found in Acts 2, and we repeat it here because it was to this most interesting chapter that Wycliffe trenchantly appealed when he began to assert the rights of the common people to have the Word of God in their own tongue.

"Those who call it heresy to speak of the Holy Scriptures in English must be prepared," says he, "to condemn the Holy Ghost who gave it in tongues to the Apostles of Christ to speak the Word of God in all languages that were ordained of God under heaven."

Then, growing bolder, he challenged the priests as being the real heretics. "Those heretics are not to be heard," he says, "who fancy that secular men ought not to know the law of God . . . for Scripture is the faith of the Church, and the more it is known the better. Therefore, as secular men ought to know the faith, so it is to be taught them in whatever language is best known to them."

These words carry us back to the words of a greater man than even John Wycliffe — even the words of the great Apostle of the Gentiles, Paul. When writing his inspired Epistle to the Colossians, he said, "When this epistle is read among you, cause it to be read also in the church of the Laodiceans, and that ye also read the epistle from Laodicea."

In the days of the Apostle there were no recognised orders of "clergy" and "laity." The scriptural simplicity of the early faith was held by all. They recognised, according to the Lord's own teaching, that all were brethren in Christ, and they "called no man father," much less "Holy father," a title applied only to God Himself.

In Wycliffe's opinion there were still the "clergy" and the "laity," but he had made a great advance on the teaching and practice of Rome when he boldly advocated that the "laity" ought to have the liberty to read the Bible in their own language.

We may gather something of the determined opposition he had to encounter from the bishops when we see what they said about his work when completed.

One says, "This Master John Wycliffe has translated the Gospel which Christ gave to the clergy and doctors of the Church to be by them communicated to the weaker sort and the laity according to their need, and has thus made it more accessible to the laity and to women who are able to read than it was before to the well educated and intelligent clergy."

Another says, "He has completed his malice by devising a translation of the Scriptures into the mother tongue."

In the year 1408, when the priests had more political power, they issued a very stringent order, drawn up by the persecuting Archbishop, the "crafty Arundel," that "no unauthorised person should hereafter translate any portion of holy Scripture into English or any other language by way of book or tract, and that no such book or tract should be read, either in whole or in part, publicly or privately, that was composed lately in the time of John Wycliffe or since, under the penalty of the Greater Excommunication, until such translation shall be approved by the bishop of the diocese." But the bishops were more anxious to burn the Bible than to approve it, and in very many cases they burned the possessors of the Bible with the book hung round their necks.

But before we look at Wycliffe's translation, let us turn back and trace shortly how this wonderful Book of God came to men, and also notice some things about it which make it so different from all other books that it has become known now as THE Book.

In 2 Peter 1: 21 we read that "prophecy came not in old time by the will of man: but holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost." God, the Holy Spirit, was the Author of the Scriptures. He used "holy men of God" to write what He inspired. Therefore the Word of God is perfect. It could not, as the Word of God, be otherwise. When men say that the Bible is only a textbook of morals and not a textbook of science, thereby inferring that its science is not "up to date," they involve themselves in a glaring contradiction, for the Spirit of God, who is the "Spirit of Truth" (John 14: 17), could not surely inspire men to write what was not true. Much of the so-called science of fifty years ago flatly contradicted the Bible. Much of the science of fifty years ago has been proved to be wrong. Much of the so-called "assured conclusions" of modern science rest on nothing more solid than a basis of unproved theories which future scientists may discard and disown. If the so-called science of to-day contradicts the Bible, so much the worse for the science. The Bible is the Judge. We may confidently rely upon this: as men approach nearer to the truth in their study of the works of God, so in proportion will they draw nearer to the Bible, the Words of God; and both are PERFECT. True science can never contradict Scripture.

Not only is God the Holy Spirit the Author of the Holy Scriptures, but God the Son is the great Subject of this wonderful revelation from Heaven.

He was the promised Seed spoken of in Genesis 3: 15 who would bruise the serpent's head. He was the One of whom Adam or Abraham, Isaac or Joseph, David or Solomon were but types. He was the One to whom the paschal lamb in Egypt and every sacrifice in Israel's temple pointed. Psalm and prophecy, and parable, all spoke of Hint. Kings and conquerors were only dim shadows of the One who is King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Judges of Israel and saviours of the people were but faint shadows of the One whose name was called JESUS, for "He shall save His people from their sins."

Then, when He is born into this world as the Babe in Bethlehem's manger, all Heaven is interested in the wonderful event, and a multitude of the heavenly hosts chant the words which mean so much to every one of us: —

"Glory to God in the highest,

And on earth peace,

Goodwill towards men."

Four separate accounts are given to us in the four Gospels of His life on earth.

MATTHEW speaks of Him as the King of Israel and the One who will yet sway the sceptre of the universe of God in righteousness, power, and glory. To Him every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that He is Lord to the glory of God the Father.

MARK tells of Him as the One who in grace became the Prophet of God and the Servant of Men. The Psalmist had said, "Grace is poured into Thy lips: therefore God hath blessed Thee for ever" (Psalm 45: 2); and in Luke 4: 22 we read that all the people wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of His mouth. And well they might, for "He whom God hath sent speaketh the words of God" (John 3: 24), and "never man spake like this Man" (John 7: 46).

LUKE, the beloved physician, tells of One who was a more skilled physician still — the wonderful Man of God's counsels who came into the world

To preach the Gospel to the poor.

To heal the broken-hearted.

To preach deliverance to the captives.

And recovering of sight to the blind.

To set at liberty them that are bruised.

To preach the acceptable year of the Lord . . . (Luke 4: 18, 19).

And that "acceptable year" of grace, first announced in the synagogue of Nazareth, is still being proclaimed: blessing is still flowing forth to sinners, and the Lord Jesus Christ, now at God's right hand, is still saying, "Come unto Me and I will give you rest."

When we come to JOHN'S Gospel we learn that the Man Christ Jesus, who became the Servant of God and men, though He was the King of Israel, is no less a Person than the One of whom Isaiah's glowing page foretold: "Wonderful, Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. Of the increase of His government and peace there shall be no end" (Isa. 9: 6, 7).

The ACTS OF THE APOSTLES and the twenty-one EPISTLES continue the theme and tell us from every varying standpoint what Christ is to God and what Christ is for His people.

In the BOOK OF REVELATION we are carried on to a time when time shall be no longer; when the mystery of God shall be finished and the Lord Jesus will rise up to purge the earth, deliver His people, and introduce the reign of righteousness and world-wide blessing.

Then this Book of God speaks to the conscience. It deals with men as sinners. It brings them, as it were, into the presence of a holy God and convinces them that by nature they are unfit to be there. But it also tells of the Way of Salvation, and points to the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world.

Another thing, among many, that makes the Bible different from all other books is the prophecies of Scripture. If we confine ourselves to one theme alone — that of the promised Messiah — we find that 4,000 years before He was born it was prophesied that He would come. Micah foretold the place where He would be born (Micah 5: 2). Daniel told of the time when He would appear, and named the very day when He would present Himself to the nation as their King, and also indicated how the nation would reject Him (Dan. 9: 26). Isaiah portrays the remarkable way in which He would enter into this world (Isa. 7: 14); then that He would be despised and rejected, and finally that His death would be the great propitiatory offering for the sin of the world.

All these things are spoken with exactness of detail, and all have come to pass exactly as foretold, proving conclusively that the writers spake by the Word of the Lord, who alone knows the end from the beginning.

Chapter 10.

The Oldest Book in the World

We have seen in a previous chapter that the Bible is the best book in the world: it is also the oldest. No other book can compare with it in this respect. Herodotus, who is known as the "father of history," dates back only to 480 B.C., shortly before the closing book in our Old Testament was written. The ancient poets Homer and Hesiod are supposed to have flourished — for no one really knows — about the time of Hezekiah, King of Judah. But 75o years before that time Moses had written the five books which we know as the Pentateuch. So that the Bible presents to us the oldest authentic records of the history of the human race. Egyptian history cannot be traced farther back than 270o B.C. The Chinese records go nearly as far. Babylonish history begins about 2450 B.C. Greek history dates from the Trojan War — if that war ever was fought — I200 B.C. Rome was busy founding its capital about 758 B.C., and Persian history begins 200 years later still. But Bible history carries us back for 4,000 years before the Cross, and gives us in the words of Inspiration the history of the very beginning of our present ordered earth and all that it is necessary for us to know about the story of man's creation to inhabit it.

The oldest vestiges of human construction are the Pyramids of Egypt, and the oldest of these is supposed to have been built shortly after the Flood. A French engineer has estimated that there are materials in this vast erection to build a wall one foot thick and ten feet high right round France, or about 1,800 miles.

For 2,500 years or thereby the world had no Bible — no written word of revelation from God. But it is remarkable that this long space of time was bridged by the lives of but three men. Methuselah, the oldest man that ever lived, is one of the links that connect with Adam on the one side and on the other with Noah, who passed through the Flood and lived for 300 years after it.

Adam lived for 965 years, and during that time he would be able to teach his descendants all the wonderful revelations which God had made to him both before and after sin came into the world. Generation after generation would hear from his lips the story of Eden, the fail, the promised Deliverer, and the way of approach to God.

If we turn back to 1 Chronicles 1, the opening three verses give us one of the wonderful sentences of Inspiration. It is a sentence containing ten proper names and not a single verb. The names are these: Adam, Sheth, Enosh, Kenan, Mahalaleel, Jered, Henoch, Methuselah, Lamech, Noah. Dr Kitto has pointed out that these ten names literally translated in order form the following most remarkable sentence in English: Man, Appointed [or Replaced], Miserable, Lamenting, The God of Glory, Shall descend, To instruct, His death sends, To the afflicted, Consolation. Thus the very names of the antediluvian patriarchs would be a standing testimony to the world. Methuselah's name in particular was a warning message to the sinners of old. The prophet Enoch, whose own name marked him out as one able "to instruct," named his son in words prophetic of coming judgment that would "descend" after his death. The very year in which Methuselah died, the Flood came. One cannot help noting that after the name of the oldest man this world ever saw, God wrote "and he died."

How interesting it would be for us now if any person was alive who had come over with William the Conqueror. Such a person would be able to tell us, for example, about the various dynasties who had ruled in England — the Normans, the Plantagenets, the Yorkists, the Tudors, the Stuarts, and the Hanoverians. We should also be able to provide much interesting information about the laws and customs during the various periods of his life, and to hear such an account from his lips would be as interesting as to read it from a book. So during Adam's long life many people of the ancient world would learn from him all that God had been pleased to make known of Himself at that time.

Methuselah, the grandfather of Noah, lived with Adam for over 240 years and nearly boo with his grandson Noah. To Noah he would doubtless communicate all that he him- self had learned from his ancestors. Shem, the son of Noah, lived after the Flood for 500 years until the days of Abraham, who was called out from his country and kindred to become the father of the faithful and the repository of all the promises of grace to the nation of Israel.

Five hundred years later we come to Moses, the man of God, and the first of the illustrious men who were chosen by God to write for us the "Scripture of Truth."

And so the good work went on; the various revelations extending over a period of some 1,600 years, until the Apostle John, in Patmos, wrote the last book in our New Testament, "The Revelation of Jesus Christ," telling us about the solemn events that will usher in the closing days of men in responsibility upon the earth and of the time when "time shall be no longer."

Kings and nobles, priests and prophets, physicians and fishermen, tentmakers and tax collectors are found among the writers (over forty in all, and all inspired by God Himself, so that "the law of the Lord is perfect").

We may well pause here and ask, How has this wonderful Book been received, and how have these sacred writings been treated by the men to whom they have been sent? And in trying to answer this question we shall see that the Bible, not unlike the Person of the Lord Himself when on earth, sharply divided men into two classes — those who loved the Book and those who hated it.

In Deut. 31: 24-26 we read, "And it came to pass, when Moses had made an end of writing the words of this law in a book, until they were finished, That Moses commanded the Levites, which bare the ark of the covenant of the Lord, saying, Take this book of the law, and put it in the side of the ark of the covenant of the Lord your God, that it may be there for a witness against thee." And, again (ver. 10), "And Moses commanded them, saying, At the end of every seven years, in the solemnity of the year of release, in the feast of tabernacles, When all Israel is come to appear before the Lord thy God in the place which he shall choose, thou shalt read this law before all Israel in their hearing. Gather the people together, men, and women, and children, and thy stranger that is within thy gates, that they may hear, and that they may learn, and fear the Lord your God, and observe to do all the words of this law."

It is very clear from these words that God intended everybody to hear and understand His Word. Even the children are not left out, so that when Rome says that the Bible is for the priests only, she is flatly contradicting the words of God Himself.

But let us follow the history of the Book. Placed in the side of the ark, as we have seen, it entered the land with the nation and was with them in all the wars of Canaan. It abode with the ark in Shiloh for 400 years, went with it on that strange pilgrimage when the ark was taken by the Philistines, and with the ark returned again to Kirjath-jearim, whence David removed it on his "new cart." Three years afterwards, when David had learned his lesson, the ark was brought into the tent prepared for it in the City of David.

We know from 2 Chron. 6: 11 that the same autograph copy which Moses wrote was still in the ark in the palmy days of King Solomon, when he finished the first temple and put the ark in the holy of holies. And it is just possible that it is the same roll we hear of 400 years later in the darker days of Josiah. This pious King was one of those who loved the Book, for, after it had been found among the rubbish in the neglected temple, we read that, just as Moses commanded, he gathered the people together and "read in their ears all the words of the book of the covenant which was found in the house of the Lord." It is always good to read the Bible. God honours in His providence both men and nations who honour His Word. The history of our own country abundantly proves this. Compare England's greatness under Cromwell with its abject condition under Charles II. Queen Victoria rightly called the Word of God "the secret of England's greatness." Only comparatively few years have passed since the good Queen died, but we may well ask, Does the Bible hold the same place in the nation to-day as it did then?

But succeeding Kings of Judah were not all so pious as the good King Josiah. We have a sharp contrast in the actions of his son Jehoiakim. Let us pay a visit, unasked, to this King's palace. We find him in his "winterhouse" with a fire burning before him. Another portion of God's Word is being read in his presence, but taking the roll out of the hands of the reader, "he cut it with the penknife and cast it into the fire that was on the hearth, until all the roll was consumed" (Jer. 36: 26). He was the first person we know of who ever dared to destroy any portion of God's written Word, and short and sharp came his judgment. "God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."

Pagan Rome and papal Rome have only too well followed this wicked King's example, but the Word of God is indestructible; it liveth and abideth for ever.

Soon Judah was carried captive to Babylon, but during the long years of captivity God watched over His Word, and provided men to preserve it. It was copied and re-copied with the most meticulous care. Jewish scribes knew the Scriptures so well that they could tell how many words were in each book. They reckoned up even the number of individual letters, so that they knew, for instance, that the letter Aleph occurred 42,377 times, the letter Beth 38,218 times, and so on, right through all the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet.

So God used this scrupulous care in order that His Word might be faithfully preserved through all time.

The seventy years of the Babylonish Captivity came to an end at last. The pride of Babylon was humbled before the might of Persia. King Cyrus, who had been mentioned by name by the prophet Isaiah 176 years before he was born, issued a proclamation enjoining the Jews to go up to Jerusalem and rebuild the house of the Lord. We learn from the book of Ezra that "forty-two thousand three hundred and three score" (Ezra 2: 34) led by Zerubbabel formed the first company of returning exiles that reached Jerusalem to set about the task of restoring the fortunes of their overthrown country.

The first thing they did was to set up the altar and offer burnt offerings upon it. They thus declared their faith in the words, "God is our refuge and our strength"; and then, when the second modest temple was founded, very touching it is indeed to be present, in fancy, at the ceremony of laying the foundation stone. Old and grey-headed men are here who can remember Solomon's temple with all its magnificent architecture and golden furniture, and the present building which they are so painfully rearing up in the midst of their poverty and distress seems to them so insignificant that they weep as they think of what once was and of what now is.

On the other hand, the young men who had been born in exile, when they saw the work so far advanced, shouted aloud for joy, so that the people could not discern the noise of the shout of joy from the noise of the weeping of the people. Twenty years afterwards this second temple was completed, and later, when the energetic Governor, Nehemiah, arrived at Jerusalem, the city wall was built and prosperity began again to smile upon the long-desolate land.

But what concerns us most in our present inquiry is the work that Ezra the scribe did when he came. He was the Religious Reformer of the day, just as Nehemiah, who came after him, was the Righteous Ruler.

Passing over many of his drastic reforms, both among the priests and the people, let us hasten down to Watergate Street, on the east side of the temple, for Ezra is to hold a great open-air reading meeting there to-day. A great pulpit of wood "made for the purpose" has been erected here, and the "ready scribe in the law of Moses" climbs up into it, with six men on his right hand and seven at his left, and opens the BOOK in the sight of all the people. From the time that it was light until midday the reading went on, "and all the, people were attentive unto the book of the law" (Neh. 8).

We note with pleasure the attention of the people to the words of the Book, for dark days are coming soon both for it and them. They had returned to a land not yet recovered from the desolation of the great overthrow. Jerusalem, the "holy city" towards which their hearts had yearned with such intense longing during the weary years of the captivity, was a mass of ruins. Their old enemies the Philistines were pressing in from the west. The Edomites — foes of a thousand year feuds — had pushed north as far as Hebron, the ancient capital. Moab and Ammon, on the east, are again contracting alliances with the Arabians to the further hindrance of the work of restoration.

We cannot linger longer to hear Ezra, however much we should like to do so, for we have still a long way to travel before we come to the times of John Wycliffe. But one other thing it is interesting to notice before we pass on, and that is that Ezra is believed to have compiled and arranged all the books of our Old Testament as we have them to-day (including, we believe, even Malachi), so that those who came after him had a complete copy of "The Law," "The Psalms," and "The Prophets," according to the three great divisions of the Hebrew Scriptures.

Leaving the Jews to meet and conquer their many foes as best they may, we must take a glance at the blank leaf between our Old Testament and the New.

It was a period of stirring times for the land of Israel. Systematic and diabolical persecution, such as perhaps no other nation could have survived, occupied part of this period. Remarkable victories, gained by a few patriotic men over multiplied enemies, followed. Finally, corruption and decay set in, until all that was good and noble disappeared; and we open our New Testament to find Herod, an Idumean usurper, reigning in the Lord's land: the "sceptre has departed from Judah."

But to return. It is the year 277 B.C. Alexander the Great has met and overthrown the might of Persia more than fifty years before, only to be himself overthrown soon after by his own passions. But in the great city of Alexandria, which he built to keep his memory green, and colonised with many races, there is now a population of 100,000 Jews. We pause here to take a glimpse at some seventy learned Rabbis engaged upon the first complete translation of the Hebrew Scriptures into another tongue. This translation into Greek is known as the Septuagint Version, and was the Bible read in the time of our Lord and the Apostles. Many of the quotations from the Old Testament found in the New are from this version; hence the slight textual differences which sometimes appear. There are 275 Old Testament passages quoted in the New Testament, and about forty are from the Septuagint. The Apostle Paul quotes from the earlier Scriptures about one hundred and twenty times.

Another step of about one hundred years and we find that the domination of Babylon, of Persia, and of Greece is a thing of the past, and Palestine finds itself in the power of a more bitter foe than any of these had been. Antiochus Epiphanes (the Illustrious), or some would call him Epimanes (the Madman), is ruler of Syria, and Judea lies at his mercy. He has determined that he will destroy the race of the Jews and banish the name of the God of Israel from the earth. To do so, Antiochus saw that he must first get rid of the "Law of Moses." Perhaps never, either before or since, has the BOOK passed through such an extreme crisis. Copies of it, laboriously written by hand, could be but few. Those who possessed them were weak and their enemies were strong, but God was over all.

We read that "Antiochus went up to Jerusalem with a great multitude and proudly entered into the sanctuary, and took away the golden altar, and the candlestick of light, and all the vessels thereof . . . and there was great mourning in Israel. And he commanded the holy place to be profaned . . . and he set up the abominable idol before the altar of God, and cut in pieces and burned with fire the books of the Law of God. And every one with whom the books of the Testament of the Lord was found, and whosoever observed the Law of the Lord, they put to death according to the Edict of the King . . . and there was great wrath upon the people."

Just let us take a glance at one of the dreadful things which were frequently taking place in Jerusalem under the rule of this wicked King. We shall not linger, neither shall we return, for the sight is too appalling to witness. If we were to linger, many such dreadful spectacles of suffering should we encounter.

A mother and seven sons are led, bound, before the King, accused of "faithfulness to the law of God." One by one they are scourged, the woman being no exception. Then they are commanded to eat swine's flesh and sacrifice to idols. When all refuse to obey, the eldest son is first brought forward to the torture. A sharp knife is drawn round his head, cutting in to the bone, and skin and hair are torn from the living scalp. Again he is ordered to sacrifice in order to save his life. Still refusing, his tongue is cut out, part of his hands and feet are chopped off, and, while still alive, he is cast into a red-hot brazen cauldron to be slowly roasted to death.

One by one the heroic little band of witnesses passes through the same dreadful ordeal till only the youngest is left. Then the King promises with an oath that he will make him a rich and happy man if he will only disobey the law and sacrifice to idols. But he, refusing, as the others did, "the King rages against him more cruelly than all the rest." Last of all the woman dies also. "And others were tortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a better resurrection." And Antiochus, what of him?

"The murderer and blasphemer, being grievously struck, died a miserable death, being eaten up of worms, in a strange country" (2 Macc. 9).

A dark day this indeed for the ancient people of God, but man's extremity is God's opportunity, and the very wickedness of the King brought to the front a hero and a man.

Judas Maccabees, the chief of five brethren, was used by God to punish many of the proud oppressors of the land, recover possession of the temple, and restore the worship of Jehovah. The Feast of the Dedication, instituted by Judas in 165 B.C., which we read of in John 10, was intended to keep in remembrance this great national event. The feast began on the twenty-fifth of the month Chesleu (our December). The nations around them were celebrating the heathen Festival of the Sun. The Jews were joining in praise to Jehovah, the only true God.

Just 196 years afterwards we read, "And it was at Jerusalem the feast of the dedication, and it was winter. And JESUS walked in the temple in Solomon's porch" ( John 10: 22, 23). This brings us to the central point of all the revelation of the ways of God in grace. In the Old Testament we read what men ought to be. In the New we find out what God is, and what God is to men. Two sentences in the first Epistle of John convey to us in the fewest possible words the two grandest truths of Scripture "God is light" and "God is love" (Chaps. 1: 5 and 4: 8, 16). This love has so wrought for His own that every stain of sin that light could detect love has found means to put away. "Grace and truth came by Jesus Christ."

In our next chapter we shall follow the fortunes of the Book during the early Christian centuries.

Chapter 11.

The Early Christian Centuries

In this and the following chapters we must trace the Book for a period of some 1,300 years, or from the time that the New Testament was completed until the time comes that we can look into Wycliffe's study at Lutterworth and see him busily translating his Vulgate copy into the then spoken language of England.

And just as we found in our rapid survey of the history of the Old Testament Scriptures that at various times enemies had striven to destroy them, so we shall find the same thing repeated with the New Testament in an even more determined and bitterly hostile way.

We know that all the twenty-seven books of our New Testament were written before the close of the first century. When and by whom were these various books of the New Testament completed and arranged in one volume as we now have them? Of all the various opinions that have been expressed, it seems most probable that the beloved disciple John was used by God not only to write the closing words of inspiration, but also to collect together those already written. Whether this be so or no, we know from many testimonies that by the middle of the second century all the books of the New Testament were known and read in the Christian assemblies. The Apostle's life was lengthened out for about one hundred years, and during that time he had seen the Church in its pristine freshness and unity, as described in Acts 2, and seen also the corruption, declension, and decay which set in when, even at Ephesus, believers "left their first love."

The letters to the "seven churches" in Rev. 2 and 3 describe the departure from the truth of "all in Asia," and also supply the needed correction, not only for them, but for believers in all time, "till He come." If we divide the 1,300 years before us into two periods we shall better understand the methods of opposition given to the Book.

The first period would last from Apostolic days down to the time of Constantine the Great. These were the years of the great Pagan persecutions.

Church historians have usually divided these into ten, reasoning that the prophetic word in Rev. 2: 10, "ye shall have tribulation ten days," foretells in a mystic way the long period of sufferings under the savage rulers of heathen Rome.

Different authorities give different dates for these persecutions, but the most common reckoning is as follows:

1 Under Nero, A.D. 64.

2 Under Domitian, A.D. 95.

3 Under Trajan, A.D. 107.

4 Under Hadrian, A.D. 125.

5 Under Marcus Aurelius, A.D. 165.

6 Under Septimus Severus, A.D. 202.

7 Under Maximinus, A.D. 235.

8 Under Decius, A.D. 249.

9 Under Valerian, A.D. 257.

10 Under Diocletian, A.D. 303.

But indeed the whole period of Early Christianity was one of persecution in some part of the Empire. The dates given above only indicate times of special outbreaks of the latent hatred shown to the followers of the Lord Jesus.

We find the beginning of this opposition in the Book of Acts. A few short weeks, or months at the most, after the Lord ascended to Heaven, we read of Stephen, the first martyr, being stoned to death. Saul, the persecutor, being, as he says himself, "exceedingly mad" against the believers, was making so close a search for them that he was entering into every house and committing men and women to prison and to death.

Ten years afterwards, Herod the King took up the work so dear to the hearts of the Jewish priests and "slew James the brother of John with the sword; and, when he saw that it pleased the Jews, he proceeded to take Peter also" (Acts 12: 3). But Peter's work was not finished, and Herod's chains were but cobwebs when they resisted God's purposes.

Space permits but a passing glance here and there as we hasten forwards.

Saul the persecutor was changed into Paul the Apostle, and by his ceaseless labours, ardent zeal, and tireless activity the Gospel had been preached in every quarter of the Roman Empire before his death, somewhere about the year A.D. 66.

At this time Rome was ruled by possibly the most wicked man this world has ever seen. Nero had murdered his brother, his sister, his two wives, and his mother. His hands were red with the blood of assassination and murder. His morals were such as we may not describe. To his many misdeeds he added the burning of Rome, and then laid the blame on the Christians.

And so began the first pagan persecution.

Now the Book and its followers are no longer confronted only by the Jewish priests in Palestine and elsewhere. They are face to face with the formidable power of the Roman Empire. So far, the imperial laws had been in their favour, impartially protecting those who were freemen from mob violence, as we see in Acts 18: 12. But if there is "another King, one Jesus," Rome will take steps to protect herself by dooming to death all who confess His name. For to confess the name of Jesus was to be in the eyes of the authorities an enemy to Caesar. If they refused to worship Nero they were counted atheists. If the Alexandrian corn ships were delayed by contrary winds, the Christians were to blame. If it did not rain, or if it rained too much, it was they who had offended the gods. "If the Tiber overflowed its banks," says Tertullian, "or if the Nile did not, the cry was raised, 'The Christians to the lions.'" In addition to all this, the trade interests of the image makers, and all the craftsmen connected with the idol temples, were in danger if Christianity prevailed. Truly, it was no small undertaking to turn the ancient pagan Roman Empire "upside down," but Christianity did it. Not by force of arms was this accomplished, but by the power of the gospel of peace, and by the efforts of men and women who loved the Lord more than they loved their own lives. When the persecutors had done their worst, friends lovingly gathered the mangled bodies or scattered bones from the blood-stained sands of the arena, and conveyed them to those wonderful places of interment known as the Catacombs, which became, during the early days of Christianity, both the meeting places and the burying ground of the believers at Rome. It has been estimated that over three millions of graves exist in its vast galleries, whose intricate network of passages is believed to extend some 587 miles — a distance equal to the entire length of Italy.

We cannot trace in detail all the records of those early years. If we did, we should see exposed on the one hand the hatred of the human heart to the name of Jesus, and on the other we should be amazed at the numbers of men and women who fearlessly suffered and overcame all the cruelty that barbarous and savage persecutors could inflict. But if we look below the surface we shall see that the chief actor was Satan himself. After all, he has but two methods of opposition to the things of God. The one is violence. The other is corruption.

For the first 300 years he tried the first method, and stirred up his servants to exterminate the Book of God and the followers of Jesus. But the blood of the martyrs has ever been the Seed of the Church, and like Israel of old, the more they were afflicted the more they multiplied and grew.

So the 300 years of pagan persecution drag their leaden feet along the track of history. But we notice that the Christians are winning. All the tower of the Empire, backed by all the will of the rulers and supported by every effort of the governors in every province is unable to stamp out either the Book or the followers of the Book. On the other hand, the numbers of the believers are increasing so fast that Tertullian (A.D. 200) can challenge the oppressors by telling them, "We are but of yesterday and we have filled everything that is yours: cities, islands, castles, factories. . . . We have left you nothing but your temples."

Many standard-bearers fell in the battle front. If we may rely on history, all the Apostles but John died violent deaths. Ignatius, one of John's disciples, was brought from Antioch to Rome to be thrown to the lions to make a Roman holiday in the year A.D. 107. Justin Martyr, with six companions, was beheaded in A.D. 163. Polycarp, with eleven fellow-sufferers, was burned alive at Smyrna in A.D. 167.

The Emperor Marcus Aurelius, A.D. 161-180, has been much admired as a philosopher, but evidently he had not wisdom enough to see that, when he unjustly condemned to death men like Justin Martyr and Polycarp, he was destroying the noblest and most loyal of his subjects. In spite of his "philosophy," or because of it, he was one of the most cruel oppressors of the Early Church. Every year of his long reign was defiled with innocent blood. The Church at Lyons in France produced many faithful witnesses.

The old writer says, Then were we all much alarmed because of the uncertain event of confession, not that we dreaded the torments with which we were threatened, but because we looked forward unto the end and feared the danger of apostacy."

Attalus, Maturus, and Sanctus sustained "tortures which exceed the power of description." Blandina, a female slave girl, shared in their sufferings and triumphs. After a whole day of tortures too terrible to narrate, she could only be compelled to say, "I am a Christian and there is no evil done among us." She was scourged, seated in a red-hot iron chair, then, still alive, thrown to the beasts, and so she won the crown of life.

Under Septimus Severus (A.D. 193-211) the stern edict was issued against the Christians, "It is not lawful for you to live," and the military despot who had marched to the throne over the murdered bodies of his nearest friends was not likely to allow such a law to remain a dead letter.

From Lyons we must cross over to Carthage and listen to the touching words of the young and noble Perpetua, who with many others suffered at this time. "After a few days we were cast into prison. I was terrified, for I had never before been in such darkness. O miserable day! — from the heat of the crowded prisoners and the insults of the soldiers. But I was wrung with solicitude for my infant."

Later on in these affecting memoirs we read: "And the prison became to me like a palace, and I was happier there than anywhere else." "When the day of trial came," she proceeds, "we were placed at the bar, and my father came with my child, and said in a beseeching tone, 'Have compassion on your infant,' and the procurator said, 'Spare the grey hairs of your parent; spare your infant; offer sacrifice for the Emperor.' And I answered, I will not sacrifice.'

"'Art thou a Christian?' said he.

"I answered, 'I am a Christian.'"

Hung up in a net, she was exposed to wild beasts to amuse the populace, and, when gored and torn, a gladiator was sent to put her to death. He added to her sufferings by clumsily wounding her in the side, and she herself finally guided the sword to her throat, thereby setting her free from further suffering.

But it is in the closing years of the third century and the opening of the next that we see the most determined efforts put forth that ever were made to extinguish Christianity.

At this time the Roman world was divided under four Emperors — Diocletian, Maximian, Constantius, and Galerius. We must take a glimpse at these before passing on. Two men are sitting alone in secret serious conference in the palace of Nicomedia. One of them is the old Emperor Diocletian, the other is his son-in-law Galerius. The younger is urging his proposals with vehemence. The elder is listening with apparent reluctance to what might well be, even to him, a revolting proposal. Galerius is insisting that the whole Christian community should be put outside of the laws, and that all who will not worship the Roman gods shall be burned alive.

The winter of A.D. 302 was spent in frequent conferences. The prudent Diocletian proposing milder measures, Galerius urging on his scheme of fire and blood, until the old man finally gave away and allowed the storm to break.

"It was in the ninth year of Diocletian, in the month Xanticus, which one would call April, according to the Romans, about the time when the Paschal festival of our Saviour took place, that suddenly the Edicts were published — everywhere to raze the churches to the ground — to destroy the Sacred Scripture in the flames — to strip those that were in honour of their dignities — and to deprive freedmen of their liberty if any persisted in the Christian profession."

The first Edict ordered the Sacred Books to be everywhere destroyed and the churches to be demolished. By a second Edict all bishops and ministers of churches were cast into prison. Shortly afterwards a more fearful act came into force. Magistrates were empowered to compel by torture all their prisoners to renounce Christianity and worship idols. New and hitherto unheard of torments were to be invented for this purpose. It was thought that if the shepherds yielded their flocks would follow.

The next step was to extend this order so that it included every follower of Jesus, without distinction of rank, age, or sex. Multitudes were immediately imprisoned in every place, and the dungeons "formerly filled with criminals and murderers were now filled with bishops and presbyters, and deacons, readers and exorcists, so that there was no room left for the real criminals."

This dreadful persecution extended to nearly every city and town of the Roman world. Even far away Britain had its confessors and martyrs. In Gaul alone, where ruled Constantius Chlorus (father of Constantine the Great), was there any respite.

It is a pleasure to contrast the life of this man with his three compeers. Many Christians were found in his own household, and when the first Edict was issued he ordered all who would not retract to quit his service. Then, contrary to all expectations, he dismissed the apostates and reinstated all who had held true to their faith, remarking that men who were faithful to God would be true to their Prince. "Neither did he demolish the churches, nor devise any other mischief against us, but protected pious persons under him from harm. At length he enjoyed a most happy and blessed death, being the only one of the four Emperors] who at his death did peaceably and gloriously leave the government to his own son."

Constantius Chlorus died at York in A.D. 306. It would be impossible to arrive at any estimate of the numbers who perished during the ten years that this persecution lasted. In one province alone 150,000 are said to have been put to death. Some villages entirely Christian were surrounded by soldiers and totally consumed by fire. In some cities the executions reached one hundred daily. Magistrates vied with each other in inventing new and excruciating forms of torture; but all to no purpose: the Christians would rather give up their lives than give up the Book of God.

Wearied at last with murder, the authorities authorised a more "humane" policy. Maiming was resorted to: many had their right hands cut off, and yet others one of their legs. But we must complete this sad story in the words of the old historian and eyewitness, who says: "To mention each name would be a long and tedious work, not to say impossible."

The enemy had launched his master stroke and failed. God, who overrules all things, now laid His hand on the savage monster of cruelty, who so far had appeared to have all things his own way. "Galerius was smitten of God," Eusebius says, and some of his physicians, because they could not give him relief, were "slain without mercy."

"Then, struggling with so many miseries, he began to have compunction for the crimes he had committed against the pious . . . First of all he confessed his sin to the supreme God . . . then ordered that without delay they should stop the persecutions and hasten to rebuild the churches . . . and offer up prayers for the Emperor's safety."

The Christians might well hail this new Edict like a trump of liberty. It struck the fetters from those in the dungeons. It released the captives from the mines. Those still hiding in the dismal Catacombs were able once again to appear in the light of day, but above all, it was no longer death to be found reading the Book.

But God is not mocked. Galerius died. Died as only few men in this world have died. It had to be said of him, as of Herod of old (Acts 12: 23), "He was eaten of worms and gave up the ghost." History records the same fate of Antiochus Epiphanes, Herod the Great, Philip II. of Spain, and Lauderdale of the killing times in Scotland — all opposers of God and oppressors of His people.

Meantime Constantine was marching from far distant Britain. Slowly but surely his iron legions were closing in on the heart of the Empire. From Milan he issued the great decree of universal toleration. "We give," said he, "to the Christians, and to all, the free choice to follow whatever mode of worship they wish." Maxentius (son of Maximian), now ruler of Italy, was defeated at Turin, then again at Verona, and finally at the battle of Milvian Bridge near Rome, A.D. 312. Fleeing from the stricken field, the last of the oppressors, endeavouring to force his way across the crowded bridge, fell into the river and was smothered in Tiber mud. Next day Constantine entered Rome and became sole Emperor of the West. His brother-in-law, Licinius, was ruler of the East. With the supremacy of these two men, though both were pagans, pagan persecution ceased. Satan had endeavoured in vain to burn the Book. We shall see in our next chapter how he tried to banish it, and we shall see that he failed in this also.

Chapter 12.

The Rise of the Papacy

We have reached a period in history when we might expect that the fortunes of the Book and the followers of the Book would enter upon a time of peace and prosperity. The reign of Constantine certainly forms a remarkable era in the history of the world. In matters both political and social there was a great advance on what had gone before. But the same cannot be said of that which concerns the Church. We have now reached the time spoken of by the Lord Jesus in Matt. 13: 32, when the "grain of mustard seed" had become "a tree," with the "birds of the air" lodging in its branches. Evil men, who before had "crept in unawares," now found that the professing Church was the best place for earthly preferment. The company of believers at Rome soon ceased to be known as "the Church in Rome," and became "the Church of Rome." Two little words, but how great the difference in meaning. The Christian religion was legalised, and became a State-aided institution, as paganism had been before it.

This period saw also a marked distinction among the Christians themselves. In Apostolic days all believers were looked upon as God's Kleros (clergy or lot, 1 Peter v. 2). Now sharp and very distinctive lines were drawn between the "clergy" and the "laity" (the people). Next the "clergy" began to be divided among themselves into ranks of greater or lesser precedence. Deacons considered themselves greater than readers; presbyters considered themselves greater than deacons; bishops assumed authority over presbyters, and soon there was a strife among bishops themselves as to "who should he the greatest." This unscriptural supremacy was sought for, assumed, and finally asserted by the Bishop of Rome. The finished product was the "popes," and everything that bishops should not be they have been. All alike would seem to have forgotten the divine word, "One is your Master even Christ and all ye are brethren" (Matt. 23: 8). Instead of seeking in love to serve one another, they soon began to "beat" and abuse their fellow-servants and "eat and drink with the drunken" (Matt. 24: 49). Not only so, but so great became their pride and assumption that they impiously declared that all who would not bow to the rule of Rome were on the sure road to hell. Outside of the Roman Church there is no Salvation. And such folly and impiety is still taught among the sect of the Roman Catholics to-day. It is folly, because the Apostles were "outside of the Roman Church." It is impiety, because it transfers the way of Salvation from the Lord Jesus, the alone Saviour of Sinners, to a perverted sect calling itself Christian, but which has both in its history and doctrines manifested everything that is unchristian and of the world.

At this period, too, the bones and relics of the martyrs became articles of great importance and high mercantile value. Not only so, but in a most remarkable way the supply was always equal to the demand. Peter's chains multiplied as fast as credulity could purchase, and blacksmiths have been making chains for Peter ever since. Even Joseph's "latest breath" received in Nicodemus's glove could be had for a consideration.

In all this we see that the Prince of Darkness was beginning to build up a new system of opposition to the truth out of the debris of his former cruelties. From pagan persecution came papal superstition. Thus the Church gave up entirely the truth of the "heavenly calling" and adopted all the principles of the world. Even the cruelties she had suffered in the early days she, in turn, inflicted in the Middle Ages on all who truly witnessed for Christ.

Constantine now began to fashion the Church after the pattern of the State. The "priests" were made princes of the Church. (Alas! the Church had forgotten that all believers are priests.) They wore splendid robes similar to the Emperor's. Now, also, we read of them sitting upon "Episcopal thrones" and wearing "mitres." Half-pagan and half-Jewish millinery also began to play some part, for we get a glimpse of "sacred gowns" and other trumpery ill-suited for men who were "not of the world." The bishopric became an office of dignity and influence, and, in the natural course of things, only palaces could be suitable accommodation for such magnificence. These followed next.

Thus the men who had been the mark for Satan's keenest shafts now found themselves patronised by the Emperor and fawned upon by the world. The Church had given up its heavenly calling. We have difficulty in recognising these men as followers of the meek and lowly Jesus, who had to say when on earth, "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head" (Matt. 8: 20). In the first century the Church turned the world upside down; now the world had turned the Church upside down.

From this time the Church rapidly fell away from Apostolic teaching and practice, and the results were manifest to all when the Christians began to quarrel among themselves. From quarrelling they came to fighting, and as usual the victors persecuted the vanquished.

Constantine called himself the bishop of the bishops, and in order to settle their differences summoned the first Great Council to meet at Nicea. It is said that a "golden altar" was erected in the centre of the hall, and the Book, which for 30o years had been the object of the world's fiercest enmity, placed upon it. Constantine also ordered fifty copies to be specially bound and sent to the principal Christian assemblies. Three hundred and eighteen bishops met on this occasion, and men who, a few short years before, had lived in danger of their lives found themselves now treated as guests and friends of the Emperor. Many of these men bore in their bodies the marks of the sufferings they had endured. Some were twisted out of human shape, their bones had been broken by torture and badly set afterwards. Some could not sit erect, the muscles of their sides and shoulders all drawn together after having been seared with hot irons. Others walked lame, with legs and sinews torn and burnt. When they were all invited to the splendid banquet given them by Constantine, they must have gone greatly wondering.

One result of this Council was that Christendom, for the first time in its history, found itself in the possession of a Creed. But however Scriptural this may be, we are better with the words of the Book itself than with any definitions therefrom made by men.

Another thing we must notice here before we leave. The Emperor had been besieged with petitions from all the discordant parties accusing each other. Before the debate began he called for a brazier and, declaring he would not read one of them, cast them all into the fire, adding, "It is the command of Christ that he who would be forgiven must first forgive his brother."

The years that lie before us are rapidly shading down to the Dark Ages. Dark deeds took place in the Emperor's own family, which finally led Constantine to transfer the seat of Empire to his new city on the Bosphorus, which, through the munificence of the Emperor, soon became greater and more populous than Rome itself.

The departure of the Emperor saw the arrival of the "pope." The bishops of Rome from this time began to seek a place of power and influence both in things spiritual and in things temporal. When the break-up of the Western Empire took place about one hundred years later, they aspired to become earthly princes and rule over this world, forgetting alike both the words and the spirit of Him who said, "My Kingdom is not of this world."

But amid all these dark clouds there were in many places silver linings; and instead of dwelling longer on the evils that everywhere abounded, we shall look at a young man who lived in Constantinople somewhere between the years A.D. 335 and 345. He was a Goth from the region of the Danube who had come to Rome as a hostage, and while there he had been converted. He conceived the purpose of preaching the Gospel among his heathen countrymen, and to this end very wisely decided to begin by giving them a translation of the Book. But as their native language had not yet been reduced to writing, he had to form an alphabet as well as make a translation of the Scriptures. Both of these things he accomplished with great success, and a MS. of this version, written in silver letters on purple vellum, is preserved at Upsala in Sweden.

Ulphilus is known as the "Apostle of the Goths." He laboured among them with much success for nearly forty years.

Another devoted servant was Severinus, the "Apostle of Noricum." He travelled through the district barefooted, "fasting and praying, and calling upon men to repent."

Prisoners of war in those days met a hard fate. If not massacred on the field of battle, they were condemned to the harshest form of slavery. Severinus interceded with King Flethus and the barbarian chiefs in their favour, collected money, redeemed many, and sent them to their homes — enriched himself by their gratitude and blessings.

When the old man lay dying he sent for the King and Queen. Gisa, the Queen, was a wicked woman, who had been harsh to the captives and severe in the terms of their redemption. Stretching out his hand to her, he said, "Which lovest thou best, O Queen, thy husband, or gold and silver?"

"I love my husband better than all treasure," she replied.

"Beware, then," said the dying man, "of oppressing the innocent, lest their oppressions bring your destruction. Abstain from evil deeds and adorn your life with good works."

When his royal visitors had departed, he asked his attendants to sing Psalm 150. He feebly joined with them in the closing verse, and with the words on his lips, "Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord," he passed home to his reward.

We may pass over in a few words the reputed "conversion" of Clovis, King of the Franks, in A.D. 496. The Bishop of Rheims was a different type of man from the Apostle of Noricum. What he looked for was change of profession; change of life and nature might, or might not, follow. That they did not is shown by the complaint of his neighbour, the King of Burgundy, who said of Clovis, "A cruel and covetous mind is not the symptom of a sincere conversion; let him show his faith by his works." Already a "Cathedral Church" had been erected at Rheims. We read of "costly tapestries," "sweet strains of music," "wafted perfumes," and "numberless candles."

When the barbarian King, about to be baptized, entered the large building, he asked in an awestruck whisper, "Is this the kingdom of heaven?" We are inclined to question the truth of the bishop's reply when he answered, "No, but it is the way to it." Rome was too anxious to number a king among her vassals to make the gate either strait or narrow. Clovis was baptized and became "The Eldest Son of the Church." His warlike Franks, nothing loth, changed their religion to please their master.

We notice this here only to show that Roman missionary methods now aimed only at conversion en bloc. When a king or chief was "converted" by these methods, his followers had to obey or be put to the sword. This, we know, was far from the Apostolic method, but the Christianity of the sixth century was very different from the Christianity of the first. In many cases it was merely paganism with new titles. The methods of the Book were no longer followed. We may notice here that so far it had not been forbidden, it had only been forgotten. The neglect of the Book, however, was the secret of all the errors, both in doctrine and in practice, we have been noticing.

But God has ever had in this world a testimony to His Name and His truth. This we must now seek for outside the Roman Church. Or shall we say Rome was careful to try to extinguish that testimony in fire and blood as soon as she discovered it.

We now take a long step forward in history, and find ourselves in the year 1172 or thereby. Much has taken place in the interval, and Rome now has become, in type at least, "that great city which ruleth over the kings of the earth." Not only the King of the Franks, but all the Kings of Europe, Russia alone excepted, have bowed their necks to her yoke. She is now at the height of her power and pride and glory outwardly. Morally she is at the lowest depth of vice and degradation and infamy.

We are in the sunny south of France, and when things can be no darker, God is about to kindle a light that all the power and cruelty of the Pope will not be able to completely extinguish.

A rich merchant of Lyons has been truly converted, and by the study of Scripture he has conceived the desire to bring back the Church to the teaching and practice of the days of the Apostles.

His first thought, like that of every true Evangelist, was that the people should read the Book for themselves. At that time the only version of the Bible in Western Europe was Jerome's Latin Vulgate, but Latin was now a dead language, and even the priests, who by this time were alone expected to possess it, were ignorant of the truths it contained. So Peter Waldo succeeded in making a translation into what was called the "Romaunt" tongue. He then gave his money and goods to the poor, and not only began to preach the Gospel himself, but collected round him other helpers like-minded to assist. Just as those who helped our English Reformers were called "Wycliffe's Poor Priests," so Waldo's assistants came to he known as the "Poor Men of Lyons."

Soon Waldo's Testament spread widely through the Waldensian valleys, but as copies had to be written out by hand, and were thus expensive to produce, the young people were taught to commit large portions to memory so as to be able to repeat them in their assemblies when there was no Bible present. Many could repeat complete Gospels without an error. We wonder if even one out of the many readers of this book could do so!

These men hoped to reform the Church, and reform was long overdue. Pride and luxury marked the higher clergy; ignorance and sensuality characterised the lower. But reform was the last thing in the mind of the Pope. He sent instead a company of friars to find out the state of affairs, and take note of who should be burned when opportunity came.

Now for the first time we come across this dread word — Inquisition. It speaks of torture and tears, of suffering and blood. Inside its dark chambers of hellish cruelty we get glimpses of men wholly given over to the devil, and left free to work out their diabolical delights on the sensitive bodies of men and women by inflicting the most acute and protracted forms of suffering that Satan himself could inspire.

But the result of the Inquisition made by Dominic and his fellow-friars was that a "holy war" was preached against the Waldenses. Rewards, both temporal and spiritual, were offered to the ruffian crowd to induce them to join the Pope's army. They were told that the men, women, and children they were called upon to slay were "accursed of God and the Church" — that to shed their blood was to wash away their own sins. The Pope pledged his word that at the moment of death the angels would be in attendance to carry them to Paradise. And for all this they had only to serve a campaign of forty days. Truly the Pope made Paradise cheap. Such were the blasphemous teachings and the bloodthirsty instructions of that which professed to be the Church of Jesus Christ. But enough — here we see Romanism undisguised, Satan's agent and counterfeit of true Christianity.

At last the ruffian army marched. The three divisions were led, one by the Arch- bishop of Bordeaux, one by the Abbot of Citeaux, and the third by the Bishop of Puy. And these Churchmen were more keen for blood than even their rascal followers. The city of Beziers was their first objective. Inside its walls many had fled for refuge. The gates were forced and the city was taken. The Abbot, instead of showing mercy as we might have expected, urged on the work of death. "Kill all," he cried, "the Lord will find out His own." Seven thousand of the women and children fled to the churches. Seven thousand dead corpses lay there at night. Fired in various places, the once flourishing city became a vast funeral pile. Not one house was left standing, not one human soul left alive. Sixty thousand human beings had perished. Mohammed himself never perpetrated deeds such as these. He offered "death or the Koran." Rome's cry was "death" without option.

There is a day coming when the Archbishop, the Abbot, and the Bishop will stand before the Judge of all the Earth, and when "He makes inquisition for blood," the blood of Beziers will not be forgotten.

And so the work of extermination began, and continued in the various Alpine valleys for nearly five hundred years.

We have selected one example out of many, and that not one of the worst. The record of the sufferings and tortures inflicted on the Waldensian Christians was of such a nature that the details may not be printed in the English language. And these things were done with the full approbation of the Romish Church. The leaders were honoured, the rank and file were rewarded. And these deeds have the approval of the Roman Church to-day, for Rome never changes. What she has done in the past she would do again did opportunity offer and her policy require it. Whatever Rome may profess, we do well to remember what Rome is.

But Peter Waldo in translating the New Testament had done a work mighty in its results. The thirteenth century saw but the faint shimmering of the dawn. The fourteenth was destined, in the good providence of God, to see the Book translated into the language of a people that would ultimately carry its message of life and peace, pure and unadulterated, to the utmost ends of the earth.

In the fourteenth century, as we have already seen, was born John Wycliffe. In the fourteenth century, for the first time in their history, the people of England had the Book of God in their own language.

Chapter 13.

Christianity in Early Britain

Romanism in England was not indigenous. It was, if we may say so, an imported religion. Many, if not all, of its dogmas were foreign to the native mind. Compulsion is the first thing Rome has to offer, and it is the last thing to which a Briton is willing to submit. Our country, though apparently under the sway of the Pope from the seventh to the sixteenth century, yet produced many men who refused his supremacy and spurned his teaching.

The true light had reached Britain long before Augustine and his forty monks landed in A.D. 597.

Let us go back to the beginning of the two thousand years of our island's authenticated history. We have no reason to be ashamed of the men who then inhabited Britain and became the foundation strata of a strong and virile race.

The earliest Roman invader, with his "twelve thousand warriors," was so roughly handled that he had to hie him to his ships before the first wild winds of winter and flee to safer quarters. Learning wisdom by experience, Caesar next year appeared with "thirty thousand infantry and two thousand cavalry, conveyed in eight hundred transports." The size of his new armament was a tribute to the courage of the islanders he was striving in vain to subdue.

The danger was great, but, as ever in our island history, with the hour came the man. Looking back over the years, Cassivellaunus is to us now but a name. Emerging out of the darkness on the one side, we see him striking his many bold blows at the haughty Roman, and then he disappears into the darkness again. We know little of the social life of the period, and less of the religious, save that Druidism, with its Egyptian lore, its stern doctrines, its gloomy rites, and its blood-stained altars, held sway over the minds of men. So far, the glorious Gospel of Peace was unknown.

Another hundred years, and again we see through the mists of time another hero letting loose the British lion against the Roman eagles. But Caractacus's nine years' struggle ends in disaster, and we sadly watch the fettered chief, "with his weeping wife and children," transported as captives to Rome. Step by step the natives are forced back. The last refuge of the Druids in Anglesey is invaded, and the heathen worship is extinguished in fire and blood. The "sacrifice to devils" (1 Cor. 10: 20) is coming to an end. The knowledge of the True God will soon find entrance, and to men who have lived in darkness and the shadow of death, the light of life is about to arise. But that, though soon to be, was not just yet. Another startling figure now emerges. Stung to hatred and madness by insult and suffering, the "British Warrior Queen" once again arouses the spirits of this fighting race. Fear and terror marched before: carnage and death accompanied her, and 70,000 Romans lay dead in and around London as the result of that stern campaign. But with a pertinacity worthy of a better cause, Suetonius again gathers his scattered legions, and after the next clash of arms, Boadicea, at the close of a lost battle, perishes by her own hand. And so passes another leader worthy to be remembered — noble men and women all.

But we come now to what interests us more than warfare or battles. We catch glimpses, for the first time, of some of those noble Britons who proudly refused to bow to imperial Rome, and see them now bowing in faith and worship at the name of the Lord Jesus. What missionary company first found their way to our shores? Did they bring the Book? Neither question can be answered, but it is almost certain that Roman Christians would follow Roman conquest. Indeed, many soldiers in the imperial armies were believers in the Lord Jesus Christ. Another thing we know is that books at this time were comparatively cheap. Bookselling in the first century was a flourishing trade, and Rome then was to literary men what Athens had been before, or what London or Edinburgh is to-day. Publishers employed a staff of girls to copy out, in neat characters, the works of their clients, and so expeditiously was this done that a book of over 200 verses could be sold for about one penny. In later years, as the power of the Empire declined, learning was neglected, and ultimately found a home in the monasteries, where pious men, fleeing — mistakenly perhaps — from the evils of the world, spent their time in copying the Scriptures. Much evil sprang from the monastic system of the Early Church. This is one of the good things: let us not overlook it. It has been estimated that at the close of the second century there would be three millions of Christians and some 60,000 copies of the Scriptures. We may well conclude, then, that the early Christians in Britain were possessed of many copies of the Gospels in the original language, for Greek was still the literary language of the day.

After the coming of the Romans, the next important event in our island history was their departure. Paganism in the Empire came to an end, as we have seen, early in the fourth century. Thus British Christians were free to carry the Gospel to the Picts and Scots in the North, which we know they did. And well it was so, for here the light continued to shine when it had been almost extinguished in the South.

Ninian, who built the first church in Scotland, was born about 360. He laboured in Strathclyde. Then we read of one "Calpurnius, a deacon of the church at Bonavern," near Glasgow. To him was born about 372 a son named Succat. His mother's name was Conchessa, and she must have been a very superior woman, to judge by her son's career. When only sixteen years of age, young Succat, while playing on the shore, was captured by pirates, carried to Ireland and sold as a slave. Here the lessons of his Christian home came back to his mind and led him to faith in Christ. Succat was converted. Some years afterwards he escaped and rejoined his family. But the desire now filled his heart to return to Ireland and preach the Gospel. He did so, and his labours were greatly blessed. From Scotland Ireland first received the Gospel. Two hundred years later Scotland was to receive in return a missionary who did much, not only for Scotland, but for other parts of Europe as well. Columba reached Iona in 563.

But before we notice the labours of Columba, we must look at other and less welcome visitors who landed in the South in 449. The departure of the Romans left the nation to struggle unaided against their ancient foes, the Picts of the North and the Scots from Ireland. In an evil moment for his race, Vortigern, the British King, sought help from the Saxon rovers, Hengist and Horsa. With them landed at Ebbsfleet another conqueror, with flaxen hair and blue eyes, and never a shield or spear. But the fair Rowena soon had the British ruler at her feet. The heathen bride was married to the Christian King, who from love for a fair face plunged his kingdom into misery. This much of good we may trace in her tragic story: that through all his troubled life she was true to her husband. And whether her friends or his friends were losers in the many fights, hers was ever the sorrow, for she had relations in both camps. At last she perished with him in the flames that destroyed the fortress in which they had taken refuge after his last lost battle. Poor Rowena! Did she continue to cling to the worship of her father's war gods, or did she open her heart to the sweet influence of the love of Christ? Who shall say. Anyway, in that little Welsh fortress, firmly facing the greedy flames thirsting for her life, beside the husband of her youth, Rowena bravely met her doom.

And so the wild welter of war went on for some sixty years, until nearly every vestige of Christianity had been swept from the land. For it was against Christianity that the rage of the heathen Saxons most fiercely burned. They destroyed the churches, or turned them into idol temples. They slew the clergy. Above all, they burned the Scriptures wherever found, for as of old the Book was the object of men's fiercest hate. The powers of darkness were putting forth another effort to retain the land under the sway of the Prince of Darkness. It reminds us of the tenth persecution, only acted upon a smaller field, but with even more effective results.

But just as Diocletian failed, so failed the present reaction in Britain. By many and various agents God continues to work out His purposes of grace, and these go ever forward until the day comes when angelic hosts will chant the song of final victory. "The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ; and he shall reign for ever and ever (Rev. 11: 15).

Chapter 14.

The First English Bible

We shall not trouble to trace how the many companies of Saxon invaders quarrelled and fiercely fought among themselves, shaping out the various kingdoms of the Saxon Heptarchy. Let us look rather for the brave men who were willing to risk everything in the endeavour to relight the lamp of truth in eastern Britain.

As we have seen, Columba formed a Christian community at Iona in 563. From this centre Evangelists went forth all over the north of Europe. Burgundy, France, and Switzerland were reached by these earnest men. The islands of Orkney, Shetland, and Faroe were not neglected, and we read that even Iceland was visited, though we may well doubt if their frail boats could possibly navigate such dangerous waters.

Kentigern was labouring meantime in Cumberland. Had he received more support from the Iona brethren, England might have been saved from the Romish invasion. Columba died in 597: in 597 Augustine landed in Kent. Here begins the Italian mission: it is going on still.

But much of the apparent success of the sixth century has to be greatly discounted if we are to arrive at a true estimate of its real worth, as we shall see later.

Kent was chosen for a landing-place because here reigned the Christian Queen Bertha, with her pagan husband Ethelbert.

Royal ladies fill a large place in life, and just as Rowena, unintentionally perhaps, had brought evil, so Bertha brought good. In the first place she induced the King to receive the missionaries kindly. Next year he professed to be converted, and 10,000 of his people followed. If we are to believe Augustine's report, all were baptized in one day. We hear nothing, alas! of the vital essentials of repentance towards God and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ. The 3,000 converted on the Day of Pentecost were pricked in their heart and said, "What shall we do?"

Augustine then "converted" the temples by washing them with "holy water," and instead of heathen idols he substituted popish idols, with relics of the saints. Soon, alas! the savage worshippers of Odin saw little difference between the old religion and the new.

We read of one, King Redwald, who had been baptized, but who had "an altar to Christ, and another on which he immolated victims to the devil."

Pope Gregory was overjoyed at the success of the mission. He made Augustine an Archbishop, and wrote to him: "All the bishops of Britain we comit to your charge, that the unlearned may be instructed, the weak be strengthened, and the perverse be corrected by your authority."

But the British churches refused the authority of the monk, and very rightly said: "We will have no master but Christ." Conferences were arranged at which the proud Archbishop, "seated upon his throne," tried to bring them to subjection without success. Losing patience, it seems, in face of their devotedness, he threatened that if they would not receive the papal agents as friends they would find them to be enemies.

Augustine died. Ethelbert died. The good Queen Bertha died. Eanbald succeeded to the throne. Soon the priests quarrelled with the new King. Then the King went back to his heathen rites, "and a great portion of his subjects changed their religion with him." The "success" of the Romish mission had been more apparent than real. It is one thing to profess a religion it is quite another to see ourselves as lost sinners needing a Saviour. In the kingdom of Essex the same events took place, and the priests had to flee. Then King Eanbald "became a Christian again." Let us hope that this time it was more than mere profession. Anyway, he hurled down his heathen idols and pagan altars; he forbade sacrifices to Odin, and invited the priests from Essex to take refuge in his kingdom. Very right, too, were the scruples he urged when the young King Edwine of Northumbria sent to demand his sister in marriage "It is wrong," said he, "for a Christian maiden to become the wife of a pagan husband; of one who would neither share with her in the holy sacrament nor kneel down with her to worship the same holy God."

The Scriptures say, "Be not unequally yoked together," and this erstwhile pagan King had learned the lesson yet to be learned by many today who profess to call Jesus, Lord.

King Edwine, however, solemnly promised to give every freedom, both to his young bride and to all the Christians who might come with her. So, like her mother before, the royal lady set forth to sojourn among strangers. Like her mother, also, her influence was for good in the end.

Queen Edilburga listened to the preaching of the Bishop Paulinus who had accompanied her, and her gentle spirit was strengthened by the truth of the Gospel. To Edwine the stormy halls of Odin were, as yet, more congenial than the grace and peace of Christ. When his little daughter was born he "gave solemn thanks to Odin," but he also allowed her to "be baptized as a Christian."

We see in King Edwine a true-hearted man in dark days seeking after light. He next called a conference of his ealdormen and pagan priests to discuss the new religion. We must pause a moment here and listen to their interesting conversation. Coifu, the chief priest, spoke first, and spoke well.

"Not one of your whole Court, O King," said he, "has been more attentive to the worship of your gods than I myself, although many have received richer benefits and prospered more than I have done. Now, if these gods had been of any real use, would they not have assisted me? And in the new preaching, I freely confess, I seem to find the truth I sought, for it promises us the gifts of life, salvation, and eternal bliss."

Coifu sits down, and no one seems able to refute his able argument. We look into the dark faces of the priests of Odin and the stern countenances of the Saxon warriors gathered round their King to see who will rise next. An aged councillor, with a faraway look in his eyes, makes answer: "The soul of man, O King, is like a sparrow which, in a dark and dreary night, passes for a moment through the door of your hall. Entering, it is surrounded by light and warmth and is safe from the wintry storm. But after a short spell of brightness and quiet, it flies out through another door into the dark from whence it came. Such, O King, is the life of man: for a moment it is visible, but what was before or what comes after we know not. If this new religion can tell us anything about these mysteries, by all means let us follow it."

After this they went to Godmundham (the house of gods), destroyed the idols, and levelled the buildings with the ground.

We trust Paulinus was able to teach them clearly about the life and immortality brought to light through the Gospel, and we are sure that both he and his fellow-labourers were faithful to the truth they knew, or else they could never have made the good impression they did among the fierce idol worshippers of Saxon England. Edwine used his powerful influence to support the missionary efforts in various directions, and extend his own power as well, for it seems he had ambitious dreams. His rule reached to the sea on the west, and extended north as far as Edwinsburgh, where "he built for himself a great castle on the rock," and there it is until this day. So he went on and prospered.

But Edwine's greatness came to a sad end. The fierce pagan King Penda of Mercia, "a man who could no more live without fighting than he could without food," came against him with a great army, and Edwine was slain. On that dark battlefield he laid him down to sleep the sleep no dreams disturb, and men began again to think that the "new religion," which taught peace and goodwill, was not good enough for kings.

And so nearly all the land became pagan as before. The gentle Edilburga, with her children, fled to Kent, and Paulinus fled with her. Her brother received her kindly and sorrowfully, and she afterwards retired to a convent. Such was the ending to a lifetime of dramatic events. As a little girl, forty years before, she had no doubt learned the Gospel at her mother's knee. Then she had seen the strange procession of monks that visited her father's Court. She had looked with childish awe and wonder on the figure of the Redeemer exhibited on the missionaries' banners. She had seen her father throw down his blood-stained altars at the call of the true faith, and had witnessed the same experience in her husband's history.

But all the good work had not come to an end. We read much in the Book of Acts about the influence of devout women, and we find many similar cases in Saxon history. Edwine's little girl, who had been "baptized as a Christian," grew up to be the wife of another Christian King of Northumbria, and Queen Eanflaed, like her mother and grand-mother before her, used her influence in a right way.

But meantime one King after another stepped on to Edwine's vacant throne. We seem to see mere phantoms lifting a crown on to their brows, only to be hurled down in a moment, and they themselves passing to an untimely grave. But what we are most interested in is the sad fact that during these civil commotions it seemed as if a wet sponge had been drawn across the face of the land and had wiped Christianity entirely out of Northumbria. "It was a time that was hateful to all good men."

But when heathenism seemed about to close in once more, a young heir to the throne appeared in the person of Oswald, the "Saint King," who had been an exile in Iona. Oswald set himself to recover his people to the faith of the Gospel. The Latin missionaries had fled from the land when Edwine was slain. Oswald, therefore, turned to Iona, and from Iona came the man who has been called the "Apostle of England," St Aidan. For the eight years of Oswald's reign these two men, with their fellow-helpers, worked nobly together. No sanction from Rome was asked for. They had learned the Gospel of Christ, and in His Name they went forth to proclaim it. The King often acted as interpreter to the missionary until Aidan acquired the language.

Aidan's headquarters were at Lindisfarne, a short distance from Bamborough, the royal residence. Here a school was established, and young men trained for the mission field.

But the heathen King Penda was again on the march, and after eight short years all Oswald's good work had to be laid down. But the javelin that transfixed him on his last fatal field did not overthrow the work so well done during his life.

Oswy, his younger brother, came to the throne, and once again the old heathen King appeared. Oswy retreated as far north as the Firth of Forth, and offered large gifts. But Penda declared that he came to make an end of Oswy and not to take tribute. In the battle which followed, the last champion of the heathen gods fell on the field, and with the death of Penda the most powerful opponent of Christianity passed from the scene. Never again did the land revert to the heathenism introduced by the Anglo-Saxons.

Two other events we must notice about this time, and then we shall cease to follow the fortunes of the followers of the Book and come back to the Book itself.

The first of these events introduces us to another devout woman of the period. The Abbess Hilda was of the royal house of Edwine, who was her grand-uncle. She had been baptized when a girl of thirteen, and was one of the educated women of the time who gave themselves and their possessions to the cause of the Gospel. With the help of Aidan she had founded a monastery and school at Whitby, and from it many missionaries went forth not only through Northumbria but as far south as Essex. Here lived Caedmon, who has been called the father of English poetry. His verse had this recommendation, that it put the words of Scripture in simple language before the people. Here is a sample.

CAEDMON'S POEM

"Go thou, with utmost haste, Abraham, journeying set thy steps, and with thee lead thine own child. Thou shalt Isaac to me sacrifice, thy son, thyself as an offering, after thou mountest the steep downs (the ring of the high land which I from hence will show thee) up with thine own feet: there thou shalt prepare a pile, a bale-fire for thy child, and thyself sacrifice thy son, with the sword's edge, and then with swart flame burn the beloved's body, and offer it to me as a gift."

Soon the controversy between the Romish mission and the Evangelicals became acute. It was no longer merely the time of keeping Easter or the shape of the tonsure that was at issue. What Rome demanded now was subjection to the fiction of the "Supremacy of Peter," or in other words, to the authority of the Pope, apostolic succession, and the adoption of all her other rites and ceremonies.

So King Oswy summoned the famous "Synod of Whitby" in 664 to settle their differences. Colman of Lindisfarne, successor to Aidan, with Hilda and others, supported the cause of the Gospel. They held that every Christian ought to be a preacher according to his ability. The Romish doctors declared that Peter was the "prince of the Apostles," that all authority must come from him, and that to him all must submit. We have met this word — submit — before. It is Rome's only argument. Now King Oswy had married the "little girl who had been baptized as a Christian," and, unfortunately, Queen Eanflaed was in the Roman interest. She persuaded her husband to submit. He submitted and declared himself on the side of the Pope. Colman and the others refused. Leaving their all in Lindisfarne they went back to Scotland, and the "Romans" took possession.

We may sum up in a few words the results of the last hundred years by saying that Scottish missionaries Christianised England. Augustine and his followers Romanised it.

We come now to the second event we purposed to notice, and that is the birth of Baeda, or the Venerable Bede, as he came to be called later in life. And this brings us back to the Book, for Bede was the first who endeavoured to translate a portion of Scripture into the native tongue. He had spent his life in the monastery of Jarrow, and was one of the most accomplished men of the age. Six hundred scholars attended his lectures, and his last days were occupied in translating the Gospel of John. Some say he died when he had reached the ninth verse of chapter six, others that he completed the book; then, with the words "Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost" on his lips, passed to his rest. Anyhow, we know that he was the first Englishman who really set himself to this good work.

Let us now, in a single step, pass to the year 848, when Alfred the Great was born. In him we again find a man fitted for the great work that lay before him. Just as the heathen Anglo-Saxons in the fifth century swept away nearly every vestige of Christianity, so the Danish Invasion seemed to threaten a like result in the ninth. It was the last effort of the Prince of Darkness to heathenise England and it failed. Everywhere the Scriptures were destroyed. Great monasteries, such as Croyland and Peterborough, with all their books, treasures, and manuscripts, were given to the flames, while hundreds of priests were massacred in cold blood. But Alfred contended unflinchingly and successfully with all his foes. He not only delivered his kingdom from foreign invasion, but he set himself to rule his subjects in the fear of God. Not content with having learned men among the clergy, he endeavoured to teach the people also to read, and many of the nobles, encouraged by his example, were to be seen conning their alphabet. He founded schools, both for English and Latin, and books of various kinds were translated into the language of the people. But valuable as all these things were, we may well conclude that his greatest work was the translation of some parts of the Bible. He is said to have died while engaged on an English version of the Psalms.

Let us now pass on to the year 1324. Many things have taken place in that long interval. One of these things has been the steadily rising power of the popes, who were seeking to bring all the nations of Europe under their sway, and drain the wealth of the people into the coffers of the Church. Another has been the Norman Conquest, and with it has come a race of Kings who offered unvarying opposition to papal encroachments. When Gregory VII. wrote to Norman William to "do him fealty" for the realm of England, the King replied, "Fealty I have never willed to do to thee, neither do I will to do it now." It required a strong man to speak thus to the greatest of the popes, but William was strong. The people of England, too, were beginning to resent the frequent visits of Roman tax-gatherers. One such was told, "If you stay three days longer, you and your company shall be cut to pieces." A papal legate was hunted out of Oxford amid cries of "Usurer" and "Simoniac." "Where is the gaper for money who enriches foreigners with our spoils?"

And so legate Otho "is fain to put off his official robes and escape in the night as best he may." An anti-Roman spirit was rising in the nation, and even bishops of the Church, such as Robert Grosseteste, were among the leaders. When two friars came from Rome to demand from him 6,000 merks, he refused to accede to their extortionate demands. In the end the Pope excommunicated the bishop, and the bishop excommunicated the Pope. Then the bishop appealed from the tribunal of the Pope to the tribunal of Christ. "After which he troubled himself no more about the matter, but died quietly in his bed."

Such a man was no unworthy forerunner to John Wycliffe, who may well be called the "Morning Star of the Reformation." Seventy years after Grosseteste died, Wycliffe was born. To him belongs the honour of producing the first complete translation of the Bible into our language. To Rome belongs the shame of ordering — after that noble work was issued — that "all who read the Scriptures in their mother tongue shall forfeit lands, cattle, life, and goods from their heirs forever." Rome's vengeance stayed not even at death. She dared to prejudge the cause of her victims and consign their souls to Satan.

And now we reach the time when we can look into the quiet little study at Lutterworth and see Wycliffe and his helpers busy in penning the Words of Life in language understandable by the people. Busy and willing must have been the many hands at work, for it requires sixty hours even to read through the Bible. How many it would take to write it we do not know. Earnest and faithful, too, must have been these helpers, for Rome was determined the people should not read the Book, and soon was coming that dreadful statute condemning men and women to the flames for daring to read the Word of God. But the good work went on. Neither the labour of production nor the cost of purchase hindered it. Latin had been a dead language in Europe since the break up of the. Empire, but all MSS. of the Scriptures had been copied in that language ever since Jerome's Latin Vulgate had been issued nearly eight centuries before. Now, clothed in the language of the people, it came home to the hearts of the people. Men were so eager for the Words of Life that they risked their lives to procure them. Soon it could be said that every third person in England was a Lollard.

Here is a sample of Wycliffe's translation. Can you read it?

"Yan whan He was borne in bethleem of Jude, in ye dais of Herod kinge: Se ye maistres come from ye est to jerusalem, and saiden, Where is he yat is born ye kinge of Jues, For whi we sen his sterre in ye est and we come to adore him: And Herod ye kinge whan he herd yis is greteliche troubled, and al ierlm wiy hi. And he gadred alle princes of prestes and maisters of ye folk, and asked of hem where yt crist was borne: And hy saide to him In bethleem of Jude: For so is it writen yom ye prophete. And you bethleem lond of jude you nart nouzt lest in ye princes of Jude: For of ye schal corn out aduk yat gouerney mi puple of isrl."

The Pope summoned Wycliffe to Rome to answer for his errors, but Wycliffe replied by "giving the Pope some good advice."

With the completion of his English Bible, Wycliffe's work was done. He was stricken down with paralysis on the last Lord's Day of 1384, and on 31st December passed home to his reward.

Let us take another short step, this time of forty years only, and again we are back at Lutterworth. Is it a public holiday, or have all these churchmen come out to do honour to the memory of Wycliffe? Archbishop Chichele is here, dressed up in all the gaudy show of Romish pomp, with many other priests and bishops as well. And all are marching to the grave of Wycliffe, but, alas! it is not to do honour to the Reformer. They have come to burn his bones. And yet may it not be that Rome, in basely desecrating the grave of the dead, has done him more honour than she intended. She was unable to reply to him when in life. She now shows her fear of his work by revenging herself on his body when dead. Many of the inhabitants of the village would be able to remember the good old man who had counselled them, and preached to them, and pointed them to the One Way of Salvation. Now they are silent but not indifferent witnesses to the ceremony of to-day. A bonfire is lighted near the bridge, the grave forced open, and with childish spite the bones are flung into the fire, burned to ashes, and the ashes cast into the river. The spectators that day received a lesson as to what Rome is.

But Wycliffe had done a work Romish intolerance, spite of its utmost efforts, has never since been able to undo. She hates, and also fears, an Open Bible. He was a sage counsellor who said to the priests later, when Tyndale's printed Testament appeared, "We must get rid of printing, or printing will get rid of us." So far Rome has not "got rid of printing," but in every place where the Bible is read and believed men are "getting rid of Rome." And to-day there are more Bibles than ever before. It has been estimated, from the records of the three great Bible Societies, that over six hundred millions of Bibles have been produced since the art of printing was discovered. The Bible has been translated into over eight hundred different languages, and in embossed printing it can be read even by the blind. To all it brings the true light; to all it offers life and salvation through the finished work of the Lord Jesus Christ alone.

We may well say with the Psalmist, "The entrance of thy word giveth light, it giveth understanding to the simple."

THANK GOD FOR THE BIBLE, THE BEST BOOK OF ALL.

In the preparation of this book the following works have been consulted, and the help received is herewith gratefully acknowledged by the Author.

GREEN: "A Short History of the English People."

TREVELYAN: "England in the Age of Wycliffe."

PENNINGTON: "John Wyclif: His Life, Times, and Teaching."

HOOK: "Ecclesiastical Biography." 6 Vols.

NEAL: "History of the Puritans."

SHORT: "History of the Church of England."

RANKE: "History of the Popes." 3 Vols.

VAUGHAN: "John de Wycliffe, D.D."

ROBERTSON: "The Roman Catholic Church in Italy."

HISLOP: "Two Babylons."

M'KILLIAM "A Chronicle of the Popes."

SYDNEY: "Modern Rome in Modern England."

O'DONNOGHUE: "The Peculiar Doctrines of the Church of Rome."

EUSEBIUS: "Ecclesiastical History." Cruse's Trans.

MILMAN: "History of Christianity." 4 Vols.

WITHROW: "The Catacombs at Rome."

MUSTON: "Israel of the Alps." Hazlit Trans.

By the same author

"Four Points about a Wonderful Book,"

"The Inspiration of the Book,"

"The Vital Importance of the Book,"

"Britain's Open Bible,"

"A Bright Sunset,"

"Those 37000 Children,"

"The Story of Rebekah,"

"The Story of Ruth,"

"The Story of Christianity in Britain."

"Messiah the Prince."

"My Class for Jesus."

"The Great Prophetic Outline." An Exposition of Matthew 24, 25.

"The Grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ."

"The Man Who Did His Best."

The Captain's Heroism."

"How Young Hislop Died for the Truth."

"Maggie's Resting Place."

"John Wycliffe's Great Work."

"Bonfires of Bibles."

"The Boy Martyr of Brentwood."

"Mason's Mistake."

"Suddenly."

"Forgiven."

"Trying to be a Christian."

The Sailor's Devotion."

"The Sailor's Folly."

"Outline of the Book of Exodus."

"What Saith the Scriptures?" (A Reply to Dr Black.)

"Seven Wonderful Gifts."

STEM Publishing : For the Young : Christianity in Britain

Outlines of the Story of Christianity in Britain.

L. Laurenson. (Editor of "Loving Words.")

Second Edition

Edinburgh: J.K. Souter & Co., 2&3, Bristo Place.

Contents.

Chapter 1. The Faith in Early Days,

The Druids � Persecutions of the Early Church by Nero, Domitian, Trajan, and Dioclesian � The Culdees in Scotland � Toleration of Constantius Chlorus in France � Accession of Constantine to the Purple � The Church and the World � State Religion � The Picts and Scots � Birth of Succath � Becomes a Missionary to Ireland � His Death � Labours of Ninian in Cumbria,

Chapter 2. Pioneer Missionaries.

Persecution by Pagan Rome � Julian the Apostate � His Attempt to rebuild Jerusalem � Roman Legions withdrawn from Britain � Persecutions by the Anglo-Saxons � Increase of Paganism in Britain � Kentigern preaches near Glasgow � Retires to Wales � Invited back by Ryderech � Columba Arrives in Iona � Preaches among the Northern Picts � Missionaries from Iona � Their Journeys, Hardships, and Teaching � Usurpation of Popery � The Monk Augustine Arrives in Kent � Interview with King Ethelbert � Persecution by Papal Rome � Rise of the Moslems � Their Conquests � Inroad into Europe � Defeated at Tours � Development of Popery,

Chapter 3. The First English Bible.

Birth of John Wycliffe � His Conversion � Edward III. and Urban V. � Wycliffe Preaches at Oxford � Papal Bull for His Arrest � Summoned before Courtney � Before the Bishops at Lambeth Palace � The "Poor Priests" � Early Bible Translators � the First English Bible � Wycliffe Expelled from Oxford � Retires to Lutterworth � His Death � Persecution of his followers � Heretics to be Burned � Martyrdom of Sawtre, Badby, and Thorpe � Martyrdom of Lord Cobham � The Bohemian Reformers � Martyrdom of Huss and Jerome,

Chapter 4. Scotland's Confessors and Martyrs.

Patrick Hamilton Preaches in Scotland � Power of the Priests � Beaton Invites Hamilton to St. Andrews � His Arrest, Condemnation, and Death � Arrival of Tyndale's New Testament � Futile Opposition of the Priests � George Wishart in Dundee � Times of Revival � Wishart's Care for the Sick and Dying � Attempt to Assassinate him � Preaches at Edinburgh, Inveresk, and Haddington � Arrested at Ormiston � Burned at St. Andrews � Murder of Beaton �

Martyrdom of Walter Mill,

Chapter 5. John Knox and His Times.

Knox in the Castle of St. Andrews � Siege of the Castle by the Regent and the French � Knox sent to the Galleys � Miseries Endured by Galley Slaves � Knox and the Image of the Virgin � Liberation of Knox in 1549 � Visits Cranmer � Preaches in Berwick � Death of King Edward VI. � Accession of Mary Tudor � Dark Days for England � Mary of Guise Regent of Scotland � Favours the Protestant Party � Her Craft and Dissimulation � Knox cited to appear at Edinburgh � Finds no Accusers � Preaches to the People � The Archbishop's Warning � Civil War � Death of the Regent � Arrival of Queen Mary from France � The Mass Again � Knox's Doctrine � Interview with the Queen � Massacre of Vassy � Mirth of Mary � Rebuke of Knox � Catherine de Medici and Philip of Spain � Popish Plots � Trial and Acquittal of Knox � The Queen's Marriage � Murder of Rizzio � Carberry Hill � Imprisonment of the Queen � Murray Regent � Death of Murray � Massacre of Bartholomew � Illness of Knox � His Death � Tribute to his Character by the Regent Morton and by Pope Pius IX.,

Chapter 6. Tyndale's New Testament.

Persecution of the Lollards � Death of Claydon, Taylor, and White � Wars of the Roses � Birth of Tyndale � Training of Priests at Oxford � Erasmus' Greek Testament � Tyndale's Conversion � Thomas Bilney � Tyndale at Sudbury Hall � Disputes with the Priests � Preaches in the Villages � Decides to Translate the New Testament into English � Forced to leave Sudbury Hall � Tyndale in London � Humphrey Monmouth � John Fryth � Tyndale begins his Work � Luther's Books in England � Henry VIII. writes against Luther � The Pope confers on Henry "Defender of the Faith" � Henry Persecutes the Christians in Lincolnshire � Tyndale flees to the Continent � His New Testament printed at Worms � Introduced into England � Welcomed by the People � Burned by the Clergy � Martyrdom of Bilney and Fryth � Tyndale seized and Imprisoned � His Trial, Condemnation, and Martyrdom,

Chapter 1.

The Faith In Early Days.

The first authentic records we have of ancient Britain come to us from Commentaries of Julius Caesar. This ambitious conqueror, not content with his successes over the fierce and warlike tribes on the continent of Europe, sought to add a new province to the Roman Empire in the neighbouring island of "Britannia."

When Caesar landed in Britain he found that the only religion of our forefathers � if religion it could be called � was that taught by the Druid Priests, who had much influence over the people. The places where they practised their superstitious rites were usually enclosures of vast unhewn stones arranged in a circle, situated in the centre of dark forests where human victims bled under the sacrificial knife of the priest. Some fragments of these enclosures may still be seen on Salisbury Plain, and at Stennis in Orkney. So cruel and bloody were their rites, that even the merciless Roman conquerors speak of them with horror.

Soon Caesar had to withdraw his legions to take part in the great struggle with Pompey, which convulsed the Roman world; and nearly a hundred years passed away before the Imperial power again succeeded in establishing a footing in our island. It was only after many battles and much hard fighting that some of the tribes were subdued, and even then they were ready to break out into insurrection at the first opportunity.

Following their usual custom, the Roman generals sent some of the principal men as hostages to Rome for the good behaviour of the rest of the nation, and we read of a Welsh chieftain, named Brian, who was in Rome during the time the Apostle Paul was in the Imperial City.

We know from Scripture that there were many Christians in Rome at that time, and it is very possible that in his enforced sojourn in a strange land, the heart of this chief might be turned from his idol gods to know and love the true God.

We hear of this same Brian some time afterwards preaching Christ in his own country, and of the conversion of a native prince named Lucius. But whoever the servant was that braved the dangers of this primitive missionary journey to the ultima thule of the Roman empire, we know that there were many little companies of believers in Britain as early as the second century.

The tidings of Christ crucified had spread more quickly over the country than the arms of the Roman Emperors, and many followers of Christ were found beyond the walls of Adrian, where the ancient and mystical Druid worship, with its cruel and bloody ceremonies, was rapidly giving place to the knowledge of the Prince of Peace. But in every age "they that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution," and these early saints were to be no exception. The Roman Emperors, tolerant to nearly all other religions, made special efforts to rid the world of Christianity. In the first century Nero put many Christians to death under circumstances of the greatest cruelty and insult.

At the close of the century, under Domitian, we find that persecution had extended to Spain. The humane Nerva, who succeeded to the purple in 96, issued a pardon for those who had never been guilty, and Christians enjoyed a short respite till the beginning of the second century when the warlike Trajan meditated the extinction of the name. With such edicts in force we can hardly expect that the British Christians would escape, but when the relentless and prolonged persecution under Diocletian commenced, no part of the Empire was unvisited. The most ingenious and fiendish devices were used to torture as well as to slay all who refused to sacrifice to the gods. At no time previously had so determined and systematic an attempt been made to root out Christianity, and so complete was supposed to be the destruction of believers in Christ that coins were struck and inscriptions set up to declare that "the Christian superstitions had been rooted out, and the worship of the gods restored by Diocletian."

Some idea of the rapid increase of the Christian faith and also of the awful barbarity of pagan Rome may be gathered from the fact that during these persecutions over 750,000 Christians in one province alone perished by various kinds of cruel deaths. In Britain many Christians in the South fled from the cruelty of civilised Rome to the uncivilised and unconquered part of the island, and among the rude tribes then inhabiting Scotland they lived and taught the faith of Jesus. The lives of virtue and holiness led by these pious men, who came to be known as Culdees, led many of the pagans to forsake their sacred oaks and bloodstained altars to become disciples of the gospel.

In France where the mild Constantius Chlorus ruled, the followers of Jesus found some respite. Several Christians were found among his own household, and when the persecuting edict arrived, to test them, he ordered all who would not retract to quit his service. But the result was contrary to all expectation. He retained all who held fast to their faith, and dismissed the apostates, remarking that men who were unfaithful to God would also be so to their Prince. Constantius Chlorus dying at York in 3o6, Constantine, his son, succeeded him, and in the war that ensued was finally successful in putting down all his enemies, and became sole Emperor both of the East and West.

The Empire, which had previously been divided among two Emperors and two Caesars, was now firmly united in one hand. Constantine was prudent enough to see that in Rome at least, paganism was getting obsolete, and that by patronising Christianity he would forward his own political designs. The result of this we shall soon see. Outwardly it seemed a great thing that the Emperor should favour the Christians, but the Christians forgot that "the friendship of this world is enmity with God," and leaving the simple teaching of the Word of God, which says, "He that is greatest among you shall be your servant," (see Matt. 23: 11), individuals sought after place and power, exalting themselves to bear rule over their brethren.

One has said, "There was no plainer proof how completely the Church had fallen through forgetfulness of the Lord's name than when it accepted the Emperor's terms and the patronage of the world. The Church had been called out to be the standing witness of these two things � first, of the world's ruin; and secondly, of God's love. But when we see the Church shaking hands with the world all is gone, and the Church slips down into the mind of the age."

Constantine next proceeded to arrange the affairs of the Church after the pattern of the State, nominating the bishops of Rome, Antioch, Alexandria, and Constantinople, Patriarchs with revenues to support their new dignities. Sumptuous buildings were erected as Churches after the pattern of Solomon's temple. Honours and emoluments were heaped upon the pastors. Henceforth, pride and ambition in the hearts of the bishops led them to occupy themselves with the world, anxious to procure advancement, forgetting the Divine command, "Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world; if any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him." The doctrine of real conversion was also being lost sight of, while the mere external rite of baptism was taking the place of the inward work of the Holy Spirit.

We have digressed for a moment to tell of this sad degeneracy in the East

and in Italy, that the position of the Church of Rome may be better understood when she appears at a later period in our story. But as yet the Christians in Britain enjoyed little benefit from this State leniency. Their rulers when not employed in settling civil dissensions, were called upon to repel the fierce inroads of the savage tribes on their borders.

The Picts from the Highlands of Scotland, and the Scots from Ireland, devastated the more settled part of the country wherever they came, putting the inhabitants to the sword or carrying them away into slavery. One of the captives thus enslaved was at a future day, to become a useful missionary, and so interesting is the story that we give it in detail.

On the wooded banks of the Clyde, not far from where the City of Glasgow now stands, there was born in the year 377 � or as some say 387 � a little boy named Succath. His father Calpurnius was a farmer, and also a deacon of the Church at Bonavern, where his farm was, and seems to have been a simple-hearted, pious, Christian man.

As the little boy grew up, his father, and especially his mother Conchessa, diligently taught him the truths of Christianity, and sought to instil into his mind the knowledge of the true faith, warning him to beware of the idolatrous rites which prevailed in many places around them; Scotland, at this time, like Athens of old, being almost "wholly given to idolatry." Succath, like many other little boys, often paid little heed to the earnest teachings of his parents, and liked better to be the leader in the fun and mischief of his companions, than listen to the story of the Saviour's love. The time was coming, however, when he was to remember and profit by these lessons. In due season the good seed so prayerfully sown would spring up and bear fruit an hundredfold. How important to learn the truths of Scripture while young! Timothy was commended because from a child he had known the Holy Scriptures which are able to make wise unto salvation. "The entrance of Thy words giveth light; it giveth understanding unto the simple. Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path."

One day when Succath was about sixteen years of age, he and his two sisters were playing near the shore, when an Irish pirate chieftain, named O' Neale, made a descent on the coast near Bonavern, and carried them off, along with a number of others, to be sold for slaves. You can imagine how sad his kind parents would be to lose all their children in one day, but these were common occurrences in those lawless times.

Succath was carried to Ireland, sold to the chief of a pagan clan, and like the prodigal of old, he was sent into the fields to feed swine. It was now in his solitude and sorrow that the lessons his pious mother Conchessa had taught him came back to his mind, and as he thought thereon he wept.

"I was sixteen years old," he says, "and knew not the true God, but in that strange land the Lord opened mine eyes, and although late I called my sins to mind and was converted to the Lord my God, who regarded my low estate, had pity on my youth and ignorance, and consoled me as a father consoles his children. During the night in the forests and on mountains where I kept my flocks, the rain and snow and frost which I endured led me to seek after God."

After six years' captivity Succath succeeded in effecting his escape and rejoining his parents in France whither they had removed after the loss of their children. But his mind was often occupied with the cruel and bloody rites he had witnessed with abhorrence among the pagan Irish, and he now felt the desire to go back to Ireland and tell them the story of the love of Jesus which he had learned whilst a captive in their midst. His parents and friends tried to dissuade him, but with his heart full of the grace of Christ, he tore himself away. As he says, "It was not done in mine own strength; it was God who overcame all."

Soon afterwards he set out for Ireland, and among his other possessions he carried a big drum. A strange thing for a missionary to have, you will think; but with his big drum he collected the people of a district into the fields and preached to them Jesus. Among his converts was a chieftain named Benignus who became a faithful helper and a powerful protector to his teacher. In a large barn belonging to this chief, meetings were held every day, to which the people came in crowds, and at which many were converted. The gospel story of the love of God was indeed good news to those poor people, whose only idea of religion was to propitiate their gods, whom they believed to be as fierce, cruel, and vindictive as they were themselves, and to whom human sacrifices were often offered up in the endeavour to appease their wrath or procure their favour. Truly "the dark places of the earth are full of the habitations of cruelty."

Succath � or as he was afterwards called, Patrick, and to whose name, like that of other servants of Christ, many foolish and superstitious stories have been attached � travelled over a great part of Ireland, and many little companies were brought to the knowledge of the true faith. After labouring for thirty years he died near Downpatrick, and we shall see in another chapter how Ireland repaid her debt by sending missionaries to Scotland when the light of truth in that country had waxed dim indeed.

About the time that Patrick was labouring in Ireland another devoted missionary named Ninian was evangelising among the Picts and the lowland tribes in Scotland. Ninian was a Briton of noble birth, who had been educated in Rome, and returning to his native land gave up the ease and luxury of his position and went forth to preach the Gospel. His labours appear to have begun in Cumbria � then a large province embracing Cumberland, in England, and several shires in the south of Scotland � and to have extended as far north as the Grampian Hills.

At Whithorn, in Galloway, he built a little church of "wood and earth," believed to have been the first building of the kind in Scotland. Making this his head-quarters, he made missionary tours through his extensive "parish," preaching the Gospel to the inhabitants whereever he came. He died in Wigtownshire about 430.

We know little of either the successes or failures of these ancient missionaries. Great difficulties they must have had to encounter and much opposition to overcome, but He who was for them was greater than he who was against them, and, their labours done, they have passed hence to their reward.

Chapter 2.

Pioneer Missionaries.

When the Romans came to Britain faithful servants of Jesus Christ were to be found in many of the legions, but with the Roman power came also the state religion of ancient Rome, which was paganism. A stately temple to Diana was erected on the spot where St. Paul's Cathedral now stands, another to Apollo on the site now occupied by Westminster Abbey. We hear little of Christianity during this period, save that the followers of Jesus were often confronted with the choice � "Christ or Diana?" and that many loved not their lives unto death, we learn from Bede, who tells us that "about this time suffered Aron and Julius, citizens of Chester, and many more of both sexes in several places, who after enduring sundry torments, and having their limbs torn after an unheard-of manner, sent their souls to the joys of the heavenly city."

After Constantine's profession of Christianity legalised persecution ceased for a time. Under Julian the Apostate, pagan Rome put forth its last efforts to attain that supremacy it had previously enjoyed.

Julian set himself to uproot Christianity and reform paganism. He attempted the impossible task of destroying Christian principles, and yet maintaining Christian practice. So great was his hatred of the Christian religion that he tried to make the words which the Lord Jesus uttered concerning Jerusalem false, "And Jerusalem shall be trodden down of the Gentiles until the times of the Gentiles be fulfilled." Julian determined to rebuild it. He had three objects to live for: the restoration of idolatry the rebuilding of Jerusalem and the conquest of Persia. After a short reign of one year and eight months he lay dying on the sands of Persia with all his schemes unaccomplished. As his life ebbed away through the wound inflicted by a Persian lance, he filled his hand with the blood and casting it into the air, exclaimed, "O GALILEAN, THOU HAST CONQUERED." The temple is still unbuilt; the cause of God still survives. Julian died a solemn illustration of Isa. 45: 9, "Woe unto him that striveth with his Maker."

The Roman power was now on the decline. In 420 the last of the legions were withdrawn from Britain to defend the more central parts of the Empire frequently assailed by the barbarous hordes ever on its borders. The inhabitants under the Roman rule had become weak and servile, and thus easily fell a prey to the next invaders, the "Franks" and "Saxons," who, with their pirate galleys, made frequent descents on the sea coasts, and even carried their inroads far inland.

In 446 an appeal, called "The Groans of the Britons," was sent to the "Great Patrician" Aetius, desiring "ayde and comforte from the daungier of strange enemies," but Aetius needed all his legionaries to conquer the fierce Attila and his savage Huns, and could give them no assistance. Vortigern, one of the British kings, made an alliance with the Angles and Saxons to assist him against the inroads of the Picts and Scots; but instead of allies the Anglo-Saxons soon became masters, and their successors tempted other bodies of German invaders to follow. These newcomers were more barbarous than Imperial Rome. They drove out the inhabitants wherever they came, compelling them either to become their slaves, or else retire to more remote parts of the country. Pagans themselves, they treated everything pertaining to Christ or Christianity with special ferocity. Preachers and people were slain with indiscriminate cruelty, and churches were razed to the ground.

These savage wars gave little opportunity for the early British Church to extend its influence over these fierce marauders, even if the conquerors had not treated with contempt everything belonging to the conquered. Thus we find that during the fifth century the Christians in the south were gradually driven back into the mountains of Wales and the wild moors of Northumberland, and, although isolated Christian families could be found here and there, paganism again overspread the land, and idol temples arose to the heathen gods in many places, where previously the true God had been known and worshipped. Our names for the days of the week still preserve a remembrance of these idol gods. Sunday is from the sun, Monday from the moon, Tuesday from their hero-god Tuisco, Wednesday from Wodin or Odin, the god of war, Thursday from their chief god Thor, the thunderer, and so on.

For many years after the withdrawal of the Romans little is known of the religious history of Britain.

Civil wars among the various petty chiefs were the principle events. Christianity existed, but ofttimes it was swept back by the tide of paganism, as in some predatory excursion the "priests" of one tribe were murdered by the soldiers of another, who, ascribing their victory to their idol gods, reared again their fallen altars and deserted shrines. Afterwards, when peace had been restored, some Christian missionary would be found brave and zealous enough to rear again the banner of the cross, and go forth with his life in his hand preaching the gospel. Thus the contest went on, but the light was slowly penetrating the darkness; the truth was the stronger, and would triumph in the end.

One of the missionaries who went forth as a light-bearer in these dark days was called Kentigern. He was born about 514 in Culross, and the scene of his first labours was at Cathures (now Glasgow). But on the accession of a new king to the throne of Cumbria, Kentigern had to flee for his life, and take refuge in Wales. When the Christian king Ryderech ascended the throne, Kentigern was invited to return, and the old writer goes on to tell us that he abode in "a town called Glesgu, now called Glasgu, where he united himself to a family of servants of God who lived after the fashion of the primitive Church in holy discipline and Divine service."

While Kentigern was labouring in the south, another missionary, named Columba, in Ireland, was preparing to visit the western shores of Scotland. Several fellow-Christians, imbued with his zeal, volunteered to accompany him, and setting sail in their currach of osiers and skins, they reached the island of Iona in 565. Here they erected their humble settlement of wattles, and from thence set forth to evangelise the rude Picts in their vicinity. Columba's efforts were directed towards the northern Picts, beyond the Grampians, where, as far as we know, the Gospel had not as yet penetrated. The brethren led lives of the greatest simplicity, and Columba, like Jacob of old, is said to have slept on the bare ground, with a stone for his pillow. A man of remarkable activity, he sought to use every moment for the glory of God. He read, wrote, and taught; he preached, prayed and visited from house to house, and from tribe to tribe, and soon fruits of his service began to appear. The king of the Picts was converted and many of his people. A school was established in Iona, where the Word of God was studied, and through the living Word many were born from above. The young men of Caledonia were taught that "the Holy Scriptures are the only rule of faith." "Throw aside all merit of works," said he, "and look for salvation to the grace of God alone. Beware of a religion which consists of outward observances: it is better to keep your heart pure before God than to abstain from meats. One alone is your head, Jesus Christ."

Soon the true instinct of a living Church arose. The young men who had learned the gospel in the school of Iona desired to spread the knowledge of Jesus Christ in other lands. Kneeling in the chapel of Iona, they were set apart by the laying on of the hands of the brethren, and they went forth with their blessings and their prayers: Often in cruel persecutions, often in jeopardy of their lives, these devoted missionaries travelled through the Low Countries, Gaul, Switzerland and Germany, preaching the Word of God to the barbarous and unsettled tribes who at that time inhabited those countries. Nor were they afraid of the wild Atlantic billows, but crossed over in their frail boats to the Orkney and Shetland Islands, and even found their way to Iceland, ever seeking to preach the Gospel in regions beyond. Often "in perils by the heathen, in perils by the wilderness, in weariness, and painfulness," only the love of Christ constraining them could have carried them on, only the power of Christ could have sustained them. They sought not for worldly place and power, for advancement and riches, but were content with little of this world's goods, if only they might induce their hearers to "turn to God from idols to serve the living and true God, and to wait for His Son from Heaven."

Hardships and adventures were everyday occurrences in the lives of these men. Often their way lay over bleak and rugged mountains, or through dark and pathless forests abounding with wild beasts, and sometimes with men still more fierce and wild. Often they were in danger of suffering and death from the hands of the very men to whom they came with the word of life. At times they were exposed to the fury of the white-robed Druid priest whose pagan rites and worship they condemned or again, driven with scorn from the doors of the proud chieftain, they turned aside to the humble hut of the serf, and there told out in simple language to their rustic audience the old, old story of the love of Jesus.

We cannot but admire the zeal and earnestness of these early pioneers of mission enterprise. Their teaching was derived direct from the Scriptures, and they went forth with the Gospel, because they believed the Gospel to be "the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth."

But we have come to a period when another system was to usurp their place, and enter into their labours � when popery like a dark cloud was about to overshadow the land with its baneful influence, and eclipse for a time the light of truth.

In the fifth century Pope Leo I. had already laid what has been called the foundation stone of the papal supremacy, by introducing private confession to the priests, who were empowered to grant absolution, or impose penances at will, thus blasphemously taking the place of the one Mediator, Christ Jesus, who alone has power on earth to forgive sins.

Men were taught to hand over their consciences to the keeping of the priests. The priests, in their eagerness to multiply converts, lost the true idea of conversion, and, instead of looking for the fruits of righteousness which the Holy Spirit alone can produce, they were willing to accept a mere nominal assent to doctrines and ceremonies of man's making. Thus men had a name to live but were dead, and the whole became merely a worldly organisation, destitute alike of both life and practice.

Succeeding occupants of the papal chair continued this worldly policy, because by it their revenues were increased, and, though living in luxury and sensuality, they were ever on the outlook for some new field over which they might extend their dominions, and arrogate to themselves both the spiritual and temporal sovereignty whenever they came.

In 590 Gregory I. was elected to the pontifical chair, and at once decided on his long intended mission to Britain. Some time previously he had seen some youths exposed for sale in the slave market at Rome, and being pleased with their handsome appearance, he made inquiries and learned that they were Anglo-Saxon prisoners of war whose country was still pagan. Henceforth Gregory's desire was to bring Britain under the power of the Church of Rome. In 596 a monk named Augustine, attended with forty others, set forth on this mission and landed on the Isle of Thanet in Kent.

Augustine is said to have possessed even to a greater degree than Gregory himself "a mixture of ambition and devotedness, superstition and piety, cunning and zeal. He thought that faith and holiness were less essential to the Church than authority and power, and that its prerogative was not so much to save souls as to collect all the human race under the authority of Rome." Even Gregory himself took notice of his spiritual pride and exhorted him to humility.

England at this time was divided into the Saxon Heptarchy, or Seven Kingdoms, and, having landed in the Kingdom of Kent, the monks desired an interview with King Ethelbert, whose wife, Bertha, seems to have been a real Christian. The King decided to receive them in the open air, and took his stand under a large oak tree, while the monks, to make as much show as possible, approached, bearing a huge crucifix at the head of the procession. The King was sufficiently impressed to allow them the use of an ancient British chapel near Canterbury, and not long afterwards was converted � to the Church of Rome at least � by the eloquent appeals of Augustine. This event greatly helped on the work among his people, and ten thousand pagans were baptised in the Swale in one day. But alas what shall we say of such conversions? There was little "repentance towards God and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ." Little of that real work of the Spirit in which, on the day of Pentecost, three thousand were pricked in their hearts, and said, "What shall we do?" The aim of Rome has ever been to make nominal converts to the aggrandisement of the Papal See, and such continues to the present day to be the false and unscriptural practice of Romish missionaries in heathen lands. See to it, my reader, that you are not only a nominal Christian but a real Christian; forgiven, saved, justified, and on your way to heaven � made fit by the blood of Christ, and made sure by the Word of God.

Augustine "converted" the heathen temples by washing the walls with "holy water," erecting "altars," and substituting "holy relics" for the images of the heathen gods.

His next object was to win over the original British Churches, and, to this end, he appointed a conference and demanded them to submit to the government of Rome.

The British Christians were firm in their refusal. "We desire to love all men," meekly replied Dionoth, a faithful teacher from Bangor, "and what we do for you we will do for him whom you call the Pope, but he is not entitled to call himself father of fathers; we know no master but Christ."

Augustine summoned another conference in 601, and again demanded the British Churches to submit to Rome, but Dionoth again resisted with firmness and success, and was supported by Dagam, one of the Scotch representatives from Iona, who refused even to eat bread with the Romans. But the pretensions of Rome were gaining ground. Much of the truth which had been so faithfully taught from Iona was already lost sight of, and the minds of the British Christians finally became unsettled as to whether they were right in their opposition. They visited a pious Christian teacher who led a solitary life, and asked him if they should continue to resist Augustine or follow him.

"If he is a man of God, follow him."

"And how shall we know that?" they replied.

"If he is meek and humble of heart, he bears Christ's yoke; but, if he is violent and proud, he is not of God."

"What sign shall we have of his humility?"

"If he rises from his seat to receive you when you enter the room."

They departed for the Council, and entered the hall, but the Romish Archbishop, desirous of showing his superiority, proudly kept his seat. Again the British protested against the papal supremacy � "We will have no master but Christ." Augustine was incensed. "If you will not receive brethren who bring you peace, you shall receive enemies who bring you war," he said. He comes out here in his true character. Argument had failed: now for the sword. The first thing that British Christians receive, either from Pagan Rome or Papal Rome is alike persecution.

Augustine died in 604, but the spirit of persecution survived, and the influence of the priests over even pagan kings was always used against the British. Twelve hundred were murdered near Bangor in one day, in a place where they were gathered together for prayer, by Edelfrid, one of the Anglo-Saxon kings and soon the light of primitive Christianity was almost extinguished in Britain. Only in Iona the Christians still continued to hold fast the truth, and missionaries went forth through the various Saxon kingdoms in England preaching the simple Gospel of Jesus Christ.

In Northumberland at this time reigned King Oswy, an ambitious and unprincipled man, who determined to add to his territories at the expense of his neighbours. He first treacherously murdered his relative, Oswin, King of Deira, and also usurped the throne of Mercia after King Peada had been slain in a conspiracy got up by his wife, Oswy's daughter, and thus succeeded by craft and cruelty in uniting nearly all England into one kingdom. He now called a conference, and, professing to be won over by the priests, exclaimed, "Peter is the doorkeeper, I will obey him." Such was the character of the man who became Rome's convert and handed over the liberties of England to the Pope.

The priests knew what to make of their victory, and soon all England was under the domination of the Papal See. The Pope wrote to Oswy and sent him, not copies of the Holy Scriptures, alas! but "relics of the saints," and for nearly seven hundred years England, which had refused the light, was given over to darkness, and made to groan under the spiritual despotism of a false Church which made merchandise of the bodies and souls of men.

In the East, also, the minds of men were groping in darkness. Mohammed, born in 570, was at this time propagating his dark delusion by fire and sword.

Neither the legions of Rome nor the trained warriors of Persia could withstand the fierce onslaughts of the Moslem hordes, who rushed eagerly to the fight, fondly believing that those who fell in battle went straight to Paradise. Palestine, Syria, Egypt, Persia, and Northern Africa were rapidly overrun. By the Straits of Gibraltar they entered Spain, which was subdued after desperate fighting, in which its king was slain.

Crossing the Pyrenean mountains they invaded France, but were met near Tours in 752 by Charles Martel at the head of the armies of Europe, and defeated after a battle which lasted six days.

It is impossible to enumerate the havoc and slaughter perpetrated by these fanatical warriors. The countries along the shores of Northern Africa contained an immense number of Christian congregations, with many bishops and pastors. These were almost entirely swept away. In the twelve years after the death of Mohammed it is estimated that his successors conquered 36,000 towns and villages; destroyed 4,000 Christian Churches, putting to death all who opposed them or refused to become Mohammedans, and so successfully has this "mission" been carried on since, that there are now about two hundred and six millions of our fellow-men who are followers of the doctrine of that false prophet. But Europe was saved from the ravages of the Moslems only to become the prey of popery, which rapidly developed its anti-Christian principles and practices during the dark ages. How true it is that "men love darkness rather than light, because their deeds are evil."

Let us see to it that we value the privileges we enjoy. Living in a professing Christian land and having an open Bible telling us of the love of God to lost sinners in sending His only-begotten Son into the world that we might live through Him; surely if we neglect so great salvation we will indeed be without excuse.

Chapter 3.

The First English Bible.

At the close of the seventh century, those British Christians, who had offered so determined an opposition to Rome, were won over, one by one, until, even in the original settlement of Iona, they agreed to recognize the papal supremacy.

Henceforth, instead of the humble preachers of Iona who went forth taking nothing from any man, but preaching the simple gospel of Jesus Christ, Rome brought in her rites and ceremonies, relics and superstitions.. Every effort was used to enslave men's minds and keep them in ignorance, while at the same time everything Rome supplied had to be bought with money. A writer on the subject has said, "Not an article was there in her creed, not a ceremony in her worship, not a department in her government that did not tend to advance her power and increase her gain. Her dogmas, rites, and orders were so many pretexts for exacting money. Images, purgatory, relics, pilgrimages, indulgences, jubilees, canonisations, miracles, and masses were but taxes under another name, . . . so many drains for conveying the substance of the nations to Rome."

And another says, "Rome takes your gold and gives you nothing more solid in return than words." How different to all this is "the gospel of God concerning His Son Jesus Christ, our Lord." Without money and without price, He invites sinners to come and take of the water of life freely. How thankful we should be that we have an open Bible that tells us of the free grace of God.

But the tyranny of Rome was wearing to a close. Though she knew it not, the time was coming when God would raise up a man to give to Britain that best of all gifts � a Bible in her own language. That man was John Wycliffe, born in 1324 in the North Riding district of Yorkshire. He became a student of Merton College, Oxford, and was converted to God when about twenty-four years of age. He had found the way of life in the Holy Scriptures, and determined to show it to others. In 1365 he was elected warden of Canterbury College, and continued to preach the doctrine of free grace with much power.

Let us now digress for a moment to trace shortly the following events which brought Wycliffe forward as the determined opposer of the Pope in his demands on the State, and led him to take up higher ground and oppose Rome's usurped control over the conscience.

In 1213 King John had yielded up "England and Ireland to St. Peter, St. Paul, and Pope Innocent III." He had laid his crown at the feet of Pandulf, the Pope's legate, who is said to have kicked and rolled it in the dust as a worthless bauble, and consented to allow John to resume it on the annual payment of 1,000 marks (�666 13s. 4d.) to Rome and to become the Pope's vassal. This payment had been very irregularly made when in the time of Edward III., after a period of thirty-five years, in which it had never been mentioned, Pope Urban V. summoned Edward to recognize him as King of England and renew the annual tribute. But King Edward III. was no weakling like King John. The conqueror of Crecy was little likely to yield to this insolent demand, and summoned his Parliament to support him. The Parliament agreed with the king and enlightened by the lucid and scriptural arguments of Wycliffe, declared against the Pope. The partisans of Rome were infuriated, and declared that by the canon law of the Church the king ought to be deprived of his fief. "The canon law," said Wycliffe, "has no force when it is opposed to the Word of God."

But God had more important work for Wycliffe than mere worldly politics, and, having been presented by the king with the living of Lutterworth, he set about preaching the gospel in his parish with his usual activity. At Oxford he lectured to the students as one "having authority;" for while others taught from the sentences of Peter Lombard, or the mystical philosophy of Duns Scotos, he opened up the Scriptures and showed that they were indeed spirit and life. He accused the clergy of having banished the Holy Scriptures, and demanded that the authority of the Word of God should be re-established over the conscience.

These things were not looked upon by his enemies with indifference, and he who would dare to attack the papacy in such high-handed fashion must be dealt with. In 1377 the Pope issued a Bull, enjoining the English clergy to crush this formidable heresy � for such the teaching of the Scriptures was called � and take immediate steps to silence the author of it "by arresting the said John Wycliffe and shutting him up in prison." The clergy needed little incentive. Courtney, bishop of London, had begun the prosecution before the Bull arrived, and cited Wycliffe to appear and answer for his teaching. An immense crowd thronged the approaches to St. Paul's Cathedral as Wycliffe appeared to attend the convocation. Hands were raised to do violence to the venerable old man, and loud hootings from the partisans of the priests re-echoed through the building. With Wycliffe, however, came John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and Lord Percy, Earl Marshal of England. Having two such powerful friends, Courtney could do little but show his hatred by railing at the bold preacher, and the assembly broke up in confusion.

Next year the Bull arrived, and Wycliffe was cited to appear before the bishops at Lambeth Palace. This time no John of Gaunt appeared to protect him, and his patron King Edward was dead. The human arm was withdrawn that his faith and hope might be in God. The sitting was scarcely opened when Sir Lewis Clifford entered with a dispatch from the queen-mother to forbid the court, "as the Pope's brief could have no authority in the realm of England without the consent of the king." Thus a second time he was preserved from his enemies to continue his work for God. Before retiring he handed in a protest, setting forth the teaching of Scripture as opposed to the errors of Rome, and, "In the first place," said he, "I am resolved with my whole heart, by the grace of God, to live as a sincere Christian, and, while my life shall last, to profess and defend the truth of Christ as far as I have power." Shortly afterwards, Wycliffe, while still continuing his teaching at Oxford, fell suddenly and dangerously ill. He was now an old man, and his incessant labours, with the persistent and harassing persecutions he was called upon to bear, had told upon a constitution never very strong. The monks, whose vices and ignorance he had so scathingly exposed, were delighted. They would now get rid of their enemy, but greater would be their victory if they could get him to recant. A deputation of four waited upon him and urged him to retract all he had said against them. But Wycliffe had been too much convinced of the truth of what he taught in health to retract it in sickness. Raising himself on his couch, he replied in an emphatic voice, "I shall not die but live, and again declare the evil deeds of the friars." They left the room in confusion, and Wycliffe recovered to continue his work. Not content with his own efforts, he sent forth the most earnest of his disciples to preach the gospel all over the land and "seek to convert souls to Jesus Christ." The missionaries Rome sent forth were the begging friars, who strolled over the country filling their wallets, and, in place of preaching the Word of Life, told stupid and foolish legends about the lives of the "saints," or amused the people by stories of Sinon and the wooden horse, from the Trojan War; afterwards wasting their time in the alehouses or at the gaming tables.

Wycliffe's "poor priests," as they were called, went forth barefoot, staff in hand, taking nothing of any man but sufficient for their daily bread, and visiting the sick, the aged, the poor, and the blind. They became favourites among the people, who gladly listened to them and drank in the good news so long hid, but which, like old wells reopened, gave forth abundant refreshment to all who would come and drink. The clergy had recourse to their usual weapon � persecution, and got a law passed commanding every king's officer to arrest the preachers and commit them and their followers to prison. The monks watched their opportunity, and when the humble evangelist began to preach they set off for assistance, but when the officers appeared, led on by the priests, a body of stout men stood forth, surrounded their preacher, protected him from the violence of the clergy, and carried him off in safety. Thus, day by day, the work went on, and the light was penetrating into every part of the country. When persecuted in one place the devoted missionaries fled to another, and, whether seated by the cottage hearth or preaching to the crowds at the crossways, to the few as to the many, they spoke of full and free salvation by grace alone, not of works, lest any man should boast.

It has ever been the policy of Rome to withhold the Bible from the people. The teaching of the Church of Rome is at utter variance with the teaching of Scripture, and when the light of the truth contained in the Word of God shines out, all the fabric of superstition, built upon a foundation of ignorance, falls to pieces. Accordingly the priests forbade all laymen under pain of death to read the Scriptures, and told the people to "learn to believe in the Church rather than in the Gospel."

John Wycliffe, both in his controversies with the priests, and in his preaching to the people, ever appealed to the Holy Scriptures as the sole source of authority.

The ignorant and dissolute priests and monks both hated and feared him, while by the common people he was loved and honoured because he taught them in their own tongue the pure Gospel of the grace of God.

Not content with publicly preaching the Word, he determined to give the people a translation of the Bible in their own language, and this great work he completed about the year 1380. Previous attempts at Bible translation had been made, but with only partial success. King Alfred, with the help of learned men, began a translation, but dying soon after, the work was stopped. Bede, in the eighth century, had translated the Gospel of John, and is said to have expired as he finished the last verse. But these copies, even if any now existed, were only fragmentary and out of reach of the common people.

In his quiet retreat at Lutterworth, after nearly fifteen years' labour, he succeeded in finishing his translation from the Latin Vulgate into the English tongue. There are still several copies of Wycliffe's Bible in the principal libraries, and one in the British Museum is believed to have been written by Wycliffe himself. Here is a specimen of the language in which the Scriptures were read in the fourteenth century; it is a passage from Luke's Gospel in Wycliffe's translation �

"In the days of Eroude Kyng of Judee ther was a prest Zacarye by name: of the sort of Abia, and his wyfe was of the doughtris of Aaron; and hir name was Elizabeth; an bothe weren juste bifore God: goynge in alle the maundementis and justifyingis of the Lord withouten playnt."

Here is another curious specimen from the time of King Alfred �

"On fruman waes Word, and thaet Word mid Gode, and Gode waes thaet Word. Thaet waes on fruman mid Gode. Elle thing waeron geworht thurh hyne; and nanthing waes geworht buttan him. Thaet waes lif the on him geworht waes, and thaet lif waes manna leoht. And thaet leoth lyht on thystrum; and thystro thaet ne gena-mon."

Wycliffe's translation was completed, but there was then no printing presses and no great publishing houses; however, there was a real desire for the Word of God, and soon many expert hands were engaged in multiplying copies, which were eagerly bought up by the people. They had been taught that there was a graduated series of monks, priests, popes, and "saints," between them and God, but by the Scriptures they learned that there is only "one Mediator between God and men, the Man Christ Jesus." Rome taught that redemption was to be purchased by paying the priests for masses. The Scriptures declare, "We have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace." That "by Him all that believe are justified from all things from which they could not be justified by the law of Moses."

Thus the glorious light of God's Word chased away the errors and darkness of Rome, as the morning mists disappear before the rising sun.

The people rejoiced. The clergy mourned. Their gains were in danger. Who would buy worthless masses when they had an open Bible? But they did not long remain inactive; Wycliffe had attacked transubstantiation, which, ever since it had been invented by the monk Radbertus in the ninth century, had been a powerful engine in the hands of the clergy over the people; accordingly he was suspended from teaching at Oxford and expelled from the University, but he appealed to the Parliament, and meantime he retired to his parish of Lutterworth, from which the priests could not as yet expel him, because it was the gift of the king.

Here he spent a few quiet months until Parliament re-opened in November, when, instead of coming forward to defend himself from the priests, he came forward to attack in the face of the whole nation "the corruption, tyranny, and errors of heirarchy." Parliament repealed the persecuting edict, and thus once again God shielded and preserved His servant against the hatred and malice of his enemies.

Wat Tyler's insurrectionary followers had seized and beheaded Sudbury, the Primate, and Courtney, now Archbishop of Canterbury and "Primate of all England," would see if in that capacity he could not accomplish the destruction of the man he considered his enemy. Assembling a convocation at Oxford, he summoned Wycliffe once more to appear. Would he come? He came. It was to be his last appearance before either kings or councils � his last public testimony for the truth of Christ. The indictment was read and he rose to reply. As of old, he refuted their charges, challenging them to convince him of error before they condemned his teaching. And growing bolder, his words glowing with eloquence and energy, he turned the accusation against themselves. "Ye are the heretics who teach your foolish traditions instead of the truth of Scripture. Why do you propagate such errors? Why because like the priests of Baal, ye want to vend your masses. With whom think ye are ye contending? with an old man on the brink of the grave? No, with truth; truth which is stronger than you, and will overcome you." His enemies were astounded at his bold words, every one of which they knew to be true. He turned to leave the court, and no one attempted to hinder him. They allowed him to pass through their midst and go back to his beloved parish of Lutterworth.

Here he spent the few remaining days of his life in teaching and preaching Jesus Christ. His enemies intended to bring him to the stake, but God, who overruleth all things, frustrated their intentions. On the last Sunday of December, in the year 1384, he was stricken down with paralysis in the midst of his beloved people. They carried him sorrowfully to his home, and tended him night and day, for they loved him as a father. Here he lingered till the last day of the month, and as the year was dying, he entered into rest.

After his death a petition was got up by those who opposed his work, and presented to the Pope (which, however, he refused) to have his body taken out of the grave and buried in a dunghill � so deep was the hatred of his enemies; and forty years afterwards his bones were actually dug up, burned to ashes, and cast into the river. The priests also excommunicated all who bought his books or tracts, and it was at a terrible risk they could be read.

Many men who were found by the priests with a copy of Wycliffe's Bible were burned to ashes at the stake with the book hung round their necks. Men, and women too, were executed for teaching their children in their mother-tongue the Ten Commandments or the Lord's Prayer. Children were forced to light the death fires around their parents; and the possessors of the Bible were hunted down and slain like wild beasts.

Old John Fox says, and we may well say the same, "Certes the zeal of these Christians seems much superior to this of our day, and to see their faithfulness may well shame our careless times."

Over a hundred years elapse before we come to another version of the Bible in the English tongue, and any copies made during that period were laboriously written out by hand.

Yet, notwithstanding, copies increased and though the price was about forty pounds a volume, and labourers' wages a penny a day, yet men denied themselves other things and bought them. Those who were not able to buy them, and had the opportunity, learned whole epistles off by heart, and recited them to the little gatherings who met in fear and trembling, and yet thirsting for the life-giving Word.

The Bible was to them a precious Book. Do we value it as we ought?

Wycliffe died, but the fruit of his great life-work remained. His followers took up the work where he laid it down, and assiduously sought to spread not only the truth of the Scriptures but copies of the Book itself whereever they found opportunity. They traversed the country preaching the Gospel, and many of the nobility, as well as the common people, gladly embraced the truth. Where the preacher could not enter, the Word of God often found a place, and Wycliffe's Testament was seen both in the castles of the nobles and the halls of the gentry. Soon men began to see the difference between the teaching of Rome and the teaching of Scripture, and in proportion as minds were enlightened by the Word of God, so were they set free from the bondage of darkness which had hitherto enthralled them. But the persecuting Arundel was now Primate, and he, seeing the growth of the new opinions, posted off to Ireland, where King Richard II. then was, and entreated him to return and take measures to suppress the Lollards, as Wycliffe's followers now came to be called. Easily persuaded either to one side or the other, the weak king gave Arundel liberty to commence the persecution, and shortly afterwards set out to return to England, but before Richard set foot on his native shores another had arrived there before him who would contend with him both for place and power.

Henry of Lancaster, son of the famous Duke of Lancaster mentioned in a former paragraph, had been banished by Richard, but suddenly sailed from the Continent, landed in Yorkshire, and deposed Richard, who was imprisoned and starved to death in Pontefract Castle. The crafty and cunning Arundel, who had been wise enough to desert the losing side in time, now came forward (1399) and crowned the usurper as Henry IV. with the "Vial of oil which fell down from the Virgin Mary." The son of Wycliffe's protector was now king, but he had arrived at the throne by the murder of the rightful king and the help of the priests, and to maintain his usurpation he had to bind himself to "protect the Church." To protect the Church meant, in these days, to persecute every humble follower of Jesus who dared to differ from Rome, and Henry was not long in making good his promise to the priests.

In his reign was passed the act ordering every heretic to be burned alive � a stain alike on his memory and the Statute Book. The priests, who can only be likened to blood-thirsty animals, were overjoyed. Hitherto their power was limited by the will of the king, now their persecution was legalised, and they hastened to satiate their cruelty on those who set at nought their traditions.

"I will worship Christ who died on the cross," said William Sawtre, "but not the cross on which Christ died." He was condemned to the fire by the primate, and handed over to the secular power, with the hypocritical request to treat him with mercy. A stake was planted at Smithfield, and he was burned alive in 1401 � another martyr for the truth in England. John Badby was burned for denying the doctrine of transubstantiation. William Thorpe was murdered in prison for refusing to worship images. Thus Rome has clearly shown how both in doctrine and practice she is at utter variance with the teaching of Jesus Christ.

The prisons in the bishops' houses were full to overflowing. Not only were they used as places of confinement, but they became dens of torture: fetters and the rack, thumb-screws and the "boot" were brought into requisition with fiendish ingenuity, and men "were tortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a better resurrection and others had trial of cruel mockings and scourging, yea, moreover, of bonds and imprisonment." Very touching is the testimony of one who carved on the walls of his dungeon, "Jesus amor meus" � Jesus is my love. These words are said to be still seen on the walls of the Lollard's tower in Lambeth Palace.

Not only did the priests vent their rage on the humble and lowly, but they proceeded against Lord Cobham, and succeeded in inducing the king to allow him to be brought to trial. Accordingly he was seized and imprisoned in the Tower. Brought before Arundel in 1413 he witnessed a good confession for Jesus Christ.

"We must believe what the Church of Rome teaches, whether Christ says so or not," said the primate.

"I am ready to believe all that God desires, but what is contrary to Scripture I can never believe," said Sir John. But he was before judges who knew no mercy, and he was sentenced to death and sent back to the Tower to prepare for the fire. "It is well," said he, "though you condemn my body, through the mercy of the eternal God you cannot harm my soul."

He escaped from the Tower at this time, but four years afterwards he was retaken and drawn on a hurdle through the streets of London to the place of suffering. With diabolical cruelty he was suspended in chains over the fire and slowly burned to death. Yet the Lord stood by His servant and enabled him to endure this awful torture with constancy and firmness unto the end.

Space forbids any attempt to chronicle even the names of those, who, during this period, were called upon to seal their testimony with their blood, and though the hearts of many failed them before the fiery trial, yet the knowledge of the truth had been widely diffused by means of Wycliffe's New Testament, and the good seed thus sown brought forth fruit at a future day. We are accustomed to look upon Luther as the man whom God raised up to hold forth the lamp of truth in the middle ages, but over a hundred years before, the glorious truth of Salvation by grace was known in England; and Bohemia at the same period had its martyrs for Jesus Christ.

On the Continent at this time was seen the curious spectacle of three "infallible" popes, each striving to assert his supremacy at the expense of the other; as old John Fox says, "There were not three crowns on one pope's head, but three heads in one popish crown." The Council of Constance (1414) had been called to deal with these three rival "infallible" popes which Christendom had found to be very fallible indeed; these three they deposed and elected another "infallible" whom they styled Pope Martin V. Thereupon they cited before them John Huss, who has been called the apostle of Bohemia, and though he came with a safe conduct from the Emperor "to go and return without let or hindrance," yet the Emperor, won over by the priests, broke his most sacred promise and allowed Huss to be arrested and imprisoned. He was commanded to abjure his opinions and submit to the Church. "I would rather," said he, "that a millstone was hanged about my neck, and I was cast into the sea, than offend one of those little ones to whom I have preached the Gospel by abjuring it." He was condemned to the fire, and one of the prelates said, We devote thy soul to the devil." "And I," said Huss, "do commend my soul to Thy hands, O Lord Jesus, for Thou hast redeemed me." Two years afterwards Jerome of Prague suffered and triumphed on the same spot; but Bohemia, through the teaching of these two men had been emancipated from the thraldom of Rome, and a few years afterwards the great majority of the nation embraced the faith for which these noble martyrs died. A day of retribution came when the Government threw off its vassalage, and arraying its armies in the field under the leadership of the famous John Ziska and the no less famed Procopius, repulsed, again and again, with tremendous slaughter, the numerous and well appointed armies Rome brought into the field to exterminate alike the truth and the nation.

Procopius was a theologian as well as a warrior. "Can you show," said he to the priests, "that the order of friars was instituted by either the prophets of the Old Testament, or the apostles of the New? If, not, by whom were they instituted?" To this the priests did not reply. Their argument was force. But better by far, would it have been, had the Bohemians, instead of resorting to the sword, endeavoured to spread the knowledge of the truth so fully taught by Huss and Jerome. "The weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God, to the pulling down of strongholds."

Chapter 4.

Scotland's Confessors And Martyrs.

In a previous chapter we have seen how Columba had visited Scotland in the sixth century and founded a settlement in Iona, from which the light of truth for some time shone out amidst the surrounding darkness. However, as Columba's successors began to lose the clear views of truth which he had taught, the light grew dim, and soon Romish superstition took the place of the Gospel of Christ.

The heathen Norsemen too, often harassed the settlement. In 795 they plundered and burned it; in 875 it was again attacked and sixty-eight persons murdered. King David I., in the twelfth century, in his zeal for the "Church," finally drove out the settlers and planted a colony of French monks instead; and now truly was Scotland at the feet of Rome. But no country owned the sway of the Pope for a shorter period. Its brave and warlike inhabitants, who had so often hurled back the Southern chivalry, could ill brook the domination of a foreign priest, and the country, as a whole, could never be said to be very devoted to Rome. Even in the time of King Robert the Bruce we find Pope John XXII. complaining that "the land had never been thoroughly purged from heresy." These "heretics" were, no doubt, some who had remained faithful to the teaching of the early evangelists, and amidst all the corruptions of that profligate age were endeavouring to keep themselves unspotted from the world. By and by Wycliffe's Testament found its way northwards, and we read of one, Murdoch of Hardhill, who had a copy which he kept concealed in a vault, and read to his family at midnight. Another, named Gordon, also had a copy, and used to read portions to a little company gathered in a lonely wood near his house. How dark and unhappy these times must have been! The people were in utter ignorance of the Word of God. Only a manuscript copy of the Testament was to be found here and there, and those who possessed it had to hide it with the greatest secrecy, as it meant death to be found reading the Scriptures in the common tongue.

And Scotland, too, had its confessors and martyrs for Jesus Christ. In 1406 James Riscby, who had learned the truth from John Wycliffe, was committed to the flames at Perth. In 1420 we find Scotland possessed a Heretical Inquisitor in the person of the Abbot of Scone. In 1431 Paul Crawer was burned at St. Andrews. His tormentors forced a ball of brass into his mouth to prevent him addressing the people gathered round the stake. But all the efforts of the Prince of Darkness could not keep out the light which by the grace of God was rising over the nations.

Nearly a hundred years pass away, and we stand by the stake of one of Scotland's greatest sons � Patrick Hamilton, who was burned in 1528.

Born of a noble family in 1504, Hamilton received his education at St. Andrews, and afterwards proceeded to the Continent. Seeking after light, the learned disputations of the Doctors of the Sorbonne did not satisfy him, and he went on to the College of Marburg, which had been newly founded by the Landgrave Philip of Hesse. Here he met Francis Lambert, the friend of Zwingle, who said of him, "I have scarcely ever met a man who expressed himself with so much spirituality and truth on the word of the Lord." Soon his one object was to return to his native land and preach the gospel of full and free salvation. But Scotland had never been more under the power of the priests than at the present moment. The rash King James IV., with all his principal nobility, had fallen on the dark and bloody field of Flodden, and the profligate Bishop Beaton grasped the power of Government during the feeble minority of James V. Nevertheless, Hamilton, who had fully counted the cost, returned home to his family near Linlithgow. He was first used in being the means of the conversion of several in his own home. He also visited in the houses of the gentry, where he was known and respected, and sought to win souls for Christ. He preached in the fields, and in the highways and by-ways spoke to individuals, ever seeking to sow the good seed of the Word of God.

Beaton grew alarmed. If this continued, the priests were undone; but Hamilton was of the blood royal, and the Archbishop had to act with caution. His first object was to get the young king out of the way for the time. This he accomplished by inducing him to go on a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Duthac, in Ross-shire, there to pray for his soul's health. Afterwards, cloaking his dark designs under a plea of Church reformation, he invited Hamilton to visit him at St. Andrews. Here, after a few weeks of freedom, he was arrested in his lodgings at the dead of night, and conveyed through the silent streets to the dungeons of the Bishop's Castle. A few days afterwards he appeared before Beaton, who was attended by a numerous body of the principal bishops and abbots of Scotland. Prior Campbell, having read the indictment, burst out into a torrent of invective. "Heretic," said he, "thou sayest it is lawful for all men to read the New Testament." "Heretic, thou sayest it is lost labour to call on the Virgin Mary as a mediator." "Heretic, thou sayest it is vain to say masses for the release of souls from purgatory;" and much more in the same strain. Beaton pronounced sentence of death, and every voice on the tribunal said, "Away with him to the fire." At noon he was chained to the stake, the faggots heaped round, and a bag of gunpowder placed at his feet. The powder exploded, wounding the martyr in the face, but the wood was green and would not burn. Another supply was got with like result; his limbs were scorched, but the fire did not reach his body. Six hours has the martyr stood on the pile of suffering, but now the end has come, the glory is near. One standing by said, "If thou still holdest true to thy doctrine, give us a sign." The iron band round his waist was red hot, his whole body was burning in the fire, but raising his hand he held it in the flame till the fingers dropped into the fire. His last words were, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit," and so he entered into the joy of his Lord. Surely great grace was given to him in his great need, for it is said that no impatient word escaped his lips, as through such protracted sufferings he patiently waited for the end.

But the death of Patrick Hamilton did more for the cause of truth than his life could have done, as one said, "The reik (smoke) of Hamilton infected every one it blew upon." Numbers came forward to fill the ranks of those who had fallen. The priests were furious, but despite their utmost vigilance there was now that to contend with which defied all their efforts. Copies of Tyndale's New Testament, printed at Worms in 1526, were being brought into Scotland, concealed in packages of goods and even bags of flour, till they could be distributed over the country. A mandate was issued that "The Scriptures, or any book that contained a quotation from them, were not to be read by the people," yet the people bought them and read them, and believed unto everlasting life.

The priests resorted to their favourite plan of burning all whom they could lay hands on. Straiton and Gourlay were burned at Greenside, Edinburgh. Russel and Kennedy were burned at Glasgow. Forrest, with four other confessors, were burned on the Castle Hill. Of Forrest, we read that he was in the habit of beginning at six o'clock in the morning to read the Scriptures, and that he committed to memory three chapters every day, which he repeated to his servant at night.

But the murder of individuals was too slow a process for the cruel and vindictive David Beaton, who was now at the head of the Roman heirarchy. He meditated a Scotch Bartholomew, and compiled a list of over a hundred Protestants to be assassinated at one time. This list contained the names of Lord Hamilton, the first peer in Scotland, and many of the nobility who had been led to see the errors of Rome. But James V. dying of grief after the battle of Solway Moss, this list was found on his person, and the nobles, aghast at the diabolical plot thus revealed, elected the man the priest intended to slay, as Regent of the kingdom during the minority of the infant Queen, Mary Stuart. Thus God, who maketh even the wrath of man to praise Him, overruled the evil designs of the priests for the good of His people, and though the Cardinal forged a will appointing himself Regent, yet the nation knew the profligate priest too well either to believe him or entrust him with a power he would have wielded for his own selfish ends.

Next year, 1543, by Act of Parliament, it became lawful for every subject in the realm to read the Bible in his mother tongue, and then might be seen "the Bible lying upon every gentleman's table, the New Testament openly borne about in men's hands, and thereby did the knowledge of God wondrously increase."

The same year George Wishart returned from the Continent, and now God had given to Scotland an open Bible and a faithful preacher.

Wishart was born in 1512. For some years he was connected with an academy in Montrose, and is said to have been the first who taught Greek in Scotland. While here he became suspected of heresy, and not yet fully established in the truth he retired to the Continent to escape the coming storm.

In Switzerland he met Bullinger and others of the Swiss Evangelists, and became strongly imbued with the earnest evangelistic spirit which marked these pious men.

Returning to Scotland, as we have said, at the close of 1543, he found that the Regent Arran's zeal for the truth had been short lived. Self-interest and worldly policy had led him for a time to favour those who were contending for the faith, but his heart was in the world, and he shaped his conduct accordingly. Let us look for a moment into the Franciscan Convent at Stirling, and there humbly kneeling before a shaven priest we shall see the man who swayed the sovereign power of Scotland. He is solemnly recanting his opinions, and receiving "absolution" for departing from the "true Church." And now the weak tool is ready for the work of the scheming prelate. A marriage had been proposed between the young queen Mary and the heir of Henry VIII., but the priests saw an end to their power if an alliance was formed with protestant England, and the crafty and strong-willed Beaton having got the Regent into his power, the treaty with England was abandoned, and one with popish France put in its stead. Bluff King Henry was indignant at the breach of faith, and one day an English fleet sailed up the Forth and cast anchor in Leith Roads. There was no one to oppose them, and Hereford's soldiers disembarked next morning, pillaged Leith, and fired Edinburgh, which they left burning for three days, returning to their own country after putting to death every man, woman and child they met with.

We can easily understand something of the opposition that George Wishart was likely to meet with at a time when the priests held so much political power, as he began, in spite of their edict forbidding "discussion on the doctrines of Scriptures," to expound the Epistle to the Romans to the large audiences who everywhere hung upon his words. He was the greatest orator Scotland had listened to for centuries. In Dundee crowds were drawn together wherever he preached. With convincing eloquence he showed that "all had sinned and come short of the glory of God." Then he spoke of the "one man" by whom sin entered, and passed on to the "One Man" by whom came the "free gift," showing that justification was not to be obtained by works or penance, but "being justified by faith we have peace with God."

This good work was suddenly interrupted by the Regent and the Cardinal, who with a train of siege artillery, sought to capture both the town and the preacher; but the citizens retiring took their preacher with them till the danger was over, when they quietly returned, and the meetings went on for some months as before. But Beaton was on the alert, and got a summons delivered to him in the Queen's name, "to depart and trouble the town no more with his presence."

Wishart deemed it wise to obey, and, persecuted in one city, he went to another. Every Church door was now closed to the faithful evangelist, but like his Master of old, on the hillsides and in the fields he preached the word of life to the listening thousands who surrounded him.

It was a time of real revival wrought by the Holy Spirit of God. Profligate sinners were seen with tears of repentance rolling down their faces, and change of life gave evidence to the reality of their conversion. Men were led to see not, only the errors of Rome � that could be understood by mere intellect � but their own state as sinners before a Holy God, and their need of a Divine Substitute in the person of the Lord Jesus Christ.

This could only be wrought by the Spirit, who alone can convince of sin and produce true repentance by taking the eye away from self, to rest on Christ, "Who bore our sins in His own body on the tree," "Who was delivered for our offences, and was raised again for Our justification."

The plague broke out in Dundee a short time after Wishart left, and he hastened back to minister to the sick and the dying. "They need comfort," said he, "and perchance the hand of God will make them magnify and reverence that Word which before, for fear of men, they set at light part." By his advice and help, food and medicine were distributed among the sick. Mounted on the top of the battlements at the "East port" he preached from the text, "He sent His Word and healed them" � a fitting text for such an audience. Outside were the plague-stricken from the Lazar houses that stood near the gate. Inside were the terrified citizens haunted by the fear that they too might be the next victims.

The Cardinal took care to keep away from Dundee while the plague was raging, but hearing Wishart had returned he hired a priest to assassinate him. The would-be murderer waited at the foot of the stairs with a naked dagger concealed under his cloak till the preacher should descend. Something in the man's manner betrayed him, and Wishart going up to him said, "Friend, what would you?" at the same time taking hold of his right arm and revealing the concealed knife. The crowd rushed in and would have torn him to pieces, but Wishart shielded him from their fury and allowed him to escape.

Among the sick he was unsparing in his labours for the benefit both of soul and body. He carried food to those who were still able to partake of it, and ministered the comfort of the Gospel to those who were dying. He sometimes referred to an incident that happened to him when abroad which stirred him up to more devoted charity. Meeting a Jew one day while sailing on the Rhine, he laboured to convince him that Jesus was the Messiah. "I can never believe," said the Jew, "that you Christians are the followers of the Messiah, because ye abrogate the holy law which was given to our fathers. Ye see the poor perishing among you, yet ye are not moved to pity. Secondly, it is forbidden by the law of God to make any imagery of things in Heaven or things on earth, yet your chambers are full of idols. A piece of bread baken upon the ashes ye adore and worship, and say it is your God."

Wishart never forgot these true censures which became a lesson, not only to himself but to others.

Leaving Dundee at the close of 1545, Wishart passed on to Edinburgh, preaching in the different towns and villages till he came to East Lothian. He had already experienced the Cardinal's hatred, and he had a presentiment that his work was almost accomplished � that his end was near. A few weeks before he was arrested, he preached at Inveresk. Gentle, winning, and persuasive as his usual manner was, yet he could be stern and unsparing when he came to attack the vices of Rome, and in this address he gave a scathing, vehement denunciation of the practices of the false and idolatrous church. At the same time he told the people of "the shortness of the time he had to travail among them, and of his death which now approached nearer than any one there would believe."

The last time he preached was at Haddington, and before he left the town he took an affectionate farewell of all his friends. The man they loved was going from them, and their hearts were sad because he had told them that they should see his face no more. John Knox, whom we shall meet again, earnestly desired to accompany him, but he, fully persuaded that martyrdom awaited him, would not consent, saying "Go back to your duties; one is enough for a sacrifice." Accompanied by a few friends he set out on foot for the house of John Cockburn of Ormiston. When supper was over he gave a short address, seeking to encourage the few friends still around him, and closed by singing the 51st Psalm in old Scotch metre �

Have mercy on me now, good Lord,

After Thy great mercy �

and dismissing the company with the parting words, "Now, may God grant quiet rest," he went off to bed. But there was to be no more rest on earth for this devoted servant. The few days left are to be spent in captivity and suffering; the martyr crown is to be won, and then, "faithful unto death," he shall receive the "crown of life." A band of men from the Cardinal, led by Earl Bothwell, had been searching for him; at midnight they surrounded the house and took the evangelist prisoner. He was instantly carried off to St. Andrews and thrown into prison. Wishart was well assured of the fate which lay before him, but he "knew Whom he believed," and his mind was in perfect peace.

On February 28th, he was brought out to a mock trial before the Cardinal, and condemned to the flames, to be burned to death on the following day.

Early next morning the preparations began. The stake was erected before the Bishop's palace. Chains, fire and faggots were prepared for the martyr. Cushions and drapery lined the palace windows, that Beaton and his friends might luxuriously repose thereon while they feasted their eyes on the sufferer's dying agonies. The guns of the castle were loaded and turned on the scaffold to prevent any chance of rescue. Wishart's friends received permission to see him for the last time. They found him in the dungeon, full of triumphant grace. "Consider and behold my visage," said he, "ye shall not see me change my colour. The grim fire I fear not, for I know surely that I shall sup with my Saviour this night."

At noon he was led forth surrounded by soldiers. His hands had been tied behind his back like a common criminal; a chain was round his waist and a rope round his neck. At the stake he fell upon his knees, and said, "Oh, Thou Saviour of the world, have mercy upon me; Father in Heaven, I commend my spirit into Thy hands." Then he prayed for his accusers and enemies, also for his brethren in the faith, when, the fire being lighted, he was quickly surrounded by the flames, and his body burned to ashes.

The murder of Wishart was not sanctioned by the Estates. Many of the nobles cared little for the cause of Christ, but a great deal for worldly power, and they could ill abide the proud priest usurping the highest prerogative in the state without their consent. A conspiracy was formed against him; three short months pass, and sixteen daring men succeed in surprising him in his strong castle, on which he had spent vast sums, and which he believed to be impregnable. Roused by the noise, the wretched man is met on the stairs, and James Melville exhorts him to repent of his wicked life, as he "passes his short sword once and again through his bosom."

A few short years and the magnificent buildings on which the murdered prelate had spent so much labour, that he might be safe to plot and carry out his wicked deeds, but in which he met his just doom, are swept away, and all that remains are a few heaps of ruins. Truly, even "the dwelling place of the wicked shall come to nought."

The priests filled up the vacant see by the nomination of Hamilton, brother to the Regent, and immediately proceeded to besiege the castle in which many of the Reformed party had taken refuge. After holding out for sixteen months it was taken by the assistance of a French fleet; and among the prisoners shipped off to the galleys was John Knox, destined to be the leader in the final emancipation of Scotland from the yoke of Rome. Once again it seemed as if the priests had triumphed, and they prepared as usual to celebrate their victory in fresh persecution of the humble followers of Jesus. Walter Mill, an old man, of eighty-two years, was arrested and brought before Hamilton. At his trial he had to be assisted into court, but his faith was strong and his voice gave no uncertain sound. "I will not recant," said he, "for I am corn, and not chaff, and will not be blown away with the wind." He was condemned. A rope was wanted to bind the old man to the stake, but not a merchant in St. Andrews would sell one for the purpose, so greatly was the action of the Archbishop detested. As he stood by the stake he said, "I trust I shall be the last to suffer death in Scotland for this cause," and his words have proved true. He died on the 28th August, 1558. During the night the people raised a great heap of stones on the ashes of the martyr, and, though the priests removed them day after day, yet this "heap of witness" duly rose again in the morning.

Chapter 5.

John Knox and His Times.

The faithful preaching and martyr death of George Wishart had not been in vain. The Gospel of the grace of God, so zealously proclaimed by that devoted evangelist, had produced a real and lasting revival among the common people, which was to have deep and far-reaching results. This had its effect in opening the way for more widespread instruction in divine truth; and those who were desirous of being thus taught, had soon the privilege of such teaching, for God, who of old sent Peter to Cornelius, was preparing the man He was about to use to further the cause of Christ in Scotland, at a time when wickedness seemed to come in like a flood. That man was John Knox. He had taken refuge, as we have seen, in the castle of St. Andrews, to be safe from the plots of Archbishop Hamilton, who had put a price upon his head, and when the castle fell before the combined efforts of the Regent's army and the French fleet, Knox, in direct violation of the terms of capitulation, had been shipped off to the galleys.

We can have little idea of all the suffering and misery entailed upon the wretched men who were sent to this worse than penal servitude, but the following description by a writer on the subject will enable us to realize something of what Knox endured during the space of nearly two years before he was released. "The galleys were long craft, rowed by forty or fifty oars a-piece. Able-bodied vagrants, convicts, and the worst off-scourings of France were swept into these floating prisons. The long, low undecked waist of the ship was packed full of rowers, five or six of them chained to each oar. The labour of rowing was terrible. From the great length of the oars, the rowers had to rise to their feet at every stroke. They wrought stripped to the loins, and along the centre of the galley ran a gangway, on which the 'forcers' walked up and down with a long whip in hand which they mercilessly applied to the naked backs of the rowers, whenever they thought that any oar did not keep touch with the rest. In the hold there was a low dark room, entered by a scuttle about two feet square. This was the hospital; it was so low that the deck above was only three feet from the sick men's faces as they lay on the bare boards. The stench was so horrible in this dismal hole that slaves stricken with disease often chose to keep at their oar till they dropped and died rather than enter it."

Such was the place, and such were the masters under whom Knox acquired part of his education, but in the midst of it all we see his unflinching faith and trust in God, calmly waiting for the time when He would deliver him and send him forth into His service. Here he learned meekness in the endurance of wrong, self-control, patience, and also that resolute resistance to everything evil which comes out time after time in his after-life. He would tolerate no shams, neither in men nor things; what he insisted on was reality. One day a gorgeously painted lady, a figure of the Virgin Mary, was brought aboard to be kissed, but when presented to Knox, he gently said, "Trouble me not, such an idol is accursed, and I will not touch it." "Thou shalt handle it," said the officer, and violently thrust it into his face. Knox, seeing no other alternative, promptly used the opportunity and cast it into the sea, saying, "Let our lady save herself; she is light enough let her swim."

The galley in which Knox was confined returned to Scotland in 1548 accompanied by the French fleet sent to repair the damages wrought by Protector Somerset, at the Battle of Pinkie. Anchored off the Fife coast, a fellow-prisoner pointed out to him the steeple of St. Andrews, and asked him if he knew the place. Knox was worn down by fever and thought to be dying, but raising himself, he said, "Yea, I know it well, for I see the place where God first opened my mouth for His glory, and I am fully persuaded that I shall not depart this life till my tongue shall again glorify His holy name in the same place."

Knox was liberated in 1549, and went to England. Here he and others were employed by Cranmer, then in power, to go into the various districts where the Romish clergy were most opposed to the Reformation and preach the Gospel. Knox was appointed to Berwick. This work he entered into with much zeal and fervour, with a deep sense of the love of Christ to lost sinners, and of the grace of God in providing salvation without money and without price. He was not content with the district allotted to him, but travelled round the surrounding country as far as Newcastle, "in season and out of season preaching the Word."

In December 1553 we find him in London. King Edward had died in July. Lady Jane Grey, after a reign of ten days had passed from the throne to the prison; from the prison to the block, and Mary Tudor is queen. Night is settling down upon England to be lighted only by lurid gleams from the stakes of the confessors and martyrs of Jesus Christ. Protestants were allowed till the 20th of December to "change their opinions," after that it was to be "turn or burn." Knox knowing that the time was short, preached on. "I have no time to answer your letter," he wrote to a friend, "for I must preach every day as long as this poor, weak body will allow." At last at the urgent entreaties of his friends he returned from London and arrived at Dieppe in January 1554. The same year Mary of Guise was appointed Regent of Scotland; at heart a bigoted papist, yet she had won the affections of the protestant party of befriending them from the severity of Arran after his apostacy, and it was by this means she had succeeded in procuring his resignation.

Now that she was in power, she courted their influence by promising to support them against the clergy. Thus the policy of the Regent gave liberty to Christians to meet in private for the preaching of the Word and exhortation, though at heart she cared for none of these things. The bitter persecution in England under Queen Mary led many to flee into Scotland where they became a help to their brethren by their zeal for the truth and their desire to further the Gospel among the common people. But the favour of the Queen Regent had a very different effect on the Lords of the Congregation (as the nobles who favoured the Reformation came to be called); they sought to please her by going to mass, and attending the outward services of the papists. This conduct brought out a strongly-worded warning from Knox. "Arme yourselves," said he, "to stand with Christ in this shorte batell; for avoyding ydolatrie your substance salbe spoillit; but for obeying ydolatrie heavenlie ryches shalbe lost; for avoyding of ydolatrie ye may fall into the handis of earthly tirantis, but obeyeris, manteaneris, and consentaris to ydolatrie sall not eschaip the hands of the liveing God. Hes not the maist part of the sanctis of God from the beginning entered into rest be torment and troubillis. Did God comforte theme and sail He despyse us, gif in fichting aganis iniquitie we follow thair footstepis? He will not."

But when the Regent found her power firmly established, she threw off the mask and gave them a rude awakening by summoning four of the protestant preachers to appear at Stirling and answer to a charge of heresy and rebellion.

The nobles remonstrated, and reminded Mary of her promises. She replied like a true Jesuit, that "princes are not to be expected to keep their promises unless it suits their own convenience," and that she would "drive every preacher from Scotland, though they preached as soundly as St. Paul." Nevertheless, at this time she yielded, departed from the diet, and forbade the preachers to appear; but when the day arrived she ordered the summons to be called, and the prescribed to be outlawed for not appearing.

At this time Knox returned from the continent and arrived in Scotland in 1555. He was invited to Ayrshire, and preached every day wherever he found an open door. But the Roman clergy hearing of his arrival, cited him to appear before them in the Blackfriar's Church at Edinburgh. Knox feared God too much to fear man, and set out to be present at the diet; but the priests were afraid to bring the matter to an issue.

Knox arrived, but found that his enemies had departed, and, finding no accusers, he quietly went up into the pulpit and preached the gospel to the multitude who were gathered together to see how the matter would end. For the following ten days in succession, he preached to large audiences from the same place. Next year we find him back in Geneva. In 1558 he finally returned to Scotland. The clergy immediately proclaimed him an outlaw and a rebel, and put a price upon his head, but the nobles protected him from their violence, and arranged a meeting at St. Andrews. Knox preached in the villages along the Fife coast by the way, and arrived in St. Andrews on the 9th of June. The Archbishop, hearing of the gathering of the nobles, dashed after them with two hundred horse; but, finding them stronger than he expected, fled again for his life, leaving a message for Knox "that if he dared to preach from his pulpit, a dozen bullets should light upon his nose." The nobles were intimidated, but Knox said, "As for the fear of danger that may come to me, let no man be anxious, for my life is in the hands of Him whose glory I seek. I desire the hand or weapon of no man to defend me; I only crave audience." Next Sunday he preached without interruption, and continued to do so for some days longer. In July we find him in Edinburgh, and, when the army of the nobles had to retire to Stirling before the combined forces of the Queen Regent and the French auxiliaries, we find him with them, telling them in blunt, plain language that they had failed because they had forsaken the Lord and put their confidence in man. "When we were few in number we called upon God, but since our strength has increased there has been nothing heard but 'This lord will bring us so many hundred spears,' and ' If this earl be on our side, no man in that district will trouble.' Let us unfeignedly return unto the Lord, for it is the Eternal Truth of the Eternal God for which we contend, and it shall finally prevail, though it be resisted for a season." Next year help arrived from England. The French troops in Leith were forced to sue for terms of peace. A treaty was signed in Edinburgh whereby the foreign soldiers were withdrawn, and the Queen Regent, wearied out and heartsick of the struggle, died in Edinburgh Castle on the 10th of June. Feeling the end to be near, she sent for Lord James Stuart and told him she was sorry for Scotland and for her own share in Scotland's sufferings, and asked forgiveness of all whom she had wronged. Lord James advised her to see the preacher Willocks. She did so, and listened to him with much attention, but afterwards sent for a popish priest and died a "good Catholic." Her bigotry was supreme, � a determined opposer of Christ; an oppressor and persecutor of His people, and a hater of His Word. She became the patron of a party whose members were unscrupulously wicked, whose actions were relentlessly cruel, whose system of fraud and falsehood were a disgrace to intelligent humanity. She lived to see her power broken, her hopes blasted, and her schemes defeated, and died in darkness and despair. Verily "the way of the wicked He turneth upside down." The man of God is called upon to stand for the truth, not only in the face of open opposition and persecution, but more so when Satan appears as an angel of light, when evil is called good, and when the love of many is waxing cold. Then, indeed, is the faithful servant called upon to show that he is not ignorant of the doings of the enemy of souls, that, living by faith, he is ready to fight the good fight of faith, and witness a good confession for Christ Jesus. Under the regency of Mary of Guise, Knox had been persecuted, banished, outlawed, a price set upon his head, and assassins hired to slay him. Under the government of Mary Stuart, he had the grief of seeing many who walked uprightly in time of persecution turning aside in time of peace, to make servile courtiers, for worldly advancement, to a vain and dissembling woman. He, himself, by turns was threatened and fawned upon, publicly accused and privately slandered, but nevertheless the great Reformer went steadfastly on, doing the work put into his hands, and ever seeking to advance the cause of Christ in Scotland.

Mary Stuart arrived in Scotland on the 19th of August 1561. She had been brought up in France � the most polluted court in Europe; a place where every vice was cultivated, where every virtue was ridiculed, and for the brief period of eighteen months she had been partner of the throne. Her uncles, the Duke of Guise and Cardinal of Lorraine, had engaged her to devote herself heart and hand to the extirpation of the "new opinions" with fire and sword, if need be; and with this purpose she came to Scotland. She refused to condescend to examine the subject of difference between papist and protestant. She scorned to hear the preachers, and so wilfully did she shut her eyes to the truth that she would not even allow them to lay before her in writing the ground of their faith. But the protestant party was now in power, and she had to conceal her real designs until a time came more favourable for their execution.

Nevertheless, the people were captivated by the charms of their young queen, and the first night she slept in Holyrood she was awakened by a serenade under her windows � not very successful as music, and all the more distasteful to Mary because the people were singing psalms. Next Sunday she ordered mass to be said in her chapel, upon which Knox said "he was more afraid of one mass than of ten thousand armed enemies." There was just cause for fear. In the Netherlands, multitudes had been put to death under Charles V. and his more wicked son Philip II. In France, the followers of Jesus were being persecuted by the Guises. In Spain, the martyr piles still continued to blaze, and in the sister kingdom of England they had newly gone out with the death of Mary Tudor. Knowing the knowledge of the truth to be the only safeguard from error, Knox continued to preach with increased energy twice every Sunday and three times during the week in the great building of St. Giles, which was crowded by interested listeners. From some of his writings which have come down to us, we learn that in his preaching he gave forth no uncertain sound. Heaven and Hell, salvation and judgment, justification by faith, or condemnation through unbelief, were to him solemn realities. Death by sin, and life by Christ alone, were the cardinal points of his doctrine. No mere set of opinions, whether protestant or otherwise, were sufficient. There must be regeneration through the work of the Spirit, producing new life in the soul, and from this new life Knox looked for new conduct � the "fruits of righteousness which are by Jesus Christ unto the glory and praise of God." Knox had settled in Edinburgh in 1560, and the house he inhabited may still be seen in the High Street. Over the west front is the inscription, "Lufe God above al and your nichbour as yourself." A stair leads up from the street to the audience hall, in which is a window, called the "preaching window," because from it Knox was in the habit of addressing the people assembled in the street below. Underneath this window are the words, "DEUS THEOS, GOD."

Mary having set her mind upon subduing Knox and bending him to her will, summoned him to the palace. In one of their many interviews, after a long conference, she charged him with teaching the people a different religion from that allowed by their princes. He replied that true religion derived its origin from the eternal God, and that if subjects were bound to frame their religion according to the will of their rulers, the Hebrews would have been of the same religion as Pharaoh.

The papists feared that Knox's appeals would shake the Queen's constancy; the protestants hoped she would be won over to attend the preaching at least, but Knox thought differently. He says, "Her whole proceedings declare that the Cardinal's lessons are so deeply printed in her heart that the substance and the quality are like to perish together."

The news of the massacre of Vassy, which took place in France at this time, brought much joy to the papists. One Sunday morning the Duke of Guise had surrounded their meeting house, where about 1200 Huguenots � as the French Christians were called � were gathered together, and the troops bursting open the doors, with cries of "Kill, kill," the work of butchery began. When it was over the soldiers gathered together the Bibles and hymn books and burned them. About eighty persons � men, women, and children � were slain, and several hundreds wounded. When tidings of this exploit of her uncle reached Scotland, Mary gave a grand ball in the palace, and this unseenly mirth called forth the stern rebuke of Knox, who said that "princes were more exercised in dancing and music than in hearing or reading the Word of God; and that they delighted more in fiddlers and flatterers than in the company of wise men, capable of giving them wholesome counsel." As to dancing, he said it was "a gesture more becoming to mad, than to sober men, and that those who danced for joy at the misfortunes of God's people would soon have their mirth converted into mourning." Next day he was summoned to the palace, ushered into the royal chamber where the Queen sat with her ladies and counsellors, and accused of having spoken irreverently of Her Majesty. Knox bluntly told her that if she refused to hear the preacher herself, she must depend on the false reports of flatterers, but that for her benefit he would repeat the substance of what he had said. Thereupon she was compelled for once to listen to a sermon, though much against her will. Mary could find nothing faulty in his discourse, and was reluctantly compelled to let the bold preacher go free.

We next find Knox in the West, visiting with untiring energy the different Churches, and seeking to confirm the Christians in the faith of Christ.

In 1566 France and Spain concluded a peace with the object of "rooting out the new heresy." Just as Herod and Pilate were made friends together over the condemnation of the Lord Jesus, so Catharine de Medici � one of the most wicked women that ever lived � patched up a peace with the cruel, vindictive, and bigoted Philip of Spain, who was responsible for the unjust murder of nearly 100,000 of his subjects � the followers of Christ � in the Netherlands. The object of this agreement was that they might use their joint powers against the Protestants, and exterminate every man, woman, and child who refused to worship the Roman idol. The massacre of St. Bartholomew, six years afterwards, was the outcome of this atrocious compact, when a beginning was made in Paris with the slaughter of Admiral Coligny and the principal leaders, who had been decoyed to the city by fair words and false promises of security, made, only to be broken. The work of death proceeded through the provinces till over 50,000 of the best citizens of France had been destroyed; their only crime being that they dared to differ from the teaching of Rome and sought to worship God in sincerity and truth.

Influenced by her uncles, the Guises, Mary readily became a partner to the scheme. The intentions of the papists were to reduce Scotland to obedience to the pope; next, to depose Elizabeth and seat Mary on the throne of England instead. The dagger of the assassin and the art of the poisoner were considered legitimate weapons, and the pope promised "pardon for all his sins," to the man who would succeed in assassinating Elizabeth. But all those deep-laid plots came to nought, and the misguided Scottish Queen, in place of sitting upon an English throne, laid her head upon an English block, and her better qualities were lost sight of in the vices which she allowed to govern her life and conduct.

Meanwhile, she temporised. Smiles, caresses, and hypocritical promises were the weapons she used, until the majority of the nobles should be won over. With these weapons Mary was an adept. She made a show of favouring the Reformed party till the plot was ripe for the stake and the faggot, and her arts were largely successful. Many zealous professors grew cold to the cause of Christ in proportion as they courted Mary's favour, and the more they reverted from Christ, the more they grew in the queen's good graces. But there was one man who would neither be won by flattery nor silenced by threats. That man was Knox, and Mary having already measured herself against him, and found that neither her tears nor her frowns had the slightest effect upon his massive sense of righteousness, and that to win her smile or escape her anger, he would not deviate one hair-breadth from the straight line of what he considered duty, she determined to bring him to the block. Events which took place shortly afterwards placed her enemy in her power. In 1563 she had taken a journey to Stirling, and while the queen was away, mass was openly celebrated at Holyrood, and some of the turbulent spirits among the protestants, offended at these proceedings, burst into the chapel and asked the priest how he dared to be so malapert in the queen's absence. Mary, when she heard of this, was indignant, and ordered two of the protestants to be brought to trial. Fearing this was only a beginning to measures still more hostile, some of the nobles induced Knox to write to the principal gentlemen interested in the case, to be present at the trial. Knox did so, and one of the circular letters came into the hands of the queen. This she laid before the Privy Council, who, to her great delight, pronounced it treasonable. Knox himself was now brought to trial, and great was the anxiety on the part of the people as to the result. The queen took her place at the head of the counsel with much dignity, but seeing Knox standing uncovered at the foot of the table, she forgot herself and burst into loud and unbecoming laughter. "That man," she said, "has made me weep, and shed never a tear himself; now I will see if I can make him weep." But Knox, however, was made of sterner stuff. The proceedings began, and Knox was asked if he was sorry for what he had done. He replied that before he could be sorry he must first be taught his offence. "You shall not escape me," said the queen; "is it not treason to accuse a prince of cruelty?" "Is it lawful, madam, for me to answer for myself, or shall I be condemned unheard?" "Say what you can, for I think you will have enough to do," said the queen exultingly. "I desire then," said Knox, "of your grace and of this honourable audience, whether you do not know that the obstinate papists are deadly enemies of all such as profess the gospel of Jesus Christ, and that they most earnestly desire the extermination of them, and of the true doctrine taught in this realm." The queen was silent; her conscience told her that the words of the fearless confessor were true, but the lords answered with one voice, God forbid that ever the lives of the faithful stood in the power of the papists, for sad experience has taught us what cruelty lies in their hearts." Knox proceeded and told the queen that the papists who had her ear were dangerous counsellors, and such her mother had found them to be before her. "But," said he, "cast up the acts of your parliament; I have offended nothing against them, but I affirm that those who have inflamed your grace against the protestants are the children of the devil, and therefore must obey the desire of their father, who was a liar and a manslayer from the beginning." This plainness of speech the queen and counsel were not in the habit of hearing. They liked not this rugged man's rugged way of calling things by rugged names, and the chancellor interrupting, informed him that he was not in the pulpit. "I am in the place where conscience demands me to speak the truth, and therefore the truth I speak impugn it whoso list," was his reply. After some further discussion he was told he might return home. "I thank God and the queen's majesty," said he, and withdrew. The votes were then taken as to his conduct, and he was pronounced Not Guilty by a large majority. Secretary Maitland was enraged, for he had assured the queen of his condemnation, and Mary was mortified and displeased at his acquittal, and "That nicht," says Knox, "was nyther dancing nor fiddeling in the court, for madam was disappointed of her purpose, quhilk was to have Johne Knox to her will by vote of her nobility."

Two years afterwards, the queen was married to Darnley. The Earl of Murray and many of the principal nobility objected to a man who could be "either papist or protestant as it suited him," and Mary, finding that nothing would bring them over to her party, dismissed them from her presence with taunts and reproaches. At the age of twenty-three, on a mid-summer day in 1565, she was married; and from that moment the steps of the misguided queen led rapidly downwards through a series of follies and crimes, each of which brought greater troubles in its train than those it was intended to cure. After six months of married life she found that "she hated Darnley as much as before she had loved him." He, in turn, became jealous of the Vatican agent, Rizzio, and one Saturday night a dark tragedy took place in Holyrood. Rizzio was slain in the queen's apartments. He who had plotted the death of thousands meets with a bloody death himself.

Henceforth Mary lived only for revenge. Outwardly she masked her hatred until everything was ready for another tragedy, and then, one Sunday night in February 1567, we find her seated by the bedside of her sick husband, promising that "all should be forgotten and forgiven," and that they should live together � as in the happy days of old. About midnight she left him to "attend a ball in the palace." When she arrived at Holyrood, Bothwell left on his dark mission, and next morning the dead body of the king was found in the garden. Three months afterwards she was married to the murderer of her lawful husband. Another month, and at Carberry Hill the guilty pair met the nation in open rebellion against such high-handed wickedness. Bothwell escaped, but Mary was made prisoner and confined in Lochleven Castle. Truly "the way of trangressors is hard."

The Earl of Murray, called "the Good Regent," was now elected to govern for the young king, and by his prudence and ability the country was again reduced to quietness. When Mary escaped from captivity, she met the Regent's forces at Langside, and being once more defeated was forced to flee. This time she took refuge in England, where after a lingering imprisonment of nineteen years she was finally brought to the block.

Mary Stuart had often been warned by the faithful, if stern Knox, of the danger of her course. She lived in a day when the truths of Scripture were faithfully preached by many of her protestant subjects, but she slighted the warnings, scorned the preachers, refused to read the Scriptures for herself, lived only for pleasure, and circumstances alone hindered her from being a bitter persecutor of God's people. The Regent Murray was an earnest, God-fearing man who sought to do that which was true and right in the high position he had been called to fill; and Knox now seeing the popish idolatry, as bethought, rooted out, and Christianity the professed religion of the nation, felt that his work was done. He was now an old man, and his life of incessant labour had told heavily on a constitution never very strong. But the papists soon found means to murder the Regent at Linlithgow, and this awakened Knox from his dreams of ease. The body was brought to Edinburgh, and Knox preached the funeral sermon from the text, "Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord." Three thousand persons sat before him dissolved in tears as he described the Regent's virtues and bewailed his loss. Knox's grief at this event brought on a stroke of palsy, and his enemies hoped he would preach no more, but he recovered, and during the civil wars which followed between the king's party and the queen's party, he continued to preach in St. Giles as often as his strength would permit. Obnoxious to both parties by his fearless denunciation of evil, his life was often in danger, and one evening a musket ball was fired through the window at which he was in the habit of sitting. It happened that he was in a different part of the room at the time and so escaped the assassin's bullet.

After a short visit to St. Andrews we find him back in Edinburgh in 1572. Here he learned with deep distress of the murder of many of his acquaintances and friends in France during the massacre of Bartholomew. But his grief speedily gave way to indignation, and he caused himself to be conveyed to the pulpit, where he summoned up his strength to thunder forth, like some Hebrew prophet of old, the vengeance of Heaven against �that cruel murderer, the King of France." The French Ambassador, Le Croc, resented Knox's plain speech, and requested the Regent Morton to silence him. But Morton, believing that Knox had spoken only the truth, refused to interfere. Thereupon Le Croc, in much umbrage, took his departure. When tidings of the massacre reached Rome it was received in a different manner. The Pope ordered a day of solemn thanksgiving and proclaimed a year of jubilee.

On the 9th of November he preached for the last time, and afterwards, "leaning upon his staff, he crept down the street to his house," from which he never came out again alive. A few days afterwards, feeling the end to be near, he sent for some of his elders and deacons, and the words with which he addressed them give us the keynote to the man's character � the object of his life. "The day now approaches," said he, "when I shall be released from my great labours, and shall be with Christ. And now God is my witness, whom I have served in spirit, in the gospel of His Son, that I have taught nothing but the true and solid doctrine of the gospel of the Son of God."

On Monday, November 24th, he fell asleep. His body was buried in the Old Greyfriar's Churchyard, and the Regent Morton, standing at the head of the open grave, said, "There lies he who never feared the face of man." By the side of Morton's wreath, we place another of modern manufacture. Pope Pius IX. in 1877, bewailing the loss of Scotland, says, "That savage apostate Knox, perverted Scotland by the protestant heresy, and won it over to a sect which repudiates all hierarchy, and admits only simple presbyters all equal among each other." A small plate of metal, with the initials "J.K.," let into the pavement of Parliament Square, now marks the last resting place of John Knox.

Chapter 6.

Tyndale's New Testament.

Wycliffe's life and teaching, but more especially his translation of the Bible into the English language had been the means of making the Gospel known to many, but as we have seen in a previous chapter, a Bible written out by hand was a very expensive book. Few people were able to purchase even a portion of it, and fewer still, the whole book. The priests also devoted themselves to seize and destroy every copy they could find, so that in a short time there was a danger of the Bible becoming as unknown to the people as if a translation had never been made.

But Wycliffe's work had not been in vain. Like the sower he had gone forth with the good seed which is the Word of God, and though some had fallen on the wayside hearts of the adherents of Rome, and some on the thorny ground of intellectual and political life, yet much of it had taken root in the hearts of the common people who "heard him gladly." One hundred years afterwards, when Tyndale's New Testament appeared, we see, in the eagerness with which it was welcomed, a proof of the lasting character of the work of that faithful old contender for the truth � John Wycliffe.

But during that period persecution raged with unabated violence against suspected Lollards. Parliament enacted, among other acts already in force, that all "judges, justices, and magistrates shall take oath to make inquisition for Lollards, and that they shall issue warrants for their apprehension and delivery to the ecclesiastical judges, that they may be acquit or convict by the laws of holy church." All found with English books, or suspected of "Wycliffe's learning," were apprehended. The priests could pardon any sin but the sin of heresy. That must be purged by fire. Soon the new act brought forth fresh victims to the insatiable cruelty of the false church. Among the many who were counted worthy to suffer for His name, we read of John Claydon who was found in possession of a book called the Lanthorn of Light. Light the priests could not tolerate. It exposed their dark deeds. In 1415 they burned both John and his book. William Taylor, a priest, who had learned better knowledge than Rome could teach him, was burned in 1422. Another priest, named William White, was converted, and went about the country preaching the truths he had learned from Wycliffe's writings. He was arrested and tried at Canterbury, but his courage failed when he saw before him the fiery death, and he confessed and abjured his heresy. However, instead of peace, his recantation only brought him remorse [sorrow and] because of his failure, and we are not surprised, to find the ex-priest in a short time preaching Jesus Christ with more zeal and diligence than before. Arrested and brought before the Bishop of Norwich he was condemned, and this time went joyfully to the fire. Even amidst the flames he exhorted the people, and told them to remain steadfast in the doctrine he had taught them, but as he continued to speak, a servant of the bishops smote him a cruel blow on the mouth, and forced him to remain silent; thus he meekly yielded up his spirit.

By and by the fierce and bloody Wars of the Roses began, and those in high places got other work to do than persecuting Lollards. During a period of the war when the White Rose of York was in the ascendency, a Lancastrian family under the assumed name of Hutchins, came to reside near Berkley Castle, in Gloucestershire. When the Lancastrian party was in power they resumed their original name, and a son born to them in 1484 was named William Tyndale. The accession of Henry VII. to the throne of England in 1485 put an end to the thirty years of civil war which had wasted the kingdom, and men had time to think of other things than mere brute fighting. Accordingly when young Tyndale grew up he was sent at an early age to the University of Oxford. How men were trained for priests in these days Tyndale himself records. He says, "In the Universities they have ordained that no man shall look at the Scriptures until they be trained in heathen learning eight or nine years, and armed with false principles with which he is clean shut out of the understanding of the Scriptures. And when he taketh his first degree he is sworn that he shall hold none opinions condemned by the Church." Tyndale found nothing to satisfy him in all this "perverse disputings of men of corrupt minds and destitute of the truth," but his time was not entirely spent in this vain pursuit. Here he became acquainted with the Greek and Latin New Testament, published by Erasmus, at Basle, in 1516. Erasmus had for some time been professor of Greek at Oxford, and had published a book called the Praise of Folly, exposing the evils of the monastic orders; but, timid as he was learned, he had retired to the Continent dismayed at the storm he had raised. Tyndale's acquaintance with the New Testament marked the turning-point in his career. In it he found that which could meet his conscience and satisfy his heart. It was the means of his conversion; through the living Word he was born again. Having learned the truth himself, he began to lecture in public on the book which had been means of his own salvation, that others too might know the Saviour of whom it spoke. But Oxford would have none of that, so he retired to Cambridge. Here he met Thomas Bilney, soon to become a fervent preacher of the Gospel and a martyr for Jesus Christ. For years Bilney had been seeking salvation, and as he knew of no other way he regularly went to the priests � but how shall the blind lead the blind? His confessor prescribed fasts, vigils, masses, and indulgences which cost poor Bilney a great deal of money but gave him no rest. His purse got empty and his conscience knew no peace. At last he began to doubt whether it was not for their own interests that the priests denounced the Greek Testament as the "source of all heresy." Romish doctrines were losing their hold on Bilney; he went to the house where the Testaments were secretly sold, bought one, and with fear and trembling shut himself up in his room to read � "This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief." Bilney thought over the words he had read, and as he meditated, the Holy Spirit opened his eyes to the only way of salvation. "Jesus saves. Jesus Christ saves sinners. Jesus saves me," exclaimed Bilney. Now he saw that his fasts and vigils were "destroying instead of saving him," and born from above by the power of the Spirit of God, Bilney had turned from the study of law to study the New Testament and learn of Jesus.

In 1521 we find Tyndale back in Gloucestershire. He had completed his studies, and was now engaged as tutor to the sons of Sir John Walsh, at Sodbury Hall. Perhaps in few other places could he have been brought into more direct contact with the evil practices of Rome, than in this retired spot which was much frequented by priests and friars. For fifty years four Italian bishops placed in succession over the diocese had surrendered it "to the pope, to the monks, and to immorality." A resident collector from Rome had power from the pope to pardon the sins of murder and theft on condition that the criminal shared half his profits with the pontifical commissioner. Rome cared not how she got money, provided only she got it. We narrate these details only to show how debased and darkened the minds of men may become when unenlightened by the Word of God; and when the light shines in what fierce opposition is raised in the human heart, because its evils deeds are exposed. "This is the condemnation that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved. But he that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest that they are wrought in God."

Sir John Walsh was a man of considerable importance, kept a hospitable table, and the priests and idle monks, ever fond of good cheer, took full advantage of his generosity. The church dignitaries cared little for their duties, but a great deal for their revenues, and they soon saw that if Master Tyndale's "opinions" were received, the illegitimate gains would be gone. The learned doctors and lordly abbots warmly disputed with him as to his presumption in daring to differ from "Holy Church," but Tyndale, with his Greek Testament ever by his side, had a way of testing their arguments by what was written in "The Book," so as to leave him master of the field. "That is the Book that makes heretics," said they. "The source of all heresy is pride," replied Tyndale. Not content with merely exposing that which was false, he busied himself in making known that which was true, and devoted himself to preaching the Gospel in the villages near by. Extending his journeys as he had opportunity, he visited Bristol and preached to large audiences which gathered to hear him on the college green.

His teaching had its effect too on his patron Sir John, and the priests and monks soon began to find that their welcome at the manor house was not so hearty as heretofore. This they ascribed to Tyndale's influence, and having been defeated in the argument they resorted to force. The Chancellor of the diocese cited him to appear and answer to certain charges which had been made against him. Tyndale went, and knowing what was before him, "prayed heartily to God to strengthen him to stand fast in the truth of His Word." We get a glimpse of the judicial procedure of these days from what he tells us of this court. "When I came before the Chancellor," he says, "he threatened me grievously and reviled me, and rated me as though I had been a dog; and laid to my charge things whereof there could be none accuser brought forth, as their manner is." To this invective Tyndale made a calm reply which only exasperated the Chancellor all the more, but as they could not produce one witness to substantiate their charges, he escaped out of their hands and returned home to Sodbury. The priests next tried to "convert" Tyndale, and engaged a learned schoolman to visit him and convince him of his errors.

We know little of what took place at this interesting interview, except that the evangelist's Testament was more than a match for all the churchman's logic, and when he saw that the Word of God only exposed the evil of his own doctrine, he exclaimed, "We had better be without God's laws than the pope's." Tyndale, shocked at such irreverence, warmly replied, "I defy the pope and all his laws, and if God spares my life I will cause the boy that drives the plough to know more of the Scriptures than all the priests in England." He had decided on his great work, the translation of the Bible into the language of the people, and devoted all his spare time to this one object. But when the priests got knowledge of his design, their opposition, smouldering before, broke out into so fierce a flame that he was forced to leave Sodbury. "You cannot save me from the priests," he said to Sir John, "and I should be sorry to bring you into trouble; permit me to leave you." Taking with him his papers and his precious Testament, he bade good-bye for ever to the place where two years of his life had been pleasantly and profitably spent, and became an exile and a wanderer, that he might give to England the Bible � the knowledge of the Word of God. Tyndale went to London. He vainly hoped that the learned Bishop Tunstal would accord him patronage and encourage him in his design, but he had yet to learn not to put his faith in princes. Tunstal received him coldly and listened to his plans, but told him that his house was full, and dismissed him. "Alas" said he, "I have been deceived: there is nothing to be looked for from the bishops: Christ was smitten on the cheek before the bishop: Paul was buffeted before a bishop, and a bishop has turned me away; but I hunger for the Word of God, and I will translate it whether they say so or no: God will not suffer me to perish." Repulsed by the Bishop, he found a home with a Christian merchant named Humphrey Monmouth, who received him into his house and provided him with the opportunity of prosecuting his labours. Here he met John Fryth, whom he speaks of as "his dear son in the faith," and who at a future day, was to die a martyr for the truth of Jesus. Meantime he rendered valuable assistance to the translator, and daily the two shut themselves up in a small room in Monmouth's house to render the Greek Testament into English. They were making rapid progress, and Tyndale hoped soon to see his sheets printed, when events took place which showed him that there was "no room, not only in the bishop's palace to translate the New Testament, but that there was no place to do it in all England."

Two years before Tyndale arrived in London, Luther's books were beginning to be introduced into England, and in such numbers too that the clergy took alarm, and condemned every copy they could lay hands upon to be seized and burned. Aleander, the papal nuncio in Germany, had prohibited the printers from publishing any of Luther's works in the Empire. "Very well," said the printers, "we shall send them to England then." And to England they came. The Theses of 1517, the Explanation of the Lord's Prayer, the Epistle to the Galatians, the Babylonish Captivity of the Church, and others were translated into English, imported by the enterprising merchants, who found it a profitable, if a risky trade, and circulated through the country by an elaborate system of colporteurage. The clergy did everything in their power to stop the growing evil. Even King Henry himself entered the lists, and wrote a book against "that arch-heretic and child of the devil, Martin Luther, who had ventured to resist the authority of the Pope. Writing to Louis of Bavaria, he exhorts him to "seize and exterminate this Luther, and unless he repents, to deliver him and his books to the flames." A copy of the King's book, beautifully bound, was sent to Rome, and the Pope, to show his gratitude to the messenger who brought it, gave him his toe to kiss. To Henry too something must be given, and a bull was issued bestowing upon him the sounding title of Defender of the Faith." Henry was in raptures. A sumptuous entertainment was given. The heralds proclaimed the King's new title, and Wolsey said mass. The Court jester, entering in the midst of these proceedings, asked the cause of his joy. "The Pope has just named me Defender of the Faith," said the King. "Ho! ho good Harry," replied the fool, "let you and me defend one another, but let faith alone to defend itself." The "fool" was the wisest man in the company. Henry, to show his zeal, immediately began to persecute all who differed from Rome � to destroy the faith instead of defending it. In Lincolnshire was found a small community of Christians who were wont to meet together on Sundays and at other times, as they had opportunity, to read a portion of the Gospels, or spend the time in prayer and exhortation. Books were few, and those who possessed a copy of the Gospels or one of the Epistles would secretly lend them to their friends that they might commit portions to memory, and in turn pass them on to others. One, John Scrivener, a faithful colporteur, was entrusted with this task, and carefully conveyed the precious volumes to those who thirsted for the life-giving word. Here was a field for Henry. Officers suddenly appeared in the district, and many arrests were made. Some recanted: some were tied to a post in the market-place, while the executioner branded them on the cheek with a red-hot iron. Others were considered worthy of death, and among them the colporteur Scrivener. When the pile was ready his weeping children were dragged forward, the torch forced into their unwilling hands, and they were compelled to light the faggots of their own father's death pile. The priests also made inquisition in London for all who should possess Luther's books and tracts, and Tyndale thereupon fearing that the stake might put an end to his life before his translation was completed, determined to leave London and retire to the Continent.

The generous Monmouth gave him ten pounds, equal to nearly fifty pounds in our day. Other friends of the gospel made up a like sum, and taking his unfinished sheets and his Greek Testament he went on board a vessel and sailed to Hamburg in 1524. He knew what fierce opposition his work would raise, but he was determined that England should have the New Testament in spite of the Clergy. "The priests," he said, "when they had slain Christ set poleaxes to keep Him in His sepulchre, that He should not rise again: even so have our priests buried the Testament of God, and all their study is to keep it down that it rise not again."

From Hamburg Tyndale proceeded to Wittenberg where he spent some time in the society of Luther and Melancthon. Afterwards he went to Cologne where he hoped to get his translation printed. Taking lodgings in an obscure part of the town to avoid observation, he placed his manuscripts in the hands of the printer, Peter Quental, and soon had the joy of seeing the first sheets of the first printed English New Testament. But his joy was of short duration. Dean Cochloeus found out his secret and procured an order from the Senate forbidding the printer to continue the work, but Tyndale learning of this interruption succeeded in procuring the printed sheets, and hastily leaving Cologne proceeded up the Rhine to Worms. When Cochloeus and the officers arrived at the printing house they found that the "apostate had taken the abominable papers and escaped." The dean took care to apprise Henry VIII. and warn him of the danger England was exposed to. "The New Testament in English is about to be sent to your people," said he. "Give orders at every seaport to prevent the introduction of this most baneful merchandise." Such was the way the priests of Rome spoke about the Word of God. The Scriptures must not be read by the people. This was the dogma of the false church then, and she is the same to-day. Generations have succeeded each other, yet in each there has been manifested that implacable, untiring opposition to God which was began by Satan in the Garden of Eden, and in every age since he had found men willing to be his instruments for evil in the world. Civilisation and so-called progress have not in the least modified the policy of Rome to the Word of God. Writing to his bishops and clergy in 1824, some time after the formation of the British and Foreign Bible Society, Pope Leo XII. says "Ye are not ignorant that a society commonly called a Bible Society, is audaciously spreading through the earth: and that . . . it endeavours with all its might, and by every means, to translate, or rather corrupt the Holy Scriptures into the vulgar tongues of all nations . . . . We exhort you to remove your flocks with care and earnestness from this fatal pasture."

In 1870 Pope Pius IX. after the loss of his temporal power, was forced to be the unwilling witness of the "audacious" Bible Society, upon which his predecessor had poured his unqualified condemnation; but his power was now limited, and he could only express his hatred to the Word of God by warning all "good catholics" to beware of the "pernicious literature" issued therefrom.

In 1890 a Christian lady in Edinburgh offered to give a Bible to an Italian who lay in the Calton Jail, charged with murder, but the Roman Catholic Canon who visited the jail would not allow him to accept it. Many more particular instances might be cited, but these three are enough to prove our point. The opposition to the truth in the nineteenth century is not one whit less than it was in the sixteenth.

After a voyage of four or five days, Tyndale arrived in Worms. Four years previously, Luther, in the same town, had stood before the Emperor and the Diet, and single-handed had said, "I cannot recant; here stand I; I can do no other; God help me." God had indeed helped him, and delivered him from those who sought his life, and God was watching over and protecting His servant Tyndale, from all his enemies until his work was done. At Worms he found a printer in Peter Schoeffer who was interested in his work, and soon six thousand copies � three thousand in octavo, and three thousand in quarto � of the New Testament were on the way to England. Notwithstanding the warning of Dean Cochloeus, the opposition of King Henry, and the hatred of the priests, the books arrived and were distributed all over the country. Then the partisans of Rome took counsel together and issued an edict with the concurrence of the king that "all these books, containing most pernicious poison, were to be burned."

The Bishop of London enjoined all in his diocese who possessed English Testaments to deliver them up under pain of excommunication, and Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, did likewise. But as Testaments did not come in fast enough to make fires with, they tried a new plan. Large sums of money were expended in buying up all the copies they could lay hands on, and on one occasion nearly a thousand Testaments were burned at St. Paul's Cross. Such was the way the Word of God was treated by the men who called themselves the spiritual guides of the people. Only one complete octavo copy of the first edition of Tyndale's Testament is now known to exist; it is treasured in the Baptist College of Bristol. A fragment of the quarto edition, printed at Cologne, is also to be seen in the British Museum.

But the bishops had over-reached themselves; the money, that had been spent in buying up the books, only provided the translator with means for printing another and more carefully revised edition. The Dutch printers also, finding it a profitable undertaking issued several editions on their own account, all of which were successfully shipped to England and Scotland, and eagerly bought up by the people.

In 1534, Tyndale issued a new and revised edition, correcting the various errors which had crept into the text through the ignorance or carelessness of the foreign printers, and this is substantially the same translation as we now possess in our Authorised Version. To this edition was appended a number of expository marginal glosses or comments; but in some of these he made more direct application to the abuses of the times, as in 1 Thess. 4: 11, "That ye study to be quiet and to do your own business, and to work with your own hands," he says, "A good lesson for monks and idle friars."

But Tyndale's work was done. Eight years before, he had written, "In burning the New Testament they did none other thing than that I looked for: no more shall they do if they burn me also, if it be God's will it shall be so." His enemies, who had long been endeavouring to get him into their power, were now about to be successful. Under the sanguinary Henry VIII. his friends Bilney and Fryth had been cruelly martyred in London. Others, also, had suffered death for being found in possession of a New Testament. But still the books came pouring in. The priests were unable to cope with the evil. The printing press defied them all. So it was decided to bring the translator to the stake, and thus, as they thought, strike at the root of the evil. Needless for us to enter into all the details of the pretended friendship which masked the treachery and cunning employed for this end. Needless to add that Romanism, injustice, and fraud always go together. Suffice it to say, that under the guise of friendship and goodwill, he was decoyed from the house of his friend Poynitz, with whom he was residing in Antwerp, and so skilfully was the treacherous design carried out, that before his friends knew of his arrest, he was securely lodged in the gloomy dungeons of the Castle of Vilvorde.

The laws of Charles V. against "heretics" in the Low Countries were very concise. "Men were to be beheaded, women buried alive, and the relapsed burned." Before a Romish tribunal, with such a code of laws to enforce, there was little hope for so illustrious a prisoner as Tyndale. And besides the Emperor's edict, Pierre Dufief, the Procureur-General, was specially anxious to get a conviction against his prisoners, because he got a share of their confiscated goods. One who had good reason to know him describes him as a man "whose cruelty was equal to his wickedness." But there was to be some respite. For sixteen months he lingered out a dreary captivity, and during that time we learn that "the power of his doctrine and the sincerity of his life were such that his keeper, the keeper's daughter, and others of his household were converted." Like the Phillippian jailor of old, we can imagine Tyndale's keeper alone with his prisoner asking that all-important question, "What must I do to be saved;" and then his eyes opened to the truth of justification, through the sufferings, death, and resurrection of Another � rejoicing in full and free salvation.

Winter was coming on, and Tyndale, sitting alone in darkness and cold, wrote to the Governor of the Castle, "I entreat your Lordship, and that by the Lord Jesus, that if I am to remain here during the winter, you will request the Procureur to be kind enough to send me, from my goods which he has in his possession, a warmer cap, for I suffer extremely from cold in the head . . . a warmer coat also, for that which I have is very thin; also a "piece of cloth to patch my leggings; my overcoat too is worn out. I wish also his permission to have a candle in the evenings, for it is wearisome to sit alone in the dark. But above all I entreat and beseech your clemency to be urgent with the Procureur that he may kindly permit me to have my Hebrew Bible, Hebrew Grammar, and Hebrew Dictionary, that I may spend my time with that study; and in return may you obtain your dearest wish, provided always it be consistent with the salvation of your soul."

Our sympathies go out to this devoted servant of Christ, in loneliness, darkness, and cold, yet anxious to spend every moment to advance the glory of God. He had previously translated and published the five books of Moses, with the book of Jonah, and now in his prison he set himself with a brave heart to finish the translation of the whole of the Old Testament Scriptures, and had proceeded as far as the end of the Books of Chronicles when his trial came on. His manuscripts are then said to have been secretly sent to his friend John Rogers, in Antwerp, who finished the books of the Old Testament, and printed a complete edition of the Scriptures, known as "Matthew's Bible."

Tyndale's trial took place in 1537. His chief accuser was a Dr. Tapper, a determined enemy of Tyndale, and for his share in this judicial murder he was rewarded with the sum of about fifty pounds, and afterwards appointed by the Pope, Chief Inquisitor in the Low Countries. But what will his reward be when "He maketh inquisition for blood, who remembereth them, and forgetteth not the cry of the afflicted? "

Among a number of similar charges, Tyndale was accused of having maintained,

That faith alone justifies.

That to believe in the forgiveness of sins, and embrace the mercy of God offered in the Gospel, is sufficient for salvation.

That he denied the existence of purgatory.

That men should neither pray to the Virgin nor the Saints.

Every one of his assertions traversed the traditions of Rome, and for the man who dared to differ there was no toleration. "Confess your errors or die," were the terms of Rome. But Tyndale was little likely to confess. His life had been spent in the cause of Truth, which he loved far better than life itself, and he looked forward to his martyrdom with a calm and steadfast trust in God, knowing it to be the door through which he would pass from earth's troubles to Heaven's rest, and be henceforth at home in "the Father's House."

On Friday, 6th of October, 1536, he was bound to the stake. A rope was passed round his neck, he was first strangled, and then his body burned to ashes. "Lord, open the King of England's eyes," were his last words, and he passed home to his reward.

It is no part of our purpose to enter into the details of the domestic history of the Court of Henry VIII., or of the causes which led to the political breach with Rome. Suffice it to say that two years after Tyndale's death the man who had been the most bigoted and abject worshipper of the pope to further his own ends, had become the most determined opposer of the pope and his claims, still to further his own ends; and the Bible which Tyndale had devoted his life to give to the people of England, and which the servants of the devil had so earnestly endeavoured to keep from them, was placed by Act of Parliament, and by will of the king, in every Parish Church, and "raised upon a desk so that all might come and read." England was now nominally a protestant country.

Immediately the prohibition was withdrawn, several editions of the Bible were printed in England, and now, all over the wide world, wherever the English tongue is spoken, may be found the result of Tyndale's life-work, that inestimable treasure, that Holy Bible.

But there are still "dark places" in the earth, and many of our fellowmen have never even heard of the Bible. Let us then be stimulated, by what these faithful martyrs of the sixteenth century did and suffered, to do more ourselves to spread the knowledge of the Grace of God as revealed in the Scriptures. And there are still "dark places" and dark hearts in our own land, for Protestantism is not necessarily Christianity. A man may be a protestant without being a Christian. To protest against evil is merely negative. It is not enough to "abhor that which is evil," we must also "cleave to that which is good."

Christianity does not consist in a series of rites and ceremonies, however Scriptural, but in a real love for the Lord Jesus Christ. Where the Bible is known and loved, there is Christianity, for the Bible makes known the love of God revealed in the death of His Son.

But how is the Bible treated in this protestant country of ours to-day? It is instructive to notice the character of the opposition of the sixteenth century as compared with that of the nineteenth. Then the opponents of the Bible burned the Book, knowing it to be the Word of God, and determined at all costs to keep it from the people. Now the opposition to the truth has assumed a more subtle form. The doctrines of the Bible are ignored. The foundation truths of the Atonement, the necessity of the New Birth, and Justification by faith alone, are lost sight of, or disbelieved altogether; while reformation and morality are preached, instead of regeneration and faith. The Romish dogma of "human merit," against which the Christians of the sixteenth century so strenuously fought, has been resurrected in protestant England in the form of a gospel of "doing your best" as a means to merit God's favour, forgetting that "all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags" (Isa. 64: 6). We are told by those who profess to be spiritual guides that the facts of creation as related in the Bible are only poetic fancies; that the books of Moses are only a myth: that many of the prophetic books were not written till after their fulfilment. Thus Satan, working behind the vain imaginations of men's minds, is seeking to undermine the authority of the inspired Word of the living God. "But we are not ignorant of his devices." All these things have been foretold by the Spirit, and to the child of God they only indicate that we are living in the "last days," when "men will not endure sound doctrine; but after their own lusts shall they heap to themselves teachers having itching ears; and they shall turn away their ears from truth, and shall be turned to fables." Amidst all this confusion, Christians are called upon to be blameless and harmless, the sons of God without rebuke in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, and to shine as lights in the world, holding forth the Word of Life.

STEM Publishing : For the Young : History of the Church

A Concise History of the Church;

From the Apostolic Era to the Establishment of the Reformation.

By Alfred E. Knight.

London: G. Morrish, 20, Paternoster Square, & 114, Camberwell Road, S.E.

"Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it." — Eph. v. 22.

"He is the head of the body, the church." — Col. i. 18.

Contents.

Preface.

Chapter 1.

The First Century of the Christian Era.

Introductory Remarks Death of Stephen — Persecution under Nero — Account by Tacitus — Martyrdom of James — Of Peter — Of Paul — Testimony of Clement — Persecution under Domitian — Grandsons of Jude — Martyrdom of the Apostle John — Of Timothy — Reflections on the Persecution Heresies and Dissensions — Gnosticism

Chapter 2.

The Second Century of the Christian Era.

Nerva — Persecution under Trajan — His Letter to Pliny — Pliny's Letter to Trajan — Martyrdom of Ignatius — Persecution continued under Hadrian Antoninus Pius — Spread of the Gospel — Persecution under Marcus Aurelius — Martyrdom of Polycarp Of Justin Martyr — Martyrs of Lyons and Vienne — Practices of the Church in the Second Century

Chapter 3.

The Fifth and Sixth General Persecutions of the Roman Pagan Empire.

A.D. 200-238.

Persecution under Severus — Appeal of Tertullian — Martyrdom of Perpetua — Irenus — His Letter to Florinus — His Martyrdom — Martyrdoms of Leonidas and others — Persecution under Maximus — Cause of the Persecution — Reflections

Chapter 4.

The Seventh and Eighth General Persecutions of the Roman Pagan Empire.

A.D. 238-274.

Symptoms of the Church's Decline — Failure in Testimony — The Novatian Heresy — Persecution under Decius — Fabianus, Origen, and Cyprian — Effects of the Persecution Instances of noble Confession — Gallus — Persecution under Valerian — Cause — Account of Cyprian — His Martyrdom — Martyrdom of Cyril — Of Laurentius — Death of Valerian

Chapter 5.

The Ninth and Tenth General Persecutions of the Roman Pagan Empire.

A.D. 274-306.

Persecution under Aurelian — Declension in the Church — Paul of Samosata — Brevity of the Persecution — Com mencement of the Tenth General Persecution — Decreasing zeal among Christians, and spread of Judaism Failure among the Bishops Disputes between Bishops and Presbyters — Activity of Galerius in promoting a Persecution — The Four Edicts Reception of the first — Violence of the Persecution — Mildness of Constantius — Martyrs of Egypt Romanus Testimonies of Martyrs — Julietta — Miserable ends of the chief Persecutors of the Christians — Close of the Smyrna Period — Accession of Constantine the Great

Chapter 6.

The Fourth Century of the Christian Era.

A.D. 306-375.

Account of Constantine the Great — His Vision and its results — Altered aspect of Christianity Munificence of Constantine Union of Church and State — Oecumenical Councils — The Arian Heresy and the Council of Nicea — The Arians opposed by Athanasius — Their Devices to Overthrow him — Banishment of Athanasius — Uneasiness of his Successor — Triumph and Death of Arius Death of Constantine the Great Constantine, Constans, and Constantius — Religious Wars — Athanasius a second and third time in Exile — Julian the Apostate — His impious attempts to Re-build the Temple — Martyrdom of Basil — Death of Julian Description of his person by Gregory of Nazianzus — Jovian — Valentinian and Valens — Valens converted to Arianism — Death of Athanasius — His Doctrine of the Trinity

Chapter 7.

Development of the Pergamos State.

A.D. 375-500.

Gratian Emperor — He divides the Empire with Theodosius — Tumult at Thessalonica and Crime of Theodosius — The Faithfulness of Ambrose — Repentance of Theodosius — His Treatment of the Arians — Manicheism — Pelagius and his Doctrine — Augustine, of Hippo — Account of Augustine His zeal against the Manicheans and Pelagius — Against the Donatists — Account of the Circumcellions — Augustine's Death — Arcadius and Honorius Emperors — Decline of the Empire Invasion of the Goths — Of the Visigoths — Of the Huns — Of the Vandals — The Western Empire Broken up — Treatment of the Christians by the Barbarians — State of the Church — Nestorius — Dawn of Monachism — St. Antony — Spread of Monachism — How Monasteries became subject to the Roman See — Origin of Nunneries — St. Simeon Stylites — Pillar-men

Chapter 8.

The Dawn of the Thyatira Period.

A.D. 500-600.

Thyatira Period commences — Edict of Milan — Growing Pretensions of the Romish Church — Justinian Emperor — Gregory the Great — His Character — Account of his Life — He desires the Conversion of the Anglo-Saxons — Augustine's Missionary Journey to England — Account of the Introduction of Christianity into England — Into Ireland — Into Scotland — Success of Augustine's Mission — Murder of the Monks of Bangor — Columbanus and St. Gall — Continued Declension of the Church — Innovations — Purgatory — Ritualistic Practices — Protest of Vigilantius

Chapter 9.

The Nestorians and Paulicians; with Some Account of the Rise and Spread of Mahometanism.

A.D. 600-700.

Decay of Learning — Dissolute Lives of the Clergy — Of the Monks — Growth of the Papacy — Phocas and Gregory — Establishments of the Spiritual Supremacy of the Popes — Pope St. Martin — Temporal Claims of Rome — Her encouragement of Mission Work, and Cause — St. Kilian — Willibrord — Winifred — The Nestorian Missionaries — The Paulicians — Their Origin — Martyrdom of their Leader — Increase in their numbers — Mahomet — Sketch of his Life — Origin of the Koran — Outline of its Doctrines — Rapid spread of Mahometanism

Chapter 10.

Romish Idolatry and the Growth of the Papal Power.

A.D. 700-800.

Missionary Labours of St. Winifred — Impostures of the Druids — Winifred Destroys the Sacred Oak — Character of his Devotion — Testimony of Alcuin — Alarming Growth of Idolatry and Superstition — Gregory's Letter to Serenus, Bishop of Marseilles Leo the Iconoclast His Edicts against Image-worship — Effects of the Edicts — Rebellion in Italy — Menacing Language of Pope Gregory II. — His Blasphemy Death of Leo — Crusade against Image-worship continues — Empress Irene favours Image-worship — Proceedings at the Second Council of Nice — Idolatry established as the Law of the Christian Church Incursions of the Lombards — The Pope appeals to Pepin — Pepin's Obligations to the Roman See — He responds to the Appeal — Donation of Pepin, and foundation of the Temporal Power of the Popes — Renewed Incursions of Lombards Blasphemous Appeal of Stephen II. Barbarians driven back — Charlemagne — His Triumphant Entry into Rome — He confirms the Donation of Pepin and increases it — Council of Frankfort — Alcuin — Paulinus — Progressive Wickedness of the Popes — Of the Bishops and Priests — Question of the Clerical Tonsure — Testimony of Baronius

Chapter 11.

The Darkest Period of the Dark Ages.

A.D. 800-1000.

Chain of Witnesses Unbroken — Lewis the Meek — Oppositions to his Reforms — He is Deposed and Re-instated — Death — Introduction of the Gospel into Denmark and Sweden — Ansgarius and Aubert — Russia, Poland, and Hungary receive the Truth — The Gospel in Great Britain — King Alfred — Specimen of his Translation of the Gospels — Labours of Clement in Scotland — Of Duns Scotus — Erigena in Ireland — Arnulph, Bishop of Orleans — Claude of Turin — His Controversial Writings — His Piety — Influence of Claude — Persecution of his Followers — Awful State of the Professing Church — Scandalous Lives of the Popes — Lying Wonders — The Decretals of Isidore — The Rosary and Crown of the Virgin Mary — Mass of the Archangel Michael — Transubstantiation — Expected End of the World — Preaching of Bernhard of Thuringia — The Year of Terror — Close of the 10th Century

Chapter 12.

From the Year of Terror to the Death of Hildebrand.

A.D. 1000-1100.

Church-building Mania — Revival of Learning — Pope Sylvester II. — Increasing Temporal Power of the Church — Missionary Labours in Eastern and Western Europe — Instances of Personal Piety — Margaret of Scotland — Berengar — The Paulicians — Hildebrand — Sketch of his Early Life — His Influence at the Vatican — Elected Pope as Gregory VII. — His Great Scheme — His Reforms — Effect of his Reform — His Quarrel with Henry IV. — Henry Excommunicated — Henry Deserted by his Subjects — His Penitential Visit to Gregory — His Pitiless Reception by the Pope — His Resentment — He raises an Army and proceeds to Rome — Gregory Deposed — The City taken by Henry and retaken by Robert Guiscard — Rome Sacked and Burnt — Death of Gregory — Reflections

Chapter 13.

The First Crusade.

A.D. 1094-1100.

New expedient of Rome to Promote her temporal Interests — The Crusades — Urban II. and Peter the Hermit preach the first Crusade — Exploits and Defeats of Peter's Army — The first Crusade — Difficulties by the way — Preliminary Engagements — Dissipation of the Army — Capture of Antioch by the Crusaders — Kerboga comes to the Relief of the Mahometans — The Crusaders saved by Superstition — They continue their March — First sight of Jerusalem — Extremities of the Army — The Army again Saved by Superstition — Capture of Jerusalem — Terrible Slaughter of the Mahometans — Godfrey de Bouillon created Defender and Baron of the Holy Sepulchre — Return of the Army

Chapter 14.

The Church in the Twelfth Century; with an Account of the Second, Third and Fourth Crusades.

A.D. 1100-1200.

Missionary Labours of the 12th Century — In Pomerania — The Isle of Ruegen and Sclavonia — Changed Character of Testimony — Peter de Bruys — His Martyrdom — Henry — His Zeal and Self-denial — Character of his Preaching — His Martyrdom — Martyrs of Cologne — Testimony by Evervinus and Bernard of Clairvaux — Increase of Seceders from Rome — The Cathari, Piphles, Tisserands, and Publicans — Martyrdom of a Little Girl — Peter Waldo — His Labours in the Gospel — The Gospels Translated into the vulgar tongue by his directions — Waldo excommunicated — His Death — "The Poor Men of Lyons" — Their Dispersion — They are kindly received by the Vaudois Christians — Bernard of Clairvaux — Abelard — His Learning — His Public Disputation with Bernard at Sens — His Death Arnold of Brescia — Character of his Preaching — He is Banished from Rome — Is Persecuted by Bernard His Martyrdom — Thomas a Becket — His Early Life — Is made Chancellor of England — His Deceitful Policy with Henry II. His Magnificence — He is created Archbishop of Canterbury — Immorality and Oppressions of the Clergy — Becket Protects them — The Constitutions of Clarendon — Becket's Prevarications — He Escapes to the Continent — Excommunicates his Enemies — His Death and its Results — The Second Crusade preached by Bernard of Clairvaux — Miserable Failure of the Crusade — The Third and Fourth Crusades — Richard I. of England — Reflections — The Knights of Jerusalem — The Knights Templars and the Teutonic Knights

Chapter 15.

The Church in the Thirteenth Century; with an Account of the Fifth, Sixth, Seventh and Eighth Crusades.

A.D. 1209-1300.

Missionary Labours of the 13th Century — The Nestorian Missionaries — Condition of the Professing Church — Testimony of Roger Bacon — Thomas Aquinas and the "Summa Theologiae" — Innocent III. — His arrogant Conduct towards the King of France and King John of England — John's disgraceful Servility — The Barons of England disregard the Pope's Threats — Transubstantiation Institution of the Jubilee — The Fifth Crusade — A Crusade of Children — The Sixth Crusade — The Seventh and Eighth Crusades — Results of the Crusades

Chapter 16.

The Home Crusades, and the Establishment of the Inquisition.

A.D. 1200- 1300.

The Home Crusades — The Waldensians — The Albigenses — Commencement of the Home Crusades by command of Innocent III. — Raymond of Toulouse — Peter of Castelnau — His Murder — Raymond Excommunicated — Character of the Home Crusades — Simon de Montfort — Dominic, the Spaniard — Almaric — His Blasphemy at the Capture of Beziers — A New Crusade — Villainous Treatment of Raymond by the Pope — The Pope's Duplicity — Brutal Conduct of the Papal Legate — Progress of the War — Barbarous Treatment of the Albigenses — Capture of La Minerbe — Capture of Brau — Capture of Foix — Blasphemy of the Priests on that occasion — Wholesale Massacre of the Garrison of Foix — Capture of Toulouse — Fouquet — Rome grows Jealous of De Montfort — Prohibits the further Preaching of the Crusades — Fouquet driven from Toulouse and the Albigenses again in Possession of the City — Lying Prophecies of the Papal Legate — Death of De Montfort — Renewal of the Home Crusades — Toulouse Re-captured by the Crusaders — Reflections — The Inquisition — Its Mode of Procedure — The Consistory — The Torture-room — The Auto da Fe — Exhortation to return to the bosom of the Church.

Chapter 17.

Fresh Instances of Papal Assumption, and Their Influence upon the Reformation.

A.D. 1300-1400.

Continued Opposition to Rome — Gregory IX. — His Quarrels with Frederick of Germany — His Measures to Subdue him — Failure of those Measures — Death of Gregory — The Struggle continues Death of Frederick — Numerous instances of Resistance to the Temporal Pretensions of Rome — Boniface VIII. — His Collision with Philip of France — The Blindness of his Ambition — William of Nogaret and Colonna — The Pope's Life Threatened — His Dignified Conduct — His Miserable end — Wickedness and Assumption of succeeding Popes — Dawn of the Reformation

Chapter 18.

The Dawn of the Reformation.

A.D. 1324-1450.

Wickliffe — His College Life — His Attacks on the Mendicant Orders — Rome Alarmed — Popularity of Wickliffe — His Trial at St. Paul's — The Great Schism — Wickliffe's Second Trial — Timidity of his Judges — His Translation of the Bible, and Death — The Lollards — Burning for Heresy becomes a Statute Law in England — Martyrdom of William Sautree — Of John Badby — Arrest of Lord Cobham — His Trial, Escape, and Martyrdom — Continuance of the Lollard Persecution

Chapter 19.

The Reformers Before the Reformation.

A.D. 1400-1500.

Reformation in Bohemia — The Sister of the King of Bohemia — Her Piety — Jerome of Prague visits England, and becomes acquainted with the Reformed Doctrines — Two Wickliffites from England visit Prague — John Huss — His Character and Appearance — His Zeal as a Reformer — Evil Consequences of Over-zeal — The Council of Constance — Huss Summoned before the Council — Violation of his Safe-conduct — Brutal Treatment of Huss — Disgraceful Conduct of his Judges at his Trial — John of Chlum — Condemnation, Testimony, and Martyrdom of Huss — Jerome of Prague — His Trial and Martyrdom — The Bohemian War — Zisca — Cardinal Julian — Testimony of Popish Writers to the Bravery of the Bohemians — Divisions among the Bohemian Seceders — Calixtines and Taborites — United Brethren — Persecution of the Moravians — Bible Translated into the Bohemian Language — Savonarola — Character of his Preaching — His Imprisonment and Martyrdom — John of Wesalia — His Labours and Death — John Wessel — His great Learning and Piety — His Contempt for Ecclesiastical Honours — His Death — The Period of the Reformation Commences

Chapter 20.

Martin Luther and the German Reformation.

A.D. 1483-1522.

The Flagellants — Indulgences — Self-confidence of Rome at the beginning of the 16th Century — Martin Luther — His Early Life Ursula Cotta — Luther at Erfurt — Alexis — Luther Awakened. — He becomes a Monk — Conversations with Staupitz — Agony of Soul — Luther's Conversion — His Visit to Rome — Instances of the Profanity of the Roman Priests — Hutten's Picture of Rome in the 16th Century — Tetzel — His Sermon — Luther in the Confessional — He Preaches against Indulgences — Luther's Theses — Tetzel's Theses — Luther Excommunicated — He Burns the Pope's Bull — Great stir throughout Christendom — The Diet of Worms — Luther's Journey to Worms — His First Appearance before the Diet — His Remarkable Prayer — His Second Appearance before the Diet — Attempt to Violate his Safe-conduct — Honourable Action of the German Emperor — Plots against Luther — His Removal to Wartburg Castle

Chapter 21.

Ulric Zwingli and the Swiss Reformation.

A.D. 1484-1522.

Reformation in Switzerland — Ulric Zwingli — His Early Life — Elected Pastor at Glaris — Removes to Eisleben — Accepts a Call to Zurich — Character of his Preaching — Zwingli smitten by the Plague — Increased Zeal on his Recovery — First important Triumph of the Swiss Reformation — Zwingli Rejects the Overtures of the Pope — Rapid Spread of the Reformation in Zurich — In Berne — In Basle — Oecolampadius

Chapter 22.

Luther's Zeal in the Reformation.

A.D. 1521-1529.

Serious Checks upon the Reform Work in Germany — Melanchthon — Carlstadt — His Fanaticism — The Wittemberg Iconoclasts — Luther leaves Wartburg — Quiets the Disturbances at Wittemberg — Finishes his Translation of the Bible — Its Effect — Spread of the Reformation — The Peasants' War Its — Disastrous Consequences — The Anabaptists — Luther opposes them — The Diet at Spiers — The Second Diet at Spiers — Beginning of the Sardis Period

Chapter 23.

The Sardis Period Commences.

A.D. 1529-1530.

Introductory Remarks on the Sardis Period — Planting of the First Reformed Churches — Dissensions — Diet of Augsburg — Confession of Augsburg — Opening Triumphs of the Protestants — Difficulties in the way of Reading the Confession — The Confession Read — Its Effect on the People — Testimony of Seckendorf — Of the Bishop of Augsburg — Of Dr. Eck, and of Luther

Chapter 24.

Development of the Sardis State.

A.D. 1529-1558.

Luther's position a dangerous one — The Weak side of his character — The Conference of Marburg — Luther's views on the Eucharist compared with those of Rome and Zwingli — Commencement of the Sacramentarian Controversy — Luther's unguarded Language — Proceedings at the Conference of Marburg — Hoc est corpus meum — A "Formula of Concord" — Reflections on the same by Dean Waddington — Death of Zwingli — Death of Oecolampadius — Grief of Luther — Account of his closing days — His Domestic Life — His last moments and Death at Eisleben — His Funeral — The Council of Trent — Condition of affairs in Germany at his Death — Epitome of events to the Death of the German Emperor

Chapter 25.

The Reformation in France and French Switzerland.

A.D. 1520-1592.

The Reformation in French Switzerland — Farel — James Lefevre — Farel Labours at Basle, Montbeliard, Aigle, Vallengin, St. Blaise, and Neuchatel — The Mass abolished at Geneva — Calvin settles there — Condition of the City — Calvin driven from the City — His Return — His Death — Account of Calvin by Beza — The Reformation in France — Briconnet — Work at Meaux — Alarm of the Monks — They complain to the Sorbonne — Briconnet returns to Popery — Lefevre, Farel, etc. driven from Meaux — Silent Progress of the Reformation — Leclerc — His Arrest and Punishment — Leclerc as Image-breaker — His Martyrdom — Martyrdom of Chatelain — Zeal of Berquin — Erasmus counsels him to desist from Preaching — His Martyrdom — Increase of Persecution — The 'Year of the Placards' — Terrible Results — Persecution of the Vaudois Christians — Death of the French King Henry II. and Catherine de' Medici — The Bed of Justice — Planting of the first Reformed Churches in France — Arrest of Du Bourg — Death of Henry II. and Accession of Francis II. — Martyrdom of Du Bourg — Political Aspects of the French Reformation — The Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine — Marriage of Margaret of Valois with the King of Navarre — Admiral Coligny — Massacre of St. Bartholomew — John Hennuyer, Bishop of Lisieux — Massacre in the Provinces — Statistics — Papal Rejoicings — Te Deum in St. Mark's Church — "Piety has armed Justice" — Instances of Retribution — The Reformation Established

Chapter 26.

The Reformation in Italy, Spain, Denmark, Sweden, and the Netherlands.

The Reformation in Italy — Its rapid spread — Aonio Peleario — His Imprisonment and Martyrdom — John Craig — Dr. Thomas Wilson — Dr. Reynolds — His Martyrdom — Activity of the Inquisition — The Reformation in Spain — Spanish Refugees in England — Juan and Alfonso de Valdes — The Reformation in the Netherlands — Margaret of Parma — Awful Persecution under the Duke of Alva — Martyrdom of Walter Kapell — Of Robert Ogier and family — Sweeping character of the Persecution — Its effects — Rising of the Protestants in the Netherlands — Proclamation of Independence — The Reformation in Sweden — Gustavus Vasa, the right man in the right place — Olaus and Laurentius Petri — The Reformation in Denmark — Christian II. — John Taussen — Frederick I. — Conference of Odense — Banishment of Taussen — Diet of Copenhagen and Establishment of the Reformation

Chapter 27.

The Reformation under Henry VIII.

A.D. 1510-1531.

Character of the Reformation under Henry VIII. — Persecution under Richard Fitzjames, Bishop of London — Martyrdom of John Brown — Persecution under Longland, Bishop of Lincoln — Martyrdoms of John Scrivener and William Tilsworth — William Tyndal — His Life at Gloucester — Ill-success of his Application to Tonstall, Bishop of London — He is entertained by Humphrey Monmouth — Danger of his position — His desire to Translate the Scriptures — He retires to the Continent — Settles at Antwerp — Completes his Translation of the New Testament — Its Reception in England — At work upon the Old Testament — Arrest and Martyrdom — Hugh Latimer — His early life — He is sent to the University — His Zeal against the Reformation — Bilney desires and prays for Latimer's Conversion — His Prayer Answered — Latimer as a Reformer — His attacks upon Romanism — The Papists attempt to silence him — Robert Barnes, a friend in need — Latimer preaches his Sermons on the Card — Their Effect — The King favours Latimer — He is Excommunicated and Imprisoned — What Latimer had to say about his Examination in the Bishop of London's Court

Chapter 28.

Helps and Hindrances to the English Reformation.

A.D. 1529-1547.

Thomas Cranmer — The cause of his rapid advancement — The extent of his Influence in connection with the Reformation — Gardiner at work — Martyrdoms of Fryth, Hewett, Bilney, and others — The Six Articles — Persecution on account of the Articles — Account of Anne Askew — Her Piety — She is thrown into Prison — Her Examinations before the Lord Mayor, and the King's Council at Greenwich — She is Tortured — Her great constancy — Her Martyrdom at Smithfield with Nicholas Belenian, John Lascelles, and John Adams — Unhappy state of the Country — Bishop Hooper's sad description of it — Thomas Becon's reflections — Edward ascends the Throne

Chapter 29.

The Reformation under Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth.

A.D. 1547-1558.

Piety of Edward VI. — The Duke of Somerset, Protector — Somerset's Reform Measures — Incompetent Bishops — The Reformed Doctrines in the Universities — Fall of the Protector — The New Government — Death of the King — Accession of Mary — Her Hatred for Cranmer — Her Promise of Toleration — Romanism Restored and its Consequences — Examination and Martyrdom of John Rogers — Of Sanders, Hooper, Taylor, and Farrar — "Our Lady's Matins" — "The Psalter of our Lady" — Martyrdom of Ridley and Latimer — Cranmer Recants — His Sorrow, Restoration, Confession, and Martyrdom — Statistics of the Persecution during Mary's reign — Death of Mary, November 17th, 1558 — Death of Cardinal Pole — Accession of Elizabeth — Characters of Mary and Elizabeth — Establishment of the English Reformation

Chapter 30.

The Reformation in Scotland and Ireland.

A.D. 1494-1558.

Condition of Scotland at the close of the 15th Century — Patrick Hamilton pays a Visit to the Continent — Is Decoyed to St. Andrews on his Return — Is Arrested and Burned — Specimen of the Doctrines which he Taught — Tyndal's New Testament in Scotland — Archbishop Beaton — Cardinal Beaton — His Cruelties — His Campaign in Angus and Mearns — George Wishart —

A Priest named Wigton hired to assassinate him — Wishart Saves the Life of his would-be Murderer — He visits East Lothian, and meets John Knox — Is Arrested by Treachery — His Martyrdom at St. Andrews — Death of Cardinal Beaton — Knox in the French Galley — He Visits England — Offered the Bishopric of Rochester — Retires to Geneva and becomes acquainted with Calvin — Returns to his Native Land — Again retires to the Continent — Martyrdom of Walter Mill — Knox again returns to Scotland — Unsettled state of the Country — The activity of the Papists increase — Progress and Establishment of the Reformation — Reformation in Ireland —George Brown, Archbishop of Dublin — Dr. Coles and his Commission — Establishment of the Reformation — Concluding Remarks

"The Church's one foundation,

Is Jesus Christ her Lord;

She is His new creation,

By water and the word:

From heaven He came and sought her,

To be His holy Bride;

With His own blood He bought her,

And for her life He died.

"Though with a scornful wonder,

Men see her sore opprest;

By schisms rent asunder,

By heresies distrest;

Yet saints their watch are keeping,

Their cry goes up, 'How long?'

And soon the night of weeping

Shall be the morn of song.

"'Mid toil and tribulation,

And tumult of her war,

She waits the consummation

Of peace for evermore;

Till with the vision glorious

Her longing eyes are blest,

And the great Church victorious,

Shall be the Church at rest."

Preface.

The Author's chief desire in giving to the Public this short History, has been to meet what he believes to be a real want among general readers; not to make a student's book, for we have already many able works of this kind, but a popular handbook, such as might be read with profit by those who have no time or inclination for a more exhaustive study. In short, he has endeavoured to gather together, in a single volume, all that is interesting and essential, and to so write his history that the mind of the reader may not be wearied even while the dullest facts are passing before it. These are high aims, and only those who have attempted a similar task can understand the difficulties by which the Author has been surrounded.

An outline knowledge of Church History is not only useful to the class of readers referred to, but necessary to all who would tread firmly in the present day, when rationalism on the one hand, and superstition on the other, are luring the unwary into by-paths of worldliness and unrest. In the open page of history we may see the infidelity of the one, and the idolatry of the other; and, admonished by the miserable consequences of each, may be prepared against their insidious approaches in the future. We have not yet seen the end of mystic Babylon, or the beast that carries her.

The Author has been sparing of quotations, save from such writers as were contemporaneous with the events described; but he has not scrupled to avail himself of the thoughts of others, when they have commended themselves to his judgment, because of their peculiar fitness and importance. He would cover this liberty by the reflection, that truth is the property of all seekers.

The authors to whom he is chiefly indebted, and whose works he has had in constant reference, are: — Eusebius, Socrates, Sozomen, Theodoret, and St. Augustine, among old writers; Waddington, James White, Haweis, Timpson, Barth, and Andrew Miller, for complete epitomes; Cave, Milman, Milner, and Edward Burton, for histories of the early church; and for the period of the Middle Ages, Fleury, Hallam, Monastier, Dr. Gilly, Dr. Muston (Hazlitt's translation), Keightley, and Jane Willyams; as well as the author of a valuable little work, "The Church in the Middle Ages." For the period of the Reformation, Fox, the Martyrologist, Burnet, Robertson, McCrie, Scott, D'Aubigne, Ludwig Hausser, Ranke, Green, etc.; and the works of the English reformers published by the Parker Society. Southey (for his "Book of the Church"), and the French historians Sismondi and Michela, have also been frequently consulted, together with the authors of sundry biographies, outline histories, etc., whose names it is needless to enumerate.

From this it will be seen that the Author makes no pretensions to originality, in the strict sense of the word, although he would claim for his book that it is more than a mere compilation. It is, in fact, the result of the earnest labour of several months; and while he has gone much to other books, it has been with the purpose of reference and not of plunder. Others have laboured, and he has entered into their labours.

In conclusion, he would commend these fruits of his labour to the blessing of God, without which they can only prove a failure but, crowned with this, they may succeed beyond his hopes, and in spite of every defect.

October, 1888.

Chapter 1.

The First Century of the Christian Era.

The history of the church of God in all ages is a history of divine grace in the midst of human failure. This has often been said, and any one who examines that history with ordinary attention must be convinced that it is so. We know from the epistles that even in the apostles' time failure had set in, and that envy, wrath, strife, backbiting and tumult, with numerous other evils, had crushed the love in the hearts of many true believers. They had left their first works, and their first love; and not a few who had begun in the Spirit were vainly seeking to be made perfect in the flesh. But this was far from all. Not only were there true Christians living irregularly, and speaking perverse things in order to draw away disciples, but men who were no Christians at all, who had neither part nor lot in the matter, were creeping in unawares and sowing discord among the brethren. This, indeed, was the state of things alluded to in the opening verses of the second chapter of the Revelation, and embraces that period of the christian era which has been fitly described as the Ephesian stage of the church's history.

But a time of persecution from without was coming upon the church, which the Lord in grace permitted, that those who were approved (the faithful, though feeble ones among them) might be made manifest. This persecution commenced in the reign and at the instigation of the pagan emperor Nero, and was the first of ten general persecutions, which continued, with but few interruptions, for nearly three centuries.

The question has been often asked, Why does God allow the people on whom He has set His love to suffer in this way? and the answer is simple. It is because He loves them. There may be, there are, other reasons, but this is the chief. Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth, and if the heart wander chastening is necessary. The wise man tells us, "By sorrow the heart is made better," and experience teaches us the truth of this. How readily will evil attach itself to the best of us! but in the furnace of affliction the dross is separated from the purer metal, and consumed. Moreover, when we endure chastening, God deals with us as with sons; and every trial which visits us, were we but patient under it, would be fruitful in blessing to our souls. True, the experience of passing through the trial is not pleasant; it would be no trial if it were; but a morning of joy succeeds the night of sorrow, and in the quiet after-time we say with David, "It is good for me that I have been afflicted."

But God sometimes allows the persecuting wickedness of man to rise to a head, in order to expose him and to shew what is in his heart; and it is therefore no matter for surprise that Christians, who know not this fact, begin to question in their minds, complaining that the path is so rough, and the hand of the oppressor so heavy upon him. Yet we are not left in this scene to complain of difficulties, or to shrink and turn back because of the wrath of man. We have a Master to serve, and a foe to resist; and it is only when we are strong in the Lord, and in the power of His might, that the service can be rendered, or the resistance effectually made. How nobly this has been done in former days, these pages are intended to illustrate; but it must ever be borne in mind, if we would rightly understand God's dealings with His people, that christian warfare is unlike all other warfare, and that part of its resistance is to suffer. Our weapons, too, are not carnal, but spiritual; for we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in heavenly places (Eph. vi.). A Christian using carnal weapons is an anomaly, a contradiction, and cannot know what manner of spirit he is of. He can never have traced, with true spiritual intelligence, the wondrous pathway of his Lord, or have understood the meaning of those words, "My kingdom is not of this world, else would my servants fight." The church militant is the church suffering, and directly carnal weapons are taken up she has really ceased to fight.

We have the prototype of the true warrior in the brave and holy Stephen. He was the first christian martyr; and what a victory did he gain for the cause, when he died praying for his murderers! David, centuries before, had said, "The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance. He shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked;" but Stephen, who belonged to another order of things, prayed, "Lord, lay not this sin to their charge." This was true christian warfare.

The first wave of general persecution which broke over the church, shewed itself in the year 64, when Nero had ruled the Roman empire, with tolerable humanity, for about nine years. The murder of his own mother, and his brutal indifference after the perpetration of that unnatural crime, shewed but too plainly his native disposition, and prepared the people for what they might expect at his hands. Alas! their gloomiest apprehensions were more than realised.

One night during the month of July, in the year above named, the inhabitants of Rome were roused from their sleep by the cry of "Fire!" The direful word arose simultaneously from several quarters of the city, and in a few hours the great capital was wrapped in flames. The spacious circus, which lay between the Palatine and Aventine hills, and which was capable of holding at least 150,000 persons, was soon a burning mass; together with most of the public buildings, monuments, and private villas. The conflagration lasted nine days; and Nero, by whose orders the disgraceful act had been committed, watched the scene from the tower of Maecenas, where he expressed his delight with the beauty of the flames, and, dressed as an actor, sang to his lyre of the burning of ancient Troy!

The severe odium which was cast upon him in consequence of this act, aroused his shame and fear; and in the activity of an uneasy conscience, he presently discovered a way of escape. The rapid growth of Christianity had already raised against it many enemies — many persons in Rome were interested in its suppression — so what could be more opportune and at the same time more simple than to lay the onus of guilt upon the unoffending Christians? Tacitus, a pagan historian and no favourer of Christianity, thus speaks of Nero's conduct: Neither his exertions, nor his largesses to the people, nor his offerings to the gods, did away the infamous imputation under which Nero lay, of having ordered the city to be set on fire. To put an end, therefore, to this report, he laid the guilt, and inflicted the most cruel punishments, upon a set of people . . . . called by the vulgar, Christians." He then continues, "The founder of that name was Christ, who suffered death in the reign of Tiberius, under his procurator Pontius Pilate. This pernicious superstition, thus checked for awhile, broke out again, and spread not only over Judea, where the evil began, but through Rome also, whither everything bad upon the earth finds its way and is practised. Some who confessed their sect, were first seized; and afterwards, by their information, a vast multitude were apprehended, who were convicted, not so much of the crime of burning Rome as of hatred to mankind." It is almost needless to explain, that the Christians entertained no hatred for mankind, but rather for the horrible idolatry which prevailed throughout the empire; and for this reason only were they regarded as the enemies of the race.

How many suffered on this occasion is not known, but certainly a great number, and all the tortures which an ingenious and cruel mind could devise were practised upon them to gratify the emperor's ghastly and unnatural pleasure. "Some were disguised in the skins of wild beasts, and worried to death by dogs; some were crucified; and others were wrapped in pitched shirts, and set on fire when the day closed, that they might serve as light to illuminate the night. Nero lent his own gardens for these executions, and exhibited at the same time a mock Circensian entertainment; being a spectator of the whole in the dress of a charioteer; sometimes mingling with the crowd on foot, and sometimes viewing the spectacle from his car."

Hegesippus,* a writer of the second century, makes some interesting references to the apostle James who finished his course during this period, and gives a detailed account of his martyrdom which may be fitly inserted here. He tells us the apostle was called Oblias — signifying justice and protection on account of his great piety and his devotion to the people; and he also refers to his ascetic habits, which doubtless went a good way to enhance his reputation. He drank neither wine nor fermented liquors, and abstained from animal food. A razor never came upon his head, he never anointed with oil, and never used a bath. He alone was allowed to enter the sanctuary. He never wore woollen, but linen garments. He was in the habit of entering the temple alone, and was often found upon his bended knees, and interceding for the forgiveness of the people; so that his knees became as hard as a camel's, in consequence of his habitual supplication and kneeling before God."

{*Quoted by Eusebius, bk. ii. chap. 23.}

The account of his martyrdom as given by the same writer, is not less interesting. A dispute had arisen between the believing and unbelieving Jews concerning the Messiahship of Jesus, and the question was referred to the apostle. "The scribes and pharisees," says Hegesippus, placed James on a wing of the temple, and cried out to him, 'O thou just man, whom we ought all to believe, since the people are led astray after Jesus that was crucified, declare to us what is the door to Jesus that was crucified.' And he answered with a loud voice, 'Why do ye ask me respecting Jesus the Son of man? He is now sitting in the heavens, on the right hand of great power, and is about to come on the clouds of heaven.' And as many were confirmed, and gloried in the testimony of James, and said, Hosanna to the Son of David, these same priests and Pharisees said to one another, 'We have done badly in affording such testimony to Jesus, but let us go up and cast him down, that they may dread to believe in him.' And they cried out, 'Oh, oh, Justus himself is deceived,' and they fulfilled that which is written in Isaiah, Let us take away the just, because he is offensive to us; wherefore they shall eat the fruit of their doings' (Isa. 3). Going up therefore they cast down the just man, saying to one another, 'Let us stone James the Just.' And they began to stone him as he did not immediately die when cast to the ground but turning round, he knelt down saying, 'I entreat thee, O Lord God and Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.' Thus they were stoning him, when one of the priests, of the sons of Rechad, a son of the Rechabites, spoken of by Jeremiah the prophet, cried out saying, 'Cease, what are you doing? Justus is praying for you.' And one of them, a fuller, beat out the brains of Justus with the club that he used to beat out clothes. Thus he suffered martyrdom, and they buried him on the spot, where his tombstone is still remaining, by the temple."

The death of James can scarcely be ascribed to the persecuting edicts of Nero, however, it was an unpremeditated act for which the Jewish nation was alone responsible. Yet that does not clear the emperor of the guilt of shedding an apostle's blood; for it is generally allowed that both Peter and Paul suffered during the persecution which he had authorised. The following reference to these devoted servants of Christ, by Clement, a fellow-labourer with the latter (see Phil. iv. 3) is replete with interest.* "Let us take," says he, the examples of our age. Through zeal and envy, the most faithful and righteous pillars of the church have been persecuted even to the most grievous deaths.. Let us set before our eyes the holy apostles. Peter, by unjust envy, underwent not one or two, but many sufferings; till at last, being martyred, he went to the place of glory that was due to him. For the same cause did Paul in like manner receive the reward of his patience.. Seven times he was in bonds; he was whipped, he was stoned, he preached both in the east andin the west, leaving behind him the glorious report of his faith; and so, having taught the whole world righteousness, and for that end travelled even unto the utmost bounds of the west, he at last suffered martyrdom by the command of the governors, and departed out of the world, and went unto his holy place, being become a most eminent pattern of patience unto all ages." It is said that the mode of Peter's execution was crucifixion, and that he was fastened to the cross with his head downwards; choosing that position because he felt his unworthiness to suffer in the same position as his Master. Paul, who suffered on the same day and at the same place (Rome) was spared so painful and lingering a death. He was beheaded.

{*We must bear in mind that the writings of this good man, as of all christian writers since the apostle's time, are not the word of God. We may treasure and value them. and it is meet in some cases that we should; but scripture. stands alone, and to place any other book beside or even near it is folly and presumption. The church of Rome has done this, to its everlasting ruin.}

"To these holy apostles," says Clement, "were joined a very great number of others, who, having through envy undergone, in like manner, many pains and torments, have left a glorious example to us. For this, not only men, but women have been persecuted; and having suffered very grievous and cruel punishments, have finished the course of their faith with firmness."

A prey to remorse and fear, the wretched Nero died by his own hand in the year 68; and after this the church had rest for nearly thirty years. During that period, however, Domitian (who might have disputed the palm with Nero by reason of his intolerance and cruelty) ascended the throne; and when he had reigned fourteen years, the second general persecution broke out.

A rumour having reached his ears that one of David's line was living in Judea, of whom it had been said, He shall rule all nations with a rod of iron," the emperor caused inquiry to be made, and two grandsons of Jude, the Lord's brother, were seized and brought before him. When, however, he looked upon their hands, hardened and rough with labour, and found that they were poor people, who waited for a heavenly and not an earthly kingdom, he dismissed them with contempt. We are told that they were bold and faithful in witnessing for the truth before him, and that when they returned to their native village they were received with affection and honour by the brethren.

With reference to this persecution, little is known; though that little is undoubtedly interesting. Among the numerous martyrs who suffered were John, the beloved disciple, and Timothy, whom. Paul had written to with such affectionate solicitude. The former is said to have been cast, by the tyrant's command, into a cauldron of boiling oil, but a miracle was wrought in his behalf, and he came out unscathed. Unable to hurt the body, the emperor banished him to Patmos, where he was forced to labour in the mines. Here he wrote the book of the Revelation; and would doubtless have ended his course, but for the unexpected death of the emperor; who was assassinated by the comptroller of his own household on the eighteenth of September, A.D. 96. Being now set at liberty, the apostle returned to Ephesus, where he wrote his gospel history, and the three epistles which bear his name. Love, as ever, seems to have been the ruling motive of his life here; and when he died, at the advanced age of one hundred years, he left as an enduring legacy this simple charge, "Little children, love one another." A simple word, and uttered many years ago, but which of us has learnt it even now?

Timothy stood manfully for the truth in the same city till the year 97, when he was killed by the rabble at an idolatrous festival. The people, armed with sticks, and with masked faces, were on their way to their temples to sacrifice to the gods, when they were met by this servant of the Lord. The love of his heart went out towards them, and, reminded perhaps of the example of the apostle Paul, who had faced the idolaters of Athens in a similar way not many years before, he declared unto them the living and true God. But they set at nought his counsel, and grew angry at his reproof, and falling upon him with their clubs, beat him so mercilessly that he expired in a few days.

And now, looking back for a moment upon the history of these primitive persecutions, there is surely much to encourage and stir the heart. In the face of such afflictions one cannot but admire the fortitude of the saints, and be thankful to God for that grace, by which they were enabled, with uncomplaining patience, to endure so much. Neither cross, nor sword, nor wild beasts, nor torture could prevail against the faithful followers of Jesus. Who could separate them from His love? Could tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? Nay! In all these things they were more than conquerors through Him that loved them. Had He not told them to expect as much? Had He not said to His disciples while he was yet with them, "In this world ye shall have tribulation?" and did not the bright hope of coming glory, which He had held out to them, more than compensate for the sufferings of the "little while"? When a few more years had rolled away, persecutors and persecuted would alike have left the scene, and have passed into eternity: and then — how great the change! For the former, the blackness of darkness for ever; for the latter, that "far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." What a contrast!

In bringing this chapter to a close, we may remark how impossible it will be — considering the limited space at our disposal to enumerate all the heresies and dissensions which have torn and distracted the church of God from earliest times; and we purpose, therefore, only to glance at those which have a special interest, either because of their peculiar subtilty, or the widespread nature of their influence. Gnosticism was one of these, and perhaps it was the earliest heresy of any wide or general growth after the apostles' day. It was an amalgamation of errors which had their source in the Jewish cabala, a mysterious science among the Rabbins, in the philosophy of Plato, and in oriental mysticism. A Jewish teacher of philosophy at Alexandria, named Cerinthus, introduced part of the gospel into this heterogeneous mass of "science falsely so called," and under its new form many true believers were ensnared, and a great deal of bitterness and dissension was engendered.

But this error has long since had its day, with countless others that followed after; and the word of God, which alone contained the imperishable doctrines of the church, had already foretold that evil men and seducers should wax worse and worse, deceiving and being deceived. (2 Tim. iii. 13.) The apostle Paul had already exhorted his "son Timothy" to "shun profane and vain babblings" which would only "increase unto more ungodliness" (2 Tim. ii. 16); and had referred, in language indited by the Holy Ghost, to the "perverse disputings of men of corrupt minds, and destitute of truth." Tim. vi. 5.) "But thou, O man of God," he cried, "flee these things; and follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, meekness. Fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on eternal life, whereunto thou art also called, and hast professed a good profession before many witnesses." (1 Tim. ii. 12.) The beloved apostle had already fought the good fight, and finished his course, and had kept the faith, and in the happy consciousness of what was before him, had uttered words which were to be the encouragement of the church of God in future ages. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day; and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing." (2 Tim. iv. 7, 8.)

Chapter 2.

The Second Century of the Christian Era.

Domitian had not been dead more than eighteen months when the church, which had enjoyed immunity from persecution during the brief reign of his successor, Cocceius Nerva, was again called upon to suffer. Nerva, a man of mild and generous disposition, had treated the Christians well; and with praiseworthy humanity had recalled all who had been banished under the persecution of Domitian; but after a reign of sixteen months he had been seized with a fever, from which he never recovered. Trajan succeeded him, and for awhile left the Christians unmolested, but having been induced to look upon them with suspicion, he determined to renew the persecution, and, if possible, to exterminate by decisive and severe measures, the new religion. In his haughty view Christianity was an offence an insult to human nature, and its teaching (as was indeed the case) entirely opposed to the philosophy of his times; a philosophy which exalted men into gods, and made the humility and gentleness which marked the former, effeminate and contemptible. But Trajan had neither the cruelty nor malignity of Nero and Domitian; and one may notice a wavering and indecision in his conduct on this occasion, which contrasts significantly with that inflexibility of purpose which usually marked his actions. That he had no pleasure in the torture or execution of his subjects we may learn by his letter to Pliny, the governor of Bithynia and Pontus, in which he says distinctly, "These people must not sought after;" and again, "if any one renounce Christianity, and evidence his sincerity by supplicating our gods, however suspected he may be of the past, let him on his repentance obtain pardon." In short, it was the religion, and not the professors of it, which Trajan hated.

Full of interest is that letter of Pliny to the emperor, which brought the reply from which the above has been extracted. In one place the governor writes, "The whole of the crime or error of the Christians lay in this they were accustomed on a certain day to meet before daylight, and to sing among themselves a hymn to Christ, as a god; and to bind themselves by an oath not to commit any wickedness; not to be guilty of theft or robbery, or adultery; never to falsify their word, nor to deny a pledge committed to them when called upon to return it. When these things were performed, it was their custom to separate, and then to come together to a harmless meal, of which they partook in common without any disorder; but this last practice they have ceased to attend to, since the publication of my edict, by which, according to your commands, I prohibited assemblies. After this account I judged it the more necessary to examine, and that by torture, two females, who were said to be deaconesses, but I have discovered nothing except a bad and excessive superstition." So much for Pliny. A stranger to the grace of God, it is not surprising that he saw in the religion of the despised and lowly Jesus, only a bad and excessive superstition. It is no matter for wonder that the polite and learned governor, whose importance filled the world, should write with careless disdain of a people whose views were so unlike his own. "The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned."

Ignatius, who is said to have been acquainted with the apostles Peter and Paul, and to have been ordained bishop of Antioch by the apostle John, was martyred during this period. The zeal with which he courted martyrdom has exposed him to the censures of some historians, and not without sufficient reason. It is related that when Trajan visited Antioch, he boldly sought admission to the emperor's presence, and having explained at some length the leading doctrines of the christian religion, and represented the harmless character of its professors, entreated that justice might be done. The emperor, however, treated his appeal with contempt; and after censuring him for what he was pleased to call his incurable superstition, commanded that he should be taken to Rome, and thrown to the wild beasts.

On his way through Syria, Ignatius wrote several letters to the churches, exhorting them to faithfulness and patience, and earnestly warning them against the errors that were being taught. In one of these epistles he writes, "From Syria to Rome. I am contending with wild beasts by land and sea, by night and day, being tied to ten leopards, the number of the military band, who, even when treated with kindness, only behave with greater ferocity. But in the midst of these iniquities I am learning. . . . . Nothing, whether of things visible or invisible, excites my ambition, so long as I can gain Christ. Whether fire, or the cross, the assault of wild beasts, the tearing asunder of my bones, the breaking of my limbs, the bruising of my whole body, let the tortures of the devil all assail me, if I do but gain Christ Jesus."

On his arrival at Rome, he was brought into the arena, and in the presence of a crowded theatre calmly awaited his death. When the keeper of the lions came to loose them from their cages, the people grew wild with brutal joy, and clapped and shouted; but the aged martyr stood firm. I am as Christ's threshed wheat," he said, "which the teeth of wild beasts must grind before it become bread." Into the details of the few following moments we need not enter. The awful spectacle was soon over, and before the people had reached their homes, Ignatius had won the crown he coveted, and was at home with the Lord.

In the year 117 Trajan died, and was succeeded by Hadrian, who continued the persecutions and it was not till the year 138, when Antoninus Pius ascended the throne, that the pressure was in any measure removed. With his mild and gentle reign a period of calm commenced, which lasted nearly thirty years; and for a time the word of the Lord had free course and was glorified. True, there were isolated cases of oppression, but the general persecution had subsided; and the gospel quickly spread through every quarter of the Roman dominions. Westward to the extremities of Gaul, and eastward to Armenia and Assyria the glorious message was conveyed; and thousands who had been vainly seeking rest of heart in the mythologies of Rome and Egypt, drank in the words of life, and declared themselves the willing followers of Christ.

The accession of Marcus Aurelius, however, was the signal for another reaction; and in the second year of his reign the clouds again began to gather.

Troubles of various kinds, which followed upon each other with startling rapidity, and which seemed at one time to disturb the foundations of the empire, afforded a ready pretext for the renewal of the persecution; and presently the long-cherished hatred for the Christians began once more to be expressed in words. The old cry, so fearfully familiar to the ears of many, was revived, and passed like the breath of a pestilence through the eastern empire; "The Christians to the lions! The Christians to the lions!" Thus the fourth general persecution commenced.

The full force of the coming storm was felt in Asia Minor, from whence the new edicts were issued; and the name of Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna, stands brightly out on the martyr scroll of this period. Unlike Ignatius, who exposed himself unnecessarily to the blinded will of the populace, Polycarp refused not to listen to the warnings and entreaties of his friends; and when he found himself the marked man in Smyrna, retired to a neighbouring village, and there resumed his labours. On being pursued thither, he retired to another village, exhorting the people as he went; and in this itinerant way his life was spent, till his place of hiding was discovered. Then the aged bishop (warned, as it is said, in a dream that he must glorify God by a martyr's death) resigned himself peacefully to the will of God, and gave his body into the hands of the officers who were charged with his arrest. Before he left the house he ordered food to be placed before these men; and then, in seeming anticipation of what awaited him, arose, and commended himself to God. It is recorded that the fervency of his prayer so affected the officers that they repented they had ever been the instruments of his capture. He was then seated upon an ass, and brought back to Smyrna, where a vast concourse of people had gathered to celebrate the feast of unleavened bread.

In consideration for his age and learning, Nicites, a man of considerable influence, and his son Herod, the irenarch of the city, went forth to meet him; and taking him into their chariot, urged him to consult his safety by ascribing divine honours to Caesar, and consenting to sacrifice. This he refused to do, and was thereupon thrust from the chariot with such violence that he sprained his thigh in falling. But the aged servant of God went patiently forward, unruffled by the rudeness of the irenarch, and unmoved by the shouts of the multitude, who buffeted him from side to side in their anger: and so the stadium was reached.

This was the place of exhibition for sacred games and shows; and we are told that, as he entered the arena, a voice, as though from heaven, exclaimed, "Be strong, Polycarp, and contend manfully." Be that as it may, a power that was not human sustained the man of God, and when the proconsul, touched by his venerable appearance, entreated him to swear by the genius of Caesar, and to say, "Away with the godless!" the aged martyr, pointing to the crowded benches, repeated sorrowfully, "Away with the godless!'' "Swear," said the merciful governor, "and I will dismiss you. Revile Christ." But Polycarp meekly answered, "Eighty and six years have I served him, and he never did me wrong: how can I now blaspheme my King and Saviour?" "Swear by the genius of Caesar," said the governor, still inclining to mercy. Polycarp replied, If you think that I should swear by the genius of Caesar, as you say, pretending not to know who I am, hear my free confession. I am a Christian. But if you wish to learn what the doctrine of Christianity is, grant me a day and listen to me." "Persuade the people," said the proconsul, noting with some uneasiness the impatient clamour of the multitude; but Polycarp refused. He had been taught to shew honour to the higher powers, and to be subject to them, because they were ordained of God, but to the people, especially in their present turbulent state, he would offer no defence. "I have wild beasts at hand," said the governor, "and will cast you to them unless you change your mind." "Call them," said Polycarp quietly. The aged pilgrim rejoiced at the prospect of speedy deliverance from a godless and persecuting world; and the calm fearlessness which he displayed exasperated the proconsul, who thereupon threatened him with burning. Polycarp answered, "You threaten fire that burns for a moment, and is soon extinguished, but you know nothing of the judgment to come, and the fire of eternal punishment reserved for the wicked." The governor's patience was exhausted, and a herald was sent to proclaim in the middle of the stadium, "Polycarp is a Christian." This proclamation, according to custom, was repeated three times, and the rage of the populace was at its height. They saw in the aged prisoner a man who had set at nought their gods and emptied their temples by his teaching; and the cry became general, "Polycarp to the lions!"

But the hour for the exhibition of the chase was over, and the asiarch who had control of the public shows, refused to give the people their desire. If they were still bent on his destruction they must find some other way; so the cry was quickly taken up, that Polycarp should be burnt. The wood and straw were near at hand, and the victim, relieved of his robes, was hurried to the stake. They would have nailed him to it, but he requested that he might be simply bound, and his request was granted. Having then commended his soul to God, he gave the signal to the executioner, and the pile was lighted. But the wonders of the day were not yet over. From some unaccountable cause the flames refused to touch his body, and the people, baffled and wondering, looked curiously at each other. Anger, however, overcame their superstition, and a demand was made that the executioner should dispatch his victim with the sword. This was done. The fatal blow was immediately struck, and in that moment of unconscious pain, the faithful martyr yielded up his spirit, and passed for ever beyond the reach of his tormentors.

Many others, not inferior in faith and fortitude to Polycarp, though not all so distinguished for their abilities, suffered during this persecution, and it would have been interesting to speak of some of these had space permitted. It would have been interesting to tell of Germanicus, a young Christian whose constancy and courage witnessed so brightly to the reality of his faith, even in the solemn hour of death, that many were converted; or of Justin of Neapolis, who, having investigated all the philosophic systems of his time, and taken a high place among professors of learning, found it his joy and gain to become a follower of the meek and lowly Jesus; to tell how he afterwards sealed the testimony which he had borne, with his blood; and gained for himself a name far nobler than that of Justin the Philosopher, the name of Justin Martyr; a name by which he is known in the churches to this day, and by which he will yet be known in a future day, when the martyrs' crowns are awarded.

At Lyons and Vienne, also, the faith of believers was sorely tried, for the enemy of souls was very active. Every species of torture that human ingenuity could devise, was inflicted upon the Christians of these parts; but their numbers only increased; and every effort to exterminate the new religion, became but the means of its wider and more speedy diffusion. Here Blandina, a female slave of tender and delicate frame, after enduring with exemplary patience the most exquisite tortures, during the infliction of which the persecutors themselves became weary, gained the martyr's crown, and died, giving glory to God. Here Sanctus, a deacon in the church, and Maturus a new convert to Christianity, suffered nobly for the truth; with Attalus of Pergamus, and Pothinus, bishop of Lyons, and many more.

And thus, like precious metal which is passed through the furnace of the refiner, the church of God was passed through the furnace of affliction, and much of the rubbish attaching to it was separated and consumed; while the sparks from the furnace, carried hither and thither by the winds of persecution, kindled in the breasts of many a desire to solve this strange matter; to understand the nature of this new metal, which could sustain the fiery test so well.

Up to this time the church seems to have retained that simplicity of conduct and worship, of which we get some beautiful examples in the Acts of the Apostles and elsewhere. Justin Martyr has given us an account of its practices in his day, which cannot fail to be interesting. "We meet on the Lord's day," he says, "for worship, in towns and villages; read as much of the prophets and the memoirs of the apostles as time permits: the reading finished, the president or bishop, in a speech or sermon, exhorts the faithful to follow these excellent examples; then all rise and pour forth united prayer. Then bread, wine, and water are brought forth, the president utters prayers and thanksgiving according to his ability, and all the people say 'Amen.' Distribution is then made of the things blessed to each one present, and to those absent is sent by the deacons. Those who are prosperous and willing, give what they choose, each according to his own pleasure; and what is collected is deposited with the president, and he carefully relieves the orphans and widows, and those who, from sickness and other causes, are needy, and also those in prison, and the strangers who are residing with us, and in short, all those who are in need of help."

Beautiful simplicity of life and worship! Surely this is an instance of that steady continuance "in the apostle's doctrine and in breaking of bread and in prayers" which is commended in the Acts, and which forms a distinguishing mark of primitive Christianity. But where is that simplicity now?

Chapter 3.

The Fifth and Sixth General Persecutions of the Roman Pagan Empire.

A.D. 200-238.

The extraordinary fortitude which we have seen in Polycarp, Ignatius, and others was not peculiar to those men. The power of endurance was not merely displayed in the Christian of long experience, or the man of natural strength and courage; it was seen in the timid and delicate; in women as well as men; in the child of tender years, as well as in the man of hardy age. The strength by which they conquered was not their own, but God's; by whose power, and whose alone, they were kept through faith. (1 Peter i. 5.) There were some, it is true, who sought to face the enemy in their own strength, and such was Quintus a Phrygian, who went about persuading others to invite persecution, but who, in the first moment of actual danger, drew back and denied his Master. Of the reality of his zeal we need not doubt, but he acted without faith. He trusted in his own strength, instead of looking to another; and remembered not that God had said, "My strength is made perfect in weakness." He dropped the shield of faith, whereby he might have quenched the fiery darts of the wicked, and adopted the shield of self-confidence, which, as might be expected, was pierced by the first arrow of the enemy.

Not so Perpetua, the martyr of Carthage, who suffered during the persecution of which we are to speak, and whose name will ever find a foremost place in the annals of martyrology.

It was in the beginning of the third century, and the Emperor Severus occupied the throne of the Caesars. An African by birth, he was a man of great sagacity and learning, but was loathed for his perfidy and cruelty. The persecution which commenced in his reign was unsurpassed for barbarity by any that had gone before, and certainly was not exceeded by any that came after. At one time he appears to have been not unfavourably disposed to the Christians; and it is even said that he ascribed his recovery from a severe illness to the prayers of a Christian named Proculus. But his moderation did not last, and in the year 202 the persecution broke out in Africa with unwonted violence. Neither the eloquent appeals of Tertullian to the humanity of the people, nor the solemn warnings which he addressed to the prefect of Africa, availed to stem the flood of popular fury which now rolled in upon the Christians. One after another they were haled to torture and execution, till the words of the great apologist were verily fulfilled, "Your cruelty will be our glory. Thousands of both sexes, and of every rank will crowd to martyrdom, exhaust your fires, and weary your swords. Carthage will be decimated; the principal persons in the city, even perhaps your own most intimate friends and kindred, must be sacrificed. Vainly will you war against God!"

The noble army of martyrs did indeed get many reinforcements from the far-famed capital of Roman Africa; and Vivia Perpetua, a catechumen or new convert to the faith, was one of these.

She was a married woman, of good family and education, and though only twenty-two years of age, the mother of one child, then an infant at the breast. Her father was a Pagan, and loved her dearly; and when she was apprehended and thrown into prison, he sought by every means to win her back to Paganism. On one occasion when he had been unusually earnest in his endeavours, she pointed to a pitcher that stood near them, and said, "My father, you see that vessel; can you call it by any other name than what it is?" He told her "No," "Neither can I," said Perpetua, "call myself by any other name than that of Christian." At this her father turned upon her angrily and beat her, and departed; and for several days she saw him no more.

During his absence she was baptised, together with four other youthful converts, one of them her brother; and with that the hand of persecution began to press more heavily upon her, for she was cast with her companions into the common dungeon. Here all light was excluded, and she was almost suffocated by reason of the heat and overcrowding. "O miserable day!" she writes, "from the dreadful heat of the prisoners crowded together, and the insults of the soldiers. But I was wrung with solicitude for my infant. Two of our deacons, however, by the payment of money obtained our removal for some hours in the day to a more open part of the prison. Each of the captives then pursued his usual occupation; but I sat and suckled my infant, who was wasting away on my account. And for many days I suffered this anxiety, and accustomed my child to remain in the prison with me; and I immediately recovered my strength, and was relieved from my toil and trouble for my infant; and the prison became to me like a palace; and I was happier there than I should have been anywhere else."

After a few days there was a rumour that the prisoners were to be heard, and her father, wasted with anxiety, came from the city with increased desire to save her. His manner of approaching her was changed, and threats and violence gave place to supplication and entreaty. He begged her to take pity on his grey hairs, and to think of the honour of his name; to remember all his former kindness, and how he had loved her the best of all his children. He urged her to look in pity upon her mother and brothers, and upon her dear babe who could not live without her. "Do not destroy us all!" he cried. And then he flung himself at her feet, weeping bitterly, and kissed her hands in his fondness, and clinging like a suppliant to her dress, said he would no longer call her daughter, but "mistress," because she was the mistress of all their fates. But Perpetua, mightily sustained by God, endured the agony of the moment with unshaken fortitude, only saying, "In this trial, what God wills, will take place. Know that we are not in our own power, but in that of God."

In due time the hour of her trial came round, and she was placed at the bar with the other prisoners. When it came to her turn to be examined, the poor old man, her father, appeared with the child, and holding it before her eyes, again implored her to have compassion. Alive to the occasion, Hilarianus, the procurator, ceased his stern interrogations, and said in his softest manner, "Spare the grey hairs of your parent; spare your infant; offer sacrifice for the welfare of the emperor." But she answered, "I will not sacrifice." He then demanded, "Art thou a Christian?" and she answered, "I am a Christian." Upon this her father broke into loud and frantic cries, insomuch that the procurator ordered him to be thrust down, and beaten with rods: all which she endured with calmness and fortitude. Sentence of death was then passed upon her, and she was taken back to prison with the rest.

Once again, when the day of the games approached, the old man visited her, and with wilder entreaties begged her to pity him in his affliction, and to consent to sacrifice; but though her grief was very great she faltered not in her steadfastness, and would not deny the faith. These, indeed, were the hardest trials she had to encounter, but they were over at last, and her end was very near.

On the day of execution she was brought forth with her own brother, and a female martyr, by name Felicitas, and the two women were tied in nets and thrown to an enraged cow. But the injuries which Perpetua sustained were not fatal, and the people, glutted though not satiated with the sight of blood, called upon the executioner to administer the death-stroke. Rousing as from a pleasant dream, Perpetua drew her torn robe more closely about her person, and gathered up her fallen hair; and when she had addressed a few faint words of encouragement to her brother, she guided the gladiator's sword to a vital part, and so expired. Brave Perpetua! the heart beats quick as we read thy wondrous history: but we shall yet, through God's grace, see thee crowned and happy in thy Master's presence.

In the same year (A.D. 202) died Irenaeus, bishop of Lyons, a sincere lover of souls, and a zealous defender of the truth. He withstood the then bishop of Rome,* a man of great arrogance and little piety, in whom the foul spirit of the Papacy was, alas! but too manifest, and wrote him a synodical epistle in the name of the Gallic churches. The following extract from another letter which Irenaeus addressed to one Florinus, a schismatic of Rome, will doubtless be read with interest. "I saw thee," he says, "when I was yet a boy in the lower Asia with Polycarp, moving in great splendour at court, and endeavouring by all means to gain his esteem. I remember the events of those times much better than those of more recent occurrence. As the studies of our youth, growing with our minds, unite with them so firmly that I can tell also the very place where the blessed Polycarp was accustomed to sit and discourse; and also his entrances, his walks, his manner of life, the form of his body, his conversations with the people, and his familiar intercourse with John, as he was accustomed to tell, as also his familiarity with those that had seen the Lord. How also he used to relate their discourses, and what things he had heard from them concerning the Lord. Also concerning his miracles, his doctrine, all these were told by Polycarp, in consistency with the holy scriptures, as he had received them from the eyewitnesses of the doctrine of salvation."

{*By name Victor. Yet this man afterwards died a martyr's death rather than purchase his liberty by a denial of the faith.}

Irenaeus had many conflicts with the false teachers of his time, who, alas! were increasing but too rapidly; and his zeal presently drew upon him the resentment of the emperor. He was led out to the summit of a hill in company with some other Christians, and on refusing the usual test, to sacrifice to idols, was beheaded.

So also, at Alexandria, died Leonidas, a man of rank and learning, and the father of Origen of whom we shall have more to say hereafter. Likewise two Christians by name Serenus, with Heraclides, Heron and Plutarch, the latter a pupil of Origen. We might swell the list with many more, but space forbids; and there is a blessed satisfaction in the thought, that a day is coming when we shall not only know their names, but see them crowned, and doubtless hold sweet communion together.

The sixth general persecution commenced with the accession of Maximin, a Thracian, A.D. 235, and lasted three years. The immediate cause of the persecution was peculiar. Maximin entertained a savage hatred towards his predecessor, Alexander, and in order to shew his malice, reversed as much as possible the policy of Alexander's reign. That humane and excellent ruler had dealt kindly with the Christians, and hence the burly Thracian could do no other than treat them with corresponding severity. His first edict commanded that only the chief men of the churches should be slain, but the cruelty of his nature was stimulated by this sanguinary act, and the edict was quickly followed by another of a more sweeping character. During his reign the Christians were haled away to execution without trial, and often were buried in heaps like dogs. The magistrates could offer them no protection from the savagery of the mob, or the tyranny of individual oppressors; and thus their property became the general booty, and their lives the sport of every passing whim of the populace. But men and women were still found everywhere, who were faithful to the cause; and the more the emperor sent abroad his edicts, the brighter shone the lights which he was vainly endeavouring to put out.

Two hundred years had now rolled away since the death of Christ; two hundred years of odium and suffering for His beloved church, but still its numbers were increasing. Again and again the powers of hell had been loosed against it, but all to no effect. "This was an anvil which had worn out many a hammer," and when the Thracian savage ascended the imperial throne he found that he had the same difficulties to overcome, the same mysterious power to subdue, which had baffled the wiliest and most indefatigable of his predecessors. In truth, the church throve in persecution, and the seeds of the gospel, scattered over an ever widening area, and watered by the blood of martyrs, bore fruit a hundredfold, though the efforts to tread them down were terrible and relentless. The power of man in all its varied forms had been arrayed against the unresisting community, but neither imperial edicts, nor angry mobs, nor discontented augurs, nor gibing philosophers could check its steady growth, much less accomplish its destruction. Fixed on its Rock foundation it stood there — the work of God and the wonder of men; with that eternal promise its strong confidence, "The gates of hell shall not prevail against it."

Chapter 4.

The Seventh and Eighth General Persecutions of the Roman Pagan Empire.

A.D. 238-274.

In contemplating the decline of the Roman empire, there is much to remind one of the contemporary history of the church of God. Rome had now passed the zenith of its glory; and alas! so far as its testimony down here was concerned, the church had done the same. The fanatic and impious projects of Elagabalus to fuse and recast into one great system the religions of the world, of which he himself was to be the sun and centre, tended not a little to disturb the foundations of the empire; and the pitiful and unworthy efforts of misguided Christians to reconcile the faulty philosophies and speculative mysticism of unregenerate men with the sublime truths of Christianity, though they could not disturb the foundations, yet produced incalculable mischief in the church, and led to many schisms.

The mild reign of Alexander Severus had been the occasion of more injury to the christian cause, than all the persecutions put together. In his time the church, through failing zeal, had begun to grow weary of its place of holy separation from the world; and christian bishops, elated by their growing power and importance, had accepted places at court and begun to amass considerable wealth. Temples for the more ostentatious display of the new religion had already appeared in different parts of the empire, and the words of the Holy Ghost that "The most High dwelleth not in temples made with hands," seemed in danger of being forgotten. The beautiful simplicity of the early church was rapidly becoming a thing of the past, and the meddling hand of man had already effected many ruinous changes in the management of its, affairs. Paul, as a wise master-builder, had laid the foundation, but others had been building rubbish upon it; and now the gold, silver, and precious stones of vital Christianity were getting sadly mixed with the wood, hay, and stubble of a lifeless profession. (1 Cor. iii.)

It was then that Christians began coquetting with the philosophies of Greece and Rome, and found stimulants for their declining faith in the daring mysticism of Egypt and Arabia; and it is therefore no matter for surprise that, when a fresh persecution broke out, many true believers lost heart, and expressed uneasy thoughts that God was dealing with them for their sins.

Swayed by this fear, and forgetting the sufficiency that was to be found in Christ, some of them denied the faith, or were guilty of dissimulation, and thus evaded further persecution. Yet they became marked men by their more faithful brethren, and when they applied, as many of them did, for re-admission to church-fellowship, a warm controversy arose, and great differences of opinion prevailed. Some were for re-admitting the erring brother on the confession of his fault; others wanted more rigid discipline, and urged that re-admission should not be immediately granted; while some again, and these not a few, declared that the act was inexpiable, and refused to receive the backslider on any terms. The severer opinion was called the heresy of Novatian, after its author; and where its promoters were successful in gaining the ascendancy, the most painful results ensued: insomuch that many a true child of God, unable to obtain restoration to fellowship, was swallowed up with overmuch sorrow, and died of remorse.

Decius was now upon the throne, and the implacability with which he persecuted the Christians gives him an unenviable place beside the great prototype of imperial cruelty, Nero. He observed with jealousy the growing power, and determined to check it. He saw the churches crowded with proselytes, while the heathen temples were deserted; and this, in his judgment, was an insult to the national religion which could not be passed over. He therefore sent abroad his edicts, and revived once more the smouldering fires of persecution.

Fabianus, bishop of Rome, was the first object of his resentment, and such was the virulence of the persecution, that upon his decease none had courage to come forward and undertake the sacred office. Origen in the east and Cyprian in the west did much, by their example and teaching, to strengthen the weak hands and confirm the feeble knees; but they only had the oversight of limited districts, and other bishops and pastors were not so faithful. The latter, who was bishop of Carthage, thus refers to the persecution, "Our gracious Lord has so ordered it, that all which has occurred seems more like a trial than a persecution. Forgetting what believers did in the times of the apostles, and what they should always be doing, Christians laboured with insatiable desire to increase their earthly possessions. Many of the bishops, who, by precept and example, should have guided others, neglected their divine calling to engage in the management of worldly concerns." No wonder then, if the shepherds grew lax and worldly, that the sheep grew timid, and shrunk from the brutal attacks which the emperor so freely encouraged.

Edict after edict was issued by the emperor, appointing certain days for the Christians to appear before the magistrates, when those who refused to renounce their religion were thrust into prison, and subjected to the most excruciating tortures in order to enforce compliance. Some submitted at once, others persevered up to a point and then gave way, and others, of whom the laborious Origen was one, were faithful to the end. Many fled into voluntary banishment, where they continued to hold their meetings in woods and caves of the earth, feeling safer and happier in the company of wild beasts than in the society of their more brutal fellow men. Yet this did not always ensure safety; and we read of seven Roman soldiers who were starved to death in the cave in which they had taken refuge, the emperor having ordered the entrance to be closed.

Yet all were not so weak, and the intrepidity of some, while under examination, forms a striking contrast to that timidity of which we have spoken. "I am astonished," said one who had been commanded to sacrifice to Venus, that you should ask me to worship an infamous woman whose debaucheries even your own historians record, and whose life consisted of such actions as your own laws would punish." The rebuke was just, but truth in that form is seldom palatable, and the speaker being condemned for his boldness, was broken on the wheel and beheaded. "I did it not, it was you that did it," was the exclamation of a woman who had been made to offer incense by one who held her hand; and for this she was condemned to exile. Another, a prisoner at Rome, wrote to Cyprian, "What more glorious and blessed lot can by God's grace fall to man than, amidst tortures and the fear of death itself, to confess God the Lord — than, with lacerated bodies and a spirit departing but yet free, to confess Christ the Son of God — than to become fellow-sufferers with Christ in the name of Christ? If we have not shed our blood, we are ready to shed it. Pray then, beloved Cyprian, that the Lord would daily confirm and strengthen each one of us, more and more, with the power of His might; and that He, as the best of leaders, would finally conduct His soldiers, whom He has disciplined and proved in the dangerous camp, to the field of battle which is before us, armed with those divine weapons which never can be conquered."

The Lord, indeed, had not forgotten His beloved people, and the period of their affliction had been graciously determined by Him. Perhaps He saw their weakness and shortened the time. It would even appear so, for after a short reign of two years and six months, Decius was killed in battle with the Goths; and the seventh general persecution of the empire came to a close.

Gallus, who succeeded Decius, only reigned two years; and after Gallus came Valerian who commenced a fresh persecution. At first, he was favourably disposed to the Christians, and is said to have examined (with the most hopeful results) the influence of Christianity on the public morals: but his fondness for Oriental magic exposed his mind to the insidious teachings of an Egyptian magician, named Macrionus, who was an active and bitter opponent of the truth; and to his designing influence we may attribute the eighth general persecution of the empire.

On the first rumours of the persecution, Cyprian became a marked man. A glance at his previous history will not be out of place here. He was born in the year 200, of noble family, and received an education suited to his station. In later years he publicly taught rhetoric with great success at Carthage, where he lived in princely style. It is said he dressed gorgeously, and maintained a stately retinue, and that whenever he went abroad he was besieged by a crowd of clients and followers. Converted from Paganism at the age of forty-five, he immediately sold his estate and gave the chief part of the produce to the poor. He now made wonderful progress in the truth, and after three years, during which he applied himself closely to the scriptures, was made bishop of Carthage. In the reign of Decius an order was issued for his arrest, but Cyprian withdrew to some secure retreat till the storm was over, where he spent his leisure in writing consolatory epistles to the suffering Christians. It was not fear, however, which led him to take this step, as his conduct on a later occasion sufficiently proved. He was back again at Carthage at the commencement of Valerian's reign, when a plague broke out in that city; and was enabled to render valuable assistance to the sufferers. He exhorted the Christians to forget their injuries and to manifest the graces of the gospel by ministering not only to their own brethren, but to their plague-stricken enemies. The appeal was heartily responded to, and the Christians went about their new work with cheerful alacrity.

When the persecution under Valerian broke out, Cyprian did not again withdraw. He was thereupon arrested by order of the pro-consul and banished; but only to be recalled on the appointment of a new pro-consul. This, however, was merely that he might undergo a further trial; and heedless of the earnest entreaties of his brethren, who urged him to conceal himself till the persecution was over, he allowed himself to be retaken. The day following his apprehension the trial came on, and under a strong guard, the former senator of Carthage was conveyed to the pro-consul's palace. It was a remarkable sight, and the whole city had turned out to witness it. The examination was short, and the words on both sides few and decisive. "Art thou Thascius Cyprian, the bishop of so many impious men?" "I am." "The most sacred emperor commands thee to sacrifice." "I do not sacrifice." "Consider well," said the proconsul. "Execute your orders, the case admits of no consideration," answered Cyprian. The pro-consul then delivered his sentence, concluding with the words, "Thou must expiate thy crime with thy blood." Cyprian exclaimed, "God be thanked!" And in this contented frame of mind he was shortly afterwards removed to a neighbouring field and beheaded.

Even children were not exempt from this persecution, and many, through grace, witnessed a good confession. Cyril of Alexandria, a lad of tender years, was one of these; the reality of whose faith was such that neither threats nor blows were able to shake it, nor even the prospect of a slow and painful death. Children of his own age harassed him with their petty taunts and provocations, and his father even drove him from home because he would not renounce his faith or acknowledge the emperor as God. His behaviour in the presence of the Roman magistrate was equally interesting and conscientious. "Child," said the merciful pagan, I am ready to pardon you, and to let your father take you home again, and you may by-and-by inherit his property, if you will only be wise and concerned for your own interest." The child steadily refused. "I am willing to suffer," he said, "and God will take me up. I am not troubled at being turned out of doors, I shall have a better home. I am not afraid to die; it will only send me to a better life."

As the ruler could not persuade him to retract, he told the officers to take him to the stake and shew him the straw and faggots; hoping that that would intimidate him; but the child withstood the test and betrayed no symptoms of terror. The good Shepherd kept very near His tried lamb, and allowed no fear to enter his heart: and the people could only weep and marvel. When he was taken back to the ruler, and the ruler asked him, "Are you ready now to change your mind?" he answered bravely, "Your fire and sword cannot hurt me; I am going to a better home: burn me quickly, that I may get to it the sooner:" and seeing many of the people in tears he said, "you ought to be glad; and so you would be if you knew of the city to which I am going." After this he was brought again to the stake, and bound there; and the sticks and straw were piled around his tender limbs, and lighted. But the child's sufferings were soon over, and before the smoke of the fire had rolled away, he had passed beyond the reach of pain and trial and had entered the "better home" he talked about.

Laurentius, a deacon of the church at Rome, was another martyr of this persecution. Being called upon to render an account to the emperor of the church treasures, he gathered together a number of the aged and helpless poor, and presented them to the magistrate, saying, "These are the treasures of the church." Provoked and disappointed, the magistrate consigned him to the torturers, by whom he was first beaten with iron rods, then had his limbs dislocated, and afterwards was stretched upon a gridiron and slowly roasted.

Valerian, however, was taken prisoner by Sapor, king of the Persians, when he had administered the affairs of the empire about four years, and this put an end to the persecution. The church rested then for nearly fifteen years; by which time the restless hatred of man for the gospel, again found public expression, and the ninth general persecution broke out.

Chapter 5.

The Ninth and Tenth General Persecutions of the Roman Pagan Empire.

A.D. 274 - 306.

The persecution which began and ended in the reign of Aurelian lasted only a few months; for the sanguinary edicts which he issued had scarcely reached the limits of his dominion, when he was removed by the hand of the assassin. The storm indeed gathered rapidly, and the horizon for awhile looked dark. and ominous, but after a few premonitory thunderings the clouds rolled by without discharging, and the Christians were enabled to breathe again in a freer air.

But if there is little to say about the persecution, the records of the church during this period are fraught with painful interest. It was during the reign of Aurelian that Christians first invited the arbitration of a civil power in the affairs of the church; and this, moreover, in an important matter of discipline. In the apostles' day they had sought the aid of magistrates in the settlement of private questions, and Paul had rebuked them sternly for it (1 Cor. vi.); but what would he now have said, when the civil power was appealed to, to decide upon a question which affected, in a most solemn manner, the foundation truths of the christian religion?

Paul of Samosata, a vain and impious pagan, who by some unaccountable means had obtained the title and position of bishop of Antioch, propagated an abominable heresy respecting the Person of the Lord. His teaching presently excited the attention of Christians throughout the eastern portion of the empire, and a council was convened to inquire into it. Pastors and bishops thronged to Antioch from all parts, and after a patient investigation they decided by almost unanimous consent to put away the wicked person from amongst them. Happy had it been for the church if the matter had ended here, but it did not. Paul refused to bow to the authority of the church, and the council appealed to the emperor to ratify their decision. The emperor, with considerable shrewdness of natural wisdom, referred the question to the bishops of Italy and Rome; and as they confirmed the judgment of their brethren, nothing remained but for the haughty bishop to retire in silence, under the ignominy of a double censure.

It was not till after this affair that Aurelian changed his attitude towards the Christians; and the cause of his altered policy has not been ascertained with certainty. Eusebius, in a vague manner, ascribes the change to the influence of "certain advisers;" but who they were, and how they succeeded in winning the emperor to their side he does not explain. "But whilst (Aurelian) was already on the point, and so to say, on the very act of subscribing the decrees, the divine vengeance overtook him . . . . illustriously proving to all, that there can be no privilege granted the rulers of the world against the churches of Christ, unless by the sovereign hand of God; the decree of heaven permitting it to be done for our correction and amendment, and in those times and seasons that He may approve." (Euseb. bk. vii. ch. 30.)

After a rest of some twenty-eight years the puny hand of man was again stretched forth in persecution, and the imperial head of Rome made one last and frenzied effort to exterminate the hated religion. Historically, this was the decisive and closing conflict between Paganism and Christianity. It lasted ten years, and was, without doubt, the most desolating of all the persecutions.

The undisturbed security of the church since the death of Aurelian had produced an enervating effect upon the Christians, and their condition had justly roused a feeling of shame in the hearts of many, not unmixed with a fear that the Lord's displeasure was hanging over them. Owing to its unfaithfulness the church had been steadily decreasing in spiritual power, but increasing in pride and worldly ambition; and the primitive simplicity of its worship had been almost obscured by the distracting and fleshly ritual of Judaism.

Nor was this all. Many were using their gifts for display instead of for edification; and those whose privilege it had been to feed the flock of God, were neglecting their sacred charge, and busied in the accumulation of riches. The bishops whose true office was to minister to the people, and labour in person among the sick and poor, had become a great sacerdotal order, acting as "lords over God's heritage," and employing officers under them. They were no longer "given to hospitality," which Paul has said was the necessary qualification of a bishop, but received a salary, and thus became dependent on the earnings of others.* Not a century later a pagan prefect of Rome was heard to say, "Make me bishop of Rome and I also will be a Christian." Indeed, it was out of this system of spiritual tyranny and ambition that the distinction between clergy and laity arose; from whence, in turn, proceeded those frightful abuses of the Middle Ages, which were afterwards condemned in part (though for political reasons) by the arrogant and daring Hildebrand on his elevation to the papal chair.

{*Had these bishops of the church adopted no higher standard than the early Fathers, they ought to have known better than to act thus. Had not Origen said, that "he who is called to the office of a bishop, is called not to command but serve the church; and that he ought to perform this service with such modesty and humility as to make himself both useful to him who performs and to him who receives it; for the government of the Christians ought to be entirely different from that of infidels, which is full of severity, insolence, and vanity"?}

Furthermore, the internal peace of the assemblies was continually disturbed by feuds. Disputes were constantly arising between the bishops and presbyters, because of the haughty pretensions of the former, who claimed a pre-eminence in the church which the latter would in no wise concede. In the early days of Christianity the titles had been considered synonymous; and it was not until towards the close of the second century that the custom had obtained, to rank one above the other. The controversy was long and bitter; and whilst the shepherds were thus striving among themselves, the sheep were starving, and evil wolves were creeping in among them not sparing the flock.

In the midst of this sorrowful condition of things the persecution under Diocletian began. The savage and wanton tyrant had already occupied the throne for nineteen years, and during that period had associated three others with him in the government; Maximian, Galerius, and Constantius Chlorus, the father of Constantine the Great.

Galerius, who hated the Christians, was the emperor's son-in-law, and exercised a fatal influence over him. He persuaded him that Christianity was opposed to the best interests of the people, and that the way to revive the former glories of the empire was to strike at the roots of the obnoxious religion and to destroy it utterly. The better to attain his end he procured the assistance of the heathen priests and teachers of philosophy, who by their word and influence (though, indeed, it wanted no such earnest pressure) quickly converted the emperor to their views.

Four edicts in all were issued; the first requiring the destruction of all the churches and of the sacred writings — the latter, a new feature, and doubtless suggested by the philosophers; the second, that those belonging to the clerical order should be apprehended and imprisoned; the third, that none should be liberated unless they consented to sacrifice; and the fourth, that Christians of every condition, in all quarters of the empire, should either sacrifice and return to the worship of the gods, or die.

The first edict had no sooner appeared in Nicomedia (the new capital of the empire) than it was torn down by an indignant Christian. He left in its place the contemptuous inscription, "Such are the victories of the emperors over the Goths and Sarmatians;" an act of zeal for which he had to pay dearly, though he bore the tortures inflicted upon him with christian fortitude. He was roasted alive over a slow fire. A conflagration breaking out in the emperor's palace shortly after, the Christians were charged with the act, and the violence of the persecution increased. Within fourteen days the palace was again in flames,*' and the wrath of Diocletian, who was now thoroughly alarmed, grew hot and terrible. "The officers of the household, the inmates of the palace, were exposed to the most cruel tortures, by the order, it is said, in the presence of Diocletian . . . . Prisca and Valeria (the emperor's wife and daughter) were constrained to pollute themselves with sacrifice; the powerful eunuchs, Dorothius and Gorgonius and Andrias suffered death; Anthinus, the bishop of Nicomedia was beheaded. Many were executed, many burnt alive, many laid bound with stones round their necks, in boats, rowed into the midst of the lake, and thrown into the water."

{*It is pretty generally believed that Galerius was the incendiary in both cases.

East and west from Nicomedia the persecution waxed hot and furious, and Gaul alone of all the Roman provinces escaped the fiery storm. Here resided Constantius, the only ruler who sheltered the Christians; the rest were active, remorseless, implacable. But Diocletian at last grew weary of the awful work, and in the following year resigned the reins of the empire. His colleague, Maximian, immediately followed his example; but Galerius reigned on, sole master of the East, till his nephew, a monster like himself, obtained the jurisdiction over Syria and Egypt under the title of Maximin II.

It would be impossible to speak of more than a few of the martyrs whose names are associated with this persecution, for the ranks must have been swelled by thousands during those ten miserable years; indeed, the Christians of Egypt suffered by multitudes, sometimes as many as sixty or eighty in a day, Romanus, a deacon of Antioch, when threatened with torture exclaimed, "Thy sentence, O emperor, I joyfully embrace; I refuse not to be sacrificed for my brethren, and that by as cruel a means as thou canst invent." When the executioner hesitated in his awful work because his victim was of noble parentage, Romanus said, "Not the blood of my progenitors, but christian profession makes me noble;" and when he had received many wounds in his face he exclaimed, "I thank thee, O captain, that thou hast opened unto me many mouths with which I may preach my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ." Another, when under examination was asked, "Why do you keep the scriptures forbidden by the emperor?" and returned this answer, "Because I am a Christian: life eternal is in them: he that gives them up loses life eternal."

A maiden of thirteen, the daughter of a nobleman of Emerita, praised God in the midst of the torture, saying, "Behold, O Lord, I will not forget Thee: what a pleasant thing it is for those, O Christ, that remember Thy triumphs and attain to these high dignities!" Another, as the flames were wrapping round her, exclaimed, "Grow weary, my sisters, of your lives led in darkness, and be in love with Christ — my God, my Redeemer, my comforter, who is the true light of the world. May the Spirit of God persuade you that there is a world to come in which the worshippers of idols and devils shall be tormented perpetually, and the servants of the most high God shall be eternally crowned." This was the faithful testimony of a lady of wealth, by name Julietta.

Contrast with such triumphant scenes the miserable ends of the great persecutors of Christianity. Nero, Diocletian and Maximian committed suicide. Domitian, Commodus, Maximin and Aurelian were assassinated, Hadrian died in agony, crying out, "How miserable it is to seek death and not to find it!" Decius, cut off from retreat during an ambuscade, perished miserably, and his flesh became the prey of vultures and wild beasts. Valerian, after being taken prisoner by Sapor, king of Persia, was used as a stool by that monarch to assist him in mounting his horse; and after seven years of this and other insult, his eyes were put out and he was flayed alive. The body of Maximin II. was slowly consumed by an internal fire: and, last of all, Galerius, that prince of persecutors, was smitten with a loathsome disease which kept him in continual torment a whole year. Physicians were consulted in vain, and like his prototypes Antiochus Epiphanes and Herod he was eaten of worms!

But the Smyrna period of the church's history had reached its close. That mystic intimation of the Church's Head, "Ye shall have tribulation ten days," had been fulfilled; and the ten persecutions of the Roman pagan empire had passed into history. The tenth had lasted ten years, but even that had had its day.; and the Pergamos period, when the lion became the serpent, and adversaries from without gave place to seducers from within — this solemn epoch in the church's history had begun.

Meanwhile Constantius had died at York, and Constantine his son — the Constantine the Great of history — had ascended the throne.

Chapter 6.

The Fourth Century of the Christian Era.

A.D. 306-375.

As the accession of Constantine the Great marks a new era in the church's history, it would be well to take a hurried glance at the public career of the man himself. He was born in Britain, and his mother is said to have been a British princess. On the death of his father, who was beloved for his justice and moderation, the Roman legions stationed at York saluted him as Cesar, and invested him with the imperial purple. Much as Galerius resented this nomination, he was not prepared to risk a civil war by opposing it; he therefore ratified the title which the army had conferred upon their general, and assigned him the fourth rank among the rulers of the empire. During the six following years Constantine administered the prefecture of Gaul with marked ability, and at the close of that period — Maximin and Galerius having been meanwhile removed by death — the whole Roman empire was placed within his grasp. There now remained but one competitor for the throne, Maxentius, a stedfast assertor of paganism; and when Constantine had obtained an accurate knowledge of his resources, he marched against him with a large army.

The question whether Constantine was really a Christian has ever been a vexed point with ecclesiastical writers, and many and very different motives have been advanced as accounting for his adoption of the Christian religion.* But if converted at all, we may safely affirm that it was not till after his march against Maxentius, during which he is said to have witnessed a strange phenomenon in the heavens, and to have been favoured with a remarkable vision; up to that time he was still undecided between paganism and Christianity.

{*For his own sake we would hope that Constantine was a Christian, but for the honour of Christianity we would hope otherwise. History describes him as a pitiless and jealous ruler, the murderer of his father-in-law, his brothers-in-law, his sister, wife, son and nephew! (Sismondi's Fall of the Roman Empire, vol. i. p. 78.)}

The particulars of these (supposed) occurrences are thus given. The emperor, at the head of his Gallic legions, was on his way to Rome; where Maxentius had proclaimed himself emperor and was ruling in undisturbed authority. Suddenly, about three o'clock in the afternoon, there appeared in the clear heavens a glittering cross, inscribed with the words, "In hoc signo vinces" (In this sign overcome). Unable to account for the phenomenon which, according to some accounts, was seen by the whole army — Constantine retired to his tent, restless and dejected. When night came on, his troubled mind found temporary relief in sleep; and as he slept, he dreamed. He dreamed that One stood beside him, that One none other than the divine Author of Christianity — and instructed him to make a banner in the form of a cross, which was to be borne before the army in place of the Roman standard. By this means victory would be assured, and his claims to the imperial throne would be established. "At day dawn," writes the church historian Socrates, a century later, "Constantine called together the priests of Christ, and questioned them on the subject of the christian faith. Then having put forward the sacred books of the scripture, they explained the things that relate to Christ; and the sovereign, astonished at the prophecies on the subject of the Saviour, commanded ingenious men to fabricate, to the figure of the cross, set with gold and precious stones, a standard, what is called among the Romans, Labarum," this being the device which had been made known to him in his dream. The result surpassed his expectations. The sight of the banner animated his soldiers, and inspired them with that reckless courage which usually accompanies a superstitious zeal. The armies met — a bloody engagement ensued — and Constantine was victorious. Maxentius was drowned in the Tiber while attempting his escape.

Reflecting upon these events we are constrained to say, that the peaceful character of Christianity forbids a belief in the supernatural origin of the phenomenon and dream. The former may have been the hallucination of an excited brain; the latter, a vivid dream, but nothing more. Still, Constantine seems to have had faith in God, the faith perhaps of a Cyrus or Nebuchadnezzar, and God honoured it.

Strange times had now fallen upon the people of God. "From the depths of the catacombs uprose the adoration of the martyrs. On those sites where the gods of Olympus had been worshipped — on the very columns that had supported their temples, were shrines erected to the memory of those who had rejected their divinity, and died for refusing to yield them worship. The religion of Christ, coming forth from the desert and the dungeon, took possession of the world. We sometimes feel astonished that precisely a secular building of the heathen, the basilica, should have been converted to the purposes of christian worship: but in this fact there is a remarkable significance, the apsis of the basilica contained an Augusteum, the assembled statues of such emperors as had received divine worship. They were replaced by the images of Christ and his apostles, as they are seen in many basilicas to the present day. The rulers of the world, themselves considered as deities, gave place to the Son of God arrayed in the nature of man. The local deities passed away, and were seen no more. In every highway, on the steep summits of the hills, in the deep ravines and remote valleys, on the roofs of houses, and in the mosaic of the floors was seen the cross: the victory was complete and decisive. As, on the coins of Constantine, the labarum, with the monogram of Christ, is seen to rise above the conquered dragon, so did the worship and name of Jesus exalt itself over the vanquished gods of heathenism."* An entirely new order of things had, in fact, arisen, and the Roman emperor had become the moving power in the church.

Some of the first acts of Constantine's reign were in keeping with his twofold position. He made munificent grants to many of the churches; handed over the heathen temples with their ample revenues to the Christians; and even exercised the authority of the law in the propagation of the christian religion. To the administration of state and civil affairs was added the control and management of the church; and the strange sight might now be witnessed of a Roman emperor presiding at its councils, and taking part in its debates. Nor was this intrusion resented by Christians generally; they looked upon it as an auspicious and happy omen; and instead of rebuking the emperor for his meddling, they welcomed him as the bishop of bishops. Like Israel of old when they chose a king, the people of God had embraced the protection of a semi-heathen state; and Christianity had suffered its greatest possible degradation in the patronage of a worldly potentate.

{*Ranke's History of the Popes, vol. i. p. 6.}

The pernicious effect of this first union of church and state was presently felt. Controversies arose, and the emperor was called upon by the contending parties to act as arbitrator. His judgment was no sooner given than it was scornfully set aside by the party whose plea had been disallowed. The same thing was again and again repeated, till the emperor became indignant, and resorted to violent measures in order to enforce his domination. Thus was demonstrated, at the very outset, the uselessness and mischief of that patronage to which the Christians had so willingly but blindly submitted.

Hitherto the councils of the church had been composed of the bishops and presbyters of a province; but during the reign of Constantine general assemblies were convened, the calling together and dismissal of which were left entirely to the emperor. These were called oecumenical or general councils, and their object was the discussion of the more important questions of the church. The first of such assemblies was held at Nicea in Bithynia, for the examination of one Arius, who had been teaching that our Lord had been created by God like all other beings, liable to sin and error, and that consequently he was not co-eternal with the Father. This is what Constantine, on being informed of the heresy, had called a trifle: the council, with but few dissentients, pronounced it a horrible blasphemy. The bishops so felt the indignity put upon the blessed Lord, that they stopped their ears whilst Arius was engaged in explaining his doctrines, and declared that he who held such doctrines was worthy only of anathema. As a check upon the growth of the heresy the famous confession of faith known as the Nicene Creed was drawn up, in which the scriptural doctrine of the Lord's divinity was clearly and fully enunciated. Arius and his followers at the same time received sentence of banishment, and the possession and circulation of his writings was constituted a capital offence.

The subsequent conduct of the emperor shewed that his ruling on this occasion was the result of no deep or settled conviction. At the solicitation of his sister Constantia, whose sympathies were strong with the Arian party, he recalled the great heresiarch from banishment, and revoked the interdiction which had been placed upon his writings. Arius was then fully restored to the emperor's favour, and treated with every mark of distinction at court.

But his triumph was not unmingled. He was now to find a powerful and indefatigable opponent in the person of Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria, an adversary who had already discomfited him not a little during the sittings of the council at Nicea; and who, though only a deacon at the time, had taken a prominent part in the discussion, and ever since had continued a staunch defender of the truth and an active exponent of the wicked devices of the Arians.

An imperial mandate from Constantine to restore the excommunicated heretics to the fellowship of the church, was now received with deliberate and steady disregard by the bishop; who would submit to no authority which sought to set aside the Godhead of his Lord and Saviour. His enemies were resolved to carry out their purpose, however; and what they could not gain by fair means, they determined to accomplish by foul. A charge of the most horrible kind was prepared against the bishop, and he was accused of causing the death of a Miletian bishop, named Arsinius; whose hand, they said, he had used for purposes of enchantment. He was accordingly cited before a council at Caesarea, to answer to the twofold charge of magic and murder; but Athanasius refused to appear, because the tribunal was composed of enemies. Another council was then convened at Tyre, and at this the bishop attended. The hand (which held, as we may say, the convicting evidence) was produced in court; but, alas for his accusers! the murdered bishop was produced also, alive and unmutilated.

Yet this farcical exposure did not inflict that silence on his adversaries which shame should have dictated, and they hastened to prepare a new accusation. They affirmed that Athanasius had threatened to check the exportation of corn from Alexandria to Constantinople, an act which would have brought famine to that city; rightly judging that the bare imputation of such misconduct, would surely rouse the jealousy and resentment of the emperor, whose deepest interests were centred there. Their plans succeeded. On this petty charge — for the truth of it was never proved — the sentence of banishment was obtained, and Athanasius was sent to Treves, on the Rhine, where he remained two years and four months.

But the banishment of the faithful bishop did not secure those results for which the Arian party had been contending. The Christians of Alexandria had been instructed too well in the truths of the scriptures, and held them too dearly, to sell them now their teacher was gone. They would agree to no compromise, and even when Arius subscribed an orthodox faith, their new bishop, an aged servant of God named Alexander, questioned his sincerity and refused to accept his retractation. Upon this Constantine again interfered, and sending for the bishop, insisted that Arius should be received into communion on the following day. This was felt by many to be a crisis in the affairs of the church, and the Christians of Alexandria anxiously awaited the issue. Alexander felt his weakness, and a host of uneasy thoughts oppressed his mind: he entered the church, and spread his case before the Lord. Prayer was his last resource, but it was not a vain or barren one.

The Arians were already loud in their exultations, and while the bishop was on his knees at the altar, they bore their leader in triumph through the streets. Suddenly the ovation ceased. Arius had entered a private house, none seeming to know exactly why. The people waited and wondered, but they waited in vain; the man for whose return they looked had retired from public gaze — never to appear again. The fate of Judas had overtaken him, and the great heresiarch was dead. Athanasius afterwards observed that the death of Arius was a sufficient refutation of his heresy.

Constantine did not long survive this event. He died A.D. 337, in the thirty-first year of his reign, and at the age of sixty-four. His general legislation, says a modern writer, "bears evidence of the silent underworkings of christian principles; and the effect of these humane laws would be felt far beyond the immediate circle of the christian community. He enacted laws for the better observance of Sunday; against the sale of infants for slaves; and also against child-stealing for the purpose of selling them; with many other laws both of a social and moral character. . . . But the one grand, all-influential event of his eventful reign, was the casting down of the idols and the lifting up of Christ." Second to this in importance, from a christian standpoint, was the conversion of the Ethiopians and Iberians, who are said to have received the Gospel during the same period.

The empire was now divided amongst the three sons of Constantine the Great, Constantine securing Gaul, Spain and Britain; Constantius, the Asiatic provinces; and Constans, Italy and Africa. Constantine favoured the Catholic or orthodox party and recalled Athanasius, but was killed in the year 340 while invading Italy. Constans, who took possession of his dominions, also espoused the catholic cause and befriended Athanasius; but Constantius and all his court, declared themselves for the Arians. A religious war between the brothers now commenced, which, like the generality of religious wars, was characterised by cruelty and injustice on both sides, and reflected strangely on the presumably peaceful nature of the christian religion.

In the meantime Athanasius was again degraded, through the exertions of Constantius and the Arian bishops; and a man of violent character, Gregory of Cappadocia, was forcibly installed in his place. Scenes of further disorder and violence resulted from this iniquitous proceeding, and the attendance of the military was required in order to maintain the intruding bishop in his position. Councils in perplexing number were afterwards convened, and five different creeds were drawn up in as many years, but apparently with little result. In all of these the orthodoxy of Athanasius was again and again confirmed; but no justice was done to the aged bishop till the death of Gregory. He was then once more recalled and reinstated in his office, to the joy of all who loved the truth and held fast the form of sound doctrine.

Constans, who had proved himself from the first a true friend to Athanasius, died in the year 350; and the Arians, protected by the patronage of Constantius, renewed their machinations. Being now, for a third time, driven from his post, Athanasius retired into voluntary exile; and found a refuge for some time in the deserts of Egypt, where he prepared himself by meditation and prayer for further conflict. Meanwhile, those who held his doctrines were persecuted with rigour by the Arian ascendancy; so that the saying went abroad, that the days of Nero and Diocletian had returned.

Constantius died in the year 361, and was succeeded by Julian, who recalled the bishops who had been banished by Constantius; but evidently through no sympathy with their doctrines, for he soon after lapsed into heathenism, and so distinguished himself by his efforts to restore idolatry that he gained for himself the name of Julian the Apostate. He affirmed that the judgments of God on the Jews as foretold in the gospels and elsewhere were a fable, and made an impious attempt to prove this assertion by sending an expedition to Palestine to rebuild the temple. But his plans were frustrated in a miraculous manner. Balls of fire, it is said, issued from the ground with a dreadful noise, and drove the workmen in terror from the spot. The work was therefore abandoned, and the impious designs of Julian were brought to nought.

During the reign of this emperor, a Christian named Basil made himself notorious by his fearless denunciations of Arianism and idolatry. The Arian bishop of Constantinople commanded him to desist from preaching, but Basil preached on in spite of the command. He urged that he held his commission from the Lord and not from man. The bishop then denounced him as a disturber of the public peace; but the emperor (for whose ears the charge was intended) was preparing at the time for an expedition to Persia, and no attention was paid to the accusation. Later on, however, the zeal of this devoted man against Paganism drew upon him the indignation of the heathen, and he was brought before Saturninus, governor of Ancyra, who sent him to the rack. His constancy and patience under the torture excited the wonder of all who saw him, and the emperor was presently acquainted with the facts. His interest was not less excited than the wonder of his subjects, and he gave command for the prisoner to be brought into his presence. The occasion was gladly welcomed by Basil, and, zealous for the emperor's good, he proclaimed the gospel in his presence, and warned him of the danger he incurred, by his despisal of the Son of God. The rebuke, so faithfully administered, was unhappily without effect: Julian received it contemptuously, and shewed the depth of his hatred for the christian religion by his treatment of its minister. He commanded that Basil should be taken back to his dungeon, and his flesh torn from his bones day by day, till his body was completely mangled. The inhuman sentence was carried out, and the brave martyr expired under the torture, on the 28th of June, A.D. 362.

Julian did not long survive him. In the same month (almost on the same day of the month*) of the following year, he was mortally wounded in a skirmish with the Asiatics: and as he lay, weak and helpless, on the ground, was seen to stretch his hand towards heaven, and uttered these words, "Galilean, thou hast conquered!" He then expired.

{*26th of June.}

Julian wrote some books against the Christians which were much applauded by Libanius, but they have fortunately been lost. Not that there was much to fear in them, however, for they seemed to have been characterised more by sophistry than sound reasoning, and were calculated only to deceive those who were willing to be deceived. Gregory of Nazianzus, one of the fathers contemporary with Julian, thus describes the man himself: "It seemed to me that no good was portended by a neck seldom steady, the frequent shrugging of shoulders, an eye scowling and always in motion, together with a phrenzied aspect; a gait irregular and tottering, a nose breathing only contempt and insult, with ridiculous contortions of countenance expressive of the same thing; immoderate and very loud laughter, nods as it were of assent, and drawings back of the head as if in denial, without any visible cause; speech with hesitancy and interrupted by his breathing; disorderly and senseless questions, with answers of a corresponding character, all jumbled together without the least consistency or method." Not a flattering picture this, but the public actions of the emperor accord with it in almost every particular.

Jovian, who succeeded him, was perhaps the first really Christian ruler of the Roman empire; but his reign was short. He desired Athanasius, who had returned to Alexandria on the death of Julian, to act as his instructor and adviser; and he was soon so settled in the truth that neither pagan priest nor Arian heretic had any influence with him. But toleration was extended to all, and though the emperor adhered to the truth, those who opposed it were always to be seen about his person. Indeed, if Socrates can be trusted, who quotes for his authority Themistius, the philosopher, the followers of the great heresiarch were governed by expediency rather than conscience, and regulated their opinions by the opinions of the reigning power. To quote Themistius, "Experience has made it evident that such persons worship the purple and not the deity; and resemble the changeful Euripus,* which sometimes rolls its waves in one direction, and at others the very opposite way." After a happy reign of only eight months Jovian died by suffocation, February 17th, A.D. 364.

{*The Straits of Negropont.}

His successors, Valentinian and Valens, promised well to follow in their father's steps; but the latter was presently won over to Arianism by his wife, and submitted to baptism from an Arian bishop. He then renewed the attacks on Athanasius and his followers, and the aged bishop, after remaining concealed some four months in his father's sepulchre, again fled from Alexandria. Popular opinion, however, would not suffer him to languish in exile, and he was almost immediately recalled. His long and agitated career came to a peaceful close not long after, in the year 373; his death being looked upon as a public calamity by all who watched with solicitude the interests of their divine Master.

The doctrine of the Trinity, as held by Athanasius, may be thus given in his own words: "The Father cannot be the Son, nor the Son the Father; and the Holy Ghost is never called by the name of the Son, but is called the Spirit of the Father and of the Son. The holy Trinity is but one divine nature, and one God, with which nothing created can be joined. This is sufficient for the faithful; human knowledge goes no farther; the cherubims veil the rest with their wings." And it was in contending for these grand truths that the venerable bishop was thrice driven into exile, and branded as a heretic by the false priests of Arius.

Chapter 7.

Development of the Pergamos State.

A.D. 375-500.

In the year 375 Gratian succeeded Valentinian, as emperor in the West; and was only sixteen years of age when he came to the throne. He was a true child of God, and in spite of his youth, was distinguished by an earnestness and piety which would have done credit to much older heads. One of the first acts of his reign was to write a letter to Ambrose, bishop of Milan, in which he requested the bishop to visit him. "Come," he writes, "that you may teach the doctrines of salvation to one who truly believes; not that we may study for contention, but that the revelation of God may dwell more intimately in my heart." His reign was generally popular, and it is doubtful whether the charges of indolence and luxury, brought against him by some historians, have any foundation save in the malice of his enemies.

After the death of his uncle, the emperor Valens (a fierce Arian and implacable persecutor of the catholic party), Gratian became sole ruler of the empire; but feeling unequal to the pressure and anxiety attending this additional responsibility he determined to invest with the imperial purple, Theodosius, a Spaniard of honourable birth. He was the son of Theodosius, a general who had rendered good service in Britain during the reign of Valentinian, by quelling the incursions of the Picts and Scots; and Gratian had every confidence in his energy and ability. Nor was the emperor much at fault in his choice, for Theodosius was a man of decided piety and great parts, and his reign of nearly sixteen years was marked by a display of wisdom and moderation which well befitted a christian ruler. But, like David of old, his character was not without its blemishes, and the records of his life contain some dark and even bloody pages. The following facts must speak for themselves.

There had been a tumult at Thessalonica, owing to the imprisonment of a favourite charioteer, and during the tumult the Roman general Botheric and several officers lost their lives. Theodosius, roused to indignation by this outrage, determined to avenge it; and accordingly issued secret instructions for an indiscriminate slaughter of the inhabitants. Under the pretence that an exhibition of public games was to take place, a vast crowd was collected in the circus of the city, and a fearful scene of slaughter ensued, in which fifteen thousand of the people lost their lives. Ambrose, who had received a promise from the emperor that the offence should be overlooked, was filled with anguish and astonishment when the news reached him, and, retiring to a neighbouring desert, wrote a stern letter of remonstrance to the emperor. The bishop was a man of mild and loving disposition, to whom the poorest of his flock might always find access; but he could be firm when occasion demanded, and he felt that an occasion had come. Whatever might be his private feelings towards the emperor, nothing should be permitted to stand in the way of his duty to God. In His presence all mere sentiment and human distinctions must disappear. The claims of His glory were in question, and they must be vindicated at whatever cost. Ambrose felt his position keenly; yet his grief was not more real than the grief of Theodosius. The emperor's conscience was thoroughly aroused, and his heart found a double burden in the bishop's rebuke and his own blood-guiltiness. To repair to the church was naturally his first thought, but Ambrose heard of his intention and hastened back to Milan to intercept him. The two men encountered each other at the porch, and a remarkable scene was witnessed. As the emperor moved forward to enter the church, the bishop caught his robe, and solemnly adjured him to withdraw. The emperor expostulated, but Ambrose was resolute. Private expressions of grief were unavailing, the calamity was a public one, and the bishop would have nothing but a public confession. In vain the emperor pleaded — Ambrose was firm. An analogous case in David's history afforded no justification for his offence: if he had imitated David in his crime, he should also imitate him in his repentance. "Emperor," said the unyielding bishop, "you know not, it appears to me, the enormity of the murder perpetrated by you; nor, after the cessation of your rage, has reason come to know the crime committed. Verily it does not behove you, decoyed by the splendour of the purple, to be ignorant of the feebleness of the body covered by it. Emperor, you rule over creatures of like nature with yourself, and moreover fellow slaves: for God is the one Master, and Sovereign of all without exception. Now, how shall you receive in such polluted hands the supremely holy body of the Lord? and how, having shed so much blood unjustly, shall you approach the honoured blood to that mouth? Away with you then, and attempt not to swell former transgression by subsequent misdeeds."

Theodosius accepted the rebuke and withdrew. Eight months elapsed, and during that time he shut himself away in the privacy of his palace, where he devoted himself to humiliation and prayer. Meanwhile the Christmas season came round, and on Christmas day he again presented himself at the porch. "I weep," said he, "that the temple of God and consequently heaven, is shut from me which is open to slaves and beggars." But the bishop required proofs of the sincerity of his repentance. "What change of mind," said he, "have you exhibited after so great a transgression? and with what kind of medicines have you healed your wounds?" The emperor answered, "For you is the duty to point out the medicines, but mine is to receive your prescriptions." "Then commit it to writing, as law," said Ambrose, "that they who sub-ministrate the imperial commands, put off for thirty days the punishment of those that have been condemned to death, so that time in the interim may soften the imperial wrath, and that there be space given for mercy and well-regulated change of mind." Theodosius yielded, and commanded that such an order-at-law should be immediately written out. Ambrose now made way for the emperor and he entered the church. Immediately divesting himself of his imperial robes, Theodosius fell on his face, and prayed aloud in the words of Psalm cxix., "My soul cleaveth unto the dust, quicken thou me according to thy word." The scene was heart-rending, and the people, uniting in the emperor's prayer, mingled their tears with his.

Reflecting upon this remarkable occurrence we can fully endorse the following opinion, for which we are indebted to a modern writer "Stripped of the superstition and formalities peculiar to the times, we have a case before us of the most genuine and salutary discipline.... The behaviour of Theodosius was not the result of weakness or pusillanimity; but of a true fear of God; a real feeling of his guilt; a tender conscience; an acknowledgment of the claims of God, to whom all worldly greatness is subject."

We may reasonably expect that a man who could act thus would be a stern disciplinarian when he detected error or crime in others. This he was; and an instance of his severity may be found in the zeal with which he persecuted the Arians, whose numbers increased alarmingly during his reign. This zeal was still further inflamed by the indirect rebuke of an aged bishop, who had offended him by some trivial act of disrespect to one of his sons. "If you are angry," said the bishop, "because a slight has been put upon your son, even so will the heavenly Father be angry with those who refuse to His Son the honours which they pay to Himself." The emperor was struck by this remark, and resolved that henceforth he would use the power which God had given him in the suppression of Arianism and the banishment of all who embraced its evil doctrines. The resolution made, he was not slow in carrying it out. An imperial mandate was issued, and the Arians were driven into banishment. Large numbers of them took refuge among the Goths and Vandals and other barbarous hordes of northern Prussia; where they were in some cases kindly received: so that by this misguided act the evil doctrines were diffused more widely than ever.

But there were other heresies besides that of Arius which the faithful had to do battle with; and some of them of older date. Such for example, was that grotesque confusion of truth and error, of light and darkness, which has come down to us under the name of Manicheism. Its founder was a Persian magician named Mani, who became notorious towards the close of the third century. For some time he professed Christianity, but afterwards gave out that he was the Paraclete, and asserted that he had been favoured with a revelation from God. His Ertang, or marvellous book, was a wild and foolish medley of various philosophies and creeds, in which, Christianity, Zoroastrianism, Buddhism, and Orientalism found a conspicuous place. It is strange that such an impostor should have found followers; hut the heart of man is open to anything but the gospel, and before a century had passed away the Manicheans had become a numerous and powerful sect. The end of their leader was terrible and admonitory: he was flayed alive by order of the Persian king.

But a heresy of a more subtle and dangerous character than this of Mani was shortly to he spread abroad; a heresy which might rank beside that of Arius, so deadly and pernicious was it. Towards the close of the fourth century a monk named Pelagius arose, who denied the total corruption of the race through the first man's transgression, and taught that we are born in innocence. "The sin of Adam," he said, "hurt himself alone, and not mankind." Logically followed out, this doctrine disallowed the necessity of divine grace, and raised man's conscience and the law to a level with the gospel: indeed, according to Pelagius, a man could be "saved by law as well as by the gospel; and the fall of man and his need of a new birth were dismissed as pious imaginations." The virtues of philosophers and patriarchs were the fruits of their own intrinsic excellence, and proved "how great was the goodness of nature."

But God, who sees the end from the beginning, had already prepared Himself a man to go forth against this new enemy. This man was Augustine, bishop of Hippo, one of the brightest lights that ever dawned upon the church.

He sprang from a noble family, and was born at Thegaste, a little village in Numidia, A.D. 354. His father was a pagan, but his mother was a woman of much piety, whose faithful and loving counsel Augustine was never weary of recalling in after life. Ambrose knew her well, and once said to her, "Be of good courage, a child of so many prayers and tears can never be lost." Augustine received a good education, and quickly came to the front as the first pupil in the school of rhetoric; but even in youth he was noted for his depraved ways. By his own account he would deceive "his tutor, masters, and parents with innumerable lies," and was so enslaved by greediness that he would "commit thefts from his parents' cellar and table." His very conscience was stifled. "I was grown deaf," he says in his Confessions, "by the clankings of the chain of my mortality, the punishment of the pride of my soul; and I strayed further from Thee, and Thou lettest me alone, and I was tossed about, and wasted and dissipated; and I boiled over in my fornications, and Thou heldest Thy peace, O Thou my tardy joy!" The father of Augustine died while he was yet young; but not before Monica's prayers for her husband had been answered, and he had found peace for his soul in Monica's Saviour. Thus encouraged, the pious woman went on praying for her son; feeling confident that her faith would be rewarded, though the answer might seem to linger. From his nineteenth to his twenty-eighth year, Augustine was a teacher of rhetoric; and, removing to Carthage during that period, he immediately took his place as the foremost rhetorician of that city. Yet his evil ways continued; and he acknowledges that the "hunt after the emptiness of popular praise, down even to theatrical applauses, and poetic prizes, and strifes for grassy garlands, and follies of shows," was the ruling passion of his life there. Nor was this all. To his thirst for popularity was added "a seduced and seducing lust," which kept him in bonds of wretchedness many years. A copy of Cicero's "Hortensius"came into his hands about this time, and gave him some serious thoughts about himself; but human philosophy proved inadequate for his deeper needs, and the book did him no permanent good. After this it was his misfortune to fall in with some books of Manichean philosophy, which drew him still further from the truth; and it was not till A.D. 384, when he visited Milan, that he was able to disengage himself from the wildering meshes of that network of lies. Here, under the advice of Ambrose, he began to study the scriptures for himself, and with the happiest results. He was thoroughly aroused; and saw for the first time his moral deformity in the mirror of divine truth. He was amazed at his wickedness, and became from that time an earnest, though hopeless seeker after God. Hearing on one occasion of the conversion of some Roman nobles, he exclaimed, "These people take the kingdom of heaven by force, while we with our learning are wallowing in sin." But hope dawned at last, and after a wholesome though painful discipline of some months, he was converted through the instrumentality of Ambrose. His mother — her last earthly wish gratified died the following year; exclaiming, in the language of the aged Simeon, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation."

After his conversion, Augustine remained three years in retirement, during which time he studied the scriptures with profit. On his re-appearance in public he was ordained presbyter, and became a celebrated preacher at Hippo Regius, where he was elected bishop some years later. Throughout the remainder of his life he continued a faithful minister of the truth, and specially distinguished himself by the ability and vigour with which he exposed the doctrines of Mani and Pelagius. It is asserted by many that the zeal of Augustine against Pelagius, led him into the opposite extreme of Fatalism, and perhaps the charge is just. Yet the saying of Jeremy Taylor, that "when Pelagius had puddled the stream, Augustine was so angry, that he stamped and disturbed it more," is more witty than truthful. The free grace of God was ever his favourite theme, for, like Paul, he had learnt from what he had been delivered, and could glory in the apostle's words, "By grace we are saved through faith, and that not of ourselves; it is the gift of God."

The schism of the Donatists also engaged the attention, and excited the opposition, of this devoted man, and drew from him the sternest denunciations. The Donatists took their name from their leader Donatus, who was a schismatic of the most extreme kind, though sound in doctrine and of unimpeachable morality. So far back as the year 311, he had opposed the election of one Caecilian to the bishopric of Carthage, on the plea that a bishop named Felix, who had taken a prominent part in the consecration, was a Traditor; that is, a person who had delivered up copies of the sacred books during the persecution under Diocletian: but other motives seem to have been at the root of the matter. The clergy and people of Carthage had elected their bishop, and proceeded to his consecration without consulting the bishops of Numidia, a contiguous and subordinate province, and the troubles which followed were really due to the jealousies of the latter, and nothing else.

At first the opposing parties had been content to carry their differences to the emperor (Constantine); but when the synods of inquiry which he had instituted at Rome and Arles had decided in favour of Caecilian and his party, and Constantine himself had placed his seal to their decision, the Donatists (who had been the first to invite his interference) had revolted against his authority, and compelled him to more rigorous measures.

At this point they had been joined by a number of lawless men, of no faith or religion, who became the soldiers of their party, and quickly made themselves notorious by their excesses. These were the Circumcellions.* Armed with clubs and other weapons they overran the surrounding country, and spread terror and desolation in all directions. They expelled the catholic people, violated the women, murdered the children, threw the sacramental elements to the dogs, burnt the altars, melted down the chalices, and committed other lawless acts too numerous for mention. As a necessary consequence the Donatist faction lost prestige from that time forward.

{*The word means "around the cottages." The name was given them by the orthodox, because of their habit of going from cottage to cottage, enforcing their demands.}

But long before Augustine took up his pen in defence of the truth, the armies of Constans had purged the country of these dangerous outlaws; and when the bishop began to write, it was against the old schism of the Donatists and not the excesses of the Circumcellions. His zeal was not thrown away. So vigorously did he expose 'this dangerous and seditious spirit,' — alike in his writings, his public discourses, and his private conversation, that he all but ruined the Donatist cause in Africa, and destroyed the sympathy which their sufferings had awakened in other parts of Christendom. The faithful bishop died at Hippo, in the year 430, just as the Vandals were besieging the place.

Meanwhile Arcadius and Honorius had succeeded their father, Theodosius, on the throne, and Rome's darkest days had set in. The empire, indeed, had long been on the decline; and was seen to be approaching its dissolution even when Theodosius was raised to a share in the government. During his reign the eastern and western empires had been re-united for the last time; and no sooner had his death become known than hordes of barbarians poured in from all parts. The Goths were the first to make an incursion; and having succeeded in their attempt to pass the Danube, nation after nation followed their example, till the mighty deluge of human life had swept through Europe, and even cast its waves upon the coast of Africa. In the year 400, Alaric, king of the Visigoths, invaded Italy, and was no sooner repulsed than a new host of barbarians, under their leader Radagaisus, crowded in from the shores of the Baltic. They overran Germany and Gaul, and penetrated even to Spain; but eventually were hemmed in by the Roman army among the Apennines, where vast multitudes were taken prisoners and thousands perished by exposure. But Rome, sunk in sloth and luxury, had neither energy nor strength to follow up her advantage. Three times in the reign of Honorius, who had taken up his residence at Ravenna, was the ancient city at the mercy of the barbarians. On the first occasion, (A.D. 408,) Alaric, king of the Goths, led his troops in triumph to the very gates of the city, when the citizens purchased his withdrawal by the sacrifice of their wealth; on the second occasion, (A.D. 451,) Attila, king of the Huns, called Godegisel or God's scourge, having laid waste the country as he went along, was only persuaded to leave the city after infinite difficulty: and on the third occasion, (A.D. 455,) Genseric, king of the Vandals, brought his army up to the walls, when they swarmed over the city like locusts, leaving only ruin and desolation in their wake. Such was the awful end of ancient Rome and so did God sweep away her corruptions, and visit upon her the blood of His martyred people.

In A.D. 476, the western empire was finally broken up; and Odoacer, king of the Heruli, assumed the title of king of Italy. He reigned fourteen years, and then resigned his kingdom to Theodoric, king of the Ostrogoths, a man of wisdom and prudence, in whose reign the country settled down after its long struggle, and began to enjoy once more the comforts of peace.

For many years before the fall of Rome, there had been a goodly number from among her enemies who had embraced Christianity; but as it was in most cases that spurious form of it which the Arians had disseminated after their expulsion by Theodosius, we need not wonder that the orthodox Christians were much persecuted when the barbarians became masters of the empire. Yet it is worthy of note that during the three invasions of Italy, from A.D. 408 to 455, when the soldiers of Alaric, Attila, and Genseric, were going hither and thither pillaging the country, the costly churches of the Christians were scarcely touched; and deference was everywhere paid to the bishops. Indeed, the retreat of Attila from the walls of Rome was owing in no small measure to the promptness of Leo I., bishop of Rome, who confronted him in his camp and so wrought upon him by his remonstrances, that the fiery Hun wheeled about with his army, and left the city by precipitate marches.

But though the Lord had thus delivered His people from many dangers, Christians had been preparing troubles for themselves by their own follies. The lives of the clergy (with some bright exceptions) had become notoriously bad; and in Rome the condition of the church was so abandoned that the bishopric became, at one time, an object of competition; and two candidates, Laurentius and Symmachus, in their scramble for the office, did not scruple to bring the gravest criminal charges against each other. The daring effrontery of the clergy is strikingly illustrated by the fact, that Martin, bishop of Tours (in many respects a faithful and devoted Christian), suffered himself to be waited upon at table by the wife of the Emperor Maximus, dressed in the habit of a servant!*

{*There is another story of this bishop to the same point. He was dining with the emperor on a similar occasion, when the latter handed him his goblet, requesting him to drink first. Martin ostentatiously complied; but before returning the goblet to the emperor, he passed it to his own chaplain, remarking that princes and potentates were below the dignity of priests and bishops.}

An ambition for distinction in the church was also consuming the energies of many less gifted Christians, and to meet this a host of new functionaries had been introduced; so that we begin to hear of sub-deacons, readers, attendants, acolyths, exorcists, and doorkeepers. But beyond all this, the worship of images and invocation of saints had become common; and the persecution of one Nestorius for objecting to the term "Mother of God" as applied to the Virgin Mary, told, but too plainly, whither the church was drifting.

It was out of this confusion and manifest declension on all sides that Monachism arose. Antony, a native of Coma, in Upper Egypt, has the doubtful honour of being the first monk. Hermits had existed before him, but he was the first to adopt the life of the cloister, and to retire absolutely from the world. It is said that he was led to this step when quite a youth, by hearing those words of the Saviour, "Sell all thou hast and distribute unto the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven." He shortly after disposed of his property, and retired to a tomb, in which he remained immured ten years. Here he became famous for his piety and asceticism, and many from all classes resorted to him. Afterwards he retired to a ruined castle near the Red Sea, where he remained other twenty years. An early historian informs us, that "his sustenance was bread only, and salt but his drink was water; and his meal-time the setting sun. Yet he oftentimes staid fasting two days and more. But he kept ever watchful (following the Saviour's words, 'What I say unto you, I say unto all, Watch'), whole nights as one might say, and was intent upon prayer until day. But if haply he even tasted of sleep, he slept a little instant upon a mat, but generally on the ground, making the same bare ground his pillow; moreover he was particularly gentle, and most humane, and discreet, and courageous; agreeable to those that met and talked with him, and inoffensive to those with whom he disputed." There is little doubt that Antony was a true Christian, and when the persecution under Maximus broke out he proved his devotion to the Lord by coming from his retirement and sharing in the dangers of his brethren: but the storm had no sooner subsided than he disappeared, and found a new seclusion in the cave of some lofty mountain. His last appearance was in the year 352, when the spread of Arianism once more called him from his retirement. He was then a hundred years old, and the rumour of his re-appearance attracted thousands to Alexandria. His influence was immense, Arianism received a severe check, and many conversions resulted from his visit to the city. He died in the year 356, at the advanced age of one hundred and five years.

Monachism spread with the reputation of St. Antony, and before the close of the century all the waste places of the christian world were dotted over with monasteries. Pachomius drew together a little colony of monks on the island of Tabenne, where they were distinguished from the rest by their linen tunics and black frocks: Ammon drew together another and larger colony in the hilly desert of Nitria; Macarius another, in the vast solitude of Scetis. Hilarion established several colonies in Syria; Sabas, the celebrated monastery of Mar Seba, in Palestine; and Basil, of Cappadocia, introduced the ascetic profession into Asia Minor. The contentious Jerome, while secretary to the bishop of Rome, established several monasteries in the western empire, and St. Martin, abbot-bishop of Tours, furthered his labours by founding similar retreats in Gaul.

Until the close of the fifth century, all these widely-scattered institutions were under the control of the bishops; and the monks, in spite of their great reputation and growing wealth, were only recognised as laymen by the churches. Leo I. expressly forbade them to engage in any priestly offices, or to become the religious instructors of the people; although, on the other hand, the monasteries were looked upon as schools and nurseries for the ministry. This apparent inconsistency may be accounted for by the fact, that monks who had been ordained, "immediately quitted the cloister and engaged in the duties of the secular clergy." At the close of the fifth century, however, they appealed to the Pope of Rome, and requested permission to place themselves under his protection, a request which he was ready enough to grant, being well acquainted with their wealth and influence. Thus it was that monasteries, abbeys, priories and nunneries became subject to the See of Rome.

The establishment of convents of nuns during the fourth century was owing greatly to the activity of the monk Pachomius, of whom we have already spoken; and before his death there were no fewer than 27,000 such recluses in Egypt alone.

But even the rigid mortifications and ascetic habits of a monastic life were not sufficient in all cases; and the absurd lengths to which some deluded victims of Satan were encouraged to go, almost exceeds belief. Thus Simeon, a monk of Syria, passing from one step of fanaticism to another, erected a pillar six cubits high (each cubit being eighteen inches), and dwelt on it four years. On a second of twelve cubits high (eighteen feet) he lived three years; on a third of twenty-two cubits (thirty-three feet), ten years; and on a fourth of forty cubits, or sixty feet high, which the people built for him, he spent the last twenty years of his life.

And even this insanity had imitators, for after Simeon's death, a sect of men arose, who made similar erections for themselves, and gloried in the name of "Pillar-men."

Chapter 8.

The Dawn of the Thyatira Period.

A.D. 500-600.

With the sixth century begins the Thyatira period of the church's history; in other words, the popery of the dark ages. It carries us on to the time of the Reformation, although, of course, Romanism itself goes on to the end. It is a time of growing darkness around, but of growing devotedness among real saints — on the whole, an intensely solemn epoch in the history of Christendom. In glancing for a moment at the beginning of this new period, it is necessary that we retrace our steps.

In the year 313, the first edict in favour of Christianity was published. Constantine had entered into a secret alliance with Licinius, to accomplish the overthrow of the usurper Maximus; and he used the occasion to induce Licinius to revoke the persecuting edicts of Diocletian, and to unite with him in framing a new edict in favour of Christianity. Licinius consented, and when the two emperors met at Milan, they drew up the famous Edict of Milan, sometimes called the Magna Charta of Christendom. It was a proclamation of universal toleration, and contained, among other things, the following important sentences: "We have thus granted the Christians a free and absolute liberty of exercising their religion. And not only is this liberty absolutely granted to them, but all others who wish for it have also the privilege allowed them of following their own religious profession." "Also, that as to any of the places of worship where the Christians were accustomed formerly to convene, if they shall have been purchased by any person, either from our exchequer, or from any one else, they shall restore the same to the said Christians without fee or demand of the price paid for them, and without impediment or evasion." The church welcomed with extravagant joy this sudden turn in her affairs, and, in the blindness of excessive gratitude, withdrew the confidence which belonged to her Head in heaven, and nestled comfortably down under the wing of the Roman eagle. Yet there could never be a complete amalgamation of the two parties. One or the other must assume the pre-eminence, and for awhile the church was content to take the lower place. The gold had but just emerged from the furnace, and could afford to remain awhile amongst the ashes, whatever might be the future that awaited it.

With the death of Constantine, however, the strife for supremacy commenced; and the bishops of Rome, as a preliminary step, boldly put forth their claims to universal government in the church, as the successors of St. Peter. It seems, indeed, to have been a growing belief among Christians, that St. Peter was the founder of the Roman see; and when Leo I. asserted, that "the apostle was called Petra, the rock, by which he is constituted the foundation," and admonished the brethren "to acknowledge that he is the primate of all bishops, and that Christ, who denieth His gifts to none, yet giveth unto none except through him," he found thousands who were ready to receive the statement, and to listen submissively to the admonition.

These pretensions would certainly have surprised the early bishops of Rome, for the idea of supremacy and apostolic succession never entered their heads. Indeed, it is a significant fact that, though their names are known in history, the order in which they succeeded each other is not known, and their histories — if ever they were written — have been lost in the mist of ages. True they had a certain pre-eminence, but this was only because of the political importance of the city; and the same pre-eminence was given to the bishops of Antioch and Alexandria. Indeed, these three cities were respectively the capitals of the European, the Asiatic, and the African divisions of the empire, and it was for this sufficient reason that their bishops took precedence of the rest. Nearly a century and a half later, Gregory the Great (the pope whose history we are about to consider) acknowledged an equality of rank in the three bishops; a fact which shews how far the roots of the papacy were removed from the primitive sources of Christianity. In the course of an epistle to the bishop of Alexandria he says, "And thus, though the apostles may be many, yet the see of the chief of the apostles (which belongs to me though it is in three places) prevailed in authority solely by virtue of his (Peter's) chiefship. For it is he which exalted the see (Rome) on which he condescended to take his rest and finish the present life. It is he who adorned the see (Alexandria), to which he sent the evangelist, his disciple. It is he who established the see (Antioch) in which he sat for seven years, though he was to leave it." In another letter to the same bishop, who had addressed him as "Universal Pope," he says, "I pray your most sweet holiness to address me no more with the proud appellation of 'Universal Pope,' since that which is given to another beyond what reason requires is subtracted from yourself. If you style me 'Universal Pope,' you deny that you are at all that which you own me to be universally. Away with words which puff up vanity and wound charity." These quotations, however carry us somewhat in advance of our subject, which is rather to prove the progress of the apostasy, than the feeble efforts of pious popes to avert it.

The sixth century was extremely favourable to the growth of the papal power, for, with the exception of Justinian, the emperors had neither the ability nor energy, even if they had the inclination, to oppose its pretensions. As for Justinian, though he loved to dabble in ecclesiastical affairs, his attention was concentrated in the East, and he found enough to occupy his mind in the endless and stormy controversies of his bishops. He was orthodox to the last degree, and tried by every means to suppress heresy; often neglecting the affairs of state to prosecute this hopeless end. By his command the schools of philosophy, which had flourished for centuries at Athens, were closed, and Pagans were everywhere prohibited from holding public offices: yet the wisdom of the prohibition is more than doubtful, as it led to the greatest hypocrisy, and many adopted the christian profession for purposes of worldly advancement. Moreover, this act of the emperor, combined with the discouragement given to profane learning at a later period by Gregory the Great, led to that decay of learning which produced such lamentable results in the Dark Ages.

Gregory was the only pope of any note during this century; and his character may be taken as typical of most of the pious prelates of his time. It presents a strange mixture of meekness and assumption; of simple piety and extravagant superstition; of self-denial and priestly-ambition; of mildness and intolerance; of personal purity and ecclesiastical corruptness. Looked at as Gregory the man, there is much — very much — to inspire respect and affection; looked at as Gregory the pope, he is the haughty, intolerant, deluded ecclesiastic which every occupier of the papal chair must be.

Yet it is gratifying to add, that Gregory's elevation to the see of Rome was not a distinction of his own seeking. The position was forced upon him by the clamorous desire of the people, who loved and respected him for his fervent piety and self-denying attentions to the poor. His previous history conclusively shews, that he shrank from worldly recognition and applause.

On the death of his father, who was a senator of Rome and the grandson of pope Felix, he succeeded to an ample fortune. But Gregory was not the man to settle down in selfish ease and enjoyment. He received his riches as the steward of God, and six monasteries presently arose in Sicily as the witnesses of his faithful stewardship. He also devoted his own mansion at Rome to similar purposes, and from that moment entered upon the monastic life himself. From the lowest order of monks, whose most menial duties he considered not beneath his dignity, he gradually rose to the position of abbot in his own monastery; where he spent his time in prayerful study of the scriptures and the most self-denying exercises. It must have been about this time that that pleasing incident occurred, the circumstances of which are so familiar to English readers. We refer to Gregory's visit to the slave market, when his attention was arrested by the beautiful faces of two English boys, who were offered there for sale. Being informed from whence the children came, and that the inhabitants of our island were all heathen, he exclaimed, "Alas! that the prince of darkness should possess forms of such loveliness! That such beauty of countenance should want that better beauty of soul!" and when he heard that they were called Angles, he added, "call them angels rather, for they have angelic faces, and it is a thousand pities that they are not partakers of the glory that shall be revealed before the angels of God." He then inquired, "to what province do they belong," and being told Deira, "Surely," said he, they must be rescued de ira" — from the wrath of God "and called to the mercy of Christ." The missionary zeal of Gregory was roused by this trifling incident, and he obtained the pope's permission to proceed to England: but he was not three days on his journey before he was summoned to return. The affection of the people had proved stronger than their self-denial, and they had 'risen in pious mutiny' to demand his recall.

After this Gregory was not permitted to return to his monastery, and when the pope Pelagius died, in the year 590, he was elected, though much against his wish, to fill the vacant chair. Yet in the multiplicity of cares attending his new office, Gregory did not forget the claims of England; and one of the first acts of his pontificate was to equip a band of missionary monks, under Augustine, and despatch them thither. They landed at Thanet a few months later, but found on their arrival that the gospel had been already planted in the country, and that many of the people were converted. The queen of Ethelbert (a daughter of Clotaire I., king of France) was one of these; and owing to her powerful influence the monks were kindly received, and a great gospel work began.

When and under what circumstances the gospel was first introduced to the country is not certainly known; but it is probable that even in the apostles' day the light had penetrated; and there are reasons for believing that the "Claudia," of Paul's second epistle to Timothy, was the daughter of a British king. Be that as it may, it is beyond question, that the gospel had been preached in all the British Islands long before Augustine and his monks arrived. The following facts will prove this.

As regards England — in addition to the testimony of christian writers of the second century that there were professors of Christianity in every country known to the Romans — we have the information, that several bishops from England were present at the general council of the fourth century; though the withdrawal of the Roman troops about this time almost neutralised their former influence and importance. Indeed, as is well known, the departure of these forces opened the north of England to the Picts and Scots, who invaded the country year after year, spreading desolation in all directions. It was then, too, that the British chiefs, perplexed and harassed by the repeated incursions of these invincible freebooters, appealed to the Saxons for assistance. The Saxons responded to the call, but having fulfilled the purpose for which they had been invited, displayed no willingness to return. On the contrary, they invited reinforcements from the North, who poured in upon the Island in overwhelming numbers; so that the Britons began to find, that in escaping from one danger they had fallen into a worse. These Saxon and Angle invaders were Pagans, merciless and cruel in warfare, and their hatred to Christianity was evidenced by the zeal with which they sought to exterminate it. Some Christians, however, contrived to escape with their lives, and took refuge among the mountains and rocky fastnesses of Wales and Cornwall, where they were permitted to remain without much molestation till the arrival of Augustine with his monks.

Ireland and Scotland were likewise favoured with the gospel long before the preaching of Gregory's mission; the former by the labours of Patrick, a Scotchman, who had been captured by pirates and sold as a slave in the sister country; the latter by the labours of an Irishman named Columba, some century and a half later. Thus the apostle of Ireland was a Scotchman, and the apostle of Scotland was an Irishman. Both these missionaries seem to have been exceptionally pious and enlightened men, a fact which is the more noteworthy when we consider the times in which they lived. We can only briefly refer to them in these pages.

St. Patrick was converted during the six years of his captivity, through calling to remembrance some passage from the Scriptures, which he had learnt at his mother's knee, in his home on the Clyde. He thus alludes to the event: "I was sixteen years old, and knew not the true God; but in that strange land the Lord opened my unbelieving eyes, and, although late, I called my sins to mind, and was converted with my whole heart to the Lord my God, who regarded my low estate, had pity on my youth and ignorance, and consoled me as a father consoles his children." St. Patrick's real name was Succat, but when he started on his missionary journey to Ireland it was changed to Patrick, to signify his patrician descent: in addition to this he was ordained bishop of the Irish before setting out, by his uncle, the famous Martin of Tours. His labours in the gospel were amazing, and Ireland presently became the most enlightened country of Western Christendom; nor did she acknowledge the supremacy of Rome till the middle of the twelfth century.*

{*Scotland was also independent of the Roman see till about this time.}

Columba, who left the island with a band of twelve monks in the year 565, reached the Hebrides and landed at Mull, a barren rock to the south of the basaltic caverns of Staffa. The island of Iona was adopted as their home, and from thence, a few years later, the gospel penetrated to the mainland. For centuries after, the humble monastery of Iona was the most famous for learning and piety among all the monasteries of the western world. South of the Grampians, Palladius and Niman appear to have laboured with success; the former was sent by pope Celestine, in the year 431, to the Christians of Scotland — some say, to refute the errors of Pelagius. Of Niman little or nothing is now known.*

{*The monks of Scotland were called Culdees, and three explanations are given for the origin of the name. 1. That it is an abbreviation of Cultores Dei, worshippers of God. 2. That it is derived from the Gaelic expression Celi-de, servants of God. 3. That it is derived from the Gaelic Cuil or Ceal, a sheltered place or retreat.}

Judging by the number of converts, the mission of Gregory was a success; for it is said that no fewer than ten thousand heathens were baptised on Christmas Day of the year 597. More missionaries followed as the result of this success, and with them a host of Romish toys and ornaments; including the pallium which was to invest Augustine as Archbishop of Canterbury. The haughty spirit of the monk-missionary was fearlessly displayed on his elevation to this new dignity; and when a conference of British and Roman clergy was held by the river Severn a few weeks later, he boldly required of the former an acknowledgment of the universal supremacy of the Bishop of Rome, and conformity to the ritual of the Latin church. But the British clergy, who traced their reception of Christianity from the east and not from Rome, steadily refused the demand. Augustine argued, but he argued in vain. The people were firm, though peaceable; and their quiet demeanour irritated the monk. At last he wrathfully exclaimed, If you will not receive brethren who bring you peace, you shall receive enemies who bring you war. If you will not unite with us in shewing the Saxons the way of life, you shall receive from them the stroke of death." The prediction had its fulfilment shortly after his death; when 1250 monks of Bangor were slaughtered in cold blood by the army of Edelfrid. Some say that Augustine connived at the bloody deed, and was actually preparing for it during the closing days of his life; but the affair is shrouded in mystery, and we will gladly hope otherwise.

This rapid glance at the missionary labours of the past three centuries would not be complete without the mention of two other famous evangelists, Columbanus and St. Gall. They sailed together from Ireland, about the year 590, with a colony of monks, and landed in Gaul. Refusing the invitation of Gontran, king of Burgundy, to settle in his dominions, they obtained permission to encamp among the barren mountains of the Vosges, where for many months they were content to subsist on the coarsest food — the berries, barks of trees, and wild honey which the forest afforded — and to live in logwood cabins and mud huts. But their work was owned of God, and through their instrumentality the gospel spread through Lorraine, Switzerland, and Northern Italy: while many souls were converted, and monasteries sprung up in all directions. St. Gall is now honoured as the apostle of Switzerland.

Yet, say what we will of the missionary zeal of this period, things were growing darker on all sides, and the corrupting power of Rome was alarmingly on the increase. The simplicity of Christian worship was continually suffering by fresh innovations, and more than one new doctrine of a questionable character had crept into the church. It was in the time of Gregory that the abominable notion of purgatory was first mooted. He himself spoke of "purification by a fiery probation as a settled fact;" little thinking that this heathenish figment would be made the ground, in future years, for the sale of indulgences. Yet his thoughts on the subject were only vague: almost as vague indeed, as the speculations of Augustine, who was the first to suggest the doctrine of a middle state. Even to this day there is much uncertainty on the subject with Romish writers; and the visions of purgatory, with which monks and priests have been favoured from time to time, are strangely contradictory. Perhaps the most popular idea is that supplied by Drithelm, who pretends to have made a journey to purgatory on purpose to collect information. He was accompanied by an angelic guide, who conducted him, by way of the rising sun, to a huge valley enclosed on the one side by great furnaces, and on the other by hills of snow and ice. The valley was tenanted by human souls, which a strong wind buffeted from side to side in angry sport; now driving them into the roasting furnaces, and now on to the freezing hills. Here the miserable captives were to remain till the last day, when they would be translated to heaven, unless by means of alms or masses they were released beforehand. It was not however till the superstitious Middle Ages that, these absurd stories were circulated among the credulous.

Most of the religion that was now abroad appealed more to the carnal senses than the spiritual perceptions of men; and in some cases it might have been even described (using the apostle's words) as 'worldly, sensual and devilish.' Those who wished to indulge their love of pleasure under the cloak of religion, could find abundant opportunity on the feast days of the Latin church, which were arranged after the manner of the Lupercalia and other heathen festivals; while the superstitious mind could find every encouragement for its fatal credulity among the wonder-working bones of the saints, or the glittering crucifixes and consecrated candles which adorned the altars. The simplicity of christian worship was buried under the pomp of ritual; and those who went to adore the Lord came away, confessing they had only been dazzled by the priests; indeed, it became a complaint with some, that the celebration of divine service in the churches, was more burdensome than even the Jewish ceremonial could have been. When a presbyter named Vigilantius, a native of Commence, in Aquitaine, had had the boldness to protest against these innovations, though at a much earlier period, he had incurred the hot displeasure of Jerome, and had been glad to purchase peace by lapsing into silence.

It was, indeed, a sorry day for the poor church; for Jezebel was carrying on her seductions, and none seemed able or willing to withstand her.

Chapter 9.

The Nestorians and Paulicians; with Some Account of the Rise and Spread of Mahometanism.

A.D. 600-700.

The darkness which was gathering over Christendom grew darker as the years rolled on, and towards the beginning of the seventh century the ignorance of the clergy and the superstition of the people had become amazing. The decree of Gregory the Great, discouraging the pursuit and acquisition of profane knowledge, had produced this deplorable result, the extent of which may be imagined by the fact, that many of the clergy were unable to write their own names. The Greek language was almost forgotten; even the Bible was but little read; and the bishops, unable to compose their own discourses, made up for their lack of learning by shameless filchings from the homilies of the fathers. Yet even this was not an unmixed evil; for their lives, in most instances, were so dissolute and bad, that a sermon of their own (granting the ability to write one) must have been either a piece of insincere verbiage, or an impeachment of the moral law and a denial of the gospel. Almost the only literature circulated among the people consisted in the wildest legends of the martyrs (such as would often raise a smile were the subjects trifled with less solemn), and fictitious lives of the saints. Yet these were read with avidity, and people could be found everywhere who were superstitious and ignorant enough to believe them. The pride and avarice of the clergy, which had hitherto been peculiar to their order, had now found its way into the monasteries those institutions which really owed their existence to the efforts of pious men to escape from these very evils and it is no exaggeration to say, that many of these places were literally honeycombed with vice. There were frequent squabbles, too, between the monks and clergy, owing to the encroachments of the latter upon the wide and fertile districts belonging to the monasteries. These districts were unquestionably the property of the monks; it was their industry which had changed them from barren wildernesses into fruitful plantations; and how the clergy contrived to support a claim it is difficult to imagine. The disputes, however, were never settled, for the priests were as insatiable in their avarice as Ahab, and the monks shewed no disposition to suffer joyfully the spoiling of their goods.

Yet this deplorable declension on all sides is not surprising, when we consider the examples of the popes, whose arrogance and impiety seemed daily to increase. Their ambition was unbounded and insatiable, and no means were too base to attain their ends. During the first half of the seventh century, they obtained a great accession of power by means of the usurper Phocas, who had murdered the emperor Maurice and established himself on the throne. For several years prior to this, a strife for supremacy had been raging between the rival bishops of Rome and Constantinople, and Phocas to conciliate the Italians, who of course supported their own bishop, declared in favour of the former. Thus the title of "Universal Bishop" became theirs by imperial authority; and the foundation, upon which all their after pretensions were built, was firmly laid. This had taken place in the previous century, during the pontificate of the first Gregory and the one great blot upon his character in unquestionably this, that he sanctioned the murderous act of Phocas, and openly rejoiced in the tidings of his success.

Her ecclesiastical supremacy thus established, the future popes of Rome began to turn their attention to the temporal advancement of the Papal see and political intriguing began to be a familiar element in the councils of the Vatican. At present the pope of Rome, though Universal Bishop and therefore supreme dictator in the church, was still in subjection to the civil power, and his movements were necessarily much hampered by the arbitrary will of the emperors. He was liable, in common with the meanest citizen, to be arraigned before the civil courts of Rome an event which actually took place in the year 653, when Pope St. Martin was not only brought up before a tribunal of justice, but imprisoned for his offence, and afterwards doomed to perpetual exile.

Those who advocated the temporal claims of Rome were not wanting in arguments, and in later years, when the object of the Papacy was in measure attained, Pope Adrian's reasoning took somewhat this form. If the pope is Christ's vicar on earth, then whatever comes under the dominion of Christ comes under the dominion of the pope: but Christ's kingdom extends over all, therefore the whole world is under the jurisdiction of the pope. It would be interesting to know what Adrian would have made of those words of the divine Founder of Christianity, "My kingdom is not of this world."

However, the occasion for asserting the jurisdiction of Rome in this way was not yet ripe, and she well knew that her first business must be the extension, and, at the same time, the consolidation of her spiritual empire. But this could only be accomplished by the missionary labours of her sons, and hence every facility was offered to evangelising monks and others in the prosecution of their arduous labours. It was of little consequence to Rome whether the gospel was being preached or perverted, whether souls were being born again for eternity or were being led blindfold into hell: all she looked for was converts to her cause, who would acknowledge her supremacy, and yield unquestioning obedience to her wishes. At a later period, when her temporal power also would he established, and the gospel, perhaps, would prove an awkward element in her system, she might take steps to purge it out — but not now. Missionaries, so long as they advocated her claims, might preach anything else they pleased; all she wanted was proselytes for the extension of her spiritual power. Hence it is no matter for surprise that the gospel seed was widely sown in some places even during this period of growing darkness, or that Rome herself sanctioned the labours of her missionary sons.

St. Kilian, a Scotchman, was one of these. He settled at Wurzburg, in the year 685, and carried on his labours under much encouragement. His preaching was widely blessed among the eastern Franks, and the Duke of Thuringia, Gozbert by name, was one of the first to submit to the ordinance of baptism at his hands. But a martyr's death awaited him. He was sacrificed, together with all his monks, to the treachery of Geilana, the sister-in-law of Gozbert, who had been living with the duke as his paramour. The duke had undertaken to dissolve the guilty connection, but during his absence from home the jealous woman ordered the missionary band to be arrested, and having shut them up in a stable, they were beheaded in her presence.

Willibrord, a Northumbrian, was another of those who went out to the heathen under the auspices of Rome. He left England in the year 690, with a band of twelve, and made Friesland the scene of his mission labours. There is a story told of the king of the Frieslanders, Radbod by name, which may have a passing though painful interest for some readers. He had been prevailed upon, after much opposition, to receive baptism; but before going down into the water, he put this question to Willibrord, "What think you, teacher, of my forefathers? Do you suppose the greater number of them to be in paradise, or in the nether world?" On receiving the hesitating answer, "I fear that most of them are in the nether world," he turned abruptly from the water, saying, "Then I think it better that I should go where the greater number of them reside." In the year 696 Willibrord forwarded a report of his successes to Rome, and was consecrated archbishop of Utrecht as a reward for his services.

Of Winifred, the apostle of Germany (canonised under the title of St. Boniface), we must speak in another chapter, as he belongs more strictly to the eighth century, in the history of which he plays an important part.

Yet though St. Kilian, Willibrord and Winifred were the chief preachers sent out by Rome during the seventh century, the missionary records of that period are far from complete with the mention of these men. It is a remarkable fact, that the gospel was preached in its greatest purity by men outside the pale of the Romish church; by men who were stigmatised and anathematised as heretics by the successive occupants of the papal chair. Such were the Nestorians and Paulicians, to whom we now turn with a feeling of pleasure and relief; although the little we know of them is principally derived from their enemies.

In the year 636, the Nestorians* penetrated as far as China, and preached the gospel with great success. An interesting marble monument, sixty feet long and five feet broad, containing a record of their labours, was discovered near Singapore by some Jesuits, in the seventeenth century. The characters inscribed upon it are partly in Syriac and partly in Chinese, and are arranged in twenty-eight parallel columns, each of sixty-two words. In addition to the names of some Nestorian missionaries, the monument contains an account of the introduction of Christianity into the country, and a confession of faith, such as few Christians could object to. The Nestorians laboured on in China till towards the close of the eighth century; when the government grew jealous of their influence, and it is presumed that they were either exterminated or expelled the territory. Others of their missionaries worked their way as far as Persia, Syria, and the Malabar coast, but they do not appear to have penetrated far into the interior of India.

{*The followers of Nestorius, patriarch of Constantinople, mentioned in chapter 7, who maintained the co-existence, but not the union, of the two natures in the person of Christ. It was Nestorius who objected to the term "Mother of God," as applied to the Virgin Mary.}

The origin of the body of Christians called Paulicians is remarkable, and leads us to the first mention of the Mahometans, the founder of whose religion began to formulate his extraordinary doctrines in this century. A certain deacon having been taken prisoner by the Mahometans, contrived to make his escape, and was hospitably received by one Constantine, a Gnostic or Manichean (it is uncertain which) of Samosata. On taking leave of his kind host, the deacon presented him with a manuscript, containing the four Gospels and fourteen epistles of St. Paul; a prayerful perusal of which soon dispelled from his mind whatever Gnostic or Manichean views he might have held, and gave him an earnest desire to see the church restored to that state of simplicity which distinguished it in the apostle's day. Inflamed by this desire, he went abroad preaching the gospel and inveighing against the corrupt and superstitious practices of Rome. He soon drew together a band of devoted followers, the chief of whom he named after the disciples mentioned in Paul's epistles, Timotheus, Titus, Tychicus, and so on. He took for his own name, Sylvanus, and when writing to the Christians of Cibossa, in Armenia, styles them Macedonians a beautiful and harmless allegory surely, but which kindled the jealousy of the catholic party, and was made the excuse for a persecuting edict against them. Constantine and several of his followers were taken prisoners, and the officer charged with the execution of the decree, commanded the latter to stone their pastor to death. But they dropped the stones which had been given them for that purpose: and only one of their number was found base enough to obey the order. This was a youth named Justus, an adopted son of Constantine, who threw his stone with such fatal precision that the martyr fell dead on the spot. The officer, Simeon, was afterwards converted, and actually became the successor of Sylvanus under the name of Titus; thus reminding one of Saul of Tarsus, who was present at the stoning of Stephen, and afterwards preached the truth for which that blessed martyr died. After this event the doctrines which Constantine had been instrumental in reviving spread rapidly, and by the commencement of the next century the Paulicians numbered several thousands. Some of them are believed to have taken refuge in the secluded valleys of the Pays de Vaud; where, shut off by the Alps from the oppression and false worship and superstitions of Rome, they became a bright and happy community; and formed the nucleus of a church from which arose in after years the Waldenses of martyr fame.

What a contrast between this little body of simple worshippers, and that great system of idolatry and corruption which had its centre in Papal Rome! How was the gold become dim! how was the most fine gold changed! (Lam. iv. 1.) But an ordination of judgment had gone out against the guilty church; and a mighty scourge was preparing, with which God was shortly to afflict the millions of Christendom, and to display before the nations His righteous anger.

In the year 612, Mahomet, the false prophet of Arabia, appeared upon the stage of the world's history. He was born in Mecca, a city of Arabia, in the year 569 of the Christian era, and belonged to the noble family of Koreish. Owing to the death of his father when Mahomet was quite a child, the responsibility of his training devolved upon his uncle, Abu Taleb, a merchant of Mecca, with whom he went on various expeditions to Damascus and other parts. During the evening halts of the caravan, Mahomet would listen with rapt attention to the wonder-tales of his companions, who delighted to recount those marvellous legends which had been preserved by the people through years of solitary travel, among silent and deserted valleys: and thus his mind, at an early period, became stored with a host of legendary fancies, which he afterwards turned to practical account in the composition of the Koran. He was of a contemplative turn of mind, and as he grew older began to view, with scornful interest, the conflicting varieties of sects by which he was surrounded, and the prevalence of idolatry and polytheism. A desire now possessed him to found a new sect, which should be distinguished by an absence of idolatry, and which should acknowledge only the one supreme God.

Full of this thought Mahomet retired to a cave near Mecca, where he had for his companions a Persian Jew, well versed in the history and laws of his persuasion, and two professing Christians; and here he commenced the compilation of that incoherent medley of truth and fable, called the Koran or 'Book.' Issuing from his retirement a few months later, he announced his new work to the world, and circulated a report among his friends that he had received it by instalments from the angel Gabriel. At forty years of age he publicly stood forth as the apostle of God, and began to teach the new doctrines; but followers gathered slowly, and he was much persecuted for a time by his kinsmen and brethren. By the end of three years, however, his following had considerably increased; and this turn in the tide of his affairs encouraged him to change his peaceful tactics, and to introduce the sword. But the moment was not ripe for the change, and he was compelled to flee from Mecca in order to save his life. The Mahometan era dates from this event, which is called the Hegira, or Flight. The story is, that being surrounded in his house, he blinded his Koreishite pursuers by scattering a handful of dust in their midst, meanwhile escaping in the confusion. The faithful still point to a passage in the Koran — "We have thrown blindness upon them that they shall not see," — in support of this fable; but it is safer to adopt the opinion of a modern writer,* who says, The most probable account is that he clambered over the wall in the rear of the house by the help of a servant, who bent his back for him to step upon it." Yet from that time the religion spread rapidly, and when Mahomet returned to Mecca some ten years later he was attended by 150,000 followers; and entered the city with regal pomp and magnificence. Having made himself virtually master of Arabia, he retired to Medina, and died A.D. 632, at the age of sixty-three.

{*Washington Irving, in his Life of Mahomet.'}

The fundamental doctrine of Mahometanism is embodied in the well-known dogma of its author, "There is no God but God, and Mahomet is his prophet." "We follow," says the Koran, "the religion of Abraham, the orthodox, who was no idolater. We believe in God, and that which hath been sent down to us, and unto Abraham and Ishmael, Isaac and Jacob, and the tribes." The worship of saints, and the use of paintings and images, were declared to be idolatrous, and are expressly forbidden in the Koran; while fastings, prayers, pilgrimages, frequent washings, and almsgiving are insisted upon. The following is the Mussalmans' creed, as taught in their schools at the present day. "I believe in the books which have been delivered from heaven and the prophets. In this manner was the Koran given to Mahomet, the Pentateuch to Moses, the Psalter to David, and the Gospel to Jesus. I believe in the prophets, and the miracles they have performed. Adam was the first prophet, and Mahomet was the last. I believe that for the space of fifty thousand years the righteous shall repose under the shade of the terrestrial paradise, and the wicked shall be exposed naked to the burning rays of the sun. I believe in the bridge Sirat, which passes over the bottomless pit of hell. It is as fine as a hair, and as sharp as a sabre. All must pass over it, and the wicked shall be thrown off. I believe in the water-pools of paradise. Each of the prophets has in paradise a basin for his own use; the water is whiter than milk, and sweeter than honey. On the ridges of the pools are vessels to drink out of, and they are bordered with stars. I believe in heaven and in hell. The inhabitants of the former know no want, and the houris* who attend them are never afflicted with sickness. The floor of paradise is musk, the stones are silver, and the cement gold. The damned are, on the contrary, tormented with fire, and by voracious and poisonous animals."

{*A houri, among the Mahometans, is a nymph of Paradise.}

All this pitiful nonsense had, perhaps, been better passed over in silence; but the crying sin of the great impostor remains to be spoken of. Mahomet denied the divinity of Christ. Whatever else he had to say of Him can be of little moment to the Christian — Mahomet's deepest, blackest crime was this he denied the divinity of Christ. By this he has wrecked the eternal hopes of millions of the human race; and for this he will be judged hereafter.

One of his last acts was to place his banner in the hands of a youthful general, named Osama, a son of Zeid, who had been one of the prophet's most devoted adherents; charging him to fight valiantly, till all who denied the unity of God had been swept from the earth. How far this charge was carried out may be gathered from the fact, that by the close of the seventh century his disciples had obtained military possession of Persia, Syria, the greater part of central and western Asia, of Egypt, the northern coast of Africa, and Spain. Their further history, in so far as it affects the history of Christianity, belongs to future chapters; though before we return to them, we must cast our eyes in a different quarter, and trace the onward course of another giant evil.

Chapter 10.

Romish Idolatry and the Growth of the Papal Power.

A.D. 700-800.

While the Saracens or Arabs were carrying their conquests through Asia and northern Africa, and planting the standard of Mahomet where the cross had hitherto been seen, the servants of the gospel and of Rome were not idle in the west. St. Winifred, an Englishman of noble birth, belonging to the Benedictine order of monks, a superstitious but christian man, laboured indefatigably in Hesse and Thuringia, and was afterwards consecrated bishop Boniface (or Bonifacius, a doer of good) by the pope. The barbarians of Thuringia had hitherto worshipped the Germanic gods, Thor, Wodin, Friga, Seator, Tuisco and others, besides those which were peculiar to their immediate province. They expressed the greatest faith in their religion, and their priests (who resembled the Druids in our own country) were treated

with every reverence. These ministers of idolatry laid claim to all kinds of miraculous power, and inspired the awe of the people by the skilfulness of their impostures. An instance of this may be seen in the construction of the god Pusterich, a hollow brazen image three feet in height, which, after being plugged at the mouth, was secretly filled with water; a fire was then kindled beneath it, and the water, expanding as it boiled, drove out the plugs, and spurted a scalding shower over the awe-stricken worshippers.

With dauntless courage Winifred went about amongst the people, exposing the impostures of the priests and the hollowness of their religion; nor did he scruple to lay his axe at the roots of the sacred oak in which the supreme deity was supposed to dwell, although the priests vehemently protested, and the deluded multitude expected he would be struck dead for his impiety. When the giant tree had fallen to the earth, and Winifred quietly proceeded to saw it into planks for building purposes, the minds of many were convinced, and in an incredibly short space of time the whole of Thuringia and Hesse had become professedly christian.

Yet the light of the gospel in these parts was sadly clouded by the errors and superstitions of popery; and it is but too probable that the zeal of Boniface was more the result of devotion to Rome than of devotion to Christ. The churches that were built by his sanction and direction were more noticeable for their images than their evangelists and teachers; and the sign of the cross was more familiar to the eye, than the preaching of the cross to the ear. The relics of the saints were more freely distributed than copies of the Scriptures; and it would not be going too far to affirm that, in many instances, the so-called converts from heathenism had only changed the form of their idolatry. Doubtless there were cases of true conversion, but it is certain that many of the professing Christians were Christians only by compulsion; and Alcuin, the Saxon historian, tells us that "the ancient Saxons, and all the Frieslanders, being urged to it by King Charles (Charles Martel, grandfather of Charlemagne), who plied some of them with rewards and others with threats, were converted to the christian faith."

But the idolatry of which we have been speaking, was not peculiar to Hesse and Thuringia. It had increased to an alarming extent throughout Christendom, where the wildest excesses of superstition were indulged in. Lighted candles were placed before the images in many of the churches; they were kissed by the people; they were worshipped on bended knee. The priests burned incense to them, and encouraged the popular delusion that they could work miracles. Indeed, so far did this mania possess some, that they dressed the female figures in robes and made them stand godmothers to their children. During the pontificate of the first Gregory, Serenus, a bishop of Marseilles, had had the courage to prohibit these abominable practices, and had destroyed a number of images, but Gregory had only reproved him for his faithfulness. "We have been apprised," he wrote, "that animated by an inconsiderate zeal, you have broken in pieces the images of the saints, on the plea that they ought not to be adored. In truth, we should have entirely approved of your conduct, had you forbidden their being adored, but we blame you for having broken them in pieces For it is one thing to adore a painting, and another to learn by its history the proper object of adoration." In this insidious way had the leaven been allowed to work, and we may be sure that the nice distinctions drawn by Gregory in this letter, would not long be observed by his less scrupulous successors: while, on the other hand, the countenance which he had given to the detestable practice would be loudly insisted upon, and the extent of it much exaggerated.

In the year 726, Leo III., emperor of the East, alarmed by the progress of the Mahometans — whose avowed object was to exterminate idolatry and assert the unity of God — began in his own interest a spirited crusade against image-worship: and the zeal which he displayed in this novel work, presently earned for him the name of Iconoclastes, or image-breaker.

The reception of his first edict shewed how totally the people were opposed to his work of reformation, and civil war was the result. On the appearance of a second and more sweeping edict, an officer who had been commissioned bv Leo to destroy a noted statue of the Saviour, called the Antiphonetes, or Surety, was surrounded by a crowd of women, who begged him to spare the image. The officer, however, mounted the ladder, and was proceeding in the work of destruction, when he was dragged from his elevation and torn in pieces. Nothing daunted by this event, Leo promptly punished the authors of the crime; and, sending more officers to the spot, the image was taken down and demolished.

The rebellion which followed was speedily suppressed in the eastern empire, by the expeditious but bloody measures of the emperor, who authorised a persecution, but the Italians were not so easily subdued. They looked upon the act with horror and indignation; and when orders were issued to put the same edict in force in their country, they rose in a body, and declared that their oath of allegiance to the emperor was no longer binding. Thus was brought about the final separation between the Latin and Greek churches. The papal power had long been waiting for it; and Gregory II. saw his opportunity, and took every advantage of the popular excitement. His reply to the edict, which is full of menace and blasphemy, abounds with the most absurd statements, and shews an ignorance of the scriptures which would bring disgrace upon a child. By a strange confusion of names, he confounds the godless Uzziah with the godly Hezekiah, observing that "the impious Uzziah sacrilegiously removed the brazen serpent, which Moses had set up, and broke it in pieces!"* His letter, however, is interesting, as shewing the seditious and defiant spirit in which the bishop of Rome could meet his imperial master, as well as the consciousness of growing political power which swelled the breast of the haughty ecclesiastic. "During ten pure and fortunate years," thus the epistle begins, "we have tasted the annual comforts of your royal letters, subscribed in purple ink with your own hand, the sacred pledges of your attachment to the orthodox creed of your fathers. How deplorable is the change! How tremendous the scandal! You now accuse the catholics of idolatry; and by the accusation, you betray your own impiety and ignorance. To this ignorance we are compelled to adopt the grossness of our style and arguments: the first elements of holy letters are sufficient for your confusion; and were you to enter a grammar school, and avow yourself the enemy of our worship, the simple and pious children would cast their tablets at your head.... You demand a council: — revoke your edicts; cease to destroy images; a council will not be needed. You assault us, O tyrant, with a carnal and military band; unarmed and naked, we can only implore the Christ, the Prince of the heavenly host, that He will send unto you a devil, for the destruction of your body and the salvation of your soul." Alluding then to the successful efforts of Boniface, the apostle of Germany, who had brought the barbarous hordes of that country within the pale of Rome, he says: "Incapable as you are of defending your Roman subjects, the maritime situation of the city may perhaps expose it to your depredations; but we have only to retire to the first fortress of the Lombards, and then you may as well pursue the winds. Are you ignorant that the popes are the bonds of union, the mediators of peace between the east and west? The eyes of the nations are fixed on our humility; and they revere as a god upon earth, the apostle St. Peter, whose image you threaten to destroy .... The remote and interior kingdom of the west present their homage to Christ and His vicegerent; and we now prepare to visit one of their most powerful monarchs, who desires to receive from our hands the sacrament of baptism. The barbarians have submitted to the yoke of the gospel, while you alone are deaf to the voice of the Shepherd. These pious barbarians are kindled into rage; they thirst to avenge the persecutions of the east. Abandon your rash and fatal enterprise; reflect, tremble and repent. If you persist, we are innocent of the blood that will be spilt in the contest; may it fall on your head." The pope then ventures the lying assertion, that the emperor's conduct in abolishing image-worship is "in direct contradiction to the unanimous testimony of the fathers and doctors of the church, and, in particular, repugnant to the authority of the six general councils;" an assertion which has drawn from a Roman Catholic historian this remark: "In none of the general councils does a word about images or image-worship occur, and the statement as to the unanimous testimony of the fathers is equally at fault."

{*A century later, Agobard, archbishop of Lyons, who knew his Bible better than Gregory II., adduced very different arguments from the king's act. "If Hezekiah," says he, "a godly and religious king, brake the brazen serpent, made by God's express command, because the mistaken multitude began to worship it as an idol for which his piety was very much commended; much more religiously may and ought the images of the saints (they themselves approving it) be broken and ground to powder; which were never set up by God's command, but are absolutely human inventions."}

The charge of absurdity which we have brought against this letter is fully borne out by the pope's further statement, that no sooner had the disciples cast their eyes on Christ "than they hastened to make portraits of Him, and carried them about, exhibiting them to the whole world, that, at the sight of them, men might be converted from the worship of Satan to the service of Christ:" and furthermore, that "pictures and images had been taken of James, the Lord's brother, of Stephen, and all other saints of note. And so having done, he dispersed them over every part of the earth, to the manifest increase of the gospel cause."

Gregory died soon after, but he was succeeded by another Gregory; a man of equal zeal and wickedness, who summoned a council of bishops, at which the arrogant pretensions of his predecessor were confirmed. Ninety-three bishops and all the clergy of the city were present on this occasion and signed a decree, that, "If any person should hereafter, in contempt of the ancient and faithful customs of all Christians, and of the apostolic church in particular, stand forth as a destroyer, defamer, or blasphemer of the sacred images of our God and Lord Jesus Christ, and of His mother, the immaculate ever-Virgin Mary, of the blessed apostles, and all other saints, he be excluded from the body and blood of the Lord, and from the communion of the universal church."

Roused by the insolence of this pope, Leo fitted out a fleet, and dispatched it to the coast of Italy, but it was disabled during a storm in the Adriatic and had to put back to port. Both pope and emperor died soon after in the year 741, and it might have been expected that the matter would now rest. But no. The iconoclastic views of Leo, as well as his crown, descended to his son,* and the crusade against image-worship was continued with unabated vigour during his long reign of thirty-four years. The emperor** who succeeded him in the year 775 was also guided by the same principles and policy, but his reign was of short duration, and, in the year 780, the reins of empire fell into the hands of his wife, the empress Irene, who held them in the name of their son*** a child of ten. This was the signal for a change of policy; and the empress uniting with the pope, immediately took measures for the restoration of image-worship; a step which was warmly welcomed both by priests and people. A council was summoned at Nice (the seventh and last general council according to the Greek church), and it was resolved, that "with the venerable and life-giving cross shall be set up the venerable and holy images. . . . . The images, that is to say, of our God and Saviour Jesus Christ; of the immaculate mother of God; of the honoured angels; of all saints and holy men — these images shall be treated as holy memorials, worshipped, kissed, only without that peculiar adoration which is reserved for the Invisible, Incomprehensible God. All who shall violate this, as is asserted, immemorial tradition of the church, and endeavour, forcibly or by craft, to remove any image, if ecclesiastics, are to be deposed and excommunicated; if monks or laymen, to be excommunicated." A curse was afterwards pronounced on all who refused obedience to this blasphemous decree, and the assembled clergy exclaimed with one voice, "Anathema on all who call images idols! Anathema on all who communicate with them who do not worship images. Everlasting glory to the orthodox Romans, to John of Damascus! to Gregory of Rome everlasting glory! Everlasting glory to all the preachers of truth!" "This seventh and last council," says Dean Waddington, "established idolatry as the law of the christian church: and thus was completed the structure of oriental orthodoxy. It rose from the most solid and substantial foundation; it advanced, by the labours of a busy and unwise generation, through the mid-air and mist of metaphysics, and terminated in a still blinder age, in clear and manifest superstition."

{*Constantine Copronymus (Constantine v.).

{** Leo iv.: who was murdered by his wife, the empress Irene.

***Constantine vi.: afterwards murdered by his mother, the empress Irene.}

But the activity of the Iconoclasts was not the only matter which agitated the Romish church during this century. There were enemies of another kind, and nearer the walls of Rome, which caused her much annoyance and anxiety; although these very circumstances became, in due time, the means whereby her worldly and ambitious projects — the cherished dreams of many years — were effectually carried out. These enemies were the Lombards, who had taken advantage of the late troubles to seize on the exarchate of Ravenna, and were now threatening Rome itself.

In this dilemma the pope appealed to Pepin, king of the Franks, a man who was under no slight obligations to the Papal see. He had formerly held the office of mayor of the palace to Childeric III., surnamed the Stupid, the last monarch of the Merovingian line, and had virtually ruled the kingdom in his stead. Finding, however, that the responsibilities of government, without the compensating title of king were thankless and wearisome, and yet afraid to usurp the throne without the sanction of a higher authority, he had appealed to the pope. Zachary then occupied the papal chair, and the onerous and delicate task of negociating between the two parties, had devolved upon Boniface, who was then staying at the Frankish court. He was anxious to serve the powerful Pepin, and not less anxious to serve the pope, whose temporal interests, he well knew, would be greatly advanced were he to sanction the guilty act. Zachary, therefore previously apprised by Boniface of what would be expected from him — had been waited upon in due course by ambassadors from Pepin's court, who had proposed to him the following inquiry "Whether the divine law did not permit a valiant and warlike people to dethrone a pusillanimous and indolent monarch, who was incapable of discharging any of the functions of royalty, and to substitute in his place one more worthy of rule, and who had already rendered most important services to the state?" To this naively worded inquiry, Zachary (unwilling to commit himself too readily) had returned the following ambiguous yet sufficient answer, "He who lawfully possesses the royal power may also lawfully assume the royal title." This was all that Pepin had waited for, and his course was clear. Childeric was shut up in a monastery, and the usurper having been anointed king by Boniface, was crowned with great honour at Soissons, in the year 752.

This had proved a stroke of true diplomacy on the part of the pope; for now that Rome was being threatened by the barbarians, under Astolph, king of the Lombards, his successor Stephen II. had a powerful ally to fall back upon in the person of the Frankish monarch. His first appeal for assistance was promptly responded to by Pepin, who marched his army across the Alps, defeated the Lombards, and handed over to the pope the exarchate which he had recovered from their grasp. This belonged in right to the throne of Constantinople, but Pepin declared that he "had not gone to battle for the sake of any man, but for the sake of St. Peter alone, and to obtain the forgiveness of his sins."

The donation thus made formed the nucleus of the temporal dominions of the pope, and was the foundation of the temporal power.

Yet it soon became evident that the donation of Pepin needed confirmation; for he had scarcely returned to France when the barbarians again poured in upon the territory, and wrested it from its new owners. Flushed with success, and meeting with little or no opposition they again approached the city, exulting and confident. Meanwhile, two pleading letters, which the pope had hurriedly addressed to Pepin, had been disregarded, and matters began to look alarming. What was to be done? Resting all his hopes on a final effort, Stephen wrote a third letter, and worded it as from the apostle Peter himself. We transcribe it for the reader without comment; the letter must speak for itself.

"I, Peter the apostle, protest, admonish and conjure you, the most christian kings, Pepin, Charles and Carloman, with all the hierarchy, bishops, abbots, priests and all monks; all judges, dukes, counts, and the whole people of the Franks. The mother of God likewise adjures you, and admonishes and commands you, she as well as the thrones and dominions, and all the host of heaven, to save the beloved city of Rome from the detested Lombards. If ye hearken, I, Peter the apostle, promise you my protection in this life and in the next, will prepare you for the most glorious mansions in heaven, and will bestow on you the everlasting joys of paradise. Make common cause with my people of Rome, and I will grant whatever ye may pray for. I conjure you not to yield up this city to be lacerated and tormented by the Lombards, lest your own souls be lacerated and tormented in hell, with the devil and his pestilential angels. Of all nations under heaven the Franks are highest in the esteem of St. Peter; to me you owe all your victories. Obey, and obey speedily; and by my suffrage, our Lord Jesus Christ will give you in this life length of days, security, victory; in the life to come, will multiply His blessings upon you, among His saints and angels."

This letter may recall to some another letter — the epistle to the Thessalonians wherein the apostle speaks of a falling away, and a man of sin to be revealed, the son of perdition, "who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God or that is worshipped; so that he as God, sitteth in the temple of God, shewing himself that he is God"! (2 Thess. ii. 3, 4.)

Responding to this third letter, Pepin set out with his army, and speedily succeeded in driving the barbarians back to their own country. He died soon after, in the year 768, and Charlemagne, his son, succeeded him. The Lombards now began a third invasion of the papal territory; and the pope, finding his throne again in danger, sent out another appeal to the Frankish court. Charlemagne willingly responded, and on Easter Eve he entered Rome with his army. Here a grand reception was accorded him. The streets were thronged with applauding multitudes the clergy were there with crosses and banners; the children of the schools went before him with palm and olive branches. As he approached the church of St. Peter, hymns of welcome broke upon his ear, and dismounting from his horse, he finished the journey on foot. On being introduced into the presence of the pope, he slowly mounted the papal throne, kissing each step as he proceeded. After that he kissed the pope also, and the ceremony of the reception was over, During his stay in the city, he confirmed the donation of Pepin, and increased it; the further grant embracing the dukedoms of Spoleto and Benevento, Venetia, Istria, and other territory to the north of Italy, together with the island of Corsica. Charlemagne remained in Rome through the Easter festivities, and then rejoined his army. It is almost needless to add, that success attended his arms wherever he went, and that it was not long before he had hopelessly crippled the forces of the barbarians, and placed the papal throne beyond the fear of their incursions. At the close of the campaign he proclaimed himself king of Italy, and returned to his dominions with great honour.

We have spoken of Charlemagne's submission to the church of Rome, but it was not a blind submission. He could exercise an independent judgment at times even in ecclesiastical affairs, and on some occasions shewed himself more protestant than catholic in his opinions. This may be seen in his opposition to the second general council of Nice, which had decided in favour of image-worship; although he was doubtless not a little influenced by the godly counsels of Alcuin, a deacon of York, to whom he had sent a copy of the decree.

It is not clear what were the steps taken by the English church in this matter, but it is probable that Alcuin was their mouthpiece at the council of Frankfort; which was convened for the discussion of this important question, in the year 794. At the recommendation of Charlemagne, who had called together the council, special deference was paid to the judgment of the English deacon, "as one erudite in ecclesiastical matters;" and certainly he did not abuse the honour conferred upon him. Their decision, which was doubtless drawn up by Alcuin, was entirely against image-worship, and their reasons were emphatically stated and most convincing. Neither man nor angel was in the least to be adored, and "the insolent use of images"was declared to be "not only without scripture, but also directly contrary to the writings of the Old and New Testament." This emphatic declaration, with its reference to the word of God, might well have fallen from the lips of Alcuin, for he was a man who studied his Bible with a fearless heart, and looked to it as his only canon and rule of life.

"The reading of holy scripture," he somewhere says, "is the knowledge of everlasting blessedness. In the holy Scriptures man may contemplate himself as in some mirror, what sort of person he is. The reading of holy Scripture cleanseth the reader's soul; it bringeth into his mind the fear of hell-torments, and it raiseth his heart to the joys above. The man who desires to be ever with God, should often pray to Him and study His holy word. For when we pray, we speak to God, and when we read the holy books, God speaks to us. It is a twofold joy which the reading of the holy books bringeth to the readers; it so instructs their understanding as to render them sharper; and it also leads them from the world's vanities to the love of God; as the body is fed with fleshly meats, so the higher man, the soul, is fed with divine conferences, as the Psalmist says, 'How sweet are thy words unto my taste! yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth!'"

Another ecclesiastic who distinguished himself at the council of Frankfort was Paulinus, bishop of Aquileia. He boldly denied the value of any intercession or mediation apart from that of Christ, and wrote thus: "The Son of God, Almighty, one Almighty Lord, because He redeemed us with the price of His blood, is justly called the true Redeemer by the confession of all who are redeemed." "The Advocate is He, who, being also the Redeemer exhibits to God the Father, the human nature in the unity of the Person of God and man. John intercedes not, but declares that the Mediator is the propitiation for our sins." The testimonies of such men as these afford the bright evidences of remaining life in that wilderness of error and superstition in which the church was found at this time; but, alas! how few and far between such testimonies are.

The clergy, for the most part, were living in a state of spiritual lethargy and vicious indulgence, the bishops not excepted; indeed it was in the supreme bishop, the pope of Rome, that iniquity found a head. From the fourth century onwards the successors to the chair of St. Peter, had offered in their own persons increasing evidence of the church's decline; and their lives, even as recorded by their own historians, shew in lurid light, the downward steps towards the great apostasy. In the year 358, pope Liberius was proved guilty of prevarication and heresy by Hilary, bishop of Poictiers, and eight years later, Damasus, another pope, incurred the charge of murder by forcing his way to the papal chair over the dead bodies of 160 of his opponents. In 385, pope Siricius imposed celibacy on the priests, and established by a decree this wretched dogma; which became one of the chief causes of the immorality of the Middle Ages. Later still, the pontificate of Zosimus became notorious because of his great pride and assumption; and it is thus reflected upon by the bishops of Africa in the course of a letter to his successor Boniface:"We hope that since it has pleased God to raise you to the throne of the Roman church, we shall no longer feel the effects of that worldly pride and arrogance which ought never to be found in the church of Christ." The election of Boniface himself was the occasion of such disorder, that the civil power had to step in to keep the peace; and his after conduct is a sufficient proof that the letter of the pious bishops was soon forgotten or entirely disregarded. Thrice in the space of half a century did the chair of St. Peter become the subject of double elections, in the third of which votes were freely offered for sale; bribery was practised on both sides, estates were mortgaged to defray expenses, and even the vessels of the church were pawned to obtain money. Later still, a pope, named Silverius, who had purchased the dignity from king Theodatus, was dethroned by the famous general Belisarius on the charge of treasonable correspondence with the barbarians, and Vigilius, archdeacon to a former pope, purchased the office from Belisarius for two hundred pounds of gold. This man afterwards became involved in troubles with the emperor and the Eastern church; and after the most pitiable vacillation, was frightened into a confession of error, in which he acknowledged that his past differences of opinion were the suggestions of the devil.

But to enumerate a fiftieth part of the irregularities and enormities proceeding from the papal throne would be impossible. We might fill pages, with descriptions of men who were thrust into the chair without election; of deacons who were elevated to that dignity above the heads of pious presbyters: of a pope who was distinguished for his avarice, and for his zeal in grinding the faces of the poor; of a layman, who aspired to the high office and was made deacon, priest, and bishop in a few hours, to enable him to gratify his ambition, though he was afterwards thrust from his place by a Lombard monk, who, in his turn, was speedily supplanted by a stronger rival.

The bishops in many cases were no better than the popes, and instead of being overseers of the flock of God, were noted for their avarice, which often led them into the wildest excesses of cruelty and extortion. The priests, too, were woefully guilty in this respect, and Gregory the Great accuses them of seizing the propety for others, and of ridiculing those who walked humbly and chastely. "All things which were predicted," says he, "are taking place. The king of pride is at hand; and, what is unlawful to utter, an army of priests is prepared for him." Even where any religious zeal did exist among them, it was usually wasted in a worthless cause; and idle questions of tweedledum and tweedledee were frequently agitated, till the controversial spirit was roused to an angry pitch. Thus the question of the clerical tonsure was long a sore point in some quarters; and the Celtic and Italian missionaries were especially divided upon it. The one party, following the churches of the East, shaved the fore part of their heads in the form of a crescent; the other, the Italian, shaved the crown in circular fashion. The latter party eventually won the day; and at the beginning of the eighth century the monks of Iona consented to receive the Latin tonsure, and by this surrender, made themselves the voluntary slaves of Rome.

Gloomy indeed was the state of things which we have been describing, but it was to grow yet more gloomy; and we have but reached the outskirts of the Dark Ages. "Behold," writes the Cardinal Baronius, "the nine hundredth year of the Redeemer begins, in which a new age commences, which by reason of its asperity and barrenness of good has been called the iron age; by the deformity of its exuberant evil, the leaden age; and by the poverty of writers, the dark age." "With what filth was it her fate to be besprinkled who was without spot or wrinkle; with what stench to be infected, with what impurities to be defiled, and by these things to be blackened with perpetual infamy."

Chapter 11.

The Darkest Period of the Dark Ages.

A.D. 800-1000.

It is cheering to the heart, depressed by the contemplation of the church during the period which we have been considering, to be able to record that, in spite of increasing darkness on all hands, the gospel was not entirely hid. It is an irrefragable principle, which may be traced throughout all the dispensations of God, that He never leaves Himself without a witness. We see it in Noah and his family preserved from the flood; we see it in the 7000 who had not bowed the knee to Baal; we see it in the solitary four who refused to touch the king's meat or worship the golden image of Nebuchadnezzar; and, blessed be God, we see it even in these degenerate times when the professing church was steeped in vice, and 'honeycombed and gangrened with falsehood.'

In the West, where the darkness was deepest (though not in the vicinity of Rome), a true work for Christ was going on, owing not a little to the christian zeal of Charlemagne's successor, his son Louis the Meek. Lewis was a true Christian; but too gentle for his soldiers, and too pious for his priests: and the reforms which he contemplated were opposed both by the military and ecclesiastical powers. His position, for manifold reasons, was not a happy one. All attempts to purify the court were frustrated by the evil examples and rebellious conduct of his sons: the soldiers, who subsisted by plunder and violence, liked not the checks which he put upon their thieving and lecherous habits: the bishops, proud of their swords and spurs, resented his action in depriving them of these warlike appendages: while the personal piety of the good king made him the common butt of all classes. When his sons, Pepin, Louis, and Lothaire, rose in open rebellion against him, a pope (Gregory IV.) was not lacking to countenance the wicked and unfilial act; and the clergy, whose true office would have been to counsel and console him, united with the rest in the effort to dethrone him. False charges of the gravest nature were lodged against him, and having been summoned to appear before an assembly at Compiegne, he was there subjected to the most painful insults and humiliation. A paper containing the list of his pretended crimes was placed in his hands, and some sort of a confession having been extorted from him, he was made to do penance in the following manner: A coarse mat was placed before the altar, on which he was commanded to kneel, and divest himself in turn of his bald-rick, sword, and royal vestments, assuming in their place the sackcloth covering of a penitent. A form of psalm-singing and laying on of priestly hands was then gone through in order to give an odour of sanctity to the crime, and the degraded monarch was conducted to the cell in which it had been ordained that he should end his days. But the nobles and people, disgusted with this act of priestly assumption, demanded his restoration; and the popular clamour at length became so loud, that the king was removed from the cloister, and re-instated on the throne. In the year 840 death put an end to his gentle but unhappy reign; and the jaded spirit of the pious king found rest in a country more peaceful than that which it had been his misfortune to rule over.

Yet the christian efforts of Louis, though barren of good results in his own kingdom, bore fruit in other parts; and the introduction of the gospel into Denmark and Sweden, which was brought about in the following manner, was undoubtedly due to him. In a dispute for the throne of Denmark, between Heriold, the rightful king, and Godfrid, the former had to take refuge at the court of Louis, and where the kindliness of his reception encouraged him to solicit the help of his royal host. But Louis would only consent to this on condition that Heriold embraced Christianity, and agreed to allow the preaching of the gospel in his dominions. The king consented to this, and was accordingly baptised at Mentz, together with his queen and many of the court, in the year 826. On his return to Denmark he took with him two missionary monks, Ansgarius and Aubert, the latter of whom died within a few months of his arrival, but not before he had seen some results from his preaching. Ansgarius laboured on for awhile, and then crossed to Sweden, where the word was much blessed and many were converted. He was afterwards made archbishop of Hamburg and all the North by Gregory IV., and entered into his rest, full of honours, in the year 865. The sphere of his labours embraced the territories of the Danes, the Cimbrians and the Swedes; but we are sorry to add, that the work which he commenced, already hampered by much that was superstitious and unscriptural, was almost buried beneath the rubbish of Romanism during the next century.

The gospel was also carried, with more or less success, to the Russians, Poles, and Hungarians; owing in no small degree to the conversions of their respective princes, which seem in some cases to have been real, and accompanied with a saving faith. It is very interesting to notice the various means which were used of God, in opening the territories of the barbarians to the gospel message: sometimes it was by the instrumentality of a zealous monk — as Ansgarius or Aubert; sometimes by the union of a heathen prince with a christian princess as Vladimir, prince of the Russians, with Anna, the sister of the Greek Emperor; sometimes by a plague or famine — the means which were instrumental in opening up the way to Bulgaria.

Great Britain also, being so far removed from Rome, had few hindrances to the preaching of the gospel, though the pure light was much clouded by monkishness and superstition. The story of king Alfred's glorious reign is too well-known to be repeated here. The piety of this truly christian king was as conspicuous as his prowess, and amid the cares of state, and anxieties caused by the incursions of the Danes, his pen was not idle in a better cause. In addition to the composition of some poems of a moral and religious character, he translated the gospels into the Saxon tongue, and this may be justly spoken of as his great work. The subjoined passage from his translation may not be unacceptable, as it forms an interesting example of the language spoken in this country during the period in question. The reader will recognise it as the Lord's prayer. "Faeder ure thu the earth on heafenum, si thin nama gehalgod, to become thin rice, gewurthe thin willa on earthen swa swa on heafenum, urne ge dgwanlican hlaf syle us to doeg; and forgyf us ure gyltas, swa swa we forgivath urum gyltendum, and ne geladde thu us on consenung ac alyse us of yfle (si it swa)."

In Scotland the people were much indebted, through the goodness of God, to the faithful ministry of a monk named Clement, who preached a gospel remarkable for its clearness and purity; but his faithfulness drew down upon him the enmity of Boniface, the archbishop of the German churches; and at his instigation Clement was summoned or enticed to Rome, where he suddenly disappeared.

Ireland boasts the honour of giving birth to Duns Scotus Erigena, a christian philosopher of this period, who is regarded by Hallam* as one of the two remarkable men of the Dark Ages. He says, however, that the extracts from his writings which he has met with contain "unintelligible rhapsodies of mysticism;" though whether he would include in this condemnation the following extract, we are not in a position to say. It is quoted by D'Aubigne and runs thus: O Lord Jesus, I ask no happiness of Thee, but to understand, unmixed with deceitful theories, the word that Thou hast inspired by Thy Holy Spirit! Shew Thyself to those who seek for Thee alone." If this is mysticism, would that there were more of it, even in the church to-day!

{*Literature of Europe in the 15th and 16th Centuries." (Chap. i. 11.)}

Arnulph, bishop of Orleans, seems to have been a man of some piety, but very little is known of him. One of his discourses throws a ghastly light on the condition of Rome in his day. "O deplorable Rome!"he exclaims, "who, in the days of our forefathers, didst produce so many burning and shining lights, thou hast brought forth in our times only dismal darkness, worthy of the detestation of posterity!" Of the pope he says, "what think you, reverend fathers, of this man, placed on a lofty throne, shining in purple and gold? Whom do you account him? If destitute of love, and puffed up with the pride of knowledge only, he is antichrist, sitting in the temple of God."

But, perhaps, the most remarkable man of this period is Claude, the bishop or metropolitan of Turin; who was advanced to that dignity ('the burden of a bishopric' he called it) by Louis the Meek, about the year 816. He has been described as "the protestant of the ninth century," and deserves the title. He differed from the church of Rome on many points, and there is no mincing matters in the way he speaks his mind. On his elevation to the bishopric he says that he "found all the churches at Turin stuffed full of vile and accursed images," and forthwith began to destroy "what all were sottishly worshipping. Therefore it was that all opened their mouths to revile me; and forsooth, had not the Lord helped me, they would have swallowed me up quick." He speaks in scathing language of the adoration of the cross, which God commanded men to bear and not to worship, and complains that some, who would bear it neither corporeally nor spiritually, were bent on worshipping it. "If," argued the bishop, "we ought to adore the cross because Christ was fastened to it why not adore mangers and old clouts, because He was laid in a manger and wrapped in swaddling clothes? Why not adore fishing boats and asses, because he slept in the one and rode on the other?" But this was answering the fool according to his folly, and the bishop continues, "all these things are ridiculous; rather to be lamented than set forth in writing: but we are forced to set them down." Those who had departed from the truth had fallen in love with vanity, and he follows them with an earnest cry of warning. "Why do you crucify again the Son of God, and expose Him to open shame; and by this means make souls by troops to become the companions of devils, estranging them from their Creator by the horrible sacrilege of your images and likenesses, and precipitating them into everlasting damnation?" Going from this to the subject of pilgrimages to Rome, which many were teaching was equivalent to repentance, he shrewdly inquires how they could keep so many poor souls to serve them in the monasteries instead of sending them to Rome to get forgiveness of their sins. What had they to say against that sentence, "Whosoever shall lay a stone of stumbling before any of these little ones, it were better for him that a millstone were hung about his neck, and be cast into the bottom of the sea?" He then proceeds to explain, that these pilgrimages to Rome were utterly worthless, and shewed a spiritual destitution on the part of those who undertook them, which could only belong to the very ignorant. Some also were putting their confidence in the merits or the intercession of saints, but it only shewed that they were walking in darkness, for if the saints on whom they called were as holy and righteous as Noah, Daniel, or Job, there would still be no hope or deliverance from such a quarter. Even the pope was but a fallible man, and in spite of his title of apostolic lord, was only apostolic in so far as he shewed himself the keeper and guardian of the apostle's doctrine. The mere fact of his being seated in the apostle's chair proved nothing: the scribes and Pharisees sat in Moses' chair.

But it must not be inferred from this that Claude was merely a controversialist. He was naturally more inclined to learn than to teach or correct others, and his writings breathe a true spirit of humility and christian love. Witness his beautiful description of truth, which we extract from his address to a friend, inserted at the close of one of his commentaries: "For this beauty of the eternal truth and wisdom (God grant I may always have a constant will to enjoy her, for the love of whom we have also undertaken this work) doth not exclude those that come unto her, because of the great number of hearers she hath; she grows not old by length of time; she minds not high places; she does not suffer herself to be overtaken by night; she does not shut up herself in shadows, and doth not expose herself to our bodily senses; she is near unto all those that turn themselves to her from all parts of the world; and who love her indeed; she is eternal to all; she is not limited by any places, she is everywhere; she advertises abroad, she instructs within, she changes and converts those who behold her; she does not suffer herself to be violated by any person; no man can judge of her, nobody can judge well without her."

The influence of Claude, however, was only felt over a very limited area; and, in the midst of so much darkness, it is hardly to be expected that his followers would become numerous. Yet they were sufficiently numerous to attract the attention and to draw down upon their heads the anathemas of the pope. He incited the lay princes against them; and so we find that they were hunted from the open country and compelled to take refuge among the neighbouring mountains, where they were shut off from papal influences, and there throve as they had never done.

Happy condition this for the little remnant, when all around was so dark and spiritless! Happy to be thus shut in with God among the mountains, whose snowy peaks were always pointing heavenwards, at a time when the plains were so swaddled up in earthly mists and vapours! These were the Christians of Piedmont, another accession to the Vaudois church, to which we have already made a passing reference: we shall meet with them again later on.

But how dark was all around! It was a darkness that might be felt: but who was there to feel it? The condition was natural to most of them; and they loved it more than the light, because their deeds were evil. How evil we may learn by contemporary records and the decisions of their own councils.

At the council of Pavia, in the year 850, it was necessary to enjoin sobriety on the bishops, and to prohibit them from keeping "hounds and hawks for hunting, and having gaudy dresses for vain show." At two separate councils the complaint was raised, that "the inferior clergy kept women in their houses, to the great scandal of the ministry;" and it was said of the presbyters that they "turn bailiffs, frequent taverns, practise usury . . . . and do not blush to indulge in revelry and drunkenness." Lacrius, a Carthusian, speaks of the period as "the worst of times;" lamenting that charity had grown cold, iniquity abounded, and "truth was rendered scarce by the sons of men." Waltrun, bishop of Naumburg, after giving a graphic and deplorable picture both of the internal and external condition of the Romish church, civil war at that moment raging between the pope and the emperor, quotes the prophet Hosea to this effect, "There is no truth and there is no pity, and there is no knowledge of God upon the earth. Cursing and lying and murder and theft and adultery have inundated it, and blood toucheth blood." Hervey, archbishop of Rheims, another contemporary, laments that every one is given up to his passions, the human and divine laws are alike despised, and that the plunder of ecclesiastical possessions is universal. "The bishops," he says, "are bishops only in name; neglecting preaching, falling into sin, abandoning God, and binding heavy burdens on the people which they will not touch with the ends of their fingers." Another, himself a bishop, affirms that "one could scarce find a man fit to be ordained a bishop, or a bishop fit to ordain others." Of the popes (passing over the story of pope Joan, a woman who is said to have occupied the papal chair for two years) it is sufficient to say: that one (Stephen VII.) was strangled, his death occasioning the remark that, "he had entered the fold like a thief, and it was fit that he should die by the halter;" that another (Sergius III.) — we have it on the testimony of a cardinal — was "the slave of every vice and the most wicked of men;" that another (John X.) was raised to the throne by the interest of the prostitute Theodora, and was afterwards murdered through the influence of the woman's daughter; and lastly, that a youth of eighteen, having forced his way to the papal chair, and taken the title of John XII. "turned the Lateran into a brothel, carried on amours with various women; was given to hunting; put out the eyes of his godfather; drank to the health of the devil; swore by the heathen gods while playing dice," and was killed in a midnight brawl in the year 964.

Another feature of the period was the lying wonders of various kinds, which were exhibited in many of the churches. Thus we hear of a feather from the wing of the angel Gabriel;' a piece of Noah's ark; the 'chemise of the blessed Virgin;' some of the coals that roasted St. Laurence; a little soot from the furnace of the three young men; the mark of the breath of Joseph on a glove that belonged to Nicodemus; and the parings of St. Antony's toes.* The period is also remarkable for the perpetration of a monstrous fraud; which, while it increased the power of Rome, added to the growing darkness. A collection of forged decretals was issued, called the "Decretals of Isidore," which purported to be the decrees of the Roman bishops on important ecclesiastical questions from Clemens downwards. "In this collection the contemporaries of Tacitus and Quintilian, are made to speak the barbarous Latin of the ninth century. The customs and institutions of the Franks are gravely attributed to the Romans at the time of the emperors. Popes are therein made to quote the Bible in the words of the Latin translation written by St. Jerome, who lived one, two or three centuries after them; and Victor, the bishop of Rome in the year 192, is found writing to Theophilus, who was archbishop of Alexandria in 385." For a long time these decretals were generally believed in, and did not a little mischief in the church, in spite of the clumsiness of the forgeries and the many internal proofs of their spuriousness. The pope, of course, adopted them, and did not scruple to assure the hesitating bishops of France that they had lain for years in the Roman archives. So true is it that a lying spirit is in the mouth of popery.

{*Eleven of the convents in England exhibited girdles belonging to the Virgin one exhibited the ear of Malchus! another, the one-winged image of an angel which had flown to England with the spear-head that pierced our Saviour while the teeth of St. Apollonia (said to be an infallible cure for the tooth-ache) were so numerous that they weighed more than a ton!}

But the credulity of the people was imposed upon in other ways by the clergy; and to this period belongs the institution of the rosary and crown of the Virgin Mary. The rosary (from rosarium, a bed of roses) consists of a string of beads on which the possessor counts the prayers which he repeats. Fifteen repetitions of the Lord's Prayer and a hundred and fifty salutations of the blessed Virgin complete the rosary; and the crown consists, as a rule, of seven repetitions of the same prayer and seventy salutations. Moreover, an absurd belief that the archangel Michael celebrated mass in the court of heaven every Monday, was very general; and the clergy were not slow to profit by the ignorance of the people, who crowded the churches dedicated to St. Michael, in order to obtain his intercession.

Another of the inventions of the period was the doctrine of transubstantiation. It originated with a monk, named Paschasius Radbert; but it was not placed among the settled doctrines of Rome till nearly three centuries later. Paschasius asserted that the bread and wine of the Eucharist are actually converted into the body and blood of Christ, and built his novel doctrine on a strictly literal interpretation of the Lord's words, "Take eat, this is my body," and similar scriptures. Yet to take the words in that sense is a manifest absurdity, and involves one in a labyrinth of absurdities. A recent writer has forcibly remarked: Christ could say, "'This is my body which is broken,' when it was not broken at all, and while He held the bread in His own hand alive; 'This is the Lord's passover,' when God was no longer passing over at all; 'I am the true vine,' and so of a thousand others. It enters into all language. I say of a picture: 'That is my mother.' Nobody is misled by it, but those who choose to be misled 'We are buried with Christ by baptism unto death,' yet we are not buried and we do not die; that is certain. Hence we find in scripture, in a general way, the use of language as to the Lord's Supper."* In Rome, however, there are, and ever were, many who choose to be misled, and it is therefore simple to understand that the dogma of transubstantiation was presently received as a leading and essential doctrine.

{*Lady Jane Grey, in her cross-examination by Fecknam, reasoned in much the same way, When Fecknam put the question: "Doth not Christ speak these words? Doth He not say it is His body?"the lovely martyr replied: "I grant He doth, and so He saith, 'I am the vine,' 'I am the door;' but He is never the more the door nor the vine," etc.

But we must hasten on. It might be asked, Could it be possible that things would grow darker and more dismal that the minds of men choked by the weeds of sloth, and blinded by the web of superstition, would sink to even lower depths of morbidness and misery? Alas! it was but too possible. As the thousandth year of the church's history drew near, terror was added to superstition; and a panic, such as has doubtless never been known before or since, seized upon the people. Had not the Lord said, that after the thousand years Satan should be loosed out of his prison, and should go out to deceive the nations in the four quarters of the earth?* Surely then the end of the world was at hand!

{*Revelation xx.}

Taking this for his text a hermit of Thuringia, named Bernhard, had gone forth in the year 960, preaching the coming doom. There was a show of reason in the doctrine, and the superstitious of every rank were wrought upon by the delusion. Monks and hermits took up the cry, and long before the year commenced it had rung its dreadful knell through all Europe. People crowded to Palestine, leaving lands and houses behind them, or bequeathing them, by way of expiation for their sins, to churches and monasteries; nobles sold their estates, and even princes and bishops joined the pilgrim train, and prepared themselves for the appearing of the Lamb on Mount Zion. An eclipse of the sun and other phenomena in the heavens contributed to the general terror and misery, and thousands fled from the cities to take refuge in the dens and caves of the earth. Truly there were ghastly reasons for the act; for it was expected that a convulsion of nature would usher in the awful moment, and many felt it would be better to be destroyed by the falling mountains than by the wrath of Him that sitteth upon the throne. The awful premonitions that were to usher in the day of judgment, seemed actually to be fulfilled; there were "signs in the sun and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of nations, with perplexity; the sea and the waves roaring; men's hearts failing them for fear and for looking after those things which (were) coming upon the earth." (Luke xxi. 25-26.) That year the houses of rich and poor were left unrepaired, the lands untilled, the vineyards uncultivated. No harvests were gathered in because no seed had been sown; no new churches or monasteries were erected, because in a few months there would be no human beings to frequent them.

At length the final day of the terrible year began. When night closed in, few were in a condition to seek their beds: the vestibules and porches of the churches were thronged with anxious, fearful watchers. It was a sleepless night for all Europe. But day dawned. The sun rose in the heavens as of yore, and shone down upon an unconsumed though famine-stricken world; there were no portentous signs in the skies above — no tremors in the earth below — all things continued as they were. A sigh of relief arose from all hearts. The deluded multitudes returned to their several homes, and resumed their accustomed avocations. The Year of Terror had passed away, and the eleventh century of the church's history had begun.

Chapter 12.

From the Year of Terror to the Death of Hildebrand.

A.D. 1000-1100.

The re-action which succeeded the Year of Terror produced a church building mania, which instantly infected all classes of people. The immense wealth which the terrorising preaching of the monks had extorted from the people was in many cases devoted to this end; and it is questionable whether the churches of this period have ever been surpassed for size or architectural beauty.

Relieved from the horrors of the dreadful nightmare which marked the closing days of the last century, a slight revival of learning was also perceptible; and the efforts of Sylvester II., a pope who had studied in the schools of Arabia, then the great emporium of learning, did much in this direction. Yet, when he published a treatise on geometry, his favourite science, the curves and angles so scared the superstitious monks that they accused him of dabbling in the forbidden sciences, and avoided him as a necromancer. Had his zeal in the cause of religion been as real as it was in the cause of science, Christendom might have been purified from many of its pollutions, but it was not; and at the close of his pontificate darkness still brooded over the unhappy church. The great increase of importance which everywhere attached to the ecclesiastical power for which also the munificence of the nobles during the Year of Terror accounted not a little may be inferred from the fact, that "baronial and even ducal rights were held in Germany by the bishops and abbots of the empire, not within their own possessions only, but even beyond them;" and that "ecclesiastical estates were no longer described as situated in certain counties, but these counties were described as situated in the bishoprics." Progress in mission work among the heathen seems to have been almost at a stand; though the work in Russia, Sweden, and Denmark was continued, and Poland, Prussia, and Hungary were partially opened to the gospel. Some praise, however, must be accorded to the Nestorian Christians, who carried the gospel to Tartary and Mongolia, and were specially successful in the provinces of Turkestan, Cosgar, Genda and Tangut. Doubtless the lack of blessing among the Western missionaries may be traced to the lack of vital godliness, and the host of errors by which the gospel had been overlaid. Turning over the records of this century we look in vain for lingering traces gospel taught in its purity, or of an assembly of believers gathered on truly scriptural grounds. Even instances of personal piety are rare; and when we have recorded the names of Queen Margaret of Scotland and Berengar, we have almost exhausted the list of notable Christians, whose learning was accompanied by any striking proofs of godliness. Even the Christianity of Margaret was of an intensely Romish cast, and one turns from the perusal of her history with strangely mingled feelings. It is with more of pity than pleasure that we think of the wearying monotony of her religious life; nor can we close our eyes to the fact, that there was much ostentation in her acts of benevolence, and much parade in her humility. Still she was a true Christian, and in those dark days one has to be thankful for even a feeble glimmer of light. Berengar is deserving of mention as having revived the controversy respecting the presence of the body and blood of Christ in the Eucharist. He was archdeacon of Angers, and zealously taught that the bread and wine were simply the emblems of the Lord's death; not being converted into the body and blood of Christ as stated. For this he was cited to appear at Rome, and, under threats of torture and death, was induced to sign a recantation; but after much sorrow of heart for his unfaithfulness he returned to his former opinions, and came to a peaceful end in the year 1088.

But the palm for christian devotedness must be bestowed on believers outside the pale of Rome. During this century the Paulicians worked their way through Western Europe to France, where they were subjected to much persecution by the catholic party; but their labours were owned of God. Eventually, to be rid of them, they were accused of the Manichean heresy, and burnt at the stake. There is much evil spoken of these evidently devoted men, but as it is chiefly recorded by their enemies, specimens of whose honesty and veracity have already been laid before the reader, we shall do well to take it in a directly opposite sense, or to discard it altogether. It is thought by some, that the seed of the Vaudois church was planted by Paulician missionaries.

But Rome, at this time, had a more important work than to busy herself with the obstinacy of a few harmless heretics: the woman, Jezebel, had not yet been invested with the full authority to which she aspired, a spiritual universal monarchy, and the sovereigns of Europe were still independent of her sway. Her darling ambition to raise herself to the high dignity of autocratrice of all the world, though long indulged in secret, was now to be openly announced, and the pontificate of Hildebrand was the fitting occasion for the framing and partial accomplishment of this daring scheme. This was the pope of whom the poet says:

"There was a carpenter of Tuscany,

"Whose son, from a cowled monk, made himself pontiff"*

{*R.H. Horne's Gregory VII.}

He was born at Soana, a city of Etruscan origin, situated in the low marsh lands of La Maremma. His father is said to have been a carpenter (as the lines above quoted indicate), but descended from a noble family, and enjoyed the patronage, if not the friendship of the Counts of Tusculum.

The youthful Hildebrand was educated, contrary to his wishes, at the monastery of Calvello, near his native city, and afterwards at the monastery of St. Mark, on the Aventine Mount; where his application and love of learning attracted the notice of his uncle, the abbot of the monastery. He attached himself at an early age to the Benedictine order of monks; and in his sixteenth year, dissatisfied with the laxity of St. Mark's, was draughted to the famous monastery of Clugny, where greater austerity of discipline was observed. Here, moreover, there were greater facilities for the acquisition of that secular knowledge, always so necessary a factor in the machinations of the church of Rome. Even at this early period of his history, he seems to have given evidence of considerable penetration of intellect and much calculating prudence, allied with a craftiness and ambition, which were to make him the spiritual despot of his age.

It would appear that Hildebrand had obtained considerable influence at the Vatican before his twenty-fifth year; for we find him busily intriguing with Benedict IX., a dethroned pope of Rome, and arranging with him for a transfer of his claim to one Gratian, for 1500 pounds of gold. But he does not seem to have visited Rome in person till the election of Bruno, bishop of Toul, to the papal see, by the nomination of Henry III. of Germany. The bishop was staying at Clugny at the time of his election, and Hildebrand having gained possession of his ear persuaded him that the nomination of the pontiff by a worldly potentate was a disgrace to the church. There should be no subjection, he argued, of the ecclesiastical to the secular power; and advised him to make his journey to Rome in the garb of a pilgrim, refusing the dignity till it had been conferred upon him by the will of the people and the act of the cardinals. Bruno discerned the wisdom and foresight of this counsel, and proposed that Hildebrand should accompany him on his journey; a proposition in which the monk readily acquiesced. This scheme succeeded beyond expectation, and the people received the pilgrim-candidate for the papal throne with acclamation. Hildebrand was loaded with honours, made sub-deacon of St. Paul's, cardinal, abbot, and canon of the holy Roman church, and custodian of the altar of St. Peter.

The influence which this single act had acquired for him was incalculable. He now became the moving spirit in the Lateran palace, administering the affairs of the papacy, and virtually ruling the pope himself. Indeed, his Holiness was a mere puppet in his hands, as was proved when he presently procured his deposition by means of bribery and intrigue. After that, Hildebrand remained for twenty years behind the scenes, deposing and electing popes, almost at his pleasure. His friend Damianus once sent him some Latin verses in which he satirically remarked, "I worship the pope ceremoniously, but I adore thee submissively. Thou makest this man lord; he makes thee God:" and the lines truly indicated the remarkable influence of the cardinal. While the popes were content with present ease and enjoyment, Hildebrand, who cared for none of these things, was busy with his schemes. He "fomented or originated quarrel, usurpation, and conquest everywhere;" unsettling all, "that in the re-settlement his schemes might have a place." That he made no secret of his strength is evident from his treatment of Alexander II., a pope who gave offence to him by offering to suspend the exercise of his functions till he had been duly appointed by the temporal power. Hildebrand mounted the papal throne, and with clenched fist, struck the pontiff in the face, in the presence of a conclave of cardinals, ambassadors, and others. On another occasion, at a full council of bishops, he accused the whole assembly of being disciples of Simon Magus, and deposed one who dared to contravene the charge.

All this time his ambitious schemes were ripening slowly, though not more slowly than surely; and step by step, with a caution that was half the secret of his power, he mounted the glittering ladder. At last (it was the month of March in the year 1073) he reached the summit, and was unanimously elected pope by the council of cardinals. He took the title of Gregory VIII.

But even this was only a means to an end. The course which Hildebrand had been pursuing during the past twenty years was not to end here; this was not the supreme object for which he had been striving. His schemes were wider, and, in a certain sense, less selfish; and nothing less than the institution of a permanent hierarchy, with unbounded authority over all peoples and kingdoms on the face of the earth, would satisfy his ambition. Yes; he would organise a vast ecclesiastical state, which should preside over the destinies of men — a mighty theocracy or spiritual oligarchy, with power to instruct the people in its infallible dogmas, to over-ride their consciences and to enforce their obedience; a state whose ruler should be supreme over all the rulers of the earth, creating and deposing kings at his pleasure interdicting whole provinces and kingdoms, and none daring to oppose — the vicegerent of God upon earth, in whom could exist no error, from whom could be no appeal!

But before these ambitious schemes could be realised, some important reforms were necessary. The sale of ecclesiastical benefices — or the sin of Simony — must be instantly suppressed. That it prevailed throughout Christendom was no hidden thing, and we have already given proofs of its prevalence at Rome. There were many Simon Maguses abroad, who thought that the gift of God might be purchased with money. But there was something even more hateful to Gregory's mind than simony, and that was the marriage of the clergy. He could see that, as long as that was permitted, all his efforts would be futile. Marriage was the one connecting link between the priests and the people, and until this was broken there could be no true unity as he desired it. The clergy must be an entirely and separate body, bound by no ties of kindred, having but one object the maintenance and glory of the church. They must recognise no sonship save sonship to the church — no fatherhood save that of spiritual parentage: all interests and ambitions, all feelings and desires, apart from this were traitorous and unworthy. These were Gregory's views, and his dictates were framed accordingly.

His mandate with regard to the latter of these two grievances produced the most appalling results. "It dissolved the most honourable marriages, rent asunder what God had joined together, scattered husbands, wives and children, and gave rise to the most lamentable contentions, and spread everywhere the direst calamities; wives especially were driven to despair, and exposed to the bitterest grief and shame." But the more vehement the opposition, the more loud the anathemas against any delay in the plenary execution of the pontiff's commands. The disobedient were delivered over to the civil magistrates, to be persecuted, deprived of their properties, and subjected to indignities and sufferings of various kinds. Part of one of his letters says on this point: "He whom flesh and blood moveth to doubt or delay is carnal; he is condemned already; he hath no share in the work of the Lord; he is a rotten branch, a dumb dog, a cankered limb, a faithless servant, a time-server, and a hypocrite."

Another of Gregory's decrees was directed against lay investitures, and this involved him in a quarrel with Henry IV. of Germany. The inauguration of bishops and abbots by ring and crosier, had been the custom with kings and emperors long before the time of Charlemagne; and Henry was in no mood to surrender the time-honoured privilege at the command of a Romish priest. His refusal incensed the pope, and led him to connive at Henry's destruction.

Nor was this their only cause of difference. When the dictates of Gregory respecting the sin of simony, had been communicated to Henry, though the emperor had received the papal legate graciously, and had spoken approvingly of the proposed reforms, he had taken no steps in the matter; and this had further incensed the pope. He wanted deeds, not words; the carrying out of his decrees, not the evasive compliments of the emperor; and he became more particular in his demands. He required that a council should be convened in Germany, and that the many charges of simony which had been brought against Henry's bishops, should be immediately investigated: but to this the emperor would not consent; and was, of course, supported in his refusal by the bishops, many of whom were doubtless guilty. But Gregory was not to be thwarted in his purposes, or discomfited by opposition. Unable to gain his end one way, he resorted to another; and having summoned a council at Rome, the charges were gone into there. As a result, several of Henry's favourites, some of them the highest ecclesiastics in the land, were deposed; and, as though to add insult to injury, the emperor himself received a peremptory summons to appear at Rome, to answer to similar charges; while a threat of excommunication was held out against him if he refused to attend. He did refuse; and indignant at the wanton insult which had thus been offered to his person, called a council of his own bishops and deposed the pope.

The gauntlet had been thrown down, and Gregory at once retaliated by issuing the threatened bull. In a full assembly of bishops, numbering 110, he pronounced the excommunication of the emperor; and declared at the same time, his kingdom forfeited, and his subjects absolved from their oaths of fealty. The language of Gregory on this occasion was sufficiently blasphemous, "Now, therefore, brethren," he cried, "it behoves us to draw the sword of vengeance; now must we smite the foe of God and of His church; now shall his bruised head, which lifts itself in its haughtiness against the foundations of the faith, and of all the churches, fall to the earth, there according to the sentence pronounced against his pride, to go upon his belly, and eat the dust. Fear not, little flock, saith the Lord, for it is the will of your Father to grant you the kingdom. Long enough have ye borne with him; often enough have ye admonished him: let his seared conscience be made to feel!"

Gregory knew the disordered state of the German empire, and had chosen his time well. The superstitious fears of the people were roused by the papal ban, copies of which were extensively circulated; and the cupidity of the Saxon nobles was excited, by the licence which it gave them to throw off their allegiance to the emperor; and thus the threats which the bull contained were rapidly effective. Some from terror, some from personal feelings against the emperor, and some from hope of reward, were led to take up arms against their prince; till Henry found himself absolutely deserted by his own subjects. And as he lost ground, the influence and authority of the pope increased. "Great swelling words of most awful import were his weapons. The 'name of God; the peace of God; the commands of God; the salvation of God; the keys of the blessed Peter; closing the gates of heaven; opening the gates of hell; eternal perdition;' were words which struck terror into every human mind, and the manacles with which he bound his slaves," It was an unequal contest, for the pope had all the power on his side, and Henry was almost alone. He was a high-minded prince, and the greatest monarch of Europe, but resistance against such odds as this was hopeless: crushed at last, he determined to obey the pope's summons and set out for Italy. Yes, he would beg the pope's forgiveness, confess his sins, and get the ban removed. Perhaps a message from the pope to one of the rebel lords encouraged him to take this step. "Deal gently with Henry," were Gregory's words, "and extend to him that charity which covereth a multitude of sins." Henry had an opportunity of experiencing the pope's charity later on.

It was the depth of winter when he set out. He was accompanied by his wife and child, and a few attendants; and their path lay across mountains which were capped with snow, and overlaid by sheets of ice. After a dangerous and fatiguing journey of several weeks the party arrived before the castle of Canossa, in Apulia, where Gregory was staying with the Countess Matilda. The pope had been advised of his approach, and as the penitential emperor came in sight of the fortress the outer gates were opened to him. The second entrance was also thrown open, but when he would have essayed to enter the castle itself, he found that the innermost gates were barred against him. He waited; but he waited in vain. A cold January frost had set in, and he began to grow faint with fatigue and hunger; but night found him still standing in the court of the castle, unable to gain admittance. Henry was experiencing the 'charity' of the pope. The following morning, when he again presented himself for admittance, this treatment was renewed: the pope was inexorable, and the mercy which the degraded emperor craved was not to be had. For three dreary days was he thus kept waiting in the cold; till all save the iron-hearted pope were melted to tears. At last the combined entreaties of the Abbot of Clugny and the Countess Matilda, whose hearts had been deeply moved by the passionate appeals of the afflicted emperor, were successful; and Gregory, with an ill-grace, consented to admit him to his presence.

But he had gone too far. The high-minded prince had been too deeply insulted ever to forgive or forget the injuries which he had sustained at his hand, and though, while he continued in the power of the pope, he had to submit to much degradation and further insult, it only made the recoil greater when he was at last set free. Revenge was all he could think about; and no sooner was the outward act of reconciliation over, and the ban removed, than he formed a scheme for the invasion of Italy. Many sympathisers had meanwhile gathered round him, so that he found no difficulty in raising an army; and when all was in readiness he placed himself at its head and set out for Rome. A prophecy which the pope had impiously uttered, that Henry would be dead or deposed within a year, presently shewed that he was a lying prophet as well as a lying priest, for at the end of three years the emperor was alive and well, and — what was more to the pope's mortification in possession of the papal city. He deposed Gregory, who had meanwhile shut himself away in the fastness of St. Angelo, and placed the pope elect, Guibert, archbishop of Ravenna, on the papal throne as Clement III. But the approach of Robert Guiscard, a Norman warrior, with a large army, compelled the emperor to withdraw, and Gregory now obtained his release. An awful doom, however, awaited the ancient city. The soldiers, whom Gregory had invited, were for the most part infidel Saracens, and scarcely had Robert received the pontifical blessing, than he let loose this half barbarian army upon the city. For three days Rome was given over to pillage and confusion, until such time as the soldiers were utterly fatigued by their rioting and stupefied with drink. Then the defenceless inhabitants of the city could repress their indignation no longer, and rushing out upon the lawless freebooters, they fell upon them with the energy of desperation. Guiscard, finding that the tide had turned against him, gave orders to fire the houses, and this inhuman act again turned the scale in his favour. The inhabitants forgot their enemies in their eagerness to save their wives and children from the flames, and while they were thus engaged, they were massacred in hundreds by the ruthless Saracens.

In the midst of this conflict and confusion Gregory retired from the city, and hastened to Salerno; where, as if untaught by the terrible scenes which he had just witnessed, and of which he had been the author, he proceeded to thunder out fresh anathemas against Henry. But an arresting hand was soon to be placed upon him, whose grasp he could not evade; a hand which no pope had ever been able to resist — the hand of death. The solemn ordination had gone out against him, and on the 25th of May, in the year 1085, he was called into the presence of God. A great storm was raging at the time, and he died miserably, with these words upon his lips, "I have loved righteousness, and hated iniquity; therefore I die in exile."

And this, reader, is the man who is lauded to the skies by the partisans of Rome, and whose name has been inscribed upon her catalogue of saints! Alas! of what avail are all these barren and posthumous honours, if his name is not found written in the Book of Life? What are the empty adulations of men, if the great churchman is now wailing with the damned in hell?

Chapter 13.

The First Crusade.

A.D. 1094-1100.

The papacy gained little by Gregory's struggle with the emperor; and before the century was out, the reigning pope found it expedient to resort to a new device in order to promote the temporal interests of the papacy. From time to time complaints had been brought from the Holy Land, of insults and outrages which had been suffered by pilgrims to the holy sepulchre; and Urban II., who then occupied the chair of St. Peter, formed the idea of promoting a great religious war. He saw that if he could engage all Europe in this fever scheme, and drain the various countries of their best soldiers, he would be able to push his temporal pretensions in a way that no preceding pope had done, since the turbulent barons and powerful princes would be out of the way, and there would be none to oppose him. He therefore lent a willing ear to the complaints of one of the chief fomentors in this novel agitation, a hermit of Amiens, named Peter; and gave him every encouragement in preaching a crusade. This remarkable man had visited Jerusalem in the year 1093, and viewed with indignation the manner in which his fellow-pilgrims were treated by the Seljuk Turks, who were in possession of the city, and while there, had made a solemn vow to rouse the nations of Europe against the infidels — a vow which he now proceeded to perform. Mounted upon a mule, and clad in a long robe, tightened at the waist by a hempen girdle, he passed from town to town, calling upon the people to arm in defence of the holy sepulchre. His wandering rhapsodies and impassioned appeals aroused by turns the awe and indignation of his hearers, and quickly produced the results for which he aspired. "Why," he cried, "should the unbelievers be allowed any longer to retain the custody of such christian territories as the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane? Why should the unbaptised followers of Mahomet, the children of perdition, pollute with hostile feet the sacred ground which had been the witness of so many miracles, and still furnished so many relics which manifested superhuman power? Bones of martyrs, garments of saints, nails of the cross, thorns of the crown, were all lying ready to be gathered up by the faithful priesthood who would lead the expedition. Let the floors of Zion be purified with the blood of slaughtered infidels." Such was the character of the monk's preaching; and when he had succeeded in working the people to a pitch of frenzy, and they were in readiness to receive whatever orders were imposed upon them, Urban himself came forward to add his approving word. His speech was delivered in the market-place, and was frequently interrupted by cries of "God wills it — God wills it!" for he was careful to appeal to the passions of the people, and did not neglect to offer absolution for the blackest sins to all who joined the holy army. As the result of these appeals an immense rabble, numbering 60,000 men, set off for Palestine in the spring of the year 1096, with Peter at their head. They seem to have been chiefly of the peasant class; and so ignorant, that they are said to have inquired at every town as they passed along, "Is this Jerusalem?" little thinking that they were destined never to reach the holy city. After numberless reverses they reached Constantinople, and crossed the Bosphorus; but, having proceeded as far as the Turkish capital, they were met by an army under Solyman, the Sultan of Iconium, and miserably defeated. Out of the 60,000 who set out, only a third returned to tell the tale.

The year following another army was raised, and 600,000 crusaders, of all ranks and conditions, began their march, attended by numerous women, "jugglers, servants, and workmen of all kinds." This immense army separated into four parties for the sake of sustenance, and proceeded by different roads to Constantinople. Here they re-united and pursued their onward course together, thousands perishing on the journey by reason of the great heat and the scarcity of water. Other difficulties had to be encountered in the loss of all the horses, as well as in the jealousies and frequent quarrels of the soldiers: but in spite of these hindrances, the army dragged on its course, and slowly-advanced towards Antioch. A few engagements took place before this city was reached; notably, the battle of Dorylium, in which the crusaders were victorious, and the siege of Edessa, which resulted in the capture of that city, after no very great resistance from the Mahometans; Antioch, however, was not so easily reduced. The fruitfulness of the luxurious country round the city proved as dangerous to the cause of the crusaders as the scorching and sterile plains of Phrygia had proved some months before; and the besiegers no sooner found themselves on the fertile banks of the Orontes, and among the groves of Daphne, than they abandoned themselves to the wildest excesses. The approach of winter found them quite unprepared; their camp was flooded; their tents were wrecked by the wind; and the horrors of another famine became inevitable. In the extremities of their hunger they devoured the dead bodies of their enemies; and so managed to sustain life, till the treachery of one of the besieged placed them in sudden and unexpected possession of the place. Under cover of the night, and at a moment when a fierce storm was raging, the crusaders scaled the rugged walls, and with their stirring battle cry,"God wills it!" entered the city.

But the possession of Antioch by the crusaders, did not long remain undisputed. The former garrison was not entirely subdued, and their warlike spirit revived when the fact became known that an army of 200,000 Turks, under Kerboga, Prince of Mosul, was marching to their relief. As the prospects of the Mahometans grew brighter, the prospects of the crusaders grew more hopeless; and once more they were threatened with destruction. But superstition came to their aid, and the sudden discovery of the spear which pierced the Saviour's side, the burial place of which had been revealed to a crafty monk named Bartholomaeus, produced a wonderful reaction in the hearts of the crusaders. We may remark that it was the monk who found the spear. He had been told in his dream that it was lying under the great altar of the church of St. Peter; and it was not till others had searched to a depth of twelve feet, that he volunteered his aid. The hour of his search was well chosen — the dusk of evening; the garment in which he made his descent was doubtless as well chosen a capacious cloak. There was room for many spear-heads beneath it. Bartholomaeus was successful; and a lance-head was brought up from the hole, and exhibited in triumph to the desponding army. The effect was electrical. With the animating cry,"Let God arise, and let his enemies be scattered!" the gates of the city were flung open, and the army rushed out upon the unsuspecting foes. Victory was assured; and the Saracens were driven from the field like chaff before the wind. The result was decisive, and the immense spoils of the enemy fell into the hands of the crusaders. with every demonstration of joy they returned to the city; and having proclaimed one of their leaders, by name Bohemond, prince of Antioch, they gave themselves up to ten months of luxury and idleness; evidently quite unadmonished by their severe experiences in the past.

It was May of the following year before the army again moved on, and as they approached Jerusalem their fanaticism exceeded all bounds. Tyre and Sidon, Caesarea and Lydda, Emmaus and Bethlehem, were all passed in turn; and at last a height was reached from which the Holy City could be plainly seen, stretching out like a map before them. Then it was their excitement reached its height, and a great cry burst forth, "Jerusalem! Jerusalem! God wills it! God wills it!" and the crusaders fell prostrate upon their faces, and embraced the consecrated ground.

But much was yet to be done. Jerusalem was theirs in anticipation, but not in fact. An offer from the Saracen Governor to admit the crusaders in the character of pilgrims was indignantly rejected; the Christians would come to no terms — would agree to no compromise. Their mission was to deliver the Holy City from the tyranny and oppression of unbelievers, and nothing short of this would give them rest. The siege lasted forty days, and during that time the besiegers were again reduced to the greatest extremities. A scorching sun, which made their thirst the more intolerable, had dried up all the water in the brook Kedron; their cisterns had been poisoned or destroyed by the enemy: and in the despair produced by these untoward circumstances, they prepared for the final assault.

But superstition was once more ready to their aid. Strange rumours got afloat that their brave leader, Godfrey de Bouillon, had been favoured with a vision, and was prosecuting the siege under angelic directions. He had seen a bright form in heavenly armour, hovering over Mount Olivet, and waving his drawn sword in signal for this last attack. That was enough. The old cry,"God wills it!" was caught up by 40,000 desperate warriors, and ere long the whole army was swarming up the steep walls which surrounded Jerusalem. The struggle was long and bloody, but victory declared for the besiegers, and Godfrey himself was the first to gain a firm and undisputed footing on the walls. A moment later, and he had leapt into the devoted city, followed by thousands of his soldiers, who poured down upon the enemy with the restless fury of an avalanche. The carnage that followed was indescribable. Neither age nor sex was spared, and the butchery of 70,000 Mahometans was considered creditable christian work by the crusaders. For three days the city was deluged with blood, and credible historians relate that in the temple and Solomon's porch the crimson tide was up to the saddle-girths of the horses. But the lull came; and on the eighth day after the attack, the victorious leaders assembled, and offered the kingdom of Jerusalem to Godfrey de Bouillon. He was unquestionably the hero of the day, but with a modesty equal to his heroism he declined the royal dignity, and accepted the humbler title of Defender and Baron of the Holy Sepulchre. A further victory at Askelon, not long after, secured the position of the crusaders; and now that the wrongs of their pilgrim brethren had been avenged, they felt that their mission was done, and many of them prepared to return to their native lands.

The Mahometans had held the city since the conquest of Omar in the year 637, a period of 462 years: the exact date of its recapture was the 15th of July, A.D. 1099. The day was a Friday; and it was just three o'clock in the afternoon when Godfrey stood victorious on the walls of the city. Is it merely a coincidence that this was the day and hour of our Saviour's passion?

Chapter 14.

The Church in the Twelfth Century; with an Account of the Second, Third and Fourth Crusades.

A.D. 1100-1200.

The records of the century to which we are now brought, are singularly cheerless; with but few gleams of light to relieve the prevailing gloom. True there were some attempts of a missionary character in the still pagan parts of Europe, but the results were only partial and uncertain. Otho, bishop of Bamberg, carried the gospel into Pomerania; that country having been conquered by the Duke of Poland; and when the people found that his objects were peaceable, and that he came to offer them salvation and not to plunder or oppress them, they listened to his words, and many were baptised. The islanders of Ruegen also, who had received Christianity in the previous century, but had relapsed into image-worship, and were even offering human sacrifices to the image of St. Vitus, a martyr, were reclaimed in some measure through the ministry of Absolom, archdeacon of Lunden. But it would seem that carnal weapons were employed more freely in the work than the sword of the Spirit, and we may, therefore, reasonably doubt the sincerity of many of the conversions. Lastly, with the mention of Vicelin, bishop of Oldenberg, who seems to have done some sterling gospel work among the Slavonian nations, the brief record of the missionary labours of this period closes.

But the century is notable for the existence of testimony of another kind — testimony which seemed a preparation for something that was future, rather than a repetition of the peculiar testimony of the past. The need of the heathen had produced the latter testimony, but the need of the church itself was producing the former. The one was the proclamation of the gospel to the poor and ignorant; the other was a protest against the corruptions of a wealthy hierarchy, which professed to be all-knowing. The professing church had now become thoroughly corrupt, and it is therefore not surprising that some bold speakers should have arisen to declaim against it.

One of the first of these was Peter de Bruys, a native of the South of France, and described as a man of dauntless spirit. He was originally a presbyter; but the pointed and personal tone of his preaching having roused the animosity of the clergy, he became an itinerant and a fugitive to escape persecution. The points on which he differed from the then professing church, were many and important; and he did not fail to make them widely known. He protested against the innovations of Rome; against infant baptism; against the erection of costly churches; against the worship of crucifixes; against the doctrine of transubstantiation; against the celebration of the mass; and against the efficacy of alms and prayers for the dead. The fervour of his eloquence gained him many hearers, and not a few followers; but his mission seems to have been one of destruction rather than of reformation; insomuch that Dupin, an historian of the seventeenth century, relates that "In Provence there was nothing to be seen but Christians re-baptised, churches profaned, altars pulled down, and crosses burnt." After labouring amid much persecution, for upwards of twenty years he was burned alive at St. Gilles, in the year 1130.

The influence of his teaching, however, could not be destroyed; and his work was carried on by an Italian named Henry, who, by his extraordinary zeal, and convincing eloquence, carried all before him. He went about the country barefoot, even in winter; and his clothing was scanty and of the poorest kind. The cottages of the peasants were his frequent resting places; but, like his divine Master, he often had not where to lay his head. Many a weary hour was spent under porticos, or on the dark hillsides, exposed to the pelting rain and the piercing night winds: but his courage was not daunted by suffering, and the threats of his adversaries caused him no alarm. Like Peter de Bruys, he taught that it was a fallacy to build costly churches, since the church of Christ consisted not in a mass of coherent stones, but in the unity of the congregated faithful; like him, he taught that the cross of the Lord was not to be honoured and adored: that transubstantiation was a doctrine of hell; that prayers for the dead were vain and useless; and that the baptising of infants was attended with no saving results.

A "heretic"so daring could not be permitted to roam at large, and Henry was at length seized and imprisoned at Rheims. He was afterwards removed to Toulouse, where he was put to death by order of Alberic, the papal legate, A.D. 1147.

Several other, so-called, heretics — doubtless followers of Henry and Peter de Bruys — suffered martyrdom at Cologne in the same year; and Evervinus, Praepositus of Steinfeld, near that city, gives an account of their martyrdom in the course of a letter to Bernard, abbot of Clairvaux. After speaking of their firmness and resolution while under examination, he continues, "And (what is more wonderful) they entered to the stake, and bare the torment of the fire, not only with patience, but with joy and gladness. In this case, O holy father, were I present with you, I should be glad to have your answer how these members of the devil could with such courage and constancy persist in their heresy, as is scarcely to be found in the most religious in the faith of Christ." It would indeed be interesting to know how the worthy abbot of Clairvaux, or any other holy father, would explain the secret of this courage and constancy. The abbot made an attempt to do so by ascribing it to the power of the devil, "which," said he, "is so great not only over the bodies, but even over the hearts of men:" but modern fairness will rate the abbot's opinion at its proper value. This same Bernard, who could approve of the zeal which persecuted these faithful Christians even to the death, could also say of them, "If you interrogate them respecting their faith, nothing can be more christian: if you inquire into their conversation, nothing can be more irreprehensible; and, what they say, they affirm by their deeds. As for what regards life and manners, they attack no one, they circumvent no one, they defraud no one. Their faces are pale with fasting: they eat not the bread of idleness; but they labour with their own hands for the support of life." Such is the blinding power of popery, even over the mind of one who was undoubtedly a true child of God.

It is a matter for rejoicing, however, that in spite of persecution, the number of these seceders from Rome increased. The abbot above referred to, describes them as "the multitude of heretics;" and another writer, Eckbert, affirms, that "they increased to multitudes in all countries;" while William of Newbury testifies, that "they seemed to be multiplied beyond the sand of the sea." Eckbert further informs us, that the "heretics" went by different names according to the countries in which they were found. In Germany they were called Cathari, in Flanders, Piphles, and in France, Tisserands, from the art of weaving which was their common occupation. In England they were called Publicans. It is related that during a persecution at Cologne in the year 1163, when four men and a little girl, belonging to the Tisserands, were delivered over to the secular power to be burned, the people, taking pity on the child, held her back in the hope that she would recant. But the child, watching her opportunity, suddenly broke from their control, and cast herself into the flames.

But, perhaps, the brightest light of this century was Peter Waldo,* the pious merchant of Lyons. Roused to serious thought by the sudden death of a friend, he became an attentive reader of the scriptures; and having distributed his property among the poor, devoted the remainder of his life to acts of piety. A fuller acquaintance with the Scriptures taught him the corruptness of the dominant religious system, and led him in time to renounce it entirely as anti-christian. Meanwhile he became anxious for the deliverance of others from the state of darkness in which he had so lately been, and adopting an itinerant life, he went forth to preach through the world the unsearchable riches of Christ. One of his adversaries, Stephanus de Borbonne, informs us that having applied himself to the study of the fathers, and given his utmost attention to the reading of the Bible, he became so familiar with them that they were "engraven in his memory," and he determined to seek after that evangelical perfection which had distinguished the apostles. Stephanus further informs us how that, having sold all his goods in contempt of the world,* and distributed the money he had gained to the poor, the pious merchant went about, "preaching the gospel, and the things he had committed to memory, in the streets and public places." Amongst his other sins, as recorded by this useful exponent of the practices of the heretics, we learn that he collected men and women of all trades (even the meanest) around him, and having confirmed them in the knowledge of the gospel sent them into the surrounding countries to preach. But the steps which Waldo took for the translation of the gospels into the vulgar tongue will ever be considered his great work. Without this he could never have sent out his disciples as he did, freighted with the words of life; for they were ignorant and illiterate, and the Scriptures were only to be obtained in the Latin tongue. His faithfulness, however, was not long to go unchallenged; and the tidings of his last great act, at once awoke the thunders of the Vatican. So long as Waldo contented himself with the lesser task of reforming the lives of the clergy, he was tolerably secure from molestation; but when he drew from its sheath that dreaded weapon, the word of God, and placed it in the hands of the common people, he at once declared himself the enemy of Rome. To place an open Bible in the possession of the laity, was nothing less than to disturb the very foundations of the Papacy; for the word of God was Rome's greatest adversary. The action of the pope was therefore prompt and decisive; and a ban of excommunication was issued against the honest merchant. Yet in spite of Alexander's bull, Waldo remained in Lyons three years longer, busily employed in preaching, and circulating the Scriptures; by which time, finding former measures ineffectual, the pope extended his threats to all who held communications with the heretic. Then, for his friends' sake, Waldo quitted the town; and during the remaining four years of his life, was a wanderer on the face of the earth; although, in the providence of God, he never fell a victim to the persecuting vigilance of Rome. He died a natural death in the year 1179.

{*Variously called Waldus, Valdo, Valdus, Valdius, Valdensis, etc. etc.

**Stephanus de Borbonne adds, "and dared to usurp the office of the apostles."}

The dispersion of his followers ("the Poor Men of Lyons") after his death, contributed greatly to the spread of the gospel; and numbers of them wended their way to the Cottian Alps, among which the Vaudois valleys are situated. Here, to their joy, they found a growing colony of Christians, professing views in many respects similar to their own, and affording by their life and conversation, a most pleasing example both of christian fellowship and domestic felicity. By these simple believers they were received with open arms, and even permitted to attach themselves to the colony; and in this way they became partners in its fortunes, and, ere long, partakers in its sufferings. There we must leave them for the present, while we take a glance at others of a professedly orthodox persuasion, and within the pale of the Romish church, whose names have any prominence in the ecclesiastical records of the century.

Of these we may name four — Bernard of Clairvaux, Abelard, Arnold of Brescia, and Thomas a Becket; though they were not all so orthodox as the more staunch adherents of Rome might have wished. Bernard of Clairvaux we have already mentioned, and in no favourable terms; but in spite of his zeal against the followers of Henry and Peter de Bruys, he seems to have been a man of some godliness, and lashed fearlessly at the abuses and sins of the clergy. The luxurious living of the bishops; their drunkenness and gluttony; their gorgeous equipages; their costly cups and dishes; their gilded spurs — all fall beneath the censure of his pen: nor does he scruple to speak of the priests as servants of Antichrist; and of the abbots as lords of castles, rather than fathers of monasteries, as princes of provinces rather than directors of souls. His influence, indeed, was enormous, and, perhaps, second to none.

Abelard was a Frenchman, and is noticeable as being the first public teacher of theology who was not an ordained priest. The romantic side of his history, upon which we do not propose to touch, must be familiar to most readers: yet is there much in it to move our sympathy, as well as to excite an admiration for the man, though poets have had more good things to say of him than theologians. As the learned scholastic, however, we may consider him, and in that character he takes the palm of all his contemporaries. People came from immense distances to hear him lecture; crossing seas and mountains, and submitting to almost any inconvenience to obtain that privilege. But human reason had far too wide a field in his preaching, and led him sadly astray, even with regard to some of the fundamentals of Christianity. At last his great popularity aroused the animosity of Rome, and Bernard was tempted from his cloister to oppose him. The occasion was remarkable, and when the disputants met at Sens, in France, the scene in the council-chamber was worthy [of] the occasion. The king was there, attended by his court; bishops, also, and other ecclesiastics; abbots and learned doctors. But if the occasion which brought them together was remarkable, the circumstances of the debate were yet more so. Bernard having stated that he was not there to accuse Abelard, since his own writings would testify against him, the reading of the incriminated passages commenced. The recital was still proceeding when Abelard abruptly rose to his feet, and turning to his judges said, "I refuse to hear more, or to answer any questions: I appeal to Rome." All were taken by astonishment, and Bernard asked him, did he fear for his person, assuring him at the same time that he was perfectly safe, and would have a patient hearing. Abelard simply replied, "I have appealed to the court of Rome;" and left the assembly. The great schoolman afterwards retired to the monastery of Clugny, where he was kindly received by the abbot; and having taken the cowl, died there in the year 1142.

Arnold of Brescia is said to have been a disciple of Abelard, hut evidently was not tainted with the errors of that brilliant but unhappy man. Though he never seems to have thrown off his allegiance to the pope, he openly defied his power; and in the destructive and revolutionary character of his preaching he reminds one of his contemporary, Peter de Bruys. Using for his text the Saviour's words, "My kingdom is not of this world," he commenced a series of attacks on the lives of the clergy, in the very hotbed of their iniquity, Rome. "If poverty was of Christ," was his cry, "if poverty was of his apostles, if the only real living likenesses of the apostles and of Christ were the fasting, toiling, barely clad monks, with their cheeks sunk with the famine, their eyes on the ground, how far from the apostles, how far from Christ, were those princely bishops, those lordly abbots, with their furred mantles of scarlet and purple, who ride forth on their curveting palfreys, with their golden bits, their silver spurs, and holding their heads like kings." Stung by his reproaches, the hierarchy of Rome clamoured for his removal, and accordingly he was banished by the Lateran council in the year 1139. But he was back again in the year 1154, and recommenced his powerful and passionate declamations; till the people became riotous, and, on several occasions embroiled themselves with the priests. In one of these scuffles a cardinal was wounded, and Adrian placed the city under an interdict, refusing to remove the inhibition till Arnold was expelled the city. The threats had the desired effect, and, for awhile, the movements of the reformer seem to have been restless and unsettled. Hunted from place to place, he at length found an asylum at Zurich, where he was received with kindness by the diocesan bishop. Bernard, however, would not let him rest. He had watched his movements with angry impatience, and now urged the pope to take further action with regard to him. Yet no extreme measures were resorted to till the pontificate of Adrian IV. (an Englishman, whose real name was Nicholas Breakspere) into whose hands the bold preacher was committed by the emperor Barbarossa. The pope, fearing lest the mob should attempt a rescue, hurriedly condemned him at a secret council; and before day-break Arnold had ceased to breathe, and his ashes were lying with the ooze and slime in the bed of the Tiber.

We come now to Thomas a Becket. Of the birth and parentage of this extraordinary man nothing is known, though some affirm that he was the son of a London merchant. He commenced his studies at Oxford, and finished them at Bologna; after which he entered the service of the church, and rose by rapid gradations to the dignity of archdeacon of Canterbury.

At this time, the reigning king, Henry II., was but twenty-five years of age, but he had already begun to manifest a spirit of independence, and promised, like his father, to prove no slight check upon the papal power in this country; and this had aroused some grave misgivings in the mind of Theobald, archbishop of Canterbury. It made him anxious to place near the king's person a man of energy and ability, devoted to the church, who would be able to check such opposition, and, in case of need, to override the king's will. Such a man he saw in Becket; and when the chancellorship of the kingdom fell vacant, he recommended the archdeacon as a fitting man for the post. His recommendation was favourably received, and Beckett soon became a favourite with the king. He ingratiated himself in every way with his sovereign, entering into all his schemes, and even (for this was part of his deep-seated policy) siding with him in his efforts to check the encroachments of the papal power in England. He was noted at this time for his worldliness, and the princely style in which he lived. At the chase, the banquet and the tournament, his presence was always in request; and whenever he went abroad, he was conspicuous above his fellow nobles for the magnificence of his apparel, and the splendour of his retinue, which usually consisted of some six to seven hundred knights. Henry seemed always happiest in the company of his favourite; and so long as it suited Becket's purpose the friendship was reciprocal; but no sooner had the unsuspecting monarch raised him to the archbishopric of Canterbury (made vacant by the death of Theobald) than he completely changed his tactics, and shewed himself in his true colours as the inflexible vassal of Rome. His demands at once became arrogant and pressing: and soon enough the king was bitterly regretting that he had placed such honour on his favourite.

For some time past the clergy of England had been seeking to obtain for themselves immunity from the civil law; and, indeed, to all intents and purposes, they had gained their object; as facts abundantly illustrate. Between the years 1154 and 1163 no less than one hundred murders and numberless debaucheries had been committed by men of the priestly order, and not one of the criminals had been called upon to answer for his crime. This alone is conclusive. Becket now espoused their cause, and offered to Murder and Incest the shelter of his archiepiscopal robes. His practical co-operation was seen anon, when he took under his protection a priest, who had been guilty of seduction, and afterwards had murdered the father of the unhappy victim of his lust. The king demanded that the criminal should be given up, but his demand was disregarded: the haughty prelate replied that his degradation was a sufficient punishment, and to this answer he resolutely adhered.

To remedy these abuses, as well as to define more clearly his prerogative, the king called together his barons, and consulted with them as to what should be done; and as they shared their sovereign's views, and recognised the necessity of adopting resolute measures for the protection of his subjects from the aggressions of the clergy, they proceeded to draw up the famous code of laws known as the Constitutions of Clarendon. Therein it was decided, among other things, that, "If any controversy shall arise between clerks and laymen, concerning advowsons or benefices, it shall be heard and decided in the king's court (and not at Rome): that churches belonging to the fee of our lord the king, cannot be appropriated without his grant: that, archbishops, bishops, or parsons, etc., may not leave the kingdom without the consent of the king: that no person who is the king's tenant in capite, nor any of his officers, shall be excommunicated, or their lands placed under an interdict, until the king hath been applied to for justice: that no appeal can be made beyond the court of the archbishop without the consent of the king, that is, no appeal to the pope at Rome and that if a suit shall arise between a clerk or clergyman, and a laic, it shall be decided by twelve lawful men in the presence of the king's chief justice."

Becket reluctantly subscribed his name to these Constitutions, but immediately violated his bond by appealing to Rome; and then, under promise of the pope's indulgence, refused to recognise them at all. True, he had set his name to the new laws, but he declared that he had not engaged to confirm them by affixing his seal; and by this miserable subterfuge he evaded the consequences of his act.

The church and the crown had now entered the lists against each other; and it was evident that the conflict between king and priest, which Hildebrand had begun a century before, was presently to be re-enacted on English soil. Becket's first act shewed how well he understood the spirit of the age. He delivered up the seals of his office: dismissed his numerous retinue; exchanged his costly robes for a hair-cloth shirt and a monk's frock; and gave himself up to all the austerities of a monastic life. His pretended sanctity was his weapon; and the sympathies of a superstitious people were speedily enlisted in his behalf. Henry, however, though rendered uneasy by the conduct of his archbishop, was not to be so easily subdued: and after some vain attempts to bring the refractory priest to submission, he issued orders to proceed against him as a traitor. Becket had meanwhile requested permission to leave the kingdom; but knowing the temper of Henry and fearing for his life, he no sooner obtained information of the king's intentions than he consulted his safety by flight. He "left Northampton privily in the night, and eluding pursuit by a circuitous course," effected his escape to the Continent. Here he was received with marks of honour and affection by the French king; and, with the advice of the pope, retired to the abbey of Pontigny, where he assumed the habit of a Cistercian monk, and restlessly awaited the issue of events.

He was now declared a traitor by proclamation, and his relatives and friends were banished from the kingdom: but Becket angrily retaliated by excommunicating all his opponents. The ceremony of excommunication took place at the church of Vizelay, and the occasion seems to have been made exceptionally awful and imposing. Amid the tolling of bells and the mournful intoning of attendant priests, the impious form was read: and some score or more of persons, whose only crime was obedience to their sovereign's commands, were consigned by the anathema of the archbishop, to a life of unmitigated sufferings on earth, and the quenchless flames of hell hereafter. The crosses on the altar were then inverted; the torches were extinguished; the bells ceased tolling; priests and people retired slowly from the ghostly edifice; and the church was left in silence, solitude, and darkness.

The strife between Henry and Becket lasted seven weary years, and would doubtless have continued much longer, had not the combined intercessions of Louis VII. and the pope procured his restoration. When he returned to his country, he shewed himself as haughty and unyielding as when he left it: though into the history of his subsequent quarrels with the king, and his offensive conduct towards him, we cannot enter. The record might be interesting, but falls not within the limits of our history. His pride and insolence, however, at length became unbearable; and the incautious remark of one of Henry's bishops that, "there would be no peace for him or his kingdom while Becket was alive," kindled into flame his smouldering resentment, and forced from him the well-known exclamation, "Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?" Four knights, who heard these words, hastened to Canterbury; and having failed in extorting from the haughty prelate a promise of allegiance to their sovereign, murdered him at the altar of the cathedral.

The death of Becket was an unfortunate release for Henry; and the people, groaning under the Norman yoke, made good use of it for the ventilation of their grievances. Nearly all the nobles of the land were Normans, and even most of the abbots and bishops had the hated blood in their veins; but Becket was an Englishman. "To honour à-Becket was to protest against the conquest; and when the crowning glory came, and the crimes of Henry against themselves attained their full consummation in the murder of the prelate at the altar the patriot in his resistance to oppression — the enthusiasm of the country knew no bounds. The penitential pilgrimage which the proudest of the Plantagenets made to the tomb of his victim, was but small compensation for so enormous a wickedness, and for ages the name of à-Becket was a household word at the hearths of the English peasantry, as their great representative and deliverer — only completing the care he took of their temporal interests while on earth, by the superintendence he bestowed on their spiritual benefit now that he was a saint in heaven."

Our references to the twelfth century would be incomplete did we omit to speak of the crusades. The year 1147 is memorable as the year of the second of these "Holy Wars" against the Mahometans. For several years past the power of the crusaders in Syria and Palestine had been growing weaker and weaker, and the soldiers of the cross had settled down to a life of luxury and idleness temptations so peculiar to the countries of the East. The Mahometans, taking advantage of their condition had collected their forces, and after harassing the Christians and considerably weakening their forces by numberless petty wars, had succeeded in recapturing Edessa, and were now centring their attention on Antioch. The crusaders, conscious of their own helplessness, grew seriously alarmed, and sent imploring messages to Rome for help; and this was the origin of the Second Crusade. Pope Eugene III. responded to the appeal, and wisely entrusted the preaching of the crusade to Bernard of Clairvaux. Apart from the great eloquence of the learned abbot, there was a moral weight attaching to all he said, which was sure to bring success to any cause he advocated; and the confidence which the pope had reposed in him was not disappointed. The king of France and the emperor of Germany both responded to the call; and when 900,000 men had rallied round the banner of the cross, this great army, dividing into two companies, set out for Palestine. But misfortune dogged their steps, and the crusade was a miserable and humiliating failure. Only a small portion of the French king's army reached the Holy Land, and the leaders of this remnant could effect nothing owing to the dissensions and jealousies among the soldiers. In the year 1149, the shattered remains of the army returned to Europe, nearly a million having perished in the enterprise.

The third and fourth crusades also belong to this century, and were scarcely more successful. Richard I. of England, who headed the latter, gained some brilliant victories, but not without tremendous loss of life; and his exploits only ended in a truce with Saladin, the Saracen emir; after which Richard returned to England. It is said that 120,000 Christians perished during the siege of Acre; at which the king was present; and if we add to this number the 180,000 Mahometans who perished on the same occasion, we get a total of 300,000 warriors, the price of one solitary engagement; in which nothing was gained but a little empty honour and renown! And who was responsible for all this waste of human life? We can only answer, The head of papal Rome, the pope himself. "It was perfectly evident that by these long expeditions to Palestine, the blood of Europe must be drained, its strength exhausted, and its treasure wasted. There was no thought of seeking to convert the unbelieving to the faith of Christ — the true mission of Christianity — but of weakening the power of the temporal monarchs, that the pontiffs might reign over them. The papacy is essentially infidel.... 'Preach the gospel to every creature,' is the Saviour's commission to all who own Him as Saviour and Lord. No, says the pope, slaughter the unbelievers without mercy. This is the work which God requires at your hands. Let the tares be torn up by the roots, and cast into the fire that they may be burned up."

The three orders of military monks, the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, the Knights Templars, and the Teutonic Knights, may be considered as offshoots of the crusades; but their character is more political than religious, and we dismiss them with the mention. The Knights Templars grew to be the most powerful, and receptions into their order were conducted with the greatest mystery. In later years, when they had settled on the island of Malta, and their wealth had increased, a jealous feeling was roused against them, and the most frightful stories were circulated with regard to their secret rites and strange ceremonies. Eventually their pride, and cold, unsympathetic attitude to all classes proved their downfall, and in the year 1314 the order was abolished by command of the pope.

Chapter 15.

The Church in the Thirteenth Century; with an Account of the Fifth, Sixth, Seventh and Eighth Crusades.

A.D. 1200-1300.

The thirteenth century, though in many respects a period of great importance, has little to shew in the way of missionary achievements.

The Nestorians continued to gain converts in Tartary, India, Persia and China; and the Danes made some feeble attempts of a similar kind in the last-named country. In Spain also, some efforts were made to Christianise the Arab population of the country, but without success. Pope Clement IV. thereupon advised their expulsion from the kingdom; and his advice having been listened to, much cruelty and bloodshed resulted. An attempt was also made to carry the gospel into the pagan parts of Prussia on the point of the sword, and Conrad, Duke of Massora, engaged the Teutonic knights in this barbarous enterprise. Such compulsory measures were at first resented by the inhabitants, but force of arms at length compelled them to submission, and they reluctantly bowed their necks to the papal yoke. Encouraged by this success the knights afterwards extended their mission to Lithuania; where, by robbery, murder, and incendiarism, they speedily reduced the people to a similar state of servitude, and forced them to be baptised.

These acts of injustice and oppression, committed within the bounds of Christendom, need not occasion much surprise, when we consider the condition of the professing church at this period. Ecclesiastics of every grade, from the Pope downwards, were engaged in a scramble for wealth and power, and the schoolmen and other theologians were exhausting their learning and eloquence in idle controversies, and profitless speculations on questions beyond the ken of finite minds. "Never," says Roger Bacon, the most learned Englishman of the age, "never was there so great an appearance of wisdom, and so great ardour in study, in so many faculties and so many countries, as during the last forty years — for doctors are scattered in every city, in every castle, in every borough, and yet never was so great ignorance and misapprehension. The mass of students doze like asses over bad translations of Aristotle, and waste together the time, labour, and expense they lay out upon them. Appearances are all which engross their attention, and they care not what it is they know, but only to appear very learned before the senseless multitude."

The "multitude" were, indeed, as ignorant as they could be, and almost entirely destitute of spirituality. Despising learning, they were thus at the mercy of the priests, who saw the value of it, and sought in every way to limit the boundaries of their knowledge. It was the policy of the clergy to encroach as much as possible upon the civil courts of law; so that in time almost every case of perjury, blasphemy, usury, bigamy, incest, fornication, etc. etc., was tried in the ecclesiastical courts. Yet they craftily managed that the enforcement of their decisions, and the execution of their sentences should be left to the temporal power; thus absolving themselves, as they thought, from the responsibilities incurred by any miscarriage of justice. There is no doubt, indeed, that Europe in the thirteenth century was ruled by the priests, who had both wealth and learning to support them. The monasteries had become palaces, in which the lordly abbots could give their sumptuous entertainments, and carry on their guilty amours, protected by the strong arm of Rome. The bishops were princes, who, in many instances, owned the lands over which they had been appointed spiritual overseers. The friars had their substantial dwellings in the suburbs of every important town, and wandered daily through the streets, in their sombre frocks, to receive the reverent salutations of the people. The cottages of the poor, and the castles of the rich, were always open to their visits; and whether welcome or unwelcome, a reception must be accorded them. Hermits and other recluses still wandered moodily among the tombs and mountain paths, and by their ascetic severities did much to strengthen the hands of the pope. Many a true Christian, disgusted with the licentious conduct of the priests, would doubtless have left the fold, had it not been for these hermits, who, by their supposed sanctity, overawed the superstitious, and disarmed the objections of the discontented. We can imagine what that power must have been, which could compel a man, for some venial offence, extorted from him at the confessional, to fast, or to go about with bare feet, or to leave off wearing linen, or to go on pilgrimages, or even, where the removal of the offender was thought desirable, to take the cowl and enter a monastery! Yet this was the power invested in the priests; and we may be sure they were not slow to use it, where there was anything to be gained by so doing.

But if the priests ruled the people, the pope ruled the priests. All were subject to him; and the more so, as, during this century, the dogma of the pope's infallibility was brought prominently to the front. Thomas Aquinas, a Dominican, assuming the truth of the writings of one Gratian, a Benedictine of the previous century, added thereto a mass of spurious and traditional matter which was still floating about, and from this patchwork of error and superstition evolved the dangerous doctrine, that "Christ is fully and completely with every pope in sacrament and authority." His work, the "Summa Theologiae," contains various other canon or ecclesiastical laws, and is still a theological text book of the Romish church.

Of the popes of this century, Innocent III., who rose to that dignity in the year 1198, was perhaps the greatest; certainly he was unexcelled for his wickedness. His real name was Lothario de' Conti; he was named Innocent by his cardinals in testimony to his blameless life!

One of the first acts of Innocent on his elevation to the papal chair, was to ruin the domestic happiness of the French king. Philip Augustus, attracted by the fame of the Danish princess Isamburga's beauty, had given his hand to that lady, and a marriage had been hastily concluded between them. But the monarch had not known his own mind, and from the first had shewn an unaccountable aversion to his young queen. Refusing to live with her as his wife he shut himself up in a convent and transferred his attentions to the young and beautiful Agnes, daughter of the duke of Meran; a lady for whom his love was deep and real, and to whom he was shortly afterwards united. The pope, however, espoused the cause of the repudiated princess, and threatened to place the whole kingdom under an interdict unless the king put away the duke's daughter, and received the princess Isamburga with conjugal affection. This was no light or empty threat, and the consequences of such an interdict would have fallen heavily on the unoffending subjects of the French king. To suspend the public exercise of religion was a terrible matter in their eyes, for almost all their worship was through the priests, and, speaking generally, they had no resource in private prayer.

But Philip refused to give way. He pleaded that his divorce from the Danish princess was a lawful one, and had been ratified by a former pope (Celestine III.): moreover, he had been legally married to the lady Agnes, who had already borne him two children. The pope, however, would allow of no exonerating plea; and when Philip continued obstinate, he gave the necessary authority to his legate, then at Dijon, to proclaim the interdict. At midnight, amid the tolling of bells, the execrable ceremony took place. The consecrated bread was burned, the images were draped in black, and the relics replaced in the tombs. Then the clergy came forth from the church in solemn procession, headed by the cardinal in his mourning stole of violet; and when he had pronounced the ban, the priests extinguished their torches; the church doors were locked; and all religious services, and all prayers, were indefinitely suspended. Only the sacraments of baptism, confession, and extreme unction were now permitted by the church; and meanwhile the people went about unshaven, the use of meats was prohibited, and the dead, without place of sepulture, were left to the dogs which infested the cities, and to the wandering birds of prey.

It was in vain for Philip to protest against these extreme proceedings; the pope was inexorable, and his mandate must be obeyed. Agnes must be put away, and Isamburga reinstated in her rights; until this was done, the interdict could not be removed. But Philip's affections were centred in his beautiful wife, and he could not bring himself to submit to the harsh demand. Agnes herself had no ambition for queenly honours, but the thought of separation from her husband was more than she could bear: she only wanted to remain, what pope and parliament alike had made her, his lawful wife. Driven to madness by his wife's grief, and his own impotence to assuage it, the king at last exclaimed, "I will turn Mahometan! Happy Saladin, he has no pope above him." But to all this the pitiless demand was repeated, Obey the pope, dismiss Agnes, receive back lsamburga."

At last the king consented. Innocent had gained the day, and now removed the interdict. The churches were again thrown open to the people, the images were undraped, the relics were again exhibited, and the sacraments were administered as before. The princess Isamburga returned to the French court, and was outwardly acknowledged as Philip's queen, but his aversion to her was only deepened by all that had occurred, and he still refused to live with her as his wife. The lovely and loving Agnes, torn from her husband, died soon after of a broken heart.

But France was not the only country which experienced the horrors of an interdict during the pontificate of Innocent III. John of England, by his undignified menaces to the pope in the year 1207, brought a similar visitation on our own country. The circumstances will be familiar to all readers, and we need not dwell upon them. Even the interdict, however, had no effect upon John, and when he was excommunicated in the following year, he treated the pope's bull with contempt. The bull was followed, in the year 1211, by an act of deposition, and John was declared to have forfeited the crown. His subjects meanwhile were absolved from their oath of allegiance, and liberty was given them to transfer their allegiance "to a person worthier to fill the vacant throne."

Lastly, Philip Augustus of France was invited to take up arms against the contumacious king, and the territories of the English crown were promised as an appendage to his own kingdom. This final measure brought the craven-hearted John to his knees, and his former haughtiness and independence suddenly gave place to a meanness and servility which is almost without parallel in history.

At the house of the Templars, near Dover, the degrading ceremony took place. On bended knees, the king of England laid his crown at the feet of Pandulph, the papal legate; "resigned England and Ireland into the hands of the pope, swore homage to him as his liege lord, and took an oath of fealty to his successors." The following is a copy of the king's oath: "I, John, by the grace of God, king of England and lord of Ireland, in order to expiate my sins, from my own free will, and the advice of my barons, give to the church of Rome, to pope Innocent and his successors the kingdom of England, and all other prerogatives of my crown. I will hereafter hold them as the pope's vassal. I will be faithful to God, to the church of Rome, to the pope, my master, and his successors legitimately elected. I promise to pay him a thousand marks yearly; to wit, seven hundred for the kingdom of England and three hundred for the kingdom of Ireland." Such were the shameful and humiliating terms dictated by the simulated shepherd of Christ's flock, and submitted to by an English king! Philip Augustus, who had meanwhile gone to enormous expense in raising an army, was now coolly informed that he must desist from hostilities, and that any attempt "to annoy the king of England would be highly offensive to the holy see."

But the triumph of the pope was changed to wrathful alarm, when, two years later, the barons of England, headed by archbishop Langton, met at Runnymede, and forced the tyrannical John to renew and ratify the charter of their liberties, which had been granted to them by Henry I. "What!' exclaimed Innocent, "do the barons of England transfer to others the patrimony of the church of Rome? By St. Peter we cannot leave such a crime unpunished." But the barons were made of other metal than their sovereign; and when the pope annulled the great charter, and threatened those who defended it, they received his communication in contemptuous silence.

The pontificate of Innocent acquires a further importance from the fact, that it was he who established by decree the fatal dogma of transubstantiation; thus settling, as he fondly deemed, a question which had long been fermenting in the minds of many. At the fourth Lateran Council (A.D. 1215), it was canonically affirmed that when the officiating priest utters the words of consecration, the sacramental elements of bread and wine are converted into the substance of the body and blood of Christ.* Divine honours were now decreed to them, and the consecrated elements became the objects of worship and adoration. Costly caskets, exquisitely chased, were made for their reception: and thus, according to this doctrine of hell, the living God was confined in a casket, and might be carried about from place to place!

{*The same body which was born of the Virgin. It was reserved for pope Pius IV., in the year 1563, to decree that "the body and blood of Christ, together with His soul and divinity, are truly and really and substantially in the Eucharist, and that there is a conversion of the whole substance of the bread into His body, and of the whole substance of the wine into His blood, which conversion the Catholic church calls transubstantiation." It is worth noting that this dreadful doctrine finds no place whatever in the writings of the Fathers, on which the Romish church professes to build so largely.}

But the activity of the papacy was shewn in yet another way during this century. The decay of the crusading spirit, which had filled the coffers of the church, while it impoverished the whole of Europe, made it necessary for the pope to look about him for a fresh source of revenue; and the suggestion of an ingenious catholic, that the place of pilgrimage for Christians should be transferred from Jerusalem to that city, most happily met the case. Streams of wealth now flowed in to the treasuries of the Vatican, and when, at the close of the century, pope Boniface VIII. instituted what is called the Jubilee, the success was complete. Every hundred years was to be the grand occasion for a general pilgrimage to Rome; and so fruitful did this institution prove, that the task of waiting one hundred years for the next influx of wealth proved too great a tax on the patience of the popes, and the interval was changed to fifty years. Eventually even this term was found too lengthy, and twenty-five years became, in due time, the prescribed and settled period. Of the pope who instituted the Jubilee we shall have more to say hereafter.

We have already intimated that the crusading spirit was on the decline, but history has to record the banding, on different occasions, of no less than five other armies in that hopeless cause. The first of these, which forms the Fifth Crusade, was proclaimed by Innocent III., and met with but a feeble response. A few French nobles, aided by the Venetian Republic, succeeded in mustering a small army; and having sailed to Constantinople, took the city by storm. They re-instated Isaac Angelus on the throne, as emperor of the Greeks, and were preparing to return, when the newly appointed emperor was murdered, and the city was suddenly thrown into a state of tumult and insurrection. After order was again restored, the crusaders elected a new emperor, Baldwin, Count of Flanders, and then returned home. Their victory, so far as it went, was complete; and during fifty-seven succeeding years the Greek empire was ruled by this Frankish dynasty.

Between this crusade and the sixth, the feverish spirit of the times produced one of mere children. Ninety thousand boys, varying from ten to twelve years of age, placed themselves under the leadership of a shepherd lad, named Stephen, who professed to be acting by divine guidance, and marched forth, singing as they went. They carried banners and crosses in their hands, and cried as they went along, "O Lord, help us to recover Thy true and holy cross!" Without weapons, they thought to overcome the infidels by their prayers and innocence; and it is deplorable to think that no one came forward to restrain these poor children, or even to warn them from their foolish enterprise. How many reached the coast is not recorded, but thousands must have perished by hunger and fatigue, and many were doubtless sold into slavery. None, of course, reached the Holy Land.

The Sixth Crusade was proclaimed by Honorius III., and the warriors were chiefly Germans and Italians. They marched into Egypt, and captured Damietta; but not before 70,000 of the inhabitants had perished in the siege. It was a shocking waste of human life, as the sequel proved, for the city was recaptured by the Saracens in the course of the next few years.

The Seventh and Eighth Crusades may be said to have resulted from a vow, made by Louis IX. of France, on a sick bed. He saw in his recovery, the expression of the will of heaven that he should deliver the holy sepulchre from the power of the infidel, and neither returning health, nor long delays could dissipate the conviction. The first expedition was undertaken in the year 1249, and resulted in the recapture of Damietta, but in the following year the king and nearly his whole army were taken prisoners. After four years his liberty was purchased for a large sum, and a truce was concluded with the Saracens for ten years. Having made a few pilgrimages to the sacred places, he then returned to France.

But his vow was not forgotten, and sixteen years later he engaged upon his second crusade. With a worn-out body, but a spirit as vigorous and hopeful as ever, he set out with his army on the 14th of March, A.D. 1270. Before a year had passed, the miserable remnant of that army was on its way back to Europe, having left the king behind in Palestine. His vow unfulfilled, his hopes unrealised, he had been carried off by the pestilence, during the month of August, leaving the conquest of the Holy Land as distant an achievement as ever.

Thus terminated the Eighth Crusade, the last for many years which any pope proclaimed, and, with one or two exceptions, the last in which any sovereign of Europe took part. Kings and emperors had seen the evils which these "Holy Wars" engendered, and the popes had grown too busy with crusades of another kind, and nearer home, to waste their thoughts on such visionary enterprises.

Yet the popes had been the chief gainers by the crusades, and the increase to their temporal power was considerable during those 180 years of strife and bloodshed. Indeed, the clergy generally had not failed to profit by the occasion; and whilst the nobility of Europe were throwing away their lives in Palestine, bishops and abbots had been encroaching upon their estates, and filling the coffers of the church with plundered treasure.

Chapter 16.

The Home Crusades, and the Establishment of the Inquisition.

A.D. 1200-1300.

The crusades of "another kind," to which we made allusion at the close of the preceding chapter, were those undertaken against the Waldensian Christians, by command of Innocent III. At the time of his accession, the work of Peter de Bruys, of Henry, and of Peter Waldo had borne wonderful fruit, insomuch that their followers might be found in almost every country of Europe. In Germany and Italy men and women of all classes had embraced the revived doctrines, from the noble to the peasant, from the mitred abbot to the cowled monk; while in Lombardy they existed in such numbers that one of them declared he could travel from Cologne to Milan, and be hospitably received every night on the road by members of the fraternity." They were to be found in England and Austria, in Bohemia and Bulgaria, and even among the hardy Slavonians as far as the Oural mountains. But nowhere were they to be found in greater numbers than in the fruitful plains of Southern France, and the fertile valleys of Piedmont; and it was against these two favoured spots of God's earth that the edicts of extermination were most directed. Shut in by their native mountains, the Christians of the valleys escaped for nearly two more centuries the horrors of a general persecution, but the Christians of the plains, the Albigenses as they were called, were marked out for instant execution.

Innocent opened the persecution by calling upon Raymond VI., Count of Toulouse, and other princes of Southern France, to adopt immediate measures for the suppression of the heretics; but his appeal did not meet with that hearty response which he had calculated upon. Raymond and his brother nobles could not bring themselves to agree to the merciless demand. Many of them had relatives among the proscribed heretics, and to drive them from their homes, or to slaughter them in cold blood, was more than could be expected from even the most dutiful son of Rome. Besides, what harm had these persecuted Albigenses done? They had always shewn themselves to be peaceable, law-abiding, and contented subjects; and, owing to their industry, the province of Languedoc had become the wealthiest in the kingdom. Their feudal lords, therefore, who owed so much to their labours could scarcely be expected to respond to a barbarous edict, which commanded their wanton destruction.

The presence of the pope's legate, Peter of Castelnau, at the court of Raymond only made matters worse. He was an insolent monk of the Cistercian order, and endeavoured to carry things with a high hand in the presence of the count; and when the pope, by repeated threats of temporal chastisements and eternal flames, did at length prevail upon the count to sign an edict of extermination, the officious legate was so zealous in pressing for its execution that he overreached himself, and produced results which effected his own ruin, as well as prevented the carrying out of the edict. Raymond was irritated beyond endurance by his arrogant behaviour; and, unfortunately, gave expression to some ill-advised and hasty threats, which were overheard by one of his attendants. On the following day this man picked a quarrel with the legate, and, after some angry words on both sides, drew his poignard, and inflicted a fatal wound.

The news of this event was joyfully received at Rome, as it gave the pope a plausible excuse for excommunicating Raymond, and for appealing to the king of France and his nobles for assistance. "Up, soldiers of Christ! up, most Christian king," was the language of this shepherd of the Lord's people, this vicar of Christ. "Hear the cry of blood; aid us in wreaking vengeance on these malefactors. Up, ye nobles, knights of France; the rich and sunny lands of the South will be the reward of your valour!"

It is easy to see the great moral difference between the crusade which Innocent was now proclaiming, and those which had been proclaimed by other popes in the past. In the former there was some show of righteousness; and the crusaders, with small hope of earthly reward, were called to a life of hardship and self-denial. The nobler part of man's nature was then appealed to, and the deliverance of the holy sepulchre from the hands of the infidel was the one engrossing, all-sufficient motive for the soldiers of the cross hut now, how different!

Where was the covetous man? There was another kind of mission for him; Rome had a gospel to preach to him to which the world as yet were strangers. Did he covet the waving cornfields and the gadding vines of fruitful Languedoc? then on to battle with the heretics, for "the rich and sunny lands" would soon be his. Where was the ambitious man? Rome had her gospel, too, for him. Did he long to stand a conqueror on yonder lofty battlements, and live the lord while others cringed before them? — then forth to the war, for yonder castle of the heretic count would soon be his. Where was the man that loved cruelty — the man of blood? Rome had much good news for him. Dominic, the Spaniard, would soon be busy with his Inquisition, and there would be plenty of work for cruel and bloody monsters then. And the voluptuous man — where was he? Let him come on to the battle he need not think himself forgotten. Were there not women, dark eyed and beautiful, in yonder smiling villages? With husbands, do you say? Yes — but what of that? And there are bright eyed girls, too ah! you drop your eyes — you need not look ashamed — they are all yours indulge your lust upon them as you will — you have joined the Holy Crusade — your sins are forgiven you — and never ending bliss is yours.

It was the year of grace 1209 when 300,000 soldiers, all decorated with the holy cross, and under the supreme command of Simon de Montfort, were on their way to Languedoc. The trumpet call of Innocent had been but too clearly heard and understood, and this immense army of eager adventurers, with its archbishops, bishops, and mitred abbots, had been collected in the space of a few days.

At the head of the forces was seen Dominic, with the symbol of Christianity in his hand, and the hatred of the devil in his heart; and over his long white robe was thrown a black mantle — dismal emblem of coming woe. By his side rode Almaric, the papal legate; his sunken eyes twinkling with a horrid joy, as he looked from time to time in the direction of the fruitful plains of Languedoc, and then round upon the army in his rear.

Ere long the work had commenced, and the soldiers were busily engaged, burning, plundering, slaying in all directions: though the conflict did not properly commence, till the army arrived before Beziers. The garrison here was under the command of Raymond-Roger, nephew to Raymond of Toulouse, and this was one of his strongest cities. The bishop of the place, acting by the orders of Almaric, advised the people to surrender, but catholics and heretics alike refused. Almaric muttered a fearful threat against the whole city, and the attack commenced. The odds were overwhelming, and presently the gates yielded to the battering-ram of the besiegers. But a difficulty arose. There were catholics within the walls, and how were they to be distinguished? This was no difficulty to Alrnaric. Kill them all," he cried; "kill man, woman, and child — the Lord knoweth them that are His!" Yes, Almaric, the Lord will yet shew thee who were His, when the throne is set in heaven, and He sits there making requisition for blood.

From twenty to one hundred thousand persons, according to various reports, are said to have been massacred on this occasion — the whole of the inhabitants of the city. Other cities followed. But the withdrawal of several leading nobles at a later period with their retainers, necessitated an appeal for more soldiers; and Dominic and his monks were soon busily employed preaching a new crusade. A forty days' campaign, said they, will atone for the blackest crime, and purge the heart of the blackest stain. To be a soldier in the holy army covered a multitude of sins. The appeal was again successful, and in the beginning of the following year De Montfort was ready with a fresh army.

To speak of all the pope's treatment of Raymond of Toulouse, does not come within the province of this history. His sin of being the ruler of so many heretical subjects, seems to have been inexpiable. It was not enough to express his sorrow and to clear himself of the murder of the Cistercian monk; Raymond must give a proof of his sincerity by surrendering seven of his strongest castles; he must do public penance for his offences, with a halter suspended round his neck while his back was being scourged; and then he must join the ranks of the crusaders, and bear arms against his own subjects, even against his own kith and kin; and after that, his holiness the pope might perchance shew his great leniency by giving him the kiss of peace.

This was precisely what transpired; but when the poor count was congratulating himself that all his danger and humiliation was at last over, there came a letter from the pope to his eminence the legate, in this strain: "We counsel you with the Apostle Paul, to employ guile with regard to this count; for in this case it ought to be called prudence. We must attack, separately, those who are separated from unity. Leave for a time this Count of Toulouse, employing towards him a course of dissimulation, that the other heretics may be the more easily defeated, and that afterwards we may crush him when he shall be left alone." So Raymond had not been forgiven after all? By no means. The charges of heresy and murder had not yet been cleared to the pope's satisfaction; at least, so he was presently informed by the pope's legate. This was too much for the poor count; and he burst into tears. The sight might have melted a heart of stone: but the hearts of Jezebel's children are made of adamant, and the papal legate ironically observed, "Surely in the floods of great waters they shall not come nigh unto him." With that the ban of excommunication was pronounced against him afresh.

Raymond now began to see that the tragedy of Naboth the Jezreelite was in danger of being acted over again on his own territory. He represented Naboth, the pope was Jezebel, De Montfort, Ahab, and the vineyard was the vine-clad plains of Languedoc. The war now changed its character; and Raymond, supported by the Count of Foix and other nobles, began to take desperate measures for his protection. His people, who were much attached to him, flew to arms on the first summons, and De Montfort found that he had now to grapple with a foe made desperate by persecution and maddened by the sense of accumulated wrongs. His own cruel nature was stimulated by this unexpected opposition, and the most unheard of barbarities were committed by his sanction. Men and children were mutilated and tortured, women were ravished, crops and vineyards were destroyed, villages were burned, and towns and cities were given over to pillage and the sword. On the occasion of the capture of La Minerbe, about 140 persons, of both sexes, among whom were the wife, sister, and daughter of the governor of the place, were burnt alive on one enormous pile. We are told they went to death willingly, and sang hymns to God in the flames, nor ceased their praises till they were suffocated by the smoke. At the capitulation of the castle of Brau, De Montfort put out the eyes and cut off the noses of one hundred of its brave defenders, leaving one of them one eye, that he might guide the rest to Cabrieres, to terrify the garrison there. At another place, an old man was fastened to a bench, and suffered unheard of agonies by means of a horned beetle, which was confined to his body by a small inverted vessel, and there left to gnaw its way to his vitals. Pagan Rome, with all its lingering tortures, could not offer an instance of such refinement of cruelty as this, committed by these "holy pilgrims," as the pope had gratefully christened them. At the capture of Foix, when the city was given over to the horrors of a sack, and the inhabitants of every age and both sexes were alike massacred, the voices of the bishops and legates were heard above the shrieks of women and the curses of their murderers, repeating the solemn chant, "Come, Holy Ghost." On this occasion, eighty nobles were to be hanged on one gibbet, by order of De Montfort, but the ghastly machine had not been well planted in the earth, and it broke down with its first victim. To save time, the rest were handed over to the soldiers, who cut them to pieces amid the approving cheers of the monks. The lady Geralda, of whom it had been said, "no poor man ever left her door without being fed," was also one of the prisoners. She was thrown into a pit, and dispatched with huge stones. Raymond was a catholic, but when he saw the treatment to which his faithful people were being subjected, he is said to have observed, "I know that I shall lose my lands on account of these good people; but I am ready not only to be driven from my domain, but to lay down my life for their sakes."

After many vicissitudes the city of Toulouse, the most important stronghold of the persecuted count fell into the hands of the crusaders; and the inhabitants were treated with the usual barbarities by the "pilgrims." The papist bishop, Fouquet, a man with the blood of ten thousand of his flock already on his conscience, took possession of the ancestral palace of his lawful lord, and forced the poor count into an ignoble obscurity. Simon de Montfort was meanwhile invested by the king of France with the count-ships of Beziers, Carcassonne, and Toulouse; and might be seen daily riding through the streets, while the people applauded, and the clergy cried exultingly, "Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord!"

But Rome, ever jealous even of her best supporters, began to look with furtive glances on the ambitious and powerful De Montfort. Perhaps there was some excuse for this, as he was no sooner established in his new territories than he commenced to quarrel with the pope's legate. The latter, as archbishop of Narbonne, laid claim to the temporal sovereignty of that province; but De Montfort, who had taken the title of Duke of Narbonne, refused to recognise the claim, and on the continued persistence of the archbishop, branded him as a heretic, and proceeded to seize upon the city by force. The pope thereupon issued an edict prohibiting the further preaching of the crusades, and granted permission to Raymond and his heirs, "to recover their lands and lordships from all who held them unjustly."

The son of the fallen count gained courage by this new edict, and succeeded in raising an army for the recovery of his father's dominions. He marched upon Toulouse, and was received there with enthusiasm by the oppressed and downtrodden citizens, whilst the perfidious Fouquet was driven ignominiously from the city. After many fruitless endeavours to recapture the place, De Montfort succeeded in raising a fresh army of 100,000 men, and, confident of success, bore down upon the city in the spring of the year 1218. The assault was conducted with great energy, but he was again repulsed; and this fresh defeat threw him into a state of gloom, from which he was with difficulty roused by the pope's legate. "Fear nothing, my lord," said the lying prophet, "make another vigorous attack. Let us by any means recover the city and destroy the inhabitants; and those of our men who are slain in the fight, I will assure you shall immediately pass into paradise." This was a pleasant assurance, but the remark of an officer who overheard it, was, perhaps, nearer the truth. "Monsieur Cardinal," said he, "you talk with great assurance; and if the earl believes you, he will, as before, pay dearly for his confidence."

While the earl was engaged hearing high mass, he was suddenly informed that the enemy had made a sally from the walls; and so soon as the mass was ended, he sprang into his saddle, and hastened to the scene of conflict. But he had scarcely reached the spot, when his horse, a fiery animal, received a painful wound, and starting off at full gallop, bore him right under the ramparts of the city. Archers placed aloft were not slow to perceive their opportunity, and one of their arrows, piercing the greaves of his harness, entered his thigh. A moment later, and a huge fragment of rock, flung by a woman's hand, struck him on the head, and he fell lifeless to the ground.

Within five years from this event, almost all the chief actors in these terrible persecutions had passed from the scene. Innocent was dead and had been succeeded by Honorius III., a man of smaller mind but equal cruelty, who continued the persecutions. De Montfort had been succeeded by his son, and crossed his sword with the younger Raymond, whose own father had also died. The king of France, Philip Augustus, had made way, by his death, for his son Louis, who had entered heartily into the struggle, but on the side of Rome. The perfidious Fouquet, however, was still alive, and when, in the year 1228, Toulouse again fell into the hands of the crusaders, it was mainly owing to his wicked and remorseless counsels. The crusaders had almost given up the siege in despair, when he suggested that they might starve the besieged into a surrender, by burning the cornfields and vineyards, and turning the surrounding country into a desert. The suggestion was immediately adopted, and the promised results ensued. After holding out for three months longer, the inhabitants opened their gates to the besiegers, and submitted to the most humiliating terms. Raymond was treated much as his father had been treated before him, though instead of being compelled to deliver up seven of his castles to the pope, he was compelled to surrender seven of his provinces to the French king. In this way Rome really defeated her own ends, by increasing the power of a monarch who might at any moment prove a troublesome and formidable foe.

In reflecting upon the calamities of Languedoc, a recent writer has said: "To every thoughtful mind, to every man of faith, especially to those who study history from a scriptural point of view, the wars in Languedoc are most suggestive. They are the first of the kind on record. It was reserved for Innocent III. to inaugurate this new character of warfare. There had been many instances of individuals being sacrificed to the prejudice of the priesthood, such as Arnold of Brescia: but this was the first experiment on a great scale, which the church made to retain her supremacy by force of arms. It was not, observe, the army of the church going forth in holy zeal against the pagan, the Mahometan, the denier of Christ, but the professing church itself in arms against the true followers of Christ— against those who acknowledged His deity, and the authority of the word of God And what then, it may be asked, was the crime of the Albigenses? The head and front of their offence was simply this — they denied the supremacy of the pope, the authority of the priesthood, and the seven sacraments as taught by the church of Rome; and, in her eyes, greater criminals there could not be on the face of the whole earth: therefore utter extermination was the one unchangeable decree." It remains for us to state that, during the first fifty years of this century, not less than a million of Albigenses are believed to have lost their lives.

At the beginning of these wars, the Inquisition, that most awful of earthly tribunals, was opened, through the influence of Dominic, in a castle near Narbonne. This was its first appearance, but before many months, similar provisionary tribunals had been opened in all the chief towns and districts of Languedoc. At first its work was done secretly, but in the year 1229, its extreme usefulness in the detection of heretics was publicly acknowledged, and the council of Toulouse made it a permanent institution. It was now commanded that lay inquisitors should be appointed in every parish for the detection of heretics; with full power to enter and search all houses and buildings, and to subject the suspected to whatever examination was thought necessary.

It is difficult to realise all the frightful consequences which the exercise of such a power involved. We do not attempt to go into it; but as truth about the ways of Rome is important, we will endeavour to give the reader, in a few words, some idea of the doings of this awful tribunal. Let him picture to himself a man, the father of a numerous family, who is being watched by the spies of the Inquisition. He has just returned from his day's toil, and his children are playing about his chair. His cheerful and devoted wife is spreading the evening meal, and humming over a simple air which she has learnt from the wandering troubadours. A knock is heard; and the wife turns towards her husband with a look of startled inquiry. Even the children pause in their play, and gaze into their father's face half wondering. His wife goes to the door, and opens it with shaking hand. Three or four men now enter the house unbidden — one of them a Dominican friar. In a few moments they are gone again, but during those few moments a change has taken place in the home circle. The woman is wringing her hands, the children are sobbing piteously around her — and her husband is no longer near to comfort them. It is his absence they are all lamenting, for he has just left the house with the friar, a trembling and unwilling prisoner. When the door has closed upon them, and their footseps have died away in the streets, you ask the woman whither they are taking him, but she cannot tell you; you ask her as to the nature of his crime, but she can throw no light upon your question. The man himself is as dark on this point as his wife; but he is hurried away, and after being robbed of his money, is thrust into a foul dungeon, where he is confined in irons for several days. The gaoler (himself a most useful tool of the Inquisition), having meanwhile insinuated himself with the prisoner, recommends him to "petition for an audit," and the advice is adopted. He is accordingly summoned before the consistory, and the inquiry is put, "What is your request?" The prisoner replies that all he desires is a hearing; and thereupon he is told, "Your hearing is this — confess the truth, conceal nothing, and rely on our mercy."

But he has nothing to confess. He is not conscious of having committed any offence against the pope, or against his most holy religion; but, on the contrary, has always been a good catholic. Yet this very declaration of his innocence is a crime; for the Holy Inquisition cannot err, and the mere fact of his appearing before the court is a proof of his guilt. He is forthwith taken to the torture-room, a dismal chamber lighted by two candles, the walls of which have been padded in order to stifle the groans of the tortured. He is then stripped by command of the presiding inquisitor, and stretched upon the rack. A surgeon is ready to bathe his temples when necessary, and to set the dislocated bones, as well as to advise as to the amount of pain which the patient is capable of sustaining. The rack is then applied, and every word which the prisoner utters while under this torture is scrupulously noted down in a book. At a fitting time it will be used as evidence against him.

Two months later, having somewhat recovered from the shock which his system has sustained, he is brought forth again, and a new species of torture is applied. He is stripped as before, and his naked feet having been smeared with lard, are placed against a brasier of live coals. The torture is exquisite; and the prisoner having lost his reason for awhile in consequence of the extreme pain, is again remanded to his cell.

Other two months elapse, and then he is brought forth once more, to endure a third and final application of the torture. We need not describe it; it is more excruciating, if possible, than the two former, and he is carried back to his dungeon insensible, and almost dead.

His wife presently gets tidings of him for the first time. An Auto da Fe* is shortly to be held in the public square of the town, and her husband's name is on the list of those who are to suffer. It has been decided by the officers of the Holy Inquisition, that he is an incorrigible heretic, and he is therefore to be burned alive.

{*"The words mean "act of faith."}

The day at length arrives: it is the Lord's day. The stakes are planted in the earth, the green furze and dry faggots are piled in heaps beside them, and all is ready. The approach of the procession is announced by a blare of trumpets, and the tumultuous shouts of the assembled multitude. The priests lead the way, carrying crosses; and after them come the heretics, guarded by a file of soldiers. They are dressed in long tunics, on which are painted the flames of hell, with demons fanning them to keep them brisk — a fantastic allusion to the future torments of the heretics. The ceremony of exhorting them to return to the bosom of the church being over, they are chained to the stake and the several piles are lighted. The fierce roar of the multitude almost drowns the voices of the martyrs, but now and again you may catch some note of praise — the one bright feature in the awful tragedy — and thus may learn that He in whose name they suffer, does not forsake His people in their hour of need, but gives them the comfort of His presence even amid the flames.

This is a faithul picture of the Inquisition — Reader, what do you think of it?

Chapter 17.

Fresh Instances of Papal Assumption, and Their Influence upon the Reformation.

A.D. 1300-1400.

In spite of the great authority which Rome had acquired for herself, by means of the Inquisition, and other much older institutions, there were not wanting indications during this century of a steady opposition to her pretensions, which neither fire nor sword could subdue.

When Gregory IX., an old man eighty-one years of age, mounted the pontifical throne in the year 1227, he fancied he was going to wield the sceptre of another Hildebrand, but he was soon to be miserably undeceived. The first important effort of the pontiff was to promote a revival of the crusades against the Mahometans; but his letters to the courts of Europe at first met with no response. The aged canonist then appealed to Frederick of Germany; and the emperor, though busied in some political complications, religiously agreed to raise the necessary forces, and to proceed with them to Palestine.

The army was raised, and Frederick set out; but being overtaken by the plague, the troops were dispersed, and, for a time, the expedition was abandoned. The mortification of the pope, on hearing of this failure and delay, was great. His eyes had been covetously fixed, for a long while past, on the emperor's dominions, and he had hoped by creating disaffection among Frederick's subjects, to encroach upon his territory during his absence, and thus to make some important additions to the papal states: but the return of the emperor had disturbed his calculations, if it had not utterly dissipated his pleasant dreams. He refused to believe in the reality of Frederick's illness treated it as an empty pretence, and excommunicated him.

But the consequences of these severe measures were not what he expected. Instead of being daunted by the unjustifiable harshness of the pope, Frederick wrote a vigorous and indignant reply; and set about composing several letters and papers in his own defence. Writing to Henry III. of England he said, "The Roman Church so burns with avarice that, as the ecclesiastical revenues do not content it, it is not ashamed to despoil sovereign princes and make them tributary. You have a very touching example in your father, King John: you have that also of the Count of Toulouse, and so many other princes whose kingdoms it holds under interdict until it has reduced them to similar servitude. I speak not of the simonies, the unheard of exactions, which it exercises over the clergy, the manifest or cloaked usuries with which it inflicts the whole world. In the meantime these insatiable leeches use honeyed discourses, saying that the court of Rome is the church, our mother and nurse, while it is our stepmother and the source of every evil. It is known by its fruits. It sends on every side legates with power to punish, to suspend, to excommunicate; not to diffuse the word of God, but to amass money and reap that which they have not sown." To the pope himself he wrote, "Your predecessors have never ceased to encroach upon the rights of kings and princes; they have disposed of their lands and territories, and distributed them among the minions and favourites of their court; they have dared to absolve subjects from their oaths of allegiance; they have even introduced confusion into the administration of justice, by binding and loosing, and persisting, without regard to the laws of the land. Religion was the pretext for all those trespasses upon the civil government; but the real motive was a desire to subjugate governors and subjects alike to an intolerable tyranny — to extort money, and, so long as that was to be got, to care little if the whole structure of society were shaken to its foundations."

But in spite of this bold and forcible language, Frederick was a true son of the church; and in obedience to the wishes of the pontiff, though without "obtaining any repeal of the anathema, under which he lay" (which, indeed, was renewed before he set out), he resumed his preparations for an expedition to Palestine. In the spring of the following year he set sail. For this he was excommunicated afresh; and thus for a third time the vials of Gregory's wrath were poured out upon him.

All who were observing with any thoughtfulness the movements of the pope, began now to see through his shallow artifices, and to discover the hollowness of his zeal for the deliverance of the Holy Land. His personal dignity stood far before the honour that was due to the name and birthplace of Christ; and hence he no sooner got tidings of Frederick's arrival, than he sent instructions by his minorite friars to the patriarch of Jerusalem and the military orders, that no assistance should be given to the emperor, hoping that by that means he would be overpowered by the enemy, and either perish on the field of battle or find a prison in one of the dungeons of the Saracens. He even connived at a plot for the surprise of Frederick as he was going to bathe in the Jordan; but the Templars, to whom the execution of the plot had been entrusted, failed in their attempt; and thus the malevolent old man was again disappointed.

But he had not done scheming. Unable to strike at the emperor in his own person, he raised a large army, and having pronounced a fourth ban of excommunication against him, and absolved his subjects from their allegiance, he invaded his dominions. Frederick immediately concluded a hasty but honourable treaty with the Saracens, and hurried back with all speed to Europe. The news of his return spread dismay through the invading army, and in a little while the pope was forced to undergo the discomfiture of another and more signal disappointment. He soothed his fretted spirit, however, by launching a fresh ban of excommunication at the emperor; the crime in this instance being the abandonment of the crusades. This was the fifth occasion on which the pope had anathematized the emperor in the course of a few years; and it is amusing to reflect what must have been the perplexity of Frederick, did he take any serious heed to these anathemas. He had been "excommunicated for not taking the cross; excommunicated for not setting out to the Holy Land; excommunicated for setting out; excommunicated in the Holy Land," and lastly, "excommunicated for returning, after having made an advantageous peace with the Mahometans."

But Frederick was wise enough to treat the fiery bans with unconcern, and only smiled at the pontiff's anger. A sort of hollow truce was afterwards concluded between them, but it did not last; for Gregory was unable to let his rival rest. The contentious old man dragged on his miserable existence a few more years, and then died at the age of ninety-nine from exhaustion brought on by a fit of anger.

The struggle between the temporal power and the papacy for we must look upon it as more than a mere struggle between man and man — was continued with varying zeal by succeeding popes; nor did the death of Frederick, in the year 1250, put an end to the strife. The news of his decease, however, was received with undisguised satisfaction at Rome, and the then pope, Innocent IV., grew eloquent in his joy. "Let the heavens rejoice," he cried, "and let the earth be in festivity; for the thunder and the tempest with which a powerful God has so long threatened you, are changed by the death of this man into refreshing breezes and fertilizing dews." But it was not until the pontificate of Boniface VIII. that thoughtful minds began to discern in these continual efforts of Rome to push her temporal pretensions, symptoms of a slow but unmistakeable decline of her supremacy.

In all parts of Europe princes were rising up in defence of their temporal rights, and declining to hold their kingdoms as fiefs of the papal see. Even in England, spite of the cowardly example of John, a monarch was found bold and powerful enough to resist the demands of the pope; so that when Boniface put forth an impudent claim to the kingdom of Scotland, it was quietly repudiated by Edward I. A similar claim to the crown of Hungary was warmly opposed by the nobles of that country, who set up a prince of their own choosing; though the pope solemnly declared that the "first christian king of Hungary offered and gave that kingdom to the Roman Church." That Boniface had in no way abated the extravagant pretensions of previous popes may be gathered from his epistle to his legate in Hungary, on the occasion above mentioned; it commenced as follows: "The Roman pontiff, established by God over kings and their kingdoms, sovereign chief of the hierarchy in the church militant, and holding the first rank above all mortals, sitteth in tranquility in the throne of judgment, and scattereth away all evil with his eyes." Such foolish bombast may have pleased the pride of Boniface; but he little thought how soon the hollowness of it would be exposed, how soon the glory in which he boasted would be taken from him.

At the time of which we write the throne of France was occupied by Philip the Handsome; one of the most unprincipled of men, and as obstinate as he was unprincipled. Having already made himself sufficiently odious to his subjects by plundering the nobles, oppressing the common people, and maltreating the Jews, he proceeded to levy contributions on the clergy, and thus awoke at once the thunders of the Vatican. Philip, however, was in no wise daunted by the threats of excommunication with which he was now assailed, and retaliated by forbidding the transmission of money, jewels and other articles to the court of Rome; a proceeding which deprived the pope of his revenues from France. Thus the hostilities commenced. The subsequent action of the French king in imprisoning the bishop of Pamiers, on a charge of sedition, still further aggravated the quarrel; and in the year 1302 the pope issued an insulting Bull, in which he proudly affirmed that God had set him "over the nations and over the kingdoms, to root out and to pull down, and to destroy and to throw down, to build and to plant, in his name and by his doctrine." The manifesto continues, "Let no one persuade you that you have no superior, or that you are not subject to the chief of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. He that holds that opinion is senseless; and he that obstinately maintains it is an infidel, separate from the flock of the good Shepherd."

Philip, however, would not be humbled. He was more surprised at the audacity of the pope than troubled by his threats; and one of his first acts after receiving the bull was to have it publicly burned at Paris, amid the blare of trumpets. Moreover, these daring proceedings met with the full approval of the French parliament; and the clergy, filled with apprehension at the threatening condition of affairs, strongly urged the pope to adopt a milder course. But Boniface was obstinate and unbending, and pride had blinded his eyes to the grave importance of the contest. To think of coming to terms with his adversary was beneath the dignity of a pope; he therefore summoned a council of cardinals, and proceeded to draw up another bull. In this decretal he went to some pains to define his authority; but as, in his mind, that authority was simply unlimited, there is no occasion to examine in detail the various clauses of it. Having asserted his pretensions to universal supremacy, he concluded with these words, "Wherefore we declare, define, and pronounce, that it is absolutely essential to the salvation of every human being, that he be subject to the Roman pontiff."

Along with this bull appeared another, excommunicating all who should either "prevent or impede those who might desire to present themselves before the Roman see." This was evidently directed against the French king, who had issued orders forbidding the attendance of the clergy at Rome, a step which had been highly displeasing to the pontiff. Philip received these new communications with remarkable urbanity, indeed, the moderation of his reply gave rise to no little astonishment. He expressed his willingness to check the abuses with which he had been charged, and, in fact, promised to do all in his power to promote a reconciliation with the Roman church. This was a golden opportunity for Boniface, but he missed it. Unconscious of the crisis through which the papacy was passing, he professed himself dissatisfied with Philip's answer, and in that act, closed for ever the possibilities of an agreement between them.

It now remained for Philip to choose a shorter method with the pope; and he found a willing helpmate in William of Nogaret, the French chancellor. For a bribe of 10,000 florins, this man bought over the services of a Roman noble, named Colonna, who had access to the pope's presence, and attended by 300 armed horsemen they hastened to Anagni, where the bewildered old man had taken up his abode.

The cardinals had gathered round him, his attendants were standing at a distance eyeing him furtively, when a clatter of horses' hoofs was heard, followed by the tumultuous shout, "Death to the pope! Long live the king of France!" In a moment cardinals and attendants had disappeared, and the pope was left alone. More distressed by the desertion of his friends than the dangers that awaited him, the unhappy old man gave way to the first feelings of his nature, and burst into tears. But the weakness was quickly conquered, and to sustain the dignity of his office became his all-engrossing thought. "Since I am betrayed," he cried, "as Jesus Christ was betrayed, I will at least die like a pope." Investing himself with his official robes, he placed the tiara upon his head, and taking in his hands the keys and cross, mounted the pontifical chair. Colonna and Nogaret were the first to enter his apartment; but the dignified presence of the old man disarmed their courage, and they stood still. Meanwhile the others spread through the apartments in search of plunder; and while they were thus busied, the people of Anagni recovered from their panic, and hastened to the rescue of their pope. The attempt was successful, and those of the king's party who were not killed in the sally, escaped from the palace with all the booty they could carry.

But though the pope was saved for that time, his days were numbered. He was now eighty-six years of age, and the shock which his system had sustained had partially unhinged his mind. He shut himself in his room and refused to eat: and continued in this condition for three whole days. Then he seemed unable to bear the solitude, and hastened to Rome, feverish and excited, and thirsting for revenge. He presented himself in the market-place in disordered attire, his white hair dishevelled and hanging about his face, and addressed the crowd. "Good people," he said, "you have seen how our enemies have spoiled me of my goods. Behold me as poor as Job. I tell you truly I have nothing to eat or drink. If there is any good woman who will charitably bestow on me a little bread and wine, or even a little water, I will give her God's blessing and mine." Then he hid himself away in his room again; and feeling that his end was near, dismissed his attendants. None must see him die — God was the alone witness. When his domestics next saw him, the foam was oozing from his mouth; his white hair was dabbled in blood; the staff which his hand had but lately grasped was dented by his teeth — Boniface was dead.

To enter upon the history of the popes who succeeded him, or even to enumerate their acts of wickedness and assumption, would be a long and dreary task, and we shall not attempt it. We might fill pages with descriptions of their quarrels with the cardinals, their cruelties, their extortions, their insolence to princes, their hypocrisies: we might shew how one was a miser, another a perjurer, another a murderer, another an adulterer, and so exhaust the reader with the narrative of their crimes, but we have already written enough on this subject. It must now be sufficiently clear to all that a reformation of some kind was a necessity, as society could not much longer hold together as it was. This was the fact; and we shall presently see that a reformation did take place, though a work so tremendous was not to be accomplished in a moment. The dark night of the Middle Ages was indeed to give place to day; but there must be the gradual coming on of dawn first, during which the light would be but partially seen, and the beams would have to struggle through reluctant vapours: and there must be the morning star to herald the approach of the day's great ruler, and to cheer the anxious watcher with its ray.

So it happened. And when the confusion was greatest, and the darkness deepest, day began to dawn; and John Wickliffe, the Morning Star of the Reformation, appeared above the spiritual horizon.

Chapter 18.

The Dawn of the Reformation.

A.D. 1324-1450.

It is believed that Wickliffe was born in the neighbourhood of Richmond in Yorkshire, about the year 1324. The poverty of his parents, who seemed to have belonged to the peasant class, did not hinder him, at a proper age, from entering the University of Oxford; where he neglected no opportunity of obtaining knowledge, and soon won golden opinions from his tutor, the pious and learned Thomas Bradwardine. As a student of Merton College,* he acquired not only a perfect knowledge of the civil, the canon, and the municipal law, but of the ruin of man's nature as taught in scripture, of the worthlessness of human merit in the matter of salvation, and of the freeness of divine grace, by which a man could be justified apart from the works of the law. He is said to have studied the works of Grostete, by the advice of his tutor, and derived therefrom the idea that the pope is Antichrist.

{*Some very recent writers give Balliol College, and state that the John Wyklif of Merton College was another person, who was nominated to the vicarage of Mayfield in the year 1361. This is probably correct, for in that year Wickliffe, the reformer, was master of Balliol, and the Bursar's Rolls, of Queen's College, prove his residence there.}

His attacks upon the mendicant orders, who enticed away the students of the university to their monasteries, first brought him into notice at Oxford; and he wrote some spirited papers on the subject, entitled "Against able beggary," "Against idle beggary," and on "The poverty of Christ." He was now a professor at the University, but this did not cripple him in his service to the Lord; and on Sundays he laid aside the professor's gown, and preached the simple gospel to the people in their own language.

The fame of his preaching soon spread Rome-wards, and the Mendicants, whose influence was being steadily undermined by his teaching, were not slow to acquaint the pope with their grievances. This they managed in a most effectual way, by extracting from Wickliffe's writings nineteen articles of a questionable character, which they forwarded with their letters; and as most of these articles combated, in very plain language, the temporal pretensions of the pope, the result may be anticipated. Nine of the obnoxious extracts were quickly condemned as heresies, and the rest were declared erroneous; and bulls were at once dispatched to England, commanding that the daring heresiarch should be brought to trial for his opinions. This was the beginning of the conflict: but Rome, as usual, had over-reached herself.

In attacking the reformer she had not attacked a man without friends, for Wickliffe was a favourite with all classes. The common people liked him, because he took an interest in their state, and explained the scriptures to them in a language they could understand; the nobles favoured him, because he supported them in their resistance to the clergy; and at Oxford he was not less beloved for his piety than he was venerated for his learning.

In the month of February, and in the year 1377, the Convocation commenced its sittings in St. Paul's Cathedral; and thither Wickliffe proceeded, attended by his friends, John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and Lord Percy, Marshal of England. They feared that Wicklife would not be heard with impartiality if he went alone, perhaps would be made the victim of foul play; and when the trial commenced, the conduct of Courtenay,* bishop of London, shewed that there was some ground for their fears.

{*A son of the Earl of Devon.}

The press of people inside the cathedral was very great, and the marshal had to use his authority in order to make a way to the presence of the judges. This greatly incensed the bishop, and a stormy scene ensued. "If I had known, my lord," said he, "that you claimed to be master in this church, I would have taken measures to prevent your entrance." The Duke of Lancaster, who at this time was regent of the kingdom for the young king Richard II., approved of the marshal's act, and observed that it was "necessary to maintain order in spite of the bishops." Courtenay with difficulty concealed his vexation, but when the marshal presently demanded a chair for Wickliffe, he angrily exclaimed, "He must not sit down; criminals stand before their judges." High words again ensued on both sides, Wickliffe alone remaining silent: the people meanwhile caught the spirit of their leaders, and began to express their own opinions in acts of open violence. To prolong the sitting under such circumstances was impossible; the court was therefore dismissed, and the reformer withdrew from the cathedral under the powerful escort of the Duke of Lancaster.

For a time he was allowed to rest, and Rome became engaged in a more alarming controversy nearer home, which demanded all her attention. The cause of this controversy was the election of a rival pope at Findi, in Naples. The Roman pontiff, Urban VI., had so disgusted his cardinals by his coarseness and severity, that they had found it expedient to transfer their allegiance to another, and had invested with the dignity Robert, Count of Geneva. This man, after being duly elected at Findi, had taken up his residence at Avignon, in France, under the title of Clement VII.; and here he was acknowledged as pope by Scotland, Spain, France, Sicily, and Cyprus. The rest of Europe still looked up to Urban as the legitimate successor of St. Peter.

As might be expected, this remarkable schism still further inflamed the zeal of Wickliffe against the papacy, and gave him new motives for attacking it. "Trust we in the help of Christ," he exclaimed, "for He hath begun already to help us graciously, in that He hath cloven the head of Antichrist, and made the two parts fight against each other." He had already declared, "The pope is Antichrist, the proud worldly priest of Rome, and the most cursed of clippers and purse-carvers;" and now he did not scruple to affirm that a fit moment had arrived for "extinguishing the evil entirely." But in this he was anticipating the future by nearly two centuries; and on being cited a second time to appear before his accusers, he found that many of his friends had deserted him on account of his extreme views, and among them the powerful Duke of Lancaster. But God had not deserted him; and the falling off of his earthly friends gave him but little concern. Perhaps, in his former trial he had unwittingly been "making flesh his arm;" but it was not so now, and he went to the council unattended. Yet many of the people, thinking he would surely be devoured in such a den of lions, made their way into the chapel, intending to rescue him should there be any symptoms of treachery.

The prelates had gone to the council with confident and proud looks, fully expecting an easy victory; but, observing these popular manifestations they became uneasy; and when, at the commencement of the proceedings they received a message from the young king's mother forbidding them to proceed to "any definite sentence respecting the doctrine and conduct of Wickliffe," their discomfiture was complete. Walsingham, the papal advocate on that occasion, thus refers to the event: "The bishops who had professed themselves determined to do their duty in spite of threats and promises, and even at the hazard of their lives, were as reeds shaken by the wind, and became so intimidated during the examination of the apostate that their speeches were as soft as oil, to the public loss of their dignity, and the damage of the whole church. And when Clifford pompously delivered his message, they were so overcome with fear, that you would have thought them to be as a man that heareth not, and in whose mouth are no reproofs."

Thus, through God's mercy, Wickliffe again escaped from the toils of his persecutors, and was enabled, shortly after, to engage upon his great work, the translation of the Bible into the vernacular. He had long ago expressed a wish that his countrymen might "rede in Englysche the gospel of Crist's lyf;" and there was now every probability that his wish would be gratified. Probability gave place to certainty before many months had passed away, and, as the work drew near its close, the brave reformer began to feel that his mission on earth was almost done. The year 1383 saw his task completed; and although the bishops tried hard to get the version suppressed by Act of Parliament, their efforts failed; and it was soon widely circulated throughout the kingdom. But Wickliffe did not live to see the opposition of the bishops. On the 31st of December, 1384, after an agitated career of sixty years, he entered into his eternal rest: and though his enemies had hoped, and his friends, had expected, that he would perish by the hand of man, God had ordained otherwise, and he died peacefully in his bed at Lutterworth. Yet though the agents of Rome were thus cheated of their expected prey, his body was afterwards exhumed and burnt, and the ashes thrown into a neighbouring brook. "The brook," says Fuller, "did convey his ashes into Avon; Avon into Severn; Severn into the narrow seas; they into the main ocean. And thus the ashes of Wickliffe are the emblem of his doctrine, which is now dispersed all the world over."

At the time of Wickliffe's death his followers had become very numerous, and might be found among all classes of the community. At Oxford they seem to have been in the majority, and when the chancellor of the university, Dr. Rigge, was commanded to silence all who favoured the reformer, he replied that he "durst not do it for fear of death." All who publicly adopted Wickliffe's views were called Lollards, but it is certain that Christians of that name existed in considerable numbers, even before Wickliffe appeared upon the scene. The origin of the name is uncertain, but some have traced it to the German word lollen, to sing; the question however is of small importance. Their doctrines and opinions were in every way similar to those of the reformer, and they seem to have been as indefatigable in disseminating them. Like Wickliffe, they taught that "the gospel of Jesus Christ is the only source of true religion, that there is nothing in the gospel to shew that Christ established the mass; that the substances of bread and wine remain after consecration; that those who enter monasteries only render themselves so much the more incapable of observing God's commands; and that penance, confession, and extreme unction are not needful, and have little foundation in scripture."

To think that Rome could allow such incorrigible heretics to exist unmolested, would be to suppose her capable of tolerance and mercy; qualities which she had never exhibited, and which she is doubtless incapable of possessing. This was not her way; and though the Lollards were not immediately visited with her anger, it was only because she lacked the means to make it sufficiently effective. The accession of Henry IV., however, afforded the opportunity for which she waited. The priests and friars had been busily engaged meanwhile, circulating lying reports of the revolutionary practices of the Lollards, and had so successfully worked upon the fears of the nation, that when, in the year 1400, the new king issued a royal edict for the burning of the heretics, Parliament was ready to sanction it. The decree ordained that, "on a high place, in public, before the face of the people, the incorrigible heretic is to be burnt alive;" and by this decree, burning for heresy became a statute law in England.

To speak of all the martyrdoms which belong to this persecution would be to write a martyrology, and that would be travelling far beyond our limitations. William Sautree has the honour of being the first victim under the new law. After him came John Badby, an artisan of Worcester, whose martyrdom was witnessed by the young Prince of Wales — afterwards Henry V. It is recorded of this martyr, that when the pile had been lighted he was heard to cry for mercy, and Henry ordered him to be extricated from the flames. On being brought before him the prince asked, "Will you forsake heresy, and conform to the faith of holy mother church? If you will, you shall have a yearly maintenance out of the king's treasury." But John Badby had been appealing to the mercy of God and not of man; and his steadfastness remained unshaken by this new test. He was accordingly consigned a second time to the flames.

The Lollards continuing to increase, archbishop Arundel called together a synod in the year 1413, in order to arrange further measures for their suppression; and among those marked out for condemnation was Sir John Oldcastle, by marriage Lord Cobham, who had long been a diligent student of Wickliffe's works. He was described as "a principal favourer, receiver, and maintainer of the people called Lollards," and among the crimes that were laid against him were those of "setting up preachers whom the bishops had not licensed; and of holding and teaching opinions of the sacraments, images, pilgrimages, etc., repugnant to the determinations of the church of Rome." Of course he was looked upon as a dangerous heretic one who was not safe to roam at large; and as soon as arrangements could be conveniently made, he was arrested by the king's command, and committed to the Tower.

On being brought before the Consistory, in the chapter house of St. Paul's, archbishop Arundel tried to win him back to "holy mother church" by many blandishments and fair speeches; but the knight was not to be moved from his convictions by the soft words of the prelate. The archbishop then changed his manner, and said sternly, "Sir John, beware what you do. For if you answer not clearly to these things (especially at the time appointed you only for that purpose) the law of the holy church is, That compelled once by a judge, we may openly proclaim you a heretic." "Do as ye think best," returned Sir John, stoutly, "for I am at a point!" As the archbishop could get no retractation from him on that day, he was remanded to the Tower till the following Monday, when a large assembly was present to witness his condemnation. We do not say trial, as that would suppose the impartiality of the judges who came to the council with the sentence written. The examination on this occasion was held at the Dominican Convent, in the ward of Ludgate, and in place of the two or three bishops who had attended at the former examination, there was an imposing concourse of canonists and friars, prelates and doctors, with the archbishop at their head.

Arundel opened the proceedings by making a conditional offer of absolution and mercy to the prisoner, which he promptly declined. "Nay, forsooth," were his words, "for I never yet trespassed against you." The stout old soldier then fell upon his knees in the sight of all, and exclaimed with tears, "I shrive me here unto Thee, my eternal, living God, that in my youth I offended Thee, O Lord, most grievously in pride, wrath and gluttony, in covetousness and lechery! Many men have I hurt in mine anger, and done many other horrible sins! Good Lord, I ask Thy mercy!" With that he rose to his feet, and addressed the spectators in a loud voice. "Lo! good people," said he, "for the breaking of God's law and His commandments they never yet cursed me. But for their own laws and traditions, most cruelly do they handle both me and other men. And, therefore, both they and their laws, by the promise of God, shall utterly be destroyed."

To attempt to subdue the spirit of the bold speaker was clearly a vain task; and the subsequent speeches of the knight, far from offering any hopes of retractation, were full of the most indignant denunciations of the whole system of popery. "Ye are no part of Christ's holy church," he exclaimed, addressing the whole body of ecclesiastics, "as your open deeds do show: but ye are very Antichrists, openly set against His holy law and will. The laws ye have made are nothing to His glory, but only for your vain glory and abominable covetousness." The prior of the Carmelites attempted to take him to task for his language, and said, "Rash judgment and right judgment are all one with you. So swift judges always are the learned scholars of Wickliffe." But the knight answered readily, "It is well sophistered of you, forsooth! Preposterous are your judgments evermore. And as for that virtuous man Wickliffe, I shall say here, both before God and man, that before I knew that despised doctrine of his, I never abstained from sin. But since I learned therein to fear my Lord God, it hath otherwise, I trust, been with me. So much grace could I never find in all your glorious instructions!" The prior was weak enough to attempt another sally, and satirically observed, that it had not been well in his own case, had he possessed no grace to amend his life, till he heard the devil preach. The knight retorted by reminding the Carmelite that the Pharisees, of old, ascribed the miracles of Christ to Beelzebub and His doctrines to the devil. Then, turning to his judges, he demanded by what authority they were thus sitting in judgment on a Christian man. "No ground have ye in all the scriptures," said he, "so lordly to take it upon you, but in Annas and Caiaphas, which sat thus upon Christ, and upon His apostles after His ascension." Hereupon a lawyer remarked that Christ judged Judas; but Sir John corrected him by saying that "Judas judged himself." "Indeed," he continued, "Christ said, 'Woe unto him' for that covetous act of his, as He doth yet unto many of you; for since that venom was shed into the church, ye never followed Christ." When asked by the archbishop what he meant by that venom, he replied, "Your possessions and lordships; for then cried an angel in the air, as your own chronicles mention, 'Woe! woe! woe! this day is venom shed in the church of God!' Since that time, one pope hath put down another, one hath poisoned another, one hath cursed another, and one hath slain another, and done much more mischief, as all the chronicles tell. Let all men consider well this, that Christ was meek and merciful; the pope is proud and a tyrant; Christ was poor and forgave; the pope is rich, and a malicious manslayer, as his daily acts do prove him. Rome is the very nest of Antichrist, and out of that nest cometh all his disciples, of whom prelates, priests and monks are the body, and these piled friars are the tail!"

In this way the examination proceeded, the prisoner having apparently changed places with his judges, till the archbishop thought proper to close the discussion by reading the form of condemnation. In this the knight was described as a "most pernicious and detestable heretic," worthy only of death, and a sentence in accordance with these views was forthwith pronounced upon him. In addition to this he was excommunicated and accursed, and a prohibition was read forbidding any one to supply the atrocious malefactor with food or shelter, or to offer him any kind of assistance whatsoever. This being settled to the satisfaction of the court, the knight firmly declared his determination to stand to his convictions to the last, and expressed his willingness to suffer in so good a cause: then, turning to the people, he exclaimed, "Good Christian people, for God's love be well aware of these men, for they will else beguile you, and lead you blindling into hell with themselves. For Christ saith plainly unto you, 'If one blind man leadeth another, they are like both to fall into the ditch!'" After that he fell upon his knees, and offered up this prayer, "Lord God eternal! I beseech Thee of Thy great mercy's sake, to forgive my pursuers, if it be Thy blessed will!" He was then remanded a second time to the Tower.

Of his escape from prison, and his four years of hiding in Wales, we cannot here speak, nor of the trumped-up charge of conspiracy against the Lollards, of which he was pointed out as the leader. His martyrdom was only postponed by his escape, and when, in the year 1418, he again fell into the hands of his enemies, the sentence was carried out with unexampled cruelties. He was taken through London to St. Giles's with his hands pinioned, and then, after being suspended in chains, was roasted over a slow fire.

From this time forth, for nearly a century, the flames of persecution were kept burning in England, and the search for heretics was conducted with the usual rigour: but God had decreed that the work of His servants should go on, and who could stay His hand? The wretched creatures of Rome might thin the little band of Christians, by their fires, and tortures, and imprisonments (and tribulation was the expected portion of the faithful disciple), but they could not destroy the work which God had begun. His word — that incorruptible seed which liveth and abideth for ever — was in the hands of the people, and so long as this power was among them, the arm of Rome was impotent, and souls would be born again for glory.

Chapter 19.

The Reformers Before the Reformation.

A.D. 1400-1500.

Whilst the Lollards were being persecuted in England, a revival work was springing up in another part of Europe, to which we would now draw the reader's attention. This was in Bohemia; and the chief leader in the movement was the martyr-reformer, John Huss.

There is little doubt that the writings of Wickliffe kindled the first sparks of this revival; and the circumstances which led to it, on which, however, we can only linger for a moment, are thus given. The queen of Richard II. of England was a Bohemian princess, the sister of Wenceslaus, King of Bohemia. She was a woman of piety, and a student of the Scriptures; facts which may be learnt from the persecuting archbishop Arundel, who affirms that, "although she was a stranger, yet she constantly studied the four gospels in English, with the expositions of the doctors; and in the study of these, and the perusal of godly books, she was more diligent than the prelates themselves, although their office and calling required it." On the death of her husband she returned to Bohemia, taking with her the reformer's works.

After this, a learned Bohemian of Prague, named Jerome, visited England, and became acquainted with several of the Lollards, whose teachings he imbibed. He afterwards returned to his own city, and taught the new doctrines with earnestness and success.

At a still later period (A.D. 1404), two Englishmen of Canterbury visited Prague, and uttered antipapal sentiments. "They took up their abode in the suburbs of the Bohemian capital, in the house of one Luke Welensky, and, by his consent, painted on the walls of their room two pictures; one, the history of Christ's passion, the other, the pomp of the papal court. The meaning of the pictorial antithesis was plain enough: people ran to see the rude drawings, and Huss (at that time a preacher at the Bethlehem chapel, and withal dean of the Philosophical faculty) referred to them in his sermons."

From an early period Huss had shewn his sympathy with the Wickliffe movement. He was a man of profound learning, a clear thinker, and a skilful dialectician: in appearance the student rather than the priest, his figure being tall and spare, his cheeks pale, and his eyes grey and thoughtful. In manner he was dignified and grave; in morals austere and irreproachable. Like Wickliffe he always preached to the people in their native tongue, and like him was stern and emphatic in his exposure of prevailing abuses; but being a favourite at court, he was not at first molested. He cherished and revered the memory of the English reformer; and in his chapel of Bethlehem was frequently heard to pray that his soul might be with Wickliffe's after its departure.

The great schism in papal Christendom was still the topic of discussion when Huss was the preacher at Bethlehem Chapel and the popular rector of the University; and it was not likely he would let it pass without some words of censure. Yet his zeal on this subject did him but little harm, as the prohibitory decrees which were issued against him were disregarded by those who should have seen them carried out. It was circumstances of another kind, which made him a heretic in the sight of Rome, and one of too deep a dye for hope or pardon.

In the year 1411 the pope of Rome, John XXIII., a man of dissolute life and military habits, proclaimed a crusade against Ladislaus, King of Naples, and offered the usual indulgences to all who joined the papal army. Huss was justly indignant that the cross of Christ should be degraded to such unchristian ends, and preached against the crusade. The people, inflamed by his eloquence, refused to listen to the papal missionaries, and interrupted their harangues by angry exclamations. This was a treatment to which they had not been accustomed, and to which they were not likely to submit in silence. To strike at the leader of the movement, however, would have been too perilous and precipitate a measure, nor would it have been wise, in the then agitated state of the people, to have taken public steps for their own protection. They therefore procured the secret arrest of three of the ringleaders, who, having been thrown into prison by order of the Senate, were hurriedly and privately executed. But the blood of the murdered men was seen oozing through the prison grating, and their fate was thus made known to their friends. This was the signal for a general rising, and the people rushed in a body to the town-house, which they took by storm. Breaking open the prison, they possessed themselves of the headless trunks of the victims, and bore them to a place of sepulture with martyr honours. Huss, meanwhile foreseeing the consequences to himself of this rash and lawless act, wisely withdrew from the city, and continued his preaching in places where he was more safe. A summons from the pope to answer for his conduct before the tribunal of the Vatican was disregarded, and for this was he excommunicated; but he went on preaching just the same, and the numbers of his converts and sympathisers increased daily.

Meanwhile, a council of prelates and others had been convened at Constance, an imperial city on the German side of the Alps, with the twofold purpose of healing the great schism, and of suppressing the heresies of Wickliffe; and in due course Huss received a summons to appear before it. We might fill several pages with accounts of the secret abominations and outspoken blasphemies of the members of this council, but the details are too revolting: we shall only refer to them because of their connection with John Huss, and their perfidious treatment of that truly noble man.

When the Bohemian reformer had received his citation to appear at Constance, he did not hesitate to obey. He had declined to appear at Rome because he knew the faithlessness of the pope; but with the assembly at Constance the case was different. The prelates, in his idea, were the august representatives of that true church to which he belonged, and he knew that one of the purposes for which the council had been convened was identical with that which was often nearest his own heart when preaching. Yet though he had some confidence in placing himself in its power, he felt that a safe-conduct from the German emperor* might be a useful protection, and he procured one. To those unacquainted with the nature of a safe-conduct we may remark, that it was a passport granted by some person in authority, empowering the holder to go to and from a certain place without molestation. The wording of the Emperor Sigismund's safe-conduct was as follows: "You shall let John Huss pass, stop, stay, and return freely without any hindrance whatever:" and with this in his possession the reformer started on his journey.

{*Sigismund.}

And now mark the perfidy of Rome. No sooner had the reformer put his foot in Constance than he was seized and thrown into prison on a charge of heresy. That he held a safe-conduct from the emperor was well known to the council; but this was a difficulty easily removed, and they passed a decree that no faith should be kept with heretics. The people were amazed when they heard of the reformer's arrest, and their indignant clamours reached the emperor from Bohemia. He had not yet arrived in Constance, and at first seemed disposed to side with the people in condemning the treachery of the council — he even talked of breaking open the prison in which the reformer was confined: but when he reached the city, the specious arguments of the priests overcame his sounder judgment, and he suffered them to do their will with the prisoner.

The dungeon in which Huss had been confined was damp and fetid, and his food was stinted and unwholesome: by this treatment they thought to reduce his strength, and make him pliant in their hands. Their efforts were so far successful that the reformer became dangerously ill.

Early in June (A.D. 1415), and before he was thoroughly recovered, his public trial commenced; but though he was still so weak, he was forbidden to employ counsel, because, said his enemies, a heretic could not be defended. There were two charges preferred against him; the first, that of imbibing the doctrines of Wickliffe; the second, that of being "infected with the leprosy of the Vaudois." When called upon for his answer to the first charge he appealed to the authority of scripture, but his voice was immediately drowned in a tumult of scorn and derision. To attempt a defence under such circumstances was impossible; and when the next question was put he remained silent. Yet even this was made to militate against him, and his silence was received as a tacit acknowledgment of his guilt. When he again spoke his voice was again lost in the general uproar. At last the excitement became so great that it was found impossible to proceed with the trial; and the assembly was adjourned.

On the second day the emperor appeared in person to preserve order; and on this occasion there seems to have been a greater show of decency, though the prelates failed to preserve their composure to the end. When, during the course of examination, Huss admitted that he had said that "Wickliffe was a true believer, that his soul was now in heaven, and that he could not wish his own soul more safe than Wickliffe's," the holy fathers expressed their merriment in a burst of laughter. On the third day the trial was concluded, and Huss was remanded to prison pending the delivery of his sentence.

Throughout the trial there seems to have been one friend who clung to him, and that with an energy which belongs only to a very deep affection: this friend was a Bohemian knight, John of Chlum. He was with him on each occasion in court, and he attended him throughout his painful and tedious imprisonment; though not without considerable risk to his own person. "My dear master," he said when the third day of the trial was over, "I am unlettered, and consequently unfit to counsel one so enlightened as you. Nevertheless, if you are secretly conscious of any of those errors which have been publicly imputed to you, I do entreat you not to feel any shame in retracting it; but if on the contrary, you are convinced of your innocence, I am so far from advising you to say anything against your conscience, that I rather exhort you to endure every form of torture than to renounce anything which you hold to be true." Huss was deeply moved by the earnest and loving counsel of his friend, and told him with tears that God knew how willingly he would retract on oath any statement which he had made contrary to the holy scriptures. A month elapsed, and during that time the faithful knight seems to have been constantly with him proving himself a faithful disciple and true friend to the last. "Oh, what a comfort to me," said Huss, "to see that this nobleman did not disdain to stretch out his arm to a poor heretic in irons, whom all the world, as it were, had forsaken."

On the 6th of July 1415, he stood before the council for the last time; and received his sentence. The sitting was held in the cathedral, and Huss was detained in the porch while mass was celebrated, as a heretic could not be permitted in the church during the ceremony. The bishop of Lodi preached the sermon, and chose for his text, "That the body of sin might be destroyed." His remarks were a fierce tirade against the heresies of Huss, who, he said, was "as bad as Arius and worse than Sabellius." The articles of accusation were then read, and sentence was pronounced. During the reading of the articles, Huss made several attempts to speak, but was prevented: and when he afterwards offered up a prayer for his enemies, and asked that God would forgive their injustice, his words were treated with derision. The martyr, strong in his integrity, then lifted up his hands and exclaimed, "Behold, most gracious Saviour, how the council condemns as an error what Thou hast prescribed and practised, when, overborne by enemies, Thou committedst Thy cause to God Thy Father, leaving us this example, that when we are oppressed we may have recourse to the judgment of God." The fervour of his eloquence had compelled attention, and during his few following remarks his enemies preserved an uneasy silence. Sigismund alone seemed undisturbed, but his discomfiture was only delayed. Suddenly lifting his eyes from the assembled prelates, Huss fixed them steadily on the emperor. "I came to this council," said he, in a firm, clear voice, "under the public faith of the emperor." Then a deep blush was seen to pass over the emperor's face: and Huss had finished speaking.

He was now stripped of his priestly garments, and his head crowned with a paper mitre, on which were painted three devils. The sacramental cup, which had been meanwhile placed in his hands, was then taken from him with these words, "Accursed Judas, who, having forsaken the counsel of peace, art entered into that of the Jews, we take this holy cup from thee in which is the blood of Jesus Christ." "Nay," said Huss in a loud voice, "I trust, in the mercy of God, I shall drink of it this day in His kingdom." The bishops retorted, "We devote thy soul to the infernal demons." "And I," said Huss, "commit my spirit into Thy hands, O Lord Jesus Christ; unto Thee, I commend my soul which Thou hast redeemed."

Having been thus degraded from the priestly office, he was handed over to the emperor, as representing the secular power. "It is thy glorious office," said the bishop of Lodi, "to destroy heresies and schisms, especially this obstinate heretic;" and the emperor proceeded to his "glorious office" without delay. The place of martyrdom was not far distant, and thither Huss was immediately taken, under the escort of the elector Palatine and eight hundred horse. As he walked along his face shone with joy, and the people who lined the way were astonished at his pious ejaculations. "What this man has done," they said, "we know not; but we hear him offering up most excellent prayers to God." On arriving at the place of execution he was not allowed to address the people, but his prayer as he was being chained to the stake could not escape their ears. "Lord Jesus," he exclaimed, "I humbly suffer this cruel death for Thy sake, and I pray Thee to forgive all my enemies." At the last moment an attempt was made to induce him to sign a recantation, but in vain. "What I have written and taught," he said, "was in order to rescue souls from the power of the devil, and to deliver them from the tyranny of sin; and I do gladly seal what I have written and taught with my blood." The elector, who had exerted this last endeavour, now rode away from the spot, and the pile was lighted. But the martyr's sufferings were speedily terminated; and while he was yet calling upon God, his head sank upon his breast, and he was suffocated in a rising cloud of smoke. Thus John Huss, having witnessed the good confession, obtained the martyr's crown, and departed "to be with Christ, which is far better."

His friend and fellow-labourer, Jerome of Prague, followed him in a little while. He was a man of greater learning, but not of greater endurance. Indeed, the tortures to which he was subjected during a barbarous imprisonment of nearly a year, so crushed his spirit that he was induced to sign a recantation. But the victory of his enemies did not last, and the Lord having graciously restored his soul, he quickly recanted his recantation. It is worthy of notice, that in spite of all the sufferings through which he passed at this time, his memory remained clear, and his intellect unimpaired, so that at his final trial (though he had been without books and paper, in a loathsome dungeon, for upwards of 340 days) his references to authorities, and frequent quotations were always prompt and correct; and his eloquence was such as to excite the admiration even of his enemies. "It was amazing," wrote the pope's secretary Poggius, "to hear with what force of expression, fluency of language, and excellent reasoning, he answered his adversaries; nor was I less struck with the gracefulness of his manner, the dignity of his action, and the firmness and constancy of his whole behaviour. It grieved me to think so great a man was labouring under so atrocious an accusation. Whether this accusation be just or not, God knows: I make no inquiry into the merits of the case; I submit to those who know more of it than I do."

It was in the May of the year 1416 that Jerome was brought up for his final audience. He did not forget to reproach his adversaries with the fact, that he had been confined for over eleven months in prison, where he had been cramped with irons, poisoned with dirt and stench, and pinched with the want of necessaries. "And during this time," said he, "ye gave my enemies at all times a favourable hearing, but refused to hear me for a single hour." He then referred with shame to his retractation; and his sorrowful confession was in itself a testimony. "I confess and tremble when I think of it," he said, "that through fear of punishment by fire, I basely consented, against my conscience, to condemn the doctrine of Wickliffe and Huss. This sinful retractation I now fully retract, and am resolved to maintain the tenets of these men to death, believing them to be the true and pure doctrines of the gospel, even as their lives were blameless and holy."

The Assembly behaved no better to their new victim than they had behaved to Huss; and their conduct is described by one of their own number as "unruly and indecent." Yet Jerome never lost his presence of mind, or suffered himself to be discomfited by their clamour and ridicule. He reminded them that his case was not an isolated one; that others, worthier than he, had been borne down by false witnesses and unjustly condemned. Joseph and Isaiah, Daniel and John the Baptist, yea, even his Divine Master, had been arraigned before councils, and suffered wrongfully at the hands of wicked men. "Ye have determined to condemn me unjustly," he cried, "but after my death I shall leave a sting in your consciences, and a worm that will never die. I appeal to the Sovereign Judge of all the earth, in whose presence ye must appear to answer me."

Language like this was more than sufficient to procure his speedy condemnation; but death had lost all terror for him now. When the trying moment drew near, his willingness to suffer was shewn by his cheerful countenance; and he went to the place of his martyrdom singing hymns of joy. In this he was like his friend and forerunner; and the simile did not escape the notice of a Roman Catholic historian (Aeneas Sylvius) who afterwards became pope.* "They went to the stake," says this writer, "as to a banquet: not a word fell from them which discovered the least timidity; they sung hymns in the flames, to the last gasp, without ceasing."

{*As Pius II.}

It is worthy of notice that John XXIII., the pope who summoned the council which condemned these noble martyrs, was afterwards deposed for his wickedness by the same council. This was the one worthy act they preformed, although, indeed, little credit is due to them, as the step was taken from interested motives.

The martyrdom of Huss and Jerome, by which they hoped to purge Europe of the heresies of Wickliffe, not only left upon their consciences the awful reproach of a double murder, but, looked at from the side of Rome's interests, was a fatal mistake. Instead of crushing by that means what they were pleased to call a seductive and scandalous heresy, they inflamed the minds of the Bohemian people, and produced a civil war. Even before the death of Jerome, several noblemen and other eminent persons in Bohemia had sent an indignant protest to the Council of Constance, in which they accused them of unrighteousness and cruelty, and expressed their determination to sacrifice their lives for the defence of the gospel of Christ, and of His faithful preachers. Their letter, however, had been contemptuously burnt by the assembled prelates; and the indifference of these holy fathers had been afterwards more insultingly shewn by the ruthless murder of their second victim. Their subsequent edicts of persecution did not help to soothe the popular mind, and when, in the year 1419, a Hussite minister was seized, and burnt, under circumstances of great cruelty,* the exasperated people flew to arms; and, headed by the king's chamberlain, a one-eyed nobleman named Zisca, carried all before them.

{*His hands were bored through with a sword, and the holes were then threaded with a piece of rope, by which he was confined to the stake at which he suffered.}

A large and well-trained army was brought against them by the emperor Sigismund, but it was scattered like chaff before the threshing-flails of the Bohemian peasants, who, in truth, had scarcely any other weapons with which to fight their battles. The pope's legate, Cardinal Julian, was present at several of these encounters, and was amazed when he saw the flower of the emperor's army — princes renowned for their bravery, and veterans of European fame — retreating in disorder before the uncouth weapons of a handful of peasants — nay — sometimes even flying when no man pursued, possessed by some unaccountable panic. On one of these occasions he burst into tears, and exclaimed, "Alas! it is not the enemy, but our sins which put us to flight!" Several popish writers have confessed their inability to account for the wonderful success of these Christian warriors, and one of them affirms, that the "Bohemians proved themselves a brave people; for though the emperor Sigismund led nearly half Europe in arms against them, he was not able to reduce them." Melanchthon, a reformer of the next century, ascribed their victories to miraculous agency, and believed that the angels of God accompanied them on their expeditions, and discomfited their enemies.

On the death of Zisca in the year 1424, efforts were made to bring the war to a conclusion, and the Bohemians were invited to lay their ultimatum before a convocation at Basle. But the Hussites were not all so favourable to the proposed treaty; and as there had already been some grave differences of opinion among them, they separated into two parties. The one, demanding only that the cup should be restored to the laity, was easily cajoled into returning to the bosom of the church; and the pope promised to yield to the dissentients the point insisted upon: though, as soon as it was safe to do so, he violated his pledge. These were called the Calixtines, from the Greek kalyx, a cup. The other party, holding the doctrines of Huss in their entirety, refused to sign the compact, and were now exposed to persecution from their old friends in addition to that of Rome. They were known by the appellation of "Taborites," because they met for worship on a certain hill, which they called Mount Tabor. Meanwhile, an increased acquaintance with the word of God had taught the Taborites that their appeal to carnal weapons was contrary to the expressed mind and will of God; and when the persecution was revived, instead of returning to their threshing-flails and hoes, they appealed to no other weapon than "the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God."

At length the severity of their sufferings excited the pity of the archbishop of Prague, who had formerly been a prominent Calixtine; and by his influence they were removed to the lordship of Lititz, on the confines of Moravia and Silesia; where for a time they were free from persecution, and were enabled to found a colony. Some of their brethren from the Calixtines now rejoined them, together with several citizens of Prague and not a few of the nobility: and to commemorate the re-union they took the name of Unitas Fratrum or the "United Brethren." This was in the year 1451.

Scarcely, however, had they been settled in their new quarters a twelvemonth, when they were again harassed by the merciless agents of Rome. A baseless charge of sedition was made the ground of this new persecution, and all the patience and all the faith of the Moravian Brethren was now called into practice. The cruelty of the inquisitors was worthy of their office; and hundreds of the guiltless and unresisting Moravians were seized by their orders and thrust into prison. Some were starved to death, others were racked, others mutilated, others burnt at the stake; while those who managed to escape, were forced to take up their abode in caverns and forests, where their food was the game they procured by hunting, and the wild berries which the bushes afforded. When they left their hidings they went in single file, each treading in the steps of the other, and the last carrying a branch with which to obliterate the marks of their feet; and thus they secured themselves against detection. When night came on they kindled their fires, which they dared not do in the day-time lest the rising smoke should betray them, and by the flickering glare of these midnight fires they held their pious meetings, and read their Bibles together. In the year 1470 they completed a translation of the Bible in the Bohemian language; and as printing from metal blocks had now come into general use on the Continent, through the efforts of the celebrated John Guttenberg, it was not long before the translation had gone through several editions. Thus one thing was helping on another, and, in spite of the efforts of Rome to mar and hinder, the way was being prepared for the approaching Reformation.

Of the three remaining links, which connect the chain of testimony with the period above referred to, we cannot speak at any length. The first of these was Jerome Savonarola, a Dominican monk, and the son of a physician at Ferrara. In early life he believed himself to be the subject of heavenly visions; by which he was led to enter the convent of Bologna, where his fastings and mortifications attracted the notice of his superiors. He was afterwards removed to St. Mark's convent at Florence; and here he rose to the dignity of prior; in which capacity he endeavoured to restore, as nearly as possible, the primitive simplicity of the monastic life. But it was his fame as a preacher of reform outside his convent, which made him a marked man at Rome his unsparing denunciations of the pope; his attacks on the vices of the clergy; his passionate laments over the spiritual deadness of the times. "The church," he said, "had once her golden priests and wooden chalices; but now the chalices are gold and the priests wooden; for the outward splendour of religion has been hurtful to spirituality." The pope tried to silence the great preacher by the offer of a cardinal's hat, but a cardinal's hat had no attractions for Savonarola. He received the offer with indignation, and declared that the only red hat which he coveted was one that should be dyed with the blood of martyrdom.

At length he was seized and thrown into prison. Here he improved his time by reflection and prayer, and wrote a spiritual meditation on Psalm xxxi., in which he described the inward wrestlings of the converted man. After being cruelly tortured by order of the Inquisition, the order for his condemnation was signed by the same pope who would have made him a cardinal, and he was burnt at the stake in the year 1499.

The second of the three connecting links was John of Wesalia, a famous doctor of divinity of Erfurt. This devoted man was much harassed in his old age by the popish inquisitors, who confined his weak limbs in iron fetters, and subjected him to many indignities. He taught that salvation was by grace alone, that pilgrimages, fasts, extreme unction, etc., were of no profit to the soul, and that the word of God is the only authority, in all matters of faith. Some of his opinions he was at length induced to withdraw; but the retractation had no effect in curbing the resentment of his enemies, and after languishing in prison a few months longer, he was mercifully released by death (A.D. 1479).

The third link was John Wesselus or Wessel, a friend of John of Wesalia, and sometimes mistaken for his friend. He was born at Groningen in Holland, about the year 1419, and obtained a European celebrity. Though he was unquestionably the greatest theologian of his age, he was never ordained, and hence was never associated with any ecclesiastical body. It was not an uncommon practice in his day to adopt the clerical character in order to evade persecution; and this explains a remark he once made, that "he was not afraid of the gallows and therefore had no need of the tonsure." When his friend Rovere, general of the Franciscans, was raised to the papal throne, the newly-elected pope asked him, was there any request he would like to make of him. "Yes," said Wessel, "I beg you to give me out of the Vatican library a Greek and Hebrew Bible." "You shall have those," was the reply, "but, foolish man, why do you not ask for a bishopric or something of that sort?" "For the best of reasons," said Wessel, "because I do not want such things."

Such was the spirit of the man who was to carry on the line of testimony — that "silver line of grace" as another has called it — which we have traced from the era of the apostles, and to connect it with the line of testimony which runs through the period of the Reformation. He does not seem to have been much persecuted in his life-time, although the whole tenor of his teaching was opposed to the ways and maxims of Rome. Luther, in the next century, expressed his surprise that the writings of Wessel should be so little known, adding that "the reason might be that he lived without blood and contention," for that was the only point of difference between them. He spoke of him as "a man of admirable genius and uncommonly large mind," who was evidently taught of God, and "did not receive his doctrines from men." "If I had read his works before," said Luther, "my enemies might have supposed that I learnt everything from Wesselus, such a perfect coincidence there is in our opinions. . . . . It is now impossible for me to doubt whether I am right in the points which I have inculcated, when I see so entire an agreement in sentiment, and almost the same words used by this eminent person, who lived in a different age, in a distant country, and in circumstances very unlike my own."

Wesselus died full of honours in his seventieth year, acknowledging with his latest breath the intense satisfaction of his soul in the fact, that "all he knew was Jesus Christ and Him crucified."

This was in the year 1489. Luther was then a lad six years of age. Thus the line of testimony was connected with the period of the great Reformation, and the chain of witnesses, thus far, had been preserved without a break.

Chapter 20.

Martin Luther and the German Reformation..

A.D. 1483-1522.

At the beginning of the sixteenth century, the doctrine of justification by faith had been almost lost sight of in the church; and this was the one great fact which made the Reformation a necessity. No sooner had the power of this truth been weakened in the souls of the faithful, than a doctrine of salvation by works had been introduced, and penances and outward mortifications had been substituted for that repentance toward God and inward sanctification which are the signs of true conversion. These works of penance, which began as early as the time of Tertullian were multiplied as years rolled on; until at length the superstition of the people could carry them no farther, and the darkness of the Middle Ages gave birth to the Flagellants.

These were a sect of fanatics which arose in the thirteenth century, and spread over a large part of Europe. They went about the streets in a half-naked condition, and flogged each other twice a day with scourges. The severity of their chastisements (which were supposed to atone not only for their own sins, but also for the sins of others) though at first exciting persecution, presently aroused the sympathies of the people, who began to turn away from the licentious priests, and to carry their sins and sorrows to the groaning flagellants. How to retain the influence of their usurped dominion was now the question with the priests, and "therefore," says D'Aubigne, "they invented the novel system of exchange, distinguished by the name of indulgences." For the payment of twenty, ten, or three sous, according to the rank and condition of the applicant, the benefit of a fast of seven weeks was granted, with proportionate amounts for longer terms: and so the disgraceful traffic began.

The pope was not slow to perceive the advantages that might be derived from so lucrative a system of exchange; and in due time Clement VII. advanced the startling dogma, that a belief in indulgences was a necessary article of faith. He asserted that one drop of Christ's blood had been sufficient to reconcile man to God; the rest was shed to ensure a sinking fund for the treasury of the church. Moreover, there was a balance of good works to the account of the saints, works which "they had finished over and above what was requisite for their own salvation," and these also became a marketable commodity. Nor were the indulgences of Rome confined to the living: they were carried beyond the grave, and the wailing souls in purgatory were supposed to be delivered by their means.

Then there were the indulgences belonging to the year of Jubilee, of which we have spoken in an earlier chapter,* indulgences which were granted to all who made pilgrimages to Rome during the specified time. According to the bull of Boniface VIII., this Jubilee was to be celebrated once every hundred years; but the success of the first celebration had so excited the avarice of the popes that they had changed the interval to fifty years. This also, however, was found a weary while to wait, and an interval of thirty-three years was decided upon. But even thirty-three years was a long period the third of a century — and, before long, the figure was definitely fixed at twenty-five. Once every twenty-five years then, the plenary indulgence was granted; and at the same time the conditions of the indulgence were also modified, to suit the circumstances of all classes. A journey to Rome was declared no longer necessary, and the benefits might be procured of the intending pilgrim's own priest in his native town or village.

{*See Chapter 15.}

The sale of indulgences was of necessity a great encouragement to sin; and indeed, the more ignorant of the people could see nothing in the doctrine but a positive permission to do evil; while the priests, who profited so much the more by this distorted view of their doctrine, were in no haste to set the people right.

By by whom were these indulgences granted? It is interesting to note this. Who were the approved instruments in this strange work? Who were these valuers of sin — these disposers of indulgences? Surely men of approved morality and keen spiritual perception — alas! the delusion. We will sketch for the reader a picture which might be often seen during the period of which we write; and the answer will be found there.

Yonder is the market-place of a medival town, A man is crossing the open space on his way to the cathedral; and as he passes yonder group, the voices of the speakers sink lower, and they smile significantly at each other. The man seems half ashamed and returns their respectful salutations with an embarrassed air. Presently his form is lost among the gothic arches of the cathedral and the voices of the speakers grow loud again. Their conversation is drawing to a close, and one of them repeats with a laugh a familiar proverb, often quoted in those days, "Ah well, the priest will do what the devil would be ashamed to think of." But who is the man whose retreating figure we have watched as far as the cathedral porch? He is the most notorious debauchee of the town; a daring blasphemer and a reckless gambler; his concubines and children are supported out of the revenues of the church. But why this reverence towards him? Is he nothing more than we describe? Oh yes; he is a priest of Rome, and a notorious trafficker in indulgences.

This picture is not overdrawn, nor was the evil which it describes peculiar only to an isolated few; it was as widespread as the doctrines of Rome, by which, indeed, the corruption had been bred. Robert Bellarmine, a learned controversialist of this century, and withal, a Romish cardinal, acknowledges as much when he says, "For some years before the Lutheran and Calvinistic heresies were published, there was not any severity in ecclesiastical judicatories, any discipline with regard to morals, any knowledge of sacred literature, any reverence for divine things; there was scarcely any religion remaining."

Such then was the condition of the church at the beginning of the sixteenth century. Corrupt in doctrine — corrupt in practice — it was impossible that things should continue much longer as they were.

Nevertheless, Rome was boastful and self-confident, for she had few open enemies to trouble her. The Hussites had either been scattered by persecution, or gathered back into the fold of the church; and the testimony of the Vaudois Christians had been almost suppressed. But there was still a feeling of disaffection in the hearts of men of all classes, which the smoke of Rome's burnings could not stifle, or its deceitful promises allay. Kings and nobles, citizens and peasants, theologians and men of letters, politicians and soldiers, all had their ground of complaint, and were morally prepared for the work of the Reformation. Europe had roused from the long nightmare of the Middle Ages, and was now peering, though with dreamy eyes, through the haze of a lingering superstition in quest of light. An important change a re-action nay, a revolution was inevitable; and a leader only was wanted. Men's minds were ripe for such a revolution, and all that was needed was a master-mind — a mind to sustain the burden of the strife — to lead, to counsel, to control.

God had seen the want, and gave to the church and Europe, Martin Luther.

Leaders for individual sections and parties were not wanting, but Luther was to be the leader of leaders. Princes and nobles, long disgusted with the encroachments of successive popes on their dominions, found a true-hearted though timid representative in the elector Frederick of Hanover: politicians and men of letters, bound by the restraint of the canon laws, found a mouth-piece for their grievances in the person of Ulrich von Hutten: but all classes and conditions of men, from kings downwards, found the charter of their liberties in the life work of the great Augustine, Martin Luther.

The reformer was born of humble parents, at Eisleben, in the province of Mansfeld, on November the l0th, 1483. "I am a peasant's son," we find him saying in after life, "my father, grandfather, and all my forefathers were simple peasants." It was from his parents that he inherited that sturdy simplicity, and frank, joyous temperament which is peculiar to the Thuringian peasant. His home education was strait and strict, and the treatment he received at school was harsh in the extreme: yet all this was necessary to prepare the future reformer for his great and perilous work.

When fourteen years of age he was sent to the Franciscan school at Magdeburg, where his youthful sufferings were much increased. He tells us he was half starved, and frequently went singing through the adjacent towns and villages in order to get bread. "Do not despise the boys who go singing through the streets, begging a little bread for the love of God," was his pathetic appeal many years later; "I also have done the same." He was afterwards removed to Eisenach, where he had relatives, but they afforded him little or no relief. He still had to wander, hungry and miserable, through the pitiless streets, singing hymns, and to say 'panem propter Deum' at the doors of strangers, thankful even for the crumbs which were sometimes thrown to him. But relief came at last. What relatives had denied him, strangers supplied: and one evening, having begged at many doors without success, he came to one from which he was not repulsed. Christians will always remember with affection and gratitude the name of Ursula Cotta; for she it was who opened her house to the hungry lad, and gave him not only the food he needed, but a home and a mother's love. Luther had an opportunity later on of requiting her kindness, when he received her son into his own house at Wittenberg.

At the age of eighteen his father removed him to the University of Erfurt, to study law; and here his mind received a serious bent, by the sudden death of his fellow-collegian and intimate friend, Alexis. This occurred during a short vacation, while they were out walking together. Passing through the Thueringenwald, they were overtaken by a great storm, and a flash of lightning stretched the light-hearted Alexis a corpse at Luther's feet. Falling upon his knees on the impulse of the moment, Luther vowed that if God would spare him, he would henceforth consecrate his life to His service.

From that hour he became a changed person. It was long before his inclination for study returned to him, and day after day he might be seen wandering moodily about the library and hall of the university, like one unable to find rest. At length a Latin Bible fell into his hands, and, having a thorough knowledge of the language, he began to read it. This was the first time he had looked into the sacred volume, and his surprise was great. Here were depths of wisdom which he had never expected to find, precious pearls of truth which none of the missals or breviaries could shew; and he bent over his new treasure with tremulous in fatuation. As he read on he became more and more persuaded of the divine authority of the sacred volume, and a deep conviction of his own sinfulness was borne in upon him. As yet a sense of mystery surrounded the inspired words, and he was like a blind man groping his way in the broad sunlight. He felt that the darkness was in himself; and not in what he read; and the more the external light was perceived, the more was the inward darkness realised. Perplexed and trembling, he closed the volume, and remained in meditation for some minutes. Then, one after another, the long catalogue of his sins rose up before his mind, and filled him with a vague alarm. He had never seriously thought upon his sins till now, he had never seen them in so foul a light. Such a black catalogue as that had surely shut the gates of heaven against him for ever; there could not possibly be hope for one so vile as he. Then Luther suddenly remembered his vow, and he rose to his feet with a new purpose before his heart. Yes there was one hope yet remaining he would quit the university and become a monk.

When we next look at him it is in the monastery of the Augustines, at Erfurt; and how changed is everything now! When we left him he was the great law student, a Master of Arts, and the idol of the university; now he is a monk, and the lowest in the grade of monks. The one who before had delivered lectures and engaged in learned discussions, has become the menial of his order, and must cleanse the cells, and wind the clock, and sweep out the chapel of the monastery! Yet Luther submitted to his task, and performed all the painful drudgeries which belonged to his new position without complaint; while the conflict of mind through which he was passing made him almost forget the degradation. Often, when the deep needs of his soul were pressing upon him, he would steal away from his work to the monastery chapel, where the chained Bible was kept, and there would seek that spiritual food for which he was hungering. At present this was his only opportunity for studying the word of God.

Eventually, however, new facilities were afforded him, and he was appointed to the vacant chair of theology and philosophy at Wittenberg. The appointment was made by Staupitz, the vicar-general of the Augustine order of Saxony, who acted under the advice of Frederick the Wise, elector of Hanover. The elector had heard of Luther's proficiency in the scriptures, and his great scholarly attainments, and had grown interested in the neglected monk. Luther was now, in a certain sense, master of his own time, and could devote long hours to the study of the Bible. The seclusion of his cell was very convenient for that purpose, and he applied himself to the study with unusual zeal. He began to make extraordinary efforts to reform his life, and by prayers and mortifications to atone for the past; and many were the vows he offered up to abstain from sin: but his efforts never gave him satisfaction, and his vows were always broken. "It is in vain," said Luther sadly to Staupitz, "that I make many promises to God; the sin is always the strongest." Staupitz reasoned gently with him, and told him of the love that was in the heart of God, who was not angry with him, as Luther thought: but the monk was still unsatisfied. "How dare I believe in the favour of God," he said, "if so be that there is not in me a real and thorough conversion? I must needs change to be accepted by Him."

His agony became deeper than ever, and his efforts to propitiate the divine Justice were continued with untiring zeal. "I was indeed a pious monk," we find him writing in after years, "and followed the rules of my order more strictly than I can express. If ever monk could obtain heaven by his monkish works, I should certainly have been entitled to it. Of this, all the friars who have known me can testify. If I had continued much longer, I should have carried my mortifications even to death, by watchings, prayers, readings and other labours." The monk had yet to learn the meaning of those words, "by grace ye are saved, through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of god: not of works lest any man should boast."

Further conversation with Staupitz brought a measure of hope, and at times a thrill of inexplicable joy would pass through him, and his heart would gain confidence to say, "This is Jesus Christ, yes, it is Jesus Christ Himself, who consoles me thus admirably with His mild and saving words." But the memory of his sins would return upon him, and his distracted soul would shrink in horror at the thought of the judgment with which they must be visited. "Oh my sins! my sins! my sins!" he exclaimed one day, in the presence of the vicar-general; and when Staupitz pointed him to the Fountain opened up for sin and uncleanness, the words seemed like a sealed mystery to the poor monk.

At last his health broke down by reason of his repeated watchings and mortifications, and he was brought to the very door of death. And now the dread of approaching dissolution was added to his other fears, and the anticipation of the coming judgment plunged him in deeper depths than before. What if he should die unsaved? What if he should be buried in his sins? As yet he had no satisfying assurances of the divine mercy; those sins had not yet been put away, and he feared to go down to his grave with their burden still upon him.

While in this condition, he was visited in his cell one day, by an old monk, who spoke some words of consolation to the despairing invalid. Luther was won by the kindness of his words, and, little expecting what the act would bring about, opened his heart to him. The aged father was unable to follow him through all the mazes of his doubts, but repeated in his ear a sentence from the Apostles' Creed; which had often given rest and comfort to himself, "I believe in the forgiveness of sins." This was the message of God to Luther's soul, and he caught at the words with all the energy which his need awakened. "believe," he quickly repeated to himself, "I believe in the forgiveness of sins." Hearing him repeat the words the monk reminded him that the belief must be a personal and not a general belief; that it was not sufficient to believe merely in the forgiveness of David's sins or of Peter's sins, but that there must be the appropriating faith which says, "my sins." All this was heaven's music in the ear of the trembling listener; and when the worthy old man added, "Hear what St. Bernard says, The testimony which the Holy Spirit produces in your heart is this, Thy sins are forgiven thee," the light broke in upon the troubled heart, and Luther thanked God that those words were true of him.

But though truly converted to God, Luther was still a slave of Rome; and it was not till he paid a visit to the papal city, that he began to detect her corruptions, and to be shaken in his allegiance towards her. A visit of this kind became necessary in an official capacity, in consequence of a dispute which had arisen between the vicar-general and seven of the convents; and in due course Luther set out upon his journey. When he got within sight of Rome he threw himself on the ground, and exclaimed with pious enthusiasm, "Holy Rome, I pay you homage." He looked upon it as the labour-field of St. Peter and St. Paul; and was not yet familiar with the proverb of its citizens, "If there be a hell, Rome is built over it: it is an abyss out of which every sin issues forth."

But when he got within the city his eyes were opened. Then he began to realise what a sink of corruption the metropolis of catholicism really was, and for a time he was stunned. Wherever he went the evil was the same, and among the inhabitants of the city, none were more loud in their blasphemies, or more conspicuous for their infidelity than the priests themselves. He attended mass at one of the churches, and heard seven masses read at the neighbouring altar while he was reading one. A priest would even have hurried him in the same manner."Quick, quick," he said, "and send our Lady back her Son!" — making an impious illusion to the transubstantiation of the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. Then he heard stories from the monks' own lips which filled him with horror and bewilderment. They related, amid shouts of laughter, how that when repeating mass, instead of pronouncing the sacramental words over the bread and wine, which were supposed to transform them into the body and blood of Christ, they frequently repeated the words, "Panis es et panis manebis, vinum es et vinum manebis" — "bread thou art and bread shalt thou remain, wine thou art and wine shalt thou remain."

These are only instances of the shocking profanity which Luther met with during his brief sojourn at Rome; we might mention many more. His friend, Ulrich von Hutten, has left a speaking picture of the city during this period of its history, which we cannot withhold. "There are three things," says this writer, "which a traveller commonly brings away from Rome, a guilty conscience, a disordered stomach, and an empty purse. There are three things which are not believed in at Rome, the immortality of the soul, the resurrection of the dead, and hell. There are three things which are traded in at Rome: The grace of Christ, ecclesiastical dignities, and women." With these appalling facts before his soul, Luther left the city and turned his steps once more towards his native land.

On his return he was made a doctor of divinity; and began to attract great attention by his sermons in the Augustine church at Wittenberg, where immense crowds flocked to hear him. His fluency of thought, his eloquence, his wonderful memory, and above all, the evident intensity of his convictions, captivated all who heard him; and Dr. Martin Luther became the topic of conversation in no small or unenlightened circle. But what brought him into general notice more than anything else, was his dispute with John Tetzel, the Dominican and mountebank monk of Leipsic. Tetzel had come, peddling his indulgences, to the very place where Luther was fulfilling his duties as confessor to the good people of Wittenberg. A collision was inevitable.

Mounting the pulpit, near which was placed a large red cross, surmounted by the papal arms, Tetzel began his discourse. His speech was loud and animated, and his descriptions of purgatory were marked by a hideous picturesqueness, which fascinated his hearers, while it roused in them the liveliest solicitude after their departed friends. He touched upon the immense advantages of his commodity even to themselves; for there was no sin which they had committed, which an indulgence could not wipe away. Nay, not only were these indulgences efficacious with regard to past sins, but sins of the future, sins which his hearers had a desire to commit, might be covered by his letters of absolution,"I would not exchange my privilege," said the loquacious monk, "for those of St. Peter in heaven, because I have saved more souls by my indulgences than the apostle by his discourses."

These remarks were listened to with rapt attention, but his appeals for the departed produced the more stirring and profitable results."Priest, noble, merchant, wife, youth, maiden," he cried, "listen to your parents and other friends who are dead, and who cry to you from the bottom of the deep abyss 'We are suffer ing a horrible martyrdom! A small pittance by way of alms will deliver us; you are able to give it, and yet you do not wish to do so!' at the very moment when the piece of money tinkles at the bottom of the chest, the soul takes its departure from purgatory, and directs its free flight towards heaven.... Deaf and heedless man! with twelve drachms you can release your father from purgatory, and yet you are so ungrateful as not to purchase his deliverance! I shall be justified in the day of judgment; but as for you, you shall be punished so much the more severely for having neglected so great salvation."*

{*Several rate-tables of indulgences were drawn up, in one of which the price of a general letter of absolution was thus apportioned. To princes and bishops, twenty-five ducats; to abbots, counts, and barons, ten ducats; to other classes of the nobility and rectors, six ducats; to the poor and middle-classes from one to half-a-ducat, according to the purchaser's means. Another table valued sacrilege and perjury at nine ducats; murder at eight; adultery at six; and magic at two.}

The discourse concluded, the faithful hurried up the aisles to the counter where the deputy indulgence-monger was seated, and made their purchases. Most of them, doubtless, were well satisfied with their bargains: and when they went to the confessional next day it was with no thought of turning from their sins. Did not they hold in their possession a document signed by brother John Tetzel, in the name of Peter, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,* which re-established them in the innocence and purity in which they were at the hour of their baptism, as well as declared their immunity from the consequences of future sins, right up to the day of their decease? But father-confessor Martin Luther had nothing to do with brother Tetzel and his documents. It was his duty to tell the people that the holy God was a hater of sin; that perdition and not paradise was the destined abode of the wicked, and that unless there was true repentance towards God, they would be for ever lost."If you do not turn away from your sins," he said,"you shall all likewise perish." It was in vain for Tetzel to storm, and the people to object to these sweeping declarations; Luther was firm."Take heed to yourselves," was their pastor's warning word,"and do not listen to the clamours made by these vendors of indulgences. You have better things to mind than the purchase of such licences as they sell to you at the most villainous prices." In the pulpit he was not less emphatic. In plain words he counselled the people to discontinue the iniquitous traffic."I have already said, and now repeat it, my advice is, that no person should purchase these letters.... And should some individuals assert that I am a heretic (for the truths which I preach are very hurtful to the interests of their strong box) I am little affected by their abuse. Such persons are affected with sickly and cloudy brains, men who have never felt the spirit of the Bible, who have never studied the doctrine of Christianity, never understood their own teachers, and who are rotting, enveloped in the torn rags of their vain opinions May God grant unto them and us a right judgment! . . . . Amen."

{*The concluding words of one form of absolution ran thus:"In the name of Peter, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. Brother John Tetzel, commissioner, has signed this letter with his own hand."}

This sermon left his hearers in astonishment. It became the subject of general discussion at Wittenberg; and before the sensation which it caused had passed away, the famous Theses appeared. None of Luther's friends, even the most intimate, knew that he had written them; and the good people of Wittenberg were electrified one morning, to see them posted on the church doors. The deceitful nature of the horrid traffic was therein plainly exposed; and men presently began to feel that a voice had spoken, such as had not been heard in Europe for many a day. A copy of the Theses fell into Tetzel's hands, and the mountebank Dominican became frantic with rage. He even had recourse to oaths. To write some theses of his own, and then to burn those of his antagonist was merely to prepare additional gall for his own cup; for the students of Wittenberg gathered round their professor, and replied by burning eight hundred copies of Tetzel's brochure.

Meanwhile the Theses passed from hand to hand, and the news of Luther's bold act spread rapidly. The pope heard of it in due course, and summoned the indomitable monk to Rome: but through the counsel of the elector of Hanover — Luther's true friend from first to last — the summons was evaded. The elector remembered the fate of John Huss, and was naturally suspicious of Leo's intentions.

Luther was now declared a heretic, and the pope forthwith issued a bull fulminating anathemas against him. But during all this commotion the doctor had been steadily advancing in the truth, and when the form of excommunication reached him, he had so far shaken off the fetters of Rome, as to make his next great stand as a reformer. God's time for the announcement having come, Luther publicly declared that the pope was Antichrist! Beyond doubt this was a bold declaration, but it was followed by an act equally bold. In the public square, surrounded by the professors and students of the university and several members of the municipality, Luther burned the pope's bull!

Rome heard of it in due time, and waking to a confused sense of her danger, declared that the monk should die. Charles V., a youthful prince of great promise, was now upon the throne of Germany. He was a Roman Catholic, but by no means unconditionally submissive to the authority of the church. Notwithstanding, the nuncio Aleander, then the papal legate to Germany, induced him to take some steps with regard to Luther. Rome had now exhausted her weapons, and unless the temporal power could be won over to her side, all would be lost. A Diet that was to be held at Worms to welcome the young emperor to the throne and to arrange the details of the election contract, must be made the opportunity for speaking the decisive word, and crushing the troublesome heretic. This was the general thought, and the pope endorsed it, and expressed a desire that Aleander should be present at the Diet, in order to demand the carrying out of his bull.

It was a moment for action. The danger was spreading, and the sovereign pontiff of Christendom had begun to realise the strength and courage of his adversary. The mind of Europe was awake, and there was no possibility of rocking it to sleep again, unless the audacious monk was silenced. To withdraw from the struggle was simply useless, for the voice from Wittenberg had already rolled its thunders through Europe, and all were eagerly waiting for the next word. The exclusive service of three printing presses had not been able to supply his writings quickly enough to the people; the lecture hall of the university and the church of the Augustines, had failed to contain the crowds which flocked to hear him. Princes and peasants, poets and statesmen, learned professors and theological students, were alike aroused; and the anxious attention of every class and of every nation was directed towards him. A solitary monk of Wittenberg had sounded the trump of defiance, and all Europe was waiting with breathless interest the issues of the coming struggle.

For Luther it was a time of peril, but his confidence in God was strong. He determined to go to Worms, and there answer to the charges which had been brought against him, be the dangers what they might: and when his purpose was known, he again found a true friend in the elector of Hanover. This christian prince obtained for him safe-conducts from the emperor and all the German princes through whose states he would have to travel; and thus protected, Luther was ready to set out. But his friends were fearful and apprehensive, and the well-known tenet of the Romish church that "no faith should be kept with heretics," was urged by them to induce him to abandon the journey. Huss, said they, had gone to Constance with a safe-conduct not a century before, and who did not know the result? But Luther's confidence was in something more than his safe-conducts, and the appeals of his friends were disregarded. "If Jesus Christ do but aid me," he said, "I am determined never to fly from the field, nor desert the word of God."

On his way to Worms his coach was frequently surrounded, and many an earnest prayer and warning word fell on his ear. "Ah," said one, "there are at Worms so many cardinals and bishops, and they will burn you as they burnt John Huss." Luther answered, "Though they kindle a fire which shall reach from Worms to Wittenberg, and blaze as high as heaven, I will walk through it in the name of the Lord; I will appear before them, I will enter the mouth of this Behemoth, I will break his teeth, and I will confess the Lord Christ." Arrived at Frankfort he wrote to his friend Spalatin, who was then staying at Worms, to prepare him lodgings, and his letter contains the following characteristic passage: "I hear that Charles has published an edict with a view to terrify me. But Christ lives, and we shall enter Worms, though all the gates of hell or all the powers of darkness oppose us." Spalatin, troubled in mind, still endeavoured to dissuade Luther from entering the city, and sent an envoy with the warning message, "Do not enter Worms;" but Luther, strong in God, sent back answer, "Tell your master that though there were as many devils in Worms, as there are tiles upon the house-tops, I would go!"

His entrance into that city, on the 16th of April 1521, was like a public ovation; and many a pious word of encouragement, and many a blessing fell upon his ear as he was borne along the streets to his lodgings. On the day following, the marshal of the empire appeared, to conduct him to the Diet; and as the monk pressed his way through the throng of people to the council chamber, he was greeted with friendly words of encouragement by several of the knights and nobles there present. One old veteran, General George of Freundsberg, pressed up to him and said,"Pluck up thy spirit, little monk; some of us here have seen warm work in our time; but neither I nor any knight in this company ever needed a stout heart more than thou needest it now. If thy cause is just, and thou hast confidence therein, advance in the name of God, and fear nothing." "Yes, in the name of God," said Luther, taking up his words, "in the name of God — forward!"

Upon entering the council-room, the reformer was at first somewhat disconcerted by the unusual sight which met his gaze. Immediately before him, robed in purple and ermine, sat Charles V., king of Spain and emperor of Germany; and beside the throne sat his brother, the arch-duke Ferdinand. At suitable distances from these were ranged, six electors of the empire, twenty-four dukes, eight margraves, thirty archbishops, bishops or prelates, seven ambassadors, besides deputies, princes, counts, sovereign barons and others. Such a spectacle might well have troubled the spirit of the lonely monk, whose days, for the most part, had been spent in the seclusion of the peasant's cottage, or the monastery cell: but One was standing by his side who was more than sufficient for these things, One who had said to Ezekiel of old, Be not afraid of them, neither be afraid of their words, though briars and thorns be with thee, and thou dost dwell among scorpions; be not afraid of their words, nor be dismayed at their looks." In that One was Luther's trust.

The business of the day was opened by the Chancellor of Treves, a friend of Aleander. In the midst of an impressive silence, he rose in his place, and addressed himself to Luther in the following questions: "In the first place, do you acknowledge that these books" — pointing to a pile of Luther's works on the table before him — "are composed by you? Secondly, are you willing to retract from these books and their contents, or do you persist in the opinions which you have advanced?" After a few words had passed between Luther and his counsel, he gave an affirmative answer to the first question, but requested time to consider his answer to the second. His request was acceded to, and it was arranged that he should have till the following day to think over it.

The interval, save for the few moments that were devoted to his friends, was spent by Luther in earnest wrestlings with God; and it was during this anxious period that he offered up the following prayer, without doubt one of the most precious documents of the Reformation: —

"Almighty and everlasting God, how terrible is the world before me; behold it openeth its mouth to swallow me up, and I have so little trust in. Thee. . . . How weak is the flesh, and Satan how strong. If it be in what the world counts powerful I must put my trust, I am undone. . . . . The steeple has fallen down, and judgment is pronounced O God! O God! . . . . O my God! . . . help me against all the wisdom of this world! Do this; Thou must do it — Thou alone — for it is not my work, but Thine. I have nothing to do here; I have nothing to contend for with these great ones of the earth. For me, truly I would wish but happy and peaceful days. But the cause is Thine . . . . and it is just and eternal! O Lord, help me, Faithful God, unchangeable God! I put no confidence in man. That were vain. All that comes from man changes: all that comes from man fails. O God! O God! Dost Thou not hear? . . . . Thou hidest Thyself! Thou hast chosen me for this work I know . . . . Ah! well, then do Thou work, O God! . . . . Be Thou at my right hand, for the sake of Thy well-beloved Son Jesus Christ, who is my defence, my shield, and my buckler."

There was a pause; the listener at his door thought he had done speaking, but presently his voice broke forth again. "Lord where dost Thou dwell? O my God! Where art Thou? . . . . Come! come! I am ready. . . . . I am ready to yield up my life for Thy truth . . . . patient as a lamb; for the cause is just, and it is Thine own . . . . I will not detach myself from Thee, neither now, nor throughout eternity . . . . And although the world should be filled with demons, although my body, which is still the work of Thy hands, should be made to bite the dust, and to be extended on the ground, cut in pieces . . . . and reduced to ashes . . . . my soul is Thine. . . . Yes, Thy word is my assurance of it . . . . my soul belongs to Thee, it shall eternally dwell with Thee . . . . Amen Help me, O God! . . . . Amen!"

In the power of the Spirit which dictated this marvellous utterance, Luther went forth to stand a second time before the tribunal of man. Can we wonder at the result? No longer timorous and shrinking; when the question was again put to him by the chancellor he spoke with ease and eloquence; and his reply drew forth admiring exclamations from his friends and confounded his enemies. His denunciations of the whole system of popery were scathing and unanswerable. The following may serve as an example: "Is it not evident," he exclaimed, "that the human laws and doctrines of the pope perplex, torment, and martyrize the consciences of the faithful, whilst the crying and perpetual extortions of Rome swallow up the property and the riches of Christendom, and more particularly of this very illustrious nation? . . . . Were I to revoke all that I have written on this subject, what should I do but fortify this fearful tyranny, and open wide, for so much and so gross impiety, a door of yet larger dimensions. Overflowing, then, with more fury than ever, we should see them, these proud men, to increase, to rise in their passions, and to storm continually the more. And not only would the yoke which now presses on the Christian people be rendered more irksome on account of my retractation, but it would become, so to speak, more legitimate, because it would receive, by means of this very retractation, the confirmation of your serene Majesty, and of all the States of the holy empire. Great God! I would thus be converted into a vile cloak, destined to conceal and encourage every description of malice and tyranny!"

Luther closed his address with a vigorous word of warning to the emperor Charles, and a solemn appeal to him for that protection which the malice of his enemies rendered necessary. Being pressed for a more explicit answer to the chancellor's question, he promptly replied: "Since your most serene Majesty and you exalted powers require from me a simple answer, clear and precise, I will give it you, and this it is — I cannot submit my faith, neither to the pope nor to councils, because it is clear as the day, that they have often fallen into error, and even into the most palpable contradictions with themselves. If, therefore, I am not convinced by the testimony of the scriptures or by manifest reason, if I am not persuaded by the very passages which I have quoted, and if thus my captive conscience be not delivered from the word of God, I neither can nor will retract, for it is not safe for a Christian to speak against his conscience." "Then," says D'Aubigne, "looking round on that assembly, in the midst of which he stood upright, and which held in its hand the power of death, he said 'Here I take my stand. I cannot do otherwise — God help me! Amen.'"

The fears of Luther's friends that Rome would act treacherously in the matter of his safe-conducts, were now shewn to be well founded; and had the emperor Charles been another Sigismund, all would have been over with the reformer. But the treacherous efforts of the papists to procure the violation of his safe-conduct were lost upon Charles, and each new suggestion of their treachery was met with the unflinching answer, "Though good faith were banished from the whole earth, it should still find a refuge in the courts of kings." The emperor, notwithstanding, consented to an edict of banishment; but this so little satisfied the rapacious demands of Rome, that they fell back upon their last and most desperate resource — assassination. Plans were laid to murder the reformer on his return to Saxony; but his good friend, the Elector, got timely warning of the plot, and was able to frustrate it. As Luther was returning home, he was suddenly surrounded by a party of horse, with masked faces, who after dismissing his attendants, conveyed him at dead of night to the ancient castle of Wartburg, near Eisenach, and there left him.

This was the Elector's ruse for getting Luther to a place of safety; and during the interval of rest afforded by his incarceration in Wartburg castle, and in calm defiance of imperial decrees and papal bulls, the reformer produced some of his most powerful controversial works, and commenced his favourite — perhaps his greatest work, the translation of the Bible.

Chapter 21.

Ulric Zwingli and the Swiss Reformation.

A.D. 1484-1522.

Leaving Luther at Wartburg, we will turn our eyes, and note what God had been doing for His people, though by other instruments, in another part of His earth.

It is peculiarly worthy of remark that simultaneously with the dawn of the Reformation in Germany, the papal throne was still further shaken by a great religious upheaval in Switzerland; and the instrument which God had chosen for the accomplishment of this work was Ulric Zwingli,* a priest of Rome. If Luther was only a miner's son, the Swiss Reformer could scarcely boast a higher parentage, for his father was a shepherd, who tended his flocks at Wildhaus, in the valley of Tockenburg.

{*Sometimes written in its Latinised form Zwinglius.}

But for the fact that his father intended him for the church, Zwingli might have died a "village Hampden," and his name have never come down to us. But all was wisely ordered of God, who had a peculiar and important work for the shepherd's son to do, and the discipline of his young life was regulated accordingly. Before he was ten years of age he was sent to his uncle, the dean of Wiesen, for instruction, and there gave such proof of his abilities, that his relative undertook the further responsibilities of his education, and sent him to study successively at Basle, Berne, Vienna, and then again at Basle. On his return to this city he was happy in being placed under the tuition of the celebrated Thomas Wittembach, a man who saw clearly the errors of Rome, and, at the same time, was no stranger to the important doctrine of justification by faith. The professor did not conceal either his knowledge or his opinions from his pupil; and it was here that Zwingli learnt for the first time, and not without a feeling of astonishment, that "the death of Christ was the only ransom for his soul."

Leaving Basle at the conclusion of his theological course, though not before he had taken the degree of Master of Arts, he was chosen pastor of the community of Glaris, where he remained ten years. Whilst there, a deeper study of the scriptures, and an attentive examination of the doctrines and practices of the early church, as contained in the writings of the fathers, convinced him still further of the corrupt state of the professing thing, and he began to express his views on church matters with considerable plainness.

The year 1516 found him at Einsidlen, in the canton of Schweitz, the reformer having received an invitation from the governor of the Benedictine monastery, to the pastorate of the church of "Our Lady of the Hermitage," then, as now, a hotbed of Romish idolatry and superstition. What Luther saw at Rome, Zwingli saw at Einsidlen; and his ardour in the work of Reformation was stimulated by the deplorable discoveries which he made. His labours at the Hermitage were greatly blessed, and Geroldseck the administrator, and several of the monks were converted.

After three years' faithful ministry at Einsidlen, the provost and canons of the cathedral church at Zurich, invited him to become their pastor and preacher, and the invitation was accepted. Some, mistrustful of the reformed doctrines, objected to his appointment, but his reputation was so great, and his manner so engaging, that the majority were in his favour, and he was duly elected. Zurich now became a central sphere of his labours; and it was here he made the acquaintance of Oswald Myconius, who afterwards wrote his life.

Whenever he preached at the cathedral thousands flocked to hear him; his message was new to his hearers, and he delivered it in a language that all could understand. The earnestness and novelty of his style are said to have produced impressions which were indescribable; and the full and clear gospel which he preached had everlasting results with many, while it called forth expressions of astonishment from all who heard him. His faith in the converting power of the word, apart altogether from man's efforts to explain it, was great. He refused to restrict himself to the passages allotted to the different festivals of the year, which needlessly limited the people's knowledge of the sacred volume, and declared his intention of going completely through the gospel of St. Matthew, chapter by chapter, without human commentary. "In the pulpit," says Myconius, "he spared no one. Neither pope, prelates, emperor, kings, dukes, princes, lords, nor even the confederates themselves. Never had they heard a man speak with such authority. All the strength and all the delight of his heart was in God; and accordingly he exhorted all the city of Zurich to trust solely in Him." "This way of preaching is an innovation," cried some, "one innovation will lead to another; and where shall we stop" "It is not a new manner," was Zwingli's mild and courteous answer, "it is the old custom. Call to mind the homilies of Chrysostom on St. Matthew, and of Augustine on St. John." By quiet answers such as these he often disarmed his adversaries, or even won them over to his side. In this respect he presents a striking contrast to the rude and stormy Luther.

When Zwingli had been settled about a year in Zurich the plague visited Switzerland, and the reformer was infected by the pest. He prayed earnestly for his recovery, and his prayer was answered, and the mercy of God in sparing him became an incentive to deeper devotion. His preaching was with increased power, a season of Pentecostal blessing ensued, hundreds were converted, and the priests became wrathful and anxious. Zwingli challenged them on more than one occasion to a public disputation, but they were afraid of the challenge, and at last, to silence the reformer, appealed to the State. This appeal was their ruin, for the State ruled that "since Master Ulric Zwingli had publicly and repeatedly challenged the adversaries of his doctrine to confute them by scriptural arguments, and since, notwithstanding, no one had undertaken to do so, he should continue to announce and preach the word of God, just as heretofore. Likewise, that all ministers of religion, whether resident in the city or country, should abstain from teaching any tenet which they could not prove from scripture: that they should refrain, too, from making charges of heresy and other scandalous allegations, on pain of severe punishment." Thus was Rome taken in her own toils, and again defeated; while the decree became a powerful impulse to the Reformation.

Meanwhile, the pope (Hadrian VI.), who had been thundering his anathemas in Saxony, received alarming news of the movement in Switzerland; and fearing the effects of a second reformation, tried a new device with Zwingli. Knowing that the Swiss reformer was a man of more polish and refinement than his German brother, he sent him a flattering letter, assuring him of his "special favour" and calling him his "beloved son:" nor was the honeyed epistle unaccompanied by more substantial proofs of his regard. When Myconius inquired of the bearer of the papal brief what the pope had commissioned him to offer Zwingli, he received this reply, "Everything, except the chair of St. Peter." But Zwingli was not a stranger to the wiles of Rome, and preferred the liberty wherewith Christ had made him free, to the bondage of superstition, and a cardinal's hat.

After this event the Reformation rapidly gained ground, and the reformer received repeated encouragements in the work, and the most gratifying proofs that God was with him. In January 1524, a decree was passed for the demolition of images: on the 11th of April 1525, the mass was abolished, and it was agreed that henceforward, by the will of God, the Eucharist should be celebrated according to the institution of Christ, and the apostolic practice. Later still, the news arrived of the conversion of the nuns belonging to the wealthy convent of Koenigsfeldt, where the writings of Zwingli had penetrated; and the reformer's heart was made glad by the receipt of a letter which had been addressed to him by one of these converts. This was a terrible blow for Rome. The effect of a clear gospel upon the nuns was to shew them the uselessness of a life of celibacy and isolation, and they petitioned government for permission to leave the convent. The council, misinterpreting their motive and alarmed at their request, promised that the discipline of the convent should be relaxed, and their allowance increased. "It is not the liberty of the flesh that we require," was their answer, "it is the liberty of the Spirit." Their petition was eventually granted, for the council itself became enlightened; and not only were the nuns of Koenigsfeldt liberated, but the gates of all the convents in the Canton were thrown open, and the offer of freedom was extended to all.

At Berne the power of the truth was shewn in another, and not less interesting way. The magistrates, rejoicing in the good work, released several of their prisoners, and granted free pardons to two unhappy men who were awaiting execution. "A great cry," writes Bullinger, a disciple of Zwingli, "resounded far and wide. In one day Rome had fallen throughout the country, without treachery, violence, or seduction, by the strength of truth alone." The happy citizens, roused by the power of the truth, expressed the feeling of their hearts in the most generous sentiments. "If a king or emperor," said they, "in alliance with us, were to enter our city, would we not remit offences, and shew favour to the poor? And now the King of kings, the Prince of peace, the Son of God, the Saviour of mankind, has visited us, and brings with Him the pardon of our sins, who only deserve eternal banishment from His presence. And can we better celebrate His advent to our city than by forgiving those who have trespassed against us?"

At Basle, one of the most powerful cantons of Switzerland, the doctrines of the Reformation, spread with inconceivable rapidity, and produced the most gratifying results. The zealous burghers swept the country of its images, and when the meek and pious Oecolampadius (the Melanchthon of the Swiss Reformation) had fulfilled a faithful ministry of six years in the canton, the reformed worship was adopted by all the churches, and firmly established by a decree of the senate.

The heart glows in describing this glorious work of God, and we are loth to pause in the prosecution of so grateful a task: but space is limited. We will now return to Germany, and Martin Luther.

Chapter 22.

Luther's Zeal in the Reformation.

A.D. 1521-1529.

While Luther was busy with his translation in the solitudes of Wartburg castle, there was no person fully capable of carrying on his work in Germany; and the thought of this — for he was kept well informed of what was taking place outside the castle — made him anxious and fretful, and at length led him to return to Wittenberg. Melanchthon was almost his equal in scholarly attainments, and doubtless was not less steady in his devotion to the cause, but he was too mild and peaceful for the rough work which Luther had begun, and seemed scarcely fitted to bear the rule in such turbulent times. Then there was Andrew Carlstadt, a doctor of Wittenberg, well versed in the scriptures, but unsound in much of his theology, and far too fanatical to be depended upon as a leader. His actions were so little tempered by prudence, that when a body of men arose in Zwickau, with the avowed object of summarily abolishing everything not expressly enjoined in the Bible, he applauded the act, and placed himself at their head. Saints, crucifixes, masses, priestly vestments, confession, the host, fasts, ceremonies, church decorations all were to be immediately swept away by the besom of destruction; and the whole of Christendom was to be revolutionised in a moment, by the combined influences of the gospel and the sword.

Luther heard of the commotion in due course, and wrote to the rioters from Wartburg, telling them that he could not approve of their work, and would not stand by them in it. "It has been undertaken," said he, "in a harum-scarum fashion, with great rashness and violence. . . . Believe me, I know the devil well enough; it is he alone that has set about it to bring disgrace on the word." His admonitions were vain, however: the measures which he proposed were too mild and moderate for the Wittenberg iconoclasts, and they went on with their innovations.

The disturbance increasing, Luther closed his eyes to his own danger, and emerging from his concealment, set out for Wittenberg. It was in vain for the elector to expatiate on the peril of this step, or to point out to him the enemy he had in Duke George, through whose territory he would have to pass. "One thing I can say for myself," wrote Luther, "if things at Leipsic were as they are at Wittenberg, I would still go there, even if it rained Duke Georges for nine days, and every one of them were nine times as fierce as he. Therefore be it written to your elector highness, though your elector highness knows it very well, that I go to Wittenberg under much higher protection than that of the elector."

On arriving at Wittenberg in the month of March, 1522, Luther commenced a course of sermons (eight in all) on the fanatics of Zwickau, in which he handled the different subjects with uncommon tact. These sermons are treasures in themselves, and were admirably adapted to the occasion which called them forth. In his vigorous and pointed style he shewed the deplorable ends to which such excess of zeal would surely lead the people; told them that they lacked charity, without which their faith was little worth; that they knew better how to talk about the doctrines preached to them than to put them into practice; and that they were without patience, and far too ready to assert their own rights. "In this life," said he, "every one must not do what he has a right to do, but must forego his rights and consider what is useful and advantageous to his brother. Do not make a 'must be' out of a 'may be' as you have now been doing, that you may not have to answer for those whom you have misled by your uncharitable liberty." The effect of these sermons was all that could be desired. The agitation ceased, and calm and tranquility succeeded. The students returned peaceably to their studies, the people to their homes: and the Elector could not but acknowledge that Luther had done wisely in leaving Wartburg.

He now resumed his translation of the Bible, and was greatly assisted in his arduous task by the critical revisions of Melanchthon. Before many months the New Testament was ready, and in September, 1522, it was given to the world. It was received by his countrymen with enthusiasm, and a second edition was called for within two months: ten years later no less than fifty-three editions had been issued in Germany alone! Then the Old Testament was added. The German people had now a complete Bible in their own language, and this fact did more to the consolidation and spread of the reformed doctrines, than all Luther's other writings put together. The Reformation was now put on its right basis, namely the word of God. Hitherto Luther had spoken — now God Himself was to speak to the hearts and consciences of men. His word was now accessible to all, and papal Rome had received a shock from which she would never thoroughly recover. Not many years later, a council of Roman Catholic bishops addressed a memorial to the pope on this very question. "The best suggestion," said they that we can offer to your holiness is, that every effort should be made to prevent the reading of the gospel in the vulgar tongue . . . . The New Testament is the book which has proved the occasion of more disturbances than all others, and these disturbances have well-nigh ruined our church. Indeed, if any one gives sedulous attention to the scriptures, then to what he commonly meets with in our churches, he finds that there is a wide difference between the one and the other; that the doctrine of the reformer is totally distinct from our own, and is in many respects, diametrically opposed to it." Thus is Rome judged out of her own mouth; and the power of the word acknowledged by those who practically deny its authority.

Meanwhile the Reformation continued to gain ground, and the interest which Luther's first great act had awakened did not diminish as time went on. People everywhere heard the word with gladness, often weeping for joy at the good news. At Zwickau and Annaberg eager crowds surrounded the pulpits of the reformers, and listened by the day together; and on the occasion of Luther's first address at Leipsic, the vast multitude fell upon their knees and blessed God for the word which His servant had been privileged to speak. Pamphlets and sermons of the reformer's were carried from town to town by vehicles of all kinds; pedlars and hucksters conveyed them to the remotest villages; and vessels took them from port to port and introduced them to all countries where men were civilised enough to receive them. Three years after the commencement of the Reformation, a traveller purchased some of Luther's works at Jerusalem.

Rome, we may be sure, was not idle through all this, and hurled abroad her anathemas in futile anger. "Heresy! Heresy!" was everywhere her cry; while excommunications were multiplied and royal edicts issued forth in ever-increasing number. Preachers were arrested tortured burned; but it was of no avail. Better to stand upon the ocean beach, and bid the rolling waves advance no farther, than try to stem this swelling torrent. The Bible was in the hands of the people, and resistance was useless. Simple women sat at their spinning-wheels with their Bibles on their laps, and confounded the monks who came to reason with them. A new order of things had arisen, and the power which produced it was not of man. It was a power which had hitherto seemed weakness in the eyes of Rome, but which she was now to find was a power which she could not crush, and one which was mighty to the pulling down of strongholds.

The Reformation was still in its infancy when it received a terrible check by the outbreak of the Peasants' War. Its leader was a fanatic named Thomas Munzer, a man who had taken a prominent part in the rising at Wittenberg, during Luther's seclusion at Wartburg castle. He afterwards settled at Muhlhausen, and set about his great work (for so he called it) of overthrowing the "heathen kingdom" by which he meant the temporal — and the extermination of the godless.

The oppressed peasants heard him gladly, and flew to arms. Luther at first met them with the word of God and sober reason, saying, that "people's minds must be allowed to crack themselves against one another;" but when they broke into open insurrection, he wrote severely against them, and called them "the rapacious and murderous peasants." The provinces of Upper Germany were now plunged in anarchy and confusion. The mob, stimulated by a temporary success, and frantic with the remembrance of past injustice and oppression, rushed hither and thither, burning and wrecking palaces, churches and convents; till at length they were brought to bay at Frankenhausen by the Landgrave of Hesse, and utterly routed. Their wild and rebellious act had done them no good, and when they returned to their homes, they found that they had only added to the burden of their woes. To condemn indiscriminately all who had the remotest connection with the movement, was now the policy of the papal party; and hence all the evils of the Peasants' War were unjustly attributed to the influence of Luther's work. The Reformation suffered not a little by reason of this ill-founded charge.

Nor did the troubles of the reformers end with the suppression of the Peasants' War; for the restless spirit of the times found fresh expression in the absurd and revolutionary doctrines of the Anabaptists.* The leaders in the new movement, laying claim to divine inspiration, asserted that they were the true reformers, and spoke lightly of the work of Luther. Among other fallacies they taught that the kingdom of Christ was at hand; that the Christian was subject to no human laws; and that, as it was their privilege to have all things in common, they were not called upon to pay tithes and tribute. Luther was much distressed by the spread of this sect, and spoke of it in his usual forcible manner. "Satan rages," he wrote; "the new sectarians called Anabaptists increase in number, and display great external appearances of strictness of life, as also great boldness in death, whether they suffer by fire or by water." The sect continued to increase, in spite of persecution, till the capture and execution of their principal leaders, after which little is heard of them.

{*So called because they held the doctrine, that baptism should be by immersion, and that those baptized in infancy should be baptized again.}

About this time, the three most powerful princes of Europe, Henry VIII., Charles V., and Francis I., the sovereigns of England, Germany, and France respectively, united, in association with the pope, for the suppression of the disturbers of the catholic religion, and the avenging of the outrages which had been offered to the holy See. To this end a Diet was held at Spires in the year 1526, at which the emperor's brother, Ferdinand, presided; and an imperial message, urging that the edict of Worms against Luther should be promptly carried out, was read to the assembled princes. But it did not produce those results which the friends of the papacy had fondly counted upon; and instead of delivering up the reformer to the tender mercies of Rome, the council submitted to the emperor the following resolution: "That they would use their utmost exertions to advance the glory of God, and to maintain a doctrine in conformity with His word, rendering thanks to Him for having revived in their time the true doctrine of justification by faith, which had long been buried under a mass of superstition; and that they would not permit the extinction of the truth, which God had so lately revealed to them."

Confident, in spite of defeat, the emperor, three years later, assembled a second Diet in the same city. His tone was angry and despotic; but the nobles who favoured the Reformation were calm and resolute. It was a time when such qualities were gravely needed. Their unyieldingness had not been anticipated, and the presence of such a spirit amongst them was a new element in the German Diet: hitherto the emperor had been credited with absolute power. But a crisis in the history of the Reformation had been reached, and that for which the nobles contended had no place in human politics. This the emperor did not understand.

Ferdinand again presided at the Diet, and feeling that a crisis was at hand, he resorted to desperate measures. Under cover of that authority of which he was the representative, he imperiously demanded the submission of the German princes to the edict of Worms. His conduct was characterised more by boldness than wisdom, and it only aggravated the party feeling which was already at work. Eventually, to bring the matter to an issue, a decree was drawn up embodying the emperor's demands, and this was subscribed to by the catholic nobles. The moment which had now arrived was an anxious one for Luther and the Reformation; but the reforming party in the Diet were equal to the occasion. Undaunted by the imperiousness of Ferdinand, and unmoved by the menaces of the spiritual nobles, they now united in a body, and on the following day recorded their protest against the decision of the assembly. This was the beginning of Protestantism, and the Sardis Period of Church History.

Chapter 23.

The Sardis Period Commences.

A.D. 1529-1530.

In reflecting upon the important period to which we have now arrived, we have to be cautious that we do not mix the work of the Reformation with the cold formalism which grew up along with it.

For no sooner had the emancipating power of the reformed doctrines been fairly tested than those who had embraced them, forgetting the sufficiency of their Head in heaven, and dreading the future assaults of Rome, placed themselves under the protection of the civil magistrates. Satisfied with their security, they presently settled down to the enjoyment of their new privileges, and ere long had sunk into a deplorable state of spiritual inertia and deadness. "I know thy works," are the Spirit's words to the church at Sardis, "that thou hast a name that thou livest and art dead. Be watchful, and strengthen the things which remain, that are ready to die: for I have not found thy works perfect before God. Remember therefore how thou hast received and heard, and hold fast and repent." (Rev. iii. 1-3.)

All historians are agreed that the second Diet of Spires marks the commencement of Protestantism, but all, perhaps, would not go the lengths of the opinion here quoted, which nevertheless is well worthy our consideration. "At the Reformation," says W. Kelly, "in escaping from popery, Christians fell into the error of putting church power into the hands of the civil magistrate, or else made the church itself a depository of that power; whereas Christ, by the Holy Ghost, should still maintain the Lordship. . . . Protestantism was always wrong, ecclesiastically, from the very beginning, because it looked up to the civil ruler as the one in whose hand ecclesiastical authority was vested; so that if the church had been (under popery) the ruler of the world, the world now became (in Protestantism) the ruler of the church."The statement is at first startling, but we are persuaded that prayerful reflection will lead every unbiassed mind to a similar conclusion.

The German Reformation did not commence with the lower classes, as was the case in Switzerland. The princes took the lead, by supporting the cause and adopting the opinions of the reformers; and when the necessity of an ecclesiastical constitution for the churches began to be seriously felt by the Lutherans, instead of going simply to the word to be instructed, they adopted for their model a system of laws and principles completed by the Landgrave of Hesse. Thus the reformed churches, from their very beginning, were purely human and political in their constitution.

The good Elector of Hanover, Frederick the Wise, died in the year 1525, and his successor, John, a stout Lutheran, pushed on vigorously with the work of reform. As a means of checking the authority of the pope, he assumed the entire jurisdiction in religious matters, displacing incompetent men, and filling their places with pious and approved Lutherans. Other princes followed suit, their systems of church government being merely human organisations; and thus the first Lutheran and reformed churches were planted.

Not without dissension however. Precipitate measures on matters of importance always excite opposition. Hitherto, the moderation of the Elector Frederick had kept the catholic and Lutheran parties tolerably united, but the vigorous and extreme measures of his successor alarmed the catholic princes; and they formed an alliance among themselves to check the progress of the reformed doctrines in their respective territories. The breach became irreparable. A great part of Saxony, the ancient Frisian district, and the eastern colonies of Germany were now Protestant; while Austria, Bavaria, and South German bishoprics adhered to the old religion. At one time civil war seemed inevitable. But the details of these disputes belong more to political than ecclesiastical history, and we need not speak of them at any length.

As for the emperor, he had long been weighing over in his mind the expediency of assembling a Diet for the purpose of ascertaining for himself, from the lips of the Protestant princes, their reasons for separating from the ancient church. The pope, with the proceedings of the Diets of Worms and Spires still in his recollection, objected to such a course, and advised more summary measures. "Large congregations," said he, "serve only to introduce popular opinions. It is not with the decrees of councils, but with the edge of the sword, that we should decide controversies." Charles promised to reflect upon this counsel, but after halting for some time between the two opinions, decided in favour of his own, and summoned a Diet at Augsburg.*

{*The emperor shrank from shedding blood. When the aged Margrave of Brandenburg-Ansbach was commanded to conform to the old religion, he threw himself on his knees before the emperor and exclaimed, "I would sooner lose my head than God's word." The emperor, deeply moved, replied,"Dear prince, no heads off."}

No sooner were the emperor's reasons for the convocation of the Diet known than the Protestants prepared, for submission to the Diet, a formula of confession. It was drawn up by Luther and Melanchthon, and contained a clear enunciation of the chief doctrines of the reformers, the materials being furnished for the most part by Luther; while the work of revision was left to the milder pen of Melanchthon. "I am born." said Luther, "to be a rough controversialist; I clear the ground, pull up the weeds, fill up ditches, and smooth the roads. But to build, to plant, to sow, to water, to adorn the country, belongs, by the grace of God, to Philip Melanchthon." The document, drawn up by these great men, was the celebrated "Confession of Augsburg."

On the 15th of June, 1530, the emperor entered Augsburg with an imposing retinue. The protestant princes, dismounting from their horses, went forward to meet him; and Charles, with a graciousness equal to their loyalty, also dismounted, and extended his hand cordially to each in turn. Meanwhile, the papal legate, Cardinal Campeggio, had remained immovable on his mule (with which animal, indeed, there seemed to be some affinity), but finding that he had made a mistake, he sought to remedy matters by pronouncing a benediction on the assembled princes. As he raised his hands for this purpose, the emperor and his train fell on their knees, but the protestant princes remained standing. This emergency had not been provided for, and the emulations of the papal party were somewhat hindered by the incident.

Later on, mass was to be celebrated in the chapel of Augsburg to solemnise the opening of the Diet, and the Protestants gained another victory by refusing to attend. But the wily legate would not be beaten. The Elector of Saxony, in his office as Grand-Marshal of the empire, was bound to go before the emperor on such occasions, bearing the sword; and the cardinal suggested that Charles should order him "to perform his duty at the mass of the Holy Ghost, which was to open the sittings." The Elector agreed to attend, but gave the emperor to understand that it was only in discharge of a civil office. The legate was doomed to experience a second disappointment. At the elevation of the Host, when the congregation fell upon their knees in worship, the Elector remained standing.

The Diet was opened on the 10th of June, and the emperor presided in person. It was thought that the question of religion would take precedence of all other matters, but little was achieved on the first day; and the reading of"The Apology" another name for the Confession was fixed for the 24th. It was the cherished hope of the Catholics that the Protestants would have no public opportunity of stating their case, and when the 24th arrived, they did all in their power — by dragging on the other business of the day — to delay the reading of the Confession, till it was too late. It was surprising how much time the cardinal required to present his credentials, and to deliver the pope's message — how solicitous, too, was the emperor for details of the ravages of the Turks in. Austria, and of the capture of Rhodes. The precious moments were thus frittered away, till it was almost time to close the sitting. Then the objection was raised — surely a very plausible one! — that it had grown too late for the reading of "The Apology." "Deliver your Confession to the appointed officers," said Charles, "and rest assured that it shall be duly considered and answered."

But here some opposition arose. It had never occurred to Charles that his rule did not extend over the consciences of his subjects, or that he was exceeding his prerogative by his evasions and deceit. The answer which he received was one for which he had not been prepared. "Our honour is at stake," said the princes, "our souls are endangered; we are publicly accused, and we ought publicly to answer." What was to be done? The princes were respectful, but they were firm and unyielding also. "To-morrow," said the emperor, "I will hear your summary not in this hall, but in the chapel of the Palatine Palace."

The following day the protestant chiefs appeared before the emperor a memorable day in the history of Christianity. There were two copies of the Confession produced in court, one in Latin and one in German. Charles desired that the Latin copy should be read, but the Elector reminded him that they were in Germany, not Rome, and should therefore be permitted to speak in German. His plea was admitted, and the Chancellor Bayer, rising in his place, read the Confession in a slow, distinct voice, which was heard a considerable distance off. The reading occupied about two hours, and Pontanus, a prominent reformer, then handed both copies of the Confession to the emperor's secretary, with these words: "With the grace of God, who will defend His own cause, this Confession will triumph over the gates of hell."

The effect produced upon the people by the public reading of the Apology was encouraging beyond measure. The extreme moderation of the Protestants was a wonder-theme to many; and, says Seckendorf, "many eminently wise and prudent persons pronounced a favourable judgment of what they heard, and declared that they would not have missed hearing it for a great sum." "All that the Lutherans have said is true," observed the bishop of Augsburg, "we cannot deny it:" and testimonies of this kind were numerous. The Duke of Bavaria inquired of Doctor Eck, the foremost champion of Rome in Germany, "Well, doctor, you have given me a very different idea of this doctrine and of this affair; but, after all, can you refute by sound reasons the Confession made by the Elector and his friends?" "No," replied Eck, "by the writings of the apostles we cannot; but by the writings of the fathers and the canons of councils we can." "I understand then," returned the duke reproachfully, "that the Lutherans have their doctrine out of scripture, and we have our doctrine without scripture."

The reformer himself wrote, "I thrill with joy that my life is cast in an epoch in which Christ is publicly exalted by such illustrious confessors, and in so glorious an assembly. Our adversaries thought they had succeeded to admiration, when the preachers were silenced by imperial prohibition; but they do not perceive that more is done by our public confession, than perhaps ten preachers could have accomplished. Truly Christ is not silent in the Diet. The word of God is not bound. No; if it is prohibited in the pulpits, it shall be heard in the palaces of kings."

Chapter 24.

Development of the Sardis State.

A.D. 1529-1558.

Luther's position as leader of the Reformation was one of extreme danger to himself. By the multitude he was looked upon as little less than a pope, and it cannot be denied that on some occasions his actions gave a warrant for the name. He sustained his position by a rough dogmatism, and seems to have entertained a fear of lowering himself in the estimation of mankind by any avowal of error. When arguments failed he would maintain his position by sophistry and clamour; and, on one occasion at least, even sacrificed the interests of the gospel to party claims and the maintenance of his authority.

This may seem a hard word, but it is abundantly supported by facts, and history must be candid. The proceedings at the conference at Marburg are a sufficient proof of this. This conference was brought about by Philip, the landgrave of Hesse, and had for its object the settlement of the great sacramentarian controversy, which had long been raging between the German and Swiss reformers.

Luther had never been able to shake himself entirely free from the trammels of popery; and the doctrine of the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist was a dogma which he held to the last. True, he exchanged the word transubstantiation for that of consubstantiation, and sought to modify the hurtful and blasphemous doctrine; but his modification was a poor shift, and the error was not removed. Rome held — one's pen is slow to write it — that "the hands of the priest are raised to an eminence granted to none of the angels, of creating God, the Creator of all things, and of offering Him up for the salvation of the whole world." In other words, that the bread and wine were actually converted into the body and blood of Christ in the Eucharist; a doctrine which they made the corner-stone of their fabric of errors, condemning as infidels all who rejected it. Luther held the more absurd, and quite as erroneous notion, that the elements after consecration remained just what they were before it — true bread and wine, "but that there was also with the bread and wine the material substance of Christ's human body." "As soon as the words of consecration are pronounced over the bread, the body is there, however wicked be the priest who pronounces them!" These are the reformer's own words.

Now Zwingli, and the body of the Swiss reformers recoiled in horror from both these doctrines. They had revived the teaching of scripture as to these precious memorials; and had widely distributed their views, though in a private way, among the learned of Europe. Luther's friend, Dr. Carlstadt, was one of the first to reject the Lutheran notion, and to embrace the revived doctrine; but dissatisfied with Zwingli's mild and silent measures for disseminating the truth, he published in the year 1525, a spirited pamphlet against the doctrines of his former chief; and thus the controversy began.*

{*Carlstadt's teaching with regard to the institution of the Lord's Supper was not identical with that of Zwingli. He held that when Christ said, "This is my body," He pointed to His real body and not to the bread.}

Luther's reply, which appeared in the same year, was characterised by much arrogance and bitterness, and he did not hesitate to attribute the godly efforts of Zwingli to Satan. This was throwing down the gauntlet indeed; and Zwingli had no alternative but to enter the lists against him. Yet throughout the controversy, which lasted upwards of four years, the language of the Swiss reformer was moderate in the extreme. Fully convinced of the righteousness of his cause, he bore the angry clamour of his opponents without resenting it, and pierced the mailed armour of their stubbornness with many a shaft of truth. The result was what might have been expected. Many of the more thoughtful Lutherans, observing with sorrow how their leader resisted all peaceful investigation of the question, began to lose confidence in his guidance, and went over to the side of the Swiss. This disturbed Luther the more, and in the vehemence of his resentment he seemed to labour for words. The followers of Zwingli became his "Absaloms, sacrament conjurors, in comparison with whose madness the papists are mild opponents — the Satanic instruments of my temptation." Meanwhile, the papists watched with undisguised satisfaction the progress of the controversy; and the remark of Erasmus, that the Lutherans are eagerly returning to the bosom of the church," became a proverb in everybody's mouth.

The conference, which was largely attended, but in which only Luther, Zwingli, Melanchthon, and Oecolampadius took part, was not very fruitful in good. Luther went to it with his mind made up, and protested at the beginning that he should always differ from his opponents regarding the doctrine of the Lord's Supper. Taking up a piece of chalk he wrote in large letters on the velvet cover of the table, "Hoc est corpus meum" (This is my body). "These are Christ's words," said he, "and from this rock no adversary shall dislodge me." Harping upon the same words, he added a few moments later, "Let them shew me that a body is not a body. I reject reason, common sense, carnal arguments, and mathematical proofs. God is above mathematics. We have the word of God — we must adore and perform it."

As the discussion proceeded, the close reasoning of Zwingli told with great effect, but Luther remained obstinate and inflexible. The arguments of the Swiss, drawn from the scriptures and other sources, evidently troubled his spirit; but he had gone too far — it was too late to recede. At length Zwingli introduced an argument, which Oecolampadius had started in the morning, as to the meaning of the term "the flesh profiteth nothing." Luther now observed, "When Christ says the flesh profiteth nothing, He speaks not of His own flesh, but of ours."

Zwingli "The soul is fed with the Spirit, and not with the flesh."

Luther "It is with the mouth that we eat the body; the soul does not eat it; we eat it spiritually with the soul."

Zwingli "Christ's body is therefore a corporal nourishment, and not a spiritual."

Luther "You are captious."

Zwingli "Not so; but you utter contradictory things."

Luther "If God should present me wild apples, I should eat them spiritually. In the Eucharist, the mouth receives the body of Christ, and the soul believes His words."

Luther was now talking nonsense, and Zwingli wisely proceeded to take up another line of argument, establishing his own views rather than combating his opponent's. But Luther would own no defeat. "This is my body," was his untiring cry, and he made it his sure refuge in every difficulty. "The devil shall not drive me from that," he said; "to seek to understand it is to fall away from the faith."

Later in the day Oecolampadius, quoting 2 Corinthians v. 16 said, "We know not Jesus Christ after the flesh."

Luther "After the flesh means in the passage, after our carnal affections."

Zwingli "Then answer me this, Doctor Luther. Christ ascended into heaven; and if He is in heaven as regards His body, how can He be in the bread? The word of God teaches us that He was in all things made like unto His brethren. He therefore cannot be at the same instant on every one of the thousand altars at which the Eucharist is being celebrated."

Luther "Were I desirous of reasoning thus, I would undertake to prove that Jesus Christ had a wife; that He had black eyes, and lived in our good country of Germany. I care little about mathematics,"

Zwingli: "There is no question of mathematics here, but of St. Paul, who wrote to the Philippians that Christ took upon Him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men."

Finding himself driven into a corner, Luther again took refuge in his four words. "Most dear Sirs," he exclaimed, "since my Lord Jesus says, Hoc est corpus meum, I believe that His body is really there."

For a moment even the patience of Zwingli seemed to give way. Approaching Luther in a nervous manner, and striking the table with his hand, he said, "You maintain then, doctor, that Christ's body is locally in the Eucharist; for you say, 'Christ's body is there — there — there.' There is an adverb of place. Christ's body is then of such a nature as to exist in a place. If it is in a place, it is in heaven, whence it follows that it is not in the bread."

The argument, however, was thrown away.

"I repeat," said Luther warmly, "that I have nothing to do with mathematical proofs. As soon as the words of consecration are pronounced over the bread, the body is there, however wicked be the priest who pronounces them."

In the presence of such obduracy (for we cannot use a milder word) it is surprising that the reformers came to any amicable arrangements among themselves; especially when, at the close of the discussion, Luther refused to give his hand to his Swiss brethren. We do not recall the scene. We are glad that the scope of this history does not admit of its inclusion. It is sufficient to say that the efforts of the Landgrave of Hesse to effect a reconciliation were at last, in measure, successful. A "Formula of Concord," consisting of fourteen articles, was drawn up by Luther, which was subscribed to by both parties on the 4th of October, 1529. The Swiss reformers nobly yielded to Luther whenever they could do so without violating their own consciences; but their very yielding made their victory more complete.

Commenting upon the conduct of the great Reformer at the conference at Marburg, Dean Waddington says, "Upon the whole, he lost both influence and reputation by that controversy. By his imperious tone, and elaborate sophistry, he weakened the affections and respect of a large body of intelligent admirers. Many now began to entertain a less exalted opinion of his talents, as well as of his candour. Instead of the self-devotion and magnanimity which had thrown such a lustre over his earlier struggles, a vainglorious arrogance seemed to be master of his spirit; and but for the indulgence of this ignoble passion, the mantle, which might have wrapped Germany and Switzerland in one continuous fold was rent asunder. He was no longer the genius of the Reformation. Descending from this magnificent position, whence he had given light to the whole evangelical community, he was now become little more than the head of a party, then, indeed, the more conspicuous and powerful section of the reformers, but destined in after times to undergo reverses and defections, which have conferred the appellation of Lutheran on an inconsiderable proportion of the Protestant world."

Little did the German reformer think, when he refused the hand of his Swiss brother in the castle of Marburg, that within a year the opportunity for taking it would have gone by for ever. Yet so it was. Zwingli died on the battle-field, having accompanied the Protestant army in his capacity as chaplain. We do not attempt to justify the conduct of the Swiss Protestants in taking arms against their enemies; though they were only contending for their rights. Scripture teaches that "the servant of the Lord must not strive," and we may be sure that no good was ever done by the employment of carnal weapons in the spiritual conflicts of the church. At the battle of Cappel, in which Zwingli lost his life, twenty-five christian ministers were left dead upon the field! The great reformer was struck down at the very commencement of the action, while he was stooping over a dying man to breathe some word of comfort in his ear. The wound was not immediately fatal; and as he lay exhausted on the ground, he was heard to say: "Alas, what a calamity is this! Well, they have indeed killed the body, but they cannot touch the soul." For long hours he lay stretched upon the field, and when night had far advanced, a party of papists, with lighted torches, who were engaged in rifling the dead, came upon his body. He still breathed, but they did not recognise his face. One of the party asked him would he have a confessor, but the reformer shook his head. "If you cannot speak," said they, "invoke the mother of God, and the other saints for their intercession." The reformer again shook his head, and kept his eyes steadily fixed on heaven. "Die, then, obstinate heretic," said the officer of the party, and as he spoke he struck Zwingli on the throat with his sword. Later on they held a mock council on the lifeless body, and having condemned it for treason and heresy, the head was struck off, the body quartered, and the mutilated remains reduced to ashes.

The grief of Oecolampadius was great on hearing of the death of his friend, and he did not long survive him. The following year he was removed by the plague; and thus, within the space of a few months, the two chief agents in the Swiss Reformation were called away. Luther's resentment could not follow them to the grave, and writing to Henry Bullinger, he said, "Their death has filled me with such intense sorrow that I was near dying myself."

But Luther's time was not yet. The Lord had other work for His beloved servant; and for fifteen other years did the doctor of Wittenberg pursue his labours, furthering the work which it had been his privilege to begin, by his fervent prayers, his wise counsels, his generous sympathies, his burning eloquence, and his ready pen. His last days were spent in tranquility and peace; and his domestic life was not the least of his many joys. He was blessed with a true wife, his solace and helpmeet in many a trial and difficulty, and his children were the pride of his heart. An anecdote has come down to us which sheds a pleasant light on Luther in the home circle. A friend entering his room somewhat suddenly on one occasion, found his little boy sitting astride his leg, and laughing immoderately as his father tossed him up and down. Luther refrained from rising, and said apologetically, "My little boy is riding to Rome with a message from his father to the pope, and I could not interrupt his journey." How beautiful is all this, when we think of it as coming from the man who had shaken thrones and set the world thinking!

The death of his little daughter Magdalene supplies us with another, though sadder glimpse of his home life. He was constantly beside her in her last illness, and their hearts were knit together by the tenderest chords of love. "Magdalene, my dear little daughter," he once said to her, "you would be glad to stay with your father here, or you would be glad to go to your Father in heaven?" "Yes, dearest father, as God pleases," said the child. And when the wrench did come, he did not murmur. "Dear Kate," he said to his wife, "think where she is. It is well with her; but flesh will have its way. The spirit lives and is willing. Children do not dispute; they believe what is said to them. With children everything is simple; they die without pain and fear, as if they fell asleep."

Presently his own turn came. A dispute between the Counts of Mansfeld, in which he had been asked to arbitrate, necessitated his appearance at his native town. "I was born and baptised at Eisleben," said Luther to a friend who accompanied him, "what if I should remain and die here!" So it came to pass. Towards evening he complained of an oppression in the chest, and though relieved for a time by hot fomentations, it returned at a later hour. At nine o'clock he lay down on a couch, and slept till ten. On waking he retired to his room, and after bidding good night to those around him, added, "Pray for the cause of God." His pains continuing to increase he left his bed between one and two in the morning, and removed into his study without assistance. He knew his end was approaching, and frequently repeated the words, "O my God! into Thy hands I commend my spirit." Meanwhile his condition had been made known beyond the house, and there were now standing around his couch, his three sons, several of his friends, the Count and Countess Albert, and two physicians. At length he fell into a perspiration, and their hopes began to brighten: but he said, "It is a cold sweat, the forerunner of death: I shall yield up my spirit." He then broke into prayer, and concluded by thrice repeating the words, "Into Thy hands I commend my spirit: Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth!" Presently Justus Jonas inquired of him, "Beloved father, dost thou confess that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, our Saviour and Redeemer?" and Luther made reply, audibly and distinctly, "I do." These were his last words, and between two and three o'clock in the morning, he passed away.

The body was removed to Wittenberg on the 22nd of February; and the vast multitudes which assembled on the following day to witness the procession, were addressed by Pomeranus. Melanchthon afterwards delivered a funeral oration. But it has been remarked, as creditable to both orators, "that their feelings were more conspicuous than their powers of oratory, and that their pious attempts to console the sorrows of others were little more than a hearty demonstration of their own."

Charles had long been waiting for the death of Luther. He had many times lamented that he had suffered him to leave Worms, after his confession before the Diet. He had even said, "Though I spared him solely on the ground of the safe-conduct I had sent him, I confess, nevertheless, that I did wrong in this, because I was not bound to keep my promise to that heretic . . . but in consequence of my not having taken away his life, heresy continued to make progress; whereas his death, I am persuaded, would have stifled it in its birth."

It had been the wish of the emperor, ever since the Diet of Augsburg, that the pope should summon a general council, in order to inquire into the abuses of the ancient church, and thus make a way for the return of the dissentients to the allegiance of the pope. By this means he hoped to destroy the work of Luther, and restore peace and unity to the empire. But one thing and another had come in to thwart his wishes, and the successive popes to whom he had appealed, had all seemed curiously diffident in the matter. The threats which he had held out to the Protestants at the close of the Diet had only put them more on the alert, and they had immediately entered into a league for their mutual defence. This league they had been endeavouring to strengthen ever since, and thus, in spite of the warnings of Luther, the Protestants had become a thoroughly political body. This, in few words, represents the condition of affairs in Germany up to the period which we have now reached.

The death of Luther gave new hopes to the catholic party: the emperor found that a fitting opportunity for the gratification of his wish had come, and the long talked of council might be summoned with impunity. Into the proceedings of this council, which was held at Trent, a city in the Tyrol, we cannot enter. The Protestants refused to acknowledge it, and the emperor made their refusal a pretext for declaring war against them. The history of this war; of the capture of the elector; of the surrender of Philip, Landgrave of Hesse; of the shameful indignities heaped upon them by the emperor; of the persecution of the Protestants; of the temporary revival of popery; of the appointment of Maurice, Duke of Saxony, to the command of the forces; of the consummate duplicity of the duke; his secret league with the Protestant princes; his sudden declaration of war against the emperor; his march upon Innspruck and the miserable retreat of the emperor from that city — all this, together with the Peace of Passau, the concession of absolute freedom to the Protestant faith, the abdication of the emperor in favour of his brother Ferdinand, his retirement to a monastery, and, finally, his death — belong not to the compass of this outline, but to histories of greater bulk and more pretension. We must also leave to other historians the account of the further progress of the Reformation in Germany and Switzerland, and the efforts of Rome to hinder it. Our references must now cease. We have seen it firmly established in those countries; and while noting its mighty influence for good, have not omitted to notice also the failures which were incidental to it. God permitted these, in order to check vain-gloryings, and to hide pride from man.

We will conclude our remarks on this important and interesting period, by taking a rapid glance at the progress of the Reformation in other countries.

Chapter 25.

The Reformation in France and French Switzerland.

A.D. 1520-1592.

The establishment of the Reformation in France and French Switzerland, in its relation to the German and German-Swiss Reformation, must be looked upon as a somewhat late work. Its record is a record of blood, beginning with the martyrdom of the eloquent but imprudent John Leclerc, and ending with the massacre of the Huguenots, in which about 70,000 of the reformed faith were slaughtered in a few days.

William Farel, a native of Dauphiny, may be regarded as the apostle of the Reformation in French Switzerland. He learnt the reformed doctrines from a pious and learned doctor of Etaples, named James Lefevre, and first taught them in Paris, where he enjoyed the friendship and patronage of the bishop of Meaux, William Briconnet, who himself taught the new doctrines.

Persecution, however, at length became so violent that he was obliged to take refuge in Switzerland, where he made the acquaintance of Oecolampadius, Bucer, and other reformers. At Basle, Montbeliard, Aigle, Vallengin, St. Blaise, and Neuchatel, all in French Switzerland, he laboured with varying success; and such was the power of his preaching in the last-named place that the people declared they would live and die in the Protestant faith, and refused to rest satisfied till the Reformation was legally established in the Canton. At Geneva, which he visited twice, his work was difficult and perilous, and many attempts were made both by monks and priests to murder him. Several times he was stoned and beaten; twice he narrowly escaped a death by drowning in the Rhone; and once he was mercifully preserved from a more painful death by poison. But the blessing of the Lord was upon his labours, and ere long the Mass was officially suspended by a decree of the Council of Two Hundred, and an edict appeared ordaining that, "the services of God were thenceforward to be performed according to the statutes of the gospel; and that all acts of papal idolatry were to cease altogether." Coins were struck in commemoration of the event, and the citizens chose for themselves this new motto, "After darkness, light." The same happy results attended the labours of the stout-hearted reformer at Lausanne, though his first visit to the place was unsuccessful. The important matter was settled at a public disputation which lasted eight days, and ended in a signal triumph for the Protestants.

While at Geneva in the year 1536, Farel made the acquaintance of Calvin, then a young man in his twenty-eighth year. He had already made himself famous by the publication of his "Christian Institutes," and Farel felt that if he could persuade his young friend to remain in Geneva, to overlook the work, he would be doing much to help on the interests of the Reformation. He proposed the matter to him, but Calvin shrank from taking up the burden of such an undertaking, and refused. He pleaded that he was not mentally prepared for the task, that his education was as yet unfinished, and that, for the present at least, he could only render assistance by his pen. But Farel felt that he had the mind of God in asking him to remain, and met his shrinking refusal with the authoritative reply, "I declare to you on the part of God, that if you refuse to labour here along with us in the Lord's work, His curse will be upon you; since under the pretence of your studies, it is yourself that you are seeking, rather than Him."

The words had the desired effect upon the young theologian. Calvin abandoned his intention of proceeding to Strasbourg to continue his studies, and settled at Geneva. He was at once appointed a professor of theology, and commenced an arduous ministry of twenty-eight years, as pastor of one of the most prominent churches of the city: and from this place his influence presently extended to all the countries of Europe. "His relation to the ancient church," says Ludwig Hausser, "was peculiar. He was more bitterly opposed to it than any one else. Passionate and cutting things had indeed been said of Rome, but nothing so crushing had been urged against the Curia in the whole range of polemics as the attempt to prove that the church of Rome, in its origin and growth, was utterly opposed to the true church of Christ. Never had the hierarchical principle of the mediaeval Romish church been the subject of a fiercer attack than by Calvin's unimpassioned and cool-blooded assertion, that it was utterly opposed to the original idea of the constitution of the church, and he was therefore regarded by Rome as a more dangerous and implacable enemy than Luther."

But the people of Geneva could not at once fall in with the measures of reform which Calvin introduced. The whole city was sunk in vice and popery, and its "nine hundred priests" governed the consciences of the people. They did not like the restrictions which he put upon their singing, and dancing, and other worldly amusements; nor could they tolerate his stern rebukes of those less open sins to which they were no strangers: and when at last he prohibited them from coming to the altar, and sent them back with the rebuke, "You are not worthy to partake of the Lord's body; you are just what you were before; your sentiments, your morals, and your conduct are unchanged" when his faithfulness had brought him to this point, the people rose in a body and drove him from the city.

But in a little while they wished him back again. The city became filled with disorder, owing to the angry factions of the papists, the libertines, and the Anabaptists; and his presence was much needed. The very people who had driven him away began to clamour loudly for his return. "Let us recall the man," said they, "who wished to renovate our faith, our morals, and our liberties." And so, in the year 1540, it was resolved by the Council of Two Hundred, "in order that the honour and glory of God may be promoted, to seek all possible means to have Master Calvin back as preacher."

Calvin was loth at first to return, and declared that there was no place under heaven which he more dreaded than Geneva, yet added that he would decline nothing that might be for the welfare of that church. At last, in response to his official invitations and the earnest appeals of his friends, and feeling that he was guided by the will of God, he accepted the recall. To Farel he wrote, "Since I remember that I am not my own, nor at my own disposal, I give myself up, tied, bound, as a sacrifice to God." The welcome which he received atoned in some measure for his past ill-treatment, and from henceforth he was little hindered in his labours for the good of the people.

History does not favour us by drawing back the curtain which hides the inner and domestic life of Calvin from our view, and so the contemplation of his life is not so fraught with interest as that of Luther. He died on May I7th, 1564, literally worn out by the excessive mental fatigue which he had gone through. Farel, who was a feeble old man in his seventy-fifth year, when the news of the great reformer's illness reached him, wrote to say he must come and see him, but Calvin thoughtfully begged him to spare himself that fatigue. His brief letter was full of affection. "Farewell, my best and most faithful brother," he wrote, "and since it is God's pleasure that you should survive me in this world, live in the constant remembrance of our union, which, in so far as it was useful to the church of God, will still bear for us abiding fruit in heaven. Do not expose yourself to fatigue for my sake. I respire with difficulty, and continually expect my breath to fail me; but it is enough for me that I live and die in Christ, who to His people in life and death is gain. Once more, farewell to thee, and to all the brethren, thy colleagues." Calvin lingered on some three weeks after writing this letter, and spent the greater portion of that time in prayer. He died repeating the apostle's words, "The sufferings of this present life are not worthy to be compared with the glory to be —" here he stopped, for at that moment the glory dawned upon his view.

In the narrative by Beza, a fellow reformer, we get this reference to Calvin: "He lived fifty-four years, ten months, and seventeen days; half of which time he spent in the sacred ministry. His stature was of a middle size, his complexion dark and pale, his eyes brilliant even unto death, expressing the acuteness of his understanding. He lived nearly without sleep. His power of memory was almost incredible; and his judgment so sound, that his decisions often seemed oracular. In his words he was sparing, and he despised an artificial eloquence; yet was he an accomplished writer, and, by the accuracy of his mind, and his practice in dictating to an amanuensis, he attained to speak little differently from what he would have written. . . . Having given with good faith the history of his life and of his death, after sixteen years' observation of him, I feel myself warranted to declare, that in him was proposed to all men an illustrious example of the life and death of the Christian, so that it will be found as difficult to emulate as it is easy to calumniate him."

So much for Calvin and the Reformation in French Switzerland: we may now turn our attention to France, and watch the progress and difficulties of the work there. We have already alluded to the work of Farel and Lefevre in Paris, and of the encouragement which they received from Briconnet, the bishop of Meaux; but it was in the diocese of Briçonnet that the reformed doctrines were first publicly proclaimed.

Meaux at that time was a busy little city filled with wool-carders, fullers, and cloth-workers, and these simple people listened with deep interest to the new doctrines of their bishop, many being converted. The work grew, and the monks and begging friars who infested the neighbourhood became alarmed. "What new heresy is this?" they cried; "our authority is being questioned, our means of livelihood are being cut off — we must take instant measures to suppress these strange doctrines." They accordingly proceeded to Paris and laid their complaints before the Sorbonne and the Parliament, averring that "the city of Meaux, and all the neighbourhood, was infected with heresy, and its polluted waters flowed from the episcopal palace."

At that time the kingdom was administered, in the absence of its rightful monarch Francis I., by his mother, a bigoted catholic; and the reforming party knew that they could expect no kindness at her hands. Nor was the conduct of their bishop, when he was presently summoned before the Parliament, at all likely to encourage and sustain them; for he displayed the greatest timidity during his examination, and eventually yielded to the terms of the Sorbonne. The worship of the virgin and the saints was now resumed throughout his diocese; a prohibition was placed on the sale and possession of Luther's works; and Lefevre, Farel and the other reformers were forbidden to preach in the pulpits of Meaux, or even to remain in the neighbourhood.

This was not a hopeful beginning. The foremost reformer at Meaux had given up the work through fear, and the rest had been driven from the field. What was to be done? Was the work to be abandoned, and the cause of God to suffer irretrievably because of the wrath of man? No. For a while the work went on in secret, and though the public means of grace were denied, private study of the word and prayer were not neglected. Then a prominent member of their party, a wool-comber, named John Leclerc, drew up a proclamation, in which he spoke in no measured terms of the pope, and asserted that the kingdom of Antichrist was about to be destroyed by the breath of the Lord. This proclamation he posted on one of the doors of the cathedral, where all might read it; and waited the result.

As might be expected the monks and priests were filled with rage and confusion; and Leclerc was arrested on suspicion. When brought up for trial he made no attempt to conceal his act, and after a trial of a few days was condemned to be whipped through the city, and to have his forehead branded with a hot iron. While the latter part of his sentence was being carried out, a woman pressed through the crowd, her face pale with grief and emotion, and cried out, "Jesus Christ, and His marks for ever!" It was Leclerc's mother.

The wool-comber scarcely suffered his wounds to heal, before he was at work again: but the scene of his labours was changed. Having been banished from Meaux we next hear of him at Metz, and in the character of an image-breaker. Seated one day before the images in the Chapel of the Virgin, an edifice of great celebrity near that city, those words came into his mind, "Thou shalt not bow down to their gods, nor serve them, nor do after their works; but thou shalt overthrow them, and quite break down their images" (Ex. xxiii. 24), and receiving this as a divine injunction, he immediately arose, and demolished the images with which the chapel was crowded. This done, he quietly re-entered the city.

The agitation produced among the catholics by this act was indescribable, and the branded heretic was immediately arrested. As in the case of his previous trial, he readily confessed his crime — gloried in it in fact and exhorted the people to renounce idolatry, and return to the worship of the one true God. Sentence of death having been passed upon him, he was hurried to the scene of his martyrdom. Here a frightful death awaited him, though he was wonderfully sustained to the last. First, his right hand, which did the mischief, was cut off; then his flesh was torn with red-hot pincers; then his chest was cruelly burned. But while this torture was going on he recited, in a clear unwavering voice, the Psalmist's words, "Their idols are silver and gold, the work of men's hands. They have mouths, but they speak not; eyes have they, but they see not; they have ears, but they hear not; noses have they, but they smell not; they have hands, but they handle not; feet have they, but they walk not; neither speak they through their throats. They that make them are like unto them; so is every one that trusteth in them. O Israel, trust thou in the Lord; he is their help and their shield." Then his body was consumed over a slow fire; and thus the first martyr of the French Reformation entered heaven.

In due time came the martyrdom of a converted priest, named Chatelain, whose patient testimony at the stake, convinced many of the truth of the cause in which he died, and filled them with a desire to know more of that gospel in which he had found so great a solace. Then came the pious and very learned Louis Berquin, a peer of France, who Beza said would have made a second Luther if he had found in Francis a second Frederick of Hanover. Thrice was he imprisoned for preaching the reformed doctrines to the people, and thrice was he delivered from his prison through the instrumentality of the king's sister, the eminently pious Margaret, afterwards Queen of Navarre. Meanwhile his friends, timorous and lukewarm by reason of the dangers by which they were surrounded, urged him to desist from preaching, and to tempt no longer the malice of his enemies; but Berquin could see no reason to fly the field, and fearlessly went on with the work."Leave these hornets alone," wrote his timid friend Erasmus, "above all, do not mix me up in these things; my burden is already heavy enough." "You know Beza and his familiars," he wrote again, "a thousand-headed hydra is shooting out its venom on all sides. The name of your enemies is Legion. Were your cause better than that of Jesus Christ, they will not let you go until they have brought you to a cruel end. Do not trust in the protection of the king. But in any case do not commit me with the faculty of Theology." But while Erasmus and his other timid friends called loudly for Berquin to stop, the voice of God in his own soul and through the pages of His word, bade him go on; and Berquin went on, and France has need to bless God for it.

In the month of April, 1529, he was arrested for the fourth time, and brought before the Sorbonne. After a hurried and mock trial he was condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and to have his tongue bored through with a hot iron, but Berquin appealed against the decision of the council, and the judges feared to insist upon their sentence in the face of his appeal. Then they decided that he should be strangled and burnt, and this sentence was carried out. On the 22nd of April, 1529, he was taken in a cart to the Place de Grève, under an escort of six hundred soldiers, and met his death with great firmness.

Martyrdoms now grew frequent, but they were the beacon fires of the Reformation, inviting the people everywhere to rise in defence of the truth; and for every life thus taken, twenty champions arose to fill the gap. But the opposition was very great, and the number of the reformers in comparison with the enemies of the Reformation was a mere cipher. At length an expedient was hit upon, which it was hoped would accelerate the work; and an elaborate protest was prepared,* in which the abuses of Rome were exposed in vivid colours. Copies of this protest were circulated throughout France, and it was privately arranged that it should be published simultaneously in every town, upon a night that should be named. The 18th (some say, the 24th) of October, 1534, was the date fixed upon; and the eventful work of that one night has given to the whole year the name of the "Year of the Placards."

{*The author of the protest is not known: some think that Farel had the chief hand in it.}

The night at length arrived — an anxious one for the Lutherans, and the daring task of posting the placards was accomplished quietly, and without disturbance. In Paris, copies were affixed to the wall of the university, and all the public buildings, and the doors of the cathedral were covered with them. Even the parliament house, and the door of the king's sleeping apartment were not excepted; though it is probable that an enemy was responsible for the presence of the placard there. Morning came; and the effects of the discovery throughout the kingdom cannot be described. The excitement was unparalleled: a wrathful cry of "Death to the heretics!" arose throughout the land and a storm of terrible persecution began. The king grew pale with agitation when he saw the placard, and wrathfully exclaimed, "Let all be seized, and let Lutheranism be totally exterminated."

Numerous arrests were at once made, and the executions followed one another with terrible rapidity. Bartholomew Milon, a cripple, was the first martyr. He had to be lifted out of the cart on the day of his execution, as he could not walk; but the judges had taken no pity on his affliction, and he was burnt to death over a slow fire. Others followed. On the 21st of January, 1535, a "peace offering" procession, to atone for the indignities which had been offered to the ancient church, "marched through the most public streets of Paris in gloomy majesty," and the solemnities of the day were closed by the martyrdom of six Lutherans. The king was present, and made a violent speech against the new doctrines. "If my arm were infected with this pestilence," he said, I would cut it off. If one of my children were so wretched as to favour this new reform, and to wish to make a profession of it, I would sacrifice him myself to the justice of God, and to my own justice." Notable zeal this; but how the language of the wretched king began to change, when the hour of his own departure drew near! What would he have given then to have washed the guilt of so much blood from his conscience, and to have relieved his soul of the consequences which he knew were hanging over him!

And what a history of crime and blood his reign presents to us! — of so many crimes, and so much blood! It was he who consented to the persecution of the Vaudois Christians, who inhabited the fruitful country of Merindole and Cabrieres. They held doctrines similar to the doctrines of the French reformers; and this was their only crime. "They are irreproachable in morals," said a catholic writer of that day, "laborious, sober, benevolent, and of unshaken loyalty." Yet an edict of persecution was published against them, and upwards of twenty-two towns and villages were plundered and burned, and the inhabitants murdered under circumstances of shocking barbarity. And Francis was in measure responsible for this. What a burden for his distracted soul as the hour of his dissolution drew near! It is then we hear him moaning, as the terrors of an accusing conscience take form before his eyes, "I am not to blame — my orders were exceeded." Courtier-prelates might have lulled that conscience to sleep while the king was in the vigour of life; but of what avail were their words when the hand of death was upon him, and eternity stared him in the face?

In the year 1547 Francis died, and was succeeded by his second son Henry, whose elder brother had been poisoned by the wicked Catherine de' Medici, the new king's wife. During his reign of twelve years the persecution was continued with increasing violence, and the priests did not lose any opportunity of prejudicing the king's mind with regard to the Reformation. They described it as seditious and revolutionary, and declared that the Huguenots* — for this was the new name by which the French Lutherans were known — were plotting against him, and that their doctrines were subversive of all ecclesiastical and regal power. The king took alarm at these representations, but it was not till towards the close of his reign, (when the Reformation had taken such a hold of the people that a sixth of the population were Huguenots), that he resorted to the extreme measure of summoning a parliament with a view to their suppression. This memorable sitting is known in history as the "Bed of Justice."

{*So named from one Hugues, a Genevese Calvinist.}

Meanwhile, thanks to the untiring labours of Calvin, the ecclesiastical foundations of the Reformation had been laid, and churches had been formed on his model in Paris, Poictiers, Angers, Bourges and elsewhere; so that when the king convoked his parliament in the year 1559, there were over a thousand such congregations in existence in France.

The only important incident which occurred during the deliberations of the parliament, seems to have been the arrest of one of its senators, John Du Bourg, whose bold speech in favour of the Huguenots, excited the king's anger, and led him to exclaim that he would watch Du Bourg's martyrdom with his own eyes. This, indeed, was his serious intention, but the Lord had willed otherwise, and fourteen days after the senator's arrest, Henry was killed in a tilting match with Count Montgomery, the captain of the guards. Strange to say, this was the very man who had effected the arrest of Du Bourg.

The accession of Francis II. brought no brighter prospects for the Huguenots; and after their bold champion, Du Bourg, had been immured for six months in the frightful dungeon of the Bastille, during which he had been denied the common necessaries of life, and had suffered grievous tortures by means of an iron cage, he was burnt alive.

The new king was a mere boy when he ascended the throne, and his weak body and still weaker mind rendered him eminently unfit to rule. It was during his reign that the work of Reformation in France assumed a political complexion, and the wars of religion began. French Protestantism could now number among its adherents several of the highest nobles in the land, men like Coligny and Sully, and the Huguenots had become a body which could no longer be despised. There were two parties then in the State in violent opposition; the one, with Catherine de' Medici at its head, representing the old nobility of France — the Bourbons, Montmorencys, etc.; the other, headed by the brothers Francis and Charles Guise, representing an entirely new faction, which had grown out of the intrigues of these men. Francis Guise, in rank a duke, had control of the army, and aspired to the throne; Charles held the rank of a cardinal, and had control of the finances and foreign affairs. How to check the power of the two brothers, who virtually ruled the kingdom between them, became a problem with Catherine's party, and they sought to solve it by drawing to their side the Huguenot opposition. Many members of the discontented aristocracy even adopted Calvinistic sentiments for purely political motives; and when one of these nobles, La Renaudie by name, who held a grudge against the Guises for the murder of his brother, had been detected in a plot against their lives, the Huguenots were implicated in the conspiracy. But the death of Francis II., in the year 1560, effected the overthrow of the Guise party, and Catherine de' Medici having undertaken, in her own interests, the guardianship of the new king, Charles IX., then in his tenth year, the reins of government were practically transferred to her hands. Though possessed of no strong religious convictions, she was a catholic in name, and hated Protestantism be cause of its supposed democratic tendencies: yet, in order to consolidate her power, and to destroy more effectually the power of the Guises, she professed toleration, and released the Huguenots who had been imprisoned during the reign of Francis II. At the same time she avoided mortally offending the Guises, and permitted them, and all their adherents, to remain in their offices and posts of honour.

But no sooner was her position firmly established than she proceeded to mature her plans for the extermination of heresy and the ruin of the Huguenots. Her schemes were as deeply laid as her heart was cruel and wicked, and aided by the counsels of Pope Pius V., and Philip II. of Spain, her plot was ripe for execution in the autumn of the year 1572. That plot had for its object the wholesale massacre of the French Protestants.

At the head of the Huguenots was the illustrious Admiral Coligny, an old man, alike venerated for his piety and renowned for his bravery. It had been necessary that his confidence should be gained, or, at least, that he should be thrown off his guard, before a scheme so vast as that which Catherine and her accomplices had formed, could be carried out: and this had been effected in the following manner. Charles IX., then in his 22nd year. had been instigated by his mother, to profess "an earnest desire for the establishment of a lasting peace" between the two religious factions, and to that end a marriage had been proposed between his own sister, Margaret of Valois, a Roman Catholic, and the protestant king of Navarre, afterwards Henry IV. At first there had been some opposition to this, from the mother of Henry, the spiritual and accomplished Jeanne d'Albret, but she had been secretly removed by poison at an early stage of the proceedings; and the marriage had been duly arranged. Coligny guileless and open-hearted himself, could suspect no treachery in others, and made no attempts to sift the hidden sources of the king's action, or to question his motives. Nothing disturbed his own peace, and he began to look forward with joyful hope to the approaching union.

The marriage was fixed for the 18th of August, 1572, and nobles from all parts of the kingdom; — Protestants as well as Catholics — were invited to the ceremony. Almost all responded to the invitation, and by the 18th, Paris was crowded with the chiefs of the two religious parties. The marriage was duly solemnised, and for some days the French metropolis was given up to feasting and gaiety; the Protestants mingling with the Catholics without suspicion. But this was all a part of the great scheme, and by it the Huguenots were lulled to sleep. St. Bartholomew's eve was drawing near, but still the festivities continued and still the same amicable relationships were preserved among all classes. True, at times there was something in the looks and gestures of certain of the Romanists, which those who perceived it could scarcely understand: yet the feeling of wonder passed away, and the fatal sense of security remained. Now and then a Protestant would come upon a whispering group of papists, lurking in some dark corner of a street, and a feeling of uneasiness would steal over him — but why? Were they not his frends? — Alas! Alas!

Charles became deeply agitated as the fatal hour drew near. His face grew deathly pale; his frame shook; a fearful feeling of remorse oppressed his heart. In his irresolution he would have countermanded his orders, but for the persuasions of his mother. He did dispatch a message to the Duke of Guise urging him not to act in haste; but the message came too late. Catherine had anticipated him, by commanding that the tragedy should commence an hour before the stated time; and while the messenger was yet on his way the signal bell rang out. Immediately it was answered from every steeple in Paris, and the massacre began. A voice was heard at the door of Coligny's sleeping apartment, "My lord, God calls us to His presence!" He had been wakened by the clanging of the bells, and was at that moment engaged in prayer. The aged nobleman rose to his feet, and turning towards his attendants, said, "I have been long prepared to die; as for you, save yourselves if you can; you cannot save my life." The Duke of Guise was waiting in the street without, while the assassins did their work, and presently his voice was heard, calling to his servant, "Behem, hast thou done it?" The ominous answer immediately came back, "It is done, my lord." "But we must see it to believe it;" said the Duke, "throw him out of the window." Behem took up the still breathing form, and did with it as he was commanded. As the body fell on to the pavement below, the Duke spurned it with his foot, saying, "I know him, it is he: courage, comrades; we have begun well — now for the rest."

In all the streets was now heard the firing of musketry, mingled with the brutal curses of the papists, and the groans of the dying. The Huguenots, taken by surprise, could offer no resistance; and when morning dawned their corpses were seen lying in heaps on every hand. The streets ran with blood, and the Seine was purpled with the dark stream. Morning brought no cessation in the awful work, and by that time Charles had recovered from his indecision, and came out on a balcony, with his mother, to feast his eyes on the scene of slaughter. He even joined in the work himself, and, seizing upon an arquebuse, fired upon the Huguenots who were seeking to escape by swimming across the river. For four days the massacre continued, and then the murderers left off through sheer weariness. By that time some five hundred of the Protestant nobility and gentry had been slaughtered, and from five to ten thousand Huguenots of lesser station.

Nor did the carnage end there. It extended to the provinces, and orders were dispatched to the various governors and magistrates to exterminate the heretics without mercy. Some yielded a ready obedience, but not all. To his eternal honour be it told, one catholic bishop, John Hennuyer, bishop of Lisieux, refused to incur the guilt of so foul an act, and when the royal messenger presented him with the order, he said, "No, no, sir; I oppose, and will always oppose the execution of such an order. I am the pastor of Lisieux, and these people whom you command me to slaughter are my flock. Although they have at present strayed, having quitted the pasture which Jesus Christ, the sovereign Shepherd, has confided to my care, they may still come back. I do not see in the gospel that the shepherd can permit the blood of his sheep to be shed; on the contrary, I find there, that he is bound to give his blood and his life for them." Noble testimony! It is with joy that we record it here, though differing so widely from the brave John Hennuyer as regards the doctrines which he taught. The governor of Bayonne was another who refused to obey the murderous command. "The king has many brave soldiers in his garrison," he said, "but not a single executioner."

During six weeks the massacre in the provinces continued, and the number of victims is variously estimated at fifty, seventy, and one hundred thousand. The latter number, if we take into account those who afterwards perished from hunger and grief, is probably the most correct. The grave-diggers of the cemetery of the Innocents, at Paris, interred over a thousand bodies which had been cast up the Seine alone, a fact to which the account-books of that city bear witness to this day; and in Meaux, where the French Reformation may be said to have begun, the number of victims was so great that the labour of killing them with the sword was too slow, and they were dispatched with iron hammers.

Rome was loud in her joy when the first news of the massacre reached her. The messenger who brought it was rewarded with a thousand crowns by the Cardinal of Lorraine; artillery was fired; and when night came on, the city was gay with its illuminations. A solemn Te Deum was celebrated in St. Mark's Church, and thanks were offered to God for so signal a blessing conferred on the Roman See; while at Paris a medal was struck with this inscription, Pietas armavit justitiam, "Piety has armed Justice." "If ever the depths and wiles of Satan were seen in human wickedness," says Andrew Miller, "it is here. The premeditation, the solemn oaths of the king — which drew the Calvinists to Paris the royal marriage, and the dagger put into the hands of the mob by the chiefs of the State, at a time of universal peace, represent a plot which has no parallel in history. And then, from the pope downwards, the Catholic community lifting up their hands to heaven, and thanking God for the glorious triumph!"

But a solemn retribution awaited the authors of this terrible crime. All but one came to violent ends. Charles died, some two years after, in dreadful agonies of soul and body; and was heard to exclaim, not long before his death, "What blood — what murder! How evil are the counsels that I have followed! Oh my God, pardon and pity me! I know not where I am, so grievous is my agony and perplexity. What will be the end of it? What will become of me? I am lost for ever." The Duke of Guise was assassinated; his brother, the Cardinal of Lorraine, died raving mad; and the wretched Catherine de' Medici, though she lived to an unhonoured old age, was imprisoned by her favourite son, and her name became synonymous throughout the world with perfidy and cruelty.

And the "heresy" of the Huguenots was not exterminated, though one hundred thousand of their number fell. He who had planted the incorruptible seed of the gospel in their hearts, could quickly plant it in the hearts of one hundred thousand more: and so it came to pass. A long series of petty wars between the Huguenots and the Catholics, distinguished the reign of Charles's successor, Henry III.; and when he was assassinated in the year 1589, a Protestant prince, Henry of Navarre, succeeded him on the throne.

Chapter 26.

The Reformation in Italy, Spain, Denmark, Sweden, and the Netherlands.

There is a special interest attaching to the history of the Reformation in Italy, as being the centre and hot-bed of Roman Catholicism. The Italians, as a body, had long looked upon the papacy with feelings akin to contempt; for they had been constant witnesses of the uncloaked wickedness of their metropolis, and could not but see that in the Vatican that wickedness found a centre. They had long been wearied with the licentiousness and greed, the ambition and deceit for which their chief city was notorious, and many an earnest heart was sighing for a change, long before the work of reformation actually began. Hence, no sooner had the fame of Luther's collision with Tetzel reached Italy than there was an eager demand for his writings. A few months later we find his printer, at Basle, writing to him in these terms: "Blasius Salmonius, a bookseller at Leipsic, presented me, at the last Frankfort fair, with certain treatises composed by you, which being approved of by learned men, I immediately put to press, and sent six hundred copies to France and Spain. My friends assure me that they are sold at Paris, and read and approved of, even by the Sorbonists. Calvus, a bookseller of Pavia, himself a scholar, and addicted to the Muses, has carried a great part of the impression into Italy. . . . In spite of the terror of pontifical bulls, and the activity of those who watched over their execution, the writings of Luther, Melanchthon, Zwingli, and Bucer, continued to be circulated and read with avidity and delight in various parts of Italy. Some of them were translated into the Italian language, and, to elude the vigilance of the inquisitors, were published under fictitious names." This thirst for the literature of the reformers was encouraging, to say the least; and it proceeded from no idle curiosity. "Purchase Bullinger's work, De Origine Erroris," said a monk to Zanchius, "and if you have no money to buy it, pluck out your right eye, and read the purchased book with your left."

For upwards of twenty years this good work was allowed to go on, with little opposition; but in the year 1542, its weakening effect upon the papacy began to be more clearly realised at Rome; and the pope is found writing: "It is with sincere regret we hear, from good authority, that many of our clergy, both secular and regular, in several provinces of Italy, have become so infected with the Lutheran heresy, that they corrupt the minds of the people, even by public preaching, to the no small scandal of all faithful Christians." The Inquisition was now put in force against the Protestants, and the prisons were quickly crowded with victims.

Aonio Paleario, author of a little book entitled, "The Benefit of Christ's Death," was one of the most notable pioneers of the Italian Reformation, but his career of usefulness was cut short by martyrdom. "In my opinion," said he, "no Christian ought to think of dying in his bed, in these times. To be accused, imprisoned, scourged, hung up, sewed up in a sack, and thrown to wild beasts is not enough. Let them roast me at the fire, if only the truth can be better brought to light by such a death." When questioned by his accusers as to the first means of salvation which had been given to man, he answered,"Christ." "And the second?" said they. "Christ." "And the third?" "Christ." Paleario was imprisoned in the dungeon of the Inquisition for three years, and was then burned alive.

Several Englishmen, at that time resident in Italy, suffered severely at the hands of the Inquisition; among whom were John Craig, a Scotch reformer, who afterwards assisted in drawing up the National Covenant; Dr. Thomas Wilson, who became secretary to Queen Elizabeth, and Dr. Thomas Reynolds, Craig and Wilson escaped from their prison at Rome, during a tumult, in which the doors were broken open; but Reynolds was not so fortunate. He was severely tortured by order of the inquisitors, and at last expired under the torture. Another Englishman was burned to death, in the same city, in the year 1595.

In every corner of Italy the inquisitors were now at work, and the country swarmed with spies. These were, for the most part in the pay of the Vatican, and their business was to gain the confidence of private persons suspected of heresy, in order to facilitate the arrests. They were found among all classes of the people, from the highest to the lowest, and by means of their shameless perfidy and deceit the prisons were quickly filled with victims. Some of these were condemned to penance, others were sent to the galleys, others were shockingly tortured and mutilated, others were cramped with heavy irons and starved in damp unwholesome dungeons; and others were burned alive. Many fled for refuge to other countries, where they were in most cases kindly received, and not a few found a home and a welcome on our own shores. Some idea of the extent of the work in Italy may be gathered from the fact, that during a search that was made for heretical books, upwards of forty thousand copies of Paleario's little work "The Benefit of Christ's Death," were discovered.

Of the Reformation in Spain we cannot, unfortunately, offer so hopeful an account, for the persecutions which followed the introduction of the reformed doctrines into that country, drove thousands into exile; and those who remained, remained only for the stake, the torture-room, or the galleys. But Protestant England could still find room for her exiled brethren, and, as bishop Jewell touchingly wrote,"The Queen, of her gracious pity, granted them harbour." It would appear that the number of the Spanish exiles was between three and four thousand, for the bishop adds, "But what was the number of such who came unto us? Three or four thousand. Thanks be to God; this realm is able to receive them if the number were greater." The chief agents in the Spanish Reformation were two brothers, Juan and Alfonso de Valdes.

From Spain we are naturally led to the Low Countries, or Netherlands, as they formed part of the dominions of the Spanish King. Here, in spite of persecution, the revived doctrines spread with rapidity; and the martyrdom of three monks, of the order of Augustine, who had been convicted of reading Luther's works, awoke a spirit of inquiry in the minds of the people, which no threats or tortures could subdue. Erasmus says that, "the city of Brussels where they were executed, had been perfectly free from heresy till this event: but many of the inhabitants immediately after began to favour Lutheranism."

In the year 1566 a deputation waited upon the king, with a petition of toleration signed by one hundred thousand Protestants; but instead of yielding to their appeal, he directed the Governess of the Netherlands, his half-sister Margaret of Parma, to raise an army of 3000 horse, and 10,000 foot soldiers, for the enforcement of his decrees. But armies and royal decrees were of little moment, when God had decided that the work should go on. The Protestants daily increased in number, in spite of the efforts of armed forces to thin and scatter them; and the cold-hearted bigoted Philip found that he must resort to more desperate measures than he had yet employed, if he would exterminate the hated religion. Dissatisfied with the clemency of Margaret, he now vested his authority in the person of the Duke of Alva; who shortly after arrived in the country with an army of 15,000 Spaniards and Italians; and a series of atrocities, almost without parallel in the annals of persecution, commenced.

The Inquisition was at once put to work; and before long its victims could be numbered by thousands. Most of the Protestant churches and meeting houses were destroyed, and the beams were made into gallows on which to hang the Lutherans. The cities were depopulated — for the people fled from them as from a plague — and the commerce of the country was at a standstill. Merchants, manufacturers, artisans, men of all classes, hastened out of the country, and considered themselves fortunate in being able to escape with their lives. For those who remained it was almost certain death.

"About the same time, 1561, Walter Kapell, a man of property and benevolence, and greatly beloved of the poor people, was burned at the stake for heretical opinions. A most touching scene occurred after Titelmann's officers had bound him to the stake: a poor idiot, who had been often fed by his kindness, called out, 'Ye are bloody murderers; that man has done no wrong, but has given me bread to eat.' With these words he cast himself headlong into the flames to perish with his beloved benefactor, and was with difficulty rescued by the officers. A day or two afterwards he visited the scene of the execution, where the half-burned skeleton of Walter Kapell still remained; the poor idiot laid it upon his shoulders, and carried it to the place where the magistrates were sitting in session. Forcing his way into their presence, he laid his burden at their feet, crying, 'There, murderers! ye have eaten his flesh, now eat his bones.'"

One, Robert Ogier, of Ryssel in Flanders, suffered martyrdom in the following year, in company with his eldest son. The latter, who was quite a youth, exclaimed in the flames, "O God, eternal Father, accept the sacrifice of our lives in the name of Thy beloved Son." A monk who was standing by retorted angrily, "Thou liest, scoundrel! God is not your father ye are the devil's children." A moment or two later the boy exclaimed, "Look, my father, all heaven is opening, and I see an hundred thousand angels rejoicing over us! Let us be glad, for we are dying for the truth." "Thou liest — thou liest!" shrieked the priest, "all hell is opening, and ye see ten thousand devils thrusting you into eternal fire." Robert Ogier's wife and remaining son suffered in a similar way a few days later, and the family was thus reunited in heaven.

The very worst times for the Netherlands had now set in. "The executions by fire, water, and sword, and the confiscation of property, were recklessly continued. The victims numbered many thousands. The number of emigrants increased in the same proportion, and the product of confiscation reached by degrees the sum of thirty million dollars. The ancient privileges of the country were already annihilated; the population was fearfully diminished; agricultural prosperity was threatened with ruin; commerce was at an end; the harbours were empty; the shops and warehouses lying waste; numbers of industrious hands were idle; the great businesses were at a standstill; the wealthy trading cities were impoverished; in short, everything that had contributed to commercial and industrial prosperity began to decay."

But Alva cared for none of these things. The reckless slave of a cruel master, no thoughts of political economy ever troubled his mind; this fearful retrogression was nothing to him. Nay, in so far as the wanton sacrifice of human life was concerned, he had no thought of pausing yet — his thirst for blood was not yet satiated! The slaughter of a few thousand Protestants was not enough to satisfy the rapacious cruelty of such a man; the scythe must take a wider sweep in short, the whole nation of heretics must come beneath the murderer's arm! In the year 1568, when the "Council of Blood" held its second sitting, it was decreed that all the inhabitants of the Netherlands should suffer death as heretics; and from this universal doom none were excepted, save a few persons specially named. "This," says Motley, "is probably the most concise death-warrant that was ever framed. Three millions of people — men, women, and children — were sentenced to the scaffold in three lines."

The effects of this ghastly edict were frightful. Many of the people went mad; and others, who contrived to escape to the West-woods of Flanders, were driven wild by solitude and despair. In the towns and villages the tolling of the death-bell might be heard at all hours; and verily, had a plague visited the country, the condition of things could not have been more terrible. Every house was a house of mourning, and the charred and mangled corpses of the victims of the awful decree were exposed by hundreds on the door-posts and fences.

Then, at last, the people found that they could endure the oppression no longer; and, rising with the energy of despair, they came forth from their desolated homes, and their places of hiding in the woods, and found a common rallying-point around the banner of William of Nassau, Prince of Orange. Into the details of the Civil War that followed we cannot enter; and the reader will doubtless be familiar with the facts. The Protestant army, at first unsuccessful, was aided by Elizabeth of England, the French king, and the German Protestants; and in the year 1580 the people were enabled to throw off the Spanish yoke, and assert their independence. Thus a new Protestant State was constituted in Europe; and the Netherlands were known henceforth as The Seven United Provinces.*

{*The original name, however, still survives.}

In Sweden the Reformation was established, after some opposition, by the renowned Gustavus Vasa, who was assisted by the brothers Olaus and Laurentius Petri. In spite of the hindrance of the spiritual lords, headed by the archbishop of Upsal, the truth prevailed; and the king had soon so powerful a party to support him, that he was able to compel the restoration of the various estates and castles which those prelates had obtained from his subjects by improper means. A check was also put upon the power of the bishops: the distribution of the revenues of the church was taken out of their hands, and they were forbidden to take any further part in the affairs of the State. Gustavus Vasa was evidently the right man in the right place, and it is pleasant to be able to add, that the work which he began was accomplished with the greatest rapidity, and without tumult or bloodshed.

In Denmark, a king — Christian II. — was again at the head of the Reformation, and, though the opposition of the ecclesiastical party was at first a serious clog upon his movements, and the bishops even succeeded in procuring his deposition, he continued the good work while in exile, and employed his secretary to translate the New Testament into the Danish language.

The Danes were much indebted to the ministry of the intrepid John Taussen, a monk of Antvorscov, who, having been imprisoned for preaching justification by faith, continued to expound the doctrine from his prison window. The new king, Frederick I., hearing of the dauntless monk, sent an order for his release; and shortly afterwards appointed him one of his own chaplains.

At the conference of Odense, held in 1527, the king openly declared himself for the Reformation; and, in spite of much opposition from the bishops, decreed that henceforth the Protestants should enjoy the same immunities as the Catholics. On the death of Frederick, the bishops made another desperate effort to restore popery, and succeeded in procuring the banishment of Taussen; but their triumph did not last. The new king was as favourable to the Reformation as his predecessor; and, in the year 1536, a Diet was held at Copenhagen, and the Protestant religion was finally established. The bishops, convicted of intriguing and other treasonable practices, were deprived of their offices and emoluments; and the last, lingering traces of popery were effaced from the land.

Chapter 27.

The Reformation under Henry VIII.

A.D. 1510-1531.

The work of the Reformation in England, in so far as the State was concerned, did not begin, strictly speaking, till the latter half of the sixteenth century. As Ludwig Hausser justly observes, "What was attempted by Henry VIII. was not in anywise a reformation, but a wanton experiment of autocratic absolutism." He shook off the allegiance of the pope in the year 1514; suppressed the mendicant orders in the year following; and followed up this act by plundering the monasteries, the revenues of which he appropriated to his own use. The motive power with Henry in this specious kind of reformation was anger, arising from the pope's refusal to grant him a divorce from Catherine of Arragon. A reformation thus begun could scarcely be expected to stand.

Yet a real work of God was going on, a work indeed which had never ceased since the days of Wickliffe, and every year new light was coming into the country from the Continent. Of this we will now speak more particularly.

In the very year of the king's accession, the popish bishop of London, Richard Fitzjames, began a persecution in his diocese, a fact which shews that the truth was already making itself felt in some quarters; and between the years 1510 and 1527 some forty Christians of both sexes suffered in various ways for their faith. The charges against them were various, and, for the most part, extremely petty. One would not reverence the crucifix, or acknowledge that the pope had power to give pardons; another spoke against pilgrimages and praying to saints; a third denied the carnal and corporal presence of the Lord's body and blood in the sacrament of the altar. Others were found guilty of reading certain forbidden books, as, for example, the Four Gospels, Wickliffe's Wicket, the Ten Commandments of Almighty God, and sundry of the Epistles; and others were convicted of the supreme sin of speaking against the pope's holiness, and against his blessed martyr Thomas à Becket.

One of the martyrs of this period was John Brown, the nature of whose offence is thus given. Seated upon a Gravesend barge one day, he fell into conversation with a certain priest, who, becoming heated in their talk, delivered himself in this fashion: "Dost thou know who I am? thou sittest too near me, thou sittest on my clothes." "No, sir," said John Brown; "I know not who you are." "I tell thee I am a priest." "What, sir, are you a parson, or vicar, or a lady's chaplain?" "No," quoth the priest, "I am a soul-priest; I sing for a soul." "Do you so, sir?" said Master Brown, "that is well done: I pray you, sir, where find you the soul when you go to mass?" "I cannot tell thee," said the priest. "I pray you, sir," said Master Brown, "where do you leave it when the mass is done?" The priest returned the same answer. "Then," said Brown, "you can neither tell me where you find it when you go to mass, nor where you leave it when the mass is done, how can you then save the soul?" "Go thy ways," quoth the priest, "thou art a heretic, and I will be even with thee." Three days after, the bold speaker was arrested in his own home, and brought fast-bound to Canterbury. During his confinement here, efforts were made to induce him to recant; and to this end his feet were horribly tortured over a fire, until the bones were laid bare. But John Brown was not to be moved; and when the priests found that he was firm in his confession, they sent him to the stake.

In the neighbourhood of Lincoln, also, there was not a little persecution, and the bishop of the diocese, protected by a letter from the king, instituted a rigorous search for heretics, with whom he dealt with characteristic cruelty when they were brought before him. Those who were found guilty of a first offence, and abjured their opinions, were, for the most part, incarcerated in the monasteries, where they were retained for life; but relapsed heretics were handed over to the secular arm, to be burnt alive. In the case of John Scrivener, his own children were compelled to light the faggots at his burning; and in like manner, the daughter of William Tilsworth was made to fire the wood at her father's martyrdom.

But while Wolsey's creature, bishop Longland, was busy in his diocese of Lincoln, other Englishmen, with objects of a nobler and purer kind, were not less busy in other parts. In the year 1520, William Tyndal left the university of Cambridge, and commenced his eventful career.

We hear of him first at Gloucester, where he was tutor in the family of a knight named Welsh, in whose mansion he frequently reasoned and disputed with the abbots, deans, archdeacons, and other beneficed men who met around his patron's board. Being thus engaged on one occasion, he was informed by his opponent, who had lost his temper in the heat of controversy, that "It were better to be without God's laws than the pope's." Tyndal, swelling with indignation, exclaimed, "I defy the pope and all his laws!" and to this he added, "that if God spared his life, ere many years he would cause a boy that drives a plough to know more of the scriptures than he did." On the whole the Cambridge scholar does not seem to have been at all popular in the Gloucestershire knight's household; indeed, his place was much preferred to his company, and the priests of those parts discovered him to be an heretic in sophistry, an heretic in logic, and an heretic in divinity."

Proceeding afterwards to London, he waited upon the then bishop, Cuthbert Tonstall, and endeavoured to obtain a place in his household, but his efforts were unsuccessful. To nestle down under the sheltering wing of patronage was not to be the lot of Master Tyndal. He was to be a servant of the Lord in perilous times, and for that it was necessary that he should pass through a severer school than was to be found in any bishop's household. For awhile, however, he was comfortably lodged in the house of one Humphrey Monmouth, a worthy citizen of London, who had a sincere respect for his guest, and was himself interested not a little in the new teaching. But as the opinions of Tyndal became known (and he was not one to hide his light under a bushel) the dangers of his situation increased, and his friends advised him to retire to the Continent.

Besides, a new work was now occupying his attention — the translation of the Bible — and for this he needed all the quiet that could possibly be had. London was not likely to afford him much of that. The call for such a work he had often insisted on, but he also felt the need of it for his own soul. "I hunger for the word of God," he said, "and will translate it, whatever they may say or do. God will never suffer me to perish. He never made a mouth but he made food for it, nor a body but He made raiment also." With such a hunger oppressing him, no wonder that Tyndal thought lightly of his bodily needs, and, content with his meagre fare of boiled meat and small beer, refused the delicacies of Humphrey Monmouth's table.

But persecution was waxing hot, and while those around him were being condemned merely for reading portions of the word of God, it was not likely that he would long escape who was translating the whole Bible. "Alas," he sighed, "is there no place where I can translate the Bible? It is not the bishop's house alone that is closed against me, but all England." The complaint was but too just, and within a few days of quitting Humphrey Monmouth's sheltering roof, Tyndal was on his way to Germany.*

{*Humphrey Monmouth was afterwards imprisoned in the Tower for sheltering the reformer, and only escaped the forfeiture of his goods and other heavy penalties, by some dexterous excuses and a degrading abjuration.}

On arriving in that country he called upon several of the reformers, and then passed into Saxony, where he had a conference with Luther; and having continued in those parts a certain season he proceeded to the Netherlands, and finally took up his abode in Antwerp. Others have traced his progress first to Hamburg, and thence to Cologne, to which city he was followed by his busy enemy Cochlaeus, who is said to have made the printers drunk, in order to get from them the secret of his work. Finding himself in danger here, he moved on to Worms, and there completed the first portion of his work, the translation of the New Testament. In the spring of 1526, copies of the translation had reached England, and were being circulated far and wide. The Romish priests in England were now in somewhat evil case, and began to ask each other what was to be done. The foundations of the Papacy were being sapped, and the whole fabric seemed in danger of a collapse. To condemn the book was easy enough, and this was presently done, but to purge the country of the new doctrines which it so clearly taught, and to prevent the influx of further copies, was quite another matter. It was useless for Henry to storm, and for Tonstall to preach it down; the Book had got a hold of people's hearts and consciences, as well as of their minds, and neither the king's clamour nor the bishop's sermons could destroy its influence. Copies of the translation were publicly burnt at Oxford, Cambridge, and London; and in some instances not only the books, but the readers of them were committed to the flames: yet the work went on just the same, for God was in it.

Meanwhile, Tyndal was busy upon the Old Testament, and by the year 1528 had finished the Pentateuch; but while on his way to Hamburg to get it printed he suffered shipwreck, and the MS. was lost. He continued his journey directly he was able, however, and on reaching Hamburg recommenced his arduous task, being now assisted by his brother reformer, Miles Coverdale, whose own translation of the scriptures was published a few years later.

But a period was soon to be put to the labours of the brave reformer, and a martyr's crown had been decreed to him. While at Antwerp, and lodging in the house of an Englishman named Pointz, he was betrayed into the hands of the papists by one who had shared his confidence, and after languishing in prison eighteen months (during which time he was instrumental in the conversion of the gaoler, and others of the gaoler's household) he was condemned to the stake. It was his lot to be strangled before being burned; and the sentence was carried out in the town of Vilvorden A.D. 1536. His last words, uttered with a loud voice, were a prayer for his benighted country — "Lord! open the eyes of the King of England."

But Tyndal was not the only Englishman of exceptional learning and ability, who laboured for the public good during these troublous times. What he was doing in a silent way as a translator of the scriptures, Dr. Latimer of Cambridge was doing in a more public manner by his sermons. Indeed the two men, taken together, may be said to represent the Luther of the English Reformation.

Hugh Latimer was the son of a farmer, and was born at Thurcaston, in the county of Leicester, in the year 1491. His remarkable precocity, added to a sharp and ready wit, induced his father to send him to the University, and he was received at Cambridge in the same year that Luther entered the Augustine convent. Some four years later, his mind received a serious bent, and the gay and witty student became an intensely devoted and superstitious disciple of the Romish Church. About the same time he was made a fellow of Clare Hall, and applied himself to the study of the classics with considerable diligence. Later on, he began the study of divinity, and wasted many precious hours poring over the works of Duns Scotus, Aquinas, and other learned doctors of the Middle Ages; whose Summa Theologiae, Commentaries on Aristotle, and such like metaphysical abstractions, he was wise enough to put aside in after years as useless and lumbersome. He had meanwhile taken his Master's degree, and was now, to use his own words, "as obstinate a papist as any in England." His zeal against the new doctrines which were being publicly taught in one of the Halls by Master Stafford, expressed itself in witty sarcasms and biting orations, and so delighted the clergy that they conferred upon him the dignity of cross-bearer to the University. In truth, as the fame of his preaching continued to spread, the prelates and friars began to rub their hands, and to stimulate one another with the thought that, even Luther had found his match at last.

But they were giving expression to their thoughts too soon. In the University with Master Latimer was one of quite another way of thinking, a scholar, named Thomas Bilney, who watched with not less interest, though with motives altogether different, the movements of the witty and zealous preacher. "Ah!" sighed Bilney, "if I could only win this eloquent priest to our side, that would indeed be a triumph for the cause! If I could only lead him to the Saviour's feet, a revival of true religion would certainly follow!" This was a consummation devoutly to be wished, but how was it to be brought about? Humanly speaking, the task was impossible; but Bilney was a man of faith, and he felt that this was a time when faith should be in exercise.

One day Master Latimer, in his character of priestly confessor, was waited upon in his room by a penitent upon whom he gazed in no little astonishment. It was Master Bilney."What is this?" thought the priest, "Bilney here! The heretic confessing to the catholic — this is strange. But maybe my Latin sermon against Melanchthon has convinced him of his error, and he has come to seek restoration to the communion of the Church!" While he was thus reasoning, Bilney began to pour into the confessor's ears the artless story of his own conversion to God; and the words, applied by the Holy Ghost, went home to the heart and conscience of the unsuspecting priest. Then and there he surrendered himself to God; and, abandoning from that time the specious divinity of the schools, he became not only an earnest student of the true divinity, but a teacher of the reformed doctrines. In the words of Foxe, "He was not satisfied with his own conversion only, but, like a true disciple of the blessed Samaritan, pitied the misery of others, and therefore became both a public preacher, and also a private instructor to the rest of his brethren within the University, for the space of three years, spending his time partly in the Latin tongue among the learned, and partly amongst the simple people in the English language."

But his plain preaching and ruthless exposures of the Romish fallacies were not likely to be relished by the proud doctors of the University, or the self-righteous priests and friars; and ere long their wrath began to shew itself in covert threats and passionate invectives. Yet Latimer was not the man to be cowed by threats or disconcerted by clamour, and he went on preaching with all boldness. His caustic wit, lively sallies, and, above all, the deep earnestness of his manner, overcame all opposition, while his heart was continually cheered by the most signal proofs of the divine blessing. Long after he had left the University, there was a saying current in those parts:

"When Master Stafford read,

And Master Latimer preached,

Then was Cambridge blessed."

After awhile, the ordinary of Cambridge (the Bishop of Ely) tried softer measures with the intrepid preacher, but with no greater success. He complimented him on his wonderful gifts, declared himself ready to kiss his feet, and then advised him, as a sure way to put down heresy, to preach against Luther. Latimer, who had too much common sense to be deceived by such evident flattery, returned, "If Luther preaches the word of God, I cannot oppose him. But if he teaches the contrary, I am ready to attack him." "Well, well, Master Latimer," said the bishop, "I perceive that you smell somewhat of the pan. One day or another you will repent of that merchandise."

Abuses, threats, and honeyed speeches having failed, the bishop now turned from words to deeds, and closed the pulpits of the University against the preacher. But Latimer had not long to wait before another door was opened to him, and Robert Barnes, the prior of the Augustinian friars at Cambridge, whose heart the Lord had touched, invited him to preach in the church belonging to that order. Later still, he was cited to appear before Wolsey, to answer to a charge of heresy; but the hand of an overruling Providence was again seen, and the event only turned out for the furtherance of the Gospel. Contrary to all expectations, Latimer was acquitted; and the inhibition of the bishop of Ely was overruled.

About the Christmas of 1529 he delivered his famous Sermons on the Card, which roused much discussion, and were used to the enlightening of many souls. "I promise you," he said, in the course of his second sermon on this subject, "if you build a hundred churches, give as much as you can make to gilding of saints, and honouring of the church; and if thou go as many pilgrimages as thy body can well suffer, and offer as great candles as oaks; if thou leave the works of mercy and the commandments undone, these works shall nothing avail thee." Referring to the Magdalene in the Pharisee's house, and the Lord's reply to Simon's bickerings, he said, "So this proud Pharisee had an answer to delay his pride: and think you not but that there be amongst us a great number of these proud Pharisees, which think themselves worthy to bid Christ to dinner; which will perk, and presume to sit by Christ in the church, and have a disdain for this poor woman Magdalene, their poor neighbour, with a high, disdainous, and solemn countenance? And being always desirous of climbing highest in the church, reckoning themselves more worthy to sit there than another, I fear me poor Magdalene under the board, and in the belfrey, hath more forgiven of Christ than they have; for it is like that those Pharisees do less know themselves and their offences, whereby they less love God, and so they be less forgiven."

The controversy which these sermons revived was stopped by a letter from the king's almoner, in which the contending parties were bound over to silence until the king's pleasure should be known. But the king's pleasure was that Latimer should go on preaching. He had been meanwhile informed that the eloquent gospeller had favoured his cause in the question of the divorce from Catherine of Aragon, and that was a sure way to the royal favour. In the following year, we find him preaching before the court at Windsor, when the king was so pleased with his earnest, fearless eloquence, that he made him his chaplain. In the year 1531 a further mark of the royal favour was conferred upon him, and he was presented to the rectory of West Kington, in Wiltshire.

But the papists would not let him rest, and on being summoned before the bishop of London on a further charge of heresy, he was excommunicated, and thrown into prison. He makes some allusion to his examination before the bishop, in a sermon preached at Stamford in the year 1550, from which we may gather some curious facts concerning the honesty of his judges. "I was once," he says, "in examination before five or six bishops, where I had much vexation: every week I came thrice to examinations, and many snares and traps were laid to entangle me. Now God knoweth that I was ignorant of the laws, but that God gave me answer and wisdom what I should speak; it was God indeed, for else I had never escaped them. At the last I was brought forth to be examined into a chamber hung with arras, where I was wont to be examined: but now at this time the chamber was somewhat altered. For whereas before there was wont ever to be a fire in the chimney, now the fire was taken away, and an arras hanged over the chimney, and the table stood near the chimney's end. There was amongst the bishops that examined me one with whom I had been very familiar, and took him for my great friend, an aged man, and he sat next the end of the table. Then, amongst all other questions, he put forth one, a very subtle and crafty one, such, indeed, as I could not think so great danger in. And when I should have made answer, 'I pray you, Master Latimer,' said one, 'speak out; I am very thick of hearing, and here be many that sit far off.' I marvelled at this, that I was bidden speak out, and began to suspect, and gave an ear to the chimney, and there I heard a pen writing in the chimney behind the cloth. They had appointed one there to write all mine answers; for they made sure that I should not start from them: there was no starting from them. God was my good Lord, and gave me answer, I could never else have escaped it."

So much for the rector of West Kington and his experience in the bishop of London's court. We will now leave him in his prison, while we take up with other matters.

Chapter 28.

Helps and Hindrances to the English Reformation.

A.D. 1529-1547.

In the year 1529, Wolsey having fallen into disgrace with Henry over the matter of the king's divorce from Catherine of Aragon, a way was made for Thomas Cranmer to the royal favour. Cranmer was a man of learning and godliness, but timid and vacillating — facts which even the most friendly of his contemporaries have allowed. "We desire nothing more for him," wrote bishop Hooper, "than a firm and manly spirit . . . . he is too fearful about what will happen to him." Though superior to Latimer in point of learning, he was behind him in loyalty to Christ; and it was a long time before he had resolution to extricate himself from the meshes of popery.

The cause of his rapid advancement was briefly this. In the course of conversation with Dr. Foxe, the king's almoner, he expressed an opinion that the best way to settle the vexed question of the divorce, was to try it out by the authority of the word of God; and this being repeated to Henry, he was highly pleased thereat, and sent for Dr. Cranmer. "Marry," said he, "I will surely speak with him, for I perceive that this man hath the sow by the right ear." So Cranmer being sent for, the king had conference with him upon the matter, and desired him to place his views in writing; which Cranmer did. After reading his book, the king demanded whether Cranmer would abide by what he had written before the bishop of Rome. "That will I do, by God's grace, if your majesty do but send me there," was the doctor's answer. "Marry," said the king, "I will send you to him in a sure embassage." The ability and tact which Cranmer displayed in the discharge of this difficult office delighted the king, and shortly after his return to England, he was promoted to the See of Canterbury.

It might have been expected that the progress of the Reformation would have been greatly accelerated by this event, but it was not. The facilities which Cranmer had for helping on the work, do not seem to have been at all commensurate with his high position; and the persecuting bishop of Winchester, Stephen Gardiner, had more influence with the king in all matters which affected the interests of the church, than the new primate. But it was evident that Cranmer was in love with many of the reformed doctrines; and we find him using his authority for the release of Latimer, whom he restored to his rectory. This, at least, was a seasonable act.

The burning and torture of heretics, however, went on as before; and two months after Cranmer's promotion, John Fryth,* an intimate friend of Tyndal, suffered at the stake, together with a tailor's apprentice, named Hewett, who had denied the corporal presence in the sacrament. It must not be supposed, however, that Cranmer was in any way a party to these brutal transactions; they were entirely due to the savage bigotry of Winchester, a man for whom the archbishop had a decided antipathy.

{*Note the miserable hypocrisy of his judges on this occasion. When his examination was concluded, they delivered him over to the secular authorities, "most earnestly requiring them, in the bowels of our Lord Jesus, that the execution and punishment worthily to be done on him, may be so moderate that the rigour thereof be not extreme, nor yet the gentleness too much mitigated:" in other words, that he might be roasted to death with all gentleness and moderation!}

There were numerous other victims to Gardiner's zeal, but we cannot refer to them individually: their records are in heaven, and none of them will be forgotten by God. The learned and gentle-hearted Bilney had already suffered, as also a monk of Edmundsbury, named Richard Byfield, who had been converted from Romanism through the preaching of Robert Barnes. But darker times were drawing near, and Gardiner had only begun his episcopal labours!

In the year 1540 appeared the famous Six Articles, which gave a new stimulus to the persecution. The ostensible cause of this wicked Act was to promote the unity of Henry's subjects on matters of religion, but in reality it was a subtle artifice on the part of the bishop of Winchester, to place the Protestants in opposition to the law; hence the breach was only widened. In these articles the blasphemous doctrine of transubstantiation was again insisted upon; the celibacy of the priests was commanded as a law of God; private masses were to be continued and admitted in the church; and auricular confession was declared to be expedient and necessary.

Of the multitude of persons who were persecuted on account of the Six Articles we cannot here speak particularly. The charges, in many cases, were paltry and ridiculous, recalling those of the Fitzjames persecution, twelve or thirteen years before. One was presented for denying his wife the use of beads in saying her prayers; another, for eating fish on a Friday before Lent; a third, for burying his wife without a dirge. An apprentice, named John Smith, was charged with saying, "that he would rather hear the crying of dogs than priests singing matins or evensong;" a citizen, named William Clinch, with speaking disrespectfully of the bishop of Winchester. Some were presented for walking in the time of consecrating mass with their caps on; some for turning their heads away; some for sitting at their doors when sermons were in the church; and some for despising our Lady and not praying to saints.

But of all those dealt with by the law, for nonconformity to the Six Articles, none, perhaps, is so deserving of notice as the martyr of God, Anne Kyme — better known as Anne Askew. She was the second daughter of Sir William Askew, of Kelsey in Lincolnshire, and the wife of one Kyme, a bigoted papist. It was not till after she had been some time married that the Lord opened her eyes, and shewed her by the light of His word the errors of popery: but, once enlightened, she shewed her sense of the favour conferred upon her, by the stedfastness and courage with which she proceeded to stand to her convictions.

The first persecution which she had to endure was from her own husband, whose hatred for the gospel at length so overcame all natural affection, that he drove her from his house. She now became attached to the court of queen Catherine Parr, who was herself a devoted Christian; and here her beauty, piety, and learning, attracted the notice, and afterwards aroused the hatred of Gardiner and his party. A watch was put upon her movements; but nothing whatever could be found on which to ground an accusation. Her manner of life was apparently without reproach. Strype informs us that, "A great papist of Wickham College, called Wadloe, a cursitor of the chancery, hot in his religion, and thinking not well of her life, got himself lodged at the next house to her. For what purpose need not be opened. But the conclusion was, that instead of speaking evil of her, he gave her praise to Sir Leonil Throgmorton, for the devoutest and godliest woman that ever he knew. For, said he, 'at midnight she beginneth to pray, and ceaseth not for many hours after, when I, and others are at sleep or at work.'"

But in the year 1545, a charge of heresy, grounded on the Six Articles, was brought against her, and she was thrown into prison. Her first examination before the inquisitors, of which she has left an interesting account, took place in the month of March of the same year, and occupied three sittings. First she was brought before the Quest (the inquisitors appointed to enforce the Six Articles) at Saddlers' hall; then before the Lord Mayor in his own court; and then before the bishop of London in the bishop's chamber. When asked if she did not believe that the sacrament over the altar was the very body of Christ, she said she would not "assoil * that vain question;" and when they tried to entrap her by asking how she understood Acts vii. 48 and xvii. 24, 25, she replied that she would not throw pearls before swine, for acorns were good enough." The Lord Mayor, thinking that he, also, would take a turn with her, approached her thus: —

{*Absolve that is, answer.}

"Thou foolish woman, sayest thou that the priests cannot make the body of Christ?"

Anne Askew. "I say so, my lord; for I have read that God made man; but that man can make God I never yet read, nor ever shall read it, as I suppose."

Lord Mayor. "No! thou foolish woman, after the words of consecration, is it not the Lord's body?"

Anne Askew. "No; it is but consecrated bread, or sacramental bread."

Lord Mayor. "What if a mouse eat it after the consecration? What shall become of the mouse? What sayest thou, foolish woman?"

Anne Askew. "What shall become of her? What think you, my lord?"

Lord Mayor. "I say that mouse is damned."

Anne Askew. "Alack, poor mouse!"

The lords by this time had had quite enough of the Lord Mayor's divinity, and, "perceiving," says Strype, "that some could not keep in their laughter, they proceeded to the butchery and slaughter they intended before they came thither."

Her first examination over, she was removed to her cell in Newgate, where she remained for nearly a year. Her next examination was before the king's council at Greenwich, where she received her meed of scorn and insult from the bishop of Winchester and his creatures, and was again sent back to Newgate. "After that," writes the martyr herself, "they willed me to have a priest, and then I smiled. Then they asked me if it were not good. I said I would confess my faults unto God, for I was sure that He would hear me with favour, and so we were condemned without a quest."

A day or two later she was removed to the Tower, where efforts were made by Lord Chancellor Wriothesley to induce her to implicate others of the court who were suspected of sharing her opinions; and because she would not do this, the wretched monster ordered her to be placed upon the rack. "And because I lay still," says the poor, patient sufferer, "and did not cry, my Lord Chancellor and Master Rich took pains to rack me with their own hands till I was nigh dead.... But my Lord God, I thank His everlasting goodness, gave me grace to persevere, and will do, I hope, to the very end." After that, she was conveyed to a house, and laid on a couch, "with as weary and painful bones as ever had patient Job;" and while so lying, the Chancellor sent her word that if she would leave her opinions she would be well-cared for; but if not, she should be sent back to Newgate, and so be burned. But she sent him word again that she would rather die than break her faith; and in that answer her fate was sealed. Her own account of these proceedings concludes with these pathetic words: "The Lord open the eyes of their blind hearts, that the truth may take place. Farewell, dear friend, and pray, pray, pray."

Some time in the same year, the exact date not being given, the tragedy of Anne Askew was completed, and she was taken from her prison to be burned. Being too weak to walk, she was carried to Smithfield in a chair; and when brought to the stake was unable even to stand upon her feet. They therefore fastened her round the middle with a chain. An offer of the king's pardon was then held out to her if she would recant; but she answered that she had not come thither to deny her Lord and Master. A light was then placed to the faggots, and, the wood taking fire instantly, her sufferings were quickly terminated, and her spirit ascended to heaven in a chariot of flame. Three others suffered with her, whose names and callings are thus given: Nicholas Belenian, a priest; John Lascelles, a gentleman of the king's household; and John Adams, a tailor.

Unhappy times! Well might the cry go up, "How long, O Lord, how long?" and well might the anxious thought arise in many hearts, will the poor afflicted church in England never see a brighter day? Alas! that day seemed far distant, for darkness was still covering the land, and gross darkness the people. "Accept, my dear master," wrote bishop Hooper to Henry Bullinger, in the same year, "accept in few words the news from England. As far as true religion is concerned, idolatry is nowhere in greater vigour. Our king has destroyed the pope, but not popery; he has expelled all the monks and nuns, and pulled down their monasteries; he has caused all their possessions to be transferred into his exchequer; and yet they are bound, even the frail female sex, by the king's command, to perpetual chastity. England has at this time at least ten thousand nuns, not one of whom is allowed to marry. The impious Mass, the most shameful celibacy of the clergy, the invocation of saints, auricular confession, superstitious abstinence from meats, and purgatory, were never before held by the people in greater esteem than at the present time."* Tyndal, Bilney, Fryth, Barnes and others had delivered their testimony, and were gone. That testimony had been rejected, and the mouths of the witnesses had been stopped. "How were they entreated?" asks the devout Thomas Becon, Cranmer's secretary, "How were their painful labours regarded? They themselves were condemned and brent [That is, burnt.] as heretics, and their books condemned and brent as heretical. O most unworthy act! 'The time shall come,' saith Christ, 'that whosoever killeth you will think that he doeth God high good service.' Whether anything since that time hath chanced unto this realm worthy the name of a plague, let the godly-wise judge. If God hath deferred His punishment, or forgiven us these our wicked deeds, as I trust He hath, let us not therefore be proud and high-minded, but most humbly thank Him for His tender mercies, and beware of the like ungodly enterprises hereafter."**

{*Zurich Letters, 1st series, Parker Society.

**Becon's Works. The Flower of Godly Prayers, p. 11. Parker Society.}

Needful admonition! But, alas! it was only to be listened to for a moment, and then forgotten. A godly Josiah, in the person of Edward VI., was now to ascend the throne, but a Mary had yet to follow.

Chapter 29.

The Reformation under Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth..

A.D. 1547-1558.

Edward was now upon the throne. Though only nine years of age at the time of his accession, his life had already borne evidence of much true piety; and he was looked upon as a prince of great promise by all who favoured the protestant religion. He had, indeed, "the noble ambition to make his country the vanguard of the Reformation, and to offer a refuge to the fugitive professors of the new creed in his free island." Owing to his extreme youth, his uncle, the Duke of Somerset, a man of protestant principles, was appointed protector of the kingdom; and the news of his appointment revived the hopes and quickened the flagging energies of the Christians in England. A protestant king, and a protestant protector what more could the friends of the English Reformation desire than this?

The first use that Somerset made of his authority was towards abolishing the obnoxious Six Articles — that "six-headed hydra," as Fox quaintly calls it, which had already devoured so many men. When these had been taken away, he directed his attention to other needed reforms: the sacrifice of the Mass was forbidden; all prohibitions which had been placed upon the reading of the scriptures were withdrawn, and such persons as had been expelled the country in Henry's reign on account of their religion were granted full permission to return. Many of the bishops, too, were ejected from their Sees, in order to make way for more competent men; a change that was greatly needed, owing to the indolence and pride of too many of Henry's prelates. As for Bonner, the persecuting bishop of London, he was not only deprived of his bishopric, but, being found guilty of contempt and misdemeanour, was cast into prison. This was also the lot of the bishops of Winchester and Durham, Gardiner and Tonstall.

In the universities the influence of the protector's government was also felt; and while Oxford was profiting by the wise and godly instructions of Peter Martyr (an Italian reformer who had been invited over by the University), Cambridge was privileged in the possession of two such men as Martin Bucer and Paul Phagius, also foreigners.

Furthermore, commissioners were appointed by the King's council to visit all the dioceses throughout the country, for the purpose of redressing abuses, and of reporting upon the state of each bishopric. These were divided into parties, each party being provided with two preachers, who explained the doctrines of the Reformation to the people, and preached the gospel to them in a language they could readily understand.

In the midst of these salutary changes and reforms, a cloud appeared above the spiritual horizon, and alarming rumours began to be circulated relative to the young king's health. To increase the uneasiness of the Protestants, the protector himself (who, if we except Cranmer, was the moving spirit during this period of the Reformation), was overthrown by the political faction of the Duke of Northumberland, and sent to the scaffold. The Seymours, however, upon whom the responsibilities of government now devolved, were equally in favour of the Reformation, and the protestant bishops received every encouragement from the State in the prosecution of their arduous labours. Yet the cloud still hovered about the throne: the evil rumours about the king's health were still kept afloat; and the protestants daily grew more anxious. Before the new government had been in power a twelvemonth, these rumours were more than verified; and a new epoch in the history of the English Reformation had been reached. Edward had passed away, and Mary had ascended the throne of England.

The outlook at this point was far from pleasant. Mary was a bigoted catholic; and that was not a very promising fact for the protestants: moreover, she was a daughter of Catherine of Aragon, of whose divorce from Henry, Cranmer had approved, and that was no very cheering thought for the ecclesiastical head of Protestantism in this country. Mary had no kindly feelings towards the doctrines which Cranmer had been so assiduously promulgating during the reign of her brother and still less had she any kindly feelings towards the primate himself, whom, indeed, she looked upon as her arch-enemy. During the young king's reign she had requested permission to hear Mass in her own house, but Edward had refused; and now, on Cranmer's devoted head, the consequences of this refusal were to fall. True, he had counselled the king to grant the request, but Mary either ignored this fact, or was ignorant of it; and nothing would now appease her indignation but Cranmer's blood. As a queen, she hated him because of his reforming measures; as a catholic, because of the restraints of a religious kind which he was supposed to have put upon her in the previous reign; and, above all, as a woman, because of his decision in the great divorce question, by which she had been pronounced illegitimate.

For the first few months of her reign, however, the queen dissembled her true feelings; and in order to establish her position on the throne, promised toleration. The Protestants were not to be molested either in the profession or practice of their religion, nor was any compulsion to be used in matters of faith: the catholic was to refrain from the offensive term "heretic" when speaking of a Protestant, and the Protestant was to eschew the use of the word "papist" when speaking of his catholic neighbours. But Cardinal Pole was at the queen's elbow, and Gardiner and Bonner were waiting by to drop their poison into the queen's ear, and it was scarcely possible under such circumstances that this state of neutrality should continue.

The people, too, had not yet sufficiently understood the benefits which a thorough Reformation would bring to them; for the partial work in Henry's reign had been deprived of the popular sympathy by the king's changeful and autocratic measures, and the work in Edward's reign had had no time to take root. Hence when parliament assembled, one of its first and principal acts was to abolish the religious innovations which Cranmer and Somerset had been foremost in introducing, and to restore public worship on the old basis. As an immediate consequence thousands of married clergymen were driven from their offices, and, with their wives and children, were reduced to beggary.

The persecutions were not long in following. John Rogers, prebend of St. Paul's, was the first martyr. He was imprisoned for a time in his own house, but afterwards in Newgate, where he had to herd with common criminals — murderers, thieves, and the like until his trial came on. The conduct of his judges at his first examination was unseemly and turbulent, indeed, the judges at Huss's trial could scarcely have behaved worse. Their remarks were characterised by coarseness and levity; and more than once they gave way to fits of laughter; while the lord Chancellor, bishop Gardiner, did not consider it beneath his dignity to indulge in flouts and jeers. After three examinations in the chancellor's court, where he bore himself with great modesty and patience, Rogers was declared contumacious, and handed over to the secular power to be burnt. Before leaving the court he turned towards the Chancellor, and begged leave to make a last request. On being told to name the request, he said:

"That my poor wife, being a stranger, may come and speak with me as long as I live, for she hath ten children that are hers and mine, and I would somewhat counsel her, what were best for her to do."

The Chancellor refused. "She is not thy wife," he added.

"Yes, my lord," said Rogers, "and has been these eighteen years."

"Should I grant her to be thy wife?" asked the bishop.

"Choose you," answered Rogers; "whether you will or not, she shall be so, nevertheless."

"She shall not come at thee," said Gardiner emphatically.

"Then I have tried out all your charity," returned the martyr; "you make yourself highly displeased with the matrimony of priests, but you maintain open concubinage."

Gardiner was confounded, and could say nothing: and with this they separated.

A few days later, Rogers was taken to bishop Bonner to be degraded, and a similar incident occurred. Rogers craved that he might speak a few words to his wife before he was burned: but the request was denied! "Then," said he, "you declare what your charity is." The faithful martyr was burned at Smithfield, and met his death with christian fortitude.

The martyrdoms now grew frequent, and Gardiner and Bonner had soon as much work of this kind as they could do. Sanders, Hooper, Taylor, Farrar, all suffered in turn, with others of less note in man's eyes, though not less precious in the sight of God. A youth, named William Hunter, was one of these. Bonner offered to make him a free man and to present him with forty pounds, if he would abjure his opinions; nay, he even promised him a stewardship in his own household if he would agree to these conditions, but Hunter refused.

"I thank you for your great offers," said the youth, "notwithstanding, my lord, if you cannot persuade my conscience by scripture, I cannot find in my heart to turn from God for the love of the world, for I count all worldly things but loss and dung, in respect of the love of Christ." Hunter was burned at Smithfield, and was not behind the other martyrs in faith and constancy.

In 1555 appeared a popish primer, called "Our Lady's Matins," which was introduced into the schools, in the hope that by implanting the doctrines of Rome in the mind at an early age, they might take root more deeply, and thus impede effectually the growth of the new doctrines. A glance through the book is sufficient to shew the foolishness and blasphemy of its contents. The first lesson commences:

"Holy Mary; mother most pure of virgins all;

Mother and daughter of the King celestial,

So comfort us in our desolation,

That by thy prayers and special mediation,

We enjoy the reward of thy heavenly reign."

In another lesson Thomas a Becket is thus alluded to:

"By the blood of Thomas, which he for Thee did spend,

Make us, Christ, to climb, whither Thomas did ascend."

In other lessons prayers are offered up in the name of John the Baptist, the apostles, St. Lawrence, and Mary Magdalene; while the reference to St. Nicholas runs thus: "O God, which hast glorified blessed Nicholas, Thy holy bishop, with innumerable miracles, grant, we beseech thee, that by his merits and prayers we may be delivered from the fire of hell!" What refinement of wickedness thus to poison the minds of children, by teaching as the truth of God these blasphemous versicles and prayers!

Adult catholics were permitted to read, "The Psalter of our Lady," compiled by the "seraphical doctor St. Bonaventura," bishop of Albano and cardinal of Rome. This Psalter was nothing more than a parody on the Psalms of David from which the name of the Lord had been eliminated, and the name of the Virgin printed in its place. Thus in the seventh Psalm we read "O my Lady, in thee will I put my trust; deliver me from mine enemies, O Lady:" in the forty-fifth, "My heart is inditing a good matter, O Lady," etc. The fifty-first commences: "Have mercy upon me, O Lady, which art called the Mother of Mercy, and in the bowels of thy great compassion cleanse me from mine iniquities." The hundred and tenth psalm is even more dreadful: "The Lord said unto our Lady, 'Sit here, my Mother, on my right hand, until I make thine enemies thy footstool'!"

Seeing that blasphemy so daring was countenanced and encouraged by the Romish priests in England, the reader will scarcely be surprised to hear of any other wickedness from the same quarter. The burning or persecution of a few hundred Protestants for holding contrary views is only a natural result. In the same year that the popish primer was published, the venerable Latimer suffered martyrdom, being then in his sixty-fourth year. Truly, of him it could be said, that he had fought a good fight and had kept the faith, for none had been more true to his convictions, or more fearless in stating them, than he had been. His fellow-martyr, Ridley, was a younger man, but he had already become celebrated as one of the ablest champions of the Reformation; and, perhaps, in learning and solidity of judgment he was superior to Latimer. These two faithful servants of Christ were chained together, at the same stake; and as the fire burned around them, encouraged each other in the Lord. Ridley suffered the most, as the faggots which were used for his fire were green; and he had every need of the encouragement of his brother-martyr. "Be of good comfort, Master Ridley," said Latimer, and play the man. We shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out." For some time after Latimer had ceased to speak, Ridley was heard crying in his agony, "I cannot burn — Let the fire come unto me — I cannot burn!" But at last the flames reached some gunpowder which had been fastened about his neck, and he was mercifully delivered from his sufferings.

Then came Cranmer's turn, but not with the attendant glories of the other martyrdoms. Though a Christian, and, in the end, a martyr, he was timid and unstable almost to the last; and in a moment of strong temptation, his courage deserted him, and he fell. He was an old man, and, in the ordinary course of nature, could scarcely have lived more than a few years, yet he seemed to cling to life. It was when his examination was over and sentence had been pronounced, that he began to waver; and at this point, being borne down by the flattering persuasions of his enemies and the fears of torture in the flames, he put forth his hand to sign a recantation. This recantation, says Foxe, "was no sooner written, than the doctors and prelates without delay carried it to be printed, and sent abroad in all men's hands. The queen, having now got a time to revenge her old grief, received his recantation very gladly; but of her purpose to put him to death she would not relent."

The state of the poor archbishop at this point may be imagined. His shameful and utter denial of the faith had destroyed his peace of mind, and at the same time had brought no mitigation of his sentence. He was indeed most miserable. But Cranmer was still an object of God's love, and there was restoring grace to be had. He was one of Christ's sheep, and though he had wandered, he was still a member of the flock, loved with a love that even failure could not dim. Presently the gracious motions of the Spirit began once more to be felt in his heart, leading him to confess the failure to God; and with that his peace of mind returned to him, and a strength that was not his own took possession of his soul. The desire for life passed away; and he began to wait with resignation and chastened joy, the moment when God should call him to Himself.

On the 21st of March 1556 he was brought from prison to St. Mary's Church, Oxford, in order to be present at his funeral sermon, which was to be preached by Dr. Cole, a zealous papist. The church was densely crowded, as it was expected that the archbishop would be called upon to read his recantation, and the moment was one of solemn interest. The papists were there to witness the triumph of their religion; the protestants, to assure their sad hearts of the truth of the disastrous news about their archbishop. As Dr. Cole proceeded with his sermon Cranmer was seen frequently to shed tears, and once or twice he turned and lifted his hands to heaven as if in prayer. Many of the people were also melted to tears, and expressed the liveliest pity and commiseration.

The sermon finished, the congregation was about to disperse, when Dr. Cole requested all present to wait a little longer. "Brethren," he said, "lest any man should doubt of this man's earnest conversion and repentance, you shall hear him speak before you; and therefore I pray you, Master Cranmer, that you will now perform what you promised not long ago; namely, that you would openly express the true and undoubted profession of your faith, that you may take away all suspicion from men, and that all men may understand you are a catholic indeed."

"I will do it, and that with a good will," said the archbishop, uncovering his head as he spoke; and then, after waiting a moment or two, he rose to his feet, and began to address the people. The first part of his discourse, which was broken by a most pathetic prayer, was a solemn word upon the vanity of human life, and the deceitfulness of riches: the confession was left for the close. As the address proceeded papists and protestants grew still and attentive, and no interruptions were offered. At last the confession was reached, and an intense, hushed feeling of excitement seemed to fall upon the assembled multitude. "And now," said Cranmer, "I come to the great thing, which so much troubleth my conscience, more than anything that ever I did or said in my whole life, and that is the setting abroad of a writing contrary to the truth; which now here I renounce and refuse, as things written with my hand, contrary to the truth which I thought in my heart, and written for fear of death, and to save my life if it might be, and that is, all such bills and papers which I have written or signed with my hand since my degradation; wherein I have written many things untrue. And forasmuch as my hand offended, writing contrary to my heart, my hand shall first be punished for it: for when I come to the fire it shall be first burned.

"And as for the pope, I refuse him, as Christ's enemy and Antichrist, with all his false doctrine.

"And as for the sacrament, I believe, as I have taught in my book against the bishop of Winchester, which book teacheth so true a doctrine of the sacrament, that it will stand at the last day before the judgment of God, when the papistical doctrine shall be ashamed to shew her face."

A scene of indescribable confusion ensued. The Protestants wept tears of thankfulness and joy, and the papists could only gnash their teeth. As for Dr. Cole, he had heard quite enough of the confession, and when the archbishop presently began to develop his remarks on the papacy and the sacrament, he exclaimed, "Stop the heretic's mouth and take him away." Grace had triumphed, and the discomfiture of the catholics was complete.

On being brought to the place of his martyrdom, Cranmer divested himself of his outer garments, and suffered himself to be bound to the stake by an iron chain. The pile was then lighted, and, as the fire burst forth around him, he thrust his right hand into the flames (the hand which had signed the recantation) and was heard to say repeatedly, "This unworthy right hand — this unworthy right hand." Then he repeated several times the cry of Stephen, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit;" and so expired.

Two hundred and twenty-eight persons* in all, were sacrificed on the altar of their faith in this country during Mary's reign, five of whom were bishops, twenty-one clergymen, eight gentlemen, eighty-four tradesmen, a hundred husbandmen, labourers and servants, fifty-four women, and four children. In addition to these were many who suffered in other ways, by torture and imprisonment: and the reformer, Miles Coverdale, who retired to the Continent during the persecution, informs us that, "Some were thrown into dungeons, ugsome holes, dark, loathsome, and stinking corners. Others lay in fetters and chains, and loaded with so many irons they could scarcely stir. Some were tied in the stocks with their heels upwards, others had their legs in the stocks, and their necks chained to the wall with iron bands, having neither stone nor stool to sit upon to ease their wearied bodies. Some stood in Skevington's gyves, which were most painful engines of iron, with their bodies bent double; others were whipped and scourged, beaten with rods and buffetted with fists. Some had their hands burned with a candle, and others were miserably famished and starved."

{*Some have swelled the number to 400.}

Mary died on the 17th of November, 1558, within a few moments of her cousin and chief adviser, Cardinal Pole, and her sister Elizabeth succeeded her on the throne. No two women could have borne less resemblance to each other; and few, perhaps, have been so completely misunderstood. Protestants have talked much of Elizabeth, and have never wearied of branding with contumely the memory of Mary; so that the expressions, "Good Queen Bess" and "Bloody Mary" have become proverbial amongst us. But say what we will, Mary was the nobler woman of the two. Whatever charges of blood-guiltiness she may have incurred, she acted with a conscience — and this is more than can be said of her sister. True, she was cruel, but her very cruelty was the result of strong religious convictions. She persecuted the Protestants, but only because she thought she was doing God service. With Saul of Tarsus she might have said, "I verily thought with myself that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth." Elizabeth, however, had no such thoughts. History has shewn her to us as a woman without a heart: and as for her character what was it? She was void of modesty and reserve; cold and calculating in all her dealings, and full of dissimulation. Self-confidence was the secret of her courage, and her intellectual attainments were marred by excessive vanity. She could be everything to everybody as occasion required; and her heart was in nothing. Though she mixed in all the pleasures of a gay court, and was luxurious in matters of dress, her purpose seemed merely to dazzle those who came to court her favour; for her manner of life in private was simple and frugal in the extreme. Cool, dispassionate, and stoical hating none, and loving none she was, as we have said, a queen without a heart, and almost without a conscience.

And yet, it cannot be denied that her accession to the throne of England was the signal for the restoration of Protestantism; and though, by reason of her vanity, she was dangerously partial to much of the ritual of the Romish Church, and consented to the persecution of the Puritans, the Reformation was undoubtedly established in England during her reign, and upon a firmer and broader basis than it had ever been.

Chapter 30.

The Reformation in Scotland and Ireland.

A.D. 1494-1558.

The Reformation in Scotland began somewhat early, but not before there was a need for it. The wealth of the ecclesiastical orders had become enormous; and their greed and licentiousness were equalled only by their wealth. The lives of the people were rendered burdensome by the exactions of the priests, who, not content with making their demands upon the living, even besieged the beds of the dying, and there pursued their extortions with impunity. The kingdom swarmed with monks of every order, Carmelites, Carthusians, Dominicans, Franciscans, and Jacobins with nuns of St. Clare, of St. Austin, and of St. Scholasticus; while indolent friars, white, black, and grey, wandered through the country, leaving traces of their debaucheries wherever they set foot. The Scotch, with their shrewdness, industry, and love of plain living, were necessarily in a favourable condition to be roused by these enormities, and this will account for the early growth of the Reformation in this country.

So far back as the year 1494 there was a movement in the right direction, and the Lollards, who were found in the country in some numbers, began to state their views on the subject of image-worship, the Mass, and the licentious lives of the prelates with considerable freedom. This of course soon awoke a persecution, and thirty persons of both sexes, who held the doctrines of Wickliffe, were arrested and brought up for examination, the king himself presiding at their trial. James, however, was so much amused by the humour and tact with which one of their number, Adam Reid, of Barskimming, answered the questions of his examiners, that he merely dismissed them with an admonition: nor were there any further prosecutions for heresy during his reign.

For the next thirty years nothing very memorable occurred in the ecclesiastical history of Scotland, but at the end of that period the attention of the prelates was drawn towards a youth of royal lineage, a kinsman of James V., who had been speaking in bold and severe terms of the worldliness and immorality of the priestly order. This interesting youth was Patrick Hamilton, whose name now heads the roll of Scotland's martyrs, and whose memory will always be revered by the friends of the Reformation. His interest having been awakened by what he had heard of the reform work in other countries, he determined to visit the chief centres of the Reformation, and to that end, set out for the Continent in the year 1526. He visited Luther and Melanchthon, and received a hearty welcome from both, profiting much by their godly and wise counsels. Afterwards he proceeded to the university of Marburg, and placed himself under the tuition of the celebrated Benedictine, Francis Lambert; but the desire to communicate to his countrymen the truths which he had been drinking in at the feet of the great reformers, tended to shorten his stay, and he returned to his native land in the year 1528.

The rumour of his return overjoyed the people, and filled the minds of the priests with the gloomiest apprehensions. He was beloved by the one party for the very reasons that he was hated by the other. His noble birth, his learning, his youthful appearance, and above all his earnest piety, while it won the people, repelled the priests, and set them plotting his destruction. Having decoyed him to St. Andrews, under the pretence of holding a free conference, they employed a prior of the Black Friars to draw from him, in private, a statement of his views; and when this had been done, he was arrested. The next day he was brought before a full council of prelates and doctors, and having been convicted of "maintaining and propagating heretical opinions," was hurriedly condemned to the stake. And this was the sequel to a Romish free conference!

When the brave youth was brought to the scene of his martyrdom, he divested himself of his cloak, and handed it to a faithful servant who stood by, saying, "This stuff will not help me in the fire, and will profit thee. After this you can receive from me no more good, but the example of my death, which, I pray you, keep in mind. For albeit it be bitter to the flesh, and fearful in man's judgment, yet it is the entrance into eternal life, which none shall possess that denies Christ Jesus before this wicked generation." When the treacherous prior, whose pretended sympathy had led the noble martyr to open his heart to him, drew near the stake, and exhorted him to recant, Hamilton reproved him for his deceit, and reminded him of the judgment-seat of Christ, to which he now appealed, and before which they would both assuredly have to stand hereafter. His last words were, "How long, O Lord, shall darkness cover this realm? How long wilt Thou suffer this tyranny of man? Lord Jesus receive my spirit!"

Perchance the reader would like to learn somewhat further concerning those heretical doctrines for which Patrick Hamilton was condemned. Here, then, is a fragment from his "Treatise on the Law and the Gospel," a work which was much circulated after his death. "The law sheweth us our sin; the gospel sheweth us a remedy for it. The law sheweth us our condemnation; the gospel sheweth us our redemption. The law is the word of wrath; the gospel is the word of grace. The law is the word of despair; the gospel is the word of comfort. The law is the word of unrest; the gospel is the word of peace. The law saith, Pay thy debt; the gospel saith, Christ hath paid it. The law saith, Thou art a sinner, despair, and thou shalt be damned; the gospel saith, Thy sins are forgiven thee, be of good comfort, thou shalt be saved. The law saith, The Father of heaven is angry with thee; the gospel saith, Christ has pacified Him with His blood. The law saith, Where is thy righteousness, goodness, and satisfaction? The gospel saith, Christ is thy righteousness, thy goodness, and satisfaction. The law saith, Thou art bound and obliged to me, to the devil, and to hell; the gospel saith, Christ has delivered thee from them all." If this be heresy, would that there were more of it in the church and in the world to-day!

The death of Patrick Hamilton was a triumph for the Reformation, for it set people thinking, and led numbers, who might otherwise have remained in darkness, to renounce popery. Even many of the Friars began preaching the reformed doctrines; and when matters presently assumed a more serious aspect, and the Archbishop of St. Andrews, James Beaton, thought it advisable to threaten the burning of a few more of the heretics, some one was heard to remark, "My lord, let him be burned in a hollow; for the reek (smoke) of Patrick Hamilton's fire hath infected as many as it blew upon."

By degrees several works of the continental reformers found their way to Scotland, and not a few copies of Tyndal's translation of the New Testament, "one copy of which usually supplied several families. At the dead hour of night, while others were asleep, they assembled in one house. The sacred volume was brought from its concealment, and while one read, the rest listened with mute attention. In this way the knowledge of the scriptures was diffused, at a period when it does not appear that there were many public preachers of the truth in Scotland."

Owing to the persecuting zeal of Archbishop Beaton, there were several martyrdoms between the years 1534 and 1539; but it was not till after the death of the Archbishop, that the animosity of the clerical party was seen at its worst. He was succeeded in office by his nephew, the Cardinal Beaton of evil fame, and his cruelty and bigotry soon gained for him a high place among the champions of papal Rome. No measures were too bloody, no schemes too diabolical for this man; he hesitated at nothing that offered any prospect of the overthrow of the Scotch Reformation. In the year 1543 five men and a woman were brought before him, charged with holding the reformed doctrines. The woman, who was wife to one of the men, had but recently been delivered of a child, and the only evidence against her was that she had refused to supplicate the Virgin during the pangs of travail. Yet the Cardinal condemned her to death with the rest, and then refused her pathetic appeal to die with her husband. To consummate the tragedy he was hanged before her eyes. Her unweaned babe was then torn from her bosom, and the poor woman was hurried by her executioners to a pool of water, where she was drowned.

The Cardinal then proceeded on his circuit, leaving the bloody traces of his progress throughout Angus and Mearns; in which latter district he was to stain his soul with the blood of a more distinguished victim. This was George Wishart, brother to the laird of Pitterow in Mearns, a man of eminently Christlike character. He is described as gentle, patient, and full of affection; and yet a man of fearless speech and unconquerable zeal. His preaching was with power, and so wrought upon his hearers, that they are said to have wept at his appeals, and trembled while he warned them of the wrath to come. The fame of his preaching soon reached the ears of the Cardinal, who, afraid at first to proceed in the usual public manner with his intended victim, hired a priest named Wigton to assassinate him. As Wishart was descending a flight of steps, his mild but searching eyes fell on the face of the priest, and, suspecting his design, he was able to grasp his hand and gain possession of the dagger before the blow was struck. The movement was unexpected, and the priest, filled with fear and remorse, threw himself at the reformer's feet and acknowledged his guilt. Meanwhile, the people crowded round with indignant exclamations, and were on the point of rushing upon the assassin, when Wishart, perceiving the man's danger, placed his arms around him, and said, "Whosoever troubles him, troubles me; for he has hurt me in nothing," and so saved his life.

This incident occurred in Dundee: afterwards Wishart went to Leith, and from thence to East Lothian, where he remained some time, preaching in the different towns and villages. Here, too, he made the acquaintance of John Knox, the future reformer of Scotland, who was then living as tutor in the family of the Douglas's of Longniddry. Knox at once publicly associated himself with the cause, and became sword-bearer to Wishart that is to say, stood at the head of the armed retainers, who guarded the person of the popular evangelist while he was travelling or preaching. Knox little thought how soon his new friend would be taken from him: but it was while Wishart was still in East Lothian that Cardinal Beaton, who watched his progress with the eyes of a fox, and the pertinacity of a blood-hound, at length by treachery got possession of his person. He was shortly afterwards arraigned before a council of prelates, and condemned to the flames.

The death of Wishart was like his life — Christlike and beautiful. The scene of his martyrdom was just outside the castle-gates of St. Andrews, a spot which had been chosen by the Cardinal himself, as he wished to feast his eyes on the dying agonies of the faithful evangelist. All things being in readiness, Wishart was brought to the place of execution, where he fell upon his knees, and prayed aloud, "O Thou Saviour of the world, have mercy on me! Father of heaven, I commend my spirit into Thy holy hands." This he repeated three times, and then, rising to his feet, addressed the people, exhorting them, in the most affecting manner, to give heed to the word of God. Even the stern executioner was overcome by this appeal, and falling at his feet, expressed his sorrow for the painful task that was committed to him. and requested to be forgiven. Wishart bade him draw near, and then kissed him on the cheek, saying, "Lo, here is a token that I forgive thee; my heart, do thine office." The peal of a trumpet presently announced that the moment of execution had arrived, and a light was placed to the faggots. With that the captain, who had charge of the execution, rode forward to the pile, and exhorted Wishart to be of good cheer; to which the martyr replied "This fire torments my body, but no way abates my spirit." Then, observing the Cardinal at one of the windows of the fore-tower of the castle, which overlooked the scene of torture, he exclaimed: "He who in such state from that high place feedeth his eyes with my torments, within few days shall be hanged out at the same window, to be seen with as much ignominy as he now leaneth there in his pride." He then expired.

These words proved to be prophetic; and within three months from the death of the brave evangelist, the Cardinal was surprised in his castle by a party of indignant nobles and gentlemen, one of whom, James Melville, stabbed him twice with his sword. The wretched man expired without any signs of repentance, exclaiming with his last breath, "I am a priest I am a priest! fie fie all is gone!" His dead body was then suspended from the same window at which he had watched the martyrdom of George Wishart.

Now that Wishart was gone, the eyes of the Scotch Protestants turned instinctively to Knox: but before the influence of the Reformer could be widely felt in the country, he was taken prisoner by the papists, and imprisoned in a French galley, where he suffered many hardships and indignities. On one occasion a beautifully painted figure of the Virgin was brought to him, and he was bidden to give it the kiss of adoration, but refused, declaring that all images were accursed. An attempt was then made to compel him to kiss it, by forcing the image to his lips; but Knox snatched it from the officer's hand and threw it into the water, saying, "Let our Lady now save herself; she is light enough, let her learn to swim." He was never afterwards troubled in this way.

The Reformer laboured for some time at the galleys, and then was liberated on the application of the English ambassadors, when he crossed to England, and resided nearly five years in this country. An offer of the bishopric of Rochester, which was made to him during this period, was declined, because he disapproved of the English liturgy, but he accepted the post of an itinerant evangelist, and his labours were greatly blessed in the northern counties. On the outbreak of the Marian persecution he retired to Geneva, where he made the acquaintance of Calvin; and a warm friendship sprang up between the two Reformers. Calvin was his senior by many years; indeed, had almost finished his course when Knox was beginning to preach; and his influence upon the mind of the Scotch preacher was great and lasting.

In the year 1555 Knox returned to his native land, and was gratified to find that the work had grown during his absence. Several of the nobility had embraced the reformed doctrines, among whom were Lord Lorne, Lord Erskine, Lord James Stewart, the Earl of Marischall, the Earl of Glencairn, John Erskine of Dun, and William Maitland of Lithington; and these nobles rallied round him, and much encouraged him by their private friendships, as well as by their public witness for the truth. After labouring during the winter of 1555-6 in Kyle, Cunningham, Angus-shire, and elsewhere, the continued and increasing animosity of the clergy, who were zealously plotting his destruction, rendered it expedient for him to withdraw from the country, and in June or July of the latter year, he retired a second time to Geneva, where he remained till the January of 1559.

During his absence the fires of persecution were kept burning, and an aged priest, named Walter Mill, who had embraced the reformed doctrines, was one of the victims of the papal malice. As no one could be found heartless enough to execute the sentence upon this martyr, the Archbishop of St. Andrews commanded one of his own domestics to perform the task, and the brutal sentence was carried out on the 28th of April, 1558. The venerable old man was faithful to the last, and delivered this testimony from amid the flames: "As for me, I am fourscore and two years old, and cannot live long by course of nature; but a hundred better shall rise out of the ashes of my bones. I trust in God, I shall be the last that shall suffer death in Scotland for this cause."

On May 2nd, 1559, Knox again returned to Scotland, brought back by the earnest solicitations of his friends. His presence was needed, as the people were in a ferment, and the country was threatened with civil war. Not that the preaching of the great reformer was at all likely to soothe the popular mind: indeed, it would seem that Knox both approved of the agitation, and advocated the destruction of the monasteries, since it was from him they learnt the party-cry, "Pull down the nests, and the rooks will flee away."

And yet, in spite of appearances, the reformer was no friend to lawlessness or disaffection. Writing from Dieppe at an earlier period to the Protestant lords of Scotland, he refers to rumours which had reached his ears, that 'contradiction and rebellion' were made to the authority by some in Scotland. "In which point," he adds, "my conscience will not suffer me to keep back from you my counsel, yea, my judgment and commandment, which I communicate with you in God's fear, and by the assurance of his truth; which is, that none of you that seek to promote the glory of Christ, do suddenly disobey, or displease the established authority in things lawful; neither yet, that ye assist or fortify such as, for their own particular cause and worldly promotion, would trouble the same." He who would write thus does not deserve the name, which some have endeavoured to fix upon him, of "lawless and seditious priest."

The activity of the papists increased with the news of the reformer's return, for they felt that a decisive moment was at hand, and that it would need all their scheming and ingenuity to secure a victory over so powerful a leader. The infamous Queen-regent, Mary of Guise, bent on the destruction of the Protestants, had directed all her attention to Perth, where the tumult was at its height; and, confident in her resources, could think of no defeat. It was a moment of peril for the Scotch Reformation. On the other hand, the presence of Knox revived the flagging energies of the Protestants, and his fiery eloquence did much to swell their ranks. They were also aided by troops and money from England, sent by order of Elizabeth, who sided with them partly from religious, but chiefly from political motives; for the Pope had declared her illegitimate, and had named Mary of Scotland to supplant her on the throne. The struggle lasted for about a year, but without any serious loss on either side, and victory then declared for the Protestants. Meanwhile the queen-dowager had been removed by death, and the nation — prepared by the preaching of Knox — was both in a condition and position to welcome the establishment of the Reformation. In the month of August, 1560, the parliament subscribed to a confession of faith drawn up by the reformer; "abolished the papal jurisdiction; prohibited, under certain penalties, the celebration of mass; and rescinded all the laws formerly made in support of the Roman Catholic Church, and against the reformed faith."

Even dark, popish Ireland was not unvisited by the light during the period which we have been considering; and in the reign of Henry VIII. a Protestant clergyman, named George Brown, who had formerly been an Augustine monk, was made Archbishop of Dublin, and received instructions from the King to suppress the Roman hierarchy in the Island. The efforts of the Archbishop to carry out the royal command were received with much opposition, and his life was frequently endangered by the malicious plottings of the Catholics; but in the year 1536, the Irish parliament assembled at Dublin, and agreed to the reception of the reformed doctrines.

The work, however, does not seem to have made much progress, and it excited so little anxiety among the papists during Mary's reign, that no measures were taken to suppress it, until shortly before her death. A commission was then drawn up, and intrusted to a Dr. Coles, who set out for Dublin the following day. Stopping at Chester on his journey, the innkeeper's wife heard him boast to the mayor of the town, that he had that in his valise "which would lash the heretics of Ireland," referring, of course, to his commission. The woman happened to be a Protestant, and moreover, had a brother in Dublin who had embraced the reformed doctrines, so, watching her opportunity, she quietly removed the commission from the bag, and left in its place a pack of cards, with the knave of clubs uppermost. When he got to Ireland, and opened his bag in the presence of the Council, which had assembled to listen to the commission, his proud vauntings gave place to astonishment and shame. But a Romish priest who was by, made light of the loss, and recommended the doctor to send to England for a fresh commission, adding, "and meanwhile let us shuffle the cards." The new decree was obtained, but before it reached the Irish metropolis, the queen was dead.

The reign of Elizabeth saw the policy of her sister's reign reversed, and shortly after her accession Protestantism became, by proclamation, the national religion.

*****

We have now completed the task which we proposed to ourselves in setting out, having written, according to our ability, a short history of the Christian Church, from the Apostolic Era to the Establishment of the Reformation: we must therefore leave it with the reader to discover, in the subsequent history of the Church, those developments which answer to the prophetic descriptions of the churches in Philadelphia and Laodicea. But we may add that, if our interpretations with regard to those which we have treated of (namely, Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamos, Thyatira, and Sardis) be correct, the period of the Church's history must be very near its close. This thought is shared by many, and is supported by other scriptures than those which we have touched upon. Already there has been a mystic awakening throughout Christendom, and the hope of the Lord's return has been revived in many hearts. The cry has gone forth, "Behold the Bridegroom cometh!" and who will say that this awakening is not of God? The question only follows, What should be the attitude of soul of every child of God at such a moment? The question is a solemn one, and can only be answered by those who have been duly affected by its solemnity.

The End.

STEM Publishing : For the Young : Persecution and Profession

Persecution and Profession:

Being Sketches of Early Church History to the Close of the Fifth Century.

London: G. Morrish, 20, Paternoster Square.

Contents.

Part 1. Persecution.

Chapter 1.

Persecution: Why Christians were persecuted. Why called "Atheists." — Rome full of temples and altars. — Christianity aggressive. — The burning of Rome, charged on the Christians. — Persecution by Nero. — Testimony of Tacitus. — The Twelve Apostles

Chapter 2.

Insurrection of the Jews: Often revolted under the Romans. — The Jews at Caesarea. — Florus attacks Jerusalem. — Treachery of the Jews. — Massacre of the Jews at Caesarea. — Cestius attacks Jerusalem. — Great victory of the Jews over the Romans. — Prophecies relating to the

destruction of Jerusalem. — Fearful sights and great signs. — The cry of Jesus, son of Ananus. — Josephus. — Ruler — Prophet — With the Romans. — Destruction of Jerusalem. — The Jews divided into factions. — The siege led by Titus. — Determined resistance of the Jews. — Mode of attack by the Romans. — Severe famine in the city. — A woman eats her child. — The city taken. — Titus desires to save the temple. — It is burnt. — The city destroyed. — Great slaughter and numerous prisoners. — Prophecy fulfilled.

Chapter 3.

Further Persecutions. — The Romans attribute all calamities to the Christians. — Letter of Pliny to the Emperor Trajan. — Trajan's reply. — Ignatius. — Justin Martyr. — Polycarp. — Blandina. — Perpetua.

Chapter 4.

The Apostolic Fathers: Clement. — Polycarp. — Barnabas. — Ignatius. — Hermas. — None to be trusted as scripture.

Chapter 5.

Attacks on Christianity. — Celsus. — Porphyry. — The Oracle of Delphi. — Hierocles. — The Apologies. — Justin Martyr. — Minucius Felix. — Athenagoras. — Tertullian

Chapter 6.

The Catacombs. — How formed. — The testimony of the tablets. — A visitor's description.

Chapter 7.

Miracles and Signs. — Their existence in the early church. — Exorcists.

Chapter 8.

Offices in the Early Church. — Elders, Presbyters, and Bishops. — Undue exaltation of the bishops.

Chapter 9.

Customs in the Church. — Reception into the Church. — Catechumens. — Fidelis. — Audientes — Baptism. — Forms of Worship. — Meetings on Sunday. — The Lord's Supper. — Taken weekly. — Singing. — Collection for the poor. — Bread and wine sent to the sick. — Water mixed with the wine. — Abuses creeping in. — Love Feasts. — Superstitions in the Church. — The sign of the cross. — Clergy and laity. — The Lord's Supper and Absolution. — Letter of Dionysius. — Celibacy of the Clergy. — Hippolytus and Callistus.

Chapter 10.

Early Heresies. — What is heresy? — Gnosticism. — Arianism. — The Novatians. — The Lapsi.

Chapter 11.

Cyprian and the Assumptions of Rome. — How were the "lapsi" to be treated? — Rome struggles for supremacy.

Chapter 12.

The Later Persecutions. — Persecution of Decius. — The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus. — Origen. — Valerian and Diocletian. — Galerius. — The oracles consulted. — The ten persecutions. — The address to the church at Smyrna.

Part 2. Profession.

Chapter 1.

Conversion of Constantine. — His vision. — Was he really a Christian?

Chapter 2.

The Council of Nice. — The Nicene creed. — The Arians condemned. Easter — How calculated — How kept

Chapter 3.

Athanasius and His Times. — The Arians in power. — Athanasius persecuted. — Death of Constantine. — Athanasius banished.

Chapter 4.

Ambrose: made a bishop suddenly. — Valens emperor in the East. — Eighty ministers burnt in a ship. — The Second General Council. — Ambrose rashly opposes Valentinian II. — Revolt at Thessalonica. — Massacre of the inhabitants. — Penance demanded of the emperor.

Chapter 5.

Chrysostom and His Times. — He finds being an advocate and a Christian inconsistent. — Chrysostom an ascetic. — His trick on his friend Basil. — His narrow escape. — He cannot crucify the flesh. — Made a presbyter and preaches. — The revolt at Antioch. — Made bishop of Constantinople by Eutropius. — Not liked by the clergy. — Popular with the bishops. — He aids Eudoxia in carrying relics to her new chapel. — Protects Eutropius when condemned to death. — He ventures to the Gothic camp. — The Tall Brethren. — Plots against Chrysostom. — He is deposed and banished. — The fright by an earthquake restores him. — Eudoxia's image condemned by Chrysostom. — Again he is deposed and banished. — His great usefulness in his long banishment, — Removed to a more severe climate. — His death.

Chapter 6. The Donatist Schism. — Their doctrine of separation from evil, good. — Their practice bad. — The Circumcelliones. — Augustine. — His works.

Chapter 7.

Pelagianism. — Pelagius condemned. — His doctrine. — Semi-Pelagianism

Chapter 8.

Monasticism. — St. Anthony. — Simon Stylites. — The Essenes. — Egyptians. — What led to Monasticism. — The Scriptures preserved and copied by Monks.

Chapter 9.

Christianity in Britain. — The Druids. — Their human sacrifices. — Christianity in England early. — Was Claudia a British Christian? — St. Patrick and Ireland. — Scotland.

Chapter 10.

Councils in the Church. — The General Councils: The first at Nice. — The second at Constantinople. — The third at Ephesus. — Eutyches condemned. — The Robbers' Meeting. — The fourth at Chalcedon. — The Nicene creed confirmed. — What Scripture for Councils. — What authority over Christians.

Chapter 11.

The Western Church. — Leo the Great, bishop of Rome. — Saves the city of Rome. — Defends the faith. — Manichaeism. — The Priscillianists. — Leo anxious for universal supremacy. — His conflict with Hilary of Arles. — His death.

Chapter 12.

Close of the Fifth Century. — Conflicts with the Arians. — The Monophysites. — The Henoticon. — The bishops of Rome and Constantinople excommunicate each other. — The professing church rent into parties. — The address to the church at Pergamos

Chapter 13.

The Bible for the Church — Translated into many languages.

Chapter 14.

Conclusion. — Review of the whole period.

Chapter 1.

Persecution.

To the lions! "Sacrifice, or to the lions!" were words often used in the courts of law in the early days of Christianity. Persons were not allowed to be Christians, and if such were discovered they were brought before the magistrate, and if they refused to sacrifice to the heathen gods, they were put to death.

For the amusement of the Romans, a number of lions were kept, to which criminals were cast. These amusements took place in a public building, in which there were thousands of spectators who delighted in such cruel practices, as well as in men fighting with men, or men with beasts. To these lions the persons who confessed themselves to be Christians, or who refused to sacrifice to the gods, were often cast.

We need not search far to find out the cause of the hatred to the Christians, though we might have expected better things of the Romans; for though they worshipped false gods, they were enlightened and were very lenient towards those they conquered.

Doubtless the real cause was, that Satan was stirring up the evil heart of man in opposition to Christ, and to those who were His. Our Lord told His disciples while He was with them, that they should be hated of all men for His sake. (Matt. x. 22.) But Satan often makes those who do his work think they are doing right, and so in the case we are considering, the people had their reasons for persecuting the Christians.

It was an understood thing that Rome had its own gods, and no others were to be allowed there. Cicero had said, that 'no man might have for himself particular gods of his own: no man should worship by himself any new or foreign gods, unless recognised by the public laws.' And scripture itself tells us how the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ was looked upon by the pagans. The learned men of Athens said of Paul, "He seemeth to be a setter forth of strange gods." (Acts xvii. 18.)

Another reason was that as the government provided temples, and priests, and sacrifices, for any one to speak against these was looked upon as speaking against the state. They did not distinguish between speaking against the gods made of wood and stone, and speaking against the government of the land who set up the gods.

Another reason was that there were a great many who obtained their living from the temples and the sacrifices, and when Christians became numerous in any place, these persons began to suffer, and then they raised an outcry against the Christians. This was so at Ephesus, as recorded in the Acts, when one called his fellow tradesmen together, and said, "Sirs, ye know that by this craft we have our wealth." Paul had been saying that they were no gods which were made with hands. Therefore, these tradesmen urged, "not only this, our craft is in danger to be set at naught, but also that the temple of the great goddess Diana should be despised," etc. (Acts xix. 25-27.)

There was one circumstance which may at first sight appear to be strange, namely, that the Jews were allowed by the Romans to go on unhindered, but Christians were not. This is, however, accounted for by the Jews being looked upon as a separate nation, and so were allowed to worship their own God. Celsus, a Greek philosopher of the second century, said: "The Jews are a nation by themselves, and they observe the sacred institutions of their country — whatever they may be — and in so doing, act like other men. It is right for every people to reverence their ancient laws; but to desert them is a crime." And the Romans thought that one reason why they were victorious over so many nations was, that they paid respect to the gods of every nation; whereas the Christians were not a nation of themselves, but were being taken out of all nations, and, as we know, some were Romans, and it could not be understood how a Roman could need any other gods than those he had.

Another reason was that the Jews had their temples, their priests, and their sacrifices; whereas the Christians had none of these, and so they were often termed "Atheists"* — those who had no god of any sort — none to be seen — and who were neither Jews nor pagans. The Christians met privately, and horrible tales were circulated as to the secret practices by them at their private meetings, charges which were of course quite false.

{* From the Greek atheos; a, negative, theos, god: without god. This term is now applied to those who deny the existence of a Supreme Being.}

Another thing that roused the hatred of the Romans was that some of the Christians were reluctant to become soldiers. Celsus thus speaks of this: "Does not the emperor punish you justly? for should all do like you, there would be none to defend him; the rudest barbarians would make themselves masters of the world, and every trace, as well of your own religion itself, as of true wisdom, would be obliterated from the human race; for believe not that your Supreme God would come down from heaven and fight for us." There were, however, at different times, as we shall see, Christians in the armies of the emperors.

Rome, in the full blaze of its glory, had seven hundred temples, and altars much more numerous. On festival days, when honour was paid to any of the gods, long and imposing processions were formed. Old and venerable men, young men in full vigour of life, maidens dressed in white, and children, marched through the city to one of the temples, where sacrifices were offered to the god whom they intended to honour; incense was thrown upon the sacred fires, and filled the air with sweet perfumes.

How poor and contemptible to the eyes of such as enjoyed this outward show must have been the simple meetings of the Christians, who met to break bread in remembrance of their Lord! For this purpose they doubtless at first met "at home," a few here and a few there, as they had done at Jerusalem, according to Acts ii. 46.

Besides this, the religious festivals of the Romans were always more or less associated with amusements, either in the theatre or in some of their many places of entertainment. Christians no longer enjoyed such amusements: they alike shunned the national places of amusement as they did the national temples. Such people could not be understood. They had no temple, no priests, and, as the Romans thought, no god; and joined no amusements with their religion. They were first pitied, then treated with contempt, and lastly with hatred.

Another thing that doubtless drew forth the enmity of the people against the Christians, was the aggressive character of Christianity. When any one is converted to the religion of the Lord Jesus Christ, he naturally desires that others shall share in the blessing. It has always been so, and we may be sure that the Roman converts were always pleading with their relatives and friends that they were not really gods which the people worshipped; for they now knew the only one true God and His Son Jesus Christ. Their gods could not save them.

As we see in Acts xix., there were persecutions of the Christians by the people — the mob — altogether independent of any laws being passed against the Christians. The first persecution by law was in the time of the emperor Nero; he, who, as many believe, has been introduced to us as the "lion" by Paul. (2 Tim. iv. 17.) For the reasons we have given, the motives for a general persecution were all in readiness, the people needing only a word of command. That command came in a way no one expected.

On a dark November night, in the year A.D. 64, the Romans awoke from their slumbers to find that their city was in flames.

Apparently it had been set on fire in several places, and nothing could stay the devouring flames. Day followed day, and night followed night, but still the city burned. For a whole week the fire continued, until out of fourteen departments only four remained untouched. Many public buildings, much valuable property, and many works of art were destroyed.

The streets of the city were narrow, with winding lanes in all directions. This much impeded the escape of the people. Some tarried behind to save a feeble relative or some valuable article, and then found their escape impossible; the fire was on all sides of them, and they perished in the flames. Thus numbers lost their lives, and others, who would have escaped, found the way blocked up by the old and feeble.

The fire was at length stayed by pulling down some houses, thus making a gap which the flames could not pass.

Nero was not at Rome when the fire occurred, but he hastened thither when the flames approached his palace. He is said to have looked on the burning city from a high tower, singing to his lyre that part of the poem of Homer which describes the burning of Troy.

It is reported by some historians that the emperor himself had ordered the city to be set on fire; some suppose it was done in order that he might enjoy a sight so well described by his favourite poet; others believed that he did it in order to improve the city, and make room for a grand palace for himself.

Rightly or wrongly, suspicion fell upon the emperor — his known crimes had rendered him odious. He had caused the death of his mother, his brother, and his wife. The fire caused such a general outburst of indignation from the people, that the emperor offered to rebuild the city at his own expense, though he robbed even the temples to raise the funds; and then, to remove the stain of such a crime from himself, he declared that the city had been set on fire by the Christians!

As we have seen, the people had their reasons for disliking the Christians, and now Nero ordered a general massacre. Some were crucified, and some were sewn up in the skins of beasts, and were then torn to pieces by dogs. Others, after being smeared over with wax and other inflammable substances, were fastened to stakes, and placed in the emperor's gardens, that on being set on fire they might serve as torches.

The more generous even of the pagans pitied the martyrs. Tacitus, the historian of the age, while he had not one good word for the Christians, remarked, that people could but pity those who were thus put to death, not for the public good, but to serve the purpose of a cruel tyrant like Nero.

This same historian says, "Nero falsely accused and punished most grievously certain people, hated for their wickedness, which the common sort called Christians. The author of that name was Christ, who in the reign of Tiberius, was put to death under Pontius Pilate, procurator of Judea. And their dangerous superstition, suppressed for a time, burst forth again, not only through Judea, where it first began, but in this city also . . . . an infinite number were convicted, not so much for setting the town on fire, as for the hatred of all men against them. Thus Christians became a sect everywhere spoken against, and wickedness was attributed to them because they could not be understood."

We have no records to shew how the martyrs, under the persecution of Nero, bore their sufferings. Our Lord had forewarned His disciples that in the world they should have tribulation, and He bade them rejoice when they suffered for His sake. (Matt. v. 12.) Doubtless the martyrs felt the presence of the Lord, and were enabled to look beyond their sufferings to the glory that awaited them. Our lot is cast in peaceful times. We should be thankful that we are allowed to worship the true God without hindrance; but Satan uses this peace in another way, namely, to cause many to think they are Christians, when they are not really resting all their hopes on the blood-shedding of the Lord Jesus Christ. Many of the churches and chapels are now thronged; but if soldiers waited at the doors to drag the worshippers to prison, would so many be there? Have the reader and the writer found such value in the name of Christ that, God helping us, we should hold to Him, and leave the consequences with our Father and our God?

The Twelve Apostles.

The early fathers record the death of some of the apostles which took place about this time. Without touching the more than doubtful point whether Peter founded the Church of Rome, it appears to be beyond question that he suffered martyrdom in that city during the persecutions by Nero. Clement of Rome speaks of the martyrdom. Ambrose relates that Peter was exhorted to flee from the city, to which he yielded; but on his reaching the gates, he met our Lord. "Lord, where goest thou?" he asked. "I go to Rome," was the reply, "once more to be crucified." Peter at once understood this as a reproof to himself, and he returned. This may have been in a vision, or, what is more probable, a tradition only.

Our Lord had said to him: "When thou shalt be old thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldest not. This spake he, signifying by what death he should glorify God." (John xxi. 18, 19.) It is agreed by all that he was crucified, and some add that he was crucified head downward at his own request, that he might not die like his Lord.

As to Paul, the Acts of the Apostles closes with the apostle's having dwelt two whole years in his own hired house. There can be little doubt but that he was liberated, and took another missionary journey. When he wrote the Second Epistle to Timothy, he was again at Rome, and not apparently so comfortable a prisoner as when described in the end of the Acts; for he speaks of his chain, and says, "I suffer trouble as an evildoer, even unto bonds." To be a Christian had then been declared to be a crime, and Paul would fall under the condemnation. But he was sustained by his God. He wrote: "I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day." (2 Tim. iv. 6-8.) He, as a Roman citizen, was beheaded. The date is not known, but it is put down at A.D. 66 or 68.

Of James, the Lord's brother, Hegesippus (middle of second century) relates that he was highly esteemed at Jerusalem, and the scribes and Pharisees came to him and said, "We pray thee stop the people, for they have gone astray after Jesus, as though He were the Christ. We pray thee to persuade all that come to the passover concerning Jesus." So they set him at the gable of the temple, that all might hear him and calling to him, said, "O just one, to whom we ought to give heed, seeing that the people are going astray after Jesus who was crucified, tell us what is the door to Jesus." He answered, with a loud voice, "Why ask ye me about Jesus the Son of man? He sits in heaven on the right hand of great power, and will come on the clouds of heaven." Many were convinced, and gave glory on the testimony of James, crying out "Hosanna to the Son of David." This enraged the rulers, and he was thrown down and stoned, while he, like his Lord, prayed for his enemies.

Josephus also states that James was stoned, but says it was under the charge of breaking the laws. Both accounts may be true; his testimony being the cause of his death, and this accusation the plea to justify the act. There is no date by which to fix the year. It must have been before the siege of Jerusalem.

We copy the following from Hippolytus, as to where the twelve apostles laboured, and where they died. He himself died about A.D. 230, so that he may have conversed with some of the apostolic fathers who knew the apostles themselves.

Peter preached the gospel in Pontus and Galatia, and Cappadocia and Bethania, and Italy and Asia, and was afterwards crucified by Nero in Rome.

Andrew preached to the Scythians and Thracians, and was crucified, suspended on an olive tree, at Patrae [a town] of Achaia; and there too he was buried.

John, again, in Asia, was banished by Domitian, the emperor, to the isle of Patmos, in which also he wrote his Gospel, and saw the apocalyptic vision; and in Trajan's time he fell asleep at Ephesus, where his remains were sought for, but could not be found.

James, his brother, when preaching in Judea, was cut off with the sword by Herod the Tetrarch, and was buried there.

Philip preached in Phrygia, and was crucified in Hierapolis, with his head downwards, in the time of Domitian, and was buried there.

Bartholomew, [preached] to the Indians, to whom also he gave the Gospel according to Matthew, was crucified with his head downward, and was buried in Allanum (or Albanum), of the great Armenia.

Matthew wrote the Gospel in the Hebrew tongue, and published it at Jerusalem, and fell asleep at Hierees, of Parthia.

Thomas preached to the Parthians, Medes, Persians, Hyrcanians, Bactrians, and Margians [or, Magi], and was thrust through in the four members of his body with a pine spear, at Calamene [or, Caramene], the city of India, and was buried there.

James, the Son of Alphaeus, when preaching in Jerusalem, was stoned to death by the Jews, and was buried there beside the temple.

Judas, who is also Lebbaeus, preached to the people of Edessa, and to all Mesopotamia, and fell asleep at Berytus, and was buried there.

Simon the Zealot, the son of Clopas, who is also [called] Judas, became bishop of Jerusalem after James the Just, and fell asleep and was buried there, at the age of 120 years.

Matthias, who was one of the seventy, and numbered with the eleven apostles, preached in Jerusalem, and fell asleep and was buried there.

Paul entered into the apostleship a year after the ascension of Christ, and beginning at Jerusalem, he advanced as far as Illyricum, and Italy, and Spain, preaching the gospel for five-and-thirty years. And in the time of Nero he was beheaded at Rome, and was buried there.

Chapter 2.

Insurrection of the Jews.

Although the insurrection of the Jews which led to the destruction of Jerusalem is not strictly connected with the church, one cannot pass it by in silence. Jerusalem was the chief city of the land chosen by God for His beloved people, and, as we know from scripture, there were many Christians there. We shall see what became of them.

The Lord Jesus had plainly foretold the destruction of Jerusalem: "There shall be great distress in the land, and wrath upon this people. And they shall fall by the edge of the sword, and shall be led away captive into all nations, and Jerusalem shall be trodden down of the Gentiles." (Luke xxi. 23, 24.) We have to tell you how this was brought about.

Palestine had been for many years subject to the Romans — it was so when our Lord was there — but the Jews were too proud to submit willingly to their masters. From time to time there had been insurrections; one occasion is alluded to when the Jews relate to our Lord how Pilate had mingled the blood of the people with the sacrifices. (Luke xiii. 1.) What led to the final revolt and destruction not only of Jerusalem, but of other great cities, was the following: —

There were a number of Jews living at Caesarea who had erected a synagogue, but the ground on which it stood belonged to a Greek. The Jews wished to purchase the ground, and offered a large price for it; but the Greek refused to sell it, and to annoy them he erected various buildings on the spot, which scarcely left the Jews room to get to their place of worship. The Greeks in other ways annoyed the Jews until a disturbance and a fight were the result.

Gessius Florus was procurator* of the district, so the Jews appealed to him, sending him at the same time a present of eight talents. He accepted the money and promised to interfere, but did nothing. On the breaking out of the above disturbance some of the Jews seized the books of the synagogue and left the city, while others of the highest rank proceeded to Florus to seek redress. He treated them with great disdain and cast them into prison.

{*The Roman governor of a province.}

Florus seemed determined to drive the people to a revolt, that he might seize their property as well as cover his own misdeeds. He made a demand on Jerusalem for seventeen talents, under the plea that the emperor needed the money.

The news of the imprisonment of the chief men of Caesarea had already reached Jerusalem, and this demand upon the city for money was received with derision, and the name of Florus was everywhere held in contempt and open ridicule.

Florus hastened to punish the city for these insults. The people at once submitted, and received both him and his soldiers readily. But, as we have seen, Florus wanted them to revolt, and he sent his soldiers to plunder the city and to put to death those who opposed his troops. Many who offered no resistance were wantonly put to death. More troops entered the city, and an effort was made by Florus to plunder the treasury of the temple. The people sought to prevent this, and attacked the soldiers with stones from the roofs and windows of the houses. Florus gave up the attempt, being satisfied for the time to retire with the riches he had already collected.

Agrippa,* at this juncture, visited Jerusalem, and exhorted the inhabitants to submit to the Romans; but on his mentioning the name of Florus, such an uproar was raised that he had to leave the city or he would have fallen a victim to their fury.

{*This was Agrippa II., a descendant of Herod, named in Acts xxv. 13. He ruled over portions of the kingdom, and was called "king." (Chap. xxvi. 7.)}

The rulers of the people appealed to the governor who was over Florus;* but a war party arose in the city, who, under Judas a Galilean, declared openly that it was wrong to own any king but God, and opposed the payment of any more tribute to Rome. They forgot how they had disowned God, how they had put His Son to death, and had declared at His trial, "We have no king but Caesar!" When they spoke to the Lord about paying tribute to Caesar, He asked them for a piece of money, and inquired, Whose was the image and inscription on it. They said, Casar's. Our Lord replied, "Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's." They were now acting in direct opposition to this, declaring that they would not render to Caesar the things that were his. God had left His people to their own folly that they might be punished.

{*It was now Cestius Gallus, governor of Syria, etc.}

When Florus departed from Jerusalem he left a guard of Roman soldiers to keep possession. These were now attacked by the war party, and after much resistance they agreed to surrender, on condition that they should be allowed to walk out of Jerusalem, leaving their arms and everything behind. This was solemnly promised to them. The Romans came forth from their stronghold, and made a pile of their swords and articles of war, but they were no sooner defenceless than Eleazar* and his followers fell upon them and put all to death except one who called for mercy.

{*Eleazar was the son of Ananias the high priest, and was now the chief of the war party.}

This act of treachery was, as it is said, sealing the revolt in blood — a treachery that left no hope of peace, and filled the peaceable inhabitants with fear and evil-forebodings.

On that very day the Greeks of Caesarea rose against the Jews, and put to death every Jew in that city except a few who escaped. Josephus reckoned the number slain to amount to 20,000.

The whole country was now in arms; the Jews against any who were not Jews, and all who were not Jews were oppressing them. Then, as now, many of the Jews were rich, and they were plotted against and put to death for the sake of their riches. On the other hand, where the Jews were strong enough, they attacked their neighbours and pillaged their houses.

The Romans proceeded to put down the revolt, and Cestius Gallus marched into Palestine with his army. Zebulon, Joppa, and other places were quickly subdued; the Jewish inhabitants being put to death and the cities laid in ruins.

Cestius at length marched to Jerusalem, and Agrippa again tried to persuade the inhabitants to lay down their arms and submit to the Romans, but his messengers were attacked with sticks and stones. God had declared that the city was to be destroyed, and nothing could now save it, Many in the city would have been glad to come to terms of peace, but the war party would not hear of such a thing.

The Roman soldiers commenced the attack, and soon took a portion of the city; but inside they found another wall. This they proceeded to destroy; but, through want of resolution, Cestius called his men off, and apparently began to leave the city. This emboldened the Jews, who rushed out and put many of the Romans to death. Cestius still retreated, until they came to the narrow pass of Beth-horon. Here the Jews swarmed down the steep inclines and hurled stones on the heads of the retreating army. The way became blocked up, and the Romans, who were in the habit of fighting in ranks, seemed almost helpless, and thousands of them were slain. Cestius himself had to fly to save his life. The Romans abandoned their engines of war, and also took to flight. The Jews pursued them as far as Antipatris, when, finding they could not overtake more, they returned to secure the spoil, and to pillage the dead. They entered Jerusalem with hymns of triumph, having suffered but little, while the Romans lost 5,300 foot, and 380 horse. The Romans had not suffered such a defeat for many a year, and this one was the more disgraceful being at the hands of undisciplined people who were in a great measure without arms.

It could not be expected that Rome would let such a defeat go unavenged. Nero was still emperor: he called upon the most skilful of Rome's commanders — Vespasian — to quell the revolt and to punish the Jews generally. Vespasian, assisted by his son Titus, entered with spirit into the enterprise. Sixty thousand troops were placed under his command, with which to subdue Palestine.

The Jews in the meantime had not been idle. Walls were built and fortified, arms manufactured and provisions stored. They were, however, still divided: many greatly desired to submit to the Romans, while others were as determined to fight to the last.

Before relating the final struggle, we must call attention again to the prophecy of Christ relating to this war. "Great earthquakes shall be in divers places, and famines and pestilences; and fearful sights and great signs shall there be from heaven." (Luke xxi. 11.) Mark the words, "fearful sights and great signs shall there be from heaven." Josephus, the historian, relates that a star or a comet with a long tail in the form of a sword hung over the city for a whole year. Another sign was that on one occasion chariots and troops of soldiers were seen among the clouds, hurrying to and fro. On another occasion, a great light shone around the altar for about half an hour and then died out. The gate of the inner court of the temple, made of brass, and of such immense weight that it took twenty men to shut it, opened of itself. This was interpreted to mean that the temple was no longer to be protected from the enemy. These events may seem to be fables, but the historian declares that they were witnessed by many, and these signs are confirmed by Tacitus.

But the cause of perhaps still greater alarm was a man named Jesus, the son of Ananus, who commenced to traverse the streets of Jerusalem, crying, "A voice from the east, a voice from the west, a voice from the four winds, a voice against Jerusalem and the holy house, and a voice against this whole people. Woe, woe to Jerusalem." Certain of the people seized and beat him; but he still cried, "Woe, woe to Jerusalem." At length he was carried before the Roman governor, who asked him who he was, where he came from, and why he uttered such words; but he gave no other answer than "Woe, woe to Jerusalem." He was fearfully scourged, but uttered no cry but his cry of woe. At length he was dismissed as a madman. This fearful cry he began before the revolt, when all were at peace, and he continued it during a space of four years. When the war raged, he still wended his way, fearless of danger, uttering his woeful cry. All at once he varied it with "Woe, woe to myself:" a stone struck him and he fell down dead.

Thus had this unhappy people ample time to be warned and, had they heeded the voice of their Messiah, to have been saved. To His disciples our Lord gave another word of warning, "Let them which are in Judaea flee to the mountains; and let them which are in the midst of it depart out; and let not them that are in the countries enter therein." (Luke xxi. 21.) In obedience to this command the Christians quitted Jerusalem and took up their abode at Pella, and thus escaped the doom about to fall on this guilty people.

Pella was a town on the east of the Jordan in the district of Decapolis. Here, no doubt, Agrippa was able to protect them as peaceable inhabitants. We have no record of the number of the fugitives. Our Lord left the temple, saying, "Your house is left unto you desolate;" and now the Christians departed from the doomed city, leaving nothing really but the outward shell of the once divinely ordered ritual of the one true God, and the dire judgment of the One they despised hovering over their heads.*

{*Under Hadrian (A.D. 136), the Christians were allowed to return to the city built upon the ruins of Jerusalem, then called Aelia Capitolina. Christians and pagans only were allowed there — no Jew dare shew his face on pain of death. Its ancient name was restored by Constantine the Great. At the council of Nice, Macarius signed the canons as Bishop of Jerusalem.}

Josephus.

Josephus, the well-known historian, was involved in the war with the Romans. He was a Jew, and a descendant of a priestly family. His father's name was Matthias, and he was called Joseph, but is better known as Josephus, After studying the law, and becoming acquainted with the various sects, he joined the Pharisees.

At first his desire was to induce his countrymen to submit to the Romans; but failing in this, and the war party growing in strength, he joined in the war. He was appointed to command the Jews in Galilee. After various escapes from the jealousy of others who were also in authority, Josephus effected an entrance into the city of Jotapata, and took the command. This city was considered of great importance, and therefore Vespasian came in person to order the siege. It was in a lofty position, and to be approached only on one side. On the other side it was surrounded with thick forests, thought to be impregnable. But the Romans with their axes soon cleared a way through the forest so as to approach the walls, and with their battering rams and scaling ladders the place was eventually taken, though the Jews fought with bravery.

Josephus had taken refuge in a dry well, from the bottom of which he was enabled to reach a cavern and remain unseen from those above. Here he found about forty of the citizens who had taken refuge there, and who had provided themselves with food for several days. In the meantime the soldiers were searching for him, anxious to find either dead or alive one who had made such a gallant defence against them.

On the third day a woman, having left the cavern, was captured, and she revealed the secret that Josephus was safe in concealment. Vespasian sent some of the Romans to offer Josephus his life if he would surrender. After some parleying, Josephus was desirous of giving himself up; but his companions, not so sure of their own lives, called him traitor and coward, and even threatened to kill him. Josephus tried to persuade them to risk saving their lives, and detailed to them the sin of self-murder. It was all of no use; they would not hear of surrender. He then persuaded them that if they must die, it would be better to kill one another than to commit suicide. To this they agreed, concluding that Josephus would surely share the same fate as themselves. Lots were drawn, and, somehow or other, one and another fell by the swords of their companions, until only Josephus and another remained. Josephus persuaded him to accept the offer of the Romans, and both came out of the cavern alive.

Josephus asked for an interview with Vespasian, and he then put on the air and manner of a prophet, and declared to Vespasian that he and his son Titus would, each in due time, be made emperors of Rome. "Send me not to Nero," said Josephus, "bind me and keep me in chains, as thine own prisoner; for soon thou wilt be the sovereign lord of earth and sea, and of the whole human race." He appealed to some of the citizens if he had not foretold that the downfall of Jotapata would be in forty-seven days, and they declared that he had done so. Josephus was still kept in chains, but was well taken care of and received various presents.

Thus this man, after many narrow escapes, was now with the Romans. He grew in favour, and remained with them during the siege of Jerusalem; and afterwards lived to write his famous History of the Jews. Vespasian and Titus both became emperors, and this brought Josephus into favour with them, because his predictions came true.

Destruction of Jerusalem.

From Jotapata Vespasian and Titus proceeded to destroy other cities, putting all the inhabitants to the sword or selling them as slaves. But we will relate only the destruction of Jerusalem.

Palestine had had many robbers, such as would now be called banditti. As the country was being laid waste by the Romans, these took shelter in Jerusalem, and at length formed a strong party and were called Zealots. They murdered some of the citizens, until at length these arose to defend themselves against the Zealots. The Zealots then took shelter in the temple, and secretly invited the Idumeans to come to their relief, declaring that the inhabitants wanted to give Jerusalem up to the Romans. The Idumeans had been incorporated with the Jews, and like the Arabs, were ever ready to rush to war where-ever there was a need for it. They armed at once and appeared before Jerusalem. But the city authorities refused them admittance and tried to reason with them to induce them to return. Night came on, leaving the Idumeans encamped outside the walls. In the night a dreadful storm of rain and wind with thunder and lightning took place. The Zealots, finding the guards had neglected their posts to escape the storm, stole out of the temple, and with saws cut through the iron bars of the gates and admitted the Idumeans. That night, the whole of the guard who watched the temple were put to death. In the morning 8,500 dead bodies were counted.

The city was now at the mercy of the Zealots, and they, assisted by the Idumeans, killed whom they pleased. Not fewer than 12,000 of the noblest blood in Jerusalem perished in this way. Surely the city was given up by God to the direst calamities! The Roman army was approaching the city, and Jerusalem, instead of making preparations to defend itself, was thus being destroyed by its own children!

The Idumeans however at length awoke to the wickedness of the Zealots. They had been called to prevent Jerusalem from being given up to the Romans; but they found that the report was raised merely to serve the purpose of the Zealots to murder and to rob. They determined to leave the city.

The Zealots however continued their evil work. This state of things became known to the Romans, and the general was advised to make his attack upon them while thus divided. But he judged that if he approached it would make them all unite to oppose him. He thought it better to let them "like wild beasts" devour one another.

John of Gischala was head of the Zealots. Simon, the son of Gioras, was another desperado; he entered Jerusalem and became head of another party. Eleazar, the first to advise the revolt, was leader of a third party. These were all in deadly hatred one against another. Had the Romans delayed their visit to the city, it must surely have perished by its own people.

In the year A.D. 69 Vespasian was made Emperor, and the command now devolving on Titus his son, the siege began in earnest, in April, 70.

Each of the three parties had his fortified position, from which the advancing army of the Romans could be seen. Eleazar's place was the summit of the temple; John's, the porticoes of the outer courts; and Simon's, the heights of Zion. They now began to feel that they had one common enemy against whom they ought to fight, and they agreed on a general attack on the Romans. Simon had 10,000 men and 5000 Idumeans (who had either remained or returned to the city); John had 6000, and Eleazar 2400.

The Romans were busy with their entrenchments, when the Jews sallied forth and took them by surprise; they put many to death and others to flight, and Titus himself had a narrow escape. The Romans however rallied, and the battle lasted all day, with many killed on both sides.

Titus went on with his works, levelling the approach to the city. When this was accomplished, he resolved to attack the wall at the part called Bezetha, where the wall was the lowest, and the houses not high enough to protect the wall.

The Romans had engines for throwing heavy stones as well as arrows. Of the soldiers some were slingers of stones, and others archers; firearms were not yet invented. To knock down the walls they had battering-rams. These were made of a huge beam of timber, armed at one end with a large piece of iron in the shape of a ram's head. This was pulled away and then thrown back with great force against the wall. At times sacks, stuffed full, were lowered from the walls to break the force of the blows; but these were pulled down with hooks by the Romans.

Titus set three of these rams at work against the wall. The Jews mounted the walls and hurled down stones upon those who worked the machines; but Titus had towers made on his embankment from which his archers and slingers swept all from the walls. The rams were kept at work night and day until the walls began to totter. They were seventeen and a half feet thick, and of immense strength, composed of blocks of stone thirty-five feet long. Still the incessant strokes of the ram began to loosen the stones.

The Jews resorted to other means. Suddenly, through an unperceived gate they sallied forth with firebrands and attempted to set the engines on fire; but Titus rushed down with his horse soldiers and drove back the Jews into the city. One was taken prisoner, whom Titus crucified before the walls.

At length a breach was made and the Romans entered. But they found no enemy; the whole place was deserted. But this was only a portion of the city. Jerusalem was divided into three distinct parts, each with its wall: so that when one part was taken, the Jews all retired to the second. Here the siege had to begin again.

The battering rams had to be brought up to the second wall, and then worked night and day until a breach was made in it. In a few days this was accomplished, and then the Jews retired to the third part of the city. Titus did not destroy the houses in the second part, still hoping that the Jews would surrender.

Leaving the houses standing led to a sad disaster. When his troops had entered this part of the city, the Jews attacked them fiercely, and as they knew every turn of the narrow streets, they were able to run round and appear where they were least expected, and attack the Romans on all sides. Titus came to the rescue, and by placing archers at the openings to all the streets, he was enabled to bring off many of his men alive, and means were taken to prevent the repetition of such attacks.

Titus, seeing the magnificence of the temple and the palace, was desirous of sparing the city, and again he tried to induce the people to surrender. Josephus was now employed to reason with the Jews; but he was assailed with scoffs, and darts were hurled at him.

The whole of the inhabitants were now cooped up in one-third of the city, and famine, which had been for some time staring them in the face, became severe. Persons sold their possessions for a little food, and many died of hunger. At length the war party, who had taken care to keep provisions for themselves, began to be in want, and they went about the city, seizing every particle of food they could find. If they thought any were concealing food, they would torture them to compel them to confess its whereabouts.

All natural affection deserted the people generally. Relatives would snatch the food from one another — children from parents, and parents from children; wives from husbands and husbands from wives. On one occasion, those who searched for food, sword in hand, smelt the fumes of cooked flesh. They entered the house and demanded the food. A woman brought it, but the courage of the robbers failed them when they found that a mother had cooked her own child, and had eaten a part of it. She shrieked out, "Eat, for I have eaten: be not more delicate than a mother; or, if ye are too religious to touch such food, I have eaten half already, leave me the rest!" They left her in horror.

How true is scripture! It had been foretold that a delicate and tender woman should eat her own children. (Deut. xxviii. 56, 57.) It had taken place at the siege of Samaria (2 Kings vi. 29), and it had now taken place at Jerusalem. Alas, it is hard to fight against God!

By night many would come forth and search about outside the walls for anything they could manage to eat; they would have doubtless left the city entirely but for their wives and children who were starving as well as themselves. Titus laid soldiers in wait for these, and where they offered any resistance they were seized, tortured, and crucified within sight of the walls, in hopes that this would strike terror into the rest and cause them to capitulate; but instead of this, the war party would drag to the walls any who wished to give themselves up to the Romans, and shew them what they called Roman mercy. As many as five hundred of these poor wretches were caught and crucified in one day. Still the famine increased and more left the city in search of food, and these were caught and crucified until space as well as wood was needed for the crosses.

Titus had now come to the third wall, at a corner of which stood the tower of Antonia which defended the temple. He raised four embankments in different places, and on these were ranged his instruments of warfare. All was ready for a vigorous, and as they hoped final, attack on the walls. The soldiers only waited for the word of command to commence. But suddenly, like an earthquake, the ground moved, then fell in, carrying with it all the embankments and the engines. The Jews had undermined the places where the embankments had been made, then setting fire to the supports, the whole gave way, and all the preparations were in a moment destroyed. The Jews now rushed out in immense numbers with firebrands to burn all they could; and they attacked the Romans so fiercely that these began to waver. Titus, who was absent, returned in time to rally his men, and drive the Jews back into the city; but they left the Romans much dispirited.

Titus called a council to decide what should be done. 1. Should they rush into the city at once? 2. Should they make new engines and go on with the siege? 3. Should they build a wall entirely round the city, and starve the Jews into submission? They concluded on the latter. A wall of nearly four miles was formed, with thirteen towers. By the whole army working it was done in three days.

No sooner was this done than the Romans set to work to make new engines. A portion of the wall soon fell because of being undermined to destroy the engines of the Romans, but when the Romans rushed in they found that a new wall had been made within. But being new this was weak and the tower of Antonia was soon taken. An effort was now made to save the temple. The Jews were asked to depart from it, and it was promised that the Roman soldiers should not defile it. But the leaders had already put to death the priest, and had drunk the wine and food devoted to the temple; and they cared nothing for the building. Josephus appealed to the Jews, and Titus appealed to them: all, except the Jews, were desirous of saving the temple. Titus said, "I call on your gods — I call on my whole army — I call on the Jews who are with me — I call on yourselves, to witness that I do not force you to this crime." It was all of no use; we know, from scripture, that this could not be — its destruction was foretold.

The cloisters of the temple were next attacked and burnt; still the Romans decided to spare the temple itself. August 10th had arrived, the very day on which the temple had previously been destroyed by the king of Babylon. Titus had taken up his quarters in the tower of Antonia, and had retired to rest, resolving to make a general attack on the next day, when a wild cry was raised! a soldier rushed into his chamber crying out that the temple was on fire. After Titus had retired some of the soldiers had attacked the Jews in the cloisters, and one of them seizing a burning brand had been able, by mounting on another's shoulders, to reach a small window. Into this he had thrown the firebrand, and the temple was soon in flames.

Titus hastened to the spot; he shouted to his soldiers to stop the flames, but they either did not or would not hear. Everything was noise and disorder. Many Jews had taken shelter in the temple. These were slain till the blood ran in streams in the building. Titus stood amazed at the magnificence of the interior. The gold reflected the flames and added an awful grandeur to the scene. The holy place was not yet in flames, and Titus made an effort to save it. But it was of no use, he was disobeyed, but God was obeyed. This, too, was destroyed.

Yet one portion remained, in which about 6,000 of the inhabitants had taken refuge, deluded by a false prophet who had said that if they repaired to the temple, God would interfere to save them; whereas Christ, the true prophet, had said that it should be destroyed. This also was burnt, and all perished.

The Roman army entered the temple, and amid the ruins offered sacrifices to their gods, and saluted Titus.

Still the third part of the city remained and three very strong towers; engines were brought to bear, but it was not till the seventh of September — nearly a month after the burning of the temple — that the city was taken. John and Simon, the two leaders living, fled to underground passages in hopes of saving their lives, and the rest, dispirited and starving, offered but little resistance. The soldiers slew all they met with, until they grew weary of the work. After that, only the infirm were killed, and the rest saved. The whole of the city was destroyed except three strong towers which were left as monuments of the siege.

The people that were left were sorted like cattle. The noted insurgents were put to death; the tallest were reserved to form a part of the triumph of Titus when he entered Rome; many were sent to work in the mines; some were sent into the provinces, and were compelled to fight as gladiators, or with wild beasts to amuse the people. It was estimated that in the siege there had been killed no fewer than 1,100,000, and 97,000 had been taken prisoners. The large numbers are accounted for by many having taken refuge in the city because of the desolation taken in the provinces, and because many came to the feast, and could not return.

Thus perished the favoured city of Jerusalem — God's city — but because of the sins of the people, given over to destruction. Christ wept over the city, knowing all that was coming upon it, and knowing how different it would have been had they but listened to their true Messiah.

But with the doom pronounced by our Lord there was one word of hope: it was to be trodden down of the Gentiles until the times of the Gentiles be fulfilled. Then will God again take up His favoured people and they shall rebuild the holy city, and blessing and prosperity shall again visit the holy land.

"Behold the days come, saith the Lord, that I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel, and with the house of Judah . . . . I will put my law in their inward parts, and write it in their hearts and will be their God, and they shall be my people. And they shall teach no more every man his neighbour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord; for they shall all know me, from the least unto the greatest of them, saith the Lord for I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more. . . . . Behold the days come, saith the Lord, that the city shall be built to the Lord . . . . shall be holy unto the Lord it shall not be plucked up, nor thrown down, any more for ever." (Jer. xxii. 31-40.)

A prophecy clearly never yet fulfilled, but one which will be brought about as surely as God is true.

Chapter 3.

Further Persecutions.

One of the leading features of the early history of the church is, as we have seen, persecution. It commenced under Nero. After him, as emperor succeeded emperor, some were mild in their treatment of the Christians and others were the reverse. A good deal, too, depended upon the proconsuls* and the magistrates. Some of these avoided persecution, as far as they could with safety to themselves, while others went as far as their power extended in rooting out the hated disciples of Christ.

{*Those who acted for the consuls; they ruled over provinces.}

Even Gibbon, the historian, shews how unjust the heathen were in accusing the Christians of any and everything that might happen, "If the empire had been afflicted by any recent calamity, by a plague, a famine, or an unsuccessful war; if the Tiber had, or if the Nile had not, risen beyond its banks; if the earth had shaken, or if the temperate order of the season had been interrupted, the superstitious pagans were convinced that the crimes and the impiety of the Christians, who were spared by the excessive lenity of the government, had at length provoked the divine justice."

Still the number of Christians rapidly increased. Our Lord had said He would build His church, against which the gates of hell should not prevail (Matt. xvi. 18); and though Satan had stirred up his servants to fight against that church, it still grew in numbers and spread itself far and wide. As has been often said, "The blood of the martyrs was the seed of the church;" and, if a few were put to death, many seemed to spring out of their ashes.

Letters written at the time of an event are always valuable evidence; persons looking back after a long course of years are apt to view things differently from what they really were. Now there is an interesting letter written by the younger Pliny, proconsul of Pontus and Bithynia, to the emperor Trajan, and the emperor's reply, which will throw light upon these persecutions.

"The following is the method I have pursued," wrote Pliny, "with regard to such as have been brought before me as Christians. I have asked them whether they were really Christians. On their confessing that they were I have questioned them a second and a third time, threatening them with punishment; and on their persevering in the confession, I have commanded them to be led forth, not doubting but that inflexible obstinacy ought to be punished. Nothing can compel those who are really Christians to adore thy image with incense, or to call on the gods, or to curse Christ. This is the sum of their error. They are accustomed to assemble on a stated day before light; to sing a hymn to Christ among themselves by turns; and to bind themselves by an oath to commit no wickedness — neither fraud, nor robbery, nor adultery — and they never violate faith. These things having been done, it is their custom to depart, and assemble again to take meat, but promiscuously and without offence. Many persons of all ages, of all orders, and of either sex even, are placed in peril; for the contagion of this superstition has invaded not only the towns, but even the villages and fields. It is sufficiently evident, indeed, that our temples are almost deserted, that our sacred rites have been for a long time interrupted, and that there is rarely to be found a purchaser of the victims."

To this the emperor Trajan replied, "You have done perfectly right, my dear Pliny, in your proceedings against the Christians who have been brought before you; it being impossible to establish any regular or general form in affairs of this kind. No search should be made after them, but if they are accused and convicted, they must be punished. Should the accused, however, deny that he is a Christian, and prove that he is not by invoking the gods, then let him be pardoned, whatever may have been his former profession." No anonymous accusation was to be received. It would not be right.

These letters are important in many particulars. Notice, in the first place, that Pliny says that refusing to adore the image of the emperor (which image was set up to be worshipped), and to call on the heathen gods, and to refuse to curse Christ, is the sum of their error. No evil is laid to their charge — nothing but refusing to perform acts of idolatry, and to curse the One to whom they looked for salvation. This coming from a heathen, is a strong testimony in favour of Christians of that day.

Next notice that he speaks of their meetings for singing, and to "take meat." This no doubt referred to their taking the Lord's supper, with which were perhaps connected their love-feasts, that were often taken before the Lord's supper, as was the case at Corinth. (1 Cor. xi.) At this time nothing but simplicity and sincerity marked the meetings of the Christians. They were privately accused of wickedness, and many were tortured to induce them to reveal what they did at their private meetings; but after all that could be drawn from them, Pliny is obliged to confess to the simplicity of their meetings.

In the answer of it is plainly stated that to be a Christian was a crime which must be punished. It is also clear that it had been the custom to let persons anonymously accuse the Christians. This was no longer to be allowed, because such a thing would be a disgrace, even to a pagan Roman.

We proceed to give a few instances of those who suffered under various emperors.

Ignatius.

We will first mention Ignatius, of Antioch. He lived in the reign of Trajan, whose letter we have just given. The emperor was passing through Antioch on his way to the Parthian war, in A.D. 106. Ignatius feared for the Christians at Antioch, and thought to save them by appearing personally before the emperor.

The emperor demanded, "Art thou he who, like a bad demon, goeth about violating my commands, and leading men to perdition?"

"Let no one," said Ignatius, "call Theophorus* a bad demon" . . . .

{*Or, "one who carried God."}

"And pray who is Theophorus?"

"He who has Christ in his breast."

"And thinkest thou not, that the gods who fight for us against our enemies, reside in us?"

"You err in calling the demons of the nations gods; for there is only one God, who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is; and one Jesus Christ, His only-begotten Son, whose kingdom is my portion."

"His kingdom, do you mean, who was crucified under Pilate?"

"His who crucified my sin with its author, and has put all the sin and malice of Satan under the feet of those who carry Him in their hearts."

"Dost thou then carry Him who was crucified within thee?"

"I do: for it is written, 'I dwell in them, and walk in them.'"

The emperor cut the matter short by proclaiming: "Since Ignatius confesses that he carries within himself Him that was crucified, we command that he be carried, bound by soldiers, to great Rome, there to be torn by wild beasts, for the entertainment of the people."

He was at once bound and sent on his way to Rome. Staying at Smyrna, he had an interview with Polycarp, bishop of that city. Ignatius also wrote letters to various churches, copies of which are still preserved. In writing to Rome, he begged them not to interfere to stay his execution. "Suffer me," said the aged man, "to become the food of bears and lions: it will afford a very short passage to heaven."

As he approached Rome, a crowd of persons were seen coming from the city. They were Christians, who flocked to meet the aged man. Notwithstanding his letter, they begged of him to let them endeavour to save him; but he steadily refused. The soldiers allowed Ignatius a short time for prayer with his fellow Christians, and to give them a short exhortation. Then he was forthwith led to the amphitheatre. There wild and hungry animals were ready, and the aged man was soon devoured by them; a few fragments of his bones being all that his friends could find of his remains.

Many others shared the same fate as Ignatius in the reign of Trajan. Adrian succeeded Trajan as emperor (A.D. 117), and continued the persecutions until an Apology for the Christians was presented to the emperor by Quadratus a pious and learned man. This was followed by others, which induced the emperor to order the discontinuance of the persecution. We will consider the Apologies presently.

Adrian was succeeded by Antoninus Pius (A.D. 138), who procured for the Christians still greater liberty. He sent the following sensible message to his magistrates. "I am convinced that it is for the gods themselves to take care that men of this kind should not escape; for it is much more fitting that they should punish those who refuse to worship them, than that you should...."

Justin Martyr.

Marcus Aurelius succeeded Antoninus (A.D. 161). Marcus was accounted a philosopher, but he was a persecutor of the Christians. Among those who suffered under him was the well-known Justin Martyr.

Justin was a native of Samaria. He had been early led to study philosophy; but after trying one system and another he found himself dissatisfied with all. Nothing could satisfy the cravings of his active mind. He longed for something above and beyond anything he knew or felt.

In this state he wandered about, lost in meditation, till one day as he strolled along the sea shore, he was arrested by the venerable appearance of an old man. They entered into conversation, and Justin told the old man what he felt and his desire of finding out God. His companion told him of the uselessness of all that the philosophers could teach, and recommended him to study the Hebrew scriptures and the doctrines of Christianity, and to pray for light; for they could be understood only by the help of God and of His Son Jesus Christ. They parted, and never met again. But Justin had new work before him. He read and studied and found what he wanted. He was converted to Christianity, and became a champion for the truths he had learned. He argued with the philosophers, and confuted those in error among the Christians; he also wrote two "Apologies" to the emperors. At length he was seized, and carried before Rusticus the prefect.* He was still dressed as a philosopher, and the prefect asked him what he had studied.

{* From prefectus, one placed over others — a magistrate, or ruler.}

"I have, endeavoured," said Justin, "to learn every sort of knowledge, and have at last embraced the doctrine of Christianity, rejected though it be by those who are in blindness and error."

"What, wretch! you follow that doctrine?"

"Yes, and with joy, because I know it to be true."

"Sacrifice, then, and obey, or I will order you to be tormented without mercy."

"Our only desire is to suffer for the sake of Jesus Christ. ..."

He, with others, was ordered to be scourged, and then beheaded.

The Christians, in the reign of Marcus Aurelius, were persecuted not so much by direct orders of the emperor, as by the cruel industry of the provincial rulers: in some places they carried this to such extremes that he sharply rebuked them, pointing out how much more zealous the Christians were in serving their God, than the heathen were in devotion to theirs, and willingly died for their faith. He prohibited all search for Christians, and enacted penalties against the informers. But he left the laws unrepealed.

Polycarp.

Polycarp had known the apostle John, and is said to have been appointed by him over the Church of Smyrna. He might have been set apart as "elder," for we know that the apostles had authority to appoint such in the churches. (Titus i. 5.)

Irenaeus, writing of Polycarp, says, "I have yet present in my mind the gravity of his demeanour, the majesty of his countenance, the purity of his life, and the holiness of the exhortations with which he fed his flock. I almost think that I can still hear him relating how he had conversed with St. John and many others who had seen Jesus Christ, and repeating the words he had received from their lips, and the accounts they had given him of the Saviour's miracles and doctrines; while his zeal for the purity of the faith was such that, when any error was advocated in his presence, he was wont to close his ears and to retire, exclaiming, "Merciful Lord, for what times hast thou reserved me?"

On persecution breaking out, Polycarp was induced to retire to a small country house, a short distance from Smyrna; but one of his attendants being put to the torture told where Polycarp was. When the soldiers arrived to arrest him he had retired to bed; but he at once arose, and ordered provisions to be provided for the officers. Then he asked for an hour for prayer, but which extended to two. He was now placed on an ass, on account of his age, and conveyed to the city. He was met by a magistrate who knew him, and was invited by him into his carriage. Here Polycarp was exhorted to acknowledge the gods, but on his steadily refusing, he was pushed out of the carriage, and was hurt by the fall.

When before the proconsul, he was pitied on account of his great age, and was exhorted to give way. "Swear, and I will release you: curse Christ."

"Eighty and six years," replied Polycarp, "have I served Him and He has never injured me. How can I blaspheme Him to whom I owe my salvation?"

The proconsul, finding he could not shake the resolution of the accused, declared that Polycarp acknowledged himself to be a Christian.

The multitude thereupon called for his death, naming at first the wild beasts, but as it was not the season for the public games, they cried out for him to be burnt. To this the proconsul consented.

The multitude, among whom were many Jews, says the historian, hastened to collect the fuel and stake and pile were soon prepared. As they were about to nail him to the stake, he assured them that it was unnecessary. He who enabled him to endure the fire would enable him to stand firm. He spent his remaining moments in prayer. On his saying "Amen," the pile was ignited, and the flames rose rapidly but, strange to say, the flames formed a sort of curve around him, his body having the appearance of shining gold and silver, while a sweet smell as of perfume filled the air. This being witnessed by the heathen, they called for him to be killed. He was put to death by the sword, and his blood running in streams put out the fire and left his body unburnt. But lest any superstitious use should be made of his body it was consumed: only a few charred bones remained. Though the above account sounds strange to our ears, it is thus given in the Epistle from the church of Smyrna, by those who witnessed his death — an epistle which is generally considered to be genuine.*

{* It is given by Eusebius, and is entitled "The Church of God at Smyrna to that of Philomelius and to all parts of the holy universal church."}

The persecution continued under the reign of the emperor Marcus until the following circumstance stayed his hand.

The emperor was engaged in war with a people called Quadi, belonging to a portion of Germany, when he found his army placed in a position of great peril, and suffering at the same time from extreme thirst. Many Christians in one of the legions fell on their knees and cried to God for relief. Soon after, a storm of hail and rain beat in the faces of the enemy, and also supplied the fainting army with a means of quenching their thirst. Victory was on the side of the Romans. The Christians believed it was in answer to their prayers, while the heathen thought it was their gods who had favoured them. The emperor however at that time slackened the persecution, though it was renewed afterwards.*

{* Tertullian attributes the leniency of the emperor to the marked answer to the prayer of the Christians. But this is disputed by others, for there were pictures representing the emperor in the attitude of prayer to the gods, and soldiers catching the rain in their helmets. A medal also represents Jupiter launching his thunderbolts against the barbarians. There seems therefore to be evidence that some such event actually took place, and Eusebius says the above account is given by several writers worthy of credit.}

Blandina.

Christianity had spread everywhere under the control of the Romans, and about this time persecution broke out in Lyons and Vienna. Here the heathen were determined enemies of the Christians, treating them with great cruelty and dragging them before the magistrates. A notable instance of fortitude was Blandina, a female slave. She was tortured from morning to night, to make her confess to the evil practices of which Christians were accused. But no cry could they wring from the noble sufferer but "I am a Christian, and no evil is done amongst us." Those who tormented her were obliged to confess their astonishment at her fortitude. She was eventually put into a net and thrown to a wild bull, and thus received martyrdom.

Perpetua.

Severus was made emperor A.D. 193. He is said to have been not unfavourable to the Christians, but was unable to repress the anger of the people. Certain it is that persecution reigned. At Carthage in A.D. 204, four were seized and cast into prison, among them was a lady named Vivia Perpetua. She wrote an account of her own sufferings. To add to her trials, her father, who fondly loved her, came again and again to her prison and entreated her to save herself by calling on the gods, but through the power of God she remained firm. Perpetua had an infant at her breast, which was a source of comfort to her in prison; but nothing touched the hearts of her persecutors.

At length she was brought before the judge. Her father appeared in court to make another effort to save her. Even the judge was moved at the scene. "Spare the old age of your father, and the helplessness of your infant," said he; "sacrifice for the prosperity of the emperor."

"I will do nothing of that kind," she said.

"Are you a Christian?"

"I am."

Her father was almost beside himself. He tried to drag her away, until the judge ordered him out of court. She was condemned.

The night before she and her companions suffered they had a love feast in the prison, at which some other Christians were allowed to be present. On the following day they were led to the amphitheatre. The men were attacked by bears and a leopard. Perpetua and Felicitas (a christian slave) were placed in nets and exposed to a wild cow. By this they were attacked and wounded, but not killed. The spectators called for their death, and this was effected by the swords of the gladiators.

These are but examples of the many who suffered during the reign of Severus. After his death, during the reigns of several emperors, for twenty-four years the Christians had comparative peace. But before looking at the last of the persecutions, we must refer to some other matters of interest.

Chapter 4.

The Apostolic Fathers.

Great respect has constantly been shewn to the so-called fathers of the church, and to their writings, especially to the apostolic fathers. Naturally we might think that those who had the privilege of intercourse with the apostles would themselves be well instructed in the truth. But we doubt not that God allowed that there should be a deep, dark line of distinction between writings that were inspired and those that were not. And this we find to be the case, so that no one should be mistaken as to which is scripture and which is not. This difference is gathered from internal evidence, too plain to be mistaken; for indeed, external evidence might otherwise have led us astray, seeing that in the ancient Greek manuscripts some of these writings were placed along with the inspired books, and were in early days read in the meetings of Christians.*

{*There is no complete manuscript of the New Testament in uncial characters (the most ancient) that does not contain some of these writings. Thus the Codex Sinaiticus contains the Epistle of Barnabas, and part of the Shepherd of Hermas. The Codex Alexandrinus has the First Epistle of Clement and a portion of the Second Epistle. Codex Claromontanus contains the Epistle of Barnabas, Shepherd of Hermas, and the Apocalypse of Peter.}

Clement. Eusebius says Clement was "the friend of St. Paul," and wrote two Epistles to the Corinthians. They are therein warned of their disorders and strife, and earnest appeals are made to their heart and conscience. Yet the fabulous stories introduced mark them at once as uninspired, and the fanciful use made of the Old Testament makes them very untrustworthy. For instance, he gives the story of the phoenix, which was supposed to build its nest of frankincense and other spices, in which it enters and dies; but as it dies, a certain kind of worm is produced, which, being nourished by the juices of the dead bird, brings forth feathers. It takes up the nest, and flies to the city of Heliopolis, and places it on the altar of the sun, just five hundred years after the birth of the former bird. This is related with all seriousness as a fact, and is called a wonderful figure of the resurrection! As to quoting the Old Testament, when speaking of bishops and deacons he adds: "For thus saith the scripture in a certain place, 'I will appoint their bishops [or, overseers] in righteousness, and their deacons [or, servants] in faith.'" This is from Isaiah lx. 17, but altered by Clement. In the Septuagint it reads, "I will give thy rulers in peace, and thy overseers in righteousness;" and refers to Jerusalem, and not to the church. These are in the First Epistle.

The Second Epistle of Clement is not now believed to have been written by him.

Polycarp. Irenaeus was a disciple of Polycarp. He says that "Polycarp was instructed by the apostles, and was brought into contact with many who had seen Christ." He is called the bishop of Smyrna. We have already given an account of his martyrdom. He wrote an Epistle to the Philippians, which is mostly exhortations, and abounds with quotations from the Apostolic Epistles; but in one place he quotes the Apocrypha: "When you can do good, defer it not, because 'alms deliver from death.'" (Tobit.) This stamps it at once as uninspired: alms do not deliver from death.

Barnabas. There is an Epistle bearing the name of Barnabas. Clement of Alexandria, who died about A.D. 213, is the first to say it is the same Barnabas that was a companion of Paul. Eusebius calls it "spurious," though it was read in the churches. One MS. entitles it "Epistle of Barnabas the apostle." There is no other Barnabas spoken of in the early writings, and yet from the contents it is not believed to be by the companion of Paul. It is not known to whom it was addressed. Some of its interpretations of scripture are foolish in the extreme, and several times it professes to give quotations from scripture which are nowhere to be found in the word of God.

Ignatius. There are, bearing his name, Epistles — 1, to the Ephesians; 2, to the Magnesians; 3, to the Trallians; 4, to the Romans; 5, to the Philadelphians; 6, to the Smyrnaeans; and 7, an Epistle to Polycarp. Of all these there are longer and shorter copies; and of those to the Ephesians, to the Romans, and to Polycarp, Syriac copies have been discovered, differing from both the long and the short. The whole shews how shamefully the writings have been tampered with, so that no one knows really what Ignatius wrote. Some consider the short epistles in the Syriac copies as most likely to be genuine. We have elsewhere quoted these Epistles on the subject of the place and power to be given to the bishop. Besides the above, there are several others (one to the Virgin Mary) undoubtedly spurious.

Hermas is said to be the Hermas mentioned by Paul in the Epistle to the Romans (but this is really very doubtful), and said to have written a treatise called the "Shepherd of Hermas." It was so highly esteemed by many that it was judged to be inspired. Irenaeus quotes it as scripture; Clemens Alexandrinus and Origen as "divine," and it was read in the churches. It is a sort of allegory, and has often been compared with Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress." But some of it is really foolish, and some scarcely decent.*

{*Besides the above, there are a number of apocryphal writings: about a score of different "Gospels," a dozen "Acts," several "Epistles," and four or five "Revelations." — Our Father's Will, p. 157.}

Thus we see, get as near as we can to the inspired writers, there is not a single thing that can be trusted. Though this is indeed sad, yet it is well that we are thrown entirely upon that which is the word of God. This can be trusted, and it is complete, and thank God is entirely sufficient for all we can need. How unwise then to confide in the fathers, or to think that because they were near to the time of the apostles they may be trusted in the interpretation of scripture. It is not so; for if we leave scripture, we at once enter upon that which is dubious if not darkness itself.

Chapter 5.

Attacks on Christianity and the Apologies.

We have already looked at various things that may have operated on the minds of the pagans, as reasons why the Christians should be persecuted, and why Christianity should be stamped out as far as man could do it.

But besides the dislike to Christianity which existed in those who gave the supremacy to the laws of the state, and besides the hatred indulged in by the mass of the people, surrounded with all the show of their pagan worship, which contributed to their lusts, if it did not satisfy their consciences — there was quite a distinct class of opposers, namely, the philosophers.

There had been many systems of philosophy, each supposed to be something in advance of its forerunners. We see from the short account given in Acts xvii., the curiosity of the philosophers at Athens as to the new religion Paul preached. "What will this babbler say?" they exclaimed: "he seemeth to be a setter forth of strange gods, because he preached unto them Jesus and the resurrection." Nevertheless, they would give him a hearing in their own court. But when he had spoken to them of the true God, and had called upon them to repent; for there was a judgment day appointed, when the Man whom God had raised from the dead should judge the world in righteousness — some mocked at the very idea of a resurrection, and others said they would hear him again another time.

This is not really to be wondered at, for God Himself had declared that Christ crucified was to the Greeks — the wise men of the earth — foolishness: something altogether contrary to their notions of what a religion suitable to a reasoning man ought to be. But it is interesting to see the form which the opposition towards the great plan of salvation by God through the Lord Jesus Christ took with some of these wise men in the early days of the church.

Let us look first at CELSUS.* He objected to Christians because they made so little of human reason. He said they were ever repeating, "Do not examine, only believe: thy faith will make thee blessed." This is a false way of speaking of Christianity. It fears no examination; but since God has spoken we are expected to believe, and receive His word because He has spoken, not because it falls in with our ideas of right and wrong, which, as we know, are often very faulty.

{* Of this Celsus nothing is known, except that he wrote a book against Christianity, called "A True Discourse," about A.D. 177, which Origen answered.}

Again, he said, in all other religions, that one is invited who is "free from all stains, who is conscious of no wickedness, who has lived a good and upright life:" whereas in Christianity, the call was to "Whosoever is a sinner, whoever is foolish, unlettered, in a word, whoever is wretched — him will the kingdom of heaven receive." Yes, blessed be God, whosoever will is invited to partake of the water of life freely. Poor Celsus knew nothing of the fall of man, and that there was indeed not "a sinless man" upon the earth to be invited.

He seemed to see that a real moral change was needed in man, but he had no idea of the transforming power of Christianity. Thus he said, "It is manifest to every one, that it lies within no one's power to produce, even by punishment to say nothing of mercy, an entire change in a person to whom sin has become a second nature, for to effect a complete change of nature is the most difficult of things; but the sinless are the safer companions of life." No, it cannot be produced by man; he must be born again: there must be a new creation ere man can be raised out of his fallen condition. But this, and much more, is found in the remedy God has graciously provided, had men but eyes to see it.

Unhappily the philosopher had one objection that was too true: it was the division of the saints into sects. "In the outset," he says, "when the Christians were few in number, they may perhaps have agreed among themselves, but as their numbers increased they separated into parties, mutually attacking and refuting each other, and retaining nothing in common but their name, if indeed they did that." If this could be truly said by an opponent in the second century, alas, how it has increased in this our day!

Thus much for Celsus. We have only picked out what was decently consistent in a poor fallen man using his reason. Alas for him, his philosophy did not stop here, but extended to scoffs and opposition to Christ, His Person, and His work, raking up all that was offensive from scoffing Jews and blaspheming enemies.

Another of the philosophers who wrote against Christianity was Porphyry.* In one work he took great pains to collect all the apparent discrepancies in scripture, especially the differences in the Gospels. Christians had often put allegorical interpretations on parts of the Old Testament, to shew that the Old agreed with the New. This seemed to give Porphyry a handle, to say how different the two must be in order to need such fanciful interpretations. This is a point well worthy of attention, for many a Christian has unwisely placed a weapon in the hands of opponents by giving a false interpretation to scripture.

{* A Greek philosopher who, when very young, was under the instruction of Origen, and, as some say, professed Christianity, but apostatised because of ill-treatment by the Christians. He became a violent opponent. Born A.D. 233.}

Another curious work of Porphyry was the judging of Christians by the replies given by the heathen oracles, which were supposed to be direct answers from their gods. Perhaps the reader will be interested in a short account of these oracles.

The Oracle of Delphi.

The oracle at Delphi was one of the most renowned. A smoke, doubtless accompanied by a gas, issued from the ground. It is reported that this was discovered by some shepherds in the neighbourhood, who found that if a sheep wandered too near to the spot, it fell into convulsions. Well, in some way this came to be regarded as a means by which the gods might be communicated with. A temple was erected over the spot, with attendant priests or prophets, and a woman, through whom the god was supposed to communicate his mind. A seat on three legs was set over the place where the smoke arose, and the Pytha, as the woman was called, sat on this seat, and when she was more or less overcome by the fumes, gave her answer to the question asked. She prepared herself by fasting three days, and bathing herself in a particular well. She burnt laurel leaves and flour of barley on the altar. Those who consulted the oracle had also to offer up an animal to Apollo.

Such was the faith placed in the above and other oracles, that the heathen would never enter on any important undertaking without consulting the oracles. We can hardly wonder then that when a new religion was being pressed upon them they should consult their gods in this way.

There were many other oracles besides the one at Delphi, and other ways of ascertaining the will of their gods, such as examining the entrails of the animals slain in sacrifice.* From the passage in Acts xvi. 16, it would also appear that persons were similarly employed, apart from any temple or sacrifice. And it is remarkable that the female slave mentioned in this passage bears the same name, or very nearly, as the prophetess at Delphi — Pithon or Pitha. (See margin.)

{* We shall see an instance of this further on.}

Many of the answers given were very vague, leaving the person who asked the question quite in the dark as to whether the advice of the god was favourable or not. But other answers were quite plain, and led to important results, altogether apart from their being prophecies in any sense of the word. Various theories have been raised as to from whom the answers really came.

We can come to no other conclusion than that the prophetess spoke either as simply dictated by her own sense, or by judging of the wishes of the questioner; or by the direct agency of Satan himself. In the case recorded in the Acts, there can be no question that the damsel was possessed by a demon; and when he was cast out, all her powers of soothsaying came to nothing, as her owners soon saw. And again, the apostle Paul declares that the things the Gentiles offered they sacrificed to demons, and not to God. So there can be little doubt but that the oracles, where there was anything more than the cunning craftiness of man, were under the immediate control of Satan.

Still the, poor heathen thought he was consulting his god — we believe he was consulting Satan; but let us see a few of the replies given touching Christianity. It was not an unfrequent occurrence that a wife was converted to Christianity before the husband, and in one case a husband consulted the oracle as to what god he should propitiate in order to get his wife to abandon her religion. The answer is recorded to be, "that he might sooner write on the flowing stream, or fly on the empty air, than change the mind of his wife after she had once become impure and godless;" adding a most irreverent expression, that he was to let her alone to lament her God who had died, profanely alluding to the death of Christ.

Another question was, whether the judges who condemned Christ did right or wrong. The answer was they did right in condemning Him as a revolter against Judaism: "for the Jews acknowledged God at least more than the Christians." This was a common thought with the heathen, because the Christians believed in Christ, whom they accounted to be only a man.

At another time the question was, why Christ had suffered death, when the reply was, "To be subject to the weaker sufferings is always the lot of the body, but the soul of the pious rises to the fields of heaven." An answer that might at first sight seem to be not unfavourable; but in reality it is so, because it refers His death to mere human suffering common to man, in direct opposition to His death being sacrificial.

Hierocles* was another who wrote against the Christians, in a book entitled "Words to the Christians from a lover of truth." But it is simply an attack on Christianity, repeating much that had been said by Celsus and Porphyry. He especially attacked the miracles of Christ, and declared that they were no proofs that He was God; for one named Apollonius had also done works of the same sort, and the Greeks did not consider him to be a god on that account, but only a man particularly beloved by the gods. And many such assertions are based on tradition.

{*A Roman proconsul in the time of Diocletian, born about 275. He is said to have urged the Emperor to persecute the Christians.}

Such then were some of the early attacks upon Christianity by heathen philosophers. In modern times the very same objections have been urged, not indeed by philosophers, but by sceptics and infidels. Thank God, Christianity stands upon such a basis that none of these efforts of poor fallen man can in any way affect it, though they may (alas!) stumble and injure those who prefer to listen to man rather than to God.

Let us now see how the Christians defended Christianity.

The Apologies.

During the persecutions of the church by the pagans, several addresses were written to the emperor and the Roman people in defence of Christianity. These have been called "Apologies," not of course in the sense of excuses for Christianity, but to let the pagans know somewhat of Christianity, and to defend the Christians against the false accusations constantly raised against them. Apology originally meant a defence.

The three principal charges against the Christians were: —

1. That they were atheists, because they had no gods made by man, and because they would pay no respect to the gods the pagans worshipped.

2. That they ate their own children.

3. That at their private meetings gross immoralities were practised.

It is easy to see, as we have seen, that the Romans with the multitude of gods they could behold, could not understand how the Christians could worship an unseen God. The other two were pure calumnies and had simply to be denied.

In these Apologies, the first thing that strikes one is their length, which makes one wonder whether the emperors ever read them. Perhaps the earliest handed down to us is that of —

Justin Martyr. His first Apology, in an English translation, occupies more than sixty pages of print. He is supposed to have had before him three subjects, namely: —

That christian doctrines are true, and are to be received, not on account of their resemblance to the sentiments of poets or philosophers, but on their own account. He quotes many passages of scripture to shew the purity of the christian doctrines.

That Jesus Christ is the incarnate Son of God and our Teacher. He quotes many of the prophecies respecting our Lord, and shews how they were truly fulfilled.

That before the incarnation of Christ the demons, having some knowledge of what He would accomplish, enabled the heathen poets and priests in some points to anticipate, though in a distorted form, the facts of the incarnation. This is the most curious part of the Apology. He says that the pagan poets spoke of the sons of Jupiter, and that certain of them ascended to, and descended from, heaven. And after our Lord had appeared, Satan enabled others to do wonderful things, that they might be on a level with Christ. Thus Justin speaks of one Simon, who did such wonderful things at Rome, before the senate and people, that they accounted him to be a god, and honoured him as such. We shall have occasion to quote from this Apology on the forms of worship, etc.

This Apology was addressed to Antoninus Pius. We know not what effect it had on the emperor. He did not persecute the Christians himself, but in parts of Asia the persecution continued; and he himself wrote thus to the Common Council of Asia concerning the persecution: "I am clearly of opinion, that the gods will take care to discover such persons as those to whom you refer. For it much more concerns them to punish those who refuse to worship them, than you, if they be able. But you harass and vex the Christians, and accuse them of Atheism and other crimes, which you can by no means prove. To them it appears to be an advantage to die for their religion, and they gain their point, while they throw away their lives rather than comply with your injunctions. As to the earthquakes, which have happened in times past or more recently, is it not proper to remind you of your own despondency when they happen; and to desire you to compare your spirit with theirs, and observe how serenely they confide in God?"

No one was to be molested unless he attempted "something against the Roman government." If any person accused another merely as a Christian, the accuser was to be punished, and the Christian to be acquitted. Thus God, in His providence, caused a heathen emperor to defend the Christians. It is strange that such a man should not have embraced Christianity when he could say, that the gods would defend themselves if they were able.

Minucius Felix also wrote an Apology, but in the shape of a dialogue between a heathen and a Christian, while another sits as judge. This writer had been a Roman orator, and his work is described as eloquent and elegant. An extract or two will give an idea of how he handled the subject of Atheism. He admitted that the Christians did despise the gods: "The mice," said he, "the swallows, and the bats, gnaw, insult, and sit on your gods, and unless you drive them away they build their nests in their mouths: the spiders weave their webs over their faces. You first make them, then clean, wipe, and protect them, that you may fear and worship them. Should we view all your rites, there are many things which justly deserved to be laughed at; others call for pity and compassion."

On the other hand, the God of the Christians is thus spoken of: "When you lift up your eyes to heaven, and survey the works of creation around you, what is so clear and undeniable as that there is a God, supremely excellent in understanding, who inspires, moves, supports and governs all nature? Consider the vast expanse of heaven and the rapidity of its motion either when studded by the stars by night or enlightened with the sun by day: contemplate the almighty hand which poises them in their orbs and balances them in their movements." He then speaks of the sun and the moon, the light and the darkness, and the beautiful order of the seasons; the sea also with its ebb and flow, the fountains and rivers running into the ocean. Then of the animal world, each creature suited to its sphere, and lastly of the beautiful structure of man — all proclaim a divine Author, and that Author is the God of the Christians.

Athenagoras had been a heathen philosopher and purposed to write against the Christians, and that he might the better carry out his purpose he began to examine the books of the Christians — the scriptures. In doing this, God opened his eyes, and instead of attacking the Christians, he defended them in an Apology addressed to Marcus Aurelius. He makes ample reference to the heathen philosophers and poets. "Why should you be offended at our very name?" said he: "the bare name does not deserve your hatred: it is wickedness alone that deserves punishment. If we are convicted of any crime, less or more, let us be punished, but not merely for the name of a Christian; for no Christian can be a bad man unless he acts contrary to his profession."

In another part, contrasting the conduct of the Christians with that of the heathen, he says: "Among us you will find uneducated persons, and artisans, and old women, who, if they are unable in words to prove the benefit of their doctrine, yet by their deeds they exhibit the benefit arising from their persuasion of its truth: they do not rehearse speeches, but exhibit good works; when struck they do not strike again; when robbed, they do not go to law; they give to those that ask of them, and love their neighbours as themselves."

Tertullian also wrote an Apology about A.D. 198. He ends it with "Do your worst, and rack your inventions for tortures for Christians. It is all to no purpose; you do but attract the notice of the world, and make it fall the more in love with our religion. The more you mow us down, the thicker we spring up. The christian blood you spill is like the seed you sow: it springs from the earth again and fructifies the more. That which you reproach in us as stubbornness, has been the most instructive mistress in proselyting the world; for who has not been struck with the sight of what you call stubbornness, and from thence were prompted to look into the reality and ground of it? And who ever looked well into our religion that did not embrace it? and who ever embraced it that was not ready to die for it? For this reason it is that we thank you for condemning us, because there is such a happy variance and disagreement between the divine and human judgment, that when you condemn us upon earth, God absolves us in heaven."

Tertullian was presbyter of a church in Carthage, and wrote several other works. One against Marcion the heretic is quite a volume, with a constant reference to scripture. Some of his other writings are, however, unimportant.

By means of these Apologies the emperors had the truths of Christianity more or less plainly put before them, and this makes it the more manifest that the work of persecution was of Satan, as indeed our Lord had foretold when speaking of this phase of the church's history: "The devil shall cast some of you into prison," etc. (Rev. ii. 10.) But, blessed be His name, the faithful should have a "crown of life."

Chapter 6.

The Catacombs.

In considering the early history of the church, we must not omit to mention the catacombs. These were formed at various places, but those at Rome were the most extensive. The name is supposed to have been derived from two Greek words kata, kumbos, a hollow or recess,

In the neighbourhood of Rome there are entrances to a number of long passages underground. These extend for many miles in various directions. It was generally believed that these passages were originally formed by the removal of stone and sand for the building of the city of Rome.

A good deal of the stone was called tufa litoide, sufficiently hard for building purposes. Large blocks of this were easily cut out by the miners, and as they proceeded they formed the miles of passages which exist in the catacombs.

There was also a species of rough sand, called pozzolana pura, which made a very enduring cement, when crushed and mixed in water with pounded shells or lime. This was also valuable for building purposes.

As the miners worked gradually downwards they would, by an inclined plane, get below the passage they had already formed, and then by turning to right or left (guided perhaps by the seams of stone or sand they were seeking for) they would work their way underneath the first passage they had made. In places they would again descend until a third passage was formed.

This, for a long time, was thought to be the origin of the catacombs; but modern researches seem to shew that, while in a few places old quarries were used for burial places, the principal part of the catacombs was the sole work of the Christians themselves. This seems evident by the different formation of the galleries, and by most of them being cut in a third description of material, tufa granolare, unfit for building purposes; though, on the other hand, it is difficult to see how such an immense amount of material could have been disposed of if not used in building. Some of these galleries made by the Christians were near those made by the miners, and this was often of great use to the Christians. They blocked up the entrance to their own, and made a way into those of the miners, so that they could enter without arousing suspicion; and the entrances being at various distances from the city, persons, by appearing to journey into the country, could take food to those who had taken shelter therein.

In some places the Christians cut away the walls of the passages, and made a crypt or vault. Here underground they could hold their meetings for worship unmolested.

The principal use made of the catacombs was for the burial of the dead. A hole was dug in the wall, and the body placed therein, as on a shelf; slabs of stone covered the entrance, while a tablet told who was buried there.

In later times, long after persecution had ceased, the catacombs seem to have been forgotten. The Christians no longer needed to hide themselves, nor to bury their dead there. Some of the entrances got blocked up by the earth falling, and all interest in them died out. Thus for some six hundred years the catacombs remained undisturbed and indeed unknown.

But in the year 1578, considerable excitement was caused by the discovery of the catacombs, and they began to be explored, and interest was taken in everything found in them. The tablets on the tombs were cut from the walls and brought to light. Some of them were secured by private persons, but a great number were preserved, and are exhibited to this day in a long gallery in the Vatican at Rome.

It is very strange that the Roman Catholics do not see that these early memorials, though silent, are a strong witness against themselves. In those simple memorials there is no mention of prayers for the dead, and no mention of the Virgin Mary. But instead of this there is a constant mention of Christ, and of Him alone as Saviour or Patron. Those who are buried are said to "sleep in Christ," "they rest in peace," "in peace and in Christ," etc.

A monogram very commonly found on the tablets taken from the catacombs, is meant to point out the name of Christ. It is formed of the first two letters of the name in Greek, CHRISTOS. The above symbol was supposed to have been first used by Constantine about A.D. 312; but as it is often found on the tablets from the catacombs, it is doubtful whether it did not exist long before, and he simply adopted it.

Many other symbols and monograms were found on the tablets. Perhaps one of the most curious is the symbol of a fish. It is thus explained. In Greek the word would be ICTHUS, and this word is supposed to represent (by containing the initials of) Jesus Christos Theou Hios Soter: Jesus Christ, Son of God, the Saviour. It was thought that such a symbol would never be understood by their persecutors. Believers could use it while they lived as a symbol that they were Christians, and have it engraved on their tombs when they died.

The dates, when there are any, are determined by the names of the consuls of Rome:* thus an inscription runs thus, "Aurelia, our sweetest daughter, who departed from the world, Severus and Quintinus being consuls. She lived fifteen years and four months." This would mark the date to be A.D. 235. The dates fixed by this means for these Christian burials, extend from A.D. 98 to A.D. 400, though there may have been some earlier than A.D. 98, for numbers of tombs bear no dates. During these years there would be buried in the catacombs many thousands of Christians.

{* Two consuls were appointed in Rome yearly. A record of them was carefully preserved; so that by naming the consuls of the year in which any event took place, the year can always be ascertained.}

The catacombs, though robbed of their tablets, have excited the curiosity of modern travellers. One gives the following description: "These entrances are mostly low and dark: beyond them you see one or more long, low, dark aisles, the great length of which is concealed in the obscurity which envelops every object at the distance of a few paces from the torches and lanterns which you and your guides may carry. Nothing can well be more solemn than this subterranean gloom, and the effect produced by the objects brought to light as you advance. The yawning tombs on either side of you, and before and behind you — skulls, skeletons, crosses! Nothing is here but speaks of persecution or death. The entire length of few of these aisles is known for, as a measure of precaution, many have been closed by stone walls while others are so blocked up by rubbish and fallen blocks of pozzolana, that the boldest explorer is compelled to halt. At irregular distances, and usually on both sides of the main aisles, narrow passages branch off, leading to other crypts. Mostly these passages strike off at right angles, but they seldom run far in a right line, while many of them become very tortuous. Many of these passages are now wholly blocked up, while others are so encumbered with rubbish that in order to get through them, the explorer must crawl on his hands and knees. The difficulty of finding one's way in such a labyrinth, without a guide, may be easily comprehended. . . . In most of the catacombs there are crypts, galleries, or passages underneath those which you first enter . . an involuntary descent is sometimes obtained by careless travellers through holes which have been made by the falling in of the tufo flooring. . . . The awful silence of these deep cavities more than ever adds horror to the darkness There is nothing down here that has life — not so much as a fly, or the minutest insect is to be found. If there exist any objects at all, they are mournful mementos of man's mortality — skulls, bones, broken epitaphs, or graves closed up with slabs, bearing the symbols of death and of martyrdom, or empty and open, and, as it were, yawning for fresh tenants."*

{* Macfarlane.}

Thus the catacombs form an interesting chapter of early Christianity places where they could bury their dead without any of the heathen ceremonies, and to which they could fly for temporary safety when violent persecution broke out. Many prayers must have ascended to heaven from those dark passages, and much precious dust lies buried there, waiting for that glad morn when the voice of the archangel and the trump of God shall call the sleeping saints to rise, and, with those who shall be alive at that time, to meet their Lord, and be with Him and like Him for ever!

Chapter 7.

Miracles and Signs.

Our Lord said to His apostles after His resurrection, in sending them forth to preach the gospel, "These signs shall follow them that believe: In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover." (Mark xvi. 17, 18.) It is an interesting question as to how long these signs were continued in the church, or were they confined to the apostles and their immediate successors

If we give credit to some historians, miracles have always been found in the church, from the apostles downwards, and have been wrought in various ways: at first, by the direct agency of the living saints; but afterwards by means of their bones and relics; by the consecrated bread of the Eucharist; and even by pictures and images! One is tempted to turn away from all such records with disdain. Our Lord did not promise that such wonders should be wrought by means of dead men's bones, much less by images and pictures; besides which we cannot shut our eyes to the exposure, in modern times, of the tricks by which many a professed miracle was wrought, and this too in that which professes to be the church of God.

The question remains, are there any reliable records of miracles and signs in the early church? Perhaps that which is most prominent is the casting out of demons. But even here we must be on our guard, because it came to be believed that every one, child or adult, belonged to the devil, if not actually possessed, so that before they were baptised they were exorcised. But let us see what the early writers say on the subject.

Justin Martyr says the name of "Jesus" was powerful for the destruction of the demons. He thus appealed to the Romans: "Now you can learn this from what is under your own observation. For numberless demoniacs throughout the whole world, and in your city, many of our christian men exorcising them in the name of Jesus Christ, who was crucified under Pontius Pilate, have healed and do heal, rendering helpless and driving the possessing devils out of the men, though they could not be cured by all the other exorcists, and those who used incantations and drugs."*

{* Second Apology, vi.}

Now this plainly speaks of driving out demons, and the Roman Senate is asked to judge of the reality of the profession by facts occurring all around. There seems here no room to doubt that such things were actually being done; and it does not say by bishops or presbyters, but by "many christian men."

Irenaeus gives us a much fuller list of what was being done in his day: "Some do certainly and truly drive out devils, so that those who have thus been cleansed from evil spirits frequently both believe and join themselves to the church. Others have foreknowledge of things to come: they see visions, and utter prophetic expressions. Others still heal the sick by laying their hands upon them, and they are made whole. Yea, moreover, as I have said, the dead even have been raised up, and remained among us for many years. . . . As she [the church] has received freely from God, freely also does she minister. Nor does she perform any thing by means of angelic invocations, or by incantations, or by any other wicked curious acts; but, directing her prayers to the Lord who made all things, in a pure, sincere, and straightforward spirit, and calling upon the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, she has been accustomed to work miracles for the advantage of mankind, and not to lead them into error."*

{* Against Heresies, ii. 32, 4.}

Here again the words are plain, and the works of power are wrought by a direct appeal to the Lord Himself. It will also be seen how exactly the curing of the sick agrees with the means above named in the passage from Mark, namely, by the laying on of hands.

Tertullian also appeals to known facts concerning the cure of some: The clerk of one of the advocates, "who was liable to be thrown upon the ground by an evil spirit, was set free from his affliction; as was the relative of another, and the little boy of a third. And how many men of rank, to say nothing of common people, have been delivered from devils, and healed of diseases!"*

{*To Scapula, 4.}

Again, in his Apology (23), he appeals to the emperor thus: "Place some assuredly possessed person before your tribunals; a follower of Christ shall command that spirit to speak, who shall as surely confess himself to be a demon as elsewhere he will falsely call himself a god."

We can hardly suppose that this writer would thus appeal publicly to cases known to those frequenting the courts, and even ask for some case to be brought before the tribunal, that the question might be publicly tested, if such things did not exist.

It is further to be noticed that these writers do not speak of such things being done by any one or more privileged persons, but apparently by Christians generally; and this the better agrees with the quotation from Mark, that the signs should "follow them that believe."

As we might suppose, Satan was busy in both opposing and counterfeiting the working of miracles. Thus he had agents to oppose the truth, such as the "sorcerer" we read of in Acts xiii., who sought to turn away the proconsul from the faith. So, later on in the early church, he had those who were supposed to be able to work miracles, and who used their influence to lead men astray. Simon Magus and others professed to work wonders, and one writer tells of a woman who professed to be inspired by the Holy Spirit. She fell into ecstasies and pretended to prophesy, and did wonderful things. But it is related that a Christian exorcised her, and then it was shewn that she was an agent of Satan.

Later on in the church there were those called "exorcists." The Apostolic Constitutions* say (viii. 26) such need not be ordained: "for he who has received the gift of healing is declared by revelation from God, the grace which is in him being manifest to all. But if there be the occasion, let him be ordained a bishop, or a presbyter, or a deacon." And the first council of Constantinople (A.D. 336) shews that exorcism was nominally practised where there was no question of persons being possessed: thus speaking of heretics, it says they must be received as non-Christians, and goes on to say, "the first day we make them Christians; the second, catechumens; then the third, we exorcise them, after breathing thrice upon the face and ears, and so we catechise them, and cause them to stay in the church and hear the scriptures; and then we baptise them."

{*The date of this work is much disputed, varying from the third to the sixth century; it is in nowise apostolic.}

Thus we see that "exorcism" came to have quite a different application — as if to keep up the name after the power of casting out demons was gone. And it is evident that the working of miracles did not continue long in the church; indeed, later on, it is claimed only for some specially holy man — mostly a recluse — and from this it descended in still later times, as we have seen, to the bones and other relics of the saints, and even to pictures and images! Thus, alas, everything committed to man fails because of his unfaithfulness; but instead of owning his failure, he will do his best to keep up the name without the power; and this even after the necessity for the gifts named has passed away.

Chapter 8.

Offices in the Early Church.

As we shall be compelled to use various ecclesiastical titles, it will be well to see how far they have been obtained from scripture.

The term "bishop" occurs constantly in all histories of the church, simply because some were so called, and there is no other word that can well be substituted. The same title also occurs in the authorised version of the New Testament. We want to see how far they agree.

In the scriptures it is plain that the "bishops" and "elders" were one and the same. Paul had left Titus to appoint elders (presbyters), in every city, if any were blameless, etc.; for a bishop must be blameless, etc. (Titus i. 5-7.) He was one who took the oversight of an assembly, or there were more than one appointed — elders — some for ruling, and some for ministering in the word. (1 Tim. v. 17.) But there is no thought in scripture of these having any authority over districts.

Neither do we find such in the early church. As one has said: "Let none confound the bishops of this primitive and golden period of the church with those of whom we read in following ages. For though they were both designated by the same name, yet they differed extremely in many respects. A bishop during the first and second centuries was a person who had the care of one christian assembly, which, at that time, was, generally speaking, small enough to be contained in a private house."* It was not till much later that bishops had control over districts, with inferior clergy under them, and at length also with others superior to them.

{* Mosheim.}

In the first epistle of Clement to the Corinthians, we find the title "elder" or "presbyter" and "bishop" used indiscriminately. Others of the early fathers prove that these terms were used of the same person.

As we have seen, there were elders (in the plural) appointed in a city, and some were gifted to rule, and others to minister in the word. We can easily understand that one of the two, or more may have taken a prominent place and become a sort of "president," to use an expression given by Justin Martyr,* and then that one to be called 'bishop' in distinction from the presbyters and deacons, that we read of in the epistles of Ignatius.

{*proestos is the word used: it does not occur in the New Testament.}

Still in the epistles bearing the name of Ignatius, the bishop seemed to be over the church in a city, though even there an undue reverence is claimed for the several officers. Thus he says: "It is evident we ought to look upon the bishop as the Lord Himself." (Ep. to the Ephesians vi.)

"Let all reverence the deacons as Jesus Christ; and the bishop as the Father; and the presbyters as the sanhedrim of God and college of the apostles. Without these there is no church." (Ep. to the Trallians, iii.)

"All of you follow the bishop, as Jesus Christ the Father; and the presbytery as the apostles; honour the deacon as the commandment of God . . . let that eucharist be considered valid which is celebrated by the bishop, or by him whom he has permitted. It is not lawful without the bishop either to baptise or to celebrate a love feast." (Ep. to the Smyrneans, viii.)

Now though these extracts may not have been written by Ignatius (for it is a much disputed point, and in the Syriac copy of the Epistle to the Ephesians the above passage does not occur: of the other epistles, though there are shorter and longer versions, no Syriac copy has yet been discovered) they shew what was creeping into the church when these epistles were put forth by some one — somewhat later than Ignatius (died A.D. l07). But even in the Syriac copy, which is believed to be by Ignatius, these words occur: "Look to the bishop, that God also may look upon you. I will be instead of the souls of those who are subject to the bishop, and the presbyters, and the deacons: with them may I have a portion in the presence of God."

The next step would be that as Christianity extended to the districts around a city, if any dispute arose, appeal would be made to the presbytery of the city, when, if one of these had assumed a separate place of bishop, he would be brought into prominence, and by degrees would obtain influence over a district. Then later on there were several bishops in a province, and when any important matters arose a synod of the bishops would be called, and one would preside. The bishop of the chief city or district generally presided, and he was eventually called Metropolitan. This again was followed by the appointment of archbishops or patriarchs.

In this early stage of the church "Apostolic Succession" was not known. It is true that Paul empowered Titus to ordain elders in every city, but there is not a word that this authority for ordination was afterwards to be continued, and without authority there could not be the same appointment. Men might be gifted for the various branches of work — as is the case to this day; but gift is not office. How was the office to be obtained? This indeed led to many disputes: Were the bishops properly ordained? Then, when heresies arose, were consecrations by heretics valid? Later on, the emperors appointed whom they pleased to be bishops. At length a great system of hierarchy was established, but which had not one single feature of resemblance to anything found in the New Testament.

On the other hand, there is not one word in scripture to warrant the church in choosing its own ministers; indeed, among some, at least, of the dissenting bodies, the thought of its being scriptural is quite given up, and they argue that because all human societies choose their own officers, it is right for the church to do the same. But this, alas, reduces the church of God to a mere club. Would that Christians were content to meet in the name of the Lord Jesus, according to Matthew xviii. 20, and there let all whom God has gifted use their gifts, without any choice of the people or any human appointment.

God indeed knew how soon evil would be associated with His church, and He caused His servant Paul, when predicting the apostasy after his decease, to commend the saints "to God and to the word of his grace." He said, in the Epistle to the Hebrews, "obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves: for they watch for your souls" (Heb. xiii. 17), but there is no instruction as to how the authority was to be handed down in the future. And so the appeal must be to the word for if even an angel from heaven preached any other gospel he was to be accursed. And it was well even in the early church, when evil doctrines were propagated, and often by those called bishops, for the saints to know that they were not bound to obey man merely because of any office he might be supposed to hold, but to obey God as revealed in His word; though surely then, as now, they were called upon to submit to any who watched for their souls, with a desire for their spiritual welfare.

In contrast to this, let Ammianus Marcellinus speak of the bishops of Rome in the fourth century: "It was no wonder to see those who were ambitious of human greatness, contending with so much heat and animosity for that dignity, because when they had obtained it, they were sure to be enriched by the offerings of the matrons; of appearing abroad in great splendour; of being admired for their costly coaches, sumptuous in their feasts, outdoing sovereign princes in the expenses of their tables." It was this worldly glory that led Praetextatus, a heathen, to declare, "Make me bishop of Rome, and I will be a Christian too!" Alas! how sadly had those fallen who should have been examples to the flock! How unlike the Lord Jesus, who had not where to lay His head, and who made Himself of no reputation!

Chapter 9.

Customs in the Church.

We must now look at a few things of interest that will throw light upon the practices and internal condition of the church. The things here described were introduced gradually, and were not the same in all parts at the same time, some preserving a measure of primitive purity much longer than others.

Reception into the Church.

It is surprising how little we read of conversions in the early church. Of "regeneration" we do read, but it is almost invariably connected with baptism. There seems to have been a settled conviction that "born of water," in John 3, refers to baptism, instead of its being connected with "the word:" as "of his own will begat he us with the word of truth" (James 1: 18); while another passage — "washing of water by the word" — clearly connects "water" and "the word." In opposition to this, persons were said to be regenerated, or born again, in their baptism.

Another thing we miss is the record of persons believing — a truth so clearly brought out in the scriptures. Take for instance, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved." "I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth:" and so in many other passages.

Instead of this, there was what appears to have been a being educated into Christianity. We have little insight as to how the gospel was really preached; in the sermons of Chrysostom it was sadly mixed up with what would now be called ritualism — a trusting to the efficacy of the sacraments.

For any applying for fellowship there was a long process of education before they were received: so different from when Peter preached on the day of Pentecost, and "they that gladly received his word were baptised; and the same day there were added unto them about three thousand souls."

The person applying was at first received as a Catechumen, if his outward conduct was commendable; that is, he became a pupil — one to be taught by catechising. Here he might be kept for a year, or even two or three years; and if, in the meantime, he fell into idolatry, he must begin again, or the time be further prolonged. He was called a Christian all this time, but not a fidelis, one of the Faithful. This distinction was kept up, so that even on tombs it was not enough to say the one buried was a Christian, "fidelis" must be added, if such were the case.

Another curious custom was that the Catechumens were not allowed to hear the Lord"s prayer nor the creed; but when a portion of the service was completed, a deacon would tell them to leave. This is the more remarkable, seeing that the Lord's prayer forms a part of scripture, and should have been, but for the scarcity of the manuscript copies, in the hands of every one, as now happily is the case.

Another class of persons — or another name for the Catechumens — was Audientes, those who were allowed to listen (hence the name). In the East it would appear that this name especially referred to the fallen seeking restoration, though in other places it may simply have been another name for the Catechumens: both classes were allowed to hear the scriptures read, and the sermons, but not to join in the worship. All were told to leave, except the Faithful.

In certain places further divisions existed, and some were allowed to kneel (called Genuflectentes) and pray before their full reception. When ready for baptism they were called Competentes.

The instruction included the whole of sacred history, from the creation downwards, and after this the gospel narratives. Then instructions in the subjects of God, of Christ, of the Holy Ghost, of the judgment to come, of the body, soul, etc.

At length the time approached for their reception, and for forty days special preparation was made for baptism by prayer and fasting. Instruction was given in the creed, the nature of the sacraments, and discipline in the church; and special inquiries were now made as to their walk. A few days before baptism, they were taught the Lord"s prayer and the creed. In some places, they were now allowed to lay aside their heathen names and take christian ones.

The time for baptism was between Easter and Pentecost of each year; and it was administered by the bishop or presbyter. Midnight was the appointed hour, and torches were burned to give the necessary light; curtains were hung from the pillars to separate the sexes. Each candidate faced the west, and, as he stretched forth his hand, said, "I renounce thee, Satan, and all thy works, and all thy pomps, and all thy service." Then turning to the east, he repeated the belief in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. He was then rubbed from head to foot with oil, and on approaching the pool was questioned by the bishop, and on his confession was immersed (by some thrice, by some once): he was again anointed with oil, and then, dressed in white, received the kiss of peace, and a little honey and milk. Now for the first time he repeated the Lord's prayer. He was now a Fidelis, and ready for the Lord's supper.*

{* See Cyril of Jerusalem, and Chrysostom; both were of the fourth century.}

Surely one cannot but see in this how the simplicity of the gospel had been elaborated and spoiled. Compare, for example, all this with the conversion of the Philippian jailor in Acts xvi. "Sirs, what must I do to be saved?" he asked. "And they said, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house." That same night, the jailor and all his house were baptised. Not entirely ignorant, for we read, "They spake unto him the word of the Lord." But an hour was enough when the Lord had wrought upon the soul. True, an apostle was there, and was doubtless able to discern that the work was real; whereas now a little time may be needed, to discover if the seed has fallen into good ground according to the parable of the sower. But not a word of being a Catechumen for a year or more, and no room for the thought of being educated into a Christian. And how simple the baptism! At midnight, it is true, but in a prison or the jailor's house. Doubtless on his confession of faith, but no renouncing of the devil, nor repetition of a creed learnt by heart, ready for the occasion. God acts upon a soul: he believes and is baptised, and his house. Alas, how the presentation of the gospel, the mode of reception, and all else failed and was corrupted in the hands of man

Forms of Worship.

There is but little information given by the early writers as to how their meetings were conducted. Justin Martyr gives some interesting particulars. He says, "On the day called Sunday all who live in cities or in the country gather to one place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits; then, when the reader has ceased, the president verbally instructs, and exhorts to the imitation of these good things. Then we all rise together and pray, and, when our prayer is ended, bread and wine with water are brought, and the president in like manner offers prayers and thanksgivings, according to his ability, and the people assent, saying, Amen; and there is a distribution to each, and a participation of that over which thanks have been given, and to those who are absent a portion is sent by the deacons. And they who are well-to-do, and willing, give what each thinks fit and what is collected is deposited with the president, who succours the orphans and widows, and those who, through sickness or any other cause, are in want, and those who are in bonds, and the strangers sojourning among us, and in a word he takes care of all who are in need. But Sunday is a day on which we all hold our common assembly, because it is the first day on which God, having wrought a change in the darkness and matter, made the world; and Jesus Christ, our Saviour, on the same day rose from the dead. For He was crucified on the day before that of Saturn (Saturday); and on the day after that of Saturn, which is the day of the sun, having appeared to His apostles and disciples, He taught them these things."

Of the Lord's supper he also says, "This food is called among us the eucharist, of which no one is allowed to partake but the man who believes that the things which we teach are true, and who has been washed with the washing that is for the remission of sins, and unto regeneration, and who is so living as Christ has enjoined. For not as common bread and common drink do we receive these; but in like manner as Jesus Christ our Saviour, having been made flesh by the word of God, had both flesh and blood for our salvation, so likewise have we been taught that the food which is blessed by the prayers of His word, and from which our blood and flesh by transmutation are nourished, is the flesh and blood of that Jesus who was made flesh. For the apostles in the memoirs composed by them, which are called Gospels, have thus delivered unto us what was enjoined upon them; that Jesus took bread, and, when He had given thanks, said, 'This do ye in remembrance of me: this is my body;' and that after the same manner, having taken the cup and given thanks, He said, 'This is my blood,' and gave it to them alone."*

{* First Apology, lxvi., lxvii.}

It is pleasing to see that in the days of Justin (second century), the Lord's supper was partaken of weekly, the same as is implied in Acts xx. 7, when "upon the first day of the week, when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul preached unto them." We also see that the scriptures were always read to the saints. This was the more needed in those days, when the books were only in manuscript and very scarce, and could only be heard in this way. Indeed, we find copies of the Gospels prepared specially for public reading, called Lectionaries, with slight alterations, so that, for instance, a portion might commence with the words, "Jesus said," instead of "He said;" and which alterations have been preserved in a few places in the Authorised Version.*

{*See Matthew viii. 5 as an instance, where the best manuscripts read "he" for "Jesus."}

It may be thought remarkable that nothing is said here of the saints singing, while we read that our Lord at the institution of the supper "sang a hymn," and singing is spoken of as a part of public worship in 1 Corinthians xiv. 15. See also Ephesians v. 19; Colossians iii. 16; James v. 13. But this being an address to the emperor, may not be a full statement of all that took place at these Lord's day meetings; but, in another part of the same Apology, he speaks of God "whom we praise to the utmost of our power by the exercise of prayer and thanksgiving for all things .... and with gratitude to Him to offer thanks by invocations and hymns."

We find that they had exhortation and instruction at their meetings, as Paul also "preached" to the saints in Acts xx. 7. There was special need of this in the early church, when there were no books of christian instruction, though needed indeed at all times. The bishop was to be "apt to teach" (1 Tim. iii. 2; 2 Tim. ii. 24); "teachers" were among those set in the church (1 Cor. xii. 28). "He that prophesieth speaketh unto men to edification, and exhortation, and comfort." (Chap. xiv. 3.)

We also find that a collection for the poor was made at these meetings, but it says that the money was given to the "president," and that he succoured the orphans and widows — a work generally thought more suited to those called deacons; for in the Acts such were appointed that the apostles might not have to serve tables. (Acts vi. 2.)

Another custom we find introduced here was to send the bread and wine to those who were absent. Scripture says nothing of this, and it may be questioned whether it did not lose its assembly character by being carried forth. In 1 Corinthians xi., we read they were "come together in the church . . . . come together into one place." And because of the disorders in the assembly at Corinth, some were sick. Surely it would not be according to God's order to carry the bread and wine to these on whom He had laid His hand in discipline. And it might be discipline that kept others from the Lord's supper.

Some will, no doubt, wonder why water was mixed with the wine. Of this also nothing is said in scripture. It certainly became a practice thus early in the church, but from what source it is not known. Some have endeavoured to prove that water was mingled with wine at the paschal suppers of the Jews, and hence it was the same as the Lord used at the institution of the supper. But this cannot be proved. The reason given by some of the early writers why it was used in the church, is that it alludes to the blood and water that ran from the side of our Lord when pierced with the spear. It is still the custom in some churches, but has no warrant from scripture.

The above passage, referring to the bread and wine being the flesh and blood of our Lord, is not at all clear in its meaning, and indeed it has been claimed alike by Protestants and Catholics as having very opposite meanings. It would however appear, that the words of our Lord were taken in their literal sense at an early date in the church. Thus Cyril of Jerusalem (died about A.D. 386), speaking of the Lord's supper, says, "Then, after hallowing ourselves by the spiritual hymns [sanctus, etc.] we beseech the merciful God to send forth His Holy Spirit upon the elements displayed on the table, to make the bread the body of Christ and the wine the blood of Christ. For most certainly, whatever the Holy Spirit may have touched, that is hallowed and transformed (petabebletai). Then, after that the spiritual sacrifice, the unbloody service, is completed, over that sacrifice of propitiation we beseech God for the common peace of the churches," etc. He then goes on to speak of the intercession of the saints and martyrs, whom God would doubtless hear: thus calling the Lord's supper a sacrifice, and laying early the foundation for some of the gross perversions in the Church of Rome. It will easily be seen why the Romish Church so constantly appeals to the Fathers as its authority, instead of to scripture.

Love Feasts.

The "feasts of charity" we read of in Jude 12 were continued in the early church. It is not clear whether they were associated with the Lord's supper or not. In the account we have given from Justin Martyr respecting the Lord's supper, he does not name the Love Feast. Tertullian mentions the Feast, without naming the Lord's supper. He says, "Our souls ascend in prayer to God before we sit down to meat. We eat only what suffices nature, and drink no more than is strictly becoming chaste and regular persons. We sup as servants that know we must wake in the night to the service of our Master, and discourse as those who are in the hearing of God. When supper is ended, every one is invited forth to sing praises to God; and by this you may judge of the manner of drinking at a christian feast. As we begin, so we conclude, with prayer, and depart with the same tenor of temperance and modesty as we came; as men who have not so properly been drinking as imbibing religion." The same writer does not always speak thus of their Love Feasts, for abuses crept in, as indeed may be alluded to in 2 Peter 2: 13, and the feasts were forbidden by some.

Superstitions in the Church.

There can be no doubt that superstitions began at an early period. Thus Prayers for the Dead are supposed to have been in use in Tertullian's time. In speaking against second marriages, he says the first wife has been "already received into the Lord's presence; for whose spirit you make request; for whom you render annual oblations." He elsewhere speaks of commemoration and intercession for the dead. So also does Cyprian. Cyril of Jerusalem explains, that at the prayers and intercessions of the martyrs, etc., God would receive our supplications; and also that the greatest benefit would accrue to their souls for whom the living supplicated. Again we need not wonder that the Fathers should be quoted in support of false doctrines and practices. It is the most that can be done where scripture is silent.

The Sign of the Cross. — This was introduced quite early. Justin Martyr says, "The sign of the cross is on our brow and on our heart. It is on our brow that we may always confess Christ, on our hearts that we may always love Him, on our arm that we may always work for Him." Tertullian says, "In all our travels and movements, in all our coming in and going out, in putting on our shoes, at the bath, at the table, in lighting our candles, in lying down, in sitting down, whatever employment occupieth us, we mark our foreheads with the sign of the cross."* He also recommends the sign of the cross being immediately resorted to, as protection from the bite of a scorpion! So the sign of the cross was made on the forehead, on entering and leaving the meetings.

{* De Corona, iii.}

Clergy and Laity. — The division of Christians into clergy and laity took place quite early in the Church.* The term "clergy" is from the Greek kleros, and is found in 1 Peter v. 3, where all Christians are included in God's "heritage." The use of the word, however, soon wandered from this, to mean the bishops, presbyters, and deacons, to distinguish these from the laity (from laos, the people). The bishops and presbyters were also called "priests," but here again in scripture, the term applies to all Christians, as in Revelation i., which clearly teaches the priesthood of all Christians. "In holy orders" is another term applied to the clergy, as if they were more holy than other Christians.

{* Clement, in his first Epistle to the Corinthians, writes: "His own peculiar services are assigned to the High Priest, and their own proper place is prescribed to the Priests, and their own special ministrations devolve on the Levites. The Layman is bound by the laws that pertain to laymen." (Chap. xl.)}

The Lord's Supper and Absolution. — The idea crept in early, that the eucharist conveyed grace and safety in some way. Those who fell during the persecutions were in some places kept for years before they were restored, but in very few instances was the eucharist refused to them when they came to die. The following letter by Dionysius of Alexandria (A.D. 247-265), as given by Eusebius, will shew in what light this was regarded: —

"There was a certain Serapion, an aged believer, who had passed his long life irreproachably; but, as he had sacrificed during the persecution, though he frequently begged, no one would listen to him. He was taken sick, and continued three days in succession, speechless and senseless. On the fourth day, recovering a little, he called his grandchild to him and said, 'O son, how long do you detain me? I beseech you hasten, and quickly absolve me. Call one of the presbyters to me.' Saying this, he again became speechless. The boy ran to the presbyter. But it was night, and the presbyter was sick. As I had, however, before issued an injunction, that those at the point of death, if they desired it, and especially if they had entreated for it before, should receive absolution, that they might depart from life in comfortable hope, I gave the boy a small portion of the eucharist, telling him to dip it in water, and to drop it into the mouth of the old man. The boy returned with the morsel. When he came near, before he entered, Serapion, having again recovered himself, said, 'Thou hast come, my son, but the presbyter could not come. But do thou quickly perform what thou art commanded, and dismiss me.' The boy moistened it, and at the same time dropped it into the old man's mouth. And he, having swallowed a little, immediately expired, Was he not, then, evidently preserved, and did he not continue living until he was absolved; and his sins being wiped away, he could be acknowledged as a believer for the many good acts he had done?"

What a strange mixture we get here! Discipline, when rightly exercised by the assembly, is recognised in heaven (Matt. xviii. 18; 2 Cor. ii. 7), but forgiveness is altogether apart from receiving the eucharist, though of course the eucharist would be given when the person was restored. But here the morsel of bread is said to restore, and to wipe away the old man's sins! and then it is strangely added, that he could be counted a believer for the many good works he had done! Alas, the darkness that was overshadowing the church at this early date!

The Celibacy of the Clergy. — It was taught by some, quite early in the church, that it was much holier for men and women to remain unmarried. This led to asceticism and dwelling alone, and then it was demanded, from time to time, that the clergy should not marry after their appointment, and never take a second wife; and by some, that they should separate from their wives if married before election. This was strongly opposed by others, and it was only by degrees that the celibacy of the clergy was demanded. We may illustrate this by an account of Hippolytus and Callistus.

The emperor Commodus (died 192) had a favourite mistress, named Marcia, who was supposed to be a professing Christian: she was styled by Hippolytus a "God-fearing woman." She had great influence over that profligate tyrant. Victor was at that time bishop of Rome. One, named Carpophorus, kept a sort of bank in which the Christians put their savings, and a slave, a professed Christian, Callistus, had the management of the same. But Callistus made away with the money and fled. His master pursued him, and when Callistus saw him, he threw himself into the sea, but was rescued by the sailors and given up to his master, who brought him back, and kept him in prison, until some interceded and he was liberated. But he was neither grateful nor penitent, and one day he created such a disturbance in a Jewish synagogue that he was seized and carried before the prefect. His master claimed him, but he was publicly scourged and sent to the mines in Sardinia.

Some time afterwards Marcia, wishing to extend her influence for the benefit of the Christians, asked Victor for a list of those who had been banished to Sardinia, and then used her influence with Commodus to have them recalled. The name of Callistus was not included; he was too well known to be trusted. The list was given to an honourable eunuch, who proceeded to Sardinia to fetch back the convicts. Callistus was vexed to find his name omitted, but by great persuasion he induced the eunuch to claim him also, and the governor submitted, upon the eunuch promising to bear all blame. On arriving at Rome, the bishop was greatly annoyed at seeing the reprobate Callistus among the prisoners, and he was banished to Antium.

For a time Callistus was lost sight of, but was next heard of as assistant to Zephyrinus, who came to Rome and succeeded Victor as bishop: Hippolytus describes Zephyrinus as an ignorant person, greedy of gain, and who left much to his more sharp-witted deacon, Callistus, who managed, in helping his bishop, to ingratiate himself with many persons of influence, so that at the death of Zephyrinus he was actually chosen bishop. Hippolytus charges him with heresy, and with great presumption, for he professed to be able to forgive sins, and he also ruled that if a bishop sinned, even if it were a sin unto death, he could not be deposed. One would think this was specially framed to shield himself.

But it is remarkable that one of the principal things Hippolytus brings against Callistus is that he was very careless about discipline, and ordained as bishops, presbyters, and deacons, those who had been twice and even thrice married! "Even a man," says Hippolytus, "who had married while in orders was subject to no kind of penalty, as if he had not sinned," And then listen to the reply of Callistus: he asks, "Did not the Lord say, Let the tares grow with the wheat?" and "Were there not unclean beasts in the ark?" and such there must always be in the church!

Now while this, with the grave sins charged on Callistus, gives a fearful picture of the low state of the church at this time in Rome, it shews what a dreadful sin it was accounted for a bishop to marry: and yet this forbidding to marry was only an ordinance of man, and one in direct conflict with the word of God, where the bishop is spoken of as having a wife, and ruling his children well. (1 Tim. iii. 2-4.)

It is a disputed question as to where Hippolytus was settled. He is often styled bishop in Pontus, but by others is represented as being at Rome, and by some he is supposed to have been anti-bishop of Rome at the same time as Callistus. The latter is the one named in the lists of the bishops of Rome; though Hippolytus is often called bishop of Rome and martyr.

Hippolytus wrote many works, and several commentaries, of which latter only fragments remain. A larger work, "The Refutation of all Heresies," is also attributed to him. The above account of Callistus is taken from this.

Chapter 10.

Early Heresies.

One of the most important things in the early history of the church, is the evil doctrines that were manifested in its midst. These were usually called Heresies. Irenaeus and Hippolytus name about thirty different heresies from the days of the apostles to their times.

It is important to understand what heresy is, because we are informed by the word of God that in the latter day things will get worse and worse, and professing Christians will bring in "doctrines of demons" (1 Tim. iv. 1); while the apostle John said that in his day Christians were to try the spirits, for many false prophets had already gone forth into the world (1 John iv. 1); and in another place he says, "even now are there many antichrists."

We generally understand by a "heretic" one who holds false doctrine, and by "heresy" that which is held contrary to the truth according to scripture. And no doubt this is correct. We read in 2 Peter ii. 1, of those who bring in destructive heresies; yet the word in the original has another meaning, which it is important for us to look at. This other meaning is "sects," apparently irrespective of false doctrines. (See Acts v. 17; xv. 5; xxvi. 5.)

At first sight there may appear no connection between a person's belonging to a "sect," and his holding "false doctrines;" but it is not difficult to see how the two are associated together. The root of the word is "to choose," and this equally applies to the "sect" and to the "heresy." If I take scripture simply, without wishing to add to it or take from it, I have no choice. It is God's book to me, and I have nothing to do either to choose or refuse. It is not a question of choosing that book or another, or one part of that book in preference to another. I gratefully accept it all. In doing this, and submitting to the teaching of the Holy Spirit, there can be no heresy. Men commonly say, "I must choose my own religion." But this supposes that God has not spoken; that He has not given a revelation, and a form of doctrine. Paul thanked God that the Roman saints had obeyed from the heart the "form of doctrine which was delivered" to them. There is no thought in scripture of Christians choosing their own doctrine. "Choosing" is that which leads to heresy.

So of the sects. One said, "I am of Paul," another, "I am of Apollos," etc. Here again was choice, instead of receiving all whom God had gifted. Christians boast of liberty to choose their own gifted men; but this is a liberty condemned of God. We should receive and value all.

Thus we see that both heresies and sects spring from men — and possibly from Christians — exercising their choice where God would have them have none.

There were many heresies in the earlier church, to recount which would be tedious and unprofitable. But a few of them demand our attention.

Gnosticism.

The first of these mixed philosophy with Christianity, and denied the manhood of Christ. They denied that Christ really became a man and died. With this was a great deal of philosophy so called. We will give a specimen of this, that our readers may judge how unprofitable it was. They taught that "from the self-existent Father was born a high Intelligence called Understanding; from Understanding proceeded the Word (Greek, Logos); from the Word, Prudence; from Prudence, Wisdom and Power; from Wisdom and Power, Powers, Principalities,* and Angels, whom they call superior angels, by whom the first heaven was made; from these proceeded other angels and other heavens. . . . . The self-existent and ineffable Father sent his first-begotten, Understanding (Greek, Nous.), who also is said to be Christ, for the salvation of such as believe in him, and to deliver them from the tyranny of the makers of the world; and that he appeared on earth as man and wrought miracles. But he did not suffer." One of these heretics says that Simon of Cyrene, who carried the cross of our Lord, was crucified in his stead. They agree that our Lord was not really a man, but only appeared as one, and that He did not suffer on the cross.

{*These Intelligences were called Aeons.}

It is easy for any intelligent Christian to prove from scripture that all this is false. Besides the error of saying an angel created the earth, and that Jehovah was not the God of the Jews, it was fatal to salvation to deny that the Lord Jesus was really a man and that He died for our salvation.

This error was very early in the professing church, and it is believed that the apostle John referred to it, when he said that he was an antichrist who denied that Christ had come in the flesh, or was really a man. (1 John iv. 2, 3.)

The folly also of attempting to attach philosophy to Christianity is condemned in scripture (Col. ii. 8), and the theory, given above, of Wisdom and Power being born of Prudence, etc., is a species of philosophy so called. Its folly and wickedness are surely plain to all Christians.

Those who held these views were called Gnostics,* and Simon Magus, named in the Acts, is supposed to have been the first who held and taught them, though not exactly as given above, for each of the teachers tried to improve on the theory. It is recorded that this Simon was a learned man, and that he endeavoured to unite the Magian philosophy with Christianity. He came to Rome in the reign of Claudius, and was held in high repute. A good deal more that is said about him is now held to be unworthy of credit.

{* From the Greek Gnosis, knowledge.}

It is difficult to say how far this same form of evil doctrine exists at the present time; for Satan is constantly varying his attempts to delude mankind and draw them from the religion of Jesus Christ.

The belief of the Swedenborgians may be named as approaching in some things to Gnosticism, in so far as it speaks of the humanity of our Lord as divine humanity, and denies that His death was in our stead. But there are many others who also deny this last point, and who attempt to exalt man into being his own saviour by morality and virtue, altogether denying the truth so plainly taught in scripture of the fall of man, and the need of the death of Christ for redemption.

Marcion, in the second century, was another Gnostic heretic, but differed perhaps from all others. He taught that the God of the Old Testament was not the same as the God of the New, nor the Messiah of the Old the same as the Christ of the New; and other foolish and hurtful things. Tertullian answered him, pointing out many passages in the Old Testament quoted in the New. It is recorded that in his latter days, he repented of the schism he had caused, and sought to be restored. He was told that he must seek to restore those he had led astray; but he died soon afterwards.

Arianism.

The other great heresy in the early church was denying that our Lord was God as well as man. The name Arianism came from Arius, who was a strong defender of the error, although it is generally believed that the same, or similar, doctrines, were held before his time.

Arius was presbyter of the church at Alexandria, and here he came into collision first with Alexander and then with Athanasius, bishops of Alexandria, and kept the church in a state of contention for many years.

The controversy was supposed to have given rise to what is called "The Athanasian Creed." Its origin is not now known, though it seems to bear internal evidence of having been written to meet the Arian and Sabellian* heresies.

{*The Sabellians (from one named Sabellius) denied that there are three Persons in the Godhead; but held that there were three Phases under which the one divine essence reveals itself.}

The creed says, "The Father is God, the Son is God, and the Holy Ghost is God, and yet there are not three Gods: but one God." It further says that after the incarnation of the Lord Jesus He was "perfect God, and perfect man."

Now we cannot understand that which is so far above us, the nature of God — that which is infinite; but it is necessary to see that scripture clearly speaks of the Father as God, and the Son as God, and the Holy Ghost as God; and yet, as the creed says, there are not three Gods, but one God. So it is necessary to see that the Lord Jesus was truly a man, born of the Virgin Mary; that He lived a man upon the earth, was then nailed to a cross of wood, and died — died to redeem His people. Being man, He could die; His being God as well as man gave infinite value to His death for the redemption of an innumerable multitude. Our Lord Himself said that no man knew the Son but the Father (Matt. xi. 27), and therefore we cannot expect to understand the mystery of the union of God and man in one Person. Many who have attempted it have fallen into error; some have denied the Godhead and others the manhood of our Lord. It is our wisdom to believe every statement of scripture, though we cannot understand that which is infinite, nor the Person of our Lord, as He Himself said. We shall see, later on, to what evil the Arian heresy led in the church.

A doctrine, similar to that held by the Arians, has come down to our own day under the name of Unitarianism.

Unitarians profess to believe in one God, but deny that there are three Persons in the Godhead. Consequently they hold that Christ was only a man, that He died as a martyr, but that there is no atonement in His death. Indeed, they believe that no atonement was needed, for they hold that man has not fallen from his original condition, and, on repentance, will be forgiven. They also deny eternal punishment.

Our readers will see how wrong it is to consider as Christians any who hold such soul-destroying doctrines.

The Novatians.

These are generally classed among the sects. It is difficult at this distance of time to get a clear idea of those to whom this name was given. About A.D. 250, Novatian, a presbyter of a church at Rome, broke away from the general body of Christians, holding that no one who lapsed into idolatry, during the reign of an emperor who enforced paganism, should again be received into communion, counting them to be apostates, such as are described in Hebrews vi. 1-6. Some of the emperors, as we have seen, were much more severe than others, and under some it was possible for a man to hide his religion and serve the state; but when persecution arose he must give up the one or the other, and it was found that some could be pagan and Christian by turns, according to the aspect of affairs. There can be no doubt that some of these were not Christians and ought to have been denied communion. It is impossible now to tell whether Novatian did not press this too far, and allow no room for repentance.

After the persecution of Decius (A.D. 249-251) there were many cases for restoration. They were in general called "Lapsi," apostates, but they were classified thus: 1. "Sacrificati," those who had actually sacrificed to the gods, or the images of the emperor. 2. "Thurificati," those who had strewn incense on the heathen altars. 3. "Libellatici," those who, by money or favour, had obtained certificates from the magistrates as if they had obeyed the emperor. 4. "Traditores," those who delivered up the sacred books or church property. On the other hand, there were many who had suffered tortures, imprisonments, mutilations, working in the mines, etc. These, when they were restored to their homes, being extolled by their brethren, were apt to be proud of their faithfulness, and stood out in strong contrast with those who had fallen. Were the lapsed to be treated as though they had been faithful, or their apostasy to be thought little of? Novatian held that no one on earth had power to restore such.

At Rome matters were brought to an open rupture at the election of a bishop. Cornelius, a presbyter, was nominated but Novatian strongly opposed his election because he would admit those who had fallen. But his election was carried, and, a synod being called, Novatian was condemned. On this, seeing no remedy for the increase of corruptions in the professing body, he withdrew with many others, and was also elected bishop by some who held with him. They were the first class of Christians called Cathari (Puritans), but whether the name was adopted by themselves is not now known.

The Novatians continued as a separate body for some centuries. They abstained from much of the contention that arose in the church in after years, and were able to render help to others when they were persecuted. They contended that one of the essential marks of the true church was purity and separation from evil and they would admit none except these were re-baptised and those who lapsed into idolatry were never re-admitted, though they opposed them in no other way, and did not feel called upon to decide as to their true repentance. A charge afterwards brought against the Novatians was that they did not pay due reverence to the martyrs, nor value their relics. May not these Puritans have been such that many a true saint could unite with, and find in them a community of Christians separate from the growing evils, though they may have been too rigid in their discipline? Their enemies can bring little against them except their separation. In the council of A.D. 383 they subscribed the Nicean creed and were counted orthodox.

Chapter 11.

Cyprian and the Assumptions of Rome.

In resuming our history, we will take a glance at the way Rome was attempting to gain the ascendancy in the church.

Cyprian was a wealthy teacher of rhetoric at Carthage before his conversion. He was baptised A.D. 245 or 246, and at once distributed a portion of his fortune, and devoted himself to the study of the scriptures and the fathers.

This was during what has been called the Long Peace, there being no persecution for the period of about thirty years, and during that time the African church had fallen to a low ebb spiritually, though outwardly it was prosperous. Its bishops are described as engaged in agriculture, trade, and even usury. Some were too ignorant to instruct the people or to distinguish between the orthodox and the heretics.

In A.D. 248 the bishop of Carthage died, and Cyprian was chosen to succeed him, but chiefly by the poor of the flock; others strongly opposed him, and maintained their opposition, even after his consecration. In the year 250, the emperor Decius began a persecution, principally against the bishops. It was thought that if the bishops could be got rid of, the people would easily be gained. Cyprian fled, defending this course as best he could, but this was taken as an occasion of opposing him. He returned in 251, but then, as we have seen, the question of the lapsi was being hotly discussed. Some at Carthage agreed with Novatian and chose another bishop others agreed with those who received all, and elected still another; Cyprian took a middle course, not refusing the restoration of all, nor admitting any without due repentance (or penance, as it was then called).

Though there was now a complete schism at Carthage, Cyprian held his ground, became the recognised bishop, and was looked up to by others. He came into collision with Rome under the following circumstances: —

About A.D. 252, two Spanish bishops, Basilides and Martial, were deposed by a synod as "libellatici." Basilides made public confession and was restored to communion, but as a private Christian only. The year following he went to Rome, and appealed to the bishop to interfere on their behalf. Stephen had succeeded Cornelius, and he, on his own authority, ordered the Spanish synod to restore the two deposed bishops; but in the meantime, for some reason, the case had been referred to Cyprian and an African synod. These met and confirmed the judgment of their Spanish brethren. On hearing the decision of the bishop of Rome, Cyprian treated it with contempt and, repudiated the thought that the bishop of Rome could set aside a district synod.

We see here an instance of the growing assumption of the bishops of Rome. Various things served to give them a prominent place among the bishops, principally because Rome was the seat of the civil government. Its bishop was delighted to be thus appealed to as to one who had authority over other bishops and even local synods. We shall see that this was a battle that had to be fought many times before there was anything like a victory for Rome.

The bishop of Rome had of course much higher claims for supremacy than what proceeded from the relations of the city to the state. Zephyrinus (about A.D. 202) had asserted that he sat in the chair of St. Peter, referring to the words of our Lord, "Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church;" but Tertullian contended the point with the bishop.

The bishop of Rome, from time to time, did not hesitate to style himself "chief Pontiff," and "bishop of bishops," and used other such-like terms.

Another occurrence in the time of Cyprian also brought out the assumptions of Rome. The question had been raised as to whether the baptism by heretics should be considered valid or not? Stephen of Rome and many others held that those thus baptised should not be re-baptised; a simple laying on of hands was sufficient. On the contrary, many in Asia held that no grace could flow through such polluted sources; the applicants must be re-baptised. Cyprian agreed in this judgment.

The bishop of Rome, assuming an undue authority, took upon himself to excommunicate the bishops of Asia! A synod was at once called at Carthage. It is said to have consisted of eighty-seven bishops. The questions to be considered were: 1, the validity of baptism by heretics; 2, the conduct of Rome.

Cyprian exhorted all to speak their judgment freely. The decisions arrived at were against the bishop of Rome's assumption, and against his dictum as to re-baptism. Stephen was very angry, and called Cyprian "false Christ," "false apostle," "deceitful labourer," etc. Cyprian asserted that it was the duty of every Christian to resort immediately to the gospel and the apostolic traditions [teachings] as the only fountain of christian truth.

It was not only the African bishops who contended against the assumptions of Rome. Firmilian of Cappadocia wrote: "The people of Rome do not uniformly hold the things handed down to them from the beginning, yet vainly pretend to apostolic authority."

It is therefore clear that the claim of the bishop of Rome to supremacy over all other bishops was not admitted in the early church, and it was only tolerated much later, after repeated resistance. At this date the term Papacy did not exist: many bishops were styled Papa, (Pope) or father; and in their controversies even Cyprian is thus designated by the bishop of Rome himself.

Cyprian's course was not lengthy. In A.D. 257, Valerian began his persecution, and Cyprian was cited before the proconsul; on his refusing to offer sacrifice to the gods, he was banished to Curubis, a lonely spot on the seashore, but only a day's journey from Carthage. Here he remained eleven months in communication with his flock. A new proconsul recalled him, but on a more severe edict being issued, he was again arrested and condemned to death by the sword. He exclaimed, "By the grace of God." Thus he became a martyr. He was much beloved by his people, and highly esteemed in the church.

Chapter 12.

The Later Persecutions.

Decius became emperor A.D. 249, and ordered a severe and systematic persecution of the Christians. Some of the early christian writers regarded the persecution as needed, because of the low spiritual condition of the church, though that condition is curiously described. Thus christian men are described as "effeminate and self-indulgent, trimming their beards, and dyeing their hair; the women as painting their faces and colouring their eyebrows. The clergy were self-seeking and ambitious."

The heathen looked upon them as a secret society which they could not understand, and as one dangerous to the prosperity of the state. Efforts must be made to root it out. The magistrates were ordered throughout the empire, under heavy penalties, to carry out the persecution. At first great pressure was to be used to induce the Christians to return to the religion of the state. Those who yielded were to be no further molested.

History records that the offices were thronged with candidates who were willing to obey the edict. Some sacrificed, some sprinkled incense on the altars, and some bought, by money or favours, certificates that they had satisfied the law without doing any of the above. We have already seen what trouble these caused in reference to their restoration after the persecution had ceased.

Many however refused to comply. Naturally the bishops were especially sought for. Some escaped and hid themselves, but this was not easy, as the persecution was general. Some were imprisoned and otherwise punished; some put to death. Fabian, bishop of Rome, Babylas of Antioch, and Alexander of Jerusalem, were among the martyrs. There was scarcely a province of the empire where the persecutions were not severely felt.

Origen was tortured on the rack, but survived. A lad, Dioscorus, only fifteen, stood firm, but was spared by the prefect because of his youth.*

{* The books of martyrs give the oft repeated story of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus in connection with this persecution. These, confessing their faith, were walled up in a cave, and left to die. They fell asleep, and the place was long famous as a place of sanctity. In the reign of Theodosius (A.D. 447, some two hundred years after) the cave was opened, and the sleepers awoke; and walking about, were surprised to see such numerous changes — churches occupying the places where heathen temples once stood, etc. They did not, however, survive long; for they again fell asleep to awake no more. Thus fables are often found along with the facts concerning the early saints and martyrs.}

Happily this persecution did not last long. The emperor was called away to meet the Goths, and he and his son were slain (A.D. 251).

Doubtless the persecution had a good effect, notwithstanding all that was so painful; for it dissociated many, who for various reasons had been associated with the Christians without being such in reality. Where there was true faith it could bear the trial, and come out from the furnace of affliction all the brighter, or seal it with their blood.

Origen.

Having named this theologian, we add a few particulars concerning him. He was born about A.D. 185, of christian parents. In A.D. 202, his father was put into prison and afterwards put to death. The confiscation of his property left his son dependent on others. A rich christian lady took him into her house, and enabled him to go on with his studies. When about eighteen he engaged in catechetical instruction. About this time he made himself a eunuch, being led thereto by reading Matthew xix. 12.

Paying a visit to Palestine and Caesarea, he began to give discourses in the church, but was forbidden by Demetrius of Alexandria, and he resumed his catechetical instruction. About A.D. 218, he was invited to Antioch to give christian instruction to Mammaea, the mother of the emperor Alexander Severus. About A.D. 230, he went to Greece, by way of Palestine, where he was ordained presbyter. This again roused Demetrius, who caused him, at two synods, to be forbidden to act as presbyter, perhaps because he was a eunuch, though Jerome says it was through jealousy of his talents. He went on with his teaching (some renowned in the church placing themselves under him) and his writing, employing several to copy his works, and he was looked up to by many for counsel. As we have seen, he suffered torture under Decius, but died a natural death about A.D. 254.

He was a compiler of the renowned book known as Origen's Hexapla, a work that must have involved immense labour. It gave the Old Testament in Hebrew, the same in Greek characters, the translations of Aquila, of Symmachus, of the LXX, of Theodotion, with three other versions. It occupied nearly fifty volumes, but unhappily all is lost, except the extracts that had been made from it. He was also the author of several commentaries on parts of scripture; but he mixed philosophy with his Christianity and was not sound in the faith. There were repeated controversies as to his teaching, but some of it was so speculative that Athanasius and Arius both claimed him as on their side. He denied eternal punishment, holding the eventual restoration of all, even the devil! Thus we see the danger of attempting to join philosophy with Christianity, and not keeping simply to the teaching of the word of God.

Valerian and Diocletian.

Valerian was made emperor A.D. 253, and at first was favourable to the Christians, but began a persecution in the year 257. The first edict forbad their holding any meetings; those who did not obey were by another edict sent to work in the mines; a third ordered all bishops, presbyters, and deacons, to be put to death.

Under these persecutions, Stephen (bishop of Rome), and Cyprian of Carthage were martyrs. Sixtus II. succeeded Stephen at Rome, but suffered martyrdom the year following. His faithful disciple, Laurentius, deacon of the church at Rome, was also arrested. It had been reported that the church had amassed great treasures and these were demanded of the deacon. Under the supposition that they would be given up, he was released he then collected a number of the poor of the church, "paupers and cripples," and presenting them to the prefect, said, "These are our treasures." The prefect felt insulted, and ordered Laurentius to be put to death by a slow fire. This cruel sentence was carried out, to the horror of his fellow Christians.

The persecution continuing, no one was chosen to succeed Sixtus II. as bishop of Rome until A.D. 259, when Dionysius was chosen.

The emperor Valerian had been defeated and taken prisoner he was succeeded by Gallienus, who at once stayed the persecution.

In A.D. 284, Diocletian was chosen emperor, and did not at first molest the Christians. In the year 292, he appointed Constantius Chlorus and Galerius co-emperors. In A.D. 303 a violent persecution commenced. Various things led to it. The mother of Galerius was in the habit of giving frequent sacrificial banquets, and was annoyed by the christian officers refusing to take part in them. Others refused to serve the state because of the idolatrous rites required of them. This seemed to rouse Galerius: what was to be come of the state if so many turned Christians?

The pagan priests were not long in working upon the fears and prejudices of the emperors. Diocletian was fond of consulting the oracles and signs. He sacrificed, and then the priests searched the entrails of the victims for omens, good or bad. But they now declared that there were no omens. Again and again victims were killed, but the same result — "no omens." At last they declared it was because of profane persons being present. These profane persons were the Christians who accompanied the emperor as attendants, and who satisfied their consciences by making the form of the cross upon themselves. This declaration of the priests roused the anger of the emperor: he ordered all his officers to sacrifice or be scourged, and dismissed from his service if they refused. He ordered all the chiefs of the army to act in a similar way towards all Christians in their companies. Galerius and his mother urged on Diocletian but he was not so ready to extend the persecution: he would first consult the gods.

A messenger was sent to consult the oracle of the Milesian Apollo at Branchidae. We need not wonder that the answer was that the self-styled "just ones" on the earth made it impossible for the oracles to speak the truth. The priests explained that this referred to the Christians. The answer was not only given by the priestess, who usually gave the replies, but it was said to be given by the god himself. This decided Diocletian to extend the persecution, but he wished bloodshed to be spared as far as possible. Galerius was not so scrupulous, and would have burnt those who refused to sacrifice.

The edicts issued were: 1. All churches were to be destroyed. 2. All copies of the scriptures and sacred books were to be given up and burnt. 3. All who held any official position were to lose their dignities and civil rights, unless they sacrificed. 4. All men not officials were, on refusal, to be reduced to the condition of slaves.

These edicts were obeyed, except in Gaul and Britain, where Constantius Chlorus reigned. He was content with destroying the buildings. In all other places the edicts were carried out with more or less severity. The prefects did not stop at confiscation, imprisonment, and tortures, but put many to death. The bishops, deacons, and readers, were especially sought for and tortured to reveal and give up their sacred books. A fire broke out in the palace of Diocletian, and suspicion fell upon the Christians, and this further enraged him; still he wished the lives of the Christians to be spared as far as could be.

At the end of the same year, Diocletian was laid by, unwell, and Galerius sought to become sole emperor, and complications ensued but the persecutions continued. Galerius increased in power, and issued more severe edicts against the Christians, and death was now the common penalty for disobedience.

At the end of A.D. 310, Galerius was seized with a painful malady, and died in May, 311, being gradually eaten by worms. When he saw that death was inevitable, he issued a hypocritical edict, staying the persecution, and asking the prayers of the Christians!

In the west, persecutions had also been severe. It is estimated that 16,000 persons suffered death in one month, but this may include the whole empire. Marcellinus was bishop of Rome (A.D. 296). It is recorded that he saved his life by placing incense on the altar, but afterwards repented and suffered martyrdom in A.D. 304. As the persecution continued, no successor was appointed for more than two years.

In A.D. 306, Maxentius became emperor of that part of the empire, and protected the Christians thus persecution ceased at Rome much earlier than in the east.

In A.D. 307, Marcellus was chosen bishop, and no sooner was the persecution over than again occurred the vexed question as to the lapsi, of whom there were many during the late severe persecution. Marcellus demanded "penitence" for all such, and his stern discipline roused such violent opposition, that riots and even bloodshed were the result. The emperor, to quiet the tumult, banished the bishop from the city.

One named Eusebius succeeded, A.D. 309 or 310, who also enforced penitential discipline before restoration of the fallen, and the tumults were renewed. These were so violent that again the emperor ordered the banishment of the bishop. He died the year of his banishment. Melchiades succeeded, A.D. 311 till 314.

During this time, Constantine the Great became sole emperor, and then followed that great change in the whole professing church which we shall now have to consider.

But before leaving the period of persecution, it may be well to notice that in the address to the church of Smyrna, which speaks of persecution, occur the words: "Behold the devil shall cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried and ye shall have tribulation ten days." (Rev. ii. 10.) Many have thought that this points to ten persecutions, and have named especially the following: —

1 Under Nero, about A.D. 64.

2 Under Domitian about A.D. 95.

3 Under Trajan about A.D. 106.

4 Under Adrian about A.D. 118.

5 Under Severus about A.D. 199.

6 Under Maximinus about A.D. 235.

7 Under Decius about A.D. 250.

8 Under Valerian about A.D. 257.

9 Under Aurelian about A.D. 272.

10 Under Diocletian about A.D. 303.

On the other hand, it has been contended by some historians that anything worthy the name of a general persecution was comparatively rare and far between; nothing of note between Nero and Decius, and nothing between Decius and Diocletian. As we have seen, there were Christians in the army under the emperor Marcus, where one would think they could not be hid. While the laws condemning the Christians remained unrepealed, a great deal depended on the proconsuls as to how far those laws were enforced, as well as how far the Christians made themselves obnoxious to "the powers that be."

Without doubt, the address to the church of Smyrna, interpreted prophetically, applies to the period we have been surveying, whether we are able or not to interpret all its details. Persecution marks it throughout. Our Lord therein is spoken of as "the first and the last, which was dead and is alive." They should be like their Lord: though put to death they should live again. "Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer: behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison that ye may be tried .... be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life."

There were many during the first three centuries of the church who suffered spoliation, torture, and death, for the name of Christ. What consolation for such to know that their persecutors could only kill the body; their Lord was dead, and is alive again, and His promise to all such as were overcomers was that they should not be hurt of the second death: instead of that, He Himself would give them a crown of life.

Part 2. Profession.

Chapter 1.

Conversion of Constantine.

A.D. 312.

One of the most remarkable things connected with the history of the church is the conversion of the emperor Constantine, called the Great.

This forms a landmark also by which to trace out other events. Up to this time the Roman emperors had been pagans, and persecution was that which characterised the first three hundred years of the church's history, though with many and long exceptions.

Now all was changed, the emperor professed to be converted, and not only did persecution cease, but Christianity for the first time became fashionable. Those who wanted to be in favour with the emperor must embrace his religion. This was a turning everything upside down, and was the means of making many professors. It brought great relief to the real Christian, but it commenced on a very large scale what has from that day to this gone on increasing — namely, Profession.

We saw that the period of persecution well agreed with the address to the church in Smyrna, in Revelation ii. 10. The period we are now about to look at will coincide with the address to the church at Pergamos. The church therein is seen dwelling in the world, and yet a witness for Christ. There is also a teaching error for reward, and the allowance of evil doctrine.

But we must relate the conversion of Constantine. The account is very remarkable. When the emperor was assembled with his army against his rival Maxentius, about the time of the sun-setting, he, having risen from offering prayer for the success of his arms, saw in the heavens, towards the west, the figure of the cross, large and luminous, with these words, "By this conquer." It is said that this sign was not seen by himself only, but by the whole of his army.

Further, on retiring that same night, in his sleep he saw Christ, who bore a cross similar to the one he had seen in the heavens, and who bade Constantine have one made like it and use it for a standard in his wars. He summoned the most skilful workmen into his presence, to whom he described exactly the form of the cross, and ordered one to be made inlaid with gold and precious gems.* This was constantly carried as his standard, and to this he attributed his many victories.

{*See chapter 6.}

Historians have been sadly puzzled as to whether this account of the conversion of Constantine is true. Eusebius hands it down to us, and he tells us that he heard it from the lips of the emperor himself, so that there seems to be no room for mistake.

Another serious question arises, Was Constantine really converted? Was it a work of God? or was it all a delusion? It would appear at first sight a very good thing to abolish idolatry over the empire; but on the other hand, it was a very dangerous thing for thousands to profess to be converted to Christianity when they were not Christians.

Certainly Constantine knew nothing of the true liberty of a child of God. He was not baptised till near his death, lest he should commit sin after his baptism. This, no doubt, was based upon the false and dangerous teaching that baptism washed away sins; so the poor man, though an emperor, was kept all the rest of his life as a catechumen, and not admitted into the church, because he feared to be baptised. How different is the religion of Jesus Christ! "The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin."

Though on some occasions Constantine seemed to speak more like a Christian than some of the bishops, and was zealous in religious observances, yet at last he more and more favoured the Arians. This, with the mysterious death of his son Crispus, his nephew Licinius, and his wife Fausta — with the very grave suspicion of all having been put to death by his orders — has thrown a dark cloud over the hopes any would fain have of his being a true Christian.

Constantine, after his conversion, was engaged with various wars until, in A.D. 323, he became sole emperor, and was then more at leisure to attend to the condition of the church, which was in great confusion. Arius had a strong party on his side who denied that Jesus Christ is God; while the faithful Christians maintained — as all true Christians must maintain — that He is God. This was a vital question. If Christ was not God as well as man, there could be no salvation; and therefore the faithful could not let this be called in question.

Constantine, after attempting to make peace privately, determined to call together a general council of the heads of the church. This was called the Council of Nice.

Constantine then went on with his work of changing the pagan worship into that of christian, and ordered the images in the pagan temples to be destroyed except those made of brass, and such others as were judged of superior workmanship: these were saved as works of art, and carried to Constantinople, but, alas, only to be used afterwards in pagan worship again when Julian ascended the throne.

Constantine proceeded to erect churches for christian worship in many places, and Helena his mother erected a church at Jerusalem, where some wood was found which superstition claimed to be the cross of our Lord!

In many districts the converts were counted by hundreds; it was found that to embrace Christianity was a means of obtaining favour at court, and undoubtedly many who changed their religion were nominally Christians only.

Another thing, introduced for the first time, was the union of church and state. As we shall see, the emperor attended the council of Nice, and future emperors had constantly to interfere to attempt to quell disturbances between rival bishops, and settle doctrinal disputes, carried on by turbulent men in place and power — so different from the meek and gentle disciples who marked the early church.

Chapter 2.

The Council of Nice.

A.D. 325.

About three hundred bishops and five hundred presbyters attended this council. They came from Europe, Asia, and Africa. On the day appointed they all assembled, and waited for the emperor. As he entered they all rose from their seats to welcome him. He said in Latin: "In beholding you thus assembled, my beloved, I enjoy this accomplishment of my most earnest supplications..... When indeed my arms, by the favour and help of the Almighty, were rendered victorious, I thought that nothing was then wanting to me but to praise Him for His blessings, and to rejoice with those whom He had enabled me to deliver. On receiving, therefore, the unlooked for intelligence of your dissensions, I immediately judged it necessary to take the matter into consideration, and hoping that I might thereby afford some remedy to the evil, have hastened to call you together..... Hasten then, beloved, as good servants and ministers of our common Lord and Saviour, to remove from among you the causes of the present dissensions, so that, by the laws of peace, you may break asunder the bond of contention by doing which, you will render an acceptable homage to the Almighty, and bestow a most excellent favour on me your fellow-servant."

But the bishops had many complaints to make against each other. Constantine requested them to put their charges into writing, and he appointed a day when he would consider them. But on that day he threw all the letters unopened into the fire, saying that it did not belong to him to decide the differences of christian bishops, and that the hearing of them must be delayed until the day of judgment.

The emperor succeeded in some degree in bringing the council to order and the discussion began, but again and again the emperor had to exhort the council to charity and forbearance. Among the assembly were some clever philosophers, who attempted to puzzle their opponents with subtle arguments; but this was stopped by a venerable old man rising from his seat and saying, "Christ and His apostles did not teach us the art of logic, nor an empty cunningness, but a naked wisdom, to be kept by faith and good works." This had a good effect. The Christian had silenced the philosopher.

Athanasius, then only a deacon, was present to defend the true doctrine of Christ's divinity; Arius himself was present to oppose him. A Creed was drawn up — still known as the Nicene Creed, from the city in which the council was held — declaring the divinity of Christ. Some of the Arians were induced nominally to agree to the creed by altering a word.*

{* They substituted homoiousios for homoousios, that is "similarity" for "sameness."}

But this did not satisfy the orthodox. They proceeded to expel Arius and his followers from the council. Arius and others were sent into exile, and all his books ordered to be burnt — death being the penalty for any who concealed his writings.

The decisions arrived at during this council, called the First General Council, were made known to the professing church in a solemn epistle.

Although the council of Nice seemed to settle everything, its decisions were not obeyed. Many who signed the confessions of faith, but who agreed really with Arius, and his friends — especially Eusebius, bishop of Nicomedia — afterwards besought the emperor to recall the exiles. This he did, overruling the council of Nice, and setting the example of treating its decrees with contempt. Alas! the church was now really ruled by the civil power. It dwelt in the world, according to Revelation ii. 13.

Easter.

At the council of Nice was also determined the day on which Easter should commence. Although this would be considered by many a matter of small consequence, it had been hotly contested, and one bishop of Rome attempted to excommunicate whole districts for not observing Easter on the right day!

The word "Easter" occurs once in the Authorised Version (Acts xii. 4), where the word is pascha, which is elsewhere translated "Passover," and is so translated here in the Revised Version. This shews that in the translators' minds Easter and the Passover corresponded. But the Passover is associated with the crucifixion: "Christ our passover is sacrificed for us" (1 Cor. v. 7); and the Passover fell on the 14th day of Nisan, and might occur on any day of the week; whereas Easter is generally accepted to refer to the resurrection, and commences on a Sunday. The former mode of reckoning was mostly adopted in the east, and the latter in the west. At the council of Nice it was settled for the latter.

In general terms, Easter may be said to be the first Sunday following the fourteenth day of the so-called paschal moon, which happens on or first after the vernal equinox. The vernal equinox always falls on March 21, so that Easter may be March 22, but not earlier; or if the fifteenth day of the paschal moon falls on March 21, a full lunar month must pass before another fourteenth day can come, and this may be on a Sunday, and so Easter may be as late as April 25, but not later: it may, of course, fall on any day between these dates.

There is nothing in the New Testament respecting the keeping of Easter. Acts xii. 4 simply refers to the Passover as a suitable time for Herod to deliver up Peter to destruction. Of course the Passover was observed by the Jews, and probably by the Jewish converts. The words sent out from the council were "that all the brethren in the east, who formerly celebrated Easter with the Jews, will henceforth keep it agreeably with the Romans and ourselves, and all who from ancient time have kept Easter as we." The crucifixion was observed on what is called Good Friday by fasting, etc.; the following Sunday commenced Easter as a festival.

Its observance began on the preceding evening by fasting, prayer in the churches, etc. Jerome assigns as a reason for the people being kept till after midnight, that "even as the paschal deliverance of Israel took place at midnight (Ex. xii. 29) it was the expectation of the church, according to apostolic tradition, that Christ would return to accomplish the redemption of His church, and triumph over her enemies at the same hour. That hour being passed, the awe with which the Lord's coming was anticipated being relieved, the Easter feast was celebrated with universal joy." Lactantius also mentions the night being passed in watchfulness for "the coming of our King and God." How strange that the coming of the Lord should be looked forward to in awe instead of being the hope of the Christian!

Lamps and candles were lit everywhere in token of the festival. Gregory Nazianzen speaks of persons of all ranks, even magistrates and ladies of rank, carrying lamps, and setting up tapers both at home and in the churches, thus turning night into day. In later times a huge taper was solemnly blessed as a type of Christ"s rising from the dead to give light to the world! Easter eve was also the chosen time for baptising the converts, and the numbers were often great: "three thousand" awaited baptism when Chrysostom was deposed.

Gregory Nyssen (A.D. 372-394) gives a graphic description of the keeping of the festival: "All labour ceased, all trades were suspended, the husbandman threw down his spade and plough and put on his holiday attire, the very tavern-keepers left their gains. The roads were empty of travellers, the sea of sailors. The mother came to church with the whole band of her children and domestics, her husband and the whole family rejoicing with her. All Christians assembled everywhere as members of one family. The poor man dressed like the rich, and the rich wore his gayest attire; those who had none of their own borrowed of their neighbours; the very children were made to share in the joy of the feast by putting on new clothes."

Alas, that this should have been associated with keeping a christian festival: every word of it would be just as suitable for preparing for a pagan rite. How sad to forget that those who worship God must worship Him in spirit and in truth, and all such outward show counts for nothing or, worse than nothing!

The same writer says, "Every kind of sorrow is put to rest to-day, nor is there anyone so overwhelmed with grief as not to find relief from the magnificence of this feast. Now the prisoner is loosed, the debtor is forgiven, the slave is set free, and he who continues a slave derives benefit."

The time was to be spent in "worship, singing paschal hymns, and offering their daily sacrifices."

We thus see how in the early church the festivals were made to draw together and interest the people generally, irrespective altogether as to whether they were believers or unbelievers. And from that day to this, the same period of the year — and even more so the festival of Christmas — have been the scene of holiday-keeping, feasting, and mirth, entirely inappropriate to the solemn scenes they are said to commemorate: in many respects, indeed, a direct insult to the One who should be before the soul.

Chapter 3.

Athanasius and His Times.

Athanasius was born in Alexandria, of christian parents, about A.D. 296. As we have seen, he was present at the Council of Nice and opposed Arius.

In A.D. 326 he became bishop of Alexandria, and from the prominent place he thus held, and from his firm and persistent opposition to Arianism, he has been called the "Father of Orthodoxy." After him has also been named the popular creed handed down to us, which is still in use in the Roman and English churches as "The Athanasian Creed," though it is now generally believed to have been drawn up at a later date; by whom is uncertain. The Greek Church never acknowledged it, and in A.D. 1785 the Episcopal Church of America struck it out of their prayer book.

When Arius was recalled from his banishment Athanasius steadfastly refused to reinstate him; and now he was threatened with punishment; but the death of Arius brought relief.

This respite, however, was short, for the Arians had now grown into a strong party, including several bishops; and the accusations against Athanasius became so loud and so serious — even charging him with murder — that Constantine agreed to his being called before a synod at Tyre.

The day of trial at length arrived. Athanasius was charged with the murder of Arsenius, a bishop of the Meletians, and with cutting off his hand, to be preserved for magical experiments. The trial proceeded, and a shrivelled hand was actually produced in court as being the hand of the murdered man. A shudder ran through the assembly, and even his friends began to fear for the results, while his enemies thought the proof complete and his condemnation certain.

Athanasius stood calm and asked if there were any present who knew personally the supposed victim. Many said they did. And at once a man was led into court: his cloak was thrown on one side and his two hands exhibited to the spectators: it was Arsenius! Athanasius left his enemies to explain how it was that the bishop was still alive, and from whence they procured the other hand. Great efforts had been made to hide this man, but Athanasius had succeeded in finding him, and bringing him to the council.

Of course the accused was acquitted, but, alas! what a picture does this trial present of the state of the church at that time, or rather of those high in power as bishops and clergy. Even that which no honest worldly man would descend to do was planned and carried out by those accredited as guides in the church of God.

Nor did the matter end here. Nothing abashed at their own wickedness, his enemies determined to ruin the man who had thus stood steadfast in maintaining the truth as to the divinity of our Lord. Another charge was now brought against him — a charge of hindering supplies being sent from Egypt to Constantinople. No doubt the emperor was long since disgusted with their theological disputes — now they would lay a civil charge against the bishop, and one which they knew would rouse the emperor to act severely. Athanasius denied the charge; but he was condemned by his enemies, and Constantine banished him to Treves in Gaul.

The last years of the life of Constantine do not stand to his credit. At the council of Nice all seemed to shew well. He entertained the bishops at his table. "The guards," says Eusebius, "kept watch with drawn swords round the vestibule of the palace; the men of God passed through their midst without fear, and entered the inmost parts of the royal dwelling. Some of them reclined by his side, and others were placed on couches on either hand. One might have seemed to picture to oneself an image of Christ's kingdom; the whole thing was more like a dream than a reality." As we have seen, this picture faded away, and the faithful ones then in favour were afterwards banished.

Family quarrels, too, disturbed the peace of the emperor, and led to the death of his wife and other relatives, as we have seen. Many have tried to hide or deny these enormities; others relate how he was filled with remorse and sought absolution in acts of charity and building churches.

He was making preparations for war with the Persians, but did not live long enough to carry it on. A tent was to be fitted up as a chapel. The soldiers, whether pagan or Christian, were taught a daily prayer, and Sunday was ordered to be kept as a holy day. But fearing his end was approaching he was baptised by his favourite bishop Eusebius of Nicomedia, (an Arian and an enemy of Athanasius) — and he passed away A.D. 337. Thus Constantine at the last seemed to favour the false doctrine of Arius, and his conduct leaves a doubt as to his Christianity, now only to be revealed at a coming day.

Constantine was succeeded by his three sons, Constantine, Constantius, and Constans. Alexandria fell to the lot of the first of these, who recalled Athanasius and restored him to his diocese, to the great joy of his people. But the death of Constantine II. (A.D. 340) again placed Athanasius in danger, and he fled to Rome. A synod was called by Constans to try and settle the dispute, but those assembled could not agree. This emperor then insisted that Constantius should re-instate Athanasius, which was once more carried into effect.

Constans however was murdered in A.D. 350, and Constantius at once commenced to persecute Athanasius; but a synod could not agree as to his condemnation. A second synod was called, and now the bishops were desired to condemn the good man, and were threatened with deposition if they did not — thus proving in how false a position the church had placed itself by depending on the State, and receiving its directions from man, though he be an emperor. He declared that what he willed was to be regarded as a Canon!

Persecution followed the condemnation of Athanasius, and fell upon several who held to the truth: some were imprisoned, and others banished. Athanasius was ordered to leave the place, but his beloved people would not hear of it, nor allow him to leave. But one night when the bishop was at church with his people, a loud knocking was heard at the doors which terrified the congregation. Athanasius calmed the people and they began to chant Psalm cxxxv.

"Praise ye the Lord: praise ye the name of the Lord:

Praise him, O ye servants of the Lord,

Ye that stand in the house of the Lord,

In the courts of the house of our God,

Praise the Lord; for the Lord is good ...."

But the doors were forced, and a large body of soldiers rushed in, driving away the people with cruel violence. Athanasius at first refused to move, but the people carried him with them and for the time he escaped, and fled to the deserts of Thebais, where he found protection among those whom historians call hermits and monks. He was however pursued and many ran great risks in protecting him, for they shewed great zeal in hiding him, to the peril of their own lives; but he was compelled to depart still further into the deserts, where he gained respect as a holy man. A saint named Anthony bequeathed him his garment, which it is said he wore to the end of his days.

Here he remained for about six years, paying occasional secret visits to Alexandria, but which nearly cost him his life more than once. During this time the Arians reigned supreme in the East.

In A.D. 360 the emperor died and was succeeded by Julian — called the Apostate; for, though educated for the church, he abjured Christianity, and favoured paganism.

As Julian spoke of toleration, Athanasius once more appeared at Alexandria as bishop, the time seeming to be opportune on account of the death of George of Cappadocia, who had been forced into the bishopric during his absence. But he was soon ordered to leave Alexandria by the emperor, who began to use great efforts to root out Christianity. However, his work was soon cut short: he was mortally wounded in a battle with the Persians in A.D. 363. Athanasius once more returned to his people.

Jovian succeeded Julian, but reigned only eight months. Valentinian and Valens succeeded (A.D. 364*), and, except being banished once more from Alexandria for a short time by the intrigues of the Arians, Athanasius was allowed to remain and end his days at that place. He died, May, 373.

{*The Empire was now divided into Eastern and Western. Valens took the Eastern with Constantinople; Valentinian the Western with Rome.

Athanasius was a noble champion for the truth of the divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ, though when he had power he may not always have used it wisely. Men cannot be forced to hold the truth, and it is useless to make them confess it when they do not hold it. On the other hand, it is to be feared that many cared little about it, changing their views with the change of those in power; while those doctrinally wrong were bold and unscrupulous persecutors of those who held the truth.

All this is a sad and solemn picture of the state of that which was called the church of God in the fourth century. One would have been glad to have known more of private Christians, and whether they were sound in the faith and walking separate from an evil world. But there is no record of them. We would fain hope there were many scattered here and there, true believers in the Lord Jesus Christ, who sought, according to the light they had, to walk amid the gathering darkness so as to please Him.

Chapter 4.

Ambrose.

A.D. 374-397.

Though both Athanasius and Arius had passed away, the controversy raged as fiercely as ever. Of course every true Christian must maintain the divinity of Christ; for without His divinity there can be no atonement; and without an atonement there can be no salvation. Of course there may have been many who held these views without knowing their value and power; while, on the other hand, Satan was as determined as ever that such a doctrine must be opposed.

One of the first things that demanded the attention of Valentinian in the West, in respect to the church, was the election of a bishop of Milan. Here both parties — if such they may be called — were most determined to elect one of their own people, and there seemed no hope of their being able to agree, when suddenly some one in the crowd proposed that the magistrate who presided over their meeting should be bishop. This was Ambrose. "Ambrose for bishop" was cried out. But he refused the dignity, until seeing there was no hope of their coming to any other decision he consented. He was baptised, hurried through the intermediate stages, and on the eighth day was consecrated bishop of Milan.

Ambrose was of Roman parents, and had been educated for the bar, and about A.D. 370 had been made consular prefect of Liguria and Aemilia. He was residing at Milan, and presiding over the election of a bishop, or was present to prevent disorder, when, as we have seen, he was thus suddenly elected bishop.

When this was fixed, he proceeded to fulfil its duties. He settled all his possessions (after giving much away) under the care of a brother as a reserve for his sister, that he might be wholly devoted to his ecclesiastical duties.

Valens in the East had been gained over to the Arian party, and became a bitter persecutor of the orthodox. On one occasion, eighty ministers appealed to the emperor and sought to gain an interview with him; but he gave secret orders for them all to be put to death. The officer, fearing an insurrection if they were killed openly, ordered them on board ship for banishment, but gave secret orders to the sailors to fire the ship and leave them to their fate. This was actually done, and they all perished.

Valens was compelled to defend his estates from the Goths, which gave relief to the orthodox. He fell in battle in A.D. 378. Valentinian had died in A.D. 375. Theodosius succeeded, at first with others, and then alone in the East; Valentinian II. in the West.

In A.D. 381 the second General Council met at Constantinople (again in A.D. 382 and 383), which confirmed the decrees of the Council of Nice, and condemned Arianism and several other minor heresies. This brought the orthodox into greater power; but alas, few men can bear to be in power without abusing it. This was strikingly brought out in the otherwise worthy Ambrose. In a remote district the people, led on by a bishop, attacked a Jewish synagogue and a meeting-place belonging to some separatists, and both were destroyed. The emperor ordered the people to rebuild the edifices, or to pay a fine to the holders. But, on hearing this, Ambrose strongly opposed this being done, insisting that toleration of the Jewish religion was a persecution of Christianity! The emperor gave way, and would have let the matter drop; but Ambrose insisted that a solemn promise should be given that the guilty should not be punished, and again the emperor yielded.

We see here how strangely Ambrose mistook his mission. Instead of obeying the powers that be, according to the Epistle to the Romans, he was here opposing them, and that too in a simple matter of justice for injury done, and moreover in a civil matter. The bold bishop had, however, to oppose the emperor in a matter that came more immediately under his mission.

During some public games at Thessalonica the people were offended by the governor thwarting them in some of their wishes, whereupon they rose and murdered the officer and some of his guards. The emperor was so incensed at this, that he ordered the garrison to carry out an indiscriminate massacre of the inhabitants. They were invited into the circus on the pretence of seeing some public game; but on a signal the soldiers rushed in and commenced to kill, irrespective of age or sex. It was estimated that 7000 were thus ruthlessly put to death. The emperor indeed relented of his rash design and sent a messenger to prevent it, but, alas, he did not arrive in time. The emperor was sorry for the issue, but had to bear the reproaches of the clergy. Ambrose was the boldest of them, and told the emperor he could not allow of his taking the Lord's supper. The emperor pleaded the case of David and his sin. Ambrose replied, "You have indeed imitated the king of Israel in the sin of homicide; it remains for you to imitate him in his repentance." The emperor was humbled by the bishop's rebuke and promised to submit to any penance he might impose. Ambrose insisted upon a public penance, and that the emperor should not for the future have any execution carried out for thirty days after the sentence, that there might be time for passion to cool down.

Thus, while in Ambrose we see a bold man who would not be a respecter of persons, we see also how all this was paving the way for the clergy to reach that place of authority over the powers that be which eventually culminated in the arrogance of the Popes of Rome.

An incident in the life of Ambrose shews how necessary baptism was considered to be to salvation. Baptism was often put off till death was supposed to be near, and Valentinian had died unbaptised, and his sisters deeply lamented the fact; but Ambrose assured them that his desire was equal to the act, and that he had been washed in his piety as the martyrs in their blood! One is puzzled to know how anyone can be a martyr until he is a Christian and has been already washed in the precious blood of Christ. It shews how deeply mystical and confused was their knowledge of the truth.

Ambrose died quietly on his bed (A.D. 397), fulfilling his duties until the last.

While these things were transpiring in the West, let us look at another of the great Fathers located in. the East.

Chapter 5.

Chrysostom and His Times.

A.D. 347-407.

Chrysostom's life will give a better insight into the state of the church at the close of the fourth century than any mere description can do.

John Chrysostom was born at Antioch about A.D. 347. His father had died when he was an infant, but his mother was a godly woman who felt that her work was to devote herself to the care and bringing up of this son, and she remained a widow for that purpose.

Chrysostom was educated for the bar, and began to practise as an advocate, in which occupation he was soon renowned for his eloquence. This would speedily have drawn him into the world, but the pious instructions of his mother began to bear fruit, and he was early struck with the contrast between the lives of true Christians and those who bore its name only.

He soon discovered also the difficulties of being both a Christian and an advocate. To accept fees to use his eloquence to bolster up a bad cause and make it appear a good one, seemed to him to be practising a lie — to be taking the devil's wages — to sin indeed against his own soul.

He also had a particular friend named Basil, who had resolved to adopt the monastic life, and though Chrysostom could not at first give up the world and follow his friend, he did so after a time. Melitus, at that time bishop of Antioch, is described as "mild, holy, and orthodox," and he was soon attracted by the gifts of the young man, and seemed to see he would be a shining light in the church. Though Chrysostom's mother was a Christian, he had never been baptised, and after living apart from the world for three years, he was baptised and ordained as a "reader," and thus was employed to read the scriptures in public.

He now proposed to seek some secluded spot with his friend Basil, where they could practise a rigid asceticism. But his pious mother besought him so earnestly with tears not to desert her, that he gave way and went home with her. But he would be a recluse, nevertheless. He ate but little and seldom, and that of the plainest food. He slept on the bare boards, and rose frequently at night to pray. He seldom left the house, and when in company he spoke but little lest he should sin with his tongue.

Diodorus was head of a monastery near Antioch, and he taught Chrysostom to avoid the allegorising interpretation of scripture so common in the early church, and to let scripture speak for itself and mean what it said. This was of great use to Chrysostom in his after life, when he became instructor of others; though, strange to say, he was a party to a gross act of deception soon after, thinking the end justified the means: indeed, he even went so far as to say that Jacob's acts were "not a deceit but an economy."

What he did was this. Some of the bishoprics in Syria became vacant, and those interested in the matter looked about for suitable men to fill the offices, and they fixed upon Chrysostom and his friend Basil. Chrysostom shrank from the responsibility and determined not to accept it; but in order to get Basil to accept the office, he pretended to agree to it, and that they should both accept the proposal and be consecrated together. Whether Basil agreed to this or not is not clear, for we read that Basil was "seized," carried before the bishop, and ordained. But when they attempted to do the same to Chrysostom he was not to be found, for he had concealed himself until all danger was past. A strange way surely of making a man a bishop! and in direct opposition to the scriptural injunction not to lay hands suddenly on any man. (1 Tim. v. 22.) And strange conduct of Chrysostom, supposed to be so conscientious: he only laughed at Basil's remonstrances afterwards and was glad his plot had succeeded!

Chrysostom tells us of a narrow escape he had soon after this, in which he believed he was saved by God's overruling hand. A severe edict had been issued at Antioch against practising magical arts, and anyone possessing a book on the subject was held to be guilty and was in danger of torture if not death. He was one day walking with a friend near the river Orontes, when they saw in the water part of a book and at once fished it out; but to their horror discovered it to be on the magical arts. At that moment, too, they observed a soldier approaching — what could they do with the book? To keep and attempt to hide it would shew they were guilty; to be seen to throw it into the water was equally dangerous. They, however, flung it into the river, and were allowed to pass on unchallenged.

Soon after this he left the city and joined himself to a monk of severe habits, and there spent four years in crucifying the flesh. But, alas, he found that his flesh was stronger than he was — he could not subdue it. He would retire to a more lonely spot and be still more severe with himself. He found a cavern in a lonely place exposed to the cold, and there by scarcity of food and little sleep, if he did not succeed in killing the flesh he nearly succeeded in killing himself. At the end of two years he had to give it all up and return, with a shattered frame, to his home at Antioch. The flesh cannot be killed while life remains, and it is not to be conquered thus: power, given by life in Christ, and being led of the Holy Spirit, is the only way in which the flesh can be conquered (Gal. v. 6): "killed" it cannot be.

Chrysostom was soon at work again: first he was made deacon by Meletius in A.D. 381, and then presbyter by Flavian, bishop of Antioch, in A.D. 386. We see by the case of Chrysostom that being a "deacon" in those days was not simply to look after the poor and dispense the alms; for we find that during the four years he was a "deacon" he had become quite popular by his aptness to teach others, though perhaps privately. When he was ordained presbyter he began to preach, and for ten years his principal occupation was preaching in the church or cathedral; and, strange as it may seem to us, his sermons not only drew together large congregations, but his eloquence drew forth "loud and noisy applause." This did not please him, for he often rebuked it as unseemly for such occasions.

In A.D. 387 Antioch drew upon itself the wrath of the emperor Theodosius. A call for a large sum of money from the city to pay the army was received with general discontent. From grumbling things came to uproar and revolt. The lower classes, and especially those who are to be found in every city who have nothing to lose, proceeded to acts of violence. The public baths were sacked, and then an attack was made on the praetorium.* Here the governor was overpowered and had to escape by a back door. The judgment hall was decorated with portraits of the emperors: here, too, were statues of Theodosius and his deceased wife Flaccilla; but nothing was spared: the pictures were torn to shreds, and the statues smashed to atoms. Further destruction was stopped by the appearance of a body of archers sent by the prefect, and at length order was restored. But now every one was appalled at what had happened: what would the emperor say and do to such a direct insult to himself and his beloved wife? He was remarkable for his outbursts of passion, and all feared he would not distinguish between the guilty and the innocent, but destroy the city with a general massacre. Flavian was at that time absent from the city, but disregarding his infirmities, he started at once to see, and attempt to appease the wrath of the emperor. In the meantime imperial commissioners arrived, and began to arrest, torture, and put to death those whom they thought to be the most guilty; but deadly fear fell upon all, and many prepared for flight.

{*The official residence of the praetor or governor of a province.}

Chrysostom at once was stirred into action. His addresses now were specially directed to quelling the fears of the citizens generally, while he turned it to an occasion of loudly calling the unconverted to repentance. If there was cause for so much fear because of the anger of a man — an emperor — what real cause of fear was there as to their being able to meet an angry God!

Flavian was successful in his endeavours to calm the angry emperor, and obtained pardon for the guilty city as a whole, though many had already been put to death.

The labours of Chrysostom were not in vain — many of the pagan citizens were won over to the faith. He speaks of the great labour he had afterwards in establishing those who had turned from idols in consequence of this calamity.

These things occurred in A.D. 387, and for ten years longer Chrysostom spent his time here in preaching, exhorting, etc. Many of his sermons are left on record as commentaries on various parts of the word of God. But he was not to remain here all his life. A great and unexpected change awaited him, and it was brought about in this way.

In A.D. 397, the bishop of Constantinople, Nectarius, died, and many inquiries were made as to who should succeed him. It was a very honourable position at that time, the bishop being the Metropolitan of that district of the church, and sometimes called archbishop. Many were the aspiring candidates who in an unseemly manner pressed their claims.

At this time the weak Arcadius was emperor of the East, and though the bishop was nominally chosen by the clergy, the real choice lay with the emperor, or rather with his prime minister, who now was Eutropius, the chief eunuch. Eutropius had heard Chrysostom preach, and knew of his influence with the people; thereupon, passing by all the importunate candidates, he proposed to the electing bishops "John of Antioch,"* and he was at once accepted. And now came a piece of deception to be played on Chrysostom, such as he had once connived at in the case of his friend Basil. He was privately enticed to a martyrs' chapel outside the city. There he was taken possession of by officers sent for the purpose, and, before any alarm could be given, was conveyed to Pagrae, the first post station on the road to Constantinople. He protested against such treatment, but he was not heeded. He made all sorts of inquiries, but could get no information as to his fate. At Pagrae he was placed in a chariot, and, with a military escort, was driven from stage to stage with all speed until he reached Constantinople — eight hundred miles — a prisoner.

{*John of Antioch was really his name, and he was not called Chrysostom until after his death: it meant "golden-mouthed."}

Chrysostom had seen too much of such ways of making bishops, to know it was any use resisting; he was therefore duly installed. Theophilus, patriarch of Alexandria, had to perform the consecration, and this he was very unwilling to do; for he had a favourite candidate of his own who would better have suited his purpose. But the prime minister knew of certain charges against Theophilus, and of which he held the proofs: he declared he would use these against him and bring him to trial if he refused. Theophilus gave way, and Chrysostom was consecrated bishop of Constantinople, on February 26th, 398, in the presence of a large company.

It was soon discovered at Constantinople that their new bishop was a very different man from the easy-going Nectarius, who had lived in great magnificence, keeping a good table and giving banquets to the clergy and laity. All this was changed by the ascetic habits of Chrysostom. The costly plate and rich equipage of the palace were sold off, and the money given to benevolent objects, and he ate his frugal meals of common fare in his chamber alone. Until pressed, he shunned the court and the society of the rich; and, when drawn out, he spoke but little; so that he was soon judged to be morose, niggardly, and proud.

On the other hand, he was bishop, and had now to take the oversight of all the clergy in the city, and by many of them he was disliked even more than by those in high station; for he was brought into closer contact with them, and had to set aside several for gross sins, and refuse the Lord's supper to others.

He revived an old custom of services at night for the benefit of those who were unable to attend the services in the day. This also gave great offence to the clergy, who studied their own ease rather than the good of the people.

It is to be feared that the rigid asceticism of Chrysostom led him to rule the clergy with a rough hand as well as a firm one. Strictly sincere himself, he could make no allowance for anything that deviated from the path he laid down; so that his rule appeared to be one of iron rather than of love. Anything but happy fellowship was the result.

With the general public he soon rose into favour because of his sermons. We may hope that some were attracted by the truths he expounded, but certainly many were drawn by his eloquent denunciations of vice and folly, no matter where found. The clergy were no more pleased than the aristocracy by these public orations, to which the people flocked in crowds.

The bishop also pleased the emperor and his clever consort Eudoxia, who was gradually rising into power over both the weak emperor and his favourite prime minister. The empress and the bishop were brought into closer contact by the following circumstance. In a whim of mere religiousness she had founded a martyr's chapel in honour of St. Thomas, on the sea-shore of Drypia, about nine miles from the city; and she was now desirous of carrying thither the bones of some unknown martyrs, treasured up in a Greek Church. Of course the bishop must take a prominent part in such a ceremony. It was effected at night-time with a profuse display of torches. The empress, in her diadem and purple, walking by the side of the bishop and attended by nobles and ladies, followed the chest containing the sacred bones, and behind them the clergy and all communities of the people, male and female, followed, so that the light of the torches was compared to a "river of fire." The morning had dawned before the chapel was reached, and then Chrysostom had to preach his sermon. But, alas instead of telling forth the folly of such ceremonies, his sermon was full of unseemly praises of the empress, and expressions of his joy in taking part on such an occasion. On the next day the emperor paid his devotions at the same place, and another sermon of the bishop told of the piety and humility of the emperor. Such things seem marvellously strange in this day, but it gives a true picture of the state into which the church had fallen in that comparatively early age; and this conduct, too, is that of one universally styled a great and good man. Alas! if such things were done in a green tree, what might be expected in a dry?

Chrysostom had however nobler work. The Goths had attacked the Roman empire, and had probably taken some Christians among the prisoners, by whom Christianity was made known to the barbarians. Certainly, many of the Goths professed Christianity. On persecution arising among their own people, many were allowed to take refuge in some parts of the Roman empire, and many were now found at Constantinople, and these drew forth the sympathies of Chrysostom to care for their souls: these were for the most part Arians. The bishop had certain portions of the scriptures translated into their native tongue, and these were read to them, in one of the churches set apart for the purpose, by a Gothic presbyter, who afterwards addressed them, and Chrysostom himself at times preached to them through an interpreter. He also was the cause of missionaries being sent to the Gothic and Scythian tribes at their homes on the banks of the Danube.

In A.D. 399, Chrysostom had his heart drawn out in another direction. The eunuch Eutropius, first minister in the State, was, as we have seen, the means of the bishop's election. He had hoped that Chrysostom, in return, would have sanctioned his plans and purposes, not always right and good. But he found in the bishop a man of quite a different stamp; instead of helping on the statesman, he denounced all dishonourable transactions from the pulpit, though he did not name to whom his remarks applied.

This would have placed Chrysostom in great danger, had not the haughty eunuch given grave offence to the empress, who was now able to hurl the favourite from his high position. Eutropius had attempted to abolish the right of taking refuge in a church, because some of his victims had thus escaped the punishment he intended for them; but now, no sooner was there an outcry for his own death, than he ran into the church and clung, not to the horns of the altar now, but to the communion table, for safety. Loud demands were made by the soldiers and populace for the victim to be given up to them; but to these the bishop gave a persistent refusal.

Their indignation now turned upon the bishop, and he was marched off to the emperor. Here he so pleaded for the life of Eutropius, though his enemy, that he moved the emperor to agree to perpetual banishment instead of death.

The next day was Sunday. Chrysostom failed not to shew how unstable were all earthly favours and honours, pointing to the fallen statesman, to be seen through the curtains still clinging fast to the table. We hope he pointed also to those glories which Christ could give and which none could take away.

The culprit was saved for the present and exiled to Cyprus, but soon afterwards was put to death.

In the next year (A.D. 400) the Goths, having brought an army near to Constantinople, demanded three of the chief men of the city to be given up to them, and also that one of the churches of the city should be handed over to them for Arian worship. This roused Chrysostom: he braved the danger of going to the enemy's camp, and there used his eloquence before the chief, Gainas, on behalf of the three who, to save the State, had surrendered themselves and to divert him from his purpose as to the church; for he resolved that, cost what it would, no misbeliever should publicly worship in the city. He gained this point also. At length the emperor saw no way of saving the city from pillage and bloodshed but by declaring war against the Goths. The city was roused into activity, and the Goths were conquered.

We thus see how varied were the duties of a bishop in those days, at least, of one who, whatever his failings may have been, had Christianity truly at heart, as far as he himself understood it. But he soon felt himself called upon to oppose one yet more formidable. The empress had got rid of Eutropius, and was free also from the interference of the Gothic chief; the bishop now only stood in her way of ruling her weak husband just as she wished. Her religious zeal had all evaporated, and she was now seeking to ruin the bishop. An occasion soon presented itself.

In the General Council, A.D. 381, the bishop of Constantinople was declared to rank next to the bishop of Rome, the bishops of Alexandria and Antioch following, yet it was not well defined nor well acknowledged how far the jurisdiction of the Metropolitan of Constantinople extended. Thus, while some of the outlying districts would at one time respect his authority when he was in their favour, they refused it at another when he was against them. The actual collision arose thus. At a synod of bishops, held at Constantinople in A.D. 400, Eusebius of Valentinopolis accused Antoninus (bishop of Ephesus) of selling some bishoprics, of melting down the church plate, etc. An investigation was set on foot, but the accused died before any decision was arrived at. The Ephesian clergy invited Chrysostom to come and endeavour to set matters right. He went at once, and removed six bishops for simony, and proceeded to correct other abuses with his usual sternness. This gained him many enemies among the clergy in that district.

In the meantime his own position was being undermined at Constantinople. He had left Severian, bishop of Gabala, to be his deputy in his absence; but he joined with Chrysostom's enemies to bring about his ruin. The empress was at the head of it, together with a number of ladies in high life, whose arts to make themselves attractive the bishop had ridiculed in his addresses. Two bishops had also arrived at Constantinople: Antiochus, bishop of Ptolemais, and Acacius of Beroea, who also joined in the empress's plot. Chrysostom's archdeacon kept him informed of these growing troubles, and urged again and again the bishop's return; but three months elapsed before he had concluded his business.

When once there, he went into the pulpit and publicly attacked, in unseemly language, both Antiochus and Severian as flatterers and parasites. A short time after, having chosen a text from the history of Elijah, he said: "Gather together to me those base priests that eat at Jezebel's table, that I may say to them, as Elijah of old, 'How long halt ye between two opinions?' . . . . If Jezebel's table be the table of the Lord, eat at it, eat at it till you vomit." Whether Chrysostom meant it or not, the allusion was taken to point to the empress as Jezebel, and it is not easy to see to whom else it could apply. This insult the empress could not overlook, and his doom was sealed.

A quarrel sprang up between Severian and Serapion, the bishop's archdeacon, who charged the former with a blasphemous denial of the divinity of Christ. Chrysostom rashly listened to this, and, without due investigation, deposed Severian and banished him from the city. The populace took up Chrysostom's cause, and Severian was obliged to fly for his life. But he had served the empress, who now, hiding her purposes, pleaded earnestly for the exile, and even placed her infant son on Chrysostom's knees in the church. He could not refuse such an appeal, and absolved Severian, and peace was so far restored.

But it was only a temporary lull before the coming storm. The empress could not forget being compared to Jezebel, and Severian was now a more determined enemy than ever. A leader of the conspiracy was found in Theophilus, bishop of Alexandria, who had never forgotten nor forgiven having been compelled to consecrate Chrysostom. A plea for his interference soon presented itself. A number of monks, called because of their stature, "the Tall Brethren," had come to Constantinople and been well received by Chrysostom. They had been persecuted by Theophilus, on the plea of heresy, but it was believed it was really because they knew too much of his evil deeds. They had fled from place to place, and, he still pursuing them, they came to Constantinople to appeal to the emperor and Chrysostom for protection. Theophilus was summoned to appear before a council at Constantinople to answer the charges these monks made against him. He felt obliged to obey the summons, but set his wits to work to make matters turn to the condemnation of Chrysostom rather than of himself.

Theophilus arrived with the curious escort of a number of rough sailors of the port of Alexandria, and with not a few rich presents to gain over to his cause those who could be purchased. He refused all intercourse with Chrysostom, and soon succeeded with several of the clergy and the influential citizens by sumptuous banquets and a distribution of his gifts. And then, instead of his case being submitted to a council, he summoned Chrysostom to a synod to be held at a place called "the Oak," in the suburb of Chalcedon on the other side of the Bosphorus. Thirty-six bishops, nearly all Egyptian and dependent upon Theophilus, the rest being known enemies of Chrysostom, formed the synod. A list of twenty-nine articles formed the charge against Chrysostom, and he was summoned to appear and plead. It had been drawn up by two deacons whom he had been compelled to depose for gross sins.

Many of the charges were frivolous in the extreme, though some were more serious, as to the misappropriation of the church funds. Others touched his private life — his want of hospitality: one, "he had private interviews with women;" "he dined gluttonously by himself as a cyclops* would eat, he had changed his robes on the episcopal throne; and he had eaten a lozenge after the Lord's supper, etc.

{*A fabled giant with one eye.}

A second list was also drawn up, among which was the charge of comparing the empress to Jezebel, and this was made to signify inciting the people to rebellion.

Chrysostom was summoned four times, but refused to appear before such a tribunal composed of his enemies only: he appealed to an impartial council. In the meantime he called together a synod of forty bishops, who protested against the proceedings of the synod at "the Oak." This was disregarded, and on receiving an order from the court to come to a speedy conclusion, those at "the Oak" deposed Chrysostom. They would hardly have done this, had it not been that the empress had now the chief ordering of the empire, and she was his deadly enemy. The synod professed to leave the charge of treason to the State, and hoped that the accused would be condemned to death. The empress, however, knew how the bishop was beloved by the people, and was content to get the decision of the synod ratified and sentence him to banishment for life.

No sooner, however, was the sentence known than the people rose to protect their bishop, and formed a guard round both his residence and the great church. A sign from Chrysostom would have raised an insurrection; but he exhorted the people to patience and resignation to the will of God. "Glory be to God for all things," was his favourite exclamation. On the third day he took occasion to slip out unperceived, and gave himself up to the officers, who, after dark, conducted him to the harbour, and put him on board a vessel bound to Hieron, at the mouth of the Euxine. His enemies were in high glee, and Theophilus proceeded to punish those who had supported the bishop; while his friends and the people flocked to the gates of the palace, demanding a fair trial for their beloved bishop, and a revolt seemed imminent.

But, strange to say, on the following night the city was shaken by an earthquake, and, a shock being felt severely in the bed-chamber of the empress, she was filled with great superstitious fear, and, falling on her knees, entreated the emperor to avert the judgment of heaven by revoking the sentence and recalling the expelled bishop. This was at once done, and messengers were soon despatched by several routes to call back the bishop. His friends, too, were filled with joy, and, seizing on what boats could be had, they went forth with torches to meet and give him a hearty welcome. He came to the gates of the city, and then hesitated to enter until he was acquitted by a general council. But the people, fearing another plot against him, were ready to revolt, when the emperor sent a messenger begging him to enter at once. He obeyed, and was carried by the people through the city, taken at once to the church, placed on his throne, and an address demanded. A council of about sixty bishops declared the proceedings of the synod of "the Oak" null and void, and that Chrysostom was the bishop of Constantinople. On the other hand, Theophilus dared not shew his face in the city, and privately left for his own diocese.

Thus peace was restored, and now the empress and the bishop were again great friends, at least outwardly, praising each other in an unseemly manner. But peace brought about by such means had no real foundation, and was soon again shattered to pieces. Within about two months the collision took place, and was thus brought about. Eudoxia had virtually the ruling of the eastern empire, but she aspired now to higher honours than this. She caused a column of porphyry to be erected near the church of St. Sophia, on which was placed her statue in silver, for the adoration, it is said, of the people. This was a common thing among the heathen emperors, but how could this be with Christians? At any rate, in September, 403, it was dedicated amid tumultuous and licentious proceedings, very like those that had been customary among them when pagans. The noise of this dedication penetrated into the church and disturbed the worshippers. Chrysostom could not endure this pagan proceeding, and at once, with great rashness, denounced in his sermons the whole thing: the authorities and the people were all roughly handled, but especially the empress, whose image was to be adored. He is reported to have said, "Herodias is once more maddening; Herodias is once more dancing; once more Herodias demands the head of John on a charger." Who could be the John but Chrysostom? and who could be the Herodias but Eudoxia?

It is not to be wondered at that this — whether exactly reported or not is not known — should revive all the deep-seated enmity of the empress, and she loudly demanded redress. This was no sooner known than all Chrysostom's old enemies rose as one man to seek his destruction. It so happened that the bishop had been for some time asking the emperor to call a general council. Now this was the very thing. Yes, they would call a council, but not a general one; it would be easy, in spite of the bishop's many friends, to call such a one as would be sure to condemn him.

Theophilus did not personally attend, though he was one of the chief actors in the plot, and he had now a decree ready that would at once condemn the bishop. In the council of Antioch, A.D. 341, the 12th canon condemned any one who had been once deposed, if such appealed to the secular arm for restoration. Chrysostom had not really done this: the secular arm had appealed to him, and he had not resumed his duties until he had been cleared by a council. But it was quite near enough in resemblance when injustice wanted a plea, and on this he was condemned, though no formal resolution is recorded.

The council met at the end of A.D. 403, and was continued to the Easter following. The emperor had abstained from the Lord's supper at Christmas, on the plea that he did not know whether Chrysostom was really bishop, and as Easter approached, when a great festival in the church was held, it was thought desirable to get rid of Chrysostom, so as not to shut out the emperor again from the eucharist. Still the emperor hesitated until Antiochus and his companions stoutly assured him that Chrysostom was no longer bishop. The order for his removal was given, but, on the officer presenting it to the bishop, he replied with firmness that he had received his office from God and would not desert it. The emperor might expel him by force if he pleased; violence would be his excuse before God for leaving his post. He was then ordered to keep himself a prisoner in his house and not enter the cathedral. But the bishop would obey God rather than man, and go he would; he expected 3,000 catechumens to present themselves on this occasion: the guards feared to stop him. The emperor now reproached the bishops for being the means of things coming to this state, when they declared again that Chrysostom was no longer bishop, and they would take the responsibility of his being removed. The emperor was glad of shifting the responsibility on to others, and ordered the arrest of the bishop.

It was on the night before the day that spoke of the resurrection. A vast crowd filled the cathedral. Baptism was being administered to a long file of catechumens, who had removed their outer garments for the occasion. On a sudden the soldiers appeared, and, with drawn swords, took possession of the place. Those near the font were driven away, some wounded, and, as an eye-witness puts it, "the waters of regeneration were stained with blood." Those driven into the streets sought refuge with some of the clergy in the baths of the city, the waters of which were consecrated and the baptisms went on; but only to be again disturbed, and the people driven out by the soldiers — who were mostly rude barbarians from Thrace, and who did their work roughly. The persecutions were continued all Easter week, whenever it was known that any of Chrysostom's clergy were continuing his work. The horrors of that week were long remembered in the city.

In the meantime Chrysostom was a prisoner in his own house, but guarded by his friends outside. Still he was in real danger, his assassination being twice attempted. Thus he remained for two months before the timid emperor could be induced to order his banishment. He may have feared another earthquake. At length the blow was struck, and the order given. Chrysostom bowed to it, and surrendered himself, after a visit to the church with a few friends for prayer. He had to steal away to avoid a tumult. Two bishops refused to leave him, and the three were at once conveyed on board ship and taken by night to the Asiatic shore. They had, however, scarcely left the place, when a fire broke out in the church they had so lately left. The church was consumed, and the fire spread also to some public buildings. It was never ascertained how the fire originated, but suspicion fell on the bishop's friends, and many were put to the torture in order to draw out a confession. Two are named — Tigrius a presbyter, and Eutropius a reader — who expired under their tortures, and others are mentioned who remained maimed or disabled for life; but no confession was gained. This was followed by rigorous persecution of all who refused to bow to the one put into Chrysostom's place.

Appeal was made to the church in the western empire by Chrysostom and the persecuted bishops who held with him, through those who were accounted to be in influential positions, such as Innocent bishop of Rome, Venerius bishop of Milan, and Chromatius bishop of Aquileia. On the other hand, Theophilus sent his charges. The bishop of Rome judged the council who condemned Chrysostom to have been irregular, and he remonstrated sharply with Theophilus and condoled with the exile. He also got Honorius, the Western emperor, to write to his brother Arcadius urging him to call a general council, and the letter was entrusted to some Western bishops. But the empress ruled, aided by the bishops and others, and these messengers were not allowed to approach the emperor, the letters being snatched from them, and they treated with contempt. Injustice ruled supreme.

Chrysostom was sent to a most inclement spot — Cucusus, "a lonely mountain village buried in the depths of a valley of the Tauric range, on the borders of Cilicia and the Lesser Armenia." Remonstrance was vain: go he must. A long journey through a desolate country lay before him, and yet he was to be taken with all speed, regardless of his health or strength, and this in the great heat of midsummer. The villages fixed on for resting-places could give him only the barest fare of hard black bread, very unsuitable for him; this, with unwholesome water, brought on ague-fever. Still, on he must move: the orders were imperative. At length, more dead than alive, he reached Caesarea. The bishop here was no friend of his, though some of the clergy were; so he pretended to sympathise with him, but really avoided him, and would be glad to see him gone. He was really too ill to travel, but a body of fanatical monks attacked the house and demanded that he should be sent away. A lady took him into her country house, but the bishop of Caesarea compelled her to turn him out in the night, under the plea that the banditti were about and he must fly for his life. He had to be led or nearly carried along, and at length reached his destination towards the end of August.

Here he was kindly received, and more than one offered him hospitality. Many of his friends at Constantinople had estates in that neighbourhood, and directed their stewards to send him supplies. He was now nearer Antioch, his former scene of labours, and was visited by some of his old friends. He occupied his time in receiving and writing letters, and his influence was felt far and near; indeed, he seemed to become the principal guiding star of the church both in its western and eastern portions. His counsel was sought from all quarters, and few things of real importance were undertaken without consulting the exiled bishop. If it was the rooting out of heresy, he was the one who directed the course to be taken; if it was destroying the remains of pagan observances, he was the directing power; and if it was extending the operations of the church, he was the one who exhorted to it. While, at the same time, he comforted and exhorted the faithful, and warned and sought to recover those who had gone astray. He also used much of the money sent to him for benevolent purposes and in cases of need around him.

But the spot where he was had great disadvantages. It was subject to inroads of Isaurian robbers, who would rush down upon the peaceful inhabitants to kill and rob. The climate also was severe, especially to such a worn-out frame as that of Chrysostom. He had to remain at home during the winter, with fires always burning, and many blankets on his bed; and, at times, had to keep his bed for weeks together.

In the winter of the year 405, intelligence reached the place that the banditti were coming, and newly the whole town took to flight, Chrysostom, among them, hobbling along as well as he could with a few faithful followers, passing the nights in forests or ravines with but little shelter, until they reached the mountain fort of Arabissus, described more as a prison than a home; there he spent the winter in much distress. In the spring he was glad to get back again to his home at Cucusus, inclement as that was, and again receive his letters and send forth his epistles far and wide. He seemed to have a strong persuasion that he should again be restored to his diocese and to his beloved people, though this was not to be.

The relentless Eudoxia had passed from the scene by death, but had left many enemies of Chrysostom, who were disappointed and amazed to find that banishment had neither killed the old man nor hindered him from making his voice heard so universally in the church. They now obtained an order for his removal to a still more inclement spot — the worst in the whole empire — to the small town of Pityus at the base of the Caucasus on the north-east of the Euxine. Two guards were chosen to convey him thither — men remarkable for their harshness. They were to take him there on foot with all speed, and regardless of his health or of the weather — with a private hint, says bishop Palladius, that if he died on the road they might expect promotion! Towns were to be avoided, all letters to be refused him, and no one was allowed to aid him on the journey.

For three months the weary journey was pursued — his poor body being shrivelled up with the heat of the sun. They had reached Comana, he being more dead than alive; but he was not allowed to rest there — he must go on to a chapel some five or six miles beyond, where they were to spend the night. This chapel was supposed to have been erected over the tomb of the martyr Basiliscus. Chrysostom fell asleep and dreamed that he saw the martyr by his side, who said to him, "Be of good cheer; on the morrow we shall be together." The presbyter in charge of the chapel, it was said, had also seen a vision bidding him "prepare a place for our brother John."

In the morning the old man begged for a halt, but it was denied him: he must go on, but they had not proceeded far when a fever attacked him, and made progress hopeless — they therefore returned to the chapel. Here he was clothed in white baptismal robes, and partook of the Lord's supper. He prayed, ending, with his "Glory be to God for all things, Amen," and fell asleep. It was September 14, 407. He had been bishop ten years, but three and a quarter of these he had spent in exile.

About thirty years afterwards, when Theodosius II. was emperor, the remains of Chrysostom were removed with great ceremony to Constantinople, and interred in the church of the Holy Apostles, the emperor and his sister Pulcheria praying for the pardon of heaven for the persecution by their parents of this holy man.

We have not only the life of Chrysostom, but also his numerous writings, which throw much light upon the state of the church in his days. Montfaucon collected enough to fill thirteen folio volumes.

It will have been seen how subject the church had become to the state. An emperor, or even his chief minister, could make bishops of whom he pleased he could call councils when he pleased, and, by taking care as to who were invited, bring about any decisions he pleased. Many of the clergy had become mere tools in the hands of those in authority, and aided each other in carrying out plans for personal enrichment, as well as in enforcing their wishes by persecution.

Chrysostom, as we have seen, had to remove several of the clergy because of their having purchased their livings, and others for their immoral lives: all shewing the sad low state into which those had fallen who ought to have been examples to the flock. We would fain hope that these were the exceptions and not the rule. Still Chrysostom speaks of the state of many of the clergy as beyond belief, evinced not only by the means used to obtain their dignities, but by their undeniable profligacy and their restless ambition for power.

As to his hearers generally, he is no less severe, laying bare all the follies and sins of the age, while he warned and exhorted those who had made profession of faith.

One great feature in the character of Chrysostom was his love of scripture, doubtless instilled into him by his pious mother. His writings constantly quote it, and he publicly exhorted the flock to read the Bible. Business in all its shapes, and the family in all its cares, were no excuse for neglecting the Bible. "It is a plain book," said he, "the artisan, slave, and widow, may understand it;" the earnest reader would profit by it though he had none to explain it. It was of no value to possess it merely, or hang portions of it round their necks — they needed it in their souls. In those days of manuscripts only, few could afford to purchase even a whole New Testament he exhorted them to buy portions of it, according as they had the means.

Chrysostom preached the holiness and love of God, the divinity of our Lord, the atonement by His death, the personality and work of the Holy Spirit, the walk of faith, and the eternal happiness that awaited the faithful. But it is to be feared that he did not preach the gospel fully and freely, even so far as the forgiveness of sins. It was too much mixed up with philosophy. Thus, how often would he dwell on the exalted merit and angelic perfection of celibacy, almost to the exclusion of perfect Christianity in the married state!

Another thing that damaged his gospel was the exalting the church and its ordinances unduly. Baptism was "the pool of regeneration," and the Lord's supper, "the altar of sacrifice." How could such thoughts agree with pardon through the work of Christ alone? He knew that ordinances did not avail without faith in the atonement, and yet he would often exhort to repentance and faith, and then, as if the work of Christ was not enough, he would exhort the people to partake of the Lord's supper — "as of a mystery, initiation into which would banish evil, curb Satan, and open the portals of heaven."

As to the terms he uses respecting the Lord's supper, and partaking of the body and blood of Christ, he has been claimed by Roman Catholics as teaching transubstantiation, and by Protestants as not teaching it.

The rules and orders of the church were thought much of in his days. Thus, at his trial, while he could calmly deny graver charges, the thought that he had baptised anyone after he himself had eaten, was dreadful and worthy of a curse! When charged with giving the eucharist to some who had not fasted, he exclaimed, "If I have done so, let me be rejected by Christ."' Such things were apparently in his eyes greater sins than moral iniquities. Was not this the setting of the traditions of the church before the plain injunctions of the word of God?

Thus we see how, at that time, the foundations were being laid on which ritualism was afterwards erected; there may have been no thought of its undermining God's foundation of grace and truth; but, as we plainly read in the word of God, there can be no other foundation laid whereby men can be saved, nor must the word of God be added to nor taken from. And there is that solemn word that "we have an altar whereof they have no right to eat which serve the tabernacle." (Heb. xiii. 10.) If Christ is not enough, the whole is lost. The ordinances are quite right in their place, but salvation cannot be obtained by them.

Chapter 6.

The Donatist Schism.

Donatism must be distinguished from the heresies in the church, inasmuch as the Donatists held the same doctrines as Christians generally, but deemed it right to separate on account of the corruptions in the church; but whether the corruptions were really their chief reasons for separation, is now a doubtful question.

During the Diocletian persecution (A.D. 303) one thing especially demanded by the pagans was that the sacred books should be given up to be destroyed. Mensurius was bishop of Carthage, and, on his books being demanded, he hid the sacred books, and gave up some heretical books instead. This was deception, and not to be commended; but he said he was disgusted with the professed faithfulness of many would-be martyrs whose conduct did not correspond. Thus it is recorded: "The cells were full of debtors unable to meet their creditors, of fanatics, idlers, who were fed by injudicious devotees;" and he discountenanced in every way such so-called martyrs. Whether he went too far, so as to discredit every honest effort to obey God rather than man, cannot now be ascertained. At any rate, he made a great many enemies in the church, and a paper was afterwards issued denouncing his apparent slight upon the virtues and the sufferings of the martyrs.

Caecilian succeeded Mensurius at Carthage (A.D. 311). He had worked with Mensurius and had the same judgment in these matters, and now things came to an issue. His ordination was called in question, principally because he had been ordained by Felix who was a "traditor."*

{*See chapter 10: section 'The Novatians'.}

Secundus, bishop of Tigisis, was his principal opponent, and this was the more inconsistent, as he himself was a traditor. At a synod held at Cirta (A.D. 305), presided over by Secundus, it is said there was not one who had clean hands. "One had thrown the gospels into the fire; another had offered incense to the gods, and a third had given up his small papers, but kept his codices." A charge of murder being brought against bishop Purpurius, he broke out furiously, saying to Secundus: "Do you wish to frighten me, as you frighten others? Not only have I killed, but I do kill all who thwart me. Take care not to provoke me too much, or I shall have to declare what you did when the curator demanded of you to deliver up the scriptures." Terror filled the whole assembly of bishops, and all received with joy the proposition that, as God had not punished them, they should not punish one another: let each give an account to God, and nothing more be said of their failures!

A sad picture surely of a number of bishops, and yet these were the men who now opposed Caecilian because he had been, as they said, ordained by a traditor, and they proceeded to consecrate another bishop, Majorinus, in his place. This completed the schism, which eventually wrought much mischief and no little bloodshed.

The point insisted on was, that any sacred act done by an excommunicated person was invalid; and a traditor was held to be in the same position as an excommunicate.

The question whether Felix was a traditor was thoroughly investigated afterwards, and he was cleared of the charge; yet the Donatists, as they were afterwards called, would not credit it, nor cease their opposition.

There were two bishops of the name of Donatus: the first was of Casae Nigrae: he agreed with Secundus. The other succeeded Majorinus as bishop of Carthage (A.D. 315), and was called Donatus the Great. He became the vigorous leader of the separatists.

The bishop of Rome was asked to investigate the question at issue in A.D. 313. He, in association with a few others, condemned the Donatists.

An appeal from their decision to Constantine was made in A.D. 314, and again in A.D. 316; but they were again and again condemned, and an edict at the later date took away their churches, and some of them even lost their lives.

The Donatists, under their leader, defended themselves, and anyone who had a grievance against the church or the civil authorities, rallied to their standard. Among these were the Circumcelliones.* These are described by Augustine as "a class of men who followed no useful employment; they held their own lives in fanatical contempt, and thought no death too cruel for those who differed from them; they wandered about from place to place, chiefly in the country districts, and haunted the cottages of the peasants for the purpose of obtaining food." The better class of the Donatists turned away in horror from such murderous associates; but they had been accepted by others. The faction gathered strength daily, and threatened a civil war. Thereupon the emperor revoked his laws against the Donatists, and all were left free to be what they pleased.

{*From cellae, or cottages, of the peasants, and circum, "around" — a nickname because of their going about among the peasants. They called themselves Agonistici, or combatants.}

When Constans succeeded Constantine the Great in Africa, he sought to reclaim the Donatists. But Donatus the Great, and others with him, refused all union with those called orthodox. And the Circumcelliones were again stirred' up to their outrages, but were overcome in an attack by one of Constans' officials. Persecution was now again put in force against the Donatists and carried on with great cruelty.

Julian, when he came to the throne (A.D. 361), recalled the exiles, and again gave liberty, and the Donatists once more rapidly increased.

Gratian reversed the order of things again, and drove the Donatists from their churches.

Thus these separatists were from time to time tolerated, and again persecuted; sometimes were flourishing, and at others brought low.

As to their doctrines it is not easy to obtain a clear account. In general they held the same doctrines as other Christians, as even their opponents confess; nor were their morals in any way inferior — excepting the Circumcelliones, who were not really Donatists, and whose actions were detested by the best of the Donatists. Their great crime was being separatists. They contended that this was needful because of the corruptions in the church generally; they re-baptised those coming to their communion, and re-ordained the ministers, because they could not own anything done by the church which they now judged to be corrupt, and, because of evil men being allowed within, they declared it had ceased to be the true church.

In A.D. 395, Augustine was consecrated bishop of Hippo. Here he found the Donatists very strong, and he at once took up the question warmly. He lamented that there was such division, exclaiming, "What has Christ done to us, that we rend His members asunder? Consider how sad a division reigns in christian households and families. Husband and wife, who, in their married state, know no division, separate themselves at the altar of Christ." An evil, alas! that has increased a hundred-fold in this our day!

Donatus died in exile, and Parmenian succeeded him. Between the latter and Augustine a long controversy followed, and several writings were issued for and against. The Donatists quoted 1 Corinthians v. as their authority for putting evil out of the church. Augustine admitted this in the main, but said it could not be done entirely, as was shewn by the parables, such as that of the Wheat and the Tares. The Donatists replied that this was what would be in the world, and was not to be in the church.

Surely in this the Donatists were right; but, if the historians are to be relied on, it was party spirit that ruled the Donatists and not a real desire for a holy assembly. It is said that they received with open arms those who had been, on account of the laxity of their lives, dealt with in discipline by the orthodox church.

They were also greatly to blame in having connexion with the Circumcelliones, after having once seen their true character; but again, about A.D. 401, they allowed these fanatics to join them, and, once more, they set fire and sword at work to destroy churches and slay those that opposed them. They principally sought out those who had left the Donatist party, and the orthodox clergy. Augustine had a narrow escape.

An effort was made to hold a conference, but the Donatists replied that "the sons of the martyrs, and the brood of traditors can never meet. The emperor was now appealed to, and severe edicts were issued against the Donatists. This caused many to return to those called orthodox, where they were received "with love and forgiveness." On the other hand, it roused the fanatics to still greater excesses, and the city of Hippo and its neighbourhood suffered fearfully.

In A.D. 411, a conference was suggested and now it was accepted by all. There were present 286 Catholics* and 279 Donatists, shewing that the latter were still strong in numbers. It met at Carthage, each choosing seven persons to speak. After a good deal of quarrelling, the Donatists presented their side of the question in writing. They objected to the doctrine that the church must to the end contain both good and bad; they quoted scriptures to prove that the church must be pure and without spot; they objected to the examples quoted by the catholics from the prophets as inapplicable to that day; they dissented from the view that Judas received the Lord's supper, and that that was a proof of allowed evil; and to the interpretation of the parable of the Wheat and Tares as applying to the church; or that Romans i. 18 was to the point.

{*The term "catholic church" was used very early, and afterwards the mass of Christians were termed "Catholics" when it was needful to distinguish them from heretics, Donatists, etc.}

Augustine replied that scripture did not contemplate the church being free from evil: he repeated in substance what he had previously written: "We cannot separate ourselves while in the body from the wicked; but we must use all the greater diligence in heart and will to separate ourselves from their mode of life. It is our duty to recognise this, and not to imperil love by passionate division, or dissever unity by pride. Let us be diligent to hold the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace: for he who gathers outside this unity, gathers not with Christ; and he who gathers not with Christ, destroys." In another place he says, "The church grows and cannot perish, even if wicked men are mixed in it with the good; for this mixture does not lose its character."

It will be seen that this raises important issues that have had to be discussed many times since, namely, What is the church? Is that necessarily the church of God that calls itself such? And is it always wrong and schism to separate from that which bears the name of the church of God when it has lost the essential characteristics of that church as put forth in scripture?

As we have said, the Donatists were more consistent in their doctrine, however they may have failed in practice, and however blinded by party spirit, and joining with evildoers to gain their ends. In these things they were surely guilty. As the Spirit of God is a Holy Spirit, the unity of the Spirit we are exhorted to keep, must be in separation from evil.

Another point that was discussed in the above council was whether persecution for differences in the church was right. The Donatists contended that it could not be justified; Augustine — perhaps because of his connection with the church called orthodox — contended that it was at times needful.

Persecution again followed this council, under Honorius the emperor. It has been judged that though the Donatists seem not to be mentioned after Gregory the Great (A.D. 590-604), they continued to exist until Africa was overrun by the Saracens in the seventh century, when they are lost sight of.

Augustine.

A.D. 354-430.

Having mentioned Augustine in his connection with the Donatists, the reader will like to learn a little more of this great champion for the truth, as he was called. His mother, Monica, was a Christian, and prayed earnestly and constantly for his conversion. When young, indeed until near his conversion, he led an irregular life, according to his own "Confessions." For about ten years he was joined to the Manicheans* (whom he afterwards attacked); but their immorality disgusted him, and their shallowness could not satisfy his longing for something better. He went to Milan where, out of curiosity, he heard Ambrose, and there he was converted in his thirty-fourth year (A.D. 386). On the death of his mother, which deeply affected him, he sold his property and became an ascetic; but in A.D. 391, he was called to be a presbyter at Hippo, and in 395 he became bishop. Here he continued about thirty-five years with but few remarkable incidents except his defence of the faith. Shortly before his death, the Vandals overran the North of Africa and assailed Hippo; but Augustine closed his earthly career (A.D. 430), before the city was taken.

{* Professors of a new religion, which we shall read more of farther on.}

The two principal works of Augustine are his "Confessions," which give his own history of his conversion, and his "City of God," an elaborate work which represents the church of God as surviving the decline and fall of the Roman empire. He defended the doctrine of the Trinity, and has been thought to have ended the great controversy against the Arians, although some still held the doctrine and do to this day. He was also the champion of grace against Pelagianism, and what has been called semi-Pelagianism, which we hope to look at presently. And thus he has often been held up to be the defender of the truth, standing, as it were, midway between the apostles and the Reformers.

On the other hand, he was a great champion for the church considered orthodox in his day, and in his works many of the errors of the Church of Rome are either laid down or can be easily drawn therefrom, so that he has also been constantly appealed to by Roman Catholics as well as by Protestants.

Chapter 7.

Pelagianism.

This was one of the many heresies of the church in the fifth century. Pelagius was long thought to have been an Englishman of the name of Morgan, but nothing is really known of his nationality. He was first known at Rome as an ascetic, when he was joined by one Coelestius, and both attempted strictly to carry out all the precepts of Christ, but it is to be feared they strove to do it in their own strength. In A.D. 411 they removed to Carthage, but some suspicion of their orthodoxy had preceded them, and Augustine at once called a synod to examine the questions at issue, and therein Coelestius was condemned for holding that the fall of Adam did not extend to his posterity, and Coelestius was denied communion.

Pelagius went to Palestine, where two synods acquitted him, because, when pressed, he allowed that divine assistance was necessary to enable a man to keep the law of God. But the orthodox were not satisfied, and appeal was made to the bishop of Rome, Zosimus. (A.D. 417-8.) A confession of faith was carefully drawn up by Pelagius and his colleague, and the bishop acquitted them. Letters were now written to North Africa, remonstrating with the clergy for condemning these men. Here another synod was held, and they refused to receive the judgment of Rome.

The real doctrine of Pelagius was a denial of the fall of man — not the fall of Adam — but that man universally shared in the fall of Adam. He held that man has ability to sin, but also, of his own free will, to choose the good and to do it in an acceptable manner. Man has a propensity to sin, but this is not sinful in itself — not sin unless he practises sin. If he obeys, he is helped by divine grace to a more perfect obedience. By believing in Christ his sins will be forgiven. Though the term Pelagianism has long since died out, there are many in the professing church of to-day who hold doctrines quite as erroneous. But to return to our history.

The African bishops prevailed on the emperor to condemn Pelagius, and now Zosimus changed his mind and condemned him also, with severe penalties against all offenders. But the error had taken root, and in Italy eighteen bishops were ejected because they would not renounce the heresy. A general synod of Ephesus afterwards condemned all who held the doctrines of Pelagius. (A.D. 431.)

This gave rise to what has been called semi-Pelagianism, namely, Man universally might be involved in the fall of Adam, but he was not disabled from doing good works, or having a will to do them. As it is at this day, so it was then: we cannot exalt man without in an equal degree lowering the supremacy of grace, and the need of the almighty power of God in conversion.

Man is willing to own that he needs help in order to fully satisfy God, but he does not receive the testimony of the word that he is lost, and needs a Saviour and a new birth before he can begin to do anything that can please God.

Few who deny the utter ruin of mankind see that they in reality undermine the atonement. If man needed help only, God could have given that; but in order to forgive sins, and give man an entirely new standing, Christ must die: "without shedding of blood there is no remission," but the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin. Scripture shews plainly that man must be born again, must be a new creature, as well as that he was lost and needed salvation, and this could only be by the atonement.

Chapter 8.

Monasticism.

St. Anthony is considered to be the father of monks, though one, Paul of Thebais, may have been a little before him as to date. Anthony was born about A.D. 250 at Coma in Upper Egypt. When he was about twenty years of age his parents died, leaving him well provided for. But hearing the scripture read: "Sell all that thou hast and give to the poor," he resolved to carry it out. He sold his property except just enough for his own and his sister's wants. Soon after he heard another scripture: "Take no thought for the morrow," and he sold off the remainder of his estate, and, after seeing his sister taken care of, he retired into a lonely spot, and began to live in the most sparing way — eating bread only, and lying on the bare floor. But finding that Satan still tempted him to evil, he removed to a more secluded place, and took shelter in a dilapidated tomb. Here, after much suffering, he thought he had conquered Satan, and was able to live a life of exalted piety. He afterwards removed to the ruins of a castle in a mountain, where he resided for a long period, spending twenty years in his various seclusions.

He became known as the pious hermit, and was solicited to allow others to share in his seclusion. He had some small cells erected, and here he allowed others to reside; but he refused to preside over them, and at times would take long journeys away from the old castle that he might be absolutely alone.

He restricted himself to six ounces of bread per day, moistened with water, and a little salt. When brought very low he would allow a little oil or a few dates; but would fast for whole days to make up for his indulgence. His dress was a sackcloth shirt and a coat of sheepskins, tied with a leathern girdle. He often spent the greater part of the night in prayer and meditation.

Many resorted to the pious hermit for advice or to ask his prayers, and the emperor Constantine wrote to him. His companions expressed their surprise at this. But he replied, "Be not surprised that the emperor writes to us — one man to another; wonder rather that God should have written to us, and that He should have spoken to us by His Son."

St. Anthony knew enough of human nature to foresee that many might take up with a life of seclusion who had not given up the world. He feared that a day would come when such would like to live in stately buildings and fare sumptuously, while their only distinction from others would be in their dress — a prophecy too well fulfilled in later years.

When his end approached, he refused to remain among the other monks, except the two who lived near his cell. He bequeathed one of his sheepskins and his cloak to Athanasius, as a token that he approved of the doctrine of the Trinity; the other sheepskin he gave to bishop Serapion; and his sackcloth he gave to his two companions. He died at the good old age of 105 years.

Others followed a similar course, and became even more renowned. One, called Simon Stylite, carried his privations to such extremes that he was dismissed from a monastery as too severe. He foolishly tied a rope round his body so tightly that it ate its way into the flesh, and could only be removed after three days' exertions by a surgeon, and then left a dangerous wound. He eventually built himself a tower (hence the name Stylite) on which he lived till his death, raising it by degrees from six to thirty-six cubits high. He became exceedingly famous.

This, then, is a slight sketch of the beginning of monasticism in connection with the christian church. As it became a powerful agency in after days, it is well to see whether it originated in the church, or was copied from anything that existed previously.

It was closely associated with asceticism, that system of becoming exercised in bearing privation, and of seeking for greater purity than could be found in the mass of mankind generally. This caused some to separate themselves from the mass of the people, and when there were several at or near the same spot they associated together and became communities. Or, as we have seen, in some places it began with one man, who became famous, around whom others gathered.

It is clear from history that there was a sort of monastic order among the Jews, who were called Essenes.* Both Josephus and Philo speak of these. They sought to attain to great purity and considered there were several stages of purity, such as —

1, the Essene attained to outward purity, signified by baptisms;

2, he abstained from marriage — this was an advance on the first stage;

3, he then sought inward or spiritual poverty, though it is not clear in what this consisted;

4, he sought to be meek and humble, and put away all anger and malice;

5, then he attained to holiness so-called;

6, then he became fit to be a temple of the Holy Spirit;

7, then to do cures and work miracles;

8, to attain to the portion of Elias, the forerunner of the Messiah.

{*It is a very disputed point as to the meaning of this name; some take it to mean the "pious," others "the silent ones."}

These lived together in communities — had all things common — worked with their hands, tilling the ground, etc.; they were very zealous for the law, and liberal to the poor. Josephus speaks of them as existing as early as the time of Jonathan Maccabeus. (died B.C. 144.)

It is also proved that similar societies existed among the ancient Egyptians. There abode in the temples of Serapis bands of men who had left the world, given up their possessions, and who lived upon the bread their relatives brought them. Their object was to attain to greater purity of soul.

It would be interesting to discover how and why such communities sprang up in the christian church, seeing scripture is silent on such a subject. It has been judged that monasticism did not exist during the first two centuries, though there may have been some practising asceticism. St, Anthony was born, as we have seen, in the third century.

Christianity taught man that he was a fallen being, and if he did not grasp God's remedy for this condition, it is easy to see why he attempted to conquer the evil by his own endeavours. Men could but see that there was much evil in the world, and they sought to get away from it. But there was also evil within, and this they could not run away from, for, go where they would, they carried it with them. They, therefore, punished the body by starving it and whipping it; but this did not reach the heart, out of which proceeded the evil that defiled, as our Lord explained to His disciples. (Matt. xv. 18.) Therefore, with all their fancied purity, they were just the same as before in themselves, though, of course, their outward conduct may have been improved. As to any remedy, "the flesh profiteth nothing."

Those also who were Christians made a great mistake, as they might have seen in the Epistle to the Galatians. They had begun with Christ (or they could not have been Christians) and then they sought to be perfected in the flesh.

Two or three things naturally helped on monasticism. One was the persecution in the early church. This often drove the Christians, especially those known as pastors and teachers, into secluded places far distant from the usual abodes of men, where they lived in caves or put up temporary abodes; then when persecution ceased, some preferred to remain in the quiet seclusion they had before sought as a necessity.

Another thing was, that when Christianity became popular it also became more or less corrupt, with much contention for place or power in the church. This caused some pious souls to withdraw from the scenes of confusion to quiet places where they could be at peace, and carry on their studies and their devotions unhinderedly. But such were generally discovered, and news of the "holy man" would rapidly spread. And then, as we have seen, his quietude would be destroyed. Many would flock to him for advice, some to ask his prayers, and his judgment on disputed points. Others pressed him to let them take up their abode with him, and this ended either in his taking refuge in some more inaccessible place or in his becoming the head of a community. This indeed was the origin of many monasteries.

In some places the chief work was copying ancient manuscripts, including the Bible, and, indeed, when the dark ages set in, some of the monasteries were the places where the scriptures were preserved and where copies of them were multiplied.

Protestants sometimes shrink from the thought of any good being done in a monastery, since so much evil was found eventually to be connected with them; but it is well to see that in their origin — however mistaken the idea may have been — they were not corrupt, and they certainly did good work from time to time in the earlier stages of their existence, by thus preserving and multiplying the copies of the word of God.

But how contrary is monasticism to the example of our blessed Lord, who went about doing good! He prayed for His saints, not that they should be taken out of the world — indeed, He sent them into the world (John xvii. 18) — but that they should be kept from the evil. Oh! for grace, while passing along in the world, to keep our garments unspotted from its many and varied corruptions!

Chapter 9.

Christianity in Britain.

Religion in our country was, as far back as we can trace, that of Druidism.

Of the principles of this religion (if such it can be called) very little is known; the Druids were instructed in secret, and nothing was allowed to be put into writing. Britain appears to have had a pre-eminence in the observance of Druidism, for Julius Caesar says that "such of the Gauls as desired to be thoroughly instructed in the principles of their religion, usually took a journey into Britain for the purpose."

The Druids were judges as well as priests, and had great influence over the people; they elected from among themselves one to be Arch-Druid. They taught especially three things: bravery in war; the immortality of the soul; and life after death. These latter principles were carried out so practically that they sometimes left accounts and money lent to be settled for in the new life, and some would even cast themselves into the funereal pile to be the sooner along with the deceased ones they loved. It has been asserted that the Druids were not addicted to idolatry until after the invasion of the Romans: eventually they worshipped the sun and moon; with Jupiter, Mars, etc., as demi-gods.

The Druids had a curious way of enforcing the annual payments due to them. A tradition says that on the last day of October every family was obliged, under heavy ecclesiastical penalties, to let all the fires in their dwellings go out, and then on the first day of November they had to resort to the temple, pay their fees, and get a light from the sacred fire to re-kindle their fires at home. The time was well chosen, as the winter approached when fires were the more needful.

The places of worship were amid a grove of oak-trees, with huge stones in the form of a circle, and horizontal stones placed on the top of two or more of the upright stones. Sometimes a double row of stones was formed. The altar was at times a pile of stones or of turf, and at other times one massive stone.*

{*At Stonehenge, and other places, the remains of Druids' temples are supposed to exist.}

Along with the animals sacrificed, human beings were also offered; several were confined in huge enclosures of wicker-work and all burned together. At other times, a man was killed with a stroke of the sword, and then the way he fell, the contortions of his body, the way his blood flowed, were all watched and certain things were predicted from what was observed or the victim was laid on the stone altar and offered up.

Thus our now highly-favoured country was once the scene of these dreadful cruelties — a system, indeed, too revolting even for the idolatrous Romans. Surely Satan, who was a murderer from the beginning, must have been the author of such a religion.

The invasion of the Romans gave a great check to Druidism. Tiberius banished such systems from the provinces around Rome, and Claudius put an end to them in Gaul at the same time the Druids were attacked in Britain and were compelled to take refuge in Anglesea. "Suetonius Paulinus, governor of Britain under Nero, cut down the sacred groves of the Druids, destroyed their temples, overthrew their altars, and burned many of the priests." No doubt this was because of their offering human sacrifices, as the Romans themselves were idolaters.

As Rome thus rooted out this ancient horrid system, it was also a means of introducing Christianity into this island at how early a date cannot now be ascertained, though it was, without doubt, during the first century of the christian era.

Some of our readers will, perhaps, be surprised to hear that besides Christianity being thus established very early in Britain, some of the British Christians are even named in the New Testament. Yet this has been asserted. The story is this. A poet named Martial* mentions a lady of the name of Claudia, born of British parents, and who lived at Rome. The apostle Paul also speaks of a Claudia in his second Epistle to Timothy. These two are supposed to have been the same person. What adds to the probability, is that the same poet mentions a Pudens along with Claudia, and this name is also given by Paul: "Eubulus greeteth thee, and Pudens, and Linus, and Claudia, and all the brethren." (2 Tim. iv. 21.)

{* Martial lived A.D. 43-104, and resided thirty-five years at Rome.}

It is supposed that Christianity was first introduced into England about A.D. 64, but as early as B.C. 55-54, Julius Caesar invaded Britain, and may have taken back hostages. Again, in A.D. 40, Aulus Plautius visited Britain, and eleven years later Caractacus was carried to Rome.

Now the date given to the Epistle to the Romans is A.D. 58, which proves that there was a church at Rome at that time, and many years earlier, according to Romans xv. 23; and some of the British hostages may have been converted and added to that assembly before the second Epistle to Timothy was written (A.D. 63, or 68 by others), and thus the Claudia of Paul may have been the British lady named by the poet; this is as much as can be said on the subject.

Justin Martyr and Irenaeus, in the second century, both speak of Christianity being spread over the whole of the Roman empire, and, if so, it would have spread to Britain; and Tertullian, in the same century, speaks of the parts of Britain, inaccessible to the Romans, being subject to Christ. Gildas, called "the father of British history," represents the Sun of Righteousness as shining on these remote islands, ice-bound in paganism, in the earliest ages of the earth and before the conflict of the Romans with Boadicea (A.D. 61).

While therefore there cannot be a doubt that Christianity was introduced into Britain thus early, little is known of its history.

It has been questioned by some whether Britain received Christianity through Rome, because of its opposition to the Church of Rome in later years; and they think it is more probable that our island received the religion of Christ direct from Asia Minor. This may be so, or Britain may have received it from Rome before the Church of Rome became so corrupt and being separated by distance maintained its purity much longer than the metropolis of the world.

As we have seen, a persecution broke out in the reign of Diocletian, and orders to persecute the Christians reached Britain as well as all other parts of the Roman empire. Gildas says of the persecution: "All copies of the scriptures that could be found were burned in the streets, and the chosen pastors of God's flock butchered, together with their innocent sheep, in order that not a vestige of the christian religion, if possible, might remain in any province. What disgraceful flights then took place; what slaughter and death, inflicted by way of punishment in divers shapes; and, on the contrary, what glorious crowns of martyrdom then were won! What raving fury was displayed by the persecutors, and what patience on the part of sorrowing saints, ecclesiastical history informs us; for the whole church was crowding in a body to leave behind them the dark things of this world, and to make the best of their way to the happy mansions of heaven, as to their natural home."

Amphibalus, one of the clergy, fled from his persecutors, and found shelter at Verulam with a pagan named Alban who kindly received him, and was amply repaid by receiving Christianity from the refugee. When Amphibalus could no longer be hid, Alban changed clothes with him, and he escaped; but, on this being discovered, Alban was ordered to offer to the gods or he should share the fate that was intended for the other. He refused, and was first scourged and then beheaded.

On Constantine turning Christian, the church in Britain rapidly recovered from the effects of the persecution; for at the council of Arles in A.D. 314, three British bishops signed the decrees — Eborius of York, Restitutus of London, and Adelphius of Britannia Secunda, as some district was then called. And, without doubt, British bishops took part in later general councils.

Little is known of how the church proceeded in Britain at this time, but they had to share in the troubles arising from the various heresies we have already looked at, especially we read of Pelagianism having been taught in Britain.

When the troubles of the Romans to maintain the empire arose and they had withdrawn their legions from Britain, the land was invaded once and again by the Picts and Scots. This was followed in due time by the fall of Rome, and the British, being unable to repel the Picts and Scots, invited the Saxons and Angles to aid them, who, having defeated these enemies, turned upon the British and drove them into Wales and other parts, A.D. 455.

All these changes must have greatly affected the prosperity of the churches in Britain. The Abbey of Glastonbury had in the meantime come into existence, and St. Patrick, if some accounts are to be trusted, became its abbot, but this is very doubtful.

The origin of this celebrated man is much disputed. When young he fell into the hands of the Picts and Scots, and was twice sold into captivity, but making his escape he returned to Britain. When a captive he became sensible of his lost condition and sought salvation, and was then anxious to make known the gospel to others. He was eventually met by Germanus, who was travelling through the country opposing the Pelagian heresy. Germanus took him to France, and from thence he went to Rome, in the time of Celestine. By him he was sent to Ireland, where he laboured for many years, and established many churches — thus indelibly linking Ireland and St. Patrick together. Many fables are mixed up with his history, and some have supposed that there were two or three of the same name.

Very little is known of the introduction of Christianity into Scotland. It is recorded that Ninian, the son of a British prince of Cumberland, went to Rome, and was there ordained by bishop Siricius in the close of the fourth century, and sent to preach the gospel among the pagan tribes of Caledonia. Ninian established himself at Whitherne in Galloway, and built a church there, remarkable in those days for its architecture, and from thence the gospel radiated to other parts. Many a church and chapel in Scotland was named after St. Ninian, or St. Ringan as he was often called. He died A.D. 432. Palladius, also sent from Rome, came about this date, as the first bishop "to the Scots believing in Christ," but it is thought more probable that he was sent to the Scots of Ireland, which was anciently called Scotia, though he may have visited Scotland also, or sent one of his clergy. But little is known as to what success attended these early labours.

Chapter 10.

Councils in the Church.

In imitation of the notable council of the church mentioned in the Acts, as to whether the Gentiles should be compelled to be circumcised and to keep the law — when the apostles and elders came together to consider the matter, and at which, after much discussion, a godly judgment was arrived at — so much so, indeed, that the apostles could write "It seemed good to the Holy Ghost and to us" — in imitation of this meeting, it became common in the early church, when disputes arose, to call for a council of the church, and it is well to see what weight is attached to these early councils.

There were some called Oecumenical or general councils, while there were others that could have no sort of claim to be called general, and thus became merely synods or gatherings of the bishops of certain districts, more or less large, and could have no claim upon other districts, especially after the Roman empire was divided into eastern and western. Then when heresies began to appear and were held by those in authority in the church, synods were sometimes called by those who maintained the heresy, and others by those who opposed it; and thus many were in every sense unworthy to be called councils of the church.

The councils considered to be "general," during the first five centuries, are: —

1. The council of Nice, convoked by Constantine the Great, on the question of Arianism, A.D. 325. Three hundred and eighty bishops were present.

2. The council of Constantinople, convoked by Theodosius the Great, on the same subject, A.D. 381. A hundred and fifty bishops attended.

These we have already glanced at; we will now look at the third.

3. In A.D. 431, the third general council was held at Ephesus. It was called by the emperors Theodosius the Younger and Valentinian, on account of Nestorius, patriarch of Constantinople, who, in condemning the expression "the mother of God" as applied to Mary, which was then common in the church, had concluded that in our Lord there were two persons as well as two natures. This shews the danger of being wise above what is written touching the deep mystery of the Person of Christ, which it is not possible for any one to fathom; and, as we have seen, all fall into error who will try to grasp and put into words what is infinite and known to God only. Nestorius was condemned, 198 subscribing to his condemnation.

In this council the Nicene creed was again formally confirmed; and with decisions as to the powers of a bishop being confined to his own province, the council closed, and a measure of peace was again restored.

What led to the fourth general council may be thus briefly stated: —

In A.D. 448 a synod was held at Constantinople to settle some disputes between certain bishops, when Eusebius of Dorylaeum unexpectedly brought an accusation against Eutyches which raised a serious discussion.

Eutyches had for seventy years lived a monastic life, and for thirty years had presided over some three hundred monks. He had hitherto been supposed to be orthodox, and the accusation took his friends quite by surprise. Eutyches had strongly opposed Nestorius, but now he was said to be in error himself, and this, too, touching the Person of our Lord.

Two messengers were despatched to Eutyches to ask him to attend the synod. But he said he had vowed not to leave the cloister. He said he held with the Nicene creed, but they discovered that he had his own way of explaining his belief. He believed that Christ, who was born of the Virgin Mary, was very God and very man, but His body was not of like substance with ours. This was no sooner repeated to the synod than Eusebius exclaimed, "This is quite enough to enable us to take action against Eutyches; but let him be summoned a second time."

Again two messengers were sent to him; but he declared that nothing but death should make him leave the monastery: they might do what they pleased, At length Eutyches sent some of his friends to the council, including Abraham, the head of a neighbouring monastery. Abraham assured Flavian, who presided, that Eutyches was unwell. Flavian replied in a friendly manner, saying, "Let him remember that he is not coming among strangers, but among men who would receive him with fatherly and brotherly affection..... surely if he could leave his retirement when the error of Nestorius imperilled the faith, he should do as much when his own orthodoxy is in question!" But he added, "You know the zeal of the accuser of Eutyches. Fire itself seems to him cold in comparison with his burning zeal for religion. God knows I have besought him to desist; but as he persisted, what could I do?"

Eventually Eutyches promised to appear. In the meantime it had been ascertained that he had been sending round a paper asking for signatures, and this Eusebius also urged against him.

At length he appeared at the synod, bringing a letter from the emperor, who had sent a representative to be present. The discussion then took place. Eutyches stated his belief, but he was questioned again and again as to how he defined the Person of Christ. At length he said he believed our Lord, before the union of the Godhead and manhood, had two natures; but after the union only one. He was condemned. The sentence ran, "Eutyches, formerly priest and archimandrite,* hath proved himself affected by the heresy of Valentinus and Apollinaris, and hath refused, in spite of our admonition, to accept the true faith. Therefore we, lamenting his perverseness, have decreed, through our Lord Jesus Christ, blasphemed by him, that he be excluded from all priestly functions, from our communion, and from his primacy in his monastery." It was signed by about thirty bishops and twenty-three archimandrites.

{*Signifying either a "ruler of the fold," or a "chief of the monks." The first is derived from the Greek, the latter from the Syriac.}

Eutyches left the council-chamber muttering that he would appeal to Rome, and this he did, as we shall see. The monks rallied round Eutyches, but Flavian spread abroad the decree and demanded obedience — the whole resulting in a great scandal in the church.

Eutyches was a friend of the chief eunuch at court, Chrysaphius, and eventually the emperor called a council to reconsider the matter.

It met at Ephesus, A.D. 449, but was what would be called a packed synod. The emperor directed Dioscorus, bishop of Alexandria, to bring ten metropolitans and ten other bishops; distinguished for their learning and orthodoxy, but no more. Others were specially invited. Theodoret of Cyrus (Kars) was not to come unless the council called him. Leo was summoned from Rome, who sent three representatives. Altogether there were 128 bishops present. Eutyches made a confession of his faith, and complained of his being condemned by Flavian. Petitions were also presented by the monks of Eutyches that Flavian should be deposed. The council decided in favour of Eutyches, and deposed both Eusebius of Dorylaeum, and Flavian of Constantinople, with a few others. The council is said to have been intimidated by the presence of soldiers and monks. Eusebius and Flavian were both given into custody, and Flavian died from the treatment he received in prison.

It will readily be conceived that things would not be allowed to rest with this decision. The emperor Theodosius II. passed away, and Marcian was elected, and he called another council "to settle some questions respecting the orthodox faith." It was to have met at Nice, but the emperor, fearing a tumult, removed it. It met at Chalcedon in A.D. 451.

4. This is called the fourth general council of the church. The first act was to condemn the late council at Ephesus (now called the "robbers' meeting") which had condemned Eusebius and Flavian. It was declared that Dioscorus, as president of that council and five others deserved to be deposed.

At their third meeting, fresh charges were brought against Dioscorus, some by Eusebius of Dorylaeum, and others by two of the deacons. He was twice summoned, but not appearing, he was deposed.

Efforts were afterwards made to restore Dioscorus, but without success, and the great thing remaining was to state distinctly what was the creed of the church respecting the Person of our Lord. It was discovered that some slight additions had been made to the Nicene creed at Constantinople, so the creeds of both Nice and Constantinople were put forth with synodical letters of Cyril to Nestorius and of Leo to Flavian.* To this was added the statement, that no further explanation was needed, nor was any other creed to be taught under pain of excommunication.

{* Leo's doctrine as to the Person of Christ, is, in short, described as "two natures united without confusion, without change, and without separation, in one and the same Christ."}

This decision was solemnly attested in the presence of the emperor Marcian and the empress Pulcheria, the emperor telling them that he had come, like Constantine, to confirm what had been done, not to display his power. He would punish any who did not obey the decisions of the council.

At the same council, monks were made more dependent upon the bishops. Bishops were not to engage in secular callings, and they were not to leave the churches to which they were attached.

We have gone thus a little into detail as to these councils, in order to get some idea of their true value. As we have seen, it was very easy for an emperor to gather a number of bishops together to carry out his views and favour the party he had most at heart — all to be condemned and set aside by another emperor or by another council.

It is well to see that when the council of the church, recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, was held, all the scriptures had not been written. Now that we have the whole, we do not find any instructions for calling councils, and, indeed, a general council would now be impracticable. The apostle Paul, knowing that after his decease, evil persons would be found in the church, introducing "perverse things," commended the elders of Ephesus to God, and to the word of His grace, which is able to build us up, and give us an inheritance among all them that are sanctified. (Acts xx.)

That the councils and synods held in the early ages of the church were in no sense worthy to be compared with the council of the church recorded in the Acts is abundantly proved, though right decisions may have been come to, especially at the earlier ones. Ammianus Marcellinus, the historian, speaks of the disputes of the bishops (which he considered the emperor ought to have crushed by his power), and the highways being covered with groups of bishops, galloping from every side to the assemblies called synods, and while they laboured to bring each other to their opinions, the public establishment of the posts was almost ruined by their hasty and repeated journeys.

Gregory of Nazianzus declared of the councils in his day (A.D. 379-389), "If I must speak the truth this is my resolution, to avoid all councils of the bishops, for I have not seen any good end answered by any synod whatsoever; for their love of contention and their lust of power are too great even for words to express."

So that for the simple Christian all these gatherings of bishops in the early church have neither weight nor authority, except as they agree with scripture. It is quite true that there were raised up by God from time to time noble champions for the truth, who contended manfully for it at some of the councils; but the professing church as a whole was gradually becoming more and more corrupt, and its councils and decisions can in no way be relied on. Happily we do not need such. We have the word of God in our hands, and the Holy Spirit as our teacher; happy are they who have their teaching by these means, and who by grace are led to obey.

Chapter 11.

The Western Church.

We must now glance at the Western Church during the fifth century, and will look a little at the history of Leo I., called the Great, bishop of Rome. The Western church does not appear to have been so distracted with heresies as was the Eastern, though it could not wholly escape the contamination, nor keep aloof from what was going on in the East; indeed, the bishop of Rome was again and again appealed to by those who were condemned, and it is not to be wondered at if Rome did not always side with the right.

Leo became bishop of Rome in peculiar times. The dignity of the imperial name may be said to have died with Theodosius the Great, though others succeeded him, and the barbarous hordes were only waiting their time to make fresh attacks upon the empire. If the succeeding emperors were weak and incompetent, now, at least, a man of energy succeeded to the bishopric in A.D. 440, and had to take part in saving the city of Rome from the barbarians, as well as the church from the heretics. Augustine had passed away (A.D. 430), and Cyril was soon to follow (A.D. 444). Leo has been held up by some as a successful champion for the truth.

In A.D. 452, Attila, after pillaging Lombardy, approached the city of Rome. The emperor Valentinian had shewn his cowardice by fleeing, and there seemed no hope for Rome. Leo, however, with two others undertook the perilous task of going forth to meet the barbarian, to see if they could come to terms. It has been thought that Attila was glad of the opportunity to treat, for his army was being enfeebled, and a force was on its march to oppose him; and besides that he was probably fearful to attack such a "holy" city, for Alaric did not long survive a similar act. At any rate the embassy was successful; Attila retired beyond the Danube; but threatened that he would make Italy suffer more if the princess Honoria, who had offered herself in marriage to the king of the Huns, were not given up to him with her rich dowry.

Again, in A.D. 455, the dreadful Genseric approached the gates of Rome, and there was really no ruler or general to oppose him. Was the city of wealth and luxury to be given up to the fury and lusts of the wild barbarians, without any effort made to stem the torrent? No; Leo again stepped forward and with his clergy went forth to meet the invader. He could not prevent the sack of the city, but he succeeded in getting promises that some restraint should be put upon the acts of the rude conquerors. Leo was thereupon hailed as "saviour of his country."

He was also often called upon to defend the truth. Manichaeism* had found shelter in the church in Africa; but on Genseric capturing Carthage in A.D. 439, many fled for safety to Rome, and there concealed themselves while passing as good Christians: they are described as moving about "with pale faces, in mean apparel, fasting, and making distinctions of meats." Leo, in A.D. 444, had a diligent search made for these heretics, and a large number were found, including some bishops. The aid of the civil authorities was sought, and a combined tribunal formed for their examination. Gross immoralities in their secret meetings were confessed by them, and these the state could deal with, while the bishops condemned their doctrines. Those who remained impenitent were banished from Rome, and an edict of Valentinian, dated June 19, 445, revived the laws against them. Leo warned bishops in other places against the sect.

{* Manichaeism is named after its founder, Mani. It was an attempt to combine Pagan philosophy with Christianity. It held that Christ did not imprison Himself in a human body — it was only an appearance of Him that men saw. This, of course, was destructive of Christianity, and was a system which should never have found a place in the church. Mani was put to death about A.D. 274. Dioclesian, A.D. 296, ordered the leaders to be burnt at the stake, and their followers to be beheaded. Still they flourished. In A.D. 372 Valentinian the elder forbad their meetings, and imposed heavy penalties on the leaders. In the year 381, Theodosius the Great pronounced them infamous, and deprived them of all rights of citizens.}

He was next called upon for advice against the Priscillianists* who were exercising a very damaging influence in Spain, and, under his advice, synods were held in two or three places to condemn them.

{*Named after Priscillian, a man of eloquence and austere manner. He had many followers, including, it is said, "some bishops." The doctrine was similar to Manichaeism. The sect was condemned by a synod at Saragossa, A.D. 380, but this only roused them to greater energy. In A.D. 384, the emperor Maximus caused Priscillian to be executed with some of his followers at Treves — the first instance, it is said, of a heretic being condemned to death by the Christians in solemn form of law.}

As we have seen, Leo was also consulted upon the questions concerning Eutyches. This man had himself appealed to Rome, and agreed to abide by its decision. But Leo did not commit himself to him, and eventually took the side of Flavian. He wrote the famous letter, already alluded to, called the "Tome." It was addressed, in a sense, to all the world, on the solemn subject of the Person of our Lord. It was presented at the synod of Ephesus in A.D. 449, but his legates could not get it adopted.

When Leo heard of the sad way in which that synod had been managed, and its results, his anger was aroused. He declared it no synod at all, but a den of robbers; its acts were null and void; it cut to the root of the christian faith. A synod of the West was sitting at Rome, and Leo, in his own name and in that of the synod, at once wrote letters protesting against the whole proceeding. He wrote to the emperor and to the empress Pulcheria, to Flavian, (and then having heard of his death) to the church at Constantinople, and to many others.

Later on, Valentinian, emperor of the West, was at Rome with his wife and mother; Leo got them also to write letters, begging that a more numerous synod might be held in the East to set matters right. But Theodosius, in his reply, seemed disposed to do nothing more; for he was satisfied with what had taken place.

In the meantime Anatolius had been chosen to succeed Flavian in the chair of Constantinople, and this caused Leo anxiety, for Anatolius had been the representative of Dioscorus at Constantinople: Leo was very anxious to gain influence in the East as well as the West, and here was one appointed without his "sanction." So he wrote to the emperor almost demanding that the orthodoxy of Anatolius should be substantiated. But he learned that Dioscorus had had the audacity to excommunicate him — the bishop of Rome! and that the emperor was against him; so all looked dark. But before Leo's messengers reached Constantinople, Theodosius II. had passed away, and the empress Pulcheria was Leo's friend. Marcian was associated with her, and he also was on Leo's side; so now all was changed. Marcian wrote to Leo, promising that a council should be held, and wished it to be under his influence. In the meantime Anatolius had signed the "Tome," with "all the church of Constantinople, and other bishops" and all the metropolitans. Those who had been banished for agreeing with Flavian were recalled, and Eutyches himself was sent into exile.

Strange to say, Leo now is not anxious for a general council. He has issued his "Tome," and it has been signed everywhere: the thing is settled; what need of a council? If it is held, it must merely express a judgment already arrived at: not judge it afresh. Rome has spoken — was not that enough?

Leo had, however, to give way to the emperor, and the council was held, as we have seen, at Chalcedon, in the year 451. Eutyches was fully condemned, and Dioscorus deposed: this was all well, and delighted Leo. He exclaimed, "The divine mystery of the incarnation has been restored to the age;" "it is the world's second festivity since the advent of the Lord," etc.

But though the above acts of the council gave great pleasure to Leo, one of its acts gave him great offence. The council deemed it right to confirm the status of the bishop of Constantinople as primate of the Eastern church, whereas Leo wished him to be only a subordinate to Rome. When this came on for debate the legates of Rome left the council, declaring they had no instructions. The canon is important as proving that the claims of Rome, which had gradually become bolder and more aggressive, were not at that day conceded. "The fathers," it was said, "gave with reason the primacy to the chair of old Rome, because that was the royal city, and, with the same object in view, the 180 pious bishops gave equal primacy to the chair of new Rome," that is, Constantinople, but still adding, "next after old Rome." The see of Constantinople could appoint the metropolitans of Pontus, Asia, and Thrace, and certain other bishops.

Leo wrote to the emperor complaining of this, and would "confirm" only the acts of the council touching articles of faith: he could not sanction the canon touching the place given to the archbishop of Constantinople. Well, it did not much signify; the archbishop went on exercising his prerogative without such sanction! The bishop of Rome was not yet to be acknowledged as "universal bishop."

To be thus styled was the ambition of Rome, and it was not simply in the East that the bishop claimed it as urgently as was prudent, but also elsewhere — in Gaul, for instance. Hilary was bishop of Arles, and was looked upon as the Metropolitan of Gaul. We find him presiding at the councils of Riez and Orange in A.D. 439 and 442.

Hilary was in advance of many in that day. He had been a monk, and when he was seized and made bishop he continued to live sparingly. He would even till the ground with his own hands, to help to raise money for redeeming captive Christians. Much of his time he spent in prayer and study, and his preaching was with power over his hearers, though he has been described by some as favouring semi-pelagianism.

As metropolitan, Hilary visited the cities of Gaul, and found a bishop (Chelidonius) who had married a widow before he was made bishop; he also had been a magistrate and pronounced death on a culprit. These acts were held by Hilary as sufficient to prevent a man becoming a bishop, according to the canons of the church. Hilary called a synod at Vienne (A.D. 444) and Chelidonius was deposed.

He at once appealed to Rome, and Leo took up his case, being only too glad of an opportunity to assert his authority in Gaul as well as in the East. Hilary crossed the Alps, though it was winter, and appeared at Rome to try and convince Leo that the canons of the church had been respected.

Leo called together a synod, and Hilary, in a conciliatory spirit, consented to be present. He then stated the case, and defended his conduct but Leo actually had him put under guard, proceeded with the case, and declared the marriage with a widow was not proven. He reinstated Chelidonius, and then proceeded to declare that Hilary was no longer to be metropolitan of Gaul, and conferred the honour on the bishop of Vienne.

In the meantime Hilary had escaped and returned to Gaul; but Leo followed up his acts by obtaining from the emperor an edict (A.D. 445) against Hilary, as one who was injuring the peace of the church and rebelling against the majesty of the emperor.

Leo also charged Hilary with taking armed men with him when he traversed Gaul, and with consecrating a new bishop in the room of Projectus before the latter was dead. The whole case between Leo and Hilary has been frequently discussed by historians; but however faulty Hilary may have been (he is said to have taken the soldiers on account of the disturbed state of the country) nothing can justify the language of Leo in saying Hilary wished to cause the death of the sick bishop! The edict of A.D. 445 clearly shews that Leo's aim was "supremacy."

Hilary did not own the pretensions of Rome, but went on discharging his duties till the day of his death (A.D. 449). Leo, later on, styled Hilary a man "of holy memory."

Leo was held to be a great champion for the truth as far as he knew it, and was indefatigable in his appeals to emperors and bishops to stem the current of evil doctrine, we may say, all over the world. While doing this he was also very anxious that any questions he had decided should not be discussed over again as open questions. If councils were held, they must be, he contended, to confirm what had been decided, not to call them in question. This, of course, whenever it was listened to, tended the more to exalt the see of Rome, and paved the way for his being called "universal bishop."

One is anxious to see how far such a champion for truth, as he has been called, presented the gospel to his hearers. A great many of his sermons dwelt upon the Person of Christ, and dilated either upon His being truly God, or on His being really a man. As to the atonement, he had the erroneous thought, that man being a slave of Satan, the atonement was made really to the devil in order to free man from his authority — an idea not uncommon in those days.

Though he speaks of the merits and death of Christ as alone the source of salvation, yet he, strangely to our ears, held that the merits of the saints could work wonders and give aid to the church on earth. He mentions St. Paul, St. Peter, and St. Laurence (but never mentions the Virgin Mary) as helping in this way; but does not make direct appeal to them.

As to the way of salvation, it was sadly enshrouded by such statements as these: "By prayer, the mercy of God is sought; by fasting, the lusts of the flesh are extinguished; by almsgiving, our sins are atoned for [redimentur]." "He who has cleansed himself by almsgiving need not doubt that even after many sins the splendour of the new birth will be restored to him." Alas! that any one could be called the champion of the truth who could put forth such errors as these!

Leo died A.D. 461. Felix III. was the next patriarch of note (483-492). We shall see how he also took a prominent part in the questions which agitated the East, and was the cause of an open rupture between the Eastern and Western divisions of the church.

Chapter 12.

Close of the Fifth Century.

The council of Chalcedon had seemed to settle the doctrine as to the Person of Christ. The bishops had cried out, "We all have the same faith with Leo." But the disputes were in no way ended. Palestine and Egypt were distracted with the question. Theodosius, a fanatical monk, caused great commotion in loudly condemning the late council — not only in words, but by proceeding to denounce bishops and attempting to put others in their places.

In Alexandria things were no better. Though Dioscorus was deposed, a strong party sympathised with him, and opposed Proterius who had been appointed to fill his place. The contests were so severe that the aid of the military had to be called in, to quell the disturbances. This for a time made things worse; Proterius was murdered in the baptistry of his church, his body cut to pieces and then burnt. The emperor was now appealed to for protection.

Marcian begged Leo, the bishop of Rome, to come to the East and attempt to reconcile the parties. But he declined the honour: he pleaded that the decisions of the council, "under the guidance of the Holy Ghost," should strictly be maintained. The emperor was puzzled: what could be done with people who would not listen to a general council? He sought advice from all the metropolitans, and they upheld the council. The emperor determined to use force. Timotheus Aelurus (the Cat) was consecrated by two deposed bishops, and became leader of the faction; he was banished, and Timotheus Salophaciolus was appointed patriarch of Alexandria. He was of a mild disposition, and peace was in some measure restored.

A change of emperor was looked upon as a favourable opportunity to secure the interests of each party. Marcian had passed away, and Leo I. succeeded him, and then Zeno (A.D. 474). In A.D. 475, Basiliscus succeeded in expelling Zeno, and at once the Monophysite* party came into favour. He was the first to publish decisions of emperors on matters of faith, and required all the bishops to subscribe to them. Thus he issued a decree that the Nicene creed, with its confirmatory decrees of the councils of Constantinople and Ephesus, should alone stand; and that the decrees of Chalcedon and the letter of Leo should be condemned and burned wherever found.

{*This term was now used to point out those who held that our Lord had but one nature after His incarnation.}

At Alexandria, Timotheus Aelurus was recalled and re-instated, the mild patriarch quietly retiring to his cloister. In other places tumults were the result, and the decree of the emperor was opposed.

A hermit, called Daniel the Stylite, held to be an oracle in the church in those days, being warned in a vision, descended from his pillar and appeared at Constantinople, and there confirmed the orthodoxy of the council of Chalcedon, it is said, by a number of miracles! Zeno, having gained adherents, was restored as emperor, and this again changed everything. The bishops who had subscribed to the decree of Basiliscus now made the plea that they had signed by compulsion, though they had before subscribed to it as "a divine and apostolic letter."

In A.D. 477, Timotheus Aelurus passed away, and the Monophysite party took advantage of the opportunity and elected a successor. The emperor viewed this as an insurrection and sentenced their bishop to death, but flight saved him. Timotheus Salophaciolus was again installed, with a threat from the emperor, that any one not bowing to this choice should lose his bishopric and be exiled. Timotheus softened the rigour of this decree as well as he could, even to succouring his enemies.

At the death of this bishop, two persons were chosen by the two parties — Peter Mongus by the Monophysites, and John Talaia by those who held with the council of Chalcedon. But the latter, having offended the patriarch of Constantinople, was in ill-favour at court so Peter Mongus seized the opportunity of visiting the capital, and pointed out the strength of the Monophysite party at Alexandria and the sad consequences that would follow any other person being forced on the people. A plan of uniting both the factions and restoring peace in the church was suggested. This was favourably received, and in A.D. 482 a treaty of agreement was drawn up in the name of the emperor, on the basis of the Nicene creed, avoiding disputed terms and names, and even the nature of the dispute. It was named the Henoticon, signifying "deed of concord." It set forth that "Christ was one, not two, since miracles and sufferings were referred to one and the same Person." If all would subscribe to this, they were not to be troubled further as to what their explanations were on the subject.

Peace, however, was not to be restored on such a basis, indeed, the result was to form four parties instead of two, namely the moderate of the two parties (those who yielded to the wish of the emperor), and the zealous of each (those who looked upon any compromise as "inexcusable").

The Roman church, as we have seen, had all along held with the council of Chalcedon. Felix III. was now patriarch there, and being appealed to by John Talaia, he took up the case, being only too glad to be consulted in matters concerning the Eastern church. A synod was called, and the Henoticon was condemned and all who held with it, and messengers were sent off to Constantinople. But the authority of Felix was denied; the messengers threatened, but they were gained over by bribes. Felix, however, was not to be silenced. He proceeded to excommunicate both Peter and Acacius the patriarch, and a messenger was despatched with the document respecting the latter to Constantinople. This was a task of no small peril, but one Tutus, an aged ecclesiastic, undertook the mission. He also yielded to bribery, and the document remained unserved. There was, however, a community called the Sleepless Monks, and one of these slipped into the church and attached the document to the patriarch's robe. Acacius soon discovered the paper, but went on with the service. At the close he proclaimed that the name of Felix, bishop of Rome, be erased from the diptychs* of the church. Thus the bishops of Rome and Constantinople were mutually excommunicated by each other; and a rupture thus took place between the Eastern and Western churches which lasted thirty-five years. The two successors of Acacius sought communion with Felix, but it was denied, unless the names of both Peter and Acacius were erased from the diptychs. This was not complied with, and the rupture continued.

{*The term signifies "two-fold." It was a list of dead and living members.}

In A.D. 491, the emperor Zeno died and Anastasius succeeded. He was for peace and the acceptance of the Henoticon; but was met with violent opposition. The patriarch of Constantinople had only agreed to Anastasius being emperor, on the assurance that he would attempt nothing against the decisions of the council of Chalcedon. Some agreed with the patriarch, while the Monophysite party had many adherents. Rome would acknowledge neither.

Thus was the professing church rent into parties at the close of the fifth century. The church and state had become so united that the emperor and the patriarch were mutually dependent upon each other for place and power. If the patriarch was in power the emperor must yield, or nothing but disorder and anarchy would be the result. If the emperor was powerful, the patriarch must bow his head, or intrigue and opposition would thwart all his plans, if, indeed, he succeeded in standing his ground in any way.

The saddest controversy at the close of the century was respecting the Person of our Lord. As we have said, none ever attempted to reason about and define that blessed Person, without being in great danger of falling into error, either on the one side or the other — for the errors have been respecting the manhood as well as the divinity of Christ. "No man knoweth the Son but the Father" ought to have been a solemn warning against inquisitiveness on so solemn a subject.

It may seem to some as if the discussion had been simply a battle about words and terms; but we doubt not that there was real deadly error lurking behind the mere terms employed. As there were those who long before had denied the divinity of Christ, it was easy for others to hold the same doctrine if it was smothered up by words to which they could give, mentally at least, their own interpretation.

On the other hand, Monophysite doctrine, as put forth by Eutyches, while not denying the manhood of Christ in so many words, held that "the two natures of Christ, after the union, did not remain two natures, but constituted one nature." This was the error most prominent at the close of the century. The Nicene creed was a great guard as to the divinity of Christ, if the natural meaning of the words were honestly received and believed; not that any formal creed is needed where the teaching of scripture is implicitly believed. Scripture is quite plain that our Lord was really a man, He ate and drank, He slept and He suffered. And He was really God: He raised the dead and did miracles which no mere power of man could do; and the voice from heaven proclaimed, "This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased." By Him all things were created, and the angels of heaven are called upon to worship Him. To Him be glory for ever and ever.

We saw in the former part of our brief sketch that the Address to the church of Smyrna agreed with the persecution that characterised that period; let us now look at the next Address — that to Pergamos — and it will be seen how exactly it coincides with what we have looked at under Profession. (Rev. ii. 12-17.) The church dwelt where Satan's seat was — the world. And they had among them those who held the doctrine of Balaam, who taught error for reward; also those who held the doctrine of the Nicolaitanes, which Christ hated. We may not know definitely to what this last applies — it is supposed to be Antinomianism — but we have seen how evil doctrine, and the allowance of evil practices ran along with seeking place and power where Satan's seat was. Still in mercy Christ could say, "Thou holdest fast my name, and hast not denied my faith" — blessedly true of some; but He could only reveal Himself as "He which hath the sharp sword with two edges." They were called to repent, or He would fight against all evildoers.

The times were peculiarly evil and the temptations to give up were very great; but a very blessed promise is added to the overcomer: Christ will give him "to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it." Secret delights awaited such, and we doubt not there were many hidden and unknown, who will share in these blessed promises by entering into the joy of their Lord.

Chapter 13.

The Bible for the Church.

As we have seen, Christianity spread wherever the Roman empire extended — and, indeed, beyond in several directions. But in such an empire there were many different countries, each speaking its own language. And in every place the Bible was wanted in the native tongue. We cannot tell when and by whom the work was carried on, but there is evidence, more or less distinct, that the New Testament at least was translated as the need arose in many countries. Venerable relics remain of those early translations, but, of course, we cannot say that we have even portions of the earliest by many years.

The Syriac. — Hegesippus was bishop in the second century, and the Syriac was claimed as his version. Unhappily the Syrian church was divided into two in the fifth century — and in correspondence we have two Syriac versions: in the main they are the same, but yet different; then there are others drawn from each of them. There are manuscripts bearing the names of: 1, the Peshito (or "simple"); 2, the Curetonian Syriac (named after Dr. Cureton); 3, the Philoxenian Syriac (named after a bishop in eastern Syria); 4, the Jerusalem Syriac; 5, the Karkaphensian Syriac.

The Latin. — Jerome (A.D. 345 (?)—420) found different Latin translations, and set to work to gather a correct text from the whole. It is called the Vulgate. This proves that Latin copies existed long before his time in order to become thus altered. The manuscripts before his time are called, in distinction from his, the Old Latin, or Italic, in allusion to Italy. It is not to be wondered at that the New Testament was soon translated into Latin, because of the early existence of the church at Rome. (Rom. xv. 23.) The Old Latin may date from the second century.

The Egyptian. — It is judged that there were two distinct translations of the New Testament from the Greek into Egyptian — the Memphitic, or Coptic, and the Thebaic. The latter is considered the older, but both may be dated in the second or third century. We have seen how prominent the church became in Egypt at an early date; it is therefore no wonder that the scriptures were thus early translated into the native tongue. Portions of the Old Testament also exist in the Egyptian versions.

The Gothic. — The Goths attacked the Roman empire, and thus came in a sense morally under its influence, and both the Old and New Testaments are believed to have been translated into Gothic by their bishop, about A.D. 348. It is said he omitted to translate the four books of Kings (two of Samuel and two of Kings), lest they should stir up still more those warlike tribes!

The Armenian. — This dates from the fifth century.

The Aethiopic. — the language spoken in Abyssinia; it dates about the sixth century.

Other versions followed later on in the history of the church, including the Georgian, Slavonic, Anglo-Saxon, Frankish, Persic, and the Arabic.

Chrysostom, indeed, says in his time the scriptures had been translated into the language of the Syrian, the Egyptian, the Indian, the Persian, the Aethiopic, and "ten thousand other nations."

This happily shews that however much evil was allowed in the professing church, the word of God was so much valued as to cause its translation into many different languages; so that there was always the scripture to be appealed to, which was able to correct all errors and to make men wise unto salvation.

The beautiful style in which many of the ancient copies were written is very remarkable. The letters of some are formed so uniformly that they appear more like printing than writing. Great care and labour must have been bestowed on their production.

Chapter 14.

Conclusion.

We have thus completed our short sketch of the history of the church during the first five hundred years. That which was begun with so much power and blessing was not long committed to the care of man before he began to fail to preserve it in purity. Even the apostle had to speak of perverse men seeking to draw away disciples after themselves, and of others who crept in unawares, bringing in destructive heresies — a state of things that has never entirely disappeared.

Satan, indeed, at first endeavoured to stamp out the name of Christ from the earth, through persecution by the pagans; but in this, as in many other things, he was deceived: the blood of the saints became the seed of the church, as has so often been seen and spoken of. For every saint put to death a number sprang into life. These persecutions had a purifying effect: few who were not real cared to risk all their property and their lives at the will of a pagan emperor: so that, if Christianity was not in full vigour, there was but little of mere profession.

As we have seen, Satan changed his mode of attack, and, from the time of Constantine the Great, he caused Profession to take the place of Persecution, and the aspect of the whole was changed. Not only must those who would stand well with the christian emperor be Christians, but, when the church was broken up into parties, they must be of the same party as the emperor as long as he was in power; and with the change of the emperor must come the change of the people, or persecution might ensue. Thus the emperors became not only the guiding star of the church, but also its ruling power. They made and unmade bishops as they pleased, and that office, which should have been confined to such as God chose and God gifted, was thrust upon any who would serve the purposes of the emperors or of those in places of authority. Happily there were noble exceptions — men who asserted they were God's servants, and were answerable to Him alone.

But even in some of the best of these champions we see seeds of leaven that came into full bearing afterwards in the church, as is clearly shewn by the apostate Church of Rome in later years seeking to prove its doctrines from quotations from these very fathers, though, as we have seen, their language was so uncertain that it is quoted also against such errors.

The councils of the church also were too often made the mere instruments of the powerful either in the church or in the state, without the semblance even of a holy convocation of heavenly men. Here, too, there were exceptions: from the council of Nice proceeded the Nicene creed, and from the council of Constantinople the condemnation of Pelagianism.

As to doctrines, we have seen how the leaven of evil spread everywhere. No sooner was one great heresy put down, or rather silenced, than another sprang up, dividing the church into parties, each zealous for its own views, and often contending, not with the sword of the Spirit — the word of God; but with the weapons wielded by flesh and blood. Happily there were exceptions — those who stood firm for the truth in all its fundamentals, and who fought manfully the fight of faith.

We have also seen how persistently and subtly Satan led men, again and again, to attack the doctrines touching the Person of Christ as set forth in the scriptures. If he could lead men into error touching that sacred subject, all was gained; for error as to this was fatal.

We have also seen the rise of monasticism — begun comparatively in a harmless manner, yet with the mistaken idea of perfecting the flesh — a system that afterwards ripened into one of the most God-dishonouring things conceivable — a disgrace even to common morality, and which should not have been so much as once named in connection with the church of God.

What a sad picture does the whole history present of that which should have been a testimony for the absent Lord. Instead of truth, there was much error; instead of saints loving one another, they were hating each other; instead of unity, there was division everywhere; instead of being of "no reputation," leaders were contending for place and power.

It may be asked, But were there not many in those days, down, indeed, from the days of the apostles, plain honest Christians who lived to the glory of God in all good conscience? We doubt not that there were many such, and trust there were thousands; but, alas history names them not, except a few who suffered martyrdom, and the more prominent of these we have recorded. But God does not leave Himself without a witness, and we doubt not there were many, who, led of the Holy Spirit, kept themselves, at least in a measure, unspotted from the world, and brought forth fruit to the glory of God, maintaining the truth according to the light they had.

How refreshing it is to turn to scripture, and see that, though the spread of evil was foretold, and the prediction has been and is still being fulfilled, yet the Lord Himself "knoweth them that are his," and there is a day coming when our Lord will present to Himself a glorious church "without spot or wrinkle or any such thing." To His name be all the glory.

STEM Publishing : For the Young : Church History from A.D. 500 to the Time of the Reformation

Darkness of the Dark Ages:

Being Sketches of Church History from A.D. 500 to the Time of the Reformation.

"I am come a light into the world, that whosoever believeth on me should not abide in darkness." � John XII. 46.

London: G. Morrish, 20, Paternoster Square, E.C.

Contents.

Introduction.

What is meant by the Dark Ages?

Chapter 1.

Union of the Eastern and Western Churches, A.D. 518. � Anastasius emperor. � Not one church, but the union of two churches.

Chapter 2.

Justinian Emperor, A.D. 527-565. � He rules the church. � Upholds the Council of Chalcedon, as to the two natures in Christ. � His wife, Theodora, a Monophysite. � Justinian aims to unite the Monophysite party with the orthodox. � The three Chapters. � Fifth general council held, A.D. 553. � Justinian's schemes useless.

Chapter 3.

Benedict and Monasticism. � Becomes popular, and founds monasteries. � Monasticism useless for a holy life. � The monks multiply the copies of scripture. � The prison. � Forgiveness of sins unknown to the monks.

Chapter 4.

Gregory the Great. � Seeks to set things in order. � Description of a service on Easter Sunday at Rome, very unlike that of the Lord's supper in the New Testament. � Gregory's superstition as to relics. � He flatters the cruel emperor Phocas.

Gregory and England. � Anglo-Saxon slaves at Rome. � Gregory sends Augustine to England. � Ethelbert embraces Christianity, A.D. 597. � Augustine made archbishop of Canterbury. � He is succeeded by Laurentius. � Eadbald succeeds Ethelbert, returns to Paganism, and threatens the bishops. � Laurentius said to be whipped by St. Peter for thinking of leaving England. � Eadbald, convinced by this, embraces Christianity. � Edwin, king of Northumberland, converted by a supposed miracle. � All the divisions of the kingdom embrace Christianity. � The invasion of the Danes. � They destroy many of the monasteries, and put the monks to death. � Dunstan becomes archbishop. The rule of Rome submitted to in England.

Chapter 5.

Mahomet. � His childhood. � His mission refused at first. � Persecutes the Jews who had also opposed him. � Poisoned by a Jewess. � Becomes victorious. � Enters Mecca, and destroys the idols. � Acknowledged all over Arabia. � Died A.D. 632. � His personal character. � His creed. � Denies the divinity of Christ. � The god of Mahometans not the God of the Bible. � The conquests, of Mahomet's successors. � They become a scourge of professing Christians in the East.

Chapter 6.

Break Up of the Roman Empire. � The Roman Empire passes away with the conquest of Constantinople. � Resuscitation in times yet to come. � Nebuchadnezzar's image. � The iron and clay. � The ten kingdoms of old. � A warning to those who advocate the supremacy of the people.

Chapter 7.

France Protects Rome. � Stephen II. pope, A.D. 752. � Threatened by the Lombards, he appeals to the French. � Pepin delivers Rome.

Charlemagne. � Leo III. pope. � He is accused to Charles. � The pope not answerable to any human authority. � Charles crowned emperor of Rome.

Chapter 8.

The Worship of Images. � Miracles ascribed to images. � Leo the Isaurian emperor. � John of Damascus and the reported miracle of the restoration of his hand. � Constantine Copronymus emperor. � He calls a council, which condemns images. � Leo. IV. emperor opposes images, but dies soon. � His wife Irene calls a council to restore the worship of images. � Difference between worship and adoration. � An image was adored by the council. � Charlemagne opposes the worship of images. � The Caroline Books. � Leo V. the Armenian emperor opposes images amid opposition. � Michael the Stammerer, emperor. � He allows images, but not to be worshipped. � Theophilus emperor, also against images. � All countries eventually agree with Rome in the adoration of images.

Chapter 9.

Hildebrand, Gregory VII. � His predecessors. � Henry III., of Germany, invited to rescue the Church from its degradation and pollution. � Hildebrand dreaded. � Energetic in his reforms. � His authority over nations.

The Decretals. � Gross forgeries

Gregory and the Married Clergy. � His decrees against marriage everywhere opposed

Gregory and Henry IV. � Gregory disowned by Henry and by his clergy. � Henry excommunicated and dethroned by Gregory. � Henry humbles himself before the pope, and is absolved. � He regains power, and despises the anathema of the pope. � Enters Rome.

Chapter 10.

The Crusades. � Pilgrims to Jerusalem molested and robbed. � Peter the hermit preaches a crusade. � supported by pope Urban II. � Full forgiveness of sins promised to the Crusaders, and absolution pronounced. � They reach Nicaea, and are conquered. � More regular armies follow, and are victorious. � They lay siege to Antioch. � The holy lance discovered. � Antioch taken. � They reach Jerusalem, and take the city. � The Crusades that follow. � Jerusalem had many masters. � Is yet to be blessed and restored to the Jews.

Chapter 11.

The Inquisition. � First judicial death for heresy. � Rome persecutes any deemed heretics. � The inquisition permanently established. � Its tortures. � Its deceptions to entrap its victims. � The Auto-de-F�.

The Jews and the Moors of Spain. � The Jews treated without mercy � The treaty with the Moors violated. � Cardinal Ximenez's plan of conversion. � The Moors converted or banished

Bartolom� Carranza. � In England. � Made Archbishop of Toledo. � Charges against him. � His arrest. � Released after a long imprisonment.

The Inquisition in India. � The Syrian Christians. � Inquisition at Goa. � Case of M. Dellon. � The English rescue a prisoner.

Spanish America. � The Inquisition established. The Jews persecuted. � Fourteen Protestant Europeans seized. � The circulation of the Bible prohibited. � Spain loses her colonies in Mexico, etc.

The Inquisition Abolished. � Napoleon in Spain. � The Inquisition never established in England.

Chapter 12.

The Waldenses. � Various other names. � Peter Waldo. � Persecution and martyrs. � The decree of pope Lucius III. � Charges against the Waldenses. � Their mode of procedure as hawkers. � Armies raised to annihilate them at Toulouse, etc. � Persecution in Germany. � Echard, a persecutor, converted. � The Waldenses spread over the whole of Europe. � Return of the Waldenses to Piedmont. � At length they are tolerated. � A witness for God during the Dark Ages.

Chapter 13.

England. � William the Conqueror. � Lanfranc reforms the Church. � William not servile to Rome. � William Rufus. � Anselm archbishop. � He retires from England. � Henry I. � Anselm's return. � Oxford and Cambridge Universities. � Henry II. � Martyrs in England. � Thomas a Becket. � Richard. � John surrenders the kingdom to Rome. � Henry III.

Grosseteste, Bishop of Lincoln. � He successfully opposes the pope

Edward III. � He withstands Rome

Bradwardine. � His work against Pelagius

Wiclif. � The first English Reformer

Scotland. � Struggles against Rome

Chapter 14.

Councils of the Church. � From the Fifth to the Twenty-first General Council of the Church.

Chapter 15.

The Claims of Rome. � The assumptions of Rome examined. � Was Peter ever bishop of Rome? � The kingdom of God not built with the keys given to Peter. � Unity, Catholicity, Holiness, and Apostolicity.

Chapter 16.

Conclusion. � Light springing up. � Few records of godly Christians in the Dark Ages. � Christ will have a glorious Church. � Judgment will fall on apostate Christendom. � The path of the Christian.

Introduction.

The Dark Ages have been said to extend from about A.D. 500 to the time of the Reformation, a period of well-nigh one thousand years.

We would first inquire what is meant by these ages being dark? And then, Did the darkness exist during the whole of that long period? Was it all equally dark? and, if not, when and where was it the darkest?

It is not easy to answer these questions. One must be accustomed to the light, at least in some measure, to be able to judge of the darkness. A blind man can have no idea of the extent of the darkness around him; and one accustomed to a gloomy dungeon, would not consider a place as dark which would distress another who usually lived in a well-lighted room; in the same way that one accustomed to a dirty house, does not understand what a cleanly person sees to find fault with.

It is the same as to moral and spiritual darkness. A person must have some acquaintance with the light of scripture in order to discern the darkness around him.

It is most probable also that the darkness of the Middle Ages � which is another name often given to the same period � was not the same at all places at the same time. The invasion of the barbarians, or of the Saracens may have swept away the light-bearers in one district while they remained undisturbed in other places. A wise and godly man in authority was at times the means of diffusing much light around him; but that light, instead of extending elsewhere, only made more manifest the surrounding gloom.

One thing is clear, that the darkness was caused solely and entirely by man. God's word � the great source of light to this dark world � was in existence, and would, by the blessing of God, have enlightened mankind, had they been willing to be enlightened. But those in authority in the church made it a crime to read the Bible. Thus, alas, during the ages under consideration, it was indeed dark, as it had been when our Lord was on earth: "The light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not." (John i. 5.)

This is really the secret of the whole matter; and may we not say, that as it was then so it is now to a great extent?

In looking at the history of the church during the above period, we shall see in what the darkness consisted, and also that God had, here and there, His light-bearers who spread abroad the light of the gospel of God as far as in them lay.

We get in scripture itself a graphic description of how persons may be deceived on the subject of their own spirituality. One class is described as saying, "I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need of nothing;" whereas God's scrutinizing eye saw such to be "wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked." (Rev. iii. 17.)

Now we can easily understand that such would wonder what any one could mean by describing them as being in the dark: they had become so thoroughly insensible as to what God calls the light, that they did not discern the darkness, but declared that they had need of nothing,

By the Dark Ages, then, is meant that the state of the professing church had degenerated instead of progressed. There are two ways in which a thing may recede: one, in numbers � quantity; the other, in condition � quality. It is not meant that the numbers of those professing Christianity had decreased; far from it, in places they had wonderfully increased, though in others they had not only decreased, but had been almost destroyed. It is in the reality of the profession that the declension is to be observed.

Not only had profession been adopted where there was merely "a name to live," but the most outrageous and immoral behaviour, together with the most unscrupulous means of obtaining power and riches, was associated with the name of Christ.

Happily there were exceptions. We would fain hope many even of the clergy were such, though unable to stem the torrent of iniquity; and of the people we trust there were thousands who, while mixed up with the professing church, were true to the Lord in private.

As we shall see, the Waldenses were for many long years bright lights amid the surrounding darkness, but, alas! only to be extinguished, as far as those in place and power could do it. How plainly then was the fact evinced that "men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil."

Learning also decreased. It seemed as if the mere glimmer of the learned languages and of science was too much for those accustomed to the habit and the love of darkness. Many of the plants then cultivated throve best in the darkest places: the light of God's word killed them outright.

Let us proceed to give some sketches of the period under consideration, and in doing so we shall see whether it is right that the middle ages should be called The Dark Ages.

Chapter 1.

Union of the Eastern and Western Churches, A.D. 518.

In our previous sketches of the history of the church,* we saw that at the close of the fifth century, there was an open rupture between the eastern and western portions of the church. The patriarch of Constantinople and the patriarch of Rome had excommunicated each other as heretics � and this breach had borne much bitter fruit. The West was mostly styled orthodox, because of maintaining the divinity of Christ; and the East was declared to be in error as touching the Person of our Lord.

{*"Persecution and Profession; being Sketches of early Church History to the close of the fifth century."}

Anastasius was emperor in the East. He had opposed the orthodox faith; but in A.D. 517, John of Cappadocia was elected patriarch, though he held orthodox views, and was not molested by Anastasius, who only survived a few months. Justin, the commander of the imperial guards, by a popular confession of faith was supported by the clergy, and was hailed as emperor. Thus Constantinople was now blessed by having emperor, clergy, senate, and many of the people, all professing one faith � that which was considered orthodox.

All now agreed to condemn Nestorius, Eutyches, Severus of Antioch, and all, 'living or dead,' who held communion with them. The canons of the general councils � especially that of Chalcedon, which had been so much disputed � were adopted and canonised afresh.

The next step was to re-instate the names of Macedonius, Euphemius, and Leo the Great of Rome, on the sacred tablets of the church. This is said to have been done by acclamation � so glad were the people in the prospect of peace being restored in the church. The establishment of orthodoxy at the capital was followed by its adoption nearly all over the East.

All this was on one side only. It was the East undoing what had been done there in shielding and supporting the heresy that had made and widened the breach. All were now anxious to know if Rome would be equally willing for reconciliation. The emperor wrote to the patriarch, or pope, as we suppose he must now be called � Hormisdas � in a flattering and reverential tone. John also sent letters, containing his confession of faith, in the terms laid down by Leo the Great. All prayed that Hormisdas would send accredited legates to ratify the union of the two churches.

But Rome stood erect in its dignity. Before anything could be done, the names of Acacius, former patriarch of Constantinople, and Peter Mongus of Alexandria, must be struck out of the list of the faithful, and consigned to oblivion. And then the covenant of peace must be from Rome, not from Constantinople. Legates, bearing the "libellus" or covenant, were despatched to the East, with strict orders to hold no communication with any of the clergy or laity until they had presented the covenant to the emperor, and to request he would give his subscription at once, without any discussion, and make it public that he had done so. As soon as he and the patriarch had signed the covenant, and had erased the hateful names, the legates were at liberty to receive into the orthodox church. "You have renounced heresy," wrote the pontiff; "you have taken upon you the faith of the blessed Peter, knowing that in that faith alone you have salvation: therefore now set your hands to the written covenant herewith sent you for your subscription, that thereby we may be united in one holy communion with each other."

The progress of the legates was a march of triumph. Bishops signed the covenant without waiting for Constantinople. At the metropolis there was no hesitation � no discussion. All were anxious for peace, and everything that Rome required was acceded to, and peace was restored after a rupture of some thirty-five years.

Still the church was not one. Rome was anxious that the East should succumb to the West by subscribing to what Rome had written: this was far from what the East intended; and all that was done was to restore peace between two churches, the East and the West. The patriarch of Constantinople was head of the eastern church, and the pontiff head of the western church. It is important to notice this, because in after times � and in our own times, indeed � the church of Rome (as a mark of being the true church) claims to be the universal church. This is not true of it now, and never was true. The eastern church never acknowledged the pontiff of Rome as the head of the eastern church. As we shall see, Rome strove to claim and to enforce this; but it was always refused. John of Constantinople accepted the title of "oecumenical patriarch" � a title which shewed plainly his independence of Rome.

Neither of them were actuated by the truth of the "one body," as revealed in scripture; nor were they "endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit." It was Rome striving for supremacy everywhere; and the East, without acknowledging that supremacy, desirous of peace between the two churches. As to how far either the one or the other was justified in calling itself the church of God, will appear as we proceed.

Chapter 2.

Justinian Emperor, A.D. 527-565.

Glancing at the reign of Justinian, emperor of the East, will give us somewhat of an insight into the state of religion at that time as far as it can be gathered from histories. Justinian is often called Roman emperor; but the West was so over-run by the barbarians, especially the Goths, that he held little more than nominal sway over the West � at times it was really ruled by the Goths.

It will be seen that by wide-spread profession all were regarded as Christians of some sort, except the Jews and a few who still regarded themselves as pagan philosophers. The emperor ruled in the church as well as in the state, and the clergy greatly influenced the acts of the state.

In A.D. 527, Justinian became emperor. He was a moral man, and took much interest in all ecclesiastical questions. He seemed to think that the regulation of such matters was his especial work, for he left the political and military subjects to the management of others. A work of his in Greek, against the Monophysites,* has been published by cardinal Angelo Mai.

{*Those who held that Christ had but one nature, the human nature being absorbed in the divine.}

He was liberal in his gifts for building churches and hospitals, but he has been charged with raising the funds by extortion, bribery, false accusations, and unjust confiscations, altogether regardless of God's being unable to bless such apparent liberality. He spent an enormous sum of money on the re-building of the church of St. Sophia at Constantinople, which had been burnt down at the time when Chrysostom was banished, and once after. When the emperor viewed the beautiful building at its dedication (A.D. 544) he thanked God for having permitted him to complete so great a work; but then impiously exclaimed, "O Solomon, I have surpassed thee!" Three years after an earthquake shattered the dome of the church; but Justinian rebuilt it with still increased height and splendour.

To this cathedral were attached, by one of its laws, sixty priests, a hundred deacons, forty deaconesses, ninety subdeacons, a hundred and ten readers, five and twenty singers, and a hundred door-keepers. Alas! how the simplicity of the early worship in the church had become destroyed! It could not be otherwise when it was sought to out-do the outward splendour of the times of Solomon.

Up to this date there were still a few teachers of pagan philosophy at Athens, though they were obliged to pay outward respect to the religion of the state. Justinian ordered the schools to be closed. The philosophers fled to Persia, hoping to find patronage from the king, but were disappointed, and returned to their own land. They lived unmolested to their death, but left no successors. Thus ended pagan philosophy in the midst of Christendom. It had survived some five hundred years after the introduction of Christianity. But it is remarkable how similar the pretended intercourse of these philosophers with higher powers was to the pretended miracles and visions that were then professed in the church!

In the year 529 it was enacted that no pagan or heretic should hold any civil or military office. Such persons were also given three months to decide whether they would abjure their errors, or be banished; or if they remained they were to be deprived of all civil and religious privileges. This produced a great mass of pretended 'conversions.' But some would not yield, and with the greatest infatuation preferred suicide. Thus, in Phrygia some Montanists* actually shut themselves up in their meeting-houses, set fire to the buildings, and perished in the flames.

{*The Montanists were a fanatical sect which arose as early as the second century. They professed to be inspired by the Holy Ghost, and were at times thrown into ecstatic trances, especially some of the women.}

Justinian professed to hold with the council of Chalcedon in its principal decision, that there were two natures in Christ; but his wife Theodora* was a zealous Monophysite. Through her influence, Severus, who had been expelled from Antioch, was brought to Constantinople, and Anthimus, an enemy of the council of Chalcedon, was made primate of the eastern church.

{* Theodora had been an actress of doubtful morals, and a law had to be passed before Justinian could legally marry her.}

In the year following (537) the Gothic king compelled Agapetus primate of Rome to visit Constantinople on a political mission, and while there, he put before the emperor the errors of the archbishop, and obtained his deposition on the plea that he had been translated from another see, contrary to the canons. Mennas was then made primate; he called a council, and Anthimus was declared to be a heretic and was excommunicated.

In the meantime Agapetus died at Constantinople, and Vigilius his archdeacon was urged by Theodora to become a candidate for the papacy. The emperor promised his influence and his money if Vigilius would oppose the council of Chalcedon, and communicate with the expelled Anthimus.* But before Vigilius reached Rome, Sylverius, a subdeacon, had been elected.

{*That the emperor should now have apparently turned quite round and opposed the council of Chalcedon, can only be accounted for by the influence of his wife Theodora, and his own desire to bring all to an outward uniformity.}

Justinian had made war against the Goths, and had taken Rome. In the next year Rome was besieged by the Goths. Justinian's general, Belisarius, summoned Sylverius into his presence and charged him with treasonable correspondence with the enemy. This he denied, but written evidence was produced which left no defence. He was stripped of his robes, and sent off by sea. Vigilius was elected, and he paid Belisarius two hundred pounds of gold for his interest!

Here was a most flagrant case of simony, and that too by the pope himself. And his predecessor had been guilty of treason. Such were the men at this age who pretended to hold the sacred office of bishop of Rome, yea, primate of the church universal!

The next act of Justinian was to issue an edict against the doctrines of Origen. Few held with Origen, or cared for his teaching, but the emperor drew up an edict detailing ten heresies drawn from his works. A council was called, and the wishes of the emperor were confirmed. This is a matter now of very little moment, except that it shews how the emperor was the prime mover of that which, if needful, should have been cared for by the church generally.

Justinian still laboured to bring about a union with the Monophysite party and those called orthodox. He determined to write a treatise that should convince the former of their error. While he contemplated this, it was artfully suggested to him that his object would be more easily obtained by condemning certain writings approved at Chalcedon, but which the Monophysites disliked, and which they alleged the orthodox ought also to disavow.

Three articles were especially named to be condemned: 1, The writings and person of Theodore of Mopsuestia; 2, The treatise of Theodoret against Cyril; and 3, a letter written by Ibas, bishop of Edessa, to the Persian bishop Maris. These have been called the "Three Chapters," from the words used in the original;* but may be more rightly termed three articles of the indictment.

{*Tria Kephalaia.}

It has been judged that his wife Theodora was really the instigator of this suggestion. If the emperor fell into the snare, he would really be condemning the council of Chalcedon, without openly appearing to do so; and if he could be brought to issue an edict condemning the three articles, he would, for very shame, be compelled to enforce its reception. Unhappily, Justinian fell into the trap laid for him, and thus kindled a needless flame that burnt long and did much damage.

Between A.D. 543 and 545 the edict was published, and sent forth with the demand that the clergy should sign it. A strange thing, indeed, that an emperor should put forth, on his own authority, an article of faith to which all were required to subscribe. The church had fallen even to this in the sixth century.

To all the orthodox the edict was revolting. It really condemned, as we have seen, the council of Chalcedon, which they considered needful to uphold as a proof of their soundness in the faith.

The four eastern patriarchs were first encountered. Mennas of Constantinople signed reluctantly, and with a promise made to him on oath that if the bishop of Rome did not sign he might withdraw his signature. Ephraim of Antioch, Peter of Jerusalem, and Zoilus of Alexandria, signed, under the threat, imagined if not real, of being deposed if they did not. Most in the East followed the example of the patriarchs, some being gained by threats and others by gifts. Many of them had rich dioceses, and were dependent on the state.

In the West and in Africa there was a good deal of opposition to the edict. It caused a sensation at Rome, and Vigilius was summoned to Constantinople. He had been made pope, principally through the influence of the emperor, but he was surrounded by staunch supporters of the council of Chalcedon. His secretary, Stephen, was at Constantinople, and he had separated from Mennas because of his signing the edict. Dacius, archbishop of Milan, had done the same. All were anxious to see how the pope of Rome would act. He was very reluctant to go to the emperor, but when he could no longer put off his departure he was begged by them at Rome not to sign the edict.

He was under severe threats by Theodora if he did not appear at Constantinople. Indeed, from the first he was under a promise to the empress to carry out her views; and had hitherto played fast and loose, trying to please the empress yet keep in with the orthodox, and be faithful to his convictions, if he really had any. He managed to spend nearly a year on his journey, but arrived at Constantinople in A.D. 547.

He at first refused to sign the condemnation of the Three Chapters. Then he attempted to draw up a compromise, called the Judicatum, namely, to condemn the Three Chapters, but without touching the decisions of the council of Chalcedon. His own clergy compelled him to withdraw his compromise. He asked for a general council.

In A.D. 548 Theodora died, but the emperor had so far committed himself to the line of things he was pursuing, that he would not alter his course. He persecuted those in Africa who refused compliance, and extorted a secret oath from Vigilius to condemn the three articles.

Justinian drew up another edict to the same effect in A.D. 551, calling it a Confession of Faith. Vigilius refused to sign it, though whether it was from conscientious scruples or from fear of the clergy of the West, is not known. Fearing violence, he took shelter in the church of St. Peter. A praetor was sent with a guard to capture him; but he placed himself under the altar and clung to its legs. Regardless of who he was, they attempted to pull him out by his feet, his hair, and even his beard; but he clung so firmly that some part of the altar began to give way, and would have fallen on him had it not been held up by some of the clerks. Very shame caused the officers to desist and let him alone.

He was induced by the promise of a safe-conduct to come forth, but fled again to Chalcedon, and took shelter in the church. At length the emperor, seeing no probability of peace otherwise, consented to call a council, and the pope returned to Constantinople. Vigilius desired it should be held in Sicily or Italy, but the emperor would not consent. After a great deal of contention, the emperor summoned the council to meet at Constantinople. It was called the Fifth General Council.

It met in May, 553. A hundred and sixty-five bishops attended, including all the eastern patriarchs, but only six African bishops. Vigilius did not consider that the western church was at all adequately represented, and he would not attend, though urgently requested to do so by the other patriarchs. Vigilius drew up a paper, with the concurrence of sixteen bishops, endeavouring to make a compromise by condemning the writings which were in question, but without condemning the authors. But the emperor would not receive it. He presented to the council the secret compact he had made with Vigilius, and desired that his name should be erased from the church diptychs (lists of those in communion). The council proceeded without the attendance of the pope.

The council condemned the Three Chapters and pronounced a curse against all who should defend them, or should pretend that they were countenanced by the council of Chalcedon. The persons of Theodoret and Ibas were spared, but Theodore was condemned as well as his writings. The four previous general councils were confirmed; and the edicts of the emperor were approved. As usual, the emperor issued an edict enforcing the decrees of the council.

At the close of the same year, Vigilius, who had now spent some six years at Constantinople, and who did not wish to be a martyr, being condemned by many, and almost a prisoner, wrote a letter of confession to Eutychius, at that time patriarch of Constantinople, confessing that he was wrong. Another letter followed, to the western clergy, to the same import. He was now released by Justinian, and started for Rome, but died on his journey at Syracuse. If he did not believe Justinian to be wrong, why stand out so long? and if he did, why give in at last? His liberty, thus dearly bought, did him no good: God took him from the scene.

We see from this also that the bishop of Rome, or pope, as he is called, was not at that time held in such fear and respect as was afterwards claimed for one who was called the direct successor of the apostle Peter. He was to a great extent the servant of the emperor when the emperor was in power. What a pitiful sight for Christendom to behold a pope cringing beneath an altar, and attempts being made to drag him forcibly away!

Pelagius succeeded Vigilius, but he was unpopular at Rome, and there was in the West great opposition to the Fifth General Council which Pelagius sought to enforce. Persecution followed. Many bishops were banished and imprisoned in convents, and in north Italy some of the bishops broke communion with Rome rather than receive the decrees of the council.

The whole scheme of the emperor was an entire failure. It in no way gained the Monophysite party back to communion with the so-called orthodox church; and in his latter days he is believed to have fallen into the very error he seemed at first so anxious to correct. He died in A.D. 565.

While all this contention was going on in the church between the emperor and the bishops, what was the condition of the mass of Christians who had been led to look up to the bishops? Alas! we know not. We may fain hope that many a one was enabled to maintain the truth in private, unobserved and unmolested by those who were prominent in the disputes. How good to know that the Good Shepherd careth for the sheep, and often leads them beside the still waters, and refreshes their souls notwithstanding all that is passing around them.

Justinian's successor, Justin II. did not trouble himself about ecclesiastical matters: he left the bishops to settle their own disputes.

Chapter 3.

Benedict and Monasticism.

However simply and sincerely monasticism had been commenced, it no sooner became popular than it began to be corrupt. In some places the monks were numerous and rude, and took very prominent parts in the quarrels of the clergy, even to fighting and bloodshed, in their fanatical zeal for any party they upheld.

Justinian had interfered in monasticism as in everything else in the church. He enacted that married people might embrace the monastic life, without the consent of husband or wife; children, without the consent of their parents; slaves, without the consent of their masters, etc.

The monasteries were supposed to be under the control of the bishops, but many were almost if not entirely independent. Sometimes the monks aided the bishop, and sometimes opposed him; being often a powerful body of men.

The revolutions in the West were on the whole favourable to the monks, They were often spared by the conquerors, and many persons resorted to the convents for safety, carrying much of their wealth with them. But this did not contribute to the purity of monasticism.

Benedict (of Nursia, now Norcia) was a reformer. At the age of twelve he was sent with a nurse to Rome for study; but he was soon disgusted with the irregularities of his fellow-students, and at the early age of fourteen, leaving his nurse, he fled from the city, and lived for three years in a cave near Subiaco. No one knew where he was except a monk who had met with him in his flight, and he, taking an interest in the youth, supplied him with food, but only what he could spare from his own allowance. This he took to him occasionally, and lowered it by a string.

At length he was discovered by some shepherds. He sought to instruct these and others who now came to him; and when his fame increased, he was chosen abbot of a monastery in the neighbourhood. But he was a reformer, and the monks did not want to be reformed, so they mixed some poison in his drink to get rid of him. Before drinking he made the sign of the cross, as was then customary, and on his doing this, it is said, the cup flew to pieces! He mildly rebuked the monks, reminding them that he had warned them not to elect him as their abbot, as he saw their ways were so unlike his own.

He returned to his solitude; but his renown only increased the more, and monastery after monastery was erected to carry out his rules, each house holding twelve monks and an abbot. Even some members of the Roman nobility placed their children under his care for education.

But persecution again followed him. A monk named Florentius, out of envy, did all he could to ruin his character by calumny, and to cut him off by poison. Again he retired with a few of his followers � whither he knew not. At length he reached Monte Cassino, where on a lofty spot stood a heathen shrine to Apollo, still receiving some sort of worship from the rustics of the neighbourhood. After many warnings from Satan, as is related, he succeeded in destroying the idol and cutting down the grove, and erected a place for private worship, called an oratory, dedicated to St. John the Evangelist and St. Martin, which became the germ of a most renowned monastery, and from which others arose.

Benedict now set to work to draw up a set of rules for his houses. He avoided extremes, hoping to have the rules the better carried out if they were moderate, being warned by the mistakes of others who had enacted such strict rules that none attempted to follow them, and even made that an excuse for many indulgences.

A few of his rules may be named. The abbot was to be chosen by the monks, and approved of by the bishop. He was to be cheerfully and implicitly obeyed: he stood "in the place of Christ." He must be addressed as Dominus. They were to call each other brother or father, according to age, and great respect was to be paid to the elder brethren.

Candidates were required to come on probation for a year, and to have the rules read over to them three times during that period, and asked if they resolved to keep them. They had to furnish a written vow of stedfastness, amendment, and obedience, and, on full admission, must give up all their property to the community.

Should a married man who had become a monk return to his wife, he could be forcibly dragged back to the monastery; but this does not appear to have been always enforced.

One thing that especially characterised the Benedictine order was occupation. They were to rise at 2 a.m. for early prayer (matins), to attend eight services daily, and to work seven hours. The Psalms were to be read over every week in their services, and time allowed for the study of the scripture, reading Cassian's "Conferences,"* "Lives of the Saints," and other books which they deemed edifying. At meals a book was to be read aloud, while all others preserved silence. In general the monks were to speak but little.

{* Cassian was a celebrated monk who wrote this work: it was respecting the internal scope and spirit of Monasticism. It touched also on grace, faith, etc.; but was considered unsound by Augustine on these points.}

At dinner there were to be two dishes of pulmentaria, that those who could not relish one might be able to eat the other. It is not certain what was included in the word 'pulmentaria:' vegetables and grain certainly, but some suppose eggs, fish, and birds, because the flesh of four-footed beasts only was forbidden. In addition, uncooked fruit or salad might be eaten. A small measure of wine was allowed to each: Benedict would have preferred none, but feared to make the rule too stringent. A pound of bread was the daily portion, subject to the discretion of the abbot to increase it where needed. Flesh was allowed to the sick. The monks were to sleep ten or twelve in a room, each in a separate bed, with their clothes and girdles on. A light was kept burning. No talking was allowed after the last service of the day, called "compline."*

{* From the Latin completa, so called because it completed the services of the day.}

Each "house" had its garden, mill, well, and bakehouse, so that the monks need go abroad but little. When this was necessary, the abbot must give permission, and the messenger, on his return, was forbidden to relate to others his adventures. The occupation of each was chosen by the abbot, and if any one thought himself handy at any particular work, this work he was not to do.

Extra seclusion and bodily chastisement might be used as punishments.

For some twelve years, Benedict remained head of his system of monasticism, and from time to time sent out men to make known his rules to monks who had no regular organisation, and with the object of founding houses where there were none. This was carried on with spirit and perseverance until Benedictine monks were to be found all over Europe, including England.

He did not attribute any merit to keeping the law, and he denied that man had any power to keep it except he had help from heaven. But as to salvation, nothing is recorded. All is swallowed up in "how to become a good monk," though here and there glimpses are apparent of Benedict's having been beyond the standard of others. For instance, he found a hermit passing his life chained to a rock. He rebuked him, saying, "Brother, be bound only by the chain of Christ."

The reader need scarcely be reminded how contrary monasticism is to Christianity. The plea raised for a monastic life, was that by its means greater holiness was attained; but it is manifest that, however earnest the desire to escape from the corruptions of the world, and indeed of the professing church, holiness is not to be obtained that way. All Christians have their old nature remaining in them, and this being carried by the monks into their cells, they may be as much engaged in serving the flesh there as in the world, and thus have as little practical holiness. Whereas the example of Christ was going about doing good. He also sent his disciples into the world (warning them to keep themselves free from its spirit and ways), and prayed that they might be kept from its evil. (John xvii. 15, 18.) The Holy Spirit is given to the Christian that he should not follow the promptings of the flesh; and if he walk in the Spirit he will not fulfil the lusts of the flesh. (Gal. v. 16, 17.) And he that soweth to the Spirit reapeth life everlasting. (Gal. vi. 8.)

The monks did good in multiplying the copies of scripture, and it is surprising that Benedict did not enjoin the careful study of the scriptures instead of reading the "Lives of the Saints" with its follies and fables. Alas! the dark ages were setting in.

Among the various monasteries that existed in the sixth century, we read of one near Mount Sinai in Arabia � a small place called the Prison. In this place the monks who had committed any great crime imprisoned themselves. They spent their time in prayer, with every possible self-denial and debasement. Not one single comfort did they allow themselves. In their prayers they did not consider they could ask for or expect entire forgiveness; but they besought that their punishment might not be to the utmost of their deserts. Voluntary punishments continued with many until their death.

How strange that any who called themselves Christians should hope for forgiveness or an abatement of their punishment because of their austerities, instead of turning their eyes to the word of God � where they could have read that if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." (1 John i. 9.)

Yet so little knew they of forgiveness of sins through the sacrifice of Christ, that the utmost they hoped for was less punishment than they merited for the sin they had committed. Of the true gospel they appear to have been entirely ignorant. And yet these were some of those deemed to be more holy than the mass of the Christians in those days: another proof of the darkness settling over Christendom.

Chapter 4.

Gregory the Great.

We have looked a little at the East, in the sketch of Justinian; we will now look at one of the renowned bishops of the church in the West. Gregory was born at Rome. At first he entered into civil employment, but when about thirty-five years of age, he abandoned the world, and founded several monasteries. One was in his family mansion at Rome, where he lived as a strict ascetic. In this he persevered, though frequently laid low through illness brought on by his severities. He had been ordained deacon, and, on the death of pope Pelagius, he was chosen to succeed him.

He did all he could to avoid the appointment by hiding himself, and by writing a letter to the emperor, begging him not to give his consent. The letter being intercepted and detained, the consent was given, and he was duly installed. An ancient writer says he shrank from the office, "lest the worldly glory which he had before cast away might creep on him under the colour of ecclesiastical government."

He himself, also, compared the church to an "old and violently shattered ship, admitting the waters on all sides � its timbers rotten, shaken by daily storms, and sounding of wreck." This is not a description by an enemy, but by one who loved his church, and had been zealous to serve it.

Things around the pope were indeed discouraging. Italy was held to belong to the emperor at Constantinople but the Lombards had overrun a great part, and threatened the rest. Those in Italy could only look to the emperor, who did not protect them. The inhabitants were wasting away by wars and famines, and Rome itself suffered from storms and inundations. Things were in such a low state that many predicted that the end of the world must be at hand.

Neither were the affairs in the church any brighter: darkness was setting in. The clergy were few, and did not look well after their scattered flocks. The dreaded Lombards were Arians. Schism still reigned in some places because of the "Three Chapters;" and in others the Donatists and Monophysites caused trouble.

Gregory took the reins in hand at once, and energetically laboured to steer the church through its many dangers. Nearly 850 letters tell of the diligence he used to set matters right wherever he thought his aid was needed. He endeavoured to introduce many improvements into the church, both in its organisation and in its practices. He paid special attention to the singing, introducing the mode of chanting which still bears his name. With a whip in hand (long preserved as a relic) he would threaten the choristers if they disobeyed him.

He had, however, other important duties. Preaching was one that he diligently followed, with what success we know not. The distress at Rome was so great that he used a great part of his revenues in supplying the needs of the people.

Rome being threatened by the Lombards, he came to terms with them, without waiting for the court of Constantinople to sanction what he did. The court ridiculed this, but the people were spared the horrors of war, and were glad of his interference.

Gregory had to lament that he was so much taken up with temporal things. He wrote to a friend, "Weep if you love me, for I have so many temporal affairs to attend to in the situation which I occupy, that I find myself almost separated by this dignity from the love of God."

His zeal was very much exercised in ceremonies; the dresses were multiplied, and everything was to be done in a stated order. History records how a service was conducted by Gregory on Easter Sunday, which shews how the simplicity of worship was marred.

The service began by hymns being chanted as the pope walked through the church. He was attended by the chief deacon, while seven attendants preceded, carrying seven candlesticks and the incense. On reaching the altar, "Glory to the Father" was sung, completing the preliminary hymns. The pope then prayed in silence, then kissed the altar and the Gospels. The choir then chanted the "Kyrie Eleison." He then turned to the congregation and repeated alone the "Glory in the highest," and then blessed them. The collect and the epistle were read. A chorister chanted a hymn. The chief deacon, being blessed by the pope, kissed the Gospels, and then read the gospel appointed for the day. The book was then carried by a subdeacon to the whole congregation for each to kiss. The pope then preached his sermon, and another psalm or anthem concluded this part of the service.

The pope then went round the church with two attendants to receive the offerings of the congregation, which at that time consisted of loaves of bread and flasks of wine. The pope and the chief deacon then washed their hands. Bread and wine were now placed on the altar. The choir sang the "Offertory," while the pope received the offerings of the clergy and his own (presented by the chief deacon). Then he and the whole clergy knelt in silent prayer. The choir sang the "Sanctus," and he read the canon.

Then the chief deacon took the chalice and carried it to the pope, who touched the side of it with the host. A prayer and blessing was then said, and after making the sign of the cross three times on the chalice, the bread (consecrated the day before) was placed into it, and it was carried to the congregation to kiss. The choir chanted "Agnus Dei."

The pope then, turning towards the East, partook of the bread and wine. He then put a morsel of the bread of which he had partaken into the chalice, and poured a small portion of the consecrated wine into a vessel full of unconsecrated. This rendered it all consecrated. The bishops and the priests then partook of the bread from the hands of the pope, the chief deacon giving them the wine. The pope then gave the bread to the congregation in the front seats, while the clergy did the same to the other parts of the congregation. The chief deacon followed with the wine which the people partook of through a golden tube. The choir in the meantime chanted appointed psalms.

The pope again approached the altar and prayed and blessed the people; and the deacon dismissed the people with "Ite, missa est!"

We have given this service nearly in full, that the reader may see to what a set of formalities the Lord's supper had fallen in the sixth century. One has only to compare it with the account, given in the New Testament, of how our Lord instituted that memorial of His death, to see how sadly it was smothered in outward ceremonies. The singing was by the choir, trained for such service; the prayers were by the clergy; the people kissed the Gospels and then the cup, and partook of the bread and wine. Oh that men would remember the words of our Lord, "They that worship God, must worship him in spirit and in truth." "The flesh profiteth nothing."

Notice also that at this date the people partook of the wine, which is now denied them in the church of Rome.

Along with the ceremonies introduced by Gregory into the service of the church, reverence towards relics was also fostered. Thus in one of his letters to the empress, who had asked for some relics of St. Paul and St. Peter, he told her they were to be approached even with the greatest fear. He said his predecessor had been troubled by visions, because he had simply desired to try their virtue. He said the relics themselves were never given, but only pieces of linen or stuff which had been placed near the relic; however he would try and send her some filings from the chain of St. Peter, provided the priest appointed was able to obtain them, for the file would not cut unless there was holiness in those who desired the same! Alas, how false must be the religion that needs to be bolstered up, by such falsehoods!

The church of Rome at that time had its earthly possessions in various places. In all these Gregory had his agents to manage the estates, and many of his letters are to these agents, giving them minute instructions as to how things should be managed, so that there should be no damage to the church, and no infringement on the rights of others. He had the income from these estates carefully divided into four equal parts, and given to the bishop, the clergy, the church and its service, and the poor. This supervision contributed to what Gregory lamented as the many earthly things that drew him away from those more heavenly.

One very grievous trial to Gregory was the fact, that the patriarch of Constantinople was styled "universal bishop." So strong was Gregory in condemning this that he himself would not, at that time, be thus styled. Though what made it so irritating to him was that he contended, that the eastern church was dependent on the church of Rome, and nothing that at all clashed with that claim could be tolerated. He wrote to the patriarch, and then to the emperor, respecting the hated title; but with little or no effect � the title was maintained.

Gregory even appealed to the emperor Phocas � a man who had assumed the purple, after slaying six sons of the emperor Mauricius before his eyes, and then putting the emperor to death: he also enticed the late empress and her three daughters from the asylum of a church, upon promise of liberty, but then put them to death. Gregory wrote to this cruel pretender, and his wife Leontia, in the most flattering terms, rejoicing at their accession, and condemning the late emperor, from whose yoke the church was now blessedly free! He exhorted them to protect the afflicted church of St. Peter. "I do not doubt," said he, "that you will take care to oblige and bind him to you by whom you desire to be loosed from your sins."

Gregory did not long survive this shameful flattery of Phocas. He passed away, after suffering much from gout, on March 12, A.D. 604.

Gregory has been held up as being one of the best of the bishops of Rome. He lived at a time when the darkness was only setting in, and yet in writing to various rulers he exhorted them, among other things, to correct the vices of the clergy, and to aim at the conversion of the heathen. A strange thing this, for the rulers to correct the clergy, instead of the clergy being examples to the rulers; and surely it was also the work of the clergy, rather than the rulers, to preach the gospel to the heathen.

Gregory and England.

Soon after Gregory the Great had been made abbot of the monastery at Rome which he had established, he was one day passing through the market-place when he saw some young Anglo-Saxon slaves exposed for sale. He was so struck with their appearance that he was led to inquire respecting their country. The conversation that ensued is thus related:

"Whence come these captives?"

"From the isle of Britain."

"Are the natives of that island Christians?"

"No; they are pagans."

"It is sad that the author of darkness should possess men with such bright faces; but what is the name of that particular nation?"

"They are called Angli."

"And rightly so, for their angel-like faces: they ought to be co-heirs with the angels in heaven. In what province of England did they live?"

"In De�ra."

"They must be freed de Dei ir� (from the anger of God). How is the king of the country called?"

"Ella."

"Surely Hallelujah ought to be sung in his kingdom, to the praise of God who created all things."

Gregory, after gaining the consent of the pope, determined to go to England, and seek the conversion of its inhabitants. He started on his mission, but had not proceeded far when the people of Rome, who had been accustomed to consider him as a saint, compelled him to return.

Though thwarted in his purpose for the time, Gregory did not forget England; and when he became pope, he sought means to send some missionaries to our island.

Augustine, the abbot of his monastery, was chosen by Gregory for this mission. He was a man of ardent piety � one on whom Gregory could rely. Several monks were appointed to accompany Augustine, and after being commended to God by prayer, they set out on their journey. They had, however, only proceeded as far as Provence, when they were overwhelmed with the prospect of the difficulties of such a mission; and, after consultation, Augustine returned to Rome to ask permission of the pope to abandon the enterprise.

But Gregory only the more earnestly exhorted Augustine to persevere, and reminded him of the rewards of heaven if he succeeded. He also gave Augustine letters to the king of Burgundy, and to other princes, and to bishops through whose provinces the missionaries would travel.

Augustine and his party took courage, and again started on their mission � being now forty in number � and at length landed safely on the isle of Thanet. Ethelbert was then king of Kent, the most powerful of the Anglo-Saxon monarchs. He had married Bertha, a christian princess, daughter of Charibert, king of Paris. Messengers were sent to the king, to announce the arrival of men who had brought tidings of the way in which eternal happiness and glory were to be obtained, with peace and blessing from the true God.

Ethelbert went to meet Augustine where he had landed, and preparations were made by the abbot to impress the king with the dignity of his mission. These things appear to have had a contrary effect, and to have roused his suspicions, for he would not meet Augustine except in the open air, lest he should be brought under some magical power, though this may, however, have been suggested by the pagan priests. The reply of the king was that he could not change the religion of himself and his people without due consideration. But, as they had come from a distance, they might remain, and he would protect them. Any of his people that chose might become converts.

Augustine removed to Canterbury, where Ethelbert held his court, and near which Bertha worshipped in a ruined church. Here the chaste lives and seemly behaviour of the missionaries � together with their lofty message, and the miracles they were supposed to have wrought � gradually won the confidence of the people, and many converts were gained. Ethelbert at length embraced Christianity (A.D. 597), and glad messages were despatched to Rome of the success of the mission.

Augustine was made archbishop of Canterbury, and he proceeded to call a synod of the Saxon and British bishops. Christianity had long before been established in England; but during the wars of the Picts and Scots, and of the Saxons, the British Christians had taken shelter in the more secluded places, especially in Wales.

Augustine seeing the desirability of calling all to the synod, decided to hold it on the confines of the West Saxons, so that all might be able to attend.

Few however attended the first meeting, and Augustine proposed that they should all strive for the conversion of the heathen, that they should submit to the pope, and should adopt a uniformity of ceremony with the Roman church, especially in the celebration of Easter.

The reply was that they were ready to obey the church of God, the pope of Rome, and every godly Christian; but other obedience to any one calling himself pope, or father of fathers, they could not yield.

The synod thus failing in the object Augustine had in view, he proposed that they should prove who was right by a miracle. A blind man was introduced, and the British bishops prayed that he might receive his sight; but he remained blind. Augustine then called on God, and the blind man was soon restored, according to the historian Bede!

The British bishops owned that now they ought to bow to Augustine as to the observation of Easter; but the consent of the elders and people was needed before they could promise entire submission.

Before the next meeting, the British resorted to a hermit, who was reputed to be "holy and wise," for advice as to yielding to the requests of Augustine. The conference is thus recorded:

"Are we bound to desert our traditions at the preaching of Augustine?"

"If he be a man of God, follow him."

"But how shall we be able to make trial thereof?"

"The Lord saith, 'Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart.' (Matt. xi. 29.) If therefore this Augustine be mild and humble of heart, it is credible that he himself beareth the yoke of Christ, and tendereth the same to be borne of you; but if he is cruel and proud, it appeareth that he is not of God, neither ought ye to heed what he saith."

"But how shall we make discovery hereof?"

"Contrive that he and his may come first into the place of the synod. And if he rise up when you draw near unto him, hear him then obediently, knowing him for a servant of Christ; but if he slighteth you, and vouchsafeth not to rise up unto you (seeing you are more in number), let him be slighted by you."

Armed with these instructions, the British bishops proceeded to the synod. But, alas! Augustine sat in all dignity, and did not rise to greet them. Now they could not be moved to offer submission to one so proud. Augustine then proceeded to threaten them, prophesying that they would be punished by the heathen's swords.

Some while after, Ethelfrid, king of Northumberland, attacked Wales, when an army of monks, some 1200 strong, unarmed, prayed for protection. But Ethelfrid, being told that they were praying against him, ordered their massacre. Only fifty escaped; but this event is placed, by some, subsequent to the death of Augustine.

After this we lose sight of the British Christians for a long time, except that we read, that they who had not withdrawn to secluded places had more or less submitted to the Romish clergy.

Augustine however had prospered. Multitudes of the Anglo-Saxons turned nominal Christians. It is said 10,000 were baptised in one day � baptised as they walked through the river Swale.* He wrought many miracles, according to the Romish historians, some of which are too absurd even to repeat, much less to be believed.

{* Fuller said, "the river Swale, near Richmond in Yorkshire;" but Dr. Heylin said it was a branch of the river Medway, which is divided into East Swale and West Swale and Fuller afterwards agreed with this.}

Gregory had counselled that the heathen temples should not be destroyed, but consecrated for worship, so that the people might be the more easily induced to attend. Festivals also were held at the ancient times, booths erected, animals slain, and the people fed � but consecrated to some saint. Their heathen habits would thus not be so much violated as if all were swept away at once. The new religion, indeed, was to be accommodated to heathen customs! And this was called Christianity!

Augustine was also successful with Sebert, king of Essex, who, with all his kingdom, professed Christianity. After appointing bishops of London and Rochester, he was influential in winning over Redwald, king of East Anglia, who also embraced Christianity. Augustine died about A.D. 605.

Laurentius followed Augustine as Archbishop. He succeeded in bringing the Britons and the Irish to a more precise observance of the Romish ceremonies.

Troubles, however, awaited the church in England. Ethelbert died, and his son Eadbald returned to paganism. Three sons of the king of the East Saxons also returned to paganism. These refused to be baptised, and yet in bravado demanded the Lord's supper, Mellitus, bishop of London, refused them; whereupon he was threatened, but was told that he might depart. He consulted with Justus, bishop of Rochester, and Laurentius; and not wishing to be made martyrs, the two former returned to France, leaving Laurentius only.

Laurentius also resolved to depart; but while passing the last night in church, it is said, he was visited by St. Peter, and rebuked for entertaining the thought of forsaking his flock, and, more than that, the apostle administered so sound a whipping that it left him black and blue!

He went to Eadbald, and threw off his cloak, shewing the marks of his punishment. The king was amazed, and demanded who had dared to chastise so holy a man. The tale was told as above, and this had such an effect on the king that he embraced Christianity. Justus and Mellitus were invited to return. The reader, perhaps, need not be told that it became a ready trick of the monks, when they wanted to prove that they had had a visit from some departed saint, to shew some part of their body still black and blue with the whipping they said they had received from the saint; but this eventually became too common to be believed even by the most devoted Romanist.

Edwin, king of Northumberland, was also converted to Christianity � by a miracle, according to the early historians. Edwin, who had long been a fugitive, took refuge with Redwald king of East Anglia. But his retreat being discovered, Edilfrid, who reigned in Northumberland, demanded his being given up to him. Edwin was exhorted to fly for his life; but he was so tired of fleeing from place to place, that he declared he would not stir though death might await him. He sat in a lonely spot while his fate was being deliberated on. While here, a stranger visited him, and asked what returns he would give if all his wishes were gratified. He declared that he would take that one for his guide who should bring about his restoration to the throne, power, etc. The stranger placed his hand on Edwin's head, and said, "When this sign shall come upon thee, remember this time and the promise thou hast made." And the stranger vanished in a way that led Edwin to believe it was a spirit who had visited him.

Redwald refused to give up his guest. War was the result, but Edilfrid was defeated, and Edwin was placed on the throne � but remained a pagan. He married Ethelberga, daughter of the late Ethelbert. As she was a christian princess, he promised her liberty to make full profession of her religion, and he would embrace the same if he should find on examination it was worthy of adoption. He made promises from time to time, but remained a pagan until one day, Paulinus, a Romish priest who had accompanied Ethelberga, entered his chamber, and placing his hand on his head, asked him if he remembered the time and the promises that had been given to the heavenly visitor. The king fell at his feet, completely conquered. He and thousands of his subjects became Christians. Such is the account given by Bede, and it is now impossible to sort out the true history from that which is mere fable.

In the year 633, Edwin was defeated and slain by Penda, prince of Mercia, and the Northumbrians to a great extent returned to paganism, and Paulinus retired into Kent. Oswald, however, succeeded, and restored Christianity to some extent, by aid of Aidan, a monk from Iona.

Eventually all the divisions of the kingdom embraced Christianity, and Theodore was consecrated archbishop of Canterbury and primate of all England. The attempt, however, to have uniformity everywhere did not succeed. Again the disputes arose as to keeping Easter; and also as to the shaving of the head, called the tonsure. This, indeed, was not uniform in the East and West, and Theodore, who came from the East, had to wait after his appointment four months that his head might be shaved in an orthodox fashion � that of Rome!

A council was called at Whitby by Oswy, king of Northumberland, to settle these disputes. The Romish clergy repeated the worn-out plea that Rome must be right, for the church of Rome had been founded by Peter, and to Peter had been committed the keys of the kingdom. Oswy asked if the giving of the keys to Peter was admitted by the British. They acknowledged that it was true. Then he declared that he must decide for Rome, lest perhaps when he came to the gates of heaven there would be none other there who could admit him!

The British bishops, though silenced, were in no way convinced, and, distressed by the arrogance of the Romish clergy, some resolved to quit the country. Colman and others returned to Ireland.

Iona had long been a seat of learning and of Christianity, from whence missionaries were sent to various parts.

The historian Bede regrets � but which was really an advantage � that these British Christians were ignorant of the decrees of councils, and diligently observed no other works of piety and purity than what they could learn in the prophets, the gospels, and apostolic epistles.

They did not make a gain of godliness, nor set a price upon every act of devotion. Nor did they confine their ministrations to consecrated walls, but, like the apostles, preached and exhorted from village to village, and from house to house.

Those who remained in England gradually conformed to Rome and its doctrines, to the great loss of that simplicity and devotedness taught and practised by the missionaries from Iona.

The church in England became rich, by kings and wealthy persons making over to the church their property, to insure the favour of heaven. Corruption rapidly followed, and monasteries and nunneries became the seats of debauchery. In the council of Cloveshoo, in 747, it was ordered that monasteries should not be turned into places of amusement "for harpers and buffoons." It is recorded that many nobles became abbots, that they might lead easy and jolly lives with companions like themselves.

The invasions of the Danes came at the close of the eighth century, and punished many a dissolute abbot and his monks by death, laying the place of their abode in ruins over them. King Alfred mourned over these desolations.

The renowned Dunstan was born in the year 925, and miracles were not wanting to mark him out as one highly honoured of heaven, according to the historians � miracles, indeed, that cannot now be believed and need not be repeated. He was offered various bishoprics, but declined them, evidently hoping for some higher station; though he said he was visited by St. Peter and St. Paul, and flogged by St. Andrew for rejecting their apostolic society.

He was accused of dishonesty in managing the royal revenues, and had to fly from England, and narrowly escaped his pursuers.

In A.D. 960, on the death of archbishop Odo, Dunstan succeeded. Being supported by king Edgar, he proceeded to carry out his reforms, as he called them. One was that all the clergy should put away their wives, or resign their offices. Some who chose the latter were described as monsters of wickedness! All canons were ordered to become monks.

Miracles, so-called, were resorted to in order to force the clergy to submit to Dunstan. A synod was held at Winchester in the year 977, when the canons who refused to become monks hoped to get the Archbishop to rescind his order. To their astonishment, a crucifix in the wall was heard to exclaim, "Do it not! do it not! you have judged well, and you would do ill to change it." This had but little effect on the canons, who knew too much to be thus deceived, and they would not yield. Dunstan had to resort to harsher measures.

Another synod was held at Calne, and a Scotch bishop named Boernelm was chosen as spokesman for the clergy. Dunstan was pressed by the arguments used, but exclaimed, "I am now growing old, and you endeavour to overcome me. I am more disposed to silence than contention. I confess I am unwilling that you should vanquish me; and to Christ Himself as judge I commit the cause of His church." At these words, the part of the floor on which his opponents stood, gave way and fell, hurting many and killing some, while the other part of the floor stood firm! Who can doubt that this was a diabolical mode of enforcing the will of the archbishop against the desires of the clergy? Dunstan died in A.D. 988.

Here we must leave for the present our sketch of the church in England. Rome had established its dogmas here, with its various corruptions. Penances were imposed on sinners, but the culprit could buy exemptions at a market value: thus a year's fasting could be bought for thirty shillings paid to the church, and sinning became a mere trifle, especially to the rich.

Little is known of the religion in Scotland during this period. The church there is generally believed to have been less under the influence of Rome and to have been purer; but forms and ceremonies made up so much of religion that any deviation from Rome was counted a schism. Margaret, the Anglo-Saxon queen of Malcolm Canmore, was shocked, on going to Scotland, at the differences she saw, and used the influence of her husband to ensure conformity to the ritual of Rome.

Thus was England fast sinking under the thraldom of Rome, with all its high pretensions, and its traditions of men, coupled with its soul-deceiving way of salvation, and the very lowest scale of morality. The dark ages had then set in, but how strange that any Christian should still be entangled in the snares and devices of Rome, now that the dark ages are supposed to have passed!

Chapter 5.

Mahomet.

Before we quit the seventh century we must consider the rise of one who, together with his successors, was allowed to become a scourge in Christendom, especially in the East.

Mahomet was born about August 12th, 570. His father, Abdullah, had died a short time previously. When seven days old, his grandfather made a feast, and on the name of the child being asked, he replied it was Mahomet, the Praised One. The guests were astonished at the name, it not being known in the family, and asked the reason. His grandfather replied, "In the hope that my grandson will be praised by God in heaven, and by God's creatures on earth."

As was usual, the infant was committed to a nurse who took him into the desert. When two years old he was brought to his mother, but his nurse begged that she might keep him longer, as her household had prospered while he was there. But soon after, the child was reported to have had a fit. Its nurse was alarmed and thought the child was possessed of a demon, and, lest any calamity should happen to him, she returned with him to his mother. "No, no," exclaimed his mother; "nothing of the kind. The demon has no power over him: a high destiny awaits him." It is thus remarkable that even from his birth he was regarded as destined for some great work.

When about twelve years of age he was taken by his uncle into Syria, and there, while visiting a christian monastery, a monk is said to have fixed his eyes on the youth, and said to his uncle: Convey your nephew home again, and guard him carefully, especially against the Jews; for if they discover certain signs upon him, which I have found out, they will make some attempt upon his life. Know, further, that a glorious future awaits the son of your brother." If true, this also is remarkable, especially as coming from a christian monk.

At about twenty-five years of age, he tended sheep in the neighbourhood of Mecca. He said in after life, "Verily, there hath no prophet been raised up who did not perform the work of a shepherd."

About this time he attracted the attention of a rich widow, named Khadijah, who employed him as her agent to travel on business into Syria. He managed these transactions so well, that she offered her hand in marriage, though she was fifteen years older than himself. It is reported also that one of her servants declared that he had seen two angels shading Mahomet from the heat of the sun!

There can be little doubt that the visits he paid to Syria had great influence over him. He would there come in contact with numerous Christians, and would most likely hear of the subtle questions that still divided the Syrian portion of the church, as to the Person of our Lord, and would see for himself how far many who professed faith in Christ were practically like or unlike their divine Master.

Mahomet would also have met with many Jews, and an inquiring mind would doubtless have sought from them an explanation of Christ's mission, and why they refused Him as their promised Messiah.

For some years Mahomet had been in the habit of retiring to a cave in Mount Hir�, near Mecca, attended by his family. When he was forty-one years of age, one day his wife missed him, and, on returning, he declared to her that he had had a peculiar dream of an angel visiting him. This had disturbed him, and he had gone out to quiet his mind, when he heard a voice say: "O Mahomet, thou art the apostle of God, and I am Gabriel." He looked up and gazed on the angel until he disappeared.

His wife was his first disciple, then some of his household, and then a few acquaintances, some being men of note. He imposed on his followers that they should believe in one God; in future rewards and punishments; in his being the prophet of God; in practising ablution and offering up prayers, and should promise obedience, He declared that this was not a new religion, but the religion of their ancestor Abraham, restored to its purity.

After three years he had forty adherents, whom he taught privately. He had frequent revelations, he said, from God: these eventually formed the Koran. He determined to make his mission more public, and invited a number of guests; but, except one, they laughed at his pretensions.

He, however, was not silenced, but began now to preach against the gods made of wood and stone. This enraged his countrymen, who would have attacked him but for the protection of his uncle they caused his uncle to attempt to silence him, but Mahomet declared that could they set the sun and moon against him he should not abandon his mission.

Mahomet was urged to prove his mission by miracles, but he appealed to the internal truth of his doctrine, and declared that signs and wonders would lessen the merit of faith and aggravate the sin of unbelief. The only miraculous act he professed � if such it can be called � was a supposed journey by night from Mecca to Jerusalem. Some accounts say it was on an animal, but according to the Koran it may mean simply "in a vision."

Some of his followers being persecuted, they emigrated to Abyssinia, to save their lives. Repeated opposition to the prophet caused his flight in A.D. 622* to Yatreb, the name of which was altered to Medina, the city of the prophet. Some of his disciples had preceded him, and the citizens, among whom the prophet already had some advocates, were ready to receive the outcast. They sallied forth in procession to meet the despised prophet, invested him with the kingly and priestly office, and made his cause their own.

{*It is from this date the Muslims reckon their era.}

This was the beginning of his success, and the revelations he professed to receive sanctioned the use of the sword to put down idolatry. It is to be noted that the Koran is a long succession of revelations, which were made to suit and sanction anything that was thought to be to the interest of the prophet and his mission. For instance, war was prohibited in the sacred month Rajah, during which some of his followers were sent to spy out the enemies of the prophet near Mecca; but a caravan approached, guarded by four men only, and the temptation was too strong to be overcome. It was attacked, and two of the men were killed, and the other two taken prisoners, and the spoils taken to Medina. Mahomet was much disconcerted because of its being done in the sacred month, and in violation of the general truce. A new revelation, however, set it all right. It runs thus: "They will ask thee concerning war in the sacred month: say, To war therein is bad, but to turn aside from the cause of God, and to have no faith in Him, and the sacred temple, and to drive out its people, is worse in the sight of God." (Sur. ii. 214.) After this the booty was appropriated and a ransom accepted for the prisoners.

Various encounters followed without being decisive. At one time the Jews were united with the enemies of Mahomet, and Medina was invested with a large army. But the prophet managed to sow discord among the various chiefs, who one after another left the place, and a truce for ten years was agreed on, but which did not include the Jews, and during that time Mahomet besieged several places inhabited by the Jews, and carried off their property, taking the women and children captives and putting most of the men to death.

At Chaibar, one of the captured places, the prophet nearly lost his life by poison being mixed with his food by a Jewess. He indeed escaped death, but felt the effects of the poison for the rest of his life.

As long, however, as Mecca did not acknowledge the prophet he could not be said to be secure. Its leaders having broken the truce, Mahomet determined to attack the place, and he was now enabled to take with him ten thousand warriors. From some cause the town surrendered after slight resistance, and its inhabitants yielded to the sway of the prophet whom they had previously driven out. He was not revengeful, but forgave his countrymen now converted to his faith. He proceeded at once to destroy their three hundred and sixty idols, and remove every vestige of idolatry. He adorned and consecrated their temple to the worship of God, and betook himself to prayer and devotion, as the pilgrims had formerly done, around the holy shrine, a black stone said to have been originally an altar to the true God.

This victory and another over the hostile fortress of Tayif, left Mahomet supreme ruler, both sacred and earthly, over the whole of Arabia. He then projected trying his strength against the Roman empire as it existed in his day. But his end was approaching, and it was his successors who had more to do with encountering Christianity than the prophet himself.

In the year 632 Mahomet determined to make another devotional pilgrimage to Mecca. After this he addressed his followers: "Listen to my words, and let them sink into your hearts. I leave you a law, to the which if you cleave it will preserve you always from error: a clear and positive law, a book dictated from on high . . . . O my God, have I fulfilled my mission?" A thousand voices answered, "Yes, thou hast fulfilled it." The prophet added, "O my God, hear this testimony."

He returned to his domestic circle, and died after a short illness, on June 8th, 632. A great commotion immediately followed. "How can our apostle be dead?" exclaimed one; "he was to be our witness on the day of judgment." "No," said Omar, one of his chief men; "he is not dead: he is gone to visit his Lord, as Moses aforetime did, when, after an absence of forty days, he re-appeared to his people." But another exclaimed, "Muslims, if ye adore Mahomet, know that Mahomet is dead. If you adore God, God is alive and cannot die. Do you forget that passage in the Koran, 'Mahomet is no more than an apostle: other apostles have already passed away before him;' or that other verse, 'Thou shalt truly die, O Mahomet, and they also shall die'?" This quoting of the Koran quieted the people: it was clearly revealed that the prophet must die. The next question of moment was, who should succeed him? Abu-Bakr was chosen.

As to the personal character of Mahomet it does not stand high; and, as we have seen, he could always get a revelation, pretending that it came from God, to sanction his doings: more than once he sanctioned the assassination of his enemies, this and his having several wives and concubines, was not without shameless unfaithfulness, even to violating his oath.

As to his creed, if it can be said that he had any, it was copied partly from the Old and New Testaments and from various other sources. Of the Lord Jesus he says, "The Messiah Jesus, son of Mary, is only an apostle of God . . . . God is only one God. Far be it from His glory that He should have a son." "Infidels now are they who say, God is the Messiah, son of Mary." "God is one; God the eternal; he begetteth not, neither is He begotten; neither is there any One like Him." He may have learnt this from the Arianism of the professing Christians he had met with.

His followers claim for the Koran that it is the latest revelation of the mind of God, and that it had been penned under the immediate inspiration of God. The quotations above given settle at once and without dispute that it in no way came from God. It may have � as scholars declare it has � some sublime passages; but anything that denies the divinity of Christ, cannot be from God.

Another important question is as to God. It sounds reverent to say, "There is only one God," "God is one," "God the eternal," etc.; but is this God they speak of the only true God revealed to us in the scripture? It is not. God is LIGHT, and the Koran is thorough darkness, and in no way reveals the true God, nor the way that a guilty man can approach and be accepted by God. Again, God is LOVE, and the Koran breathes of hatred and vengeance. God is HOLY, but the Koran sanctions lust and impurity. And besides all this, it joins with the declaration of the oneness of God, that Mahomet is His prophet; and as we have seen, he could not possibly have been a prophet of God.

At first Mahomet advocated toleration, but when he was successful, he enforced his mission by the use of the sword, and that without mercy. His religion was an advance upon heathenism, since it turned the thoughts of man to an unseen God instead of serving idols; but the God he revealed, as we have seen, was not the true God. Mahometanism was a deadly enemy to Christianity, though it was doubtless used by God as a scourge of the Eastern church, then sunk in superstition, worldliness, and impurity.

The conquests of the successors of Mahomet were rapid. Palestine, Syria, Egypt, North Africa, the south of Spain, fell under their sway, and they threatened to stable their horses in St. Peter's at Rome, but their onward march was arrested by Charles Martel at the battle of Tours (732), and Europe was saved. But in the ninth century, Persia, Afghanistan, and a large part of India, were made to embrace Mahometanism. In the fifteenth century they conquered Constantinople, and put an end to the Byzantine or Eastern empire (1453).

The once flourishing church in the Eastern empire was now only tolerated by the victors. How humiliating to think that when the Mahometans had cleansed their own land of idolatry, they were met with images and image worship in that which professed to be pure Christianity! And also how sad to think that they should be witnesses of the shameful, immoral conduct of those who should have been examples to the flock. More than once they rebuked the christian rulers for acts that shocked the moral sense of a Mahometan! What greater proof could we need that these things took place when men loved darkness, and won for the times in which they lived the title of "The Dark Ages"?

Chapter 6.

Break Up of the Roman Empire.

As we have referred to the taking of Constantinople by the Mahometans, we will at once add a few remarks as to the Roman empire. With the conquest of Constantinople, the Roman empire may be said to have passed away. Long before this, certain parts of the old empire had ceased to belong to it: Britain perhaps in A.D. 409, and Rome itself in A.D. 476, when Odoacer became king. The empire in the East continued to exist with many changes in its limits; and in the later period of its existence might be called the Greek empire rather than Roman. At the same time a German empire had grown up in the West.

These points are noted because the church was so intimately connected with the empire, and because of the prophecies that allude to a resuscitation of the Roman empire in times yet to come. To those who have not considered this interesting subject, we might point to the great image of Daniel, in conjunction with other prophecies in the same book. We are there told that Nebuchadnezzar was the head of gold; then followed a kingdom compared to silver; then one of brass; and lastly one of iron and clay. This latter was to be destroyed by a stone "cut out without hands," to be succeeded by a kingdom "which shall never be destroyed," which the God of heaven would set up.

One word as to the "iron and clay:" perhaps no figure could point out more graphically the existence of the two distinct powers: "the kingdom shall be partly strong, and partly brittle" (margin) and may point out what has been called the "imperial," and "the people." At one time the emperor kept the people in fear and trembling; at another time the people � especially the army � made and unmade emperors when they pleased. The "barbarian" element also has been compared to the clay attempting to mingle with that which was truly "Roman." The iron and clay did associate, but "they shall not cleave one to the other, even as iron is not mingled with clay." All over the confines of the old Roman earth the struggle still continues between the royal or imperial and the people.

The question naturally arises, Has the stone yet appeared, or is it yet to appear? There can be no doubt that Christ is the stone, and the question resolves itself into this, Did Christ when He was here begin that work of destruction, as well as introduce the kingdom in power, that is to set it aside?

May we not say, He did not. For the Roman empire became larger and saw its most halcyon days after our Lord had quitted the earth. Whereas the prophecy says that the image is to be destroyed before the stone fills the whole earth.

We are therefore driven to the conclusion, that in some way, and under some form, the Roman empire will be again resuscitated, with its ten toes � its ten horns, which are ten kings � in order that it may be crushed by the advent of that stone which is to do so great a work.

Then the inquiry suggests itself, What kingdoms will form the ten toes? It is not difficult, with a map of the Roman empire at its height of prosperity to pick out ten countries which it then embraced, though those countries may now be subdivided into a greater number of kingdoms.

1. Italia. Now Italy, with Piedmont and Switzerland.

2. Illyricum. Turkey in Europe, and Greece.

3. Asia Minor, now under Turkish rule.

4. Syria. Under Turkish rule.

5. Egypt. Nominally under Turkish rule.

6. North Africa, Tunis, and Tripoli.

7. Mauritania. Morocco and Algiers.

8. Hispania. Spain and Portugal.

9. Gallia. France, Belgium, and Holland.

10. Britannia. Britain.

Now, if the truth of the revival of the Roman empire, as gathered from Daniel, be compared with Revelation xiii. and 2 Thessalonians ii., it will be seen that this revival of imperial power will be associated with the Antichrist and be under the influence of Satan (which, indeed, is also pointed out in Daniel vii.), and ends in the dire punishment of both Satan and his willing dupes.

We must not here carry the subject farther, except to point out, that there being one great ruling power of this revived empire in no way clashes with the thought of there being ten kings who will give their support to him, and to Antichrist, led on by Satan.

This solemn subject is commended to the student of scripture. It is a solemn warning to those who form part of Christendom, to whom, because they will not now believe the truth, God will send a strong delusion, so that they will believe a lie, being led away by the signs and lying wonders of Antichrist, wrought by the power of Satan.

A warning also to those who are advocating the supremacy of man, regardless of the claims of God. How often have those who advocate the supremacy of the people, and thus raise the passions of men, been the first to fall under the powers they were the means of arousing. Man cannot get his true place unless God is given His: "the powers that be are ordained of God;" though the powers, indeed, may become corrupt, as well as the people. The stone that is coming will destroy the kingdom of iron and clay; but only to raise up a glorious kingdom, in which shall dwell righteousness and peace.

Chapter 7.

France Protects Rome.

Returning to the history of the Roman church, much may be passed over in silence as not being of particular interest. Stephen II. became pope, A.D. 752. It was not at that time an enviable post, because of the Lombards, who under their active king Astolfo, seized on the lands of the church and threatened Rome. Appeals to Constantinople were useless, for although the emperor claimed Italy as a part of his dominions, he did little or nothing to protect its inhabitants.

Stephen turned to France for protection, and hurried in person to visit Pepin, who then reigned. He was received with all humility, Pepin and his noble attendants prostrating themselves to the earth before the pope.

The request was granted. An army was sent against the Lombards, and Astolfo was compelled to shut himself up in the town of Pavia. But as soon as the French troops were withdrawn, he again with fire and sword laid waste the district around Rome, and threatened the city itself.

Appeal was again urgently made to Pepin. We give the words used that the reader may judge of the shocking way in which the pope applied scripture. "I conjure you," he wrote, "by the Lord our God, by His glorious mother, by all the heavenly virtues, and by St. Peter, who has consecrated you a king, to make the spoiler restore to the church of God what he has taken. You will have, at the day of judgment, to give an account of the manner in which you have defended us. It is you whom God has chosen for this great work by His own eternal prescience for those whom He hath predestinated He hath called, and those whom He hath called He hath justified."

Indeed, the letters of Stephen are shocking � for he does not hesitate to call himself, not the successor of Peter, but Peter himself. Over and over again he calls himself, "I, Peter, apostle, called by Christ." He explains that they are to believe that the apostle invites them, for though he is absent in body, he is spiritually present! They were invited also by "our Lady, the mother of God, the ever-virgin Mary." It was to rescue "the holy church of God, in which ye hope to receive eternal life."

Again a French army routed the Lombards, and then arose the question to whom were the estates to be given. The envoy of the emperor claimed them for him. But Pepin, knowing his own power, granted the conquered territory to Stephen and his successors for ever.

This has been taken as the commencement of the temporal dominion of the church, which was added to from time to time though long before, it had lands under its control and a revenue from the same. This made the pope a temporal prince, and was in direct opposition to the word of our Lord, "My kingdom is not of this world: else would my servants fight." The kingdom of the pope was now, at least in part, of this world, and his servants had from time to time to fight for his earthly possession.

Charlemagne.

This powerful French king was also called in by the successors of Stephen to protect the possessions of the pope. In A.D. 795 Leo III. became pope. He had enemies in Rome, who were offended at his elevation, and watched their opportunity to attack him. Such was the little restraint on the inhabitants of the "holy city," that one day when the pope was in a procession, he was thrown from his horse, and efforts were made to deprive him of his eyes and his tongue. This was not accomplished, but he was dragged into a monastery and again attacked, and left weltering in his blood. But he still retained his sight and his speech. He was able to escape to Charles at Paderborn.

While here, messengers arrived with serious charges against Leo. Charles said he would inquire into them at Rome. When he reached the city, an assembly of archbishops, bishops, etc., was called together to judge of the accusations. But they came to the conclusion, that the successor of St. Peter was not answerable to any human judgment! Leo swore on the Gospels that he was not guilty of the charges.

A memorable incident followed this. On Christmas day � the first day of the ninth century, as it was then reckoned in the West � while Charles knelt at the altar, Leo placed a splendid crown on his head, and the congregation shouted, "Life and victory to Charles, crowned by God emperor of Rome!"

Charles protested against the act, but it is doubted if it were not all pre-arranged and with his consent. This severed Rome from the Greek empire (to which it was nominally attached), and made it a sort of capital of the West.

Charles had many successful wars with the Saxons, but on their chief, Widikind, submitting and being baptised, these wars ceased. Time after time, Charles had induced numbers to be baptised, but no sooner did they feel themselves strong enough to revolt than they again professed the religion of their fathers. Now that peace was proclaimed, it was enacted that death was the penalty against all who refused baptism; against burning the bodies of the dead; against eating flesh in Lent, if done in contempt of Christianity, etc. A tenth of the people's incomes was demanded for the church.

This was making Christians after a new fashion. Alcuin, an Englishman who was settled in France, protested against such conversions. He said the people should be instructed before being baptised; but thousands were forced to become Christians in the above way.

Charles, whose education had been neglected, was anxious for the instruction of his subjects. Amongst those chosen was the above-named Alcuin, who had had a school in England of great repute. On a visit to the continent he met with Charles, who urged him to remain in France and teach. This he was permitted to do, and became teacher to Charles himself, his sons and daughters, and some of his courtiers. He taught theology as well as the sciences.

After being head of this school for fourteen years, he became tired of teaching, and was made abbot of St. Martin at Tours. He took part afterwards in the controversies of the church.

Charles ordered schools to be opened all over his dominions, not forgetting the great need also in this respects of the monks and the clergy. "We have often received," said he, "from different monasteries letters which contained, indeed, many good things, but of which the style was so gross and rude, and so marked with ignorance, that it might reasonably be doubted whether the writers were capable of understanding the holy scriptures."

Charles � or Charlemagne, as he was called after the death of his father � took the lead in all ecclesiastical as well as in temporal matters. He considered it his duty to watch over the spiritual well-being of his people. In spiritual matters he was chief. He considered the pope the highest of bishops, and consulted him, and at times acted on his advice; but when he did, he gave the orders in his own name and not in that of the pope. It was not till later times that all spiritual matters in France were referred to the pope.

Chapter 8.

The Worship of Images.

From early ages, pictures and images had been introduced into churches without, as far as can be gathered, any thought of their being worshipped, But in the dark ages images were not merely treated as works of art, but foolish tales were related respecting them, and believed: some of them had fallen from heaven; others were declared to have been the work of St. Luke the evangelist. Of a picture it was said that Abgarus, king of Edessa, when in correspondence with our Lord, had commissioned a painter to take the portrait of Christ. But the artist was so dazzled by the glory of the countenance that he could not attempt it, whereupon our Saviour Himself impressed His image on a piece of linen and sent it to the king This had been hidden for ages, but was said to have been discovered by a vision. Together with these tales of the origin of the images and pictures, went forth a long list of pretended miracles wrought by them.

It can easily be imagined, that if people, ignorant of the scripture, believed all these things, it would be almost natural that they should pay the highest respect to such images and pictures; and that this respect should gradually merge into veneration and worship. Various things were calculated to encourage this: such as burning lights before them, offering incense in honour of them, adorning them with gems and precious metals. Hands were also placed on them when oaths were taken, and they were even employed as sponsors in baptism! To fall down and reverence them, and then to pray to them naturally followed.

We can well believe that many Christians must and did disagree with all this, and many and severe were the conflicts as to the question of images and their worship. It will be seen that, while the above honours were paid to the images, it was perfectly vain to profess that no worship was intended.

An open rupture took place in the East on this subject, when Leo the Isaurian was emperor (A.D. 718-741). On being freed from his enemies he turned his attention to religion. In the sixth year of his reign he issued an edict, that all Jews and Montanists should be baptised. It is recorded that the Jews submitted, but only mocked at the rite: it was nothing to them. Some of the Montanists, however, full of fanaticism, shut themselves up in their meeting-houses, set them on fire, and perished in the flames, as others had done under Justinian.

The next year (A.D. 724) he issued an edict against images. His motives are not known; he could hardly be influenced by a simple motive to purify the church, because of his general character. The storm it raised was great: parties united together to protect their images. A Saracen army was believed to have been driven off by the influence of the images of the city attacked! Who would dare remove images armed with such power?

A usurper was even selected to supplant the impious emperor; but the usurper was no sooner put down than the emperor issued a decree, that all images should now be destroyed, and the painted walls of the churches should be whitewashed.

He then sought the concurrence of Germanus, patriarch of Constantinople. Germanus reminded the emperor that he had promised to make no innovation in religion. It would appear that in a private interview, Germanus had admitted that images should be abolished; but when pressed, he said to the emperor, "Not in your reign."

"In whose reign, then?" demanded the emperor.

"In that of an emperor named Conon, who will be the forerunner of Antichrist."

"Conon," said the emperor, "is my own baptismal name."

Germanus argued that images were not meant to represent the Trinity, but the Incarnation. That Old Testament prohibitions were no longer in force since Christ appeared in human form, and referred to the reputed Edessan impression of our Lord's countenance, and to the pictures painted by St. Luke. No council had condemned them, and he could make no innovation on the faith. He resigned rather than subscribe the new edict.

The emperor proceeded to carry out his edict. Over the brazen gate of the palace was a noted statue of the Saviour, called the Surety. Many tales were told of this image, and it was much esteemed. A soldier was sent to destroy it; but when, mounted on a ladder, he struck the face with an axe, a number of women who had gathered around, and had intreated him to spare the image, pulled over the ladder and killed the man, and "tore his body to pieces," says an historian. Men now joined the women, and they rushed to the house of the new patriarch, but he took shelter in the palace. The emperor's guards put down the tumult, but not without much bloodshed. Persecution followed, and many were scourged, mutilated, and banished, especially the monks who would not yield to the emperor.

Beyond the dominion of the emperor, some strongly defended images, perhaps none more so than John of Damascus. He wrote against the emperor's edict, and this caused Leo to seek his destruction. He forged a letter in which John offered to deliver up Damascus to the emperor. This was sent to the Caliph of Damascus, who, without staying to hear any defence, cut off John's right hand. This was exposed in the market-place until evening, when John begged that it might be given him, for he suffered great pain while that hung in the air. On receiving his hand he placed it to his arm, and fell down before an image of the Virgin Mary, praying to her to restore it, as he had lost it in the defence of images, and it should be devoted to her service. He then went to sleep, and in the morning the hand was joined to his arm!

Such is the narrative of his historian. Can it be wondered at when such legends were told respecting the images � and believed � that the images should be respected, prayed to, and adored?

This John of Damascus, in defending the use of images, declared that scripture countenanced images by the instructions for making the cherubim! Also by the words of our Lord as to the tribute-money: that which bears Caesar's image is Caesar's, and is to be rendered to him; so that which bears Christ's image is to be rendered to Christ, for it is Christ's. He distinguished between the kind of adoration which should be reserved for God alone, and that which is, for His sake, given to angels, saints, or consecrated things.

He admitted that scripture did not prescribe any veneration for images. Surely this should have been enough for any Christian, especially with the much that is said in scripture against idolatry. And how are poor, simple persons able to distinguish between the kind of worship given to God, and to those images which have been declared able to work miracles?

As Italy was nominally a part of the empire, the edict of Leo was sent thither, but the pope and his clergy would not respect it.

In A.D. 741 Constantine Copronymus succeeded Leo as emperor, and he determined to call a council to settle the question of images. The see of Constantinople was then vacant, and other patriarchs of the East were now under Mahometan rule, so the emperor had to be content with a smaller council of bishops. It met on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus; 338 attended.

The council professed to rest their judgment on the authority of the Fathers, and, relying upon these, they declared all representations made for religious purposes by the art of the painter or sculptor to be presumptuous, pagan, and idolatrous. They, however, declared the lawfulness of invoking the blessed Virgin and the saints.

How strange that so many bishops could meet together on such a subject and not take scripture for their guide! This would have set them right as to invoking the saints, as well as the images. But this was in the dark ages, though, alas! the same thing is done � yea, and images restored in the age that is called enlightened!

Constantine, armed with canons of the council, proceeded to enforce the destruction of images. Most gave way, except the monks, and many of these were cruelly tortured and put to death, and the monasteries turned into barracks. The patriarch gave way to the emperor, but was afterwards treated with the greatest cruelty, and then put to death, on a charge of treason.

In the year 775, while on a military expedition, the emperor was seized with such dreadful pains that he declared that he already felt the pains of hell, and expired. However right the emperor may have been in discountenancing images, there is nothing to justify his cruelty, and nothing to shew that he was really anxious for the purity of the church.

Leo IV. was the next emperor. He was opposed to images, but allowed the banished monks to return. His wife Irene took a contrary course, and privately encouraged the introduction of images. Some were found under her pillow, which roused the emperor: he punished those who had introduced the images, and separated from his wife, though she declared her innocence.

Leo IV. reigned only four and a half years, and his son being only ten years of age, Irene took the reins of government.

Paul, patriarch of Constantinople, suddenly resigned and entered a monastery. When questioned, he declared that his conscience accused him for having opposed the restoration of images. A successor was sought, and he, Tarasius, would only accept the office on condition that a general council should be called to settle the vexed question of images.

This was agreed to, and a council was called to meet at Constantinople. The pope was invited. He appointed two to appear for Rome, and begged the empress to reverse what the former emperor had done in respect to images; but he did not forget to complain that Tarasius had been styled Ecumenical, a title which only belonged to himself.

As the day approached, those who opposed images began to collect, and threatened Tarasius. There were some bishops among them, and some soldiers. Fearing a tumult, Irene told the patriarch to give way, and the Iconoclasts raised shouts of victory. But the empress did not intend to be thwarted. She let things rest a little while, and then disbanded the soldiers and sent them to their homes. Then, in A.D. 787, she called the council together in Nicaea instead of at the capital.

It was an understood thing from the first that the council was not to investigate the question, but simply to restore the images. A great difficulty was how to treat those bishops who had taken part in the last council against images, and of others who had been consecrated by such persons. The monks cried out for rigour against them as the worst of heretics, but the general voice was for leniency.

The way the bishops defended their decision to re-establish images (and they must for very shame say something) sounds curious to our ears. Appeal to scripture was, of course, never thought of. They quoted the Fathers, or more frequently the legends of the miracles wrought by images, to which some of the bishops added marvels from their own experience.

The use made of the Fathers may be judged of by an example. After a passage had been read from Gregory of Nyssa, in which he tells how he had been affected to tears by a picture of the sacrifice of Isaac, a bishop added: "The father had often read the history, but perhaps without ever weeping; yet, as soon as ever he saw a picture he wept."

"If," said another, "so great a doctor was edified and moved even to tears by a picture, how much would it affect lay and unlearned people?"

"If Gregory wept at a painting of Abraham," said another, "what should we do at one of the incarnate Saviour?"

"Should not we too weep," said Tarasius, "if we saw a picture of the crucifixion?" and his words were received with great applause!

Surely this was all solemn trifling: but worse was to follow. The legates of Rome proposed that an image should be brought into the council and receive the adoration of the assembly. This was done the next day! They then proceeded to read the canons of the council of A.D. 754, and one by one they were said to be refuted, in words declared to be dictated by the Holy Ghost!

In conclusion it was decreed that even as the figure on the cross was honoured, so images of the Saviour and blessed Virgin, of angels and of saints, whether painted or mosaic, or any other suitable material, are to be set up for kissing and honourable reverence (proskunesin); but not for real worship (latreian) which belongs to divine nature alone. Incense and lights are to be offered to them, as to the cross, the Gospels, and other holy memorials; "forasmuch as the honour paid to the image passes on to the original, and he who adores an image, adores in it the person of him whom it represents."

This council has been admitted by both the Greeks and the Latins to be the Seventh General Council. It is to be observed that the canon refers only to pictures or flat representations, not images; and to this the Greek church has limited itself to this day.

We thus see how the worship of images was solemnly ordained in a council of the church. It is in vain that we are now told that images are not worshipped. An image was adored in the council itself, and the council itself declared that the veneration paid to an image passed to the person represented. Alas, that scripture should be thus utterly rejected, and men's thoughts set up in place thereof. We also see to how low a standard that which is called worship had fallen in those days. It could be given to a picture of our Lord, or even to one of the saints!

The reader will be interested to learn that the word chosen by the council to designate the sort of worship to be given to images is the word used in Matthew iv. 10: "Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve." It is also used in John iv., when our Lord was speaking to the woman of Samaria. Also in Revelation xix. 10: "Worship God;" and in other places.

The pope (Adrian) was pleased with the restoration of images, and sent the canons of the council to Charlemagne. But they were ill received in France. The king sent the canons to Alcuin, who was then in England, for his examination. His judgment was against images. Alcuin wrote against them, and four books written by him and others on the subject, were put forth in the name of the king. They are known as "The Caroline Books."

These books boldly called in question the authority of the council, saying it was not universal. They blamed the council for listening to stories of a fabulous character, and refuted in detail all the statements put forth. Still the conclusion went no further than that the worship of images was not to be enforced: images were to be allowed and were not to be broken. A council was now called by Charlemagne, to meet at Frankfort in 794, at which, among other things, the enforced worship of images was condemned; but, as the images were not removed, it is easy to see that the clergy, where so disposed, could encourage their worship.

In the East, however, the question of the restoration of images was not finally settled, notwithstanding that the council of Nice had decided in their favour. Leo V., the Armenian, became emperor in 813, and was opposed to images. He requested the attendance of Nicephorus the patriarch to hear all he had to say in their favour. Nicephorus introduced one, Theodore, an abbot of a famous monastery, who argued that images were not merely for the unlearned, but were necessary for the most advanced Christian; and that a reverence for them was necessary for the right faith in the Incarnation; impiously adding that if images were suppressed "our preaching is vain, and your faith is also vain."

Nothing convinced the emperor, and images were again broken, burnt, or covered with dirt. Many who refused to obey were banished. At Christmas, A.D. 814, the emperor went to St. Sophia's church, and all proceeded quietly until a prophecy was read in the lessons for the day from Isaiah xl. against idolatry, when one of the clergy stood forth, and told the emperor that God commanded him, by the prophet's words, to proceed against image-worship.

Nicephorus was displaced and shut up in a monastery; Theodore, who would not be quiet, was cruelly scourged, his wounds being left undressed, and banished. For three years he was confined in an underground dungeon; but his energy seemed to revive, the more he was punished. He wrote or dictated messages to the pope of Rome and others, to oppose the emperor, whom he called a Pharaoh and a Nebuchadnezzar, an enemy of the Saviour and of His Virgin Mother.

Michael "the stammerer," one of the generals, conspired against the emperor; but his plot was discovered, and he was condemned to death. It was the eve of Christmas, 820. He would have been at once executed, but the empress begged the execution might be left until after the festival. The emperor agreed, but told her that her pious scruples might cost her dear. Feeling ill at ease, in the dead of the night the emperor went to see that his enemy was safe. He found Michael and the officer who guarded him, as well as the keeper, all asleep; and he retired again. But there was a slave in the place whom the emperor had not noticed; he recognised the emperor by the purple buskins which he wore, and, on the emperor withdrawing, he awoke the sleepers and told them what he had seen. The officer, knowing that he would be condemned for sleeping, concerted a plan with Michael for immediate action.

On Christmas morning it was usual to begin the earliest service at three o'clock, and one of the gates of the palace was opened at that early hour to admit the clergy and the singers, when some armed conspirators entered also. By mistake they first attacked the chief chaplain, but he, shewing his shaven head, escaped. They then fell upon Leo, and though he defended himself with a large cross from the altar, he was overcome and slain. Before a smith could be obtained to remove the chains of Michael, he was proclaimed emperor, and was crowned the same day!

Theodore, from his dungeon, congratulated the new emperor, and rejoiced that the apostate should thus end his life! He, with others, was recalled, and Theodore had a sort of public triumph.

It is really shocking to see to how low an ebb Christianity had fallen when its loudest advocates could thus rejoice in such a deed of blood as the murder of Leo. But it was then the dark ages!

However, the joy of Theodore was of short duration, for Michael, though allowing images, would have no worship of them. Theodore was again roused to defiance, and was again banished, and died in exile.

Michael wrote to the pope (Paschal) and to Louis the Pious (of France) on the subject of images. This letter shews to what excesses the veneration of images was carried. Besides lights and incense being burned in their honour, hymns and prayers were addressed to them; and in some cases the consecrated bread was placed in the hands of images that it might be received from them!

In the year 829 Theophilus succeeded Michael as emperor, and in every way enforced the orders against images. On his death, 842, all was again changed, and pictures (in the East, rather than statues) were again introduced.

In France the opposition to images on the whole grew weaker, there was an evident desire to be friendly with Rome, and by degrees the doctrines adopted by the Roman church were held by those in France. Thus the question of images was to a certain extent settled. Not, we presume, that all the extreme things mentioned above were enforced; but images were tolerated and reverence paid to them, as may be seen to this day in any Roman Catholic country, if not indeed in our own. The reader will however learn from the above that it was long and strongly opposed in the church; and was only tolerated and enacted during the darkness of the dark ages, though, alas! it survives in times thought to be much more enlightened. It is to be noticed that Rome, at least in respect to images, cannot plead antiquity.

Chapter 9.

Hildebrand, Gregory VII. A.D. 1073-1085.

Perhaps this pope is better known by his real name, Hildebrand. He had been the most influential of the clergy long before he was made pope. Cardinal Hugo Candidus said of him: "He had been for more than a quarter of a century the champion of the Roman church, the restorer of domestic tranquillity, the protector of the poor and the oppressed, and the terror of tyrants."

To shew that such a man was needed, we will glance at a few of his predecessors.

We must not omit to mention pope Joan. It is recorded by Roman historians that a woman was elected pope in the year 855. When young she had a strong affection for a young monk, and, in order to be in his company, she assumed the dress of a man and entered the monastery. On his death, she devoted her mind to study, and being clever, succeeded so well that she was elected pope. She eventually had a child and died. This account was never called in question until the time of the Reformation, when it was repeated by the reformers as against the church of Rome. Certainly the reformers did not invent the story, and why should any Romanist historian do so? It was not deemed worth contradiction until, as we have seen, it was brought as a proof against the holiness of that church.

Several of the popes were elected by open and acknowledged bribery, and some were men of no standing or reputation in the church. Thus John XIX. (1024-1033) was a layman when elected, and was hurried through all the intermediate grades in one day.

His successor, Benedict IX., was elected pope when only ten years of age.* Money overruled all objections.

{* Some say twelve.}

Desiderius, abbot of Monte Cassino, and afterwards pope, declared that "the Italian priesthood, and among them most conspicuously the Roman pontiffs were in the habit of defying all law and all authority . . . . the people sold their suffrages for money to the highest bidder; the priesthood, moved and seduced by avarice and ambition, bought and sold the sacred rights of ordination, and carried on a gainful traffic with the gifts of the Holy Ghost!"

Benedict IX. was so notoriously wicked by acts of "rapine, murder, and every species of felony," that the people of Rome arose and drove him from the city. The office was then sold to Sylvester III. But in three months' time Benedict gained power, and drove away Sylvester, but finding that his own crimes had made him odious to the clergy, he sold the popedom to another who called himself Gregory VI. (A.D. 1044.)

Thus there were three popes at the same time. Gregory found he had made a bad bargain, for Benedict had sold everything he could, and the new pope could scarcely find enough for his support. The roads were beset with robbers, which hindered pilgrims from coming to Rome with their gifts, and scarcely any one was safe in the city itself.

Henry III. of Germany was invited to rescue the church from the dreadful state into which it had fallen. He called a synod in Germany, and addressed the bishops, with a heavy heart: "I speak to you who stand in the place of Christ in that holy church which He hath taken for His bride, and bought with the price of His blood . . . . you have corrupted yourselves by avarice and cupidity; you, whose duty it is to dispense freely the gifts of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands, have polluted yourselves by the vile lust of gain. . . . Do we not know of a truth, that all ecclesiastical decrees and orders, from the supreme pontiff himself down to the meanest doorkeeper in the house of the Lord, are already sinking under the load of that damnation which they carry within themselves? Are they not all fattening for the slaughter upon the fruits of this their spiritual felony?" The bishops made no defence, but confessed their sin and asked pardon.

Thus was the church openly rebuked by the emperor, and its leaders could only confess that the charges were too true.

The emperor then proceeded to Italy, and requested Gregory VI. to call a council for the reform of the church. It assembled at Sutri. The first question was that of the three popes. Sylvester was at once deposed, as having no legitimate claim; Benedict had been reckoned as the pope, but as he had twice retired, he was also deposed. Then as to Gregory, who had called the synod, he had bought the office, and the synod resolved that he should depose himself. This he was very loth to do, but was at length constrained to comply.

The emperor then proceeded to Rome, and called for the election of a new pope, a man at least canonically pure. It was soon confessed that there was no such person at Rome; all were polluted by "simony and fornication." The election seemed at a deadlock, when the clergy agreed to delegate all their powers into the hands of the emperor. His election should be theirs. He descended from his throne, and taking Sudger, bishop of Bamberg, by the hand, seated him on the vacant throne amid the hosannas of the people. He took the name of Clement II. (A.D. 1046.) But he lived only a few months.

Several popes followed in rapid succession, until Alexander II. (A.D. 1061) who raised somewhat the papal power. On his death, the people declared Hildebrand to be the right man, and rushed upon him without delay and installed him in the papal chair. The forms of election were hastily gone through, and he chose the title of Gregory VII. (A.D. 1073.)

No sooner was the news of his election spread abroad than the easy-going clergy appealed to the emperor (Henry IV. of Germany) to declare the election void because his sanction had not been obtained. They feared that a man of so much energy as Hildebrand was known to be, would not leave them long at peace where abuses had crept in. They also warned the emperor that, if he suffered such a man to be pope, he himself would surely be made to feel his power.

A message was at once despatched to Rome to protest against the election of Hildebrand. But the newly-elected pope spoke with the greatest humility, declaring that the office had been thrust upon him; he had no personal ambition in the matter, and, indeed, he had delayed his enthronement until he had learned the will of the emperor and his princes.

This so pleased the emperor that he at once sent his affirmation of the election, and the enthronement took place. It was not, however, difficult to see that great and important events must follow this election � events in which the pope and the emperor would be the principal actors.

Gregory confessed that his ambition was to effect a total reformation of the church, of which, indeed, it stood in great need. Simony existed everywhere: the vacant offices of the church were given to favourites or sold to rich applicants, as we have seen, altogether apart from their real fitness for the same. And such men, when elected, cared little for the good of the people over whom they were placed, but sought rather to enrich themselves and their relatives in honours and estates.

The emperor Henry had been badly brought up by his tutors, who had allowed the young man to indulge in folly and sinful pleasures.

The sale of livings had been so shamefully carried on at his court that many a one had good cause to fear when they heard that such a stern disciplinarian as Hildebrand had been chosen pope.

France was ruled by a cruel and greedy tyrant (Philip I.), who was hated and despised by his subjects.

Spain was divided among Saracens and Christians, without any power to repel the aggressions of the pope; while other continental nations were suffering from disorders of various kinds.

All pointed out to Gregory that now, when there was nothing but weakness on every hand, was the time for him to raise the church of Rome to full supremacy, not only over all in the church, but also over kings, and to see that it obtained all it claimed.

One of the first places that engaged Gregory's attention was Spain. Bands of French adventurers had been for some time encouraged by Rome to attack Spain, and whatever places they could seize were to be made over to the church. Now Gregory wrote to the Spanish princes, reminding them that the whole of Spain had been from olden time a part and parcel of the patrimony of St. Peter! And any country that once belonged to the church could never be taken therefrom!

Gregory took no trouble to prove his assertions. He made his demands, and would seek for power to enforce them. Of course all was done in the name and professedly for the welfare of the church of God, though really it was all for the welfare of the church of Rome, based upon what has been called ecclesiastical law. But who made these laws? Well, they were supposed to have been passed at ancient councils, or laid down by former popes. But it is an undeniable fact, that many of these ancient documents are really forgeries, of which we will now say a few words.

The Decretals.

A great deal of the power which the popes claimed as belonging to the church of Rome, was not pretended to be founded on anything in scripture, though they did not neglect the supposed dignity of Peter and of themselves as his successors. Things were asserted and claimed for Rome on the sole authority of the Decretals, or canon law of the church. These are found to be: 1, Answers given by the popes to questions asked 2, Decrees passed by the popes and their cardinals. These, together with the canons of the general councils, formed the canon laws of the church of Rome.

It is easy to see that collections of such laws may have been made from early times, and then have been enlarged from time to time when various questions at issue were considered to be finally settled.

Of course, every collector was anxious to trace back as far as he could the source of each law, and to stamp it with an antiquity that would carry with it its due weight.

Now, in the ninth century, a collection of such laws was made by one known as Pseudo-Isidore (to distinguish him from another Isidore of Spain who also did a similar work) � a collection which professed antiquity for many of its laws, and which covered a wide field of questions touching the authority of the pope, the clergy, and internal ordering of the church, etc.

It was then "the dark ages," and no one thought to question what was put forth with much apparent reverence, and mingled with pious ejaculations. Incidents of persons who lived at various times were interwoven with the laws, which seemed to give a reality to the whole.

To this the popes pointed triumphantly: who could gainsay such antiquity? who could call in question such piety? Men surely would hear, learn, and submit implicitly to such documents.

But, as we have said, the ages were dark, or people would then and there have discovered, at least, glaring errors and mistakes, if they had not ventured to call them falsehoods. There was monstrous ignorance of history, glaring mistakes in chronology, things and people jumbled up together in utter confusion, proving the whole to be unquestionably false. This has since been owned by some honest Roman Catholic writers as well as by Protestant.

What must we think of that church that needed such false decretals to bolster up its supposed authority? The whole was evidently gathered together to uphold the supremacy of the church of Rome, and especially the undisputed authority of the popes personally.

It has been disputed that the middle ages were really dark. Well, what about these false decretals? Could they have been collected by any one but an ignorant man, a man who knew next to nothing of even history and chronology? And then could the popes who used these decretals have been anything but ignorant men to have used such documents bearing falsehood on their very surface? Well, yes, there may be another answer to the question but it is that the one who made the collection, as well as the popes who used it, may have been wicked enough to put forth and use what they knew to be false. Any way, these false decretals prove the ages to have been dark � very dark.

All this is apart from scripture. If people leave the word of God for tradition, the figure used in scripture may well apply to them: it is the blind leading the build, and both fall into the ditch. Happy those who know the sufficiency of the word of God for all that they need, to guide them both in faith and practice. There is nothing "false" there.

But how sad to see intelligent men in the nineteenth century attempting to give the church of Rome that supremacy which it then claimed, and sought to support its claims by that which has been acknowledged by honest Romanists to be shameless forgeries!

Gregory and the Married Clergy.

In the year 1074, Gregory summoned the bishops to a special synod at Rome, and under his influence it was ordained: 1, That priests should not marry; 2, That those who were married should put away their wives, or renounce the priesthood; 3, That for the future no one should be ordained priest who did not promise celibacy.

These things had been enacted before, but, having met with much decided opposition, had been allowed to slumber. Now, however, there was a man of energy on the papal throne, and they were to be enforced everywhere. He threatened with perdition any that should disobey the order. "How," he asks, "shall they obtain pardon for their sins who despise him who openeth and closeth the gates of heaven to whom he pleaseth? Let all such beware how they call down the divine wrath upon their own heads."

Nevertheless there was strong opposition everywhere to the decrees. There were many of the clergy who had wives and children, and they felt they could not violate their pledges to their wives, and, indeed, disobey God, who had said that what God had joined should not be put asunder by man.

In Paris a synod was held on the subject, and it concluded that no obedience should be given to the decree touching the married clergy. Walter, abbot of Pont-Is�re, insisted that the pope, right or wrong, ought to be obeyed; but he was dragged from the hall of meeting, and beaten severely before he could be rescued.

The archbishop of Rouen proceeded to expel the married clergy, but he was assailed with showers of stones, etc., so that he had to fly for his life.

In Normandy it was a recognised thing that the clergy were allowed to marry, and their sons often succeeded to their livings.

In Spain the opposition was also most determined, and as late as the year 1104, pope Paschal II. had to relax the decree in order to avoid a schism.

In England the zealous Lanfranc, archbishop of Canterbury, declined to publish the decree, and later on all that was done was to make it a condition that no more married men should be ordained, nor any allowed to marry after ordination.

In Germany also there was great resistance. The heads of the clergy gave six months for the priests to put away their wives. But all to no purpose, the pope was not obeyed nor the council he had called.

Gregory was all the more urgent, quoting scripture in the most outrageous manner. "To obey is better than sacrifice," he wrote; "see I have this day set thee over the nations and over the kingdoms to root out and to pull down, and to destroy, and to throw down, to build and to plant." "The decrees of the fathers, the authority of the canons, demand prompt, unhesitating obedience He whom flesh and blood moveth to doubt or delay is carnal � he is condemned already; he hath no share in the work of the Lord; he is a rotten branch, a dumb dog, a cankered limb, a faithless servant, a time-server, and a hypocrite."

The archbishop of Mainz, thus urged by the pope, called a synod. The clergy protested, and many left the council in anger, and consulted together. He pressed them to return, promising them he would urge the pope to relax his orders. He then proceeded to press them for some tithes; but he was obliged to hurry away, to avoid their violence. They would not give up their wives nor give their money.

Now all this opposition of the clergy to the decree is important, as shewing that the enforced celibacy of the clergy is comparatively a modern innovation. After the existence of the church for more than a thousand years, there was all this determined resistance to this "forbidding to marry." There always had been persons of ascetic habits who had preferred to remain unmarried; but there had been no direct effort to enforce it on all till about the year 952; again in 1012; and later in the year we have been looking at (1074) when it was opposed everywhere. Where, then, is the antiquity of this doctrine � the antiquity which the Romanists claim for all their doctrines and practices? As we have seen, such a claim is a mere myth that will not bear the least investigation. The practice is without the least particle of authority from the scripture � indeed, it is dead against it; for therein a bishop is to be the husband of one wife. (1 Tim. iii. 2.) Woe be to those who, with such high pretensions to divine authority, trample under foot the word of God which should be their only guide. Their pretensions in this matter are not even ancient.

Gregory and Henry IV.

The emperor Henry governed his country so badly, that a revolution was the consequence. The people appealed to the pope against the emperor, and the emperor appealed to him also against the revolters.

The austerities of the pope had, however, alienated from himself the affections of many of the clergy. In Rome itself, he had compelled the married clergy to separate from their wives, and had compelled them to live together, throwing all their private property into a brotherhood. This had led many to consider him as their enemy.

He had other enemies near Rome. Cenci, the leader of the Tusculan party, after various collisions with the pope, still waited an opportunity to take revenge upon Gregory, On the eve of the Nativity, the pope usually repaired to the church of St. Mary-the-Greater, attended by many clergy and multitudes of the laity. But on the occasion in question, it rained in torrents, and few attended the pope. Cenci, on learning this from one of his spies, determined to carry off the pope. He disposed of his followers, so that there could be no escape, and then entered the church and seized Gregory, who was slightly wounded in the scuffle.

Gregory is said to have remained perfectly composed while Cenci proceeded to "degrade" him, by stripping him of some of his robes; they then set him on a horse behind one of their party, and carried him off to one of their strongholds.

But before daybreak the whole city was in commotion; altars were stripped of their ornaments, and all religious services stopped, out of sympathy for the pope. All the gates were guarded, to prevent the pope being carried off if still in Rome.

This upset all the plans of the conspirators, who had made a mistake in remaining in the city. The prison was soon discovered, and a most determined attack was made on the place. The gates were burned, and battering-rams soon knocked down the outer walls.

In the meantime, some had gained entrance to the pope, had bound up his wounds and warmed him with additional clothing. An accomplice of Cenci threatened the pope with instant death, when a javelin from without laid the man dead at the pope's feet.

Cenci, feeling all hope of resistance was now vain, fell down at the feet of the pope, confessed the great sin he had committed, and begged for pardon. This was granted, but by way of penance he was ordered to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. He started at once on his journey.

The pope, being liberated, proceeded to the same church, and there, in his tattered robes, went on with the mass from where he had left off the day before!

But Cenci and other enemies of the pope, found refuge at the emperor's court, and it became evident that the great conflict for power was to be between Henry IV. and Gregory VII.

Henry had been summoned to Rome by the pope; but instead of going, Henry proceeded to summon a synod of the clergy at Worms. It met on January 24th, 1076. It was called for the express purpose of deposing the pope. Cardinal Hugo Candidus was the emperor's spokesman.

The following charges were said to be proved against the pope: �

1. His inordinate ambition and intolerable pride, whereby flames of dissension had been spread in the church.

2. He had enfeebled the authority of the clergy.

3. He had suffered the name of Christ to be altogether eclipsed by his own.

4. He had twice sworn that he would not accept the papacy.

5. His election was irregular.

6. His conduct towards certain noble females had occasioned a scandal in the church, and decrees of the church had been settled in a small senate of women.

7. His slander and abuse of some of the clergy.

Lastly. For all these things they judged him unworthy of obedience as their apostolic head.

The document was signed by two archbishops and twenty-two bishops. Two other bishops objected that any one should be condemned without being heard. They were told they must resign their livings unless they signed. They gave way, and appended their names.

Henry's chancellor in Italy lost no time in publishing the document, and exhorted the people to join their king (for Henry IV. was still nominally king of Italy) in deposing the pope.

Henry also despatched a letter to the pope, proceeding thus: "Henry, by divine ordinance, king, to the false monk Hildebrand. . . . . Such is the merited salutation to one who, like you, hath dealt out confusion rather than peace, a curse instead of a blessing, to the catholic church. . . . . Hath he not, the blessed, the true pope, Peter, said, 'Fear God, honour the king'? But you dishonour us because you do not fear God. . . . . Now, therefore, seeing that you are smitten by the anathema, and by our judgment, and by the unanimous verdict of our bishops condemned and deposed, descend now from the chair you have usurped. . . . I, Henry, by the grace of God, king, with all my bishops, do command you, Hildebrand, to come down � and again I say, Come down."

The way adopted in delivering the king's letter added to the affront. One of the inferior clergy was sent as messenger. He chose the time when the pope sat in the Lateran, surrounded by the assembled clergy. He began, "My lord the king, and the bishops of the empire, do, by my mouth, command you, Hildebrand, without delay, to resign the chair of Peter; for it is unlawful for you to aspire to so lofty a place without the royal consent and investiture." Turning to the clergy, he said, "You, brethren, are hereby commanded that at the coming feast of Pentecost, you present yourselves before the king, to accept a pope at his hands, for this Hildebrand is not pope, neither is he your shepherd, but a wolf in the fold of the Lord."

The lay brethren rushed upon the king's messenger with drawn swords, and would have slain him then and there, had not the pope quickly wrapped his own mantle round him; thus saving the assembly from the charge of slaying the king's herald.

Gregory calmly addressed the assembled clergy, quoting, "It must needs be that offences come, but woe to that man by whom they come." Again, "Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves; be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves."

Nevertheless, he proceeded to denounce Henry, and to declare him no longer emperor of Germany, saying, "I do hereby, for the honour and defence of the church, on behalf and in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, and by thy [the synod's] power and authority, inhibit and drive out Henry the king, son of Henry the emperor, from the crown, rule, and government of the kingdoms of Germany and Italy, and do absolve all christian men from the bond of the oath which they have sworn, or may hereafter swear unto him; and I do forbid all men from this time forward to serve or obey him as king."

We see in the above what a false position Henry took in seeking to usurp power in the church, over which he had no true power; while on the other hand, the pope, instead of obeying "the powers that be," acted directly contrary, and sought to dethrone the king, and impiously absolved those who had taken oath to obey their sovereign. Indeed, he did more, for he exhorted to civil war and bloodshed, quoting the passage, "Cursed be he that withholdeth the sword from blood."

The pope's condemnation was sent with all speed to all parts of Germany. As we have said, Henry IV. ruled his kingdom badly, and his Saxon subjects were often at variance with him. These, with all the king's enemies, gladly hailed the popes letters, and began to plot against the emperor. The clergy too began to waver; some indeed had secretly communicated with the pope, declaring that they had signed the resolutions of Worms by compulsion, and that they really sided with the pope. Others waited to see who would be victors in the great struggle.

Henry tried to make light of the pope's curse, but he began to see that some who had held with him were now lukewarm, and others deserted him altogether.

Through the pope's influence it was agreed to convoke a general convention of the estates of the German empire, to consider the question of the emperor and the pope. It assembled at Trebur, but was greatly under the influence of the pope. His legates were to exhort the convention to choose another king if Henry remained impenitent, that is, if he did not submit to the pope, But the pope's legates were not to hold any intercourse with the heads of the nation then assembled, until they had been purified from their defiled influence with their deposed king.

This being done, the impeachment of the king followed � raking up all that could be brought against him. In the meantime, he had his army and his enemies had theirs; but no result followed by the sword. Negotiations were tried; but the assembled nobles declared that as Henry was cut off from the church by "the sword of the apostolic anathema," they could hold no communion with him; the pope had also released them from their oath of obedience.

Henry's cause got worse and worse. Negotiations were opened, notwithstanding the above declaration, and it was proposed that the estates should wait till a year and a day from the time of the papal anathema, and if the king did not submit by that time, the pope should go to Augsburg, and with the estates, choose another king. In the meantime, Henry was to lay aside all signs of royalty.

Henry now saw that it was no use to resist any longer. He sought by all means, before the fatal day arrived, to meet and submit himself to the pope. On the other hand, his enemies sought to prevent his doing so. Henry sent to Rome, by Archbishop Udo of Treves, letters of submission, and a request that he might meet with the pope. The confederates besought the pope not to grant an interview, but to come himself to Germany and dispose of the king's matter.

The pope assured the confederates that he would come to Germany, and proposed to arrive at Mantua, January 8th, 1077. Henry thought that his only chance of success was to post off to Rome before the pope could cross the Alps. The confederates seized some of the passes, to prevent his egress into Italy; Mont Cenis alone remained open to him. By permission of William, duke of Burgundy, he passed into Savoy. There the duchess, his mother-in-law, demanded a grant of estates as her price for letting him pass. The worst part of his journey yet remained. The passes of the Alps were so blocked with snow and ice, that his progress seemed hopeless, but a path was cut by a number of labourers, to whom he promised large rewards, and he reached the summit; but to descend was even worse. His wife and child were wrapped in cow hides, and slid down by the guides. The men slipped down on their hands and knees; but at length the emperor landed with his small party on the plains of Lombardy.

Here many received him joyfully, but on passing into Italy, the pope's party as loudly denounced him. As soon as the pope heard of Henry's arrival in Italy, he thought it best to make himself secure in the strong castle at Canossa, belonging to his devout friend the countess Mathilda.

The clergy who had held with Henry were as anxious to be absolved as was the king. These had passed the Alps and hastened to Canossa, and there, with bare feet and clothed in sackcloth, they begged the pope's pardon. By way of penance, they were placed in solitary confinement, and fed on but one meal of bread and water in twenty-four hours.

Henry used the influence of others to beg the pope to grant him an interview, and he besought the countess Mathilda to intercede for him.

Henry being in Italy was not the same thing as his being in Germany. He had a powerful party in Lombardy, who might gain ascendancy over the pope's followers, and thus make him a prisoner. Still, after all the pope's protestations to the German confederates, he could not without much seeming hesitation grant an interview. At length, however, he agreed to receive him, providing the king would make full confession of his guilt, express repentance for the insults against the apostolic throne, obey in future the papal mandates, etc.

Henry was determined to agree to everything. On the appointed day he presented himself the castle. He was admitted to the first enclosure, where he was divested of all signs of royalty, clothed in a coarse woollen garment, and made to stand barefoot, fasting from morn till sunset. And thus he was kept for three days, waiting for the pope's permission for his admittance, until all were moved to beseech the pope to have pity on the king. The three days were 25th, 26th and 27th of January, 1077 � only six days before the year and a day had run out!

The conditions of absolution were: �

1. That Henry should submit himself to a general synod consisting of all the ecclesiastical and lay princes of the empire, as to whether, by the laws of the church, he was worthy to be their emperor.

2. That till the trial he should lay aside royalty.

3. That he should collect such taxes and revenues only as were necessary for support of him self and family.

4. That until that time his subjects should be absolved from their oaths.

5. That he should dismiss from his council all counsellors objected to by the pope.

6. That in case of acquittal he should in all things be obedient to the holy see.

7. That if he should fail in any of these things his absolution should become void.

The king solemnly pledged his oath to obey these conditions, and he was absolved.

Then followed a solemn and irreverent scene. The pope said, having been accused by the king, he would prove his innocence. Standing before the altar, with a piece of consecrated bread in his hand, he said, "May the body of the Lord, which I now take and receive in witness thereof, either free me from the guilt of the crimes thus laid to my charge, or, if guilty, strike me with sudden death!"

He swallowed part of the bread, and remained alive! A sensation ran through the company at that, which appeared to them, a certain proof of the pope's innocence.

Henry was now invited to give the same proofs of his innocence. But after consulting with his friends, he said he did not know definitely of what he was accused, and thus in his case such a proceeding would have no meaning.

One cannot but be struck with the dreadful profanity of using the bread of the Lord's supper for such a purpose, and that too by one calling himself the successor of Peter. The forbearance of the man of the world should have put the pope to shame.

One can hardly suppose that the pope really thought that Henry could or would fulfil the above conditions. To be emperor, and yet to lay aside all signs of royalty, was ridiculous. Indeed, the conditions seem to have been purposely drawn up so as to keep Henry in check by the proposed synod, while at the same time it might seem as if the pope were acting in good faith towards the confederates.

In fact, the conditions settled nothing, and the confederates soon complained of the way they had been treated. Though a synod had been spoken of, no time had been named for its assembling. Eventually the estates assembled together and chose another emperor � Rudolf of Swabia.

No sooner did Henry leave the pope than in Lombardy he was assailed with reproaches for humbling himself before the pope in the way he had done. Here he could soon have raised an army, but he hastened back to Germany.

We must not follow him in his struggles with his subjects. Rudolf was slain, and when Henry gained power, he marched into Italy to avenge himself on the pope. Henry had assembled another council, and had again deposed the pope, and had appointed Guibert (or Wibert), archbishop of Ravenna, to be pope as Clement III.

Henry's army reached the gates of Rome; but the pope had allied himself with Robert Guiscard. the Norman conqueror of Apulia and Sicily, and the city being well defended, Henry was unable to take it. He tried again the next year (1082) and the year following, but without success.

A council was called of those in Rome in 1083, to try and settle the questions at issue between the pope and Henry. All were desirous of peace, but the pope would not yield, and things remained as they were.

In the next year Henry was invited to enter Rome by some who were dissatisfied with the pope. Henry acceded to the request, took possession of the Lateran and the principal parts of the city. Gregory fled for refuge into the castle of St. Angelo, and Clement III. was proclaimed pope. He crowned Henry in St. Peter's, who was hailed as king by acclamation.

But Robert Guiscard was approaching with his army, and Henry left the city and retired to Tuscany. Guiscard took his place in the city under the pretence of aiding the pope, but his army pillaged the city, and committed many atrocities. They set the city on fire, and carried away many inhabitants and sold them as slaves.

Gregory, on leaving his castle, called another council, in which, for the fourth time, he excommunicated Henry and Guibert. But Henry had now power enough to care nothing for the pope's anathemas.

Gregory, not feeling himself safe in Rome when Guiscard left, went with him to Salerno, but took hostages from Rome to ensure their future submission. The pope died the next year, 1085.

One of the great things contended for by Gregory was that he, and he alone, had power to invest the clergy with authority, and not only at Rome, but in every other place; whereas Henry would not agree to this. The clergy appointed by Rome were too much under Roman influence to serve the emperor. He would appoint his own clergy. If they were dependent on him, he could count on them to serve him and carry out his purposes.

Alas, that the church of God should have thus become a mere citadel, open to the attacks of, and governed by, a merely worldly man, and made to serve his purposes, right or wrong! or, on the other hand, to be ruled and used by such a crafty man as Gregory VII., who did not scruple to depose the emperor when he would not obey his mandates, in direct opposition, as we have seen, to the exhortation to "obey the powers that be" in worldly matters.

The papal chair was vacant for a year, at the expiration of which Victor III. was elected; then in 1088 Urban II., in whose time the Crusades commenced.

Chapter 10.

The Crusades.

Christians had for a long period been induced to make pilgrimages to Jerusalem, and visit the holy sepulchre.

There was a sort of merit attached to the accomplishment of this object, though it is now difficult to see in what the merit consisted. Some of the best in the church discouraged pilgrimages, knowing well what evils attended the mixing of so many men and women promiscuously together. Others, however, upheld it, and many hundreds made their way yearly to the holy sepulchre at Jerusalem.

While this place was in the custody of the Caliphs of Bagdad, and of those of Egypt, Christians were allowed to come and go as they pleased, and carry on their devotions unhinderedly. The Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid had even sent keys of the sepulchre as a present to Charlemagne. But when, later on, the Turks had conquered Palestine, things were changed. Christians were molested and insulted in various ways, their riches being a great temptation to the needy Turks.

On their return, from time to time, the whole of Europe was stirred by the recital of the insults the christian pilgrims had received.

How wise it would have been to have stayed away, and to have worshipped God at home. There is not a word in the scriptures about taking pilgrimages to Jerusalem or anywhere else. But it had now become popular, either as a test of devotion to the One who had lain in that sepulchre, or in certain cases as a penance for some fault they had committed.

About A.D. 1064, a rumour arose that the last day was near, and some 7000 pilgrims made the journey to Jerusalem but they were repeatedly attacked, and only about 2000 returned! From this arose such a bitter cry for vengeance on their enemies, the Turks, that the whole of Christendom was roused. Pope Sylvester II., about sixty years before, had preached a crusade, but all held back from taking the sword. Now fresh efforts were made to arouse men to action.

Peter the Hermit eventually felt called upon to make this his mission. He had been a soldier in his youth, but when grown up he deserted his wife and entered a monastery, and afterwards became a hermit. He had visited Jerusalem as a pilgrim, and had had his spirit stirred within him when he witnessed the insults and robbery of the pilgrims. He suggested to the patriarch of Jerusalem to apply to Constantinople for redress, but the empire was too feeble to accomplish anything for them. The Christians of the West must be entreated to give aid by their prayers, if not by their arms.

Peter returned to Rome and visited the pope, relating to him the scenes he had witnessed, and repeated the request of the patriarch. He added that in the holy sepulchre he had seen the Saviour Himself in a vision, who had charged him to arouse the Christians of the West to wrest the Holy Land from the infidels.

Pope Urban II. listened to the recital, and then, without committing himself, bid Peter traverse the country and see what effects his preaching would have.

This was Peter's mission � to rouse Christians everywhere to what was called the Holy War. He went mounted on his mule. He was a strange looking man, was short, lean, and of a dark complexion, with a large head and a piercing eye. His dress was very rough, with a thick cord round his waist, his head uncovered, and his feet bare. His speech was rude but earnest, and crowds of the high and low listened to his tales of woes that haunted the feet of the pilgrims, and the shame that would attach to Christians generally if they let the Holy Land remain in the hands of the infidels. He read letters from the patriarch and others, and even, historians say, professed to have had a letter from heaven itself! At times he would weep, sigh, groan, beat his breast, while he kissed the crucifix he carried.

Such appeals gained many to his cause, so that, indeed, he had to restrain some that would have seized arms and at once have followed him to the Holy Land. Alms and gifts were bestowed on him freely, and many sought his advice in their difficulties. These he entered into, and was the means of reconciling enemies, and of reforming the profligate. But nothing was allowed long to hinder his mission � to arouse Christendom to the Holy War. He returned to Rome, and related to Urban his great success.

At this time there were two popes: Urban II. and Clement III., and it appeared to the former that if he took up the cause of the Holy War it might seat him more firmly in the papal chair, and might be the means of again uniting the eastern and the western churches, which would also be to his advantage. He resolved to patronise the movement, or rather become its head.

A council was summoned at Piacenza in 1095: it was attended by 200 bishops, 4000 clergy, and 30,000 laity. It was held in a plain near the city � no building could hold the people. The holy war was set forth, and agreed to: many bound themselves to go forth to release the Holy Land. A few other things were carried also at this council. Heresies were condemned, and curses pronounced on Clement, called the antipope.

But as Italy did not take up the matter with enthusiasm, Urban resolved to agitate the subject in France. A difficulty presented itself, for Philip, king of France, had been excommunicated by some of the clergy for divorcing his wife Bertha and marrying Bertrada, wife of Fulk, count of Anjou. Philip raised the plea that Bertrada was not the true wife of Fulk, because of being related. Urban had restored the king, on his promising to separate from Bertrada, but Philip had not kept his promise.

A council was called to meet at Clermont in Auvergne, in November, 1095. There were fourteen archbishops, two hundred and twenty-five bishops, and about one hundred abbots, with a number of strangers. The villages were filled with occupants, and some had to resort to sleep in tents.

Canons were passed against simony, pluralities, etc., and then it went a step beyond former councils, namely, that no ecclesiastic should swear allegiance to any temporal lord. The great aim was to make the clergy answerable to the pope only, and not to any king or ruler. Philip was again excommunicated, but this caused little commotion now, for men's minds were all anxiously filled with the subject of the holy war.

At length the day arrived when this was to be brought forward. It was done in the marketplace, where Urban ascended a pulpit, and vast throngs surrounded him. He told of the ancient glories of Palestine, on which the feet of the Saviour and His Virgin Mother had trod. God's interest still in the land was also declared to be proved by the miracle, that the lamps of the holy sepulchre were lit from heaven at the season of the Saviour's passion! A miracle, Urban said, that ought to soften all but hearts of flint.

He detailed the hardships, insults, and injuries inflicted on the pilgrims by the cruel children of the Egyptian handmaid, and he appealed to many standing there who had witnessed these atrocities.

He spoke of the encroachments of the Turks on Christendom, and the great fear there was for Constantinople, the treasury of so many famous relics!

"Cast out the bondwoman and her son," he cried; "let all the faithful arm. Go forth, and God shall be with you. . . . Let the famous nation of the Franks display their valour in a cause where death is the assurance of blessedness. Count it joy to die for Christ where Christ died for you. Think not of kindred or home; you owe to God a higher love; for a christian every place is exile, every place is home and country."

Thus spoke Urban, but he went further and told his hearers how easy was the remedy for sin he now proposed: for all penance should be relaxed in favour of those who should go forth to the holy war! Indeed, he began now for the first time to preach the dreadful soul-deceiving error of Indulgences. Full forgiveness of sins was promised, and this without even penance. A writer of the time saw that a new method for the cleansing of sins had been invented. Shame on any one calling himself a Christian to issue so false a thing as indulgences, and this, too, by one claiming for himself to be Christ's vicar or representative on earth!

It is recorded that thousands gave ready adherence to the cause, some calling out as Urban spoke, "It is the will of God;" and this became their war cry. They attached a cross to their breasts, and were thus called Crusaders. To keep up the solemn farce, a cardinal stepped forth and made a confession of sins in the name of all who were to share in the war, and then the pope pronounced absolution on them. This was all a solemn mockery, for there had been no real confession of sins at all. If those carrying on this deception knew no better, it was really the blind leading the blind into the bottomless pit of destruction.

Raymond, the count of Toulouse, was the most prominent of the crusaders. Adhemar, bishop of Le Puy, also declared his intention of joining the army. The festival of the Assumption (August 15th) in the following year was settled as the day the crusaders should set out.

Enthusiasm ran high. Women urged their husbands and their sons to take the cross, and those who refused, unless circumstances prevented, became marked men. Property was sold or mortgaged to raise funds, and workmen sold their tools and utensils; the price of property fell, and the price of horses and arms rose considerably.

Those who took the cross were a motley group, for many in debt took this means of getting release, and even robbers, pirates, and outlaws were said to be among the absolved bearers of the cross. Many had nothing to lose but their lives, and this they would risk in the hope of the spoils they might obtain. Even monks rushed forth to join the army.

Wondrous tales were told of signs of approval from heaven, besides Peter's letter already spoken of, and one monk declared that the cross which he bore on his body had been imprinted there by a miracle. Unfortunately for him, it was afterwards found out that he had been at his wits' end, not knowing how to find the means for his outfit, when he hit upon that pretension, and then he had plenty given him. But, alas, though while among honest men such an act of deception would have ruined a man's character, here it was overlooked, and he was even promoted afterwards to be archbishop of Caesarea!

The movement so rapidly gained adherents that, long before the appointed time, people were eager to set out, and Peter was urged to lead them to the conflict. He could not restrain them, and so crossed the Rhine at Cologne at their head. A knight, named Walter, of Pacy, and his nephew, Walter "the Penniless," were also leaders. These latter went on with the more vigorous of the troops, leaving Peter to follow with the others. Another group was led by a priest named Gottschalk; and another by Count Emicho, a man of known violent and lawless character. Each succeeding company was lower in character than that which had preceded it, the last being quite the refuse of the community, among them being women and mere children, some were without arms, and had no idea of the distance nor of the dangers of the march.

But a new thought struck some of the reckless followers. As they passed through some of the places they were attracted by the wealth of the Jews. Why go so far to attack God's enemies when before their eyes were Jews, than whom no nation is more bitter in enmity to Christ? So they attacked and plundered the Jews, putting some to death. The bishops did what they could to rescue the Jews by permitting a temporary profession of Christianity; but it is recorded that some of the more zealous Jews shut themselves up in their houses, put their children to death, and set fire to their houses, disappointing their enemies by perishing with their property.

No proper provision had been made for feeding these bands, and they were not over-particular in helping themselves by plunder. The later parties had to suffer for the misdeeds of those who had gone before, and the inhabitants of Hungary and Bulgaria were enraged against them. Gottschalk and his party were destroyed in Hungary. Others were turned back on the frontiers, and found their way home as well as they could, to tell a tale of hardship and disappointment.

The elder Walter died at Philippopoli, leaving his nephew and Peter to struggle on with their bands. They eventually reached Constantinople, much reduced in numbers, but yet a formidable army, if such a group can be so called. The emperor Alexius would have been glad of any who could stem the torrent of the Turkish conquests, but he was not a little troubled by such a multitude, whose thefts and disorders disturbed the whole place. Peter somewhat quieted the emperor by his eloquent appeals, and he desired to wait for the later groups; but those with him demanded to be led to the scene of action. The emperor was only too glad to get rid of such a company by carrying them over the Bosphorus.

A battle took place under the walls of Nicaea, then the Turkish capital. Walter the Penniless was killed and most of his followers. An immense pile of their bones was raised as a monument by the Turks. Peter escaped with a few others. These sold their arms to Alexius, and made their way home in any way they could. It has been estimated that not less than half a million of human beings perished in this foolish enterprise.

But meanwhile more regular armies were being enrolled in the various countries of Europe except Spain, which was too much taken up with its internal war with the Saracens. Germany seemed at first to be another exception, for, being opposed to Urban, his preachers had not traversed that country. However, as party after party passed through Germany, though at first laughed at as fanatics, yet in time the Germans also were induced to take the cross, wonderful tales being told them of heaven's approval of the holy war by signs and wonders.

Godfrey of Bouillon, son of Count Eustace of Boulogne, stood forth as leader, together with his brothers Eustace and Baldwin; Hugh of Vermandois, brother of the king of France; the Counts Raymond of Toulouse, Robert of Flanders, and Stephen of Blois; and Robert, duke of Normandy, son of William the Conqueror.

Each party was independent of the others, and this constantly led to disasters. They had agreed to take different routes so as not to overburden any one of the countries intervening, but all were to meet at Constantinople. This again raised the fears of the emperor Alexius, and he managed to get each party to cross the Bosphorus into Asia before others arrived. All had crossed, by Whitsuntide, 1097.

As the crusaders approached Nicaea they saw the huge pile of bones that told the tale of their predecessors. This excited them to revenge, and the siege began in earnest. It lasted from May 14th to June 20th, but when the city was captured it was found to have been made over secretly to Alexius, and no longer belonged to the Turks. A fortnight later an important battle was won at Dorylaeum, attributed, by the Christians, to help being sent direct from heaven. The defeated Sultan retired to safer quarters.

The leaders were in no way united, and Baldwin accepted an invitation to assist a christian prince of Edessa. His subjects had revolted against him, and Baldwin went to his aid; but his subjects threw him over the wall of the city, and Baldwin succeeded in gaining the city and became its ruler.

The rest of the crusaders marched on, and laid siege to Antioch. This lasted eight months, during which they suffered fearfully. By the heavy rains their camp was a swamp, and famine at length greatly enfeebled them. They ate the flesh of horses, dogs, and mice; leather and bark, grass and thistles became their food. Disease also cut off many, and their case was becoming hopeless. Some of the knights slipped away, among them Stephen of Blois: he met Alexius, marching with reinforcements. Stephen said the siege was hopeless, and the emperor turned back. Peter the Hermit also deserted, but was fetched back and compelled to remain. Notwithstanding all these distresses, the licentiousness in the camp was disgraceful, especially as the crusaders were professed Christians. Adhemar, the papal legate, compelled them to remove all the women from the camp, to give up gaming, and to seek deliverance by pious devotions.

As the spring advanced, the condition of the crusaders improved. Provisions were obtained, and by means of a deserter the city was captured, but not the fortress. They did not, however, profit by experience, but wasted their provisions; this soon led to yet greater distresses, for a large force of Turks, under Kerboga prince of Mosul, attacked the place, and no provisions could be brought to them. The famine became so severe that they fed on human flesh! The strong men were enfeebled, and all became careless of life.

In the midst of their distress, a priest of Marseilles, Peter Bartholomes, professed to have a revelation from St. Andrew, that the lance which pierced the side of the Saviour was to be found in the church of St. Peter! A search was set on foot, and after a day's work the head of a lance was found. Now despair was changed to enthusiasm, and all who could rushed out, carrying with them the holy lance.

The Turks were divided among themselves, and this unexpected attack caused them to fly from the place, and the crusaders found abundance of spoil; they again ascribed their victory to warriors from heaven, and were once more in good cheer; but the unburied bodies so tainted the air that some were carried off by disease, and among them the legate Adhemar. The fortress was soon after delivered to them.

News was sent to Rome of the capture of Antioch, and the pope was invited to come himself and take possession of the ancient see of St. Peter. In the meantime, Bohemund was elected prince of Antioch, though he proceeded with the others to Jerusalem.

Doubts afterwards arose as to the holy lance, the discovery of which had led to their late victory � was it likely that a revelation should have been made to such a disreputable man as the priest Peter? Besides, the lance was declared to be of Saracen manufacture, and could not be ancient: Peter must be a deceiver! To settle the question he was required to undergo the ordeal of passing between two burning piles. If he came out unhurt he was innocent; if he was burnt, he was guilty. He was much scorched, but his admirers, seeing him come from the fires, took him to be unhurt, and they thronged around him to obtain pieces of his clothes as relics; but he fell, and, in tearing his clothes off his back, they brought away pieces of his flesh, which led to his death a few days after.

The crusaders tarried at Antioch to regain their strength until March of the next year (1099). They had come to that place 300,000 in number, but were now reduced to 40,000, and even a less number than this were fit for service. Before they reached Jerusalem, news was brought them that the Fatimite Arabs had gained a victory over the Turks, and now possessed Jerusalem, and they were willing to let the pilgrims visit the holy sepulchre unmolested, if the crusaders would retire. But the Christians could not let the place be held by any followers of the false prophet. On June 6th the cry was raised, "Jerusalem, Jerusalem!" They were indeed in sight of their long-looked-for destination. They would have liked to have trodden the earth around the holy city with unshod feet, but feared the enemy.

A hermit of Mount Olivet pointed out to the eager multitude the various places that corresponded to the scenes of the sacred narratives, and the Christians who had been expelled from Jerusalem, poured into their ears thrilling tales of the Turks' cruelty, and of the profanation of the holy places. The zeal of the crowds led them to attack the place at once, but they were repulsed. Later on, a second and a third attempt were also fruitless.

They now began to suffer from hunger and thirst. The brooks were dried up, and the cisterns had been destroyed, or the water poisoned. Water was brought from a long distance and sold at high prices. Their horses and mules had to be led six miles away to find water.

The crusaders were almost in despair, but Godfrey now raised their hopes by declaring that he had seen on Mount Olivet a warrior from heaven, waving his bright shield as a signal for another attack. It was also said that some of their dead companions were seen in front of their army. Another desperate attack was made, and Jerusalem was taken! It is recorded to have been on a Friday at three o'clock � the same day and hour as the Saviour's death! It was July 15th, 1099.

But now these christian warriors disgraced themselves with lust and slaughter: they spared neither man, woman, nor child. If life was promised by some, it was taken by others; seventy thousand Mussulmans were put to death, the blood running, it is recorded, to the horses' knees. The Jews were burnt in their synagogue.

Happily there were exceptions to this disgraceful conduct. Godfrey, dressed as a pilgrim, repaired to the holy sepulchre and thanked God for giving them possession of the holy city: others did not forget their devotions, but again returned to their revenge, and for three days Jerusalem ran with blood.

Godfrey was chosen king of Jerusalem, but he refused to wear a golden crown where the Saviour had been crowned with thorns: he was content to be called Defender and Baron of the holy sepulchre.

About a month later, a large body of Saracens arrived � too late to save Jerusalem, but too formidable to be despised. Godfrey collected his forces, and was again victorious at the battle of Askelon.

As the victory over their enemies seemed now complete, a large body of the crusaders returned to Europe, after first bathing in the river Jordan. They carried with them palm-branches from Jericho, and any relics they could obtain. Peter the hermit had been permitted to see his mission brought to a successful issue. He also returned, and ended his days in a monastery of his own founding at Huy, near Liege.

Godfrey's dominion was at first confined to Jerusalem and Joppa, with the surrounding territory, but was afterwards extended. The French language was established, and useful laws put forth. Godfrey died, August 17, 1100, and was succeeded by his brother, Baldwin of Edessa. Multitudes of pilgrims now visited Jerusalem, excited by the toils and dangers their brethren had passed through.

Internal disputes arose in Jerusalem. The patriarch had been of the Greek church, now one of the Latin church was chosen, and the Greeks were treated as schismatics; nor were the Latins agreed among themselves, the clergy striving for power over each other, and then over the king.

In reviewing the subject of the crusades, it must not be overlooked that in many there may have been a sincere desire to see the holy land wrested from the power of the infidels. Some were sent on pilgrimages to Jerusalem as a penance, and to them, if they must go, it was of importance that they should be able to go and return unmolested. As to any merit being attached to such a pilgrimage, it was merely a superstitious illusion. We have also seen that the pope, Urban, espoused the cause to further his own ends, and to raise himself in power. This it did, not only in giving him influence all over Europe, but by giving him a footing in the East where otherwise his influence would have been called in question.

The worst feature in the whole thing was the absolution uttered over the heads of the crusaders, leaving them to indulge in every sin and wickedness, with the promise of salvation, because they were engaged in that holy war!

God, indeed, may have overruled it, to stay for a time the further conquests of the Mahometans. Constantinople was, for the time, thus saved. Christendom had been punished by that scourge � a time of repentance was now given them: would they learn wisdom by the chastening they had received, or must God again allow still further punishment? We shall see that more indeed was needed.

A short account of the other crusades, and of Jerusalem itself, may be of interest.

II. The second crusade went forth (1147) because Jerusalem was in danger, in consequence of the conquest of Edessa by the Mahometans. Eugene III. was head of the movement, and Bernard of Clairvaux preached the crusade in France and Germany. He prophesied victory: even God Himself, he said, would smite the infidels. Two large armies went forth under Conrad III. of Germany and Lewis VII. of France. But the emperor at Constantinople (Manuel I.) was more afraid of the crusaders than of the Turks, so he made peace secretly with the latter; and chiefly by his treachery, the German army was wasted in the defiles of Asia Minor. The French also suffered severely. They attacked Damascus, but disease and treachery brought it all to an end. Great indignation filled Germany and France. Bernard, to save his credit as a prophet, declared that the sins of the army had prevented victory.

III. In 1187 Jerusalem was taken by Saladin. Gregory VIII. preached another crusade. Frederic Barbarossa of Germany, Philippe Auguste of France, and Richard I. ( Coeur-de-Leon ) of England, led forth their armies. Frederic Barbarossa was drowned in the Kalykadnus: his son Frederic of Suabia took command. They all met at Acre; but the siege was long, and some three hundred thousand perished ere the place was taken. Philippe Auguste returned to France. Richard, after other conflicts, obtained permission for christian pilgrims to visit Jerusalem, and he returned, but was taken prisoner by Duke Leopold of Austria, and sold by him to the emperor, Henry VI., who, to the scandal of the whole christian world, demanded an immense ransom.

IV. This was preached by Innocent III. (1203). It reached Venice, but, unable to pay the heavy sum demanded to transfer the army of twenty thousand, it turned aside to Dalmatia, and won Zara for Venice, and then conquered Constantinople (April 12, 1204), and established a Latin empire under Baldwin of Flanders, one of the leaders of the crusade. They never reached the Holy Land.

The pope was scandalised, and summoned a new army. He was answered by children. Thousands of children, boys and girls, rushed forth to go to the war. They reached Italy, but melted away by hunger, disease, and in the slave-markets.

Other troops were collected by Andrew II. of Hungary and Count William of Holland, but they did not reach the Holy Land. They became a sort of robber band, and went to Egypt where they perished.

V., VI., VII. The failure of the last-named troops was attributed to the emperor Frederic II., who had taken the cross, but refused to go. The pope (Gregory IX.) interfered and compelled him to embark (August 15, 1227), but he soon returned, declaring he was unwell. The pope was much annoyed, and excommunicated him. The next year he embarked again, and was successful. He conquered Palestine, and by a treaty was crowned king of Jerusalem (1229). He returned to Europe, defying the pope and his excommunication.

In 1247 the Turks again overran Palestine and again took Jerusalem.

In the next year, Louis IX. of France reached Cyprus with a large army, and spent the winter there. In 1249 he went to Egypt and conquered Damietta and Mansura; but, on attempting to reach the Holy Land, he suffered severe losses and was compelled to surrender with his army. It cost France most of its wealth to redeem its king and its army in 1254.

Notwithstanding this disaster, Louis would not give up the idea of rescuing the Holy Land from the infidels. He raised another army in 1269, and, followed by the French nobility, he conquered Tunis, but died there, August 24, 1270. His son Philippe III. made peace, and gave up the enterprise. This was the last of the crusades.

Jerusalem has had many masters. In 1799 it was held by the French under Bonaparte; but in 1517 it passed into the hands of the Ottoman Sultan. The pasha of Egypt took possession in 1832. In 1841 it was again restored to the Sultan. It continues thus to this day.

There is a time coming when God will favour Zion, and then again Jerusalem will surely be wrested from the infidels, and put into the possession of � not the Christians, but of God's ancient people the Jews. They are now despised, and have to wail over the desecration of their city but then they shall surely become masters of their own city, though they indeed must be brought through the fire and purified: but, owning Christ as the Messiah, full blessing awaits them, and that in the very city now in the possession of the infidels.

Chapter 11.

The Inquisition.

What is generally called the Inquisition was not the commencement of persecution for what was considered to be heresy. As early as the end of the fourth century, Priscillianus was put to death on this plea. He was condemned first by a council held at Bordeaux, A.D. 384, and then he appealed to the emperor Maximus, who caused his case to be investigated by the prefect. On his report, Maximus ordered him, with six others, who, under torture, had confessed impure practices, to be beheaded. This has been considered to be the first case in the church of persons being judicially put to death for heresy.* A bishop named Ithacius was his principal accuser, and this was at that time considered by Ambrose and others so unbecoming to the office of bishop, that he was excommunicated, and died in exile. So that it is evident that such dealing with heretics did not meet with the approval of some of the best in the church at that time.

{*Priscillianus held a doctrine combining Gnosticism and Unitarianism, with an admixture of astrology.}

The emperor Justinian (A.D. 527-565), in his Code, treats of the Catholic faith, as settled by the councils of Nicaea, Constantinople, Ephesus, and Chalcedon, forbids public disputations upon dogmas, and enacts penalties against heretics, Jews and apostates. Persons were appointed to assist in the prosecution of the guilty, but at that date they were civil officers; and, for a time, cases of heresy were tried in the ordinary courts, and penalties awarded.

As time rolled on, the bishops examined those who were charged with heresy, and if these did not renounce their errors they were handed over to the civil powers for punishment; but the hunting for heretics was not yet general, nor was everything considered to be heresy which deviated from "the Church." As we have seen, the councils were to be the test; but in due course the church became everything.

Pope Alexander III. (A.D. 1159-1181) being driven from Rome by an anti-pope, proceeded to France. King Henry II. of England and Louis VII. of France, held the bridle of the pope as he rode on horseback through the town of Cosne, on the Loire.

There had been a great religious awakening in some parts of France. To crush this, Alexander called a council at Tours, in A.D. 1163. Seventeen cardinals (including Thomas � Becket) and one hundred and twenty-four bishops attended. As its canons may be said to be the first acts of the church of Rome essentially inquisitorial, we will give a part of its decision: �

Because of heresies existing in Toulouse, and elsewhere, "We command the bishops and all the Lord's priests dwelling in those parts, to keep watch, and under peril of anathema, to prohibit that, where followers of that heresy are known, any one in the country shall dare to offer them refuge, or to lend them help. Neither shall there be any dealings with such persons in buying or selling; that, all solace of humanity being utterly lost to them, they may be compelled to forsake the error of their life. And whosoever shall attempt to contravene this order shall be smitten with anathema, as a partaker of their iniquity. But they, if they be taken, shall be thrown into prison by Catholic princes, and be deprived of all their goods." All meetings of heretics were strictly forbidden.

It should be noticed, that not only were those called heretics to be punished, but all their goods were to be forfeited. As we shall see, this became a frightful incentive to greedy priests to bring accusations against the rich, for they themselves shared in the confiscated goods of their victims.

Pope Innocent III. (A.D. 1198-1216) was exceedingly zealous in rooting out any called heretics. He summoned a fourth council of the Lateran in 1215, where new and severe enactments were passed against such as not simply differed from the general councils of the church, but all who differed from the church of Rome, with its errors and superstitions. The bishops were now to be the judges.

In this council it was enacted: "Persons marked with suspicion only, unless they can clear themselves, are to be smitten with the sword of anathema, and shunned by every one. If then they persist for a year in excommunication, they shall be condemned as heretics."

At a council held at Toulouse in 1229, it was ordered that a permanent Inquisition should be established against heretics; but it was not till pope Gregory IX., in 1233, had deprived the bishops of the power of punishing heretics, and entrusted the work to the Dominicans, that it took a permanent form as a separate tribunal. It was called the Holy Inquisition, and its officers Inquisitors of the Faith.

At first it was comparatively simple in its action, and acted as an ordinary court of Justice; but by degrees the Inquisitors extended their powers, and degenerated into tyrants. They not only professed to judge actions and words, but thoughts and intentions. If they wanted to convict an accused person, they would apply torture, and if they could get a confession of even a thought against the church of Rome, it was enough to convict of heresy. And it was always easy to suspect one of heresy, and then to deny that such a one had cleared himself.

Any person was allowed to accuse any of his enemies, and the accused, when he least expected it � at the dead of night sometimes � was aroused by their agents, and dragged off to their prison. Inquiries were useless; the accused would not be told who were his accusers; he must simply reply to the questions asked. Everything was marked by secrecy.

The tortures also were dreadful � too dreadful to be detailed. Joints were dislocated, tender parts of the body scorched, etc., till numbers would confess anything to save themselves such torments.

The property of the condemned being confiscated, was, as we have seen, a great temptation to avaricious men to accuse and convict.

When tortures failed to get the desired confession, other plans were tried. For instance, another person, apparently in great distress, would be put in the same cell; he would profess that he also was an accused person, and he would rate out against the church of Rome and his persecutors, and seek to draw from the accused some response to his suggestions.

Or one would come professedly to console the accused, and to assure him that anything he might confess to him should never be known: indeed, he would use his influence to procure his liberation if he opened his mind to him. Such diabolical snares were only too often successful.

One case is recorded where a mother and two daughters were suspected. One of the daughters was arrested and examined, offered relief if she would confess; but she would confess nothing. The following plan was adopted. The inquisitor ordered her into his presence, and then bid all his attendants to leave the room. When alone, he declared that he had fallen in love with her, and was really anxious to save her. This he repeated day after day with endearing words; but one day he told her that her mother and sister had been arrested, and all was known as to them. If she would confess, he would be able to save them as well as herself. She was thus taken off her guard, and told all. The very next day she was summoned into the presence of others and her confession, thus drawn from her, was used to condemn herself, as well as her mother and sister! Such treachery was not considered any disgrace, but was treated as great cleverness. The end would justify the means.

Those who were condemned to death were often kept waiting for months until more were also ready, that several being burnt to death at one time might strike terror into the hearts of all, and warn them of the danger they ran in differing from the then all-powerful church of Rome.

Auto-de-F�, Act of Faith, was the name given to these executions. They took place on the Sunday, when people were more at leisure to be present. A procession was led forth from the prison, the victims being dressed in coats, on which there were pictures of flames, with figures of dragons and demons, and huge caps on their heads. Those who were only to do penance were dressed differently: a cross told that they were not to be burnt. If any were 'converted' to the Romish faith just before being led out or at the stake, they had the privilege of being strangled before being burnt!

Some of the victims had gags in their mouths, lest they should speak to the people or reveal any secrets. "This I saw done to a prisoner," says Dr. Geddes, in his account of the Inquisition in Portugal, "presently, after he came out of the gates of the Inquisition, upon his having looked up to the sun which he had not seen for several years, and cried out in a rapture, 'How is it possible for people that behold that glorious body to worship any being but Him that created it?'"

When the place of execution was reached, prayers were offered up, and a sermon preached in praise of the Inquisition and in condemnation of all heretics. Those who were not ' converted ' at the stake were told, by the priests, that they were left to the devil who was at their elbow to carry their souls to perdition.

Even at the execution cruelty reigned; for the victims were often slowly burnt to death. This was witnessed also by Dr. Geddes. He says: "The victims were chained to stakes at the height of about four feet from the ground. A quantity of furze that lay round the stakes was set on fire; by a current of wind it was in some cases prevented reaching above the lowest extremities of the body. Some were thus kept in torture for an hour or two, and were actually roasted, not burnt to death." He also adds that such a sight was witnessed by both sexes with marks of joy and satisfaction. This was not because they were cruel naturally, but it was through their zeal for their religion! Can such religion be that of the Lord Jesus?

The Jews and the Moors in Spain.

One of the dark pictures of the Inquisition is the expulsion of the Jews from Granada in Spain. The Moors, while still in possession of this place, were marked out as victims; but it was thought best to commence with the Jews. An order was obtained from the king of Spain � professedly given reluctantly � that all Jews should become Christians or be banished from the country. Both the king and the Inquisitor wanted money, and here was a rich harvest ready for them.

The charge was that the Jews perverted Christians by their superstition, and idle tales were circulated as to the Jews profaning some of the sacred wafers of the Mass.

Four months were given to the Jews to decide what they would do, and to sell their property if they would not become Christians; but it was cunningly added that they must not carry away "gold, silver, money, or other articles prohibited by the laws of the country."

Rabbi Abarbanel, well known to Hebrew scholars, and much respected and formerly employed by the king himself, sought an interview with the king and queen (Ferdinand and Isabella) at the Alhambra. He implored pity on his nation, and offered to lay down as ransom six hundred thousand crowns of gold. Time after time he came and on his knees besought them: "Regard us, O king, use not thy servants so cruelly. Why do thus to thy servants? Rather exact from us our gold and silver, and all that the house of Israel possesses, if we may remain in the country."

It is said that the queen exhorted the king to resist the appeal. Years before she had tried to convert the Jews to Romanism, and now her heart seemed hardened against them.

The king indeed seemed disposed to yield. An offer of so much money was a temptation. He could keep all that would be given in this way, whereas if it came to confiscation, he would only get a share of the spoil.

But the inquisitor, Torquemada, was on the watch. He rushed into the room, and holding up a crucifix, shouted out, "Judas sold the Son of God once for thirty pieces of silver: your highnesses are going to sell Him the second time for thirty thousand. Here He is! Here you have Him! Sell Him if you will!" And then, flinging the crucifix on the table, he left the room in a rage. The Inquisition conquered. Such 'christian' sovereigns could not be unfaithful to the church. The Jews must be expelled.

Torquemada lost no time in carrying out the edict. Preachers were sent over the country offering baptism to the Jews, or, on their refusal, Christians were forbidden to hold any intercourse with them or give them shelter.

An eye-witness thus describes their distress. "Within the term fixed by the edict the Jews sold and disposed of their property for a mere nothing. They went about begging Christians to buy, but found no purchasers. Fine houses and estates were sold for trifles. A house was exchanged for an ass, and a vineyard given for a little cloth or linen. Although forbidden to carry away gold or silver, they secretly took large quantities in their saddles, and in the halters and harness of their loaded beasts They experienced great trouble and suffered indescribable misfortunes on the roads and country they travelled; some falling, others rising; some dying, others coming into the world; some fainting, others attacked with illness; so that there was not a Christian who did not feel for them, and entreat them to be baptised." All their synagogues were left, and these were turned into places for the Mass, without any compensation.

In some respects the treatment of the Moors was more unjust than that of the Jews; for at the surrender of Granada the religion of the Moors was not to be interfered with. It was really the Inquisition which eventually caused the king to break the treaty.

Don Fray Hernando was desirous to see the Moors converted. He was willing to give up a more lucrative office to live among them. His offer was accepted, and he was consecrated archbishop of Granada.

His gentle spirit and spotless life won the Moors. He caused the scriptures to be translated into Arabic for their use, and set to work to learn the language in his old age. The Mahometans heard him willingly, a few at a time being invited to private houses. And all things looked hopeful.

But such ways of spreading the gospel did not please those who surrounded the king and queen. The Moors must be converted at a faster rate, or banished from the country. The remaining king of the Moors must first be got rid of. He had retired to Alpujarra, as agreed, and lived in retirement. One day he was surprised by a visit from his representative, who came with mules laden with eighty thousand ducats. He was coolly told that his estates had been sold for this amount, and he was advised to leave the country with his wealth while he could. Treachery had brought all this about. Overwhelmed with grief, he left Spain.

The inquisitors now worked upon Ferdinand and Isabella to insist on conversion or emigration. This was contrary to the terms of the surrender, but the Romanists declared that it would not be breaking the compact, inasmuch as it would be giving the Moors something better � better for their souls!

The king hesitated, as well he might. He had hoped that the Moors would become Christians; but he had said they were to be instructed and were not to be oppressed on account of their religion. Influence now had to be brought to bear on the king and queen. Francisco Ximenez, archbishop of Toledo, visited the court at Granada and obtained a royal injunction to remain there and promote the great object in view, but was to use forbearance and guard against tumult. He eventually became head of the Inquisition in Spain, but it is not clear as to how far he was connected with that institution at the time he went to Granada.

His first work was to consult with the mild Hernando, and see what had been done. He was shewn the scriptures in the Arabic tongue, ready to be printed, as well as a version of the Missal, etc. Curiously, as it may seem to us, it is said that Ximenez thought that the Moors would despise Christianity if they understood it. Prayers in the known tongue must not be introduced, and he forbad the versions being printed!

He soon shewed how he could make converts. He invited some of their learned men to conferences, presenting them with a creed, and offered them freedom, rewards, and offices if they would accept the first elements of Christianity themselves, and then teach them to others. The plan was successful; in the mosques these learned men were heard advising the people to embrace Christianity. These efforts were quickly responded to, and in a short time Ximenez had three thousand of the Mahometans ready for baptism. He made them walk past him, and he sprinkled them with a bunch of hyssop as they passed!

Those who would not become christian were persecuted, and many were arrested and imprisoned. At length, as one of his agents was leading away a woman to prison, the people were roused, the woman was rescued and the agent killed. Many now flew to arms, and besieged the Alhambra, where Ximenez took refuge, and he would soon have had to surrender. He was now glad of the services of the mild Hernando, who went to the armed men and was well received. They complained that the articles of capitulation had been violated, arrests had been made illegally, and the Koran burnt. By persuasion peace was restored.

Ferdinand and Isabella were alarmed, and justly blamed Ximenez. He hurried to court, and persuaded the king to treat Granada now as a revolting city, and annul all agreements.

In the meantime the Sultan sent an embassy, demanding that his brethren should not be forced into Christianity. The court gave assurance that there was no force used; but added, as Mahometans could not be loyal to a christian king, the people must become Christians, or they would be sent over to Barbary. Every facility was offered them to sell their property, and royal ships were provided for their voyage. As the Sultan was still to be feared, these things were carried out, the Mahometans faring better than the poor Jews, who had no earthly power to protect them.

Great numbers chose to remain in the country, and were baptised; but were Christians only in name; and for years after they were hunted and persecuted by the Inquisition because they were not zealous Romanists.

For instance, a man, seventy-one years old, was arrested upon the accusation of a woman who had lived in his house years before � arrested because neither he nor his children ate pork nor drank wine, and on Saturday nights or Sunday mornings they used to wash their feet! These things were supposed to point out that he was really a Mahometan at heart. He declared that he was baptised when forty-five years of age; before that time he had never eaten pork nor drank wine and had no taste for either. Being a coppersmith by trade, it was needful to wash thoroughly once a week. He was released with a caution, but was arrested again, and made to witness the burning of others.

The Inquisitors continued their persecutions among the Moriscoes, as christian Moors were called, until they were not only converted, as it was called, but dispersed into various parts of the country, no two families being together, so that they should become mixed with the inhabitants, and be entirely under the influence of the Roman religion.

We must not leave this part of the subject without relating that, in after years, the mild Hernando, though he became confessor to the queen, was himself accused by the Inquisition. His principles of moderation were hated, and his influence with the queen feared. Without doubt, he would have been condemned, but that his case was referred to the pope, who in a council absolved him. He had suffered three years of anxiety, and some of his relatives had been arrested. It is said that his name still stands on the Spanish Index of heretics!

Ximenez remained a violent persecutor, and carried on the enormities of the Inquisition with the utmost rigour.

The New Christians, as converted Jews were called, offered to the king six hundred thousand ducats of gold if he would abandon the secret action of the Inquisition, and allow the names of witnesses to be published. But Ximenez at once opposed it, offering also a large sum of money if the king would not yield. Again the Inquisition was victorious.

Ximenez did not forget that many had fled from Spain to avoid the Inquisition, and had taken refuge in the small state of Oran on the coast of Africa, living in a measure of peace and security. He fitted up ships and embarked at the head of fourteen thousand men, to exterminate the heretics, and soon returned victorious What deeds for one who should have cared for and fed the flock of Christ; for he was still archbishop of Toledo. The Inquisition was established at Oran to deal with all fugitives for the future.

Again and again this man outstepped all bounds of moderation, and protests were frequently made to the king that he was usurping the place of the magistrates in civil causes as well as in church matters; and the king was compelled to check the violent priest as well as he could, for he really had but little power over the Inquisition.

At length Ximenez was made cardinal and head of the Inquisition in Spain, and, on the death of Ferdinand, was regent of Castile. He resisted the pope, and strove to revive the Inquisition into its full power; but was checked by Charles I. (Charles V. as emperor of Germany), and ordered to retire to his archbishopric, where, in enmity with the masses and ill at ease with the church, he died, being eighty years of age (November 8th, 1517).

This is the same Cardinal Ximenez who caused the Complutensian Bible to be printed at great cost. It included the Greek Testament � the first printed (but not the first published). This is to his honour, and has caused some to speak of him as the "learned, liberal, munificent Cardinal Ximenez de Cisneros."

On the other hand, it has been collated from the records that he added some 50,000 victims to those who suffered by the agency of the Inquisition! He is a remarkable instance of zeal, but not according to knowledge. What good such a man might have done had he known the ways of the Lord more perfectly, and have had the cause of Christ at heart, instead of serving so zealously the corrupt church of Rome.

Bartolom� Carranza.

God allowed some who had been prominent in enforcing the rules of the Inquisition to fall themselves under the same power. It was quite right that they should know by experience that which they had made others feel so forcibly. Bartolom� Carranza is a case in point. He was a learned man, filled a chair of philosophy, and also became doctor of theology, and was made examiner to the Inquisition at Valladolid.

Many a case had he examined and scrutinised; and for his zeal and learning was chosen preacher at many an 'Auto-de-F�.' He preached at the first burning in the city of Valladolid, and saw the patient triumph of a Lutheran over the fear of death, and heard his words, "Do you envy me my happiness?"

In the days of queen Mary of England, Carranza came to England, and laboured incessantly, "convincing heretics and confirming waverers." He assisted also at the condemnation of Cranmer and Martin Bucer. How strange that such an one should himself be suspected of heresy!

He returned to Spain and was chosen archbishop of Toledo, the highest ecclesiastical dignity in Spain. This could but offend those who had hoped to fill that office. It was now called to remembrance that at the Council of Trent, Carranza had insisted that bishops should be compelled to reside in their dioceses. This, too, gave great offence, which was not soon forgotten.

The archbishop published some commentaries on the Apostles' Creed, Lord's Prayer, etc., and these were welcomed by all � except that some at once set to work to discover anything that could be found to condemn the writer. Some thought they could see traces of Lutheranism on the subject of Justification. Inquiries were now diligently made as to all that he had been heard to preach. One had heard him preach before the king in London, where he had spoken of justification by living faith, just as a Lutheran would have preached.

Others had heard him say that the sins of a Christian were as if they had never been, since Christ had made atonement for them all. He had also been heard to exhort the emperor Charles V. when dying to trust to the merits of Christ alone; charges one is glad to hear amid so much darkness.

We thus see incidentally that there was one here and there in the Romish church who knew and taught the way of salvation truly.

These sayings, with a few similar ones, were laid before the heads of the Inquisition, who resolved to proceed against the archbishop. The pope (Paul V.) signed a brief to make him a prisoner. The king was appealed to, and he also assented, but asked that the archbishop's dignity should be respected. Carranza was informed by the king of the suspicions against him, but he seemed to expect nothing more than a severe censure.

It was not considered decent to arrest an archbishop at his palace, so the king requested his sister Juana, who governed Spain in his absence, to invite the archbishop to Valladolid, under the plea of meeting the king there. He was to come as soon as possible, without waiting for his usual cortege, and everything for his public appearance should be provided for him!

The archbishop set out on his journey, stopping at certain places to hold confirmations. Everything was allowed that would lull suspicion.

At Fuente del Sax, a friend called him aside and told him of the rumour that he was about to be arrested. He replied that it was incredible, for the princess herself had invited him. He could call God to witness that he had not fallen into error.

The archbishop had not proceeded far when he found the rumour was only too true: orders had been given for his arrest. If he had attempted to fly now, it would have been taken as a proof of guilt. More than a hundred men had been sworn in to assist if needful so that escape would have been almost impossible.

At Tordelaguna he was allowed to fulfil his duties as archbishop, while those about to arrest him got all things ready. Rodrigo de Castro had taken the message from the princess and had travelled with him, and on Sunday night (August 27th, 1560 or 1561), after supping with the archbishop, had retired on the plea of fatigue. On finding all things were ready, he returned and bade the master of the house where the archbishop lodged to have all the doors unfastened by daybreak.

During the night the governor of the place, and other officials were arrested � none daring to resist the holy office � to prevent any attempt at rescue. They then proceeded to the residence of the archbishop; went upstairs, and knocked at the ante-room where an attendant friar slept. "Who calls?" said the friar. "Open to the holy office," was the reply. The same reply was given at the archbishop's door. "Is Don Diego Ramirez there?" was asked (he was an inquisitor of Toledo). On being told that he was there, the door was at once opened.

Rodrigo entered first and begged the pardon of the archbishop.

Then the Alguacil (arresting officer) said, "Most illustrious senor, I am commanded by the holy office to make you prisoner," and an order was produced from the Inquisitor General.

The archbishop replied that he was subject to the pope and to no other person.

Don Diego stepped forward and produced the brief of the pope. On its being read, the archbishop at once surrendered himself a prisoner. During the next night he was set on a mule and brought to Valladolid.

Here they proceeded to examine him, but he refused to answer. He appealed to the pope. They produced the pope's brief; but that, he said, could not apply to him, for he was not in Spain at the time it was issued. That spoke of "archbishops or other prelates in Spain."

Delay followed delay, and in the meantime the council of Trent (which was sitting at the time) in spite of the protest of the king, appointed a commission to examine the commentaries of the archbishop, and they reported favourably of them. Indeed, it became a question of power � was the court of Rome to rule, or the king and the Inquisition?

At length the pope (now Pius V.) ordered the prisoner to be sent to Rome. The inquisitors could not altogether resist this, but delayed it as long as they could, and actually required security for his re-appearance as their prisoner! He had been a prisoner six years and a quarter before he embarked for Rome, in April, 1567. Some inquisitors sailed with him, to make the most of their case before the pope and his council. But the pope died in 1572, leaving Carranza a prisoner.

Gregory XIII. succeeded, and the case was again gone into, and at length the archbishop was (in April, 1576) set at liberty, after an imprisonment of some sixteen years. He abjured Lutheran articles, and then said Mass as a token of reconciliation with the church; but he was not restored as archbishop; indeed, he was now too old and infirm.

At Rome the Spanish inquisitors were to be seen standing behind the chairs of the cardinals, much mortified at the rebuffs they received; whereas in Spain they had reigned supreme, none daring to question a word they said, or anything that they did.

The story of Carranza gives a vivid picture of how those who abandon the path of truth and justice are at times made to feel the evils they bring to bear on others.

It is recorded that Gregory XIII. placed an inscription over the tomb of Carranza, describing him as a prelate, "illustrious for his birth, his life, his doctrine, his preaching, and his charity." Whereas the Inquisition entered him in the Index of condemnation for his writings: an Index remarkable, inasmuch as it contains the name of Thomas Cranmer, placed there, it is believed, by Carranza himself, who little dreamt that one day his own name would be in the same Index.

In this case we also see a clear proof of the want of unity in the Romish church: one branch of it condemned a man as a heretic, and another branch declared his doctrine to be sound; and at the same time men, clothed with power, were using it in the most shameless way to carry out their own ambitious purposes. Of true Christianity there is not a trace in this persecution.

The Inquisition in India.

A short notice of the Inquisition in Travancore and Malabar must not be omitted, because of the Syrian Christians who were living there, and who claimed to have come from Antioch, and to have had a succession of bishops appointed from thence.

On the Portuguese arriving in the country they were surprised to find upwards of a hundred christian churches; and, as the pope claimed universal supremacy, the Roman catholics said, "These churches belong to the pope;" but the Syrian Christians asked, "Who is the pope? we never heard of him."

They afterwards discovered that the Inquisition had been established at Goa, an island near by, and they could not be allowed to be Christians separated from Rome. A council was called, and one hundred and fifty of the Syrian clergy attended. They were charged with the following. "They had married wives; they owned but two sacraments, baptism and the Lord's supper; they neither invoked saints nor worshipped images, nor believed in purgatory; and they had no other orders or names of dignity in the church than priest and deacon."

Rome could not allow such christian simplicity as this, and all were ordered to abjure these things, or be suspended. Those near the sea coast reluctantly gave way, but refused to pray in Latin, and persisted in retaining their own language and liturgy. The pope gave way as to the language; and their liturgy, after being 'amended,' was allowed. Those in the interior avoided as far as possible giving way to Rome, and maintained at least a measure of their simplicity.

Goa became a centre of Roman catholicism for India: it had its cathedral, numerous churches, and all the machinery connected with that false system. The Inquisition was in full operation, and existed till as late as 1812, when it was abolished by the request of the British government.

A Frenchman � M. Dellon � who was a prisoner of the Inquisition at Goa, having providentially escaped, published an account of the place of confinement, and of his sufferings. He had incurred the displeasure of a black priest and of a man in authority on the coast of Hindostan; and, having rather freely expressed himself on some of the gross superstitions of Romanism, was seized, put into irons, and shipped off to Goa.

It was January 16th, 1674, when he was led, with other prisoners, to the house of the Inquisition. His chains were taken off, and he was led into a room called "the board of the Holy Office." The Grand Inquisitor of the Indies sat at one end of a long table and a notary at the other.

Dellon, hoping to soften his judge, fell on his knees, but was told to rise. He was asked if he knew the reason of his arrest, and was advised to make a full confession as the only way to obtain an early release. Dellon caught at the idea of release, and told his tale, amid tears and protestations, and again fell on his knees. The Inquisitor rang a silver bell, and an attendant led Dellon away into a gallery, where his trunk was searched, and everything taken from him. He was then led to a cell about ten feet square, and left there by himself. In the evening he had his first meal, which he ate heartily, and afterwards fell asleep. In the morning he learnt that he could not have a book, not even a Breviary: there was no form of religion for those in the cells. His hair was cut short, so that "he did not need a comb."

The cells were arranged in galleries, and four warders were in each gallery. Each cell had two doors. The inner one was grated at the bottom, and open at the top, through which the food was passed. The outer door was opened from six in the morning until eleven (at night we suppose). This was needful in that country, unless it was intended to smother them.

The prisoners had three meals a day � a wholesome but spare diet; physicians attended to the sick; but no confessor attended to the dying: all were treated as heretics.

Silence was strictly enforced. If one of the prisoners dared to utter a cry or offered an audible prayer to God, the warder would run to his cell and beat him cruelly, that the others might fear.

Once in two months the Inquisitor, with a secretary and interpreter, would visit each cell, ask if the prisoner wanted anything, was his food supplied regularly, or had he any complaint against the warders; but woe to the prisoner who complained of the warders, for he was quite at their mercy afterwards. Notes were carefully taken of anything that could be used against the prisoners.

The prisoners were told that they could always have an audience by telling one of the warders. Dellon did thus several times, but had to wait fifteen days before it was granted. When in the presence of the Inquisitor, he was made to lay his hand on a Missal and swear to secrecy, and to tell them the truth. He told them all the unguarded expressions that he had used, as far as he could remember. The Inquisitor told him he had done well in accusing himself so willingly; exhorted him in the name of Jesus Christ to complete his accusation fully, that he might experience the goodness and mercy which that tribunal exercised towards those who shewed true repentance and unforced confession. His confession was read over to him, and he signed. Then he was led back to his dungeon.

In about a fortnight he was again examined. He was told to repeat the Paternoster, Hail Mary, the Creed, commandments of God, commandments of the church, and the Salve Regina. He did all this well, and to their satisfaction. He was then exhorted to confess more without delay, and then conducted back to his cell.

Now his heart sickened. What more could he confess when he had confessed all? In despair, he endeavoured to starve himself, but they forced him to take food. He shed tears day and night. At length he bethought himself of prayer, and he prayed earnestly to the blessed Virgin, who he had been taught was the most merciful and the most ready to send help.

At the end of a month he obtained another audience and confessed that he remembered speaking against the Inquisition; but he was told that this was not what they wanted, and he was sent back to his cell.

He was now filled with despair. He feigned sickness, and was bled several times, and each time dragged off the bandages when alone, in the hopes of bleeding to death. But death fled from him. A Franciscan came to confess him; who tried to comfort him, and begged the Inquisitor to let him have a fellow prisoner. A negro, accused of magic, was sent as a companion; but after five months he was removed, when Dellon again fell into dire despair. He was found one day weltering in his blood and insensible. Restoratives were used, and his wounds bound up. On his restoration he was carried into the presence of the Inquisitor, and lying there � for he could not stand � he was reproached and then ordered to be put into irons. On this being tried, he became so furious that they were compelled to remove the fetters.

After this his examinations were different, for he defended his doctrines as a good catholic from quotations from the Council of Trent and from the scriptures; but this only discovered the ignorance of the Inquisitor. That dignitary had never heard of the scripture that Dellon quoted to prove, as he thought, the doctrine of baptismal regeneration "Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God." Nor was he acquainted with a passage in the decrees of the Council of Trent which declares that images are only to be reverenced on account of the persons whom they represent. The Inquisitor called for a Bible and a copy of the Acts of the Council, and was surprised to find that the passages quoted were actually there.

After a time the monotony and silence of the prison were changed; for now Dellon heard every morning the shrieks of persons under torture, and he afterwards saw many of them, both men and women, who had been lamed or distorted by the rack.

On Sunday, January 11, 1676 � he had now been there two years � he was surprised by the warder declining to receive his linen to be washed, as was usual. He also heard the cathedral bell rung for vespers and matins, which was also unusual. He wondered what was about to happen. They brought him his supper, but he refused it; and to his surprise, instead of insisting that he must have it as usual, they took it away.

He had repeatedly been threatened when before the Inquisitor that he should be burnt, and now he feared that the time had come. He gave himself up for lost, but about midnight he fell asleep.

He had not slept long before he was roused by the noise of an attendant and some warders. They brought a lamp, the first that had shone in that cell since he had been there, and some clothes. He was told to dress himself in the clothes, and be ready when wanted. He put on the trousers and vest � black, striped with white and with bare feet walked out when called.

He was one of about two hundred victims who were made to sit on the floor in a long gallery. dismally lighted up by a few lamps. A number of women were also sitting in another gallery. All were filled with the deepest gloom, none knowing what their fate would be.

In a room not far distant Dellon saw another company, differently dressed, among whom were confessors walking.

About four o'clock servants and warders came and offered bread and figs to the victims. Dellon refused to have any; but the man advised him to have some, saying, "Take your bread; and if you cannot eat it now, put it in your pocket; you will certainly be hungry before you come back." Come back! those words thrilled and cheered him somewhat; for he judged now that he was not to be burnt!

A little before sunrise, the great bell of the cathedral began to toll, and the people of the place ran to see the procession and to line the streets. When it became daylight, and Dellon could see his fellow prisoners, he distinguished about a dozen Europeans among them: the rest were natives of India.

As they approached the door their names were read out, and one of the chief inhabitants of the place was called to attend each prisoner as sponsor. "The General of the Portuguese ships in the Indies" placed himself beside Dellon.

The procession wended its way to the church of St. Francis, the sharp flint stones of the roads cutting many a wound in the feet of the pilgrims. Some were now seen to be dressed differently, their garments being covered with painted flames and devils � these were doomed to be burnt.

A sermon was preached by the provincial of the Augustines. Dellon noted only one sentence of the sermon. It compared the Inquisition to Noah's ark, which had received all sorts of beasts wild, but had sent them out tame! Whatever the poor victims had been before their imprisonment, there could be no doubt as to their being tame now!

The sermon over, the names of the prisoners were read over, with their accusations and their punishments. Dellon's indictment was that he had maintained the invalidity of the baptismos flaminis, or desire to be baptised when there was no one to administer the rite. He had said that images ought not to be adored; and he had called an ivory crucifix a piece of ivory. He had spoken contemptuously of the Inquisition; and above all he had an ill intention. His punishment was a confiscation of his property, banishment from India, and five years' service in the galleys in Portugal, with such penance as the Inquisitor might enjoin.

Dellon's sponsor, who would not speak to him before, now embraced him and called him brother.

On this occasion there were but two to be burnt alive, and four dead bodies (strangled before being burnt, is supposed), and some effigies of the dead; all convicted of heresy must be burnt.

Dellon was sent to Lisbon and worked in a gang of convicts; but by the intervention of the French government he was liberated.

We fear Dellon was not a Christian, and was apparently a fair sort of catholic. He would no doubt never have been molested if he had not, at the first, incurred the hatred of those in authority. But alas! what sort of shepherds were they who could treat such a one in this way! And surely such treatment would have the tendency to make men hate a religion that could only carry on its warfare by the dungeon, the torture, and the flames.

His treatment, bad as it was, was really mild in comparison to what others had to endure. If a catholic was served in this way, how would a simple believer have been treated, who could not have repeated the Hail Mary, etc.!

In the case of M. Dellon the French authorities were not so prompt as they might have been; being catholics, they were perhaps loth to interfere with what the heads of their own religion were doing. Not so the English; for in the seventeenth century, when the English had but some factories in India, the following case occurred.

A Capuchin missioner, named Father Euphrem, arrived at Madras on his way to Pegu, and the English requested him to remain at Madras. They promised him entire liberty in respect to the Roman religion, and to preach and minister to the catholics already settled there. He agreed, and formed an establishment which was afterwards protected by the English Company.

In a sermon this father pointed out the great difference between the worship that should be rendered to the Sovereign Creator, and the honour paid to Mary, who is but a creature. Thereupon some Portuguese accused him before the Inquisition at Goa of having preached against the Mother of God!

The Jesuits, who were secretly Inquisitors also, managed very cleverly to seize the preacher and carry him off to Goa, distant from Madras about two hundred leagues, where he was soon imprisoned in one of the cells.

The English, justly shocked at such a proceeding, undertook to release him. One of their vessels dropped anchor off Goa, and eight or ten determined fellows, well armed, presented themselves at the gate of the Inquisition. Two of them kept guard at the gate, and the others, sword in hand, boldly demanded the Inquisitors to give up instantly Father Euphrem, or they would run them through. He was quickly set at liberty, and carried back to Madras.

In 1808, Dr. Buchanan visited Goa, and found the Inquisition was in existence there, and victims still being persecuted. He was not allowed to visit their dungeons, and his presence was evidently not desirable. He shewed the Inquisitor the above account by M. Dellon, and the Inquisitor could not but own its general accuracy.

But how refreshing to find amid the profound gloom of the dark ages that there was at Malabar and its neighbourhood a company of Christians who had never heard of the pope, and who had maintained, at least to a great extent, the purity and simplicity of Christianity.

Spanish America.

In A.D. 1501 pope Alexander VI. made a pecuniary concession to Ferdinand and Isabella, on consideration that it was their desire "to acquire and recover the islands and countries of the Indies" � South America included � "in order that in them, every condemned sect being cut down, the Most High might be worshipped and revered."

This was followed by "Inquisitors of the Indies and islands of the ocean" being appointed. The Christians in America were not simply fugitives from Europe; many of the natives had been compelled by the Spaniards to be baptised. Of course they were Christians in name only, and still held their heathen feasts when able to do so. On the Inquisition interfering, many of these natives withdrew, renounced Christianity, and joined other native tribes.

The Spanish viceroys had to write home and declare that the place was being ruined by the interference of the Inquisition with the natives, and orders were now sent that the Inquisitors were to deal only with Europeans and their descendants.

This was very galling to the zealous Inquisitors, and they appealed to Philip II. of Spain, who had feasted his eyes on the martyrdoms in England and in Spain. In reply, he ordered that the Inquisition should now have more settled stations. One was installed in Panama (June, 1569), another at Lima (January, 1570), and another at Mexico (August, 1570), with substations in other places,

In 1574, the year that the conqueror of Mexico, Hernan Cort�s, died, the first Auto de F� was held at Mexico with all the pomp available. An Englishman and a Frenchman were burned as impenitent Lutherans. Eighty others were at the same time otherwise punished.

Doubtless many who were persecuted in Europe for their faith, cast their eyes to the various colonies as places of refuge; but every precaution was taken by Spain that no such refugees should be found in her colonies. Thus Philip III. ordered: "That no one newly converted to our holy faith, from being Moor or Jew, or his child, shall pass over into our Indies without our express licence." He also ordered, "that no one who has been reconciled, nor the child or grandchild of any one who has publicly worn a sambenito [garment of the condemned], nor the child nor grandchild of a person burnt or condemned as a heretic . . . . shall pass over to the Indies, under penalty of loss of goods . .. . and his person to be placed at our mercy, to be perpetually banished from our Indies; and if he have no property, let them give him one hundred lashes publicly."

Jews were in no way spared by the Inquisition. In a volume published at Mexico, the Inquisitors say they had "celebrated two particular Acts of Faith in the past years, 1646 and 1647, in which, with all attention and good order, were despatched, and went forth to public theatre, seventy-one causes; the greater part of them Jews, observant of the dead and detestable law of Moses!" In 1648 another Act of Faith was held, in which twenty-eight persons were marched to church to be preached to, and then taken back to prison; "and the day following the justice of lashes was executed;" the Inquisitors looking forward to "a more numerous and general Act, for exultation and glory of our holy Catholic faith, punishment and warning of her enemies, edification and instruction of the faithful."

Many painful incidents are recorded. Let one suffice. A Frenchman, Louis Ram�, relates that he saw fourteen protestant European officers taken into custody at Vera Cruz by the Inquisitors. They were solicited to deny their faith. Five who refused were carried to the stake, strangled and burnt. Nine endeavoured to purchase life by renouncing their religion. They were baptised, flattered, and feasted publicly the next day; but on the evening of that same day the perfidious Inquisitors ordered them all to be hanged. Eight died on the scaffold, but the rope broke of the ninth � one, John Morgan � and he escaped. This was declared to be a miracle wrought by God to prove that he was "a good Catholic!"

An extract from a brief of pope Clement XI., dated August, 1709, respecting the word of God, must not be omitted. It was directed to the Inquisitor-general of Spain.

"It has come to the knowledge of our apostleship, that the Holy Bible, translated into an American dialect, has lately been printed in the city of London, according to the depraved doctrine and corrupt sense of Protestants, under whose care and management it is brought to light, for the purpose of being circulated in America. Now if the circulation takes effect, as the heretics desire, it is easy to conjecture what danger will be done to the faithful, to whom the food of holy scripture, sprinkled and infected with much poison, shall be presented under the name of spiritual nourishment. . . . Resolve then that nothing shall be left undone by you that may be necessary to cut short the circulation of depraved books of this kind in America, where not even importation of them should be allowed, lest they be circulated among the faithful."

Thus did Rome seek to exterminate everything that differed from it, and not in Europe only, but in India and South America, doing all it could to hinder the circulation of God's word, which, as we have seen, was too pure a light to be endured by those who loved darkness, yea, even the gross darkness of the dark ages.

God did not allow the above state of things in the South-west to continue. The people longed to be free from the thraldom in which they were held; and though civil and political freedom may have been the chief aim of many, God overruled it to deliver the inhabitants from the power of Rome.

The people clamoured for independence; but the Romish clergy expended the wealth of their churches to keep up the link with old Spain. Ammunition was stored in the houses of priests and bishops, but only to fall into the hands of the inhabitants: and soon the clergy had to fly for their lives; one died, in consequence of his sufferings, in banishment; another had to flee through deep forests and trackless wilds; one lost his reason; another was in prison. Strange reverses for those who had lived in luxury, and had reigned as kings. Mexico rebelled against the viceroy in 1816, and gained its independence in 1821.

Thus did God take from Spain those colonies, from which she, with Rome, sought to keep the holy scriptures, and in which they desired only the supremacy of their false religion, destroying by their prisons and the stake all who would not sanction their pretensions.

The Inquisition Abolished.

To complete our sketch, we add a few words on the abolishing of the Inquisition, though it falls beyond our appointed date.

Napoleon Bonaparte had carried his victories into Spain, and entered Chamartin, a village about a league from Madrid. He established his head-quarters there, and sent his troops to take the capital, and to demand the submission of all public bodies. The Inquisition alone refused. Napoleon wrote on a slip of paper to arrest the Inquisitors, abolish the Inquisition, and sequestrate the revenue. Some escaped, and others were arrested and carried prisoners to Bayonne. Thus was accomplished by the stroke of the pen what some of the best kings of Spain would gladly have done, had they had the power.

Attempts were afterwards made to re-establish the Inquisition, and it was in a measure restored; but it never regained its former power. True members of the Roman catholic church declared it to be inconsistent with the liberties of the people.

The Inquisition was strongest in Spain, Portugal, and Italy. In other places, including England, it was never really established, and as the dark ages passed away before the light of the Reformation, it became extinct everywhere � perhaps lasting the longest in Italy. The date given for the last person burnt by the Inquisition is 1781, though its power was not abolished till 1820.

It has been attempted to shew that among all religions there has been persecution, and in a measure this is true. Protestantism is certainly not free from the charge. But while this is true, it is also certain that in no other religion was there such a system of injustice, tyranny, and secret persecution as existed in the Inquisition, nor anything approaching to it. We have given a few instances of the way in which it was worked, and of some who fell under it. The way in which its victims were tortured � with distinct rules as to how far this was to go for both males and females, often little short of death � is far too dreadful to find a place in our pages. And all this is not what is said of it by its enemies, but what may be gathered from the rules laid down by the various heads of the Inquisition for their subordinates.

If any one still asks for a proof of the existence of "Dark Ages," let the Inquisition be pointed to as one of the darkest blots on that which called itself the church of Christ. Discipline must of course be exercised in the church, and a wicked person must be put out but how contrary is the conduct of the Inquisition, in taking men's lives, to the rebuke of our Lord to His disciples, who asked if they should call down fire from heaven to consume the Samaritans who would not receive our Lord on His way to Jerusalem: "Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of. For the Son of man is not come to destroy men's lives, but to save them." (Luke ix. 56.) How true as to the period we are considering is God's sentence on this spiritual Babylon: "In her was found the blood of prophets, and of saints, and of all that were slain upon the earth." Dire will be the fall of that system, and sore the punishment of its leaders.

Chapter 12.

The Waldenses.

Here can be no doubt that God has had in the church at all times some � few or many as the case may have been � who were true witnesses for Christ and His truth, at least according to the light they had. It is true that they cannot always be traced, at least at this distance of time, but this in no way denies their existence.

Another thing to be remarked is, that as the church of Rome became more and more corrupt, the persons condemned by that corrupt church were most probably the true followers of Christ. This was remarkably so with the Waldenses.

In the various histories these bore different names, as we shall see, and it is not possible now to discover the real origin of some of those names. If the term "Waldenses" came from Peter Waldo of Lyons, others holding similar doctrines were in existence long before this, and must have been known by other names.

Another term is "Vaudois," which has been traced by some simply to signify, "valley dwellers," because some holding similar truths inhabited the valleys of the Pyrenees.

"Albigenses" is another name, from the city of Albi, and the district Albigeois, between the Garonne and the Rhone, where there were, at one time, many of the same people.

There is much obscurity as to these devout people before the time of Waldo. It is most probable that those who had doubts as to the church of Rome being the true church, and who held the truths of Christianity, remained in communion with that church, and so in a great measure escaped detection and punishment.

An inquisitor, Reinerius Saccho, who lived only eighty years after Waldo, speaks of men, like to the Waldenses, flourishing some five hundred years before the time of that preacher. This is all the more to be rejoiced at, seeing that it proves that God had His secret faithful ones, long before they became sufficiently prominent to provoke persecution.

Peter Waldo was an opulent merchant of Lyons. The gospel had been faithfully preached there in early days, and some remains of its tidings may have been handed down to the then inhabitants, though, in general, Lyons had sunk along with the mass of Christendom.

What is reported to have raised suspicion in the mind of Waldo was, that about the year 1160 the doctrine of transubstantiation came into prominence (though not established as a formal dogma till the time of Innocent III., 1198-1216), and all men were commanded to receive it. Along with this went the falling down and worshipping the Host. This appeared to Waldo to be a species of idolatry, and he felt called upon to oppose it as a gross corruption, but without any thought of separating from the church of Rome.

It is doubtful whether at this time Peter was a true Christian, though he had light enough to see that the above was an innovation. However, God, in His providence, gave him a severe shock. He sat one evening after supper with a party of friends, in cheerful intercourse, when one of the company suddenly fell to the floor a corpse. Peter was startled with the thought of the uncertainty of life: was he prepared? Under the terrors of an awakened conscience, he sought instruction and comfort from the scriptures. But the Bible was only available in the Latin Vulgate. Either he, or some one for him or with him, must translate it into French; and therein he saw what was God's remedy for a guilty conscience, and he found salvation.

As is usual with all true conversions, Peter could not keep his good news to himself, with souls all around him perishing for the lack of knowledge. He gave up his business and sought to do good by distributing his wealth; but when the poor came to him for alms, he would tell them also of the enduring riches of Christ. He obtained copies of the four gospels in French and distributed them, and then sought to explain their meaning. "His kindness to the poor being diffused," says Matthias Illyrius, "his love of teaching and their love of learning growing stronger and stronger, greater crowds came to him, to whom he expounded the scriptures."

To the honour of Waldo, it is recorded that he was the first to put forth the scriptures in one of the modern tongues, wherein men and women could read for themselves what God had written, and compare and weigh what the church was teaching: a blessing that surely cannot be overestimated.

As Waldo became better acquainted with the scriptures, he could not help seeing � as we think all true disciples, desirous of being taught, must see that there was in the scriptures that which totally condemned much of what the church of Rome was teaching, and there was also much in the scripture that the church never attempted to teach at all. He had therefore two things to do: first, to learn and then make known what scripture taught; and secondly, to hold up for condemnation everything that did not agree with the word of God.

This unequivocally condemned much that the church of Rome taught, and exposed many things that its clergy practised. These things could not long be hid from the authorities of church. The archbishop of Lyons threatened him with excommunication and prosecution, as a heretic, if he did not cease his teaching. Waldo declared boldly that he could not be silent on what concerned the salvation of his fellow-creatures.

It was then attempted to arrest him; but he had so many friends in Lyons, both rich and poor � persons whom he had been the means of leading to the Saviour � that be was hidden by them in the city for the space of three years.

Tidings at length reached the pope, Alexander III., who at once anathematised Waldo, and ordered the archbishop to proceed against him with the utmost severity. The preacher was now compelled to leave the city, but many of those who had benefitted by his preaching left too, and this was the means of further spreading the glad tidings wherever these fugitives went.

Waldo himself went to Dauphiny and, with great success, spread the truths he had learned from the scriptures. But he was again obliged to fly, and he went to Picardy: from thence he went to Germany, and eventually to Bohemia, where he laboured, and then peacefully ended his days in the year 1179: he had laboured faithfully for nearly twenty years.

May we not say that he was a forerunner of the reformers? except that we do not read that he separated from the church of Rome. He was driven out by persecution, if he really was separate. But how simple the process of his career! He read the Bible: he learnt the truth: he saw that the way of salvation was not being taught by the church, so he would teach it: he saw that much that the church put forth was either not mentioned in scripture, or was condemned therein, and he would expose its errors. God had indeed raised him up for this good work, and his labours were abundantly blessed, as we shall see.

Many of those taught by Waldo fled to the valleys of Piedmont, where it was hoped they might find a safe asylum. They carried with them the new translation of the Bible. We shall see how they multiplied, and how bitterly they were persecuted by the church of Rome.

In the meantime, the same blessed truths of God's word spread elsewhere. People had friends and relatives, among whom the glad tidings were carried, as well as among traders visiting Lyons. Persecution followed them wherever they were discovered. The bishops of Mentz and Strasburg were very zealous. Thirty-five citizens of Mentz were burned in one fire at Bingen, and eighteen at Mentz itself. Eighty persons were burned to death at Strasburg. It was a renewal of the martyrdom of the second century; but it was worse, for now it was those who professed to be the church putting to death their fellow Christians! This, too, was only the few drops of rain that fell before the deluge of persecution which fell upon the faithful afterwards. How true is the description in holy writ, we again repeat: "In her was found the blood of prophets, and of saints, and of all that were slain upon the earth." (Rev. xviii. 24.)

It is not to be wondered at that, when the above-named disciples were driven from place to place, and found for a time a resting-place in the valleys of Piedmont, they should feel themselves driven out of the church of Rome, and should in no way be anxious to renew the connection. Doubtless, too, further light was vouchsafed them as to the true nature of the contest between truth and error, culminating in the only true conclusion, that the church of Rome could not be the true church, though, of course, there might be true saints in it.

Let us, however, see what their enemies said of them. Pope Lucius III. issued a decree against heretics, A.D. 1181. As usual, several were classed together: it said, "We declare all Catharists, Paterines, and those who call themselves 'the Poor of Lyons;' the Pasagines, Josephists, Arnoldists, to lie under a perpetual anathema." The people we are now considering are here called "the Poor of Lyons:" it was those taught at Lyons by Peter Waldo, or those who held the same doctrines. We might, however, take a glance at the titles of others here condemned.

"Catharists" is from a Greek word katharos, pure, and it is a similar term to our word "Puritan." It is not clear to whom the term applied at this date. It might be hurled against all who spoke against the impurities of the church of Rome, though it is supposed by some that it applied to some heretical sect that existed at that time.

"Paterines." The origin of this word is not known; but it was applied generally to denote any who were separated in spirit or in fact from the church of Rome.

"Pasagines" were a sect of the twelfth century, who held that the Jewish rites, except the sacrifices since the destruction of Jerusalem, were binding on Christians. They were also Arians.

"Josephists" cannot now be traced.

"Arnoldists" were the followers of Arnold of Brescia, a young priest, whose only crime was protesting against the abuses and corruptions of the church, and seeking to reform them. He was hunted from place to place, but, in 1155, the emperor, Frederick I., was seeking the friendship of the pope, and this was promised if Arnold was given up to the pope. The emperor yielded, and the reformer was strangled, his body burnt, and his ashes thrown into the Tiber.

It will be seen that it was very unfair to class all these together in one common condemnation. But it was enough if any were found to question the teaching of Rome: she could bear no rivals, good or bad; and she could bear no scrutiny: all must be silenced. It will be seen, too, that such an edict would condemn all dissentients: if the accused did not belong to any of those well-defined companies, it was enough if he dissented from the church of Rome: that was a crime.

We will, however, look at some of the things specially named in this papal decree. A perpetual anathema rested on all who preached publicly or privately without the authority of the apostolic see.

All who held or taught anything concerning the sacrament of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, baptism, the remission of sins, matrimony, or any other sacraments of the church, contrary to the teaching of the church of Rome.

All such the church of Rome held to be heretics.

It will be seen that the holy scriptures are not named. The church of Rome was to be supreme and without a rival: all who differed were heretics. The above named items are called "crimes" and must be put down.

We will now look at a more definite charge against the opponents of the church of Rome, and one in which the Waldenses are specially named. It is by Reinerius Saccho. He had been associated with the Waldenses, but had returned to the church of Rome, and been made an Inquisitor and had become their deadly enemy.

He said that the Waldenses deemed themselves to be the true church, and held that the church of Rome was the harlot of Revelation xvii.

They denied that any true miracles were wrought in the church.

They held that no ordinances of the church introduced since the ascension of Christ were of any value, and should not be observed,

They rejected the feasts, fasts, orders, blessings, etc., of the church of Rome.

They spoke against consecrated churches, churchyards, etc., as inventions of covetous priests to augment their gains.

Some of them held that the baptism of infants was of no avail, because they could not believe.

They rejected the sacrament of confirmation, and instead thereof their teachers laid their hands on the disciples.

They did not believe the body and blood of Christ to be in the sacrament, but only blessed bread, which by a figure only is called the body of Christ.

They said that a priest who was a sinner could not bind or loose any one, being bound himself; and that any good or intelligent layman might absolve another and impose penance.

They rejected extreme unction.

They held it to be an unpardonable sin to betray a heretic.

They held there was no purgatory, and that prayers for the dead were of no use. Offerings made for the dead were only for the clergyman.

They derided all the festivals held in honour of the saints, and worked on holy days.

They did not observe Lent or other fasts.

They did not receive the Old Testament.

They taught such as were eligible among them to commit to memory the words of scripture, so that they might teach others.

Not only the men, but the women also taught among them � privately, it is supposed, by what is said elsewhere.

The same writer charges them with practising uncleanness instead of marriage, and in the book he wrote against them, he says: "Of all the sects that have risen up against the church of Rome, the Waldenses have been the most prejudicial and pernicious, inasmuch as their opposition has been of very long continuance."

It is not now possible to tell what is meant by their not receiving the Old Testament. They had most probably only the New Testament in French and could not read the Latin. Their own documents prove that they did not reject the Old Testament. Neither can it be known what is intended by their despising marriage. It may be that Saccho treated their marriage as null in the sight of the church of Rome, there being no Romish priest among them to celebrate it.

There is also abundant testimony, that their only fault in the eyes of the Roman Catholics was that they judged that church to be impure, and its priests not to be followed.

The king of France was again and again informed of the evil doings of the Waldenses, and was requested to persecute them. He sent more than one person into their midst to learn the truths of these reports, but the replies were always in favour of the Waldenses, except as to their judgment of the church of Rome.

Thus Louis XII. (A.D. 1498-1515) sent his confessor and another to gather information on the spot as to the true state of these people. The archbishop of Ambrun pressed these commissioners to condemn the Waldenses, that he might obtain the goods that would be confiscated. But the commissioners were too upright for this, and the confessor declared before a number of his friends, that he wished that he himself was as good a Christian as the worst in the valley he had visited.

Another describes those he visited, thus "Their clothing is of the skins of sheep, they have no linen. Their houses are built of flint stone, having a flat roof covered with mud. They live on milk and venison, being through constant practice excellent marksmen. One thing is very remarkable, that persons externally so savage and rude, should have so much moral culture. They can all read and write. They know French sufficiently for the understanding of the Bible, and the singing of psalms. You can scarcely find a boy among them who cannot give you an intelligent account of the faith which they profess."

Reinerius Saccho, whom we have already quoted, tells us how industrious the Waldenses were in spreading abroad their tenets. Some would go forth as hawkers with trinkets, articles of dress, etc.; and he thus describes how they proceeded. "Sir, will you please to buy any rings, or seals, or trinkets. Madame, will you look at any handkerchiefs, or pieces of needlework for veils? I can afford them cheap." If after a purchase, the salesman were asked if he had anything more, he would reply, "O yes; I have commodities far more valuable than these, and I will make you a present of them if you will protect me from the clergy." If he were encouraged, he would proceed, "The inestimable jewel I spoke of is the word of God, by which He communicates His mind to man, and which inflames their hearts with love to Him. . . . In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee named Nazareth:" and then he would repeat the first chapter of Luke. At other times, different portions of the gospels would be repeated, their minds being well stored with scripture. If he were further encouraged, he would proceed to repeat such passages as "Woe unto you: ye shut up the kingdom of heaven against men: for ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer them that are entering to go in;" "Woe unto you that devour widows' houses," etc.; and then proceed to state that these passages applied to the Roman priests and monks. They kept away the key of knowledge which he was so desirous of communicating. And yet he, and they who, with him, were seeking to live a holy life, were persecuted by the Romish priests.

It is surprising that such an account should have been put forth by a Roman catholic. He was indeed very blind if he did not see, that the very thing he was condemning was to the praise of those he condemned, and was to his own disgrace. It was simply the Romish church that was held up as the standard. No matter how ignorant or profligate its monks or clergy were they were accounted good Christians: and all else, however holy and true, were to be condemned and persecuted.

Yes, persecution was the portion of these people. They had increased wonderfully and were quietly spreading forth the truths of Christianity. Pope Innocent III. (A.D. 1198-1216) had previously taken the persecution in hand. He had despatched preachers throughout Europe to get volunteers for the putting down of heresy, as it was called. "We exhort you," said they, "that you would endeavour to destroy the wicked heresy of the Albigenses, and do this with more rigour than you would towards the Saracens themselves: persecute them with a strong hand; deprive them of their lands and possessions; banish them, and put catholics in their room." To any who would bear arms for forty days, remission of all their sins and paradise were promised!

Toulouse was then one of the chief seats of the Waldenses (they were here called Albigenses), and this was ruled over by Raymond, the sixth count of Toulouse. He was a wise and humane man, and, though exhorted to persecute the Albigenses he refused, seeing they were peaceable and loyal citizens and good Christians, though he regretted they did not hold with the church of Rome as he did himself.

He was excommunicated by the pope for harbouring the heretics; but he could not be moved to commence the persecution.

About this time, Peter de Chatineau, one of the Inquisition, was murdered, and Raymond was accused of having a hand in the matter. This he strongly denied. It was known that this Peter had been pursuing a gentleman who had turned round and put him to death, and then had fled.

The pope, in order to appear reasonable, proposed that they should seek to win the Albigenses, and that the questions at issue should be discussed. The time of meeting, etc., was agreed on. They were to assemble at Montreal near Carcassonne: it was in the year 1206.

Pastor Arnold Hot was the principal of the Albigenses who attended. He undertook to prove:

1. That the Mass and transubstantiation were idolatrous and unscriptural.

2. That the church of Rome was not the spouse of Christ.

3. That its policy was of a pernicious and wicked tendency.

These points were discussed for some days, but were cut short by the cry, The army of the crusaders is at hand. The pope had not waited for the result of the conference: indeed, it seemed only a device to gain time. Though the soldiers were called crusaders, they were now bearing the cross to root out heresy so-called.

Raymond was alarmed at the news of a hundred thousand men approaching to attack him. He would not, however, persecute his own people, but he submitted to the pope, and delivered seven fortified places up to him.

That, however, did not satisfy the pope. Raymond was required to present himself before the gates of St. Agde. Upwards of twenty archbishops and bishops were there to receive his submission. At the gates he was required to swear upon the holy eucharist and the relics of the saints, that he would obey the command of the holy Roman church. One of the sacred vestments was then thrown over his neck, and he was brought into thee church, where he was scourged with a whip. This was so severe that he was unable to go out by the way he entered, but passed, nearly naked as he was, by the lower gate. He was accounted absolved! though the process was repeated at the sepulchre of St. Peter the martyr, at New Castres.

The poor Albigenses were now at the mercy of the army, led on by the papal legate, and the sword was speedily at work in the cities in which they were known to be. The streets ran with blood and many were burnt alive.

All, however, was not lost. Raymond had a nephew named Roger, who, under his uncle, had governed some of the cities. He was now at B�ziers. Raymond was compelled, as one of the conditions of absolution, to lead on the army to the destruction of his own subjects. He continued only a few days with the army, preferring to go himself to Rome and humble himself before the pope.

Roger, earl of B�ziers, saw it was no use attempting to defend the place against such an army. He therefore went out and threw himself at the feet of the papal legate, telling him there were many in the city true to the catholic faith, and hoped he would not slay the innocent with the guilty. He was told that to save the city the Albigenses must renounce their faith and promise to live according to the Romish church.

The inhabitants were called together, and the conditions were pressed on the Albigenses. They would thus not only save themselves but the catholics too. This was a painful position to be in, but they told their fellow-citizens that they could not renounce their faith they must die first. They left it for the catholics and Roger to make the best terms they could for themselves.

Finding the Albigenses could not be moved from their resolution, the catholics sent out their bishop to the papal legate. He intreated that the catholics who had always been true to the Romish church should not be slain with the Albigenses; and even these he hoped might be gained by kindness.

The answer was short and severe: unless all confessed their sins, and returned to the church, all should share alike. The city was ordered to surrender at discretion. This it did, as resistance was useless, and its inhabitants, 23,000 in number, were indiscriminately put to death, and the city itself destroyed by fire. Caesarius informs us that when the army was about to enter the city, they asked how they were to distinguish catholics from Albigenses. Arnold, abbe of Cisteaux, brutally replied, "Kill them all: the Lord knoweth them, that are his." Even the priests were slain in their robes!

Roger, seeing there was no hope of safety, then made his escape to the city of Carcassonne. Many Albigenses were there, and many others came, telling him of the fate of all in B�ziers. Carcassonne was better fortified, and he determined to make what resistance he could. He called together the inhabitants, and told them the horrible end of those at B�ziers, and that it was plain that the whole was a planned system of robbery under the plea of religion. He was a catholic; but see, said he, how those faithful to the Roman church have been treated at B�ziers. This roused their courage, and all prepared for the defence of the city.

In the meantime more men had joined the army � now 300,000 strong. They advanced towards the town, filled up the ditches with fascines, and assailed the first wall; but they were met with such a stout resistance that the ground was covered with the dead bodies of the assailants.

The next day, scaling ladders were used and the outer wall was taken after a stout resistance, and all who were found outside the city proper were put to death. The upper town was yet secure, and though it was assailed again and again, hundreds of the army were slain. Besides this, the immense army began to be in want of provisions, and had to disperse over the country in search of it. With many the forty days had expired for which they were engaged � they had purchased forgiveness of their sins, as they thought, and as had been promised � and would on no conditions remain any longer: thousands left for their homes.

The papal legate became alarmed, and finding the city could not be so easily taken as he supposed, determined to try what negotiations would do. The king of Arragon had joined the army, and he undertook to meet the earl of B�ziers. He asked the earl why he offered resistance to such an army. He was told what had taken place at B�ziers, and how the catholics had been slain, the priests in their robes, etc. The king had his eyes opened to the fact, that it was not merely a religious war as had been pretended, and reasoned with the papal legate as to his proceedings, and advocated a different course.

But the legate was so enraged that he sent the most defiant reply: he was the pope's legate, and all must submit at discretion: the earl, if he surrendered, would be kept in strict custody. Such terms could not be accepted, and all remained as before.

The legate hit upon another plan. He induced one of the officers of the army to try and entice the earl to come out of the city, promising that the officer should be well recompensed on earth besides the rewards he would have in heaven if he succeeded.

The officer succeeded too well. Under the plea of arranging conditions of peace, and the solemn promise that he should be conducted safely back to the city, the earl came out and met the legate.

After some conversation, in which the earl tried to reason with the legate, and plead for the city, he was told the inhabitants could do as they pleased, but that he was a prisoner. He protested against such perfidy. The officer had pledged himself by oaths and execrations to see him back into the city. It was all of no use. He was thrown into prison and died soon afterwards, not without strong suspicions that he had been poisoned.

The people of Carcassonne no sooner learnt the fate of the earl than all hope left them of defending the city, and escape seemed hopeless as the city was entirely surrounded with their enemies. When despair was seizing them, a rumour arose among some of the older citizens that they remembered a report of a subterraneous passage somewhere in the city which led to the castle of Caberet, a distance of about three leagues: but no one knew where the entrance was. Except those who manned the ramparts, they all now made diligent search, and at length it was whispered about, The entrance is found. Preparations for flight were at once set on foot: food for a few days only must suffice, and, except a few things any could carry about them, all must be left. But this was far better than falling into the hands of such merciless murderers. We may be quite sure that many a thanksgiving ascended to God for this prospect of deliverance, and prayer to Him that it might be crowned with success.

"It was a dismal and sorrowful sight," says their historian, "to witness their removal and departure, accompanied with sighs, tears, and lamentations . . . . betaking themselves to the uncertain event of saving themselves by flight: parents leading their children, and the more robust supporting decrepit old persons; and especially to hear the affecting lamentations of the women."

It would have been an instructive lesson to have known whether the Albigenses bore their trials any differently from the catholics. The former had none on earth to lean on, and we trust they found support from their heavenly Father. The catholics had sought to lean on an earthly reed, but alas, that reed had broken and pierced them to the quick. Such is often the fate of those who put their trust in man even in this life, and as to the future, we shudder to think of the fatal delusion.

God prospered their flight: they reached in safety the castle on the following day, and from thence dispersed themselves wherever God opened a door for their admission.

In the morning after the flight, the army were surprised that not a sound was to be heard from the city: some stratagem was suspected, but on mounting the walls the cry was raised, "The Albigenses are fled." The legate ordered that none of the property should be carried off. It was to be carried to the church, and disposed of for the benefit of the "pilgrims," as the army was called.

The army was now placed under the command of Simon, earl of Montfort. He was cruel and rapacious, and no mercy was given to any of the Albigenses that fell in his way. He was made governor of the whole district, but insolently requested that the earl of Toulouse should make over to him all his territories, as conquered by the catholic army. Raymond refused, and appealed to Philip king of France, his chief.

Simon laid siege to the castle of Minerba (or Minerva) in Narbonne, near Spain. Of this place it was said "No mass has been sung in it for thirty years:" a proof of the spread of the truths held by the Waldenses. Raymond, earl of Termes, defended the place, but on account of the scarcity of water was obliged to surrender. He was exhorted to turn catholic, but he steadily refused, and was thrown into a close prison where he soon died. Efforts were then made to convert his wife, sister, and daughter, and other females of rank. But all stood steadfast in the faith, and were together thrown into one large fire.

There were still the inhabitants. These were now preached to, and exhorted to acknowledge the pope and the church of Rome. But the preacher was interrupted with cries of "We will not renounce our religion: you labour to no purpose, for neither life nor death shall induce us to abandon our profession." On this, the earl and the legate committed one hundred and eighty men and women to the flames.

Castle after castle fell before the army until Raymond began to fear for his dominions, and so, collecting some troops, he opposed the army and gained back much of his loss. But again he was defeated, and persecution was resumed with vigour.

A good deal of what followed, for some twenty years, took more the character of civil rather than religious warfare, though the popes of Rome never lost sight of their one great object, to root out entirely all who differed from the church of Rome, no matter by what name they were called; and for this purpose they were not particular by what means they could induce the various authorities to fight for the catholic church.

Thus, to Louis king of France, the pope wrote, "It is the command of God, who says, If thou shalt hear say in any one of thy cities which the Lord thy God hath given thee to dwell there, saying, Let us go and serve other gods, which ye have not known, thou shalt smite the inhabitants of that city with the edge of the sword." Thus shamefully did he pervert the scripture against idolatry to mean the persecution of God's saints.

From 1206 to 1228 the persecution was carried on, with such rigour, that no room was found for those arrested. The archbishops of Aix, Arles, and Narbonne, interceded with those who were pushing on the persecution, and wrote: "It has come to our knowledge that you have apprehended so many of the Waldenses, that it is not only impossible to defray the charges of their subsistence, but also to provide stone and mortar to build prisons for them. We therefore advise you to defer for a while augmenting their number, until the pope be apprised of the great multitudes that have been apprehended, and until he notify what he pleases to have done in this case. Nor is there any reason why you should take offence hereat; for as to those who are altogether impenitent and incorrigible, or concerning whom you may doubt of their relapse or escape, or that, being at large again, they would infect others, you may condemn such without delay."

It has been calculated that as many as a million were put to death in the southern provinces of France, and many fled from the district to other places.

The war that existed between the emperor of Germany (Frederick II.) and the pope (Innocent IV.) gave some breathing-time for the Waldenses, and they rapidly increased.

About the year 1330 a great persecution was set on foot in various parts of Germany by an agent of the Inquisition, named Echard, a Jacobin monk. Vignier, the historian, relates that this man, after inflicting cruelties with great severity and for a length of time upon the Waldenses, was at length induced to examine the causes why these people were separated from the church of Rome. The force of truth was such that it broke down all his prejudices � his own conscience bearing witness that many of the errors and corruptions charged on the church of Rome really existed. Finding that he could not disprove the articles of their faith by the word of God, he confessed that the truth had overcome him, he gave God the glory, and entered into communion with the Waldenses whom he had, like Saul against the Christians, long been engaged in punishing and persecuting unto death.

News of his conversion soon reached some other agents of the Inquisition, and messengers were sent in search of him. He was arrested, conveyed to Heidelberg, and burnt to death. He boldly charged the church of Rome with monstrous and iniquitous proceedings, in putting to death so many innocent persons for no other crime than steadfastly adhering to the cause of Christ, in opposition to the delusions of Antichrist.

Such an instance might well have made the persecutors pause and ask themselves, whether they were really fighting for God or against Him. But no, the persecution raged on furiously by others; and yet the faith increased wonderfully, so that it was said, as an acknowledged fact, that in those days the Waldenses were so numerous that in travelling from Cologne to Milan, the whole extent of Germany, they could lodge every night with persons of their own profession, and that it was a custom among them to affix certain private marks to their signs and gates whereby they made themselves known to one another.

Indeed, the Waldenses had spread over the whole of Europe, carrying the gospel of God and His truth wherever they went � pursued and persecuted everywhere by their relentless enemies, the agents of the church of Rome, until they were rooted out everywhere except in and about Piedmont.

In our short sketches it is impossible to give a complete history of the Waldenses. They took up arms in their own defence, and obtained many victories over small detachments of troops; but whole armies were sent against them, which with fire and sword turned many a fertile "valley into a desert.

This was continued century after century until the Reformation had made good progress; but still these mountaineers were persecuted by the intrigues of the popes and the Inquisition, with the aid sometimes of the kings of France, and at other times by the dukes of Savoy.

Protestant countries protested against such merciless treatment, and from time to time sent money to aid the survivors; but as long as the pope's power continued, the persecution again and again broke out.

Many of the Waldenses, or Vaudois, as they are here called, had fled to Switzerland, and were there scattered over the various cantons, working at anything their hands could find to do to support themselves.

In 1689 most of them resolved to attempt a return to their favourite villages. It appeared a very hazardous enterprise, for some parts of Savoy were held by French troops, and others by those of Piedmont.

Still nothing could daunt their courage nor turn them from their purpose. For two or three months their preparations were quietly and secretly made. They must leave their wives and children behind, and provision was sought for them. Then arms and ammunition were needed for themselves, and money to buy food as they proceeded.

One named Janavel, living at Geneva, was the soul of the movement. He knew the country well through which they would have to pass, and at a meeting held at his house, put forth a plan of the campaign, pointing out which passes needed to be secured, and which avoided, etc. One part of his plan was peculiar, but was found to be very useful, namely, for the Vaudois to seize hostages from some of the principal towns, carry these with them, treating them well, but making their lives depend upon the treatment the Waldenses received from the inhabitants in other places.

The forest of Prangins was the gathering-point. So much preparation, and so many moving about armed, could not but be observed, and in some places they were arrested by the Swiss before they could reach Prangins. Other arrangements were in progress to stop them, but about sunset, from the forest there came forth 1,000 to 1,200 men, who made their way to lake Leman.

Fifteen boats were there ready for them. Their pastor Arnaud made an earnest prayer for divine assistance. The young Lord of Prangins was there out of curiosity, and knelt with the others, but mounted a horse as soon as he could, and rode all night to Geneva, to inform the French of what he had witnessed. A messenger was at once sent off for French troops.

By about two o'clock in the morning all from the forest had crossed the lake, though they expected others to follow. Their first act was again to fall on their knees and earnestly pray for the protection of God, It was August 17th, 1689.

One of their pastors went to a village to seek a guide, when he was seized and carried off. This made them more careful. The small town of Yvoire was summoned to open its gates, or it would be attacked. From thence the lord of the manor and the receiver of taxes were taken as hostages. These, by the good treatment they received, and by the discipline of the troops, were well disposed towards them, and were of great use to the Vaudois.

As they passed along, town after town opened their gates. At St. Joire, the magistrates placed a great cask of wine in the street for their refreshment.

At Cluse the gates were shut, and it appeared as though a passage would not be allowed. The hostages were appealed to, and one of them wrote to a nobleman in the town. He came to the camp, and was detained, while a Vaudois officer went to the town. "Where is your warrant?" was asked. "At the point of our swords," was the reply. They were allowed to pass through, and to buy provisions.

At other places they met with similar treatment � a refusal at first, but then permission.

But they had mountains to pass covered with snow, and they knew there were troops gathering somewhere to oppose them. They had reached the top of the mountain of Tourliers, when they observed some soldiers, and farther on, near Salabertrans, the Vaudois asked a peasant if they would be able to obtain provisions in that place. His reply was, "Go on, go on! they are preparing you a good supper there!"

On reaching the plain, they counted thirty-six bivouac fires, by which they reckoned that there must be an army of over 2,000 men. They proved to be French soldiers, under the command of the Marquis de Larrey.

The Vaudois divided their troops into three companies, and made for the bridge, which was defended by the marquis in person. He was soon wounded, and retired. The fight was desperate, but the Vaudois were victorious. They crossed the bridge, and then destroyed it. The French fled in the greatest disorder. The Vaudois thanked God, and took courage.

On they must go, weary as they were. Some fell down, and went to sleep, but the rear-guard awoke them. Some were missed, and never seen after. They had still to cross the mountain of Sci, when they would reach Pragela, the home of some of their forefathers.

On Sunday morning (August 25th) they reached the top of the mountain, and they fell on their knees, returning thanks to God for having brought them within view of their native place. "O Lord, my God," exclaimed the pastor, "Thou who didst bring back the sons of Jacob from the land of bondage to that of their ancestors. O God of Israel, God of our fathers! be pleased to accomplish and to bless Thy work in us, Thy feeble servants! May the light of the gospel never be extinguished in these mountains, where it has so long shined; and grant that our hands may rekindle and maintain it there. Bless our absent families And to Thee alone, our heavenly Father, with Jesus Thine only Son our Saviour, and the Holy Ghost our Comforter, be honour, praise and glory, now and for ever. Amen."

They had still a mountain to pass, and they received information that an enemy awaited them at the Col Julian. This was found to be true. The soldiers cried out, "Come on, come on, ye devil's barbets! there are more than 3,000 of us, and we hold all the posts." The Vaudois, nothing daunted, climbed up the mountain, and took post after post, the soldiers at last fleeing before them.

They descended the mountain, and then took possession of the villages of L'Aiguille and Sibaoud, and then Bobi. The Catholic priests, who had persecuted them before, now fled away.

On the hill of Sibaoud, they piled their arms and reposed at leisure. It was Sunday, September 1st. The pastor Montoux, having placed an old door on two rocks, mounted it as a pulpit, and preached from Luke xvi. 16: "The law and the prophets were until John: since that time the kingdom of God is preached, and every man presseth into it."

They had been a fortnight on their journey, but had yet more to do. They must possess the valley of Lucerna and that of St. Martin; but were still victorious, though they were surrounded by their enemies, and had to fight many battles. They were at length driven to the mountains for protection, because of the French army.

To provide provision was now a great difficulty, for their enemies destroyed all they could. A mill had been dismantled as far back as 1686, and the stone hidden; but some knew where it was to be found. It was soon unearthed and set up, and what corn they could get was ground and bread made. At Pral and Rodoret a remarkable interposition of God favoured them. The inhabitants having been driven away, the corn had not been reaped in the harvest of 1689, and the snow had covered the standing corn; this was now found in good condition, and was reaped by them from February to April, 1690. Thus God provided them a harvest in the winter.

They would no doubt have been obliged to surrender to the French, but Victor Amadeus, Duke of Savoy, had to choose between France and Austria, who, with England and Spain, were now at war. He decided to join Austria, and this saved the Vaudois. An envoy brought them the news that Piedmont was no longer an ally of France, and that Victor Amadeus II. offered the Vaudois provisions and arms if they would join his army. The country was opened up to them, to go where they pleased. They accepted the offer, and became the soldiers of Amadeus. But after a while Amadeus was defeated, and Savoy was made over to France, and again the Vaudois had to fight for their lives and suffer persecution.

There is no doubt that love for their country was the main inducement that led the Vaudois to fight their way back to their native valleys. Others, who had joined the Vaudois, fell back from time to time, despairing of success; but no hardship could daunt the true Vaudois. We cannot justify their using the sword; for our Lord had declared that His kingdom was not of this world, else His servants would have fought; and He further warned His followers, that those who took the sword should perish by the sword.

Napoleon I., having conquered Italy, granted relief and liberty to the Waldenses; but on his fall, Victor Emmanuel I. issued an edict enforcing the old discipline, but on England and Prussia interceding, more mild treatment followed in 1816. In 1831 when Charles Albert ascended the throne, the Jesuits nearly succeeded in revoking the edict of toleration; but the protests of Prussia and Holland were again crowned with success.

From that time they have remained comparatively unmolested; though it is to be feared that they have sunk, more or less, into the general level of Christendom.

In the history of the Waldenses and those: who had a like faith, we see how God raised up in the dark ages companies of faithful men, who had no thought at first of leaving the church of Rome; they only asked for liberty to worship God in simplicity and truth. But this brought them into collision with the clergy, and persecution drove them out of that corrupt church, of the evils of which, with the light of the scriptures, they could not be ignorant. They may be compared to a body of pioneers who went forth to attack the powers of darkness found associated with the church of Rome � before the more regular army of Reformers were called out, who attacked still more powerfully and more successfully those direful deceivers, and brought to light the supremacy of the word of God, and the one glorious doctrine of justification by faith.

Chapter 13.

England.

A.D. 1066 to the Reformation.

Many changes were introduced into the English church at the conquest of England by William duke of Normandy. Vacant places were filled by Normans. It is said that the Anglo-Saxon clergy were so illiterate as to be scarcely able to stammer out the forms of divine service; and that any one who understood grammar was quite an exception: learning as well as religion had fallen into decay. The Norman clergy, however, made no efforts to learn the Anglo-Saxon language, by which to edify their hearers.

The king appointed an able man as primate. Lanfranc had been a professor of laws in his native city of Pavia, and had afterwards opened a school at Avranches; from thence he removed to the monastery of Bec, in Normandy. He had opposed William's marriage with Matilda as being within the forbidden degrees, and had in consequence been ordered out of the country by the duke. But meeting accidentally, a compromise was made, and Lanfranc was despatched to Rome to get from the pope the removal of an interdict under which William's territories had been laid. Lanfranc succeeded, and William urged him on his return to accept the archbishopric of Canterbury. He would have preferred to return to his monastery, but the pope refused his consent. He then accepted William's offer, though Lanfranc was nearly ninety years old, and travelled to Rome to receive the "pall" of his office.

Lanfranc set to work to reform the church in England: vacancies were filled up, but not always by worthy men. The king had to listen to the powerful barons and give places to their favourites. Many of the English were removed simply because they were not Normans. Thus an effort was made to remove Wulstan, the venerable bishop of Winchester, on the plea that he did not understand the French language; and a synod was called to effect it. He is said to have been an illiterate man, but had led a blameless life. He said to the synod that he knew his own unworthiness, but the king his master had called him to the office, "By the authority of the holy see he laid the burden upon me, and with this staff he commanded me to receive the rank of a bishop." Knowing his unworthiness, he would resign the office, but not to them, but to the one who had called him to it. Then walking to the tomb of Edward the Confessor he laid the crozier on his tomb, and took his place among the monks. He was allowed to retain his office, and, at the death of the king, was the only English bishop who had not been removed.

The marriage of the clergy was a difficult point. A council at Winchester ordained that no canon should have a wife, and for the future no married man should be ordained priest or deacon; the rural clergy were allowed to retain their wives.

William was desirous of maintaining relationship with Rome, but he was resolved to be master in England. He not only appointed the bishops and abbots, but invested them also. Lanfranc begged that he might have the investing of the abbots; but the king declared that he meant "to keep all the staves in his own hands." The bishops were not to obey citations to Rome, nor were they to receive any letters from the pope without shewing them to the king; neither was any one to be excommunicated without the king's licence.

This was displeasing to the pope (Hildebrand), but he was anxious not to break with the king. He sent an envoy to England, asking that the king should swear fealty to the pope, and should pay Peter's pence, as his predecessor had done. The king would not swear fealty to the pope: he would pay some pence as alms, but not as a tribute. The pope replied that the money without obedience was worthless. Threats were held out to William; but he paid no regard to them. The pope then cited certain English and Norman bishops to attend a synod at Rome; but no response was made to this, and the pope had to overlook the disobedience. Again and again Lanfranc was summoned to Rome, to confer on matters touching the English church; but he never went.

All this is important, as shewing that England was not wholly under the yoke of Rome at that time, and could manage its own affairs better without the pope's interference than with it.

William was succeeded by William Rufus, who as long as Lanfranc lived was held in restraint, but when the archbishop died (in 1089) he gave way to profligate living, and made free with the revenues of the church, keeping places vacant that he might spend the money. No successor to Lanfranc was appointed for four years. A severe illness was declared to be a judgment on the king, and he now appointed Anselm as archbishop.

Anselm was born in Piedmont, and had settled at Bec. In 1063 he had been made prior, and in 1078, abbot. Here he became very famous by his writings on theology, grammar, etc., and pupils flocked to him from all quarters: many questions were addressed to him, and his answers were valued as oracles from heaven.

He has been accounted the most learned man in theology since Augustine, and has been described as the setter forth of what is called natural theology.

Anselm strongly opposed his own appointment. He much preferred his quiet monastery and time for study, to having to do with such a king as William. He compared the position to a young untamed bull being yoked to an old and feeble sheep: the poor sheep would be dragged to death.

All opposition, however, was useless: being in England at the time he was carried into the king's sick chamber at Gloucester, the crosier was forced into his hands, and notwithstanding his struggles, he was hurried away into a church and hailed as archbishop of Canterbury.

The king recovered, and was now worse than before, and Anselm soon found his position was not a bed of roses. The king still wanted money, and the archbishop learned that he was expected to send to the king a contribution. He sent �500, in the hope that the king would be favourable to the church. The king would at first have received the money; but some about him declared that it was a paltry sum, and was not nearly as much as should have been sent by one receiving such an office. The archbishop said he could not then send more; but it would not be his last gift. The king, however, refused to receive it, and the archbishop distributed it among the poor.

The king was highly displeased, and refused to restore the estates of the church. He also refused a council to be held to reform the disorders among the clergy and monks. When pressed to fill up some vacancies, William replied, "What is that to you? are not the abbeys mine?" "They are yours," was the reply, "to defend and protect as advocate; but they are not yours to invade and devastate."

After various conflicts, Anselm sent two of the clergy to Rome, to inquire which of the rival popes (Clement III. and Urban II.) had the best claim. They judged Urban should be acknowledged as pope, and Anselm requested permission to go to Rome to receive the "pall" of office. The king refused; but Urban, on being acknowledged the true pope, sent a pall for the archbishop. This again was a cause for dispute. William wanted Anselm to receive it from his hands; but he refused. At length the pope's legate laid it on the altar at Canterbury, and the archbishop took it from thence.

After repeated hindrances, Anselm started for Rome (A.D. 1098), but was searched at Dover lest he was carrying money to the pope. At Rome he was received with great distinction, and was spoken of as "the holy man." Envoys were also sent by the king to Rome, and the pope told these that everything must be restored to the archbishop under pain of excommunication; but, by large presents from the king in private, this was averted!

This convinced Anselm that he could not hope for much from the pope, so he retired to Lyons where he remained a year and a half. There he heard of the death of Urban, in July, 1099, and of that of William in 1100.

While abroad, Anselm finished a treatise on the Incarnation, which is said to have been the basis of much that has been written since. He shews that there must be a satisfaction for sin; and the necessity that this satisfaction should be rendered by One who is perfect God and perfect Man.

Henry I. succeeded in England. He invited Anselm to return to his office, and he filled up the vacancies in the church. But a dispute arose at once about investiture. The king claimed it, and the archbishop claimed it as from the pope. Messengers were sent to the pope � Paschal II. now � but he refused to give way to the king, and encouraged the archbishop to resist.

In 1102 a council of the clergy was held in London, attended also by the nobles. The celibacy of the parochial clergy was now, for the first time, agreed on. This met with great opposition in some places. The canons bear evidence of the low state into which religion, discipline, and even morality had fallen during the reign of William Rufus.

Anselm again went to Rome, and messengers also went from the king, respecting investiture � each claiming it as their right. At length a compromise was agreed on � that the king should forego investiture, but that, for the present, bishops and abbots should be permitted to do homage; while those who had been invested by him should be admitted to communion on such terms as the two envoys of the pope should agree. This was a decided victory for Rome.

In the twelfth century learning revived in England. Perhaps to this period may be assigned the establishing of the universities of Oxford and Cambridge, though there had been schools at these places and in London, St. Alban's, and elsewhere, long before. In the reign of Richard I. we find the university of Oxford mentioned as being similar to the university of Paris, and as a sort of rival to that renowned seat of learning.

It is recorded that in 1109 three monks went to Cambridge every day, to teach in a barn hired for their use. One taught grammar in the morning; a second, logic at one o'clock; and the third gave lectures on rhetoric at three. The barn was soon found to be too small for the purpose, and places were sought in different parts of the town. This is the description given of the humble state of learning at what became the university of Cambridge.

England was gradually enslaved by Rome. Henry II. strongly opposed the encroachments of the pope, but had to give way. He joined the the French king in persecuting the Cathari of Toulouse, who are believed to have been true Christians, though styled Arians by Rome.

In the reign of Henry II. also, thirty men and women, Germans, were brought before a council of the clergy at Oxford. Gerard, their teacher, declared they were Christians and believed the doctrines of the apostles. But as they did not hold with purgatory, prayers for the dead, nor the invocation of the saints, they were, by the orders of Henry, branded with a hot iron on the forehead, then whipped through Oxford, had their clothes cut off at their girdles, and turned into the open fields. Under heavy penalties no one was allowed to give them shelter or food. They remained calm, and were heard repeating "Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." It being winter time, they all perished.

What a sad picture is this of how England was devoted to the dogmas of Rome. The king and the university were thus united to cast out true Christians from the land!

The conflict between Henry and Thomas � Becket, archbishop of Canterbury, must be but briefly touched upon. From the most magnificent of courtiers, Becket, as archbishop, appeared to be the most devoted saint. He adopted the coarsest clothing, and ate the plainest food; daily he washed the feet of the poor; devotedly he paced the cloisters of his cathedral, and spent hours in prayer.

It having been represented to the king that, during the first eight years of his reign, a hundred murders had been committed by the ecclesiastics, Henry called a council of prelates and barons at Clarendon, 1164.

It was therein settled that "all cases whether civil or criminal, in which a clergyman was concerned, should be tried and determined in the king's court; that appeals should be from the archbishop to the king; and that no cause should be carried further than the archbishop's court (that is, not to Rome) without the king's consent; that no archbishop, bishop, or dignified clergy should depart from the kingdom without the king's leave."

Becket promised to agree to the Constitutions of Clarendon, but at a meeting afterwards refused. The king was exasperated, and the clergy begged the archbishop to give way. He promised, if the meeting was adjourned till the resolutions could be put into proper form, he would agree to them. On this being done, he again refused, and imposed a penance on himself for his weakness in having promised to agree to the Constitutions. Pope Alexander III. released him from his oath.

As is well known, Becket rather than give way, fled to the continent, and remained there nearly six years. On being reconciled to the king, he returned; but had sent on before him excommunications against the archbishop of York and the bishops of London and Salisbury. These hastened to lay their complaints before the king, and demanded redress: "We implore it," said they, "both for the sake of royalty and the clergy � for our own repose as well as yours." The king was seized with a fit of fury. "How!" cried he, "a fellow that has eaten my bread � a beggar that first came to my court on a lame horse, dares insult his king and the royal family, and tread upon the whole kingdom, and not one of the cowards I nourish at my table � not one will deliver me from this turbulent priest."

Unhappy words! Four of the king's knights quietly left his presence unobserved, crossed the sea, and murdered the archbishop.

The king was greatly shocked, and fasted for three days. He swore it was not done at his command nor with his knowledge; but as his hasty words may have led to the deed, he afterwards promised to maintain two hundred knights as crusaders for a year; to serve himself for three years against the Saracens or Moors if the pope should require it; to restore the lands and possessions belonging to the friends of the late archbishop; and to allow appeals to be made to the pope; etc. He was then fully absolved.

Becket was accounted a saint; crowds flocked to his tomb to pray, and it was said that many miracles were wrought there. It was declared that "even from his grave he rendered his testimony in behalf of the papacy."

Later on, the king prostrated himself before Becket's tomb, and the bishops, priests, and monks, each bearing a scourge, struck the king's bare shoulders three or five times according to their rank. After this, it is not to be wondered at that Rome became supreme in England.

In the time of Richard, Innocent III. was pope, and he plainly declared that no one was fit to exercise any authority who did not revere and obey the holy see. In a bull he declared that he would not endure the least contempt of himself or of God, whose place he held on earth, but would punish every disobedience without delay, and without respect of persons; and would convince the whole world that he was determined to act as a sovereign. Richard, though the "lion-hearted," had to give way.

His successor, John, had no power over the pope. John having objected to an illegal appointment of an archbishop, Innocent III. laid the kingdom under an interdict. In despair, John proposed to turn Mahometan, but afterwards thought it best to yield to the pope. On May 15, 1213, he laid his crown at the feet of the pope's legate, and made oath that he surrendered the kingdom to Rome.

The indignant barons made John sign the "Magna Charta," but by hired troops he put down the barons, and Rome reigned supreme in England.

In the time of Henry III. the kingdom was still subject to Rome, but a wholesome check was given to Rome by one of the English bishops, now to be named.

Grosseteste, Bishop of Lincoln.

A few words must be said of bishop Grosseteste, elected A.D. 1235. He was learned above his compeers, and was really zealous to carry out reforms in the church. But he held the mendicant orders in too much favour, and was long deceived by them. At length he found that they needed to be reformed, and he obtained letters to carry this out. But when he set to work to reform them, they appealed to the pope. Innocent IV. was then at Lyons, and Grosseteste travelled there to see him. To his astonishment the case was decided against him. He said, "I relied on your letters and promises, but am entirely disappointed." "What is that to you," was the reply; "you have done your part, and we are disposed to favour them: is your eye evil because I am good?" We trust such profane use of scripture shocked the bishop: he replied in a low tone, "O money, how great is thy power, especially at the court of Rome!" It is a wonder such a scene did not open the eyes of the bishop to the apostasy of Rome.

He returned, but was further shocked by the pope's sending Italians, who knew not a word of English, to fill up vacancies. The pope also insisted that one of his nephews, an Italian youth, should be a canon of Lincoln. Grosseteste, to his honour, positively refused to obey, and wrote an epistle defending himself.

Innocent was indignant. "Who is this old dotard," he exclaimed, "who dares to judge my actions? By Peter and Paul, if I were not restrained by my generosity, I would make him an example and a spectacle to all mankind. Is not the king of England my vassal and my slave? and if I gave the word would he not throw him into prison, and load him with infamy and disgrace?"

The cardinals did all they could to appease the pope. They said that the bishop's epistle was true, and to persecute him would only bring the pope into contempt. He would not listen to their advice, but excommunicated the bishop, and nominated another in his place. As the cardinals had said, the acts of the pope were disregarded, and the bishop remained in the see till his death in 1253.

Innocent desired to take vengeance on the bones of the bishop, but one night, says a monk (Matthew, of Paris), the bishop appeared before him, drew near to the pontiff's bed, and struck him with his crosier, declaring that the Lord would not let him molest him. The pope uttered a cry and lay senseless on his bed. He never had a quiet night after, and when he expired the palace re-echoed with his fearful groans!

Another catholic writer said, "The holy bishop Robert departed this world which he never loved, and which was always to him a place of banishment. He was the open reprover both of my lord the pope and the king, and the censurer of the prelates, the corrector of the monks, the director of the priests, the instructor of the clergy . . . . and lastly he was the scourge of lazy and selfish Romans whom he heartily despised."

Though not clear in all his views of truth, it is to be hoped that he was a true Christian himself, and was able to point out to others the way of salvation. In many respects he was certainly a light shining in this our country during the Dark Ages.

By the above it will be seen, that the pope claimed supremacy over the kings of the earth. He said, "Is not the king of England my vassal and slave?" And in 1191 Celestine III. kicked the crown off the head of the emperor Henry VI. while kneeling, to shew that he could make or unmake an emperor. Alas, for any country to be under such masters! The ages must still have been dark, when such a claim could have been listened to for a moment.

Edward III.

In the reigns of Edward I. and Edward II. things continued much as before, concerning the relations of England with Rome. But under Edward III. a decided stand was made against the assumptions of Rome. He refused to make the annual payment to Rome. He also obtained a parliamentary declaration, that king John had no right to reduce the kingdom to a state of vassalage. He, also obtained a statute against the claims of the pope to appoint successors to vacancies, and outlawed those who should dare to appeal to Rome.

One, Richard Fitzralf, was appointed archbishop of Armagh. He was zealous in opposing the pretensions of the mendicant friars, who absolved people for gross sins in defiance of the clergy. The friars appealed to the pope, and he summoned Fitzralf to Rome, where he was condemned, and died in banishment.

Rome was not only in thorough darkness itself, but would not allow any light to appear elsewhere if it could prevent it.

Bradwardine.

Bradwardine was confessor to Edward III. He had studied at Oxford, and had gained the distinction of "the profound." He was chosen for the see of Canterbury, but Edward would not part with him till he was elected on a second vacancy, when he let him go. But he died after a few weeks. He has obtained a place in history principally by a large work he wrote, "Concerning the cause of God against Pelagius." The subject is treated in a most orderly manner � with "mathematical accuracy," says his biographer. The work is still in existence.

Wiclif.

During the reign of Edward III. lived also the pious Wiclif who strongly opposed the assumptions of the pope, translated the Bible into English, and preached the gospel faithfully. A short account of this early reformer has been given elsewhere.*

{*"Lights and Shadows of the Reformation."}

We have thus seen how slavishly servile the kingdom of England became to Rome in the Dark Ages. And we have seen how Edward III. made a dead stand against the pope's assumptions. Wiclif also opposed the doctrines of Rome, and brought to light the word of God and the gospel of God's grace. All this paved the way and prepared the minds of men for the further revelations of truth that were proclaimed at the Reformation. Indeed, the publication of the word of God in the English language was a great means used in opening men's eyes to the evils of Rome, and to the glorious gospel contained in that message to man � a light indeed that destroyed the Dark Ages. If men now refuse the light, we know from God's word that a still greater darkness awaits them; those who will not now receive the truth, whereby they be saved, and who take pleasure in unrighteousness, will then believe a lie. May the Lord grant that every reader of these pages may take warning, receive Christ as his or her Saviour, and be eternally blessed.

Scotland.

In Scotland, the Anglo-Saxon Margaret, after her marriage with Malcolm III. (Canmore) sought to conform the church there to the church of England, which was under the control of Rome.

Monasteries and abbeys were established all over the country, and were endowed by this king, his successors, and by the nobles.

In the time of king Alexander I. (1107-24) Eadmer, a monk at Canterbury, was chosen bishop of St. Andrew's; and a hot dispute arose as to his consecration, the archbishops of Canterbury and York both claimed it as their prerogative to consecrate him. The Scotch king did not wish it to be from either. Eadmer naturally preferred Canterbury, but the king would not yield. "While I live," said he, "I will not permit the bishop of St. Andrew's to be subject to that see." Eadmer would not break with Canterbury, resigned his office, and returned to England. He afterwards wrote to the king, owning he was wrong. The archbishop of Canterbury also wrote demanding that Eadmer should be re-instated. The king listened to neither, but chose another bishop.

In 1178 a more serious dispute arose as to Rome's authority in Scotland. The See of St. Andrew's being again vacant, the chapter chose one "John, surnamed the Scot;" but the king (now William the Lion) chose his own chaplain, Hugh. John appealed to Rome, and pope Alexander III. annulled the appointment of Hugh, and his legate consecrated John. But the king banished John, and installed Hugh in the bishopric. The pope could not suffer this, and after much disputing, king William was excommunicated and the whole of Scotland was laid under an interdict.

At this juncture the pope died (1181), and William hastened to send ambassadors to the new pope Lucius III., who reversed all that his predecessor had done. John was made bishop of Dunkeld, and peace was restored. The next pope (Clement III.) was also favourable to William, and the church of Scotland was adopted as "the daughter of Rome, by special grace," and was to be subject to no other intermediate power.

In 1225 the Scottish clergy obtained permission from pope Honorius IV. to hold councils in Scotland to settle the affairs of the church. This was a great boon to the church of Scotland, and eventually they did not hesitate to pass canons against the edicts of the pope. Thus when the pope demanded that the Scottish clergy should give a tithe to the king of England, in aid of a proposed crusade, they firmly refused.

It was settled that the above council should meet yearly, the bishops in turn presiding, whose business it was to see that its canons were carried into effect. These canons continued in force until the era of the Reformation, though the bishops and clergy were still in full union with Rome, and for the most part were obedient to its edicts.

Chapter 14.

Councils of the Church.

During the Dark Ages there were many councils held in various places: some were called for party purposes, and are unworthy of the name. We will record only those called "General Councils" by the church of Rome.

V. Held at Constantinople in A.D. 553, against the errors of Origen.

VI. Held at Constantinople in 680, against the Monothelites.

VII. Second Nicene Council in 787, against image breakers.

VIII. Constantinople in 870, against the same, and various heresies.

The above have been already looked at in our Sketches.

IX. First Lateran, in 1123, to settle the right of investiture between the pope and Henry V.

X. Second Lateran, in 1139, called to settle the temporal matters of the ecclesiastics, and restore internal peace in the church. 1,000 fathers of the church attended.

XI.. Third Lateran, in 1179, called to consider the decrees of the antipopes. Popes were to be elected by the cardinals alone. A spiritual war was declared against schismatics and heretics, especially the Vaudois.

XII. Fourth Lateran, in 1215, against the Albigenses and any called heretics. A permanent Inquisition to be established against all suspected persons. The crusades. The dogmas of transubstantiation and auricular confession were established.

XIII. Lyons, in 1245. Called by Innocent IV. to depose the emperor Frederick II.

XIV. Lyons, in 1274. The Procession of the Holy Ghost discussed. The temporary union of eastern and western churches. The various orders of mendicants reduced to four.

XV. Vienne in Dauphine, in 1311-12, to suppress the order of the Knights Templars. This was really a civil matter. Philip king of France, finding the knights too powerful, sought by their suppression to gain both power and riches. The council ordered the suppression of the order, not in a way of justice, but by way of expediency, lest the king of France should be offended. As at other councils, reforms in the church were talked of, but deferred.

XVI. Pisa, in 1409. There were now two popes, Gregory XII. and Benedict XIII. The council summoned both to attend, but neither answered. Thirty-eight charges were brought against them, and both were deposed; Alexander V. was elected pope.

XVII. Constance, in 1414-18. Called because there were now three popes. Alexander V. died the year of his election, supposed to have been poisoned, and John XIII. was elected; but the two former popes refused to be deposed � "Was not a pope above a council?" The council deposed John, confirmed the canons of Pisa, and elected Martin V. Wiclif was condemned, and Huss and Jerome sent to the stake.

XVIII. Basil, in 1431-43. Conferences with the Bohemians. Conflict with the pope, Eugenius IV. The power of a council declared to be above that of a pope. Eugenius was deposed, and Felix V. elected in 1439. Eugenius would not submit, and again there were two popes. Felix resigned in 1449. Reformation of the clergy.

XIX. Fifth Lateran, in 1512-17. The "pragmatic sanction" of France (as the edicts of the king were called against the usurpation of the pope in the choice of bishops), suppressed.

XX. Trent, in 1545-63, to condemn the Reformation. At this council was settled what was to be the future doctrine of the church of Rome; and its Catechism is now always appealed to as the standard authority of that church.

XXI. Rome, in 1869-70. Infallibility of the pope declared.

Chapter 15.

The Claims of Rome.

We deem it well, seeing that popery has held such a prominent place in our sketches of church history, and that it not only still exists in this country, but is greatly on the increase, to review, as briefly as possible, what its claims really are, and what those claims are based upon, that the Christian may not only refuse its pretensions, but be able to help any who may be deceived thereby.

We have already seen that it was in the Dark Ages the church of Rome attained its greatest power � it flourished in the darkness, and did all it could to hide the light of God's word, and refuse its circulation.

The popes not only claimed authority over all Christians in every part of the world, but they also maintained that all kings and emperors held their authority from them. We have seen how the popes treated Henry IV. and Henry VI. of Germany, and king John of England.

A step farther, the popes claimed to be owners of all newly-found lands. Alexander VI. granted to the Portuguese a right to certain countries, and to the Spanish other places in the West Indies and the Azores.

Then the popes claimed authority over heaven and hell. By means of pardons, dispensations, and indulgences, they professed to open heaven to any; and by their anathemas they doomed people to the punishment of hell. These are pretensions merely, they had not really this power.

Happily a great number of Christians � simply with the Bible in their hands and its truths engrafted within them � are able to shew that if God's word is true, the doctrines and pretensions of Rome must be altogether wrong and false.

As is well known, Rome lays its claims upon the assumptions: 1, That the apostle Peter was once bishop of Rome; 2, That a certain supremacy was given to Peter over the other apostles; 3, That this supremacy was handed down to the bishops of Rome who succeeded Peter, and from them onward to the present day by what is known as apostolic succession. These three things combined are declared to prove the church of Rome to be the true church, and consequently all others to be false.

We turn to scripture to see what light we can gather on these points; and first as to Peter being the bishop of Rome. On the day of Pentecost (say A.D. 29), "strangers of Rome" are named as being present at Jerusalem; and, as many were converted on that occasion, it may be that when these "strangers" returned to Rome, an assembly there may possibly have been the result. In whatever way the work commenced there we know that, when Paul wrote his Epistle to the Romans, he stated that their faith had been "spoken of throughout the whole world." This would be about A.D. 58.

Thus, during the intervening thirty years the faith had greatly spread in the city so as to have been thus widely known. Rome being the capital of the empire, people would be constantly going and coming, which would largely aid, no doubt, in spreading abroad the faith of the Roman Christians.

Now it seems quite clear that Peter was not at Rome when Paul wrote to the saints there, or he would surely have mentioned his name; neither is there any mention of Peter when Paul arrived at Rome as a prisoner (about A.D. 62); and indeed scripture is quite silent as to Peter ever having been at Rome.

In Acts xii. Peter is at Jerusalem (about A.D. 41); and again in Acts xv. he is also there (about A.D. 50). Then we read of him visiting Antioch (Gal. ii. 11), perhaps soon after the council at Jerusalem. All this is entirely opposed to the idea of his having been the founder of the church at Rome, and having resided there as bishop.

Besides he was emphatically apostle to the circumcision, as Paul was apostle to the Gentiles, which would not at all accord with his being settled over any particular church, especially over a Gentile church.

If we turn to the early writers of the church, all is confusion. Some say that Peter was bishop of Antioch. Others, that he was apostle at Rome and was appointed the first bishop there. Some, that he, in conjunction with Paul, founded the church at Rome. There is, however, nothing in the least certain, and in later times it became easy to assert that Peter had been the first bishop of Rome, especially when it was sought to build an immense fabric upon that assumption.

In reference to the second question, as to whether Peter had any supremacy over the other apostles, the supposition is based upon the notable passage in Matthew xvi. 18, 19: "Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven."

From our point of view we need not have entered upon this second question, seeing that there is really nothing to link Peter with the church of Rome; and without this link the supremacy of Peter, if proved, would not give precedence to that church. Nevertheless, it may be well to endeavour to learn what the passage is intended to teach.

At the outset it may be admitted that Peter seems to have had a somewhat prominent place among the disciples, inasmuch as in the Gospels he is often mentioned first of the three, "Peter, James and John," though we cannot see that this gave him any supremacy over them.

In the above passage � as has often been pointed out � the words "this rock" may refer to Christ Himself, and not to Peter � indeed, this is the decided judgment of some who are able to refer to the original Greek. They say that it is proved that it does not refer to Peter by the word used for "rock," though this cannot be easily shewn to an English reader. It would be somewhat like this: "Thou art a stone: on this rock I will build my church."

{* The two words are Petros and Petra. The former is always the name of Peter except in John i. 42, where it is translated "a stone;" "Cephas, which is by interpretation a stone." The latter occurs sixteen times, and is always translated in the Authorised Version, rock.}

If we turn to the fathers we find great difference of judgment as to the passage, and nothing that throws any light upon it.

One thing is clear, that the foundation of the church cannot be a mere man, as Peter was: "Other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ." (1 Cor. iii. 11.) It is true that the saints are said to be built upon the foundation of the apostles and [New Testament] prophets, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief corner stone. (Eph. ii. 20.) But here, we see, there is no thought of the apostles being separated from the prophets, much less that any one of the apostles was appointed as the foundation.

Further, as to supremacy, we find that at Jerusalem, James � not Peter � had the chief place. At the council at Jerusalem, after Peter and others had spoken, James said, "My sentence is," etc., though they were able to say, "It seemed good to the Holy Ghost and to us." (Acts xv. 19, 28.)

Again, at Antioch we find that Paul withstood Peter to his face, because he was to be blamed; clearly proving that Peter then held no such place in the church as has been claimed for him by the church of Rome.

But it will be asked, What about the keys? Were not the keys of the kingdom given to Peter? They were; but this can have nothing to do with the building. People do not build with keys. Peter preached on the day of Pentecost, and many were admitted thereby. He also was the means used to bring in Cornelius. He himself said at the council at Jerusalem: "God made choice among us, that the Gentiles by my mouth should hear the word of the gospel and believe." (Acts xv. 7.) So that Peter was the instrument by which both Jews and Gentiles were first admitted into the kingdom.

Again, it will be urged that to Peter was given power to bind and loose, and whatsoever he bound or loosed on earth was bound or loosed in heaven. True; but the same power was also given to all the apostles; to them our Lord said, "Receive ye the Holy Ghost: whose soever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them; and whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained." (John xx. 22, 23.)

This surely refers to discipline, etc., and not to eternal forgiveness. They were not to take the place of God, who alone can forgive sins; but the apostles had power to bind sin upon an individual, as in the case of Ananias and Sapphira.

And further, we learn from the Epistle to the Corinthians that the church has the power � and it is its duty � to put away a wicked person, thus binding sin upon the guilty one. And on his repentance, it has the power to "forgive" such a one (2 Cor. ii. 7-10) and restore to communion. And when this is rightly done, the saints being led therein by the Holy Spirit, it is recognised by God in heaven.

In reference to the third point, very few words will suffice. There is no such thought in scripture as a succession of authority. Paul had the authority to delegate Timothy and Titus to appoint elders in every city; but there is not one word about those elders having authority to appoint others.

The apostle Paul, when speaking of his departure, commended the saints to God and to the word of his grace (Acts xx. 32), without the least hint that there should be any one in authority, to whom they were to bow.

And this was surely good. Apostasy came in very soon after, and evil doctrines were held by those who claimed such supposed authority, and it was well that Christians could cast themselves on God, refer to the written word, and refuse obedience.

The accounts of the pontiffs also shew plainly that their boasted succession from the apostles is a complete fable. At times the chair was vacant for months or even years; at other times there were two or even three men attempting to reign at once � each one cursing the others, and declaring all their ordinations to be worthless and void. Even Roman Catholic historians are not able to say how the succession should be traced, and differ in their attempts to make out a list. For a time the popes were notoriously wicked men, raised to power through the influence of profligate women. Thus their own historian Baronius confesses that there was "nowhere any mention of clergy electing or afterwards consenting, all canons buried in silence, the decrees of pontiffs suffocated, ancient traditions and old customs in electing the sovereign pontiffs proscribed, and sacred rites and ancient customs utterly extinguished."* He further says that the clergy chosen by these popes were such men as themselves. At Rheims, Count Hugo made his son of five years old archbishop, and took the revenues; then, when some got the upper hand, and consecrated another, there was a fight over it, and councils about it, and two archbishops at the same time.

The same historian says, "Not only was Christ asleep in the ship [alluding to the narrative in the gospels], but there were no disciples who should wake Him up: they were all snoring. What presbyters and cardinal deacons can we suppose should be chosen by these monsters, when nothing is so implanted in nature as that each should beget what is like himself? Who can doubt that they consented in all things to those by whom they were chosen."*

{* Baronius, 912, viii., vii. }

Now remember that this is not a history by a Protestant writer, but by one of Rome's own accredited historians, who surely did not portray the facts darker than they really were. Where, then, in all this was there apostolic succession? In such a succession should we not expect to find at least a few of the true features of Christianity and godliness? whereas here there was not one.

Notice, too, that the historian says, like pope like presbyters, like deacons, etc., and there were no disciples to call upon Christ: all were snoring. Surely this is a vivid picture of the Dark Ages. Men have tried to deny the darkness of those ages because there were Bibles in existence here and there; but what effect could they have if locked up, the light being extinguished as far as these wicked men could do it? At a council held at Toulouse in 1229, the laity were forbidden to have the scriptures in the vulgar tongue, except a psalter, or the like; and it was also forbidden to translate the scriptures.

The doings of these popes were not enacted in some obscure corner of the earth, where there were few to see or to regard what was done. It was at Rome, the head and centre of the catholic religion; and though the whole civilised world was looking on, still these things were done with the most audacious and unblushing effrontery.

This claim, then, of apostolic succession � like all other claims of the Roman catholic church � crumbles into atoms as soon as it is fairly examined.

But notwithstanding all this and much more failure in that church, they still declare that it is that church of which it is said "the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." But surely our Lord said this of the church He was going to build. We know from other parts of the word that what man builds may end in failure � be burned up like wood, hay, and stubble. (1 Cor. iii. 11-15.) This is in contrast to what our Lord Himself builds, which will of course stand for ever, in spite of all Satan's endeavours to prevent it.

We will further briefly allude to the so-called proofs of the Roman Catholic church being the true church. They are mainly condensed into four, namely, Unity, Catholicity, Holiness, and Apostolicity.

As to unity of faith and practice, it is but a myth. These have been altered again and again to suit circumstances, popes condemning councils, and councils condemning popes; one pontiff again and again undoing what another had done.

As to Catholicity, by which is meant universality � this is also a mere fable. It is not and never was universal. There were always Christians who were separated from it, notably those forming the eastern church, as well as the Waldenses, the Syrian Christians at Malabar, British Christians, etc.

As to Holiness, it surely should be a mark of the true church, but one only blushes to think how barefaced must be the man who can put this forth as a proof that the church of Rome is that true church of God. One has only to read their own best historians (say upon the subject of the celibacy of the clergy) to see that it has been from time to time so scandalous in its unholiness, that many an emperor has had to point it out in unmeasured terms, and call for councils to put a stop to the wickedness.

Apostolicity we have already looked at in connection with their assumption of apostolic succession.

Thus the whole that Rome claims for itself vanishes into the merest pretension, when examined by scripture and credible history. It can only thrive by suppressing the word of God, and by lulling men's consciences by the cry of "The church, the church, believe the church, and that church will secure your salvation." To examine is not faith. You must take it as it is presented to you, though the name it adopts carries a lie on its face � the Roman Holy Catholic Church. As we have seen, it is not holy and it is not catholic. There are more professed Christians on the face of the earth who are not Roman catholics than those belonging to that church. Other parts of our history will also shew that on some points it is fatally heretical.

Chapter 16.

Conclusion.

Such are our sketches of the History of the Church during the Dark Ages. Except the history of the Waldenses, the early British church with the missionaries from Iona, and the Syrian Christians of Malabar, there is little recorded but the history of the eastern church till the Saracens conquered Syria, Egypt, and Constantinople; together with the history of the church of Rome.

Toward the close of the Dark Ages, light was springing up in various places, and there became a large army of reformers and of martyrs before the Reformation had well taken root. In most instances those to whom God had given light did not seek to separate from the church of Rome, however clear they were as to its errors and corruptions. Some indeed � like the English bishop Grosseteste � fondly hoped that the church of Rome would reform itself. In their simplicity they thought that abuses had only to be pointed out and they would be renounced. Being Christians themselves they judged of others by themselves, and had often bitterly to learn that the church of Rome was mainly the fold of the unconverted, who had ends and aims quite foreign to the glory of God and the good of the saints.

It is well to be acquainted with the history of the church of Rome during the Dark Ages; it is highly important we should know its character, because of the increase of Romanism in England, and of that form of Ritualism which is already becoming a dangerous stepping-stone to Romanism. It is surprising that any true Christian can have anything to do with the church of Rome, seeing that its pretensions have been so often refuted, and its wickedness so openly exposed. But a fearful judgment awaits spiritual Babylon, as we read in the Revelation.

It is to be regretted that there are so few records during the Dark Ages of Christians who sought to live godly lives amidst the darkness, besides those we have named. We feel sure there were many such; for God does not leave Himself without a witness. History records them not; that called "the church" was what engaged attention, irrespective of the extent to which it had fallen from its high standing; but God's eye saw every God-fearing soul, and these will have a place in His book of remembrance.

It is comforting to turn to scripture and to know that, notwithstanding all the darkness, God knows those that are His, and there is a day coming when our Lord shall present to Himself "a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing." (Eph. v. 27.) May He hasten it in His own time; but let us all remember the reverse side of God's seal: "Let him that nameth the name of Christ depart from iniquity."

Nor must we forget the judgments that are to fall on apostate Christendom, whether Papal or Protestant, as found detailed in God's word, when Antichrist will be fully revealed and be received by those who will not bow to the Lord Jesus Christ nor receive His gospel. (See 2 Thess. ii. and Rev. xvi. � xviii.) It is a solemn thing to associate evil in any way with the name of Christ, and many warnings are given in God's word against those who do so.

May our Sketches of the Church be used of God to shew that, amid the Dark Ages, He always had some who were witnesses for their absent Lord, who valued the Holy Scriptures, and were opposed to false doctrine and evil practices wherever found.

Also to shew how fearfully contrary to God persons may be, even living in sin, while at the same time making the highest professions of holiness, and claiming authority in the church. We would also earnestly desire that Christians, being led wholly and solely by the word of God as to what Christianity really is, may separate from evil, and find their place among those that call on the Lord out of a pure heart. (2 Tim. ii. 22.)

STEM Publishing : For the Young : The Reformation.

Lights and Shadows of the Reformation.

"If the son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed."

London: G. Morrish, 20, Paternoster Square (before 1915).

Contents.

England.

Wiclif

The Translation of the Bible

The Work progresses

Bohemia.

John Huss and Jerome of Prague

Indulgences for Bohemia

Huss and the Council of Constance

Jerome a Martyr

Ziska and the Bohemians

Germany.

Luther and Melanchthon

The New Testament in German

Conflict with Rome continues

Human arrangements in the Church

The Work progresses amid opposition

War against the Reformation

France and Switzerland.

Zwingli, Calvin, Farel, Oecolampadius.

Zwingli, Farel and the Reformation in France

Farel in Switzerland

War in Switzerland

Calvin and France

Calvin in Italy

Geneva

Calvin in Geneva

France and the Massacre of Bartholomew

England.

Cranmer, Latimer, Ridley, Tyndale.

The King's Divorce

Latimer

Cranmer and the King's Divorce

Translation of the New Testament

Henry VIII. head of the Church

John Lambert

The King's Religion

Edward VI. and the Reformation

Queen Mary: Death of Ridley, Latimer, and Cranmer

Queen Elizabeth and the Reformation

The Reformation under James

Charles I. and Cromwell

Scotland.

John Knox

Mary, Queen of Scotland

Knox's last days

Conclusion.

England.

Wiclif.

In the year 1365 the pope (Urban V.) came into collision with England, by arrogantly demanding the annual rental of one thousand marks promised by King John* with the arrears of many years then due. The English failing to pay this, the pope claimed possession of England as his kingdom, and ordered King Edward III. to repair to Rome.

{* King John when excommunicated by the pope, and in danger of an invasion from France in 1213, had said, "I promise to pay him [the pope] one thousand marks yearly, to wit, 700 for the kingdom of England, and 300 for the kingdom of Ireland." The value of a mark was thirteen shillings and four pence.}

No little consternation was caused in England by this demand. The papal party were in high hopes. England had already enacted some statutes denying the right of the pope to appoint foreigners to high offices in the English church; and prohibiting any one from bringing to England, or from receiving and publishing, any bulls or excommunications from the pope: but now the pope was only asking for that which had been promised from England by their own sovereign, how could it be refused?

Wiclif* by this time was about forty years old. He was a Christian. He had passed through soul trouble on account of sin and the judgment of God, and had found peace in studying the scriptures. He resolved to make known the treasure be had found.

{* Wiclif's name is spelt in about twenty different ways. He was born in 1324 at the village of Wicliffe, near Richmond in the county of York, from which village he received his name. Surnames were not yet in common use, and people were often called after the place where they were born, or where their parents owned property. Thus John Wiclif would be originally John de Wycliffe, John of Wycliffe.}

In 1361 he had been chosen warden of Balliol College, and in 1365 warden of Canterbury Hall, at Oxford. In these offices he made known and expounded the scriptures to the students in the week, and on the Sunday he preached in simple language the same truths to the people.

Wiclif heard of this demand of the pope, and he strenuously opposed it. He may have been appealed to by the king, and if so, it would have been his duty to reply; but otherwise how much better it would have been had Wiclif left the matters of the state to those whom God had placed over the nation, and kept to the work God had given him to do for the souls of his hearers.

Parliament was summoned amid great excitement, and proceeded to discuss the question. The friends of the pope were of course in favour of the money being granted; but many could not see what the pope had to do with demands on their country. "England belongs not to the pope," said one; "the pope is but a man, subject to sin; but Christ is the Lord of lords, and this kingdom is held directly and solely of Christ alone." It would have been more to the purpose had they quoted the passage in Romans 13: 1: "The powers that be are ordained of God." God had ordained Edward III. and not Urban V. as King of England. After much discussion the demand was refused.

The friends of the pope declared that by the canon law England belonged to the pope, and the pope could now lay claim to the country. But who had made the canon law? The popes themselves and their councils. What authority then had the canon law? "The canon law has no force," said Wiclif, "when it is opposed to the word of God."

This demand made on England and its refusal brings out one of the reasons why the Reformation was needed. The popes laid claim to authority from God over the kings in Christendom, and when they chose they not only excommunicated a king from the church, but they also declared that he was no longer kind, and all his subjects were justified in refusing obedience to their sovereign.*

{* In 1077 Henry IV., Emperor of Germany, having been deposed by the pope, was made to divest himself of his robes, and, in a coarse woollen garment, stand bare-footed and fasting from morning till sunset for three days, before the pope would even admit him into his presence. In 1213 King John of England delivered his crown to the pope's legate, who kept it five days to shew the pope's authority over the king!}

The pope found it was of no use to try and enforce his demand on the English, yet he was loth to lose both his spiritual and his temporal power over England, so he brought about a conference at Bruges in 1374, to which Wiclif repaired with other commissioners. The chief points before them were the statutes which related to the pope's ecclesiastical powers in England.* The conference ended by a compromise. The king was to repeal the penalties against the agents of the pope; and the pope agreed to confirm the appointments of the king. The people however were displeased. "The clerks sent from Rome," said the House of Commons, "are more dangerous for the kingdom than Jews or Saracens." The pope had asked too much: the people begrudged him anything.

{* The principal of these was called the Law of Praemunire (so called from its commencement, Praemuniri facias, "cause to be forewarned"). The first statute was passed in 1306; another in 1352; another in 1392, which is the one generally referred to under the above title; others to meet abuses were passed from time to time. The pope had not only appointed whom he would to the higher offices in the church, but had nominated persons to fill vacancies long before the vacancies occurred, so as to keep the succession in his own hands.}

But the sojourn of Wiclif abroad was of great use to him. Like Luther's visit to Rome it opened Wiclif's eyes to the wickedness of the papal system, and confirmed him all the more in his judgment against it. On his return he was made Rector of Lutterworth. Here he preached the gospel to the people. "The gospel," said he, "is the only source of religion. The Roman pontiff is a mere cut-purse, and, far from having the right to reprimand the whole world, he may be lawfully reproved by his inferiors and even by laymen."

Such language however could not be allowed. The pope had many friends in England, and many in power. They beheld with alarm the spread of Wiclif's doctrine, and set to work to crush him.

On February 19, 1377, Wiclif was summoned to St. Paul's, London. It awoke great interest, and a large concourse of people flocked into the Cathedral. All were more or less excited, and many were holding animated conversation. But the hum was hushed on the approach of the man for whom all had been looking. But he came not alone. First came Lord Percy, marshal of England, then Wiclif and the Duke of Lancaster, followed by four monks, bachelors of divinity. All eyes are turned on Wiclif, who had been charged with heresy. The church was thronged with friends of the pope, and it was with great difficulty that Lord Percy and those following could make their way to the place where the bishops had assembled. As they pushed their way they encountered the scowls and frowns of the crowd, who would gladly have laid hands on Wiclif had he been alone, but they restrained themselves before his noble protectors.

At length they forced their way to where the ecclesiastics were assembled. Bishop Courtenay presided, who was not a little disconcerted to find that Wiclif was protected by two of the most powerful men in England, and a few angry words passed between them.

Lancaster foolishly whispered to one near him that he should like to pull the bishop out of the church by his hair. Some standing by heard this, and they at once made such an uproar in defence of the bishop that Lancaster and Percy had to defend themselves, and make their escape from the church as best they could. After cautioning Wiclif the meeting broke up, nothing being really done.

Wiclif again went on with his preaching, but the pope concerted measures to have him effectually stopped. For this purpose later in 1377 he was brought before the Archbishop. Men now expected he would be condemned; he was before the highest ecclesiastical dignitary in the land, and the King (Richard II.) being but a child could not interfere. But Wiclif had a friend in the Queen mother; and scarcely had the Archbishop commenced proceedings against Wiclif when Sir Louis Clifford entered the chapel and forbade the court to proceed. The bishops were confounded; but felt they had no power to resist, and gave way. Wiclif handed in a protest and retired. The protest said, "I do mind and intend with my whole heart (by the grace of God) to be a true Christian, and as long as breath shall remain in me to profess and defend the law of Christ." If any things he held could be shewn to be wrong by scripture he was ready to revoke and renounce them.

Wiclif was now left to go on with his work. That work increased in value in his own eyes. He greatly desired to have the gospel preached in all the dark places of England. To his disciples he said, "Go and preach, it is the sublimest work; but imitate not the priests whom we see after the sermon sitting in the ale-houses or at the gaming-table or wasting their time in hunting. After your sermon is ended, visit the sick, the aged, the poor, the blind, and the lame, and succour them according to your ability."

Alas, what a picture of the practice of the priests in those days! They too often went from the pulpit to the tavern or the gaming-table! What fruit could be expected from such labours and such labourers?

Wiclif's evangelists scattered themselves abroad. With staff in hand they went forth, living on alms, as was the custom, and preaching the gospel by the wayside, in churchyards, or wherever they could find hearers. Wiclif had taught them that salvation was not in angels or saints, but in Jesus Christ. "An angel," said he, "could have made no propitiation for man; for the nature which has sinned is not that of the angels. The mediator must needs be a man; but every man being indebted to God for everything that he is able to do, this man must needs have infinite merit, and be at the same time God."

The regular clergy were alarmed, and obtained a law to forbid the evangelists; and then from their retreats they would watch for them, and running out fall upon them. But the people often took their part, and forming a strong ring round the preachers would not allow them to be hurt.

Thus by the means of these devoted evangelists the gospel reached many a dark corner of our country, and a yet future day alone will reveal the result of the good seed sown.

Wiclif, besides this work of evangelization, still discharged his duties as professor at Oxford, when in 1379 he was taken dangerously ill, and all thought he would die. The papal party were in joy, but to make their triumph complete they hastened to his bedside to induce him to retract before he died. "You have death on your lips," said they "be touched by your faults, and retract in our presence all that you have said to our injury." Wiclif was calm and serene, and for a time held his peace. The priests were full of hope, and waited, expecting to hear his recantation. They had brought with them four Aldermen, so that their report of it should not be called in question.

Wiclif begged his attendant to raise him up. Then summoning his strength, though he was dreadfully weak, with piercing gaze he said, "I shall not die, but live, and again declare the evil deeds of the friars." Disappointed and confounded they retired from his room. The Reformer began to recover, and lived to accomplish a yet greater work than he had hitherto done.

The Translation of the Bible.

That greater work was to give to the English the Bible in their own tongue. England had been professedly a christian country for years, and yet, except the clergy, and perhaps a few who could read Latin, no one possessed a Bible, or knew anything of its contents except what the priests told them! How grateful we should be to God that our lot is cast in days when everyone can have his Bible, and read it as he pleases! Yet how great our responsibility to know what it teaches, and to obey it!

Wiclif did not understand either Greek or Hebrew, and so he could translate the Bible only from the Latin Vulgate; but this was infinitely better than not having any Bible at all. He had laboured patiently at his work of translating for more than ten years, assisted a little by others; but in 1380, the next year after his dangerous illness, his work was completed — the Bible was published in the English language.

Portions of the scriptures had been translated before — the gospels by one; the Acts and Epistles by another; the Psalms and a portion of the Old Testament by others: but these could never be said to be published. They were kept more as curiosities by their possessors — mostly in the convents — and were not intended for the people.

Wiclif's, on the other hand, was intended for the people; but when we say it was published we mean it was allowed to be copied and sold. As yet printing had not been invented, and there was only the long, tedious, and expensive process of copying by the pen. Still the copyists diligently went to work, and soon portions of the translation were offered for sale.

These portions were gladly bought, as well as were the complete copies. Wiclif's expectations were surpassed by the joy and eagerness with which men purchased the word of God. Many who had never seen this fountain of truth could now for themselves, and in their mother tongue, read the wonders of God's revelation to man. The book was above all price, and one told another of the treasure he had found. Men were now in what has been called the Dark Ages on account of the general darkness both spiritual and intellectual that was over the whole earth; but now a great light — God's light — had pierced that darkness, and shone along the Christian's path. A light too that has through the mercy of God shone on these lands ever since, notwithstanding all the efforts of Satan and all his agents to extinguish or stamp it out.

This publishing of the word of God brought out a second need that existed for the Reformation. It was a part of the policy of Rome to keep the Bible from the people: the Reformation restored it. It was God's gift to man, and man must have it.

Accordingly no sooner was Wiclif's Bible published than he was assailed on all hands by the friends of the pope. "It is heresy, to speak of holy scripture in English," said some; others seemed envious: "Master Wiclif, by translating the gospel into English," said they, "has rendered it more acceptable and more intelligible to laymen and even to women than it hath hitherto been to learned and intelligent clerks." Others affected a pious dread that by all having the gospel it would be trodden under foot as of swine. Others took higher ground, and said, "Since the church has approved of the four gospels, she would have been just as able to reject them and admit others! The church sanctions and condemns what she pleases. . . . Learn to believe in the church rather than the gospel!" This was really the point at issue. The church had not given the scriptures, it was God who gave them: the church of Rome had withheld them. Men ought not to believe in the church but in the gospel — the gospel of God. Wiclif was sure he was right, and cared not for the clamour. "Though the pope and all his clerks," said he, "should disappear from the face of the earth, our faith would not fail, for it is founded on Jesus alone, our Master and our God."

{* "Clerks" is only an old-fashioned name for clergy.}

In some places Wiclif met with encouragement. A copy of the gospels afterwards found its way to the palace, and Anne of Luxemburg, wife of Richard II. began to read them diligently. She also brought them under the notice of Arundel, Archbishop of York, who was struck by a woman and a foreigner reading "such virtuous books," and began to read them himself, and rebuked some of the clergy for neglecting such studies.

In the House of Lords a motion was made to crush the work by seizing all the copies, when the Duke of Lancaster exclaimed, "Are we then the very dregs of humanity, that we cannot possess the law of our religion in our own tongue?"

We give a specimen of Wiclif's New Testament.

In language it came between the pure Anglo-Saxon and our present English; Tyndale's coming between Wiclif's and the Authorized Version.

Anglo-Saxon. (7th Century.)

Swa swa Moyses tha naeddran up-ahof of tham westene, swa gebyrath thaet mannes Sunu beo up-ahafen: thaet nan thaera ne forweorthe the on hyne gelyfth, ac haebbe thaet ece lif. God lufode middan-eard, swa thaet he sealde his ancennedan Sunu, thaet nan ne forweorthe the on hine gelyfth, ac haebbe thaet ece lif. Ne sende God his Sunu on middan-eard, thaet he demde middan-earde; ac thaet middan-eard sy gehaeled thurh hine.

Wiclif, 1380.

As moises arerid a serpent in desert, So it behoueth mannes sone to be reisid, that eche man that beleueth in hym perisch not but haue euerlastynge liif. for God loued so the world, that he gaf his oon bigetun sone, that eche man that bileueth in him perisch not: but haue euerlastynge liif, for God sente not his sone in to the world, that he iuge the world, but that the world be saued bi him.

Tyndale, 1534.

As Moses lifte vp the serpent in the wyldernes, even so must the sonne of man be lifte vp, that none that beleveth in him perisshe: but have eternall lyfe. For God so loveth the worlde, that he hath geven his only sonne, that none that beleve in him shuld perisshe: but shuld have everlastinge lyfe. For God sent not his sonne into the worlde, to condempne the worlde: but that the worlde through him, might be saved. John 3: 14-17.

Authorized, 1611.

As Moses lifted vp the serpent in the wildernesse euen so must the Sonne of man be lifted vp: that whosoeuer beleeueth in him, should not perish, but haue eternall life. For God so loued the world, that he gaue his only begotten Sonne: that whosoeuer beleeueth in him, should not perish, but haue euerlasting life. For God sent not his Sonne into the world to condemne the world: but that the world through him might be saued.*

{* It has been estimated that in the Authorized Version, out of every forty words, thirty-nine are Anglo-Saxon. Dr. Adams gives the following as approximate dates for the transition of the language of Britain:

From 550 to 1150 Anglian or Anglo-Saxon.

From 1150 to 1250 Semi-Anglian or Semi-Saxon.

From 1250 to 1550 Old English.

From 1550 to 1650 Middle English.

From 1650 Modern English.}

The Work Progresses.

Wiclif proceeded to study the scriptures he had given to the people. The doctrine of the Mass — being said and sung every day — naturally received his attention. "The consecrated wafer," said he, "which we see on the altar, is not Christ, nor any part of Him, but His efficient sign." The church of Rome taught that when the priest consecrated the bread it at once became the actual body of Christ, by a change called transubstantiation. "How canst thou, O priest, who art but a man, make thy Maker?" said Wiclif. "What! the thing that groweth in the fields — that ear which thou pluckest to-day — shall be God to-morrow! . . . . . As you cannot make the works which He made, how shall you make Him who made the works?"

The Duke of Lancaster who had hitherto defended Wiclif, could not support him in his new doctrine. He exhorted, yea, even commanded Wiclif to remain silent; but Wiclif could not agree to smother the light God had given him.

About this time (1381) occurred the well-known insurrection of Wat Tyler, and there were many who were ready enough to ascribe these disorders as the fruit of Wiclif's doctrines. A more unfounded accusation had never been made.

Courtenay was promoted to the See of Canterbury and he hastened to call a synod to condemn Wiclif. They met in May (1382), in the afternoon, and were proceeding to draw up their sentence of condemnation, when a dreadful earthquake shook London and a great part of England, and this so alarmed the bishops that they hesitated to complete their work, looking on this as a rebuke from God. But the Archbishop endeavoured to turn the event into his favour. "Know you not," said he, "that the noxious vapours which catch fire in the bosom of the earth, and give rise to these phenomena which alarm you, lose all their force when they burst forth? Well, in like manner, by rejecting the wicked from the community we shall put an end to the convulsions of the church." The courage of the bishops revived and they condemned Wiclif — quoting some articles against him of which he was not guilty.

The Archbishop pressed the king to enforce their decision. "If we permit this heretic to appeal continually to the passions of the people," said he to the king, "our destruction is inevitable. We must silence these Lollards* — these psalm-singers." The king gave orders to confine in the prisons of the state any who should maintain the condemned propositions.

{* Most probably the term comes from lollen, to sing.}

Wiclif was not frightened, though he saw his friends one by one forsake him. He consoled himself with the thought that the doctrine of the gospel could never perish. Here he might have rested, and have gone on with his work as he could find opportunity; but he thought it right to appeal to the House of Commons. "Since Jesus Christ," said he, "shed His blood to free His church, I demand its freedom, I demand that the poor inhabitants of our towns and villages be not constrained to furnish a worldly priest, often a vicious man and a heretic, with the means of satisfying his ostentation, his gluttony, and his licentiousness — of buying a showy horse, costly saddles, bridles with tinkling bells, rich garments and soft furs, while they see their wives, children, and neighbours dying of hunger." The House of Commons felt their authority had been infringed upon by the king's order being issued without their concurrence. They called for its repeal.

Courtenay was disconcerted; but determined that his victim should not escape. So he hastened to Oxford, and gathering together the heads of the church he summoned Wiclif before him, taking care to open the doors to the students and laymen that the humiliation of the professor should be complete. Wiclif was infirm, and might have pleaded his weakness, but he did not. He obeyed the summons. But it ended in a way they little expected. Fixing his piercing gaze upon Courtenay he read him such a lecture that the archbishop did not soon forget it. He charged the Roman Catholic clergy with being like the priests of Baal, and with selling their Masses in a way that winked at evil to fill their purses. Then exclaiming, "The truth shall prevail," he left the court, none daring to stop him; and "like his divine Master at Nazareth," as D'Aubigné says, "he passed through the midst of them, and no man ventured to stop him." He retired to Lutterworth.

He was not, however, to escape molestation. He was quietly living among his parishioners and his books when he received a papal brief summoning him to Rome. He would doubtless have received this earlier but there were then two rival popes, and they were too busy abusing and cursing one another to think much of such a despised personage as Wiclif. Now while Scotland acknowledged one pope (Clement VII.), England held to the other (Urban VI.), who had plenty of friends in England, and these would not fail to press upon him the damage that was being done to the papal cause by this man's doctrine.

Wiclif believed his increasing infirmities justified him in declining to visit Rome: but he would write to the pope. He first exalted the gospel, and then declared that the pope himself was bound by the gospel. "For the greatness amongst Christ's disciples did not consist in worldly dignity or honours, but in the near and exact following of Christ in His life and manners. . . . . Hereby I do fully gather that no faithful man ought to follow either the pope himself or any of the holy men, but in such points as he has followed the Lord Jesus Christ."

But Urban was too busy with his war with Clement to trouble more about Wiclif, and so the Reformer continued his course unmolested. He was busy among his parishioners and also with his pen. During this time he wrote his Trialogues* between Truth, Falsehood, and Understanding. Let us listen to some of his conclusions.

{* Conversations between three, as dialogues are between two.}

"The scripture is the rule of truth, and should be the rule of the Reformation. We must reject every doctrine and every precept which does not rest on that foundation.

"To believe in the power of man in the work of regeneration is the great heresy of Rome; and from that error has come the ruin of the church.

"Conversion proceeds from the grace of God alone, and the system which ascribes it partly to man and partly to God is worse than Pelagianism.

"Christ is everything in Christianity: whosoever abandons that fountain which is ever ready to impart life, and turns to muddy and stagnant waters, is a madman.

"Faith is the gift of God: it puts aside all merit, and should banish all fear from the mind.

"The one thing needful in the christian life and the Lord's supper is not a vain formalism and superstitious rites, but communion with Christ according to the power of the spiritual life.

"The true church is the assembly of the righteous for whom Christ shed His blood.

"It is possible for the pope to be condemned at the last day because of his sins."

Thus did Wiclif gather truth from the scripture, taught by the Holy Spirit: he had no other teacher. He was highly favoured to live in peace. He expected nothing but martyrdom. "What!" said he, "I should live and be silent. Never! Let the blow fall, I await its coming."

But he was to die in peace. On the 29th of December, 1384, he was in the church at Lutterworth, engaged in the service, when he fell down upon the pavement stricken with paralysis. He was carried to his house and died peacefully on the last day of the year.

Thus passed away one whom God had raised up, and used to do a great work for Him. His greatest work was to give to England the Bible in the English language. Besides this he sent forth many evangelists to preach the gospel. He had learnt (though not clear on many points) a great portion of truth, by which he was enabled to see the errors of the church of Rome, and he had faith to cry against its abominations. Thus began the Reformation in England. He was the first, as well as the greatest, of England's Reformers; and of the Reformation generally, as one has well said, If Luther and Calvin were the fathers of the Reformation, Wiclif was its grandfather, that is, as an instrument in God's hand.

That he manfully opposed the errors of the church of Rome is proved by the list of charges brought against him, amounting to forty-five; and his name became a sort of touchstone by which to condemn others. To be a follower of Wiclif or hold what he held, was an end of all controversy, and stamped the person as a thorough heretic.

It is important too to see that the light given by God to Wiclif never after went out in England. There were always those who held and rejoiced in the light and truth. Every now and again it became visible, and some suffered martyrdom. They were often called Wiclifites, though he did not commence a sect, nor did he leave the church of Rome except in spirit. At other times they were called Lollards. But they all saw the same abuses in the church of Rome, and found relief and salvation in Christ and His gospel. Knighton, the historian, says that such was the success of Wiclif that "more than half of the people of England in a few years became Lollards."

The church of Rome saw such an attack upon itself in the work of Wiclif that in 1415 the Council of Constance ordered the bones of the Reformer to be burnt. This was carried out thirteen years after, in 1428. But the truth he had taught could not be burnt; it had been sown in men's hearts and brought forth fruit to life eternal.

His ashes were cast into a neighbouring brook called the Swift. As a historian says, from the Swift they could be carried to the Avon, from the Avon to the Severn, from the Severn to the ocean, and become an emblem of his doctrine which is dispersed all the world over; as the poet has said:

"Once more the Church is seized with sudden fear,

And at her call is Wiclif disinhumed

Yea, his dry bones to ashes are consumed

And flung into the brook that travels near;

Forthwith, that ancient Voice which streams can hear

Thus speaks (that Voice which walks upon the wind,

Though seldom heard by busy human kind) —

'As thou these ashes, little brook! wilt bear

Into the Avon, Avon to the tide

Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas,

Into main ocean they, this deed accurst

An emblem yields to friends and enemies

How the bold teacher's doctrine, sanctified

By truth, shall spread throughout the world dispersed.'"

Bohemia.

John Huss and Jerome of Prague.

In Prussia, at a place called Wilsnack, in the province of Brandenburg, there stood a part of a stone altar. About the year 1403 in this altar were found three of the wafers used in the Lord's Supper by the Roman Catholics. Years previously a church had stood on that spot: but the church had been destroyed by a knight, who had suffered a part of the altar to remain.

Well, when these wafers were discovered they were found to be of a red colour. Now as the Roman Catholics say that when the bread, or rather wafers, and the wine are consecrated, they are changed into the very body and blood of our Lord, and that the body and blood are both present in the bread, when these wafers were found and seen to be red, those who found them thought that this was the blood of Christ becoming visible. They thought they saw the wafers stained with the actual blood that flowed in the veins of our Lord when down here upon the earth. They at once raised the report that such was the case. It was said to be a miracle — a real miracle which any one could come and behold with his own eyes. Numbers flocked to the place. It at once became a "holy spot," and reports were soon circulated that marvellous cures were being effected at the broken altar. The fame of it soon spread abroad, and pilgrimages were made to it from Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Hungary, Poland and all parts of Bohemia.

The clergy of the district encouraged this all they could. It brought to them a rich harvest through the pilgrims, and raised them into honour that such a miracle should have been wrought in their midst. A citizen of Prague with a lame hand procured a hand made of silver and hung it up as a votive offering in honour of those bloody wafers, as they were called. But he remained in the place a few days, most probably unknown to the priests, and indeed to test their honesty; but one day he was surprised to hear that one of them had publicly declared that the silver hand was hung there as a memorial that the lame hand of the citizen had been cured by a miracle. The poor man could not allow this, he held forth his lame hand as bad as ever, to the great dishonour and shame of the priest, but to the enlightenment of himself and others.

Still numbers flocked to the bloody wafers; and believed all that the priests told them. At that time Zbynek of Hasenburg was Archbishop of Prague. He was at least an honest man, and desired the abuses of the church should be removed. He had his doubts about these "bloody wafers," and the professed miracles, so he appointed three to investigate the whole matter. John Huss was one of these three. After due examination they reported that the miracles were not real, and the wafers were not bloody. Bread and other substances, exposed to the air and moisture, often have from vegetable or animal products a red appearance.* The Archbishop prohibited any more pilgrimages from his diocese.

{* The microscope had not then been discovered, or it would have at once revealed the true nature of such an appearance.}

This was the first thing that brought Huss into prominence as an enemy of abuses. He was born about 1370 at Hussinetz, a village in Bohemia. in the circle of Prachin, towards the border of Bavaria. He studied at the University of Prague, was made Master of Arts in 1396, and began to lecture in 1398.

John Huss was not satisfied with the prevailing state of religion. Besides being an enemy of abuses and imposture, his soul thirsted for something better than was afforded by the Roman Catholic religion. He saw not only that he needed this better thing for himself, but that the people too were perishing for lack of knowledge.

In Prague, apart from the Roman Catholic churches, a house had been converted into a chapel, named Bethlehem, or House of Bread. It had been set on foot by two good men, in order, as they said, that the word of God might be preached to the people in the Bohemian language. "Christ had given commission to His disciples," said they, "when He appeared to them after His resurrection, to preach the word, so as to preserve constantly in the world the living memory of Himself."

In 1401 Huss was chosen as preacher in Bethlehem, where every Sunday, and on festivals, he preached in the Bohemian language. This was his delight. As he learnt the truth himself he taught it, and, as one has said, he became a curer of souls, principally among the humbler classes, who came to him with their burdened consciences, and who found that the absolution of the priest did not suffice. Huss diligently devoted himself to the study of the word of God as the fountain of all light.

A Bohemian princess, Anne, sister to King Wenceslaus, had married Richard II. King of England. This united the two countries, and English students went to Prague, and Bohemian students came to Oxford. Wiclif's writings thus became well known in Prague. Huss knew them well. "I am attracted by his writings," said he, "in which he expends every effort to conduct all men back to the law of Christ, and especially the clergy, inviting them to let go the pomp and the dominion of the world, and live with the apostles according to the life of Christ."

Huss had a friend and companion in Jerome, known as Jerome of Prague. He was one of the few knights of Bohemia who cared for learning. He was very different in temperament from Huss. Never quiet long together, being full of life and ardour, he was, as people say, here, there, and everywhere — sometimes at Oxford, at other times at Paris, then at Jerusalem, with visits to Hungary, Vienna, and Russia. In 1398 he returned from Oxford, bringing with him copies of several of Wiclif's writings, hitherto unknown at Prague, which stimulated the study of his works. It divided the University of Prague into two camps; some were for the principles of Wiclif, and some opposed them.

This at length attracted the attention of the heads of the University, and in May, 1403, a meeting was called to consider "forty-five propositions ascribed to Wiclif." The votes were taken by nations — Bohemian, Bavarian, Saxon, and Polish) each one vote; but, inasmuch as Bavaria and Saxony were German, and half of Poland, the Germans could always outvote the Bohemians, which gave rise to national jealousy. It was heightened in this case by the propositions of Wiclif being condemned by the German party, while many in Bohemia were in favour of them. Huss, at present, could not give his entire consent to all of Wiclif's propositions, some of them being on abstruse philosophic subjects, so that he was not involved in the vote.

The Archbishop and Huss had hitherto been good friends. Their friendship was soon to be broken. Some of the clergy had been accused of favouring the principles of Wiclif, and the Archbishop had summoned them to answer the charge. One of them, Nicholas of Welenowitz, was thrown into prison, and though afterwards released he was banished from the diocese. Huss took up his cause and boldly wrote to the Archbishop, blaming him for his conduct. "What is this?" said he, "that men stained with innocent blood, men guilty of every crime, shall be found walking abroad almost with impunity; while humble priests who spend all their efforts to destroy sin, who fulfil their duties under your church guidance, in a good temper never follow avarice, but give themselves for nothing to God's service and the proclamation of His word, are cast into dungeons as heretics, and must suffer banishment for preaching the gospel." Such bold language could not fail to make Archbishop Zbynek an enemy of Huss.

Huss was confessor to Queen Sophia, and had thus great influence at court, which brought him many friends. So the Archbishop having done something to eradicate the doctrines of Wiclif let the matter rest. King Wenceslaus hastened on events, though unintentionally. He issued an edict altering the constitution of the University, giving the Bohemians three votes, and only one to the foreigners. This offended the Germans who bound themselves by a solemn oath to leave the University unless the king abandoned his plan. This he refused to do, and many of the professors and students left Prague. Some have put down the number who left as 44,000; the lowest named is 5,000. Only about 2,000 remained. This separation was the means of the founding of the University of Leipsic.

Huss was made Rector of the University of Prague, but in a great measure he felt his hands tied, for he was associated with others who evinced no interest in the truth. He must either do nothing, or clash with them; while, on the other hand, those who had left the University spread abroad everywhere that Huss had imbibed heresy. He was also charged with driving away the students. This was not true, though he had with many others favoured the change.

To make matters worse, the king was brought into collision with the Archbishop and his clergy, they holding with pope Gregory XII. and he with the Council of Pisa, which was called to settle matters in the church, there being another pope (Benedict XIII.) both contending for the mastery. Huss declared in favour of the council, which made him to be still more disliked by the Archbishop.

The faithfulness of Huss brought him also enemies among the higher clergy. While he confined himself to pointing out the failings of the monks they did not interfere, but as soon as he began to attack the abuses among the higher clergy all were in arms against him. They laid a complaint before the king; but the king took the part of Huss. He told them that Huss had not spared the princes and lords, the clergy did not complain then: now it was their turn, and they must make the best of it.

The council of Pisa (1409) set aside both the popes, and elected another — Alexander V.* The Archbishop of Prague saw it best to acknowledge the new pope, who in return issued a Bull against any in Bohemia holding the doctrines of Wiclif. The Bull bore evidence on it that it was the work of the Archbishop, and that it was really aimed at Huss, which gave great offence to those about the king, who were friends of the Reformer. Huss tried to evade the Bull without coming into open collision with the church of Rome. He appealed from the pope ill-informed to the pope better informed. But the Archbishop seemed determined that things should be brought to an issue, so he sent forth an order prohibiting preaching in private chapels. This at once involved Huss and his preaching at Bethlehem Chapel. Huss thought he was protected by the foundation charter of the chapel; at any rate he deemed it right to obey God rather than man, and not to discontinue his preaching.

{* This forms a hard problem for the Roman Catholics. What became of the infallibility of the pope when there were two, condemning and cursing each other? Which was infallible? And if either, how was it that a council was able to set that which was infallible on one side, and elect another? Neither of the deposed popes would submit, so that there were actually three at one and the same time claiming to be pope.}

The Archbishop also ordered all Wiclif's books to be delivered to him within six days for examination. But without examining them he declared his intention to burn them all. A convocation was held at the University which petitioned the king to prevent the burning of the books condemned.

The king sent to the archbishop asking him if he really meant to burn the books. He replied he would do nothing without consent of the king. He only delayed his purpose — he did not abandon it. So on July 16, 1410, under the plea that the king had not forbidden the burning, he caused his palace to be surrounded with a watch, and then burnt about two hundred volumes of the writings of Wiclif and other Reformers. This caused great indignation, and some turned it into ridicule. Songs were made up and sung about the Archbishop, signifying

"The great Archbishop he must learn

His A, B, C,

That what was in the books he burnt

He yet may see."

There is no proof that Huss had any hand in these satirical songs; but the excitement became so strong that the king had to forbid their being sung on pain of death. Huss said, "I call the burning of the books a poor business. Such burning never yet removed a single sin from the hearts of men (if he who condemned them could not prove anything), but has only destroyed many truths, many beautiful and fine thoughts, and multiplied among the people disturbances, enmities, suspicions and murders." Huss adds "murders," for, sad to relate, blood had been shed amid these contentions.

Just at this time (1409-1410) Pope Alexander died, and John XXIII. was chosen as his successor, so that there were still three claiming to be pope. Huss, with others, vainly appealed to the new pope against the Archbishop. The Reformer did not yet see how useless it was to appeal to such a corrupt standard as the pope. This pope — John XXIII. proved to be one of the worst of them, and was eventually set aside by another council of the church. But Huss's aim was to reform the Roman Catholic church, to which he was attached.

Huss could not bow to the order to stop the preaching in Bethlehem Chapel. "Where is there any authority in holy writ," said he, "or where are there any rational grounds forbidding preaching in so public a place, fitted up for that very purpose, in the midst of the great city of Prague? Nothing else can be at the bottom of this but the jealousy of Antichrist." Huss saw and asserted that the divine call to preach the gospel was of more authority than any outward call from man. "Where the Spirit of the Lord is there is liberty." He went on with his preaching, leaving results with God.

Huss, amid the confusion and strife in the church, had to weigh up everything as in the presence of God, and to come to some resolve, in God's strength, as to his future course: should he obey God as far as he understood His will and stem the torrent, or should he swim along with the stream, avoiding the evil as much as he could as he swam?

Let us hear at what conclusion Huss arrived: "In order that I may not make myself guilty, then, by my silence, forsaking the truth for a piece of bread, or through fear of man, I avow it to be my purpose to defend the truth which God has enabled me to know, and especially the truth of the holy scriptures, even to death; since I know that the truth stands, and is for ever mighty and abides eternally; and with her there is no respect of persons." Noble resolve! Amid such darkness as then overshadowed the church, resolving to abide by the light which must bring him into collision with the darkness and the powers thereof, was true courage.

We have seen that Huss appealed to the pope: Archbishop Zbynek had also hastened to do the same. The pope listened to the Archbishop and appointed Cardinal Otto of Colonna to investigate the case of Huss. The Cardinal confirmed the sentence of the Archbishop; but lest this sentence should not be carried out, he further summoned Huss to appear at Bologna where the pope then was.

Huss hesitated to obey the summons. He declared it would be unsafe for him to travel in Germany, and at the papal court he could expect nothing but condemnation. Queen Sophia took up the cause of her confessor, and the king wrote to the pope and the college of Cardinals in favour of Huss. He begged the pope to put a stop to the whole process, to impose silence on the enemies of Huss, to suppress the dispute concerning the books of Wiclif; since it was evident that no one in his dominions had fallen into error or heresy by those writings. "It is our will too," said he, "that Bethlehem Chapel which, for the glory of God and the saving good of the people, we have endowed with franchises for the preaching of the gospel, should stand, and should be confirmed in its privileges . . . . and that Huss (whom he styles the loyal, devout, and beloved) may be established over this chapel and preach the word of God in peace."

The king also requested that Huss might be excused from coming to Bologna; but that the pope would send some one to investigate the matter in Bohemia. The king's letter was sent by a personal friend of the pope, and Huss also sent three others from the college.

In the meantime Colonna had pronounced excommunication against Huss for not obeying the summons; but the pope was moved by the letter of the king, and took the matter out of the hands of Colonna and appointed a new commissioner. Archbishop Zbynek however was not asleep. He used all his influence to induce the pope to make Huss appear before the papal court. He even sent "horses, vases, and costly rings" to the pope, and other gifts of a costly kind to the cardinals. For some reason the pope took it out of the hands of the commissioner and placed it in the hands of Cardinal Brancus, who let it quietly rest for a year and a half.

At length, however, he arose like a lion, declared Huss, unheard, to be an heresiarch — a chief of heretics — and placed the town of Prague, where Huss resided, under interdict.* Zbynek was overjoyed, and at once issued orders according to the authority he now received. The clergy of Prague proceeded to close their churches.

{* In any town placed under interdict no religious service of any kind was allowed to be held by the papal clergy.}

The king, however, would not allow this. He took up the cause of Huss, and confiscated the property of the clergy who attempted to enforce the interdict. The people too were incensed against the clergy, and some of them had to flee from the place.

This enabled Huss quietly to go on with his work, leaving the king to contest the matter with the Cardinal and the Archbishop. Now all this is very remarkable; because the king cared nothing about the truth, and was really a very bad man, so bad that he was twice imprisoned by his own subjects because of the evil that he caused. And yet here he was contending against the power of Rome and protecting the servants of God! Doubtless God was over-ruling all to protect His own work.

The Archbishop, however, found the king had too much power on his side, especially as there was really only weakness on the side of Rome to back him up on account of the pope himself (John XXIII.) being generally execrated, and too busy with his own troubles to care for Bohemia.

In July, 1411, a committee was appointed, and the king and the Archbishop agreed to abide by its decision. It resulted in the Archbishop removing the ban and interdict, and writing to the pope that no heresies existed in Bohemia; the king on the other hand released such of the clergy as were under arrest, and restored their salaries. Though peace was in some measure restored, the Archbishop was ill-at-ease, and in September, 1411, he left Bohemia and died soon after.

John XXIII., having sent a legate into Bohemia to enlist help against his enemies, the legate caused the new Archbishop Albic to summon Huss before him. He at once asked Huss if he intended to obey the apostolic commands. Certainly, said Huss; he would do so with all his heart. Turning to the Archbishop the Legate said, "Do you see? the master is quite ready to obey the apostolic mandates." But Huss saw that he was not understood. "My lord," said he, "understand me well. I said I am ready with all my heart to fulfil the apostolic mandates; but I call the apostolic mandates the doctrines of the apostles of Christ; and as far as the papal mandates agree with these, so far I will obey them most willingly. But if I see anything in them at variance with these, I shall not obey, even though the stake were staring me in the face." At present Huss escaped: the Legate had other work in hand.

Indulgences for Bohemia.

The Legate was engrossed with raising money for his master. He was armed with a papal Bull in which indulgences — that is, papers professing to forgive the sins of those who held them — were granted to those who helped the pope by enlisting against his enemies; he also granted indulgences for those who would help in money in proportion to their means. Huss opposed these indulgences and it was this that severed him from some of his friends in the University, especially Stephen Paletz, dean of the theological faculty, who now and hereafter became Huss's determined enemy. Huss said to him: "Paletz is my friend; Truth is my friend; and both being my friends, it is my sacred duty to give the first honour to Truth."

As to the indulgences Huss declared that by them "The foolish man of wealth is betrayed into a false hope; the law of God is set at naught; the rude people give themselves up more freely to sin; grievous sins are thought lightly of; and, in general, the people are robbed of their property. Far be it, therefore, from the faithful to have anything to do with indulgences."

Jerome also took up the subject of the papal Bulls, and delivered a glowing discourse against them, which so stirred up the hearts of the students that in the evening they rallied round Jerome, and escorted him home in triumph. The students did not stop here; but they got up a mock procession; the papal Bulls were hung round some of the necks of women who were placed in a chariot, and the procession went through the principal parts of the city. They then collected a pile of faggots and publicly burnt the Bulls. It was intended to be a parody on the burning of Wiclif's books by the Archbishop.

It is certain that Huss had no hand in such an unseemly act, and Jerome long after declared that he did not burn the Bulls. It was proved to have been done by one of the king's favourites.

The king was vexed at the transaction, and gave strict orders that the priests should not be molested in publishing the Bulls. Thus encouraged they went on with their work industriously; but one-day as they were exhorting the people to buy the indulgences, three young men, artisans, called out to one of the preachers, "Thou liest! Master Huss has taught us better than that. We know it is all false." The priests managed to seize these young men and carry them before the senate, who met on the next day, and, in accordance with the edict of the king, condemned them to death. Huss hastened to the senate, and demanded a hearing. Two thousand students accompanied him, and the senate could not refuse. Huss declared that he looked upon the fault of these young men as his own; and he deserved death more than they. The senate promised him that no blood should be shed. Believing they would keep their promise, he left the senate chamber, and the excitement calmed down.

The senate however did not mean to keep its word. A few hours later a body of soldiers were brought, and the three prisoners were hurried away to the place of execution. It soon became known, and many began to run after the procession. Every moment the excitement and the numbers increased and, fearing a tumult, the authorities halted before they came to the accustomed place, and smote off the heads of the three young men. When the executioner had done his work he called out "Let him who does like expect to suffer the same fate," when many called out, "We are all ready to do the like and suffer the same."

Several and especially the Beguines,* stepped forward and dipped their handkerchiefs in the blood and kept them as relics. A woman also offered linen to enshroud the bodies, and one, attached to Huss, with a company of students, conveyed the bodies to Bethlehem Chapel. With hymns and songs they buried their remains amid great solemnities, under the direction of Huss.

{*"Beguine" was a term of reproach given to certain pious women, similar to the term Pietist or Puritan.}

The three were naturally looked upon as martyrs, and Bethlehem Chapel was called by many "The chapel of the three saints." Had not Huss preached the truth? Had not these young men learnt it? Were they not put to death because they stated the truth? If the truth had really reached their hearts they were martyrs. It was indeed a dreadful sin for the priests to pretend to sell for money the forgiveness of sins, call it by the name of indulgence or any name you please.

The death of these young men had been attended by so much excitement that others who were in prison were liberated; while the hands of the true friends of Bethlehem Chapel were strengthened. The truths taught had borne fruit; and they were truths worth dying for.

The news that Huss was condemning the sale of indulgences soon reached the pope, who put the matter into the hands of Cardinal Peter de St. Angelo, charging him to use the severest measures against the heretic.

The Cardinal pronounced the sentence of excommunication against Huss. In twenty days, if he disobeyed the pope, the ban was to be proclaimed in the churches with the ringing of all the bells and the extinguishing of all the tapers! By a second order from the pope, who by this time had perhaps heard of all that had taken place at Prague, they were to seize at once on Huss, and deliver him or condemn and burn him. Bethlehem Chapel was to be destroyed to its foundation.

The senators met together, and resolved to carry the orders of the pope into execution. On October 2 they proceeded to disperse the congregation at Bethlehem and seize Huss. But they were met with such a firm resolution on the part of the congregation that they were compelled to abandon their object. They resolved however that they would destroy the Chapel; but, when this became known, such commotions arose that they were compelled to give this up also. Huss solemnly appealed from the pope to the Lord Jesus Christ. It was advised that for a time Huss should leave Prague. This he agreed to, and retired to some of the strong castles of his friends; one of the first being the castle of Kozi-hradek, belonging to the lords of Austie.

The king now strove to bring about a compromise for the sake of the peace of the kingdom; but it all ended in no real union. The papal party made the pope and all he did the ultimate appeal, while the friends of Huss insisted upon the holy scriptures.

In the meantime Huss was busy studying the word and writing, and especially a work on the church. Huss reverted to the passage, "Where two or three are gathered together in my name there am I in the midst of them." "There then," said he "would be a true particular church. Christ alone is the all-sufficient Head of the church." Then he turned and looked at that which called itself the church, and said, "We may well be amazed to see with what effrontery those who are most devoted to the world, who live most worldly and abominable lives, most distant from the walk with Christ, and who are most unfruitful in performing the counsels and commandments of Christ — with what fearless effrontery such persons assert that they are heads, or eminent members, of the church, which is His bride." Just at that time as we have seen, John XXIII. was pope, claimed to be the head of the church, and yet he was one of the most wicked of men.

Though in retirement Huss was continually writing to his friends; and ever and anon he longed to be preaching again in Bethlehem Chapel. This desire became so strong that in 1413 he braved all dangers and paid short visits to Prague, spent a few hours in communion with his friends, retiring again to privacy as soon as his presence began to be known outside the circle of his friends. To be nearer Prague he came to reside at a castle at Cracowec. There too he began preaching, and numbers flocked together from all quarters to hear him.

Huss and the Council of Constance.

Huss continued at his blessed and happy work of preaching the gospel when he had formal information that a General Council was to be held at Constance, at which he would be required to be present, and his case would be considered. Sigismund, brother of King Wenceslaus, was Emperor, and he requested the King to send Huss to Constance, and promised to give him a safe-conduct, enjoining upon all, in the name of the Emperor, not to molest him. Huss required no driving — he was anxious to defend himself from the charge of heresy, and to give an account of his faith in presence of the representatives of all Western Christendom, and to testify against the corruptions of the church. He wrote to the Emperor, saying, that "under the safe-conduct of your protection I shall, with the permission of the Highest, appear at the next council at Constance."

In the meantime he returned to Prague. Many of his friends were filled with fear as to his safety; but nothing could shake his resolution to appear at Constance. He committed his cause to God. "If my death," said he, "can glorify His name, then may He hasten it, and give me grace to endure with good courage whatever evil may befall me. But if it is better for me that I should return to you, then let us beseech God for this, that I may come back to you from the council without wrong; that is, without detriment to His truth, so that we may from thenceforth be able to come to a purer knowledge of it, to destroy the doctrines of Antichrist, and leave behind us a good example for our brethren."

On the 11th of October, 1414, Huss left Prague, accompanied by two knights, Wenzel of Duba and John of Chlum. Great interest was taken in his journey, and in some places large bodies flocked to see the intrepid man. At all places he was ready to give a reason of the hope that was in him, and make known what he had learned from scripture.

On November 3 he entered Constance, and announced his arrival to the pope. For four weeks he was left to himself; but his personal enemies arriving, Paletz among them, they bestirred themselves to influence others against him.

On November 28 Huss was at his lodging in company with his friend the Knight of Chlum, when visitors were announced, These proved to be the bishops of Augsburg and Trent with two others. They told Huss that he was going to have the hearing he desired, and they had come to fetch him to the pope's palace. Huss protested; it was in the council he desired to be heard. The Knight of Chlum also protested. But they were assured that there was no bad intention. So they went. On the lower floor he was met by the mistress of the house, who took leave of Huss in tears. He gave her his blessing. He was confronted with some of his enemies, who were now rejoiced, and said plainly, "Now we have you, nor shall you escape till you have paid the uttermost farthing." Huss was a prisoner. Indeed soldiers had been placed in the adjacent streets as a provision against any commotion or resistance.

Towards evening, it was intimated to Chlum that he might retire to his lodging: Huss must remain. The knight now saw the trap that had been laid for them, and was filled with indignation. He hastened off to the pope and reproached him with treachery. The pope declared it was not his doing, but that of the Cardinals. This might be true, for he himself, being one of three popes, was at the mercy of the Cardinals. The same night Huss was removed, and after eight days he was confined in a narrow dungeon on the Rhine, which was filled with foul air from a sink.

The Knight of Chlum next hastened to inform the Emperor of how his safe-conduct had been violated. The Emperor expressed indignation, and ordered Huss to be set free, and threatened to break open the prison doors if it was not done. He was not yet come to Constance, but when he came he did nothing. It is doubtful whether the Emperor was sincere in the expression of his intention, but it is recorded that some of the council waited upon him, and begged him not to interfere in matters relating to heresy, as that was their province; and this may have weighed with him. Huss remained a prisoner. The unhealthy position of his cell brought on a dangerous illness. The pope sent to him his own physician: for, as one has said, "it was not desired that be should die a natural death." Through the intercession of his friends he was shifted to a more airy room in the same convent.

After Huss had left Prague for Constance, a movement had taken place to shew that it was right for Christians to take the wine as well as the bread at the Lord's supper. In the church of Rome only the bread is given, because they say, the body and blood of Christ are both present in the bread. They wrote from Prague to ask the judgment of Huss. He referred to the scripture, and there it was plain enough that Christians partook of both; and now, though a prisoner, he did not hesitate to say what he had found. They commenced to give the people the bread and the wine. Afterwards this was one of the charges brought against Huss.

Various propositions were made to Huss as to his case, but nothing was yet really settled, when on March 21, 1415, the council was thrown into confusion by the flight of pope John. He doubtless foresaw that he, with the other popes, would be deposed, and to save this he fled from the place. But with him also went the attendants of Huss, who was now left destitute, yet a prisoner. His friends again pressed on the Emperor for his release, but his enemies prevailed, and he was now imprisoned in the castle of Gottleben, and chained night and day.

At length, through the intercession of the friends of Huss, he was promised a hearing in the council. He was also brought from the castle to a Franciscan convent at Constance; and by a singular retribution the next prisoner in that castle at Gottleben was the man who had been pope John XXIII. (in whose name Huss had been first imprisoned), now deposed, and simply called Balthazar Cossa, who had been caught and was now a prisoner.

A long list of charges was made out against Huss. The first article was read. Huss acknowledged it, and began to defend it from scripture.

But they said, All that was nothing to the point. Again he began, but they interrupted him continually, until he saw it was no use, and was silent. The more just part of the council were ashamed; and it broke up in confusion.

On the 7th of June he appeared again, the Emperor being now present. The second point was that Huss denied Transubstantiation. This he denied. He had his own way of explaining it, but as yet he believed in the real presence of the body and blood of Christ in the bread and wine. Then many other subjects followed with long discussions. At length the Emperor told Huss that he had better submit to the council, and he promised that they would deal with him in a lenient manner, and he should be let off with a slight penance and satisfaction. If not, they would know what to do with him. The Emperor would not undertake to protect his errors; he would sooner prepare the faggots for him with his own hands. On the 8th of June Huss was again brought up, and other charges read to him, to which he answered fully. Then again he was advised by the council and the Emperor to submit to the council, and recant.

After he left, the council settled that if he recanted he was to be a prisoner for life; and efforts were made to get him to recant. A form was drawn up and submitted to him; but he could not sign it. Then various members of the council visited him and begged him to recant and to submit to the council. One said that he ought to do this if even the council was wrong!

The Knight of Chlum begged Huss to confess to any error if he knew of any, but he exhorted him to suffer any punishment sooner than deny the truth. Huss was moved, and replied, weeping, "I call God the Almighty, as I have often done, to witness that from my heart I am ready whenever the council teaches me anything better by testimonies from holy scripture, to change my opinion at once, and to confess publicly under oath, that I was previously in error." This they called obstinately clinging to his errors, so far was it from their thoughts that anything should be proved by scripture only.

Huss was now condemned to death, to the lasting disgrace of the Emperor, who had given him a safe-conduct. He must first be degraded. He was dressed as a priest. His dress was taken piece by piece with a denunciation at each. A chalice was placed in his hand which was then taken from him with the words, "We take from thee, condemned Judas, the cup of salvation." To this he replied, "But I trust in God my Father, the Almighty, and my Lord Jesus Christ, for whose name I bear this, that He will not take from me the cup of His salvation; and I have a firm hope that I shall yet drink of it to-day in His kingdom." A cap, painted over with devils, was then placed on his head, with the words "Arch-heretic." Then they said, "Now we give over thy soul to the devil." "But I," said Huss, raising his eyes to heaven, "commend into Thy hands, Jesus Christ, my soul, by Thee redeemed.

He was led to the place of execution July 6, 1415, and there bound to the stake, and chained to it by the neck. Just before the pile of faggots was lit, the marshal of the Empire rode up and again called upon him to recant. He could not. "The chief aim of my preaching," said he, "was to teach men repentance and the forgiveness of sins according to the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the expositions of the holy Fathers; therefore I am prepared to die with a joyful soul." The faggots were lit, which blazing up soon stifled him, as he called on Jesus Christ, Son of the living God. The ashes of his body were thrown into the Rhine, that nothing might remain to pollute the earth.

Thus died this honoured servant of the Lord. He was not clear on some points, and in doctrine he did not think it possible for any one to know if he was saved, but in fact he seemed to have no doubts about his own salvation. Rome had triumphed in putting him to death, as they thought; but it was he who really had triumphed, and had resisted all their seduction, and had died for the truth.

The result of his teaching exists to this day. Though they burnt the man, they could not uproot the seed he had sown, and it brought forth fruit, notwithstanding all the powers of Rome to uproot it and stamp it out. The reason is, that it was of God, and by God, and for God; and when He works none can hinder.

Jerome a Martyr.

Jerome of Prague, the friend of Huss, was to pass through a similar ordeal. He had been to Constance secretly, but the Emperor refusing him a safe-conduct he returned to Bohemia. But his enemies succeeded in seizing him, and he was brought to Constance in chains. This was in May, 1415. He was thrown into prison, chained fast, and kept there for four months. He was pressed much to recant; and, his imprisonment telling seriously upon his health, he broke down and offered to do so. His recantation was drawn up for him, and on September 23 he read it before the council. He abjured all the heresies with which he was charged, and all the heresies of Wiclif and Huss: agreed with the sentence on both those Reformers, with other particulars. After this he expected his liberty, but he was conducted back to prison, though he was no longer bound in fetters.

His enemies doubted if his recantation was real, and feared that if he was again in Bohemia he would head the Reformers; so he was further questioned by others appointed to do so. Thus months were consumed until Jerome refused to answer any more in private; he demanded to be heard by the council. This was granted in May 1416. He made a very eloquent speech, as to many events at Prague, and then they expected to hear his further recantation, when he declared that there was no one of his sins he more repented of than having said, on the fear of death, that he agreed with the death of that saintly confessor of the truth John Huss. He took back all he had said against Wiclif and Huss, and declared that his judges would have to answer to God if they condemned him wrongfully.

Many were moved by his eloquence, and tried to save him by getting him again to recant. But though they tried hard, he remained firm to the end. On May 30 he was condemned to death.

They led him to where Huss had suffered. He sang a spiritual song as they fastened him to the stake. The wood was being lit behind him, but he called out to the executioner to light it before him; for if he had been afraid he should not have come there. The fire burned, and Jerome repeated with a loud voice, "Into thy hands, O God, I commit my spirit." An eye-witness said, "With cheerful looks he went readily and willingly to his death; he feared neither death, nor the fire and its torture."

Ziska and the Bohemians.

The results in Bohemia of the martyrdom of Huss and Jerome, and the severe edicts that were carried out against their followers, were sad in the extreme. Many of them were tortured and burnt alive. As many as sixteen hundred were thrown alive down the mines. At length, by the leadership of a warrior named John Ziska, forgetful that our Lord had declared that His kingdom was not of this world, else would His disciples have fought, the Hussites, as they were called, armed to defend themselves.

Ziska was attached to the court of the king, and it was noticed that ever after the death of Huss he had never been the same man; but was gloomy and thoughtful. For hours he would wander about with his eyes to the ground, muttering now and then words no one could understand. One day the king asked the cause of his gloomy silence. "They have burnt John Huss," said he, "and we have not yet avenged him." "I cannot help it," said the king; "you must try yourselves what you can do."

The king had not seriously meant this, but Ziska took it earnestly, and called the Hussites to arms. The king, terrified at the thought of a rebellion, ordered the citizens to bring all their arms to the palace at Wischerad, where he then resided. They obeyed, yet not as he expected, for they came fully armed, ready to battle. Ziska said to the king, "Here we are," and asked against what enemy he wished them to march. The king was powerless; and the Hussites marched through the town. Passing the town hall, one carrying a chalice, in token that they gave the people the cup as well as the bread, a stone was thrown from the senate house and struck the bearer of the cup. Ziska's men immediately broke open the doors and threw some of the senators out of the window.

This same year (1419) King Wenceslaus died. The Hussites sent to Queen Sophia and also to the Emperor Sigismund proposing a compromise. The Emperor insulted the messengers, and vowed to settle it in a bloody revenge. This was the man who had violated his safe-conduct to Huss, and they knew they could expect no mercy from him, they therefore prepared for the worst. Ziska called all to arms, even those who could throw a stone; and then they did not wait for the Emperor, but marching through the land they burnt the churches and monasteries, putting many priests to death. One had led astray Ziska's favourite sister, which injury he could never forget.

When the churches were first refused to the followers of Huss, they were led out by their pastors into the open air where they could enjoy freedom of worship. One of these places became a permanent settlement. It was a high hill about sixty miles south of Prague. This hill Ziska, being a skilful warrior, strongly fortified, and it was called Mount Tabor. And the enemy they compared to the Moabites and Amalekites. At length Sigismund and Frederick of Austria arrived with an army of 100,000 men. They marched to Prague and put many to death and then proceeded to attack the mount; but after a long and severe battle the Germans were compelled to flee, leaving their camp in the hands of Ziska. Victory followed victory until the Taborites, as they were called, were the masters of all Bohemia, and even penetrated Austria and Germany.

At another time 150,000 soldiers were sent against Ziska. The Germans were very cruel, and burnt their prisoners, not caring whether they were Reformers or not. On the other hand Ziska and his followers declared that they were the elect of God: all things belonged to them; they might lawfully seize property, and put to death God's enemies. Alas, that any, in the name of God should have adopted such principles!

For thirteen years Ziska carried on the war, and all the resources of the pope and the Emperor were unable to put down or overcome the Bohemians. As Ziska's death approached, he ordered that they should make a drum of his skin, the very sound of which, he said, would make the Philistines flee! Procopius succeeded him and was equally successful.

The success of the Bohemians was very remarkable, so much so that Melanchthon said that an angel of God must have accompanied the army, and smote their enemies. Ziska had lost the sight of one eye in his youth, and he lost the use of the other in a siege as early as 1420, and yet, though totally blind, he was enabled to lead on the army to victory. It could not be called God's war, though God may have brought about His own purposes thereby, and may have used Ziska and his army to shew that the pope and the Emperor were not invincible; but it brought no glory to God, and gained for the Christians neither peace nor real prosperity. It associated them with thousands who had no interest in the truth, and stirred up all the worst passions of man.

In 1431 the council of Basle was held, and endeavours were made to come to terms, but it was not until 1433 that Rome allowed the cup to the people.

This gained many over to the side of Rome,* and many deserted the army of Procopius. In a battle he was slain and many of his people. Sigismund now entered Prague, and sought to restore peace by making promises to the followers of Huss. But as he increased in power he proceeded to deprive them of their churches, and another violent commotion was being raised, when the Emperor died (1437).

{*These were called Calixtines, that is, "Cup-Christians" (from Calix, cup), because one of the principal things they demanded was the wine as well as the bread in the Lord's supper. These became determined enemies of the Reformers.}

In 1436 Rome was further successful by making Rokyzan, a Calixtine, Archbishop of Prague, who soon began to use his endeavours to induce the people to give up the cup. This man is a fearful instance of an apostate. He was so far gained to the truth that he exhorted the true Hussites to meet in private, and he even helped them with the aid of books. "I know that your sentiments are true," said he, "but if I should patronize your cause, I must incur the same infamy and disgrace which you do." Among the faithful was his nephew Gregory, who was so terribly racked, that he fainted away, and they thought him to be dead. The news of this being brought to Rokyzan, he rushed off to the prison, and in remorse exclaimed, "My dear Gregory, I would to God I were where thou art!" Gregory, however, recovered, and was long spared to help on the work; while Rokyzan was obliged to take part in the persecution, and, after repeated exhortations to take his place with the faithful, died in despair.

In 1457 the Hussites took the name of United Brethren, and were by persecution obliged to live in dens and caves. Many fled to Moravia and others to Poland, carrying with them the truths they had learned. In easier times they again became numerous in Bohemia, so that about A.D. 1500 they numbered nearly 200 congregations in Bohemia and the surrounding countries.

In the seventeenth century, when the times were comparatively quiet, the Protestants, or "the Reformed," as they were called in Bohemia, had greatly increased. A numerous sect, called Utraquists, had special privileges from the Emperor, in which the other Reformed churches desired to share. Matthias, King of Bohemia, became Emperor in 1612, and he refused to grant their request. This caused the Utraquists to fear that they too might be next robbed of their privileges, so they united with the Lutherans and Calvinists to oppose the Emperor. Matthias had sent commissioners to Prague to inform the deputies of his majesty's final decision. While they met, an armed body of Utraquists, forgetting their character as professed followers of Christ, entered the council chamber, seized three of the most obnoxious of the commissioners, and threw them out of the window, which was eighty feet from the ground. A large heap of dung saved their lives, and they escaped. This was the commencement of a long and bloody war between the Catholics and Protestants, known in history as the Thirty Years' War. After devastating Germany and surrounding countries, in 1648 the peace of Westphalia established what is called "religious liberty."

We have thus far sketched the Reformation in Bohemia. Huss had stood so high as a Christian, especially in his godly life and his testimony against the evils around, that he became a watchword, to which was attached that of our own Wiclif. To be a follower of Huss, or to hold doctrines similar to those of Huss or Wiclif was at once to stamp such a one as a heretic, and one dangerous to the interests of Rome. The faithfulness of John Huss; his opposition to the sale of indulgences; his preaching the word of God; and his exposing all that was called "holy," which was only evil and wickedness, was the light of the Reformation, the light which God was igniting in various parts of the world, to lead His own to truth and liberty.

Sad it is, that there was also a shadow — a dark shadow — that followed in the Reformed taking the sword, and in the bloodshed and devastation that was carried on in the name of God and of His holy religion; associated too, as it was, in some cases with the sacred emblem of the cup attached to the supper of our Lord.

Amid man's many failures

God carries on His plan,

He gives not up His purpose

Though all should fail in man.

So, spite of human follies,

He darkness puts to flight,

And, though all Hell opposes,

He spreads His truth and light.

Germany.

Luther and Melanchthon.

A Poor man named Conrad Cotta, residing in Germany, told his wife one day that a certain monk was in the town preaching "pardon for sin, without money and without price." "That would just do for us," said his wife Ursula; "let us go to the church and hear him." The church was crowded, but they managed to get in. They heard with astonishment the news of salvation free, through faith in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ; so different was it from what the priests usually preached. The sermon over, the preacher gave out a psalm, "God is our refuge," when the truth burst upon them that surely the preacher must be Martin Luther, who had often sung that same psalm at their own fireside.

Conrad and Ursula Cotta had been in better circumstances, and in the town of Eisenach about sixteen years previously they had noticed a lad singing in the street, and crying, "Bread for the love of God." They had opened their house to him, and for several months he had resided under their roof. There they had heard him sing this very hymn, "God is our refuge." It was indeed the same Martin Luther. We can easily imagine the joyful greeting after the service. Luther had repaid the kind Ursula; she received the truth from his lips that day.

Luther's preaching was not confined to the poor. On one occasion he preached at Dresden in the castle of St. James. There were present Duke George of Saxony, cousin of the Elector, and the ladies and gentlemen of his court. At dinner afterwards in the castle Luther's sermon was the subject of conversation — as it was indeed everywhere — for it was such preaching as but few had ever heard in those days. "How did you like the sermon?" said the Duke to Madame de la Sale, lady of the bedchamber to the Duchess. "If I could hear but such another sermon, I should die in peace," she replied. "And I," said the Duke, "would give something not to have heard it; for such sermons are good for nothing, and serve only to encourage men in sin." A month afterwards Madame de la Sale died in peace, trusting in Jesus Christ as her Saviour. The Duke became an enemy of Luther and the Reformation. How truly are those who preach the gospel the savour of life unto life, or death unto death.

Martin Luther was born at Eisleben, a town in Upper Saxony, on November 10, 1483.* In 1501 he went to the University of Erfurt. Here he found a Bible in the library, which became the book from which he learned the truth, and by which he was armed against the enemy. Here he also met with the writings of John Huss.

{*Many interesting details of Luther's life are omitted. They will be found in a companion volume, "Light amid the Darkness, as seen in the Life of Luther."}

"When I studied at Erfurt," said Luther, years afterwards, "I found in the library of the convent a book entitled, 'The Sermons of John Huss.' I was anxious to know the doctrines of that arch-heretic. My astonishment in the reading of them was incredible. What, thought I, could move the council to burn so great a man, so able and judicious an expositor of scripture! But then the name of Huss was held in abomination: if I mentioned him with honour, I imagined the sky would fall, and the sun be darkened; I therefore shut the book with indignation. But I comforted myself with the thought, that perhaps he had written this before he fell into heresy!" Such were the innocent reflections of Luther before he knew what Rome was.

In 1505, in returning from a visit to his parents he was overtaken by a dreadful storm, at which he was so terrified that he vowed he would devote himself to God by becoming a monk, and seek thereby to become holy and fit for heaven, as he imagined.

In the convent, however, he found no relief, and passed through great agony of mind, nearly killing himself in mortifying his body. He eventually found relief through the Vicar-general, Staupitz, who shewed him that such a course of punishing the body was of no use to the soul. Salvation was by forgiveness through the sacrifice of Christ.

He also learned much from the passage of scripture "the just shall live by faith," and was used by God to teach the doctrine that man is not justified by prayers, alms-giving, penances, etc., but by faith — faith in what Christ did on the cross for sinners who were too bad to be saved in any other way. It became a great part of Luther's work to maintain, amid much opposition from Rome, the doctrine of "justification by faith."

Staupitz recommended Luther to the Elector of Saxony, and in 1508 he was invited to Wittenberg and made a professor in the University. About two years after he made a visit to Rome, where he saw such shocking wickedness and profanity mixed up with the profession of religion that astonished and grieved him above measure; but all this was very useful to him afterwards, as it shewed him the true character of the Roman Catholic religion, at least in its practice at Rome itself. In 1512 Luther was made Doctor of Divinity, and became happily employed in teaching the truth as he himself was able to acquire it, both in the University as a professor, and in the pulpit as a preacher, besides making occasional tours to other towns.

Luther was first brought into collision with Rome by the following circumstance. In 1517, to raise money, the pope sent out his agents to sell indulgences, which professed to insure forgiveness of sins to any who purchased them. No matter whether the sins were past or present, for the dead or for the living — all would be forgiven to those who purchased indulgences, signed by the pope.

Tetzel, a Dominican monk, was the one who came with these indulgences near Wittenberg. This shocking traffic filled Luther with horror. He could not bear to see the people deluded by such soul-destroying falsehood. He drew up some propositions called 'Theses,' against indulgences, and nailed them to the church doors. This drew upon him the anger of Tetzel, indeed of Rome itself.

Many, too, of those who were glad of the Theses did not care to follow Luther when a storm was raised against him; and he found himself almost alone, and yet not alone, for God was with him. At times he was very much cast down, and Satan took advantage to harass and distress him. Various sins would come back to his memory, and Satan would tempt him with, "Can you be a child of God, and yet be guilty of that?" On one occasion Luther met him with "Yes, it is true; I have been guilty of these sins against God; but take a sheet of paper and write down these sins, and those which I acknowledge, and add to them ten thousand more, and I will write at the foot of the page 'The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.'" Satan was vanquished.

Besides the conflict within, there were many and loud threatenings from without. "As for those who threaten me," said he, "I can only answer, The poor man has nothing to fear, for he has nothing to lose. All that is left me is this wretched body, enfeebled by many trials. Let them kill it by violence or fraud, so that it be for the glory of God. By so doing they will shorten the time of my life by a few hours. It is sufficient for me that I have a precious Redeemer, a powerful High Priest, my Lord Jesus Christ. I will praise Him as long as I have breath. If another will not join me in praising Him what is that to me?"

The next year Luther was summoned to appear at Rome within sixty days to answer for his conduct; but by the intercession of Frederick, the Elector of Saxony, Luther was allowed to answer in Germany instead of going to Rome. He appeared before the papal legate, Cardinal De Vio, at Augsburg. It was not attempted to prove that indulgences were right, or that Luther was wrong, from scripture. The pope had ordered the indulgences, and Luther must retract. After several interviews De Vio said one day, "Retract, or return no more."

Luther answered in writing; and then his friends advised that he should leave the town, but with great caution lest he should be seized. Before daylight, leaving a letter behind him for the Cardinal, he slipped away unobserved, and so escaped. He afterwards saw a copy of the pope's brief, in which he was to be seized and carried to Rome. He now saw plainly the danger he had run. De Vio was very angry at the escape of Luther and wrote to the Elector of Saxony requesting that Luther might be sent to Rome, or at least banished from the Elector's states. The Elector wrote in reply that it was inconsistent to expect Luther to retract if he had not been proved to be wrong. However the Elector requested Luther to leave Wittenberg for a time. All were filled with sorrow and alarm as Luther prepared to leave Wittenberg, for he was endeared to many. Just as he was ready to leave another message came, saying he need not go. Rome had sent another Legate who hoped all might be settled.

This Legate was Miltitz, who began by flattery. "Do you know," said he, "that you have drawn away all the world from the pope? Even if I had 25,000 men I would not undertake to kidnap and carry you to Rome." He agreed with Luther that both sides were to be silent on the subject; all question of Luther's retractation being postponed for the present.

This year (1518) Melanchthon came to Wittenberg as professor of Greek, and gave Luther instruction in that language. The two professors became staunch friends. "If there be any man," said Melanchthon, "that I love and embrace with my whole heart it is Martin Luther." Their friendship continued till death separated them. They helped each other much. Luther was bold and energetic; Melanchthon mild and timid.* Thus, just as Luther's troubles from without began, God raised up for him a true friend and companion.

{*"To look at Melanchthon," said a Swiss, "one would say he was but a youth, but in understanding, learning, and talent, he is a giant."}

Philip Melanchthon was born the 16th of February, 1497, in the small but pleasant town of Bretten, in Saxony. Philip went to school at Pfortsheim, and lodged in the house of a sister of Reuchlin, the celebrated Greek scholar. It was Reuchlin, who being well pleased with the young scholar, changed his name from Schwarzerde to Melanchthon, both signifying "black earth," the latter being Greek. It was the fashion in those days for the learned to translate their names in this way. After a time the scholar was always called Melanchthon.*

{*His name is often written Melancthon; but this is incorrect. In about sixty autographs not one is spelt Melancthon: 'ch' in the Greek is one letter. He sometimes wrote his name Melanthon.}

The Emperor Maximilian died January 12, 1519, about a month after the arrival of Miltitz. Until another Emperor was elected, the Elector of Saxony had chief control. This caused the pope to seek his favour, and to do this, Luther, for a time, was allowed to escape.

The silence that Luther had promised was soon to be broken, and broken by Rome. Dr. Eck, a German theologian, had challenged to dispute with Carlstadt, one of Luther's colleagues; but it was well known that Eck was really attacking Luther, so Luther said he would go to the discussion. Duke George, who had disliked Luther's sermon, and in whose states Leipsic was, refused at first to let Luther take part in the discussion, but afterwards consented, and they met in discussion several days.

This discussion was in the presence of many professors and students, and was important, as it brought scripture out as an authority above the pope; which was a doctrine so new that it demanded their consideration, and we may fain hope that many were gained to the truth. The next year, when Eck came to the same town with Bulls from the pope against Luther, he was made the song of the students, and was glad to hide himself till he could secretly leave the town.

In 1520, Charles V., so famous in history, was elected Emperor of Germany, at the age of nineteen. Luther wrote to him respecting the Reformation, but received no reply.

In the same year Luther published his Appeal to the German Nobility, in which he plainly pointed out the abuses of the religion of Rome, and the remedy for them in the scriptures. From various quarters he received alarming reports; but on the other hand from many places he received the most cheering news that the seeds of truth were taking root. "How I wish," said he, "that I could send preachers — living books — to those distant places to teach the people the knowledge of divine things." This was brought about by his books being translated into the various European languages, and being widely scattered over many lands.

After the discussion at Leipsic Eck had hastened off to Rome, and now returned with a Bull from the pope excommunicating Luther.

On December 10, Luther fixed a notice on the walls of the University, inviting the people to meet him at the east gate. There, amid a large crowd of spectators, Luther burnt the pope's Bull along with some useless papal books. This was effectually breaking with Rome. He could not now retreat. He must go forward, and, in God's strength, conquer; or fall a victim to Rome and its agents.

The friends of Rome were now very clamorous with both the Emperor and the Elector, to have Luther seized. The Elector replied that Luther's writings had not yet been refuted. It was resolved that Luther should be summoned to the Diet of Worms, and heard in defence of his doctrines.

Many were filled with fear for Luther's safety, and strongly advised him not to go. But he declared he would, even if there were as many devils at Worms as there were tiles on the houses. At all the towns he passed through great crowds assembled to see the man who had dared to burn a pope's Bull; others desired to see the man through whom they had learnt the way of salvation and peace.

He was furnished with a safe-conduct from the Emperor; but he was reminded that this was no security. Did they not burn John Huss, and violate the safe-conduct? Luther did not trust in man, but in the living God.

At Frankfort an aged widow, in high life — Catharine of Holzhausen — said to him, "My father and mother predicted to me that God would one day raise up a man who should oppose the vanities of the pope, and restore the word of God. I hope you are that man; and I wish you the grace and Holy Spirit of God to help you."

Luther arrived safely, amid great excitement. He turned to God: "O God Almighty, God ever lasting! how dreadful is the world! Behold how its mouth opens to swallow me up, and how small is my faith in Thee. . . . If I am to depend on any strength in this world, all is over. . . . Then, my God, help me against all the wisdom of this world. . . The work is not mine but Thine. The cause is Thine — it is righteous and everlasting. O Lord, help me."

Luther appeared before the Diet. It was an august assembly. The Emperor, the princes of the Empire, and the hierarchy of the church were present. What passed may be summed up in few words.

A pile of books were on the table. "Are these books yours?" was asked of Luther.

"Yes, I am the author of these books."

"Are you prepared to retract them?"

"I cannot submit my faith either to the pope or to the councils, because it is as clear as noonday that they have often fallen into error themselves. If, then, I am not convinced by proof from holy scripture . . . . I neither can, nor will, retract anything. . . . . Here I am I cannot do otherwise — God help me! Amen."

Luther was dismissed from the Diet and from Worms. "I will, then," said the Emperor, "take measures against him and his adherents as open heretics by excommunication, interdict, and every means necessary to their destruction."

Luther left Worms, and made his way to Wittenberg; but on his road he was surrounded by a party of horsemen; who seized him, put him on a horse, and galloped away with him. They were however his friends, who did this for his safety. He was carried to the Wartburg, a strong castle, near Eisenach; there he was made to dress as a knight, and was known as Knight George. The scheme had been carried out so secretly that few of his friends or enemies knew what had become of him. Here Luther devoted himself to the translation of the New Testament into German.

The Emperor Charles had threatened to destroy Luther and his adherents. God found him other work to do. Disturbances broke out in Spain; Soliman invaded Hungary with the Turks; and war broke out between the Emperor and Francis I. of France. These troubles so occupied him that he had no time to think of Luther and his destruction.

Though Luther was a prisoner, the work of reform did not stand still. Gabriel, a preacher at Wittenberg, declared that "Christ instituted the sacrament of the altar in remembrance of His death, and not to make it an object of worship. To bow to it is idolatry. . . . . No person has the right to require a monk to say Mass alone. Let one, two, or three officiate, and all the rest receive the Lord's sacrament under both kinds."

This attacked the doctrines of Rome in several particulars. They used to elevate, or hold up, the host (the bread or wafer) for adoration, that is, worship. Again, they used to have private Masses for money; so that a person could live a wicked life, and yet for money have private Mass, which was supposed to ensure his salvation. And further, the Catholics gave only the bread to the people. All these abuses were now preached against.

But this caused great commotion; so much so that the Elector heard of it, and sent his chancellor to bring them to order, and to cause them to give up these new ideas. He had authority to put the monks on bread and water if necessary.

Melanchthon and other professors in the University went to the convent to use their influence with the monks to the same end. The monks drew up a memorial on the subject which confounded the professors, and at length convinced them that the monks were right according to scripture. They made bold to tell the Elector so, and begged him to put an end to all corruption.

Melanchthon said, "To partake of the Lord's supper is not to do any good work, but merely to make use of a sign which recalls to remembrance the grace bestowed upon us by Christ. . . . As the sight of the cross does not justify, so the Mass cannot justify. As the gazing on a cross is no sacrifice for our own or others' sins, just so the Mass is no sacrifice. There is but one sacrifice — but one satisfaction — Jesus Christ: beside Him there is none other."

Gabriel next attacked the idle and useless lives of the monks, and in one day thirteen monks left the convent. But he did not stop here, but advocated the destruction of the monasteries. "Let not one stone remain upon another," cried he; which was followed by great disorders. The churches were broken open, images carried off and burned.

Others pretended to be prophets, declaring that Christians need not now refer so constantly to scripture: God was speaking to them direct. Others despised learning, and advised the parents of the scholars to take them away from school, because God was now revealing Himself to plain unlettered men.

Luther could remain in his retreat no longer. He saw that the devil was busy trying to spoil the work from inside, because he could not hinder it from outside. This is an old tactic of Satan. If he cannot prevent the work, he will try to spoil it. Luther preached vehemently against the disturbances, and in a great measure peace was restored, at least at Wittenberg.

The New Testament in German.

Luther's next great work was to give the people the New Testament in the German language. With the aid of Melanchthon and others, the translation was finished and put to press. In September, 1522, it was published, and three thousand copies rapidly sold. The price was a florin and a half. By December a second edition was ready; and after that, edition followed edition in rapid succession, not only from the press at Wittenberg, but at Augsburg, Basle, and other places.

Thus did the German people thirst for the word of God. They could now read for themselves at their own firesides God's way of salvation The priests were in alarm, and well they might be; for now their authority could be challenged. And people could now go to the fountain of truth itself, instead of drinking at the muddy streams that had flowed to them through the pollutions of Rome. They could now search for indulgences and penances, purgatory, and a host of other things, and prove them wrong because they could not be found from cover to cover of that blessed book.

Rome did what it could to stop its circulation, and orders were given to seize all the copies that could be found. But the sale could not be stopped. Duke George lamented that though he prohibited its sale in his states, many thousand copies were sold and read. Some Romish divines, finding that its circulation could not be stopped, brought out a New Testament of their own. It was said to be the same as Luther's, but altered here and there.

Conflict with Rome Continues.

Though the excommunication of Luther had not been carried out in Germany, Henry VIII. did what he could in England to carry out the pope's Bull. In May, 1521, Cardinal Wolsey went, in solemn procession, to St. Paul's, and, after a sermon against heresy by Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, Luther's books were committed to the flames.

In some parts of Germany not belonging to the Elector of Saxony, Luther's books were also burnt, and in Brussels in 1522 the first martyrs of the Reformation in Germany sealed their faith with their blood. Three young monks had imbibed the truth, and were burnt to death. The example once set, persecution arose in other places, and several were brought to the stake on account of their faith.

In 1525 a rebellion broke out among the peasants, in the Black Forest, near the source of the Danube, and spread rapidly. It was only put down by the sword of the state. It only concerns us to name it because it was declared to be a fruit of the Reformation. But it was not. Luther did all he could to prevent it; and though the name of God was mixed up with the demands of the peasants, it was clearly the work of Satan, in bring dishonour upon the name and religion of Jesus Christ.

In the same year, just before the final defeat of the peasants the aged Elector of Saxony breathed his last.

Also in this year a great commotion was caused by Luther marrying Catharine Bora, who had been a nun. The marriage of priests is forbidden by the church of Rome; but Luther saw that it was right and proper that they should be at liberty to marry, and he determined to put in practice what he taught.

Duke John, brother to Frederick, had succeeded him as Elector of Saxony. Duke George tried to prejudice him against Luther; but he boldly declared that everything, no matter what, must be conformed to God's word. He became a fearless supporter of the Reformation.

The princes who were favourable to the Reformation now formed themselves into a league to defend it. Those who were zealous for Rome did the same to oppose it. Luther and Melanchthon both saw that it was a wrong thing to attempt to defend the truth of God by the sword; but the princes carried out their scheme. We shall see in the sequel how dearly some of them had to repent of it.

The Diet of Spire was opened on June 25, 1526, when all feared that extreme measures would be taken. The Emperor at the Diet of Worms had spoken out his determination, which had ended in a decree. There were now loud calls for carrying out that decree. But, to the surprise of all, the Emperor wrote to the Diet, "Let us suspend the edict of Worms!" The key to this was soon discovered to be that the Emperor was at war with the pope; he did not want another with the princes of Germany — indeed he wanted soldiers from Germany to march against the pope. The Emperor after all had so little respect for the pope as God's Vicar on earth, that he sent his army into Italy. Rome, the "eternal city," as it was called, was taken and given up to pillage and massacre. This "Sack of Rome" is declared to be the worst that the city ever experienced, though carried on by a Catholic Emperor! Thus we see the finger of God in a marvellous manner. The wrath of man that was to fall on the lovers of grace and truth, is turned against the great obstacle to reform, and brings it unto the dust.

Human Arrangements in the Church.

This gave the Reformers a time of rest, but which brought new labours upon them. Luther felt that while in many places there had been a ceasing from the evil in a measure, there had not been a corresponding learning to do well. He saw there was a great lack of pastors and teachers; but instead of turning to the Lord of the harvest, and praying only to Him to supply the lack, he turned to the Elector. "Your highness," said he, in 1526, "in your quality of guardian of youth and of all who know not how to take care of themselves, should compel the inhabitants who desire neither pastors nor schools, to receive these means of grace, as they are compelled to work on the roads, on bridges, and such like services. The papal order being abolished, it is your duty to regulate these things."

We fear we must call this a great mistake of Luther's, and a dark shadow on the Reformation. Doubtless Luther wrote this letter with a good motive, but we fear he did not see what was involved in what he did, in asking the Elector to regulate such things. He also asked him to commission four persons, two of whom were to take charge of doctrine, schools, churches and pastors. In fact it was Making the Elector head of the church. Luther had declared against the pope, that Christ was the Head of the church, and in Ephesians iv. we read that Christ gave pastors, teachers and evangelists, and yet Luther is here asking the Elector to commission men to "take charge" even of doctrine and the pastors. This Elector (John the Constant) may have been a Christian; but if he were he had no authority from scripture to regulate the things in the church of God. Another Elector might be an infidel, and yet if this same order of things existed, this infidel would have to "commission" and "regulate" for the church of God! Besides if it was right for the Elector to be head of the church in Saxony, it was right for Philip to be head of the church in Hesse; and so of other places; and so the church would have a dozen heads, thus far setting aside the one true and only Head of the church — Christ Himself.

It is important for the reader to see how such a state of things came into existence. Previous to this the pope was head of the whole Catholic church; but as the churches broke away from the pope, instead of being satisfied with the one Head, Christ in heaven, they put themselves under the ruling prince; and there became no end of the number of heads. Our Queen is head of the church in England, and this has grown out of the same state of things. But, as we have seen, the ruling prince may be an infidel really, and yet he would be head of the church of God!

Another evil connected with each ruling prince being head of the church was that it split up the church of God into as many parts, each with its own head. And although they were all at first called reformed churches, they soon began to be different in doctrine, in practice, and in general order; and eventually adopted different names, and refused communion one with the other. As far as in them lay, they were separate and distinct churches.

Another mistake was in Luther asking the Elector to compel the people generally to have pastors, and thus make them all believe that they were Christians. Pastors are for the sheep: compel them to have pastors, and they naturally think themselves God's sheep. Luther does not seem to have distinguished between preachers of the gospel of God's grace to the unconverted, and pastors to feed the flock of God. The mass of the people became the flock, over which a pastor was appointed; and thus the distinction between the church and the world was lost.

Luther, Melanchthon, Spalatin and Thuring were the four who were first appointed, and they made the tour of the states, carrying out the plan of Luther. The Latin Liturgy they retained, with some German hymns introduced. This was afterwards altered in many places to a service wholly in German.

The Work Progresses Amid Opposition.

To return to our history. The sack of Rome drew forth such a storm on the head of the Emperor from all the Catholics that he was glad to come to terms with the pope. Now they resolved to crush the heretics.

A second Diet was held at Spire in 1529, presided over by Ferdinand, the Emperor's brother. Ferdinand attempted to carry things with a high hand, and bind the Reformed States not to extend the Reformation. To this they could not agree. He left the Diet, and declared all was over. To this the Reforming princes drew up a protest, and presented it to Ferdinand. From this the Reformers were afterwards called Protestants.

Another dark shadow was hanging over the Reformation, in the disunion existing between the Swiss and the German Reformers. The Landgrave of Hesse determined to try and unite them. For this purpose he arranged a meeting at Marburg. Luther and Melanchthon were on one side, and Zwingli and Oecolampadius on the other. The question at issue was, whether in the Lord's supper the bread and wine were changed into the actual body and blood of Christ. Zwingli said that we feed upon the body and blood of Christ by faith. Luther said though the bread and wine were not changed into the body and blood, yet the actual body and blood of Christ were always present after the priest had consecrated the bread and wine. Luther was mistaken, and yet he would not yield, being very obstinate, and manifesting a bad spirit, which greatly damaged the cause of the Reformation, and brought dishonour upon the name of Christ. He could scarcely be induced to part in a christian spirit with the Swiss Reformers.

Another Diet was held at Augsburg in 1530. Before it took place the Emperor was crowned by the pope. Placing a sword in his hand, the pope said, "Make use of it against the enemies of the faith." Charles replied, "I swear ever to employ all my strength to defend the pontifical dignity, and the church of Rome." Much was now expected from the Emperor.

To prevent unnecessary excitement Luther remained at Coburg — for he was still an excommunicated person — but Melanchthon came to Augsburg. It was thought desirable that a Confession of Faith should be drawn up by the Reformers, to present to the Diet, and Melanchthon was commissioned to draw it up. When finished, the Elector was about to sign it when Melanchthon said, "It is for the theologians and ministers to propose these things." But the Elector replied, "God forbid that you should exclude me. I am resolved to do what is right without troubling myself about my crown. I desire to confess the Lord." The Elector signed and then the other princes.

Melanchthon alone was filled with fear. "My dwelling is in perpetual tears, my consternation is indescribable," wrote he to Luther; who did all he could to encourage him, and spent much time in prayer that God would forward His own cause.

"We teach," said the Confession, "that we cannot be justified before God by our own strength, our merits and our works; but that we are justified by Christ through grace, through the means of faith . . . who by His death has made satisfaction for our sins . . . . We teach, at the same time, that this faith ought to bear good fruits, and that we must do all the good works commanded by God, for the love of God, and not by any means to gain the grace of God."

It then spoke of the Lord's supper in "two kinds," and the marriage of the priests, and then related the many abuses in the church that needed correction.

It ended with, "We have explained the doctrines that we maintain to be essential, in order that it may be understood that we admit of neither dogma nor ceremony which is contrary to the holy scriptures, and to the usage of the universal church."

The reading of this Confession was an important event. There sat the Emperor, surrounded with all the powers of Germany, both civil and ecclesiastical. It was right they should know what this new thing was that was shaking Rome to its foundations. The pope called upon them to crush this "heresy:" it was quite right that they should know of what it consisted; and some afterwards admitted that it had been represented to them as something very different.

Luther was delighted that such an opportunity had been granted for the gospel to be heard by such an assembly. "I thrill with joy," said he, "that my life was cast in an epoch in which Christ is publicly exalted by such illustrious confessors and in so glorious an assembly."

The Emperor determined to have a reply to the Protestant Confession drawn up by Dr. Eck and others. In the meantime desperate efforts were made to bring about a compromise. Melanchthon, ever fearful, was now so wrought upon that he was ready to purchase peace almost at any cost. He said, "We venerate the universal authority of the Roman pontiff, and we are ready to obey him, provided he does not reject us." The disputed points were reduced to two: the Lord's supper in two kinds, and the marriage of the priests. Full of hope Melanchthon sought an interview with the pope's Legate. An important moment this in the Reformation. If they can come to terms, Melanchthon hopes to save all: whereas if they come to terms, it may be to lose all. Scripture says there can be no union between light and darkness; no concord with Christ and Belial; and yet poor Melanchthon is going to try. All is, as it were, in a balance. If Rome agrees, all is lost; for the Reformers, if once again united with that apostate system, would soon be gained over, by fair means or foul, to do as Rome wishes. But the movement is of God, and He is watching over all. Though the advance is made by the fear of the holders of the truth, Rome is too proud to accept the terms. As the Reformation had humbled itself thus far, it should be made to humble itself still more. It should be made to give up the two points. Rome refuses the compromise, and thereby the Reformation is saved.

Luther and others were indignant when they found what Melanchthon had attempted; and he himself was afterwards ashamed of it. However God had overruled all, and saved the vessel from a wreck. All now took courage, and awaited the turn of events.

When the reply to the Confession was ready it was publicly read, and then there were loud cries that the Confession was refuted, and the Reformers must now submit. Campeggio, the pope's Legate, loudly called for "fire and sword to eradicate these venomous plants."

Luther was calm, and filled with faith. "As I was at my window," said he, "I saw the stars, and the sky, and that vast and magnificent firmament in which the Lord has placed them. I could nowhere discover the columns on which the Master has supported the immense vault, and yet the heavens did not fall. . . . . God will choose the manner, the time, and the place suitable for deliverance, and He will not linger."

Still the clouds grew darker, threatening a storm, and that, too, before the Reformers could leave Augsburg. Loud threats were hurled against them, and especially against the Elector of Saxony. To make all sure, on the night of August 6 the imperial soldiers took possession of all the gates of the city, so that none should escape.

But God had ordered otherwise. A few hours before the Emperor seized the gates, Philip, Land-grave of Hesse, had secretly left the city, and when the Emperor thought he had all secure, Philip was miles away from Augsburg. This immediately changed everything. Philip had heard the threats against the Reformers, and the Catholics doubted not that his flight was a declaration of war. Those who had called the loudest for war were now as desirous of peace.

Efforts were again made to conclude a compromise, and Melanchthon, again seized as with blindness, endeavoured to make peace with Rome. But Campeggio declared he would make no concessions. After again threatening the Reformers, the Diet broke up, with nothing settled. The formal decree of the Diet, called the "recess," was drawn up, but in such a way that the Protestants refused to sign it.

The Protestant princes being thus threatened both by the pope and the Emperor, formed themselves into another league, and met from time to time at Smalcalde, at times along with the theologians favourable to the Reformation. The princes agreed to defend one another if attacked. Luther, as we have seen, protested against this at first, but he himself had called upon the Elector to take the control of the church in his states. All this altered the character of the Reformation. It was no longer confined to those who were really Christians, whose weapons were spiritual only, and who could not fight, as Christ had said. (John 18: 36.) But here were whole states, bound by their princes to take up the sword and fight, professedly for Christ and His truth, altogether apart from whether they were Christians or not. This was a dark shadow on the Reformation, and made it partly Christian and partly political.

In 1534 Luther published the Old Testament in German. This was a great work. The German Christians had now the whole revealed will of God in their mother tongue, and could go to the fountain head for themselves. By this portion of the work they could see how many parts of the popish ritual agreed better with the by-gone dispensation of the Jews than with the christian dispensation into which the gospel had brought them.

In 1540 a dark shadow passed over the Reformation by Philip of Hesse desiring to take a second wife, while his first wife was alive and living with him. Sad to relate, Luther, Melanchthon, Bucer, with others, signed a paper approving it, but asking it to be done in private. This forms a dark blot on the character of the Reformers, and especially on Luther's, who had been in the forefront and fearlessly stood for the truth when others were ready to give way.

In December 1545 the General Council, so long called for, and which was to settle the question of the Reformation, was opened at Trent; but the pope managed to get the council entirely into his own hands and to do almost entirely as he pleased. It continued with intervals for eighteen years, and its decrees and its catechism, so called, are constantly appealed to as the standard of the Roman Catholic religion.

Luther died February 18, 1546, soon after the council began to meet.

The Council of Trent being so manifestly under the power of the pope, the Reformed princes wrote to the Emperor demanding that the topics so dear to them might be discussed in a free German council. "Do not leave us to be judged," said they, "by an assembly in which it is impossible by its very constitution that justice should be done us."

The Emperor was little disposed to listen to this. He was at peace with France, and had concluded a truce with the Turks, so that he could now devote all his attention to bring the princes into obedience to Rome. He sent off a messenger to the pope requesting his assistance.

War Against the Reformation.

Charles was found to be preparing for war, though he declared that it was only to ensure peace to the empire. Philip of Hesse was on the alert, and exhorted his colleagues to arm themselves. They were loth to believe such a calamity to be true, and slow to credit that the Emperor was playing them false. But the continued movement of troops into Germany aroused them from their dream of security. The Reformed princes prepared for war.

The pope sent, besides money, 12,000 infantry and 500 horse: all was to be religiously devoted to the war "against the heretics."

Let us pause, and look at the conduct of the pope in this matter. For years the Reformers had been asking for a council to reform abuses, and to prove them wrong from scripture if they were so. A council was now being held, in which the pope gave strict orders not to consider abuses. And in order to turn men's minds from this subject whenever it was named his nuncio had orders to bring forward abstruse subjects, like the "freedom of the will," "original sin," which would occupy the council for months. In the meantime he sends his armies into Germany to demand submission, or put them to death! It is easily explained. The light made manifest the evil. They would not give up the evil; they loved it too well, so they resolved that by all means in their power they would put out the light.

The Emperor had the foresight to see that if he crushed the Elector of Saxony, and Philip of Hesse, their allies would not stand out, so he proscribed those two as rebels, and resolved to punish them, and forbid any to join them on pain of death and confiscation of goods.

On the banks of the Danube the Protestant princes awaited the attack of the Emperor. They took the opportunity of addressing him, "You attack by your proceedings," said they, "not only the gospel, but the law and liberty of the empire."

Hostilities soon commenced. Again and again the Protestants had good opportunities of attacking the Emperor, but as often did they let them slip for want of promptitude and decision. It is quite clear God was not fighting for them. They had taken up arms in express contradiction to scripture, and though it was in the name of God, and avowedly for His gospel, it was not His war, nor for His glory.

The Elector being away from his states, they were declared to be confiscated, and were offered to Maurice, Marquis of Misnia and Thuringia, and son-in-law to Philip of Hesse. Maurice was professedly a Protestant, but had not joined the league. He pretended to decline to enter on the states of Saxony; but on being informed that if he did not accept them they would be given to another, he took possession of them, and they were more or less devastated with the horrors of war.* The Elector on hearing of the seizure of his states returned, and attacking Maurice, regained his territory, and he then attacked those of Ferdinand the Emperor's brother.

{* Maurice was a very crafty man, and it is recorded that he had previously agreed with the Emperor that he was to have the Elector's states.}

The Emperor now collected all his forces and marched against the Elector, and in the forest of Lochan, three miles from the Elbe, a general engagement ensued. The Elector's army was small compared with that of the Emperor, and he soon saw it was useless to continue the conflict. The Elector laid down his sword, and was led before Charles. "I am your prisoner, gracious Emperor," said he, "allow me, I pray, a guard worthy of a prince." The Emperor replied, "I am, then, your Emperor? You shall be treated as you deserve."

The Emperor marched to Wittenberg, which being fortified, held out against him. The Elector was now called before the Emperor, and was accused of rebellion, and sentenced to death. The Elector's wife begged her husband to submit to any terms to save his life. Charles relented, upon condition that the Elector gave up the fortified cities and all his states to the disposal of the Emperor, and that the Elector would consent to all that the Council of Trent or the Emperor might determine concerning religion. To avoid being bound to the religion of Rome the Elector had gone to war: he would not accept this condition to save his life. The Emperor further relented. Sentence of death was altered to remaining a prisoner for life, all his estates being confiscated to the Emperor.

The Landgrave of Hesse saw too clearly that it was useless for him to continue the struggle. He also gave himself up to the Emperor. He was fined, his estates seized, and he held a prisoner.

Thus ended the war — a war to resist Rome and to ensure the Reformation in Germany — and thus it signally failed. Luther saw that it was not needed for princes to take the sword to support the cause of God; and our Lord distinctly said that those that took the sword should perish by the sword. Luther had said to the Elector of Saxony, when it was first proposed to form a Protestant league, "We cannot, on our conscience, approve of the proposed alliance. We would rather die ten times than see the gospel cause one drop of blood to be shed. Our part is to be like lambs of the slaughter. The cross of Christ must be borne. Let your highness be without fear. We shall do more by our prayers than our enemies by all their boastings. . . . You cannot defend our faith each one should believe at his own peril and risk."

The princes took up the sword, doubtless from a good motive, thinking thereby to forward the cause of truth, but it is never safe to disobey the word of God. Besides, many were called to take the sword for the sake of the gospel who had not bowed to God and His grace; and there cannot be a greater inconsistency than unconverted men fighting to establish the gospel of God which they themselves disobey!

Though the war was over, the various states of Germany were as far off as ever from being one in matters of religion. The truth, as taught by Luther, and by the word of God in the German language, had taken too deep a root in the hearts of the people to be easily rooted out or given up.

In the meantime the Council of Trent had been holding its sessions, but, as we have seen, avoiding as much as possible the correcting of abuses — abuses which even every conscientious Catholic was compelled to see, to deplore, and wish to see removed. The Emperor began to despair of seeing peace restored by this council of the pope; he therefore resolved on doing what he could to bring about an agreement. At the Diet of Augsburg in 1548 he produced a Confession of Faith, drawn up with a view that all could subscribe to it, until a free general council should definitely settle the matters in dispute. Three theologians had been selected: two Catholics and a Reformer.

This Confession was called the Interim (signifying that it was only a temporary arrangement). A copy was sent to the pope. He was very angry that the Emperor should interfere in matters of religion, and two of the articles were condemned as heretical, namely, those which permitted the Lord's supper to be in "both kinds," and the marriage of the priests. The Emperor cared nothing now for the protest of the pope. The Interim passed the Diet and became a decree for the Empire.

It gave as little satisfaction to the Reformers. It was little more than disguised popery. Neither Calvin nor Bucer would acknowledge it, and the aged ex-Elector of Saxony refused to purchase his release by receiving it. "I cannot," said he, "in my old age abandon the principles for which I early contended; nor, in order to procure freedom during a few declining years, will I betray that good cause on account of which I have suffered so much, and am still willing to suffer." The Emperor was much displeased, and increased the rigour of his imprisonment.

The Interim was everywhere enforced; some of the free cities, which resisted, were seized by the Emperor, the reformed pastors sent to prison, and the people forced by the sword to conform to the imperial orders. Other places gave in a nominal adherence to the Interim to avoid a like calamity; the pastors doing the best they could to explain it away in their teaching.

Maurice called upon Melanchthon, with others, to draw up something that would quiet the consciences of the Protestants while they carried out the Interim. Melanchthon had been famous for compromises, and though he at first disclaimed the Interim he now entered upon this task, which, however, raised a controversy that lasted for years — the question being, How far can a Christian conform to things indifferent?* This is a very subtle question. Circumcision might have been called by some a matter or indifference; but the Spirit of God said to the Galatians (chap. v. 2) "If ye be circumcised, Christ shall profit you nothing." He further says, "Whatsoever is not of faith is, sin." (Rom. xiv. 23.) "To him that knoweth to do good and doeth it not, to him it is sin." (James iv. 17.) Here doing things which I know to be wrong, or for which I have no faith, is declared plainly to be sin. But let us see what it was to which Melanchthon asked his fellow-protestants to agree.

{* Melanchthon, and those agreeing with him, were called Adiaphorists, from the Greek word adiaphora, indifferent.}

Besides explaining doctrines so as to try and satisfy all, Melanchthon allowed the pope to be head of the church, but without giving him divine rights. He also allowed the seven popish sacraments (Baptism, the Mass, Confirmation, Penance, Marriage, Holy Orders, Extreme Unction), but did not call them sacraments, or essential to salvation. The Mass he did not call a sacrifice, but represented it as the Lord's supper. He even touched the article of "justification by faith," adding thereto that good works were as essential to salvation, not on the ground of merit, but as an essential part of the christian character.

Thus did Melanchthon, in his timidity, and his desire to satisfy all, undermine the foundation of the christian faith, and laid down the dangerous. and false principle that a Christian might practise that which he knew to be wrong by calling it indifferent. In doing this, he also acquiesced in false doctrines by reserving in his mind a meaning different from what he knew was intended.

This false principle — though, happily, many refused it entirely — was a dark shadow on the Reformation.* By it some were enabled to profess to be Catholics when in reality they were Protestants. In our own day many have subscribed to Articles of Faith on the same principle of reserving in their minds a meaning different from what they know those Articles are intended to convey.**

{* Calvin wrote to Melanchthon (June 18, 1550) on this subject, "Several things which you consider indifferent, are obviously repugnant to the word of God Truly if I have any understanding in divine things, you ought not to have made such large concessions to the papists; partly because you have loosed what the Lord has bound in His word, and partly because you have afforded occasion for bringing insult upon the gospel. . . . Lest you may perhaps have forgotten what I once said to you, I now remind you of it, namely that we consider our ink too precious if we hesitate to bear testimony in writing to those things which so many of the flock are daily sealing with their blood. . . . Although I am fully persuaded that the fear of death never compelled you in the very least to swerve from the right path, yet I am apprehensive that it is just possible that another species of fear may have proved too much for your courage, for I know how much you are horrified at the charge of rude severity."

**For years Melanchthon was hereby involved in controversy, not only with Catholics but with Protestants. He died at Wittenberg in 1560.}

In 1550 pope Paul III. died, and Julius III. succeeded. He conciliated the Emperor, who in return used all his influence and power to force upon the people the doctrines and practices of the church of Rome.

Thus matters remained for some time, when the princes began to discover that the Emperor was intriguing to get his son Philip appointed as king of the Romans though the Electors had chosen the Emperor's brother Ferdinand. It was also manifest that the Emperor was endeavouring to gain extended power into his own hands, but as yet the German princes saw no way of enforcing and maintaining their rights.

Maurice, now Elector of Saxony, secretly formed a design against the Emperor, and carried out his plans so secretly that he was in no way suspected, the Emperor confidently placing in his hands the generalship of the foreign troops, raised by the Emperor to subdue Magdeburg, which still resisted the Interim. When all Maurice's plans were matured, and he had secured the adherence of all the Protestant princes, and entered into a treaty with Henry II. of France, he openly declared his designs which were, 1, to secure the interests of the Protestant faith; 2, to uphold the constitution of Germany against absolute monarchy; 3, to deliver his father-in-law, Philip of Hesse, from prison.

The movements of Maurice were so rapid that he nearly took the Emperor prisoner. He was staying at Inspruck,* the capital of the Tyrol, to be near Trent, but now had to fly in the night, by the aid of torches, over the Alps to Villach in Carinthia, where he arrived in a pitiable plight, though Emperor of Germany.

{* More correctly called Innsbruck, situated at the confluence of the Sill and the Inn.}

On his flight he set the aged ex-Elector of Saxony at liberty; but he, having no confidence in the treacherous Maurice, followed the Emperor.

The Council of Trent broke up in alarm at the success of Maurice, and did not meet again for ten years.

The Emperor, without money or troops, was induced to come to terms with Maurice. The treaty of Passau was signed (1552), which restored peace to the empire, and insured liberty to the Protestants until a Diet should be called to end all further disputes. Philip of Hesse was set at liberty and restored to his states; the ex-Elector of Saxony also took possession of a small part of his former states.

It was a great blessing to the Protestants that they were allowed to hold the doctrine of scripture, and to worship God in the way they believed scripture taught them. But it was a dark shadow that Maurice had brought it about by the sword, handled by intrigue and perfidy, assisted too by the King of France, an open enemy to the Reformation.*

{* Maurice was not permitted long to enjoy the fruits of his success. In the following year he was killed in a battle with Albert, Duke of Brandenburg, at the age of thirty-one.}

In 1555 a Diet was held at Augsburg in which it was agreed that there was to be liberty both to Catholics and Protestants, every prince having the power to decide what should be the religion of his states, without molestation. In the same year the Emperor startled the world by calling around him his nobles in the city of Brussels, and resigned the Imperial crown to his brother Ferdinand, and the remainder of his vast dominions to his son (Philip II.), who had married Mary of England. Charles then retired to a monastery near the town of Placentia in Spain, and died about eighteen months afterwards.

Though Protestantism was thus in a measure established in Germany, there were occasional outbursts and conflicts, until all were involved in the Thirty Years' War in 1618.* At the close of this, peace and liberty were more firmly settled.

{*See the section: 'Ziska and the Bohemians'.}

It was God's work to bring about freedom from the snares and errors of Rome. It was God's book that had shed its light into men's hearts, by the operation of the Spirit of God. They were God's servants who did the work of contending for the faith. They may have made grave mistakes, and they may have joined Christianity to the world. Others, like Uzzah, may have put their hand to the ark who should not have touched it; but above all this, the Reformation was God's work; it restored the truth of God, and gave to all the scriptures, by which they could learn God's will more perfectly, and by His grace follow it.

"An arm of flesh must fail,

In such a strife as this;

He only can prevail

Whose arm immortal is:

'Tis heaven itself the strength must yield,

And weapons fit for such a field.

And heaven supplies them too:

The Lord who never faints,

Is greater than the foe,

And He is with His saints:

Thus arm'd, they venture to the fight;

Thus arm'd, they put their foes to flight.

And, when the conflict's past,

On yonder peaceful shore

They shall repose at last,

And see their foes no more;

The fruits of victory enjoy,

And never more their arms employ."

France and Switzerland.

Zwingli, Calvin, Farel, Oecolampadius.

In the year 1507 there was great commotion at at Berne, a canton in Switzerland. Crowds of people hastened to the convent of the Dominicans to see a young man, bearing five wounds in imitation of our Lord. His arms were extended, and his head lay on one side. At times he would appear to be dying. "He is suffering the cross of Christ," whispered those who stood by. It was said that he got his wounds in this way. One night as he lay in his cell the virgin Mary appeared to him, and coming to his bed-side pierced his hand with a nail, then wrapped around the wound a piece of the linen cloth worn by her Son — our Lord — on His flight into Egypt. Afterwards four other wounds were made upon the body of this young man, he being chosen out for this in great grace. And thus, with the "five wounds," he was visited by the crowds, anxious to see one on whom had fallen such an honour.

Jetzer was the name of this young man, and after a time he had another visit from the virgin Mary as he supposed; but in his visitor he now recognized the voice of his confessor. On expressing this to be his belief the visitor vanished. After a time she came again, and now reproached him for his unbelief. "This time it is the prior," said Jetzer, rushing at him with a knife. "Mary" threw a pewter plate at his head and disappeared.

The scales were now fallen from Jetzer's eyes. He saw how he had been deceived, and felt sure he knew who his visitors were. The Dominicans finding themselves detected tried to poison Jetzer; but he happily discovered this and fled from the place. The deception was soon noised abroad, and the pope appointed persons to investigate the matter. Four persons were found guilty and burnt alive.

Zwingli had studied at Berne, and had attracted the attention of the Dominicans, and they had invited him to lodge at their convent. His father, fearing for his safety, had bidden him leave Berne at once. The above shameful imposture shews the danger Zwingli had run.

Ulric Zwingli was born on January 1, 1484, at Wildhaus, in the canton of St. Gall, in Switzerland. The village stands 3,613 feet above the sea — near to heaven, as one has said, and yet a part of this sin-stained earth. Ulric was first placed with his uncle, the dean of Wesen, for his education, and being found of good ability, he was sent at ten years of age to Basle. Here he outstripped his fellow scholars, and in 1497 he was sent to Berne, where he remained till called away from the danger that threatened him, as we have seen. From Berne he went to Vienna in Austria and studied philosophy. He afterwards went to Basle where he became Master of Arts, and commenced teaching.

His next step was to become pastor of Glaris, and in 1513 he commenced to study Greek in order, as he said, "to draw from the true source the doctrine of Christ." And he afterwards said that we must endeavour to leave philosophy and theology, and "enter into God's thoughts in His own word. I applied myself in earnest prayer to the Lord to give me His light; and though I read nothing but scripture, its sense becomes clearer to me than if I had studied many commentators." This was the man chosen of God to be the most zealous of the Swiss Reformers, and this was his education for the work.

Zwingli twice visited Italy, and strange to say as a soldier. In those days all were expected to take arms when there was a call to war, and Zwingli thus was in arms to fight for the pope. These visits, like the visit of Luther to Rome, were of great use to Zwingli. They gave him a clear insight into the evil practices of the church of Rome, and it grieved him to the heart to see his beloved countrymen given up like cattle to the slaughter, to save that which was so corrupt.

In 1516 Zwingli was called to be priest and preacher at Einsiedeln, in the canton of Schwytz. It had been said that a chant of some unseen heavenly choristers had been heard in the church, and a voice which declared Christ Himself had consecrated the place. This drew to the spot thousands of pilgrims, to whom Zwingli preached the gospel. He told them plainly that God was not there more than anywhere else. There was no merit in their pilgrimages. "Christ, who offered Himself on the cross once for all, is the sacrifice and victim, which satisfies for all eternity for the sins of all believers." This was strange news to the pilgrims. They told one another, "Christ alone saves us, and He saves everywhere." At this news many turned back, and the visitors became fewer. There was in consequence less money coming in, and Zwingli's stipend fell short. But he cared not: he was content to be the poorer if he made others rich.

Oswald Myconius, a friend of Zwingli, was appointed over the school at Zurich, and soon after his arrival, the post of preacher becoming vacant, Myconius at once proposed his friend Zwingli. After a good deal of canvassing for and against, Zwingli was chosen preacher of Zurich, which greatly enlarged his sphere of usefulness. On December 27, 1518, he entered on his duties. He began to expound the Gospel of Matthew, to the great delight of the faithful.

In the next year a monk, named Samson, was going the round of Switzerland, selling indulgences. Zwingli heard of his approach to Zurich, and commenced to preach against the unholy traffic. This and other influences caused the council to resolve not to admit Samson into the town. They therefore sent messengers to the suburbs where Samson had arrived. He said he had a message from the pope. So he was admitted, but was not allowed to open his traffic. He was soon recalled from Switzerland, and a cart drawn by three horses was needed to drag the chests of money he had collected from the poor deluded Swiss.

In August 1519, a dreadful plague broke out at Zurich. Zwingli was at the baths of Pfeffers, but he returned to his post at once, where he was indefatigable in his attentions to the sick. At length he was smitten down by the plague, and all hope was lost of his recovery. But day and night prayers were made by the faithful that he might be spared. God heard their prayers and raised up His servant, with renewed strength and energy to proceed with the work set before him. Besides preaching on Sundays he observed that many persons flocked to Zurich on Fridays to the market, and he resolved to open the church on the market days, and let those simple country people hear the truth and carry it away with them. By this means, and by a colporteur going from village to village with the works of the Reformers, the work rapidly spread in all directions. And everywhere as the light increased, the power and influence of Rome decreased.

This at length attracted attention and in a peculiar manner. It is one of the rules of Rome not to allow meat to be eaten on Fridays nor during Lent, and a citizen of Lucerne being at Zurich was scandalized to find a friend of his eating meat during Lent, and told him of it. His friend retorted that he knew those at Lucerne ate meat on days when it was forbidden. "We purchase our licence from the pope," said the citizen of Lucerne. "And we ours from the butcher," said his friend; "if it be an affair of money, the one surely is as good as the other." It got noised abroad, and the council being appealed to, the practice was forbidden. But the friends of the pope were not satisfied, and wrote to the Bishop of Constance, declaring that Zwingli was the destroyer, not the pastor of Christ's flock.

The bishop appointed three persons to visit Zurich, and investigate the case. They first called a council of the clergy; but in this Zwingli delivered a speech in favour of the gospel, which his accusers did not attempt to gainsay.

The magistrates were appealed to — the smaller council. Here Zwingli was not allowed to be present, and he would have been condemned, but those friendly to the truth appealed to the large council — the Two Hundred.

On the 9th of April, 1522, they met, amid great interest and excitement. The friends of the truth demanded that the pastors should be present to hear the accusations and answer them. The smaller council objected; but it was decided that they should be heard.

The deputy from the bishop said, "Men have appeared amongst us teaching newly-invented doctrines that are equally abominable and seditious . . . . Continue in the church. Out of the church none can be saved. The ceremonies of the church alone can bring unlearned Christians to the knowledge of salvation: and the pastors of the flock have nothing to do but to explain the signification of these ceremonies to the people." He and his coadjutors then wanted to leave the council, but Zwingli begged them to stay. This they refused, until the council itself strongly begged them to remain. At length they consented.

Zwingli rose to reply. The deputy had talked of sedition, "Let him learn that Zurich is more tranquil and more obedient to the laws than any city in Switzerland — a blessing which all good Christians attribute to the gospel. . . . .

"It is not by vain observances that the unlearned multitude can be brought to the knowledge of the truth. There is another and a better way. It is the way that Christ and His apostles have marked out for us — even the gospel itself

"With regard to abstinence, let him who thinks forty days insufficient, fast if he will all the year round, it concerns not me. All that I contend for is that no one should be compelled to fast. . .

"In every nation whosoever believes with all his heart in the Lord Jesus is accepted of God. Here truly is the church, out of which no one can be saved. To explain the gospel, and to obey it — such is the sum of our duty as the ministers of Christ."

The Two Hundred resolved to appeal to the pope and the cardinals to explain the controverted point, and that in the meantime abstinence from flesh should be observed during Lent.

This was really a triumph for the Reformers. Zwingli went on with his work. But his enemies were not baffled, and were constantly plotting to get rid of him. One day he received a letter, begging him not to eat except in his own house, and not to partake of bread except that baked at home — a plot being laid to remove him by poison. On the next day another attempt was made with the dagger, but God preserved His servant.

Again the bishop interfered, and wrote to the chapter at Zurich. Though not named, all knew it was meant for Zwingli. He replied in writing. "What after all is my offence?" asked he: "I have endeavoured to open men's eyes to the peril of their souls; I have laboured to bring them to the knowledge of the only true God and Christ Jesus His Son." He was allowed to go on with his work.

Other preachers were raised up. At Lucerne on a solemn fast-day a large crowd filled the church, expecting to hear some noted preacher. Conrad Schmid, of Kusnacht, entered the pulpit. Attention was immediately riveted, as he began to speak in German instead of the usual Latin. Among other strange things to their ears he said, "God forbid that we should recognize a head so full of sin as the Roman bishop, and thereby reject Jesus Christ. If the bishop of Rome dispenses the bread of the gospel, let us acknowledge him as a pastor, not as our head: and if he does not dispense it, let us in no way whatever recognize him."

In other places there was not room in the churches for those who preached the gospel. This was the case at Appenzell, where Walter Klarer often preached in the meadows or on the mountain sides the glad tidings of salvation.

The scandals that occurred through the celibacy of the clergy occasioned the Reformers to search the word, and there they found that the bishop was to be the husband of one wife. (1 Tim. 3: 2.) Zwingli saw it was right to marry; but because some of his friends were not clear about it, he resolved to be married secretly. He was united to Anna Reinhard, widow of Meyer von Knonau. This was in 1522, some say 1524, but its being kept from the public will easily account for the different dates being named.

In the meantime the enemies of the truth had appealed to the Diet of the nation, and the Diet had forbidden any from preaching "doctrines that disturbed the people." Zwingli could not consent, but in order to work in harmony with his brethren he called a meeting of the preachers favourable to the gospel to meet him at Einsiedeln. The object was to address the heads of the cantons and the bishop on two points. 1, To claim a free preaching of the gospel. 2, To allow the clergy to marry. Happily for both they had ample scripture, which they took care to quote in their appeals. These were printed and widely circulated.

These appeals stirred up the energies of the papal party. Their anger fell first upon Oswald Myconius. He was the head of the school at Lucerne. He was known to be a friend of reform, and for this, or, as they said, because he was a disciple of Luther, he was dismissed from his office. With his sick wife and child, sadly he left Lucerne. The city had refused the light and the truth, and, as if given up to its darkness, it has remained chiefly Roman Catholic to this day. Myconius found shelter at Einsiedeln.

About the end of 1522 Leo Juda, a friend of Zwingli, and a staunch friend of the gospel, came to Zurich as pastor of St. Peter's. One day Leo heard a monk in his preaching say that a man by his own strength could satisfy the righteousness of God. His spirit was stirred, and he begged the hearers to keep their seats while he proved to them the preacher was wrong. This caused great commotion, and a council was called to consider the matter. Zwingli again took the lead, first by issuing some theses, and then in the council, by maintaining the truths of the gospel.

Faber, a German theologian, was present, but declined to hold any discussion with Zwingli. The council decreed that as Zwingli was reproved by no one, he was at liberty to preach the gospel. Again had God kept an open door for His truth.

Rome tried other stratagems. Zwingli was surprised by a visit from the captain of the pope's guard and a legate, bearing a letter in which the pope called Zwingli his well-beloved son. Others, too, gathered round the Reformer and offered him, honour and riches from the church. Through God's grace, Zwingli saw the trap laid for him and evaded it.

The friends of the gospel were tried by the unwise zeal of some who, it may be hoped, had imbibed the truth. Thus, one of the vicars of St. Peter's on seeing many poor people about the doors only half clad, said, in allusion to the costly attire of the images of saints, "I should like to strip those wooden idols and clothe those poor members of Jesus Christ." A few days after, both the saints and their rich clothing were missing. The council sent the Vicar to prison, though he had no hand in their removal.

In October, 1523, another council was held at Zurich — an important one for the Reformation. In this the doctrine of the Mass was discussed. "My brethren in Christ," said Zwingli, "far from us be the thought that there is anything unreal in the body and blood of Christ. Our only aim is to prove that the Mass is not a sacrifice that can be offered to God by one man for his fellow." There was no one to reply, and the point was gained. Zurich became the stronghold of the Reformation, Myconius being called shortly afterwards to take charge of one of the schools. Thus was he again brought near to Zwingli.

A general Diet of Switzerland was now held at Lucerne. The question as to which of the cantons were favourable to Reform was soon raised. Zurich alone was decidedly for the Reformation; Schaffhausen almost; Berne, Basle, Soleure, Glaris, and Appenzell were doubtful; the rest were decidedly against it. Nineteen Articles were passed to the import that no new or Lutheran doctrine was to be allowed in public or private. They bore date January 26, 1524, and were ratified by all the cantons except Zurich, and copies sent to each to be carried out.

The effect of this was first felt by a citizen of Zurich, Hottinger by name. Having been grieved by seeing persons fall down before a crucifix by the roadside, he had gone and dug round it till the crucifix came down with a crash. For this he was expelled from Zurich; but wherever he went he spoke freely of the gospel the Reformers preached at Zurich. "It is," said he, "that Christ has offered Himself up once only for all believers, and by that one sacrifice has purified them and redeemed them from all iniquity; and they prove by holy scripture that the Mass is a mere delusion." Some took notice of his words, and at Coblentz he was seized. They tried to get a conviction against him in two places in vain; but at Lucerne, where the gospel had been driven away, they were more successful. The council at once sentenced him to be beheaded. People wept as they saw him led to execution. "I am going to everlasting happiness," said he. On reaching the scaffold he raised his eyes to heaven, and said, "Oh my Redeemer, into Thy hands I commend my spirit," and his head was struck off.

It being well known that Zurich was the stronghold of the Reformation, deputies were sent to the canton, requesting that they would root out the new religion. "Dismiss Zwingli and his disciples," said they: then they would all unite to correct abuses.

The council met to consider the proposition. All saw that it was a momentous crisis for the Reformation as far as man was concerned. But God had the hearts of all men under His control, and the council of Zurich replied that they could make no concessions in what concerned the word of God. As yet at least in Zurich the gospel was free.

Nor did the council stop there. They had spoken courageously, they proceeded to act in like manner. The relics, collected with so much care, but about which there was so much doubt, should be worshipped no longer. They buried them. They then proceeded to strip all the churches of the images, the ornaments of which were sold for relief of the poor. The paintings were obliterated, and the walls whitewashed. Some of the ornaments were committed to the flames, "to the honour and glory of God," Then the organs were silenced, simplicity and sincerity of worship were sought for.

While these things gave joy to the Reformers, they filled the friends of the pope with indignation and resentment. The pope also was aroused. He addressed a brief on the subject to the Swiss confederation. A Diet was called in July 1524 at Zug, from which a deputation was sent to Zurich, Schaffhausen and Appenzell, stating their determination not to allow the new doctrine. Zurich replied that in matters of faith the word of God must be obeyed. It was not simply the council now. They had previously appealed to the people to know their judgment, and that judgment was emphatically for the gospel. The reply of Zurich greatly incensed the confederation, who threatened to sit no longer with Zurich in the Diet.

Zurich "choosing the gospel" sounds very encouraging, but it must be noticed that the people had been appealed to, and this was irrespective of whether they were Christians or not; so that the movement became partly religious and partly political.

A breach was brought about unexpectedly. Oexlin was pastor of Burg, a village in the vicinity of Stein, upon the Rhine. He was a friend of Zwingli and a preacher of the gospel. One night he was seized and carried off; but calling out, the neighbours were aroused; the alarm gun was fired, and the tocsin sounded. The whole neighbourhood were on foot. They hastened after their pastor but were unable to come up with him before he had crossed the river Thur, and was beyond their rescue.

The alarm had not raised the friends of the pastor only, but those also who cared for nothing but excitement. These broke into a neighbouring convent, burnt the books, and made themselves drunk, which ended by the place being reduced to ashes.

Among those who had pursued their pastor was deputy-bailiff Wirth and his two sons, all devoted to the truth, the sons being priests, and preachers of the gospel. These had had nothing to do with the spoliation of the convent, but being known as Reformers, and as they were out on that eventful night, they were singled out as those who ought to be punished.

A Diet of the whole of the cantons was called, and the surrender of these three men was demanded. Zurich caused them to be arrested, but on examination they were declared to be innocent. Still the Diet demanded them, and on the promise that they should be examined only as to the events of that night, and not as to their faith, they were given up, and carried to Baden. It was August, 1524.

At the examination the father was put to the torture, but declared himself innocent as touching the attack upon the convent. He was then charged with destroying an image of St. Anne. Against his son Adrian there was nothing except that he had married, and had preached like Luther and Zwingli. John had given the holy sacrament to a sick man without candle or bell. They were also tortured, being urged to confess of whom they had learnt the evil doctrine. The bailiff's wife repaired to Baden, and with a babe in her arms, appealed to the judges. Her younger son was given up to her; but her husband and John were condemned to death, together with another bailiff, named Rutiman. Sustained by faith in the Lord, they were beheaded. The gospel was bearing fruit to the glory of God.

This caused deep emotion in Zurich, but so far from hindering the Reformation, it instilled new courage and helped on the work. On August 11, 1525, the pastors of Zurich applied to the great council to abolish the Mass, and re-establish the Lord's supper. This they agreed to. The altars were removed, and tables supplied their places. The people were given both the bread and the wine.

As these things were being done at Zurich, at Berne the gospel was also progressing, but amid great opposition. James Watteville, president over the council, and his son Nicholas, provost in the church, were both favourable to the gospel. The council ordained that the preaching should consist of the gospel, and the doctrine of God as it is found in the books of scripture, and that the preachers should not allude to any doctrine, disputation, or writing coming from Luther or other teachers. This was skilfully worded. While it appeased the Romish party that the doctrines of Luther were not to be preached, it left the Reformers free to preach the same truths drawn from scripture.

At Koenigsfeld, there stood a monastery where all the noble families of Switzerland and Suabia sent their daughters who desired to take the veil. In this convent was the sister of the provost — Margaret Watteville, who had read the scriptures and received the truth, along with others of the inmates. These were convinced that their proper place was in their families, and they made a request to the council that they might leave the convent. The council used its influence to cause them to remain. The discipline was relaxed, and their allowances increased; but this did not satisfy them. "We desire," said they, "not liberty of the flesh, but that of the Spirit. We your poor unoffending prisoners, beseech you to take compassion on us." "Our prisoners," exclaimed the banneret, a staunch defender of the convents; "I have no wish to detain them prisoners." This turned the council in their favour. The doors were thrown open, and all who wished left. Nicholas Watteville, to keep a good conscience, gave up all hopes of promotion and emoluments, and married a nun, Clara May, from another convent. Thus were the strongholds of Rome being broken into in the canton of Berne.

At Basle, too, the Reformation made progress. It was the learned city of Switzerland, and the residence of Erasmus, who, while he spoke plainly and loudly against the abuses of the church, always drew back when any wished him to advance. He thus became really a hindrance to the Reformation and eventually wrote against Luther. But Oecolampadius was a faithful advocate of the Reformation. He had suffered persecution, and was now a "tried" man. He was professor and preacher at Basle.

Zwingli was led, in studying the scriptures, to the belief that the bread and the wine were not changed into the body and blood of Christ in the Lord's supper; neither did he believe with Luther, that though the bread and the wine were not changed, yet they were accompanied by the real body and blood; but he believed that the bread and wine were symbols of the body and blood of Christ: the one represented the other. This is now the view held by most Protestants; but at that time it was a newly recovered truth, that had been hidden for ages. Oecolampadius agreed with Zwingli.

Though Luther and Zwingli did not agree on this point, Zwingli and the other Swiss divines were anxious that this difference should not separate them from the German Reformers. But Luther was very violent about it, and declared to the messenger whom the Swiss sent, "Either the one party or the other — either the Swiss or we must be ministers of Satan."

Thus was the bark of the Reformation weakened from within by its divisions, where unity would have been strength. It was assailed, too, from without by the philosophy of Erasmus and the schools; by the fanaticism of the Anabaptists, who, driven from Germany, spread in Switzerland; and by the "religion" of the church of Rome. If it had not been floated by God Himself it must have foundered; but God was above all, and the frail bark weathered every storm.

A general Diet was called for, May 16, 1526, at Baden, to consider the subject of the "new doctrines." Dr. Eck was invited as the champion for Rome. The way Baden had behaved in the matter of the bailiffs Wirth and Rutiman, and the threats thrown out against Zwingli, rendered it unsafe for him to attend. Oecolampadius had to be the champion of the Reformation. Naturally quiet and retiring, he would have wished for Zwingli, but he felt constrained to be present and speak for the word of God.

Nothing could be more marked than the attitude of Baden. The friends of the papacy — especially Eck and Faber — fared sumptuously and were well received everywhere, while Oecolampadius and his compeers were as a set of beggars, and were scoffed at as freely as the others were commended. The landlord of "The Pike," the inn where Oecolampadius lodged, being curious to know how the Reformer spent his time, often looked in upon him, but always found him reading or praying. "It must be confessed," said he, "that he is a very pious heretic."

The discussion lasted eighteen days. Eck was loud, boastful and confident. Oecolampadius was serene, mild, but weighty. Of him a friend of Rome was heard to say, "O that the tall sallow man were on our side!" No one was allowed to take notes except those appointed by the papal party; but a student, named Jerome Walsch, had an excellent memory. After each discussion, he hastened home and wrote down all he could remember, and a messenger was despatched with it to Zwingli, who sent advice in return.

The discussion over, the theses of Eck were signed by eighty persons, while the protest against them was signed only by Oecolampadius and ten others. The Diet now decreed that as Zwingli, the leader in the pernicious doctrines, had refused to appear, and as the ministers who had come to Baden had hardened themselves against conviction, both the one and the others were in consequence cast out of the bosom of the church!

A strange thing this surely, that a Diet of councillors — with no pretension whatever to have any standing in the church should take upon themselves to excommunicate a body of Christians! It may have satisfied themselves; but certainly in God's sight it went no further than presumptuous words.

Oecolampadius was received back to Basle with great joy. He had done his duty, and God had protected him. Haller, on his return to Berne, was ordered to perform Mass by the smaller council. He appealed to the larger council; and there he solemnly told them that he could not with a clear conscience perform the Mass. He would leave the city if they wished it. They decided, to try and appease Rome, to remove him from being canon, and appoint him preacher. In other places the work spread. The discussion at Baden, instead of crushing the Reformation, as it was hoped it would do, only gave to it fresh life and vigour.

In 1527, Zurich being excluded from the national Diet by the Catholic cantons, called a Diet in its own city, and invited those supposed to be favourable to the gospel. Deputies from Berne, Basle, Schaffhausen, Appenzell, and St. Gall attended. A proposition was made in favour of the preaching of God's word and not the opinions of any man, and independent of any custom of their forefathers, who had not the word as they now had. The deputies promised to report the proposition.

The Catholic cantons were much disconcerted that Berne should be holding with Zurich, and they-called together a council of deputies in Berne itself, and then demanded of that city that it should turn away the preachers of the gospel, and return to the "true" faith.

Berne refused; but soon found, to its dismay, that the Catholic cantons were seeking foreign aid. The report was raised that Ferdinand, brother to Charles V., was about to enter Switzerland with an army to attack Zurich and those who held with that city.

About this same date (1527) there was in the French-speaking part of Switzerland, at Aigle, a schoolmaster known as Ursinus. He was a Frenchman, and had lately come into Switzerland, and sought employment to teach the youth. When his labours were over in the school he would be busy with the Greek and Hebrew scriptures. He next, as opportunity offered, instructed the parents as well as the children. He attacked purgatory, the pope, and the priests, and by degrees he had quite a band of listeners. But one day, to their astonishment, he threw off his disguise and said, "I am William Farel, minister of the word of God." The magistrates and the priests were alarmed to find such a man among them. But we must digress, and tell you who William Farel was, and what he had done to excite alarm in the minds of the magistrates. In doing this we shall get a glance at the commencement of the Reformation in France.

Farel and the Reformation in France.

William Farel was born in 1489 at a place called Farel, "three leagues from the town of Gap, in the direction of Grenoble," in France. His parents, devoted Catholics, used to take him on a pilgrimage to a cross said to be made of the wood of the very cross on which Christ was crucified, and the copper about it was made of the basin in which He washed His disciples' feet! There was a small crucifix attached to the cross, which the priest told them moved violently and threw out sparks when there was a storm: "were it not for this," said the priest, "the whole country would be swept bare." Among such superstition was young Farel reared.

He longed for learning, and, though discouraged by his father, he soon mastered all that was to be known in the vicinity, and set out for Paris. Here he fell in with Lefevre, professor at the University, they were soon good friends. Farel met with a Bible; but he found it differed so much from the church of Rome, that he was puzzled, but he concluded that it was because he did not understand the Bible.

Lefevre had his eyes open to the truth, and to the value of the scriptures, and he began to expound Paul's Epistles to his scholars. In the Sorbonne sounded that great truth of justification by grace. "It is God alone," said Lefevre, "who by His grace justifies unto eternal life." Of the death of Christ he said, "The sinless One is condemned, and he who is guilty goes free." Farel drank in the truth, and soon saw that if this was salvation, the church of Rome was to use his own word — devilish.

Farel having found Christ, said, "Now everything appears to me to wear a different aspect. Scripture is elucidated, prophecy is opened, and the epistles carry wonderful light into my soul. A voice before unknown — the voice of Christ, my Shepherd and my Teacher — speaks to me with power." He gave himself up to study Greek and Hebrew, that he might the better understand the scriptures.

Farel was made Master of Arts, and lectured at the college of Cardinal Lemoine, which ranked nearly equal to the Sorbonne. To him and Lefevre were soon added as believers, Briconnet, bishop of Meaux, and Margaret, sister to the King, Francis I., Berguin, and a gentleman at court.

Beda was syndic of the Sorbonne; he was a noisy persecutor, and he so harassed Lefevre and Farel that they were glad to accept an invitation from Briconnet, and leave Paris. Thus it was that at Meaux were a number of lovers of the truth, and under the protection of the bishop, the gospel was freely proclaimed in the churches.

Lefevre, in his retirement, turned his attention to the translation of the scriptures. In November, 1524 the New Testament was published in French, and the next year the Psalms. Thus from a corner, as it were, issued the light of God upon France. Many read the scriptures with great eagerness.

But the light of the gospel and the darkness of Rome could not both flourish together. A clamour was soon raised that Meaux was the hotbed of heresy, and an appeal was made to the Parliament. Briconnet cleared himself, but gave way so far as to deprive the pious men who were with him of their licences to preach!

Lefevre was next attacked; but the king cared for none of these things; he, however, appointed a commission, by which Lefevre was acquitted. Farel, who stood more alone, was obliged to flee. Berguin soon after was thrown into prison. Thus the Sorbonne had hoped that they had stamped out the light of the gospel. But it had taken roots in the hearts of many at Meaux, and as they could no longer hear the truth at church, they met privately. One, Leclerc, a wool-comber, was a sort of pastor, and visited from house to house; but he was condemned to be whipped and branded as "heretic" with a hot iron on the forehead. Just as this was being done the operator was startled by the prisoner's aged mother exclaiming, "Glory be to Jesus Christ and His witnesses!"

Leclerc went to Metz. There he met with Châtelain, a monk converted to the truth, who was preaching the gospel. There were great hopes of good being done here, when the rashness of Leclerc destroyed all hopes.

A short distance from Metz stood a little chapel, in which were images of the Virgin and of several saints, to which crowds of pilgrims used to go for worship once a year. That festival was just approaching. The next day the place would be full of worshippers. Leclerc steals out of the city, and goes to the chapel. He thinks he has a commission from God to overthrow and break the images, according to Exodus 20: 4; 23: 24. He enters the chapel and the place is soon scattered with the broken images

The morrow comes; the bells ring; the banners are unfurled; the crosses are raised, and the processions gradually make their way to the chapel of the Virgin. When they reach the place, all are amazed. The hymns cease, the banners are lowered; and there comes a universal cry of death to the wretch who has broken the images. Leclerc was seen returning to the city, and was suspected. He did not deny it. He was sentenced to death. His right hand was first cut off, and then his flesh was torn away by hot pincers, and then he was burnt over a slow fire. As long as he could, he related the scripture: "Their idols are silver and gold, the work of men's hands," etc. Thus died the first martyr of the gospel in France. Châtelain was also now accused and burnt alive for heresy.

Farel returned to his native district and preached the gospel. His three brothers with others were converted: but the opposition raised compelled him to fly; and after wandering about, preaching where he could find an open door, in 1524 he quitted France and proceeded to Basle in Switzerland.

Here he met with Oecolampadius, and their hearts were at once knit together in loving brotherhood and friendship; but Farel paid no heed to the half-hearted Erasmus. This touched Erasmus to the quick, who always after spoke of Farel in the most offensive terms. Farel's motto was "God's word is all-sufficient," and he wished to have a public discussion on thirteen propositions, one of which was, "To take from the certainty of the gospel of Christ is to destroy it." Neither the priests, nor the students of the University were allowed to be present. Farel and Oecolampadius maintained the theses, but not one attended to dispute them.

There was a door opened in Montbéliard, and Oecolampadius pressed Farel to accept it. Farel had not been ordained to the ministry, as it was called; but never mind, Oecolampadius himself would ordain him. Farel consented. Neither of them saw as yet that those whom God had gifted and sent to preach needed no other ordination. Oecolampadius said to him, "The more you find yourself inclined to vehemence, the more must you exercise yourself to maintain a gentle bearing: temper your lion heart with the softness of the dove." The gentle Oecolampadius was to the vehement Farel, what Melanchthon was to Luther. Farel went to Montbéliard July, 1524.

Erasmus had not failed to inform his Roman Catholic friends of the whereabouts of Farel, and they soon concerted measures to get rid of the Reformer. But he laboured there for some months and it was Farel himself who raised the storm that compelled him to leave.

One day Farel was walking near the banks of the river when he saw a procession, headed by two priests, bearing the image of St. Anthony, and reciting prayers to that saint. Farel's spirit was stirred within him. What should he do? Hide himself, or speak, or act? He advanced, snatched the image from the priest, and threw it over the bridge into the water, saying, "Poor idolaters, will ye never put away your idols?" The anger of the people was great, but a cry was raised, "The image is sinking," and whether it was because of saving the image, or what, somehow or other Farel escaped for the moment; but he was obliged to fly from the place and again returned to Basle. He had not practised Oecolampadius' advice and tempered the lion with the lamb. He was forbidden to remain at Basle, and retired to Strasburg. In December, 1526, an invitation was sent to him to return to France. An opportunity to return to his native country he had long wished for and long waited for; but as no door had seemed to open he had turned his steps towards Switzerland and the invitation did not reach him till he had reached Aigle, and was at work as a schoolmaster, as we have seen. He resolved to go on with his work and not return to France.

Farel in Switzerland.

This brings us back again to the work in Switzerland. You will remember that Farel at Aigle had one day thrown off his disguise, and told them who he was. He now ascended the pulpit and preached Jesus Christ as the salvation of sinners.

Being attached to Berne* he had obtained a licence from the council to preach. The priests and magistrates stormed and protested, but Farel went on with his work.

{* Aigle having been taken by Berne from Savoy in 1475, was at this time under the protection of that canton. The Pays de Vaud being by constitution a separate canton in 1803, Aigle became a part of the canton de Vaud.}

A new proclamation coming from Berne caused the Catholics to revolt and with the cry of "No more submission to Berne! down with Farel!" they proceeded to attack the preacher. But those favourable to the Reformation gathered round Farel and shewed such a bold front, that for the time danger was averted; but Farel, to avoid excesses, left the place for a few days. On his return he resumed his preaching, but amid much opposition.

Many in the canton of Berne were much opposed to the Reformation, and the great council had tried to please all, but at length they called the priests and ecclesiastics to a conference on the disputed points; yet decided beforehand that all must be decided by the word of God. Dr. Eck and other well-known Catholics were invited. Eck declined to go.

The Catholic cantons sent a protest against the conference; but they were reminded that they had had a similar one at Baden. The Emperor then sent an order for it to be postponed; but it was so far advanced that this could not be.

The question arose as to who was to be the champion of the Reformation. Haller was at Berne; but he was modest and timid. It will be remembered that at Baden Oecolampadius stood the brunt of the battle. He wrote to Haller saying that Zwingli ought now to take his share in the conflict. Haller invited Zwingli, who gladly consented.

This was not without danger. It was known that in the Catholic cantons they might be waylaid. From various parts the ministers assembled at Zurich, and then all proceeded under an escort of three hundred armed men. They had one or two alarms, but all arrived safely.

The disputation opened January 7, 1528. Everything was to be settled by scripture, and no explanation was to be given that did not come from the word of God, explaining obscure texts by such as were clear.

The first thesis was read: "The holy christian church, of which Christ is the sole head, is born of the word of God, abideth in it, and listeneth not to the voice of a stranger."

A monk replied, The word sole is not in scripture: Christ has left a vicar here below."

Haller said, "The vicar that Christ left is the Holy Ghost."

A Romanist said, "See then to what a pass things have come these last ten years. This man calls himself a Lutheran; that, a Zwinglian; a third, a Carlstadtian; a fourth, an Oecolampadist; a fifth, an Anabaptist."

Unfortunately the Reformers had no good answer to this. Haller said that those named did not desire any to bear their names; but he did not deny that it was a fact. How much better it would have been if all had been content with the one scriptural name of Christian.

Various other subjects were discussed, each side doubtless thinking that it had the victory.

On Sunday, Zwingli took a bold step. He went into the pulpit and recited what is called the Apostles' creed. When he had said, "He ascended into heaven, and sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead" he paused and said, "These three articles are in contradiction to the Mass." A priest was then below him prepared to celebrate the Mass. He stopped at these words of Zwingli as if bewildered, and stood with his eyes on the Reformer. At length, to the astonishment of the congregation, he took off his priestly garments and threw them on the altar, exclaiming, "Unless the Mass reposes on a more solid foundation I can celebrate it no longer."

Three days after was the feast of St. Vincent, the patron of the city, as they say. It was usually a high day with the Catholics. The council decided that those who wished could hold the service as heretofore. On the previous evening the bells announced the approach of the festival. On the morning the tapers were lit, and the incense prepared; but alas! no priest came to say Mass, and no congregation to hear it! Thus in this quiet way were the bulwarks of Rome being assailed. On the next day, with a foreign priest Mass was said to a few.

The discussion over, the two councils ordered the Mass to be abolished, and everyone might remove any ornaments they had placed in the churches. Twenty-five altars were removed, tables being substituted, and a number of images destroyed.

Zwingli, ere he left, said in the pulpit, "Victory has declared for the truth, but perseverance alone can complete the triumph. . . . Citizens of Berne . . . . do not abandon Jesus Christ." Then, pointing to the broken fragments of the images, not yet removed, said, "Stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ has made you free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage."

The Romanists were exasperated at the results of the discussion, and determined to molest the Reformers as they returned from Berne. On arriving at Bremgarten, they found the gates closed. They had with them two hundred men at arms. They knew that it would be against Zwingli that any mischief would be attempted, so he was surrounded by troops, and then the commander gave orders to advance. The keepers of the town gave way, and the party passed through an immense crowd, but safely, and at length arrived at Zurich "all well."

Berne next proceeded to make the movement general over the canton as well as over the city. Everywhere the Mass was abolished and the images destroyed. Some of the monasteries were next turned into hospitals, others into places for the poor.

Thus the Reformation in the canton of Berne seemed to be complete; but the work had been too rapid to be real. For a man to be a Catholic today, and a Protestant to-morrow — as many were — without change of heart or real knowledge of the gospel — could not be expected to remain a Protestant when it was to his interest to be a Catholic. So there soon began to be a reaction, especially in the rural districts, far from the city of Berne, and near to the Catholic cantons.

From Interlaken they took up arms, and entered the canton of Berne, declaring that they would march on to Berne, and re-establish the Mass. Berne collected its troops, and the revolt was soon crushed, and Interlaken humbled for invading a neighbouring canton.

The Reformation spread in St. Gall and Glaris; in Appenzell six out of eight parishes embraced the Reform. In the Grisons religious liberty was proclaimed.

At Basle the struggle was long and tedious. Oecolampadius laboured faithfully, but the Roman party was strong. The council was timid, and while it hesitated the people armed and broke into the churches and removed the images. In some places there were heaps of heads, arms, legs and bodies. Erasmus, with his usual sarcasm, said, "I am much surprised that they performed no miracles to save themselves: formerly the saints worked frequent prodigies for much smaller offences." The senate decreed that the Mass and images should be abolished throughout the canton.

Erasmus was in perplexity. While he made game of the images of the saints he was afraid that he should he classed with the Reformers. His fame extended far and near. He must save his good name. He went to Freyburg, in Brisgau.

Farel was the real evangelist of Switzerland. When the gospel was settled and free in one place he would move on to another. Thus he went to Lausanne, but there they had a bishop, and the Reformer had to retire. Then he went to Neuchatel. There the priests, who had long been quarrelling, united like Herod and Pontius Pilate, to crush Farel. He was compelled to leave after sowing the seed. He hoped, however, to return.

Meantime he went with a young man, Anthony Boyve to the Val de Ruz to the town of Vallengin. It was on a festival day, and numbers had flocked into the church. Farel entered the pulpit and began to preach to the people. At the same time the priests were busy with the Mass. Though some listened to Farel for a time, on the elevation of the Host they moved to the altar to receive the wafer, when suddenly Anthony Boyve rushed up, snatched the Host from the priest, and turning towards the people said, "This is not the God whom you should worship, He is above — in heaven in the majesty of the Father; and not, as you believe, in the hands of the priest."

For the moment all were silent with astonishment, and Farel tried to go on with his sermon; but they were both obliged to run for their lives. The people, as soon as they recovered from their bewilderment, rushed after them. Farel hoped to escape by a path which avoided the town; but while they stealthily made their way, a shower of stones told them they were discovered. Soon they were beset with priests, men, and women, who attacked them with clubs and sticks till blood flowed. "Drown them, drown them," cried a voice; which was responded to by their being dragged to the bridge. Just at this time, came up some citizens, who said, "What are you doing? Put them rather in a place of safety, that they may answer for their proceedings." This prevailed, and they were cast into a dungeon of the castle. A cruel end was being prepared for them, when some townsmen of Neuchatel came and claimed them. From Neuchatel, observe, that would not have the gospel, the deliverers of the preachers came!

The act of Boyve cannot be justified; the wide world was open to them, and they could have preached in the open air. Farel was never so near losing his life, and both felt the effects of their rashness for many a day afterwards. But the place where he suffered so sorely was at length gained to the gospel.

Farel returned to Neuchatel and preached in the church; and the people became so excited that they commenced at once to pull down the images: and then to shew their contempt of the doctrine of the Mass they distributed the consecrated wafers among them and ate them. This so exasperated the priests and friends of Rome that a tumult resulted, and both came to blows. The council tried to calm the tempest, but all was in vain. By degrees it died out and all again was quiet. There was inscribed on a pillar of the church, "L'an 1530 le 23 Octobre, fut ôtée et abattue l'Idolâtrie de céans par les Bourgeois."* The matter was finally settled by the vote. A majority of eighteen decided that Neuchatel was for the Reformation. Farel was not to be seen in any of these things, though it was through his preaching that they all came about.

{* "On October 23, 1530, idolatry was overthrown and removed from hence by the citizens."}

Everywhere the altars and images were removed, and the Mass abolished. But an incident will show how little the people understood what they were doing in crying out against idolatry. Two citizens were passing a chapel, when one was reminded that he had put an image of St. John there. He declared he would light his stove with it to-morrow. So as he returned from work he entered the chapel and took away the image, but laid it down outside his door till the morning. In the morning he fetched the image, but it had not been long in the stove when the family were startled by a loud explosion. It must be the anger of the saint, said he. His friend tried to persuade him that it was not so, and at length assured him that in the night he had bored a hole in the image and filled it with gunpowder. But it was all of no use. He was so convinced that the saints were angry at what was being done, that he broke up his establishment and fled from the place.

The Reformation once settled in Neuchatel, Farel looked about for new ground, and began to visit the villages round. One after another fell under the power of his preaching, and the seed was sown in some places where he was obliged to fly for his life.

War in Switzerland.

During the above progress of the gospel the Catholic cantons were not idle. They persecuted by torture and death all that fell into their clutches. And not satisfied with this, feeling that the Reformed cantons were now too numerous and strong for them, they went and threw themselves into the arms of Austria. The Austrians could scarcely believe that the Swiss would sacrifice their country for their religion; but the Swiss assured them they were sincere.

The Reformed cantons sent deputies to those Catholic cantons in the hope of coming to terms; but the deputies were received everywhere with insults and menaces.

But things were brought to an issue sooner than was expected. A Reformed pastor had been waylaid, carried off, and — notwithstanding the protests of the Reformed cantons he was burned alive. This so stirred up the people of Zurich, that they at once flew to arms. The Catholics also did the same. The armies took the field, but again an effort was made to prevent bloodshed. Berne refused to help Zurich, saying that Zurich had begun without them and might finish without them; but Berne joined in a demand that the Catholic cantons should break their alliance with Austria. The treaty was produced. The Reformed cantons wished to read it, but this was forbidden, and in presence of the army it was cut to pieces. It was hoped now that all might be settled; the troops were disbanded and returned home. An edict was passed to revive mutual friendship and concord. But this was more easily said than done. There were still the ill-feeling and religious rancour ready to burst forth on any fresh occasion.

Zwingli unfortunately made rapid strides as a politician. This casts another shadow over the Reformation. Zwingli not only busied himself in the politics of Zurich and Switzerland, but went so far as to advocate the overthrow of the Emperor Charles V., and even plotted for its accomplishment (1530), and above all with France who had so persecuted the Reformers. "My kingdom is not of this world," said our Lord. How was it that the Reformer overlooked this important truth? Politics were so mixed up with religion in Switzerland that it caused Erasmus to say, "They ask us to open our gates, crying aloud, The gospel, the gospel. . . . raise the cloak, and under its mysterious folds you will find — Democracy," the political rights of the people.

The Catholic cantons in the meantime were more and more uneasy at the peace they had agreed to, and secretly longed to break it. They began by persecuting any who favoured the gospel in their own states, and then by calumniating the Reformers. A paper was said to have been found upon an altar which said that the Reformers held that any who committed an abominable offence did not sin so much as he who heard Mass. This of course was false, but it was believed, and being printed was widely circulated.

Zurich advocated that these calumnies should be avenged; but Berne proposed an appeal being made to the Catholic cantons. It ended in a general Diet of all the cantons being called at Baden, in April, 1531. But this Diet ended in nothing, and the confusion and distrust only increased. An attempt was then made to form a confederation of the Reformed cantons, but this failed; at length Berne proposed that they should close their markets against the five Catholic cantons, and not allow them to buy corn, salt, wine, steel, and iron. This was agreed to, and the Reformed cantons took measures accordingly.

In some of the proscribed districts this meant starvation. The Protestant cantons were actually going to try to starve their countrymen in the name of religion. How could the Catholics love such a people or such a religion?

The Catholic cantons ordered provisions from places outside of Switzerland; but the Protestant cantons would not allow them to pass through. France tried to mediate, but it was not listened to. A general council was called in presence of the envoys from France. The Catholic cantons were inflexible, saying, "We will not listen to any proposition before the raising of the blockade." The Reformers said they would not raise it until the gospel was allowed to be freely preached all over Switzerland.

Mediators stepped in, and an agreement was drawn up which it was hoped would meet all obstacles; but the various cantons would not agree to it.

Zwingli found his influence declining in Zurich, and he appeared before the council, asking them, that, as he was blamed for every misfortune and yet his advice was not followed, he might be dismissed.

The council were astonished and grieved, and begged him to remain. After three days he consented, saying, "I will stay with you; and I will labour for the public safety — until death."

Fearful omens were said to be seen. In a village a widow was alone in her house, when blood flowed from the wainscot and from the stones: it fell from a basin, etc. She rushed from the place crying, murder. The neighbours came, and there were surely the marks of blood, and they helped to efface them; but it appeared again the same day. The bailiff of Schenkenberg and the pastor of Dalheim arrived, to see for themselves. They reported it to Berne and Zurich. The records are preserved both in Latin and German.

Again, it is recorded that a terrific meteor was seen in the heavens — like a comet with a fiery tail. Zwingli himself saw this, and predicted his own death and that of many others.

The Catholic cantons assembled at Lucerne, and determined to commence the war. They would enter the bailiwicks and take provisions by force. At once they seized on all the passes, and in secret made their arrangements. Messenger after messenger came to Zurich with the news that war had commenced. But, as if paralysed, they did nothing, hoping the reports were false.

Messengers still arrived with more alarming reports, still they only sent some one to see if the reports were true, but did nothing.

At length, after many and long delays, Zurich awoke to the reality, and began to arm, but there seemed no enthusiasm, no defined plan, no leader. Zwingli, as chaplain of the army, went with them. He felt oppressed. No wonder, when we reflect on what was sought in this war, namely, to prevent their fellow-countrymen having bread, and compelling them to have the gospel.

Cappel was to be the scene of battle. The few that could be got there from Zurich picked out the best place, anxiously awaiting reinforcements. The Catholic cantons — Lucerne, Uri, Schwytz, Unterwalden, and Zug — are in high spirits. They are eight thousand strong, all picked men from the cantons. They hear Mass before they leave Zug, and when in the open plain they bend their knees, 'cross themselves,' and say five 'paters,' as many 'aves,' and the 'credo.'

The Zurichers also bent the knee and invoked God's help. They could only muster twelve hundred men. Zwingli soon reached the army, but was sad and dispirited.

At length they joined battle; at first those from Zurich seemed to be successful, but they were overpowered, and suffered defeat on all sides. Zwingli had armed himself with sword and battle-axe, but he was stooping to console a dying man soon after the battle had commenced, when a stone struck him on the head and closed his lips. He received other blows, and at length a wound from a lance felled him to rise no more. But he was not dead. The battle over, with torches the Catholics searched the dead, and any found still alive were taunted about their religion, and then dispatched. At length Zwingli was met with, but was not recognized. "Do you want a priest to confess yourself?" He could not speak, but shook his head. One turned the face of the dying man towards the fire, and exclaimed, "I think it is Zwingli." Another heard the name, and with his sword despatched the Reformer, saying, "Die, obstinate heretic." Not content with this, the dead body was dismembered, and then burnt.

Thus had fallen that devoted and zealous Reformer Zwingli; but he was one who had signally failed to observe the spiritual nature of the religion of Christ, and had, as we have seen, mingled politics and patriotism with Christianity. Our Lord had distinctly said, "My kingdom is not of this world," and "they that take the sword shall perish with the sword." (Matt. xxvi. 52.)

The Reformers suffered another repulse. The other Protestant cantons sent supplies until twelve thousand men were mustered. On the other hand, there were two thousand Italians sent by the pope. The Reformers were not united, some of the cantons made separate treaties with the Catholics and retired. Zurich, finding itself deserted, was obliged to do the same. It preserved its faith, and that was all. Berne also sought peace; and the others were obliged to do the same.

The Reformation had gained nothing by the war but shame, while in many places the Romish religion was re-established. To add to the sorrow of the Reformers at this time, Oecolampadius was called away. He had been invited to take the place of Zwingli, but had declined; the death of his friend, and the sorrows into which the Reformation was plunged broke his heart, and soon carried him off. Henry Bullinger, who had been obliged to fly from Bremgarten, succeeded Zwingli.

The cantons now settled down; some into the Reformed religion, and some the Catholic. More than once they had their religious wars, and they are to this day some Catholic and some Protestant.

We have not yet done with Switzerland, but we must turn again to France, and introduce you to another of God's servants in the Reformation.

Calvin and France.

Not far from Paris, in the Forest of Livry, lived a hermit. He had met with some of the men of Meaux;* had heard the gospel, and embraced it, and he now spent his time in going from cottage to cottage, telling the people of the good news of salvation — a pardon infinitely more precious than that of priestly absolution. Many knew of the hermit and went to visit him. To all he told the way of salvation.

{* See the section 'Farel and the Reformation in France'.}

News of the hermit reached the Sorbonne, who ordered him to be seized and cast into prison. He had committed the dreadful crime of preaching salvation in Christ only, and for this he must be burnt alive over a slow fire! To make it more effective, the great bell of Notre Dame was tolled to draw the people together. The scholar left his book, and the workman threw down his tools and hastened to the spot. In the centre of a dense crowd stood the hermit. The bell ceased. He was asked the last question. He declared his adherence to the faith of the Lord Jesus Christ. As a dreadful heretic, he was doomed to destruction by the priests, the fire was lit, and thus passed away a quiet and devoted evangelist.

One of the students at that time in the college of La Marche was John Calvin. He was born at Noyon in Picardy, on July 10, 1509. His father's name was Gerard, and his mother's maiden name was Jane Lefranq. John was now sixteen years old. Austere in his manner, he kept apart from the mass of scholars, and joined but little in their games. His pale aspect and piercing eye drew from them a measure of respect, which was heightened by the seriousness of his conversation and his rebukes of their sins. Perhaps one thing that contributed to this was that though so young his head was shaven as a priest's. His father had devoted him to the church, and about twelve years of age he had been made chaplain of La Gesine! This was done by his father, we suppose, for the sake of the income, as he and his family were poor. Calvin's progress was so rapid at college that he was removed from the classes and taken singly to the higher branches of study. As he was to be a priest, he went from La Marche to the college of Montaigu.

Here the terrible Beda was principal, who watched over young Calvin. He had no fault to find with the young scholar, who never missed a fast, a Mass, or a procession. Calvin said afterwards, "I was at this time so obstinately given to the superstitions of popery, that it seemed impossible that I should ever be pulled out of the deep mire."

Like Luther, he studied Scotus, Bonaventure, and Thomas Aquinas with the philosophy of the last-named he was delighted, but only to be its deadly enemy when he knew its hollowness.

Calvin was visited at college by his cousin Olivetan, who had a measure of light from reading the scriptures and who longed to teach Calvin what he had discovered. Calvin would not listen; but when alone he began to reflect, and asked, Whither was he going. He dreaded the thought of the resurrection. He did not feel the virtue of redemption. In his agony he said, "Where shall I find the light that I need . . . Alas! thy word, which should enlighten thy people like a lamp, has been taken from us."

The professors noticed a change in Calvin, and sought to appease his trouble. "I am a miserable sinner," said Calvin. They admitted it, but said that he could satisfy the justice of God by confessing to a priest, and by blotting out the memory of the sins by good works. Calvin did as he was told, and more; but it was useless: his agony returned, and all his austerities and penances brought him no relief. His cousin had advised him to read the scriptures. He did so, and found Christ, or rather Christ found him. "O Father," said he, "His sacrifice has appeased Thy wrath; His blood has washed away my impurities; His cross has borne my curse; His death has atoned for me. . . . We had devised for ourselves many useless follies . . . . but Thou hast placed Thy word before me like a torch, and Thou hast touched my heart, in order that I should hold in abomination all other merits save that of Jesus."

Still, he clung to the church, he declared he could not separate from the "majesty" of the church. His friends drew his attention to the nature of the church as revealed in scripture, and what the church of Rome was. Calvin searched for himself; and found that the true order had been lost; the keys had been "counterfeited:" Calvin was gained to the Reformation. It was about 1527; Calvin was nineteen.

Calvin's father had, as we have seen, designed him for the church; but it is supposed that hearing of his son's conversion, he had desired him to study the law. Certain it is that in 1527 Calvin left Paris and proceeded to Orleans to become a jurist.

At Orleans Calvin had a return of his depression; but further light chased away his fears. Here he studied Greek, which was of much value to him afterwards. He then went to Bourges, still studying the law. Then Wolmar recommended him to devote himself to the gospel, and this he did privately at people's houses. But at length a wider door opened for him. At a town named Lignières ten leagues from Bourges, he was invited to preach the gospel in the parish church. He consented, and crowds came to hear the young man. This excited the jealousy of the priests, who sought to put him in prison. The death of his father called him from his work.

Calvin, desirous of furthering his studies in Greek, returned to Paris, where he studied not only languages but law and philosophy. Some begged him to give himself up to the gospel, and at length he determined to do so. Berguin had just before died as a martyr, and those who loved the gospel had to meet in secret places. Calvin joined them, and began to expound the word.

Calvin turned his eyes on Meaux, where Briconnet still presided, but who had sadly fallen. Calvin hoped to restore the bishop, but could get no entrance to him. Daniel, a friend of Calvin, wanting to attach him to the church, proposed to ask for him the office of Vicar-general, and wrote, asking if Calvin would accept of it. Calvin, who was not as yet at all clear as to the true character of the church of Rome, was in danger, but he was to be God's servant, and He was watching over him. Calvin refused the offer.

Calvin was next invited to be the chaplain of Margaret, Queen of Navarre. She had made Roussel a bishop; she would also promote Calvin. She appeared to love the truth, but adopted a sort of half-Catholic, half-Protestant policy. Calvin declined the tempting offer.

For a time the gospel seemed to progress in Paris, and the Sorbonne and the enemies of the gospel to be silenced. Calvin endeavoured to take advantage of this. His friend Cop was rector of the college, and a friend of the gospel; Calvin proposed to him that as rector he should declare the gospel boldly in the face of all France. It was customary for the rector to give an inaugural address in Latin on All Saints' day. This would be a fine opportunity. Cop excused himself, by saying he was a physician and not a divine, he declared however that if Calvin would write the address, he would read it. Calvin readily agreed, and the address was written. It was called, "Christian Philosophy."

On All Saints' day, 1533, a crowd of college dignitaries, professors, theologians, and students filled the church of the Mathurins. Cop was known to be favourable to the Queen of Navarre, and all were anxious to hear what sort of an address the rector would give. Calvin had taken care that at least for once they should hear the gospel. The rector read, "Christian philosophy" was "the gift of God to man by Jesus Christ Himself. . . . . "What is the hidden will that is revealed to us here? It is this: The grace of God alone remits sins . . . . The Holy Ghost which sanctifies the heart and gives eternal life is promised to all Christians." The rector asked them to join with him in prayer "to Christ the true and only intercessor with the Father."

Never had they heard such an address, and loud was the outcry against the rector. His enemies, thinking it was useless to apply to the University, applied to parliament, and laid his heretical address before the house. Cop was ordered to appear. He summoned courage, and prepared to do so, but as he was rector he went in his robes, preceded by the under officers, with their maces, etc. But a friend of the gospel saw that if the rector appeared he would be a lost man, and sent a messenger to stop his coming. The messenger caught sight of the archers who were ready to arrest Cop, so he hastened forward in hopes of stopping him. His procession was then in a narrow street, where they could pass only with difficulty. The messenger ran to Cop and whispered to him that if he appeared he would share the fate of Berguin: the officers were ready to arrest him. If he went any further he would be a dead man! Cop hesitated; some friends gathered round him, and urged him to flee. He broke up the procession and hurried off home; and then in a disguise quitted Paris and fled to Basle.

The archers came to arrest him, but he was gone. The parliament, annoyed at his escape, offered a reward of three hundred crowns for him dead or alive.

The enemies of the gospel now turned their thoughts on Calvin. It was really him they had heard in the address, and he was the energetic spreader of the heresy. The parliament, ordered his arrest. Calvin was sitting quietly in his college room when his friends came and said, "Fly! or you are lost." Others came bidding him to fly. They had seen the officers coming to arrest him. They were then at the college gates. Some endeavoured to delay the officers a little, while others made a rope of Calvin's bedclothes, by which he lowered himself out of his window into the street of the Bernardins. The archers entered his room but he was gone. The officer dispatched some of his men in pursuit, while he stayed to gather up what papers and letters he could collect.

Calvin from the Rue des Bernardins went to the suburbs of St. Victor. Here he went to the house of a vine-dresser, a friend of the gospel. They exchanged clothes; and Calvin, in the rustic clothes of a vine-dresser, with a hoe on one shoulder, and a wallet with provisions on the other, took his steps away from Paris, traversing the less frequented roads and avoiding observation.

The letters seized in Calvin's room brought his friends into danger, and it was only by the intercession of the Queen of Navarre that they escaped death.

In 1533-34 Margaret left the court of France, and came to reside at Nerac. Here she threw off her form of royalty and spent her time in visiting the poor, and helping on the gospel. She employed colporteurs to take round, along with their trinkets, the New Testament in French. With her was her chaplain Roussel and the aged Lefevre. Calvin had taken refuge at Angoulème which was not far from Nerac; he desired to see his old friends. and indeed he was fearful of the half-and-half measures of Roussel, who, though he administered the Lord's supper in "two kinds," yet preserved the Mass, though altered. Calvin was now thoroughly convinced that the church of Rome was so corrupt that it ought to be pulled down and another church built. Roussel was alarmed. He was trying to cleanse it, and not to pull it down, nor even to leave it.

Calvin was distressed at those who knew and loved the truth, and who yet would go on with their confessions and the Mass. He returned to Angouleme, and from thence, under a feigned name, he went to Poitiers. Near here he used to assemble in a cave with those who loved the gospel, and he would expound to them the scriptures, and then they partook of the Lord's supper in the "two kinds," without the Mass or elevating the Host. But opposition arose, and he had to leave, much to the regret of the faithful.

Calvin then went to Noyon, his native place, where all this while he had held two livings in the church of Rome, conferred on him when quite young. These he now resigned, and severed his last tie to the church of Rome. His friends thought he could have done much more good by remaining in its fold, but he was quite certain his only course was to leave it entirely.

Calvin returned to Paris (1534). He found things had quieted down, and he hoped there was an open door for the gospel. But he was advised to do nothing except in private; for Paris and the king were not really changed. Many had been gained to the truth, and Calvin found plenty of work in private.

Here, as elsewhere, Satan tried hard to mix poison with the truth. To the horror of Calvin he found some had become "spirituals." There was but one Spirit, said they, the Holy Spirit; and everything they did was done by the Spirit. A man robbed his employer, but his master must not complain, the Spirit invaded every one, and it was the Spirit who used the man! Calvin saw through this awful delusion, and exposed it, but it led away many in France.

Another heresy at that time was by Servetus, who denied the Godhead of Christ. Full of his own opinions this man challenged Calvin to a conference; Calvin accepted the offer, but Servetus did not keep his appointment. Calvin became the defender of the Trinity against this deceiver.

All these things were useful to Calvin. It was not needed to oppose the errors of Rome only, but to adhere closely to the truth. Many saw Rome to be wrong, but, deceived by Satan, they wandered in the mazes of error and wickedness.

Again Calvin had to leave Paris. He retired to Strasburg. After he left, the gospellers, as we call them for want of a better name, sent one of their number, Feret, on a mission to Switzerland, to ask advice of Farel and others, whether they judged it best for those in France to meet as they were now doing — in private — or to act in some bold way openly for the truth's sake. Feret was struck with the difference between Switzerland and France. While they in Paris were afraid to let their faith be known, at Neuchatel and other places the images were destroyed and the gospel preached boldly.

A conference was held, and to print and post up in Paris a placard for the gospel and against Rome was proposed, and assented to. Farel drew up the placard in his usual energetic style, the printers were set to work, and a number were soon ready; some were large for posting up, and some small to give in the streets, etc.

Feret hastened back with the bills. A consultation was held. Some feared the consequences, but others advocated the posting of the bills, trusting in God to use them for the spreading of the truth. Paris was too small; they must spread them all over France. The bills were circulated to the cities and towns privately to friends of the gospel; and all being ready, the night of October 24, 1534, was fixed on for the posting them up. Earnest prayer was made for God's blessing.

The night arrived, and men stole from their houses, and cautiously looking round, posted up a bill; then hastened to another spot and put up another, and so on, each in his own district. Paris was well placarded, as well as the towns and cities "all over France."

The heading was, "Truthful Articles concerning the horrible, great, and unbearable abuses of the popish Mass, invented directly against the holy supper of our Lord, the only mediator and only Saviour Jesus Christ."

It denied that the Mass was a sacrifice thus: "By the great and admirable sacrifice of Jesus Christ all outward and visible sacrifice is abolished. Christ . . . . was once offered for all. By one offering he hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified."

It then attacked transubstantiation. It denounced it as a doctrine of devils, opposed to all scripture. "I ask those cope-wearers, Where did they find that big word Transubstantiation? St. Matthew, St. Mark, St. John, St. Paul, and the old fathers, never spoke of it. When they made mention of the Lord's supper those holy writers openly and simply called the bread and wine bread and wine. St. Paul does not say, Eat the body of Christ, but, Eat this bread."

On the other hand it said, "The holy supper of Jesus Christ reminds us of the great love with which He loved us, so that He washed us in His blood. It presents to us on the part of the Lord, the body and blood of His Son, in order that we should communicate in the sacrifice of His death and that Jesus should be our everlasting food."

But it called the Catholics "wretches," and spoke of their "infernal theology." It said, "Kindle, yes, kindle your faggots, but let it be to burn and roast yourselves. . . . Why should you kindle them for us? Because we will not believe in your idols, in your new gods, in your new Christs, who let themselves be eaten by vermin, and in you also who are worse than vermin."

Alas! for the gospellers, and for Farel, and for the cause of Christ, that such language should have been put forth in His holy name! Could such language gain any one, while it insulted those so grossly whom it believed to be in error? Allowing for the grossness of the age, nothing can justify such language put forward in the name of Christ.

In the morning one of the bills was carried to the king. He was just then in great hopes of joining Protestant and Catholic into one; but now it was all spoilt. He was exceedingly enraged and ordered a minute search to be made for the aggressors. The parliament took it up, and offered one hundred crowns reward for any information as to who posted the bills. All who concealed them should be burnt.

Morin had the matter in hand to find out those favourable to the gospel. He hit on a plan to secure all. He sent for one who had been used to convene the meetings, and demanded of him where they all lived. He refused to tell. Morin ordered a scaffold to be prepared, and threatened the man he should be burnt. He, in fear of death, turned traitor, and going from door to door the poor wretch pointed out where the gospellers lived. All were seized and carried off to prison.

The trial was a mere form; the fires were lit, and one after another they were burnt alive: many who had nothing to do with posting up the bills were also burnt. One was a poor paralytic who could not walk, and had to be carried. He was a gospeller, and that was quite enough.

Then a solemn procession was formed of all the relics in Paris, and High Mass was sung, and all honour done to the Host, for the supposed insult offered to it by the placards! Thus the bills — intemperate and unwise — brought death to many, while they caused the chains of Rome to be riveted still firmer upon the whole of France.

In the meantime Calvin had travelled to Strasburg, and then to Basle (1534). Here he went to see Erasmus, but Calvin had no sooner stated his judgment on certain things, than Erasmus, like a snail, withdrew into his house, wishing to be seen no more with the Reformer. Here Calvin met with Cop, the ex-rector from Paris, who read Calvin's address, and for which both had to fly. Soon they heard of the placards and the results, which filled them with sorrow, and then one and another fugitive reached Basle, who had managed to escape martyrdom. Calvin was sad that not only were the Reformers put to death, but their characters were traduced, and the faith they held was misunderstood. To step in, as it were, between the victims and their executioners, and tell the latter, and indeed the world, what the former held, caused Calvin to set to work to compose a book, called "Institutes of the Christian Religion." He greatly added to it afterwards. It is still a standard work among many.

With the "Institutes" before the world, Calvin appealed to the King of France; and then, in order to be quiet, he left Basle for Italy (1535).

Calvin in Italy.

At Ferrara was the princess Renee, daughter of Louis XII. of France, wife to Duke Hercules of Este. To her Calvin came in 1535, under disguise, being called Charles d'Espeville. The duchess had a few rays of gospel light when in France, but longed for more. He expounded the scriptures in her room to all whom she pleased to invite. Then she opened her chapel and Calvin preached there. Others favourable to the gospel came to her court.

These things however became known at Rome, and the duke plainly told his wife that she must send the Frenchmen away; and that one would certainly be dragged to punishment if he did not escape — this was Calvin. There was an office of the Inquisition at Ferrara, and Calvin was already on their books. Being forewarned of his danger, he was preparing to depart, when the officers of the Inquisition seized him. As he had powerful friends in that place they sent him of to Bologna for his trial.

God, however, was watching over His servant, but Calvin saw no way of escape. On they journeyed and had traversed more than half the distance when suddenly a body of armed men surrounded Calvin and his escort. They demanded the release of the prisoner: and to the disappointment of the officers of the Inquisition, their prisoner made his escape. With all speed he quitted Italy.

Calvin is next heard of in Aosta. From thence he went to his native place, Noyon. Finding his brother Charles dead, he invited his brother Anthony and his sister Mary to leave a country where they were liable to persecution on account of the gospel. The three leave their native place and start for Basle, calling at Geneva on their way. This was July, 1536.

We must now digress and tell you what was passing at Geneva in 1536, and how it came about.

Geneva.

Geneva had been the scene of many contests. It was claimed by the dukes of Savoy; and presided over by a bishop. In 1524 it threw off the authority of the duke of Savoy; and many were becoming impatient to throw off the authority of the bishop, which yet bound them to Rome.

Farel evangelized many parts of Switzerland. At St. Blaise he escaped very severely beaten. He was placed in a boat, and carried to Morat, where he had to keep his bed for some time. But his incentive was, "Woe is me if I preach not the gospel," and as soon as he was able he was preaching again spite of all opposition. At Orbe he laboured for some time, but he longed to carry on the work at Geneva. Situated as Geneva is, it was the rendezvous of many of the gospellers from France, between whom, together with the Genevese favourable to the gospel, and the bishop there were frequent disturbances. Sometimes one gained the upper hand, and sometimes the other.

In 1532 Farel and Saunier entered Geneva. They inquired for Robert Olivetan, and consulted with him as to the best means of gaining over the town to the gospel. Farel had letters from Berne for the principal gospellers of the place, and he collected them together. He found some were more political than religious — anxious to get rid of the bishop, but not anxious to receive Christ. He preached the gospel to them.

These secret meetings got wind, and Farel and Saunier were summoned before the council. They were ordered to quit the town. Farel asked them if they were not allies and co-burgesses with Berne. Well, he had a letter from the lords of Berne. "If you condemn me unheard," said he, "you insult God, and also, as you see, my lords of Berne." This softened the council. They were allowed to remain in the city, but were told not to disturb the public peace.

The clergy of the place called a conference. Farel was in the city — what was to be done? They determined to put him to death, and to this end they would summon him to appear under the plea of giving him a hearing. News of the plot reached the council, and two of the magistrates determined to go with the Reformers as a safeguard. Olivétan accompanied them.

There sat the abbot-vicar, the canons, the bishop's officers, and higher clergy, all in their robes. Farel was the marked man. It was demanded of him why he came there, and by whose authority.

"I am sent by God," said Farel, "and I am come to announce His word." It was told him that it was forbidden by the church for a layman to preach. Farel referred to the word, "Preach the gospel to every creature." He denied that they were the true successors of the apostles, as they did not care for the doctrine of Christ. The clergy became enraged; they stormed, and called him a wicked devil, and declared that he had thrown the whole country into confusion. At length they rose to their feet and hustled him about. The president succeeded in restoring somewhat of order, when Farel addressed them, "My lords, I am not a devil . . . . If I journey to and fro, it is that I may preach Jesus Christ — Jesus Christ crucified, who died for our sins, and rose again for our justification, so that whosoever believeth in Him shall have everlasting life." As to the country being disturbed, he said, "I will answer as Elijah did to Ahab, 'I have not troubled Israel, but thou and thy father's house.' Yes, it is you and yours who trouble the world by your traditions, your human inventions, and your dissolute lives."

The clergy sprang to their feet and rushed at the Reformer, crying, "To the Rhone, to the Rhone! Kill him, kill him!" They spat in his face and covered him with blows; while others were doing the same to his companions. At length, one of the magistrates, unable to prevent this outrage, called out, "I will go and ring the great bell, and convoke the General Council. The assembled people shall decide." He was leaving the room to carry this into effect, when the other magistrate interfered, and order was again restored. The Reformers were asked to leave the room while the council deliberated. In the gallery stood a servant of the Grand-vicar armed with a gun. He had heard the tumult inside, and now with Farel before him he levelled his gun at him, and pulled the trigger but it missed fire. Farel turned to the man and said, "I am not to be shaken by a popgun; your toy does not alarm me." Surely it was the finger of God which saved His servant.

The Reformers were recalled, and Farel with his two companions were ordered to leave the town in six hours or they should be brought to the stake. It was only the council's respect (or rather their fear) for their lords of Berne that they let the Reformers off so easily.

But in the meantime the lower clergy had collected round the door of the house in great numbers, armed with clubs and daggers, vowing vengeance on the head of Farel. The Lord alone could save them from this infuriated mob; He had watched over His servants, and protection was at hand. The syndics, seeing how it would fare with the man who had been recommended to them by the lords of Berne, called out the guard and proceeded to the house. They made the crowd fall back and placing Farel and his companions in their midst they escorted them to their inn, but not without a priest aiming a blow at Farel with a sword, but which was averted by one of the syndics seizing the assassin's arm. In the morning some stout gospellers waited on the Reformer early, but not so early as to prevent the priests being there, and a mob collected — and escorted them to a boat on the lake, amid shouts and yells. They landed at a secluded spot between Morges and Lausanne. For the present Geneva was not gained to the gospel.

But Farel could not give up Geneva. He called a fellow-labourer, Froment, and expressed a wish that he should go and labour to gain that city. Froment was a young man, and had heard how Farel had been treated there, and he drew back in alarm. Farel let the matter rest a little while and then again endeavoured to arouse his fellow-labourer. He reminded him of how he had begun at Aigle as a schoolmaster, and how the work had spread. Froment at length consented, and went to Geneva. He wandered through the town, and no door opened to him. He visited the gospellers Farel had told him of; but they were not "taken" with him. This was a city of importance; they needed a scholar, and not a rustic. They did not in this manifest the Spirit of Christ. Froment returned downcast to his inn, paid his bill, and left Geneva. But he had not gone far when he felt himself arrested. Must he leave? Was he sure he was doing right? He felt constrained to go back. Then he prayed for guidance and felt he should have it.

He heard of a room fit for a school near the Molard, at an inn of the sign of the Croix d' Or. Terms agreed upon, he went to his inn, and wrote out some bills saying that children and adults would be taught to read and write French in a month. Where the scholars were not successful in learning he would ask no pay, adding at the end "many diseases are also cured gratis." The bills were posted and his doors opened.

A number of children came. He gave them lessons, never neglecting to read a portion of scripture, and explain it. He gave also some simple medicines where needed, for ailments of the body. News of the strange schoolmaster soon spread abroad, and the stories he read out of the Bible, and adults would often drop in to hear for themselves. This increased, until all over the city the fame of the strange schoolmaster increased more and more, and the seed sank into the hearts of many. Froment seemed to have confined himself to preaching the truth, without stopping to attack error. Such a change was wrought in some that others often spoke of Froment as an enchanter.

A remarkable conversion cheered the heart of Froment. Claudine Levet, wife of a citizen, was a bigoted Romanist, but was invited by her sister-in-law to go and hear the schoolmaster. She took care to anoint herself and to put on her charms to secure herself against the "enchanter." Claudine sat down in her pride, taking care to let her faith be seen by repeatedly crossing herself and muttering her prayers. Froment had opened his New Testament, and read his portion, and was telling of the love of God to sinful man. Her crossings continued, but presently something arrested her ear, and her prayers ceased, and with her eyes fixed on the schoolmaster, she drank in every word he uttered. A deep struggle seemed to be going on within her, as if to say, Can it possibly be true?

The address over, she kept her seat till all were gone, and then asked the preacher, "Is it true what you say?" He assured her it was. "Is it all proved by the gospel?" It is. "Is not the Mass mentioned in it?" It is not. "Is the book from which you preached a genuine New Testament?" It is. She begged Froment to lend her the book. This he gladly did, and she retired.

In her own room for three days she studied the word — not even coming to her meals. The Spirit of God had sent His shaft into her soul, and there was a dreadful struggle as to giving up Rome and receiving the gospel. But God, who had begun the work, completed her salvation. She saw her sins forgiven through the sacrifice of Christ, and joy filled her soul. She called for Froment and told him the good news. He thanked God, and took courage. His labour had not been in vain.

The conversion of Madame Levet was real. It soon told in her manner of life, and having moved in good society, as it is called, it attracted attention. She was the means of other ladies hearing the gospel and being saved. But the friends of Rome now awoke to the nature of Froment's work. If the gospel was successful, it was to their ruin. Then such an opposition was raised to the schoolmaster that, though he left off his work and took to weaving as a servant for protection, he was soon obliged to leave the city. But the gospel seed had been sown and many had been converted.

These began to meet privately, and hold simple meetings. They had no minister or president except that One who, as D'Aubigne says, was "present in the midst although unseen." One read a portion of scripture, another explained or applied it, and a third prayed. God was with them and they were blessed. Would that they had continued in such simplicity! They desired to partake of the Lord's supper; but instead of being content with the presence of the One in their midst though unseen, they elected one of their number — Guérin — to preside at the supper. They met secretly for this purpose; it was beautifully simple. They came not to hear a sermon; but for the one express purpose to break bread, as in Acts 20: 7. But in this passage we do not read that any one was elected to preside; neither is there any warrant in scripture for such an election; still to meet for the express purpose of breaking bread was simple and scriptural, and God gave His blessing. These meetings becoming known, Guerin was obliged to flee from the town.

Disturbances now broke out at Geneva. The Catholics arming themselves determined to put the Protestants to death; the Protestants armed themselves in defence; but there was little or no bloodshed through the interference of some mediators from Friburg.

Then the bishop returned to Geneva, and took active measures against the Protestants. Some escaped and some were imprisoned on a charge of having caused the death of a Catholic. But the bishop wanted to be ruler of the city, and was not always careful to observe the laws, so that many of the Catholic patriots were not altogether pleased at what the bishop did. They cared not what he did with the Protestants provided he did it lawfully; while he did not care to be in Geneva at all unless he could do pretty much as he liked. The bishop knew he was acting against the laws of Geneva, and was ill at ease.

The Protestants, hearing that the bishop was about to remove his prisoners away from Geneva for greater security, determined to endeavour to make him give them up. A bold leader got together fifty men, to each he gave a staff, to which were attached five matches. When it was dark they lit all their matches, and with a staff in one hand and a sword in the other they marched to the bishop's palace, and then, without ceremony, walked up to his room, and then and there made a formal demand for the release of the prisoners. The bishop was overawed.

Did they mean to kill him with their swords or burn his palace with their matches? He ordered the release of the prisoners. These were not set at liberty, but were transferred to the care of the city authorities, that everything might be done legally. The bishop took alarm, and fled from the city, never to return. It was July, 1533. The prisoners were tried and released.

Froment is now invited to return to Geneva; this he does, but is obliged again to flee in a few months. Then Farel ventures to return and take up the work, and for a full year there is a contest between the Catholics and the Reformers, partly religious and partly political.

In 1535 a determined effort was made to poison the three preachers then in the city — Farel, Viret, and Froment. They all lodged in the same house, and the papists thought it could be done, and the three be got rid of at once. A woman was selected as the agent. She professed to be a convert and was selected to wait on the Reformers — the very thing the papists hoped for. She did not like her task, but the priests told her it would be a meritorious work. One day she made some thick spinach soup, and then slipped in the poison. Farel did not like it, and asked for some household soup. Froment was just about to sip some when a messenger came and announced that his wife and children had arrived; he dropped his spoon and ran off. Viret, still suffering from a sword-cut he had received from a priest, partook of some soup.

The wretched woman's conscience smote her immediately, and she came, and with tears in her eyes, begged Viret to drink some cold water, which she believed was an antidote. Then she ran away from the house, fetched her children and hurriedly getting into a boat left the place. She was fetched back, but escaped, and ran to the house of the canon who had urged her to the deed. She was arrested in his cellar and confessed everything.

Through the mercy of God Viret recovered, but felt the effects of the poison all his life. The wretched woman was beheaded, and the priests who had urged her on were imprisoned.

The Reformers began to have the upper hand in the city, and pressed the council to carry out their wishes; but for peace' sake the council declined. The Reformers determined to act. They fetched Farel and took him to the Madeleine church. As he and a crowd entered, the priest was performing Mass; but the priest ran away and most of the congregation. Farel preached. Farel was forbidden by the council, but he heeded them not and repeated the act in other churches, and then in the cathedral. Farel thought he was justified by the commission to preach the gospel to every creature. But he could have done this outside in "the world," as the passage says, without disturbing the Catholics at their service.

The Reformers next entered the churches and broke the images. In doing this they discovered how various pretended miracles had been wrought. They invited the Catholics to come and see how they had been cheated.

The council in amazement convened the Great Council of the city. Farel made an energetic appeal to the council in favour of Reform. They deliberated calmly and decided that there should be no more image-breaking, so as not to irritate the Catholics; and there should be no more Mass, to satisfy the Reformers. This was a great victory for the Reformers, and "no more Mass" was a deadly wound to the Catholics.

The priests, monks, and nuns left the city in large numbers. Many went to the Duke of Savoy and told him of what was being done in Geneva. He informed the pope, who exhorted the duke to interfere, which he resolved to do. The Emperor Charles V. also took up the case, and he appealed to the Swiss league to help in restoring Geneva to the Duke of Savoy and the bishop. The pope did the same; while, on the other hand, the Genevese, seeing the storm rising against them, appealed to Berne and the other cantons for help. The cantons, including Berne, declined to interfere. Internal disorder also reigned. Many were yet staunch Catholics, and these would be only too glad to help the enemy outside against the Reformers.

The envoy to Berne was sadly disheartened at the refusal of that canton; but he remembered that Farel had preached at Neuchatel and other places, and he hastened to call on some whom he knew to be friends of the gospel and solicit their aid. Jacob Wildermuth entered into it with spirit, and he went about to see what assistance he could muster. The governor of the district forbade any to go and fight against the Duke of Savoy. This drew off a good many — about four hundred were left, some of them were women.

They moved cautiously towards Geneva, and at length reached the Jura. Here they met three young men who said that they had been sent by Geneva to escort them there. Glad to find guides the party proceeded till near to Nyon. Here the guides said it would be unsafe for them to enter the village. If they remained there the guides would fetch provisions which the little band so much needed.

The three guides, however, were spies, who now hastened off to the Catholics and told them where the band was. They could go and easily put them all to death. Wildermuth, while waiting for the provisions, was aroused by a voice, and saw they were being approached by a body of cavalry and infantry. Though tired and hungry they started up and a dreadful battle ensued. The Swiss, being good marksmen, made sad havoc among the nobles who had joined in the "holy war," as it was called. Many priests also who were acting as soldiers were killed. Though far inferior in numbers the Swiss were entirely successful, though enforcement came up to help those of Savoy. The Swiss had lost seven men and one woman.

Some lords of Berne had hastened to try and prevent war. They were too late, but they prevented those from Neuchatel fighting more, in hopes that peace could be concluded. The Duke of Savoy had, however, no intentions of peace: he meant to seize Geneva.

The city became in great straits. A large army was surrounding it, and many within would gladly have betrayed the city if they could; while the famine became severe. The bravest began to lose heart.

In the meantime a messenger from Berne arrived. The Bernese were arming and in a short time help would be at hand. Nägueli, a famous general was taking the lead. When this was known a force from the Duke of Savoy was sent to prevent them reaching Geneva, under the general Medici. His plan was to secure Morges, and with that as a base to stay the progress of Nägueli; but on landing he found the enemy already near at hand, and in a good position on the heights of Morges. To attack them there would be dangerous, he and his men might be all driven into the lake. He had already felt the power of Nägueli, and now his heart failed him; and he withdrew his troops. Nothing now stopped the brave Nägueli. He marched straight to Geneva and the city was saved. The council put on their records these words, "The power of God has confounded the presumption and rash audacity of our enemies." It was in 1536.

The castles near Geneva were then destroyed. They had been the strongholds of the enemy. One thing more yet remained. Bonivard, a nominal Reformer of Geneva, was confined in the castle of Chillon, and also three Genevese who had been seized in treachery. These must be delivered, but how? for the governor of the castle had orders from the Duke of Savoy that if any attempt was made to rescue the prisoners they were to be at once put to death. Nägueli undertook to attempt their rescue. He wrote to the governor threatening him that if he put the prisoners to death he should lose his head. The castle was surrounded, and the cannon opened fire. The governor, seeing all resistance vain, asked for a parley. The garrison, not liking to fall into the hands of the Swiss, managed to slip into their boat in the night and make their escape.

The Swiss entered the castle and soon found the three Genevese; but where was Bonivard? They searched lower, and found instruments of torture; and at last by undoing bolts and bars they come to the rock, and a cry arose, "Here he is! he is alive!" Bonivard fell into the arms of his deliverers. For six years he had been confined in a low dungeon below the lake, dark, except what light came in at one small loophole. There he had walked round a column until he had worn a path in the rock — a path still shewn to the visitors at the castle of Chillon.

Geneva was now restored to the "most holy religion of Christ," to use the words set up in the city at the time. Farel took the lead among the "ministers." Geneva was not converted though it was Protestant, and Farel greatly desired to have the gospel preached in the surrounding neighbourhoods as well as all over the city; but where were the evangelists? He longed for faithful men to enter the doors now opened all around. He sought in vain.

Calvin in Geneva.

In 1536 Farel heard that Calvin was in Geneva. We have seen what brought him there. * Farel had long been praying for help; he believed that God had now sent it. Off he ran to Calvin. He had read his "Institutes." Calvin was the very man they wanted to consolidate the work so well begun.

Calvin tells him that he can only stop one night.

"Why seek elsewhere for what is now offered you? Why refuse to edify the church of Geneva by your faith, zeal, and knowledge?"

Calvin shrank from it, saying at last, "I cannot teach: on the contrary, I have need to learn. There are special labours for which I wish to reserve myself. This city cannot afford me the leisure I require."

"Study, leisure, knowledge! What, must we never practise? I am sinking under my task: pray help me."

{* See the section: 'Geneva'.}

Calvin said he was weak and needed rest.

"Rest! death alone permits the soldiers of Christ to rest from their labours."

Calvin said he was timid. He could not battle with such strong spirits as the men of Geneva.

"Ought the servants of Jesus Christ to be so delicate as to be frightened at warfare?"

Calvin was moved at the thought that he should be a coward; but begged to be let go his way.

Farel reminded him of Jonah and the punishment he received. Still he could not get Calvin's consent, when Farel, as if inspired, put his hand on his head and with a piercing look said, "May God curse your repose! may God curse your studies, if in such a great necessity as ours you withdraw, and refuse to give us help and support."

Calvin broke down, he shook in every limb. He felt as if God had seized him. He must obey. He was won for Geneva.

Calvin, once settled in Geneva, soon took the lead. He had a very difficult task. The whole people were now supposed to be Protestant and nominally Christians, but many were unconverted. Calvin attempted to enforce at least morality on the people; but many rejected even this. They desired to please themselves, and to be only religious as far as it suited them. On this account Calvin with Farel and Courad (a minister from Paris) said they could not give the Lord's supper to some of the people. The council, being appealed to, met, and ordered the three ministers to leave Geneva within two days.

They left, and met in conference at Zurich on church matters, after which Calvin went to Strasburg. Here he published an enlarged edition of his "Institutes." Farel went to Neuchatel.

While at Strasburg, Calvin married Idelette de Bures, widow of a converted Anabaptist. By her he had one son, who died immediately after his birth. Idelette died in 1549.

In 1540 Calvin attended the Diet at Worms, and in the following year one at Ratisbon. In October, 1540, the syndics of Geneva most opposed to the Reformers being removed by death, or other means, Calvin was invited to return. At first he refused, but on September 13, 1541, he returned to the city, and proceeded to set the church in order. Calvin appears to have been the first to introduce a presbyterian form of government into the church. It was, however, more or less under the control of the senate. It was the senate who invited him to return to Geneva, and it was the senate who settled and paid him his salary;* and when he had appeared before the senate and stated the importance of a settled church government, "I requested," wrote he to Farel, "that they would appoint certain of their number who might confer with us on the subject. Six were thereupon appointed. Articles concerning the whole ecclesiastical polity will be drawn up, which we shall thereafter present to the senate."

{* The salary of Calvin was settled at five hundred florins, twelve measures of corn, and two tuns of wine, with a house to live in, and an ell of velvet for clothing.}

One cannot but be struck with the fact how far this was below the principles of even the Roman Catholic church, who would allow no one to interfere in matters concerning the church but ecclesiastics. Of course this was of little practical value when the clergy and even the pope himself were unconverted men, but we are speaking of the principle, and not how far it was carried out; whereas here is Calvin agreeing to submit his church polity to the senate, which was formed simply of the worldly rulers of the city. Calvin attempted to set up his system of Presbytery, for all matters ecclesiastical; but he was again and again brought into collision with the senate. Though the Presbytery was agreed to, some were to be seen, said Calvin, "going about secretly, dealing with each of the senators, exhorting them not to lay at our feet the power which was in their own hands (as they said), not to abdicate the authority which God had entrusted to them." Calvin had to avoid a collision as best he could. "We at length," said he, "possess a Presbyterial court, such as it is, and a form of discipline such as these disjointed times permit." Afterwards, if the Presbytery refused communion to any citizen, he could appeal to the senate, and the senate could order him to be received! At times Calvin refused to do so.

Besides being in this false position, Calvin does not appear to have seen the spirituality of the religion of our Lord Jesus Christ. By baptism all became a part of the church. "Baptism," says Calvin, "is the initiatory sign by which we are admitted to the fellowship of the church, that being engrafted into Christ we may be accounted children of God. . . . We ought to consider that at whatever time we are baptized we are washed and purified for the whole of life."* This made all the people to be Christians, and so all who lived decent moral lives were received at the Lord's table. Calvin insisted that baptism was "to give us an entrance into the church of God;" and the Lord's supper "to keep us in it."

{* It is difficult to see how Calvin made this agree with another part of his doctrine, which taught that while the sacraments were the means of grace offered to all, they really benefited only those who had faith.

Now all this entirely altered the character of Christianity. Instead of its being a calling out of the world a people for Christ (Acts 15: 14), Calvin made the world to be the church! While, to make the people believe that they were Christians when they were not, was full of danger to their souls; though he did tell them, as we have seen, that the sacraments would not benefit them unless mixed with faith. This mixture of the church with the world surely was a dark shadow on the Reformation.

For more than twenty years Calvin laboured incessantly by lecturing, writing tracts and commentaries, with a large correspondence with other Reformers. To add to this there were constant commotions with the Catholics who still remained in the city, and with those who were Reformed in name, but were not Christians. More than once a plague broke out in the city, and in 1545 the wretches who attended the sick, by mixing virus from those who died into an ointment, and by smearing it upon the handles of doors and doorposts greatly increased the plague. It was supposed to have been done to reduce Geneva to such a few souls that it could easily have been overcome and gained over to Popery.

Calvin was troubled, too, with the Libertines of Geneva, who desired a greater amount of freedom of action than the Reformer would allow. To shew the severity of Calvin we give one of the cases. Ameaux was a member of the Two Hundred. He was discontented, and was heard to speak against Calvin and his doctrine. His trial was demanded. At his trial witnesses were called to prove the morality of Calvin's private life. Ameaux was fined sixty dollars. He retracted the charges, and promised future respect to the Reformer.

Calvin was not satisfied with the punishment. He appeared before the council and demanded that the judgment should be set aside. Ameaux was now sentenced to go through the whole city bareheaded, and with a lighted torch in his hand, and then to kneel down and openly proclaim his repentance.

Surely this was very unwise of Calvin and very unlike his gracious Lord and Master. It called forth further opposition, and the cause of the gospel was greatly damaged.

In 1553 Michael Servetus — who denied the divinity of Christ, and who put forth his doctrine in blasphemous language — visited Geneva. He was informed against by Calvin and was thrown into prison as a heretic and a blasphemer. He was tried, sentenced and burnt alive. Much controversy has arisen as to how far Calvin was concerned in the death of Servetus, some contending that his death was chiefly owing to Calvin, and others that Calvin had little or nothing to do with his conviction. But there really seems to be little room for doubt on the subject. Calvin's own words to Farel are, "We have now new business in hand with Servetus. He intended perhaps passing through this city . . . . but after he had been recognized, "thought that he should be detained . . . I hope that sentence of death will at least be passed upon him; but I desire that the severity of the punishment may be mitigated."*. To another he wrote that Servetus "is held in prison by our magistrates and he will be punished ere long, I hope." To Bullinger Calvin wrote, "Our council will on an early day send the opinions of Servetus to your city, to obtain your judgment regarding them. Indeed they cause you this trouble despite our remonstrances; but they have reached such a pitch of folly and madness that they regard with suspicion whatever we say to them. So much so that were I to allege that it is clear at mid-day they would forthwith begin to doubt it." To Sulzer Calvin wrote of Servetus, "He at length, in an evil hour, came to this place, when at my instigation one of the syndics ordered him to be conducted to prison."

{* That is, death by the sword, instead of being burnt alive.}

We have quoted Calvin's own words which clearly set forth his share in the matter. To this we may add a few words of Beza's: "Calvin pleaded the cause of the church against him in the council, in the presence of a great assemblage of the pious." Doubtless a good deal is to be attributed to the age in which this took place, so that none should blame Calvin too severely. It was surely an error, but in this Calvin did not stand alone; Farel, Melanchthon, Bucer and Bullinger all advocated the death of Servetus.

Farel attended the unhappy man to the stake in the hope of getting him to retract his error, but he laboured in vain. Calling for the death of Servetus was another dark shadow on the Reformation. It is appalling to think of a man in error, ever so dreadful, being hurried into eternity.

Calvin became more and more the man of the Reformation. From all parts of Europe, where any question arose, the opinion of Calvin was sought. Refugees and messengers were constantly arriving to seek his help and advice, while his nights were often spent in corresponding with those who sought his council.

In 1558 Calvin was taken seriously ill, and his physicians impressed upon him that he must take rest. In 1563 he was again laid prostrate. In the following year asthma impeded his utterance. On February 6 he preached his last sermon, but attended service afterwards by being carried there.

Like a great general, feeling his time was drawing near, he desired once more to address the senate. They came to him, and then taking a general review of matters he exhorted them to justice and morality. Then he invited the ministers, and exhorted them to faithfulness and peace, asking their pardon for any peevishness they might have experienced from him. To Farel (now in his eightieth year) he wrote (May 11, 1564), "Farewell, my best and most right-hearted brother . . . . I draw my breath with difficulty, and am daily waiting till I altogether cease to breathe. It is enough that to Christ I live and die. To His people He is gain in life and in death." In his prayers he was heard to say, "I was silent, O Lord, because Thou didst it. "Thou, O Lord, bruisest me; but it is enough for me that it is Thy hand." On May 27 he ceased from his labours and was with the Lord.

On September 13, 1565, at Neuchatel Farel, after his many labours and perils, fell asleep in Jesus. Of him it was said, "This man is the very same that he has always been! We never knew him depressed, even when our hearts were failing us for fear. When we were ready to give up everything in despair, he was full of hope, and he cheered us by his christian heroism."

After many and varied jealousies between the Catholic and Protestant cantons, in 1653 the cantons were again in open war with each other. The Protestants were defeated, but peace was made. In 1712, after a desperate battle, a peace was concluded more favourable to the Protestants of Switzerland.

France and the Massacre of Bartholomew.

The Reformation had never been fully embraced by France; yet the light and truth had been received there by many. At one time Beza reckoned more than two thousand churches, and Calvin gave them a Confession of Faith, and a Presbyterian form of government. They were, however, often obliged to meet in secret, especially in Paris. The Cardinal of Lorraine became the principal persecutor.

In 1555 there was a congregation of the faithful in Paris, who used to meet and carry on their devotions in the night. But this becoming known, one night as they were about to break up they noticed that the adjoining streets were filled with a noisy crowd, and fear began to take hold of them that all was not right. They hoped, however, that the darkness of the night would enable them to escape, but judge of their surprise when, as they left the house, they found that lights had been placed in the windows of the surrounding houses, so that each one could be plainly seen as he left the meeting house. Seeing that a trap had been laid for them, some drew their swords and fought their way through the mob and escaped. But many were women, and some aged and infirm. These, after rough handling, were hurried off to prison. Just then the king (Henry II.) was in alliance with the German and Swiss Reformers, who earnestly requested the king to release them. This he did, to the annoyance of the Cardinal of Lorraine.

Henry II. died in 1559, and his successor Francis II. reigned but seventeen months. In 1560 Charles IX. at ten years of age succeeded, under the regency of his mother, the crafty and ambitious Catherine de Medici. In the meantime the Protestants had gained some influential men among whom were Admiral Coligni and his brother Dandelot. The prince of Condé also became a leader among them, though probably as much for political purposes as from religious motives.

In 1561 a conference was held at Poissy. Calvin asked Beza to attend instead of himself, because Beza could "tread lighter" than he could. Calvin spent much time in prayer for God's blessing and protection.

The object was professedly peace and union, and if abuses had been introduced into the church for their removal. The king, the Duke of Orleans, the queen mother, and the king and queen of Navarre were present. On the Catholic side were three Cardinals and a number of bishops, etc. There were twelve Reformed ministers. Beza was spokesman for Reform. He went through the points of faith in which all were agreed; then the disputed points. On speaking of the Lord's supper he said, "The body of Christ is truly given us, but as to place it is as far from the bread as heaven from earth." This caused a tumult. The Catholics insisted that Beza must be quiet or they must leave; but Beza went on, and ended by presenting a Confession of the Reformers' faith.

Then the Catholics replied. But the conference ended in no real union. Some met privately, and drew up a confession, worded so vaguely that both parties could sign it, each putting their own meaning to it.

Still it had this effect that Beza was invited to remain in France. This he did, and went to Paris and preached the gospel there. In 1562 an edict was passed, securing to Protestants the free exercise of religion. It is to be feared that the Protestants did not use this liberty wisely. By loudly proclaiming against the errors of Rome they excited her envy and hatred. Others who suffered severely from the Catholics were provoked to retaliate, and from time to time the Protestants were in open arms to defend themselves against the Catholics.

In 1569 the prince of Condé lost his life in a battle, and Dandelot dying soon afterwards, Coligni became sole leader of the Protestants. Peace was signed 1570.

But deep-laid schemes were planned to entrap the Huguenots. The marriage of Margaret of Valois, the king's sister, with the young king of Navarre had been agreed on. This was arranged to take place in August, 1572, and the dowager queen of Navarre was invited to Paris, together with Admiral Coligni, and the leaders of the Protestants. The dowager queen of Navarre died suddenly — by poison it is fully believed, and Coligni was shot at and wounded as he left the presence of the king. The king feigned great sorrow, but these deeds were soon to be followed by one of the most diabolical actions recorded on the page of history.

On the eve of St. Bartholomew a conference was held with the king, which ended by his saving, "I consent to the massacre of the Huguenots,* but take heed that no one is left alive to reproach me for it." At midnight or soon after (some say two o'clock) it was to commence. Troops were placed in readiness, and as the hour struck, the shrill sound of the tocsin followed. This was the sign for every Huguenot to be hunted up and put to death. Coligni, still suffering from his wound was one of the first to die. Some were surprised in their beds. Others, starting up by the noise, ran into the streets to inquire the cause, but only to meet the assassin's dagger. None were spared. Rich and poor, young and aged, all fell in the merciless massacre. Even the Count de la Rochefoucault, a companion of the king, was slain in the palace of the Louvre. The streets ran with blood, and the river was polluted by its stream. For three days this slaughter continued; search being made for any who had concealed themselves. The king and queen of Navarre were spared only because of their rank.

{*The Protestants in France were commonly called Huguenots. What gave rise to the name is very uncertain. it is most probably from the German word eidgenoss. "sworn or bound by oath."}

Messages were also sent off to the provinces to put the Huguenots everywhere to death, and in many places this was at once effected. It is worthy of record that in some places Catholics refused to carry out the order. The Viscount d'Orthe, governor of Bayonne, sent word that he had "good citizens, and brave soldiers, but not a single assassin." This cost the good man his life.

Sigognes, the governor of Dieppe, summoned Catholics and Protestants, saying to them, "Gentlemen, the order I have received can only regard rebellious and seditious Calvinists, but, thanks be to the Eternal, there are no longer any such in Dieppe." He declared they were all children of the same God, and he exhorted them to live as brothers and cherish only the love of Christ.

The bishop of Lisieux refused to have the order carried out. "Those whom you wish to slaughter," said he, "are my sheep; gone astray it is true, but I will labour to bring them back into the fold. I cannot see in the gospel that the shepherd ought to let the blood of his sheep be shed; on the contrary, I read there that he ought to pour out his own for their sakes."

Still the orders were too faithfully carried out, until thirty thousand victims had been massacred, if we may take the reckoning of a Catholic historian; the number being placed as high as eighty thousand by Protestant writers.

The news of the massacre was received with the greatest sorrow and indignation by foreign Protestants, but it was hailed with joy by the pope, who ordered a jubilee to be celebrated all over Christendom, and he went with his Cardinals in procession to offer thanksgiving to God for the destruction of their enemies!

Though so numerous had been the victims, and notwithstanding the many who also fled the country, there yet remained in France many Protestants. In 1598 the edict of Nantes under Henry IV. gave them a large measure of relief, under which they again greatly increased. In 1610 Henry was assassinated, and his successor, Louis XIII. again began to persecute the Protestants. Louis XIII. was succeeded by his son Louis XIV. in 1643, who was even a worse persecutor than his father. In 1685 the edict of Nantes was repealed, when a dreadful persecution broke out, with every species of torture, cruelty and death. This caused thousands to leave the country. Thus were the Protestants persecuted from time to time until 1787, when a more general and lasting toleration was brought about.

Still in France it is a toleration — the nation claims to be Roman Catholic, and when it is not this it is infidel. It has had the light presented to it; and it has again and again, amid scenes of massacre and bloodshed that should make even the heathen ashamed, refused to receive it. It seems to be a country given up to judicial blindness and death.

"We may grow hard, and not revere

Each old prophetic token,

Too wilful and too proud to hear

What God Himself hath spoken;

Yet shall the Son of man appear,

And strongest hearts shall fail for fear,

And wrath and pride be broken.

But mercy now flows full and free,

Forgiveness still is offered thee."

England.

Cranmer, Latimer, Ridley, Tyndale.

Nothing is a greater proof that the Reformation was of God than seeing that in England it began during the reign of such a man as Henry VIII.

In 1521 he had written his book against Luther, and England had won its F.D. on its money, by the pope declaring Henry to be "Defender of the Faith." This greatly pleased Henry and bound him still more strongly to the pope.

Since the time of Wiclif there had always been persons who loved the truth, and who saw with more or less distinctness that the pope and his doctrines were wrong. But with Henry thus bound to the pope, and Wolsey himself trying to be a pope, those lovers of the gospel were everywhere searched after and persecuted. Thus England was at that time emphatically a Roman Catholic country: we have to see by what means the Reformation was brought about.

As is well known, Henry VIII. had married his brother's widow Catharine, aunt of the Emperor Charles V. Henry greatly desired a son and successor, but his children had died in infancy except Mary. This perhaps produced the first discontent in the heart of the king, but it was Wolsey who first suggested his divorce. Wolsey, a cardinal and the most powerful man in the state next to the king, was glad of this discontent; for he had been annoyed by Catharine chiding him — him a cardinal — for his dissolute life, and he had been greatly disappointed by Charles not making him a pope; he conceived the thought of avenging himself against both Charles and his aunt by getting the king to divorce his wife.

Wolsey wanted the king's confessor to suggest it to the king; but he said, No: the Cardinal must take the first step. This the Cardinal did, when the king declared that there was no cause for which he could separate from his wife. Wolsey retired, but only to return with the Bishop of Lincoln. They made it appear that they were only anxious for the soul of the king. It was not right for him to have his brother's wife. It was for his salvation they begged him to submit the question to competent judges. Henry consented, and appointed Fox his almoner, Pace dean of St. Paul's, and Wakefield professor of Hebrew at Oxford, to study the Old Testament, to see if it was forbidden for a man to marry his brother's wife. Wakefield wanted to know what the king wished before he gave his judgment. He was told the king wished the truth. Then the king put the matter into the hands of a commission of lawyers.

Henry fell in love with Anne Boleyn, which made him all the more anxious to be divorced from the queen. But how to bring about his separation he could not find out. He told Wolsey, who was hunting for a wife for the king, that he should marry Anne Boleyn. Now Anne had been brought up at the French court with Margaret of Valois, and was supposed to be, favourable to the Reformation, besides which her family were enemies of Wolsey, therefore Wolsey was now as anxious that the king should not be divorced as he was in favour of it before. If Anne was queen, Wolsey knew he should soon lose his place and power. Still Wolsey was careful not to let his change of aim be seen, and was soon obliged to further the divorce.

Henry next called upon Wolsey as the pope's legate to pronounce the divorce; but Wolsey reminded the king that Catharine could afterwards appeal to the pope, who might set his decision on one side. They agreed to send messengers to the pope, asking him to divorce the king from his wife. But just then the pope was a prisoner of the Emperor of Germany, and the Emperor sent at once to strike a bargain with the pope. He would set him at liberty if he would refuse to divorce the queen of England. The pope promised to come to no decision in the matter without informing the Emperor. Very soon after the messenger from the Emperor had gone, those from Henry arrived. The pope now saw his power. Both were appealing to him. It would the better answer his purpose to do nothing. The English agent had to fly from Rome, or he would have been taken prisoner by the soldiers of the Emperor. The pope promised as soon as he was at liberty to attend to Henry's request.

In December, 1527, another messenger was sent to Rome with instructions to scatter money freely, and to tell the pope that it would be for his own protection to oblige the king. The pope gave the messenger a "commission," which was despatched to England; but which Henry and Wolsey found to be worthless.

Then Fox, chief almoner, and Gardiner, secretary to Wolsey, were despatched to Rome with more urgent requests, and to hint that if the pope refused he might lose not only Henry but England also. They brought another paper equally worthless.

The anger of the king was great. He stormed and raved against the pope, for whom he had done so much. He was a heartless priest who would do nothing to satisfy the king's conscience or to save England.

Henry invited Erasmus to England, but the learned Dutchman excused himself. No one liked to touch the delicate question of the king's divorce.

Wolsey, seeing the temper of the king against Rome wrote more letters, urgently requesting that Campeggio might be sent to England to settle the matter. To Gardiner he said that he must not return to England unless he brought Campeggio with him. News soon came that the pope had sent Campeggio, and had sent a document, signed by himself, to divorce the king and give him permission to marry again. Henry and Anne were now pleased.

Still, the more Henry seemed anxious, the slower was the pope's legate. Indeed Campeggio perfectly well understood the pope. The legate had the brief in his possession, but it was to depend on circumstances whether it was to see light or ever to be used.

Circumstances soon occurred that made the pope more resolute. The Emperor's army was successful, and he was now master of Italy. He at once said to the pope, "We are determined to defend the queen of England against king Henry's injustice." The pope was now entirely in the power of the Emperor and must please him.

Messengers were immediately despatched to Campeggio, with instructions — 1, Not to hurry. 2, Try and reconcile the king and queen. 3, If this does not succeed, induce the queen to take the veil. 4, If all these fail, wait for further instruction. All this meant, as to the divorce, "do nothing."

Still all this was kept secret. The king kept inquiring as to what had become of Campeggio — he had not yet reached France. At last the news came that he had arrived in Paris. Henry wrote to Anne, "Monday next we shall hear of his arrival in Calais, and then I shall obtain what I have so longed for, to God's pleasure, and to both our comforts."

At length Campeggio arrived. He had taken three months to come from Italy to England. Wolsey was anxious that a pope's legate should enter London in style, so he sent mules with rich trappings and mysterious "boxes." But Campeggio, as he was to do nothing, preferred coming in a quiet way, and so sailed privately up the Thames to the palace of the Bishop of Bath. The mules, etc., sent by Wolsey returned to London. Some of the mules taking fright, the boxes, dubbed to be "coffers," got broken. The people rushed forward to see their contents, when they were found to be empty. This was not forgotten as an emblem of popery — fine outside, but full of nothing.

But now Campeggio was here. A fit of gout real or feigned — kept him a prisoner. Wolsey was often by his side; but could get nothing out of the legate, and soon began to suspect that there was a "screw loose" somewhere.

Campeggio, with information from Wolsey, began to see that it was really a serious matter. If the king was not satisfied by the pope, there was real danger that the king would abandon the pope and embrace the Reformation. This must be hindered at all cost.

It was soon quite plain that it was useless for Campeggio to try and reconcile the king and the queen. The king was now determined to make Anne Boleyn his wife, and she had consented. Therefore he must try to induce Catharine to enter a convent. Campeggio and Wolsey visited the queen, and proposed this step, telling her that she might avert the blow that awaited her by this act of her own. Then, seeing that she was about to refuse, he sternly asked her how it was that since the matter had been referred to the pope she had been gayer than usual. The church was distressed; her husband was unsatisfied; and instead of mourning she was giving herself to vanity. "Renounce the world, madam," said he, "enter a nunnery. Our holy father requires this of you."

But the question was this, Was Catharine the legal wife of King Henry? Was it forbidden by scripture? If she entered a convent she was admitting that she was not the king's true wife, and Mary her daughter would be illegitimate. She would never admit this. Then turning to Wolsey she said, "As for you, having failed in attaining the tiara, you have sworn to avenge yourself on my nephew the Emperor. . . . . One victim was not enough for you. Forging abominable suppositions, you desire to plunge his aunt into a fearful abyss. . . . . But my cause is just, and I trust in the Lord's hand." She had spoken with an energy beyond herself. At once she withdrew.

Campeggio now determined to sound the king as to a reconciliation with the queen however much appearances might seem to make it impossible. But no sooner did he propose this to Henry than the king flew into a dreadful passion. "Let the pope only persevere in this way of acting," said the king, "and the apostolic see, covered with perpetual infamy, will be visited with a frightful destruction."

Campeggio saw that he must appease the king, so he shewed him the decretal which pronounced the divorce, and read it to him. This pleased the king, and now he declared that the pope might expect more from him than he could conceive.

Thus we see how, humanly speaking, England's alliance with the pope was in suspense. If the Pope gave the divorce, England would be bound to Rome; but if the divorce was refused, then Rome might go to destruction. At present all was uncertain.

Campeggio, having read the decretal, locked it up, and though both the king and Wolsey begged and prayed to see it again, to read it, and to shew it to Anne, Campeggio as firmly refused.

Wolsey next said privately to Campeggio, "Let us now make the divorce public," when the legate told him that it could not be while the pope was at the mercy of the Emperor. For an excuse, Campeggio wrote to Rome for further instructions, and thus Henry was doomed to further delay.

In the meantime, lest the subjects of the Emperor residing in London should take up arms in favour of Catharine, fifteen thousand were ordered to leave London.

The king, too, to quiet the nation, who were much concerned about the question of the divorce, called together the parliament. He told them that there was no fault to find with the queen; but that his conscience was troubled about having his brother's widow. It would also be for the nation's welfare if he should leave an heir to the throne. "Therefore I require of you all," said the king, "to pray for us that the very truth may be known, for the discharging of our conscience and the saving of our souls." In other ways the king made all to understand that the "very truth" that he wanted must by all means be for the divorce, and not against it.

Campeggio having despatched his messenger to Rome, Wolsey hastened to send one also, with orders to leave no stone unturned to induce the pope to grant the divorce. But no sooner had this messenger seen the pope and got all he could — promises — than messengers from the Emperor arrived, threatening the pope if he agreed to Henry. One was to whisper to the pope that it was known that he was illegitimate, for which he could be turned out of the popedom at any time. The pope declared he would refuse Henry at all cost, and he sent a messenger in all haste to London privately to burn the decretal which Campeggio had.

In the meantime a brief by Julius II. was discovered in London touching the question of marrying a brother's wife, issued at the time of the king's marriage, contradicting another one the same pope had given on the same day. Campeggio declared again that he could not go on without fresh instructions. There must be another journey to Rome.

The king also sent his messengers. They were to inquire 1, Whether this brief of Julius II. was genuine or not. 2, Could the matter be settled by both the king and queen entering convents, the king being afterwards released by the pope? 3, If this should fail, would the pope grant to Henry two wives, as was the case in the Old Testament?

However, while these messengers were hastening to Rome, on January 6, 1529, the pope was taken suddenly ill, and it was thought he would die. All was now changed. Wolsey again thought he might become a pope, and then he would grant Henry the divorce. They counted up the votes. They thought they could reckon on twenty, six more were needed, and these were to be bought at all cost. But this hope was dashed to the ground by the pope's recovery.

At length Henry began to see that he could hope and expect to receive nothing from Rome. He next executed a commission for the case to be tried by the two Cardinals, Campeggio and Wolsey. It was quite true the pope might reverse it afterwards, but this must be risked.

The commission was opened on June 18, with due form by the two Cardinals, certain others sitting with them. "Henry, King of England, come into court," said the usher. "Here I am," said the king. Again, "Catharine, Queen of England, come into court." The queen handed in a paper, in which she protested against the judges, and appealed to the pope. This was overruled. Then she took a place before the king, and falling on her knees, said, with tears in her eyes, "Sir, I beseech you, for all the love that hath been between us, and for the love of God, let me have justice and right. . . . I take God and all the world to witness that I have been to you a true, humble, and obedient wife. . . . These twenty years I have been your true wife, and by me you have had divers children, although it hath pleased God to call them out of this world, which yet hath been no default in me. . . . . It is not to be doubted that the marriage between you and me is good and lawful. Who are my judges? Is not one the man who has put sorrow between you and me . . . . a judge whom I refuse and abhor. . . . . I conjure you not to call me before a court so formed. Yet, if you refuse me this favour . . . I shall be silent, I shall repress the emotions of my soul, and remit my just cause to the hand of God." Thus spoke Catharine, and, though called back, she left the court.

Henry, moved by the queen's address, declared that the queen was a true and obedient wife — "as noble in character as in truth."

After many delays the cause proceeded in the absence of the queen. Witnesses were examined, and judgments taken. It turned principally upon three points: Was it forbidden in scripture for a man to marry his brother's widow? And if so, Had the pope power to set aside the law of scripture? To end all disputes Campeggio was pressed to produce the pope's decretal which so long before had been shewn to the king. After various delays July 23 was named to decide the question. The king, impatient, had crept into the gallery to hear the judgment. The attorney-general said, that as everything had been done to satisfy and enlighten the consciences of the judges, attendance was now given to hear the judgment. But the pope had concluded an alliance with the Emperor, the Cardinal could not say Yes to the divorce; for him to say No was to separate England from Rome. He must contrive somehow to say neither.

The court was crowded, all anxious to hear the decision. The next day, the 24th, at Rome the courts did not sit, he must do the same, and adjourn the case to some future day. "The queen," said he, denies the competency of the court: I must therefore make my report to the pope, who is the source of life and power, and wait his sovereign orders."

Henry was incensed, and vowed he would not be played with any longer. Wolsey feared the wrath of the king and of Anne. Many of those about the king were also Wolsey's enemies. One of them when at Rome, had obtained a letter of Wolsey's in which he begged the pope to delay the matter of the divorce, and then oppose it, seeing that the new queen would be favourable to the Reformation. This letter was laid before the king. The doom of Wolsey was sealed, but for the present nothing was said.

Anne, who had returned to court, one day laid a book she had been reading near a window, and one of her ladies, Miss Gainsford, took it up and began to read it. It was Tyndale's "Obedience of a Christian Man." George Zouch was paying his addresses to Miss Gainsford, and in sport took the book from her hands. She hastened to recover it, but just then Anne called her. Zouch retired to his room and began to read. He had never met with such a book. "I feel the Spirit of God," said he, "speaking in my heart as He has spoken in the heart of him who wrote the book." He was won to God and His truth. So fond was he of the book that he used to take it to the king's chapel with him. One day Dr. Sampson saw him with the book, and when the service was over he rudely took the book and carried it to Wolsey.

Zouch and Miss Gainsford were now in a great fright. The book belonged to Anne, and was now in the possession of Wolsey. Anne, on hearing what had befallen the book, went at once to the king and told him all about it. She had not long left his presence when Wolsey arrived to complain to the king of the book, and to accuse Anne if he had opportunity. But the king took the book and at once dismissed Wolsey. He had promised Anne to read the book; he sat down to do so.

The king read strange things, such as "The king is in the room of God in this world. He that resisteth the king, resisteth God."

"Let kings, if they had rather be Christians in deed than so to be called, give themselves altogether to the well-being of their realms."

"Emperors and kings are nothing now-a-days, but even hangmen unto the pope and bishops, to kill whomsoever they condemn.

"The pope, against all the doctrine of Christ, which said, My kingdom is not of this world,' hath usurped the right of the Emperor. Kings must make account of their doings only to God."

The king was pleased. "What excellent reading!" said he; "this is truly a book for all kings to read, and for me particularly." Henry had his eyes opened, but he was not converted as Zouch was.

The pope ended the matter by citing the cause of the king to be tried at Rome — summoning Henry to appear, or to be fined ten thousand ducats. Of course the pope did not expect that he would go, but this was the last part of the pope's way of doing nothing to please the Emperor.

The anger of the king was extreme. "I, the King of England, summoned before an Italian tribunal!" Yes, he would go, but with such an army that would strike terror into all Italy.

Campeggio was dismissed, but his boxes were all searched at Dover to find the decretal, which had however been burnt, and anything else touching the king. Wolsey retired in disgrace. The wrath of Henry could not fall on the pope, it should fall on his cardinal Wolsey.

Latimer.

Hugh Latimer was one of the preachers of the Reformation in England. He had been converted in a singular manner. When he was made Bachelor of Divinity at Cambridge he had to deliver a discourse in Latin, and he chose for his subject, "Philip Melanchthon, and his doctrines." Melanchthon had set scripture above the Fathers and the schoolmen; Latimer attacked such a shocking doctrine, as he judged it to be. He was considered to be the champion of Cambridge against the Reformation.

Among his hearers on that day was Thomas Bilney, who had been already won to the truth and was a preacher of the gospel. He longed for the conversion of Latimer, but how was he to find admittance to the new bachelor? Bilney's leaning, to the truth was known in the University, and already he was despised by Latimer. But, doubtless led on by God, Bilney came to Latimer and asked permission to confess to him. "For the love of God," said he, "be pleased to hear my confession." Latimer naturally thought that his discourse had made an impression upon Bilney, and he yielded to his request.

Bilney on his knees confessed how he had been distressed on account of sin; how he had tried in vain all that the church presented, without relief and then described the peace he felt in believing in Jesus Christ, as the "Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world." Now God was his Father. Latimer was arrested, confounded, broken down, born again of the Holy Spirit. He was a new man. When Bilney had ceased he could only stammer out a few words. Bilney approached and they became strong and lasting friends. Such a conversion made quite a commotion in the University, and many now flocked to hear Bilney preach.

Latimer became a preacher of the gospel. He exposed the pretensions of the papacy with great freedom, but found occasion thereby to point men to the Lord Jesus, and His work on the cross, as the basis of all forgiveness.

During one of his sermons the Bishop of Ely came in and heard Latimer, and then forbade his preaching. After this Wolsey sent for Latimer, and requested him to give the substance of the sermon that had offended the bishop. Latimer did so, which so pleased Wolsey (who also found Latimer to be a learned man) that without further inquiry he gave Latimer licence to preach anywhere in England!

Latimer declared for the divorce. This brought him to court, and he preached before the king. In 1830, a council held at Westminster forbade certain books being circulated and read, among which was "The scriptures corrupted," by William Tyndale. This drew from Latimer a long and faithful letter to the king, strongly advocating the free circulation of the scriptures. We shall meet with this faithful man again.

Cranmer and the King's Divorce.

Cranmer was introduced to the king in a curious manner. On the return of the king from Woodstock he stopped at Waltham, full of anxiety as to how his cause was to be decided. He had looked to Rome, and Rome had played him false. Whither should he turn now? was the all-absorbing question.

Fox and Gardiner were supping that night at a gentleman's house, where they met with Cranmer, whom they had known at college. At supper they asked Cranmer's opinion of the divorce question. He told them they were on the wrong track. There was a surer and a shorter way to satisfy the king's conscience than going to Rome. "What is that?" they asked. "The true question is this," said Cranmer "What says the word of God?" "If God has declared a marriage of this nature bad, the pope cannot make it good." "But how shall we know what God has said?" "Consult the Universities," said Cranmer.

The next day the king said to Fox and Gardiner, "Well gentlemen, our holidays are over: what shall we do now? If we still have recourse to Rome God knows when we shall see the end of this matter." They told him what Dr. Cranmer had said. "Where is Dr. Cranmer?" said the king. "This man has the right sow by the ear." Cranmer was fetched in haste.

Cranmer was annoyed to find himself dragged into the question; but there was now no help for it. The king requested Cranmer to lay aside all other occupation, so as to consider the matter and make his report. Then calling Anne's father, he told him to receive Cranmer into his house till he had drawn up his report.

Cranmer drew up his report. He believed the king's marriage with his brother's widow was contrary to scripture, and that the pope had no authority to set scripture aside. "Will you abide by this, that you have here written, before the bishop of Rome?" said the king. "That will I do, by God's grace," replied Cranmer. Henry had not yet done with the pope. The Earl of Wiltshire, and Drs. Cranmer, Stokesley, and Edward Lee, with some others, were sent to the pope, to argue the king's case.* Cranmer soon returned to England but was despatched to Germany by the king.

{* It is said that when the pope met these envoys, he put out his foot for them to kiss it. The Earl of Wiltshire and the others disdained to do it, but the Earls spaniel ran forward and gave the toe a bite, which made the pope hastily withdraw his foot.}

While away, he married his second wife, a niece of Osiander's wife.

The fall of Wolsey was rapid. He had been the most powerful man in the kingdom. Ego et rex meus — "I and my king" was the way he viewed his own position and that of the king. He was impeached for high treason, but Cromwell so well defended him that he was acquitted. Wolsey's hopes revived, but he was again arrested on a second charge: this broke his heart. "Alas master Kingston," said he to the governor of the Tower, "if I had served God as diligently as I have served the king, He would not have given me over in my gray hairs. This is my just reward!" Unquestionably he had served himself before any one else.

He was now on his death-bed; but his hatred to the Reformation was not abated. "Tell the king," said he, "that I conjure him in God's name to destroy this new pernicious sect of Lutherans." God was about to open a door in England for the truth, and one of its worst enemies was now being taken out of the way. He died November, 1530.

In 1532 an Act of Parliament was passed abolishing the payment of annates* or first-fruits to the court of Rome — a memorable statute as breaking a link which bound England to Rome.

{* From annus, a year. The profits of one year of every vacant living was claimed by the pope. The new Act gave them to the king.}

Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, died in 1532 and Cranmer succeeded him; but in accepting the office he refused to receive the appointment from Rome. He said to Henry, "Neither the pope nor any other foreign prince has authority in this realm." "Can you prove what you have just said?" asked Henry. "Certainly I can," said Cranmer. "Holy scripture and the Fathers support the supreme authority of kings in their kingdoms, and they prove the claims of the pope to be a miserable usurpation."

The lawyers were asked what was to be done, and they suggested that some one else should go to Rome and ask for the appointment. Cranmer did not object to this; but he declared that he would have nothing to do with Rome, and reserved to himself the right of speaking against the pope and attacking his errors.

This was a great step towards the Reformation. Henry however was not so far advanced. He sent to Rome, and the pope, being glad of still having some link with England, gladly gave the appointment. But Cranmer refused to own it, and three times publicly protested against any oath his representative might have taken contrary to his duty. He was bound to the law of God, the rights of the king of England, the government of the church of England, and "the reformation of all things that may seem to be necessary to be reformed therein." Yet, strangely enough, after all his protests, he took the usual oath to St. Peter and to the holy apostolic church of Rome!

The Universities, including some of the foreign ones, declared that the pope had no authority to set aside the law of Leviticus. Cranmer then proceeded to declare the divorce without the pope. "We, Thomas, Archbishop, primate, and legate, having first called upon the name of Christ, and having God altogether before our eyes, do pronounce and declare that the marriage between our sovereign lord, King Henry, and the most serene lady Catharine, widow of his brother, having been contracted contrary to the law of God, is null and void." This was May 23, 1533. On the 28th of the same month, Anne was declared duly married to King Henry: they had been married privately before the divorce was pronounced.

In the meantime a brief was printed and circulated by the pope, addressed to Henry. "We exhort thee, our son, under pain of excommunication, to restore Queen Catharine to the royal honours which are due to her, to cohabit with her, and to cease to associate publicly with Anne . . . . otherwise . . . . we pronounce thee and the said Anne to be ipso facto excommunicated, and command all men to shun and avoid your presence."

Thus Henry obtained the divorce, and Anne was now his wife. In getting this he had been excommunicated by Rome. Henry would renounce the pope. "The pope and his cardinals," said Henry, to the French king, "pretend to have princes, who are free persons, at their beck and commandment. Sire, you and I, and all the princes of Christendom, must unite for the preservation of our rights, liberties, and privileges; we must alienate the greatest part of Christendom from the see of Rome."

Though Henry said this he made another attempt after the divorce to be reconciled with Rome, but the Emperor had the pope in his grasp and he would not allow him to make peace with Henry. Again the King of England was compelled to turn away from Rome against his will. God was over all and He so ordered it.

Henry was enraged, and wrote a book entitled, "On the power of christian kings over their churches, against the tyranny and horrible impiety of the pope." It was all right to throw off the yoke of the pope, but alas for England if the church had no other head and no other Reformation than that of Henry. He was the instrument in God's hand to further the Reformation from a national point of view, and as far as turning away from the pope was concerned; but Henry, in turning from the pope, did not turn to Christ; his shield was not faith, and his weapon was not the word of God. We must now endeavour to see what God was doing by His Spirit and His word to bring about the Reformation.

Translation of the New Testament.

England owes a debt of gratitude to William Tyndale. He had been early impressed with the thought that his work was to give to England the Bible in its mother tongue. He had said to his opposers, "I will cause a boy that drives the plough to know more of the scriptures than the pope." With this before him, he set himself to work in earnest. He had to get his translation printed abroad, anywhere he could — sometimes a part in one city and a part in another; concealing it from being seen. While thus engaged he was often in want; yet with the firm conviction that he was doing the work God would have him do, he persevered, and about 1525 his first edition of the New Testament in English was ready. It had to be smuggled into England, but it was gladly received, and eagerly read. This was rapidly followed by other editions which gradually spread all over England, enlightening men's minds as to what was the truth of God, and also as to what was not of God, though it bore the name of religion.

Cranmer loved God and his truth, and he took the first opportunity to advocate that the Bible, translated by learned and competent men, should be allowed free circulation. Hitherto it had only come from abroad by stealth, and was always liable to be seized. The king granted the request on condition that the clergy of England should never call the pope universal bishop or pope; but only bishop of Rome. Those of the clergy who were devoted to Rome had to resort to mental reservation or lose their places. Many chose the former.

About 1529, Tonstal, bishop of London, finding Tyndale's New Testament in circulation, thought he would stop it effectually by buying up all the copies he could and burning them. So he commissioned Packington, a merchant, to buy all he could lay his hands on. This he did, and the bishop paid for them, and burnt them publicly in Cheapside. Tyndale was glad of the money. He was aware that the edition was imperfect, so he set to work to revise it and printed a new edition with the money supplied by the bishop of London! The next edition being ready, a large supply was sent to England. Constantine, one of Tyndale's friends, was apprehended. The Lord Chancellor asked him who had encouraged them in this work, promising that no harm should come to him if he revealed the secret. He said their best customer had been the bishop of London! Thus was the folly of this man and his hatred to the word of God, the means of giving England a better edition of this precious book.

Henry VIII. Head of the Church.

Cranmer's was a painful position. Few men could have filled his place as he did, and many have greatly blamed him for being where he was. The parliament had declared the king to be "the only supreme head on earth of the church of England," and some gave up their livings and even their life rather than admit it; Cranmer kept his place, and followed out the views of the king, who soon shewed himself to be much more of a Catholic than a Protestant. A good man in a false position, Cranmer was often obliged to bend to circumstances. And it is to be feared that in some of his bendings he stooped to that which was evil.

A dark shadow passed over the Reformation in England — if such we can call it — at its commencement. The parliament had declared that the king was head of the church; conscientious Catholics could not, and would not, acknowledge it. This brought two illustrious persons to the block.

Bishop Fisher had been an old tutor of the king. He was a Catholic, and he would not acknowledge the king as head of the church. For this he must die. The pope had just conferred on him the Cardinal's hat; but Fisher had said, "If the Cardinal's hat were at my feet I would not stoop to pick it up." Henry was the more enraged that the pope should put honour on a man that he was condemning. When informed that his death was resolved upon, he said, "I most humbly thank his majesty that he is pleased to relieve me from all the affairs of this world." On the morning of his execution he took off his hair-shirt and asked for his best clothes. His servant reminded him that it was only for two hours he could wear them. "Exactly so," said the aged bishop, "this is my wedding day, and I ought to dress as if for a holiday."

Fisher took his Testament, and was ready. He opened it, saying, "O Lord, I open it for the last time. Grant that I may find some word of comfort to the end that I may glorify thee in my last hour." Then he read, "And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent." "That will do," said Fisher; "here is learning enough to last me to my life's end." The aged bishop, tottering with age and infirmity, had to be helped. He repeated his text as he went along. "This is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent." When on the scaffold he said, "Christians, I give my life for my faith in the holy Catholic church of Christ. I do not fear death. Assist me, however, with your prayers, so that when the axe falls I may remain firm. God save the king and the kingdom." His last words were, "Eternal God, my hope is in thy deliverance." His head fell on the scaffold. We would fain hope he died in the faith of Christ.

The other victim was Sir Thomas More, ex-chancellor of England. He would not acknowledge the king as head of the church. For this crime he must die. On the scaffold he repeated a psalm, "Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions." Though More had hated the men who loved the truth of God, and had been the means of the death of some, yet we hope that he saw at last that his only refuge was in Christ and in his grace, and not in the pope, the Virgin Mary and the saints.

The death of these two men caused great commotion in the country and great indignation in Catholic countries. The pope cited the king to Rome. "In case of default," said the pope, "we strike him with the sword of anathema, of malediction, and of eternal damnation. We take away his kingdom from him . . . . we release his subjects from their oath of fidelity." He called upon christian princes to march against him, declaring him and his to be their slaves.

Thus did the pope place himself above the king, and, as far as he could, took his kingdom from him. This clearly brings out what popery really is, and to what it assumes. This act of the pope only widened the breach between Rome and England.

Henry next turned his attention to the monasteries. There were two things that moved him. One was that they were rich, and he thought he could make a better use of the money; the other was that they were the strongholds of the pope. Luther, when he heard of the king's destroying the supremacy of the pope and yet leaving the monasteries intact, said he was leaving the "soul" of popery untouched.

One day Henry dropped in to a monastery at dinner time. He was unknown, so he called himself one of the king's guards. They had a table full of good things. Henry had been hunting, and was hungry, and speaking of a piece of beef he said, "I will stick to this sirloin," and ate heartily. "I would give a hundred pounds," said the prior, "to eat with as much appetite as you; but alas! my weak and qualmish stomach can hardly digest the wing of a chicken." Henry resolved he would bring back the prior's appetite. A few days after some soldiers came and conducted the prior to the Tower, where he was fed on bread and water. After a few weeks of this diet a sirloin of beef was set before the prior, and now indeed he ate of it heartily. The king now entered and claimed his hundred pounds. The prior paid it and went back to the monastery. But Henry never forgot how they fared in the monasteries, where by the bye they had promised poverty.

An examination of all the monasteries was ordered, with a correction of abuses. Some were entirely closed, and the revenues seized. In some places things came to light which shewed how the people of England had been deceived. At Hales, in Gloucestershire, crowds of visitors used to go to see what the priests declared to be some of the blood of Christ in a bottle. The strange thing was that some people could see the blood and others could not. If a rich man came, he at first would not be able to see it. He confessed and made an offering, and if the priests were not satisfied, he still could not see it. "Your sin is not forgiven," said they. There must be more confessions and more offerings, and then the blood could be clearly seen. His sins, they said, were now forgiven. The commissioners examined the bottle and found it transparent on one side and opaque on the other. "When a rich penitent appears," confessed a monk, "we turn the vessel on the thick side; that you know opens his heart and his purse."

At Boxley, in Kent, there was a crucifix which bowed its head and moved its eyes to express approbation or disapprobation when the people brought their offerings to the priests, and in which they were taught devoutly to believe. The examiners found that it was by the means of wires the figure had been made to move. The king had it brought to court and there exhibited. "I do not know," said the king, "whether I ought not to weep rather than laugh on seeing how the poor people of England have been fooled for so many centuries."

But these deceitful tricks were not the worst things the commissioners found. Almost every evil and every abomination that can be named were to be found in these places, said to be devoted to the religion of the Lord Jesus Christ. The commissioners were able to name a few as notable exceptions.

The commissioners allowed any monk under twenty-four years of age, and every nun under twenty-one, to leave the monasteries. Many had been sent there when quite young, and they were glad to escape; and others who were over age entreated with tears in their eyes to be allowed the same privilege.

The suppression of the monasteries in England had its abuses and its mistakes. There were many who wished to share in the spoils. It was one thing to seize them and another thing to make a better use of the money. Much of it was given to the king's favourites, who spent it in many shameful ways. To satisfy the people it was given out that the money would lessen the taxes; soldiers with skilful officers would be paid out of the funds; a better provision would be made for the poor; and that preachers would be paid to preach everywhere the true religion. "But," says Strype the historian, "nothing of this came to pass."

Some fine libraries too were sold for a mere nothing. Doubtless it was a severe blow to the power of Rome, and swept away many abuses; but as to its leading to a better use of the funds is very questionable.

The king, desiring to form an alliance with the German Reformers, sent Barnes to Wittenberg. Melanchthon was at first taken with these advances, and dedicated to Henry a new edition of his "Common Places." Henry was delighted, sent him two hundred crowns, and invited Melanchthon to visit England. But on hearing of the death of More, Melanchthon drew back, and though afterwards desired by the Protestant princes, under no consideration would he visit such a man as Henry. An alliance however was signed, December 25, 1535. Calvin was left out. He had called the dogma, that Henry was the head of the church, "blasphemy."

On January 7, 1536, Queen Catharine died. The German Reformers contended that her marriage with Henry was not such as to allow of a divorce. Now she was removed they felt free to consider afresh an alliance with King Henry. The German Reformers however, said, "The King of England wishes to be pope in the place of the pope, and maintains most of the errors of the old popery, such as monasteries,* indulgences, the Mass, prayers for the dead, and other Romish fables."

{*Some of the larger monasteries were left when the others were suppressed.}

England sent Bishop Fox and Archdeacon Heath to Wittenberg. Luther and Melanchthon met them in conference. But the English divines were so slow in giving up the papal abuses that instead of a conference it became a discussion. "I am disgusted with these disputes," said Luther; "they make me sick." To the Elector he said, "I have done more in four weeks than these Englishmen in twelve years. If they continue reforming in that style, England will never be inside or out," meaning, we suppose, neither inside popery, nor really outside.

The Elector was appealed to, and asked if a few concessions could not be made in their Confession. The Elector applied to Luther, who said, No; but after that he softened down a little, and said that expressions might be softened, but great doctrines must be maintained. The king was required to consent to the Augsburg Confession. This was April, 1536.

The very next month Henry brought Queen Anne to the block, and proved himself altogether unworthy of being considered as a friend of the gospel. The Reformed princes could only recoil with horror from joining with one whose hands were stained with the blood of his wife — a wife, too, well known as a friend of the Reformation, and not guilty of the crimes laid to her charge.

Queen Anne may not have known the saving power of the truth, but she certainly helped on the cause of Christ in encouraging those who preached the gospel, helping necessitous students, shielding others from persecution, etc. We would fain hope, however, that before her death she had bowed to the gospel which she had so often heard.

Cranmer had been very intimate with the queen and counselled her in her good works. His conduct in her condemnation is most deplorable. At the king's bidding he divorced the queen without a shadow of proof of her guilt. The conduct of Cranmer in this is a dark shadow on himself and still darker on the holy religion of the Lord Jesus which he professed.

King Henry, now married to Lady Jane Seymour, turns his attention as head of the church in England to tell the nation what must be their creed. Alas for the church if it had no better head; and for the saints if they had no better creed! We give a few points of the creed.

Baptism. it is "necessary for the attaining of everlasting life." By it those baptized "do also obtain remission of their sins, the grace and favour of God, and be made thereby the very sons and children of God." By it original sin was cancelled, and the recipient received the Holy Ghost.

Penance. "Concerning the sacrament of penance we will . . . that men, which after baptism do fall again into sin, if they do not penance in this life, shall undoubtedly be damned."

Lord's Supper. "As concerning the sacrament of the altar . . . . under the form and figure of bread and wine . . . . is verily, substantially, and really containing and comprehended the very self-same body and blood of our Saviour Jesus Christ, which was born of the Virgin Mary."

Justification. "The only mercy and grace of the Father, promised freely unto us for His Son's sake, Jesus Christ, and the merits of His blood and passion, be the only sufficient and worthy causes thereof. And yet that, notwithstanding to the attaining to the same justification, God requireth to be in us not only inward contrition, perfect faith and charity, certain hope and confidence, with all other spiritual graces and motives."

Images. Worship was to be to God only, but it might be done "before the images, whether it be of Christ, of the cross, of our lady [the Virgin Mary], or of any other saint beside."

Saints. "We may pray to our blessed lady, to St. John Baptist, to all and every of the apostles, or any other saint."

Rites. The "sprinkling of holy water," "bearing of candles," "giving of ashes," "bearing of palms," "creeping to the cross," with other things, were "to be used and continued as things good and laudable."

Purgatory. It was declared to be right "to pray for souls departed" and "to give alms to others to pray for them."

A pretty sort of "Reformation" from the errors of Rome this! Why, there is not one of them that a good Catholic could not sign, and not one that a good Protestant could sign! Here again we see the weakness and unfaithfulness of Cranmer. As primate of England he signed this creed; others objected no longer, but signed it too.

In this same year (1536), Coverdale's translation of the Bible was ready for circulation. But unfortunately, as men say, he had dedicated the book to Henry VIII. and his "dearest, just wife, and most virtuous princess, Queen Anne." Now Henry had just put this "just wife" to death, and all saw that the king would never give his consent to this about Anne: so some tried to alter Anne to Jane (for Jane Seymour) others scratched the name out altogether.* Then a new dedication was printed. But the king would not give his consent. The Bible could not be circulated except by stealth.

{* Copies thus altered are still in existence in the British Museum and elsewhere.

Still everywhere the truth of God was quietly making its way by means of the scriptures, the writings of Luther, etc. Truth had to do its work secretly, for there was no one in England who could protect the public preaching of the gospel; the king's creed had to be taught everywhere; still, in quiet, out of the way places, the gospel was preached, and it sank into men's souls and brought forth fruit to everlasting life.

In 1535 Latimer had been made Bishop of Winchester. In 1536 Cromwell chose him to preach before the convocation, when he delivered a very faithful discourse to the assembled bishops, abbots and priors, such a sermon as many of them had certainly never before heard. "Study for the glory and profit of Christ," said he; "seek in your consultations such things as pertain to Christ, and bring forth at the least something that may please Christ. Preach truly the word of God."

The king, though he had given to the nation a very Catholic creed, had in no way satisfied the true Catholics. He had made thousands of enemies by closing the monasteries. The monks who were turned out went about the country crying, "Woe, woe to England," which ended in the rebellion of 1536 to re-establish popery in England. The greatest nobles in the land, though Catholics, sided with the king, and the rebellion came to nothing. The Reformation, if crushed, was not to be crushed in this way. It had more to fear from its professed friends.

In this same eventful year occurred the martyrdom of Tyndale. As we have seen he had given England the New Testament, and he had just finished the translation of the Old when he was betrayed at Antwerp by an Englishman named Phillips, sent from England for the purpose, and cast into prison. His friend Rogers, chaplain to some English merchants at Antwerp, had secured the copy, so that the prisoner was rejoiced to hear that his labours would not be lost. He greatly desired to give to England the whole Bible.

Rogers immediately put the work to press. Great efforts were made in England to save Tyndale. John Poyntz, a gentleman of North Okendon, in Essex, strained every nerve to effect this purpose. With a letter from Cromwell he hastened to Antwerp, but after various toils he had to fly back to England to save his own life. Vaughan wrote to Cromwell, "If you will send me a letter for the privy council I can still save Tyndale from the stake: only make haste: for if you are slack about it it will be too late." But Cromwell could not do this without a word from the king. The king would not give the word and Tyndale was sacrificed. He was the means of the conversion of the gaoler, his daughter, and others. Thus God gave him true seals to his ministry in his imprisonment. At the stake he prayed, "Lord, open the King of England's eyes," and died rejoicing in the Lord. Thus died (October 6, 1536) one of the true ministers of God to the land of England.

In the year 1537 Tyndale's Bible was published, bearing the name of Thomas Matthew — a name assumed by Rogers; and the printer, Richard Grafton, came to London to ask permission to have it circulated. He first applied to Cranmer.

The Archbishop was delighted with the translation, and wrote to Cromwell asking him to present it to the king, and to ask his permission for its circulation — but shrewdly adding, "until such time that we, the bishops, shall put forth a better translation," and then for Cromwell's ear, "which, I think, will not be till a day after doomsday."

Henry looked over the book. The dedication to himself was excellent, and Tyndale's name did not appear. The king gave his consent, though he had but lately forbidden Coverdale's to be sold. Other editions followed, marked, "Set forth with the king's most gracious license."

Now the scriptures could be openly bought and read, a benefit for which the Christians of England had waited so long. Whoever could, bought a copy; and in some places people clubbed together and had one in common. When people had no true servant of Christ to preach to them, they met in twos and threes and read the Bible, and God thereby fed their souls.

This free circulation of the scriptures forms a true and great epoch in the Reformation in this our land.

It does not appear to be certain when Bibles were first ordered to be placed in the churches, but an order was made on May 6, 1541, referring to some previous injunction (probably in May, 1540) which had not been everywhere obeyed, and more stringent orders were now given by the king: "That the curates and parishioners of every town and parish within this his realm of England, not having already Bibles provided within their parish churches, shall on this side the Feast of All Saints next coming, buy and provide Bibles of the largest and greatest volume, and cause the same to be set and fixed in every of the said parish churches, there to be used as is aforesaid" — a penalty being added of forty shillings per month should any fail to obey. The Bibles were for the use of "every of the king's majesty's loving subjects, minding to read therein." They were not to be read with loud voices "in the time of the celebration of the holy Mass" and other services; and the people were not "to presume to take upon them any common disputation, argument, or exposition of the mysteries therein contained."

This as a great boon to the people. The poorest person could now resort to the church and read the Bible free of all expense. It often happened that one person read while others gathered round to listen; for there were many in those days who were unable to read; besides which it made a good use of the book, for while one read aloud, many could listen.

John Lambert.

Soon after followed the case of John Lambert. He was a learned and devout man. Because of his tendency to the Reformation he had been imprisoned as early as 1532, but was liberated on the death of Archbishop Warham.

Now in 1538 Lambert was hearing Dr. Taylor preach in St. Paul's, and hearing what he believed to be contrary to the truth, he spoke to the Doctor after the sermon. The subject was "the real presence," and by degrees it came before the bishop, and when pressed to recant Lambert unwisely appealed to the king.

Gardiner, a crafty man, unfavourable to the gospel, went to the king, and told him about Lambert, saying, that as the king had now many enemies because of his turning from the pope, it would appease the people if he punished heresy. The king, as head of the church, determined to hear the case in person.

Lambert was summoned to the court at Westminster, and the king presided, surrounded by the bishops and lawyers. The king called upon Cranmer to refute Lambert on the subject of the Lord's supper. Lambert held that the body and blood of Christ were represented by the bread and wine, and that the body and blood were present only to faith; Cranmer had to argue for the "real presence;" and then was visible this dark shadow over the Reformation that Cranmer had to argue against, and to sit in judgment upon, a humble believer in the Lord Jesus, guilty of no crime and of no heresy.

After Cranmer and others had argued with the good man, the king demanded, "What sayest thou now after all . . . . the reasons and instructions of these learned men; art thou not yet satisfied? Wilt thou live or die? What sayest thou? Thou hast yet thy free choice." This meant that he must retract or die.

"I commend my soul into the hand of God," said Lambert, "but my body I wholly yield and submit unto your clemency.

"You must die," said the king," for I will not be a patron of heretics." He then called upon Cromwell to read the condemnation.

Cromwell was accounted to be a chief man among the gospellers, and yet he had to read the condemnation of this godly man.

His death was in the most wanton and cruel manner. He was burnt alive; and when his legs were consumed and his hands burning, but no vital part touched, they pushed him about with halberts as far as his chain would allow, while he still called out, "None but Christ! none but Christ!"

Here is a picture of the Reformation in England. A man for no other crime than believing the true doctrine of the Lord's supper is judged — the judgment being quietly acquiesced in by the chief men of the gospellers Cranmer, Taylor, Barnes, and Cromwell, without any effort being made to save the martyr. And then the poor man is put to death in the most cruel manner possible. Can anything be clearer than the fact that it was God who brought about the Reformation in England, without, and indeed in spite of, the king. This is clearly proved by what follows.

The King's Religion.

In 1539 another effort was made to settle by parliament and convocation a set of doctrines. They agreed to the following six:

1. This maintained the "real presence." After the consecration it declared that there remained no substance of the bread and wine.

2. That "both kinds" were not necessary: the blood as well as the flesh was in the bread.

3. Priests must not marry.

4. Vows of chastity, or widowhood, ought to be observed.

5. Private Masses were "meet and necessary."

6. Confession to the priest was "expedient and necessary."

The punishment was death and imprisonment, and inquisitors or commissioners were appointed all over the country to bring the gospellers to trial. This of course much impeded the spread of he truth. People had the Bible, and might read it; but if they did, and found, as they would, that the above doctrines were contrary to scripture, they were compelled to keep their faith to their own bosom or they would be arrested and burnt.

It may well be asked, How could Cranmer agree to these six articles with a good conscience? Latimer, of the bishops, appears to have been the only one that threw up his appointment. He declared, "I will be guided by God's book; and rather than dissent one jot from it, I would be torn by wild horses." He retired to the country, and remained unmolested; but meeting with an accident he came to London for surgical assistance, when he was arrested and sent to the Tower, where he remained till Edward VI. came to the throne.

In the next year (1540) Cromwell was brought to the block through the influence of Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester and others. On the scaffold he said, he died in the Catholic faith, not doubting of any of the sacraments; perhaps thinking thereby to save himself, but in his prayer he depends altogether upon the death of Christ, repudiates good works, and looks for cleansing alone to the blood of Christ.

Many imprisonments followed the publishing of the Six Articles. Through the entreaty of Cranmer the penalties were after a time made less severe.

The enemies of the gospel now attempted to ruin Cranmer; but the king at once told Cranmer of the plot. The Archbishop was thankful for the protection of the king, but he would not in any way take revenge upon his enemies.

In 1545 persecution again broke out, and the case of Anne Askew is especially worthy of being recorded. This faithful lady was driven from her home by her cruel husband when he discovered that she was a gospeller. She was for some time guarded and cherished by ladies of the court; but her case coming to the ears of the Bishop of London he caused her to be examined.

In various examinations they took great pains to prove her wrong, and this was necessary, for she delighted to say that she believed in the Lord's supper just what the scripture taught, and endeavoured to avoid further explanation. At length she confessed that the "bread is but a remembrance of His death, or a sacrament of thanksgiving for it." She was carried to the Tower, and asked to confess any who held as she did: special persons being named, as Ladies Suffolk, Sussex, Hertford, Denny, and Fitz-Williams. She said, "Then they put me on the rack, because I confessed no ladies or gentlewomen to be of my opinion; and there they kept me a long time, and because I lay still and did not cry, my Lord Chancellor [Wriothesley] and master Rich took pains to rack me with their own hands till I was nigh dead. Then the lieutenant caused me to be loosed from the rack. Immediately I swooned away, and then they recovered me again. After that I sat two long hours reasoning with my Lord Chancellor upon the bare floor. But my Lord God, I thank His everlasting goodness, gave me grace to persevere, and will do, I hope, to the very end."

She wrote in her prison,

"On Thee my care I cast,

For all their cruel spite;

I set not by their haste,

For Thou art my delight.

Yet, Lord, I Thee desire,

For that they do to me,

Let them not taste the hire

Of their iniquity."

Anne Askew was burnt alive with three men. She had to be carried to the stake because of the injuries received on the rack. When fastened to the stake a pardon was offered to her if she would recant. She said she did not come there to deny her Lord and Master. The flames took hold upon them, and all were consumed.

This was not Catholics putting Protestants to death; but it was those who had thrown off the claims of Rome putting their fellow-christians to death; but all must bow to the will of Henry instead of the will of the pope. Alas! for the Reformation in England! If God work not, there is no hope in man.

Another desperate effort was made to ruin Cranmer; but the king again took his part, and warned him of his danger. Cranmer was indifferent about it. "You fool," said the king, "do you think if you were once in prison, that there would not be abundance of false witnesses to accuse you? But as you do not know how to take care of yourself, I must look to it for you." What an avowal for the head of the English church to make! If it would fare thus with the Archbishop, what would be the fate of poor unprotected Christians?

Henry gave Cranmer, at an interview after midnight, the ring off his finger to use as he thought fit. Cranmer was summoned before the council, and was made to wait outside with the servants. He was seen here by the king's physician, who told the king how his Archbishop was being treated. The king sent a message for him to be admitted immediately.

"You and your chaplains," said the council to Cranmer, "are the authors of all the heresies in the kingdom." He asked to be put face to face with his accusers, but they threatened to send him to the Tower. Cranmer appealed to the king, and shewed them the kings ring. Cranmer was saved, and the council had to hurry off to the king to secure themselves.

In 1546 a proclamation was made forbidding any one to have or read Tyndale's or Coverdale's New Testament, or any not sanctioned by parliament; also all books, either by English writers or by those beyond the seas, unless they were licensed. Thus was shut out, as far as possible, any book containing the truth as drawn from the scriptures.

Things continued in England in this fluctuating state until the death of Henry. More than half a Roman Catholic himself — though claiming to be head of the church — and many of his council entirely papists at heart, they often hindered the work Cranmer, Latimer and others were endeavouring to further. Still the gospel made progress. People had the scripture in their hands, and God blessed its perusal, and saved souls, though many had no opportunity of making it known. Thus God was carrying on the work, without noise or observation, in a manner that nothing could uproot though it was made to hide its head.

Edward VI. and the Reformation.

King Henry died in 1547; and on Edward VI. ascending the throne, Cranmer was able to proceed with the work of reforming abuses.

One of the first things, after repealing the obnoxious laws, was to send visitors to all parts of the kingdom to ascertain what sort of people the clergy were. Gross ignorance was found nearly everywhere; to remedy this, in some measure, a Book of Homilies was composed, one of which was to be read regularly to the people.

The visitors had inspectors to remove the images from the churches. This met with great opposition in some places. Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, met the work of the visitors with such a determined resistance that he was sent to the Tower. Others shared the same fate.

The next step was, that by Act of Parliament the people were regularly to have the bread and wine at the Lord's supper.

Then the Lord's supper was altered as a service. Instead of private confession to the priest before partaking of the supper, a public confession took its place.

Cranmer next turned his attention to writing a Catechism, with scripture proofs, in which he exposed the errors of Romanism.

His next work was to prepare a new Prayer Book. In this he laboured to retain as much as he could in the oldest books, so as to give as little offence as possible. A good part of this remains to this day. In 1548 by Act of Parliament, the Prayer Book was settled as the service-book of church of England. In the same year an Act was passed allowing the marriage of the clergy.

The Prayer Book once settled, it was forced upon the people. No clergyman was to use any other, and all were to use this, under pain of fine and imprisonment — the third offence being punished by imprisonment for life.

The next step of Cranmer was to draw up a Confession. As in Germany this was thought to be desirable in order to let all see what Protestantism was; so the same thing was felt desirable for England. Bucer was now in England, and pressed this on Cranmer. Cranmer now had Coverdale, Hooper, Ridley, Latimer, etc., but it is supposed that the Articles drawn up (forty-two in number) were the work principally of Cranmer and Ridley, though they were sanctioned by all in February, 1552. This formed the basis of the present Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England.

Thus far then we see that in England the Mass was abolished; images were removed; Romish abuses were attacked; and a regular "service" was adopted. But as this "service" was for the converted and the unconverted, indeed for the nation at large, irrespective of whether the people were Christians or not, we look in vain for that spiritual tone of worship which none but Christians can enter into and appreciate.

As yet, too, there was no liberty allowed; all were obliged, as we have seen, to use the Prayer Book and agree to the Articles. Any who needed a more scriptural and spiritual mode of worship must assemble for that purpose in private houses, to be seen only by God and themselves.

During the reign of Edward, Joan Bocher, better known as Joan of Kent, was condemned and burnt alive, principally through the influence of Cranmer, because she denied that "Christ took flesh of the Virgin." She said to him, "It was not long ago that you burnt Anne Askew for a piece of bread, and yet came yourself soon after to profess the same doctrine for which you burnt her." It is recorded, to the honour of the young king, that he revolted against signing the death warrant of Bocher, and it was only by the persuasions and importunity of Cranmer that he could be brought to do it. He declared that if he did wrong Cranmer must answer for it at the tribunal of heaven. Her death was a dark shadow on the Reformation, and especially on Cranmer.

Queen Mary: Death of Ridley, Latimer and Cranmer.

In 1553 Edward died, and Queen Mary succeeded. She did all she could to sweep away the Reformation, and bring England again under the power of the pope.

Bonner and Gardiner came into favour, and Cranmer, Latimer and Ridley* were sent to the Tower. From thence they were carried to Oxford to be examined by the doctors. The questions turned principally upon the "real presence" in the Lord's supper, after which they were left in prison.

{*Ridley had been made Bishop of Rochester by Cranmer in 1547, and afterwards Bishop of London. He was a zealous supporter of the Reformation.}

In 1555, after long and tedious examinations on various subjects, Ridley and Latimer were condemned to be burnt.

On October the 10th, the procession was formed. Ridley wore his bishop's gown, and walked between the mayor and an alderman. Latimer, in a poor worn frock, followed. As they passed Cranmer's prison they looked up, hoping to catch a sight of the Archbishop; but he was just then under examination.

They came to the stake. "O heavenly Father," said Ridley, "I give Thee most hearty thanks for that Thou hast called me to be a professor of Thee even unto death. I beseech Thee, Lord God, take mercy upon this realm of England, and deliver the same from all her enemies." A chain bound them to the same stake.

As they kindled the fire, Latimer said, "Be of good comfort, brother Ridley, and play the man. We shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out."

Ridley, as he saw the fire blazing up, cried out, "Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit." Latimer on the other side responded, "O Father of heaven, receive my spirit." Latimer was soon with the Lord: but too much wood being piled around Ridley, he cried out, "Let the fire come to me, I cannot burn." The wood was removed, and he, too, was consumed.

Cranmer was kept in prison nearly three years, and was then brought to trial and condemned. Then the Oxford divines used all their entreaties to induce him to recant. At length he gave way, and signed a recantation — all they demanded of him.

He did this in the hope of saving his life, but the queen had no such intention. Dr. Cole was told to draw up his funeral sermon.

Cranmer was brought to St. Mary's church to hear the sermon — after which he was to read his recantation. But Cranmer began to see that his life would not be spared, and besides he had been very miserable since he signed the paper.

As he stood on a platform hearing the sermon, tears rolled down his cheeks, and he was evidently enduring a great struggle. The sermon ended, Dr. Cole called on Cranmer to make true confession of his faith. Cranmer called upon the people to pray for him, and falling on his knees he prayed aloud. Then rising he gave those present an exhortation, and at last came to his confession, and after professing faith in the Trinity, the scriptures, etc., he said, "And now I come to the great thing, which so much troubleth my conscience . . . . the setting abroad of a writing contrary to the truth, which I now here renounce and refuse as things written with my hand contrary to the truth which I thought in my heart, and written for fear of death, and to save my life, if it might be. . . . . And forasmuch as my hand offended, writing contrary to my heart, my hand shall first be punished for it; for when I come to the fire it shall be first burnt.

"And as for the pope, I refuse him as Christ's enemy and Antichrist, with all his false doctrine.

"And as for the sacrament, I believe as I have taught in my book against the Bishop of Winchester."

His enemies were exasperated. Dr. Cole called out, "Stop the heretic's mouth, and take him away."

Nothing his friends could do could now save Cranmer. He was hurried to the stake, and bound by an iron chain. His beard was long and thick, giving him an appearance of marvellous gravity, which moved the hearts of friends and enemies.

When the fire began to blaze up he could be seen holding out his right hand into the flames, saying, "O this unworthy right hand." The flames now enveloped him, and crying, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit," he was consumed.

Thus passed away this true servant of the Lord. Fearful and pliable when threatened with danger, through the mercy of God he was firm at last, and faithful unto death.

As is well known, many were put to death in the reign of Queen Mary — earning for her the title of "Bloody Queen Mary." But God had mercy on England, and cut her life short.

Queen Elizabeth and the Reformation.

In 1558 Mary died, and Queen Elizabeth was proclaimed queen. Again all was changed. The queen was Protestant, and required an oath from the clergy to renounce the pope.

The Homilies, Prayer Book and Catechism are again introduced, and England is once more a Protestant country. The queen is now head of the church. Certain rules are made, even as to the gowns to be worn, and the queen being very resolute no deviation is allowed. It was indeed sad to see the church of England, only just free from a dreadful persecution under Queen Mary, now split up by internal quarrels — and those quarrels in many cases about the colour and shape of a preaching gown! But man likes to use his authority. The queen was now head of the church, and head she would be.

Many felt that though the dress of the clergy was made the war-cry, deeper principles lay at the root of the differences. England professed to be Protestant, but was only half reformed, as they judged, and therefore when the Act of Uniformity was passed in 1562, many declared they could not conform, and this gave rise to the name of "Non-conformists" (though this name was not formally adopted till long afterwards), or as they were called by the queen's party, "Puritans," a term of reproach because they were judged to be over-nice or purer than need be. Many of the clergy threw up their livings, and endeavoured to meet privately. But these meetings were forbidden. Some were imprisoned, and others fled to the continent.

Still this did not heal matters. There was a large and increasing number who could not conform, and these banded themselves in any way they were able. But more stringent measures were taken by parliament. Heavy fines and imprisonment were inflicted on those who absented themselves from the places where "common prayer is said according to the Act of Uniformity."

This made many of the Puritans the more resolute. Nearly all had heretofore gone to the Established church for the Lord's supper; but now they entirely separated, and began to meet in congregations anyhow they could. This gave rise to the name "Congregationalists." Others viewed themselves now as independent of the Established church, and thus arose the name "Independents." Heavy fines and imprisonments followed these actions. The parliament endeavoured to lessen these severities; but the queen was not to be moved. She was head of the church and would have conformity at all cost.

The Reformation under James.

Thus things continued until the death of Queen Elizabeth, in March, 1603. Great hopes were entertained by the Puritans that the accession of James would bring them relief — he being supposed to be a presbyterian. Before he reached England a memorial was presented to him of the hardships to which the Puritans were exposed. It was called the Millenary Petition, because it represented a thousand ministers, though it was signed only by seven hundred and fifty.

The king was now head of the church, and he deemed it sedition for any one to dispute his will as head. The Puritans found no relief. Many fled to the continent, and then began the emigration to New England, where the Puritans sought a new home in which they could worship God without hindrance. In 1620 sailed the May Flower, with the pilgrim fathers (as the Puritans were called) on board. This was followed by thousands of others until, as was calculated, more than twenty thousand had left. Many more would have gone, but the government stopped the emigration.

Charles I. and Cromwell.

Under Charles I. there was no great change, but under the Commonwealth the Puritans found great relief, and divines and others met at Westminster (1643-47) and drew up the Westminster Confession of Faith and Catechism, which became the standard of the Scottish Presbyterians.

As liberty arose amid these changes, and those that followed from time to time, a multitude of sects were formed. It became a principle that any number of Christians could form themselves into a church, without endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit (Eph. 4: 3), which must embrace all Christians; or without any care as to the setting up of barriers over which they knew their fellow-Christians could not pass. The unity of the body of Christ was lost sight of and Christians sought only the unity of the few or the many who thought as they did. Thus arose the many sects and denominations we see around us, which have been further increased from that day to the present — forming one of the darkest shadows that arose upon the Reformation; and which yet encloses so many Christians in dense darkness, both as to the claims of the Lord Jesus as Head of His church the oneness of His body — the unity of God's Spirit, to and the liberty for Him to endow with gifts, and use any whom He endows as and when He pleases. It is a startling fact that, all the sects we see around us had their origin at or since the Reformation.

On the other hand the Reformation — brought about by God — gives us liberty from the superstition and soul-destroying errors of the religion of Rome; but into which alas! we now find many called Protestants willingly being led. Will they not take warning from the history of what that corrupt church was and is, and upon the fate of that spiritual Babylon so vividly portrayed in the word of God?

There is a place of safety,

(Not many — only one),

There only have we shelter —

It is in God's dear Son.

But if we from Him wander,

It matters little where,

Outside the place of safety

There's danger everywhere.

Scotland.

John Knox.

About 1540, by means of books and general intercourse with England, many in Scotland were won over to the Reformation; otherwise, as yet, the country was Roman Catholic. In 1542, notwithstanding the strong opposition of the Romish clergy, the Scottish parliament passed an Act, making it lawful for any one to possess and read the holy scriptures. This was the first step towards the Reformation in Scotland.

Preaching was the second step. Among those who preached the gospel none were so renowned as George Wishart. He was driven into banishment for teaching the Greek Testament, but returning to Scotland he went through the land, preaching the gospel. Go where he would, the people were arrested with the power of the truth as it fell from the lips of Wishart.

Among his hearers one day was John Knox, who was so won by the truth, that as soon as he was able he attached himself to Wishart, who was equally pleased with the zeal of his attendant. When Wishart was arrested Knox wished much to accompany him, but Wishart seemed to feel that his time was come for martyrdom, and replied, "Nay, return to your bairns (his pupils) and God bless you: one is sufficient for a sacrifice." Wishart was hanged and then burnt.

Cardinal Beatoun, who had caused Wishart to be seized, was himself murdered in St. Andrew's castle, which place was held by those who had put him to death, and it became a refuge for those oppressed by the Romish clergy. Here John Knox, with others, took refuge.

One day John Rough, the preacher to the garrison, entered the pulpit, and preached a sermon on the election of ministers and the danger those ran who refused the "call." The sermon over, he turned to Knox and said, "Brother . . . . in the name of God and of His Son Jesus Christ, and in the name of all that presently call you by my mouth I charge you that you refuse not this holy vocation . . . . that you take the public office and charge of preaching." Knox was so overcome by this unexpected "call," that he could not speak. He burst into tears, and rushed from the place. Notwithstanding much reluctance he yielded, and became their preacher, and at once struck at the root of popery. It was argued against him that the church condemned such-and-such things. But stay, objected Knox, we must first prove from scripture which is the church. By the word of God the church of Rome is not really a church at all; but the mother of harlots of the Revelation.

In 1547 a French fleet attacked the castle by sea, while an army did so by land. It was obliged to capitulate, and Knox was taken prisoner and carried to France, and put on the galleys. Here he with his fellow prisoners were subject to harsh treatment by the Catholics. They were compelled to hear Mass, and though threatened, because they did not pay adoration to the Host, they refused, and used to cover their heads to see nothing. Knox relates that one day they brought an image of the Virgin and told the prisoners to kiss it. They refused, when the officer said, "You shall," as he forced it to the mouth of one. The prisoner seized the image and threw it into the river, saying, "Lat our Ladie now save hirself; sche is lycht enoughe, lat hir leirne to swyme." With difficulty the image was saved. In about nineteen months, after much suffering Knox obtained his release.

On the release of Knox (in 1549) he came to England. Henry VIII. being now dead, Cranmer had more freedom. Knox was appointed preacher at Berwick. Here he freely preached against the papacy. He was attacked by Tonstal, Bishop of Durham; but this, with Knox's defence only increased his popularity. From Berwick he was removed to Newcastle, and, according to Strype, was made chaplain to Edward in 1551. From Newcastle he was removed to London.

At Berwick Knox met with a family named Bowes, and formed an attachment to Miss Marjory Bowes, whom he afterwards married. The union was opposed by her father, but favoured by Mrs. Bowes, by whom Knox was much beloved, and with whom he kept up a confidential correspondence.

On the accession of Queen Mary, Knox was obliged to fly for his life. He went to Dieppe, from thence to Switzerland, where he remained, with occasional visits to Dieppe. At Geneva he formed a lasting friendship with Calvin, and employed his time in studying Hebrew.

Many refugees from England had settled at Frankfort, and in 1554 they invited Knox to leave Geneva and become their pastor. But here there were constant squabbles about the English Litany and such things, and some at length treacherously accused Knox before the magistrates. The magistrates advised Knox, for the sake of peace, to leave the place. He returned to Geneva.

Knox, having news more favourable to the gospel from Scotland, and having pressing invitations from Mrs. Bowes, determined to visit his native land. In 1555 he visited Berwick and found his wife and her mother well, and that they had not bowed the knee or received the mark of Antichrist, as Knox expressed it.

From Berwick he took a tour through Scotland, preaching wherever a door opened, boldly declaring against the corruptions of Rome. At Dun many were favourable to the Reformation, and numbers sat down to receive the Lord's supper apart from the Mass; and these entered into a bond or covenant to renounce the popish communion, and to promote the preaching of the gospel. This was probably the first of the various covenants entered into by the Scottish Christians, which won for them eventually the name of the Covenanters.

Though Knox had thus travelled and preached in Scotland, he had done it so quietly that his presence was not generally known. But as crowds flocked to the preaching he could not long be hid, and he was summoned to appear before a convention of the clergy at Edinburgh.

This the clergy did without for a moment supposing that he would appear. But Knox came, accompanied by Erskine of Dun, and several other gentlemen. The clergy were bewildered when they heard of his arrival. They could easily have condemned him in his absence; but it was quite another matter now he was present; for there were many in Edinburgh favourable to the Reformation. The clergy made an excuse of some informality, and the convocation was put off.

But Knox was not to be silenced in this way. A large room was found for him in the Bishop of Dunkeld's "lodging," where for ten days he preached twice a day to large numbers. Knox was encouraged, and wrote to his mother-in-law, "Rejose, mother; the tyme of our deliverance approacheth: for as Sathan rageth, sa dois the grace of the Halie Spreit abound, and daylie geveth new testymonyis of the everlasting love of oure merciful Father."

Mary of Guise, the mother of the infant queen (Mary Stuart) from the death of her husband, James V., in 1542, had the reins of affairs very much in her own hands. Though the Earl of Arran had been made regent, the queen dowager and Cardinal Beatoun gradually acquired great power, leaving the Earl with little more than the name of Regent. In 1546 the Cardinal was murdered; the queen dowager then took the first place, and in 1554 she induced the Earl of Arran to resign the regency, upon which she was appointed regent.

Knox was induced to write to the queen regent in favour of the gospel. But it is reported that she scarcely read it, and giving it to the Bishop of Glasgow said, "Please you, my lord, to read a pasquil."*

{*"Pasquil" is a term of contempt. It is taken from a cobbler at Rome, who was fond of satire. The name was given to a mutilated statue on which were stuck squibs and satires.}

While Knox was thus engaged in Scotland, he received an invitation from the English congregation in Geneva to be one of their pastors. Knox accepted the "call," and with his wife, and her mother, who was now a widow, went to Geneva: this was 1556. His visit had been very useful to the Christians in Scotland; but he judged the time had not yet come for a general Reformation in his native land.

After about a year Knox was invited to return to Scotland. But on reaching Dieppe he received letters in a very discouraging strain. He returned to Geneva in 1558. Here he is supposed by some to have assisted in a new translation of the Bible, which was called the Geneva Bible from being printed in that city, though it was often reprinted in Great Britain.

From this blessed work Knox turned aside to politics, and published a book, "The first blast of the trumpet against the monstrous regimen of Women." This was against queens ruling in the place of kings. It is a lamentable instance of how those gifted to preach the gospel could leave that holy work for the worldly politics which should not have occupied them; for "our conversation [citizenship] is in heaven." (Phil. 3: 20.)

In the meantime the Reformed doctrines and practices were making silent but steady progress in Scotland. This greatly annoyed the papists, and the Archbishop of St. Andrew's determined to try and stop its career. There was an old man, Walter Mill, priest of Lunan, in Angus, who preached the gospel. He had been condemned by Cardinal Beatoun, but had escaped. He was now seized, brought to trial, and condemned. But the Archbishop could find no magistrate to sentence him to death, and had to get one of his own servants to do it. He was burnt alive on August 28, 1558. The martyr said, "As for me, I am fourscore and two years old, and cannot live long by course of nature, but a hundred better shall rise out of the ashes of my bones. I trust in God I shall be the last that suffer death in Scotland for this cause."

This raised the courage of the fearful, and spurred on the resolute. They had agreed to meet in private, but declared that they would meet in public at all cost. The nobles laid a complaint before the queen regent, begging for relief and liberty. She, needing the aid of some of the Reformers, promised protection.

Knox was again invited to Scotland and left Geneva in 1559. He now reaped some of the fruits of meddling with politics. Though Queen Elizabeth reigned in England Knox was not allowed to come to London because of his book against the reign of queens. He sailed for Leith.

Very soon after the return of Knox the queen regent, feeling her hands strengthened, summoned a convention of the nobility at Edinburgh. The primate of Scotland called a council of the clergy at the same time. The Reformers met at Edinburgh and appointed commissioners to lay their petitions before the convention and the council.

The council resolved to refuse that any part of the public service should be in the mother tongue. They ratified all the popish doctrines condemned by the Protestants; strict inquisition was to be made for all who absented themselves from the Mass; all who received the Lord's supper after the Protestant forms were to be excommunicated.

The queen regent and the clergy were now resolved to crush the Reformation — the clergy promising to furnish the necessary funds. Four of the preachers — Methven, Christison, Harlaw, and Willock — were cited for trial to Stirling. They resolved to appear, and gave sureties for their appearance. Knox reached Scotland at this juncture, and resolved, with many others, to appear at the trial (though the queen regent as soon as she heard of the arrival of Knox had declared him an outlaw and a rebel). Fearing lest the attendance of so many at Stirling might cause alarm, they informed the queen regent of their peaceable intentions. She persuaded Erskine of Dun to write to them at Perth (where they stayed in the interval) not to come to Stirling, declaring that she would put a stop to the trial. In violation of this the trial came on, and those cited being absent were outlawed and their sureties fined.

Erskine hastened to Perth with the news of this treachery, which only the more opened the eyes of the Reformers as to their true position. But matters were brought to an issue sooner than expected.

Knox was at Perth when the above news arrived, and on the same day he preached a sermon against the idolatry of the Mass and of image worship. The sermon over, the people had dispersed except a few loiterers, when a priest, more zealous than wise, uncovered a rich altar-piece, decorated with images, and prepared to celebrate the Mass. A boy made some remark when he was struck by the priest. He threw a stone at his assailant, but the stone broke one of the images. This was an incentive for those present, who, taking up the cause of the boy, tore down all the images and ornaments in the church, and smashed them. A crowd had now collected, and finding all the work of demolition done in the church, they rushed off to the Gray and Black Friars; and though the magistrates assembled together, and the preachers themselves interposed, nothing could stay or satisfy the mob till the monasteries were in ruins. Knox declared that neither he nor his friends had any part in this work of destruction. He called the actors "the rascal multitude."

This impetuous act well served the purpose of the queen regent. She had now something that could be called rebellion, and which must be signally punished. She collected an army and sent it to Perth, threatening to lay waste the town with fire and sword. The Reformers quickly informed the regent that they were not rebels, and would obey the government; but fearing the worst they armed themselves for defence.

The queen regent, seeing such preparations for resistance, offered terms of peace, which the Reformers gladly accepted; the queen regent afterwards broke the agreement, which drove from her cause some of the Catholic nobles, who would not be a party to such treachery.

The Reformers deemed it prudent to have copies of their Covenant printed and circulated privately, to see who were desirous of signing it. They then felt that it was not simply themselves but the nation at large were calling for Reform. They therefore again appealed to the queen regent, but as she failed to respond, they resolved in God's strength to push on the work themselves.

St. Andrew's was chosen as the starting-point. Knox had preached there before, and he had a strong feeling that he should preach there again. Quietly he wended his way, others promising to meet him there. The Archbishop sent him word that if he attempted to preach in the Cathedral his soldiers should fire upon him.

The nobles consulted together, and advised Knox under the circumstances to retire; but the Reformer's zeal was aroused: "As for the fear of danger that may come to me," said he, "let no man be solicitous, for my life is in the custody of Him whose glory I seek. I desire the hand nor weapon of no man to defend me; I only crave audience, which, if it be denied here unto me at this time, I must seek where I may have it."

Who could withstand this? Knox preached to a numerous assembly on the day appointed, and on the three following days, without being disturbed. His preaching had such an effect that the authorities of the town declared for the Reformation. The church was stripped of its images and the monasteries were levelled to the ground.

The queen regent hoped to surprise and seize St. Andrew's, but the Protestants at Angus were quickly on the alert, and coming to the assistance of their brethren, the scheme was abandoned.

Other places followed the example set by St. Andrew's. In Edinburgh, Glasgow, Stirling, Linlithgow, and other places, the like scenes were witnessed. It is strange that the Reformers did not find a use for the monasteries rather than demolish them; but being considered a part of the idolatrous worship they were swept away.

Knox became preacher at Edinburgh; but on the queen regent coming to the city, he retired as being very obnoxious to the court, and Willock was preacher in his place. The queen regent was desirous of having the Romish worship re-established in the church; but the people met the proposition with such a decided resistance that she was obliged to be content to have it at the chapel royal and the chapel of Holyrood.

Driven from Edinburgh, Knox travelled throughout Scotland preaching against the errors of Rome. His wife now came from Geneva, accompanied by Christopher Goodman a reformed preacher.

Knox now unfortunately entered still deeper into politics, and carried on a correspondence with the court of England, with the view of gaining its assistance. This so exasperated the queen regent and the papal party that a reward was offered for the head of Knox, and many laid wait to seize him.

After this the Reformers met to consult if it would be right to use their influence to set aside the queen regent. Willock and Knox said, Yes, it was lawful for subjects not only to resist tyrannical princes, but to deprive them of authority. This is surely in direct opposition to Romans 13, which exhorts Christians to be subject to the powers that be, and where it is not qualified by "if they are pious and good;" and which injunction was written when Nero was Emperor, emphatically one of the worst of the Roman Emperors. This, with its attendant evil of mustering soldiers to carry out their views, forms a very dark shadow upon the Reformation in Scotland.

That the reader may judge how far the Reformers mixed up politics with their religion we give their act of condemnation of the queen regent. Their charges against the regent were many. First came the religious grievances, but these were slightly touched on. Then there was introducing foreign troops into the kingdom the seizing and fortifying towns; the placing foreigners into offices of power; the debasing the current coin; the subversion of ancient laws; the imposition of new and burdensome taxes the attempt to subdue the kingdom and to oppress its liberties. On these charges the Congregation* maintained that the nobles as counsellors by birth-right to their monarch, had a right to interfere, and therefore in the name of the king and queen [but who would in nowise have agreed with their act] they deprived the queen regent of her office, and ordained that for the future no obedience should be given to her commands.

{* The Congregation was a name adopted by the Reformers in Scotland.}

Knox not only gave the above unscriptural advice, of resisting "the powers that be," but when affairs began to look gloomy he mounted the pulpit and used his eloquence which should have been devoted to the gospel and building up of God's saints — to stirring up the people to renewed energy in opposing the queen regent. This he did at Stirling, after the messenger sent to Berwick to receive the money from England to pay the troops had been robbed of the subsidy, and the soldiers mutinied for want of pay, and Edinburgh had been abandoned, and the leaders had fallen back upon Stirling grievously dispirited. Knox's strong appeals gave new energy, and one William Maitland was despatched to London to solicit aid.

This was granted, and in 1560 a treaty was concluded between Elizabeth and the Reformers, and an army sent into Scotland, and a fleet to the coast. All this was done — mark you — professedly to carry on the cause of Jesus Christ! who had expressly said, "My kingdom is not of this world," else "would my servants fight." (John 18: 36.)

Leith had been fortified by the French troops; while it was being besieged the queen regent died. France and England both sent ambassadors and peace was concluded. The English troops returned. The French army embarked at Leith. The Congregation met at St. Giles's church, Edinburgh, to return thanks for peace, and victory as they termed it.

The Catholics now saw the only means of supporting their waning cause was by more peaceful means than the sword. Some doctors of the Sorbonne had come over from Paris who used their influence to win the people to Rome: but as this work was too slow, the monks hit upon another plan.

Near Musselburgh, to a chapel dedicated to our Lady of Loretto, pilgrims used to flock from time immemorial. The monks now gave out that on a certain day they would put the reality of their religion to the test by the miracle of restoring sight to a young man born blind. On the appointed day great crowds flocked to the place. The young man was led in a procession of monks to a scaffold erected outside the chapel. Many declared him to be the blind man they had often seen begging: some examined him and declared him to be totally blind. The monks then went to prayer, begging for the interference of the Virgin to confirm their religion by this miracle. During their ceremonies The young man opened his eyes. The miracle was complete! He now descended to receive the congratulations of the spectators and their alms.

But it happened that among the crowd had stood a gentleman, named Robert Colville, who being a Protestant, had grave doubts of the supposed miracle, and determined to try and unravel the mystery. Catching his opportunity he slipped some money into the young man's hand, and pressed him to come home with him. When in his lodging at Edinburgh Colville locked the door and drawing his sword, told him that he was convinced he had been aiding the monks in a wicked deception, and now he would know the truth, at the same time undertaking to protect him from the wrath of the papists.

The young man confessed all. From a boy he had been able to turn up the whites of his eyes, and keep them thus so as to appear quite blind. The monks had made him practise this, and then go about as a blind beggar, until they had made the use of it we have seen. The whole story was soon spread over the country, to the great damage of the cause of Rome.

Mary, Queen of Scotland.

Mary, daughter of James V., when an infant, had been espoused to the dauphin of France, and to ensure her education in the Catholic religion, she had been carried to France when only six years of age. In 1558 she was married, and on the death of King Henry II. of France in 1559, her husband became king (Francis II.), and she queen of France. On the death of the queen regent, Mary took up her rights as queen of Scotland, and her husband became by courtesy King of Scotland.

In 1560 the parliament met, and declared for the establishment of the Protestant religion; but on an ambassador being sent to France to obtain the ratification of these acts by the king and queen, this was refused, and the ambassador was insulted by the court. This left all in confusion.

Knox was now settled at Edinburgh, and he, with four others, was commissioned to draw up articles of church government. The result was the Book of Policy, or First Book of Discipline. This was the first step in setting up the church of Scotland. The form of government became Presbyterian, learnt by Knox from Calvin, but modified as the Scottish Reformers thought fit. One may well ask what authority had any to set up a church after their own whim and fancy. Of course it was said to be according to scripture, but how far they wandered from this may be seen in their rule that the Lord's supper was to be administered in towns four times a year, when scripture plainly says that the disciples came together on the first day of the week for the purpose of breaking bread. (Acts 20: 7.)

The first meeting of the general assembly met at Edinburgh on December 20, 1560. There were forty members — six only being preachers. Where had the Reformers found scripture for such an assembly to regulate the affairs of the church?

This same year Knox lost his wife, who had shared many troubles with her husband. She left two children to his care.

But troubles were not yet over for Scotland. Queen Mary of Scotland (being also as we have seen, Queen of France), now prepared an army in France to invade Scotland, and re-establish the Catholic religion; but the attack was frustrated by the death of her husband (Dec. 5, 1560).

Mary, now a widow, being invited, returned to Scotland (August 19, 1561), to take her place as queen. Her situation was most trying — not yet nineteen years of age, a stranger in her own country, and almost without a friend. Soon after her arrival she had a long interview with Knox, but she could make no impression on him; and he could not influence her. The queen finding that asserting her authority could not move Knox, sent for him from time to time, becoming very confiding to gain her own ends.

She also appointed Protestants to all the high offices in the state, which was the means of weaning them more and more from the strict principles of the Reformation which had been laid down. The queen by these means was working out her own ends. Being a thorough papist at heart, she steadily kept in view the restoration of popery in Scotland. To this end she was endeavouring first to weaken her opponents.

Knox, hearing that the queen was contemplating marriage, denounced from the pulpit her marrying a papist. This offended some of the Protestants, and set them against Knox. News of the sermon soon reached the queen, who again sent for Knox. She received him with a stern countenance. "What have you to do with my marriage?" demanded the queen, bursting into tears. Knox made the best excuse he could. Certainly this was not preaching the gospel, nor feeding the flock of God. She ordered him out of her presence, but to await her pleasure.

In the ante-room he found himself amidst the ladies of the court. "O fair ladies," said he, "how plesing war this lyfe of yours, if it sould ever abyde, and then, in the end, that we might pas to hevin with all this gay gear! But fye upon that knave Death, that will come widder we will or not!" For the present Knox was dismissed.

Another event brought the Reformer into trouble. The queen being away from Edinburgh, some of her household revived at the palace certain formalities that had been laid aside rather than offend the Protestants. Some who heard of these things resorted to Holyrood, and burst into the chapel, and asked the priest how he dare be so "malapert." This caused great confusion at the time, and when the queen heard of it she resolved to bring the intruders to trial.

Knox wrote circulars to the chief of the Protestants, inviting them to come to Edinburgh to be present at the trial. One of these circulars was taken to the queen, who resolved to indict Knox for treason. The queen was present at the trial of Knox, and tried hard to get him condemned. "Is it not treason, my lords, to accuse a prince of cruelty?" said the queen. "But wherein can I be accused of this?" asked Knox. "Read this part of your own bill," said the queen. The sentence ran thus: "This fearful summons is directed against them [who had caused a disturbance at Holyrood] to make, no doubt, a preparative on a few, that a door may be opened to execute cruelty upon a greater multitude." "What say you to that?" demanded the queen. Knox asked if the queen did not know that the obstinate papists were deadly enemies to all such as profess the gospel of Jesus Christ, and that they most earnestly desired the extermination of them, and of the true doctrine that was taught within the realm. The nobles acquitted Knox, greatly to the annoyance of the queen. This was in 1563.

In 1564 Knox married Margaret Stewart, daughter of Lord Ochiltree, by whom he had several children.

The country continued in comparative quiet, the Protestants going on with their work amidst more or less opposition, and the queen watching her opportunity to bring back the country to Romanism.

In July, 1565, the queen married Lord Henry Darnley, son of the Earl of Lennox, who seemed to have no religion, and who could be either papist or Protestant as occasion demanded. He was proclaimed king without the concurrence of the nobles. Some of the Protestant nobles took up arms to secure the Protestant religion, as they said; but political reasons in opposition to Darnley seemed to have been their real aim.

Though Knox kept himself as free as he could from these nobles, he was again brought into collision with the queen by another intemperate sermon. Darnley, to please the Protestants, resolved to go sometimes to St. Giles's church, and on the 19th of August he went in "state." Knox preached and in his sermon spoke of the punishment of "women" ruling over them, and said that God punished Ahab because he did not correct his idolatrous wife Jezebel. This was taken to be aimed at the king and queen, and Knox was forbidden to preach while the court remained at Edinburgh.

The Protestant nobles who had taken up arms had not been successful. They were exiled, and the Protestant party being to this extent weakened the queen began to plot again to bring the kingdom back to popery. Various means were taken to bring this about, and the plot seemed about to succeed when a sudden change was brought about by the assassination of the queen's favourite, Rizzio, who had been principal adviser in the scheme. The queen's other popish counsellors now fled, and the exiled nobles returned.

There can be no doubt but that the murder of Rizzio had been brought about by Darnley's jealousy of the power bestowed on this favourite. It is also clear that he found Protestant nobles to aid him in the scheme. Nothing forms a darker shadow on the Reformation than that Protestant nobles should have turned assassins; but, as we have seen, Protestantism in Scotland was political as well as christian, and national as well as spiritual; so that many were attached to the reformed religion who were not Christians, and we would fain hope that no true Christian had anything to do with that dark deed.

Another tragedy, well known in Scottish history — the murder of Darnley — hastened on events. The queen's affection, which for her husband had sensibly declined, now settled on the Earl of Bothwell. The husband was decoyed into a solitary house in Edinburgh, which in the night was blown up by gunpowder. The queen's want of zeal in prosecuting her husband's murderers and her hasty marriage with Bothwell, left an indelible impression of her guilt on the mind of the nation.

This deed was rapidly followed by the confederation of the nobles to avenge the death of the king. Bothwell fled, and the queen resigned the government; her infant prince was crowned, and the Earl of Moray appointed regent during his minority.

Knox preached the sermon at the coronation of James VI., and it was now hoped that the Reformation was finally settled in Scotland. In December the parliament met and decided that no prince should be king in Scotland unless he took oath to maintain the Protestant religion. Knox was appointed one of the commissioners to draw up articles for church government.

All things were not however finally settled. The queen escaping from her confinement was joined by some of the nobles who had not joined in proclaiming James VI. king, a large sum of money was contributed by the continental Catholic princes, and an opportunity was sought for again placing the queen on the throne. The vigilance of the regent was equal to the occasion, and many disasters were avoided by his promptitude and decision. An opportunity was sought, and he was murdered. His death greatly affected Knox, which was followed by a stroke of apoplexy which greatly affected the Reformer's speech. This was in October, 1570.

The Earl of Lennox was made regent, but he only feebly filled the place of Moray, and the civil war was increased by some who had supported the Reformation now abandoning it. This was notably the case with Kirkaldy, whom Moray had made governor of Edinburgh castle. This man had been imprisoned with Knox, they had shared persecution together, and it now greatly grieved the Reformer to find him desert the cause of Reform. But politics were now so mixed up with religion, that the Protestants were divided among themselves on political grounds. Instead of the war cry being "Protestantism and Catholicity," it became, "Who is for the king and who is for the queen?"

It was soon seen that it was not safe for Knox to remain in Edinburgh. A shot was one evening fired into his room; but not sitting in his usual place he escaped. His friends now advised him to flee, but he steadily refused until they told him that they should take up arms in his defence, and if their blood was shed it would be on his head. He returned to St. Andrew's. But here was the same commotion — some for the king, some for the queen. Here Knox again got into trouble by attacking people in his sermons.

In 1572* there was a cessation of hostilities between the parties of the king and queen, and Knox was invited to return to Edinburgh. He had been gradually failing in health, but resolved to go. Once more he was in the pulpit where he had so electrified the people by his eloquence, but now he was so broken down that not half the people could hear him. James Lawson of Aberdeen was chosen as his colleague.

{* Mary had fled to England in 1568. She was afterwards made prisoner by Elizabeth, and in 1587 was executed.}

Scotland, with every Protestant country was startled by the intelligence of that darkest of all Catholic deeds the massacre of Bartholomew. Knox was carried to the pulpit, and there he summed up his energies to thunder the vengeance of heaven against "that cruel murderer and false traitor, the King of France." It would have been more in the spirit of Christ if he had prayed for the king's conversion.

Knox's Last Days.

The strength of Knox now rapidly gave way. He called around him the "session" of St Giles's, he took a review of his course, then exhorted them to constancy, still begging them to have nothing to do with those who opposed the king. His politics, a part of his religion, clung to him to the end.

A lady visiting him, began to praise his labours, when he rebuked her, and repeated to her what he had said long before, "Lady, lady, the black one has never trampit on your fute" — meaning, we suppose, that she had never been broken down by Satan stamping on her foot.

On his last day he asked his wife to read the fifteenth chapter of the first Epistle to the Corinthians. "Is not that a comfortable chapter?" said he: "O what sweet and salutary consolation the Lord has afforded me from that chapter!" Soon after he said, "Now for the last time I commend my soul, spirit, and body into Thy hand, O Lord." He then asked for John 17, where he cast his first anchor, as he expressed it. The same night he fell asleep without a struggle. It was November 24, 1572.*

{* Scotland enjoyed comparative peace until James VI. became King of England as James I. in 1603, when a new set of troubles began in resisting, not now the Catholics, but the ritual of the king and his authority in the church.}

Thus passed away one of the boldest of Reformers. His preaching was with great earnestness and eloquence. James Melville, afterwards of Anstruther, said of him, "I had my pen and my little, buike, and tuke away sic things as I could comprehend. In the opening up of his text he was moderat the space of an half-houre; but when he entered to application he made me so grew [thrill] and tremble, that I could not hald a pen to wryt."'

Knox never stopped at half measures. The way the Reformation was first attempted in England disgusted him. Thoroughly convinced that Rome was antichrist, he would give it no quarter.

As we have said, Knox failed by mixing up politics with his religion, in express contradiction to the acts and words of our Lord Jesus.

Knox also failed in forming the church of Scotland according to his own ideas. He arranged the General Assembly to which nothing answered in scripture, with superintendents, and readers, which are never once named in the word of God. Still he was greatly used of God, and was the principal instrument in the Reformation in Scotland.

Conclusion.

In considering the Reformation as a whole, it is desirable to draw from it some useful lessons. We have seen various shadows amid the light. These have not been pointed out for the sake of doing so, but that we might not call darkness light.

The reformers wrought with great zeal, energy, and self-denial, amidst powerful opposition. We esteem them very highly for their works' sake. But they failed,

1, In making religion national instead of individual.

2, In putting sacraments in the place of Christ and faith in Him (Calvin had said, Baptism "engrafted into Christ" and the Lord's supper kept one in the church).

3, In mixing up politics with religion, and taking up the sword to defend the gospel of Jesus Christ.

4, In forming churches each after his own thoughts.

5, In placing kings and electors as the heads of those churches, or in forming General Assemblies, with their attendant machinery.

6, The forming of still smaller churches as liberty arose; any few thinking themselves competent to form a church. Thus man wrought, but failed amid his work.

On the other hand, God brought about by the reformers,

1, Freedom from the control and bondage of Rome.

2, The scriptures were placed in each man's hands in his own tongue.

3, The gospel of His grace was proclaimed in opposition to merit, penance, etc.

4, Justification by faith was taught, in opposition to works, etc.

5, God forgave sins, not the priests.

6, The Roman Catholic church was not the true church.

7, There was salvation outside the church of Rome.

Thus God brought about great blessing. To HIM BE ALL THE PRAISE.

STEM Publishing : For the Young : Life of Luther

Light Amid the Darkness

as Seen in the Life of Luther.

"The entrance of thy words giveth light; it giveth understanding to the simple."

Psalm 119: 130.

London: G. Morrish, 20, Paternoster Square.

Contents.

Chapter 1. Luther's Early Life — A.D. 1483-1501.

Magdeburg — "Bread for the love of God" — Why called 'Martin' — Severity of his Parents — Ursula Cotta — Luther's Music

Chapter 2. Luther at College — A.D. 1501-1505.

Erfurt — Luther finds the Bible — Thirst for truth — Bachelor of Arts

Chapter 3. Luther a Teacher — A.D. 1505.

Luther Master of Arts — Death of Alexis — Luther in the Storm — His Vow — Paul and Luther — His parting repast — Takes himself to the cell

Chapter 4. Luther a Monk — A.D. 1505-1508.

His drudgery — Search for Holiness — His anguish — Staupitz — Forgiveness of sins — The Belief — Grace — Luther a Priest

Chapter 5. Luther a Professor — A.D. 1508-1510.

Wittenberg — Luther teaches Philosophy — Bachelor of Divinity — The little Chapel — Luther preaches Salvation

Chapter 6. Luther's Visit to Rome — A.D. 1510.

No fasting at the rich Monastery — Luther's sickness and anguish — Corruption at Rome — Jokes of the Clergy — Pilate's Staircase — "The just shall live by faith"

Chapter 7. Justification by Faith — A.D. 1510-1517.

Luther Doctor of Divinity — Carlstadt — Truth not new, but recovered — Light makes manifest the darkness

Chapter 8. Sale of Indulgences — A.D. 1517.

Tetzel's preaching — Myconius and the "Free" Indulgence — The Shoemaker's Wife — The Saxon Gentleman — The parting feast — Luther's Theses — Tetzel's Theses — Dr. Eck — Luther at Heidelberg

Chapter 9. Luther in Conflict with Rome — A.D. 1518.

How Germany was governed — Luther summoned to Rome — George Spalatin — Luther to be tried in Germany — Philip Melanchthon

Chapter 10. Luther at Augsburg — A.D. 1518.

Cajetan (De Vio) — Discussion — A word of six letters would settle all — Justification by faith ruins Rome — Nothing settled — Luther escapes — God's truth precious

Chapter 11. Luther and Miltitz — A.D. 1518.

Luther must leave Germany — No, he need not go — The matter postponed, not settled — Decretals of the Popes — The Golden Rose — The truth spreads

Chapter 12. Luther and Dr. Eck — A.D. 1519.

Carlstadt — Discussion — Supremacy of the Pope — Huss and Wiclif — Purgatory — Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians — The Lord's Supper.

Chapter 13. Luther and the Roman Bull — A.D. 1520.

Election of Emperor — Charles chosen — Luther on Good Works — His Appeal to the German Nation — Luther writes to the Pope — Zwingli appeals to the Pope — Eck brings the Papal Bull — Margaret of the Low Countries — The Count of Nassau — Luther burns the Pope's Bull — Demand for Luther's death

Chapter 14. The Diet at Worms — A.D. 1521.

Luther excommunicated — Aleandro's Speech — Luther summoned — Threats on the journey — Reception — George Frundsberg — Luther before the Diet — He will not retract — Duke Eric of Brunswick — Luther departs

Chapter 15. Luther at the Wartburg — A.D. 1521, 1522.

Luther carried off — Knight George — Translation of the Bible — Monkery — Temptation by Satan — Luther visits his friends — The Sorbonne

Chapter 16. The Reformation and Its Dangers — A.D. 1522.

The Mass — "Both Kinds" — Carlstadt — Gabriel Didymus — The Prophets — Nicholas Storch — Images broken — Learning despised — Call for Luther

Chapter 17. Luther Returns to Wittenberg — A.D. 1522.

The Swiss Students at the 'Black Bear' — the New Book — Luther preaches on the state of affairs — New Testament in German — King Henry of England — Melanchthon's "Common Places" — King Henry writes against Luther — Henry made Defender of the Faith — Luther replies

Chapter 18. Persecution Breaks Out — A.D. 1522-1525.

Henry Voes, John Esch, and Lambert Thorn — Pope Adrian too "good" — Julio De Medici — Diet of Nuremberg — Campeggio — Gaspard Tauber — Henry Zuphten

Chapter 19. Revolt of the Peasants — A.D. 1525.

The Anabaptists — Count Louis of Helfenstein, his wife and child — John Müller — Munzer caught — The Revolt not a fruit of the Reformation — Death of the Elector Frederick — John, Elector of Saxony

Chapter 20. Luther Marries — A.D. 1525.

The Nuns of Nimptsch — Catharine Bora — Family Scenes — Luther's Poverty

Chapter 21. Diets of Augsburg and Spire — A.D. 1525, 1526.

Threatening — The Emperor and the Pope quarrel

Chapter 22. The Sack of Rome — A.D. 1527.

Rome pillaged by the Catholics — The Pope a Prisoner — Hypocrisy of the Emperor — Judgment

Chapter 23. Peace Disturbed — A.D. 1527, 1528.

Otho of Pack — His Treachery

Chapter 24. Protestantism — 1529.

Diet at Spire — The Protest — Protestants

Chapter 25. Luther And Zwingli — A.D. 1530.

Discussion on the Lord's Supper — OEcolampadius — Bucer — Luther and the Table-cover — The flesh profiteth nothing — They agree to be friends

Chapter 26. The Protestant Confession at Augsburg — A.D. 1530.

Melanchthon and the Confession — Concession — The Duke of Bavaria and Dr. Eck — Reply to the Confession — Threats to the Reformers — The Gates of Augsburg secured — Flight of Philip of Hesse — The cry for War is changed to Peace — Attempts at Agreement — God prevents it — Christ and Belial cannot agree — Diet ends in confusion — The Swiss and German Christians unite

Chapter 27. Attempts at Agreement — A.D. 1530-1536.

Meetings at Smalcalde — Luther's "Admonition to his beloved Germans" — Diet at Ratisbon — Fear of the Turks — A General Council — Death of Clement VII. — Paul III. — Verger — Luther ordains — Envoys from France and England — The Reformation becomes political — The Articles of Smalcalde — Death of Erasmus — Not a Martyr

Chapter 28. Insurrection of the Anabaptists — A.D. 1534, 1535.

Rotman and John of Leyden at Munster — Anabaptists and their visions — John alters the law of Marriage — He is made king of all the earth — His twenty-eight Evangelists — The Famine — John executes his wife — Munster taken — Satan's work

Chapter 29. Darkness Amid the Light — A.D. 1540.

Philip of Hesse wants another wife — He quotes the Old Testament Saints — Appeals to the Reformers — The Reformers fall — Doctrine of Marriage — Philip with his two wives — Grace abounds over sin

Chapter 30. The General Council — A.D. 1540-1545.

What is to decide in the Council? — Diet at Ratisbon — Gropper's book — Truth and Error will not unite — Death of George of Saxony — Henry, a Protestant, succeeds — The Council of Trent entirely a Catholic Council

Chapter 31. Luther's Old Age and Death — A.D.1534-1546.

The complete Bible in German — Its teachings — Luther's Catechisms — Plagues at Wittenberg — Hans Kohlhase, the Robber — Death of Magdalen — Luther at Eisleben — His sickness and death — Luther's character — Faith — Light from the Scripture — In Christ is all I need

Chapter 1.

Luther's Early Life — A.D. 1483-1501.

About the year 1497 might be seen a group of lads going about the city of Magdeburg (a strongly fortified city on the Elbe in lower Saxony), crying, "Bread for the love of God."

They were not rude beggars like those we sometimes see in this country, nor were they those who liked begging better than working. No, these boys were glad to do any odd work they could find, their great aim being to get enough to eat that they might stay at the famous school at Magdeburg, so as to be educated. Their desire, and the earnest desire of their parents, was that they should be able to attend that school, and in order to do this the boys often had to do with very little food, and to lodge in any place where they could find a shelter.

How the children in England and elsewhere ought to value the privilege of being able to attend school without having to beg their bread, or to be subject to such privations!

One day, near to Christmas time, these lads were going through the surrounding villages, chanting some Christmas carols, when a man called out in a gruff voice, "Where are you, boys?" when they were all so terrified that they took to their heels and ran away. But he continued to call them, and at length they ventured to return, and found he wanted to give them some food. They had met with so many rebuffs that the man's gruff voice only awoke their terror.

One of these lads was Martin Luther. He tells us that this was the way in which he had to obtain his education. In after life he said, "Do not despise the boys who try to earn their bread by chanting before your door, 'Bread for the love of God.' I have done the same."

Martin was born November 10, 1483, at Eisleben, a town in upper Saxony. It was about eleven o'clock at night on what was called St. Martin's Eve, which was the reason he was called Martin. His father's name was Hans (which answers to our John) Luder or Luther, and his mother's name before she was married was Lindemann. His parents were pious, and solemnly devoted their son Martin to the Lord as soon as he was born, and we shall see as we trace his history how God accepted him from their hands and greatly used him to spread His truth.

When Martin was only six months old, his parents went to reside at Mansfeld. At this time they were very poor. His father was a woodcutter, and his mother often had to carry the wood on her back to help to support her family. But after a time Martin's father erected some furnaces for iron, and came into more easy circumstances, and was afterwards made one of the council of the town.

This brought the family into good society as it is called, and Martin used to enjoy sitting and listening to those who visited his father. Martin's bright eye at times attracted their attention, and they would ask him questions, from which he never shrank. He made good progress with his studies; at six years old he could read and write well.

Martin's parents loved him, but they were severe in their treatment. "My parents," said he many years after, "treated me cruelly, so that I became very timid; one day for a mere trifle my mother whipped me till the blood came." His master too was very severe. Martin said that on one occasion he flogged him fifteen times in one day. Doubtless Martin's resolute disposition early shewed itself, and this severe discipline would have the tendency to make him more determined, even when wrong. It was a severe school; but it may have been used of God to fit him for his after course in which resoluteness was so much needed to persevere, when nearly every one was against him.

But at the village schools not much was to be learned, so when Martin was fourteen years old his father resolved to send him to a celebrated school at Magdeburg.

In May 1497 two lads with wallets on their backs, and staff in hand, left Eisleben to trudge to Magdeburg. They were sad at leaving their parents, and entering upon an unknown path. One was Martin and the other his friend Reinick, about his own age. When there, as we have seen, they had to beg and sing for the means to live.

Martin stayed at Magdeburg about twelve months, when his parents, hearing of the difficulty their son had to obtain food, sent him to another celebrated school at Eisenach, a well-built town on the river Nesse, where he would be near to some of his relations. His father still found it was as much as he could do to maintain his family at Mansfeld, without paying for the support of Martin at Eisenach.

But Martin's relatives took no notice of him, and here he was as badly off as before. He had, with some of the other students again to sing in the streets for a little bread. But he often received nothing but harsh words, which filled him with gloomy thoughts. Must he give up the studies he loved so dearly? His troubles made him weep. But no, he need not give them up. He was going to be used of God to do a great work for Him, and in an unexpected manner He brought him relief.

One day he had been more than usually unsuccessful, and was about to return to his lodging hungry and faint: but he unconsciously stopped before a house and was lost in painful reflections, when the door was opened and the good woman of the house invited him in, and relieved his immediate wants.

This was Ursula, wife of Conrad Cotta. She had often noticed his pale face had been struck with the sweetness of his voice, and had observed his apparent devotion at the church. Her husband on his return approved of his wife's benevolence, and shortly afterwards they invited Martin to come and live with them altogether.

Now all was changed for Martin. He had no more trouble about his food, and he could now pursue his studies with renewed energy. God had provided a home for him in a family professing Christianity. Happy Martin! He often with gratitude looked back in after life to the happy hours he spent in the family of Conrad and Ursula Cotta.

Martin was never ashamed of his deep poverty. He afterwards considered that this was a part of God's school to make him what he became. Think of this, my youthful readers, and do not repine over your seemingly hard lot, no matter what it may be. If you are where God has placed you, you are in the right place, and all other places would be wrong for you. And God can bless the greatest hardship to your good.

The intercourse of this pious family was blessed to the young man. He became more calm, and his heart enlarged. He was very fond of music, and learned to play the flute and lute, which led in after days to his composing both hymns and tunes for christian worship. It is commonly believed that the favourite tune the Old Hundredth was composed by him, as well as the well-known one called "Luther's."

Chapter 2.

Luther at College — A.D. 1501-1505.

Martin's happy sojourn with the Cotta family must be broken up. He had been at Eisenach four years, and had outstripped all his fellow-students; and now he longed to go to a University for further instruction. His father had confidence in his son's ability, and Martin was sent to the University of Erfurt* in 1501. His father desired him to study the law; but Martin was to be God's servant to do His work. We shall see as we proceed how God brought it about.

{*An ancient fortified town of Saxony situated on the Gera. The Augustinian convent in which Luther used to live was burnt down, with all its relics, his portrait, Bible, etc., in April, 1862.}

The professed Christianity in Germany in those days was the Roman Catholic; and at the University of Erfurt a great deal of time was spent in studying what was called "scholastic philosophy," as set forth by such men as Scotus and Thomas Aquinas, and these things Martin — or as we must now speak of him, Luther had to study, but of which he afterwards declared his utter hatred. He took greater pleasure in the writings of Cicero, Virgil and others.

Luther was not at this time a Christian, but he was a devout young man. He felt his dependence upon God. He used to say, "To pray well was the better half of study."

Now there was a library at Erfurt, and in this young Luther used to spend his spare moments, looking over the various volumes. One day, as he was looking over the books, a certain one attracted his attention, and on opening it he found it to be THE BIBLE. Luther had never seen one before, and he had no idea that the Bible contained more than the various extracts he had heard read in the church. But here was chapter after chapter and book after book he had never seen or heard of.

Only think how different the times were then from what they are now. Here was a young man who had professedly christian parents, and had lived for years in a pious family, and yet had never seen a Bible. Books were then very scarce and very expensive; but besides that, the Roman Catholics used to keep the Bible away from the people, and not allow them to read it, saying that they needed the church to explain it. But besides this, the Bibles were then mostly in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew; so that but few could have read them if they had had them. How thankful we in England ought to be that the Bible is not hidden from us! For a few pence we can buy and read God's holy book.

Well, Luther had found a Bible. It was in Latin, and he could read Latin. With the deepest emotion he turns over its leaves, and one of the first things that he reads is the beautiful story of Hannah and young Samuel. He is overjoyed. He has found God's book. "Oh," thought he "if God would but give me such a book for my own." But he must leave it, but only to return again and again as opportunities offered. The more he read, the more he wondered and admired. It was light — God's light — amid the darkness.

Thus God had brought His servant Luther to His book, the Bible. God had many a battle for His servant to fight; and for this he must have God's weapon, and be able to use it. Well, the Bible is the weapon God gives to His servants — it is "the sword of the Spirit which is the word of God" — and I have now told you how God put His own weapon into Luther's hands.

He not only valued the Bible himself, but as he discerned its value as God's book he recommended it to others. To a student who was laboriously studying the law, he recommended the law of God. "He who knows the text of the law thoroughly," said Luther, "will never go wrong. We must do the same, study the text of the Bible, and not busy ourselves so much with systems and commentaries.

At the spring head we find the purest water, and we see better with our own eyes than with another's."

About this time Luther became very ill. He had been up for his examination. He was successful and was now a Bachelor of Arts, but through excessive study his health had been seriously affected, and many thought he would die. He was a favourite with the whole University, and much sympathy was shewn towards the sick young man, and many came to see him. One, a venerable old man, had observed the attention of the young student, and he now came to visit him. To him Luther deplored that he was soon to be summoned away. But the old man replied, "My dear bachelor, take courage! you will not die this time. Our God will yet make you His instrument in comforting many others. For God lays His cross upon those whom He loves, and those who bear it patiently gain much wisdom." This comforted Luther, and he often remembered it afterwards. It was as a word from God to his soul.

Chapter 3.

Luther a Teacher — A.D. 1505.

Luther soon recovered and resumed his studies until 1505, when he was made Master of Arts. The University of Erfurt was now the most celebrated in Germany; and to be Master of Arts was no mean honour. Luther was duly installed with all the pomp usual in those days; there was a procession by torchlight and a general rejoicing.

Luther began now to teach philosophy, though he continued his studies, turning his chief attention to the law according to the special desire and purpose of his father concerning him. But, as we have said, God intended Luther for His servant, and the law must not be his study. To this end God made him unhappy and unsatisfied with all his learning and with all his studies. His conscience would not let him rest. He knew too much of God's hatred to sin, and too much of what would be the penalty of sin unless he were a recipient of the grace of God. Could he honestly say he believed he was a recipient of that grace? He was compelled to answer, No; he could not. Then how could he be happy? What would studying to be a lawyer do for a guilty conscience? No. He must seek by all means to obtain a good hope of eternal life. But at present his alarm was to be increased.

One morning a report was raised that Luther's friend Alexis had been murdered. Luther hastened to ascertain the truth of the report. Alas, it was true: the young man was dead. "What would become of me," thought Luther, "if I were thus suddenly called away?" He could answer the question only with groans, and fearful misgivings filled his soul. But God was leading him on, and he must yet have deeper trouble of soul.

It was still the year 1505, and Luther paid a visit to his parents at Mansfeld during the vacation. He returns to the University, to pursue his study of the law. But when only a short distance from Erfurt he was overtaken by a dreadful storm of thunder and lightning. A thunder-bolt fell close to his side, another might end his existence. He falls on his knees in the greatest agony of mind. What if his time has come! and he unprepared! How can he meet judgment? How can he meet God? He takes it as a call from God, and he makes a vow that if God delivers him from the threatened death he will devote himself entirely to His service.*

{* It is said by some that his friend Alexis was travelling with Luther at this time, and that the thunderbolt that frightened Luther killed Alexis. But the account we give we believe to be the best authenticated.}

Alas, poor Luther, he knew not as yet the value of the blood of Christ that would have cleansed him at once from all his sins, and have given him the good and certain hope of eternal life he so much desired; but instead of this he thinks he must make a vow to serve God in order to be saved. We must not be surprised at this, for those were days of gross darkness, and Luther himself must go through it all in order to teach others afterwards God's true way of salvation and peace.

Well, Luther rises from the ground as a new man — not perhaps a new man in reality yet, but a man with a new object before him. The question now is, How is he to be saved? This must absorb all other questions for him. How can he appear before God? Can he go with his sins upon him? No: he must be cleansed; he must be holy. And how is this to be attained? He must seek it by all means in his power. He had desired learning, and the University had supplied it. He now desired holiness: where shall he obtain it? Ah, he thinks he knows. He will be a monk: he will shut himself in a monastery; he will keep his body under; he will pray and fast and deny himself. Thus he will be holy and attain unto salvation! He has heard of some who have attained to holiness in this way, and who have surpassed others. Yes, he will be a monk.

Poor Luther, how many a Sunday-school scholar in our days could have told him that this was not God's way to be saved; but that in believing on the Lord Jesus is full forgiveness and salvation. But, as we have said, those were days of gross darkness and this was supposed to be the best way to holiness and salvation, and poor Luther knew not as yet any better. Did we say "those days were days of darkness?" Yes, and yet in many a dark corner of the earth where the light of the glorious gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ has not yet come, this is still the way an anxious sinner would be told is the true way to find holiness and salvation.

One of Luther's friends (Rubianus) afterwards wrote to him, "Divine Providence foresaw what you would one day become, when on your return from your parents the fire of heaven struck you to the ground, like another Paul, near the city of Erfurt." Yes, both Paul and Luther were similarly arrested; but notice the difference. Paul is at once introduced to the Lord Jesus, whom he had been persecuting in His saints, and soon gets forgiveness and peace; but Luther knows Him not as yet, and he becomes a monk. This, though it left Luther still in darkness, was of immense value to him afterwards, inasmuch as it taught him the worthlessness of a monk's vow, and enabled him to deliver others from this great snare.

Luther enters Erfurt full of his vow, and is anxious that nothing shall turn him from it. He must have holiness, and this, he thinks, is the way to it. But how shall he break the news to his friends? He knows that all in the University will do whatever they can to prevent him from going and burying himself in a monk's cell. Still he believes it is God's call, and it must be done, and done quickly.

He invites his friends to his room for a simple meal and social reunion. They have music and singing and all are cheerful and happy. Luther himself seems to excite them to mirth; but at length he can control himself no longer, and he tells them plainly that he is going to be a monk — he is going to attain to holiness and heaven! They are astonished above measure. What, a Master of Arts bury himself in a cell! They urge and plead, and beg and entreat; but all is in vain. He must have holiness, and is not this the way? thought he.

That very night, to avoid further entreaty, and while his vow is fresh before him, he leaves his lodging, and repairs to the convent of the Hermits of St. Augustine. He leaves behind what earthly goods he has, taking with him only Virgil and Plautus, for he has no Bible.

He knocked at the gate, saying, "Open in God's name." "What want you?" asked the porter. "To dedicate myself to God," replied Luther. "Amen," said the porter; and he was at once admitted to his new but unknown home; and was separated from his parents, his friends, and the world at large. He believes he is now with God, and is not that enough? It was August 17, 1505. Luther would be at that time nearly 22 years of age.

The cell, it is so silent,

Secluded — light so dim —

Some hope to meet with God there,

And converse hold with Him.

The world they think is outside,

With all its sin and wile,

Yet find they've brought themselves in,

With heart deceitful, vile.

And when, in isolation,

Devotional would be,

That heart throws up its vileness,

And joy and comfort flee.

Chapter 4.

Luther a Monk — A.D. 1505-1508.

The monks were rejoiced to receive the young Master of Arts, and commended him much for his resolution of leaving the world.

But now came the painful duty of Luther's informing his friends, and especially his parents of the step he had taken. This he did promptly. His friends at Erfurt hastened to the convent to use their influence to induce him to change his mind, but no one was allowed to see him for a full month, that he might not be rescued. The blow was very severe to his father. He had designed for him an honourable secular employment, and he had pinched himself to provide for Luther's college instruction; and after advancing thus far, for all his hopes to be dashed to the ground was a severe trial. Besides he had known many who had become monks and had been ruined instead of being helped. His father wrote him an angry letter, and withdrew his love.

Some tried to persuade his father to look upon it as a sacrifice on his part to God; but he could not be pacified, and it was not till nearly forty years afterwards that his father freely forgave him. In 1544 a plague took off Luther's two brothers, and the then aged father, thus afflicted and broken down, asked God to bless his "disobedient" son Martin — disobedient for not studying the law and for entering the monastery contrary to his father's wishes.

Well, Luther is now a monk. Though the monks received him gladly, they could make no distinctions between him and his less learned brethren, indeed they seemed to delight to humble the Master of Arts. He must be door-keeper, sweep the floor, and clean the rooms. Poor Luther! what a change from being a lecturer in the University!

One day he stopped in his work to read a letter from his father, which was filled with reproaches, and he could not restrain a tear dropping on the letter, when he was startled by a harsh voice calling to him, "Idler, to your work!" He concealed his letter, and catching up the broom resumed his toil. "This is good for me," said he, "my pride must be brought down, destroyed. . . . Was not this that which I sought in entering the cloister? . . . . I would become a holy man, and where can I succeed if not here?"

As soon as he could he would steal away to his cell, and catch up a book: but the monks would soon be after him, saying, "This is how you waste your time! Come, come; all is not cleared up yet; there is the refectory, and the corridor, and the court, and other places besides. Then you will draw the water, and chop the wood. Do you think we tolerate idlers in the cloister?" Luther submitted. "I desire to learn humility," said he.

There was a Latin Bible in the convent, secured by a chain. This he would study whenever he could. But they drove him away, saying, "Come, come; not so much study! All a monk need know is to read the prayers. It is not necessary to understand them. The devil understands them, and flies away when he hears them. Learning and the fine arts are of no use. A man is useful to the cloister, not by studying, but by begging bread, corn, eggs, fish, meat, money." Then one would put a bag on his shoulder and bid him go and beg in the town. Luther obeyed, and went from door to door in the town where he had been known and respected. "O Jesus," said he, "Thou who wast God, didst humble Thyself, became a man, a servant, even to the cross! It should be an easy thing for me . . . . me a doctor . . . . to become a verger, domestic, scavenger, and even a beggar."

But this drudgery did not last long. The University petitioned the Abbot of the convent to release Luther from all such labours. This he did, so Luther again could give himself up to study. He had the works of the Fathers of the church; but these did not satisfy him. To the chained Bible he constantly resorted. Sometimes a single verse arrested his attention, and he meditated on it for a whole day. At other times he committed passages to memory, and thus stored his mind with the word of God. He also took to learning Hebrew and Greek, so as to be able to study the scriptures in their original tongues.

Still his aim was holiness and salvation. Amid his studies he would sometimes forget to say the regular number of prayers, and then he had to leave off his studies and repeat the full number. At times he was so absorbed in his devotions that he forgot his food, and many a day he had but a bit of bread and a single herring. Melanchthon, afterwards a friend of Luther's, said that in these days Luther went as many as four days without food — he may have meant without anything like a meal; at all events Luther himself long afterwards said, that if he had continued such a life much longer he must have been a martyr to his watchings, prayers, and other labours.

Poor Luther! with all his privations and all his mortifying the body, he seemed as far off as ever from a sense of holiness and an assurance of salvation. Though he had shut himself out from the world, he had carried his evil heart with him into the convent; and from thence evil would rise up and shew him that he was not holy yet; and while this was the case he thought he could have no assurance of salvation. He progressed, however, in this, that he began to learn what he was in himself. It was not the world now as an outward thing tempting him; but it was himself. What came from his own heart did not correspond with the holiness of God. Oh where could he find the remedy?

Those about him could only point to good works as the cure. "But what works," thought he, "can proceed from a heart like mine? How can I, with works polluted even in their source and motive, stand before a holy judge?" He could find no relief. If he detected in himself any sin, he would set to work with renewed energy to make amends for it in self-denial and privation. But all gave him no satisfaction when he had accomplished them. Thus he went on till he became little more than skin and bones. Like a ghost he wandered around the cloisters, making them echo with his deep sighs and his groans. But relief he found nowhere.

Once, being unusually depressed, he shut himself up and declined to see any one for several days. At length one of his brother monks, becoming alarmed about him, proceeded to Luther's cell: he knocked, but received no reply. He was the more alarmed, and burst open the door, when he discovered Luther stretched on the floor apparently dead. His friend tried to arouse him, but he remained motionless. He fetched some young choristers who began to sing one of their hymns, when Luther shewed signs of life, and gradually he recovered his consciousness. He had well nigh passed away; but he was God's man, and God had yet much work for him to do. But as yet he had no peace. He had not attained unto holiness and had no assurance of salvation.

About this time came Staupitz, "the Vicar General,"* to inspect the convent where Luther was. Staupitz soon observed the pale and haggard visage of Luther, and guessed what was the cause of his dejection. Staupitz was a Christian and had gone through a conflict similar to Luther's, but he had happily found rest and peace in the Saviour. He told Luther that all he was doing was useless. He pointed to the wounds of the Saviour as a cure for all Luther's sorrow — to the blood which He shed on the cross.

{* A Vicar-General was one who overlooked in church affairs and who inspected and regulated the monasteries. Henry VIII. made the Earl of Essex his Vicar-General.}

The conversations Luther had with Staupitz were of great value to him; still he did not find full relief, and one day he cried out, "Oh my sin my sin!" But Staupitz pointed out to him that Jesus Christ is the Saviour of real and great sinners, those deserving of utter condemnation. Staupitz could not remain with him: after giving him much excellent advice, saying, "Let the study of the scriptures be your favourite occupation," he presented him with a Bible, and took his leave.

Luther had been helped and instructed; but he was not delivered from the fear of wrath. At times he was as bad as ever, until his health quite broke down and he was brought to the gates of death.

An old monk visited him in his cell. He could not argue with Luther as Staupitz had done, but he knew his "Belief," and in that he found relief. In the Roman Catholic Church, as in the English Established Church, they have what is called "The Belief," and in it are these words: "I believe in the forgiveness of sins." This had been deliverance to the old monk; and he slowly repeated them over to Luther. Did Luther remember those words? Yes, he had said them hundreds of times. Did he believe them? "You must not believe," said the monk, "that David's or Peter's sins are forgiven: the devils believe that. The commandment of God is that we believe our own sins are forgiven."

Light at once broke into the soul of Luther. He had said for years that he believed in the forgiveness of sins; but had never seen till now that forgiveness was forgiveness. And of what avail to believe other people's sins were forgiven if he did not believe his own sins were forgiven? It was now GRACE that was exalted in his eyes, and as he believed that, he renounced his former thoughts of meriting salvation. He found in Christ what he had searched for so long in himself. He was delivered and found at least a measure of peace. With tranquillity of mind, his health rapidly returned.

Soon after this (1507) Luther was ordained a priest according to the rites of the Roman Catholic church. In the ordination service occurred these words, "Receive the power of offering sacrifice for the living and the dead." Luther at this time knew no better; but for any man to pretend to confer such a power, or to speak now of any other sacrifice than the "one sacrifice" that perfects for ever (Heb. x. 14) is perfectly shocking. Luther afterwards said, "That the earth did not swallow us both up was an instance of the long-suffering of the Lord." Luther's father was present at the ordination though he could not fully forgive his son, but reminded the monks that scripture enjoins obedience to parents.

Chapter 5.

Luther a Professor — A.D. 1508-1510.

Luther was soon to leave the convent for an enlarged sphere of labour. Staupitz (who had become a friend of Luther's since they met in the convent) had spoken of him to Frederick the Wise, Elector of Saxony,* and that prince invited Luther to be a professor at the University of Wittenberg.** Luther felt it his duty to accept the invitation. He quitted Erfurt in 1508.

{* The Elector of Saxony governed his own states and was one of the Princes of Germany who were entitled to elect or choose the Emperor.

** A fortified town in Prussian Saxony, on the Elbe. Many objects of interest, in connection with Luther and his friend Melanchthon, are carefully preserved in this place. The University was removed in 1817 and united with that of Halle.}

Now he had to teach philosophy, while his real desire was to unfold the word of God. "I am very well by God's favours," wrote he to his friend John Braun, curate of Eisenach, "except that I am compelled to give my whole attention to philosophy. From the moment of my arrival at Wittenberg I have longed to exchange this study for theology: but I mean that theology which seeks the kernel of the nut, the pulp of the wheat, the marrow of the bone;" meaning the true theology of scripture, and not the theology of the age. "However, things may proceed; God is God; man always errs in his judgment; but this is our God for ever and ever; he will be our guide unto death." Thus did Luther evince his confidence in God; and indeed his study of philosophy proved to be of great value to him afterwards. When it was sought to set it up as an authority, he could pull it all to pieces and shew that it had no solid foundation. Scripture must be put in its place.

However, in the next year he became Bachelor of Divinity, and then he daily expounded the scripture to the pupils. This he did in such a clear and simple way that even some of the other professors used to mingle with the pupils to hear his lectures. Mellerstadt, who was sometimes called "the light of the world," was one of his hearers. "This monk," said he, "will put all the doctors to the rout. He will introduce a new kind of doctrine, and will reform the whole church. He builds upon the word of Christ, and no one in this world can either resist or overthrow that word, though it should be attacked with all the weapons of philosophers."

Luther, in coming to Wittenberg as a professor, had not ceased to be a monk. They set apart a cell in the convent of the Augustines in that city for his use, and there he spent many an hour over his Bible. One day, as he was reading the first chapter of the epistle to the Romans, he came to verse 17 and read "The just shall live by faith." These words arrested him. There was a new life possessed by some, and that new life was the fruit of faith. How simple, and yet how grand! It entered into his very soul with a flood of light, and, as we shall see, again and again it recurred to his memory in after days with new life and power.

Luther was next invited to preach in the convent pulpit, but he repeatedly declined. "No, no," said he, "it is no light thing to speak to men in God's stead." Staupitz however was not to be denied, and at length he carried his point. Luther began to preach. "In the middle of the square of Wittenberg," says D'Aubigné, "stood an old wooden chapel, thirty feet long, and twenty broad, whose walls, propped on all sides, were falling to ruins. A pulpit, made of planks, raised three feet above the ground, received the preacher." It was in this humble place that Luther began to preach. One has compared it to the stable in which our Lord was born.

The place was certainly not attractive, but the preaching was; indeed it created quite a sensation. His predecessors had often been ignorant men, some not Christians, and they had aimed rather to please the people, than to do them good. But Luther knew the value of salvation, and nothing less would do for him than to preach the gospel in the fullest and freest way he knew how. His hearers were astonished and arrested. The place was soon too small, and he was chosen to preach in the city church of Wittenberg. Luther had soon recovered from his dread of preaching and was now in his true element. He delighted to preach and expound the scripture; which was all the more striking as it was in strong contrast not only with what had been preached at Wittenberg, but what was to be heard in the thousands of churches scattered over the empire. In God's truth a light had sprung up amid the general darkness — a light from heaven, and Luther was the bearer of it.

Chapter 6.

Luther's Visit to Rome — A.D. 1510.

Luther was continuing his teaching in the University and his preaching in the city church, when he was requested to visit Rome on a mission from seven of the monasteries who had a dispute on some questions connected with their institution.

Now this visit to Rome was doubtless ordered of God, for it was of immense value to Luther. He was attached to the Roman Catholic religion: he must see and know Rome the centre of it. He had known this system of religion in its general character in Germany: should he not find it in its perfection and its purity in Italy and Rome?

He crossed the Alps and made his way to a monastery on the Po in Lombardy. This was a very rich convent and Luther was surprised at the great luxury in which the monks lived. They had taken the vow of poverty: what had become of their vow? The place was like a palace, and they fared sumptuously every day — yes, every day, but it should not have been so according to the rules of their church. On Friday the Roman Catholics should eat no meat, but in this rich monastery they had plenty on that day as on others. Luther protested against it. "The church and the pope forbid such things," said Luther. They were offended, and the porter gave him a hint that he had better leave the place.

He left and reached Bologna, where he was taken ill. Some have thought he must have been poisoned at the convent, but it is probable that it was the rich living that disagreed with him. But alas! he was again distressed in soul. He had not yet found settled peace through the blood of the Lamb. Again the passage "The just shall live by faith" came to his memory and brought relief. He rapidly recovered and proceeded, and at length came in sight of the city of Rome, when he was so overcome that he exclaimed, "Holy Rome, sanctified by holy martyrs and apostles, I salute thee!" When he had known the city better he called it by another name, as we shall see.

Luther was moved to find himself in the city where were enacted many things he had read of in the classics, but especially he thought of the place Rome had in the founding of Christianity and the sublime epistle written to the assembly therein.

He was a pious young monk and he visited many of the churches and monasteries, and every step he took caused him fresh grief and pain. He had expected to find Rome the centre of all that was holy and divine, but he found it unholy and corrupt. When he said mass, his fellow priests were impatient, gabbling over three while he said one, and then bade him, "Make haste, make haste; do have done with it."

His mission brought him into company with the higher clergy as they were called; but to his astonishment he found them as bad as the priests. Some were irreverent and indeed profane. Sitting at table, he was astonished to hear them joking with one another on subjects of the deepest sanctity; thus, in the mass they had said the wrong words to deceive the people: and this they related without a blush, supposing Luther to be one of themselves. But he was not one with them. What was mirth and jollity for them caused him the deepest pain.

"I was a serious and pious young monk," said he; "such language deeply grieved me. If at Rome they speak thus openly at table, thought I, what if their actions should correspond with their words, and popes, cardinals, and courtiers should thus say mass? And I, who have so often heard them recite it so devoutly, how, in that case, must I have been deceived!"

One day the pope had promised an indulgence for all who should go up some steps, called "Pilate's staircase," on their knees. Luther wished to have this indulgence, and he fell on his knees and began to ascend the stairs (which were said to have been miraculously brought from Jerusalem to Rome). Luther toiled on, when all at once a voice like thunder seemed to say to him, "The just, shall live by faith." He was arrested and terrified at his own folly, and at once he sprang to his feet. The stairs were not mounted, and the indulgence was not gained. But what need he of indulgences when God had said, "The just shall live by faith?" He had the faith; and in haste he turned his back on the stairs and the indulgence.

Thus this same passage was pressed home upon him again. By degrees he saw more of God's plan of salvation. As he afterwards said, he had been afraid of and disliked the expression "the righteousness of God;" neither could he love God who was so just; but light broke in, and "I learnt," he says, "how the justification of the sinner proceeds from God's mere mercy by the way of faith — then I felt myself born again as a new man, and I entered by an open door into the very paradise of God. From that hour I saw the precious and holy scriptures with new eyes."

Thus was Luther's visit to Rome blessed to his own soul, while it was of immense value to him to have seen what Rome really was as the centre of the Catholic religion. "If any one would give me a hundred thousand florins," said he in later life, "I would not have missed seeing Rome." He left the city in great grief and indignation.

Chapter 7.

Justification by Faith — A.D. 1510-1517.

Soon after Luther's return from Rome, he was invited to be a doctor of divinity. Luther greatly shrank from it, but his friend Staupitz insisted. "The Holy Ghost alone can make a doctor of divinity," exclaimed Luther. But it was of no avail, he must yield.

In October 1512 Luther was ordained by Andrew Bodenstein of Carlstadt,* and had to take this oath, "I swear to defend the truth of the gospel with all my strength." This was altogether an unscriptural proceeding, but we are merely relating what actually took place. Luther had truly said that the Holy Ghost alone could make a true servant of God. Quite so. But if the Holy Spirit had made him this servant, he needed not the appointment of man, except as to his place in the University: but Luther did not see this. His taking an oath too was all wrong. If God had appointed him to preach and defend the truth of the gospel (as doubtless He had) he was bound to do it; as Paul said, "Woe is unto me if I preach not the gospel" (1 Cor. ix. 16), but we never read of Paul taking any such oath as Luther took.

{* He was afterwards better known as Carlstadt, and was called by Melanchthon A.B.C. from the initials of his names.}

It was well that Luther had to defend "the truth of the gospel" instead of the Catholic or any other religion. Luther was thus bound to the scriptures. He studied them sedulously, and taught the truth as he himself increased in the knowledge of it.

The people still thronged to hear him preach. To those whose hearts the Lord had touched the truth he proclaimed was as a great light on a dark night, and they flocked to the church. There they might be seen bending with eager intensity to listen to what was to them new truth — truth which they could get in no other way, for they had no scriptures to which they could turn.

"The desire to justify ourselves," said he, "is the spring of all our distress of heart; but he who receives Christ as a Saviour has peace, and not only peace, but purity of heart."

"Faith in Christ strips you of all confidence in your own wisdom, and righteousness and strength; it teaches you that if Christ had not died for you, and saved you by His death, neither you nor any created power could have done so."

He was of great value too in the University, where so many young men were attending his lectures. "He refuted the error," said Melanchthon afterwards, "then prominent in the church and schools that men by their own works obtain remission of sins, and are made righteous before God, by an external discipline. . . . He pointed to the Lamb of God who taketh away the sin of the world."

All this, perhaps we think, is now well known; but then it was all newly-recovered truth, that had been hidden away from men for centuries, except as God Himself taught one here and there and saved them by His grace.

Hence we come to see the great work for which God had raised up Luther: it was to bring to light hidden truth, and especially the truth of justification by faith. Man had thought that it was to be obtained by works and by punishing himself. Luther thought so once, and, as we have seen, he nearly killed himself in his endeavours to attain to it. Now he knew better. Now he preached that "sin is pardoned on account of God's Son, and that man receives this blessing through faith."

We have called this recovered truth, and so it was, and Luther saw it to be so. He denied that what he taught was new truth. He said it was in the Bible. "Let any one read that book, and then say whether our theology is a new thing. For that book is not new."

The light that God had given Luther was yet to be further spread. He was directed to make a tour and visit certain monasteries, and wherever he went he made known what God had taught him. Among other places he visited Erfurt, where he had formerly opened the doors and swept the church. He had now authority to some extent to reform abuses; and of these he found plenty. He returned with a still deeper sense of the sad state of that which was called the church of God.

But if Luther had the light — and he had — it must make manifest what was being done in the surrounding darkness. We shall soon see what a contest this caused.

"What is the world? a wildering maze,

Where sin hath traded ten thousand ways,

Her victims to ensnare;

All broad, and winding, and aslope,

All tempting with perfidious hope,

All ending in despair.

Millions of pilgrims throng these roads,

Bearing their baubles or their loads,

Down to eternal night;

— One only path that never bends,

Narrow, and rough, and steep ascends

From darkness into light.

Is there no guide to shew that path?

The Bible! — he alone who hath

The Bible need not stray;

But he who hath and will not give

That light of life to all that live,

Himself may lose the way.

Chapter 8.

Sale of Indulgences — A.D. 1517.

In the year 1517 there was a great commotion in Germany. Certain persons were sent round the country from town to town to sell indulgences. It was done with pomp. Messengers were sent on to the magistrates of any town they visited, to announce the approach of the delegate from the pope. The monks, nuns, schoolmasters, etc., turned out to welcome the messenger, who, with flags flying, amid the pealing of the bells, was escorted to the church. Before him was carried his authority from the pope. In the church they put up a large cross, to which they attached the pope's heraldic arms.

One of those who conducted these sales was more famous than others because he effected more sales. His name was Tetzel, and he was now making his tour in Germany. He entered the pulpits, and addressed the people who flocked in great numbers to the church. Let us hear what he says.

"Indulgences are the most precious and sublime of God's gifts. . . . . Draw near, and I will give you letters duly sealed, by which even the sins you shall hereafter desire to commit shall be all forgiven you. There is no sin so great that the indulgence cannot remit it."

Tetzel told them that these indulgences were not only good for the living, but they would also purchase forgiveness for the dead. Would they let their departed parents and friends abide in torment?

"The very moment," said he, "that the money clinks against the bottom of the chest, the soul escapes from purgatory and flies free to heaven."

"O senseless people, and almost like to beasts, who do not comprehend the grace so richly offered! This day, heaven is on all sides open. Do you now refuse to enter? When then do you intend to come in? . . . . In the day of judgment my conscience will be clear: but you will be punished the more severely for neglecting so great a salvation. I protest that though you should have only one coat, you ought to strip it off and sell it, to purchase this grace. Our Lord God no longer deals with us as God. He has given all power to the pope."

Thus spoke the seller of indulgences. One shudders to write such horrible profanity, but it is necessary for the reader to know what was practised by the church of Rome, that he may shun it as he would the most deadly disease: yea, more; the disease may ruin the body, but this heresy would ruin the soul.

Thus, for money they gave a paper, sealed by the pope's seal, which they pretended would confer on the holder forgiveness either for his past sins or for his future sins: for the living or the dead! On the parchment were drawn large figures calculated to excite imagination and fear, such as the hand of Christ pierced with a nail.

The people had to confess their sins, which was soon over, and then they hastened to purchase the indulgence. And here they had to pay according to their rank in life, and according to their income. Indulgences for particular sins could also be purchased. Tetzel charged for perjury nine ducats, and for murder eight.

Only think of the crime of murder being forgiven (as they said) for less than £4! Could there possibly be a more solemn mockery and delusion to souls?*

{* Tetzel gave a murderer a note on which were written these words: "As I have the calling of saving all souls, and that N. N. has paid me what he ought, I declare him absolved from his crime, in virtue of the ability conferred upon me by the holy father, and I order everybody, ecclesiastics and laity, under pain of excommunication, not to follow up N. N. because of his murder, but to look upon him as entirely absolved."}

The money came in freely. It was counted in the presence of a public notary and duly registered. It was being collected, they said, for repairing the Cathedral of St. Peter's at Rome.

This crying evil was one of the first with which Luther had to contend. It is easily to be seen that if forgiveness of sins was to be bought with money, there was an end at once of all need of the gospel of the grace of God. But Luther was quite clear that forgiveness was only to be had through faith in the sacrifice of Christ. Therefore this sale of indulgences could be nothing but a lie and a cheat. "A monstrous traffic in the church," said Luther, "presumes to take the place of redemption through Jesus . . . . It was Himself that He gave — Himself. . . . . And a wretched mountebank dares, with bellowing voice, to tender his abominable licenses in the stead of Jesus Christ . . . . but, God willing, I'll beat a hole in his drum."

The good sense of the people in a measure opened their eyes to the fraud. "How is it," said they, "if the pope has really the power to forgive sins, that he allows any to be lost? Will he for the sake of money allow any to die unforgiven?" Still, there was much need of money, and the traffic went on under the stirring appeals of Tetzel.

To cover appearances Tetzel once posted on the church doors that at Easter indulgences would be granted to the poor gratuitously and for the love of God.

This was at Annaberg in Saxony, and among Tetzel's hearers was young Myconius. He had been taught by his father that "the blood of Christ is the only ransom for the sins of the world," and that "all things are freely given to us by God alone." Now that the indulgences were to be given, he would go and get one. "I am a poor sinner," said he, "and I need a free pardon." "Those only can share in the merits of Christ who stretch forth a helping hand to the church that is, give their money," said the indulgence sellers. Myconius asked what was meant by the offer of indulgences free that he saw posted up. "Give at least a grosch" (about three half-pence), said they. "I cannot," he said. "Only six deniers" (about a farthing), they plead. "I have not even so much," said Myconius. "Listen," said they, "we will give you six deniers." On this Myconius replied with indignation, "I will have none of the indulgences that are bought and sold. If I desired to purchase them I should only have to sell one of my books. What I want is a free pardon, and for love of God. You will have to account to God for having for the sake of six deniers missed the salvation of a soul;" for he believed in the efficacy of indulgences. "Ah, ah," said they, "who sent you to tempt us?" "No one," said Myconius; "the desire of receiving the grace of God could alone induce me to appear before such great lords."

He left without his indulgence. Their offer of them free had not been real. But he remembered what his father had taught him, and he said afterwards that "As I left these people, the Holy Spirit touched my heart. I burst into tears, and, with sighs and groans, I prayed to the Lord: 'O God, since these men have refused remission of sins because I had no money to pay; do thou, Lord, take pity on me, and forgive them in mere mercy.' . . . . I felt converted, transformed. What had before delighted me was now distasteful. To live with God, and to please Him, became my most ardent, my single desire."

In his case the refusal of an indulgence sent him to God, where he found both pardon and peace without money and without price. He became a Reformer and a friend of Melanchthon.

At another place the wife of a shoemaker bought an indulgence, and soon afterwards she died. It was the custom then for the surviving relatives to have prayers or a mass said for the dead, the payment for which helped to support the clergy. Well, in this case it was noticed that the husband did not ask for prayers or a mass, and he was summoned by the curate before the judge for contempt of religion.

"Is your wife dead?" asked the judge.

"Yes," said the husband.

"What have you done for her?"

"I buried her, and commended her soul to God."

"But have you not had a mass said for the salvation of her soul?"

"I have not: it was not necessary. She went to heaven at the moment of her death."

"How do you know that?"

The husband produced the indulgence, and there sure enough it was stated that the woman at death would not go into purgatory, but would go straight to heaven.

"If the curate pretends," said the shoemaker, "that after that a mass is necessary, my wife has been cheated by our holy father the pope; but if she has not been cheated, then the curate is deceiving me." Such an argument was unanswerable. The shoemaker was acquitted.

Others turned the sale of indulgences into ridicule. A Saxon gentleman who heard Tetzel's preaching at Leipsic went to him and asked if he could grant an indulgence for a sin he wanted to commit. "Certainly," said Tetzel; "I have full power from the pope to do so." Mark this reply. This was not simply a forgiveness; it was more strictly an indulgence — a liberty to commit sin! Can anything be conceived to be more horrible or further from godliness? "Well," said the gentleman, "I want to take some slight revenge on one of my enemies, without attempting his life. I will pay you ten crowns if you will give me a letter of indulgence that shall bear me harmless." This was too good an opportunity for Tetzel to let slip. Yes, he would do it, but not for ten crowns, he wanted much more than that. They struck their bargain at thirty crowns (about £3 15s.). The gentleman got his indulgence and went his way. Soon after, Tetzel left Leipsic. In passing through a wood between Juterbock and Treblin a body of men surrounded him and his party, gave him a beating, and carried off the chest of money paid for indulgences. Tetzel was indignant, and brought an action before the judges. The gentleman who had bought the above indulgence (for it was he and his servants, who had attacked Tetzel) produced it in court. The indulgence bore the signature of Tetzel himself, holding the bearer harmless. What could the judges say? Duke George was very angry when the case was reported to him, but when the document was produced he ordered the accused to be set at liberty. It appeared to be a joke, and was perhaps so intended; but it was a great deal more. Here was a man who had authority from the pope to give permission for any one to sin, and to go unpunished both in this world and in the world to come! If Tetzel had lost his life in the affray, would he not have paid the just penalty of his profanity?

As an instance of the shameful way in which the poor people were deluded and imposed upon, the following is recorded. Tetzel had been at Zwickau with his indulgences, but was about to leave, when the chaplains and their subordinates begged him to give them a farewell repast. Tetzel was nothing loth, but unfortunately the money was already counted and sealed up. But they should not go without their feast, so in the morning he had the big bell tolled; people ran to the church, supposing something important had happened. "I had intended," said Tetzel, "to take my departure this morning, but last night I was awaked by groans. I listened: they proceeded from the cemetery. Alas! it was a poor soul that called me and entreated to be delivered from the torment that consumed it. I have therefore tarried one day longer that I might move christian hearts to compassion for this unhappy soul. Myself will be the first to contribute, but he who will not follow my example will be worthy of all condemnation." Who could turn away from such an appeal? They knew not but that that soul was one of their relatives. The gifts were readily given, and Tetzel and his friends sat down to the feast thus provided for them by the poor of Zwickau!

How the question of the sale of indulgences came practically before Luther was as follows. It is the habit in the church of Rome for persons to go to the priest, and confess their sins. The priest, according to the nature of the sin, demands penance; and then on their complying he gives them absolution, or declares them forgiven. Well, it so happened that Tetzel in his tour came near to Wittenberg, and many went from thence and bought his indulgences. Some of these afterwards came to confess to Luther, who still acted as priest. He demanded of them repentance. But they said, No, they need do no penance, because they had purchased an indulgence. He told them plainly it was all a delusion, and he insisted on their ceasing to do evil, or he could not absolve them.

They hastened back to Tetzel, and told him that a monk had treated his letters with contempt. Tetzel was much enraged, and, to strike terror into the hearts of the people, he caused fires to be made in the streets and declared he had orders to burn the heretics who should oppose his work.

Thus was Luther fairly brought into conflict with the church of Rome. He did not wish it, but he could not see the people misled and cheated, and give his sanction to it. He believed God had called him to "defend the truth of the gospel," and he must speak out. He preached a sermon against indulgences, and plainly told the people they ought not to buy them.

But he must do more. He drew up ninety-five propositions, called "theses* against indulgences," and on a feast-day when there were great crowds flocking into Wittenberg, he nailed them to the church doors. We can give only one or two of them. They were in the rough style common to the age.

{* In Greek and Latin thesis, a position, from the Greek tithemi, to set. It is that which is set down as a proposition affirmed or denied.}

"Those who fancy themselves sure of their salvation by indulgences will go to the devil with those who teach them this doctrine."

"The true and precious treasure of the church is the holy gospel of the glory and the grace of God."

These theses soon attracted attention, and a crowd collected round the church doors. One who got near read them aloud clause by clause, and as he read the people freely made their remarks. Some called out "True, true;" others exclaimed "Heresy, heresy." Thus were men's minds stirred up and the question of indulgences was fairly discussed.

But the theses were not only put up at the door of the church, they were printed, and those who had flocked to Wittenberg on the feast-day returned with a copy of Luther's theses, and they soon became known, and spread all over the country and to Rome in a few days, causing a great commotion wherever they went. Who was this that presumed to call in question what the pope was doing by his agents? It was a poor monk, but a monk led on by God.

The theses were by many hailed with delight. They had sighed over the gross abuses of the traffic, but had not dared to speak out: they rejoiced that some one had the courage to do so.

Others, who did not condemn them, were alarmed; Frederick the Elector was very uneasy. Luther was in his dominions, and who could tell where such a fire once kindled might not spread to? The bishop wrote to him, begging him not to write any more on the subject. The heads of his own monastery came to his cell and entreated him not to bring disgrace upon their order. Luther's answer was noble: "Dear fathers, if the thing is not of God, it will come to nought; if it is, let it go forward." They were silent. To others who greatly blamed him he wrote, "If the work is of God, who shall stop it? If it is not, who can forward it? Not my will, not theirs, not ours; but Thy will, Thine, holy Father, who art in heaven."

Still so many and so loud were the reproaches cast upon Luther that for a time his heart failed him. He had hoped the truth of his theses would have commended them to many; but the few who at first commended them were soon silent, and nothing was heard but the reproaches of the opposers. He tells us of his fear and trembling. Who was he to be in contest with the authority of the church? He was greatly dejected — almost in despair.

Tetzel took up the controversy in a formal manner. He first answered Luther's sermon, and then issued some counter-theses against those of Luther. We give three of them.

"Christians should be taught that they should place more dependence in matters of faith on the Pope's judgment, expressed in his decrees, than on the unanimous opinions of all the learned, resting merely on the interpretation of scripture."

"Christians should be taught that the judgment of the pope, in things pertaining to christian doctrine and necessary to the salvation of mankind, can in no case err."

"Christians should be taught, that there are many things which the church regards as certain articles of the catholic faith, although they are not found either in the inspired scriptures or in the early Fathers."

Nothing can be more destructive of the faith than to insist that the pope cannot err, and to set his judgment above and independent of scripture. Yet this doctrine they plainly put forth.

But Tetzel would not be put down. He had a scaffold erected, and after preaching against Luther, and declaring "the heretic ought to be burnt alive," he cast his theses and sermon on to the scaffold and set them on fire.

After this Tetzel employed persons to distribute his own theses over the country and a number of copies were sent to Wittenberg. The students of the University loved Luther, and no sooner did they hear of the arrival of the messenger than they surrounded him, and by fair means or foul possessed themselves of all his copies — about eight hundred. They then posted bills saying that the theses would be burnt publicly in the market place at two o'clock. At that hour crowds came together, and amid exclamations of joy the papers were burnt. This was done altogether without Luther's consent, and he much regretted the act. It helped to widen the breach.

Luther was next attacked from Rome itself. Sylvester Prierias, master of the pontifical palace, wrote an attack against Luther. It most shamelessly set the teaching of the Roman church and of the pope above scripture.

Luther could not be silent when the scripture was thus contemned. He saw the pith of the whole controversy lay now in a small compass; it was, Is scripture to have the first place, or is the church and the pope? Luther exalted the scripture, and quoted from Galatians i. 8: "Though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that we have preached unto you, let him be accursed." He closed with these words, "What if I were to lose my life? Christ still lives; Christ my Lord, and the Lord of all, blessed for ever. Amen."

Luther was afterwards attacked by Dr. Eck,* who hitherto had been his friend. This grieved Luther much, and he desired to be silent, but his friends constrained him to reply.

{* Dr. Eck was well known among the learned of Germany. He was a doctor of theology and chancellor of the University of Ingoldstadt; but his theology was that of the schools, and not of the Bible.}

In the year 1518 there was to be a general meeting of the order of the Augustines held at Heidelberg,* and Luther was invited. His friends strongly advised him not to go, fearing he would fall into the hands of his enemies, but Luther would not allow himself to be hindered from any path of duty. Here was a means of spreading the truth, and he must go. He arrived safely, and in order to bring before his brethren the questions then agitating the church he drew up some propositions (which he called "paradoxes") for public discussion. We give two or three.

{*An ancient city in Baden, situated on the left bank of the Neckar.}

"Man is not justified who does many works; but he who, without having yet done works, has much faith in Christ."

"The law says, 'Do this,' and what it enjoins is never done: grace says, 'Believe in Him,' and immediately all is perfected."

"The love of God finds nothing in man, but creates in him what He loves. Man's love is the gift of His well beloved."

Five doctors replied to Luther, but with moderation; all were interested and listened with attention, some were certainly helped and blessed. The truth was spreading. Seeds were then sown which sprang up after Luther had returned to Wittenberg. Among those who benefited by this discussion was Martin Bucer, who afterwards took a prominent place among the Reformers.

Chapter 9.

Luther in Conflict with Rome — A.D. 1518.

After Luther's return from Heidelberg he thought well to revise his original theses to make them clearer, and to modify some. These new theses he called his "solutions."

In some parts he was very bold. Thus he spoke of the pope: "I care little what pleases or displeases the pope. He is a man like other men." True words, but they must have sounded strange indeed to those who held the pope to be infallible.

He spoke of Christ thus: "It is impossible for a man to be a Christian without having Christ; and if he has Christ, he has, at the same time, all that is in Christ." True words; but they must have surprised those who held that no one could be saved without the absolution of the priest.

When Luther had completed his "solutions" he sent a copy of them to the pope, with a letter stating what had stirred him up to action.

But while Luther had been thus engaged, Rome had been preparing silently to attack him. A message was sent to the Elector Frederick requesting him to cease to protect Luther, at the same time alluding to the fidelity of the Elector to the church.

A diet was then being held by the Emperor* Maximilian at Augsburg, to which all the German States sent their representatives. The Emperor wished his grandson Charles (who was already king of Spain and Naples) to be proclaimed king of the Romans, and to be his successor as Emperor. Most of the Electors had agreed to the wish of the Emperor, but Frederick thought it wrong and would not yield. This offended the Emperor, who then to gain over the pope (who was also opposed to his scheme) wrote to him against Luther, promising to carry out anything the pope might order to be done in the matter.

{* Germany was governed at that time by

1. An Emperor chosen by the Electors.

2. Ecclesiastical Electors: 1, Archbishop of Mentz; 2, Archbishop of Treves; 3, Archbishop of Cologne. All these were arch-chancellors.

3. Secular Electors: 1, King of Bohemia, arch-cupbearer; 2, Elector of Bavaria, arch-carver; 3, Elector of Saxony, arch-marshal; 4, Elector of Brandenburg, arch-chamberlain; 5, Elector Palatine of the Rhine, arch-treasurer.

4. The princes of the empire, divided into spiritual and temporal. They each had a vote in the diet.

5. The prelates, abbots, and abbesses: the counts and nobles: each had a vote.

6. The free Imperial cities each had a vote.

Each state was governed by its own sovereign; he being Elector, duke, prince or bishop as the case might be.

The diets had the levying of taxes; enacting laws; declaring war; concluding peace. The Emperor could refuse his ratification, but could not modify the decisions of the diet. On August 6, 1806, the Emperor Francis II. abdicated the imperial crown of Germany, and declared the dissolution of the Germanic empire.}

The Elector also wrote to the pope, telling him that Luther was ready to defend himself before learned men, and to submit to their decision.

Luther was quietly going on with his duties at Wittenberg, waiting to hear the result of his letter to the pope, when on August 7 he received an order to proceed to Rome. Luther had looked for a blessing, but he was to be devoured, while Tetzel escaped. How could it be otherwise when the friends of the pope had set Tetzel to work?

All Wittenberg was in consternation. If Luther went to Rome it was clear he would never leave it alive; and if he refused to go, he was denying the authority of the pope, which all then held to be supreme.

On the next day Luther wrote to Spalatin,* asking him to use his influence with the Elector to have his hearing fixed for some place in Germany instead of going to Rome. The University of Wittenberg also wrote to the pope, begging the same favour.

{* George Spalatin, a man of wisdom and candour, was chosen by Frederick as his private secretary and chaplain, and teacher of his nephew John Frederick. Because of his excellent spirit he was made a confidant by the Elector. He was gained over to the truth, and became a staunch friend of Luther.}

Now the pope had been pleased with the Elector's refusing to sanction the scheme of the Emperor as to his grandson, and therefore he could well afford to please the Elector by letting Luther's case be tried in Germany instead of Rome. Thus we see how political and worldly matters were interwoven with matters touching the question whether Luther should continue to preach the truth or not, but God was overruling all.

On the 23rd of August the pope signed the order for Luther to be heard in Germany before his Legate. In this order Luther, unless he recanted, was to be seized and carried to Rome. But Luther did not know this until afterwards.

Just at this time there came to Wittenberg a thin young man to be a professor at the University. All were disappointed at his appearance, but his eloquence and his learning soon won him many friends, and among them none formed so lasting a friendship with him as Luther. This young man was Philip Melanchthon.*

{* Melanchthon's name was really Philip Schwarzerd, and D'Aubigné tells us that Reuchlin was so taken with Philip when a lad that he changed his name from Schwarzerd to Melanchthon. "Both words signify black earth, the one in German, the other in Greek. Most of the learned men of those times translated their names into Greek or Latin."}

The two men were in some things the very opposite. An historian has compared Luther to the positive, and Melanchthon to the negative agents in electricity. Luther was energetic and headstrong at times; Melanchthon was timid and gentle. They helped each other amazingly. Luther spurred on Melanchthon; Melanchthon restrained Luther.

Melanchthon was the very man Luther needed for other work. He was a much better Greek scholar than Luther, and Luther had been engaged in translating the New Testament into German, and now he had a companion who could give him very valuable assistance. With Melanchthon's help the work proceeded.

But this sweet and blessed labour was soon to be interrupted. A summons arrived for Luther to appear at Augsburg* and answer for himself. His friends were greatly alarmed. One and another wrote to him begging him not to venture on the journey. And Count Albert of Mansfeldt sent a message for him not to go, because certain nobles had bound themselves by an oath to waylay and murder him.

{* Augsburg is situated in a beautiful plain near the confluence of the Lech and the Werlach. It is now incorporated with the kingdom of Bavaria.}

Luther could not be moved. He said, "They have already torn to pieces my honour and my good name. All I have left is my wretched body. Let them have it: they will but shorten my life by a few hours." Confiding in God, he set out on foot.

From Wittenberg he went to Weimar; thence to Nuremberg. From here Link, preacher of Nuremberg, and Leonard an Augustine monk, determined to accompany Luther to Augsburg.

To whom shall we turn, O Lord,

But to Thyself on high?

Men threaten Thy work to mar,

To Thee for help we fly.

A present God Thou wilt be,

Each step along the way;

In ev'ry storm that can come

A shelter and a stay.

O give us strong faith to live

In faithfulness to Thee;

To lean on Thy strength, O Lord,

And conquerors we shall be.

Chapter 10.

Luther at Augsburg — A.D. 1518.

On the 7th of October, Luther arrived and at once sent to the pope's Legate* — by name Thomas De Vio, surnamed Cajetan, a cardinal of the church — notice of his arrival. He also sent to his friend Staupitz.

{* "Legate" is from Lego, to send: it means one sent by another, as an ambassador or representative.}

On the next day a stranger visited Luther — he came from Cajetan to "sound" Luther. His name was Serra Longa. He was a wily Italian, and hoped to have the credit of bringing Luther to recant. But Luther said he must be proved to be wrong, and unless they could do that he would not submit; but if they could prove him wrong he would be humble and obedient. With this, Serra Longa left him, full of hope.

But the friends, to whom the Elector Frederick had commended Luther, now came to him and persuaded him that it would be madness on his part to appear before the Legate before he had obtained from the Emperor a safe-conduct.* Luther said he did not think it necessary, but they insisted and set to work to obtain it.

{* A "safe-conduct" is a warrant of security granted by the sovereign of a country, to prevent the holder thereof being seized or molested.}

In the mean time Serra Longa returned to him with the message, "Come, the cardinal is waiting for you," and then he told Luther how to behave in the cardinal's presence. "You must prostrate yourself with your face to the ground. When he tells you to rise you must kneel before him; and you must not stand erect till he orders you to do so. Remember it is before a prince of the church you are about to appear." Alas! surely the apostle Paul would not have required or allowed such degradation from a fellow Christian! If the Legate required this, what would the pope want?

Luther refused to go without the safe-conduct, because of the advice of his friends. The next day was Sunday. On the Monday Serra Longa came again, declaring Luther had nothing to fear. A word of six letters, said he, would settle all. That word was Revoca, Latin for retract. But that was just what Luther could not say unless they proved him wrong.

"Where will you take refuge when all forsake you?" said Serra Longa.

"Under heaven," said Luther, looking upwards.

At length the safe-conduct arrived, and Luther appeared before the Legate. The reception was cold in the extreme, though Luther followed his instructions of falling, kneeling, and standing.

Luther broke the silence by saying that he appeared at the request of the pope, and the desire of his prince the Elector.

The Cardinal determined to assume a kind tone. He said, "My dear son, you have filled all Germany with commotion by your dispute concerning indulgences." He then told Luther that he must retract his error; must abstain from spreading his opinions, and must not again disturb the peace of the church.

Luther asked to be permitted to see the writing of the pope that appointed the cardinal to hear him.

This request greatly astonished Serra Longa and the many other Italians with him. They were so used to see persons filled with fear before the pope's legates that the boldness of Luther greatly astonished them.

De Vio told Luther he could not see the pope's brief.

"Deign then," said Luther, "to inform me wherein I have erred."

Again the Italians stared in astonishment. De Vio said, "My beloved son, there are two propositions put forward by you which you must before all retract. 1st, 'The treasure of indulgences does not consist of the merits and sufferings of our Lord Jesus Christ.' 2nd, 'The man who receives the holy sacrament must have faith in the grace offered to him.'"

De Vio said he would prove them wrong from scripture; yet did not attempt that, but quoted what certain persons in the church had said.

Luther objected.

"The pope has authority and power over all things," said De Vio.

"Save the scriptures," said Luther.

They then came to the second point, the necessity of faith. On this Luther was very firm. "I will not yield that point, and by God's help I will hold to it to the end."

"You must this very day retract that very article," said De Vio, . . . . "or I will proceed to reject and condemn all your doctrine."

"I have no will but the Lord's," said Luther. "He will do with me what seemeth good in His sight. But had I a hundred heads I would rather lose them all than retract the testimony I have borne to the holy christian faith."

"I am not come here to argue with you," replied De Vio. "Retract, or prepare to endure the punishment you have deserved."

Luther saw it was no use continuing the discussion, and thought it best to answer in writing. "Do you wish," said De Vio, "that I should give you a safe-conduct to Rome?"

Luther took care to decline this. It would have been putting his head in the lion's mouth. He left the hall. On his reaching his lodging he was agreeably surprised to find his friend Staupitz had arrived. He advised Luther to answer in writing.

Staupitz, who was Vicar-General of the order of Augustines, proposed to Luther to disconnect him from that fellowship. This was for two reasons; one, that if Luther was condemned, it would save disgrace to the whole; and secondly, if the cardinal commanded Staupitz to insist on Luther's silence, he could now say that he had no control over him.

On the next day, again Luther appeared before the Cardinal. The Elector had sent two of his councillors — the knight Philip Von Feilitzsch and Dr. Ruhel — with instructions for them to see well after the safety of Luther.

Luther had written out his answer. He read, "What I have taught, I, to this hour, regard as right, true, and christian. Nevertheless I am but a man, and I may be mistaken. I am therefore willing to be instructed and corrected wherever I may have erred. . . . But I solemnly protest against . . . . that strange assumption which would oblige me to retract, without having convicted me of error."

"My dear friend," said De Vio, "I beseech you to abandon this useless design . . . . . retract: such is the pope's will. Whether it be your will or not matters little."

Luther said plainly "I cannot retract."

De Vio, however, would not let it appear that he could not refute Luther, especially before the respectable witnesses then present; so he began to talk, and argue, and quote opinions of others as fast as he could, without giving Luther the least opportunity to reply. Again and again Luther tried to speak, but on went the Cardinal as fast as ever. Staupitz now begged him to allow Luther to speak; but he would not, on he went with his harangue.

Luther saw it was no use attempting to reply, and at length he begged that he might be permitted to reply in writing. Luther's friends joined in the request, and at length the Cardinal consented.

He carefully prepared his answer. Luther denied that "the treasure of indulgences is the merit of the Lord Jesus Christ and the saints," which the Roman Catholics maintained.* Neither could indulgences consist in the merits of Christ alone; for they excused men from good works; whereas God quickened us to perform them.

{* They hold that this "treasure of indulgences" is given into the power of the pope, by which he can remit the punishment due to sin.}

On the second point, he maintained that there could be no justification but by faith. This was really Luther's great theme; nay more, his one great work was, as we have seen, to bring out clearly the truth of justification by faith. Therefore he could by no means give up faith. His opponents held that it was by works, and penances, indulgences, absolutions, and anything and almost everything but faith. Now Luther declared it was by faith alone.

One might perhaps ask, Why all this ado about one man preaching this truth. Why? The reason is that it entirely destroyed their system. If justification is by faith in Christ, there was no need of indulgences; and if there was no need of indulgences, there was no money coming for them. Besides it told in another way. If scripture was the first and last appeal as to what is truth, then the pope lost his influence, for he must be judged by the scripture the same as any other man.

This will account for why Luther could not be permitted to go on. In a word, he must be put down and silenced, or the pope and the whole system would be shaken to the foundation. Therefore De Vio must not give up the contest easily.

The Cardinal read Luther's reply, but told him that it was all in vain — he must retract.

Luther then shewed the Cardinal that even the constitution of pope Clement VI. did not say what the catholics said it did, and in which they boasted. But it was all to no purpose. The Cardinal only called out "Retract, retract."

Luther asked that his reply might be sent to the pope. This caused a moment's respite, when the Cardinal exclaimed, "Retract, or return no more."

Luther was struck with the words "return no more." He bowed and retired.

Peace filled his soul. By God's grace he had stood firm to the truth; he could leave results to God. Apart from this inward peace there was indeed enough to trouble him. All sorts of rumours were being reported to him, some declaring that if he did not retract he was to be seized and thrown into prison. But he trusted in God, and was at rest.

The Cardinal, on the other hand, was much disturbed. He saw no way out of the difficulty, and he was now sorry that he had not used milder means with Luther. So he sent off a messenger for Staupitz. "Try now," said De Vio to the Vicar-General, "to prevail upon your monk and induce him to retract. Really I am pleased with him on the whole, and he has no better friend than myself."

"I have already used my endeavours," said Staupitz, "and I will now again advise him humbly to submit to the church."

"You must give him," said De Vio, "proper answers from the scriptures."

"I must confess that that is beyond my power," replied Staupitz.

Staupitz then returned to Luther and begged him to make some concession.

"Refute the scripture I have brought forward," urged Luther.

"That is beyond my power," confessed Staupitz.

"Very well," replied Luther, "my conscience will not allow me to retract."

Luther then wrote to the Elector through Spalatin, "I have neither hope nor confidence in the Legate. I am resolved not to retract a single syllable."

He also wrote to Wittenberg, telling them the state of affairs; and stating how peaceful he felt amidst it all, feeling that his cause was that of "the faith of Jesus Christ, and of the grace of God," adding the memorable words, "I seem to feel that prayer is being made for me."

The Cardinal had promised to send to Luther in writing, stating definitely what he requested him to retract. As this did not arrive, Luther asked Dr. Link to visit the Cardinal. He did so, and found that the Cardinal had despatched Luther's answer to Rome by a swift messenger, and he was waiting the messenger's return.

These tidings filled the friends of Luther with alarm: they feared they would all be seized and imprisoned. Staupitz and Link left the town, and travelled by different routes, leaving poor Luther in the jaws of the lion as they feared.

The next day Luther did not hear from the Cardinal, so he wrote a humble letter to him, confessing that he had not conducted his case so meekly as he might have done. He asked that his cause might be submitted to the pope, for the church to decide what was to be retracted.

To this letter Luther received no reply, and his friends strongly urged Luther to draw up an appeal to the pope, and leave the town. For four days he had waited uselessly, he therefore resolved to write the Cardinal another letter, telling him that he should leave the place, reminding him of his orders to retract or not to appear in his presence again. This letter was not to be delivered to the Cardinal till after Luther had left. He also wrote an appeal to the pope which a friend promised to have posted up at the door of the Cathedral two or three days after his departure.

Thus all was prepared, and early before daybreak (being urged by his friends to use every precaution) he mounted a horse brought to the monastery without boots, spurs, or sword. Accompanied by a mounted guide, they proceeded in the dark through the city. An official, named Lange-mantel, had ordered one of the gates to be opened for them. They passed quietly through and were free. Once out of the city, they put spurs to their horses and were soon out of sight.

When the Cardinal heard of Luther's departure, he was greatly incensed. He had hoped to have brought the matter to some sort of a conclusion, but now all his expectations were banished. That Luther had thus escaped filled the Italians with rage. Such a thing as a monk being brought before a prince of the church, and not being humbled, or condemned, had never before been heard of. The Roman Catholic church was powerful in those days; but God and His truth were more powerful. This fact they had not yet learned.

To buy the truth and sell it not,

Is God's own word to us;

He freely sells, and sells to all,

Though empty be their purse.

Come buy the wine and milk, He says,

Without a price or cost:

Why buy ye that which is not bread,

By which your toil is lost?

Yet truth God gives, for it is far

Too precious to be bought:

It cost our Lord His life, and now

To us with life is fraught.

Then let us keep it — sell it not,

It is of heavenly birth:

To Him we owe our lives, ourselves,

And all we have of worth.

Chapter 11.

Luther and Miltitz — A.D. 1518.

Luther on his journey home saw a copy of the brief of the pope to the Cardinal in which he saw that he was already judged by Rome and condemned; and that the Cardinal had orders, unless Luther recanted, to seize and carry him to Rome. He was naturally filled with indignation, and he saw at once the great danger he had run. It was indeed God who had protected him.

The Cardinal next wrote to the Elector, giving his version of the conference, and requesting the Elector to send Luther to Rome, or at least to banish him from his dominions.

The Elector sent this letter on to Luther. It filled him with the utmost indignation. He was to be condemned without being proved to be wrong.

To know this was necessary for Luther, and was blessed of God. He had fondly hoped that when errors had been pointed out, the rulers of the church would have rejected them. He had yet to learn that they deliberately chose error and rejected the truth. Luther had learnt a good portion of truth: he had yet to learn what the church of Rome was. This he was learning by degrees. This letter before him was to this end. He saw that at all cost he was to be condemned, right or wrong, to save the church.

This stirred up his spirit and revived his courage. He wrote to the Elector, begging him not to send him to Rome. To banishment he would go if the Elector wished it.

The Elector wrote to the Cardinal, and told him plainly that it was unreasonable to expect Luther would retract until he had been shewn to be wrong. He also declined to send him to Rome or to banish him from his dominions.

Luther proceeded to draw up a report of the conference, that all might judge how matters stood. He felt sure that things could not rest as they were. A storm would surely be raised, and it might burst on him at any moment; so he set his house in order, ready to depart into banishment at any time if that was his path. But he was full of courage. "Having tucked up my gown and girded up my loins," said he, "I am ready . . . . God is everywhere." His thoughts turned to France.

A storm was brewing, and Luther was given to understand from the Elector that he had better leave Wittenberg. He prepared to go, but previously he called around him all his friends to a farewell repast. They met, and were enjoying each other's friendship, when a letter was brought in haste to Luther. It was from the court, asking why he was so long in going. All were filled with dismay. They could speak but little: they sat and wept. Still he felt his path was now to leave, but whither could he go? "Commend my soul to Christ," said Luther to his friends. While still lost in deep concern and thoughtfulness another letter was brought. He need not go. There was a new envoy from the pope, and he hoped all could be arranged.

Luther now published the report of the conference at Augsburg. The Elector had sent to ask him not to issue it, but the request came too late. Luther summed it up thus: "What a new, what an amazing crime to seek after light and truth!" This was judged to be a crime in those days; for the Catholic church would best flourish in error and darkness.

Luther saw clearly that nothing was to be gained from the pope, and instead of the matter being soon settled, he foresaw that the battle between truth and error had not more than begun; so, though he still styled the pope "God's Vicar on earth," he formally appealed from the decision of the pope to a general council of the church. This was on November 28, 1518. The matter must no longer remain a question between Luther and the pope; but the whole Catholic church must have the truth presented to it, and choose either that or error.

The pope however would not quietly let the settling of the question slip out of his own hands, so he despatched a new representative to Germany, who was to try and bring Luther to terms, or he was to bring him to Rome. For this latter purpose he was furnished with seventy "Bulls"* to post up in the various towns he passed through, so as to overcome all and prevent any from taking Luther's part. This new Legate was Miltitz, chamberlain to the pope, and canon of Mayence. Being a Saxon by birth, great hopes were placed in him to bring the matter to a satisfactory conclusion. How little they understood that between truth and error — between light and darkness — there could be no agreement and no fellowship.

{*" Bull" is from the Italian bolla, a bubble, blister, seal, or stamp; or from the French bulle, Latin bulla, a boss and ornament on the neck. This name was given to the seal appended to the edicts or briefs of the pope, and in process of time was applied to the brief itself.}

Miltitz laid his plans discreetly. He heard such complaints against Tetzel that he summoned him into his presence; but the poor fellow (who had for some time been obliged to give up his traffic in indulgences) was afraid to come, though he made as an excuse that he was afraid of the adherents of Luther.

Miltitz hastened to have an interview with Luther; and by soft speeches they were enabled to draw up a paper, agreeing to:

1. Both sides were to be silent on the subjects in dispute.

2. A bishop was to investigate the matter, to point out the errors to Luther, who promised to retract them, and never more do anything to "lessen the honour or authority of the holy Roman church."

As we said before, Luther had received a large measure of truth but he had yet to learn what that church was to which he was attached. This he had not yet learned, or he never would have signed any such paper as that. As yet he was the servant of Rome.

Miltitz was delighted at his success, he invited Luther to a repast, where he appeared very friendly, and he kissed Luther at parting. Luther feared lest it might be "a Judas' kiss."

After all there was no real progress made in the matter. A bishop was to convince Luther; and if so, Luther was to retract. The battle had not yet been fought; it was only postponed.

Miltitz then proceeded to Leipsic, where he summoned Tetzel before him, and severely rebuked him, declaring that he had been the cause of all the evil. Thus the poor wretch who had served the church so zealously was now condemned. It was also proved that he had robbed the church of large sums of money; and in thorough disgrace he died in misery shortly afterwards.

Just about this time the Emperor Maximilian died, and the Elector of Saxony took the management of affairs until a new emperor could be appointed. This turned the current of events. The pope must now be friendly to the Elector, in the hope that he would oppose the election of the king of Naples as emperor. And for the time being Luther must be let alone, rather than give offence to the Elector.

Luther now began to study the Decretals of the popes.* This was of value to him, because these decretals gave him great insight into the sayings and doings of the popes. He was surprised, grieved, and confounded at what he read; and at length was obliged to ask himself if the pope were not Antichrist or at least his apostle.

{* This is a collection of the decrees of the various popes: it forms a part of the canon law of the Romish church.}

Miltitz discovered that he had not really obtained any victory over Luther, and he therefore laid a plan to decoy him into the states of the Archbishop of Treves under the pretence of the Archbishop's investigating his cause. Here he would be away from the control of the Elector Frederick, and could be dealt with as they thought proper.

Luther wisely declined to go, giving various reasons, without positively refusing. Just at this juncture Miltitz and De Vio repaired to Frederick, and announced to him that "the Golden Rose"* had arrived, a present from the pope to himself; which they hoped would be a favourable time to influence Frederick against Luther. But Frederick had now supreme power, and cared but little for the pope or his nuncios. The Archbishop too had reasons for not offending Frederick, and therefore he did not press his request; and so they agreed to let the matter rest until the next Diet.

{* "The Golden Rose" was deemed to represent the body of Jesus Christ. One was consecrated each year by the pope, and was given to one of the leading princes or rulers of the countries attached to the Roman Catholic religion. It was considered a great favour to receive one.}

While they waited for the Diet, the truth was rapidly spreading. Luther's writings were printed and reprinted and sold by thousands over England, Germany, France, Switzerland, Italy and Spain. At this time there were but very few Bibles and Testaments, and people knew but little of their contents except what was read in the churches, and what was told them by the priests. Those were indeed days of darkness and error; and in every place where the writings of Luther came they were hailed with delight. Though not faultless in many respects, yet they contained a great deal of truth — and especially that truth, that great truth, that sinful man was to be justified by faith — simple faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and not by works and penances.

Chapter 12.

Luther and Dr. Eck — A.D. 1519.

The light and truth was to spread by other means. Dr. Eck took up the controversy at first with Carlstadt, and then with Luther. Both sides had agreed to be silent. Whether Luther was right in promising this is questionable — however he had promised it; but he was to be released from his promise by one of the pope's friends commencing the contest.

Another question was now taken up — a much more delicate one to handle without giving offence. It was no longer the right or wrong of indulgences — it was the power and authority of the pope himself. The Elector was in alarm and indeed all his court; for they could but see it was like stirring up a hornet's nest. Luther was calm and bold. He knew it was God's cause; and it must go on.

It was arranged for a public discussion to be held at Leipsic between Eck and Carlstadt. Leipsic is situated in the dominions of Duke George. Luther wrote to the duke, begging permission to be present and to take part in the discussion. This request the duke would not grant. He might be present as a spectator, but he must be silent.

The bishop of the diocese was in great alarm that such a question should be discussed in public, and he entreated the duke not to allow it. But the duke's answer was very cutting: "I am surprised to find a bishop holding in abhorrence the ancient and laudable custom of our fathers to inquire into doubtful questions in matters of faith. If your theologians object to defend their doctrines, the money given them would be better disposed in maintaining old women and children who at least might sew and sing."

Great commotion was caused at Leipsic by the arrival of those who were to take part in the discussion; and the more the theologians tried to stop the discussion, so much the more interest was taken in it by many. The students also were eager for it, already forming themselves into two parties; some for Carlstadt, and some for Eck.

No sooner did Eck learn that Luther had arrived than he hastened to him and said, "What is this? I am told you object to dispute with me." Luther told him the duke forbade him. Eck disdained to dispute with Carlstadt; he wanted a more noted champion, for he felt sure of victory. So he hastened off to the duke and begged him to give his permission for Luther to discuss with him. He assured the duke there was nothing to fear; he was sure of victory. The duke consented.

The first question was "Man's will previous to his conversion." It was between Eck and Carlstadt. The question really was this — Was man entirely lost in his condition and dead towards God?

At length Luther had to enter the lists against Eck, and, as we have said, the question was the supremacy of the pope.

Eck's first assertion was that the church must have a head.

Luther assented, but insisted that that head was Christ, and not the pope.

Eck then appealed to the Fathers; they had supported the pope.

Luther went farther back, and the Fathers then said all had equal rank. The Council of Africa had also said the same.

Eck quoted the passage, "Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church." (Matt. xvi. 18.) St. Augustine had said that the rock was Peter, and the pope was his successor.

Luther shewed that Augustine had also said, and many times, that the rock was Christ. But he had higher authority than Augustine. Scripture said, "Other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ." (1 Cor. iii. 11.) Peter himself calls Christ the chief corner stone and living rock, on which we are built up a spiritual house. (1 Peter ii. 4, 5.)

Eck was beaten, but not abashed. He resorted to the artful stratagem of alluding to Huss and the Bohemians. Did Luther hold with them?

Luther admitted that the Bohemians in separating "from unity with us" had done wrong. But he was soon sorry for what he had said; for Huss and the Bohemians were right on many points and held the same truths as Luther did.

When they next met, Luther at once eased his conscience by admitting that Huss and Wiclif had held some points of truth.

No sooner had he said this than nearly the whole hall was in a commotion. Were such arch-heretics as Huss and Wiclif* to be named with approbation in their hearing? The duke, in excitement, exclaimed "He is mad," and from that time he became the enemy of Luther and his work.

{* Wiclif was principal of Balliol College, Oxford. He declared the Romish church to be in error. He died 1387, but his remains were burnt by order of the council of Constance. Huss was a Bohemian reformer. He had a safe-conduct from the Emperor, but was seized notwithstanding. He was condemned by the same council and burnt alive in 1415.}

When the commotion had subsided, Luther maintained that the Greek church was as much a church as the church of Rome, and yet it had never acknowledged the church of Rome as being in any way superior to itself, nor that the pope was the head of the church.

Eck maintained that they were heretics because separated from the Roman church.

Luther maintained that the Roman pontiffs could not make articles of faith, as they had done. The scripture was the only authority for the Christian.

The discussion on the supremacy of the pope lasted five days. Then followed "Purgatory."* Luther up to this time admitted the doctrine of purgatory, but not exactly as his opponents did. It was by degrees Luther advanced in truth.

{* The doctrine of Purgatory, as held by the Roman Catholics, is that there is a place "in which the souls of just men are cleansed by a temporary punishment in order to be admitted into their eternal country, into which nothing defiled entereth." This is a doctrine entirely opposed to many clear statements of scripture. Notice, it says that Purgatory is for just men: scripture says of such "the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin." (1 John i. 7.) The Father "hath made us meet [fit] to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light." (Col. i. 12.)}

The question of indulgences came next. These Eck could not uphold. Other minor questions followed. Luther closed the discussion by extolling the scripture as the chief authority.

After this Carlstadt and Eck discussed for two days on the merits of man in good works.

The whole discussion had lasted twenty days. Doubtless both thought they had the victory. This was not the question of most importance. What was so striking was that for so many days learned and devout men could stand up and say so much against what the mass of people held to be impregnable. Against the church of Rome had been hurled not simply arguments and words, but facts had been elicited. The Roman Catholic church had professed to be universal, but Luther had shewn that the Greek church contained its thousands who never belonged to the Romish church; while against its assumption of supremacy had been quoted Fathers, and Councils, and above all, scripture. Decided fruits resulted from the discussion.

It was blessed too to Melanchthon. He now devoted his talents and energies more entirely to the scriptures. It was blessed also to Luther. He read the writings of John Huss, and found that Huss had held the very truths that he held and which he found to be the same that were taught by Paul and the other apostles. But in proportion as the light broke in, it shewed him the evil of that church to which he was attached, and the more was he in spirit separated from it.

Luther now having comparative repose, published his commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians. He was anxious that the truth he had learned should be known by others. "Christ has given Himself for our sins," said Luther. Man was so bad that nothing less than such a sacrifice could avail; and with this, what need is there of all beside, or of all that pretends to add to this?

Luther was next occupied with the Lord's supper. The Roman church gave to the people the bread only, declaring that the body and blood of Christ were both present in the bread. The priests took the wine. Luther saw that the people should have "both kinds" as it was called, that is, the bread and the wine. He also saw that there must be faith in the one who received the supper. The true nature of the Lord's Supper Luther himself had not yet learned.

Dr. Eck was attacked not only by Luther but by others, until he was driven to desperation, and he determined to do all in his power to crush his opponent. For this purpose he set out for Rome. He would stir up the pope to take action against Luther and all who supported him. Luther foresaw that a storm would be raised, but he went on quietly with his work, trusting in his heavenly Father. "I commit everything to God," said he, "and give up my bark to the winds and waves."

Chapter 13.

Luther and the Roman Bull — A.D. 1520.

As the reader has been informed, the Emperor Maximilian was dead, and the Elector Frederick had held supreme sway until a new Emperor should be chosen. The time had now come for the election.

There were three candidates. 1. Charles, King of Spain, Naples and Sicily, besides holding Flanders and Burgundy. He was the grandson of Maximilian, and his age was about nineteen. 2. Francis I., King of France. 3. Henry VIII. King of England. There were objections to all three. Charles was already too powerful, and Francis and Henry were foreigners. It was then proposed that Frederick himself should be Emperor. This however Frederick declined. The Turks were threatening Germany, and Frederick thought a more powerful prince was needed than himself. He proposed Charles, and Charles was elected. This was the Emperor who would be called upon to crush Luther.

But while Eck was stirring up Rome, others were also doing all they could to further the object of Eck. Two Universities (Cologne and Louvain) condemned certain of Luther's writings; while others hunted for his life, declaring openly that to kill Luther would be no sin; and it is reported that one day Luther was approached by a stranger, having a weapon concealed in his sleeve. He asked Luther why he went about alone. "I am in the hands of God," said Luther, "He is my strength and shield. What can man do unto me?" The stranger turned pale and hurried away. Thus did God protect His servant.

The Elector of Saxony had a representative at Rome, who wrote to say, "I can get no hearing on account of the protection you grant to Luther." The Elector was not frightened, but returned a bold answer. "The doctrine of Luther," said he, "has taken deep root in many hearts. If, instead of refuting it by the testimony of the Bible, attempts are made to crush it by the thunders of the church, great offence will be occasioned, and terrible and dangerous rebellions will be excited."

Luther's eyes were becoming opened to the very great and deadly evils to which he was attached, and he saw that it would be wrong to say "Peace, peace," so as to let such evil reign. No, he must continue the conflict with renewed energy, "I despise alike the rage and the favour of Rome," said he. "Away with reconciliation! I desire never more to have any communication with her. Let her condemn — let her burn my writings. In my turn, I will condemn and publicly burn the canon law, that nest of all heresies."

Luther had gained many friends among those in authority and power, who now and again sent words of encouragement to him, offering to take up arms in his favour should it be needed. Luther's reply was, "I will depend on none but Christ alone."

Luther now published his book on "Good Works." It was necessary to set his hearers right on this point. It had been insisted that to preach faith was to discourage good works. No, said Luther, "the first, the noblest, and the greatest of all works is faith in Jesus Christ. From this work all others must flow. . . . A Christian who has faith in God does all with liberty and joy; while that man who is not at one with God is full of cares and under bondage. . . . Faith comes from Jesus Christ alone, promised and freely given."

Luther next published his "Appeal to his Imperial Majesty and the christian nobility of the German nation concerning the Reformation of Christianity." In this book he was very bold. "It is against the power of hell we have to contend in this struggle. We must set about the work, hoping nothing from the strength of our own arms, and depending humbly on the Lord." He then went on to shew the error of dividing Christians into "clergy" and "laity" — the "spiritual" and the "temporal." The pope could not make any man a spiritual man; and every Christian was a priest in God's sight, though all had not the same work to do.

He next proved that it was wrong for the priests not to be subject to the magistrates if they did wrong, quoting the passage from Romans xiii. 1 "Let every soul be subject to the higher powers."

All this was new doctrine — no, not new but recovered truth. In the church of Rome the pope was above kings; and if a king disobeyed him he would incite the people to oppose their king. The priests could behave as badly as they pleased, and no magistrate was allowed to touch them. Magistrates must report them to the higher clergy, as they were called, who punished the guilty priests as they thought proper; or if not the priests went without punishment. Luther shewed from scripture that this was quite wrong.

Luther proceeded further in this book to shew how the style and outward grandeur of the pope was entirely different from the condition of our Lord and of His apostles at the beginning. And to keep up this costly pomp Germany was being impoverished. In a multitude of ways the riches of Germany were being drawn away to support the pope. Luther could no longer call him pious or most holy; but "most sinning."

He proceeded to the subject of marriage. It is a rule of the Roman church that the priests must not marry. Luther quoted 1 Timothy iii. 2: Let the bishop be "the husband of one wife."

From this Luther proceeded to speak of other abuses, and called aloud that they should be remedied.

Never had the Germans read such a book. It was at once lifting the veil and shewing Rome in its true colours. Would the people of Germany continue to be the slaves of such a power?

Many in Germany answered to the appeal with an emphatic "No!"

Though the book was addressed to the christian nobility of Germany, it touched on many subjects in which all Germans were interested. This attached many to the Reformation who were not Christians, and the Reformation became political as well as christian, which afterwards bore evil fruit.

In the meantime Dr. Eck was at Rome, using all his energies to arouse her to action. The pope — Leo X. — was too fond of luxury and amusement to wish to be troubled; but the clergy, stirred up by Dr. Eck, clamoured until Leo felt compelled to listen, and after due deliberation a solemn Bull was issued against Luther.

A search was to be made everywhere for his writings, which were to be solemnly burnt in the presence of the clergy. Luther was at once to cease preaching, teaching and writing, and was himself to commit his writings to the flames. He had sixty days allowed him to retract, attested by two witnesses. Failing this, he was, with all his adherents, to be seized and sent to Rome.

Dr. Eck was the bearer of the papal Bull; but before he published it against Luther, Miltitz again sought to bring about a reconciliation, and for this purpose had a meeting with Luther at Lichtenberg.* There were as many as thirty who went with the Reformer, for they were sorely afraid that it was all a plot to get him into their clutches.

{* A town in Bavaria, in the district of Upper Franconia.}

The result arrived at was that Luther promised to keep silence for the future if his adversaries would do the same. How he could have promised to do this, believing as he did that he was doing God's work, is difficult to conceive. He might have quoted the memorable answer of Peter and the other apostles in Acts v. 29, "We ought to obey God rather than men."

Luther wrote again to the pope, still styling him "The Most Holy Father in God" though in his books he had styled him "most sinning." He told the pope plainly that the corruption of the court of Rome was "greater than that of Sodom or Gomorrah . . . . You know that Rome has inundated the world with everything destructive to soul and body. . . . There is no hope for Rome . . . . I tell you the truth because I wish you well." "Far from having conceived any evil design against you, I wish you the most precious blessings for all eternity." "I entreat you to restrain if possible the enemies of peace. But I cannot retract my doctrines. I cannot consent that rules of interpretation should be imposed on holy scripture. The word of God, the source of all liberty, flows, must be left free."

With this letter Luther presented the pope a little book, "The Liberty of the Christian." In this book Luther said "Faith unites the soul with Christ as a spouse with her husband. . . . . Everything which Christ has becomes the property of the believing soul." On the other hand, "From faith flows the love of God; from love flows a life of liberty, charity, and joy."

In the meantime Eck was hastening to Germany with the fatal Bull. But Rome had made a great mistake in choosing such a messenger. On the one hand many saw in it a production more of Dr. Eck than of the pope. Had not Dr. Eck been at Rome begging and praying for this? it was really his opposition to Luther; while, on the other hand, the clergy were offended in receiving the Bull from the hands of merely a scholar, and not, as usual, from some high dignitary of the church, and they were in no hurry to publish it.

Eck delivered his copies as he went along, and made his way to Leipsic, where it will be remembered he had disputed with Luther. But since then the truth had spread in that city, and the students, on hearing of the arrival of Dr. Eck, posted about the streets attacks upon him. They also made up a ballad ridiculing him, and went about the streets singing it. Threatening letters also reached him, so that he was glad to take refuge in a monastery from which he stole away by night.

At Erfurt the students tore up the copies of the Bull and threw them into the river, saying since it is a bubble, let us see it float." When Luther heard of this he said, "The paper of the Bull is truly a bubble."* Eck did not venture to come to Wittenberg, but sent the Bull to the prior; but the prior said that as he did not receive a letter from the pope he should not publish it.

{*For explanation of this, see the footnote in chapter 11.}

Just at this time an advocate for Luther appeared in the person of Ulric Zwingli, the Swiss Reformer. He was unknown to Luther but he had read his works, and he appealed to the pope, begging him to pause in his rupture with Luther, and begging him to submit the subject to just and impartial men — naming the Emperor Charles, the King of England, and the King of Hungary. This appeal was not listened to. The course of events rolled on.

Luther received the Bull condemning him. "It is Christ," said he, "who is therein condemned. I am cited to appear, not that I may be heard, but that I may recant. . . . Already I feel in my heart more liberty; for I now know that the pope is Antichrist, and that his chair is that of Satan." He proceeded to publish a tract "Against the Bull of Antichrist;"* in which he says "For aught I care, let them destroy my books. I desire nothing better; for all I wanted was to lead Christians to the Bible that they might afterwards throw away my writings. Great God, if we had but a right understanding of the holy scriptures what need would there be of my books? . . . . My strength and my consolation are in a place where neither men nor devils can ever reach them." That was in Christ in heaven.

{* Luther, with others, did not distinguish between being an antichrist, and the Antichrist. Rome was the former, and not the latter.}

In some places the Bull had effect. At Ingoldstadt the booksellers' shops were searched and all Luther's books were carried off. In some of the states of the Emperor, Luther's books were consumed on scaffolds erected for the purpose with great ceremony, to strike terror into the people.

In the Low Countries Margaret governed. "Who is this Luther?" asked she. "An ignorant monk," was the reply. "Do you, who are learned and so many, write against him? The world will surely believe a company of learned men rather than a single monk of no learning." But those learned men of Louvain raised an immense pile of wood to burn the writings of the ignorant monk, and numbers hastened to the spot, carrying their books, and cast them into the flames. The popish party were delighted, but afterwards found out that many of the books burnt were not Luther's but scholastic and popish books.

The count of Nassau, viceroy of Holland, was solicited to permit the burning of Luther's books; but he said, "Go and preach the gospel as purely as Luther, and you will have no reason to complain of any one." Thus was it proved how Luther's books had spread, and how the truth he taught had taken root in some even of the noble and the great.

But Luther proceeded to act. On the 17th of November he assembled a notary and five witnesses at the convent, and he then and there solemnly appealed from the pope to a general christian council. "He charges the pope with many and grave sins." And he calls upon the Emperor, the Electors, princes, counts, barons, etc., etc., to unite with him "to resist the anti-christian proceedings of the pope." This was soon printed and scattered over Germany, and found its way far beyond. Here again we see the movement was becoming political as well as Christian. Luther appealed to the heads of the states to resist the pope, irrespective of their being Christians themselves.

On the 10th of December bills were posted on the walls of the University, asking the people to come to the East Gate at nine o'clock. As the hour approached, professors, tradesmen, and students were seen wending their way to that spot. A pile of wood had been made which was soon set on fire, and as it blazed Luther stood forward and cast into the flames the "canon law," the “Decretals of the popes," the "Clementines," the "Extravagances," — some of Eck's and Emser's writings, and above all, the pope's Bull, exclaiming aloud, "Since thou hast afflicted the Lord's Holy One, may fire unquenchable afflict and consume thee!"

Luther referred here to the Bull, and not to the pope; but such an act as this we believe to be unworthy of Luther and the Lord for whom he fought. We are told that "We do not war after the flesh: for the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strong holds." (2 Cor. x. 3, 4.) This act partook too much of the character of warring after the flesh. They had burnt his writings: he in return would burn theirs.

One thing was now clear and certain, Luther was separated from the pope and the papal church! There was no retreat now; he must proceed and conquer, or die!

The next day Luther proceeded with his lectures on the Psalms. The hall was more than usually crowded. After his lecture he proceeded to speak of what he had done, and solemnly to warn his hearers against adhering to the doctrines of Rome. "As long as my life shall last," said he, "I for my part will never cease to warn my brethren of the wound and plague of Babylon; lest any of those who now walk with us should slide back like the rest into the pit of hell." By Babylon he of course meant Rome. People had shuddered when they saw him burn the Bull; but they were strengthened when they heard his preaching.

Luther's boldness encouraged others. Carlstadt raised his voice; and Melanchthon raised his. Timid as he was, he surpassed himself in appealing to the rulers of the land.

Luther now had a strong conviction that God had really chosen him to do a special work for Him. "Who knows," said he, "whether God has not called and chosen me for this very purpose, and whether they who despise me have not reason to fear lest they be found despisers of God Himself?" Bold language, but not too bold for any called of God to do any work for Him.

He was again charged with preaching novelties — new doctrines. He denied it. They were old doctrines, the doctrines of scripture; they had lain buried and unobserved for so long that men now called them new.

But while Luther was thus progressing in his work, all eyes were turned on Frederick, and all asked, Will he carry out the pope's Bull and expel Luther, or give him up to the pope? Just now Frederick was at Aix-la-Chapelle at the crowning of Charles. There was a large concourse of princes and nobles, and the pope had sent a special nuncio to present the Bull to the Emperor, and demand the crushing of Luther. The nuncio — by name Aleandro, a very learned man — proceeded to burn publicly Luther's books. He was told that this was no use. The doctrines taught by Luther were in people's hearts, deeply rooted; they did not exist in books only. No matter, he would burn the books and strike terror into the people.

He next appealed to the Emperor to condemn Luther. The Emperor drew back: he pleaded he had only just been elected, and without consulting the Elector and his own councillors he could not strike a blow at a section of the nation so numerous as this had now become.

The nuncio hastened off to Frederick, the oldest of the Electors, and demanded the punishment of Luther, or for him to be delivered up to the pope. Frederick said it was too important a matter to be hastily decided. He would communicate with the nuncio in writing.

This was an important crisis with the Elector. Would he give up Luther, or would he deny Rome? Luther saw that the work he was engaged in did not rest upon the power of princes, though they could greatly help or hinder the work. "It is not," said he, "to princes or pontiffs that the task is assigned of defending God's word. Enough for them if they can themselves escape the judgments of the Lord and His Anointed."

Frederick, on due consideration, told the nuncio that Luther's writings had not yet been refuted or shewn to be fit only for the flames; he demanded therefore that Luther should be furnished with a safe-conduct and permitted to answer for himself before a tribunal composed of learned, pious, and impartial judges.

It was in vain to appeal to the Emperor. Charles clearly saw that the cause of Luther might be of great use to him. If he wanted to please the pope he could shew zeal against Luther; but if the pope did not please the emperor, he would let Luther alone. Anyhow he had nothing to lose; he would use Luther as a tool to work out his own ends. But God was above all this merely human policy. He had work for Luther yet to do, and he would protect His servant till the work was done.

In the meantime the work progressed. Though the plague was raging at Wittenberg, new students were constantly arriving. Between five and six hundred daily listened to the truth as taught by Luther and Melanchthon.

Luther's works were also reprinted and circulated all over Germany by colporteurs. And this was done notwithstanding the orders of the pope that everywhere they were to be burnt. It is clear that the pope was losing his power over Germany; and in proportion to this the truths of the gospel were spread abroad and were read.

Chapter 14.

The Diet at Worms — A.D. 1521.

The question as to the toleration or condemnation of Luther had not been settled — it had only been postponed. At the Diet of Worms* held in January, this was one of the subjects to be settled.

{* Worms is a city of Hesse Darmstadt in the province of Rheinhessen, on the left bank of the Rhine, a few hundred yards from the river, and twenty-six miles from Mentz.}

The Emperor was sadly perplexed. He was indebted to the Elector Frederick for his crown, how could he offend him? On the other hand, Aleandro and his friends were constantly soliciting the Emperor to put into execution the pope's Bull. At length Frederick resolved to have Luther summoned to Worms and there he was to be heard in defence of his doctrines in presence of those who could discuss the points with him. The Emperor guaranteed that no violence should be done to Luther.

The Elector and Luther's friends generally were filled with fear and forebodings. They knew too well the stratagems of Rome to entrap its victims, and they feared that Luther would never quit Worms alive. Luther, on the other hand, never wavered; he took it as a voice from God, and go he would, if he was carried on a litter, for at the time he was but very weak.

But the Elector had written to the Emperor begging that he might be excused from bringing Luther with him. He feared that Luther's burning the pope's Bull would excite the pope's friends too much and endanger Luther's safety. On the other hand, Aleandro and his friends were in the greatest alarm. In travelling to Worms he had seen too well how public opinion was in Luther's favour, and he feared the Reformer's presence in Worms would only increase his popularity. Besides, he repudiated the thought that it was competent for any one to re-open and discuss questions already settled by Rome. It must not be. The result was that the Emperor wrote to the Elector, telling him to leave Luther at Wittenberg. His sixty days' grace had already expired, and he must bear the consequence of not retracting.

Luther alone was vexed at the decision. But matters progressed notwithstanding. The condemnation of Luther was urged again and again; but the Emperor and princes were all very slow in taking it up. Many saw that it would serve their purpose better to let it lie an open question. Aleandro was alarmed, and wrote off to Rome to try and arouse it from its apparent sleep. "Germany is falling away from Rome," wrote he; "Money, money, or Germany is lost!"

Rome arose and issued another Bull, condemning Luther unconditionally and positively, and all his adherents. The former Bull had a condition — if Luther did not recant — the time was now past, and he was EX-COM-MU-NI-CA-TED from the church of Rome by the pope himself. Thus the last tie was broken — Luther was free, free to be killed by any one, and despoiled of all his goods!

Thus assailed, Luther turned to Christ. "It is a glorious thing," said he, "that we sinners believing in Christ and feeding on His flesh, should have Him dwelling in us in all His power, His wisdom, and His righteousness; for it is written, 'Whoever believeth in me, in him I abide.' O wonderful abode! marvellous tabernacle, how far excelling that set up by Moses! . . . Often does the Christian stumble, and in his outward aspect all is weakness and reproach. But . . . a power lies hid which the world cannot know, and which yet must overcome the world, for Christ abideth in him."

Luther, having heard that it was in contemplation to call him to Worms, wrote to the Elector the following letter, worded so that he could communicate it to the princes, or to the Diet, with the hope of removing any wrong impressions they might have either of himself or of his work:

"I rejoice with all my heart, most serene Prince, that his Imperial Majesty is disposed to have this affair brought before him. I call Christ to witness that it is the cause of the German nation, of the Catholic church, of the Christian world, of God Himself, not the cause of a solitary, humble individual. I am ready to repair to Worms, provided only that a safe-conduct, and learned, pious, and impartial judges be allowed me. I am ready to answer for myself; for it is not in the spirit of recklessness, not for the sake of worldly profit, that I have taught the doctrine which is laid to my charge; I have taught it in obedience to my conscience and to my oath as a Doctor of the Holy Scriptures; for God's glory have I taught it, for the salvation of the christian church, for the good of the German people, for the rooting out of gross superstition and grievous abuses, the cure of innumerable evils, the wiping away of foul disgrace, the overthrow of tyranny, blasphemy, and impiety in countless forms."

In the meantime Aleandro had received the money he asked from Rome, and was now busy scattering it right and left wherever he thought influence was to be bought for the pope against Luther. Every day was the Emperor solicited and teased to condemn Luther; but he and his councillors still saw that it would suit their purpose better not to settle anything on the subject. At last the Emperor told Aleandro that he must appear before the Diet and convince the Diet that it was their duty to condemn Luther. This Aleandro undertook to do.

On the 13th of February, Aleandro stood before the Diet, and for three hours he argued and protested that Luther should be condemned. His charges against Luther were, "He sins," said he, "against the dead, for he denies the existence of purgatory; he sins against heaven, for he says that he would not believe an angel sent from heaven; he sins against the church, for he maintains that all Christians are priests; he sins against the saints, for he treats their venerable writings with contempt; he sins against councils, for he calls the council of Constance an assembly of devils; he sins against the secular power, for he forbids the punishment of death to be inflicted on any one who has not committed a mortal sin." How strange! not a word that Luther had sinned against God or the scripture! Aleandro called loudly for his condemnation.

His discourse, which was eloquent, had a decided effect upon the audience. But strange to say in attacking Luther, Aleandro had also attacked many friends of the pope, who saw so plainly the abuses that had crept in, that they were loudly calling for reform. So that a few days after, Duke George of Saxony, who did not agree with Luther, stood up in the Diet and proceeded to rehearse a long catalogue of grievances against Rome, or rather against the Romish priests and clergy in Germany. Their conduct was shameful, while they sapped the country of its wealth. Money, money, was their cry — everywhere and always their cry was money. Duke George saw the evils; but he saw not the remedy as Luther did. The Duke thought that Rome could reform itself; Luther saw that the only remedy was to bring in the light and truth. But this soon convinced him that Rome could not be reformed: it must be abandoned.

The Diet nominated a committee to inquire into these abuses, and they drew up a list of one hundred and one. The Diet therefore now, altogether apart from Luther, demanded reform. This encouraged the friends of Luther, who now appealed to the Emperor that Luther should be heard in the Diet in defence of his doctrines. Aleandro and his friends did much to prevent it, but at length the Emperor decided to summon Luther to Worms.

At Wittenburg Luther's friends were alarmed when the summons arrived; but nothing could deter Luther. He would set out at once. Three of his friends accompanied him — Amsdorff, John Schurff, a professor of law, and Peter Suaven, a young Danish student. His parting with Melanchthon was touching. "If I never return," said he, "and my enemies should take my life, cease not, dear brother, to teach and stand fast in the truth." Then committing his soul to Him who is faithful, Luther stepped into his conveyance and left Wittenberg. As he left them, many could not stay their tears. They too committed him to God. The eyes of Germany were on this man going to Worms; their hearts beat, and they wondered how it would all end.

Various were the rebuffs Luther met with on the road, but he attributed them to Satan's efforts to stop his going. At Naumburg he saw the messengers of the Emperor busy posting up bills ordering all persons to bring the writings of Luther to the magistrates. The imperial herald who conducted Luther asked him whether after such a sight he would go any further. "Yes," said Luther; "though I should be put under interdict in every town, I will go on."

At Weimar he met Duke John, brother to the Elector, who gave him money for his journey. From Weimar he went to Erfurt. He had written to Lange telling him of his journey: but as Luther approached the town he saw a troop of horsemen, but could not tell whether they were friends or foes. They turned out to be friends, come out to welcome him, and a larger crowd met him nearer the town. From Erfurt another joined the party. It was Jonas, a student of law, but a disciple of Christ, and afterwards a zealous preacher. Luther was received with joy and preached in the church.

In some places Luther's journey resembled a triumph; but the entrance of our Lord into Jerusalem, and what followed, was forcibly brought to his mind, and he knew not how it would fare with himself.

Of warnings he had plenty. "There are so many cardinals and bishops at Worms," said the people; "do return. They will burn you as they did Huss." Luther replied, "If they light a fire which would burn from Wittenberg to Worms, and even to the sky, I would pass through it in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, and confess Him my Saviour."

One day an imperial officer, dispersing the crowd, approached Luther and said, "Are you the man who has undertaken to reform popery? How will you manage it?" "Yes," answered Luther, "I am that man. I am depending on the Almighty God, whose word and commandment I have." The officer, moved, said, "Dear friend, you have told me something in that. I am one of Charles's servants, but your Master is greater than mine. He will help you."

Luther passed on. At Eisenach he was taken ill and was bled, but was better in the morning and went on. At various places he was over and over again told he would never escape; but nothing daunted or stopped him.

As he approached Worms the friends of the pope laid a plot to draw him aside for a few days (under the plea of settling matters by consultation), so that the time of his safe-conduct should expire, and then they could seize him. They told Bucer, Luther's friend, that if Luther entered Worms it would be all over with him; and Bucer hastened off to meet him. But Luther was not to be led astray. He said he was going to Worms, and if any wanted to see him, they must see him there. Spalatin himself began to be alarmed at the threats he heard, and he too, from a good motive, sent a message, begging him not to enter Worms, when Luther made use of that memorable sentence, "Though there should be as many devils at Worms as there are tiles on its roofs, I would enter it."

Some of the friends of the Elector went out to meet him, and a crowd waited at the gates of the city. It was with difficulty he could be brought to his lodging, so anxious were the people to see the man who had not been crushed by a pope's Bull, a thing never before heard of. After a few hours' rest, counts, barons, knights, etc., flocked in to see him.

He was summoned to appear the next day at four o'clock. At the hour the imperial herald went to fetch him; but the crowds were so dense that they could not proceed. The herald was compelled to take him through some private houses and gardens, and thus to reach the Diet. People even went on to the roofs of the houses to catch a glance of Luther. When they reached the building again they met crowds, and it was with great difficulty a passage could be forced. As he approached the door a valiant knight, George Frundsberg, said to him, "My poor monk, my poor monk, thou hast a march and a struggle to go through, such as neither I nor many other captains have seen the like in our most bloody battles. But if thy cause be just, and thou art sure of it, go forward in God's name, and fear nothing! He will not forsake thee." Encouraging words to one who needed them.

It was an august assembly. An Emperor, an Archduke, six Electors, twenty-four dukes, eight margraves, with a number of archbishops, bishops and prelates — in all, two hundred persons. Luther seemed over-awed at first; but a prince whispered, "Fear not them who are able to kill the body, and cannot destroy the soul." Another said, "When you are brought before kings it shall be given to you by the Spirit of your Father what you shall say."

Luther was conducted to a spot opposite the Emperor. A table was near, on which was a pile of Luther's books.

"Do you acknowledge these writings to have been composed by you?" was demanded of Luther.

Also "Are you prepared to retract these works, and the propositions contained therein, or do you persist in what you have therein advanced?"

Luther replied, "I acknowledge the books, the names of which have been read, to be of my writing; I cannot deny them." As to the second question he asked for time to reply. He was allowed till the next day.

On the next day Luther passed through deep exercise of soul. It seemed to him as though God had hidden His face from him; and yet he could say, "My soul is Thine. Yes, I have Thine own word for it. My soul belongs to Thee, and will abide with Thee for ever! Amen. O God, send help."

His courage revived, but the moment was really serious. "God or Caesar?" said he. "I said No to Tetzel; I said No to the Roman legate at Augsburg; I said No to the doctors in the hall at Leipsic; I have said No to the pope and have burnt his Bull. I have yet to say NO to the Emperor."

Again at four o'clock the heralds arrived and Luther was brought to the Diet. Once more he stood before the Emperor, and was told to answer the questions asked him yesterday. To the first he had already admitted that the books were his. To the second question, he said that he had written many books, some of which even his adversaries had found no fault with — these he could not retract. If he did so, he should be retracting that which all held to be truth.

Again, he said he had written some works against popery, exposing its evil doctrines and its wickedness. He could not retract these, or he should be strengthening the evil.

In the third place he had written books against individuals who had undertaken to defend Rome. He admitted that he might have used too much violence in his attacks; but he could not retract these, without sanctioning the impieties of his opponents.

As to the whole he said, "If I have spoken evil bear witness against me . . . . I implore you by the mercies of God to prove to me by the writings of the prophets and apostles that I am in error. As soon as I shall be convinced I will instantly retract all my errors, and will myself be the first to seize my writings and commit them to the flames." Closing with the words, "I beseech you with all humility not to permit the hatred of my enemies to rain upon me an indignation I have not deserved."

When he had done — he had spoken in German — he was requested to repeat it in Latin for those not well acquainted with German. This Luther did.

The Chancellor of Treves said he had not answered the question, "Will you, or will you not, retract?"

Luther said, "I cannot submit my faith either to the pope or to the councils, because it is as clear as noonday that they have often fallen into error, and even into glaring inconsistency with themselves. If then I am not convinced by proof from holy scripture . . . I neither can nor will retract anything. I stand here and can say no more. God help me. Amen."

"If you do not retract," said the Chancellor, "the Emperor, and the states of the Empire, will proceed to deal with an obstinate heretic."

"May God be my helper!" said Luther, "for I can retract nothing!" Luther withdrew from the Diet for them to deliberate. But he was again called in, and told he was not required to retract all his works. It was absurd to ask to be convinced by scripture: he was reviving what had already been condemned by the General Council of Constance. Would he retract any? Luther said he could give no other answer than he had already given. He could not retract.

It was late — all went to their homes. Two imperial officers conducted Luther. Some ran after him. "Are they leading you to prison?" they asked. "No," said Luther, "they take me to my hotel." All were excited, and wondered what would be the end of it.

When the reformer had entered his hotel the old duke Eric of Brunswick, previously an enemy to the reformer's doctrines, sent him a silver vase of Eimbeck beer to refresh him. Luther being thirsty, poured out some of the beer and drank it. "As this day Duke Eric has remembered me," said Luther, "may our Lord Jesus remember him in the hour of his last struggle." It is recorded that the duke on his death-bed called to remembrance the prayer of Luther, and he asked his page to bring the Bible and read to him. "The youth read the words of Christ, and the soul of the dying man took comfort."

For two or three days they discussed what was to be done with Luther. Just then the Emperor was desirous of pleasing the pope, and he therefore threatened Luther. Some advised that he should be at once seized in violation of the safe-conduct but even some of the friends of the pope exclaimed against anything so false. At last it was decided to give Luther three days, and any who liked could use their influence with him. The Archbishop of Treves undertook to try and mediate between Luther and the pope. They had an interview; but it ended as it began. His enemies did not attempt to prove him wrong by scripture; and he could not retract anything till they did.

After this, several attempts were made which ended in the same way. At length it was proposed to submit the question to a General Council: would Luther agree to that? "Yes," said Luther, "if the Council decide according to holy scripture." The Archbishop said this was absurd; and again it all failed. Luther was ordered to quit Worms and return to Wittenberg.

Luther afterwards gave a history of the whole affair in few words — thus: "Are these books of your writing? Yes. Will you retract them? No. Well, be gone! There's the whole history."

Soon after Luther left Worms, Frederick and several of the princes left also. The field was thus free for Aleandro, who did not hesitate to use this opportunity. He drew up an edict condemning Luther, and obtained the Emperor's signature. He immediately sent it to the printer, and spread it abroad everywhere. It was dated the 8th of May, but there is good authority for saying that it was not signed till several days later. By dating it the 8th it would make it appear to be drawn up while the Diet was yet sitting in full force.

Its very violence and falseness destroyed its force except among the extreme partisans of the pope. Listen to what it said of Luther: "He has shamefully vilified the unalterable law of holy marriage: he has laboured to incite the laity to imbrue their hands in the blood of their priests; and, defying all authority, has incessantly excited the people to revolt, schism, war, murder, theft, incendiarism, and the utter destruction of the christian faith . . . . In a word, and passing over many other evil intentions, this being, who is no man, but Satan himself under the semblance of a man in a monk's hood, has collected, in one offensive mass, all the worst heresies of former ages, adding his own to the number." Luther was to be seized wherever he was, and his books to be burnt. Whoever helped or aided Luther was also to be placed under the ban of the empire.

Chapter 15.

Luther at the Wartburg — A.D. 1521, 1522.

In the meantime Luther wended his way to Wittenberg. From Eisenach he went to Mora to visit his grandmother, his uncle, and other relatives. Here in peace and quietness he spent the evening, enjoying it the more after the noise and turmoil of Worms. In the morning Luther, with his brother and James Amsdorff started on their way to Waltershausen. As they approached a narrow defile a noise was heard, and in a moment five masked men, well armed and on horseback, surrounded the waggon. The driver was ordered to stop, and on his resistance he was felled to the earth. James Luther jumped to the ground and fled. Amsdorff was seized and held tight, while the others were getting Luther out of the waggon. He was at once set on a spare horse, and a cloak thrown over him; and the five horsemen hurried him away, leaving Amsdorff and the driver in the greatest consternation. Finding they were alone, they mounted and urged the horse to the utmost speed, spreading the news as they went, that Luther had been carried off by his enemies.

In the meantime Luther was hurried along in an opposite direction, the horsemen varied their route to prevent pursuit, and after long riding they ascended a hill and drew up at the door of a castle, which proved to be the Wartburg in the black forest on the mountains of Thuringia. He was conducted to an apartment where he was shewn the dress of a knight. This he was to wear for the future with a sword. He was to be known in the castle as Knight George.

Luther was safe. One who had carried him off was a nobleman Burkhard von Hund, lord of a neighbouring castle; another was John of Berlepsch, commandant of the Wartburg: the three others were a part of the garrison. They were his friends who had taken him away for safety till the storm which had been gathering should expend itself. But so well had the plan been carried out that none of his friends at Wittenberg or even the Elector knew for a long time where he was. Luther had been apprised beforehand that it would be better for him to be hidden for a time, but he knew not to what place he was going. He was now a solitary prisoner in the Wartburg. If he looked out of his window he saw a forest of trees. But he could look up, and by faith see God ruling over all.

When Luther arose next morning he remembered that he had to leave off his ecclesiastical dress. As he cast it aside he said, "Farewell, thou miserable cowl, that suffices in the monk's opinion to ransom from sin and from death! Farewell, proud robe, which they compare — nay, which they prefer — to the spotless robe and precious blood of Jesus Christ. Farewell." He dressed himself as a knight but he was the same Luther still.

Great was the consternation at the disappearance of Luther. His friends feared the worst and bewailed his loss. His enemies were in ecstasies. But this was soon cut short, for there arose such a cry of shame on the friends of the pope and even on the Emperor for their supposed treachery that many were glad to hide themselves from the wrath of the people. Aleandro, who had so pleaded for the destruction of Luther, now that he was destroyed as he thought was embarrassed and amazed. "The only way to extricate ourselves," said one, "is to light our torches and go searching through the earth for Luther, till we can restore him to the nation that will have him."

The edict that was obtained with so much labour from the Emperor, and which was to strike terror into Luther and his friends, was allowed to lie ineffectual in some places, and was torn to pieces in others. The absence of Luther, and the charges made against the friends of the pope averted, or at least lessened the power of the blow, except where the papal power was in full force.

Luther, or rather as we should now say, Knight George, was away from it all in quietness and repose. He was well treated and was allowed to walk about the fortress, but not to leave it. Here he had time to review the whole of his life. Was it his own self-will that had stirred up such a commotion, or was it God who had done it, and used him as His instrument? Was it an invention of his to teach that men were to be justified by faith, or was it not declared plainly in God's word, "therefore being justified by faith we have peace with God?" (Rom. v. 1.) As he meditated he was confirmed and strengthened. It was of God, and he was the instrument only.

But again he thought of the sad state of the church. "They will take advantage of my absence," said he, "and undo the work I have begun." And then he dreaded being charged with being a deserter. "Rather," said he, "would I be stretched on burning coals than stagnate here half dead."

At other times he was dejected and cast down. One day a cat stole into his room, and Luther saw how she sat and narrowly watched a bird, which hung in a cage at his window, ready to pounce upon it in a moment should it leave its place of safety. "It is thus," said Luther, "that the pope watches me, ready to pounce upon me if I go out."

One day a message came to Melanchthon at Wittenberg telling him that Luther was alive. His joy was great, but saddened by the thought that he was a prisoner somewhere. The news soon spread that Luther was alive; his enemies consoled themselves that if alive at least he was silent. But this did not last long. Luther must be at work with his pen, though he was not able to use his voice. Tract followed tract in quick succession; some were controversial, and others for the building up and instruction of the saints. He called the Wartburg his Patmos, in allusion to John being banished to the Isle of Patmos in Revelation i. 9.

But the confinement began to tell upon Luther, and his health declined. So they allowed him to take short walks outside the fortress, attended by a rough but faithful guard. Luther knew he ran the risk of being seized; but by degrees he was more venturesome, and visited the villages round. Of course he was always dressed as Knight George, with his sword by his side. One day they strolled into an inn, and Luther took up some books which lay on the table, and was soon engrossed in their contents. His guard called him away. This was not acting like a knight, who was not supposed to take great interest in books. At another time they visited a convent: when one of the monks recognized that the knight was Luther, and he called out with astonishment. They were soon in their stirrups and far away.

Luther being hidden, the friends of the pope thought it a good opportunity to revive the sale of indulgences. One who did this was Albert, Archbishop and Elector of Mentz. Luther no sooner heard of this than his spirit was roused within him, and he resolved to condemn the iniquity. But previously he wrote to the Archbishop, telling him of his design, and saying that if he persisted in keeping this idol he should be compelled to hold him up to rebuke as he had already done the pope. The Archbishop — whether from fear or from conviction, we know not — wrote a kind letter to Luther, telling him that that which had caused him alarm no longer existed.

Luther's confinement was principally turned to good account by his using the leisure and quiet to make great progress in translating the scripture. He greatly desired to see the Bible translated into every language, but especially of course into German. "Scripture without comment," said Luther, "is the sun whence all teachers receive their light." "I will translate the New Testament into our mother tongue. Oh if this book could but be in the hands — in the hearts of all." Then "Luther must retire, and the Bible advance; the man must disappear, and God appear." How like the language of John the Baptist as to our Lord, "He must increase, but I must decrease." It is well if the servant can willingly retire when his Master appears.

While Luther was translating the New Testament he was again arrested by the doctrine of justification by faith. "If man is saved by faith and grace alone, what becomes of the monastic life," said he, "which is wholly based on the presumed merits of the monks? Monkery and salvation by grace are in flagrant opposition. . . . Monkery must fall. "Luther saw that to live a monk's life was simply one of idleness and uselessness; but to pretend to salvation in that way was a positive denial of the truth. Besides, "the monks are the pillars of the popedom," said he; "I will throw down these pillars. God has made nothing which Satan has not caricatured; and because it was God's will to have a nation of priests, Satan has made a nation of monks. . . . No," continued he, "I am not a monk; I am a new creature, not of the pope, but of Jesus Christ. Christ alone, Christ without a mediator, is my bishop, my abbot, my prior, my Lord, my Father, my Master; and I will have no other." Noble words! Would that thousands who profess to have outstretched Luther could say the same truthfully!

This was the commencement of Luther's war against the monastic vows. These were chastity, poverty and obedience. "Whatever cometh not of faith is sin," said Luther. "Whoever makes a vow of chastity, of service to God, without faith, makes an impious vow. We must utterly suppress all convents. There is only one order that is holy and maketh holy — namely, Christianity and Faith. All who possess the Spirit of Christ are priests of the living God." This latter is a great truth, often repeated but seldom learned. Luther put it forth to the Christians of Germany, and it was good the light of God's truth should shine forth. We would fain hope it penetrated many a secluded spot where the light of God's word had not yet reached.

But there were shades as well as sunshine in Luther's experience. While in the Wartburg he was at times tormented by what appeared to him to be a bodily appearance of Satan. It is recorded that one day while Luther was at his work of translating, he thought he saw Satan present in his room, walking round him with threatening attitude as if to spring upon him should his eye be diverted. At length Luther could bear it no longer, and taking up the inkstand he threw it at his enemy. The inkstand struck the wall and was broken to pieces. The keeper of the Wartburg points out to travellers the mark in the wall made by the inkstand.

But Luther's confinement began to be intolerable to him, and he longed to see his friends. He knew he ran the risk of falling into the hands of his enemies, but that did not deter him.

At the end of November he secretly quitted the Wartburg and set out for Wittenberg.

Various were the evil tidings that he heard during his journey, but he arrived safely. His friends were quickly called together. They were overjoyed at again embracing their friend, and they related to him the progress of the work. They had sweet intercourse together, had prayer, and he returned to the Wartburg.

The work had greatly increased, but so had the opposition to it. The Sorbonne, the great school of Paris, had deliberated on Luther's doctrines, and had condemned them as heresy, to be accursed. This was an important decision. It was not simply that Rome condemned Luther — the first University in France had likewise condemned him. Melanchthon replied, and vindicated the truth.

O Lord, the work we do is Thine,

So we can calmly wait,

And care not for the rage of man:

It all comes far too late.

Thy victory on the cross was won,

And leads to victory now;

Yea, in eternity 'twas planned,

And man is made to bow.

The truth of God must e'er prevail,

And work His sovereign will;

Then let us labour on, and aid

His purpose to fulfil.

Chapter 16.

The Reformation and Its Dangers — A.D. 1522.

After Luther's stolen visit to Wittenberg important events rapidly succeeded each other. There was then a bold monk named Gabriel Didymus who attacked the useless lives of the monks, and this he did with such effect that in one day thirteen monks left the monastery to seek a livelihood in any honest way they could find, and one married.

He and his friends next attacked the Mass, the Romish name for the Lord's supper. They found from scripture, as Luther had already said, that those who partook of the Lord's supper should eat the bread and drink the wine; whereas it had been the habit of the priests, as we have seen, to give the people the bread, and drink the wine themselves. As this was now seen by many to be unscriptural, a demand was made that the truth should be put into practice, and that the people should partake of both kinds as it was called. Carlstadt was Archdeacon, and he felt the matter to be so important and urgent, that on Christmas day — the year was 1521 — he took upon himself to say that the Lord's supper would be partaken of in two kinds, and he accordingly introduced it. It was then so novel, that the people were startled and afraid, so that only five partook of it. But many soon saw it to be right, and it became usual.

Satan however could not see such inroads upon his kingdom of ignorance and darkness without making strenuous efforts to oppose it, or to spoil what he could not prevent. There were some men at Zwickau (a town in Saxony on the left bank of the Mulde) who pretended to have revelations from God. They despised and repudiated the doctrine of always clinging to the Bible. Why should they not have direct messages from heaven? These they pretended to have. Nicolas Storch, a weaver, was leader. He declared that the angel Gabriel had appeared to him. He soon had followers. From these he chose twelve apostles and seventy disciples. The declaration was that they had now set up a new church of God. Their former baptism in infancy was of no avail; they exhorted their followers to be re-baptised into the new church.

Nicolas Haussman was pastor of Zwickau and he opposed these new prophets as they were called, and they were expelled from communion. This they cared little for. They would hold meetings by themselves. But disturbances arose, and some were sent to prison.

Indignant at this treatment, Storch and some of his followers repaired to Wittenberg. The students were just then unsettled by the changes already introduced, and were thus prepared to receive more new things. The prophets waited on the professors of the University, declaring to them that they were sent of God to teach the people. They had had special communications from heaven. Melanchthon asked one, "Who commissioned you to preach?" "The Lord our God," was the ready reply. Melanchthon and the other professors were alarmed and confounded. Who could say it was not true? But who could say it was?

One of the prophets remained at Wittenberg and went from house to house stirring up the people. The Elector Frederick heard of the commotion, and he too was at a loss to know whether it was of God or not. Luther also heard of it. He at once pronounced it to be of Satan, and said that he had expected it. But he begged of the authorities not to prosecute the people. Perhaps he thought if left alone it would die out of itself.

Carlstadt was now the great reformer at Wittenberg. He did not receive the prophets as from God, nor receive their doctrine of re-baptism. But he caught some of the enthusiasm, and declared that they must proceed with the good work.

The first thing he took up was images and image worship. He searched the scriptures and produced the passages against this practice, and proceeded to exhort his hearers not only to abstain from evil worship, but to prevent it. Thus appealed to by an Archdeacon, the people broke into the churches, and smashing the images, burnt them.

Carlstadt went further. He now despised learning. Those who listened to him as their tutor, were now exhorted by him to leave their learning and take up with some honest employment. Thus, alas! when men begin to throw of the shackles that have so long bound them, they require great wisdom to know when and where to stop.

The master of the boys' school also exhorted the parents of the children to fetch them away. God was revealing Himself to the prophets apart from learning. Of what use the learning then?

We can easily conceive how all these strange proceedings produced commotion and distrust in men's minds. What would come next? The friends of Rome at a distance were delighted, and did not fail to pronounce this as the fruit of the doctrines taught by Luther.

The real friends of the Reformation began to see things in a serious light. This new movement must be stopped, or great damage would be done to the cause of truth. But who was to do it? Melanchthon was too timid. The Elector was alarmed, but felt powerless. People instinctively turned their eyes to the Wartburg, and sighed and cried and demanded for Luther. He received pressing invitations to return to his work at Wittenberg, to this new work of determining plainly what was of God and what was of Satan.

Chapter 17.

Luther Returns to Wittenberg — A.D. 1522.

The call for Luther exactly answered to the stirrings of his own spirit. Yes, he would leave the Wartburg, and go to Wittenberg. On March 3 he quitted the castle, and in his knight's dress he started on his journey.

At Jena he was compelled to take shelter from a thunder-storm. He stayed at the Black Bear. In the public room he was sitting reading when two young men entered and sat down by the door. They were Swiss students who had studied at Basle, and were now on their way to Wittenberg. Luther invited them to his table and offered them a glass of beer. By their accent he detected that they were Swiss, and he asked them from what canton they came. "St. Gall," said they: "could you tell us where Dr. Luther is now?" "I know for certain," said Luther, "that he is not at Wittenberg. If you will be advised by me apply yourselves to the Greek and Hebrew, that you may understand the holy scriptures." He then asked them about Erasmus. The students thought it very strange that a knight should ask them about Erasmus, and tell them to study Greek and Hebrew. Luther asked them what was thought of Luther in Switzerland? Some extolled him, and some declared him a heretic.

The knight's cordiality put the students at their ease, and they greatly desired to know what book he had been reading. On shutting it, one ventured to take it up and look at it, when to his surprise he found it was a Hebrew Psalter. He said he would give his little finger to understand that language. "You certainly will have your wish," said the knight, "if you will take the pains to acquire it."

The name of Kessler was now called. This was one of these young men. The landlord told him that the knight was Luther himself. He hastened back and told his companion. But he thought he must have said Hutten. Just at that time two more travellers stopped at the hotel and entered the room. One of them laid a book on the table. "What book may that be?" asked the knight. "It is a commentary on the Gospels and Epistles by Dr. Luther," said the travellers; "it has only just appeared." "I shall get it shortly," said the knight.

Dinner being announced, the Swiss students drew back, but Luther invited them, saying he would pay the score. During the meal they were all struck by the remarks made by the knight.

One of the travellers declared that he would give ten florins for an opportunity to meet with and converse with Luther, little thinking that he it was who was before them.

They all parted company, and Luther went his way. He tarried next at Borne, and from thence he wrote to the Elector Frederick informing him of his return to Wittenberg. When the students reached their destination they discovered that the knight of the Black Bear was the veritable Luther. He recognized them and introduced them to the professors.

Luther was glad to see his friends, but was deeply pained at the state of things. "Luther is back" was soon spread abroad, "and is to preach to-morrow." The morrow came and the church was crowded in the extreme. All were anxious to hear Luther on the state of affairs.

He proceeded carefully with his discourse, saying how anxious we ought to be lest we needlessly offend any. But he came to the points at issue. "The mass is a bad thing." You say it must be abolished. Quite so, but let it be done in the right way. "Our first aim must be to win the heart; and to this end we must preach the gospel."

He preached again five times in the week, going over the various subjects of the destruction of images, the Lord's supper in both kinds, the abolition of the mass, etc., pointing out that right things must be done in a right way. He laid great emphasis on the solemnity of the Lord's supper, and warned those who ought not to have partaken of it, but who had done so.

This was a new work for Luther. Previously he had to arouse his hearers to energy and activity; now he had to quiet and calm the troubled waters of unholy zeal and fanaticism. The results were very beneficial. Gabriel Didymus, who had been one of the most violent, confessed he had been deceived. Carlstadt submitted for the sake of peace, but he was not convinced. He thought in reality that Luther was now stopping rather than helping on the work.

The leaders of the prophets were all away from Wittenberg while this went on. But Stubner, one of the prophets, returned, gathered his followers around him and prepared to combat the question with Luther. Luther did not care to meet them, but he consented to do so. Stubner made a statement that he proposed to restore the church and reform the world. "Of all you have been saying," replied Luther gravely, "there is nothing that I see to be based on scripture." The meeting became then very stormy, and angry expressions passed. It ended with no good result, and that very day the prophets left Wittenberg.

Comparative peace being restored, at least at Wittenberg, Luther with the aid of Melanchthon, devoted himself to finishing the translation of the New Testament. It was in a forward state, but needed revision. The printers were soon set to work, and on the 21st of September the New Testament was published in the German language.*

{* The Bible, or portions of it, had been translated into German before Luther's edition. The priests had discouraged their circulation, and their high price had placed them beyond the reach of the common people.}

The importance of this work cannot be overestimated. Every simple Christian in Germany could now read the word of God for himself, and could judge what doctrines and practices were of God, and what were not. The edition of three thousand copies was soon sold, and another followed in December. It has been estimated that by the year 1533 more than fifty editions had been printed. Nothing could be a greater proof of how the word of God was needed and appreciated.

The friends of the pope were greatly alarmed. The King of England (Henry VIII.) wrote to the Elector Frederick denouncing the work. Some of the princes issued orders for every copy to be delivered up to the magistrates, and it is said that in some places they were publicly burnt.

Only think what a system of religion that must be which can thrive only when the word of God is hidden! And yet in many ways we see the spread of that same system — Popery — in our own highly favoured land. Through the mercy of God the word of God is free here; but when the papal system cannot take away the Bible, it lays claim to possessing the exclusive power of interpreting it to the people.

As soon as the New Testament was published, Luther proceeded with translating the Old. People were so anxious to obtain it that he had to publish it in parts as he could get it finished.

Though Duke George had prohibited the sale in his states, yet thousands of copies of the New Testament were in circulation therein. The papal party saw that they could not stop the spread of the scriptures; people would have them, therefore they brought out one of their own. It is said to have been the same as Luther's, but altered here and there.

Melanchthon took an active part in the Reformation and published a treatise on doctrine, called Loci Communes, "Common places." This book Luther greatly commended, and it became a sort of standard as to the doctrines taught by the Reformers.

About this time King Henry VIII. of England wrote a book against Luther, and in defence of the seven sacraments.* He despised Luther and was severe in his language. Doubtless the age in which he wrote partly accounts for this, but could anything justify his calling Luther an "infernal wolf," "a venomous serpent," "a limb of the devil," etc.? The King sent his book to the pope, with the message that he was also ready to attack the adherents of Luther with the sword as well as with the pen. The pope was gratified with such attention, and he conferred upon Henry the title of "DEFENDER OF THE FAITH," which the kings and queens of England have maintained to this day, and which explains the letters F.D. or FID. DEF. found on our money.

{* By "Sacraments" are meant, holy or sacred ordinances pertaining to the church. The seven insisted on by the Church of Rome are 1, Baptism, to which they attach regeneration. 2, The Mass, the name they give to the Lord's supper, and which they say is an unbloody sacrifice. 3, Confirmation, which is said to impart full growth and perfect spiritual strength. 4, Penance. This is the punishment or privation which their church imposes upon those who fall into sin, or who are not obedient to their church. 5, Marriage. 6, Holy Orders; that is that they, and they only, have the power to appoint and ordain to every office in the church. 7, Extreme Unction. This is the anointing with oil any one who is dying (upon his confession) in various parts of the body, which is supposed to communicate the grace of God and ensure their salvation.}

The book was well received. Various editions were printed and many thousands were sold. The friends of Rome were in great joy that one so noble had so well taken up their cause.

Luther read the book, and felt irritated at the style in which he had been treated, as well as grieved that the truth should be attacked. He must answer it. He was exhorted not to answer, or to do it gently. Scripture — his own favourite book — said, "The servant of the Lord must not strive, but be gentle." (2 Tim. ii. 24.) Luther heeded it not. He was violent in the extreme as to Henry himself, but he manfully defended the truth that had been attacked.

The court attendants of Henry were greatly incensed when the reply was received in England, and Thomas More proceeded to answer Luther. He was even more insulting than Henry had been.

Henry now wrote to both the Elector Frederick and the Dukes of Saxony against Luther, exhorting them to extinguish "the cursed sect of Luther. Shed no blood if it can be avoided; but if this heretical doctrine lasts, shed it without hesitation, in order that this abominable sect may disappear from under the heaven." Alas! that such advice should have gone from these shores against God's servant.

Frederick and his brother replied to Henry that they were in expectation of matters being settled by a future General Council. In the meantime, by the spread of the scriptures and other books and by preaching, the truth was rapidly spreading over Germany.

In December 1521 Pope Leo X. had died suddenly, and Cardinal Tortosa, an old man, but "whom everybody regarded as a saint" had been chosen as his successor, under the title of Adrian VI. He lived in a very simple manner, and gave much to the poor. He admitted that a reform was needed in the church, but advocated its being done little by little.

In 1522 the Diet met at Nuremberg, when there was a great outcry for the death of Luther. But there was again the counter cry — The abuses in the church; when will you rectify the abuses? And a demand again arose for a General Council.

The pope was indignant at this, and his friends dreaded the voice of the people being heard in a General Council. The pope wrote a very angry letter to the Elector Frederick, and took up the dangerous ground that the priests should be obeyed although their conduct was bad, quoting the passage of scripture, "Whatsoever they bid you observe, that observe and do, but do not after their works," overlooking the fact that in this passage the scribes and Pharisees were in question, and what they said was the law as given by God; but the priests now ordered that which was not in scripture at all, indeed contrary to it.

We give the last part of the pope's letter. "In the name of the Almighty God and our Saviour Jesus Christ, of whom I am vicegerent on earth, I warn that thou wilt be judged in this world and be cast into the lake of everlasting fire in that which is to come. Repent and be converted. Both swords are impending over thine head — the sword of the empire and that of the papal authority." Notice the audacity and profanity of the pope calling himself "Christ's vicegerent on earth," a title which all the popes assumed, no matter how wicked they might be.

The Elector Frederick was thus threatened by the pope and the Emperor, from whom he also had received a most insulting letter. Frederick sent to consult the leaders of the Reformation. Though he greatly desired peace, he thought he might yet have to draw his sword in defence of the gospel, forgetting the passage that "all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword." (Matt. xxvi. 52.)

The Reformers wisely advised the Elector not to think of fighting. Still Luther was greatly moved. "The sword of civil war," said he, "is impending over kings. They are bent on destroying Luther; but Luther is bent on saving them; Christ lives and reigns, and I shall reign with Him."

Chapter 18.

Persecution Breaks Out — A.D. 1522-1525.

The threatened storm burst at length in some places. At Antwerp the truth had been received, and was preached. But the evangelical monks were obliged to flee. Henry Voes, John Esch, and Lambert Thorn were discovered and thrown into prison. Lambert Thorn was appalled at death, and begged time to consider what he would do; Voes and Esch faithfully confessed Christ. They were delivered to the secular arm, as it was called, and then to the executioner.

They were bound to the stake. The confessor drew near and said, "Once more we ask you if you will receive the christian faith?" "We believe in the christian church," said they, "but not in your church." Half an hour was allowed to elapse: it was hoped that the sight of the stake and the faggots would have appalled these young men. But no, they resolved to die for the name of Jesus Christ, and began to sing psalms. The fire was lit, and thus died, rejoicing, the first martyrs of the gospel in the time of Luther. Satan was again outwitted. He thought to stay the current of truth by stopping the voices of some; whereas it was the means of spreading it the more. Men saw that there was something real in such faith, and the confidence of the martyrs stirred up the failing courage of others. "Wherever Aleandro lights a pile," remarked Erasmus, "there it seems as if he now sowed heretics."

Luther was much moved. He thanked God for the courage of the martyrs. "I am bound with you in your bonds," said he; "your dungeons and your burnings my soul takes part in. All of us are with you in spirit; and the Lord is above it all."

Luther wrote a hymn on the occasion of their death, and soon that hymn was sung throughout the land. We give a translation: —

Flung to the heedless winds,

Or on the waters cast,

Their ashes shall be watched,

And gathered at the last.

And from that scattered dust,

Around us and abroad,

Shall spring a plenteous seed

Of witnesses for God.

Jesus hath now received

Their latest living breath —

Yet vain is Satan's boast

Of victory in their death.

Still — still though dead, they speak,

And, trumpet-tongued, proclaim

To many a wakening land,

The one availing name.

Persecution was further stayed for the time by the death of Pope Adrian. He was so "good" in the sense of being strictly moral that the Romans were overjoyed at his death, and suspended a crown of flowers at his physician's door, with the writing, "To the saviour of his country." The pope had been too strict with those who desired to do as they pleased, so that they praised his physician for not saving his life! Such was Rome.

Julio de Medici was the next pope. He was a very different sort of man from Adrian. There was no hope now of Rome reforming itself: he thought only of what would enrich himself. He despatched Cardinal Campeggio to Germany.

The Diet again met at Nuremberg in January 1525. The Emperor was incensed against the Elector Frederick, and determined to crush him. It was resolved that the executive powers of the empire should all be changed. This was a blow at Frederick. Filled with grief, he left the Diet.

Campeggio demanded of the Diet that the edict of Worms should be enforced against the Reformers. "And pray," asked some, "what has become of the memorial of grievances presented to the pope by Germany?" Campeggio said three different memorials had reached Rome, and they did not know which was the official one.

The Diet agreed to carry out the edict of Worms but added to it these words, "as far as possible," which left it free for some not to do it at all.

Moreover the Diet again pressed the necessity of calling a General secular Council, and at length in spite of Rome settled that this council should meet in November in Spire, "to regulate all questions of religion," and the states were to request their divines to prepare the various subjects to be discussed at that meeting.

The pope was much incensed, and he and Campeggio sought to sow discord among the German princes. If they would not be at peace with Rome, they should not be at peace among themselves. Campeggio called a meeting at Ratisbon of those he thought staunch for Rome, and sought to unite them together to form a league in her favour. They met, and resolved to do all they could to crush the Reformation. They proceeded at once to act.

At Vienna there was a citizen named Gaspard Tauber, who had written against the papacy. He was now seized, and ordered to retract. Whether he promised to do so, or whether they misunderstood him, is doubtful, but when he was summoned publicly to retract, he declared he would sooner die than deny the gospel. He was beheaded and afterwards burnt.

Another, at Buda in Hungary, a bookseller, was a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, and had distributed the New Testament and the writings of Luther. They bound the good man to a stake, and piled his books about him, and set them on fire. He died rejoicing.

At other places great and fearful persecution was carried on. Some were imprisoned, and some were hanged; and some of the preachers had their tongues nailed to posts, so that they might tear themselves away, deprived of the power to preach.

The case of Henry Zuphten is sad to relate. He had escaped from Antwerp and went to preach at Bremen, at a place called Mehldorf in the Dittmarches. The pastor at first tried to stop his preaching; but here he failed. He took his vengeance thereon. He caused the bells to be rung at night-fall and assembled the peasants, about five hundred. Then, to give them courage and stifle conscience, he tapped three butts of beer. When all were elated he led them on to where the good man slept. He was dragged out of his bed, and, undressed as he was, hurried through the streets in the frost and ice. They reached the heath, where they gathered the faggots and applied the light. But the wood would not burn, and for two long hours he stood there exposed to their fury. At length the wood was alight and they threw him on the pile, but he rolled off, when one with a club struck him dead. They then put him on the wood and he was consumed. Thus was killed this faithful man. His crime was preaching the gospel; and they who put him to death did it in the name of religion! It could not have been the religion of Jesus Christ.

Chapter 19.

Revolt of the Peasants — A.D. 1525.

While Satan was thus stirring up a fiery persecution in the Catholic states, he was also busy in another way among those nominally attached to the gospel.

We have already seen that the prophets, called also Anabaptists,* were troublesome before Luther left the Wartburg. These now again came into prominence, mixing with their creed certain grievances respecting the state. They drew up a declaration of twelve articles. They claimed a right to choose their own pastors, demanding also the abolition of small tithes and the taxes on inheritance; the right to hunt, fish, cut wood, etc. It is important to notice that this was not simply a movement for the sake of the gospel, it was mixed up with politics;with the question of hunting, fishing, etc., though strangely enough they put a passage of scripture to each of their articles.

{* This name is from ana again, and baptistees a baptist, and was given to them because they held that those who were baptized in infancy before they had faith, ought to be baptized again. These Anabaptists must not be associated with those now known as Baptists, though the latter also hold that faith should precede baptism.}

Luther and Melanchthon were questioned as to their judgment of the movement. The prophets professed to be moved by the Spirit; indeed this was their cry, "The Spirit, the Spirit." Both Luther and Melanchthon denounced it. Luther admitted that there might be some justice in some of their twelve demands; but he denounced the revolt as of the devil. "The christian conflict," said he, "is not to be carried on by sword or gun, but by endurance and the cross. Christ their Captain would not have His servants smite with the sword; He was hanged upon a tree."

It was of no avail. The peasants met in large numbers and took up any rude arms they could find to enforce their demands. They were opposed at Weinsberg in Wurtemberg by Count Louis of Helfenstein, and seventy of his men. But these were soon overpowered. They were surrounded by an army of pikes which closed in upon them. The wife of Helfenstein, a daughter of the Emperor Maximilian, with an infant at her breast, begged for the life of her husband, but none were spared, the infant being wounded in its mother's arms.

Thus had these fanatics, under the cry of "The Spirit," added murder to their revolt. It was one thing to be set at liberty from the thraldom of the pope, and another to believe the gospel, and be under the yoke of Christ. These people had thrown off the one, but had not bowed to the other.

Luther was cut to the quick. The enemies of the Reformation were loud in their accusations. Here was some full ripe fruit of his doctrines! This was through throwing off the power of Rome, etc.; while, on the other hand, the peasants would not listen to Luther. This grieved him much, but it proved they were not followers of him, and this was not a fruit of his teaching.

But the revolution spread rapidly. The people of the Black Forest chose John Muller of Bulgenbach for their leader. They went from village to village, proclaiming the twelve articles, and demanding the adherence of all the inhabitants. If any refused they were banished. Wherever the prophets went they smashed the images and the crucifixes.

Still the revolution spread. Counts and rulers were for the time compelled to side with the rebels, or fly from their dominions. And such was the success of the insurrection that they began to plan a new empire. Taxes were to be abolished; the Emperor was to be supreme ruler, but all other rulers were to give up their authority.

The Emperor drew the sword, and his general George Truchsess marched at the head of an army to oppose the peasants. On May 7 he repulsed them at Beblingen, and marched to Weinsberg, where the Count of Helfenstein had been murdered. This place he burnt to the ground, as a lasting memorial of the atrocities of the peasants.

The army of Truchsess was joined by that of the Elector Palatine and the Elector of Treves, and the peasants were everywhere routed. They were but ill armed, and the cannon of the army made rapid slaughter in their ranks. It has been estimated that fifty thousand were slain.

But while this was being done in Southern Germany, Munzer went to Mulhausen, and stirred up another revolt. Here again it spread rapidly. In the districts of Mansfeld, Stolberg, Schwarzburg, Hesse, and Brunswick the peasantry all rose.

The Elector Frederick was pained at the thought of taking up the sword, and indeed refused. But Philip of Hesse armed at once, and so did other of the surrounding princes. They quickly surrounded the peasants, who flew to a hill, and made a rampart with their waggons. Munzer had cast some cannons, but had not yet obtained any powder. The princes were loth to shed blood needlessly, and they therefore tried to come to terms with the rebels. But Munzer prevented this being done, declaring that if his followers held out they should that day see the mighty arm of God in the destruction of their enemies. Just at this time a rainbow appeared in the clouds, and the peasants, whose standard was a rainbow, believed that this was a token from God. Munzer also, to prevent the peasants giving in, cruelly put to death the gentleman sent peacefully to treat with them.

Such treachery drew forth vengeance. The army attacked the camp of rebels, who began to say, "Come, Holy Spirit." The cannon soon knocked to pieces their battlements, and made large gaps in their ranks. The peasants were not used to war, and fled in all directions, and hundreds were slain. The army entered Frankenhausen after the battle. A soldier had reached the top of a house where he found a man crouched down, hiding himself. "Are you one of the rebels?" said he: and seeing the man had a writing case, the soldier took it, and therein found letters addressed to THOMAS MUNZER. "Is that your name?" said he. "No," said the coward. But he was not believed. It was he — the Thomas Munzer who had stirred up the revolt. He was carried before Duke George and the Landgrave, whom he told he was justified in revolting because the princes opposed the gospel! Thus he added hypocrisy to his wickedness. He was beheaded, and the insurrection was quelled.

To the states of the Elector Frederick the war did not reach. In his states there had been neither executions nor punishment. The gospel had thus far prevailed.

It was necessary for two reasons to bring into Luther's history the revolt of the peasants. One reason was that though the friends of Rome on every hand declared that the whole calamity was due to Luther and the doctrines he taught, it is clear that the charge was entirely false. Luther preached and wrote against it all through, and more than once he left Wittenberg and went into districts where discontent was rising into revolt, and did all he could to prevent it.

The other reason was to shew how important it is to keep the distinction between spiritual and political freedom. It may be that many saw in throwing off the yoke of the pope nothing but the latter, it was right that they should be undeceived, and that they should learn that the kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ is not of this world, but is righteousness, peace, etc.

But other troubles were in store for Luther. Before the revolt of the peasants had been quite put down, the aged Elector Frederick the Wise had breathed his last. Feeling his end approaching, he destroyed a will he had made commending his soul to the Virgin Mary, "the mother of God," and made another, in which he declared his belief that "he was redeemed by the precious blood of his beloved Saviour." His chaplain Spalatin was with him to the last. Strange to say, that though the Elector Frederick and Luther had had so much to do with each other, and had in a sense worked together, they had never seen each other except at a distance. John, the brother of Frederick, succeeded him as Elector of Saxony.

Chapter 20.

Luther Marries — A.D. 1525.

Just at this time it was that Luther married Catharine Bora.*

{* The Chronicles of Wittenberg contain the following items in the year 1525:

"xlii. Grosch. paid for Dr. Martin when, at the request of the Council of the district, he returned to Wittenberg from his Isle of Patmos."

"vii. Stub., xx. Grosch. for Dr. Martin, on the occasion of his marriage, taken from the treasury of the hospital."

"i. Stub., vii. Grosch., iii. Hell, for a Suabian hood, as a new year's gift to Dame Catharine Bora, wife of Dr. Martin."

"xvi. Grosch., vi. Stub. for a hogshead of Einbeck beer, for the use of Dr. Martin, on Tuesday after St. John."

"ii. Stub. xvi. Grosch. for wine taken by Dr. Martin from the cellars of the city."

A Groschen was equal to about three-halfpence; a Stuber, about a half-penny; a Heller, about a farthing. }

In the year 1523, the truth had penetrated a monastery of Nimptsch, near Grimma, and nine of the nuns resolved that they would no longer live there in uselessness and idleness. They wrote to their parents telling them of their resolution; but their parents refused to listen to them or to sanction such a step as leaving the convent. They thereon resolved to leave, and trust to God for guidance and to find a home for them. Two christian men offered their services, which were gladly accepted. The nuns quietly left the convent, and entered a waggon provided for them. But where should they go? They knew not. Well, they would go to Luther, and accordingly proceeded thither and drew up at his residence.

Luther was surprised, but pleased. He wished all the cloisters were emptied, but he declared that he had had no hand in these nuns leaving. Doors were opened in various families, and the nine found homes.

Catharine Bora was one of these nuns; she found a home in the house of the Burgomaster of Wittenberg. After a time Luther proposed to marry her. It was a bold step. For a monk it was forbidden; but forbidden by whom? The pope and the Catholic church. But God had spoken and said that "marriage is honourable in all" (Heb. xiii. 4), and "forbidding to marry" was a sign of the apostasy. (1 Tim. iv. 3.) Luther declared he would act the truths he taught, and on the 13th of June, 1525, he was married to Catharine Bora. Pomeranus, whom Luther called the pastor, pronounced the benediction.

The marriage of Luther caused tremendous commotion among the friends of Rome. It was setting their rules at defiance, and it brought down a shower of abuse on the heads of the married pair. A long time before, Luther had preached in favour of priests marrying, but he did not then intend to marry. But now his father pressed him, and he believed the time had come for his doing so.

He made constant prayer that he might be guided aright, and at length concluded it was God's will that he should marry. "By marrying," said he, "I shall break entirely with the institutions of popery. I shall encourage timid men to renounce their detestable errors. I will reserve nothing of my life in the papacy. If I take a wife, it is not to live with her long, for my end is near; but I wish to leave an unimpeachable confirmation of what I have preached here on earth."

Luther was forty-two, and Catharine twenty-six when they married. The marriage was a happy one. Luther had been the last to leave the monastery. He abode there after all the others had left, but now that he was married he left also, and sent off the keys to the Elector John. But John returned them to Luther, and made him a present of the monastery as a house for himself and his wife. Luther accepted it and went to reside there.

Catharine was very fond of her husband, and when he was dejected, which he still was at times, she would comfort him by passages of scripture. She thus became a true help-meet to him. He used to call her his Ketha, and at times My Lord Catharine.

They had in all six children, and their great desire was to bring them up in the fear and admonition of the Lord.

Luther thoroughly enjoyed himself in his family. When worn out with his work he would take his flute and sing one of the hymns he had composed for use in the church; or calling his wife and children round him they would all sing together. "There is nothing sweeter," he used to say, "nothing more beautiful than a happy marriage, where the husband and wife live together in peace and concord. It is the best gift of heaven next to the knowledge of God and of His word."

He was also fond of his garden, and when his brain was over-wrought, or he felt harassed by Satan, he would seek relief with the spade. But here his thoughts were busy. Bending over a violet he would say, "Poor violet, what a perfume you exhale; but how much sweeter it would have been if Adam had not sinned! How I admire your tints, O rose, but which would have been more brilliant but for the fault of the first man. Nature does not shew its ingratitude like man; for the murmur of the streams, the perfumes of the gardens, the breath of the winds, the rustling of the leaves, are so many hymns chanted to the Creator; whilst man, made after the image of God, forgets Him entirely since his sin!"

Luther was stern in his discipline with the children. On one occasion he would not allow his son John to see him for three days. His wife was distressed and interceded for the boy, and some of his friends did the same; but without effect. "I would rather my son were dead," said Luther, "than badly brought up. I will not forgive the boy until he has written me a letter humbling himself and asking for pardon."

On the other hand, he could fully enter into the thoughts and pursuits of his children. On one occasion he discovered that his servant had put up a net to catch the birds, so Luther wrote a complaint of the birds thus: —

"To our very dear lord Martin Luther, —

"We, the thrushes, chaffinches, linnets, goldfinches and other honourable birds, who will have to pass by Wittenberg this Autumn, take the liberty to inform you that one Wolfgang your servant has had the audacity, out of dislike to us, to set up a net in order to deprive us of the liberty of flying in the air, and of picking up from the ground the little seeds that God has given us. Moreover he seeks in this way to take our lives, we having never done him any harm. For this reason we pray you to restrain your servant from such acts.

"Given in our aerial abode, under the trees, with our ordinary seal."

"Behold the fowls of the air: they sow not, neither do they reap, yet your heavenly Father feedeth them."

Luther was poor, but he did not speak of it except to laugh at it among his friends. But it grieved him when he could not relieve cases of need as he would have wished. One day a student came to him with a tale of poverty and distress. He called to his wife and told her to give to the poor man some money. "I have got none," said she, "not a farthing." Luther at once seized a gold cup and gave it to the student, bidding him sell it and relieve his wants. "A pewter mug will serve me," said Luther.

Luther's marriage was a great event in the Reformation. Men at first began to seclude themselves in dens and caves because of surrounding evil. They had a good motive but were mistaken in doing this. If Christians, their light was to be as on a hill, and not hidden as under a bushel. Others with less piety imitated them, until monasticism had grown up into a great but evil system. The three vows were easily taken; but, except the one of obedience, were not carried out. Luther had entered the convent in search for holiness; but he had seen enough to make him view with abhorrence any one, male or female, enter a monastery. He discouraged it in every way. He now sought to live in his family, among his fellow-christians, as one of themselves, and yet with their good as much at heart as ever, to spend and be spent for the cause of God and His truth.

Chapter 21.

Diets of Augsburg and Spire — A.D. 1525, 1526.

Soon after Luther's marriage the Emperor summoned a Diet at Augsburg. He had, on the clamour of the pope, prohibited the contemplated General Council at Spire, but now another Diet must be held. It met on December 11. But nothing was settled, except to continue to carry out the resolution of Nuremberg, and in the May following they would meet at Spire and go fully into the questions of "holy faith, public rights, and the general peace."

Philip of Hesse warmly espoused the cause of the Reformation. He felt sure that the Emperor was plotting mischief, and he solicited the Elector John and others to join in an alliance for self-defence if attacked. The Elector John received the proposition with reserve. This was caused by the adverse judgment of Luther and Melanchthon. Luther maintained that for the gospel we should trust in God only, and not in alliances and the sword. Melanchthon feared that an alliance would only hasten what they all dreaded. The Landgrave however was not to be put off. On the 12th of June, 1526, a meeting was called at Magdeburg, where the Elector, his son, Dukes Philip, Ernest, Otho, and Francis of Brunswick, and Lunenburg, Duke Henry of Mecklenburg, Prince Wolf of Anhalt, Counts Albert and Gebhard of Mansfeld, formed an alliance to defend God's "holy and eternal word" by their goods, their lives, their resources, and the arms of their subjects, at the same time declaring that they trusted not in their armies but solely in the Almighty power of the Lord, of whom they desired to be but the instruments.

Humanly speaking, and if the success of the gospel had depended on human means, this union had not been formed too soon; the friends of Rome vainly thought that in quelling the revolt of the peasants a deathblow had been struck at the Reformation; but instead of that they everywhere witnessed it raising its head with renewed life and vigour. It was evidently growing. It must be opposed, and no time so suitable as now before it could still further increase. Duke Henry of Brunswick, Duke George of Saxony, and the Cardinal Elector Albert had met at Halle and written to the Emperor to take energetic measures against "the doctrine of Luther." Henry of Brunswick was not satisfied with this: he would go and use his influence with the Emperor. He could not have arrived at a more opportune time. The Emperor had just concluded with Francis the treaty of peace at Madrid. Francis had offered to defray half the expenses of a war against either the Turks or the heretics, as Luther and his friends were called. The Emperor determined on energetic measures.

Luther saw the storm that was gathering, and he called on his friends to give themselves to prayer. "Let the people know," said he, "that they are at this hour exposed to the edge of the sword, and the rage of the devil: let them pray."

The Diet met at Spire* on June 25, 1526. The friends of Rome were full of hope. The friends of the gospel were not abashed. They requested to have a place for worship assigned them during the Diet; but this was denied. They therefore held meetings at their various houses.

{* An ancient town of Bavaria, situated at the union of the Spirebach and the Rhine.}

Again came up the question of abuses in the Romish church, and some of the friends of Rome were the loudest in pointing them out. The friends of the gospel need not trouble themselves about them; they had virtually left that church and all its abuses. The Diet formed themselves into committees to point out the abuses.

They drew up their reports, and great was the consternation when these reports were read. Never had the papal system been so freely handled. The abuses were plain and unmistakeable. There was no difficulty in making a list of them: the difficulty was not to make it too long.

In the meantime Spire was well supplied with tracts by Luther. They were circulated everywhere, and those who visited the town carried them away with them.

Rome for the time seemed to be slumbering, at least at Spire; but it now awoke, and as its cause was bad, it made up for it by noise and clamour. The friends of Rome demanded of Ferdinand, the Emperor's brother and who represented him, that he should insist upon the edict of Worms being enforced. Ferdinand took courage, and on August 3, published the decree drawn up four months previously in favour of the edict of Worms. Persecution was to begin at once.

The Elector and other friends of the gospel were indignant, and determined to leave the Diet; but on considering the date of the decree they saw less cause for alarm. It was dated, as we have said, four months previously, and at that time the Emperor and the pope were good friends. They had since quarrelled, and the pope afterwards even threatened the Emperor with excommunication. Charles wrote to his brother Ferdinand, "Let us suspend the edict of Worms: let us bring back Luther's partisans by mildness."

Thus did God allow these enemies of His truth to quarrel among themselves and the threatening storm dispersed. The Diet agreed to let each prince carry out in his own states that which he thought right, and "in a manner so as to be able to render an account to God and the Emperor."

Chapter 22.

The Sack of Rome — A.D. 1527.

In a few days the Emperor, who had been intent on crushing the Reformation, was enlisting soldiers in Germany to go to war against the pope! Thus had God in a marvellous way confounded the counsel of the wicked, and given his people peace.

The army led by that old General Frundsberg, who encouraged Luther as he went into the Diet of Worms, proceeded to Rome and spite of all resistance they took the city. They waited till midnight trying to get the pope to come to terms of peace; but it was useless. As midnight drew on the soldiers grew impatient, and disbanded, and commenced the event known in history as "the sack of Rome." The soldiers dispersed all over the city, and pillaged everything they could lay hands on worth their taking. The soldiers from Germany visited the churches, and carried off the chalices,* the pyxes, and silver remonstrances, and they clothed their camp-boys in the vestments they found in the churches. For ten days the "sack" continued; a large booty was collected, and from five to eight thousand victims fell by the sword.

{* The chalices were the cups used at the Mass; the Pyx is a box in which the Roman Catholics keep the consecrated wafer; a Remonstrance is a plate with an opening in the centre, in which the wafer is placed to be shewn (Latin remonstrare) to the people.}

Clement and his cardinals had taken refuge in the castle of Saint Angelo; but he was in great fear of being blown into the air by the invaders. And though he had formed an alliance with the king of France and the Venetians, and made the King of England preserver and protector, no one came to his relief. At length he capitulated: he renounced his alliance against the Emperor, and agreed to remain prisoner until Rome had paid the army four hundred thousand ducats, equal to £185,000.

This treatment of the pope made manifest the true character of the Emperor. At times he could talk of the sacred office of the pope, but in taking Rome he had treated the city in a way it had never before been treated, even by the Barbarians. This drew from the whole of Christendom a loud cry of execration upon the head of Charles, and then he declared that he did not know that his general was going to enter Rome. He and his court went into mourning, and he had prayers said for the deliverance of the pope! a deliverance which he could have effected at once by an order to his generals.

On the other hand, the friends of the gospel stood in amazement to see the judgment of God. Here was a man held to be most sacred, and a city revered by all the Catholics, yet by them he was imprisoned and the city stripped. The wrath of man was to have fallen on the gospel — it fell on the papacy. The Evangelicals could but say that it was the Lord who was fighting for them against their enemies.

"Leave to God's sovereign sway

To choose and to command,

So shalt thou wondering own His way

How wise, how strong His hand;

Far, far above thy thought

His counsel shall appear,

When He the work hath fully wrought

That caused thee needless fear.

Thou seest our weakness, Lord,

Our hearts are known to thee;

O lift thou up the sinking hand,

Confirm the feeble knee.

Let us in life, in death,

Thy stedfast truth declare;

And publish with our latest breath,

Thy love and guardian care."

Chapter 23.

Peace Disturbed — A.D. 1527, 1528.

This quarrel of the Emperor with the pope gave the churches rest, during which time the word of God was widely scattered, and the preaching of the gospel made progress.

In the early part of 1528 their peace was disturbed. A man named Otho of Pack, but called Pack for shortness, Vice-Chancellor of Duke George of Saxony, assured the Landgrave of Hesse that a secret league had been drawn up against the Reformers, and offered to shew him a copy of the document. For this purpose the Landgrave went to Dresden. Pack told him that he could not shew him the original, but produced a copy. It had all the appearance of being genuine. There were the arms of the State and the impression of the official seals. It was signed by King Ferdinand, the Electors of Mentz and of Brandenburg, Duke George of Saxony, the Dukes of Bavaria, the Bishops of Salzburg, Wurtzburg, and Bamberg. The Elector of Saxony was to be called upon to deliver up Luther with all his adherents. If the Elector refused, his states were to be invaded, and he and his heirs for ever dispossessed. The states of Philip of Hesse were also to be invaded. Philip paid to Pack four thousand florins, and agreed to make it up to ten thousand florins if he procured the original document. Philip took a copy and hastened away.

Full of indignation and alarm he went to the Elector John and informed him of the conspiracy, shewing him the copy of the document. The Elector was confounded. They resolved to arm at once in self-defence, and to call upon the other princes known to be favourable to the Reformation.

As soon as Luther heard of it, he and his colleagues wrote to the Elector, begging him only to act in self-defence, and to inform the Emperor at once of the plot. Philip strongly advocated not simply self-defence, but that the states of those who signed the document should be invaded. Luther and Melanchthon resorted to prayer. Philip of Hesse gave way, and waited to be attacked. In the meantime he sent copies of the document to Duke George, the Dukes of Bavaria, and the Emperor's representative. He asked the Dukes to renounce their wicked designs.

The Dukes were amazed, and declared that the document was an impudent forgery. Whoever had said that he had seen the original was a liar and a scoundrel. Philip saw at once that he had been deceived; and indeed he had: for the whole was now believed to be a forgery by Pack. He was obliged to fly from Duke John, and he came to Hesse. The Landgrave seized him, and cast him into prison. Envoys from various of the princes called him before them, when he maintained that the original had certainly existed at Dresden. The Landgrave banished him from his states, and he took refuge in Belgium. Duke George made a demand for him. He was given up, tortured, and then beheaded.

Luther, and many others, believed that though the document presented by Pack had been drawn up by him, yet that he had a foundation for it in the words and the intentions of the Catholic princes.

This unhappy affair greatly increased the ill feeling between the friends of the pope and the friends of the gospel. But no movement was taken until another Diet could be held. This was arranged to be held at Spire in March.

Chapter 24.

Protestantism — 1529.

Matters had greatly altered since the sack of Rome. The pope and Emperor were again great friends. A treaty of peace had been concluded on June 29, 1528, at Barcelona, based on the destruction of the heresy of Luther.

The Emperor wrote a threatening letter to the Elector John, and everywhere the friends of the pope proudly lifted up their heads. Now Luther and his heresy were certainly going to be crushed.

Melanchthon accompanied the Elector to the Diet; but they were met with frowns everywhere.

The arrangement of 1526 was declared to be annulled by the Emperor, and energetic measures were called for. The majority of the Diet tried to take a middle course, namely, that everything should remain as it was, but there must be no efforts made to spread the doctrines of the Reformation!

The friends of the gospel met together for consultation. How could they hide the light committed to them? Had not God said, "Go into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature?" Must they not obey God rather than man?

They decided to reject the proposition at all cost. But the friends of the pope were equally resolute. They called before the Diet the representatives of the free cities,* and threatened them. These disposed of, Ferdinand declared he would hear no more: the proposition must be made into a decree, and the friends of the Reformation must submit. The Elector John and those agreeing with him retired for consultation. But Ferdinand said that he had received his orders from the Emperor. "I have executed it," said he; "all is over;" and he left the Diet. They sent a message intreating him to return; but he refused.

{* Called Imperial Free Cities because they were not under the control of any of the German princes.}

The Reformers drew up a protest (from whence arose the name of PROTESTANTS), and presented it to the Diet. It spoke moderately, but firmly. They could not deny the Lord Jesus Christ or reject His holy word. This word is the only truth. The Lord's supper was "becomingly administered" in their states, and they could not enforce any edict against those who did this. They protested against any decree contrary to God or His holy word. The protest was dated April 19, 1529.

As soon as the protest was delivered, the Elector and his friends declared that on the morrow they would leave Spire (though they did not leave so soon). But before leaving, a deputation waited on Ferdinand, and presented the protest to him. He at first received it, but then desired to return it. The deputation declined; and Ferdinand insisted. At length out of courtesy the deputation received the protest from his hands, but boldly laying it on a table they left the room.

The Diet met again and ratified the edict as it had been previously proposed, irrespective of the protest. "All that remains for us to do," said Melanchthon, "is to call upon the Son of God," and he hastened back to Wittenberg much dejected.

Luther had not been at Spire, and had not drawn up the protest; and when he read it he did not think there was much force in it. But Protestants have often looked back to that protest with a sort of veneration. From that time to this the mass of those professing to be Christians have been divided into Catholics and Protestants. The Greek church, which took no part in the protest, is generally classed with the Catholics, though they are not Roman Catholics, nor do they acknowledge the pope.

The friends of Rome were now determined to root out the heresy of Protestantism. The pope loudly called for it, and the Emperor determined to carry it out. Philip of Hesse again thought of inviting all the Protestant princes into a league for self-defence. To be included in this league he named some of the Swiss. To this union Luther objected. We must now look at the reason why.

Chapter 25.

Luther And Zwingli — A.D. 1530.

Luther would have nothing to do with Zwingli. Zwingli was an eminent Swiss reformer, and he desired to be united with the German reformers. Luther's objection was principally because he believed Zwingli held erroneous doctrines on the Lord's supper.

The Roman Catholics hold that after the priest has pronounced certain words over the bread and wine, they become changed into the actual body and blood of the Lord Jesus Christ. This is called transubstantiation.* They also hold that both the body and blood of Christ are present in the bread which alone is given to the recipient, who thus partakes of the body and blood of Christ altogether independently of whether he has faith or not.

{*From trans, across, over, and substantia, substance — a change of substance.}

Luther did not believe this; for he believed that there must be faith in the receiver, and then along with the bread and wine there was the presence of the actual body and blood of Christ. This was called consubstantiation.*

{* From con, with, substantia, substance — the body and blood of Christ is with the bread and wine.}

Zwingli believed that there must be faith in the receiver; and that by faith he partook of Christ in partaking of the bread and wine which represented the body and the blood; but that the actual body and blood of Christ were not present. They were then called "Sacramentarians" by those who differed from them.

Thus was there this sad separation among these Christians. Luther charged Zwingli with heresy, and refused to have any communion with him. Indeed he was most violent, and his language shocking.

Unquestionably in this Luther was wrong. He had seen the doctrine in Carlstadt and the Anabaptists, and that had perhaps so set him against it, that he recoiled with horror from it ever afterwards.

The Landgrave however was not to be put off. Luther and Zwingli must meet and discuss the subject. All sorts of excuses were made, though indeed there was danger in their travelling to any place where they could meet. It was arranged they should meet at Marburg.*

{* A city in Upper Hesse, forty-eight miles south-west of Cassel.}

Zwingli set out, and by travelling by-roads, forests, and secluded paths he arrived safely, accompanied by a Hessian guard. Luther arrived the next day, accompanied by Melanchthon, Cruciger and Jonas. Philip invited both to the castle and entertained them well. Others were also invited — whose names have been handed down as Reformers — amongst them the more noted were OEcolampadius and Bucer.* Carlstadt begged to be present; but he was refused — it was supposed through Luther's influence.

{* OEcolampadius (whose name was Hausschein) was professor and preacher at Basel in Switzerland; Bucer (whose name was Martin Kuhhorn) was teacher of divinity at Strasburg: in 1548 he strongly condemned a compromise drawn up by the Emperor called the Interim, after which he came to England and taught theology at Cambridge, where he died in 1551. In Queen Mary's reign his remains were exhumed and burnt.}

Private conferences were held before the public one — OEcolampadius with Luther, and Zwingli with Melanchthon. There were other subjects in dispute; but the question of what is called the "real presence" was the chief one; that is, whether or not the body and blood of Christ are really present with the bread and wine at the Lord's supper.

On Saturday, October 2, they met, in the presence of Philip and his court, and a company of nobles, deputies, and theologians. Great interest was taken in the meeting, and great hopes were cherished of its success.

Luther and OEcolampadius began the discussion. They had been reminded that the object before them was to re-establish union. But Luther in a most determined manner declared, "I differ from my adversaries with regard to the doctrine of the Lord's supper, and I shall always differ from them. Christ has said, 'This is my body.' Let them shew me that a body is not a body. I reject reason, common sense, carnal arguments, and mathematical proofs. God is above mathematics."

OEcolampadius replied that the words "This is my body" were a figure, similarly to the words "that Rock was Christ," "I am the vine," etc.

Luther admitted there were figures in the Bible, but contended that "This is my body" was not a figure.

OEcolampadius quoted "The flesh profiteth nothing;" it was only that which we fed on spiritually and by faith was of any avail. This and a great deal more was said — the same being enforced by Zwingli. But it was all of no use. Luther had started with the resolution that he would always differ from them, and in such a spirit — an unteachable spirit, and a dogged determination to hold to his own opinion — he could not, he would not be convinced. On entering the hall he had taken a piece of chalk and written on the cloth that covered the table the words hoc est corpus meum, "this is my body," and when he was close pressed he would stand and point to these words. There was his answer; "The devil himself," he said, "shall not drive me from that."

Again and again they returned to the subject. OEcolampadius quoted another text, "We know not Jesus Christ after the flesh." (2 Cor. v. 16.) But it was of no use. Luther at length caught up the velvet cover on which he had written the words Hoc est Corpus Meum and held it before their faces. "See," said he, "see! this is our text. You have not driven us from it."

OEcolampadius saw it was of no use to continue the discussion, and was silent. The Landgrave, grieved at the thought that the conference should end thus, begged them to come to an understanding. Luther declared that there was only one way to do this — they must believe as he did. Zwingli was deeply moved and burst into tears.

Philip was loth to let them part thus. He still hoped that something might be done, and he invited them to his table. But it was useless. All ended in disagreement. They must part. There was a plague in the city, and all were anxious to leave; but most were loth to part without peace, if not unity of judgment.

"Let us confess our union in all things in which we agree," said Zwingli, "and as for the rest let us remember that we are brothers."

"Yes, yes," said Philip; "you agree. Give them a testimony of your unity, and recognize one another as brothers."

Zwingli, OEcolampadius, Bucer, and Hedio approached the German Reformers, and it was hoped they would part in love as brothers. But Luther repulsed them with the words, "You have a different spirit from ours." At length he agreed to own them as friends, but not as brothers and members of Christ's church! This was a fresh insult to the Swiss Christians; but they determined to receive this, if they could get nothing better. They would all be friends.

A list of Articles of Faith was drawn up; in all of which they agreed except as to the "real presence." Luther seemed melted. He had drawn up these articles himself, and in them he says, "both the interested parties shall cherish more and more a truly christian charity for one another so far as conscience permits." They part good friends. The articles are sent to be printed.

Luther left; but he felt very dejected; his faith was very low, he feared he should never see his wife and children again. He felt tormented as by an evil spirit. But he safely reached Wittenberg, his family, and his friends.

The result of the conference was that by the report being published, the Christians in Germany saw the doctrine of the Lord's supper as held by the Swiss, which had hitherto not been plainly before them, and many embraced it as the truth.

Chapter 26.

The Protestant Confession at Augsburg — A.D. 1530.

The friends of the Romish church were in great expectation. The Emperor was going to visit the pope: surely some real action would now be made against the Protestants.

This the pope tried to procure; but the Emperor saw it still answered his purpose to humble the Protestants by his friendship to the pope; and yet make the pope look up to him in hope that he might subdue the Protestants.

At this time he was courting the favour of the pope. He desired to be crowned by Clement VII. as King of Lombardy. This took place with great pomp at Bologna, on February 22. And the Emperor determined to assume another crown as Emperor of the Romans.

The pope anointed the Emperor with oil, presented him with a sceptre and then a sword, saying, "Make use of it in defence of the church against the enemies of the faith."

The Protestants feared that evil would result from this friendship with the pope. Melanchthon was filled with fear. Luther's faith revived. "Our enemies triumph," said he, "but ere long to perish." The Elector John proposed arming, and even preventing the Emperor from entering Germany. Philip of Hesse, young and headstrong, was overjoyed. Luther was consulted. He denounced it in toto. It was given up.

The time drew near for the national convention and the Protestants prepared before hand the draft of a confession as to what it was essential to contend for.

The Elector John had been threatened by the Emperor, and many feared for his safety if he ventured to Augsburg. But Luther infused courage into them by his own faith in God. He also composed a hymn for the occasion, which was sung by many and revived their drooping spirits. It said:

"With our own strength we nought can do,

Destruction yawns on every side;

He fights for us, our champion true,

Elect of God to be our guide.

What is His name? The anointed One,

The God of armies He;

Of earth and heaven the Lord alone —

With Him, on field of battle won,

Abideth victory."

It was thought best for Luther not to appear at Augsburg, but in order that he might be near at hand to be consulted if needs be, he was located at Coburg.

The Elector John was the first to arrive at Augsburg. The Catholics were surprised that he

ventured to come at all. He was followed by Philip of Hesse. They both succeeded in finding open doors for their preachers, and every day was the gospel preached to crowds of listeners.

This greatly provoked the Catholics, who also had their preachers; but the priests were not used to preaching, and the gospel of God they could not preach for many did not know it. So the Catholics appealed to the Emperor to stop the preaching. He wrote to the Elector requesting him to have it stopped. The Elector consulted his theologians. Some advised him to yield, but others exhorted him to refuse in the politest terms he could. He answered, "As to the demand to suspend our preaching, nothing is proclaimed in it but the glorious truth of God, and never was it so necessary to us. We cannot therefore do without it."

In the meantime Melanchthon was hard at work on the Confession. He laboured at it night and day. He wanted it to be mild but yet true. When finished it was sent to Luther, to mark anything he did not approve of. He marked nothing. He approved of it as a whole but the style was so different from his that he could not have touched it without spoiling it. He prayed constantly for the success of the cause of truth.

The Emperor arrived with great pomp, being met outside the city by all the Electors and princes. He took the first opportunity of demanding that the preaching should be discontinued, but the Protestants again declared that they could not yield. The demand was waived.

The next day was what is called "Corpus Christi,* when there is a procession, with a worshipping of the Host (the consecrated wafer) as it was called. The Emperor requested that the Protestant princes would join in this procession as usual. They declined to do so; but the Emperor insisted. He gave them till the next morning to decide.

{* Corpus Christi, "body of Christ," a festival of the church of Rome.}

They retired and called into counsel their friends. At midnight the Emperor, impatient, sent for their answer. "At present we require sleep," said the Elector, "to-morrow we will let you know." Spalatin was engaged in the night, preparing his answer. "The sacrament," said he, "was not instituted to be worshipped, as the Jews worshipped the brazen image. We are here to confess the truth, and not for the confirmation of abuses. Let us therefore stay away." This judgment confirmed the princes in their decision.

In the morning by seven o'clock they repaired to the Emperor. "In the things of God, the commands of God Himself oblige me," said the Margrave of Brandenburg, who spoke for all, "to put aside all commandments of men." He was ready to suffer death if that was the penalty. He then presented the declaration. "We will not countenance by our presence," it said, "these impious human traditions which are opposed to the word of God."

"If you will not accompany his Majesty for the love of God," said Ferdinand, "do so at least for love of the Emperor; and, as vassals of the Empire, his Majesty commands you."

"An act of worship is in question," urged the princes; "our conscience forbids it."

"His Majesty desires to see whether you will obey him or not," said Ferdinand. The Emperor quitted the hall, hoping the princes would follow, but they returned to their palaces.

The Emperor walked in the procession with a taper in his hand, his head shorn like a priest's. But comparatively few of the citizens fell into the ranks. This was the more to be remarked as it was in great contrast with what it had been at former times. The Emperor was greatly incensed at the opposition of the Reformers, and vowed to take vengeance in the Diet.

Again a demand was made to have the preaching stopped; and now, on consideration that the Emperor was master of the city, the princes gave way, but left themselves free to have it in their own palaces.

After various delays, and trying to condemn the Protestants unheard, the 25th of June was arranged to hear their Confession of Faith; the Catholics also were preparing one. Melanchthon had laboured hard to put it into soft words, and avoid giving needless offence. Over his work he feared and quaked, and was often in tears. He wrote to Luther asking him how much they could concede to the Catholics. "Concede to the Catholics? How much? We have already conceded too much," said Luther. He did all he could to cheer and encourage Melanchthon.

On the 25th of June all hastened to the Emperor's palace. It would hold but about two hundred, and it was soon crowded. Bayer began to read the Confession. They were ready, it said, to confer with the Emperor, to seek to restore "the sole true faith," because it was for "the sole and same Christ" they fought.

It then spoke of the Trinity, and the various topics usual in such confessions.

It continued, "We teach, moreover, that we cannot be justified before God by our own strength, our merits, and our works; but that we are justified by Christ, through grace, through the means of faith."

"We teach, at the same time, that this faith ought to bear good fruits, and that we must do all the good works commanded by God, for the love of God, and not by their means to gain the grace of God."

They acknowledged the christian church to be "the assembly of all true believers and all the saints."

It afterwards proceeded to deal with the abuses which were admitted to exist in the church, and to state what they believed were the remedies.

The Emperor had insisted that the preaching was to cease; but by this Confession not only were all the princes, but the Emperor himself sitting for two hours listening to the story of how man was to be saved, as well as to a detail of the abuses which many were so anxious to have covered up.

Many who could not gain admittance to the hall filled the corridors and listened at all the doors and openings. The full clear voice of Bayer enabled them all to hear. The papal legate had advisedly stayed away, so as not in any way to be compromised.

The reading of this Confession was an important event. If the Catholic princes were called upon to join the Emperor in prosecuting the Reformers, they could not now make it an excuse that they did not know what the Protestants held, nor be led astray, except wilfully, through the very erroneous statements of the Catholics. They had heard with their own ears what it was these Reformers were contending for, as well as what they contended against.

That the Confession was not perfect is not to be wondered at. Melanchthon was very studious not to give offence. But considering the times in which it took place, and the general darkness around, it was a wonderful thing for many to have sat and heard an amount of truth which they had certainly never heard before.

The reading of the Confession bore some good fruit. The Duke of Bavaria said to Eck, "You had given me a very different idea of this doctrine and of this affair. . . . Can you refute by sound reasons the confession made by the Elector and his allies?"

"With the writings of the apostles and prophets," said Eck, "No; but with those of the Fathers and of the Councils, Yes."

"I understand," said the Duke, "I understand. The Lutherans, according to you, are in scripture, and we are outside."

Several of the princes were gained over and the Confession did good in other places; for the Emperor sent copies to all the courts of Europe. It was translated into French, Spanish, Italian and Portuguese.

Luther wrote to the princes, begging them now they had presented their Confession to leave the Diet and go home. At present they waited to see what would follow. The Emperor would have yielded something for peace' sake; but the papal legate was soon at his elbow to prevent him making any concession.

"If you have money," confessed one of the Secretaries of State to Melanchthon, "it will be easy for you to buy from the Italians (the Papists) whatever religion you please; but if your purse is empty your cause is lost."

The Emperor Charles summoned the friends of the pope, and proposed the question: What reply could they make to the Confession?

Some advised that their best doctors should draw up a reply. Others advised that the Confession should be criticised and examined and then the subject be submitted to the Emperor for final decision. Others again advised that nothing should be done, but a demand made to carry out the edict of Worms.

Count Felix of Werdenburg offered to draw his sword, and to take an oath not to return it to its sheath till the overthrow of the stronghold of Luther. Another said the Confession had been written in black ink; if he were the Emperor he would answer in red — that is blood. Others advised a more moderate process. It was not simply Luther or Melanchthon, or a few monks; it was a question of princes and states they had to deal with. The majority ordered that a reply should be drawn up to the Confession. Men were at once chosen to do it. Eck and Faber, a friend of Erasmus, were the leaders.

In the meantime the Emperor raised the question whether the Diet, and the Emperor as its mouthpiece, were competent to decide in a matter purely religious. He consulted both sides.

"Yes," said Luther; "but he must decide nothing contrary to the word of God." This was really saying, No; let the word of God decide by the mouth of the Emperor.

The Catholics also said, "Yes; as guardian and protector of the church he could decide."

They waited for the reply of the friends of the pope. Luther said he could tell beforehand what it would be: "The Fathers, the Fathers, the Fathers; the church, the church, the church; usage, custom: but of the scriptures — nothing."

Melanchthon was filled with fear at the threats of war that reached him. The Emperor sent again and again for the Elector and Philip, which only increased Melanchthon's fear. He advocated reducing their claims to two points: the Lord's supper in the "two kinds," and the marriage of priests.

We may well ask what right had Melanchthon or any man to pare down the truth of God in this way? If their Confession was true, and they were told to "buy the truth and sell it not" (Prov. xxiii. 23), why not contend for it all? If not truth, why put it forward? But fear filled his soul, and he was desirous of a compromise. Luther was away out of hearing.

Melanchthon was told that if he thought he could bring about peace he had better try what he could do with the legate. Melanchthon wrote asking for an interview in a letter which could only proceed from one overwhelmed with fear — so contrary is it to the spirit of the Confession.* "We venerate," said Melanchthon, "the universal authority of the Roman Pontiff . . . . With the aid of God, we will remain faithful, even unto death, to Christ and to the Roman Church." Alas, poor Melanchthon! Where had he fallen to?

{* This letter is so contrary to the Confession also written by Melanchthon, that some doubt its authenticity but "the fear of man bringeth a snare."}

But Luther heard of the talk of "concession," and he wrote at once to Melanchthon, "There can be no concord between Christ and Belial.* As far as regards me, I will not yield a hair's breadth."

{* This is doubtless an allusion to the passage in 2 Corinthians vi. 15: "What concord hath Christ with Belial?" Belial is most probably wickedness personified; the wicked one, that is, Satan.}

Melanchthon visited the legate. He had heard that he would yield to them the above two points, and he went full of hope. Melanchthon did not see that if these were granted, and peace was thus restored, they would be placing themselves again under the yoke of Rome, who would soon enforce obedience. It was in effect trying to build up the things they had once destroyed (Gal. ii. 18), and Melanchthon was thus far making himself thereby a transgressor.

But God ordered it otherwise. Though Melanchthon had pared down the faith contended for to the two points, the legate would not consent to these. The Reformation was saved. Melanchthon retired, filled now with shame at the concessions he had made.

In the meantime the Confession had been sent by express to Rome, and the pope's answer had arrived. He would yield nothing, neither would he sanction either discussion or a council. He exhorted the Emperor to send at once an army into Germany and crush the Reformation. The Emperor saw more clearly than the pope the extent of the Reformation and he hesitated.

But Eck was now ready with his reply to the Protestant Confession. He sent it to the Emperor to look over privately. The Emperor was confounded. It filled two hundred and eighty pages, and it was so full of abuse and so far from the point that he, as a Catholic, was ashamed to have it read in the Diet. He sent it back, crumpled and torn, requesting them to make it shorter and more moderate.

This occasioned a delay of nearly three weeks, and Charles doubted if it would be a success after all. So they adopted the plan of privately attacking the Protestant princes separately in the hope of gaining them over. But it was without success.

The Elector was now threatened to have his states taken altogether from him if he did not yield. He fully saw his danger and for a time was filled with fear. But his faith revived. "It is God who made me Elector," said he, "me who was unworthy of it. I fling myself into His arms and let Him do with me what shall seem good to Him." The theologians rallied round their sovereign and told him that they did not wish him to risk the loss of his states and his crown for them. The Elector was moved by this; but declared, "I also desire to confess my Saviour."

On the third of August the modified reply of Eck and his helpers was ready. It agreed with many things in the Confession as to the Trinity, eternal punishment, etc., but on other points it would yield nothing. It asserted that man was not utterly lost: good works were meritorious. It contended for the Lord's supper being a sacrifice, and was to be in "one kind" only; the priests must not marry; and they denied that the church "was an assembly of the saints."

As Luther had said, these things were based on the Fathers and the church, and not on scripture. But it was held that the Protestants had been confuted and a demand was made that they should submit. Never were extreme measures so apparent. The Emperor would hear of no compromise; the Protestants must yield, or there would certainly be war. The Catholics negotiated with Italy for a regiment of light horse, and Henry VIII. of England promised to supply large sums of money.

To make all sure, and prevent any of the princes escaping from Augsburg, orders were secretly given, and on the night of August 6, there was a great commotion in the city, the imperial soldiers were hastening in all directions, which ended by guards taking possession of the gates of the city in the name of the Emperor.

The Protestant princes were again summoned before the Emperor and threatened. The Elector was told that his life would be taken and his states torn from him unless he agreed to their terms. The princes begged for time to reply. The Emperor had possession of all the gates of the city: prisoners as they were, what could they do? It seemed now they must be faithful to Christ, or face death.

But they were surprised that Philip of Hesse was not with them that morning. He was perhaps ill-at-ease and so stayed away. But news was soon brought to them that Philip had left the city, which on inquiry proved to be true. A little before the Emperor's soldiers had taken possession of the gates, Philip had made his way to one of them, disguised in a foreign dress. In a careless manner he rode past the guard without being recognized. Five or six of his attendants followed in the same careless manner at short intervals. Once fairly away from the city they put spurs to their horses and were soon far away. He had asked permission of the Emperor to leave but had been refused. He determined to wait no longer, and had thus slipped away, without bidding even his friends good-bye. When the Emperor put his soldiers at the gates, he made sure he had all the Protestant princes safe. But Philip of Hesse had escaped.

As soon as his flight was known in the city all was in the greatest commotion. Had an earthquake taken place there could not have been greater consternation. Those whose states were near to Philip's began to fear that with his known courage and promptitude he would soon have his army ready and be attacking them, before they could leave the city. All saw that it was a stratagem of war, in which they had been defeated, and those who had been the loudest to cry out for war, were now as anxious to avoid it.

The Emperor summoned the Diet at once — Sunday afternoon. He told them that Philip of Hesse had left the city. He hoped it had been unknown to the Reformers. The princes assured the Diet that it had been done without their knowledge; though they doubted not he had good reasons for going. They then reported that it had reached their ears that the Emperor's soldiers guarded the gates on account of them. They begged the guard might be withdrawn.

The Emperor made a lame excuse about two soldiers having quarrelled and a mob being raised, but orders were immediately given to throw open the gates. The lions were at once turned into lambs, and the fiercest of the friends of the pope were meek and hoped all might be settled.

A few Catholics and a few Protestants were now chosen to meet together in a more amiable way to see if they could not come to terms. This was exceedingly dangerous for the cause of truth. It sounded but reasonable that if Rome gave way on some points, the Reformers should also do the same, and thus meet about half way. The Protestant confession was taken up and gone through clause by clause, and what we should call shameful concessions were made by the Protestants. For instance, they agreed to acknowledge the pope as "supreme bishop of Christendom." At the same time they held him to be Antichrist, but they said they might be under him as the Jews were under Pharaoh!

When it became known what those few met in consultation were agreeing to, there was a bitter cry from their fellow Christians. "Better die with Jesus Christ," said they, "than gain the favour of the whole world without Him." On the day Luther heard of what was going on he wrote five letters, stirring them up to courage and faithfulness. He again declared it was an attempt to reconcile Christ with Belial; and he plainly told them that he would not be bound by anything they might agree to.

But the consultations really ended in nothing. The Catholics could only pretend to give up anything. The pope had declared he would not concede the two points, and without him they could not move. Melanchthon, in the hope of peace, was led to concede much, but immediately afterwards was ashamed of it. But God was above it all. He forbade and prevented any real union; and they separated as far off from each other as ever.

Philip of Hesse was informed of what was going on and he too was indignant at the concessions of Melanchthon. "If we are Christians," wrote he, "what we should pursue is, not our own advantage but the consolation of so many weary and afflicted consciences, for whom there is no salvation if we take away the word of God. . . . This is not the moment to yield, but to remain firm unto death. Baffle these fearful combinations of Melanchthon, and tell, from me, the deputies of the cities to be men, not women. Let us fear nothing: God is with us."

The Protestant princes were now desirous of quitting Augsburg; but the Emperor detained them to close up the Diet. The recess* was drawn up. It was insulting to the Reformers: it called them a sect and said "the Confession had been soundly refuted by the holy scriptures." They were to have till April of the following year (it was now September) to come to some arrangement with the pope, and this was only granted on condition that they should join the Emperor in a war against the Anabaptists and all those who denied "the real presence" in the Lord's supper. By this they hoped to divide the Protestants into two bodies and employ one against the other.

{* The "recess" (from the French recez) is a formal statement of the decrees of the Diet.}

The Protestant princes could agree to nothing so wicked. "We do not accept it," said they. Then the Emperor will seek counsel of the pope how best to root out "this sect and its new errors." The Diet is over — the princes leave; thankful that they had been able to remain firm before such fearful intimidations. In God was their strength.

The anger of Charles was great when he saw the princes leave, unhumbled, to pursue their former course. He wrote to the pope, "The negotiations are broken off; our adversaries are more obstinate than ever; and I am resolved to employ my strength and my person in combating them."

As we have seen, Charles had endeavoured to set one part of Protestantism against another; but the reverse of this took place. "We are one in the fundamental articles of faith," said the Swiss, "and in particular (notwithstanding some disputes about words among our theologians) we are one in the doctrine of the communion in the body and blood of our Lord. Receive us." The Saxon deputies opened their arms, and the Swiss and German Protestants were united.

Thus ended this Diet with its tedious delays — its consultations, its concession and its victories. The Catholics left, resolved to gather together their armies to enforce obedience to Rome; the Protestants, strengthened in their faith and with a determination to bow only to the word of God.

Luther had been all this while at Coburg. He was near enough to be consulted on all important points, and he was constantly looking out for letters from Augsburg, anxious to know how things were progressing; and was constantly writing to encourage and stir up the zeal of those who stood in the forefront. He longed greatly to be at Melanchthon's elbow to stay his hand at concession and to stir up his faith. On the whole he rejoiced as to the Diet of Augsburg. They had really given up nothing, lost nothing; whereas, on the other hand, their Confession had been read by thousands, the truth had thus been spread, and some were gained over to the gospel. Their enemies had seen it was not merely a question of opinions or private judgment which could be held to-day and given up to-morrow. The Protestants had declared that God had taught them the truth on which they must live, and on which, if needful, they would die. It also brought the scripture into prominence. It was no longer the Fathers, nor the Schoolmen, nor the varying decrees of councils, nor the contradictory decision of the popes; it was the living, the unalterable, the invincible word of the living God.

Chapter 27.

Attempts at Agreement — A.D. 1530-1536.

At the end of 1530 the Elector was summoned to Cologne to meet with others to elect a king of the Romans. Ferdinand, the Emperor's brother, was to be the king. The Protestant princes held a meeting, and thought it right to oppose the election. The Elector wrote to Luther for his judgment. "I am a child in the things of the world," said Luther; "I will pray, and entreat therefore that God may be graciously pleased to guide and direct you, as He has hitherto done." He thought the Elector ought not to oppose the election. Melanchthon gave the same advice.

The Protestant princes however protested against the election, in which they were joined by some of the Catholic princes. The Emperor explained that he had too much to look after: the attention which so many lands claimed defied the attempts of a single sovereign to discharge the duty, though it has been judged that his real motive was to secure to his own family the succession to the office of Emperor. The king of the Romans was not to be a king of Italy, as his title might seem to imply, but a sort of deputy Emperor; so that he would, as well as the Emperor, be over the princes of Germany. The Protestant princes had no desire for this. They declared that they could not own any one as over them except the Emperor himself. Nevertheless Ferdinand was elected king of the Romans without the sanction of the Elector and his friends.

The Protestant princes again met at Smalcalde* early in 1531. They had not separated when a message came from the Emperor requesting assistance from their states against the Turks, whose progress was as rapid as it was successful. The princes declared they were ready to bear a portion of the burdens of the empire; but complained that great violence had been used towards them. "Afford us protection," said they, "against further proceedings of the fiscal chambers, and we will render the required assistance."

{* Called also Schmalkalden or Smalcalden. It is a town in Hesse-Cassel, in the province of Fulda, at the meeting of two streams, the Schmalkalde and the Stine. It is ten miles north of Meiningen.}

The Archbishop of Mentz and Louis, prince Palatine, offered to act as mediators between the Emperor and the Protestant princes, which was accepted. Deputies from all these met together; but it was the old question over again of making concessions. The deputies from the princes would not enter into any such questions in the absence of the theologians.

About the same time the count of Nassau and the count of Nuenar visited the Elector of Saxony. They advocated a compromise, and expressed their suspicion that the Elector was inclined to unite with the Sacramentarians. But he declared in the strongest terms his rooted dislike to that body. And what, we may ask again, was there to call forth this great dislike of the Elector? Why those Christians denied the "real presence" of the body and blood of Christ in the Lord's supper. Thus, though after the Diet of Augsburg, the Germans and Swiss had agreed to own their oneness, yet there was really this animosity which should not have existed among Christians.

The counts requested the Elector to be present at a proposed Diet to be held in September. But the Elector dreaded a repetition of the contests at Augsburg. The threats that had been thrown out would make him require a safe-conduct before either he or his son could attend. Again, he could not agree to forbid the evangelists preaching the gospel; and he could not sin against his conscience by making a distinction between different kinds of meat. He also stated that if religion was to be a subject for consideration at the Diet, it would be necessary to have Luther and other theologians with him; for whom he should require safe-conducts.

Luther during all these questions was ever on the watch. He had lately published a book, "Martin Luther's Admonition to his beloved Germans," in which he shewed that if there were tumults and seditions, the Reformers were not responsible for them, for they advocated patience and submission even unto death.

"The most violent of our adversaries," said Luther, "are obliged to acknowledge that no article of the Protestant Confession opposes scripture or the rule of faith;" but certain ceremonies only and the decrees of the popes, who have imbrued their hands in the blood of many innocent confessors." Luther states three reasons against a religious war. One, was the close affinity there was between the gospel and the Protestant Confession: would they war against the gospel of God? The second, to carry on a war for Rome would be a re-establishing or strengthening all the worst abuses of the papal system; abuses which many of the Catholic princes were forward to condemn. Thirdly, to the purity of the doctrines put forth by the Protestants as compared with those put forth by the papists. Under this head he speaks of the doctrine of justification by faith, which he sees is really the object of all the persecution against them, but which the gates of hell will never be able to overcome.

When the edict of Augsburg was published, Luther put forth another paper taking up the various points. He shewed how private masses, which brought so rich a harvest to the priests, were contrary to the gospel, which was not to be bought and sold.

In answer to one who had attacked him he maintained that all Christians were bound to obey the powers that be; but that no one was obliged to obey the Emperor or any power if he commanded him to take up arms against true religion and justice; and he pointed to the example of St. Maurice who with ten thousand of his fellow-soldiers met death rather than obey the Emperor who desired them to do what they accounted unholy.

The Diet which was to have been held in September was postponed till the following year (1532), when a Diet was held at Ratisbon.* Again the Archbishop of Mentz and the Elector Palatine persuaded the Emperor to let them again try to bring about a reconciliation. He gave his consent, and on April 1st a meeting was called at Schweinfurt, a town of Bavaria on the bank of the Main. The deputies came with a more formal proposition from the Emperor, the principal items of which were:

{* A city of Bavaria, situated on the south bank of the Danube, opposite to the influx of the river Regen, from which its German name, Regensburg, is derived.}

The Protestants should not publish or teach anything not contained in the Confession of Augsburg.

That they should have no communication with the Zwinglians or Anabaptists.

They should make no attempt, under the plea of religion, to draw to their party the subjects of other princes.

That they should not allow their preachers to teach their doctrines beyond the boundaries of their own states.

That they should neither disturb the established ecclesiastical jurisdiction, nor attack the rites and ceremonies of the church.

That they should furnish succours against the Turks.

That they should obey the Emperor and the king of the Romans.

If they did all this and more besides, the Emperor and the king of the Romans would forget all past offences.

To these propositions the princes replied that the king of the Romans had been appointed contrary to all the rules of the Empire. To the other propositions they gave a general sort of consent.

Charles was anxious to have assistance against the Turks, so that he took the advice of the mediating princes, and proclaimed that "no person should henceforth be interrupted in the observance of his religion till the meeting of a council, or at least till the orders of the empire had provided some method for the healing of the wounds inflicted by the present disorders."

On the 27th of July the Diet of Ratisbon was broken up, and the princes hastened away to their states to summon their people to march against the Turks. As this was being done the aged John Elector of Saxony, departed this life. His son John Frederick succeeded him.

A bloody conflict was expected with the Turks, Soliman with his victorious army was at Gratz, a place in Styria; the Emperor with his army was in the vicinity of Vienna. There each watched for the other to make the attack. At length Soliman withdrew the Turks without venturing a battle, and the danger was over.

No sooner was Charles at liberty than he turned his face towards Rome, and consulted with the pope as to the proposed council. The pope by his nuncio wrote to the new Elector of Saxony, informing him that the pope agreed to a General Council, conformable to the councils held by the Fathers and under the direction of the Holy Ghost, providing that promises would be given that its decisions should be final. He would name the place of its meeting. It would be either Bologna, Placentia, or Mantua.

John Frederick was wise enough not to reply offhand. He told the messengers of the pope and of the Emperor that, as a numerous body of persons had taken part in the Confession at Augsburg it would not be seemly in him to answer without consulting them. A meeting was about to be held in June at Smalcalde, when the proposition should be considered, and a reply made to the pope.

At the meeting the pope's letter was taken into solemn consideration. They had asked for a General Council, and now one was offered to them. Could they accept it? They drew up a reply.

They thanked the Emperor for his determination for a Council, but they must qualify their acceptance of it. They needed a council, in which neither the power nor the influence of the pope should interfere with the due consideration of their cause, and whereat no attempt should be made to decide the points in dispute by the decrees of the popes and the opinion of the schoolmen, but only by the authority of scripture. The council should be held in Germany, as the Emperor himself admitted; and not in either of the three places named, which were in the states of the pope. They could not bind themselves to accept the decisions of the council as final, until they knew more of its constitution and its basis of deciding questions. They had noticed that the pope had said this council was to be held in conformity to former councils. But what did that mean? Some of the councils merely enforced what had been decided on by the pope. Judging that the pope really meant to entrap them, they said, "If the pope insists on pursuing his present purpose, we place our cause in the hands of God, who will defend His doctrine and the purity of His worship."

Thus spoke these princes to the Emperor, and through him to the pope, in behalf of the Protestants generally. The pope had named eighteen months as a probable period before the council could be called. But what might not take place during so long a period?

Luther however was busy with writing, preaching and lecturing, when a turn was given to affairs by the death of the pope Clement VII. in 1534. Cardinal Farnese, under the title of Paul III. was his successor.

He sent his minister Paul Verger into Germany to sound the Elector and his friends as to the council. The pope was desirous of the council, but it must be held in Italy, and be governed "by the rules of former councils." The Elector, said he, would consult with his friends before giving a reply.

Verger went to Wittenberg, and Luther was invited to have an interview with him. Luther was so thoroughly convinced that nothing good could be got from the pope that he was inclined to ridicule both the pope and his minister.

Pomeranus accompanied Luther. They were all civil and courteous to one another. The subject of the council was soon introduced. "I and my associates," said Luther, "are convinced by the Holy Spirit of the truth of our doctrine, and need no council to determine for us; but there are others who, ignorant and sorrowful and oppressed by tyranny, know not what they ought, or what they ought not, to believe. Let a council then be called: I will be present, though it should condemn me to be burnt."

The legate asked whether priests were ordained now in Saxony. "They are ordained," said Luther, "for the pope would not ordain them for us. And behold here sits a bishop (pointing to Pomeranus) whom we have ordained." Had Luther been asked for his authority, it would have been awkward: for certainly he could not have shewn his authority from scripture to ordain others.

They had further conversation, and Luther assured the legate that their opinion did not rest on the learning or wisdom of men; but on the firm and solid rock, the word of God, which should remain for ever, and yield not to the gates of hell.

The words and courage of Luther had a good effect on the legate. He found the Reformer and his work different from what they had been represented to him. He eventually became a minister in the reformed church.

The Protestant princes had called a meeting to consider and to reply to the message of the pope brought to them by Verger. It was firm but respectful. The council could not be held in Italy, unless the safety of those attending it were guaranteed. As former popes had punished the adherents to the reformed doctrine when they could, Paul III. ought not to be the judge. The pope himself rather needed to be judged. They desired an impartial tribunal, and one that would decide according to scripture.

But before this meeting broke up, an envoy arrived from the King of France. He was meditating a war against Italy, and was in hopes of gaining the assistance of the Protestant princes. What heartlessness and want of common honesty, for this man to make such a proposition to the Protestants — with his hands all bloody with persecuting their friends in France! He made the best excuse he could for the persecution he had been carrying on, and gave great assurance of his friendly feeling now. This same man afterwards shocked the whole of Christianity by forming an alliance with the Turks. The princes could place no faith in the king's repentance, and could form no alliance which might be construed into treason against the Emperor.

At the above meeting of the Protestant princes another ambassador also arrived. It was Fox, bishop of Hereford, and he came from Henry VIII. of England. The history of the Reformation in England must be sought, for the causes which had transformed so bitter an enemy to the Reformation, as Henry VIII. was, into a friend and admirer.* Fox told the princes that Henry was well disposed, not only to the Elector of Saxony, but also to the reformers and the Reformation. He exhorted them against any jealousy or schism among themselves to weaken their strength in the approaching council. If peace was restored it must be on the basis of scripture. He informed them of how the papal power had been destroyed in England, and exhorted them not to take part in any council which would only confirm the power of the pope and re-establish superstition.

{* See a companion volume: "Lights and Shadows of the Reformation."}

However Luther might at times seem to desire to confine the Reformation to spiritual matters, it associated itself more and more with politics. We have seen that he himself advocated the freedom of the nation from the pope's control, and now that the Protestant princes had formed an alliance and met together at Smalcalde — altogether irrespective of whether they were Christians or not — they were appealed to as a powerful political body both by France and England; and indeed it is credibly stated that the princes themselves had previously sent their ambassadors to both the above courts.

At the end of the meeting these Protestant princes were joined also by the Duke of Wurtemberg and the princes of Pomerania, together with the cities of Frankfort, Augsburg, Hamburg and Hanover.

It was at the meeting at Smalcalde that were drawn up another set of Articles of Faith, known as the "Articles of Smalcalde." They are said to have been written by Luther, and were similar to the Augsburg Confession, but bolder in language. Melanchthon qualified his subscription to them. He thought the pope might be acknowledged, provided he allowed the word of God to be preached in purity. But what pope ever did this?

Erasmus, a learned Dutchman, died soon after this (in the year 1536). He had long seen the follies and errors of the priests, and had very freely censured them, mostly in a sarcastic style, but had always managed to escape punishment, though he offended many, indeed he was caressed by kings and popes. It was said that "Erasmus laid the egg, and Luther hatched it;" but Erasmus had never gone beyond pointing out errors and follies; he had not faith to follow the light or to suffer for Christ, though he valued the scriptures and published a New Testament in Greek and Latin (in 1516). He was solicited to attack Luther, but declined. Of him he said, "Luther has given us a wholesome doctrine, and many a good counsel. I wish he had not defeated the effect of them by intolerable faults. But if he had written everything in the most unexceptionable manner, I had no inclination to die for the sake of truth. Every man has not the courage requisite to make a martyr; and I am afraid, that if I were put to the trial I should imitate St. Peter."

Chapter 28.

Insurrection of the Anabaptists — A.D. 1534, 1535.

The city of Munster* was now the scene of a seditious and bloody insurrection by the

Anabaptists. Bernard Rotman and John of Leyden** were the leaders. Rotman had begun to work in Munster as an evangelist; if he was then an anabaptist he was one secretly. But he was so successful in arousing the people that numbers rallied round him, and even the magistrates professed to believe in what he preached. The senate passed a sentence that the churches were to be for these preachers. The Catholics were alarmed and retired to a village near by, and appealed to the bishop for help. This help was sent, and they prepared to attack the town. They deemed it best to send a messenger first with a demand to the senate that the churches should be restored.

{* Munster is the capital of a province of the same name, and is situated on both sides of the small river Aa in Westphalia, Prussia; it was surrounded by a double mound and a moat until 1765.

{** His name was John Boccold, or Beukels, and he was a journeyman tailor of Leyden: but he was better known as John of Leyden.

The senate detained the messenger and in the night a body from the town of nearly a thousand surrounded the village and compelled the Catholics to come to terms; which were that six churches should be given up to the preachers, and many of the ancient rites were to be abolished as superstitions. We feel sure Luther would never have sanctioned such a step; his doctrine was that we must not take the law into our own hands.

Peace thus restored did not last long; the city was visited by John of Leyden, the well-known anabaptist. The senate proceeded to banish him from the city, but Bernard Rotman now avowed himself a believer in these doctrines, and again all was in confusion. The true Reformers however opposed him too, and it was hoped peace would be restored; but those who were banished had not left the town but lay hidden among their friends. The Landgrave of Hesse sent two eminent preachers, in the hope that truth would prevail over fanaticism. These challenged the anabaptists to prove their doctrines by scripture, but they much preferred talking of visions and revelations apart from scripture — a true proof of their not being of God.

The anabaptists worked secretly till many were won to their side, when they made an open attack upon the others. They also sent to the villages around begging all to flock to Munster, and by this means they became almost entire masters of the town. Certain men, said to be prophets, were under their guidance — they appointed a senate of their own, with a new form of government. The first order they made was that those who had money and property were to bring it to one place, there to be disposed of according to the decision of the prophets. John of Leyden pretended to fall into a trance and to have a revelation. In this revelation he declared he had orders to alter the law of marriage and now every Christian might have as many wives as he pleased. John immediately married three wives, and others followed his example.

This was opposed by many; but the fanatics carried everything before them. Being masters of the city, they put to death those who sought to oppose them. A new prophet arose, who had also had a revelation, in which John of Leyden was to be "King of all the earth," and he should go forth with an army to destroy all who refused to receive the new gospel.

John of Leyden said that he also had had a similar revelation, but that he had hesitated to speak of it lest he should be thought to claim such a dignity by his own testimony only. The people were filled with wonder at the tidings of such a double revelation.

John was no sooner proclaimed king than he put down the other rulers of the city, and sat on a throne in an open part of the city, dressed in splendid robes, and wearing a crown of gold, surrounded by his officers ready to judge any cases needing to be judged. A Bible was carried on one side of him and a naked sword on the other. He had money coined with his own image, and in all ways carried himself as king.

The bishop of Munster collected an army and besieged the town; but such was the strength of its fortifications that they could not take it. The surrounding states took up the matter and made an order for 3,000 infantry, and 300 horse. These were slow in being sent; but those who were mustered surrounded the town and it became threatened by famine; yet nothing could damp the ardour of the anabaptists.

One day John made a solemn assembly by sound of trumpet. About four thousand attended near the cathedral, for whom a meal had been provided. At the close of this, John passed through the ranks giving bread to the people, saying, "Take eat, and declare the death of the Lord." He was followed by the Queen who carried the wine. Thus did these wicked people profanely pretend to take the Lord's supper. After this John made them promise obedience. Then he declared that he had had an order from God that twenty-eight evangelists should go forth to preach the doctrines held at Munster.

Strange to say twenty-eight men were found willing to leave the city to fulfil this mission, with a zeal worthy of a better cause, they being doubtless themselves deceived. Where they went they were at once seized as rebels, and put to death. Only one of their number escaped.

The princes who had sent the army desired to save the city, and the officer addressed an appeal to them to surrender. Many would gladly have done so, but John watched everything narrowly and prevented its being carried out. He declared that Easter was approaching, and then their trials would be ended, and their efforts be crowned by victory.

In the meantime the famine sorely increased, attended by disease and sickness. One historian relates that they hunted for, and devoured, all the rats they could catch, and then they turned cannibals and ate those who died from famine, and even killed some of the children and ate them. Every day added to the deaths, though John himself still lived in plenty. One of his wives sympathized with the starving people, and ventured to question if he was right in living in plenty while others were starving. She was summoned into his presence, along with his other wives. They were warned not to be guilty of a similar indiscretion, and to strike terror into all, he had her kneel before him and with his own hand he struck off the head of the blasphemer, as he called her. Singing and dancing followed the execution! Thus these fanatics became a disgrace to our common humanity.

It was not till April, 1535 — when the city had been in the hands of the rebels over twelve months that any real efforts were made to take the city. A regular army was now placed under a general, who planned to take the place by assault. The city was again summoned to surrender; the people were eager for it, but John prevented them.

It was not till June 24 that an assault was attempted. Two of the inhabitants had escaped, who willingly told the soldiers the weakest part of the fortifications. In the night a few brave fellows gained a certain pass and climbed a rampart. The sentinels were killed, and a door being unguarded they entered the city. They were fiercely attacked, but managed to keep the foe at bay while they opened one of the gates and admitted the body of soldiers. A general onslaught followed. The people rallied round their king, but he was taken prisoner alive. Rotman threw himself into the midst of the conflict and fell covered with wounds. The fanatics did not long continue the conflict. Munster was taken.

Thus ended the reign of John of Leyden. He was taken before the judges, and after being carried from city to city in chains was brought back to Munster and condemned to a cruel death, his flesh being torn away with hot pincers. Two other leaders shared the same fate. His conduct had been cruel and atrocious, and he deserved death; but was such a manner of putting him to death worthy of a country calling itself christian?

Luther was, deeply grieved at the proceedings of the anabaptists. Their doctrine was certainly not his doctrine, though the Catholics insisted that this was but the fruit of that liberty of conscience for which Luther pleaded. None were louder than Luther in condemning the anabaptists, both in their doctrine and in their seditious practices. It is instructive to see how Satan damages the work he cannot stop, by attaching to that which is real his own followers in mere profession. If old prejudices are broken through by the gospel, he takes advantage of the desire for reform to break through all that men have held to be sacred, to accomplish his own ends of spoliation and death.

Chapter 29.

Darkness Amid the Light — A.D. 1540.

In 1540 a great scandal was brought upon the Reformation, and a great dishonour upon the Lord Jesus, whom the Reformers professed to follow at all cost. Philip of Hesse — who had been one of the principal champions for the Reformation among the princes, and who boldly blamed Melanchthon for the concessions he was desirous of making at Augsburg — now desired to take a second wife while his first was still alive, and living with him.

This caused a serious difficulty. Such an act was condemned in every christian country, and by the Catholic religion. Would the Reformers sanction such an acknowledged wickedness? We have seen that at Munster, John of Leyden had pretended to have a revelation from heaven to alter the law of marriage, and any that wished it could have several wives? This was universally condemned: how then could the Reformers now sanction such a thing in one who was believed to be one of themselves? Scripture made no difference between a prince and a poor man; but should not the prince, having espoused the cause of the gospel and the truth, have been a pattern to others in all purity and godliness?

Philip referred the matter to the Reformers, and in doing so tried to find sanction for his desire in scripture. "I have read," wrote he, "in the Old Testament that holy persons, such as Abraham, Jacob, David, Solomon, had many wives, and yet all believed in the coming of Christ. Neither has God in the Old Testament nor Christ in the New, nor the prophets or apostles, forbidden a man to have two wives. . . . When St. Paul tells us so expressly that a bishop should be the husband of one wife, he would have laid the same injunction on the laity, had he wished that a layman should have one only also. . . . But let them not suppose that, because I should have another wife, I shall treat the first one ill, cease to live with her, or shew her less friendship than before . . . . let them then, in God's name, grant me what I demand, so that I may live and die cheerfully for the honour of the gospel, and as a good Christian. All which they ask that is just and reasonable I shall grant to them, even the property of the monasteries or similar things. . . . Further I only wish and ask for two wives. What matters it what the world says? We need not pay attention to it: we must look to God in all this, what He prescribes, prohibits or permits."

Luther referred the Landgrave to the divines at Hesse. But Philip was not content with this; he must have the judgment of the chief Reformers, Luther, Melanchthon, etc. This was a trying time for Luther. He had been bold against the priests and the pope and the Emperor, or rather — as he himself put it — against the work of Satan in these people. He had also been bold against the anabaptists, who, by the bye, had referred to the same passage in the New Testament (1 Tim. iii. 2) as Philip had: they for their many wives; he for his two. Would Luther be now as bold against one of his friends as he had been against the anabaptists? Let us see.

The Reformers met and drew up twenty-four articles; we can only give the conclusion.

"Your highness yourself sufficiently comprehends the difficulty there is in setting up a universal rule, or to give reasons for a dispensation for a particular case. We cannot publicly introduce and sanction as by a law the permission to espouse several wives. . . . We pray your highness to consider in what peril a man would be — convicted of having introduced into Germany such a law, which would divide families and engage them in endless lawsuits. That it please your highness to examine seriously the consideration of the scandal, labours, anxieties, sorrows and infirmities which have been presented to him.

"If your highness is determined to marry a second wife, we judge that it ought to be done privately, as we have said on speaking of the dispensation on which you ask; that is to say that there should be no person present but the celebrant and a few others as witnesses, who shall be bound to secrecy, as if under the seal of confession. Hence there will be fear neither of opposition nor of great scandal; for it is nothing uncommon for princes to keep concubines. . . . Thus we approve of it.

"Your highness has therefore in this writing not only our approbation of your wish in all the exigencies that may occur, but also the reflection which we have made of it."

This was signed by Luther, Melanchthon, Bucer, Corvin, Adam, Lening, Wintfert and Melander. These are the principal Reformers of Wittenberg and Hesse.

How was it that Luther and his co-workers overlooked our Lord's instruction on the subject? He expressly stated that Moses had allowed a looseness as to marriage because of the hard-heartedness of the Jews, but telling them that it must not be so among them, and that it was not so ordered of God at the beginning. (Matt. xix. 3-9.) God only created one wife for Adam, and speaks only of one in Genesis ii. 24. And in the New Testament a woman may marry a second husband only if the first be dead. (1 Cor. vii. 39.) Again and again two are spoken of as being one — the man and the wife — but never three. Indeed the thing is so plain, that though in Christianity they have differed on nearly every other subject, they have all and always agreed on this.

With this before us, and judging by the paper itself drawn up by the Reformers on the subject, with all its excuses and desire for secrecy, it is clear that they had not the boldness to declare the truth. It was a very serious fall of those who signed that paper, and forms a great blot on the character of Luther.

Philip of Hesse married his second wife, and used to go to church with both his wives, and unblushingly took his place between them, to the great scandal of every godly Christian when it became known.

Thus is man in his best estate but a poor failing creature! Not that there is any excuse for the Reformers: they were greatly to blame, but it exalts the grace of God in saving such as they, and (may we not say?) such as we.

Chapter 30.

The General Council — A.D. 1540-1545.

Every year had the subject of a general council been mooted and discussed. The pope seemed now to be anxious to have the council, but the Reformers saw plainly that he wanted to have it held in Italy, in order that he might make it do just what he pleased, so that in no sense would it be free to consider the questions pressing. The Reformers, too, insisted that scripture should be the standard of appeal: Rome could admit of no such thing.

Henry VIII. of England declared that as there was no hope of a free General Council, every prince should take upon himself the duty of reforming the church of his own country. "My kingdom is not of this world," said our Lord; and what had worldly princes to do with reforming the church? Christendom generally had long before grown into a great outward system half political, and half religious, so that it was difficult to distinguish the church from the world. The Reformation seemed to be a coming out from this, but it soon began to drift into a similar false position.

In October 1540 a conference was held at Worms, at which a legate from the pope was present, desirous of coming to terms of peace. Melanchthon and Eck began to discuss the points in dispute, and began on what is called "original sin," But they had scarcely made a good start, when the Emperor recalled his ministers, and the conference broke up.

In April 1541 a Diet was held at Ratisbon. Various conferences were held over the disputed points, and the Emperor put into the hands of those chosen to consult together, a book, supposed to have been written by a canon of Cologne named Gropper, and which it was hoped was so cleverly written that all could subscribe to it. It dealt with twenty-two of the chief points in dispute, and by often employing the very words of scripture and by dexterously explaining some things and softening others, the writer hoped he had hit upon the happy medium. But the Catholics declared the effort to be too favourable to the reform principles: they pronounced it to be heresy, and all the more dangerous because it was so cleverly disguised. On the other hand Luther, the Elector, and the more strenuous Reformers denounced the work as an impious compound of truth and error. Thus they were as far apart as ever. Truth could not be made to blend with error: God had forbidden the union.

Similar Diets were held from time to time; but they all ended really as they began. A free general council was asked for by the Protestants: it was promised by the Emperor, but it was the pope's aim to see that it either did not take place, or that, if it did, it should not be free.

In the meantime George of Saxony died. He had been one of the most strenuous supporters of the papacy, and an avowed enemy of Luther, since they first met. In his will he left his estates to his brother Henry and his two sons on condition that they remained faithful to the Catholic faith. As the end of George approached, deputies went to Henry, saying, Come and possess the treasures of your brother. "Your language," said Henry, "reminds me of the promise which the devil made to Jesus Christ, if He would fall down and worship him. No! you solicit me in vain. I cannot resign the possession of truth and religion for that of any temporal advantage." Henry had embraced the truth, and he could not accept the inheritance as a Catholic.

Still Henry believed himself entitled to the estates by natural right; therefore as soon as George died he took possession of Dresden and other towns in the dominions. Many in George's states had embraced the gospel, but had been prevented making any open profession on account of the rigour of their sovereign; but now he was dead they hailed with joy the Protestant Henry.

Luther hastened to Leipsic, to help on the work. The believers there had had but little instruction. He would devote his time and his energies to build up and instruct the faithful of that city.

In December 1545 the General Council so long looked for, and so long promised, opened its sittings — it was the famous Council of Trent. It soon became evident that the pope meant to carry everything his own way. He called his cardinals and appointed a certain number of them with others to watch carefully the movements of the council, and to act accordingly, and to see that nothing went wrong. He also desired that swift posts should be arranged between Trent and Rome that he might have the earliest information. The subject of reform was put off from time to time — discussing all sorts of subjects in preference to that: indeed, as was foreseen, the pope did just as he liked. The council was adjourned from time to time; but was professedly continued till December 1563, that is nineteen years; though at times there were present but a few Italian and Spanish prelates, and as a whole it became entirely a Roman Catholic council, and established what was to be and what was not to be the faith of that church. And to this council Roman Catholics now turn for a decision on any article of their faith.

Soon after the Council began to meet, Luther passed from the scene. We must take a glance at his declining years.

Chapter 31.

Luther's Old Age and Death — A.D.1534-1546.

Infirmities had been increasing upon Luther, but he steadily went on with his work as long as his strength lasted. He finished translating the Old Testament: it had been published in parts, but was issued complete in 1534. This was a great work. In itself it was a revolution. Every Christian could now read for himself all God had caused to be written; take nothing second-hand; know what was truth and what was not. On the other hand, all Germany could now read for themselves God's way of salvation. They had been taught that there was no salvation out of the Romish church, and the Romish priests were the door-keepers of that church: now they could see for themselves that of any one it was written, "If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved." (Rom. x. 9.) The word of God said, "He that hath the Son, hath life; and he that hath not the Son of God, hath not life." (1 John v. 12.) Union with the Son of God was life: not with the pope or anything of his. The word said, "If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous" (1 John ii. 1); and "If we confess our sins he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." (1 John i. 9.) Not a word about confessing to the priest, nor penances, nor needing the priest's absolution. They could go direct to God and get His forgiveness.

It also corrected abuses. Instead of the pope being God's vicar on earth, he was never even once named in the Bible. The Lord's supper was certainly taken in "both kinds" in the days of the apostles: who had restricted it to one kind? The bishop is there said to be the husband of one wife (1 Tim. iii. 2), and there is to be no forbidding to marry (1 Tim. iv. 3); who then had invented the celibacy of the priests? And so of many other things. The light — the light of God's word — had appeared amid the darkness, and the common people could now meet the priests with a "Thus saith the Lord" in opposition to their constant cry of "Thus saith the church, or the pope, or the councils, or the Fathers." As the word of God became the authority, so all other authorities sank into their own littleness and vanity. With the Old Testament as well as the New they could contrast the Jewish dispensation with that of Christ, and be able to see how in many things Rome clung to the former in preference to the latter. In God's hands Luther had been the means of this light shining upon Germany. If he had done nothing else, this in itself was a great work.

Now he was getting old and infirm. He had worn himself out in his master's cause; still he taught, he preached, he wrote, but was sometimes so weak that he had to be carried to his home. He also commenced a revision of his edition of the Bible. He called around him the pious and learned: one with his Hebrew Bible, another the Greek, another the Latin, and by careful comparison they sought to make the translation more correct, a nearer transcript of what God had caused to be written.

Another work that Luther accomplished was to write a catechism for children, called "The Little Catechism," besides his "Larger Catechism." In his visitations he observed how very faulty were the schoolmasters in their religious instruction. Of course they could not teach what they did not know: but Luther was anxious that the light should also shine into the hearts of the little ones, so he wrote for them "The Little Catechism," and he afterwards rejoiced that lads and young maidens knew more of God and of Christ than many of the priests had ever known.

Three times had plagues broken out at Wittenberg (1516, 1527, 1535) when most who were able fled from the town for safety. But Luther on each occasion remained at his post: he visited the sick and administered relief and comfort. In 1527 even the University was removed to Jena, but Luther remained. "Lord, I am in thy hand," said he, "Thou hast fixed me here; Thy will be done." The plague was carried in the clothes and two of Luther's children were taken ill. "I am like a dying man," said he, "and yet I live." His children recovered, and at the end of the year he exclaimed, "God hath shewn Himself wondrously merciful to us."

In 1537 Luther was taken dangerously ill. He had travelled to Smalcalde, but had to take to his bed. Here the Elector John visited and comforted him. "The good God, our Lord," said the Elector, "will be merciful unto us and prolong your life." If taken home, the prince declared that Luther's wife and children should have his special care. He sent too in every direction for anything thought to be of any help for Luther's recovery. The Lord removed the disease, and Luther regained his health.

Luther felt for the people, and none were beneath his notice. There was a man named Hans Kohlhase, a sort of captain of banditti, and who attracted great attention. He had been respectable but had suffered a series of real or imagined injuries, without redress from the rulers, which so aroused his strong and vigorous mind that he became an outlaw and a robber, and joined with any who opposed the state. To this man Luther wrote and invited him to visit him secretly.

One day a knock came at Luther's door, and he thought at once that perhaps it was Kohlhase. He would answer the door himself. It was he. Luther conducted him quietly to his own room, and sent for Melanchthon and a few others. They heard the man's tale of his losses and injuries; and they promised to do what they could to have justice done to him. In the meantime he promised to abstain from all further violence. They sat with him till late at night, giving him good advice and in the morning he stole away unknown and unobserved. The exertions of Luther and his friends on his behalf were fruitless; and again he took to his robbery and violence. He was at length captured, and executed in 1540. Luther had done his best to reclaim and save the robber.

On September 20, 1542, Luther was called to a new trial. The grim "enemy" Death entered his dwelling, and removed his daughter Magdalen. During her illness Luther had prayed earnestly for her recovery. He said at her bedside, "I love her much; but if it be thy will, O God, to take her I shall gladly know her to be with thee."

As he saw her end approaching, he said to her, "Magdalen, my little daughter, thou wouldst gladly remain here with thy father; but thou wilt also readily go to thy other Father."

"Yes, dear father, as God wills," said the dying child. And she passed away.

Though Luther enjoyed much happiness in his family circle and among his friends, yet there was much within and without to loosen his hold of this earth. "The world is tired of me," said he, "and I am tired of it: we shall easily part, as a guest leaves his hotel not unwillingly."

In 1546 Luther was invited to Eisleben to assist in settling a dispute between the Dukes of Mansfeld and some of their subjects respecting some mines and land. Luther was related to some of the disputants, which was naturally a reason why he should not have gone; but the princes had confidence in him as a just and upright man, and he was chosen.

He set out with his three sons. His wife parted with him in sorrow: she had a sort of presentiment that she should never see him again alive. He wrote to comfort her, reminding her that God, was almighty. "Therefore rest in peace, my dearest Kate," said he.

Upon reaching Halle, he was so unwell that Dr. Jonas resolved to accompany him. In crossing Saale the water had so swollen that they were in great danger of all going to the bottom. However they crossed in safety.

At the frontiers of Mansfeld he was met by the Dukes and a number of attendants.

On the 17th of February his illness increased, yet he was enabled to walk about the room. At length he seemed struck with a thought: "I was born and baptized at Eisleben," said he; "what if I should remain and even die here!"

He supped and seemed cheerful. But after supper his illness increased, and he retired to bed. But about midnight he arose and walked about his room. He felt his end was approaching, and his friends were called around him. Then he prayed, saying: "O eternal and merciful God, my heavenly Father, I thank thee that thou hast revealed to me thy Son Jesus Christ, in whom I have believed, whom I have preached, whom I have confessed, whom I love and worship as my dear Saviour and Redeemer . . . . Though I must lay down this body, yet know I assuredly that I shall dwell with thee for ever, and that none can pluck me out of thy hands. Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit."

He was silent. He was asked if he died in the belief of the doctrines of Christ as he had preached them. He gave an emphatic "Yes," and his spirit took its flight.

He was buried at Wittenberg. An inscription in Latin tells the visitor where the body lies.

He was only sixty-three years and a few months, but he had been worn out in his Master's service. "Often have I gone to him unawares," said Melanchthon, "and found him dissolved in tears and prayers for the church of Christ."

As we have proceeded with Luther's history his natural character for boldness and intrepidity have often been seen. His tenacity to what he believed to be true was another mark of his character, but which unhappily was as great when he was wrong as when he was right. Erasmus said also of him, "God has sent in this latter age a violent physician, on account of the magnitude of the existing disorders." But above his faults — and who is faultless? — we bless God for the grace given to him. Humanly speaking, again and again one and another would have given way and compromised the truth, but for the staunch and unbending zeal and energy of Martin Luther.

Above all, he was God's servant, raised up to do a special work for Him. It may be said that he was to blame in his behaviour to the Swiss Christians, and in the matter of Philip of Hesse's two wives. True. Also that he failed to restore to the church its heavenly character. True. But he brought to light the great truth of justification by faith, maintaining this truth in spite of all the opposition of the powers of darkness and the enmity of Rome. This of itself undermined the fabric of Rome. Priestcraft, penances, absolutions, indulgences all fell into the shade as faith arose in the horizon.

Another great work Luther was called to do for God was to give to the Germans the word of God in their mother tongue. It is true increased light and further knowledge of the original tongues have pronounced his work of translation to be faulty; but we doubt not he did it faithfully according to the light he had, and for which thousands heartily thanked their God. The scripture, as we have seen, was God's light that shone into many a dark corner, and judged and made manifest the gross darkness all around.

If it was a question of forgiveness, it said,

"The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin." (1 John i. 7.)

If it was a question of justification,

"Being justified by faith we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ." (Rom. v. 1.) "Not of works, lest any man should boast." (Eph. ii. 9.)

If it was a question of mediation,

There is "one mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus." (1 Tim. ii. 5.)

If it was a question of access to God,

"We have a great High Priest, that is passed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of God. . . . Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace." (Heb. iv. 14, 16.) He "hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father." (Rev. i. 6.)

If it was purgatory,

"Giving thanks unto the Father which hath made us meet to be partakers of the saints in light." (Col. i. 12.) He "hath raised us up together and made us sit together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus." (Eph. ii. 6.)

If it was the Mass,

"By one offering he hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified." (Heb. x. 14.) There is "no more sacrifice for sins." (Ver. 26.)

If it was confession,

"If any man sin, we have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." (1 John i. 9; ii. 1.) "Confess your faults one to another." (James v. 16.)

If it was the Lord's supper in "both kinds," or the marriage of the priests, the scripture which Luther had put into the hands of all was equally plain.

Thus God raised up Luther to do a work for Him, and he did it. God took him home. We are not all Luthers; it may be none of us are. But, if Christians, we are God's workmanship. (Eph. ii. 10.) He has for each a work to do. When we have done it, He will take us home, or Christ will come to fetch us. (1 Thess. iv. 16, 17.) May we be so walking and so working as to please Him, and be found to be overcomers, in His strength, amid the surrounding evil, and at length receive that white stone of His approval, on which is written a new name which no man knows but he that receives it. (Rev. ii. 17.)

"I need no other plea

With which to approach to God

Than His own mercy, boundless, free,

Through Christ on man bestowed;

A Father's love, a Father's care

Receives and answers every prayer.

I need no human ear

In which to pour my prayer,

My great High Priest is ever near,

On Him I cast my care;

To Him, Him only, I confess,

Who can alone absolve and bless.

I need no works by me,

Wrought with laborious care,

To form a meritorious plea,

Why I heaven's bliss should share:

Christ's finished work through boundless grace

Has there secured my dwelling place.

I need no prayers to saints,

Beads, relics, martyrs' shrines,

Hardships, 'neath which the spirit faints,

Yet still sore-burdened pines;

Christ's service yields my soul delight,

Easy His yoke, His burden light.

I need no other book

To guide my steps to heaven,

Than that on which I daily look,

By God's own Spirit given;

And this, when He illumes our eyes,

'Unto salvation makes us wise.'

I need no holy oil

To anoint my lips in death,

No priestly power, my guilt to assoil,

And aid my parting breath;

Long since those words bade fears to cease

'Thy faith hath saved thee, go in peace.'

I need no priestly Mass,

No purgatorial fires,

My soul to anneal, my guilt to efface

When this brief life expires;

Christ died my eternal life to win,

His blood has cleansed me from all sin.

I need no other dress,

I urge no other claim,

Than His unspotted righteousness

In Him complete I am;

Heaven's portals at that word fly wide,

No passport do I need beside."

STEM Publishing : For the Young : Heroes of the Reformation

Heroes of the Reformation

The Story of Their Trials and Triumphs.

London: G. Morrish, 20, Paternoster Square, E.C. 1895.

Contents

John Wicliffe

John Huss

Jerome

Martin Luther

Ulric Zwingle

William Farel

John Wicliffe.

At the time of which I am about to write, you, dear young friends, who are the children of many prayers, and who have been taught from your earliest infancy to lisp the sweet name of Jesus, can have little or no idea of the spiritual darkness that hung over our land. You have been accustomed all your lives to hear the bells ringing out all around you, calling you Sunday after Sunday to hear the Word of God. You have been taught sweet hymns, and sweeter texts, all about the saving love of our tender Saviour and you know that your confession of love to Christ would be received with the deepest joy and thanksgiving by your loving Christian parents.

But if you had lived in the thirteenth century how different would have been your lot. There would have been none then to gently lead you to the feet of Jesus, telling you of His free grace and dying love. If perchance your conscience was troubled about your sins, and you said in trembling tones, "What must I do to be saved?" there would have been none to answer lovingly, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." A shaven priest with austere countenance would perhaps have taken you by the hand and leading you to some dreary cell, would have shewn you a gaunt man, with haggard face and weary eyes, prostrate before a cross, and with the marks of the scourge upon his back. He would have told you that this man was doing his best by prayers and penances to reach at last the kingdom of heaven, and he would have advised you to go and do likewise. If, appalled by the sight, you shrank away, thinking to put off till another day your soul's salvation, a priest of quite another kind would perhaps have taken you under his care, and with a smile on his round red face would have told you of a far easier way to obtain the forgiveness of your sins. He would have whispered to you that the Church required money, and that by the payment of a certain sum he was able to forgive you all you had committed, or even would commit. The youngest of my readers would laugh to scorn such a thought, but in those days, from the king on the throne to the beggar by the wayside, there was scarcely one who would have dared to say, "God alone can forgive sins."

You will say, But how could this be! I will tell you. In all our fair land there was not a Bible written in a language that the people could understand, and so the sweet words of the Lord Jesus were unknown. Thus the people were kept in utter ignorance, under the power of priests and friars, many of them wicked men who kept the truth from the poor souls around them, that by so doing they might enrich themselves, and add to their own power. How early had those who called themselves the followers of the Lord Jesus Christ forgotten His words! He, the gentle lowly One, had said, "Ye are not of the world even as I am not of the world." He had taught them that he who would be greatest in the kingdom of heaven, must be the least.

At this time the whole of Europe was under the power of one man, who called himself the Vicegerent of Christ upon earth. He was named Pope Innocent III. He professed to have the disposal of the souls of all men in his hand, and the power to send them to heaven or hell at his will. Kings trembled before him, for he was mightier than all earthly kings.

King John was then reigning over England; and, having dared to oppose the will of this mighty pontiff, all England was placed under his terrible edict. The king had offended, and the whole nation must be punished with him! We, with the brightness of heaven's own truth shining around us, can have no idea of the terrors of such a sentence as this; but to the men of those days upon whom the doom fell, it meant that the gates of heaven were locked against them. All who died must wander wretched, unhappy spirits � in some doleful region until it pleased this dread Pope, who carried the keys, to open the gates and let them out. The whole country was plunged in the deepest gloom. The whole nation put on, as it were, sackcloth and ashes. Church doors were closed, lights on the altars were extinguished, bells ceased to ring, infants were baptized outside the church doors, the dead were buried in ditches and in fields; none dared rejoice, or eat flesh, or pay decent respect to his person or his clothing. King John braved this state of things for two years, but at last yielded to the will of the Pope. Craving an interview with the Pope's legate he humbly resigned "England and Ireland to God, St. Peter, St. Paul, and to Pope Innocent." He consented to hold his dominions in trust only to the Church of Rome, and to pay to it the sum of twelve thousand marks yearly. Taking his crown, he laid it humbly at the feet of the legate, who, to show the mightiness of his master, spurned it with his foot as a worthless bauble, and then stooping down, he placed it on the head of the poor craven monarch. Never in the annals of England's history was there a moment of deeper humiliation.

But God had not forgotten poor dark priest-ridden England. The darkest part of the night is just before the breaking of the morning; and before long God would raise up one who would dare, in the face of Pope, bishops, and priests, denounce this wicked system of Popery. A light was about to gleam forth that should never be extinguished, but that should broaden and brighten until the world should be bathed in its glow.

John Wicliffe was born in the North Riding of Yorkshire, in the Manor house of the parish of Wicliffe, in the year 1324. Little or nothing is known of his boyhood, except that he was early destined for the Church, and received his first training at a seminary of the neighbourhood. At the age of sixteen he was sent to Merton College, at Oxford: he made rapid progress, and soon became noted for his learning. Fox says, "He was famously reputed for a great clerk and schoolmaster, and no less expert in all kinds of philosophy."

But it was a higher and a deeper teaching that laid the foundation for Wicliffe's greatness. Amongst the scholars of the day whose learning shed a lustre over the college was Branwadine; he had early been drawn to the study of the Bible, then written in Latin. His soul, weary of the empty philosophy of the day, had drank in the precious words of life. He rejoiced in the doctrines of free grace, and then, lifting the veil, he unfolded the way of life to the students who crowded round him with eager attention. Wicliffe was one of these students: and as he listened to the great master day by day, telling out the sweet story so new and strange, a light began to dawn upon him, and he learned to turn from all the wretched thoughts of the day, and seek only for truth as it was found in the Bible.

Just at this time the world was visited by a terrible pestilence, known in history as the "Black Death." It is said that "appearing first in Asia it took a westerly course, and swept on and on, carrying death and desolation everywhere. Even those who were on the ocean were not exempt from this awful disease. Ships were wafted to the ports silent and still, and all on board were found lying cold and lifeless." At last it reached England in one town only, as many as fifty in a day died, and were laid together in one deep pit. In London, Fox says, "the vehement rage thereof was so great, and did increase so much, that from the first of February till the beginning of May, in a churchyard then newly made in Smithfield, about two hundred corpses every day were buried, besides those which in other churchyards of the city were laid also."

This awful visitation "sounded like the trumpet of the judgment day in the heart of Wicliffe." Again he went to his Bible, not now merely as a scholar, but as a poor lost sinner seeking salvation. The shadow of death was all around him, and in an agony of soul he went to God crying, "What must I do to be saved?" Standing on the brink of the pit, he says he felt how awful it was to go down into the eternal night and "inhabit everlasting burnings." After much agony of soul peace came, and in the joy of his escape from an everlasting doom, he felt what a trifling matter the mere life of the body was, compared to the everlasting life he had received for his soul. This blessed assurance never left him, and clad in this armour Wicliffe went forth into the battle.

If we consider the conspicuous place that Wicliffe occupied in the eyes of the world, it is remarkable how little is known of the merely personal incidents of his life.

We know that he had a singularly sweet charm of manner, arising from a rare humility, and that he led a blameless life in an age of great wickedness. From his portrait that has been preserved, we can form some idea of his personal appearance. The broad calm brow bespeaks severity of character; the firm set, yet kindly mouth tells of firmness tempered with gentleness; and the keen dark eyes show great penetration. Altogether the picture is of a man of noble aspect and commanding mien, and quite agrees with all we know of the character of the great Reformer.

By this time Wicliffe had become bachelor of Theology, and the privilege had been granted him of giving public lectures in Oxford on the books of Scripture. The deep research needed for a work like this was of the greatest use to him, and he was becoming unwittingly prepared for his great life work � that of reforming the church.

The strength of Wicliffe lay in his fearless submission to the Bible. Turning away from all other teachers, and from the dogmas of the thousand years that had gone before, he placed himself, like a little child, before the Word of God, and bowed to the voice of God speaking to Him in its pages. And as he pored over those luminous pages light began to dawn upon him, and he began to perceive what a darkness there was hanging, like a black pall, over England, and how his beloved country was groaning under a bondage worse than that of Egypt. At this time the country was infested with monks of different orders, black, white, and grey, emissaries of the Pope, who combined not only to blind the eyes of the people as to the truth of God, but to fleece them of their gold.

The Pope, too, gave away all the richest livings (so-called) to foreign priests, who subverted the laws of the kingdom and devoured its substance. Heavy taxes were extorted from the people without the consent of the king, and sometimes this very money was turned against them, being sent away to support the war that the French were carrying on with us! You will understand this when I tell you the Pope himself was a Frenchman. And all this was done in the name of religion, by those who professed to be the followers of the gentle lowly Jesus.

What a horrible mockery must all this have appeared to Wicliffe, as he gazed at it in the light of Scripture. It must not be supposed that he saw the whole truth at once. It is God's way to lead on a step at a time, but if the first step be taken in faith, He will surely give light for another and another, until the whole path, at first so dark, and so surrounded with bewildering mists, becomes sun clear. So it was with Wicliffe, and as the fetters began to be unloosed from his own soul, and the scales to fall from his eyes, he longed to free his poor countrymen from the galling Papal yoke. And now, with all the earnestness of his great soul, we find him by lectures and by writings doing his utmost to open the eyes of those around him. He taught the barons and commons of England that the Pope had no temporal power over the people; at the most he only had spiritual. "The Apostle Peter," said he, "never exacted money from any. Why does this man? Peter only took freewill offerings. What right, then, has Pope Urban to extort money from us, whether we will or not? His duty is to give spiritual counsel, not to fleece us of our gold. I find not in Scripture that God gave Peter temporal power over the kings of the earth, yet this man makes himself king of kings."

Such were the doctrines that he taught everywhere, until all England was becoming filled with them, and the halo that had encompassed the Papal fabric during the middle ages began to wane, and men took courage to look into a system to which before they had blindly submitted. And so the soul of England began to bound upward.

It was just at this time that Pope Urban, not reading as he might have done the signs of the times, advanced upon England a most insolent demand.

You will remember that I told you in my last paper how poor weak King John, a hundred years before this, gifted away his kingdom to Pope Innocent III., and how he promised to pay the yearly sum of a thousand marks to him. For the last thirty-five years this sum had been discontinued, when now it was suddenly demanded by the Pope with an intimation that should the king fail to pay not only the annual tribute, but all arrears, he would be at once summoned to Rome to answer to his liege lord, the Pope, for his disobedience.

This was too much for a people who, although still submitting to Rome for its spiritual affairs, were beginning to feel very restive under these constant demands for money and subjection. It was too much, too, for King Edward III., the hero of Cressy and Poictiers, and with the laurels of his triumphs still fresh on his brow, to tamely submit to pay a thousand marks a year for wearing a crown that he was so well able to defend. No, the Pope had gone too far. Calling his Parliament together, the king laid the Pope's insolent letter before them, and asked their advice upon the matter. They asked for one day to consider the subject, which the king readily granted. On the morrow all Parliament assembled to consider the momentous question � Shall England, now becoming mistress of the seas, bow at the feet of the Pope? It was a great crisis: and it is with deep interest that we look back and scan the earnest faces of that assembly. Wicliffe was there, and it is to him that we are indebted for an account of the speeches.

And now it was that the great services of Wicliffe became manifest, for it is admitted by all that the sentiments expressed in Parliament were but the echo of his teachings at Oxford.

Without a dissentient voice, Parliament resolved to free England from the Papal tyranny, and an answer, short and decisive, was sent to the Pope. It run thus: "Forasmuch as King John nor any other king could bring his realm and kingdom into such thraldom but by common consent of Parliament, the which was not given, therefore that which he did was against his oath at his coronation, besides many other causes. If, therefore, the Pope should attempt anything against the king by process or other matters indeed the king with all his force should resist the same."

One man alone in the country stood up in defence of the Pope. A monk, whose name has not come down to us, boldly asserted that as the Pope was the vicar of Christ upon earth, he was the feudal superior of kings, and lords of their kingdoms. He maintained, therefore, that their obedience and tribute was his due; and further that King Edward had forfeited his throne by the nonpayment of the tribute. Then singling out Wicliffe by name, he challenged him to deny what he had advanced, thus proving that he knew full well who was the leader in this controversy. In spite of all the perils that made the task a hazardous one (for it was no light matter to defy the Papacy) Wicliffe boldly took up the challenge.

He did not at that time touch upon the spiritual power of the Pope, but contented himself by objecting to his temporal power. He pressed home the rights of men, the laws of England, and the precepts of holy writ. By all these he argued that the Papacy had no claim upon them as a country. "There cannot," said he, "be two temporal sovereigns in one country. Either Edward is King or Urban. We make our choice, we accept Edward of England and refuse Urban of Rome."

Perhaps in the whole of England's history there was not a moment of graver interest than this. The eyes of all Europe were watching with the deepest anxiety, this conflict between England and the great power that was seeking to reduce the whole earth to vassalage; and the decision of England was hailed with joy by all nations as a great victory won in the cause of religious freedom.

I have told you all this, dear children, because I want you to understand the means God used to free our country from these Papal chains, and how he was opening the flood gates so that a river of truth might sweep over our land, bringing joy and gladness to the fainting souls who would stoop and drink. At this day you are enjoying benefits and blessings which resulted from this great triumph; and it must not be forgotten that although King Edward and his Parliament were in the foreground, Wicliffe was the real champion for the truth.

The next great battle that Wicliffe was called upon to wage, was of quite a different kind. As he grew in the knowledge of the truth, we find that his merely political struggles gave place to battles for the truth of God. He began to perceive that the Papal spiritual power was utterly contrary to the Scriptures, and that if he would follow the one he must finally renounce the other. This decision was not come to without many sighs and groans.

One great crying evil was now beginning to force itself upon his notice, and roused his righteous soul to anger.

At this time England was swarming with monks and friars of different orders, known as the mendicant Friars. Upon these men the Pope professed to have conferred the power of forgiving sins; and with such a hearty good will did they perform their office, that criminals of the deepest dye flocked to them for remission of their crimes. They sold to such, indulgences, or "pardons," the money for which they spent in erecting palatial buildings, and in sumptuous tables. "The sum of all piety," said they, "was to obey the Pope, pray to St. Frances, and to give alms to the friars."

This unscriptural and corrupt system roused Wicliffe to intense opposition, for well he knew the great gulf that was fixed between salvation by the blood of the Lamb, and pardon by the Pope. About this time he published his "Objections to the Friars," and grandly does he preach in it the Gospel to them, and to his countrymen. "There cometh," says he, "no pardon but of God. The indulgences of the Popes, if they are what they say they be, are a manifest blasphemy. Think not that God has given the keys to Innocent of Rome; think not that the friar carries heaven in his wallet; think not that God sends His pardons wrapped up in bits of paper which the mendicants carry about with them, and which they sell for a piece of silver. Listen to the voice of the Gospel: "Ye are not redeemed with corruptible things, such as silver and gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, the Lamb without blemish and without spot." "Oh everyone that thirsteth, come ye to the waters. Come ye, buy and eat, yea come buy wine and milk without money and without price." Thus did Wicliffe begin to preach the acceptable year of the Lord, and to proclaim liberty to the captive, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound.

Wicliffe was now beloved and reverenced by the people, and trusted and honoured by the king. As a proof of this we find his name placed second in the list of delegates, who were sent to Pope Gregory XI. in the year 1374. They were sent to him in the hope that a grievance that was growing almost intolerable might be remedied. They prayed that the foreign priests, who by the Pope's agency were occupying all the best livings in England, and draining the land of its wealth, might be removed, and that the king should have the power to appoint whom he would.

For two years these delegates were kept at Bruges, negotiating about the matter, but all to little or no purpose, for the Pope would give them no satisfactory answer. At the end of that time Wicliffe returned home, weary and disheartened at the poor result of this mission. But the time had not been wasted, and doubtless God had ordered his visit there so that he might see, with his own eyes, the iniquity of the Papacy. The nearer he came to the so-called sacred city, and the throne of God's high priest upon earth, the more his soul revolted from the avarice, ambition, and hypocrisy, that abounded there. He found this Rome to be a scene of false priests, clothed, not in the beauty of holiness, but in far other vesture. It was all a cheat and a lie; and this great true-hearted man, with his soul filled with indignation, came home to proclaim it so in trumpet tones, that rang through the land. In his public lectures he now spoke of the Pope as �Antichrist, the proud worldly priest of Rome."

Soon after his return from Bruges he was appointed by the king to the rectorship of Lutterworth, Leicestershire, and from his pulpit there, and from his chair in Oxford, he shrank not to oppose with boldness and eloquence, the blasphemous assumptions of the Pope. His sentiments soon began to find an echo in public opinion. The murmurs of the people became louder against the foreign monks, and not long after this the Parliament � well called the "Good Parliament" � proclaimed that the Pope should no longer have power to install his foreign favourites here, and that "no Papal collector or proctor should remain in England under pain of life and limb."

Great was the rage of the Pope at this measure, and loudly did he storm, but all to no purpose. England remained firm; and so was won a more lasting victory and one nobler in its efforts than that of Cressy or Poictiers.

Think not that Wicliffe could thus daringly oppose the Papacy without suffering. We read that, "The whole glut of monks and begging friars were set in a rage of madness, which (even as hornets with their stings) did assail this good man on every side." The Pope ordered his writings to be examined; and his doctrines, you may be sure, highly incensed the Papal court. If the world came to be of Wicliffe's opinion, farewell to the spiritual and temporal power of the Popes. Bulls, or edicts, were sent to England; one to the Archbishop of Canterbury, one to the king, and the last to Oxford. They were all of one tenor, blaming the English clergy for not having crushed long ere now this dangerous heretic, and commanding them to take steps at once to silence him.

But though they thirsted for his blood, God took care of him, and in a most wonderful manner preserved him from their hands.

You see he had a great work to do for God, and not all the power of earth or hell could touch him until it was finished. He came out from the furnace with garments unsinged.

Each time that he was brought before his judges, we are struck with the calm dignity of his mien. He was first called to appear at Our Lady's Chapel, in St. Paul's, to answer for his teaching. He did not stand alone, for the bold baron, John of Gaunt, and Lord Percy, Earl Marshall of England, pushed roughly through the crowd of monks that surrounded him, and took their stand by his side. If not on religious, on political grounds they then held the Reformer in high esteem, and they were determined to support him when he was before the tribunal of bishops.

"Percy," said Bishop Courtney sharply, more offended at seeing the humble rector of Lutterworth so powerfully attended, than at their rough passage through the church, "had I known what masteries you would have kept in the church, I would have kept you from coming in hither."

"He shall keep such masteries though you say nay," said John of Gaunt, gruffly.

"Sit down, Wicliffe," said Percy, "sit down, you have many things to answer for, and have need to repose yourself on a soft seat."

"He must and shall stand," said Courtney, still more chafed, "it is unreasonable that one on his trial before his ordinary should sit."

"Lord Percy's proposal is but reasonable," said burly John of Gaunt; "and as for you," addressing bishop Courtney, "who are grown so proud and arrogant, I will bring down the pride, not only of you, but that of all the prelacy in England."

To this menace the bishop made some hypocritical remark about his trust being not in man, but in God, when suddenly the church doors were burst open by an angry mob, demanding the release of Wicliffe. Their clamour drowned the voices of the bishops, and all was now in confusion and uproar. To proceed with the trial was impossible. The bishops, in a sad fright, hastily retreated, and Wicliffe, who had never spoken, quietly returned home. So the Lord delivered him from them.

It was not till a year after that he was again ordered to appear before Archbishop Sudbury. When the day came for his trial, an immense crowd besieged the doors of the palace of Lambeth, and when he appeared they opened reverently to allow him to pass. As many as could pressed in after him, and soon filled the chapel. The primate and his peers, not liking the appearance of things, were consulting together how they might best turn out or silence the intruders, when a messenger entered with a letter, the contents of which filled them with consternation. It was a message from the Queen Mother, forbidding the bishops to pass sentence on Wicliffe. The dismay of the prelates was unbounded, and the proceedings were instantly stopped. "As reeds shaken by the wind they became," said one who describes the scene, "and their speech turned soft as oil, to the public loss of their dignity, and the damage of the church."

In all the tumultuous assembly, Wicliffe alone stood in calmness and self-possession. A second time had the Lord fought the battle for him, and again he passed from his accusers uncondemned and unhurt.

But a time was coming when his powerful friends would fall back and leave him, and when God would train His servant to walk alone with Him. There comes a moment in the lives of all those who would be faithful to the Lord (it may come to you, dear children) when they feel painfully that their place is one of isolation and loneliness. The voice of Christ comes to them from over the dark, stormy deep, as it came to Peter, saying "Come;" and if they would be true, they must follow, though friends look coldly upon them, and loved faces grow strange and distant.

Wicliffe was soon to pass into a region unknown to the powerful friends, who loved him merely as a patriot; a region that bold, kindly-hearted John of Gaunt and Earl Percy could not enter, and yet it was a place where, of all others, the sublimity of faith could be displayed, for he walked alone there with his God.

Just before the time that Wicliffe commenced his great life-work � the translation of the Bible � he fell sick, nigh unto death. Unbounded was the joy of the monks. "Now," said they, "he will be overwhelmed with borrow and remorse for all his evil deeds," so they would go to him and receive his last message of penitence and sorrow. In a very short time his bedside was surrounded by shaven monks, exhorting him as one on the brink of the grave to make full confession, and express his deep grief for all the injuries he had inflicted on their orders. Wicliffe lay quite silent until they had made an end of their speeches; then, asking his servant to raise him on his pillow, he fixed his keen eyes upon them and said sternly, "I shall not die, but live, and declare the evil deeds of the friars." In dismay and astonishment, the monks rushed from the room, and soon his words were verified, for his sickness left him, and he rose from his bed to commence his most glorious work � that of giving to the English people the Bible in their own tongue. It was to the ignorance of God's will that Wicliffe traced the evils that afflicted our kingdom.

Pope Gregory, one of the greatest of Wicliffe's enemies, was just at this time stricken down by death, and the cardinals met together to elect another Pope. As most of them were Frenchman, the Roman people were fearful that they would again choose one of their own countrymen to fill the Papal chair. So with loud tumults and terrible threats, they surrounded the palace where the cardinals were assembled, and demanded that a Roman should be elected for their Pope. "Not a cardinal should leave the court alive," they said, "unless their demand was complied with." So to appease the mob, an Italian was chosen. However, the cardinals soon grew tired of this Pope, who proved to be a mean, selfish man, and fleeing to France, they declared their former election to be null, seeing it was made under pressure, and they now elected a Frenchman. So was created the great controversy that raged in Christendom for over half-a-century.

It was with feelings, almost of horror, that all good Catholics saw the Papal throne as it were divided, and two men, each of whom claimed to be the Pope. The great question that all felt called on now to settle, was Which is the true Pope? Into whose hand has God committed the keys of heaven and hell? Their souls' salvation hung, they believed, on the solution of this question.

The Christian world was rent in twain.

Popes were hurling curses at one another's heads, and torrents of blood were being shed by their devoted followers. In the midst of these thunderings of Papal wrath, the humble rector, Wicliffe, was forgotten.

Far away from this seething, surging ocean of contention, he retired, and in the midst of his beloved flock at Lutterworth, he sought the rest and quiet he so much needed.

Far off was the din of strife and battle, but the sounds broke and died away before they reached his peaceful rectory. And here, with God's fair country all around him, and forgotten by his enemies, he commenced his sublime work � the translation of the Bible.

Spring, with its fair flowers and sweet wild-voiced songsters, came and found him at his work; June's roses lived and died, and shed their crimson petals, and autumn's golden sheaves were gathered in, and yet he laboured on. Winter, with its frost and snow and red-breasted robins, came and went, and still the white-haired man bent unweariedly over his God-appointed task.

Four times the seasons rolled away before he rose, and said, "My work is done." We can imagine how great his joy would be, when he was able to place in the hands of his countrymen their true Magna Charta. He knew that this Book would be to them as a pillar of fire, leading them on into happy liberty. Yes, the long night of England was near its close, and its realms were about to be flooded with the glorious light of the scriptures, before which the ghostly terrors and superstitious fears of the people would flee away, as night phantoms before the beams of day.

It mattered not to Wicliffe what they did now with his body; they might rack or burn it as they pleased, but they could never extinguish the light that he had kindled.

But, although the translation was finished, there was still the laborious work of publishing to be commenced. There were no printing presses in those days, whereby thousands of copies could be produced in a very short time. All the copying had to be done by the hand, and such was the interest that Wicliffe's work created, that a hundred expert copyists came forward and offered their services in multiplying the Bible. Great was the joy of the English people, when, for the first time, they read the tender, loving promises of God in their mother-tongue.

Long had they been kept afar from Him, by priests and bishops, and now they learnt with exceeding gladness, that He had Himself made an open way to the divine mercy seat, and that even as a tender Father yearning for his children, He had devised means, "that his banished be not expelled from him." They needed not, as Rome had taught, the intercession of numberless saints, that were dead. There was but one Mediator, even Christ, and in that sweet name they found that they could boldly approach God's throne.

The blessed tidings sped with amazing rapidity. In humble cot and lordly hall the silent messenger entered, and often found a welcome; and broken hearts were healed, and wearied ones found rest. Great was the consternation of the priests when they discovered what Wicliffe had done. They had been hoping that the old man would soon die, and that his work would be stamped out, but now they saw that another Preacher was to take his place mightier than he; One that they could not bind nor burn. A great clamour was raised. He was called a heretic, a sacrilegious man, who had committed a crime unheard of in former times; for he had taken the sacred things of God, and had cast them before common men, like pearls before swine, only, said they, to be trampled under foot.

Again was he called upon to appear before his judges to answer for his blasphemous conduct. No great man or baron stood by him now. He stood alone, and with calm dignity faced his accusers. A vast company had assembled to witness his trial. With his venerable head uncovered, and with his steady searching gaze fixed upon his enemies, he commenced his defence and such was his rare eloquence and unflinching boldness, that he won the admiration even of those who were against him. He would retract nothing, and would neither crave nor accept acquittal at their hands. Such was the grand dignity with which he spoke, that he and his accusers seemed to have changed places. He was the judge, and they were at his bar. So smitten were they by his words that sped like arrows to their hearts, that they could neither move nor speak. "Ye are the heretics," said he in closing, "not I. With whom, think you, are you contending? With an old man on the brink of the grave? No! with truth � truth which is stronger than you, and which will overcome you!" And then he turned and left the court. His enemies had no power to stop him. Even as his divine Master at Nazareth, he passed through the midst of them.

But the time had almost come for the faithful servant to be called home.

The primate, the king, and the Pope were working together to compass his destruction. Wicliffe himself expected soon to receive a violent death. A "chariot of fire" he thought would carry him to the skies. But God had willed it otherwise. One fair Lord's Day morning, when he was surrounded by his beloved people at Lutterworth, the message came. They were all in the little rural church that Wicliffe loved so much. The little church, where, in the summer-time the fragrant breezes blew in through open windows framed in ivy, and where the birds' songs mingled with their hymns of praise. It was in the midst of this peaceful scene, and while he was in the act of blessing the bread and wine before administering the Lord's Supper, that the Voice came to him saying, "Come up hither." His grief-stricken brethren lifted him gently from the pavement where he had fallen, and carried him home to the rectory, where, ere the day closed, he quietly passed away. And so ended his noble life.

Through the appalling darkness of the middle ages, Wicliffe shines out like a star of the first magnitude. Well has he been called the day star of the Reformation, for with his rise the night of Christendom began to flee away.

There is very much of Wicliffe's life that I have been unable to touch upon. I have merely glanced at some of the leading features of his long life work. Much relating to his doctrinal controversies you would not be interested in, and could scarcely understand; but I hope I have said enough to enable you to think with reverential interest of one of God's greatest men.

John Huss.

Let us now transfer ourselves � in imagination � far away from the land of Wicliffe, to a little village in Bohemia, called Hussinetz. Here was born one whose name, even to this day, is spoken of with deepest love and reverence; for his voice was the first which dared to denounce the tyranny of the Papacy, and from his eloquent lips first came the message of redemption in Christ, through His blood, even the forgiveness of sins.

John Huss was born in the year 1373, in a little cottage, just at the edge of the vast Bohemian forest. Its great pines rocked and swayed over his humble dwelling, and doubtless, their sad, wild music often mingled with his cradle songs. Close by, rolled the bright waters of the Molden river, and with nature in all her loveliness around him, he spent his happy, dreamy childhood.

His father died when he was quite young, so he lived alone with his mother. Though she was poor, she did all in her power to teach her only child, for we find that as soon as he had finished his education at the village school, she took him to Prague, to enter him at the University of that city. Hoping to find favour for her boy with the rector, she carried a present for him, which, unfortunately, she lost on the way. In great distress she knelt down on the road with her boy beside her, and implored God's blessing upon him. Her prayers were answered; but, ah! if at that moment the curtain of the future could have been lifted, how her mother's heart would have been pierced to have seen the way. His University career was one of great brilliancy. He was made Bachelor and Master of Arts, and Bachelor of Theology. After finishing his University course, he entered the Church, where he soon rose to great eminence. His fame even reached the Court of Winceslaus, and his Queen, Sophia, choose him for her confessor.

Huss was at this time a firm believer in the Papacy, but through God's great mercy ere long his eyes were opened, and he became one of its most zealous opponents.

We have seen how in England God had sent forth a skillful and laborious servant to till the ground, and, as it were, cast in the divine seed; but not in our country only was the great Husbandman preparing the soil; for lo! afar off in Bohemia the winter is past, and the great spring-time is come, and soon will He send forth His sowers to scatter the precious seed!

A blessed link binds England and Bohemia together, for we read in the book of the persecutions of the Bohemian church, "In the year A.D. 1400 Jerome, of Prague, returned from England, bringing with him the writings of Wicliffe;" and again, a writer of the 15th century says "that the books of Master John Wicliffe opened the eyes of the blessed master John Huss, as several reliable men know from his own lips, whilst he read and re-read them with his disciples."

It is from this time that the true career of Huss must date. He was appointed preacher to the Chapel of Bethlehem, and his sermons there formed an epoch in the history of Prague. Far removed from anything they had ever heard before, his words fell upon their wondering ears with a sound strange, yet sweet, and well might they say, "Never heard we such things before." Ah! he drew his sermons direct from the pure wells of Scripture. He gave them the words of the Lord in all the loving tenderness with which they fell from His divine lips. The tale which we call "the old, old story," in all its divine simplicity, was new to them. They had been fed by the priests on legends of the saints, stories of the fathers, tales of wondrous miracles and weeping virgins, any thing or everything, rather than the truth of God.

Like soft rain on arid ground fell the words of Huss on the hearts of many who were thirsting for something � they knew not what � to bring them peace. And no wonder that there was a great awakening, and that many believed, and were saved.

The moral condition of the people at this time was most deplorable. We read that "the king, the nobles, the prelates, the clergy, and citizens indulged without restraint in avarice, pride, drunkenness, and every profligacy."

Against this fearful state of wickedness Huss thundered his powerful sermons, not sparing any; against prelates, nobles, and clergy, he alike launched his bolts. A great clamour was raised against him, but the Queen, whose confessor he was, and who held him in great esteem for his holy, blameless life, protected him.

It was impossible for Huss, studying and constantly preaching the word, as he was, not to grow rapidly in the knowledge of the Scriptures, and ere long he found that the Bible must be placed before the authority of the Pope or of councils, and so almost unwittingly Huss had entered the road of Protestantism.

It was not long before Rome heard of what was going on at Prague, and Pope Alexander V. at once issued a bull commanding the Archbishop of Prague, to proceed against all who preached in private chapels, and who read the writings or taught the opinions of Wickliffe. Then a great collection of all Wickliffe's books was made, and upwards of 200 volumes beautifully written, and elegantly bound � some even ornamented with jewels and precious stones, showing how much they were prized by their owners � were piled up in the street, and were publicly burned, while the bells tolled dismally. But they could not so stamp out the divine work. After this wicked act we find Huss preaching with still greater zeal and earnestness. He now attacked the sale of indulgences, and other unscriptural proceedings of the Papacy.

Another mandate arrived from Rome. The Pope summoned Huss to appear in person to answer for his doctrines. All knew that to obey this command would be but to walk to his grave. The King, the Queen, and many of the great ones of Bohemia sent an embassy to the Pope, begging that Huss might not appear in person, and that his defence might be heard through another. In vain they pleaded; the Pope condemned Huss in his absence, and laid the city of Prague under interdict.

Again was enacted the same scene which took place in our own country, in the reign of King John. Prague was like a city stricken with a sudden and terrible calamity. Outside the closed church doors lay the corpses awaiting burial by the wayside, for the churchyards might not receive them. The images, which were supposed to guard and sanctify the streets, were laid prostrate on the ground, as though interceding for the wicked city, and sackcloth was thrown over them. The altar lights were extinguished, and everywhere were tokens of the terrible curse that was laid on the city that harboured within its walls the man who had dared to disobey the Pope's summons.

The poor superstitious people could not brave this state of things long; tumults soon began to disturb the peace. "Let us cast out the rebel," was the cry, "lest we perish."

There was nothing for Huss but to depart. He must leave the city where he had many friends, and not a few loving disciples, for he knew that his presence could but entail sorrow and calamity on them. So he went away, and found a place of refuge in his home beneath the sighing pines of Hussinezt. But think not that he was idle; he preached and taught in all the towns and villages round about that region. Great crowds followed him, hanging on his words; they could not but admire him, no less for his modesty than for his rare eloquence and boldness. "The church," said his hearers, "has pronounced this man a heretic and a demon, yet his life is holy, and his doctrine is pure and elevating."

In time things quieted in Prague, although doubtless, the calm was only at the surface. With an intense yearning Huss longed to return again to his Chapel of Bethlehem, the scene of so much divine blessing. The wish was granted him, and once more he stands with his beloved flock around him, who listen with hushed breath to the burning words that proceed from him. His banishment has but quickened his zeal, and more courageously than ever he denounces the tyranny that would suppress the free preaching of the Gospel. Up to this time Huss had no yoke-fellow in his work; he was quite alone; and often in sadness and melancholy, he yearned for the sweet solace of a companion of like spirit with himself. It pleased God to give him such an one, a friend, who became to him as Jonathan to David. Jerome, of Faulfisk, was a Bohemian knight. He had been at Oxford, in England, and there had received much truth from Wickliffe's writings. He was noted for his subtle intellect and fervent eloquence. He had, too, a fearless courage, and a lofty devotion.

From this time the names of Huss and Jerome were ever united, Although alike in their great qualities and aims, there were many minor points of difference between them that made them necessary to one another. Their love ripened, day by day, until it became "passing the love of woman," and so it remained, in sweet unbrokenness while life lasted. Even death did not keep them long apart, for "they were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided."

If we cast our eyes round, and survey the state of Europe at this time, the picture is truly deplorable. Three popes were now reigning in Christendom, each claiming to be the rightful successor of Peter. Not only with maledictions and curses did the rival popes shine now to crush one another; they hired soldiers and swords, and by war and rapine each strove to become the greatest. As this could not be done without money, pardons and places in Paradise were put up for sale that they might obtain the needed gold. Europe was plunged into anarchy and confusion; piety consisted of nothing but a few superstitious rites. Everywhere was heard the clash of arms and the sighing of nations.

This melancholy spectacle had a very powerful effect on John Huss, and drove him to a still closer study of the Bible. Every day he saw more clearly how "the Church" had departed from her early model, not in practice only, but in doctrine. And now we find him not only striking at the abuses of the Papacy, but levelling his blows at its root and endeavouring with all his might to extirpate it, both root and branch together. He now wrote his wonderful treatise "On the Church," in which he brought out clearly that Christ alone was the invisible Head of the Church. This tract was followed by another, called, "The Six Errors," which was circulated far and near, and produced a profound impression throughout Bohemia.

Something else happening at this time helped to deepen the impression made by this tract. Ladislaus, King of Hungary, had brought down the wrath of John XXIII. upon himself, by giving support to Gregory XII. one of the rival popes. In great anger he (John) issued a bull, excommunicating (which means shutting out from heaven) King Ladislaus, and all his children to the third generation. We, read too, that the Pope also "commanded all emperors, kings, princes, cardinals, and men of whatever degree, by the sprinkling of the blood of Christ, to take up arms against Ladislaus, and to utterly exterminate him and his supporters; and he promised to all who should join the crusade, or who should support it, the pardon of all their sins, and immediate admission into Paradise, should they die in the war." This edict plunged Hungary into conflict, and Huss seized the opportunity of directing the eyes of his countrymen to the contrast between the vicar of Christ, and Christ Himself: the one who proclaimed war and bloodshed, and the gentle Saviour who taught a gospel of peace. The scandals around him raised his indignation and horror. It was hard to remain calm while he saw John XXIII., one of the most wicked men that ever wore the tiara, professing to open and shut the gates of Paradise, and scattering his pardons over Europe, only that he might kindle the flames of war and shed torrents of christian blood. Plainer and bolder, day by day, grew the speech of Huss, and the people became so incensed against the priests that they trembled for their lives. The Archbishop interfered, and again placed Prague under interdict, so long as John Huss remained in the city. Again the Reformer, fearing for his friends, withdrew to his native village of Hussinetz.

Another scene in the drama of the life of Huss was closed, and he was bidden to rest awhile before the opening of his last and sublimest one. He had left far behind him the strifes and clamours of Prague, and sweet and calm was his rest beneath the waving pines of his birth-place. His letters at this time show a mind full of that calm courage that springs from trust in God. He had no fear, for he was dwelling under the shadow of the Almighty. Here he had time to calm his mind and fortify his son by communion with his God.

He could with joy think that by his instrumentality, his native country, Bohemia, had been rescued from much spiritual darkness and he could trust in God that the light would broaden and brighten.

Never again was his voice to be heard in his favourite chapel of Bethlehem, and never more were his living words to stir the hearts of his countrymen. There remains but one more act for Huss to do � his greatest and most enduring � and now I must hasten on, though shrinkingly, to tell of his noble martyr death.

In the year 1413 Sigismund had ascended the throne of the Empire. I must tell you somewhat about him, for his name was destined to be handed down to posterity, along with that of Huss, but not with like fame. He was a sincere devotee, and the sight of Christendom, disgraced and torn asunder by its popes, moved him even to tears. The emperor studied long as to how these evils were to be met, and at last he hit upon a plan, and he resolved to make trial of it: it was a general Council. He resolved to call together the whole Church; all its patriarchs, cardinals, bishops and princes, and to summon before this august body the three rival popes, and then, by the authority of the Council, compel them to adjust their claims.

I cannot stay to give an account of this wonderful assembly that met on Nov. 1, 1414. From every kingdom and state, and from almost every city in Europe, came delegates to swell the great gathering. Men of princely rank and high dignity were there, and men of fame in learning; but of all that brilliant assembly there was none in whom we take such a deep interest as in John Huss, for he, too, had been commanded to appear before the Council. He had been summoned by the emperor, who had also pledged his kingly word that he should go and return in perfect safety. We shall see how he redeemed his pledge.

Some of Huss's most powerful enemies had preceded him to Constance, and now day and night were they working to compass his destruction. Twenty-six days after his arrival, in spite of the solemn written promise of the emperor that he should remain unmolested, he was seized and thrown into the prison of a monastery on the banks of the Rhine. Here the damp and pestilential air of his prison brought on a raging fever, which nearly brought his life to an end.

Deep was the indignation when the news of Huss's imprisonment reached Bohemia. In burning words did the barons indite a remonstrance to the emperor, reminding him of his promise, and demanding that he should vindicate his own honour and release their great countryman.

Sigismund, upon receiving this remonstrance, would have at once ordered his release, but the subtle men around him soon found means to make him alter his decision. They told him that the good of the Church demanded that he should keep this heretic a prisoner. They told him that the Council, by its supreme authority, could release him from his promise, and afterwards they made a decree "that no faith is to be kept with heretics to the prejudice of the Church."

Huss was now completely in the power of his cruel enemies. They examined his writings, and soon found plenty in them whereby to condemn him; and writing down what they had against him, they proceeded to the prison where he was lying, weak and feeble with the fever. He begged that he might have an advocate to defend himself, but this was denied him. After this Huss was removed to the castle of Gotelhen, on the other side of the Rhine, where he was heavily loaded with chains. At last, on the 5th of June, 1415, he was brought to trial. His books were produced, and he was asked if he were the writer of them. This he readily admitted. Then they found by his writings that he had transferred his allegiance from the so-called "Church" to God, speaking through His Word. This was his great crime. In the judgment of the Council he was in rebellion, for he had broken the bond of submission. It would take too long to tell you how he was dragged backwards and forwards, from prison to the Council, before he was condemned, unheard, to the doom of a heretic. He went through unheard-of sufferings, for after long sittings, listening to the attacks and reasonings of his accusers, he would be shut up in a tower, with fetters on his legs, and at night he was fastened up to a rack against the wall, hard by his bed.

Sigismund, who doubtless had at this time an earnest desire to save his life, caused the Council to draw up a paper, in which it was put to him that if he would withdraw his heresies his life would be saved. But it was in vain that they tempted the great Reformer. "He would rather," he said, "be cast into the sea with a millstone round his neck, than offend those little ones to whom he had preached the Gospel."

At last the day arrived when all the sorrows of Huss were to be terminated. The execution took place in a meadow, between the gardens of the city and the gates of Gotelhen. When he reached the place where he was to be burnt, the martyr knelt down and said, "Lord Jesus into Thy hands I commend my spirit." A mighty crowd surrounded him, and those near by said, as they listened to his prayers, "We know not what his life has been, but verily he prays after a devout and godly fashion."

And now he stands with his feet on the faggots, and wood piled all around him up to the chin. Again, at the last moment, the Marshal of the Empire approached, and for the last time implored him to save his life and recant. "What errors," asked Huss, "shall I renounce? I know myself guilty of none. I call God to witness that all I have written and preached has been with the view of rescuing souls from sin and perdition, and therefore most joyfully will I confirm with my blood that truth which I have written and preached." And so they left him to his fate. The fire was applied, and the flames blazed upward, and Huss began to sing with a loud voice, and while he was singing, the flame choked him, and so he died. Carefully were his ashes collected and thrown into the Rhine. And so they thought that he was vanquished. Never had the Council made a greater mistake. From the stake of Huss what blessings have flowed, and are still flowing, to the world. Being dead he yet speaketh; for, from the moment he expired at the stake, his name became a power which is speeding on the cause of truth, even to this day.

Jerome.

Now Huss, with noble steadfastness of heart, joyfully gave up his life in the cause of his Master, we have seen.

I must now tell you of Jerome, his loving and much loved fellow-labourer. They had been one in heart and spirit in life, and it pleased God that in death they should drink of the same cup of martyrdom

When the news of Huss's danger reached Bohemia, Jerome hastened to Constance in the hope of helping him. But he soon found that, without being of any assistance to Huss, he had placed his own life in danger, so with an aching heart he fled from the city that contained his friend. He had almost arrived at Prague when his pursuers arrested him, and he was carried back to Constance loaded with chains like a malefactor. On May 23, 1415, just about a month before the execution of John Huss, he was brought before the Council, and by them was condemned to be thrown into a dreary dungeon in a tower of St Paul. His chains were so placed that they did not permit of his sitting down; his arms were crossed behind his neck, and tied with fetters. This caused his head to bend forward, and gave him great suffering. So much did he endure that he became very ill, and his cruel enemies, fearing that death might snatch their victim from them, relaxed somewhat the rigour of their treatment. Yet for a whole year he pined in that dark noisome dungeon! In the meantime the Council had received a letter from the Barons of Bohemia, expressing their horror and indignation at the death of Huss. They were convinced that, although they had thrown his ashes in the Rhine, he was not done with; they saw clearly that a great storm was rising; already the threatening sounds of its thunders were heard. They dare not, in the face of what they saw around them, plant another stake beside that of Huss. It would, they perceived, be far better to induce Jerome to recant, and so they used all their power and subtilty to this end.

Poor Jerome, ill in body, week and depressed in mind, and cut off from all his friends, in a moment of weakness yielded to their solicitations. Like Peter, when he was out on the stormy deep, he took his eyes for a moment off Christ, and so like him began to sink in the waves. But do you think that Christ would let him be engulphed in the waters? Oh, no, He loved him too well for that. In an agony of mind Jerome reflected in his lonely prison on what he had done. He had submitted to the wicked Counsel; he had subscribed to the justice of the condemnation of his beloved co-worker, Huss; he had promised to live and die in the Catholic faith, and never preach anything contrary to it. He felt he had perjured his soul � and for what? Why to escape a short season of agony at the stake. But, he asked himself, could any bodily agony be greater than the anguish of mind he was now enduring? Where, now, were those sweet times of communion that he had been wont to have with the Lord, moments that had filled even his dreary dungeon with the glory of heaven? Where now was the peace that had flooded his soul, as he had thought of the loving "Well done" of his Master? All gone! All gone! He had turned his back upon his Lord. And then he thought of Huss, and his image would rise before him, constant and courageous to the last, singing while the flames rose around him, and he loathed himself as he thought of his own weak cowardice. "Oh God," he cried, "I am cast off out of Thy sight, but I will look again towards Thy holy temple," and as he cried his soul was filled with tender thoughts of his Saviour's love, and then he knew that this love was more to him than life. "I will never deny Thee again, my Saviour," we hear him crying; "life is nought to me without Thy smile of love. With my hand in Thine I can meet the Council, I can go to the stake. They can kill the body, but they cannot separate my soul from Thee;" and so he strengthened himself in his God. From this time his courage never failed him, and Jerome rose from his fall, a stronger man than ever. And now we must follow Jerome to his final trial. On May 26, 1416, he was brought for the last time before the council.

There was no sign of fear about him now. Although pale and enfeebled by long and rigorous confinement, his face was peaceful, and lit up with a noble courage.

Kneeling down in the presence of his enemies, before commencing his defence, he earnestly besought God to guard his heart and lips that he might not utter an unworthy word. Then he commenced his defence. It was a wonderful speech, and its power and eloquence filled even his bitterest enemies with admiration. Sometimes the pathos was so tender that his stony-hearted judges were almost melted to "dewy pity;" and yet it was not for life that he pleaded. The bitterness of death seemed to be passed for him. His eloquence was not to rescue his life from the stake, but to defend and exalt the truths of his Master.

It was impossible for him to close his address without showing the Council how bitterly he repented of his recantation. "Of all the sins," said he "that I have committed since my youth, none weighs so heavily on my mind, and causes me such poignant remorse as that which I committed in this fatal place, when I approved of the iniquitous sentence, recorded against Wicliffe and against that holy martyr, John Huss, my master and my friend. Yes! I confess it from my heart, and declare with horror, that I disgracefully quailed when, through a dread of death, I condemned his doctrine. I, therefore, supplicate almighty God to deign to pardon me my sins, and this one in particular, the most heinous of all. You condemned Wicliffe and Huss not because they shook the faith, but because they branded with reprobation the scandals of the clergy, their pomps, their pride, and their luxuriousness."

At these words the whole assembly rose in a tumult. The father shook with passion, "What need we of further proof?" cried they. "The most obstinate of heretics is before us." So they hurried him back to his dungeon and loaded him more heavily with chains than before and here he remained until he was brought out to receive his sentence, and to be executed. They took him to the spot in the meadow that to him was consecrated by the death of Huss, and here they tied him to the stake. While they piled the faggots of wood about him he sang joyfully "Hail happy day." The courage that sustained his heart, and the peace that filled his soul, never left him. His death was a slow, lingering one, yet his faith and joy never failed him to the last, for there was one "like unto the Son of God," in the flames with him upholding him until his happy soul sped away from the body of pain, and he had won the martyr's crown.

Martin Luther.

In a little cottage by the wayside in the small town of Eisleben, on Nov. 10th, 1483, the wail of a newborn babe was heard, and a father (only a humble miner) hung with proud delight over his firstborn son. When a great one of this world is born joy bells are rung, cannons are discharged, and rejoicings and splendours surround the cradle of the unconscious little one. Into the cottage of which I have spoken God had just sent one of His heroes; the greatest man of his age had stepped quietly upon the stage of life, but none knew it; there were no indications of the wondrous future that awaited him, yet hereafter the voice of this little child was to shake all popedom, his strong hands would make the proud edifice totter and fall for his tones, clear and sweet as the trumpets of the day of Jubilee, would ring through the earth, proclaiming the old gospel of free pardon through faith alone.

The mother of Luther, though only a humble villager, was a woman of superior mind and character, her sweet piety lent a graceful charm to her manner. How often the fear of God gives a refinement and delicacy to the manners which we look for in vain elsewhere. It was doubtless from his gentle Christian mother that Luther inherited the loving trustful part of his nature, for he had a heart ever yearning for human sympathy, and a mind ever planning largely for the happiness of others.

The ruggedness, the sternness of his nature, the lion-like fortitude which he likewise possessed in such a large degree, came, doubtless, from his father. His father was a grave, stern man, too stern, perhaps. No fault of the boy's was left unpunished from a mistaken sense of duty the warm-hearted impulsive boy was often punished with a severity that was not wise. And yet, methinks, there was a softness somewhere beneath this hard surface, and sometimes the tender heart of the father peeps out like a gentle flower from a granite rock, for we read that often the miner might be seen carrying his "little one" to school on his shoulders. At the age of fourteen years Martin was sent to a school at Magdeburg. Here the hardships and privations of his young life were increased. His master often flogged him. It was a maxim in those days that nothing could be done with children without a free use of the rod, and we can well imagine how the buoyant, boisterous nature of the lad often led him to transgress the strict rules of the school. He mentions one day being whipped fifteen times. Poor Luther, yet this was not all he had to endure. It was the custom at that time for the scholars of the town to be sent from door to door to beg their bread, so they used to go in small companies singing and asking alms of the burghers. Very often, instead of food, the hungry tired boys received cuffs and blows. One day Luther was perambulating the streets, stopping before its likeliest dwellings, and striving by singing his little hymns to woo the inmates to kindness. He was very hungry, more so than usual, but no door opened, and no hand was extended. He was in great dejection, and stood musing as to what would become of him. Alas, he thought, he could not endure these hardships much longer, he must return home and work with his father in the mines. Then farewell to all his bright hopes of a fair education, and the brilliant career he was anticipating. Luther little thought that at that moment God was preparing a home for him. A door near him opened, and a gentle voice bade him enter. It was Ursula, the wife of Conrad Cotta, a man of consideration among the burghers of Eisnach.

It was not the first time Ursula had noticed the young scholar. She had been struck by his fresh young voice when he sung in the choir on Sundays. She had noticed him, too, when he had been sent, with harsh words, from her neighbour's doors. Her gentle heart pitied him, and bidding him come in, she placed him at her own table and satisfied his hunger. Both she and her husband were won by the open countenance and sweet disposition of the boy, so they bade him stay with them; and from that time the boy had a home, and the worthy pair were to him as father and mother.

Here, surrounded by love and the sweet influences of a tender gentle woman, his young heart expanded like a flower in the sunshine. Penury and coldness had threatened to blight his powers, but now they awakened with fresh vigour, and he gave himself up to study with renewed ardour. Madame Cotta was very fond of music, and there was no better way in which Luther could repay his kind friends, than to sing to her while he accompanied himself on the lute. In this happy home Luther lived two years. In all his after life he never forgot the good Madame Cotta or the town where she lived. He was accustomed to speak of the latter as "his own beautiful town," and with reference to the former he would say, "There is nothing kinder on earth than a good woman's heart." He never forgot, too, how God had helped him when he had stood hungry, solitary, and heart sick in the streets of Eisnach.

Luther entered the university of Erfurt in 1501. Here the young student came thirsting for knowledge, to drink his fill. His father, perceiving his son's talents, wished him to study law, and he toiled harder than ever that he might support his son during his studies.

Luther was eighteen when he entered the university. With avidity did the young student drink in of the scholastic philosophy that was then in such great repute. Aristotle, Duns, Occan, and others, he studied. Doubtless they tended to the ripening of his understanding, and gave agility to his mind, and afterwards were of value to him in the discussion of subtle questions; but in all other respects it was a mere attempt to gather grapes off thorns, and figs off thistles. When he had been two years at his university, an event occurred which changed his whole future life. Always fond of books, he went day by day to the library of the university, and spent hours amid its treasures. One day, as he took down the books, he came upon one such as he had never seen before � a volume unlike all others. Looking at it with surprise, he found it to be a Bible � the Vulgate or Latin translation of the Holy Scriptures, by Jerome. He had never seen the Bible before. Certain portions the church had prescribed to be read, and these he had thought were the whole Bible. Great was his surprise when he found there were whole books and epistles which he had never seen before. As he read it seemed as though the very heavens were opening before him. Day after day he returned to the library and devoured some gospel of the New, or story of the Old Testament, rejoicing as one who had suddenly discovered a country fair and new. From this time a change came over Luther; the struggles in his soul commenced, which were destined never to cease until the old Luther had passed away, and the new Luther, born of the incorruptible seed, had taken his place. And from this new man came a new age � a new Europe. Long before, out of the Bible at Oxford, came the first dawn of the Reformation, and now out of this Old Bible at Erfurt came its second morning.

Luther took his first academic degree in the year 1503, and two years later he became Master of Arts, and Doctor of Philosophy. A grand torch-light procession was given him in honour of this event. Already the miner's son saw a brilliant pathway before him, leading to fame and honour. He saw that even now he held no mean place in public opinion. As the nearest road to the goal of fame, he devoted himself to the bar, and began to give public lectures on the learned subjects treated of by the ancient philosopher, Aristotle. And where, in the midst of these intellectual fascinations, was the old Book upon which he had lighted with so much joy?

It seemed in danger of being well-nigh forgotten. But God would not have it so. Amid the excitement of his scholastic studies a sudden blow fell upon him which opened his eyes to the solemnity of eternity. He was brought to its very verge that he might gaze, as it were, over its brink. His bosom friend, Alexis, was suddenly snatched away by a violent death. His conscience, which the old Bible had awakened, but which had of late been sleeping, again awoke. "What," it said to him, "shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" Again, still louder, the voice of God spoke to him. He was passing through the country on a visit to his friends, when a violent storm broke over him. The thunders rolled and the lightnings flashed in an awful manner. It seemed to Luther as though the great Judge had descended and was calling him to account. A flash of fire suddenly struck the place where he was standing; a terrible crash of thunder broke above his head, and Luther fell almost senseless to the ground, momentarily expecting death. In agony of mind he vowed to God that if He would spare his life he would devote it to His service.

The lightnings ceased, the thunders rolled away, and, rising from the ground, Luther pursued his way with solemn steps to Erfurt. But his vow, it must be fulfilled.

In those days devoting oneself to God was interpreted as meaning that you must enter a monastery � you must wear the monk's hood.

To Luther, the monastery was but another word for the grave. How could he, who was so well fitted to enjoy them, forswear the delights of love and friendship? How could he renounce the honour and glory he was so well able to win: nay, which were almost already in his grasp? But his vow had been made, and it could not be broken; and surely, he thought, the more the sacrifice I make, the greater will be my merit in the sight of God. But he must see his friends once more, and then �. So, without telling them of his purpose, he calls his friends around him. He trys to converse gaily with them; but surely there are tears in his voice at times, for in his heart he is bidding them a long farewell. He touched his lute, and regales them with the music he loves so well, and if the strain is sad and dirge-like, how can he help it, for is it not his own requiem that he is playing? The time comes for them to part � he sees the last one away, and then without a moment's hesitation, he walks straight to the Augustine Convent; he lifts the heavy knocker, its ponderous bolts are withdrawn, the door opens to receive him, and he enters.

And now surely that he has been admitted into the solemn cloisters of the monastery that he has heard spoken of as being so peaceful, calm, and holy, the pangs of his troubled conscience will cease. Here, afar from the world and its temptations, he will find rest for his weary soul. Surely God will accept the great sacrifice that he has made. So thought Luther. Did he find it so? Ah, no. Luther had to find out that there could be no peace for him out of Christ. His inward torments became day by day more unsupportable. He found that the convent bars had but shut him in with his conscience: and now louder, and still louder, became its voice. He knew not where to flee. "Where," he groaned, "shall I find a shadow from this great heat � where a shelter from this great blast?" He knew no holier place than the cell; yet with all his penances and prayers he became no holier, gained no rest. It was a bitter cup that Luther was drinking, but God was teaching the man who was to be the church's great reformer.

What a heavy burden is unpardoned guilt, and how impossible it is to find relief from it by these works of self-righteousness!

Again and again the poor monk came, as it were, to the door of heaven with his goodly sum of works only to find it closed. God was teaching the man who was to be the great apostle of justification by Faith � that heaven could not be bought by any sum, however great, but must be a free gift from God Himself.

Like a shadow he glided from cell to cell of his monastery, his eyes sunken, his bones protruding, his figure bowed to the earth. His crys and groans echoed through the long corridors of the convent. He became a mystery and a terror to his brother monks. His confessor tried to help him, but his wounds were too deep for his skill.

"'Save me in thy righteousness' � what does that mean?" asked Luther; "I can see how God can condemn me in His righteousness, but how can He save me in His righteousness?" But none could answer poor Luther. God was allowing great furrows of sorrow to be worn in his heart, but only that He might flood them with the water-brooks of life. And even now one is approaching the monastery who will bring relief to his broken heart! It chanced � but no, it was not chance � that just at this time Staupitz, Vicar-general of the Augustines of Germany, paid a visit to the monastery where Luther was groaning under his heavy burden of sin. He was a man of great piety; one who was trusting not to the church for salvation, but to Christ alone. His eye, trained to read the faces of those around him, fell on the young monk. He could not gaze on that broad brow, upon which was the shadow of a great sorrow, or mark the eye which told of much spirit anguish, without feelings of deep interest. He spoke to him with tenderness � such sounds were rare to poor Luther now, for the inmates of the monastery thought that his conflicts could only be accounted for by the influence of the evil one, and so had shunned him.

The words of love won his confidence, and he laid his whole soul bare before the vicar. Staupitz saw at once how it was. "Luther," said he in effect, "you are trying to stand before the Great Judge without a days-man. Turn your eyes away from your own wounds, your stripes, maceratings, and fastings. You can never move God by these. Look to the wounds of Christ � see there His blood flowing for you!"

"But how dare I come to Christ," said Luther, "till I am a better man?"

"A better man! It is sinners, not just men, Christ came to call." And so with skilful hand the vicar strove to turn his thoughts from himself to his Saviour. Like healing balm upon an open wound seemed the vicar's words to Luther's bruised spirit; he felt that light was beginning to pierce the cloud. Before the vicar left he gave him a Bible, which he received with unbounded joy.

Still Luther's faith was but feeble and flickering, and at times the clouds of despondency would gather round him, and his old conflicts would be renewed.

At last he was laid on a bed of sickness, and while he was there God used a very humble instrument to complete the work that the vicar had commenced. A poor old brother monk came to Luther's bed-side one day, and began reciting, with great earnestness and simplicity, the apostle's creed. Luther repeated after him in feeble accents, "I believe in the forgiveness of sins." "Nay," said the monk, "you are to believe not only in the forgiveness of David's sins, and Peter's sins, you must believe in the forgiveness of your own sins." The decisive word was spoken. As a flash of vivid lightning in the night time suddenly illumines the whole landscape, so the monk's simple words thew a flood of light upon the scheme of the Gospel, which had before seemed to Luther so incomprehensible. "Oh, God," he exclaimed in an ecstasy of joy, "I see it all now, it is not payment, but forgiveness." It seemed as though he were in a new world � his prison doors were open. God had removed his sackcloth from him, and girded him with gladness. "In that hour," says one, "the principle of popery fell from Luther's soul." To Christ alone now he looked for salvation, to the church he would look no more.

But although Luther had received life and peace, there was still much that he had to learn, and soon after this we find him being ordained as a priest.

Our picture will show what a gorgeous scene this was when Rome had full sway over men's hearts. What an awful perversion of the simplicity of the Lord's supper!

The ceremonies of popery still had a hold upon him, yet according to his light, with wholeheartedness he served his God, and remained some time in the monastery, under the training of God, and growing daily richer in the knowledge of Him.

And now the time has come for him to pass out of his cell � the cell in which he had fought a battle sublimer than the one he was afterwards called upon to fight before the Diet of Worms � and enter upon the work which God had in divine wisdom been preparing him to fulfil.

He was appointed to the post of Doctor of Theology in the University of Wittemberg; and passing from the monastery to the class-room with the open Bible in his hand, he was able to reveal the fountains of life to the eager students who surrounded him. How freely could he now communicate to others that which he learned amid tears, and groans, and anguish of soul. Such was the power and freshness of his words that crowds of students came to hang, as it were, upon his utterances. His fame went out into other lands. Flocks of students from foreign countries came to drink in of the heaven-taught wisdom of the Wittemberg professor.

Staupitz watched with lively satisfaction the career of the young monk. Why, thought he, should this man confine his light to the walls of a university? around him on all sides were multitudes who were endeavouring to satisfy their hunger on the wretched husks which the monks gave them to feed on. Why should not this man, who was so well able, minister to them the bread of Life? Why should not the living waters, so long dammed up, be let loose to flow again among the habitations of men? The vicar-general proposed to Luther that he should preach in public, and soon after this, Luther commenced his public ministry.

At an old wooden chapel in the centre of the public square, so tottering with age that it needed to be propped up on all sides, Luther first commenced his public ministry. And here, after the silence of centuries, rang out again the proclamation of free pardon for all sins through faith in Jesus Christ alone. With animated countenance, and kindling eye, Luther told out in thrilling tones the majestic truths that he had received from God, and the hearts of his hearers were filled with awe. Men wondered at tidings so strange and sweet, so refreshing and welcome. When the heart is full it is easy for the tongue to be eloquent, and day by day the fame of the preacher grew. From all the surrounding cities came crowds to hear him; the old wooden chapel became far too small for the numbers who flocked to it. The Town Council of Wittemberg now elected him to be their preacher, and gave him the use of the parish church. Once the Elector Frederick was among his hearers, and was delighted with the simplicity of his language, and with the weight of his matter. And now the Reformation was fairly launched. God had bidden it go forward, and man could not stop it.

But it was needful for Luther that he should learn another lesson. The Lord wished him to find out the vileness of that church which he still regarded as the church of Christ, and the dwelling place of holiness; and that he might learn it more surely, it was necessary that he should go to Rome. And so God opened up the way for him to go there. With heart swelling with strange emotion, Luther stands within the gates of, to him, the thrice holy city. What a disenchantment awaited him! What a deliverance from a spell that had too long held him captive! He would see Rome, not as he had fondly painted her in his dreams, but as she had made herself by her own corruptions.

It must not be forgotten that although Luther was converted, and resting on the Lord Jesus as the rock of his salvation, his knowledge was still very imperfect, for popery still extended its shadow over his mind. It was no easy thing for Luther to emerge from under that gloom, a gloom that had lasted for twelve centuries, and which is brooding, even to this day, over half of Europe.

And so we find that the first few days of Luther's stay in Rome were occupied in visiting the holy places, and saying mass at its most holy churches, and thus he was brought into contact with the priests. And now it was that he saw behind the scenes. With unspeakable pain and grief of heart he found out that these "holy" men were merely playing a part, and that in private they laughed to scorn the very rites which in public they celebrated with such a show of devotion. And if he was shocked at their levity, they were no less astonished at his solemn credulity. They jeered at him as a dull German; a poor thing without genius enough to be a sceptic, and without cunning enough to be a hypocrite. They were amazed, they said, to find such a fossilised specimen in the sixteenth century.

One day he was at table with some prelates who, thinking the German was as easy of faith as themselves, began to make merry over the clever way in which they deceived and befooled the people. When blessing the bread, and using the Latin words by which (as Rome teaches) the bread is truly changed into the flesh and blood of Christ, they would say, in Latin, "Bread thou art, and bread thou wilt remain," and then they said, "We elevate the Host and the people bow down and worship." In horror Luther listened, and in that moment the vail was torn from his eyes. He saw then that he must either give up Christianity or Rome. But what he had gained amid his groans and struggles in his lonely cell at Erfurt, could never be given up. That he had received from God Himself. It was from this Rome, with her mocking hypocrisy, her jeering impiety and shameless revelry, that he must turn away. And so from the clergy Luther turned; but even yet he thought her rites might be holy; surely, he thought, there must be some merit in visiting the shrines, something whereby he might nourish his piety and return home a holier man. Influenced by these feelings he went one day to the church of the Lateran. In it are the holy stairs which, tradition says, Christ descended when returning from the hall of judgment where Pilate had passed sentence on Him. It was said that the angels had removed these marble stairs from Jerusalem to Rome, and every one who climbed them on his knees would merit fifteen years of indulgence for each ascent!

While Luther was laboriously ascending the stairs, he was startled by a sudden voice, which seemed to him to come from heaven, saying, "The just shall live by faith!" In amazement Luther started to his feet. This was the third time that these words had been conveyed to his mind, and with startling power. Now they seemed to speak louder than ever. "What am I doing?" said Luther, "why am I striving to gain an indulgence from the church which can last me only a few years, when God has given me an indulgence that will last for ever?"

From this time the doctrine of justification by faith alone stood out before Luther as the one grand leading doctrine of revelation. He had done now with relics shrines, and altars; that one glorious sentence, "The just shall live by faith," had more efficacy in it, a thousand times over, than all the holy treasures Rome contained. This was the key that should unlock the closed gates of Paradise; this the star, the bright star, that should go before him and lead him to his Saviour's feet.

In words grandly characteristic of the man, Luther at this time recorded his purpose. "I Dr. Martin Luther," writes he, "unworthy herald of the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, confess this article, that faith alone without works justifies before God, and I declare that it shall stand for ever, in despite of the Emperor of the Romans, the Emperor of the Turks, the Emperor of the Tartars, the Emperor of the Persians; in spite of the Pope and all the cardinals, with the bishops, priests, monks, and nuns; in spite of kings, princes, and nobles, and in spite of all the world, and of the devils themselves; and that if they endeavour to fight against this truth, they will draw the fires of hell upon their own heads. This is the true and holy gospel, and the declaration of me, Dr Martin Luther, according to the teaching of the Holy Ghost. We hold fast to it in the name of God. Amen."

This was what Luther had learned at Rome. Verily it was worth his wearisome journey thither. His stay did not extend over two weeks, but the lessons learned there would never be forgotten during his life. The year of his return was 1512. A few months after this he received the degree of Dr. of Divinity. On this occasion Luther took a solemn oath upon the Bible to study, propagate, and defend the faith contained in the holy Scriptures. And now he bade farewell to philosophy, and turned to the Bible as his great life work. Even yet he had no thought of separating himself from the Romish church; there were still some links that held him in bondage, and to find out how Rome herself severed these links we must turn our eyes a few moments to the history of the time.

The warlike Julius II., who was Pope at the time of Luther's visit to Rome, was now dead, and Leo X. occupied the Vatican. He was of the family of the Medici, and like them was distinguished by sensuality and voluptuousness, though graced by an exquisite refinement of manner. He was a lover of fine arts, and had a taste for letters. He was determined that his court should be the most brilliant in Europe. No elegance, no amusement, no pleasure should be forbidden to enter it.

You may be sure that this pontiff was burdened with no religious beliefs or convictions. To him the whole scheme of Christianity was a "gigantic fable." And he was wont to sneer and give vent to his scepticism in the words, "What a profitable affair this fable of Christ has been to us!"

And now Leo conceived a grand idea. His family had adorned Florence with its noblest edifices, and its glories were spoken of in all countries. Why should not he make his name famous and adorn the Eternal City by a pile more glorious than Christendom contained? But to execute such a project millions would be needed; how could the money be procured? His exchequer was empty, emptied by the vain shows and amusements of his court.

But surely such a magnificent conception must not be allowed to fall through from want of money. Could not he sell his pardons and indulgences? And so it was resolved to open a grand market for the sale of spiritual blessings. It was done, and very soon, as he expected, a river of gold began to flow into Rome.

The licence to sell these indulgences in the different countries of Europe, was disposed of to the highest bidder. The indulgences of Germany were farmed by Albert, Archbishop of Main and Magdeburg, a man as bereft of conscience and religion as the Pope himself. And now he began to look about for a suitable person to walk the streets of Germany, and to do his best to sell his pardons. He soon found a man in every way suited to his purpose. This was a monk of the name of Tetzel. He had been convicted of an odious crime, and sentenced to be put in a sack and drowned, but through powerful intercession, had been reprieved. He had the voice of a town-crier, and the eloquence of a mountebank. Such was the man that made progress through Germany, carrying a great red cross, on which were suspended the arms of the Pope. In front of the procession, on a velvet cushion, was borne the Pontiff's bull of grace, in the rear came the mules laded with bales of pardons to be given � not to the penitent of heart, but to those whose money was in their hand.

When he entered a city, Tetzel and his company went straight to the cathedral; then the cross was set up on the high altar, a strong iron box was placed beside it to receive the money, and Tetzel, in the garb of a Dominican Friar, began to set forth in stentorian tones the marvellous worth of his wares. "Press in now, press in while the gates of Paradise are open. Should that cross be taken down, the doors of heaven will be closed." "Indulgences," he went on, "are the most precious, and the most noble of God's gift's. Come, come while you may, and I will give you letters all properly sealed, by which, even the sins which you intend to commit, may be pardoned; and, more than this, indulgences avail not only for the living but for the dead. Priest, noble, merchant, wife, youth, maiden, do you not hear your parents, and your other friends who are dead, and who cry from the bottom of the abyss, "We are suffering horrible torments, a trifling alms will deliver us; you can give it, and you will not!" "At the very instant," he continued to his shuddering hearers, "that the money rattles at the bottom of the box, the soul escapes from purgatory, and flies liberated to heaven!"

These are some of the very sentences by which this wicked man strove to extort the money from poor deluded people, who firmly believed in the fires of purgatory.

And now Tetzel, in the course of his tour through Germany, has arrived within four miles of Wittemberg. And there, in the Market place, the great red cross has been set up, and the pardon-monger's stentorian tones are heard proclaiming his wares.

With grief and indignation did Luther witness the thousands that flocked to his standard, and very soon did he perceive the moral havoc that these so-called "pardons" were working. You must remember that Luther still believed in the power of the church to exact confession and penance from its flock, though not as a means to salvation. This he taught was to be had alone through the merits of the Saviour's blood.

One day, when he was sat at the confessional, some citizens came to him, and confessed having committed some thefts and other grave sins.

"You must abandon your evil courses," said Luther, "otherwise I cannot absolve you."

You may imagine his holy indignation and horror, when they told him that they had no intention of leaving off their sins, that there was no necessity for them to do so, seeing that the Pope had, in the person of Tetzel, pardoned these sins, and secured them against the punishment of them. And then, in the testimony of their innocence, they pulled out their indulgence papers, and shewed them to him.

Groaning in anguish of spirit at the way in which the poor creatures were being deluded, Luther could only tell them that their papers were worthless, and that they must repent and be forgiven of God, or perish everlastingly.

Refused absolution, and sore at losing their money, and also their hope of heaven, these people went back to Tetzel, and informed him that a monk in Wittemberg was throwing contempt on his indulgences. Foaming with rage, Tetzel poured out a torrent of abuse against the man who dared to make light of the Pope's pardons; then as a sign of what would be done with him, he kindled a great fire in the market place, with the threat that the Pope had given him authority to commit all such heretics to the flames.

Little heeding Tetzel's angry words, Luther continued his opposition more strenuously than ever. With all the grand unflinching boldness of his character, he condemned, from the pulpit, in the university, and at the confessional, these proceedings of Rome, denouncing them as a scandal to religion and a snare to souls. But this was not enough for him, he felt he must do still more to free his conscience.

One, day, on the eve of All Saint's Day, when the streets of Wittemberg were filled with pilgrims who had come to nourish their piety at the numerous shrines of Wittemberg, Luther issued from his home, and joined the stream of people who were flowing to the Castle Church, which stood by the eastern gate. Drawing from his pocket a paper, he proceeded to nail it on the church door. The strokes of his hammer soon drew a crowd around him, who pressed eagerly forward to read what was written thereon. And what was this paper? It was Luther's wonderful "Theses," consisting of ninety-five propositions on the doctrine of indulgence.

These propositions Luther undertook to defend against all who might choose to impugn them next day at the university. But none appeared.

In this wonderful paper, which was destined to be the means of bringing light and blessing to thousands, Luther took the opportunity of preaching a free salvation to all who would believe. He placed God's free gift in sharp contrast to the indulgence of Rome � the one to be had "without money and without price," the other to be bought with gold. He taught that the Pope's forgiveness, without God's was a mere cheat and delusion. And so taking the great prerogative of salvation from the church's hand, he gave it back to God.

And now the great movement of the Reformation is fairly launched, and is spreading onward with wonderful rapidity. The Theses were printed, and seemed to fall as thick as snow flakes all over Saxony. They were translated into Dutch, and read in Holland they were rendered into Spanish, and studied at the universities of the Iberian peninsula. "It seemed," as one has said, "as though the angels were their bearers," for even as far away as Jerusalem, copies were to be bought. Strange as it may seem, in four short weeks Luther's tract had become a household book, and his name a household word. Everywhere the Theses were the subject of converse and discussion. The feelings awakened by them were, of course, of a varied nature, but by very many they were received with great joy. Men were conscious of a great burden taken from their hearts. "While those," says Mathesius, "who had entered the convent to seek a good table and lazy life, or consideration and honour, heaped Luther's name with revilings, those monks who lived in prayer, fasting and mortifications, gave thanks as soon as they heard the cry of that eagle which John Huss had foretold a century before."

The historian, Kranz, of Hamburg, was on his deathbed, when Luther's Theses was brought to him. "Thou art right, brother Martin," he said upon reading them, "but thou wilt not succeed. Poor monk, hie thee to thy cell and cry, 'O God, have pity on me!'" Another old, priest of Hexter said: "Dear brother Martin, if thou succeed in overthrowing this purgatory, and all these paper-mongers, thou are truly a very great gentlemen." But, others, lifting their eyes higher, saw God's hand in it, and they felt he had come forth in answer to the groans of His burdened saints, to break their bonds in sunder.

Three years have sped away since Luther, with bold hand nailed his theses to the door of the Kirk of Wittemberg. But in those three short years what changes had taken place in the opinions of men, and indeed, in those of Luther himself. A light as fair as that which streamed in the beginning, on this dark chaotic world, had shone upon the moral blackness of that time. Gladness was flooding the hearts of men. Deep joy was breaking out on every side. How fair was the light! How gracious the drops that were falling from heaven upon a weary earth, for men afar and near were praising God for a recovered gospel.

In vain now did Tetzel cry his wares; pardons had become unsaleable. Shrines once thought so holy, were now forsaken. Nunneries and monasteries were emptying for men were learning now to turn to God alone for their souls' needs. In the direst alarm, the Pope and his counsellors sought to silence this monk who was working them such ill. But in vain they set their snares to entrap him, God took care of him; in vain they sent their cleverest men to meet and confound him with subtle arguments and theological skill. With his hand upon the Bible, Luther put them utterly to rout. One by one, they returned to their master discomfited. Pope Leo felt that something must be done, and at once, to stop the baneful course of this intrepid man.

He stepped into the arena and launched his final missal. A bull of excommunication was issued against Luther, by which (according to them) he was hurled from the church, and cut off from hope of heaven.

Harmlessly fell the bolt which once had power to shake the thrones of monarchs. The men of Wittemberg, with Luther at their head, took the bull and (as all unclean things were burnt outside the camp) burnt it, and with it, the books of the papal canon law outside the city. No mysterious virtue was in these Papal edicts. They blazed and crackled and sank to ashes like any common paper. Amid demonstrations of triumph, the procession reformed, and doctors, masters, students and townsmen gathered round the great Reformer, and led him back to the city.

But well Luther knew that one blow would not win the battle. Next day, when he was lecturing to a crowd of eager students, he told them that the burning of the Papal statutes was but a sign; the thing signified was the utter extinction of the Papacy. His voice grew solemn as he continued � "Unless, with all your hearts, you abandon the Papacy, you cannot save your souls. The reign of the Pope is so opposed to the law of Christ, and the life of the christian, that it will be safer to roam the desert, and never see the face of man, than abide under the rule of Antichrist. I warn every man to look to his soul's welfare, lest, by submitting to the Pope, he deny Christ. The time is come when christians must choose between death here, and death hereafter; for my part, I choose death here. I cannot lay such a burden upon my soul, as to hold my peace in this matter. I must look to the great reckoning, I abominate the Babylonian pest; as long as I live I will proclaim the truth. If the wholesale destruction of souls throughout Christendom cannot be prevented, at least I shall labour to the utmost of my power to rescue my countrymen from the bottomless pit of perdition."

On the 24th of March, 1521, the imperial herald arrived at Wittemberg, and put in the hands of Luther, the summons of the Emperor to appear before the Diet of Worms. A more brilliant assemblage than this, the first Diet of the young Emperor Charles, of Spain, had perhaps never been gathered together since the days of Charlemagne. It may have been his youth, for he was only twenty, together with the vast dominions over which he had sway, that helped to throw such a singular interest over him. From far and near came unprecedented numbers to his Diet. We read "that every road leading to Worms, displayed a succession of gay cavalcades � the electors with their courts, the archbishops with their chapters, margraves, and barons with their military retainers, the delegates of the various cities, in the badge of their office � all hastened to Worms." But a greater than Charles was to present himself before them, and a cause greater than that of the Empire, was to unfold its claims to their hearing. The time had come when Luther must bear testimony to the gospel, not at the stake, but on the loftiest stage the world can furnish. God had so willed it that emperor, lords, and barons must come to Worms, and there patiently wait and listen while the miner's son speaks to them.

"Will he come?" asked the members of the Diet one of another, when they had determined to summon Luther before them. Not for a moment did he hesitate, he knew that a higher than the Emperor had summoned him, and he was ready to obey. He knew that his safe conduct might be violated, as that of John Huss had been; he might be going to the stake, for many, he knew, were thirsting for his blood, yet he never wavered. There he would be able to bear testimony for the truth, as for the rest, he had no concern, he left the issue with God. "Fear not," he wrote to a friend, "that I shall retract a single syllable. With the help of Christ I will not desert the Word on the battle field." To others, he said, "I am called, it is ordered and decreed that I appear in that city. I will neither recant nor fly. I will go to Worms in spite of all the gates of hell, and the prince of the power of the air." Like wild fire the news spread through Germany, that their beloved Luther had been summoned to appear before the Emperor and his Diet. It was with mingled feelings of thankfulness and alarm that they heard. Thankfulness, that their cause � which they knew to be God's cause also � was about to be examined before so august an assembly, and fear, lest Luther should be sacrificed, and so many loving eyes and anxious hearts followed him as he left Wittemberg.

It was ten o'clock in the morning of the 16th of April when Luther saw the old towers of Worms rising before him. Sitting up in his car he began to sing a hymn that he had composed two days before, "A Strong Tower is our God." Away on the cathedral tower the sentinel descried the approach of the cavalcade and sounded his trumpet. At this signal of Luther's arrival, the citizens of Worms rushed into the street, and in a moment nobles, citizens, princes, and men of all nations mingled in one mighty throng to see the entry of the intrepid monk. Preceded by a herald Luther approached, dressed in his monk's gown. Although bearing traces of his recent illness, all who gazed upon him noticed the deep and settled calm of his eyes. The surging crowd, struck with the courage of the man who, contrary to all their expectations, had entered their gates, pressed around him to give him a hearty welcome. Looking round upon them as he descended from his carriage, Luther revealed to them the secret of his courage in the simple words, "God will be for me."

Weak after his recent severe illness, and greatly fatigued with his fourteen days' journey, the Reformer greatly needed rest. The next day, too, was before him; the most eventful, perhaps, of his whole life, but all were too anxious to see the monk to permit him an hour's repose. Princes, dukes, counts � friends and foes alike � besieged his hotel and crowded his apartments. As one relay of visitors were dismissed, another waited for admission. With calmness and dignity the miner's son received the brilliant throng. Unmoved he stood in their midst, hearing and answering their questions with a quietness and wisdom that filled even his enemies with wonder and admiration.

At last, far in the night, his crowd of visitors, so varied in rank, left him, and Luther was alone. Too excited and restless to sleep, he threw open the casement, and let the soft spring air fan his fevered brow; taking his lute he touched it and sang a favorite hymn, and then from his window he looked off out into the night. Below him the weary city was silently sleeping; away in the great valley he heard the roar of the Rhine as it poured out its floods; above him was the silent, fathomless vault of heaven. To it he lifted his eyes, as had often been his wont when in anguish of mind.

The midnight stars, always so dear to him, gazed down on him now like the faces of old friends; all else around him was so unfamiliar and strange. How it soothed his soul to see them now fulfilling their stately march so far above the tumult of the earth, and yet so far below the throne whereon sat a King infinitely greater than the monarch before whom he was to appear to-morrow. He gazed till a sense of sublimity filled his soul, bringing with it a feeling of repose. Turning away from his casement, he said, "I will lay me down and take quiet rest, for Thou makest me to dwell in safety."

Next morning, Wednesday, the 17th of April, at eight o'clock, Luther was cited to appear at four in the afternoon before his Imperial Majesty and the States of the Empire. With all the earnestness that marked his nature, the Reformer prepared himself to meet the coming strife, and kneeling before the throne of the eternal God, he poured out his prayers and supplications with groans that were audible outside his chamber door: and so he spent most of the time, until he rose to stand before the throne of Charles.

Accompanied by the Marshal of the Empire, and preceded by a herald, Luther set out for the Diet. But no easy matter did they find it to push their way to the town-hall, for the streets were filled with a denser crowd than that which had assembled the day before. Every window and house-top had its cluster of spectators, all eager to catch a sight of the Reformer. Arrived at the town-hall, they found the road so blocked up that the soldiers had to clear a way by main force.

As they were elbowing their way, and were now near the door at which they were to be ushered into the presence of the Diet, Luther felt a hand laid on his shoulder. He looked round to see the kindly face of George Freundsberg, a veteran well know to his countrymen for his gallantry and bravery.

"My monk, my good monk" said the soldier, "you are now going to face greater peril than any of us have ever encountered on the bloodiest field; but if you are right and feel sure of it, go on, and God will fight for you."

Hardly had these words been spoken, when the door opened, and Luther was in the presence of the august assembly.

Again came words of comfort to him. Passing through the throng of princes to take his place before the Emperor, a soft whisper reached his ear: "But when they deliver you up, take no thought how or what you shall speak, for it shall be given you in that same hour, what you shall speak." To Luther it seemed like the voice of God, and came to him with soothing power; and so, with equanimity and composure, he advanced and stood before the throne of Charles.

"Never," says D'Aubign�, "had man appeared before so imposing an assembly. The Emperor Charles V., whose sovereignty extended over great part of the old and new worlds; his brother, the Archduke Ferdinand; six electors of the empire, most of whose descendants now wear the kingly crown; twenty-four dukes, the majority of whom were independent sovereigns over countries more or less extensive, and among whom were some whose names afterwards became formidable to the Reformation; the Duke of Alva and his two sons; eight marquises; thirty archbishops, bishops, and abbots; seven ambassadors, including those from the Kings of France and England; the deputies of ten free cities; a great number of princes, counts and sovereign barons; the Papal nuncios � in all, two hundred and four persons. Such was the imposing court before which appeared Martin Luther."

"The sun," says the historian Wylie, "was near its setting, his level rays pouring in at the windows and falling in rich mellow light on all within, gave additional splendour to the scene. It brought out in strong relief, the national costumes and variously coloured dresses and equipments of the members of the Diet. The yellow silken robes of the Emperor, the velvet and ermine of the electors, the red hat and scarlet gown of the cardinal, the velvet robe of the bishop, the rich doublet of the knight, covered with the badges of his rank and valour, the more sombre attire of the city deputy, the burnished steel of the warrior, all showed to advantage in the chastened radiance which was now streaming in from the descending luminary. In the midst of that scene, which might have been termed gay but for its overwhelming solemnity, stood Luther in his monk's frock."

Amid a deep silence John Eck, Archbishop, of Treves and spokesman of the Diet, rose and in a sonorous voice repeated, first in Latin and then in German, the following words: "Martin Luther, his sacred and invincible majesty has cited you to appear before his throne to answer two questions. First, do you acknowledge these books," pointing to a pile of volumes on the table, "to have been written by you? Secondly, are you prepared to retract and disavow the opinions you have advanced in them?"

"Most gracious Emperor," answered Luther, "the books are mine. As to the second, seeing it is a question which concerns the salvation of souls, and in which the Word of God is interested � I should act imprudently were I to reply without reflection. I entreat your Imperial Majesty, with all humility, to allow me time, so that I may reply without offending the Word of God."

Fondly hoped the members of the Diet that this request for time was a mere prelude to a retraction. "He is but breaking his fall," said they; "the heretic of Wittemberg is about to play the part of penitent at Worms."

Had they known a little more of Luther's character, they would have judged very differently. They would have known that this pause was the act of a man whose mind was thoroughly made up, and who, knowing that it was unalterably so, wished to make his avowal without haste, and in such a way that its full strength might appear, and that all might feel it to be irrevocable.

After a time of deliberation, the Diet granted Luther his request. At the same time to-morrow he must appear, and give to them his final answer.

Luther bowed, and instantly the herald was by his side to conduct him to his hotel.

The morning broke that was destined to be the most eventful one in Luther's life, and also in the history of the Reformation, and it awoke to find Luther a prey to the most tormenting anxieties and gloomy forebodings. There were moments when Luther, with his exquisitely strung and highly emotional nature, gave way to these feelings, and we shall err greatly if we suppose that it was a great intrepidity of spirit, or an iron firmness of nerve, that bore him up and carried him through these scenes of awful mental trial. There were times when the sense of the presence of the Lord, that shed such a divine serenity and strength into his mind, was withdrawn, and then difficulties and dangers would rise around his path like so many giants, he would feel himself forsaken, and a horror of great darkness would fill his soul.

And so did it befall him on the morning of this eventful day. The upholding power which had sustained him on his journey to Worms, seemed to be all gone, and Luther felt weak and feeble as a little child. It was not the thought that he would be condemned and led to the stake, that shook, so terribly, the Reformer on the morning of his second appearance before the Imperial Diet. It was something far more dreadful than to die, to die a thousand deaths. He felt the crisis had come, and he was powerless to meet it. He would falter at the Diet, he would wreck his cause, he would blast the hopes of future ages, and God's enemies would triumph. Let us draw near to his closet door and hear his groans and cries.

It is scarcely dawn yet; he has been a considerable while engaged in prayer. His supplications are drawing to a close; "My God," he cries, "My God, hearest Thou me not? Hidest Thou Thyself from me? Thou hast chosen me for this work, I know it well! ... Act then, oh God! ... Stand at my side for the sake of Thy well-beloved Jesus Christ, who is my defence, my shield, and my strong tower." After an interval of silence again we hear his voice, "Lord, where stayest Thou? ... Oh, my God! where art Thou? Come, come, I am ready .... I am ready to lay down my life for Thy truth....patient as a lamb, for it is the cause of justice, it is Thine ..... I will never separate myself from Thee, neither now nor through eternity ....And though the world should be filled with devils �though my body, which is still the work of Thy hands, should be slain � should be racked on the wheel ... cut in pieces ... reduced to ashes ... My soul is Thine ... Yes! Thy Word is my solemn assurance of it. My soul belongs to Thee! It shall abide for ever with Thee ... Amen! ... Oh, God, help me ... Amen!"

Thus, with strong wrestlings, Luther prayed. What a solemn moment! As we listen we feel as though we were nearing the precincts of the eternal throne and walking on holy ground. And did he plead and call in vain? Ah, no. Only that he might feel, and prove the better, God's own great strength and power, had he been allowed to feel his own great weakness. "When we are weak then are we strong," says Paul. And so Luther found it, for as he prayed the veil of darkness around his soul seemed rent. A light broke in upon him, and as he rose from his knees he felt, by the calm now reigning in his soul, that he had already received an answer to his cries.

At four o'clock the grand marshal and the herald presented themselves, and again, through crowded streets, conducted the Reformer to the town hall. But for hour after hour Luther was kept standing in the outer court, amid the hum and clamour of the multitude. Although this delay was well fitted to exhaust him, and to mentally detract and ruffle him, his tranquility never for a moment forsook him. Alone, in a sanctuary that the multitudes around him knew not of, he communed with his Lord. At last when night was falling and torches were being kindled, Luther was admitted into the hall. With perfect composure, and with an air of dignity, Luther stood before the Emperor, and with a calm steadfast eye gazed around at the assembled princes. Then the chancellor of the Bishop of Tr�ams, Dr. Eck, rose and demanded his answer.

In a full, firm, but modest tone Luther began his reply. The discourse occupied in all two hours, and as he proceeded with his eloquent and fervid discourse, "to their amazement," says Wylie, "the princes found that a change had somehow come over the scene. Luther no longer stood at their bar, they had come suddenly to stand at his. The man who, two hours before, had seemed to them the accused was now transformed into the judge � a righteous and awful judge � who, unawed by the crowns they wore, and the armies they commanded, was entreating, admonishing, and reproving them with a severe but wholesome fidelity, and thundering forth their doom, should they prove disobedient, with a solemnity and authority before which they trembled.

At the conclusion of this wonderful address, Dr. Eck again rose, and in peevish tones, and with a fretted air, said to Luther: "You have not answered the question put to you. We demand a direct and precise answer. Will you, or will you not retract?"

Calmly Luther replied: "Since your most Serene Majesty and your High Mightiness require from me a direct and precise answer, I will give you one, and it is this: I cannot submit my faith either to the Pope or to the councils, because it is clear as day they have frequently erred and contradicted each other. Unless, therefore, I am convinced by the testimony of Scripture so that conscience shall bind me to make acknowledgments, I can and will not retract, for it is neither safe nor wise to do anything contrary to conscience." And then, looking round on the assembly, he said, "Here I stand; I can do no other. May God help me, Amen."

As Luther ended his discourse in words which, in their courage and grandeur, are among the sublimest in history, a thrill, which after three centuries, communicates itself to us, passed through the august assembly, and a murmur of applause burst out in the Diet. Not, however, among its Papal partisans; they were silent in dismay. Well they knew that the monk's decisive "No," which had fallen like a thunder-clap amongst them, would sound forth from out that hall, and reverberate throughout the world, arousing christians everywhere to break the chains that had so long held their spirits captive, and to stand forth in the liberty wherewith Christ had made them free. Rome had lost the battle, they knew it mattered not what they might do with Luther now. The fatal word had been spoken, the monk was the victor, to place him at the stake would only be to enhance his glory.

Filled with mortification, they bade Luther withdraw for a time, and during his absence the Diet deliberated. Could nothing be done? They saw a crisis had arisen, but what to do to meet it they could not tell. Again they would call him before them, and give him another opportunity of retracting. So he was called in and placed in front of the Emperor's throne, and asked to pronounce over again, now the third time, his "Yes" or "No." With simple dignity, his answer came �

"I have no other to give than that which I have already given."

"In the calmness of his voice," says the historian Wylie, "in the steadfastness of his eye, and in the lion-like lines of his rugged German face," the assembly read the stern indomitable resolve of his soul. The "No," could not be recalled. The die had been cast irrevocably.

"The Diet will meet again to-morrow, to hear the Emperor's decision," said Chancellor Eck, dismissing the members for the night.

Late as it was, crowds still lingered around, anxious to know what the end would be. "See, see," they cried, as Luther was led out between two Imperial officers, "there he is, in charge of the guard; are they taking you to prison?"

"No," replied Luther, "they are taking me to my hotel." So quietly they dispersed, and Worms settled down into silence.

When Luther reached his lodgings, faint and weary after his long mental exertions, a servant entered, bearing a silver jug filled with Eimberk beer.

"My master," said the bearer, presenting it to the doctor, "invites you to refresh yourself with this draught."

"Who is the prince," said Luther, "who so generously remembers me?" It was the aged Duke Eric of Brunswick, one of the Papal members of the Diet.

Raising the vessel to his lips, Luther took a long draught, and then putting it down said, "As this day Duke Eric has remembered me, so may the Lord Jesus Christ remember him in the hour of his last struggle." Not long after, when the Duke lay dying, he whispered to some one near, "Read to me from the Bible." Opening the book his young page read, "Whosoever shall give you a cup of cold water to drink in my name, because ye belong to me, verily, I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward." And the Duke remembered Luther's words, and so he in his turn was refreshed, when heart and strength were failing, with a draught from the Well of Life,

But we must pass on more hurriedly to tell of Luther's departure from Worms, for in spite of their earnest wishes to the contrary, the Papal party dare not but let him depart peacefully. Well they knew that from the most distant cities men were watching, with their hands on their swords, to see what would happen to Luther, and to have violated his safe conduct, as they had done that of the martyr Huss, would have been but the signal for civil war throughout Germany.

So on the morning of the 26th of April, Luther was allowed to depart, but scarcely had he gone, ere the Emperor fulminated his edict against him, placing him outside the pale of the law, and commanding all men, whenever the term of the safe conduct had expired, to withhold from him food and drink, succour and shelter, to apprehend him, and send him bound to the Emperor.

Meanwhile the Reformer was drawing near to his journey's end, the pines were getting fewer, and the hills were sinking into the plain. Very grateful to him after the stir and grandeur of Worms were the silent glades of the peaceful hamlets. He had reached a lonely spot near the Castle of Altenstein, when a troop of horsemen, wearing masks and completely armed, rushed suddenly upon him; one of them seized Luther, while others raised him to a saddle, and grasping his horse's reign plunged quickly with him into the forest of Thuringia. All day long the horsemen wandered hither and thither until the night began to fall, and then they began to ascend a mountain. A little before midnight they came under the walls of a castle that crowned its summit. Here, passing over the drawbridge, the cavalcade passed in, and the captive was led into an apartment where he was told he must make a sojourn of unknown length; he must lay aside his monk's dress, and attire himself in the costume of a knight, and be known only by the name of Knight George.

Not until the morning broke did the Reformer know where he was. As the first beams of the morning began to shoot their golden shafts through the forest glades, Luther looked from his casement, and lo! around him lay the well-known scenes that adjoin Eisnach. Further away were the plains round Mora, and beyond these still further away rose the vast circle of hills that sweep along the horizon. Then with joyful heart Luther knew that he was in the hands of friends, and in the castle of the Wartberg. Yes, God had in this wonderful way allowed Luther to be snatched away and carried off as by a whirlwind, none knew whither, from all the danger that was closing in around him. And here, in the peaceful silence of the Wartberg, we must leave him; leave him to learn the lessons that God had to teach him, and for which He had brought him hither, and to begin and end his great work � the translation of the Bible.

Ulric Zwingle.

In the south-east of Switzerland is the long and narrow valley of the Tockenburg. Here, in a quaint little cottage standing on a green meadow, its walls formed of the stems of trees, its roof weighed down with stones to protect it from the mountain gusts, and with a limpid stream flowing before it, was born about three hundred years ago, Ulric Zwingle. His father, Huldric Zwingle, was greatly respected by his neighbours for his upright character as well as for his office, for he was the bailiff of the parish. He was a shepherd, and his summers were passed in company with his sons on the mountains tending his sheep.

Day by day as the verdure mounted higher on the mountain sides, the shepherds with their flocks continued to ascend. As the long days of midsummer came, the herds would browse on the very skirts of the eternal snows, where a luxuriant herbage was nourished by the burning July sun, and the waters of the melting ice.

When the long night and the fading pasturage told them the winter was drawing nigh, they would descend by the same stages as they had mounted, and arrive at their home by the time the autumn winds were beginning to wail through the valleys. In such high-lying localities as the Tockenburg, little out-door work can be done as long as the winter, so wild and dreary, holds its reign on the mountain tops, and darkens the valleys with mists and tempests. Then the peasants, assembling by turns at each other's hearths, beguiled the long evenings with songs and musical instruments, or by brave tales of adventurous exploits. Many a story would be told of shepherds climbing the precipice to rescue some silly sheep which had strayed from the fold, or braving the furious tempest to save the life of a comrade lost in the snow.

Often, while the glare of the blazing firwood lit the room with its crimson glare, would young Ulric listen with kindling eye to such tales of valour, or to others and still more daring deeds, performed on the field of battle, where their fathers were wont to meet the spearmen of Austria, or the steel-clad warriors of Gaul.

Thus was the spirit of valour kept alive in the boy, and his brave, lofty, liberty-loving nature strengthened from year to year.

But in that little cottage was another who was destined to take a part in the training of the future Reformer, and this was the boy's grandmother. Often would she call him to her, and making him sit beside her, would tell him of heroes of a far loftier type than those who had shed their blood for their country. She would tell him of those mighty men of valour taken by God from the plough, the sheep-fold, or the vineyard, who drove back the enemies of the Most High with great slaughter. She would tell him of those grand patriarchal shepherds of old � Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob � who fed their flocks on the hills of Palestine of old, with whom the Lord God deigned to converse. Or she would take him to the cradle of Bethlehem, to the cross of Calvary, or to the open sepulchre from whence the glorious Redeemer had walked forth unharmed from the darkness of the tomb. Then she would tell him of the first missionaries hurrying away to tell the great news of the Gospel, of their persecution, of their fortitude under terrible trials, and often of their cruel death. Thus, day by day, was the young Zwingle trained for his future great task.

Doubtless the grand aspects of nature around him contributed their share in the formation of his character. It could not be but that the sight of the dashing cataract, and the towering mountain peaks, the sound of the torrents' roar, and the echoing voice of the mighty thunder helped to elevate his soul, and fill it with sublime awe.

With delight his father marked the amiable disposition and the truthful character of his son, for very early the fruits of the Spirit were manifested in him.

He saw, too, in him, manifestations of a lively genius, and soon perceived that he was fitted by nature for a higher occupation than that of tending sheep. When Ulric was eight years old it was found necessary to provide him with better instruction than could be found in his native valley. His father resolved to send him to his uncle, the Dean of Wesen, and place him under his superintendence.

And so one day the father and son climbed the green summits of the Ammon: and from these heights, for the first time, young Ulric caught his first glimpse of the world, lying around his native valley of Tockenburg.

The Dean loved the boy as though he had been his own. He sent him to the public school, but very soon the quick genius of the boy had enabled him to take in the slender stock of knowledge which the teacher had to impart, and it became necessary to send him to another school. His father and uncle decided to send him to Basle.

And now Ulric left behind him the white peaks of the mountains, and passed on to the fertile district of the Rhine.

Young Zwingle was very fortunate in regard to the master under whose care he was placed at Basle. He was a man of gentle temper and a loving heart; under his care his pupils made great progress, and very soon Zwingle distanced his schoolmates and stood abreast of his teacher. Again it became necessary to change his school, and now it was determined to send him to the most distinguished school at that time in Switzerland, that of Berne; and now, bidding adieu to the carpet-like meadows and gentle hills of Basle, Zwingle recrossed the Jura and stood once more in sight of the mighty peaks of the Shrikhorn and the Eijer, and, towering above all, the pearly summits of the Jung Frau.

Lupullus, the master under whose care Zwingle was placed at Berne, was accomplished beyond the measure of his day. He had travelled over Italy, Greece, and Syria, and had mastered the long-forgotten tongues of these celebrated countries. And while feasting his eyes upon their exquisite scenery, he had drank in the spirit of the Roman and Greek poets and orators, and so was well able to communicate the fervour of ancient liberty and philosophy to his pupils.

The genius of Zwingle rapidly expanded under such a master, and it was no wonder that in such sympathetic company, and with nature around him in its sublimest form, that his poetic vein was developed, and his style became marked for its classical and chastened beauty. He cultivated, too, his musical talents; and often, when weary with his intellectual pursuits, he would take his lute and soothe his tired mind with the beautiful airs of his native land, or wandering out along the banks of the Rhine, or climbing the mountains of the Black Forest, would awake the echoes with his tuneful horn. His frank, joyous, open nature soon drew around him a large circle of friends, among whom was Leo Juda, the most loved of all. He shared Zwingle's two master passions � the love of truth and the love of music, � and when the hours of labour were fulfilled, they would mingle the sounds of their instruments and voices in soul-stirring harmonies.

A covenant of friendship was formed between them that lasted till death.

It was by this loved friend that Zwingle was led to the feet of Wittembach, � one who was destined to exert no small influence over his pupil's future life.

Thomas Wittembach was a native of Bienne, in Switzerland, and a disciple of Reuchlin, the famous Hebraist. But he had a higher wisdom than any he could glean from man, for he had drank deeply at the fountains of divine knowledge. From his lips Zwingle first heard and received the wondrous and (to him) astounding doctrine, that "The death of Christ is the only ransom for our souls."

It was not long after this that the door was opened which ushered him into the arena of his great labours. At this juncture, the Pastor of Glarus died, and the people of Glarus, who were mostly shepherds, having heard of the repute of the son of their neighbour, the Bailiff of Wildhaus, sent an invitation to Zwingle to become their pastor. He accepted the invitation, was ordained at Constance, and arrived at Glarus to begin his work.

This took place in the year 1506, Zwingle being then in his twenty-second year.

"He became a priest," says Myconius, "and devoted himself with his whole soul to the search after divine truth, for he was well aware how much he must know to whom the flock of Christ is entrusted."

But yet, at this time, he was a more ardent student of the ancient classics than of the Scriptures, and it was now that he founded a Latin school at Glarus. The youth of the best families of his parish were sent to him, and were won over by him to the cause of letters and noble aims; and soon, in place of the gross licentiousness of manner that had � united with a fiery martial spirit � distinguished the inhabitants of Glarus, they became noted for unwonted refinement of style.

But now a pause came in his classical studies, for the men of Glarus with their cardinal-bishop at their head, marched out by order of their war-like Pope, Julius II., to encounter the French on the plains of Italy, and fight for "The Church." Ulric Zwingle was compelled to accompany them. And now it was that a ray of light found its way into his mind, and his eyes began to open to the abominations of the Papal system which, with its wars and intrigues, was bringing such misery and beggary upon his native land. Could such a system be of God?

Turning from the classic writers, whom he had so enthusiastically admired, but who were so powerless to help him now, the young priest placed himself before the Word of God, to see if he could discover there, God's mind upon the matter.

This study of the Word had a blessed effect upon Zwingle. From the gloomy wilderness of scholastic philosophy, with all its barrenness and confusion, he turned with delight to the smiling fertile fields of Scripture, and there found food for his soul.

"The Scriptures," said he in a burst of joy, "come from God, not from man, and even that God which enlightens will give thee to understand that the speech comes from God. The Word of God cannot fail; it is bright, it teaches itself, it discloses itself, it illumines the soul with all salvation and grace, comforts it in God, humbles it, so that it loses and even forfeits itself, and embraces God in itself."

And thus, like our own Wycliffe, Zwingle placed himself like a little child before the Bible, and submitted himself to its teachings; and so, while all was densely dark around him, the light of truth broke upon him direct from heaven.

While he was thus occupied in searching the Scriptures, and communicating its truths to those around him, he was invited (1516) to be preacher in the Convent of Einsiedeln. Its Abbot was a gentleman of rank, who cared nothing for the superstitious usages of the Church, and who in his heart had no affection for the mass, and who had dropped the celebration of it. The Convent of Einsiedeln was beautifully situated. It stood on an eminence close to the lovely town of Zurich. Near by were the noble expanses of water forming the lakes of Zurich and Wallenstadt. Their gently swelling banks were clothed here with smiling vineyards, and there with sombre pine forests. It looked down upon peaceful hamlets, where white villas enlivened the scene, while far away on the horizon the gleaming glaciers blended with the golden clouds.

To this lovely spot Zwingle retired but not to bury himself. In this convent was a shrine, which was the most famous in all Switzerland, for it boasted an image of the Virgin, which had the alleged power of working miracles.

At all seasons of the year parties of pilgrims could be seen toiling up the mountain side, carrying in one hand tapers to be burned in honour of "Our Lady of Einsiedeln," and in the other money to buy the pardons which were sold at her shrine. Deeply moved was Zwingle by the sight, and he saw now why God had brought him hither. With a heart bleeding with pity for them he told them that all in vain had they come this long journey, that they were no nearer God on the mountain-top than in the valley; that they were on no holier ground before the shrine than in their own closets; that they were spending "their money for that which is not bread, and their labour for that which satisfieth not." But Zwingle was not satisfied with reproving them for their superstition. He preached to them the Gospel; he spoke to them of Christ and Him crucified; he told them of the loving tender One, who had died for them, and who was waiting even now with yearning heart to receive them. One who wanted not their fastings, scourgings, and vigils, but who delighted in a "contrite heart." As "cold water" to one who is athirst seemed the preacher's words to many weary souls. Not in vain had been their toilsome journey. Such "good news" as this was well worth coming for and returning with a well of peace in their hearts they published abroad the strange and welcome tidings.

Ere long the well-worn pilgrim track began to be disused, the shrine to which it led forsaken, and so it came about that the chief stronghold of darkness in all Switzerland was converted into a centre of God's own light.

In 1519 Zwingle was chosen as preacher in the Cathedral of Zurich. At this time Zurich was the chief town of the Swiss Confederation, and every word spoken from the pulpit here had double power. Well did Zwingle know this, and he determined with the help of God, that His truth should be sounded out from this place, and resound to all the cantons; and faithfully and boldly did this intrepid man rebuke superstition, and preach the Gospel.

Soon the repute of his wondrous eloquence spread far and wide, and multitudes were drawn to attend his sermons.

Beneath him, crowding every bench, sat men of all ranks and conditions, and as the calm face of the ocean reflects the sky that is hung above it, so did the upturned faces respond to the varied emotions of the fervid preacher. With what delight did he tell out in simple, clear, yet earnest words, the story of a "free salvation" � a gift sent down from God to be received without money and without price! How thrillingly tender grew his tones as with winning words of love, he beseeched men in Christ's stead to be reconciled to God!

What strange, what wondrous tidings were these for the poor priest-ridden Swiss! Bending forward with intense eagerness, the audience drank in his words, and men were heard to say one to the other as they retired from the cathedral, "Glory be to God! This man is a preacher of the truth. He will be our Moses to lead us out of Egyptian darkness."

And so a fountain of new life seemed opened at the heart of Switzerland. Earnest students everywhere were poring over the pages of Scripture, and earnestly calling upon God for light to enable them to understand its meaning. And God heard their prayers: for thousands had their eyes opened to see Christ the Saviour as the all-perfect sacrifice for sin, and in their joy, unable to keep silence, they told out to others around the blessed truth which they had learned.

We have seen in another place how, at this very time, Rome had prepared a great market for the sale of indulgences or pardons for sin. And we have also seen how, while in Germany, she was sending out her hawkers, stamping her indulgence tickets, and fixing the price of sins, God was sending out His evangelists to preach the true Gospel of forgiveness without money and without price. And so we will find that in the same wonderful way God was preparing hearts in Switzerland to resist the tide of evil that was about to sweep over the land.

The sale of indulgences in Switzerland was given into the care of one Barnardin Samson, guardian of the convent at Milan. "He discharged his mission in Helvetia," says Gerdesius, "with not less impudence than Tetzel in Germany." Forcing his way through the snows of the St. Gothard, and descending along the stream of the Reuss, he and his band arrived in the canton of Uri. A few days sufficed to fleece these simple mountaineers, and the greedy troop passed on to Schwitz. As soon as Zwingle heard of their approach he set out to confront them. The result was Samson was obliged to decamp, and from Schwitz he went on to Zug. Here he set up his stage and displayed his wares, while crowds from the little towns on the lake came forth eager to purchase the Pope's pardons.

Samson continued his journey, filling his coffers as he went, until he approached Zurich. And now he heard that Zwingle was thundering against him from his pulpit in the cathedral. Notwithstanding this he pressed on, thinking, doubtless, that he would soon silence the preacher. As he approached, Zwingle waxed the bolder and plainer. "God only can forgive," said the preacher, with a solemnity that awed his hearers, "none on earth can pardon sin. You may buy this man's papers, but be assured you are not absolved. He who sells indulgences is a sorcerer like Simon Magus; a false prophet like Balaam; an ambassador of the king of the bottomless pit, for to these dismal portals rather than to the gates of paradise do indulgences lead."

When Samson reached Zurich he found its gates closed against him. Not in vain had the Gospel of the grace of God been ringing in the ears of the people. And with great thankfulness Zwingle saw Samson ignominiously sent away without selling a single pardon.

Not long after this another terrible visitant appeared in Switzerland, and was used by God to help on His own work. This was no less than the plague, or "Great Death." It broke out in the August of that same year, (1519), and spread from valley to valley with terrible rapidity, inflicting frightful ravages everywhere. What a mockery to the poor dying creatures seemed now the pardons which a few months back they were so eager to purchase! Soon it reached Zurich, and Zwingle, who had gone to the baths of Pfeffers to recruit his exhausted health, hastened back to his flock. Day and night he spent almost all his time at the bedsides of the sick, whispering words of life-giving comfort to many an agonised sinner's heart, and sustaining his brethren in the faith with holy cheer, while the cold waters of death were closing around them. At last he, too, was stricken down, and lay at the very point of death. While he was utterly prostrate, and with all hope of life taken away, he breathed forth this little hymn, so simple, and yet so full of faith and gentle resignation: �

"Lo, at the door

I hear Death's knock!

Shield me, O Lord,

My Strength and Rock.

The hand once nailed

Upon the tree,

Jesus, uplift,

And shelter me.

Willest Thou, then,

Death, conquer me

In my noon-day?

So let it be!

Oh! may I die,

Since I am Thine;

Thy house is made

For faith like mine."

And so we see him at the very point of death firmly trusting in the Gospel he had preached. God brought him to this awful test, and then, in His mercy restored him to health, and sent him forth, chastened, solemnised, and purified, to preach again this Gospel which he had found enough to sustain his own soul at the very portals of the grave.

It was a solemn moment when Zwingle and the citizens of Zurich again assembled at the Cathedral. They were only just emerging from under the awful shadow of the Great Death." Their beloved pastor had been given back to them from the very portals of the grave; most of them were mourning the absence of some dear one who had left a vacant chair at their fireside, and solemn deathbed scenes were still fresh before their minds. In the presence of all this how bright had shone this new gospel, this reformed faith, brought to them by their pastor! Chastened and subdued they listened as they had never listened on any other occasion, to words spoken by Zwingle with an earnestness never heard before. And now the Zurichers needed no argument to convince them that his words were true. They had seen how the old popish religion, with all its pomp and ceremonies, had failed them utterly at the moment of their souls' direct need. What could it do to sustain their souls at the point of death? Nothing. When the awful gloom of its shadow was upon them, lo! its lights had gone out, and they were left in utter darkness.

How different from this had they found the warm life-giving love of the Saviour. A love which, once received, penetrated the whole being, quickening, purifying, comforting, filling the conscience with peace, and the heart with joy.

The Cathedral, although a large building was too small for the crowds that flocked to it, and Zwingle laboured indefatigably to diffuse the life-giving doctrines for which their souls were craving, and God so caused his work to thrive that in 1519, in a letter to Myconius, Zwingle says that "at Zurich upward of 2,000 souls had been so nourished and strengthened by the milk of the truth, that they could now bear stronger food, and anxiously longed for it."

It was impossible that a movement like this could be confined within the walls of Zurich; and so we find that the light diffused from it soon began to radiate the mountain tops of Eastern Switzerland. The precious seeds of truth which were being wafted far and wide, were destined to take root and germinate, and many of the Helvetine cantons were at no distant day released from the debasing yoke of papal tyranny.

With intense interest did Zwingle perceive the rays of divine truth penetrating into his dear native valley of Tockenburg. To many there he was bound by the sweet associations of his youth, and by ties of blood and friendship.

Hearing the villagers were about to assemble to decide whether they should receive the new doctrine or continue in the faith of their fathers, he addressed a letter to them in which he said, "I praise and thank God who has called me to the preaching of His Gospel, that He has led you, who are so dear to my heart, out of the Egyptian darkness of false human doctrines, to the wondrous light of His Word." Then he goes on to earnestly exhort them to add to their profession of the Gospel, the practice of every gospel virtue, and thus bring glory to it and profit to their own souls. "This letter," says Wylie, "decided the victory of Protestantism in the Reformer's native valley. The Council and the community in the same summer, 1524, made known their will to the clergy, "That the Word of God be preached with one accord."

In 1525, Zwingle commenced his work of protesting against monastic establishments. He showed that these institutions were alike contrary to the laws of nature, the affections of the heart, and the precepts of Scripture. "To snore behind the walls of a cloister," said Zwingle in one of his sermons, "is not to worship God. But to visit widows, and orphans, that is to say, the destitute in their afflictions, and keep one's self unspotted from the world, this is to worship God."

"As melts the ice on the summit of the Alps when spring sets in," says Wylie, "so did the monastic asceticism of Zurich give way before the warm breath of evangelism." In June 17, 1523, the Council of Zurich gave permission to the nuns to return to society, and numbers quitted the cloisters for ever. The next year a resolution was passed to reform the monasteries. Fearing that the monks would offer resistance to the dissolution of their orders, the Council wisely decided to take them by surprise. One afternoon the members of the Council, accompanied by delegates from the various guilds, the three city ministers, and followed by the town militia, presented themselves in the Augustine monastery. Summoning the inmates into their presence, they told them that by command of their Council their Order was dissolved. The monks, taken by surprise, and awed by the sight of the armed men, yielded at once and so, without a struggle, the victory was gained.

Soon after this, Zwingle publicly married a lady of great beauty and noble character, Anna Reinhard, and this marked the completion of another stage in the Swiss Reformation, for by so doing he set at nought the unscriptural law forbidding ministers to marry. Many others took advantage of the change in the law as to marriage, among others, Leo Juda, Zwingle's friend.

And thus step by step, and very peacefully, the movement advanced.

Space will not allow us to follow Zwingle much further, or we could tell how he attacked the worshipping of saints and images, and how the time came when all the useless images were removed from their churches, and men came together to worship God without any of these idolatrous adjuncts. Still further than this did God's truth, through His servant Zwingle, advance. This led to the doing away of the popish mass, and to the people partaking of the Lord's Supper, in the simple way laid down in the Scriptures. This was first done on the Thursday of Easter week. The gorgeous altar was replaced by a wooden table covered with a white cloth, on which were placed two wooden plates of bread, and wooden goblets filled with wine. The words in 1 Cor. 11: 20-29 were read, prayers were offered, a hymn was sung, a short address delivered, and then the bread and wine was partaken of by those in communion.

"This celebration of the Lord's Supper," says Christoffel, "was accompanied with blessed results. An altogether new love to God and the brethren sprang up, and the words of Christ received spirit and life. The brotherly love of the first centuries of Christianity returned to the Church with the Gospel." "Peace has her habitation in our town," wrote Zwingle, "no quarrel, no hypocrisy, no envy, no strife. Whence can such union come but from the Lord, and His doctrine, which fills us with the fruits of peace and piety."

It would have been well if Zwingle had been content to serve his Lord by preaching the true Gospel and denouncing the errors of the papacy. But, alas, he was not. He forgot, or perhaps never knew, that our citizenship is not an earthly one, and that as a Christian it was no work of his to endeavour to set right that which he found so wrong governmentally. He did not see why the Protestant states should not resist, to the extent of the power which God had given them, the treacherous plots which were being hatched on all sides for the destruction of their faith and liberty. And so the Reformer who ought to have been a son of peace, took up the sword to fight for the maintenance of the truth which God had revealed through his word to him.

Thus it came about that Zwingle died on the battlefield.

On the 9th. of Oct. 1531, the five Cantons who disapproved of the Reformation declared war against Zwingle and his adherents, and on the 10th. the Zurichers received the alarming intelligence that a large army were marching towards them. About 700 men went out to meet them, Zwingle going with them as army chaplain. But although they fought we are told, with the bravery of lions, yet they did not succeed. They became entangled in a bog and were surrounded, and nearly all cut to pieces by the infuriated papists.

Although Zwingle was on the battle field he did not use the sword, but restricted himself to his duties as chaplain. While stooping down to whisper words of comfort to a dying man he was struck with a stone upon the head, and fell to the earth. Recovering a little he rose, but a spear dealt him a fatal stab and he lay bleeding to death upon the ground. "What matters it," he was heard to murmur, "they may kill the body but they cannot kill the soul." These were his last words. As he lay on the ground, his hands clasped and his lips moving in prayer, some of the camp followers who were prowling around came upon him. Seeing that he was dying, they said, "Do you wish for a priest to confess yourself?" Zwingle was past speaking, but he shook his head. "At least" they said, "call in your heart upon the mother of God." Again he shook his head. Curious to see who this obstinate heretic could be, one of them raised his head and turned it to the light. "It is Zwingle!" he exclaimed, letting the head fall. Now it happened that an African named Bockinger from Unterwalden, one against whom Zwingle had often had occasion to denounce for holding and teaching error, was near. "Zwingle!" cried he, "is it that vile heretic and traitor Zwingle?" and raising his sword, he struck him on the throat. Yielding to this last blow Zwingle died.

William Farel.

As we have seen in the foregoing chapters, during the dark night that shrouded Europe for so many centuries, a few lights appeared at intervals, raised up of God, to minister a little solace to the few faithful ones who wearily waited for the dawn. We have seen how Wickliffe, in the middle of the fourteenth century, appeared in England, and endeavoured, by spreading divine truth, to liberate his groaning brethren from the spiritual bondage of iniquitous Rome. We have seen, too, how, nearly half a century later, Huss and Jerome arose to do a similar work in Bohemia. A century rolled away, and then with the appearance of Luther came the partial emancipation of the church in many countries from the thraldom of popery.

In the account we are about to give of God's honoured and devoted servant, William Farel, we must turn our gaze for a short space to another scene of action. A new nationality has come to mingle in the great drama of the Reformation. France held, in the opening of the sixteenth century, a very foremost place among Christian countries. On its south and south-east was Switzerland, on its east was Germany, and on the north, parted only by a silver streak of sea, was England. At all these gates, as it were, the Reformation was waiting for admission. In the year 1510, we find the throne of France occupied by Louis XII. He had just assembled a parliament at Tours to resolve for him the question as to the lawfulness of going to war with the Pope � one who violated treaties, and sustained his injustice by levying soldiers and fighting battles. The answer of that assembly marked the moral decadence of the Papacy. "It is lawful not only for the king to act defensively, but offensively against such a man." Thus fortified by the advice of his parliament, Louis commanded his armies to march against the Pope. This is mentioned here as a symptom of the near approach of the new times.

"The river," says one, "which waters great kingdoms and bears on its bosom the commerce of many nations, may be traced up to some solitary fountain among the far-off hills. So was it with that river of the water of Life that was now to go forth to refresh France." It had its rise in a single soul. In the year 1510, a stranger visiting Paris would hardly have failed to mark an old man, small in stature and simple in manners, going the round of all the churches, and prostrating himself devoutly before the images and shrines. This same old man, steeped as he was at this time in darkness and superstition, was destined to be, on a small scale, to the realm of France what Wickliffe had been to England. His name was Jacques Lefevre. He was born at Etaples, a village of Picardy, and although now verging on seventy, was hale and hearty.

Wonderfully in this old man was the promise fulfilled, "At evening time it shall be light," for it pleased the Lord that he should not depart, until the eclipse of superstition had wholly passed from his soul.

As he was, as far as we know, the first man to emerge from the darkness of his native land, and as he was the instrument in God's hand for the conversion of the subject of our narrative, we think he is worthy of some share of our attention; we will describe him, then, in a few words. Lefevre was naturally endowed with a capacious intellect. There was scarcely a field of study open in those ages which he had not entered, and made in them great proficiency. His thirst for knowledge had led him to visit Asia and Africa, there to view all that the fifteenth century had to show. Returning to Paris he was, Erasmus tells us, the first luminary in the constellation of lights that at that time adorned the Theological Hall of the great Paris University. Yet with all his learning he was so meek, so amiable, so candid, so full of loving-kindness that it was impossible to know him and not to love him.

But even this man had his enemies, and they tried to insinuate that the man who had visited so many countries could hardly have escaped some taint of heresy. So they began watching him, but could find no fault with him; never was he absent from mass, and none remained so long on his knees before the saints as Lefevre. Nay, so superstitious was he, that this man, the most distinguished professor of the Sorbonne, might often be seen decking the statue of Mary.

Lefevre at this time formed the idea of collecting and rewriting the lives of the saints, and this, through God's mercy, was the means used to open his eyes to the truth.

When he had already made some progress, it struck him that he might find in the Bible materials that would be useful in his work. "Unwittingly," says Wylie, "he opened the portals of a new world. Saints of another sort than those that had till that moment engaged his attention, now stood before him � the virtue of the real saints dimmed in his eyes the glories of the legendary ones. The pen dropped from his hand and he could proceed no further."

As he continued to search the Word of God, Lefevre really found that the Church of the Bible was a totally different thing from the Church of Rome; the wondrous plan of salvation, the plan of justification by faith alone, came to him like a sudden revelation. He says in one of his works which is still extant, "It is God who gives us, by faith, that righteousness which by grace alone justifies to eternal life."

These words of Lefevre, surely Spirit-born, assure us that the dawn had broken on poor benighted France. It was a single ray, perhaps, but it had come direct from heaven, and was the harbinger of the flood of glorious light that was about to burst forth.

As the light of the truth of God which had entered Lefevre's soul banished for ever from his mind the gloom of monasticism, so he knew well that this light had not been given him to hide under a bushel; and he felt that at once he must, by God's grace, communicate it to his pupils around him.

Now of all places the Sorbonne was the most dangerous in which to proclaim a new doctrine. Centuries had rolled away, and none but the school-men had spoken there; and daring indeed would be the man who could proclaim in this, the citadel of scholasticism, a doctrine which if received would explode that which had been heard with reverence for ages.

Lefevre well knew the risks to which he was exposing himself; nevertheless, he went on to spread around the joyful tidings of salvation by grace. As may well be supposed, a great commotion was raised around the chair from whence proceeded sounds so new and strange. With varied feeling did the pupils of the venerable man listen to the new teaching. The faces of some were lighted up with joy, and they looked like men to whose eyes some glorious vista had suddenly opened, or as though they had unexpectedly discovered something for which they had long but vainly sought. On the faces of others, astonishment and anger were plainly written; and their knitted brows and flashing eyes plainly bespoke the anger of their souls.

The agitation in the class-room soon communicated itself to the university, and on every side were heard reasonings and objections. Some were frivolous, some were filled with blind prejudice and hatred of the doctrine; but some were honest, and in real earnest, and these Lefevre made it his business to answer, showing them that his doctrine did not give licence to sin, and that it was not new, but as old as the Bible. Mutterings of the distant storm were heard, but it had not burst; and meanwhile Lefevre, within whose soul the light burnt clearer day by day, went quietly on with his work.

It is well to mark that these events took place in 1512. Not until five years after this had the name of Luther been heard of in France: the monk of Wittemberg had not yet nailed his Theses to the doors of the Schlosskirk.

From this we see most manifestly that the Reformation, springing up at this time in France, did not come from Germany. Before Luther's hammer, as one has said, was heard ringing out the knell of the old times in Wittemberg, Lefevre was proclaiming beneath the vaulted roof of the Sorbonne the advent of a new and brighter age. The Word of God, like God Himself, is light; and from that source alone came the welcome day, which after a long dark night broke upon the nations in the morning of the sixteenth century.

Among the crowd of pupils who gathered around the chair of the aged Lefevre, there was one who is now especially to claim our attention. Between this scholar and the master existed an attachment of no ordinary kind. None of all the crowd so hung upon his lips as did this youth; nor was their one on whom the eyes of that master rested with so kindly a light.

This youth was William Farel. He was born among the Alps of Dauphine, at Gap near Grenoble, in the year 1489.

His parents, measured by the standard of that age, were eminently pious. Every morning as the sun kindled into glory the white mountains around his dwelling, the family were assembled to count their beads; and as evening descended, crimsoning and then paling the beautiful Alps, the customary hymn ever ascended to the Virgin.

As Farel himself tells us, his parents believed all that the priests told them, and he in his turn believed everything that his parents told him. Until the age of twenty he grew up with all the grandeur of nature around him, but with the darkness of superstition in his soul. A historian speaking truthfully of him says, "It would have been as hard for him to believe at this time that Rome, with her pope, and her holy priests, with her rites and ceremonies, were the mere creation of superstition, as to believe that the great mountains around him, with their snows and their pine forests, were a mere illusion, a painting on the sky, which but mocked the senses, and would one day dissolve like an unsubstantial, though gorgeous exhalation. 'I would gnash my teeth, like a furious wolf,' said he, speaking of his blind devotion to Rome at this period of his life, 'when I heard anyone speaking against the Pope.'"

It was his father's desire that he should devote himself to arms, but young Farel longed to be a scholar. Shut up though he was in the seclusion of his native valley, the fame of the Sorbonne had reached him, and he longed to drink his fill at this renowned well of learning. In 1510 he presented himself at the gates of the university, and was enrolled among its students.

It was here that young Farel became acquainted with Lefevre, and before long they were bound together in the bonds of closest friendship. Outwardly there were few points, one would have thought, to bring them together. One was old, the other young; one deeply learned, the other a mere tyro in knowledge; one enthusiastic, the other shrinking and timid; but beneath these external differences there beat two kindred souls. Both alike were noble, unselfish, and devout; and although living in an age rife with scepticism, their devotion was ardent and sincere. Often might the aged master and the young disciple be seen hand in hand visiting the shrines, and kneeling together before the same images.

But the time came when the spiritual dawn broke upon the soul of Lefevre and he now began to let fall at times words that told of the new light he had gleaned from the Bible.

"Salvation is of grace," would he say to his pupils, "the innocent One is condemned, and the criminal is acquitted; it is the cross of Christ alone that openeth the gates of heaven, and shutteth the gates of hell." With consternation Farel listened to these words. What did they mean? to what would they lead? If this were true, what use then were his visits to saints, his kneeling at altars? Had his prayers been uttered to the air? All the teachings of his youth, the sanctities of home, the beliefs learned at his parents' feet, rose up before his mind and appeared to frown upon him. Tossed with doubt and uncertainty, he longed to be back in his quiet home, where such thoughts might never torture him more. A crisis had come in the history of Farel; he must either press forward into the light with his beloved master, and become what the world called a heretic, or plunge back again into deeper darkness � but he felt he could never be the same as before.

Peace had left him; "the sorrows of death" and "the pains of hell" had taken hold of him and he felt he could not save himself. It was just when he was near despair that the words of Lefevre were spoken again in his hearing. "The cross of Christ alone opens the gates of heaven." "This is the only salvation for me," said Farel, "if I am to be saved it must be of grace, without money and without price." And so he immediately pressed into the portals that were opened to him by the blood of Jesus. The tempest was at an end, and he was now in a quiet haven. "All things," he tells us, "appear to me in a new light, Scripture is cleared up. Instead of the murderous heart of a ravening wolf," he says, "I came back quietly, like a meek and harmless lamb, having my heart entirely drawn from the pope, and given to Jesus Christ."

With soul at peace within, and with heart welling over with joy, Farel, now fully emancipated from the yoke of the Pope, went forth with his Bible in his hand to preach in the temples. Like Paul before him, he allowed all the zeal of his nature to be used for the God who had saved him; and he was now as bold and uncompromising in his advocacy of the Gospel, as before he had been in behalf of popery.

"Young and resolute," says Felice, "he caused the public places to resound with his voice of thunder."

But William Farel was not content with the mere preaching of the Gospel: he was studying the Word deeply for himself. There he found out how Christians in a great measure had wandered from the clear light in which God had placed them, at the time of the early formation of the Church, and how, by allowing themselves to become mixed up with the world, they had passed into such darkness that now they scarcely knew the difference between good and evil. "Grievous wolves," said the Apostle "shall come in amongst you, not sparing the flock." How true these words were, was manifest to Farel as he cast his eyes around. God's beautiful flock of sheep! How was it scattered! Instead of feeding in the green pastures and beside the still waters of God's own Truth, they were wandering away on the dark and dreary mountains of ignorance and superstition, being fleeced by the hand of cruel hirelings.

His heart yearned over those poor deceived ones; deceived by those, too, who professed to be their teachers sent from God. "Listen" he cried in his impassioned manner, as he stood amongst them, St Paul spake these words: Though we or an angel from heaven preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed.' This sentence is worthy to be written in all our hearts, being in truth spoken by God Himself, through the mouth of the holy Apostle. And this good personage was thus led to speak on account of the evil ways of heretics, who dared to preach what they could not prove by the holy Scriptures, who dared to set up their own reasons and opinions in the face of the fact that the things they taught were not to be found in the Scriptures at all. And in truth, all the ruin and down fall of men has always come from the same source � namely, that they persisted in adding to, or taking from the Word of God.

"You see that in the time of the holy Apostles, these teachers were not contented with the grace and truth which were fully and plentifully preached by Paul. They began to hinder the truth, and to hinder God's blessing � not by disapproving of the preaching of Jesus Christ, they approved of it, in fact, but they persisted in adding to that which God had commanded. They added to it those things which God had never commanded to believers in Jesus, but to the nation of Israel. It is true, these false teachers had some show of having the right on their side, because it was a fact that God did speak to Moses, and what Moses commanded was really by the order of God, and the Apostles themselves had observed those ceremonies. But the holy Apostle Paul, and God who spoke by His mouth, would give no ear to such excuses; he would not admit that Moses, to whom the Gentiles had never been given in charge, was to be ranked with Jesus Christ, nor that Moses was to be added on to Christ to give salvation and life. And not only does Paul say that the ordinances of Moses were unnecessary for believers; he goes much further, and says on the contrary, that all who teach such things are to be detested, and held as accursed � that they are miserable troublers of the church, and that any such ought to be entirely disowned; even should such a teacher prove to be an angel from heaven � such an angel should be held as accursed by God; for nothing is to be added, nothing to be diminished from that which God has said. His holy and perfect Word is to be kept pure and entire.

"The Apostle Paul says, in the first Epistle to the Corinthians, that what he preached was to be proved by the Scriptures, and he says also, that all Scripture is written by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be perfect, throughly furnished unto all good works.

"If all could receive this pure truth, and give to Christ that honour which belongs to Him, and if the old fathers had, in every single matter, kept to that rule, there would have been no need now to write against evil doctrine, and to have such trouble to weed out of the hearts of men the things which have taken such deep root in them. On the contrary, all that is not contained in the holy Scriptures, all that has no foundation there, would have been held in abhorrence; and instead of writing as they did, with such affection, about the sign of the cross, and such like things, the old fathers would have opposed them, as not contained in the Bible; they would have firmly resisted every thing of the sort "......" We ought not to be," he went on to say, "as reeds shaken by the wind, but firmly established in Christ, knowing for certain that we have His Word for every thing, and thus the gates of hell shall never prevail against us.

"This is what God requires of all Christians, and admits nothing less in any who are members of the Body of Christ, sheep of the Good Shepherd. And he who does not know what to believe, nor whom he is to believe, who hears no difference between the voice of Jesus and other voices, who cannot distinguish between the voice of the Shepherd and the voice of the stranger, he does not belong to Jesus Christ as yet, he is not in Christ at all. It is no use to say, "I have always been used to believe and teach so and so," it is no use to say, "Our pastors and teachers teach us this and that," for custom without truth is useless. God never has approved, and never will approve of any thing but the truth, and He will judge us by that. The pastor and teacher must keep to the Word of God only, and feed the flock with that, otherwise he is a blind leader of the blind, and altogether will fall into the ditch.

"And now that things are come to this, that every thing is poison, except that heavenly bread, the Word of God, it is quite certain that whosoever attempts to feed upon other food than that, will be poisoned and die. The whole of popery falls at once, the moment we admit that the Word of God alone is the rule to guide us. Where then, is the authority for the mass, and such like services? Where is the authority for the consecration of altars and of churches? Where is the authority for using the sign of the cross? God has not commanded any of these things. And if we once admit that it is lawful for a man in any one thing, to command and order that which God has not commanded, where are we to stop? How are we to have any rule, if once we step beyond the plain Word of God? O that it might please God in His grace to open the eyes of men, that they may seek no longer to make excuses for any thing which is not to be found in the holy Scriptures; that they might believe, do, hold, and follow nothing that is not found there."

You may be sure that by such plain speaking as this, Farel made bitter enemies of the doctors and priests of the Sorbonne; yet there were some, who, taking his advice, went to the Scripture and found there a loving Saviour, and He who could save them without the help of saints, penances or fastings. Among these was Princess Margaret of Valois. She was the beloved sister of the King, Francis I of France, a woman of a sweet and gentle disposition. Another who received the truth was Bri�onnet Bishop of Meaux.

Great hopes were raised in the hearts of Lefevre and Farel by the conversion of these so-called great ones of the earth. All Paris, they hoped, would soon be turned to the truth. But not many mighty, not many noble, are called. And after the Gospel had been proclaimed for two years in Paris, the University after a long consultation on the subject of the Reformation, decreed that all Luther's books should be publicly burned in the streets. And so the great city refused to receive Christ, preferring rather to be subject to the Pope.

With a sad heart William Farel turned his steps from the city where they refused to hear the sweet sounds of a free salvation, and we next find him at Meaux, preaching everywhere, in the streets, the market places or wherever a place could be found.

The people crowded to hear him, and as the thirsty earth gladly drinks in the refreshing shower, so did many hearts drink in the life-giving words.

Come with me to the edge of this crowd, consisting chiefly of labouring people. They have just left for a little space their toilsome labours in the fields, the workshops and vineyards. Old age is there and youth, mothers with their babies in their arms, fathers with care worn brows, and backs bent with toil and labour. See how one and all listen with eager attention, while as the words of the preacher tell home, great drops fall from the eyes down many a rugged grief worn cheek.

Listen to his words. "What, then, are those treasures of the goodness of God, which are given to us in the death of Jesus Christ? Firstly, if we diligently consider what the death of Jesus was, we shall there see in truth how all the treasures of goodness and the grace of God our Father are magnified, and glorified, and exalted in that act of mercy and love. Is not that sight an invitation to wretched sinners to come to Him, who has so loved them, that he did not spare His only Son, but delivered Him up for us all. Does it not assure us that sinners are welcome to the Son of God, who so loved them that He gave his life, His body, and His blood, to be a perfect sacrifice, a complete ransom, for all who believe in Him; for he it is, Who calls to all those who labour and are heavy laden, saying He will give them rest. He it is Who spoke in His love to the wretched thief, giving him a place in heaven, saying to him, Verily I say unto thee this day shall thou be with me in Paradise. He it is, Who so loved and pitied His enemies, who hated Him unto death, that He prayed, Father forgive them for they know not what they do. And lastly, if we behold diligently, that death of Christ, there we see how the vail of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and why? Because that hidden place into which none might enter, was now revealed, and thrown open by the death of Jesus, so that all who believe have access and free entrance there � may go in boldly, in full assurance of faith � may come before the throne of grace, and find mercy and grace to help in every time of need. For He who is the Son of God, the power and wisdom of God, He who is God Himself, so humbled Himself as to die for us. He the holy and the righteous one, for the ungodly and for sinners offering up Himself that we might be made pure and clean. And it is the will of the Father, that those whom He thus saves by the precious gift of His Son, should be certain of their salvation and life, and should know that they are completely washed and cleansed from all their sins. And the Father, for the love of Himself, and not for the love of us, nor of our doings, our deservings, and our righteousness's (which are simply abominations � ) � He, the Father, saves us, and gives us eternal life. Yes, it is for the love of Himself, that His counsels may stand, to quicken and to serve those whom he has ordained to life, without any respect to persons. He sees nothing to cause His love in the sinner whom he saves � nothing in his works, nor his race, nor in his country, nor in any thing belonging to him. He pardons all his sins and transgressions on account of the work of His beloved Son. He gives the precious gift of His Son to the wretched prisoner of the devil, of sin, of hell, and of damnation. He gives him His Son because of his wicked lost condition; a sinner born in sin, and the child of wrath � a sinner in whom sin and rebellion against God live and reign. The gracious God, the Father of mercy, takes such as this to make him His child of adoption, to be His heir, joints-heir with Christ! He makes him a new creature."

In words such as these, Farel set forth with wonderful power the blessed truth of a full, free, and present salvation for all those who will receive it, through the saving blood of a crucified Saviour.

Strange, blessed news, for the poor priest-ridden inhabitants of Meaux, and numbers gladly opened their hearts to the sweet tidings of divine grace and love; and before long a little meeting was formed, and often when the toils of the day were over, these dear saved souls came together that they might search the Scriptures, converse of the wondrous, blessed liberty into which they had been brought, and sing and pray one with the other. Meek in spirit, loving in heart, and holy in life, they presented a blessed testimony to all around them.

But not long did these happy days last; bitter persecutions were commenced against them, Bri�onnet who had done so much for the spread of the Truth, recanted in the face of the stake, and the little flock had the unspeakable honour of furnishing martyrs, "whose blazing stakes," as an eloquent writer has said, "were to shine like beacons in the darkness of France, and afford glorious proof to their countrymen that a power had entered the world which, braving the terror of scaffolds and surmounting the force of armies, would finally triumph over all opposition."

But we must leave this devoted little company, to follow the footsteps of Farel, who, now that he was chased from France, turned his gaze towards Switzerland. He arrived there in 1526, took up his abode in Aigle, and there commenced his Gospel campaign, being determined to conquer to Christ, with God's help, the brave and hardy people dwelling amid the glaciers of the eternal mountains, as well as those who sunned themselves in the happy valleys and by smiling lakes.

Darkness, almost like that of Egypt, over-hung this place, but Farel carried with him a light that was able to dispel it. And how do you think he began? By brilliant sermons and thrilling discourses? No, he knew if he began in that way most probably he would not have been allowed to speak at all, so he took the name of Ursin, and commenced to keep a school. The little children of the village flocked to it, and he began to teach the little ones about Jesus; so tenderly and winningly did he speak, that many of the little ones received the Saviour as their own. Then they in their turn carried home the divine seed to their parents, and thus the blessed truth quietly and assiduously spread until many in the little villages were rejoicing in Christ. Then Farel threw off his disguise and told them who he was.

Great was the fright of the priests at this sudden, metamorphosis of the Schoolmaster, for well they knew who William Farel was. But without any hesitation, he now ascended the pulpits, and with bold look and burning eye, and voice of thunder, and with words rapid and eloquent, stamped with the majesty of truth he ploughed up the consciences of those who listened, and through God's mercy a great work was commenced

Not for long however was it allowed to go on. The cur�s were filled with wrath at this bold intruder who had dared to enter their quiet valley, and shake their ancient beliefs. A clamour was raised against him, and Farel was obliged to retire, thankful that at least, the standard of the cross had been planted, and that he had left behind him men whose eyes had been opened, and who would never again bow the knee to the idols of their fathers.

From this place Farel proceeded to Lausanne, and from thence to Berne. But in each of these places he was repulsed. Now turning northwards he made a short pause at Morat, and here, by the help of God, the victory of the Gospel was complete, and this important town embraced the protestant faith. An unseen but mighty power was with Farel, softening hearts and opening the understandings of men to receive the truth, and encouraged in heart, Farel pressed on hoping to win other cities and cantons to the gospel.

He now crossed the lovely lake and presented himself at Neuchatel. This place was peculiarly given up to popery. It had a great Cathedral with its full compartment of canons, priests, and monks, who, you may be sure gave the poor credulous people the usual store of pomps, dramas, indulgencies, banquetings and scandals.

In the midst of their devotions the people were startled by a man of small stature, red beard, glittering eye, and stentorian voice, who stood up in the market place and announced that he had brought a religion not from Rome, but from the Bible. The shaven monks could not speak for astonishment, but at last, when they had found their voices they cried with one accord, "Let us beat out his brains," "Duck him, duck him." In spite of their clamour, Farel proceeded with his preaching, and many opened their hearts to the glad tidings. Before long the whole city declared for the Reformed faith.

Having sown the seeds of divine truth here, Farel left them to fructify, and departed to evangelize in the mountains and valleys which lay around. The winter came on and cold, hunger, and weariness were his frequent attendants; his life, too, was in peril, almost every hour. Once he was seized and almost beaten to death. Nothing however could daunt the bold Reformer. At times he would mount the pulpit, even while the priest was celebrating mass, and such was the power of his eloquence, that sometimes the priest would strip himself of his stole and chasuble, while the congregation would demolish the altars, remove the images, and declare that Farel was speaking the Truth of God. In three weeks time four villages renounced popery.

Farel was far from resting satisfied with his spiritual triumphs in the little villages at the foot of the Jura. His eye was ever turned with longing towards Geneva. On his way there at St Blaise, he made a short halt and commenced to preach. He was cruelly set upon by the mob instigated by the priests, and almost beaten to death. "Covered with bruises" says a writer, "spitting blood, and so disfigured as scarcely to be recognised by his friends, he was put into a small boat, carried across the lake, and nursed at Morat." But his time had not yet come to depart, and in spite of his cruel wounds, he recovered, and in 1532 we find Farel's long cherished wish accomplished, and he is preaching the Gospel in Geneva.

With dismay almost bordering on despair the priests learned that the man had arrived in their midst, who, as they said, had passed like a devastating tempest over the Pays de Vaud. His track so far, they knew, had been marked with altars overturned, images demolished, and canons and monks, and nuns flying before him in terror. What were they to do? They must at once take effectual steps to put him down or all would be lost. So without loss of time Farel, was summoned before the Town Council. With angry looks and bitter words did the magistrates receive him, but happily for Farel he carried letters from their Excellencies of Berne with whom Geneva was in alliance, and whom the Council feared to offend. Thus protected the Reformer and his friend left the Council chamber unharmed.

This acquittal only the more aroused the anger of the priests and they met in council, and under pretext of debating the question, summoned the two preachers before them. Two magistrates were with them, "to see," says an historian, "that they returned alive," for it was known that some of the priests carried arms under their robes. The Reformer was asked by what authority he preached? Farel replied by quoting the Divine injunction, "Preach the Gospel to every creature." His meek answer was received with derision, and in a few moments the members starting to their feet, flung themselves upon the two evangelists, and commenced to ill-treat them. They spat upon them, pulled them about, struck them, "crying, come Farel, you wicked devil, what makes you go up and down thus? Whence comest thou? What business brings you to our city to throw us into trouble?" As soon as the noise had a little subsided, Farel answered courageously, "I am not a devil; I am sent by God as an ambassador of Jesus Christ; I preach Christ crucified � dead for our sins � risen again for our justification; he that believeth upon Him hath eternal life; he that believeth not is condemned." "He blasphemes; he is worthy of death" cried some. "To the Rhone, To the Rhone!" shouted others, "It were better to drown him in the Rhone than permit this wicked Lutheran to trouble all the people." "Speak the words of Christ, not Caiaphas," replied Farel. This was the signal for a more furious attack. "Kill the Lutheran hound," they exclaimed, Strike, Strike!" They closed round Farel, and one of the great Vicars servants levelled a gun at him, and pulled the trigger, but here again the Lord intervened for His servant, the pruning flashed, and the magistrates after a vigorous interposition rescued the evangelists.

Such, however, was the rage and enmity of the mob that Farel was obliged to flee the city. But although Farel's first essay was so unsuccessful it was not God's will that the good work should die out. Another and a gentler hand was to scatter the seed, � this was a young man, Fromont by name, of a gentle peaceful disposition. Him Farel sent back to the city where he had been almost torn to pieces.

"Fromont's appearance," says Wylie, "was so mean that even the Huguenots, as the friends of liberty and progress were styled, turned their backs upon him.'' Thus cast off and despised by all, what was young Fromont to do? "Recalling Farel's example at Aigle," the historian goes on to say, "he resolved to turn schoolmaster. He hired a room at the Croix d'or, near the Molard, and speedily his fame as a teacher of youth filled Geneva. The lessons Fromont taught the children at school the children taught their parents when they went home. Gradually, and in a very short time, the class grew into a congregation of adults, the schoolroom into a church, and the teacher into an evangelist. Reading out a chapter he would explain it with simplicity and impressiveness." Thus with a tender, gentle hand the young man scattered the Divine seed into hearts, and many were converted; and soon great crowds were seen pressing round him listening eagerly to his words. This was in the year 1532 and the good work went on apace. Two rich and honourable women were among the first converted; and their conversion made a great sensation in Geneva. Their husbands and many others were drawn to hear and embrace the Gospel.

Space would not suffice for me to tell how rapidly the good work sped although in the midst of much trouble and persecution; suffice to say, that, in only one year after the beginning of Fromont's ministry, Farel to his great joy, was allowed to return to Geneva, and he did not leave it until the city so dear to his heart had declared in favour of the truths of the Reformation.