bathed them a little in the fire, he soon died, as it appeareth, with very little pain or none. And thus much concerning the end of this old and blessed servant of God, Master Latimer, for whose laborious travel, fruitful life, and constant death, the whole realm hath cause to give thanks to God.

But Master Ridley, by reason of the evil making of the fire unto him, because the wooden faggots were laid about the gosse, and over high built, the fire burned first beneath, being kept down by the wood, which, when he felt, he desired them for Christ's sake, to let the fire come unto him; which, when his brother-in-law heard, but not well understood, intending to rid him out of his pain, (for the which cause he gave attendance,) as one in such sorrow, not well advised what he did, heaped faggots upon him, so that he clean covered him, which made the fire more vehement beneath, that it burned clean all his nether parts, before it once touched the upper, and that made him leap up and down under the faggots, and often desire them to let the fire come unto him, saying, I cannot burn; which, indeed, appeared well, for after his legs were consumed, by reason of his struggling through the pain, (whereof he had no release but only his contentation in God,) he showed that side towards us clean, shirt and all untouched with flame. Yet, in all this torment, he forgot not to call unto God, still having in his mouth," Lord, have mercy upon me!" intermingling his cry, "Let the fire come unto me, I cannot burn." In which pain, he laboured till one of the standers by, with his bill, pulled off the faggots above, and where he saw the fire flame up, he pressed himself into that side; and when the flame touched the gunpowder, he was seen to stir no more, but burned on the other side, falling down at Master Latimer's feet. Which, some said, happened by reason that the chain loosed: others said that he fell over the chain by reason of the poise of his body, and the weakness of the limbs. Some said, that before he was like to fall from the stake, he desired them to hold him to it with their bills. However it was, surely it moved hundreds to tears, in beholding the horrible sight. For I think there was none that had not clean exiled all humanity and mercy, which would not have lamented to behold the fury of the fire so to rage upon their bodies. Signs there were of sorrow on every side. Some took it grievously to see their deaths, whose lives they had held full dear. Some pitied their persons, that thought their souls had no need thereof. His brother moved many men, seeing his miserable case, seeing (I say) him compelled to such infelicity, that he thought then to do him best service when he hastened his end. Some cried, out of the luck to see his endeavour who most dearly loved him, and sought his release, turn to his greater vexation and increase of pain. But whoso

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considered their preferment in time past, the places of honour that they sometime occupied in this commonwealth, the favour they were in with their princes, and the opinion of learning they had, could not choose but sorrow with tears, to see so great dignity, honour, and estimation, so necessary members sometime accounted, so many godly virtues, the study of so many years, such excellent learning, to be put into the fire and consumed in one moment. Well, dead they are, and the reward of this world they have already. What reward remaineth for them in heaven, the day of the Lord's glory, when he cometh with his saints, shall shortly, I trust, declare

ART. VIII.—Memoirs of the Duke of Sully, Prime Minister of Henry the Great; with the Trial of Francis Ravaillac, for the Murder of Henry the Great. 1649.

If we except those solemn inquiries connected with his future existence, there is no subject of research or consideration so interesting and important to man as that of history. It is the golden chain by which we fathom the depths of time; and obtain the lessons of experience every link, however remote, is full of vitality-the errors and sufferings, the melancholy degradations, and the glorious capabilities of our nature, pass in procession before us; and we feel a conscious relationship to every performer in the great drama of human life, of which we cannot be sensible in any other branch of philosophic pursuit, or scientific examination.

To the historian we are indebted not only for distant records and insulated facts, but that developement of the progress of existence, which renders recollections of the past a code of instruction for the future; through every gradation of intellect, every impulse of passion, and peculiarity of situation, he traces the slowly-forming organizations of civilized legislature, the duties of social life, and the virtues which belong to its complicated and extended claims. Philanthropy, patriotism, the love of liberty, the approbation of order, the energies of valour, the attachments of loyalty, the affections of humanity, spring successively in the bosom, as we peruse the page which unites us in the trials, conduct, and feelings of our departed brethren; and even when, sickened with the review of crime and suffering, we turn from the scene, yet we are rendered rather humble than misanthropic, from the contemplation

of errors seen through the ameliorating vista of intervening years; and we gladly press forward to meet some brilliant emanation of a better nature, some gloriously redeeming character or circumstance, which restores us to the sweetest perceptions and the loftiest emotions of our nature.

Next to the author who devotes genius and learning to the wearisome occupation of historic research, and the laborious task of pursuing truth through the labyrinths which time, language, and custom, have interwoven around her; we apprehend one of the greatest benefits a public character can bestow upon his countrymen (and we may say upon his species), is transmitting to posterity a well-digested detail of those scenes which he has witnessed, and those transactions in which he has borne a part. We find all nations are agreed in holding such memoirs in especial estimation, and the labours of Thucydides and Lord Clarendon are alike standard works, that pass on from age to age, uninjured by the oblivious hand of time, as things which, appertaining to man's nature, adhere to him in despite of the mutabilities which affect his situation. Thus the work before us will go down to posterity, valued alike by the historian, biographer, and financier, and held in high respect by the general reader, for the accuracy and simplicity of its details, the importance and variety of its facts; and, above all, the honesty and unvarnished integrity by which it is dictated, on which the mind reposes with an unquestioning security.

Few men have existed whose account of passing events, and whose personal share in controlling and influencing the circle of public affairs, could offer equal interest with the Memoirs of the Duke of Sully. His determined courage, unbending integrity, and energetic perseverance, peculiarly fitted him for the times in which he began his honourable career, the confusion which arose out of them, and the prosperity that eventually ensued. He seemed born to be the minister of a king whose manifold difficulties, splendid qualities, and unhappy foibles, alike demanded the valour, the investigation, and the inflexibility of this most devoted servant-who, as a general, a minister, and a personal friend, was alike invaluable to the monarch and the people.

This important work, we are informed by the editor, is collected from the papers of the Duke of Sully, Baron de Rosny, principally written by his own hands, but occasionally by those of his secretaries, during the period of his public life. The Memoirs are divided into thirty books, which contain the history of the author and his own times, including, of course, that of the king, his master. This, which may be pro

perly termed his own work, is succeeded by a memoir of the remainder of his life, his death and burial; after which, we have the trial of Francis Ravaillac, the assassin of Henry the great, and the dreadful, we may say diabolical, sentence passed upon him. These, with a copious index, constitute five thick octavo volumes, admirably translated by an English lady. In making the copious extracts which we propose to transfer to our pages, we shall select such only as are rendered peculiarly interesting from the important historical circumstances they relate, or the private anecdotes they record; that tend to display the manners of an age which blended ferocity with politeness, cruelty and bigotry with valour and elegance, in a manner which nothing less than the most authentic records could induce us to believe.

For the better understanding the commencement of these Memoirs, which naturally enter on their subject as if the reader were well acquainted with the previous history of France, we shall recapitulate the affairs of that country for so many years previous, as to render the names and parties, hereafter alluded to, familiar to recollection.

Catherine de Medicis, the most cruel, intriguing, violent, but accomplished princess of her time, on the death of her husband Henry II. (who was killed at a tournament) procured herself the title of regent, during the minority of her son, Francis II., now only sixteen (the husband of the unfortunate Queen Mary of Scotland). At this time, the oppressions practised by the court against the Calvinists or Huguenots, had driven them to seek redress by taking up arms, being secretly aided by the Queen of England, and more openly by the Prince of Condé, and the young King of Navarre, afterwards Henry IV.

The Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine, who were joined with the queen in the government, gave battle to these unhappy people, and having conquered, pursued their victory rather as murderers than soldiers, and the Prince of Conde, falling into their hands, was sentenced to be beheaded; but the sudden death of the king, and the well known circumstance, that the Protestants, headed by Admiral Coligny, were about to rise in far more formidable numbers, suspended his fate.

Charles IX., the second son of Catherine (likewise a minor), succeeded, and the ambitious queen retaining the power she loved, and fearing the open force of the Protestants, began to practise those underhand means of aggrandizement in which she was already too well skilled; though, abhorring the Huguenots, and perpetually practising against them, she affected the utmost candour, liberated the Prince of Condé, and

proposed uniting her only daughter, Margaret, to Henry, King of Navarre (himself a Protestant), then in his fifteenth year.

The successes of the Protestants in several battles which followed, and the assassination of the Duke of Guise, together with the known disposition of Philip, King of Spain, to foment all the divisions of France, rendered Catherine only the more anxious to conciliate matters with her injured and rebellious subjects; but her treachery rendered ineffectual every truce which was made from time to time, and immense armies and frequent battles made the whole country one scene of civil warfare, in which Spain now assisted the court of France to persecute its Protestant subjects; and young Henry of Navarre, at the head of the League, was aided by Elizabeth of England, and Protestants from every part of Europe in vigorous opposition.

After various successes, a change to the disadvantage of the League took place, and Catherine who, with her son, possessed the most profound dissimulation, was again willing to make peace, and cement it by a marriage with Henry, which she was the more inclined to, because he was the heir to the throne of France after the death of her sons; and Charles (now on the throne) was very sickly. Her negotiations succeeded, and Henry, now eighteen, came to Paris to celebrate the nuptial ceremony, accompanied by his mother, the Queen of Navarre; who died soon after her arrival, as it was believed by some, from poison, although it was said to be from fatigue; and all the court went into mourning for her. It was on this occasion that Maximilian Bethune, second son of the Baron de Rosny, then only in his eleventh year, was first introduced by his father to Henry, King of Navarre; and here, in the year 1570, his memoirs commence.

The author gives a long, and, in him, excusable detail of his noble ancestors; after which, he informs us, that owing to the natural imperfections and weak constitution of his eldest brother, his father ever looked upon him as the head of his family," a strong and vigorous constitution recommending me to his favour." And adds,

My parents bred me in the opinions and doctrine of the reformed religion, and I have continued constant in the profession of it; neither threatenings, promises, variety of events, nor the change even of the king, my protector, joined to his most tender solicitations, have ever been able to make me renounce it."

He then begins to speak of his royal master:

Henry, king of Navarre, who will have the principal share in these memoirs, was seven years older than me, and when the peace of