livering up every stronghold to Simon's forces. This done, the faith was kept with them that Rome boasts of keeping with heretics: all their principal men were seized, fettered and sent, together with the former eighty victims, to perish miserably in the dungeons of various castles, occupied by De Montfort. After executing such vengeance as his own cruel will, and the equally savage bishop, suggested, on the disarmed and helpless citizens, he laid on them a fine, which was sure to reduce the wealthiest to indigence, and left them with a menace, that if such imposition was not strictly paid, their city should be given to the flames, and a general massacre sweep its inhabitants from the earth. To what extent the Albigenses, as believers, suffered in these transactions, we have no record; but as Fouquet was the presiding genius of the persecution, we may be well assured that he selected for destruction as many as he could. Wheresoever the name of Christ was honoured, and the dark apostacy rejected, there he would certainly point the sword, though it does not appear that on this occasion the fires of martyrdom were rekindled. The Toulousians were treated rather as rebels against Simon de Montfort than against the Pope; and the affair proves how quickly De Montfort was merging the character of the Church's champion in that of the martial plunderer and temporal prince. Yet he carefully maintained his claim to the former distinction; and it was but a short time previous to these events that he had made a progress, to do homage to the king of France, during the whole of which, little short of divine honours were paid him, alike by kings and prelates, as the anointed leader and defender of what they most impiously designated the armies and the cause of the Lord of hosts. C. E. HENRY VON ZUPHTEN. A SKETCH FROM TROUBLOUS TIMES. "The winds are pillowed on the waveless deep, Untiring, while a soft melodious tune, Nature's own voice, the lapsing stream, is heard, Ir was winter time, and the hour was that of midnight. A weary world-weary, some with fretting toil, some with the very irksomeness of pleasure-had ceased from its day turmoil, and was at silence, if not at rest. "It was the dreariest depth of winter-tide, The iron sway of the North .... The atmosphere, Untroubled in its cold serenity, Wept icy dews; and now the later stars, Dilate, amid the death-like calm profound, On the white slumber-mantled earth gazed down." Such serenity presided over the closed streets and houses of the good town of Hamburg—although the frequent glimmer of lights from many a lattice, bespoke an unusual something that debarred the burghers from their wonted rest. Still every thing without was quiet and tranquil; and the calmness gave thrilling emphasis to the slow, mellow chimes of the bell that struck the twelfth hour. It had no sooner pealed its last stroke, than another and livelier measure issued from the tower. It was the ringing of the Ave Maria. Now was the peacefulness of the city harshly broken by the bustle of congregating men; doors slammed on all sides; but the chief part of the gathering was made up of peasant throngs, who came pouring in from the adjacent villages, at the church-signal. There was wild recklessness manifest in their disposition; and their voices echoed bitter, and coarse, and thoughtless murmurs ; full of wrath against heretics from Rome in general, and Henry von Zuphten in particular. Henry was a monk of Antwerp, who had escaped from the troubles which had rendered that place noted for being the first to furnish martyrs to the Reformation. He had with assiduous zeal preached the plain words of the Gospel, in the districts of Bremen; and proportionably as success, the "attractive power of the cross," won over sheep and lambs from the wolf's dark haunts, the despoiled tyrant howled over his losses, and crouched, with bitter cunning, for a final spring. Men were glad to welcome the coming of 'the Bremen monk' his feet were beautiful upon the mountains, because he came to publish peace, and proclaim even to the enthralled and the desolate, the acceptable year of the Lord. The captive exiles hasted that they might be loosed, and that they might not lose their lives in the pit the veil was removed from their eyes; and they now looked for succour and protection, not to the false munitions of a papal system, but to Him who is King of Salem, which is King of Peace. Rome saw and wondered. The isles saw it and were afraid. For a time the Jordan of spiritual death seemed driven back; and the flash of its receding waters startled the ear. The prior of Hamburg had exerted himself to prevent Henry's preaching in that town. But it was in vain. Henry preached, and with effect; and the Papal government was convinced of the need of decisive and prompt measures. Some proposed writing to Henry, and so endeavouring peacefully to quiet his impetuous oratory. But the prior knew better than they the peril of suggesting such a means. 'If he begins to speak,' urged the cautious dignitary, there will be no doing anything against him. He must be seized by night, and burned before he can open his mouth.' 6 The counsels resulting from this planned the midnight Ave Maria, and the rising of the rural loyalists to the cause of the Church.' The prior, sagacious gentleman! knew the weak points of both sides: he was aware that 'jolly good ale and old' might be pressed with marvellous acceptableness into the cause of the Most Holy Vicar; and hence the three hogsheads of Hamburg beer that were tapped by uproarious crowds, and cheered the spirit of obedient vassals to run to and fro, whithersoever the governor listeth. Romish education and Hamburg beer brought the mind of the mob into implicit docility. "Foul whisperings are abroad; unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles;" troubles that shall turn to remorse in many a heart that is now fired with Romish fanaticism. The wild mirth increases as the barrels are drained; and now the wondering townsfolk, roused from their beds, peer through the frost-ribbed windows at the departing throng. There was no order, no discipline in the march of the drunken rabble. They were indiscriminately armed with weapons forged for the battlefield, and with the implements of their daily toil; and a dark red glare was cast over the moving mass, from the torches which the monks carried. The latter took care to keep up the due excitement, necessary to accomplish their purpose, and ever and anon as the loud strains turned off to some common topic, a holy father would strike the key-note, and the name of 'Henry von Zuphten' was raised with oaths and threatenings. On -on they marched; blood their errand, priests of the New Testaments their hierophants. Harsh clamour was it, that night, which daunted even the whooping night-bird, and drowned the beat of their heavy, tramping steps on the crisp, frosty road. But they are drawing near to Mehldorff, the village where Henry sleeps ; and the sacerdotal ring-leaders enjoin silence on their slaves, lest the alarm should reach the reformer's ears, and give him time to escape their fangs. 6 The graphic words of Merle D'Aubigné shall tell the sequel. The doors of the vicarage were suddenly burst in, and the drunken peasants rushed into the house, striking at everything before them. Vessels, kettles, goblets, and vestments, were flung about pele mele; they seized all the gold and silver they could lay their hands on, and rushing on the poor pastor, struck him, crying out, 'Kill him! kill him!' and then threw him into the mud. But Henry was their main object; they dragged him from his bed, tied his hands behind him, and trailed him after them, without clothes, and in piercingly cold weather. 'What brought thee hither?" they asked him; and when Henry answered them mildly, 'Down with him! down with him!' they cried; 'if we listen to him, we shall become heretics like himself.' He had been dragged naked over ice and snow; his feet were bleeding, and he begged they would set him on horseback: 'Ay, ay,' they answered him |