another aspect of the power of Christology. Human codes give us abstract precepts: all other human lives are but fragments and flaws. In Christ the ideal is realized. Unbelievers concede that He is the example of an unapproached excellence, the one religious genius of all times, without a compeer in the course of history. Even Renan confesses that "we owe to Him what is best in ourselves." That one life in Judea has shaped, and is ever shaping, thousands, millions, of other human lives; and this fact alone attests its superhuman quality, though it be perfectly human also. Men all over the world still believe-and in this faith they find strength and joy-that the highest human virtue is clothed upon with a fairer grace, and receives a needed purification, when it is associated with the life of Jesus; that the costliest human sacrifices become priceless when em

balmed and sanctified by the sacrifice of the Lamb of God; that penitential prayers derive their virtue, not from our wants and tears alone, but from the hallowed intercessions of Him who suffered for us in the flesh; that our pardon, peace, and eternal life are bound by mystic ties with the life and death of Him who alone is the Son of Man and the Son of God, who alone of our race has been hailed as the Lord of the race. Nor this alone: for the highest forms of the family, of society, and of the state-their very ideals-are expressed in their fullness and perfection only when we add to them the name of Christian. That One Name is above every name. Christology is the centre of theology; Christ is the marvel and the key of history; the life of Christ is the light of men. The watchword for the race is not "enthusiasm for humanity," but Enthusiasm for Christ.

persecution that had followed the battle of Moncontour had given hopes of a final accommodation between the two parties, and many had come up to consult with the numerous lay nobility who had congregated to witness the King of Navarre's wedding. Among them, Berenger met his father's old friend, Isaac Gardon, who had come to Paris for the purpose of giving his only surviving son in marriage to the daughter of a watchmaker to whom he had for many years been betrothed. By him the youth, with his innocent face and gracious respectful manners, was watched with delight, as fulfilling the fairest hopes of the poor Baron, but the old minister would have been sorely disappointed had he known how little Berenger felt inclined toward his party.

The royal one of course Berenger could not love, but the rigid bareness, and, as he thought, irreverence of the Calvinist, and the want of all forms, jarred upon one used to a ritual which retained much of the ancient form. In the early years of Elizabeth, every possible diversity prevailed in parish churches, according to the predilections of rector and squire; from forms scarcely altered from those of old times, down to the baldest, rudest neglect of all rites; and Berenger, in his country home, had been used to the first extreme. He could not believe that what he heard and saw among the Sacrémentaires, as they were called, was what his father had prized; and he greatly scandalized Sidney, the pupil of Hubert Languet, by openly expressing his distaste and dismay when he found their worship viewed by both Walsingham and Sidney as a model to which the English Protestants ought to be brought, However, Sidney excused all this as mere boyish distaste to sermons and love of externals, and Berenger himself reflected little on the subject. The aspect, of the venerable Coligny, his father's friend, did far more to make him a Huguenot than any discussion of doctrine. The good old Admiral received him affectionately, and talked to him warmly of his father, and the grave, noble

countenance and kind manner wen his heart. Great projects were on foot, and were much relished by the young King, for raising an army and striking a blow at Spain by aiding the Reformed in the Netherlands; and Coligny was as ardent as a youth in the cause, hoping at once to aid his brethren to free the young King from evil influences, and to strike one good stroke against the old national enemy. He talked eagerly to Sidney of alliances with England, and then lamented over the loss of so promising a youth as young Ribaumont to the Reformed cause in France. If the marriage with the heiress could have taken effect, he would have obtained estates near enough to some of the main Huguenot strongholds to be very important, and these would now remain under the power of Narcisse de Ribaumont, a determined ally of the Guise faction. It was a pity, but the Admiral could not blame the youth for obeying the wish of his guardian grandfather; and he owned, with a sigh, that England was a more peaceful land than his own beloved country. Berenger was a little nettled at this implication, and began to talk of joining the French standard in a campaign in the Netherlands: but when the two young men returned to their present home and described the conversation, Walsingham said:

Queen-mother of the support of that great Roman Catholic Power against the Huguenots, whom Walsingham believed her to dread and hate less for their own sake than from the fear of loss of influence over her son. He believed Charles IX. himself to have much leaning toward the Reformed, but the late victories had thrown the whole court entirely into the power of the Guises, the truly unscrupulous partisans of Rome. They were further inflamed against the Huguenots by the assassination of the last Duke of Guise, and by the violences that had been committed by some of the Reformed party, in especial a massacre of prisoners at Nérac.

Sidney exclaimed that the Huguenots had suffered far worse cruelties.

"That is true," replied Sir Francis, "but, my young friend, you will find, in all matters of reprisals, that a party has no memory for what it may commit, only for what it may receive."

The conversation was interrupted by an invitation to the ambassador's family and guests to a tilting-match and subsequent ball at the Louvre. In the first Berenger did his part with credit; to the second he went feeling full of that strange attraction of repulsion. He knew gentlemen enough in Coligny's suite for it to be likely that he might remain unperceived among them, and he knew this would be prudent, but he found himself unexpectedly near the ranks of ladies, and smile and gesture absolutely drew him toward his semi-spouse, so that he had no alternative but to lead her out to dance.

The stately measure was trod in silence as usual, but he felt the dark eyes studying him all the time. However, he could bear it better now that the deed was done, and she had voluntarily made him less to her than any gallant parading or mincing about the room.

"So you bear the pearls, sir?" she said, as the dance finished.

He smiled, half ashamed of his own annoyance at being obliged to place them in her hand. He was sure she would try to cajole him out of them, and by way of asserting his property in them he did not detach them from the band of his black velvet cap, but gave it with them into her hand. She looked at each one, and counted them wistfully.

"Seventeen!" she said; "and how beautiful! I never saw them so near be fore. They are so becoming to that fair cheek that I suppose no offer from my— my uncle, on our behalf, would induce you to part with them?"

An impulse of open-handed gallantry would have made him answer, "No offer from your uncle, but a simple request from you;" but he thought in time of the absurdity of returning without them, and merely answered, "I have no right to yield them, fair lady. They are the witness to my forefather's fame and prowess." "Yes, sir, and to those of mine also," she replied. "And you would take them over to the enemy from whom that prowess extorted them?"

"The country which honored and rewarded that prowess!" returned Berenger. She looked at him with an interrogative glance of surprise at the readiness of his answer; then, with half a sigh, said, "There are your pearls, sir; I cannot establish our right, though I verily believe it was the cause of our last quarrel; " and she smiled archly.

"I believe it was," he said gravely; but added, in the moment of relief at recovering the precious heirloom, “though it was Diane who inspired you to seize upon them."

"Ah! poor Diane! you sometimes remember her, then? If I remember, right, you used to agree with her better than with your little spouse, cousin!"

"If I quarreled with her less, I liked her less," answered Berenger-who, since the act of separation, had not been so

"Is a look at them too great a favor to ask from their jealous guardian?" she asked.

to give way to his natural frankness.

"Indeed! Diane would be less gratified than I ought to be. And why, may I ask?"