be happy in every state, and every place: learn to enjoy thyself, to know and value the wealth that is in thine own power, I mean wisdom and goodness: learn to assert the sovereignty and dignity of thy soul. Methinks that, if philosophy could not, pride and indignation might, conquer fortune. It is beneath the dignity of a soul, that has but a grain of sense, to make chance, and winds, and waves, the arbitrary disposers of his happiness: or, what is worse, to depend upon some mushroom upstart, which a chance smile raised out of his turf and rottenness, to a condition of which his mean soul is so unequal that he himself fears and wonders at his own height. Oh, how I hug the memory of those honest heathens, who, in a ragged gown and homely cottage, bade defiance to fortune, and laughed at those pains and hazards, the vanity and pride of men, not their misfortune, drove them to! Men may call this pride or spite in them; as the beggarly rabble doth usually envy the fortune it doth despair of: but there were a great many of these who laid by envied greatness, to enjoy this quiet though generally despicable meanness: but let the contempt of the world be what it will in a heathen; let it be pride or peev ishness, vain-glory, or anything, rather than a reproach to Christians; what say you to the followers of our Lord and Master? "Then Peter said, Silver and gold have I none," (Acts iii.) None? what hast thou then, thou poor disciple of a poor master? A true faith, a godlike charity, and unshaken hope: blessed art thou amongst men; nothing can make thee greater, nothing richer, nothing happier, but heaven. You see plainly, then, a man may be virtuous, though not wealthy; and that fortune, which prevents his being rich, cannot prevent his being happy.

This discourse will never down; this is not calculated for this age: philosophy must be a little more mannerly, and religion a little more genteel and complaisant than formerly, ere it can be adapted and accommodated to the present state of things. Go on then, let us try how far it will be necessary to condescend. You cannot be happy; why? because you are not rich; go then to God, and beg you may be rich; I have not the face to put up such arrogant and intemperate requests to God: it is plain, then,

it is not necessary to be rich in order to be happy; for whatever s necessary to this thou mayst with good assurance beg of God. But thy desires are more humble and modest; thou aimest at nothing but what is very necessary; a fairer house, another servant, a dish or two of meat more for thy friends, a coach for thy convenience or ease, and a few hundred pounds apiece more for thy children: O heavenly ingredients of a rational pleasure! O divine instruments of human happiness! O the humble and mortified requests of modest souls! Well, if these things be so necessary, and these desires be so decent and virtuous, if thou canst not be happy, and consequently must be miserable, without them, put up a bill, represent thy condition in it--Such a one wants a more commodious house, more servants, more dishes, &c., and desires the prayers of the congregation for support under this affliction. You are profane: far be it from me; I would only let thee see the wantonness of thy desires. If thou thinkest this would expose thee to public laughter, go to thy minister, unfold thy case to him, let him pray for thee; he is a good man, and his prayers will go far; you rally and ridicule me. Enter then into thy closet, shut thy door; thou mayst trust God, He pities and considers even human infirmities; I could even almost in my mind desire it of Him; but I am ashamed to do it in a set and solemn prayer. I could almost make the petition in the gross, but I blush to think of descending to particulars. Well, then, I see plainly that wealth in any degree of it is so far from being necessary to our happiness, that it has so little of usefulness or conveniency in it, that, in thy conscience between God and thee, thou canst not think fit to complain of the want of it.

But this answer will never satisfy him who complains of want, or of being engaged in continual troubles, and tossed by the daily changes and revolutions of the world. I confess it will not: but I must tell such a one, if Solomon's observation be true, "The hand of the diligent maketh rich," (Prov. x. ;) and that other, "Seest thou a man diligent in his business? he shall stand before kings, he shall not stand before mean men," (Prov. xxii.)

Then his poverty is his crime as well as his calamity; he must

redeem himself from this his punishment by industry and prayer. As to calamities, this must be acknowledged, that the mind of a good and great man, which stands firm upon its own basis, a good God, a good Saviour, and a good conscience, may remain unmoved, when the earth trembles, and the sea roars round about him.

[THE following is an account, translated from the quaint old French, of the fearful massacre of the Huguenots, or French Protestants, which was perpetrated in the year 1572, and concerning which many disputes have been raised in modern times. The great historian, De Thou, agrees with Adriani, De Serres, and other writers who were in Paris at the time, in stating the total number of victims who perished throughout France on this fatal day at thirty thousand. The lady whose account we are about to quote was the wife and biographer of that great champion of the Reformed Church in France, Philip de Duplessis-Mornay. But she was twice married, and at the time of the massacre her first husband, Jean de Pas de Feuquières, was but recently dead. Her naiden name was Charlotte Arbaleste, and she and all her family were devout

Huguenots, and as such, and as persons of mark and consideration, they were obnoxious to the fury of the Papists. The young and handsome widow had an only child by her first husband-the little girl of whom mention is inade in her simple narrative.*]

4th August 1572.-In order to divert myself from business, and for the sake of my health, I had made arrangements to pass the winter in the country at the house of my sister, Madame de Vaucelas; and because I had to leave Paris on the Monday after St Bartholomew's day, I wished to go on the Sunday to the palace of the Louvre, to take leave of Madame the Princess of Condé, Madame de Bouillon, the Marchioness of Rothelin, and Madame de Dampierre. But, while I was yet in bed, one of my kitchenmaids, who was a Protestant, came in to me in a great fear, and told me that they were killing all the Huguenots. I did not take any sudden alarm; but, having put on my dressing-gown, I looked out of the window, and saw, in the great street of St Anthony, where I was lodging, all the people in great agitation, and many soldiers of the guard, and every one wearing a white cross in his hat. Then I saw that the matter was serious, and I sent to my mother's, where my brothers were staying, to know what it was. There, they were all in great alarm, for my brothers made profession of the Protestant religion. Messire Pierre Chevalier, Bishop of Senlis, and my uncle on the mother's side, sent to tell me that I ought to put in some safe place all the valuables I had with me, and that he would soon send to fetch me away: but, as he was about to send for ine, he had news that Messire Charles Chevalier, lord of Esprunes, his brother, who was very well affectioned to Protestantism, had been killed in the street De Bétizy, where he was lodging in order to be near the admiral.† This was the reason that M. de Senlis forgot me; besides which, he himself, wanting to go through the streets, was stopped; and if he had

* Mémoires de Madame de Mornay, sur la Vie de son Mari, &c., prefixed to Mémoires et Correspondance de Duplessis-Mornay, &c. Paris, 1824.

+ The Admiral de Coligni, the head of the Huguenot party, and one of the first of those who were butchered.

not made the sign of the cross he would have been in danger of his life, although he was not the least in the world concerned with the Protestants. Having waited for him about half an hour, and seeing that the commotion was increasing in the said street of St Anthony, I sent my daughter, who was then about three years and a half old, on the back of a servant, to the house of M. de Perreuze, who was master of requests in the king's hostel, and one of my best relations and friends, who admitted her by a backdoor, and received her kindly, and sent to tell me that if I would go myself I should be welcome. I accepted his offer, and went thither about seven o'clock. He did not then know all that had happened; but, having sent one of his people to the Louvre, the man on his return reported to him the death of the admiral, and of so many lords and gentlemen, and told us that the massacre was raging over all the city. It was now about eight o'clock in the morning. I had scarcely left my lodgings when some of the servants of the Duke of Guise* entered it, calling upon mine host to find me, and searching for me everywhere. In the end, not being able to discover me there, they went to my mother's, to offer that, if I would send them one hundred crowns, they would preserve my life and all my furniture. Of this my mother sent me notice: but upon a little thought, I could not see it good that they should know where I was, or that I should go to seek them. Yet I earnestly entreated my mother to give them to understand that she did not know what had become of me, and to offer them at once the sum of money they demanded. But, as my mother did not receive this message in time, my lodgings were pillaged. To take refuge in the house of M. de Perreuze, wherein I was, there came M. de Landres and Madame his wife, Mademoiselle Duplessis Bourdelot, Mademoiselle de Chanfreau, M. de Matho, and all their families. We were more than forty; so that M. de Perreuze, in order to remove suspicion from his house, was obliged to send and seek provisions for us at the other end of the town;

* The Duke of Guise was the head of the Catholic party, and one of an atrocious cabal who had concerted with the queen-mother, Catherine de' Medici, this detestable massacre.