THERE are, more's the pity, too many pages of history stained with the crimson tide of life. Battle, and murder, and violent death, have made dread work in the world since Cain slew Abel. But I suppose there are no pages so deeply stained with blood as those which chronicle religious persecution. Religious! what a mockery it seems to call a persecution by that holy name. And yet all descriptions of people, holding whatever views of truth they may, have at one time or another been perseouted, and in most instances persecutors. In our own country, in Scotland, all over the Continent, in America, martyr fires have been kindled, and the long cord and short shrift awarded to those who dared-thinking their souls were their own-to seek heaven by another road than that which was recognized by the State. In Germany, especially in Holland, there was a terrible persecution in the sixteenth century. Erasmus, Melanchthon, and Luther had turned the thoughts of the people towards a new view of Christianity, or an old view restored. Protestantism was making many converts; it was assuming various forms, and threatening to undermine the church established, which church straightway in its extremity called for help on the law, and hard usage and cruel death were dealt out to those who were denounced as heretics.

The following story conveys an accurate picture of those days of peril; the scene is laid in Holland; and all the leading circumstances are, sad to say, true.

CHAPTER I.

THERE had been high holiday in the old city of Rotterdam, and the occasion furnished abundant conversation; for a woman had that morning been drowned on account of her

faith, and all the city had turned out to see justice done upon the heretic.

Now Martha, my lady Elizabeth's maid, had not been present at the execution; first, because the weather was very chilly, and chilly weather in Holland is chilly indeed!-secondly, because her new cap, with the gilded bandelet and ram's horns, had not arrived, and she cared not to show herself without it; and lastly, my lady Elizabeth was far from well, and her governante, Mistress Agatha, had positively refused to hear of Martha's absence.

Next to seeing with one's own eyes, and hearing with one's own ears, is hearing what has occurred from the mouth of an eye-witness, and as Seblitz Stumf, butler, steward, and what not of my lady Elizabeth's father, had seen it all, it is not a matter of surprise that Martha should stop to gossip a little in the hall. There was a good fire, and everything looked very cheerful, and Stumf, himself seated in a high-backed chair, with his feet on a box of burning peat, was in the best of humours.

Stumf was a man of some five and thirty years old; scarcely above the middle height, but broad built, as is and was the wont of Dutchmen; he had a colourless face, and but a small share of hair, half brown, half sandy; his grey eyes, when he opened them, for he usually kept them closed, looked out from heavily swollen lids with the briefest of grey lash; not pleasant eyes-except in the eyes of Martha, who it may as well be stated at once was setting her cap at him. There was nothing to relieve the grave monotony of Stumf's suit of dark grey-doublet, vest, hose, etc., all of the same colour, except the rosettes in his shoesthese rosettes were as large as sunflowers, and of the same hue, and when Stumf opened his eyes, he usually looked at them, except, of course, when he looked at Martha.

B

"Rank heretic, you mean," he said, and crossed himself as he said it. 'Yes, stories of her goodness-bah-the word was sorely misplaced-were plentiful as herrings in the season: some folks, who should have known better, actually pitied her: go to, and Hans, the sworn tormentor, was at a discount; the strangest thing of all came last: of that, of course, you have heard."

"No-not a single syllable, how can I hear anything, Master Stumf, shut up as I am with a petulant child and a morose old woman ?-but sure 'tis good enough for the likes of me."

Stumf opened his heavy eyes at this, and looked at Martha, to see if she thought as she spoke. He saw she did not, and so leisurely surveying his sunflower rosettes, and crossing the right leg over the left, he said-"None the less precious, Martha, for being shut up: a pearl in an oyster-shell, you know."

Martha tittered, and blushed as red as her crimson bodice. She asked Stumf to tell her all he knew, and quickly, or my lady Elizabeth would grow impatient at her absence. So Stumf shut his eyes, or rather permitted them to close, and began as follows:

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Well, it appears that years agone the woman who was put to death to-day was sought in marriage by a man who loved her. She loved another; that is the way of this woman's world, Martha!"

"Not always," said Martha.

"Well, it was so in this case. She refused the suit of this man, and accepted that of his rival; that rival was a heretic, and in accepting him she adopted his faith, and shared his dangers. They were compelled to leave the country, and in a strange land this womanobserve the justice of heaven-lost her husband, and became a mother. After awhile she ventured back to her old home, and brought her boy with her. It was not her intention to remain in this country, all she wanted was to settle her money affairs-for you notice these heretics are not unmindful of their gold and silver. Well, on the road she was seen by the man whom she had rejected. Like a good Catholic, he gave information to the authorities, and the arrest was so cleverly arranged that my lady never suspected mischief until she stepped on board the vessel which was to bear her to a place of security. She was heard to utter her "thank God" as her foot pressed the deck of the ship, and then came Master Marshal with his warrant and the watch, and had her off to goal, where her faith was tested." "Tested, how do you mean?"

'Oh, holy innocence," was Stumf's reply, crossing the left leg over the right, and dusting a speck of dirt from the sunflower rosette uppermost "they, Hans, the sworn tormentor, and father Anselmo, the priest, did what they could to induce recantation. I hear that Hans racked her as he never racked a

woman before, but that all her cry was, "Christ have mercy upon me!" So she was ordered for execution, the sentence being that she should be drowned, as you very well know.

"Yes, I heard as much, and would have been there if I could. Was it a pretty sight?"

"A sight,” said Stumf, "which had it been connected with any but a heretic, would have brought tears into my eyes." He opened his eyes as he said this, and looking at Martha as if he thought she doubted him, repeated very slowly, "tears into my eyes." "Why?" said Martha.

"On account," said Stumf, "of the boy. She brought her boy with her, a child about three years old, perhaps not so much, to the place of execution. There father Anselmo, you know his pleasant way ?

"

Martha shuddered and said “Yes.”

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Asked her whether she had anything to say before justice was done. She said she had, and then standing there before us all, holding her child in her arms; upon my life a splendid woman, Martha

"

Martha shifted her position and said “indeed!"

Something of your build," he continued. Martha resumed her old position and said "indeed!" again.

"Well, out she spoke, with a clear musical voice that rang through the Square-' Here stand I alone, going from man's judgment to God's; for myself I fear not; but who will care for my child? I have prayed God to befriend my boy, but I seek for him also an earthly protector- men-fathers; who among you will rear my child; here is money-ample funds-who will do it, and be prepared to answer for that rearing before the throne of God?""

"What did the priest say? what did Hans say? what said the people?

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The priest, I imagine, was very wrath: Hans had never suspected she had so much money as glittered in her purse; the people were silent, until one fellow pushed his way forward, and said, 'Mistress, trust the boy to me, and I will be as a father to him.' She beckoned him to approach, and looking at him steadfastly, asked, Will you be to him as to your own ?, 'I will,' he said; 'I have seven, and two in God's acre, I will do the best but remember, I am a Catholic!' She smiled sweetly upon him, kissed her boy, who clung to her tenaciously and cried bitterly; then she handed the child over and the money, and saying 'Remember your promise,' turned to Hans, and intimated that she was ready."

"And so she was taken to execution? "Yes; just then there was an accident; a scaffolding had been erected for the conve-. nience of those who wanted a good view of the spectacle, and did not mind paying for it. Well, part of this scaffolding gave way, just as the woman was thrown into the water; several people were hurt, and I have heard that the man who gave the heretic woman up to justice was among the number killed."

"And I hope it is true," said Martha.

Tut, tut, the man was in the right of it; ask father Anselmo; he will tell you as he told me, that these heretics are the most danger

ous enemies of the State, and that it is the duty of all good Christians to destroy them." "Then if it be," said Martha, with more vehemence than she was wont to use, "I wish I was a 'Hommedan Turk!"

Just at that moment two handbells sounded at once-a light silvery tinkle; a duller, heavier sound-as wide a difference between the two as between the voices of Stumf and Martha. "Ah," quoth Martha, "that is my lady's

"'tis the book the heretics read, and no good people-except the priests, of course, ever look into it but enough of this, light your taper, and sing your evening hymn-'Holy Mary, Mother of God.""

Agatha spoke so sternly that the child dared not refuse, so she arose, and, accompanied by her governante, passed to the opposite end of the chamber, where there was a small altar fitted up, a picture of the Virgin brightly coloured, a black ivory crucifix, and one or two saintly relics mounted in silver. There she lighted two wax tapers, and then kneeling down, reverently sang the hymn to the Virgin which Agatha had taught her. She sang softly and sweetly, and the tears rose in her eyes as the word mother, so oft repeated, recalled her own motherless condition, and as she thought of the poor child whose mother had that morning been put to death, she sobbed hysterically; and so Agatha laid her in her bed, imprinted a cold kiss on her forehead, put out the lights, and left her alone. Alone with her own sad thoughts, the lady Elizabeth sobbed herself to sleep; and in her dream recalled the waking terror of the day;

the dread scene in the market; the motherless child handed over to a strange protector; she thought she saw the boy, and spoke to him, and that he said her voice was like his mother's; and that they wandered far afield together in the dark, dark night-hand in hand-looking for something they had both lost, and that a bright star led them onfurther afield, together hand in hand in the darkness, till the darkness became light with a glory not of this world, and there came a voice from out of the star-a voice of unutterable sweetness, saying, "Come up hither."

Lizzie woke with a start as she fancied she heard that voice, and the grey dawn was streaming through the casement. Martha was bending over her with a sad and troubled face and Martha it was who spoke.

"Oh, Lady Lizzie, such dreadful news."

She had scarcely uttered the words before Agatha appeared in the chamber. "Our Lady have thee in her good keeping, sweet child," she said; "I have brought thee news thou wilt be glad to hear-thy father has returned, and Anselmo-"

The child shuddered, and turned pale.

A LITTLE boy sat on a rounded stone,
On the eve of an April day,

His hat by his side he had carelessly thrown,
While he wiped the sweat away.

His soft hair floated in glossy curls,
And his eye was an eye of blue,
And his voice was that of a merry girl's,
As he spoke of the days in view.

He looked at the sky, and he fondly thought
That life was as pure and bright,
And the golden flush that His vision caught
Filled his mind with a child's delight.

The rich array of the countless flowers
He saw with a bright'ning eye,

And he wondered how soon his boyhood's hours

Would be over, and manhood nigh.

He saw a fine house with its spreading lawn,
And the coach as it rolled to the gate,
In which the old squire on his visits was drawn,

With the footman to listen and wait.

And he saw a gay throng as it passed along,
And he thought of some boyish plan,
And he cried in a voice that was ringing and
strong,

"I will have one, too, when I'm a man!"

"I'll have a fine house,

And I'll have a fine coach, And I'll have all fine things, when I'm a man

I'll ride all the day,

And have money to pay,

And I'll do what I like, when I'm a man!

"Ill go round the world,

And I'll see all the things

To be seen in the world, when I'm a man!
Oh, I wish time would go,

For to me it's so slow

For I want to know when I'm a man!"

The blue-eyed boy wished, as he caught up his hoop,

Which had fallen right down by his side, And he hurried to look at a marching troop, That trod with a martial pride.

And he went to his home, a cottage near by,

Where his mother was watching the door, And she looked with delight at his beaming eye As he told her his plans o'er and o'er. But wealth, she said, might never be won, Nor a mansion and great estate, But still there was noble work to be done, By those who could work and wait. That a boy might lead a manly life, As soon as sense began, For every honest duty rife,

Before he became a man.

Though rich or poor it matter'd not-
The end was sure the same;
And 'twere better than gold to leave behind
The wealth of a good man's name.

W. M. F.