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children leant on a low wooden bench near the narrow window; the eldest was a boy about eight years of age, whose dark expressive eyes, olive complexion, and southern cast of features, bespoke him a native of a far different clime. His companion, a gentle blue-eyed child of five years' old, bore an unmistakeable likeness to her grandfather.

Réné Van Rosenveldt had not spent all his life within the walls of Leyden. The greater portion of it had been passed on the small but well cultivated patch of ground which he had inherited from his father, and the produce of which, with industry and economy, sufficed to maintain himself and a large family in comfort aad comparative affluence. He was no common peasant in mind or feeling. Naturally possessed of unflinching integrity that won the esteem of all who knew him, strength of purpose and some ambition, he had never mixed freely with those over whom he felt his own superiority. Of the large family which had once been his, only three survived their childhood, Réné, his first born, Lisa, and Philip the youngest boy.

Réné, his father's darling, almost his idol, had early given as high a promise of future moral and intellectual excellence as ever filled a parent's heart with joy. Aware of his uncommon talents, Van Rosenveldt conceived the project of sending him to the University of Louvain, and having him educated as a Catholic priest. At that celebrated seat of learning, the youth eagerly engaged in the pursuit of knowledge, and for some time bade fair to accomplish his father's fondest desires. But a higher and brighter destiny was in store for him.

It was at this time that the light of the Reformation, having illuminated Germany, Switzerland, England, and Geneva, dawned also on the Netherlands. There, especially in the northern provinces, it "triumphed gloriously." From its first formation, the Protestant Church of the low countries had been often and fiercely tried by the fires of persecution. As early as 1521, three martyrs suffered at Brussels, and from that period until the time when the yoke of Spain was finally thrown off, the partizans of a false and antichristian faith oppressed and trampled on the infant Church. It grew and flourished notwithstanding. But ecclesiastical and secular history become at this epoch so closely interwoven that it is impossible to write a clear account of one without touching on the province of the other.

The new faith did not find in all the Netherlands,a more sincere and ardent convert than Réné Van Rosenveldt, and when, after an absence of several years, he bent his steps once more towards his humble, but fondly loved paternal home, his young heart was burning with an eager desire of imparting to its dear inmates the light and knowledge which he himself had

found so precious. At first, as might have been expected, he met with much opposition, but this soon began to give way, before his untiring energy and zeal, tempered with Christian meekness and patience: first his gentle sister Lisa, then some of his peasant neighbours, and at last, his father threw aside the rosary and crucifix. Addressing no more idolatrous prayers to saint or virgin, they united in a purer and holier worship with the youthful Réné, who having brought with him from Louvain a Bible in his own language, read and explained to them the doctrines which it contained. He diligently applied himself to the study of theology, and ere long became the pastor of a small, but faithful and zealous congregation, which for a short time enjoyed the blessings of rest and safety, under the powerful protection of the Prince of Orange, then Stadtholder of Holland Proper, an uncompromising enemy of all religious persecution-no common praise to accord to a prince of the sixteenth century, educated in the Roman Catholic faith. Like the land of Goshen during the plagues of Egypt, this little spot remained in comparative tranquillity, while all the cruelties of the terrible Inquisition were enacted through the rest of that unfortunate country, among men whose justly provoked resistance to the galling chain of civil despotism and religious intolerance, could not fail to add fresh horrors to the scene.

Réné and his little congregation were thankful for the singular privileges afforded, and did not fail to improve them. But they saw not the fearful storm that was slowly, but surely, gathering over their heads. Before the terrible year of 1567, their young minister had become a husband and father, and fair visions of future happiness floated before his mind, as he looked forward to a tranquil life; blessed, and made a blessing, in his humble career of quiet usefulness. Alas, how soon were these bright hopes to be blasted and withered! The great struggle between Protestantism and Popery in the Netherlands drew to a crisis; a Spanish army of fifteen thousand resolute veterans, commanded by the bloodthirsty Duke of Alva, poured down on those devoted countries, and even the Prince of Orange was reluctantly obliged to abandon them and retire into Germany as the only chance of preserving his life for future exertions in their behalf.

At the mercy of Spanish Catholics, under the command of such a general as Alva, and obeying the the orders of such a king as Philip II., the adherents of the reformed faith drained to its very dregs the bitter cup of suffering. The whole period of the duke's government did not exceed five years, but during that time he boasted that eighteen thousand heretics had perished by his orders. There are bounds of cruelty beyond which oppression can never pass, without producing a fearful reaction, and

perhaps there is no picture on the page of history which surpasses in terrible sublimity that of a nation rising in indignant strength to cast off those fetters, which the infatuation of its tyrants have made too heavy to be borne. But the story of those five years would be like the roll in the prophet's vision," written within and without with lamentations and mourning and woe." According to the invariable policy of all persecutors since the days of primitive Christianity, the pastors were first sought after and made the objects of vengeance. The young and ardent Réné was among the earliest sufferers. One of Alva's blood-thirsty myrmidons, a captain named Don Verez, was intrusted by his congenial master, with full power to execute summary justice on all rebels and heretics, in the district where he resided; the hands of the tyrant himself, and his able coadjutators in the celebrated council of blood, being at the time too full of nobler victims. No mercy was shown, asked, or expected. The pastor was apprehended, and in a few hours hurried to the stake, where he died with Christian fortitude, the prayer of Stephen on his lips, "Lord, lay not this sin to their charge!"

Philip, Van Rosenveldt's remaining son, a boy of twelve years old, had indeed had the courage to throw himself at the feet of Verez, and implore his brother's life; the Spaniard, moved neither by his tears or his entreaties, answered by a stern refusal, and the young suppliant murmured as he turned away from him in despair, "My brother, I shall yet avenge thy blood." What was then but the instinctive expression of a natural impulse in the heart of a child, cherished from that day forward so secretly, that no eye, save God's, could discern it, became at length the stern resolve of maturer years, and a part of his very being.

The survivors had but little time to indulge their grief for the death of Réné; their home was given up to pillage, and it seemed that the only chance of saving their lives lay in accepting the invitation of a rich Leyden merchant, named Van Stoatenberg, who showed his gratitude to Réné, from whom he had received the knowledge of true religion, by offering support and protection to his family. But one, the chief of many mourners, did not live to accomplish her melancholy journey. The gentle Gertude sank at once beneath the crushing blow that had fallen so unexpectedly upon her, and joined her martyred husband, leaving to the care of the almost broken hearted Van Rosenveldt, her only child, an infant daughter. They reached Leyden in safety; their subsistence, and (as was undoubtedly necessary for a time at least) their concealment, were amply provided for by Van Stoatenberg; but two years later, their generous protector himself was accused of disaffection to the Spanish rule, tried and condemned to death by the council of blood; an occurrence that created no surprise, as

every one remarkable for wealth or character felt conscious of holding his life by a very uncertain tenure under the government of Alva.

Shortly after Van Stoatenberg's death, the wayward and adventurous Philip felt a strong desire to revisit the home of his childhood, which his father permitted him to gratify, although not without some fears for his safety. He performed his journey with an eager step and a beating heart, and arrived at noon, to find his father's house in ruins, and the little farm, once so carefully cultivated, but now overgrown with weeds and thistles-a scene of desolation.

Sad and weary, he seated himself on a loose fragment of stone, and looked gloomily around him. He did not weep, for the feelings of sorrow which oppressed his heart had in them too much of anger and bitterness. He thought of his brother's murder, with all the circumstances of horror which had stamped it indelibly on his memory; he thought of the ruin of their home, and of thousands more in his devoted land; but he did not think of the words of truth which he had heard from the lips of that departed brother, nor of the happy years of childhood which he had spent in that now ruined home. Had he thought of these he might have wept. As it was, he only repeated the vow of vengeance. Every moment his purpose grew stronger, and the enthusiasm that prompted it more intense; until, at length, he involuntarily started from his seat, exclaiming as he raised his flashing eyes to the deep blue heaven, "I call God to witness, that I will never rest until the heart of Don Verez has bled as my father's bled that day, and until my country-" here he stopped, and the colour suddenly forsook his glowing cheeks. A slight sound had caught his ear, like that of a human voice, and he knew well that the words he had uttered would, young as he was, condemn him to death if overheard. He held his breath for a moment, but all was silence. Again, there was a low, wailing cry, as of a child in distress. He turned quickly towards the spot from whence it proceeded, and saw, extended on the ground beneath a heap of loose stones, the form of a lovely child about four years old. Philip raised him in his arms, and tried by every art in his power to soothe and comfort him. This he soon accomplished, as he had been frightened rather than hurt, by a fall from the height to which he had amused himself by clambering, and soon clung to his newly found friend with child-like confidence. Philip shared with him the simple refreshments he had brought from Leyden, and the child, who was very beautiful and richly dressed, lisped his thanks in a language Philip could not understand, but supposed to be Spanish. His utter ignorance of that language of

course precluded the possibility of his finding out anything from the child respecting his past life, or present position. He knew that a detachment of Spaniards was encamped in the vicinity; but alone and unprotected as he was, he did not dare to approach their tents. Had he done so, he might easily have penetrated the mystery; for the distance was short enough to render it extremely probable, that even so young a child might have strayed thence in play, if not well watched by his attendants. But it began to grow late, and Philip felt the necessity of preparing to return home. What then was he to do with his little companion? Should he leave him there, or venture on the bold step of taking him back to Leyden? For some time prudence and generosity waged unequal strife within him; but one consideration at length decided him in favour of the latter. There was no human habitation near at which food or shelter could have been procured, and the wolves had taken advantage of the general desolation to prowl about in the open day. To be left alone, therefore, even for a few hours, would most probably have endangered the life of the beautiful child; and after this thought had occurred to him, Philip hesitated no more regarding the course he should pursue. He reached his home late in the evening, having been delayed and very much fatigued, by the necessity of carrying Alphonso; this was the child's name, as he at length was able to comprehend by the aid of many signs.

Van Rosenveldt received the little stranger kindly, although with something of doubt and sadness in his manner, which the thoughtless, but sensitive Philip did not at once understand. "Father," he said at length, "I could not have left him to perish-thou wouldest not have wished it."

"God forbid," replied Van Rosenveldt.

"Then why dost thou look so sadly and so sternly on him? Wilt thou not love the pretty nursling I have brought thee, my father ?"

"Even now do I love him, Philip; and it is this that makes me sorrowful. How shall we, whose united exertions scarcely suffice to earn bread enough for ourselves; how shall we maintain-"

"Do not let that trouble thee, dear father," Philip eagerly interrupted. "Thou knowest it was but yesterday, the rich Messer Andrea promised to give me employment, and to have me taught how to forge the sharpest darts and the brightest swords in Holland."

"Thou wouldst rather it were to wield them, my son," said Réné.

"Nay, father, that dream is over now. Yet will I not suffer the energies that prompted that wish of mine to waste unem

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