quarter of Paris were promiscuously thrown into it. The savage mode of proceeding has been related. As each head fell from the guillotine, it was cast, together with the body, still dressed, into a large barrel painted red. Each night, after the executions were over, these barrels were taken to Picpus, and their contents indiscriminately emptied into the pit. The ground had formerly belonged to an Augustinian convent. There, it could not be doubted, lay the remains of Madame d'Ayen and her daughter. Madame de Montagu and Madame de la Fayette, on their return to France, ardently wished to raise a monument to their memory; but on discovering the immense number of victims interred together, it seemed more desirable that the undertaking should be of a less private nature. By their joint efforts many families of other victims were attracted to the pious enterprise; souls devoted to prayer gathered round; the old convent and church of Picpus rose from their ruins. A cemetery was constructed round that gloomy pit, where not even a single name had been scrawled to recall the memory of those who slept below. Madame d'Ayen's three daughters could at least enjoy the sad consolation of praying near their mother's tomb.

All the sisters had bitterly, keenly felt the cruel stroke that deprived them of three such near relatives, and in such a painful manner; but none suffered more enduringly than Madame de Montagu. She was staying with Madame de Tessé, in Switzerland. News had reached her of the execution of her grand-aunt and uncle, M. and Madame de Monchy; but she was completely ignorant of what had become of her mother and sister. Fears, however, were rife. One day she set out to meet her father, whom she had not seen for some time; and he was so changed, that perceiving him on the way, she only recognised him from his voice. Each alighted, and his first question was to ask whether she had heard the news; but seeing her excessive emotion, he hastened to assure her of his own perfect ignorance. She felt a calamity impending, but dared not press for information in presence of a third person. They drove to an inn; and when father and daughter were alone together, he, after some preparation, informed her that he had just lost his mother. A deadly paleness overspread her countenance; confused and dizzy, she exclaimed, with clasped hands, "And I-" "I am uneasy about your mother and sister," answered M. d'Ayen, cautiously. But she was not to be deceived. His looks belied his words. That was the hour of bitterest anguish in Madame de Montagu's life. Cries and tears gave no relief. Again and again she saw the scene reënacted. Reason trembled; but still she strove to pray and be resigned. Remembering her mother's pious practice in times of sorrow, he also recited

the Magnificat; then, with beautiful feeling, in the midst of her own an guish, she knelt down and prayed, all shuddering, for those that made them suffer. But nature struggled still; and days passed ere she recovered sufficient composure to be left alone. When all the deta ils reached her, strong religious feeling transformed the dungeon, the cart, the scaffold, into so many steps by which the martyrs had asc ended up to Heaven.

The love unceasingly manifested by the three sisters for their martyred relatives is very touching. They were first reunited at Vianen, near Utrecht, in 1799. The ostensible object was to settle the division of property rendered necessary by their mother's death; but in reality they were much more occupied in calling up sweet memories of her and of their beloved sister. Madame de la Fayette was then about forty years of age; Madame de Montagu had reached her thirty-second year; and Madame de Grammont was rather more than a twelvemonth younger. They remained a month together, their husbands and families being also on the spot. Not a little suffering was caused by cold and hunger, for their united purses could still only produce insufficient means; fuel was wanting, and they had scanty fare. The three, however, would sit up at night to enjoy each other's society, wrapping their mantles round them to keep out the cold, and sharing one wretched chaufferette. They spoke very low, so as not to disturb husbands and children sleeping in the adjoining rooms. One great subject of conversation was to point out their mutual defects,—a Christian habit acquired under Madame d'Ayen's training, and surprisingly brought into play again under such circumstances.

Madame de Grammont remarked that events were graven in letters of fire on Madame de Montagu's countenance, and characteristically advised her to become more calm. She also took the opportunity of teaching her how to meditate,-a service which the elder sister gratefully acknowledges in her diary. Madame de Montagu observed with admiration Madame de Grammont's recollected demeanour at Mass, which they attended almost daily, saying she looked like an angel, absolutely annihilated in the presence of God. "As for me, I feel overwhelmed at my poverty beside her." Indeed, the two sisters vied in humility with each other. Madame de Grammont having once said, "You excite me to virtue and attract me to prayer," Madame de Montagu quickly replied, "Then I am like the horses in this country; for one sees wretched-looking animals along the canals drawing large boats after them."

But the chief theme at night was ever their mother. Madame de Montagu was accustomed to unite herself with the dear victims in

special prayer every day at the "sorrowful hour," and the other two now undertook the same practice. They also composed beautiful litanies in remembrance of them, during this stay at Vianen. Madame de Grammont held the pen, writing sometimes her own inspiration and sometimes what her sisters dictated. They called these prayers "Litany of our Mothers."

One of the most interesting episodes in the life of Madame de Montagu was her intimacy with the celebrated Count Stolberg, whose conversion to Catholicism seems to have been mainly attributable to the influence of her character. She came across him during her residence at Ploen and Wittmold. He was at that time at the head of the government of the Duke of Oldenburg; and he assisted her with all his power in her charitable labours for the relief of the French emigrants. The acquaintance between them sprung up in 1796. Count Stolberg, with his wife and sister, the only one of the three who did not afterwards become Catholic,-had already begun to see something of the inconsistencies and deficiencies of Lutheranism. They were calm, thoughtful, upright souls; grave, severe, and simple, after the best type of the German character. They often conversed on and discussed religious matters among themselves; but they were very ignorant about the Catholic Church and its doctrines. Madame de Montagu taught them more about Catholicism, without speaking on the subject directly, than a whole library of controversial theology. Fragile in health, sensitive to excess, overflowing with sympathy and tenderness, tried by long and varied suffering, and strengthened, elevated, and spiritualised by the Cross, without having been hardened or made impassible,-her whole character showed a force and power and greatness that was obviously not its own. Such persons have an irresistible attractiveness; and they speak with a strange silent eloquence to intelligent hearts in favour of the religion which can produce and sustain them. Madame de Montagu was not a person to introduce controversial topics; but she won upon her new friends gradually, and at last they could not help telling her so, after listening to the account they had begged her to give of her own and her sisters' sufferings. After a time their hearts strongly turned to Catholicism; but intellectual difficulties remained on the mind of Stolberg, which were not set at rest till 1800, after he had been engaged in a correspondence with M. de la Luzerne and M. Asseline, to whom Madame de Montagu and her sisters had introduced him. The French prelates did their part; but the illustrious convert must ever be considered as in truth the spiritual child of Madame de Montagu.

Records considered as a Source of English History.

If our readers call to mind the various works on history with which they may be acquainted, they will not fail to remark that the authors have commonly given but little prominence to any notice of the authorities upon which their relation is founded; and although this cannot be said to the same extent of the great standard histories, yet it is almost universally true of the small and more popular works, from which alone the great mass of men must ever gain their knowledge of the past. But if it be true, as we unhesitatingly believe, that the study of history, even in its slenderest shape, yields to few in interest or importance, we think that not a little of this interest and utility is lost by the omission which we have noticed. Mr. Prescott, in his deservedly popular histories, has appended to each chapter a notice of what he could gather as to the chroniclers from whom he derives his materials; and this has enabled his most superficial readers to form some judgment upon the degree of credit to which his romantic accounts are entitled; and also to conceive more vividly the real nature of the scenes recorded by those with whom some acquaintance is thus made.

Of the history of our own country it is especially true that little is known of the materials from which it is constructed, except by those whose tastes or employments have led them to give particular attention to the point. A certain amount of acquaintance with the leading events of our history is rightly regarded as an essential element in a liberal education; and yet we believe that very few of those who have not made the matter a subject of special, or as we may say professional, study are acquainted with the names of those Decem Scriptores, to whom they may remember to have seen references made in the foot-notes of Hume or Hallam; while hundreds of thousands know that William II. was shot in the New Forest, and that Henry I. died from eating too largely of lampreys, into whose minds the question never entered how these facts had, after the lapse of so many centuries, become known to them; or who, if it did enter, would contentedly answer that they had read it in history. The statement that "Hollingshed tells us that 70,000 persons suffered death on the scaffold in the reign of Henry VIII." is copied from book to book, having been originally made, we believe, by Black

VOL. III.

N

stone. As he chanced to mention in his text the name of the chronicler whom he followed, the compilers who have used his Commentaries have done the same; and thus one name of an authority has been brought before many, who never heard of any other, and who probably soon forget this, which is to them a mere name, not representing any distinct person.

We have no intention in the present paper of giving any account of the authorities upon which the ordinary histories are founded: they are exceedingly various, and do not in the main differ from those which furnish materials for the history of the other countries of Christendom; but we think that there is one source of matter accessible to our historians which does not exist to the same extent upon the Continent, and which, though limited in its application, and in no way available without considerable labour, is yet of the highest order in regard to the almost infallible truth of its indications. This source is found in the collection of the Public Records. But, to enable our readers to form a right judgment upon its value and importance, we must attempt a classification of the various species of evidence as to past facts.

Events which, from distance of time or place, do not fall under our own immediate cognisance, cannot become known to us but in one of two ways: either we observe marks which we know cannot have had their origin but in the event in question, or we learn it by the testimony of others to whom it has, mediately or immediately, become known; and to these two species of evidence the writers upon the subject have applied the names real and oral; where, to prevent misconception, it must be observed that by real evidence is meant that derived from things; in distinguishing which from evidence derived from words, it is in no way implied that the latter is not really and truly evidence, and capable of leading to the highest certainty.

The distinction between real and oral evidence may be illustrated by an example. A person has been stabbed in a scuffle, and before death mentions the name of his assailant,-this is oral evidence: a knife bearing the same name is found on the spot, which, on comparison of shape and size, appears to have inflicted the wound,this is real evidence: and such is constantly used in the administration of justice.

We have said that oral evidence may lead to the highest certainty, such as is in every respect on a par with that obtained by the direct testimony of the senses, or by any other means. It is not to our present purpose to investigate the conditions which must be fulfilled to secure this; for they seldom are found in any evidence which can be used as a foundation of history. But apart from this,