antism. But as her aversion to that form of Christianity arose from an original and ultimate feeling, which had only been rendered more intense by circumstances, so likewise, with an inclination as little to be explained or reasoned upon, she gave herself up with full and entire sympathy to Catholicism.

She was nine years old when she first heard any distinct account of the peculiar doctrines of the Catholic church; when she was told that it held celibacy to be meritorious, "Ah," exclaimed she, "how admirable that is! that is the religion I shall embrace." This called forth a serious rebuke, but she only persisted the more obstinately in her determination. "When one

With this were associated other impressions of a congenial nature.

is a Catholic," said she, one has the consolation of believing what so many noble spirits have believed for sixteen centuries; of belonging to a religion that has been attested by millions of miracles, by millions of martyrs; above all," added she, “a religion that has produced so many illustrious virgins who have overcome the weaknesses of their sex, and consecrated themselves to God."

The constitution of Sweden is based upon Protestantism; the glory, the power, the European position of that country are inextricably bound up with it, and it was thus imposed on Christina as a sort of necessity. Disgusted by a thousand accidental circumstances, feeling that it touched no chord of her mind or heart, she broke loose from it with all the wilfulness of her character and station; the opposite system, of which she had but a dim and vague knowledge, attracted her: the infallible authority conferred on the pope she regarded as an institution in accordance with the benevolence of the Deity, and every day became more decidedly inclined to it; it seemed as if she felt that need of self-devotion, which is inseparable from the nature of woman, appeased by this surrender of her reason; as if faith in her, like love in others of her sex, was born of that secret and vague emotion which hides itself from the world's censure, and grows stronger the more profound its concealment, and in which the heart of woman, resigned and resolved to sacrifice every thing to it, delights for its own sake.

It is at least certain that Christina, in the advances she made to the court of Rome, showed all that love of mystery, and practised those arts, which are usually prompted by love or by ambition; she engaged in an intrigue to become a Catholic. In this she showed herself a true woman.

The first to whom she revealed her inclinations was a Jesuit, Antonio Macedo, confessor of the Portuguese ambassador, Pinto Pereira. Pereira spoke only Portuguese, and employed his confessor as interpreter. The queen derived a strange pleasure at the audiences which she gave to the ambassador, in carrying on a religious controversy with his interpreter, while Pereira imagined he was discussing state affairs; and thus, in the presence of a third person who understood nothing that passed, disclosing to Macedo her most secret thoughts and boldest speculations.

All on a sudden Macedo disappeared from Stockholm. The queen pretended to have search made for him, and to send people in pursuit of him; while she herself had despatched him to Rome to communicate her intentions to the general of the Jesuits, and to entreat him to send to her two or three members of his order in whom he could confide.

In February, 1652, they arrived in Stockholm. They were two young men who gave themselves out as travelling Italian nobles, and were thereupon introduced to her table. She instantly suspected who they were, and as they walked into the dining-room immediately before her, she asked one of them, in a low voice, whether by chance he had any letters for her; he answered, without turning round, that he had; she enjoined him to silence by one hurried word; immediately after dinner she sent her most confidential servant, Johann Holm, to fetch the letters, and the

following morning the fathers themselves were conducted in the profoundest secrecy to the palace.

Emissaries from Rome now entered the royal abode of Gustavus Adolphus, to confer with his daughter concerning her conversion to that faith of which he was the most formidable antagonist. The peculiar charm of this transaction to Christina was, that no one had the slightest suspicion of it.

reason.

The two Jesuits at first intended to adhere to the rules of the catechism, but they soon saw that such means were wholly inapplicable here. The queen proposed far different questions from any for which they were prepared ;—whether there was any ultimate distinction between good and evil, or whether every thing resolved itself into the utility or mischievousness of an action? How the doubts which may suggest themselves on the subject of an over-ruling providence were to be removed? Whether the soul of man is really immortal? Whether it be not most expedient for every man to follow the religion of his country externally, and to live after the laws of reason? Such were the problems which they were required to solve. They do not tell us what were their answers; they say that during this conversation thoughts passed through their minds such as they had never been conscious of before, and had instantly vanished; that the queen was under the immediate operation of the Holy Ghost. The truth is, she was under the influence of a strong bias, which gave completeness to every argument and strength to every conviction. They recurred most frequently to the principle mentioned above,—that the world could not be without the true religion; and to this proposition was appended a second, that among all that existed the Catholic was the most in accordance with “Our main endeavour was," say the Jesuits, "to prove that the articles · of our holy religion are above reason, but in no respect contrary to reason." The chief difficulties were, the invocation of saints and the worship of images and relics. But her majesty apprehended," continue they, "with penetrating mind the whole force of the arguments, we adduced; otherwise we should have needed a long time for our discussion." She also spoke to them of the difficulties which would present themselves, even if she were determined on avowing her conversion, as to the mode of accomplishing it. Sometimes these appeared to her insuperable. One day, when she had another interview with the Jesuits, she declared to them that they had better return home, that the matter was utterly impracticable, and that she thought she should never be able to become a sincere and earnest Catholic. The good fathers were amazed; they urged every argument and consideration that could confirm her intentions; placed God and eternity before her, and pronounced her doubts an assault of Satan. It is perfectly characteristic of her that she was more determined upon her conversion at that very moment than at any of their previous conferences. What would you say," exclaimed she suddenly, "if I were nearer becoming a Catholic than you think?" "I cannot describe the feeling," says the Jesuit, from whom we have the report of this transaction, "which we experienced; we felt as if raised from the dead. The queen inquired whether the pope could not grant permission to receive the Lord's Supper once a year, according to the Lutheran rite. We answered, that he could not." “Then,” said she, "there is no help, I must resign the crown.”

348.-LYRICS OF THE HEART.

ALARIC A. Watts.

MR. WATTS, whose name has long been familiar to the public in connection with works in which the Arts of Painting and Engraving have been associated with elegant Literature, has lately published a charming volume of his own Poems, illustrated with Engravings. We select two Lyrics,' which have an interest even beyond their own merits. They afforded

pleasure to one of the few great statesmen that our times have produced-one who knew that an English minister has higher duties than the management of Parliament. We extract the following from Mr. Watts' preface:

66 Among the cordial and encouraging testimonies they have, from time to time, called forth, was one from the virtuous and patriotic statesman, whose recent melancholy death has been so deeply and universally deplored; the more gratifying, because wholly unsought and unexpected by me. "It is not," (said the late Sir Robert Peel, in a letter which I had the gratification to receive from him, in the year 1826,) from mere courtesy that I assure you that your name is respected by me. I have had the satisfaction of reading many of your poems. I particularly call to mind two-'The Death of the First-Born,' and 'My own Fireside;' to have written which would be an honourable distinction to any one." Eighteen years afterwards, his recollection of these poems induced him to place at my disposal, a Treasury appointment for my son; and only a few months previous to his lamented death, I received an additional and unsolicited proof of the interest he continued to take in my welfare."

MY OWN FIRE-SIDE.

Let others seek for empty joys,

At ball or concert, rout or play;
Whilst far from Fashion's idle noise,
Her gilded domes and trappings gay,
I while the wintry eve away,

"Twixt book and lute the hours divide,
And marvel how I e'er could stray

From thee-my own fire-side!

My own fire-side! Those simple words
Can bid the sweetest dreams arise ;
Awaken feeling's tenderest chords,

And fill with tears of joy mine eyes.
What is there my wild heart can prize,
That doth not in thy sphere abide ;
Haunt of my home-bred sympathies,
My own-my own fire-side!

A gentle form is near me now;

•I

A small white hand is clasped in mine;
gaze upon her placid brow,

And ask, what joys can equal thine :
A babe, whose beauty's half divine,
In sleep his mother's eyes doth hide;
Where may love seek a fitter shrine,
Than thou-my own fire-side!

What care I for the sullen war

Of winds without, that ravage earth;
It doth but bid me prize the more

The shelter of thy hallowed hearth;—
To thoughts of quiet bliss give birth;
Then let the churlish tempest chide,
It cannot check the blameless mirth
That glads my own fire-side!

My refuge ever from the storm

Of this world's passion, strife, and care;
Though thunder-clouds the skies deform,

Their fury cannot reach me there;
There all is cheerful, calm and fair;
Wrath, envy, malice, strife, or pride,
Hath never made its hated lair,
By thee-my own fire-side!
Thy precincts are a charmed ring,

Where no harsh feeling dares intrude ;
Where life's vexations lose their sting;
Where even grief is half subdued ;
And Peace, the halcyon, loves to brood.

Then let the world's proud fool deride;

I'll pay my debt of gratitude

To thee-my own fire-side!

Shrine of my household duties;

Bright scene of home's unsullied joys;
To thee my burthened spirit flies,

When Fortune frowns, or Care annoys!

Thine is the bliss that never cloys;

The smile whose truth hath oft been tried ;

What, then, are this world's tinsel toys,

To thee-my own fire-side!

Oh, may the yearnings, fond and sweet,
That bid my thoughts be all of thee,
Thus ever guide my wandering feet

To thy heart soothing sanctuary!
Whate'er my future years may be,
Let joy or grief my fate betide
Be still an Eden bright to me,
My own-my own fire-side!

THE DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN.

My sweet one, my sweet one, the tears were in my eyes,
When first I clasped thee to my heart, and heard thy feeble cries ;—
For I thought of all that I had borne, as I bent me down to kiss
Thy cherry lips, and sunny brow, my first-born bud of bliss

I turned to many a withered hope, to years of grief and pain,

And the cruel wrongs of a bitter world flashed o'er my boding brain ;—
I thought of friends, grown worse than cold, of persecuting foes,
And I asked of Heaven if ills like these must mar thy youth's repose!

I gazed upon thy quiet face, half blinded by my tears,—

Till gleams of bliss, unfelt before, came brightening on my fears ;-
Sweet rays of hope that fairer shone 'mid the clouds of gloom that bound them,
As stars dart down their loveliest light when midnight skies are round them.

My sweet one, my sweet one, thy life's brief hour is o'er,

And a father's anxious fear for thee can fever me no more !

And for the hopes, the sun-bright hopes, that blossomed at thy birth,— They too have fled, to prove how frail are cherished things of earth!

'Tis true that thou wert young, my child, but though brief thy span below, To me it was a little age of agony and woe;

For, from thy first faint dawn of life thy cheek began to fade,

And my lips had scarce thy welcome breathed, ere my hopes were wrapt in
shade.

Oh, the child in its hours of health and bloom that is dear as thou wert then,
Grows far more prized, more fondly loved, in sickness and in pain ;
And thus 'twas thine to prove, dear babe, when every hope was lost,
Ten times more precious to my soul, for all that thou hadst cost!
Cradled in thy fair mother's arms, we watched thee, day by day,
Pale like the second bow of Heaven, as gently waste away;
And, sick with dark foreboding fears we dared not breathe aloud,
Sat, hand in hand, in speechless grief, to wait death's coming cloud!

It came at length ;-o'er thy bright blue eye the film was gathering fast,—
And an awful shade passed o'er thy brow, the deepest and the last
In thicker gushes strove thy breath,—we raised thy drooping head ;-
A moment more—the final pang-and thou wert of the dead!

Thy gentle mother turned away to hide her face from me,

And murmured low of Heaven's behests, and bliss attained by thee ;-
She would have chid me that I mourned a doom so blest as thine,
Had not her own deep grief burst forth in tears as wild as mine!

We laid thee down in thy sinless rest, and from thine infant brow
Culled one soft lock of radiant hair, our only solace now;

Then placed around thy beauteous corse, flowers, not more fair and sweet,-
Twin rose-buds in thy little hands, and jasmine at thy feet.
Though other offspring still be ours, as fair perchance as thou,
With all the beauty of thy cheek, the sunshine of thy brow,--
They never can replace the bud our early fondness nurst;
They may be lovely and beloved, but not, like thee, the FIRST!

The FIRST. How many a memory bright that one sweet word can bring,

Of hopes that blossomed, drooped, and died, in life's delightful spring ;—
Of fervid feelings passed away-those early seeds of bliss

That germinate in hearts unseared by such a world as this!

My sweet one, my sweet one, my fairest and my First!

When I think of what thou might'st have been, my heart is like to burst;
But gleams of gladness through my gloom their soothing radiance dart,
And my sighs are hushed, my tears are dried, when I turn to what thou art!

Pure as the snow-flake ere it falls and takes the stain of earth,

With not a taint of mortal life except thy mortal birth,
God bade thee early taste the spring for which so many thirst,
And bliss, eternal bliss, is thine, my fairest and my First!

349.-THE WAR IN LA VENDÉE.

JEFFREY.

[The events of this terrible war of the French Revolution have been detailed with singular animation, in the late Lord Jeffrey's Review of the Memoirs of the Marquise de Larochejaquelein. We pass over the early successes of the insurgents, to give the afflicting narrative of their final discomfiture.]

The last great battle was fought near Chollet, where the insurgents, after a furious