required a decree, by which he cut off Martin Luther from the "bed and board" that any of his subjects might be disposed to tender him.

He was an exile from all human sympathies, in so far as the monarch's final edict was concerned, when he arrived at Eisenach! and yet this great ruler, Charles V., had allowed him to gain as far even as Eisenach from beyond his reach!

Then again there were the Electors, and to speak of none others, Frederick the Wise was not merely, like his Imperial Suzerain, in compromised allowance of Doctor Martin Luther, but, specially as the result of the Reformer's conduct at the Diet, his cautious heart became warmly enlisted on Luther's behalf.

"The Father, Doctor Martin, hath spoken well in Latin and in German," said the Elector to his secretary, when Luther left the Senate: "it was a bold step he took. Were it in my power, I would gladly procure justice for him."

"Your Highness can hold him as your prisoner," returned Spalatin, with unwonted boldness.

"Then take all measures you deem right, but let me know none of them," returned the Prince.

Meanwhile, the whole town of Worms was in a state of excitement, that might be called frantic. As Martin Luther was retiring from the Diet, accompanied by Spanish soldiers for his escort, it was bruited among the assembled myriads that he was being led to prison, and they knew well that the prison bolted by priests

of Rome was, and ever had been, the chamber of death.

Then arose a terrific tumult, the object of which was to rescue Luther; but Luther pacified the mob by assurances of his safety, and his conductors, unmolested, saw him safe within his chambers.

Luther had not long gained his rooms, and had scarcely thrown himself upon his pallet, worn out, strong though he was, by the incessant and insidiously contrived demands that had been made upon his exertion, the perspiration still rolling down his face, and that face miserably haggard-when he rose up again, and with an agility that surprised all who were about him, and who were most anxious gazers upon their great friend and master.

The cause of this his sudden resuscitation was this:

The poor fool, as he appeared to be-that very one who, as we have seen already, had so ominously accosted Martin Luther at the gates of Worms-approached him.

"Reverend Father," said the jester, "the barbers and the knights are at ill feud."

"The razor against the sword!" returned Luther, willing to humour the mountebank, not merely out of courtesy to him and to his class, but with a sagacious purpose to seek a double meaning beneath the enigma of the jester.

"There are four hundred scabbards empty, and their

swords are waiting to find out whether they or the razor can cut the deepest," whispered the jester to Father Martin.

"I understand-I understand," returned Luther, in a whisper, also; "but," he added, "why come to me, my son? Why thus mix up thy fortunes with poor mine ?"

"Father," exclaimed the jester, first looking around him to see if any one could be within shot of hearing— "Father, did I not humbly ask you, days ago, if Folly and Wisdom were not twin sisters? I am Folly, and I seek my sister in a sad scrape is she, from her love of me; she has sought to meet me, should I not try to go and midway meet her?"

"I understand-I understand," answered Luther, cheerily. "And now, dear sister Folly, what wouldst thou counsel unto Wisdom"-(and he laughed) "unto me, the graver of our mother's twins ?"

"I should counsel my dear sister," returned the jester, with mock gravity, "to be off. Does she need her tonsure to be renewed?"

Enigmatical though all this sounds to us, it was full of distinct, plain meaning to Martin Luther; for he learned, thencefrom, what was a fact, that four hundred swords had been drawn for his protection against the persecuting spirit of the Romish priesthood.

Knights of the Empire-men called worldly-minded and dealt harshly with by the then ministers of religion-so reverenced religion and its rights, that they

drew forth their weapons to vindicate the freedom of God's children! One of the many instances in the history of truth, that the laity have been the guardians of our faith! May it be so again, and soon!

CHAPTER XXII.

LATE in the afternoon of a bright and warm May day, in the year of our Lord 1521, a party of travellers, only three in number, were seated on the roots of a wide-spreading beech-tree, regaling themselves with the clear, pure water that gushed forth from an adjoining spring; and, as they talked together, many a sally of mirth awoke loud and hearty laughter from the little group. And yet, in spite of that contagious merriment, one of them no sooner smiled or laughed at a repartee, than his face became blank; and, though the very solitude of the spot (for it was in the bosom of the Thuringian forest) might have been expected to calm down whatsoever anxieties he had been feeling, and though the lustrous leaves and the sunny glade around and before him, united with the bird-carols that met his ear, ought to have induced a calm, joyous radiance upon his features, yet those features were pale and disturbed. His eye, too, roved restlessly, staying never except when it reached some open points in the wood that engirdled both himself and his companions.