sooner did he find his loved and admired friend, Martin Luther, made an object of insult, than all his gentle melancholy forsook him.

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Yes, reverend Father, he will give us trouble infinite; but it may be that he is a snake within our Eden, and, to seize his own figure, his head must feel our mailed boot."

"That is more worthy of my own Melancthon," cried Luther joyfully," than all thy previous moaning! Now come," and he settled to the desk before him with an earnestness that betokened business-"now thou art once more alive, let us work."

He opened several packets that lay before him: meanwhile, Melancthon was looking on.

Kind, and generous, and trustworthy, I am sure,” were his words on finishing the first, as he handed it to Melancthon.

"Ah! he is a noble and a brave youth, and a wise one!" he added, as he laid down the second.

Melancthon read the first.

"Frederick, Duke of Saxony, Elector, to Doctor Martin Luther.

"Our Secretary, Spalatin, has told us that, upon the election of our young Emperor, thy safety may be compromised, for that, although his Holiness was at first opposed to any such decision of the Diet, Charles may seek to please him by surrendering thee to his demands. But fear not, Father! Frederick of Saxony may be able to befriend thee and thy righteous cause

even more effectively than if he had mounted to the throne. Be of good cheer then, Doctor Martin, and may God defend the right! Dated 16th July, 1519. Wittemberg."

"God will not forsake his children and make them orphans!" ejaculated Melancthon.

"Now read that," said Luther, as he handed him the second packet.

"The Count Arensberg of Arensberg, Knight of the Golden Fleece, to Doctor Martin Luther.

"I cannot leave home, on a second mission to the Holy See, without begging your acceptance of my best thanks for the manner in which you have responded to the friendship of the Lady Countess my mother and of my brother Rupert. My brother accompanies me to Rome, but it will give me the greatest satisfaction, and I am sure it will give the same to the Countess, if you will honour my house with your presence whensoever it may please you. And suffer me to add, that I hope I have caught somewhat of the spirit of our noble-hearted Elector, and that should I learn, whilst at Rome, aught that might be of importance to your person or your great purposes, I will take the liberty of giving you the earliest information. Castle Arensberg."

"Say not a word, Philip!" exclaimed Luther, as soon as he saw that his friend had finished it-" Say

not a word! There is no longer ground for pause or for deliberation. Vorwarts! vorwarts! Philip, and in the name of the Most High God! What! shall the men in the high places of the earth be faithful to us, and shall we who are the Soldiers of the Cross cry craven?

"I tell thee what, Melancthon," he continued, "had all the devils in hell been able to lead against us all the potentates of earth as their esquires, and the Pope himself as their chaplain, it had been our duty and our safety to have answered, 'If God be for us, who can be against us?' I love this noble faithfulness in Frederick, and this ingenuous courtesy in Count Arensberg; but let us not lean upon arms of flesh.”

"Then, Father, you will take no comfort from such encouragement as is here given us, though it be by 'the powers that are ordained of God?'" inquired Melancthon.

“Yes, I will, Philip; but it shall be just the comfort that a wise, but wary pilgrim takes from a cool breeze, though he knows that that breeze may fail him across the desert."

"You judge these pledges of favour and protection from the wise Elector and the young Count, to be like the morning cloud or the evening dew, dear Father," answered Melancthon: " so do I."

"So do not I, Master of Philosophy!" rejoined Luther. "I know the warp and the woof of which our Elector has been made. I have known him to act often as if he were beaten and on retreat, while in the very

act he was planning and securing conquest. So even let him appear to discountenance poor Luther by-andby: I shall be sure he has only veiled his face that my foes may not see his look of love upon me. He is safe and fast, Philip."

"But you will not, you cannot rely upon Count Arensberg, dear master," said Melancthon.

"And why not?"

Why not? Is he not on his road to Rome to Rome, that can be as fascinating as she can be treacherous?"

"Philip, I marvel at thee. Thou art so ignorant, not of human nature, but of human life. Yes, Count Arensberg is on his road to Rome; but see you not that his eyes are beginning to be opened? He went to Rome before, and returned just as he went, save that her gorgeous ceremonies clothed her nakedness and foulness to his blind sight, and her paintings, and her men of taste and science, bewildered him. But he goes thither again, with his eyes half open. I want no more! That will be enough for him to see her. He will soon agree with Cardinal Bembo, that she is a filthy, stinking puddle, full of the wickedest wretches in the world.

'Vivere qui sancte vultis, discedite Româ ;

Omnia hic ecce licent, non licet esse probum.' * And if the Count should go to mass-God grant he may-that alone will teach him. Have I not often told thee, Philip, that when I was myself at Rome,

* Note 1.

and I had to read the gospel, the priest, before I could get through it, would exclaim in his impatience,“Ite, missa est." The Count's ears will be sharpened; and will he love Rome, or be deluded by Rome, when he sees her as she is? He will fly, as poor Luther did; he will veil his head: he will shake off the dust from his feet against her. Why, Melancthon," he continued with burning emphasis, "I would not, need not, preach another sermon against Rome, if I could but make all honest German folks pass a day and a night there.” "Are you satisfied, Philip?" asked Luther after a

pause.

"I am silent, if not convinced, Father. And now may I ask what your wise and holy instinct would suggest for the future?"

"Wise and holy instinct! Ah! there again, beloved Philip, you betray the philosopher and-forgive thy brother-not the Christian. Thou naughty Platonist!" he continued laughingly: "god though Aristotle is of the old, drivelling schoolmen, I prefer him to Plato. True it is, he did weave webs, and mighty was he in the cunning of their texture. But, Melancthon, they did catch flies. Whereas thou and thy school are weaving fabrics out of moonshine, and whatever did your fabrics ever catch but dreamers? Instinct-no, never give me that: give me something shrewd yet practical. Keep Plato to thy class-room, Philip; and for life-for life's struggles-come, let us have some good worldly-minded logic."

"Spare me, spare me, Doctor Martin! or rather be