the East and in the West, is that in which the Church and the State have suffered more from revolution than any Protestant country. One of the first victims in Paris was Jacques Pavannes, who procured a temporary respite by recanting. Although young in years, he afterward showed a firmness and faith that would have become a veteran warrior of Christ. Withdrawing his recantation, he was condemned to suffer by fire, and when at the stake he spoke with such unction that a doctor of the Sorbonne declared “it would have been better for the Church to have paid a million of money than have allowed Pavannes to address the people.” (1525). A more illustrious victim was Louis de Berquin, scion of a noble family of Artois: by his scholarship and wit--he was of the Erasmian school--he had mortally offended the monks and (if the expression be allowable) the old fogyism of the Sorbonne. The king and his sister, Margaret of Valois, had saved him two or three times; but at last he was caught in the toils, and his trial was hurried on so that Francis should not have the opportunity of interfering. (1529). Fourteen victims of less note suffered not long after; but ideas are not to be burned out at the stake or stifled in prisons, and it soon became evident that the new doctrines were spreading wider and wider every day. “The smoke of these sacrifices,” says Mezeray, “had got into people’s heads.” The followers of the new creed had but one friend at court, and this was Margaret of Valois, the king’s sister, a pious tender-hearted woman, who had interposed more than once to rescue the victims of the Sorbonne and of Rome. She was not a Protestant, and shrank from any rupture with Catholicism. She would have liked to see the old and the new Church united, each yielding something to the other. The age, however, was not one for compromises. Day by day the lines of demarkation became more strongly marked, especially after the publication of Calvin’s “Institutes of the Christian Religion” (1535), which became at once the text-book and the charter of the evangelicals in France. Calvin was a thorough-going reformer. To adopt a familiar distinction, while Luther rejected nothing that was not condemned by Scripture, Calvin accepted nothing that was not directly countenanced by it. Luther’s system was, probably, the wiser, as it did not break directly with the past; but either principle carried to extremes is faulty. Looking at the subsequent history of Protestantism in France, we can see how (under the Calvinistic form) it excited an antagonism never felt in Germany; it seemed to aim at deposing the king as well as the pope. And it is doubtful whether such a cold undecorated form of religion is suited to the warm and impulsive temperament of the Celtic race which forms the lowest stratum of the French population.