were darkened by plot and massacre; and that on the 24th of August, 1572, at the eve of St. Bartholomew's Day, thirty thousand Huguenots were slaughtered, without regard to age or sex. Jane of Navarre lived not to witness this horrible destruction, which her son narrowly escaped. Two months before, she had died, of an excruciating and mysterious illness, not without suspicions of poison. It was rumored that an Italian had been employed to mingle a most subtle and fatal drug, with perfumes that she was in the habit of inhaling.

Believing, from her daily declining strength, that dissolution drew nigh, she prepared herself with Christian calmness, yet profound solemnity for the approaching event. Strongly did her affectionate spirit cling to her children. Causing herself to be raised on her couch, and propped by pillows, she said to prince Henry, then in the bloom of nineteen:

"I enjoin you, above all things, faithfully to serve God in the religion wherein you have been educated. Suffer not your soul to be tempted by the empty pleasures and delights of this world. Inviolably preserve the consti

tutions that have been given to the principalities of Berne, and the Lower Navarre. Purge your courts of all irreligious counsellors, vicious persons, and flatterers, the abusers of princes. Take a tender care of your sister Catharine, and let her be nurtured in the same school of piety, where you were yourself trained."

After passing through the ceremony of appointing him as her successor in his native realm, she earnestly entreated the King of France to be the protector of her orphan children, and permit them without opposition the free exercise of the Protestant religion. Then disengaging her mind from earthly concerns, she desired that she might have the aid of fit persons to administer consolation to her departing soul. The fever ran high, and her pains were agonizing. Yet she said meekly,

"I receive this, as from the hand of my most merciful Father. Neither have I in this extremity been afraid to die, or murmured against his chastisement. For I know that whatsoever God doth, shall in the end turn to mine everlasting good. for this life, I am in a great measure weaned from it, by the

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afflictions that have followed me from my youth up. Especially that I am not able to live without offending my God, in whose presence I desire to be, with my whole heart."

Her spiritual attendant asked if he should pray, that if consistent with the Divine Will she might longer be spared on earth. She replied,—

"For myself, this sinful life is not dear. Yet have I a deep concern for the children that God hath given me. By my death they will be left alone, in their early years. But doubt I not, that if he now take me from them, He will himself be their Father and Protector, as He hath ever been to me, in my greatest needs. Therefore, I commit them wholly to His government and fatherly care. Death is not terrible to me. It is the way by which we pass to eternal rest."

Then with hands and eyes raised to heaven, she continued long in prayer, the steadiness of her faith imparting to her countenance a cheerful serenity. Her sufferings were severe. but they never extorted an impatient word, or

scarcely a moan. Often, in fervent supplication, she was heard to utter,

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Oh, my God! in due time, deliver me from the body of this death, and from the miseries of this present life, that I may no more offend Thee. Grant me to attain that felicity which Thou hast promised in Thy Word to those who love Thee."

Seeing her ladies abandoning themselves to grief, she said with tenderness,—

I pray you not to weep for me. God by this sickness calleth me to the enjoyment of a better life. Now am I about to enter the desired haven, toward which this frail vessel hath been so long steering."

As the last changes of the spoiler began to be visible on her pale features, one who stood near her couch, whispered, "Are you willing to go?"

Audibly she replied, "Yes; more willing than to linger here in this world of vanity."

Thus, in the peace of a perfect trust, she resigned her breath at Paris, June 9th, 1572, in the 44th year of her age.

"Queen Jane of Navarre, says Bishop

Burnet, reformed not only her court, but her whole principality. To such a degree did she improve it, that under her sway, the golden age seemed to have returned, or rather Christianity again appeared in its primitive purity and lustre. Her dominions were so narrow that though she had the rank and power of a Queen, it was like sovereignty in miniature, of the smallest form, and the brightest colors."