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the copper on it, which, the priest said, was taken from the basin in which Christ washed the feet of His disciples. The wondering pilgrims then turned their eager eyes to a little crucifix fastened to the larger cross.

'Why is the little cross there?' they asked by their silent gaze.

'When the devils send us hail and thunder,' said the priest, 'this crucifix moves about so violently, that it seems to get loose from the cross, as if desirous of running at the devil; and it continues throwing out sparks of fire against the storm. If it were not for this, nothing would be left on earth.'

The credulous pilgrims, with their hair almost standing on end, were deeply moved by the account of these prodigies. No doubt, the father had often argued that the cross was only the sign of the crucified Lord, and that he did not worship the sign, but the Saviour whom it represented. Even if the pilgrims intended to adore the Christ, they were not assisted in their devotions by the lying priest. They were not in a mood for even the better sort of Romish devotion.

'No one,' continued the priest, 'sees or knows aught of these things except myself and this man.'

'What man?' thought the pilgrims, for they had been so engaged with the cross, and so startled by the prodigious stories, that they had not seen him. On turning their heads, they saw one of the strangest of mortals. William never forgot his appearance, for in old age he said that 'it was frightful to look at him. White scales covered his eyes, whether they were there in reality, or Satan only made them appear so.' Those who did not credit these marvels called him 'the priest's wizard.' The sight of him was enough to provoke, in the minds of the visitors, a doubt of what the priest had declared.

* Is it not all true?' the priest asked of the wizard, as if no one would dare to doubt the man with the scaly eyes.

'True, all true,' said the wizard; 'and there's no blessing to those who do not believe it.'

A new folly was introduced. If the bewildered pilgrims had not heard enough, they were now to see enough, to cause them to suspect the morals of the priest. That they were not filled with disgust, only proves how they were steeped to the eyes in Romish superstitions. William remembered the scene to his last days; and in his book on The True Use of the Cross, he thus wrote of it, so that men might know how deep the Romish priests were sunk in folly and crime: 'There came up a young woman, intent on other devotion than that of the cross, carrying her infant wrapped in a cloth. Then the priest went up, took hold of the woman and child, and led them into the chapel. I may safely assert, that never did dancer take a woman and lead her out more gallantly than these two did. But such was our blindness, that neither their looks nor their gestures appeared otherwise than good and holy.'

Immoral priests and blinded people! Such were the two elements in almost the entire Romish Church of those days. There were some exceptions; but they were found among those who shook off the fetters of Popery, and were labouring to reform the Church. William Farel was to see some of the worst delusions and vices of Romanism, in order to prepare him for exposing them to the people, whom he would point to the true cross of Jesus Christ. The family returned home, and this is the last we hear of their pilgrimages to Sainte Croix.

Crosses similar to the one thus visited are often seen in Romish countries. On a mountain-side in Switzerland a tourist once stopped in the road, before a cross set up in a little 'oratory,' or place for prayer, which looked like the small shelter for a watchman on the railroad. It was built of stone, with the front open, and appeared quite ancient. An image of the so-called Virgin Mary was very conspicuous. A small crucifix was fastened to the larger cross; and although the rain was falling, it did not spin around, nor throw out sparks of fire, as the priest declared of ' the holy cross.' Upon a board was an inscription, which is thus translated:

'Forty days' indulgence will be given to any one who will recite before this oratory one Pater Noster, one Ave Maria, and an act of contrition.'

There was Romanism.

While standing there the attention of the traveller was arrested by the music of a little rill of the purest water, gliding down the mountain, and directly crossing the path. There it was, free, full, clear as crystal, and right in the way of the pilgrim,—a type of the waters of the river of life flowing unceasingly from the throne of God. There was a symbol of Protestantism, which ever sets forth the free grace of God in salvation.

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NOT BATTLES, BUT BOOKS.
(1500-1512.)

'OUNG FAREL was sincere, although superstitious. He believed in Romish miracles, and wished to see whatever pretended to be one. But he was not willing that ignorance should be the mother of his devotion. He thirsted for knowledge. And if the Bible had not been a forbidden book, he must have found the truth at an early age. He knew of no such book as the word of God. He asked permission to study.

'Study what?' we imagine his father saying. 'Whatever is taught in the best schools. I want to be something in the world.'

'Be a soldier, then. Put on the armour that hangs in the hall, take the rosary1 for your heart, and the sword in your hand, and enter the service of Gaston de Foix, or

1 The rosary of Dominic was a necklace of beads intended to ensure the repetition of the 'Lord's prayer' fifteen times a day, and that of 'Hail Mary' one hundred and fifty times, the beads being passed through the fingers as the task was accomplished. This invention was thought such an honour, that the Dominicans were sometimes called the Order of the Rosary.

fight for the Pope; he needs brave warriors now. Let the sword-hilt be your cross, and you may become a valorous knight before you are grey.'

'I would rather be a scholar. Let me read of Caesar before I try to be like Csesar. Let knowledge be my armour, and the pen be my sword. I want not battles, but books.'

'Folly, my son! War leads to greatness. Whose name is now on every breeze that comes across the Alps? That of our neighbour, the Chevalier Bayard, the brave knight without fear and without reproach. All Dauphiny is talking of him, since his victory in the battle of the Taro. Like him, be fearless and stainless, and you will come to the honours of knighthood.'

'Such are not the honours I wish.'

'Not an honour for one to say, with the Chevalier Bayard, "My soul is God's, and my life is my country's!" Not an honour to guard a bridge against a legion of foes! And when he rebukes profane swearing, and is told it is only a little fault, hear him say, "Sir, that cannot be a trifling fault which is a great sin of the age." And when a family, in whose house he lodges, offers him a large sum of money for protecting it from the pillage of soldiers, he refuses it, because he defends it for goodness' sake, and not for gold. Be noble, then, and brave as Bayard. This is your best road to glory.' ,

Thus the father opposed the taste for study which his son manifested; but the young man persisted in having a chance to indulge it. Nobler conflicts and victories were before him than those of the famous Chevalier, and God had His good hand upon hjm. He was to be clad with 'the whole armour of God,' and wield 'the sword of the Spirit.' Long and earnestly did he plead with his father,

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