religion. The countess must submit. James Veluzat, from France, became the first reformed pastor of Valangin. In 1531 the entire principality of Neufchatel came under the power of Francis, son of the Princess Joan. He proclaimed liberty of conscience and faith in the whole canton. The sermon on the rock at Serrière had been one means of securing these great results.

And now comes another reaper into the harvest. A young Dauphinese, named Christopher Libertet Fabri, had been studying medicine at Montpelier, where he first learned the disease of his own soul and found its remedy. He still intended to go to Paris and complete his studies. Being at Lyons, he met certain friends of the truth, who told him of the wonderful events in Neufchatel and the neighbouring villages. He was so interested in these reports that he changed his mind and his route; and now we find him at Morat, inquiring for the house where Farel is lodging.

Sore from the beating at St. Blaise, shivering with cold, spitting blood,' and scarcely able to speak, Farel is lying at Morat. Tenderly has he been welcomed there, and carefully is he watched by the friends who tread softly about his room. A young man wishes to see him. As he is a Dauphinese, he may come. Modestly approaching the bed, he introduces himself as Christopher Fabri, and says-

'I have forsaken everything-family, prospects, and country to fight at your side, Master William. Here I Do with me as seems good to you.'

am.

'I see that we have the same faith and the same Saviour,' replies Farel, after being touched with the young man's lively affection and intense devotion. He looks upon Fabri as 'a son whom God has sent him,'

and day after day talks with him. On his bed he is training a student for the ministry. He would like to keep him always at his side; but he must bid his tenderest son' preach the more beloved Saviour.

6

'Go, now, my dear son in the faith,' says Farel one day, 'and preach the gospel at Neufchatel.' Has Farel ordained him in that sick-room, as he himself had been at Basle?

'O my master,' answers Fabri in tears, 'my sorrow is greater to-day than when I left father and mother, so delightful have been my conversations with you.' He learns his duty, obeys, goes to Neufchatel and urges forward the good work.

On the Roman highway that led from Italy to Gaul, was the ancient city of Urba, built, it was said, in the same century with Rome. The story runs that the kings of the first French race once rested near this old city, and, charmed with the valley that sloped from the foot of the Jura to Lake Neufchatel, they exclaimed, 'It is enough; we will stop here.' In place of Urba grew up the town of Orbe,1 which was now to talk of mightier personages than the old French kings, of whose wise choice they boasted, or 'good Queen Bertha,' who dwelt at this old town when this part of Switzerland belonged to Little Burgundy. The country is full of legends about her spinning on horseback with a distaff fastened to a saddle, which is still shown at Payerne. She was a friend to all the poor, and 'the nursing mother of the nation, which she guided and fed.' She had a zeal for building convents and castles; and some of the towers of Bertha' still remain. She was anxious to impart to her people a love of industry, by setting them a good example. One 1 The birthplace of Prof. Louis Agassiz, of modern scientific renown.

day she was spinning on her palfrey, as she rode through some pastures near Orbe, when she saw a young girl spinning, like herself, while watching her flock of sheep. She rode up and gave her a beautiful present, along with much praise. The next day several noble but idle ladies came before her with their distaffs, in hopes of a reward. But she knew their vain pretensions, and told them, 'The peasant girl came first, and, like Jacob, carried my blessing, leaving nothing for Esau.' People still talk of the good days when Queen Bertha spun, and when she told the peasants good stories from the Bible.'

In that town was a burgess, cloth-dresser and tailor,' who, one day in 1511, wrote down the name of another son-Peter Viret. The father went on fulling the cloths, and associating with the best informed burgesses, and even with some of the nobles. Peter grew up, taking no delight in his father's pursuits, nor aspiring after his official dignities. He wished for God, and took the path which the priests pointed out as the way to heaven. If alone or with his brothers, Anthony and John, he walked along the banks of the Orbe, or looked with emotion on the Jura, and caught glimpses of the Alps; then he lifted his eyes toward the Most High for help. He was ignorant, and must remain so as long as the blind were leading the blind. He resolved to be a priest. His father did not oppose, for it was counted an honour among the towns-people to have a priest among their children. He gained all that the schools of Orbe could offer him, and, when about twelve, he was sent to the University of Paris. It was the same year (1523) that John Calvin entered one of the same colleges. Did these two boys, who were yet to be most intimate at Geneva, meet there and begin their genial friendship? We know not. But they were

alike in their love of study and their Romish style of piety. Years afterwards, Viret wrote of his early devotion to the Church of Rome, 'I cannot deny that I went pretty deep into that Babylon.'

It seems that on one of the last cautious visits which Farel made to Paris, he met the young Viret, whose modesty charmed him into an acquaintance. The young Swiss was thus led to search for the truth, and was pointed to the true path to heaven. 'God took me out of error,' said he; and then a decisive question was forced upon him. The time came for the tonsure, when the razor must do its part in making him a priest. He must make up his mind. He was not long about it. He refused, and was forthwith 'set down as belonging to the Lutheran religion.' He knew what to expect, for Beda was ferreting in all cases for heretics; and, hastily quitting Paris, he returned to his father's house.

The priests of Orbe set their eyes upon him. They saw that he was lonely and depressed, and they suspected that he was in a struggle between Rome and Christ. They grew uneasy about him, and told him about the fathers of the Church. His foot slipped, his head was bewildered, he almost fell back again, deep into that Babylon.' But he caught the divine word, clung to it, and, renouncing what mere men declared, he said, ‘I will believe only Jesus Christ, my Saviour.' He felt that he was a prisoner just released from 'the citadel of idolatry.'

There were two prisoners for whom he felt the tenderest affection. Since the Lord has brought me out,' said he, 'I cannot forget those who are still within.' His father and mother were never out of his thoughts. Between business and Popery they had no thought of Christ. He

N

day she was spinning on her palfrey, as she rode through some pastures near Orbe, when she saw a young girl spinning, like herself, while watching her flock of sheep. She rode up and gave her a beautiful present, along with much praise. The next day several noble but idle ladies came before her with their distaffs, in hopes of a reward. But she knew their vain pretensions, and told them, 'The peasant girl came first, and, like Jacob, carried my blessing, leaving nothing for Esau.' People still talk of the good days when Queen Bertha spun, and when she told the peasants good stories from the Bible.'

In that town was a burgess, cloth-dresser and tailor,' who, one day in 1511, wrote down the name of another son-Peter Viret. The father went on fulling the cloths, and associating with the best informed burgesses, and even with some of the nobles. Peter grew up, taking no delight in his father's pursuits, nor aspiring after his official dignities. He wished for God, and took the path which the priests pointed out as the way to heaven. If alone or with his brothers, Anthony and John, he walked along the banks of the Orbe, or looked with emotion on the Jura, and caught glimpses of the Alps; then he lifted his eyes toward the Most High for help. He was ignorant, and must remain so as long as the blind were leading the blind. He resolved to be a priest. His father did not oppose, for it was counted an honour among the towns-people to have a priest among their children. He gained all that the schools of Orbe could offer him, and, when about twelve, he was sent to the University of Paris. It was the same year (1523) that John Calvin entered one of the same colleges. Did these two boys, who were yet to be most intimate at Geneva, meet there and begin their genial friendship? We know not. But they were