Matthiæ, whose simple, pure, and gentle spirit gained her earliest affections, who was her earliest confidant even in all her childish affairs. Immediately after it had become manifest that no one of the existing ecclesiastical bodies would overpower the other, the expediency of a union of them was recognised by some few rightthinking men. Matthiæ was one of those who cherished this wish, and published a book in which he agitated the question of the union of the two protestant churches. The queen was strongly inclined to his opinion; she conceived the project of founding a theological academy, which should devote itself to the work of reconciling the two confessions. But the fiery zeal of certain inflexible Lutherans immediately rose up in arms against this project. A superintendent of Calmar attacked Matthiæ's book with fury, and the estates took part against it. The bishops admonished the queen's council to watch over the interests of the established religion of the country, and the high chancellor went to the queen, and made such vehement representations to her, that tears of vexation came into her eyes. She now probably thought she perceived that it was not a perfectly disinterested zeal which set her Lutheran subjects in motion. She thought they wanted to cheat her with that peculiar idea of the Divine Being which they placed before her, only that they might make her the tool of their own purposes. Their representations of God seemed to her unworthy of the divine nature. The tedious sermons which she had long heard with so much weariness, and which she was compelled by the ordinances of the kingdom to listen to, now be came insufferable to her. She often betrayed her impatience; she shifted her chair, and played with her little dog; but these signs of restlessness only served to strengthen the inexorable determination of the preacher to keep her the longer. The temper of mind which such conduct on the part of the ministers of religion was calculated to generate, and which gradually alienated her from the religion of her country, was confirmed by the presence of learned foreigners. Some were Catholics; others, for example Isaac Vossius, gave occasion to suspect them of infidelity; Bourdelot, who had the greatest credit with her, having carried her successfully through a dangerous illness, and who was a man exactly fitted for a court, -full of knowledge and of powers of entertainment, and devoid of pedantry,— jested at every thing, the pretensions of the learned and the sanctity of established creeds, and passed for a complete anti-supernaturalist. The young princess gradually fell into a state of insoluble doubt. It appeared to her that every positive religion was an invention of man ; that every argument told against the one as much as against the other; that, in fact, it was indifferent which a man embraced. Yet she did not fall into absolute irreligion; she retained certain unshaken convictions in her royal solitude of a throne she had found it impossible to dispense with thoughts of God; she even imagined that her station placed her one step ncarer to his presence. "Thou knowest," exclaims she, "how often, in a language unknown to vulgar souls, I have prayed to thee for grace to enlighten me, and vowed to belong wholly to thee, though I should sacrifice life and happiness." She connected this with her peculiar ideas. "I renounced all other love," says she, "and devoted myself to this alone." But would God have left man without the true religion?—an expression of Cicero's that the true religion could be but one, and that all the others must be false, made the greatest impression on her mind. The only question was, which was the true one? It is no part of our present purpose to investigate arguments or to sift evidence. Christina repeatedly said that she found no essential errors of doctrine in Protest antism. But as her aversion to that form of Christianity arose from an original and ultimate feeling, which had only been rendered more intense by circumstances, so likewise, with an inclination as little to be explained or reasoned upon, she gave herself up with full and entire sympathy to Catholicism. She was nine years old when she first heard any distinct account of the peculiar doctrines of the Catholic church; when she was told that it held celibacy to be meritorious, "Ah," exclaimed she, "how admirable that is! that is the religion I shall embrace." This called forth a serious rebuke, but she only persisted the more obstinately in her determination. With this were associated other impressions of a congenial nature. "When one is a Catholic," said she, "one has the consolation of believing what so many noble spirits have believed for sixteen centuries; of belonging to a religion that has been attested by millions of miracles, by millions of martyrs; above all," added she, "a religion that has produced so many illustrious virgins who have overcome the weaknesses of their sex, and consecrated themselves to God." The constitution of Sweden is based upon Protestantism; the glory, the power, the European position of that country are inextricably bound up with it, and it was thus imposed on Christina as a sort of necessity. Disgusted by a thousand accidental circumstances, feeling that it touched no chord of her mind or heart, she broke loose from it with all the wilfulness of her character and station; the opposite system, of which she had but a dim and vague knowledge, attracted her: the infallible authority conferred on the pope she regarded as an institution in accordance with the benevolence of the Deity, and every day became more decidedly inclined to it; it seemed as if she felt that need of self-devotion, which is inseparable from the nature of woman, appeased by this surrender of her reason; as if faith in her, like love in others of her sex, was born of that secret and vague emotion which hides itself from the world's censure, and grows stronger the more profound its concealment, and in which the heart of woman, resigned and resolved to sacrifice every thing to it, delights for its own sake. It is at least certain that Christina, in the advances she made to the court of Rome, showed all that love of mystery, and practised those arts, which are usually prompted by love or by ambition; she engaged in an intrigue to become a Catholic. In this she showed herself a true woman. The first to whom she revealed her inclinations was a Jesuit, Antonio Macedo, confessor of the Portuguese ambassador, Pinto Pereira. Pereira spoke only Portuguese, and employed his confessor as interpreter. The queen derived a strange pleasure at the audiences which she gave to the ambassador, in carrying on a religious controversy with his interpreter, while Pereira imagined he was discussing state affairs; and thus, in the presence of a third person who understood nothing that passed, disclosing to Macedo her most secret thoughts and boldest speculations. All on a sudden Macedo disappeared from Stockholm. The queen pretended to have search made for him, and to send people in pursuit of him; while she herself had despatched him to Rome to communicate her intentions to the general of the Jesuits, and to entreat him to send to her two or three members of his order in whom he could confide. In February, 1652, they arrived in Stockholm. They were two young men who gave themselves out as travelling Italian nobles, and were thereupon introduced to her table. She instantly suspected who they were, and as they walked into the dining-room immediately before her, she asked one of them, in a low voice, whether by chance he had any letters for her; he answered, without turning round, that he had; she enjoined him to silence by one hurried word; immediately after dinner she sent her most confidential servant, Johann Holm, to fetch the letters, and the following morning the fathers themselves were conducted in the profoundest secrecy to the palace. Emissaries from Rome now entered the royal abode of Gustavus Adolphus, to confer with his daughter concerning her conversion to that faith of which he was the most formidable antagonist. The peculiar charm of this transaction to Christina was, that no one had the slightest suspicion of it. reason. The two Jesuits at first intended to adhere to the rules of the catechism, but they soon saw that such means were wholly inapplicable here. The queen proposed far different questions from any for which they were prepared ;-whether there was any ultimate distinction between good and evil, or whether every thing resolved itself into the utility or mischievousness of an action? How the doubts which may suggest themselves on the subject of an over-ruling providence were to be removed? Whether the soul of man is really immortal? Whether it be not most expedient for every man to follow the religion of his country externally, and to live after the laws of reason? Such were the problems which they were required to solve. They do not tell us what were their answers; they say that during this conversation thoughts passed through their minds such as they had never been conscious of before, and had instantly vanished; that the queen was under the immediate operation of the Holy Ghost. The truth is, she was under the influence of a strong bias, which gave completeness to every argument and strength to every conviction. They recurred most frequently to the principle mentioned above,—that the world could not be without the true religion; and to this proposition was appended a second, that among all that existed the Catholic was the most in accordance with "Our main endeavour was," say the Jesuits, "to prove that the articles of our holy religion are above reason, but in no respect contrary to reason." The chief difficulties were, the invocation of saints and the worship of images and relics. "But her majesty apprehended," continue they, "with penetrating mind the whole force of the arguments we adduced; otherwise we should have needed a long time for our discussion." She also spoke to them of the difficulties which would present themselves, even if she were determined on avowing her conversion, as to the mode of accomplishing it. Sometimes these appeared to her insuperable. One day, when she had another interview with the Jesuits, she declared to them that they had better return home, that the matter was utterly impracticable, and that she thought she should never be able to become a sincere and earnest Catholic. The good fathers were amazed; they urged every argument and consideration that could confirm her intentions; placed God and eternity before her, and pronounced her doubts an assault of Satan. It is perfectly characteristic of her that she was more determined upon her conversion at that very moment than at any of their previous conferences. What would you say," exclaimed she suddenly, "if I were nearer becoming a Catholic than you think?" "I cannot describe the feeling," says the Jesuit, from whom we have the report of this transaction, "which we experienced; we felt as if raised from the dead. The queen inquired whether the pope could not grant permission to receive the Lord's Supper once a year, according to the Lutheran rite. We answered, that he could not." "Then," said she, "there is no help, I must resign the crown." 348.-LYRICS OF THE HEART. ALARIC A. WATTS. MR. WATTS, whose name has long been familiar to the public in connection with works in which the Arts of Painting and Engraving have been associated with elegant Literature, has lately published a charming volume of his own Poems, illustrated with Engravings. We select two Lyrics,' which have an interest even beyond their own merits. They afforded pleasure to one of the few great statesmen that our times have produced-one who knew that an English minister has higher duties than the management of Parliament. We extract the following from Mr. Watts' preface: Among the cordial and encouraging testimonies they have, from time to time, called forth, was one from the virtuous and patriotic statesman, whose recent melancholy death has been so deeply and universally deplored; the more gratifying, because wholly unsought and unexpected by me. "It is not," (said the late Sir Robert Peel, in a letter which I had the gratification to receive from him, in the year 1826,) "from mere courtesy that I assure you that your name is respected by me. I have had the satisfaction of reading many of your poems. I particularly call to mind two-The Death of the First-Born,' and 'My own Fireside;' to have written which would be an honourable distinction to any one." Eighteen years afterwards, his recollection of these poems induced him to place at my disposal, a Treasury appointment for my son; and only a few months previous to his lamented death, I received an additional and unsolicited proof of the interest he continued to take in my welfare." MY OWN FIRE-SIDE. Let others seek for empty joys, At ball or concert, rout or play; I while the wintry eve away, "Twixt book and lute the hours divide, And marvel how I e'er could stray From thee-my own fire-side! My own fire-side! Those simple words And fill with tears of joy mine eyes. A gentle form is near me now; A small white hand is clasped in mine; I gaze upon her placid brow, And ask, what joys can equal thine : In sleep his mother's eyes doth hide ; What care I for the sullen war Of winds without, that ravage earth; The shelter of thy hallowed hearth ;- My refuge ever from the storm Of this world's passion, strife, and care; Their fury cannot reach me there; By thee-my own fire-side! Thy precincts are a charmed ring, Where no harsh feeling dares intrude; To thee-my own fire-side! Bright scene of home's unsullied joys; When Fortune frowns, or Care annoys! Thine is the bliss that never cloys; The smile whose truth hath oft been tried ;— What, then, are this world's tinsel toys, Oh, may the yearnings, fond and sweet, THE DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN. My sweet one, my sweet one, the tears were in my eyes, I turned to many a withered hope, to years of grief and pain, And the cruel wrongs of a bitter world flashed o'er my boding brain ;— I thought of friends, grown worse than cold, of persecuting foes, I gazed upon thy quiet face, half blinded by my tears, Till gleams of bliss, unfelt before, came brightening on my fears ;— My sweet one, my sweet one, thy life's brief hour is o'er, And for the hopes, the sun-bright hopes, that blossomed at thy birth,— |