pamphlet in which he had been accused, among other delinquencies, of having sprung from plebeian blood.  Having established his “extraction from true and ancient gentlemen of Savoy, paternally and maternally,” he rebuked his assailants in manly strain.  “Even had it been that I was without nobility of birth,” said he, “I should be none the less or more a virtuous or honest man; nor can any one reproach me with having failed in the point of honor or duty.  What greater folly than to boast of the virtue or gallantry of others, as do many nobles who, having neither a grain of virtue in their souls nor a drop of wisdom in their brains, are entirely useless to their country!  Yet there are such men, who, because their ancestors have done some valorous deed, think themselves fit to direct the machinery of a whole country, having from their youth learned nothing but to dance and to spin like weathercocks with their heads as well as their heels.”  Certainly Sainte Aldegonde had learned other lessons than these.  He was one of the many-sided men who recalled the symmetry of antique patriots.  He was a poet of much vigor and imagination; a prose writer whose style was surpassed by that of none of his contemporaries, a diplomatist in whose tact and delicacy William of Orange afterwards reposed in the most difficult and important negotiations, an orator whose discourses on many great public occasions attracted the attention of Europe, a soldier whose bravery was to be attested afterwards on many a well-fought field, a theologian so skilful in the polemics of divinity, that, as it will hereafter appear, he was more than a match for a bench of bishops upon their own ground, and a scholar so accomplished, that, besides speaking and writing the classical and several modern languages with facility, he had also translated for popular use the Psalms of David into vernacular verse, and at a very late period of his life was requested by the states-general of the republic to translate all the Scriptures, a work, the fulfilment of which was prevented by his death.  A passionate foe to the inquisition and to all the abuses of the ancient Church, an ardent defender of civil liberty, it must be admitted that he partook also of the tyrannical spirit of Calvinism.  He never rose to the lofty heights to which the spirit of the great founder of the commonwealth was destined to soar, but denounced the great principle of religious liberty for all consciences as godless.  He was now twenty-eight years of age, having been born in the same year with his friend Louis of Nassau.  His device, “Repos ailleurs,” finely typified the restless, agitated and laborious life to which he was destined.