THE age of the Emperor Charles V., when we consider the illustrious men, the vast schemes of ambition and revolution, and the great events of which it was the era, appears one of the most important and interesting in the whole history of the past. Heaven had in mercy swept away the clouds which through the long night of the dark ages had covered the world in ignorance and gloom. Then the fine arts, as if with one impulse, resumed all the pristine beauty and perfection of the days of Pericles, and in the works of Leonardo De Vinci, of Angelo and of Raphael, were developed some of the most beautiful and most sublime conceptions of the human intellect. Then Luther raked from amid the embers of a forgotten revelation, living coals which kindled again the altars of God; religion threw aside its robes of pride and power, returned to its primitive simplicity, and in the strength of knowledge and truth began anew the reformation of the world; whilst ignorance and superstition and falsehood trembled on their very throne, for on the walis of the Vatican, an unknown hand had traced the words of prophetic doom. Then, too, a new world was discovered, and the star of empire which now pauses on the brow of the Cordilleras, began its westward journey.

We would not be thought to overestimate the importance of the sixteenth century. But though modern historians of most extensive and philosophical research, have not assigned to it the same pre

eminence with earlier writers, still it was an age filled with events and characters of the deepest interest: an age in which the most incongruous elements, the most contradictory opinions were strangely blended. As when some vast landscape grotesquely distorted by dim moonlight struggles to reveal itself in the gray dawn, so the features of a new era, in the dawning sunlight of knowledge were strangely mingled with the stately feudalism and Gothic grandeur of the past, over which chivalry still threw a fading lustre. In Italy the successors of St. Peter had arrived at the zenith of their power. They had murdered the righteous, the halls of their Inquisition had drank up the blood of the innocent; they sold indulgences, and temples built with this price of sin, were dedicated to the Most High. The sword of retributive justice had slept long, but the sins of Rome had reached to Heaven; and though her priests had sought so carefully to conceal the Bible and the knowledge treasured up in past ages, and to forge, amid the general ignorance, fetters spiritual and temporal for the world, they sought in vain. For in Germany there sprang up a religion more pure than any since the days of the Apostles, and in the general search after truth were developed the characters of such men as Luther, Melancthon, Erasmus, Stephens, Calvin and many more Christians and scholars worthy of any age.

But though the Reformation was the great event of the sixteenth century, there were other scenes which have given it so deep an interest to every mind. In the pages of history there can scarcely be found an account of events more exciting or more romantic than the conquests of Mexico and Peru; while the character of such a king as Francis I., and of such men as Bayard, the Bourbons, the Montmorences and the Des Foix have made those last days of chivalry dear to every lover of romance. To this, the secret work of the assassin's dagger and poisoned bowl, the flames of the Auto de Fé, and all the terrors of religious and civil war, have added a darker interest, while the oppressions of the rich, the poverty and ignorance and sufferings of the poor have stained the gilded panorama. It was an age of great men, and among them Charles V. stood first in the dignity and influence of his station, if not in talent and ability. Born an heir to the crown of Spain, the good fortune which scarcely ever forsook him during the whole of his eventful career, in one hour, gave his rival, Francis of France, the greatest defeat of his life, and added to the hereditary dominions of Charles, the German Empire.

Thus made at once by the most lavish gifts of fortune, a king and an emperor, and occupying the most illustrious station in Europe, he can never merit the praise which belongs to those who have risen by their own innate power, like Napoleon and Cromwell; he knew nothing of the holy enthusiasm, the unbending integrity, the greatness of goodness which characterized the Protector of England, nor had he a mind impetuous and almost divinely gifted like Napoleon; but a man hard, compact and sinuous, he thought no obstacle insurmountable, no difficulty so great that patience and perseverance might not overcome it. While the plains of France were glittering with gorgeous pageants, and tents of cloth of gold, and Francis had collected round him all the beauty and wit and chivalry of his kingdom, and sought amid the splendid dissipation of his court, to revive the days of Charlemagne, Charles worshipped only at the shrine of power. To acquire this was his all-absorbing passion; for this he devised those vast projects, which during a long reign convulsed Europe. The same all-powerful motive governed him in war and in peace, whether he supported the Protestants or persecuted them, whether he sacked the Eternal City and imprisoned the Pope, or denounced Francis as an apostate from Rome, and planted in Infidel lands the banner of the triple crown. He had bent his eye on that great goal of ambition, universal empire, and with a firm step, an unwearying energy, he pursued his devious path.

By nature of a cold, haughty, intractable, self-confident disposition, he also possessed a profound judgment and an unfailing penetration. He was cautious and crafty, slow to decide, but in the end inflexible; and the prudence and perseverance with which he carried out his plans, was only equalled by the sagacity with which he had devised them. With all this, Charles had no true greatness of soul. The generous and heroic deeds of other men aroused no kindred emotions in him; they glanced like an arrow from his steel-clad breast. The greatest obligations excited no gratitude in that cold heart, but passed, like a ship over the sea, leaving no trace behind. He saw with illconcealed satisfaction, the unfortunate Francis a prisoner in his capital; and he condemned to death the man whose almost unparalleled magnanimity, had placed on his head an imperial crown.

The self-confidence of Charles was most presumptuous. He thought to rule the world and tear by violence from mankind even the rights they hold most sacred. But when the vast fabric of tyranny he had