persons as St. Ignatius and St. Theresa.

The Protestant party was now indeed vanquished and humbled. In
France, so strong had been the Catholic reaction that Henry the
Fourth found it necessary to choose between his religion and his
crown. In spite of his clear hereditary right, in spite of his
eminent personal qualities, he saw that, unless he reconciled
himself to the Church of Rome, he could not count on the fidelity
even of those gallant gentlemen whose impetuous valour had turned
the tide of battle at Ivry. In Belgium, Poland, and Southern
Germany, Catholicism had obtained complete ascendency. The
resistance of Bohemia was put down. The Palatinate was conquered.
Upper and Lower Saxony were overflowed by Catholic invaders. The
King of Denmark stood forth as the Protector of the Reformed
Churches: he was defeated, driven out of the empire, and attacked
in his own possessions. The armies of the House of Austria
pressed on, subjugated Pomerania, and were stopped in their
progress only by the ramparts of Stralsund.

And now again the tide turned. Two violent outbreaks of religious
feeling in opposite directions had given a character to the whole
history of a whole century. Protestantism had at first driven
back Catholicism to the Alps and the Pyrenees. Catholicism had
rallied, and had driven back Protestantism even to the German
Ocean. Then the great southern reaction began to slacken, as the
great northern movement had slackened before. The zeal of the
Catholics waxed cool. Their union was dissolved. The paroxysm of
religious excitement was over on both sides. One party had
degenerated as far from the spirit of Loyola as the other from
the spirit of Luther. During three generations religion had been