cast in one and the same mould? Certainly not; therefore that which
ought to surprise us is not that these duplicates exist here and there
upon the earth, but that they are to be met with in the same place, and
appear together before our eyes, little accustomed to see such
resemblances. From Amphitryon down to our own days, many fables have
owed their origin to this fact, and history also has provided a few
examples, such as the false Demetrius in Russia, the English Perkin
Warbeck, and several other celebrated impostors, whilst the story we now
present to our readers is no less curious and strange.

On the 10th of, August 1557, an inauspicious day in the history of
France, the roar of cannon was still heard at six in the evening in the
plains of St. Quentin; where the French army had just been destroyed by
the united troops of England and Spain, commanded by the famous Captain
Emanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy. An utterly beaten infantry, the
Constable Montmorency and several generals taken prisoner, the Duke
d'Enghien mortally wounded, the flower of the nobility cut down like
grass,--such were the terrible results of a battle which plunged France
into mourning, and which would have been a blot on the reign of Henry II,
had not the Duke of Guise obtained a brilliant revenge the following
year.

In a little village less than a mile from the field of battle were to be
heard the groans of the wounded and dying, who had been carried thither
from the field of battle. The inhabitants had given up their houses to
be used as hospitals, and two or three barber surgeons went hither and
thither, hastily ordering operations which they left to their assistants,
and driving out fugitives who had contrived to accompany the wounded
under pretence of assisting friends or near relations. They had already
expelled a good number of these poor fellows, when, opening the door of a