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ancient altar, and Lydia proposed that they should read aloud a chapter from the Bible.

"These old walls," she said, "have never echoed to the sound of the gospel; let its sacred voice now be heard within_them. There is, to me, something delightful in the idea. Do, Emily, lend me your pocket-bible."

The whole party smiled at this fanciful suggestion; but it was not opposed; and Lydia read aloud the fourth chapter of the first epistle to Timothy, in which the hand of inspiration has briefly sketched some of the distinguishing features of the Romish apostacy. She then turned to the eighth of the Romans, and read also that beautiful exposition of sacred truth and Christian privileges. Her auditors were rapt in silent awe, for there was a feeling of melancholy, yet elevating solemnity, connected with the sound of the gospel in that spot. It struck on their hearts like the voice of an accusing witness, and painful was the conviction, that every word uttered was a sentence of fearful condemnation against the false and soul-deluding religion whose idolatrous rites were daily performed in that place.

Lydia finished her reading, and exclaimed, as she rose from her rude seat,

"Well, Emily, the gospel has now been heard within this ancient pile, and heard, I suppose for the first time, in its pure and unmixed simplicity. What would the village-priest say, could he know what we have been doing? I presume he would think the inquisition itself scarcely sufficient punishment for our temerity. But the time may come, when the gospel shall again resound, even amidst these time-honored walls."

"And the time will certainly come," replied Emily, "when that blessed gospel shall triumph over all the delusions of Popery, and every other error; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.""

They now left the church, and rejoined their party, some of whom were amu themselves on the lawn, while others were exploring the devious windings of a beautiful little labyrinth. After a collation under the trees, Madame d'Elfort assembled all her company together, and led them away from the grounds, to examine an ancient fortification in the neighborhood. The charsà-banc were to take them up at this spot; but what was the consternation of the governess, and the terror of the pupils, when it became but too evident to every one that the drivers were, without one single exception, in a state of most alarming inebriety! Emily had been requested, in the morning, to take charge of the young ladies in her vehicle; but she now trembled at the responsibility of the task, with a drunken woman for their charioteer.

To add to her agitation, almost all the English girls crowded round her, tumultuously declaring that they dreaded the danger

of the journey with such conductors, and that they would go in no vehicle but Miss Mortimer's. Emily felt that there was, in fact, considerable hazard in the trajet, for they had to pass a narrow bridge over a river, with no railings or parapet on either side; it was already becoming dusk, and the night must close in, long be fore they could reach the town; and, to add to the danger, their way lay across a part of the sea-shore, which was perfectly safe at low water, but rendered peculiarly perilous by the rapid and violent return of the tide. The passage might, indeed, be avoided, by taking a circuitous route; but their drivers were not in a state, either to judge of the practicability of passing the water, or listen to the suggestions of prudence, by taking the longest road. The Protestant girls, in their terror, clung to Emily, with that instinctive trust, which even the most careless and unthinking always feel, in one whom they think more pious than themselves. They all considered Emily as a Christian,-a child of God; and, though some of them might often ridicule her, as being "righteous overmuch," they considered themselves much safer with her, than with any one else. Thus it is that the world often pays an involuntary homage to Christian principle, and that the "still small voice" of conscience bears an undeniable testimony to the blessedness and security of the Christian.

It was impossible, however, for Emily to take all the applicants into her charette; and Madame d'Elfort, anxious to depart, hurried them into different vehicles, with an authority that was not to be resisted. By this arrangement, two French girls were left to Emily, besides five English, among whom were Lydia, Helen, and Eliza Kaimes. Their journey was anything but agreeable, owing to the insane freaks of their female driver. Twenty times did they see themselves on the point of being overturned, and the screams of the terrified girls completely bewildered Emily. She had the greatest trouble to prevent their springing out, which, under existing circumstances, would have been highly perilous. They had been galloping at such a rate, that they were now nearly a mile from the rest of the party; and Emily, feeling thus uncountenanced and unprotected, in a situation which threatened every moment to be productive of some serious accident, became so nervous and agitated, that it was only by a strong effort, accompanied by fervent mental prayer for divine support and direction, that she was enabled to recover some degree of self-possession. In vain did she speak to the unhappy woman, and entreat her to moderate her speed, that the others might rejoin them: the madness of intoxication, and the desire to show the superiority of her horse and her driving, rendered her insensible to all remonstrances.

It is needless to say, that Emily was greatly alarmed, and even more so on account of her companions than herself. The terror of some of these poor girls amounted to agony, and, with the na


tural impulse of an awakened conscience, they had recourse to calling upon God, Emily, in the midst of her agitation, could not but remark the volubility with which the two French girls were repeating their Latin orisons. She heard Louisa Belville ask her companion, "How many paters and aves she had said?" Fourteen;" answered Amélie de Brisac. "And I sixteen," rejoined Louise; upon which they both resumed, with increased rapidity those "vain repetitions" which the God they sought to propitiate has so expressly forbidden. Emily thought of the inspired declaration of Isaiah,-" Lord, in trouble have they visited thee; they poured out a prayer when thy chastening was upon them." One or two of the English girls were also earnestly, though more quietly, engaged in repeating the Lord's Prayer and the Apostles' Creed, and seemed as unconscious that the latter was not a petition, as the others were that the words they uttered in an unknown tongue could not constitute prayer. She glanced at Helen and Lydia who sat on each side of her. They were pale, but calm, and their upraised eyes spoke of fervent, though silent supplication.

They now approached that part of the road which crossed the narrow bridge, and Emily could not repress a shudder. Those who sat behind could not see the dangerous pass, owing to the chars-à-banc being covered, and the night having already closed in; and an expressive glance from Emily told her two friends that it was necessary to keep this knowledge from the others, who would certainly, in the frenzy of their terror, have jumped out, in spite of all remonstrance; an action which would, almost inevitably, have been attended with dreadful consequences, as they could only get out in front, and the furious speed at which they were driven rendered such an attempt perilous to the last degree. Emily laid her hand on the arm of the wretched woman, and, in a low voice, implored her to moderate her horse's pace, at least till they had passed the bridge. A wild laugh, however, was her only answer, and she lashed the poor animal, with frantic violence, to increase its speed. A look of unutterable meaning was exchanged between the three friends; not a word was spoken, but their arms were linked in each other, with almost the energy of a deathclasp; and not a breath was drawn, till they had been whirled, with frightful rapidity, but still without any accident, across the dreaded bridge.

A mutual embrace, mingled with tears of gratitude and rapture, was the first expression of their feelings, at this providential escape; but Emily's anxiety and agitation had been so intense, that she was now completely exhausted, and laying her head on Lydia's shoulder, to still its agonized throbbings, she closed her eyes in a kind of half swoon.

In the meantime, the over-fatigued horse had stopped, in spite

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of his infuriated driver, and no blows could induce him to proceed. This favorable circumstance enabled the other vehicles to come up with them, and Madame d'Elfort's uneasiness was relieved, by the assurance that they had sustained no injury. Their troubles, however, were not yet ended, for three of the drivers now began to quarrel and fight among themselves, and the frantic woman, whom intoxication had rendered more ungovernable than the men, after disfiguring with her nails the face of one antagonist, in utter disregard of all attempts to stop the fray, completed her triumph, as she thought, by applying the whip to the back of her exhausted horse, and compelling it to resume its former gallop with the same insensate fury. The terror of the poor gir.s was almost as great as before; but the eye of a merciful Providence watched over their safety; and though the wretched woman, in defiance of their renewed entreaties, refused to take the safe, circuitous road, which led to the gates of S-, and dashed, with reckless temerity, and in the dark, across the dangerous beach, their alarm was dissipated by observing that the tide, though rather higher than they could have wished, was not sufficiently so to impede their passage. The other drivers followed the example, and the party at length found themselves safely deposited at Madame d'Elfort's gate, after a day in which enjoyment had been dearly paid for, by the most intense anxiety, and terror. Madame d'Elfort was ill the next day, from the uneasiness she had endured; and it was some time before Emily could recover from the nervous excitement, produced by her over-wrought feelings.



If ye suffer for righteousness' sake, happy are ye; and be not afraid of their terror, neither be troubled.-1 PETER iii. 14.

SEVERAL of the Roman Catholic boarders were preparing to attend the celebration of the Eucharist, and Rose, who was among the number, seemed now more reserved, and, at the same time, more dejected, than Emily had ever yet seen her. Her sympathy for this amiable girl was of the tenderest kind, and Rose's affection for her was in nowise diminished; but a seal, a painful seal was on

the lips of both, and their conversations insensibly became less and less frequent.

Emily was walking in the garden, engaged in lonely musing, when she found herself unexpectedly close to her friend, who was sitting alone at work in one of the arbors. It was impossible not to say something, and she approached, and greeted her with an affectionate smile. Rose replied to it by a silent embrace, but her eyes were full of tears. Emily did not venture to inquire their cause, but, fixing her eyes on her friend's work, a pretty, simple, French cap, which she was tastefully ornamenting with white ribbons, she asked, without well knowing what she said, for what purpose it was intended?

"To wear at the holy communion," replied Rose. "I presume you are aware that we take off our bonnets."

"No," replied Emily," I did not know it; but tell me, dear Rose, do you receive the sacrament as many together as can kneel around the altar, as we Protestants do, and as the children did at the première communion; or is any other arrangement adopted, in ordinary cases?

"I cannot tell you, Miss Mortimer."

"Cannot !-will you allow me to ask why?

"You know we must not converse on the subject of religion," observed Rose, evidently doing violence to her feelings.

"But my question, dear Rose, relates only to a matter of outward form; it was simply dictated by curiosity, and certainly involves no doctrine of your church."

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"Perhaps not, Emily, but I must not talk with you on any subJect which is connected with religion, even in the remotest degree. I am forbidden to do so."

"You astonish me, Rose! from whom can so unreasonable a prohibition come?"

"Ask me no questions, I entreat you, my dear, dear friend; for I cannot answer them, and you do not know how painful it is to me to refuse you."

As Rose uttered these words, she took up her work, and, with a countenance expressive of the most touching sorrow, walked slowly away, and re-entered the house. Emily, of course, did not attempt to follow her, but she heaved a bitter sigh of regret and disappointment, and mentally breathed a prayer for her afflicted friend. It was evident that Rose's conscientious discharge of whatever she had been taught to consider a duty, had led her to acquaint her confessor with every particular of their friendly in tercourse, and every conversation which had occurred between them; and the priest, with the jealous circumspection enjoined by his principles, had thought it necessary to guard his young charge against danger, by exerting his authority, and restricting their intimacy within the narrowest possible bounds.

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