“Excuse me, Miss Smithson, but I will not read the books you mention. I have read the lives of the Reformers, as written by historians of undoubted veracity, and historical accounts of the Reformation, from the pens of impartial narrators. I believe the Reformers to have been men of like passions with others, and but lately emerged from a state of great darkness; but, as far as the weakness and infirmities of human nature, and the partial obscurity of remaining error, would allow, sincerely desirous to pro mote the glory of God, and to glorify Him themselves by a holy life and conversation. But, even supposing they had all been as worthless as you would insinuate, and as I confess Henry the Eighth was, that circumstance would in no wise affect the truth of Protestantism; for it is not founded on the character of its promoters, but on the sure word of God."

A laugh of derision was, for some time, Miss Smithson's only answer. At length she offered to lend Emily Bossuet's "Character of the Catholic Religion," which, she was sure, could hardly fail of convincing her.

"I have read," replied Emily, "a work which, I suppose, is very similar,Le Génie du Christianisme,' by that celebrated and highly talented author, Châteaubriand; but all the splendor of his eloquence has failed to convince me of the truth of his assertions, or the solidity of his reasoning. It was lent me by Madame Dorville, in the hope that it might produce an impression favorable to your church; but it only served to show me how dangerous is the system, which he so warmly and so ingeniously advocates."

"You Protestants are all unreasonable," exclaimed Miss Smithson, impatiently, "you look at everything through the colored spectacles of partiality and prejudice.”

I am willing," replied Emily, "to read anything in the shape of temperate argument, provided it is supported by scripture evidence; but, without that, I will admit no assertion, however bold or positive. Will you examine the subject with me, by the light of that unerring guide?"

This proposal Miss Smithson scornfully declined, and then proceeded to rail against the Protestant religion, its doctrines, and its ministers, in terms so unmeasured, so violent and abusive, that Emily was at length obliged to stop her.

"Miss Smithson," she said, with mild, but firm dignity, "in every conversation we have had on this subject, I have studied to express myself in the most respectful terms I could possibly ap ply to your religion; I have carefully avoided every word that could give you offence, or wound your feelings, even in the slightest degree. You must, therefore, excuse me, if I remind you, that I have a right to expect the same delicacy from you, and that I cannot listen to such language as you are now using. Allow

me, also, to say, that invective is not argument, and that violence is always a sign of a weak or a bad cause."

This rebuke, for the present, checked Miss Smithson's volubility; but she renewed her attacks with such frequency and vehemence, that Lydia one day told her "if her object was to make converts, she did not employ the proper method to attain it."

In the meantime, the influence of the nuns over Caroline seemed daily to increase. Emily and Lydia now saw her but seldom, and she sedulously avoided all conversation with them. How far she herself conformed to the idolatrous practices of the house, it was not easy to ascertain; but it was quite evident that she concurred with the nuns in subjecting her two younger sisters to all the tyranny of popish observances. To add to these causes of uneasiness, no news whatever were received from Mr. Howard; and, though Caroline was too much absorbed b, other subjects to bestow much thought on this unaccountable silence of her father, the anxiety of Emily and Lydia began to assume the tone of serious alarm. Again the former wrote, in terms, if possible, still more pressing; and they awaited the success of this third application, with feelings amounting almost to agony.

The only enjoyment that now remained to them, was the privilege of hearing the gospel at the chapel on the Sunday morning, and sometimes spending an hour afterwards with Major and Mrs. Fortescue. These were opportunities which they highly prized, and no opposition had as yet been made to their going; but Caroline now began to absent herself from the Protestant services, and to keep Henrietta and Julia also away, under various pretexts.

On

Mrs. Fortescue called occasionally to see them at the grate; but their conversations were never suffered to be long, and were generally interrupted by the entrance of some of the nuns. one of these occasions, la mère Saint Euphrasie informed that lady that, as she had long expressed a wish to witness the ceremony of taking the veil, she might soon have this desire gratified, as there were soon to be admitted two new sisters,-the one to take the white or novice's veil, the other the black.

Mrs. Fortescue thanked the nun for her information, and, as that day was to be a grand holiday in the house, requested that her young friends might be permitted to spend it with her. This permission was granted by the supérieure, but Caroline declined the invitation, alleging that she wished to pass the day with Sophie. It was, therefore, settled that Emily should join Mrs. Fortescue in the chapel on that morning, and, after witnessing the ceremony, they should take Lydia, Henrietta, and Julia, with them to the Major's pleasant residence.

The nun who was to make what is called her profession, or, in other words, to assume the black veil, the symbol of perpetual seclusion, was about thirty years of age, and was called lasœur Ma

rie. Emily had often seen her among the novices, though she had never spoken to her; but who the other intended nun was, no one but the supérieure seemed to know. Great preparations were making for the exhibition; the nuns were all busily employed, some about the chapel, some about the altar, and sister Marie her self underwent a long course of fastings, prayers, and mortifications, some self-inflicted, others prescribed by the confessor, by way of preparation for the approaching event. The chapel was tastefully ornamented with flowers, wax tapers, and everything costly that the community could command. The altar was decorated with several beautiful specimens of gold and silver embroidery, and Sophie's time was much taken up with practising on the organ a splendid piece of music, in which she was to be accompanied by the voices of the whole sisterhood.

Great curiosity was excited, by the uncertainty that prevailed with regard to the person who was to perform the other part in this melancholy drama; but the supérieure was not communicative, and the whole affair remained involved in mystery. On the evening preceding the ceremony, however, a travelling-carriage stopped at the convent-gate, and a young lady was handed out by an elderly gentleman, who, after taking a formal leave of her, reentered the vehicle, and immediately departed. The stranger was conducted to a room which had been prepared for her, and was not seen again that evening by any but the supérieure, who had a very long interview with her. Nothing was known concerning her, except that she came from Tours, was unaccompanied by a single relative or friend, and a total stranger in the place which was now to be her residence for life. Even her face had not been seen, for it was shrouded in a long mourning veil.

Early on the ensuing morning the whole convent was in a bustle. The two future nuns were at the confessional by break of day, and after a long interview with the priest, again retired to their rooms. The stranger was then attended by the nuns appointed to dress her for the occasion, and the sisters who took charge of the school were also employed in attiring the boarders, that they might form a pleasing group in the pageant.

Emily repaired to the chapel about eight o'clock, and was soon after joined by Major and Mrs. Fortescue, with whom she remained in conversation for some time, during which time the chapel gradually filled with English gentlemen and ladies, whom curiosity had drawn to witness the ceremony. There were a few French persons behind, but they were generally of the lowest class of society. Emily and Mrs. Fortescue stationed themselves near the railings in front of the altar, and awaited the entrance of the procession with feelings of lively interest.

At last, some of those children known by the name of enfants de chœur, appeared from the inner room, and began to strew the

space around the altar with rose-leaves, from baskets which were suspended round their necks by rose-colored ribbons. They were dressed in a kind of white surplice, with a girdle of ribbon.

They were followed by several priests, with their acolytes, who ranged themselves round the altar; after which, the door of the ante-chœur, or nuns' inner chapel, was opened, and the voices of the sisterhood were heard, chanting a hymn, as they slowly entered in procession. They had lighted tapers in their hands, and, with their peculiar dress, and long flowing veils, presented a striking coup-d'œil, the effect of which was not a little heightened by the music. The novices came behind, and after them the boarders. Every nun bent the knee for a moment on the lower step of the altar, and they then seated themselves round it. The two candidates for the veil were then brought forward, and placed in the midst, exactly in front of the altar. Every eye was instantly fixed upon them. Sister Marie, however, attracted but little attention; her look was calm, her demeanor composed, and it was evident that the step she was about to take was the result of deliberate choice.

But not so the young stranger who was on the point of becoming a novice. She had, from the first, excited much curiosity, and that feeling was now converted into one of painful interest. She was an elegant young woman of two-and-twenty, and attired as a bride, in a white muslin dress, a cap tastefully ornamented with satin and ribbon, and a large and rich lace veil, which was thrown over her head. Her fine dark hair was braided on her forehead, and a boquet of rosebuds had been placed in her hand. But all this finery only served to render more striking the death-like paleness of her cheek, and the expression of deep and hopeless anguish on her countenance. She had not long been seated before the altar, when the supérieure, perceiving that she was near fainting, found it necessary to have her re-conducted into the antechaur, where she remained till she was sufficiently recovered to return to the chapel. When at length she was again supported to her place, the hearts of the Protestant spectators were deeply affected by her appearance. There was not the slightest tinge of color in her face, and the livid whiteness of her quivering lips denoted the most distressing agitation. She seemed scarcely conscious of what she did, and looked indeed like the helpless victim adorned for a sacrifice.

Several priests were in attendance, but it was the confessor of the convent on whom devolved the duty of performing the ceremony. He was an Irishman, of the name of Saville, and of a peculiarly stern and unprepossessing countenance. He now began to celebrate the gorgeous ceremony of the mass, with all its pomp and splendor, and undisguised idolatry. At its conclusion, a sermon was preached to the two candidates, in which much

false reasoning and unscriptural doctrine was employed, to con vince them, and the spectators, that the step they were now tak ing was a highly meritorious one, and would most certainly ensure them uninterrupted happiness on earth, and a reward of transcendent glory in heaven.

When this specious oration was finished, Sister Marie was conducted by the supérieure to the altar, and kneeling on the lowest step, was addressed by the priest in Latin. As the act of taking the vows is considered in the light of a marriage, and the victim as the bride of the Lord Jesus Christ, in order to keep up the blasphemous idea, she is provided with two bride's-maids. This office was performed by Ellen Wilton and Fanny Lowe, dressed in white, with rose-colored ribbons, and large boquets of flowers. They stood on each side of her, while she repeated the vow of poverty, chastity, and obedience, that irrevocable vow which bound her to perpetual seclusion, and separated her for ever from all the social ties and endearing charities of life.

The priest then blessed the black veil, which was lying on a table before him, and the supérieure placed it on her head, substituting it for the novice's white one, which was now laid aside. After this, many prayers were chanted and recited, the priest blessed her several times, and the organ sent forth its sweetest tones, to welcome the new nun to her joyless sphere of exist

ence.

She then laid herself down at the foot of the altar, and a funeral pall was thrown over her, to signify that she was entirely dead to the world, and to all the relations of society. Two burning wax tapers were placed at her head, and two at her feet, in the manner done to a corpse, and her two little bride's maids strewed the pall all over with roses.. While she lay in this posture, perfectly motionless, and shrouded in the pall, the sisterhood sang her funeral hymn in Latin, in tones so sweetly mournful, accompanied by the thrilling notes of the organ, now swelling in solemn majesty of sound, then gradually sinking into strains of plaintive melody, that every ear was fascinated, and every eye moistened with the tears of excited feeling. At the end of about ten minutes, the music seemed to die away in a lengthened cadence of exquisite softness, and a short pause ensued, during which the audience appeared scarcely to breathe. The new nun was then assisted to rise from her death-like posture; the organ made the chapel resound with a triumphant anthem of joy, in which the deep voices of the priests joined the softer strains of the female singers; and sister Marie was conducted by the supérieure to take her place among the sisterhood.

The whole of this performance was evidently intended, and certainly well calculated, to captivate the senses, and produce a pow. erful impression on the mind, in favor of the Popish church in