mind to join the Roman Church immediately. I did what I could in warning him of the breach of clear duty he was, in my judgment, committing, by not waiting his father's return, and I, the very night before he went to be united with that Church, implored him at length, and with every argument in my power, to either postpone his intention, or at least set the whole case-his youth, his absent father, his want of reading and spiritual counsellors-before the bishop, if perchance Dr. Wareing should not see (what certainly did strongly occur to my mind) the absolute duty of waiting for his father's return to England at least. Without regarding the Roman communion with the feelings you may be supposed to entertain towards it, I do think, and always have thought, and said to my pupil, that I hold his conduct (humanly speaking) to be unjustifiable. I may add, that so far from his having been persuaded to this course, all who have known his mind on the subject, have, both by example and warning, impressed upon him the rashness and danger of hastily taking it."

Now, Sir, I am at a loss for fitting terms of condemnation with 'which to visit the conduct of this gentleman; but I trust that you will hold him up to the scorn and indignation of every honest and virtuous mind. Cognizant of every part of this youth's position, aware of the absence of his father, of his intended profession for him—the Church-he avails himself of his opportunities as his tutor, "in his ear to pour the leprous distilment," and then mocks him with pretended caution against the very course along which, without sufficient honesty, openly to embrace it himself, he has not scrupled to hurry a mere boy intrusted to his teaching. I hear that his college has dismissed this recreant son, but I think that you will agree with me that it is the bounden duty of the university, if it be anxious to retain the estimation of the public, to mark its sense of his delinquency in a more open and avowed manner than a mere private deprivation from any future pupils. As a father of a family, having the intention of committing my sons to her care, I, at least, for one, require some better assurance of their safety from pollution.

That a dignitary of a Church whose creed it is that "the end justifies the means should conduct himself as this Dr. Wareing has done, will create no surprise in the minds of the Protestant public; but they will view with just disgust and indignation the contempt of common morality exhibited by him and the other agents of Rome. Every Romanist professes the divine obligation of the decalogue, but this Dr. Wareing has clearly evidenced the hollowness of the pretence, or he would at least have admitted the "absolute duty of waiting his father's return to England," before he allowed a mere boy to decide on such a tremendous point of religious faith."

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As far as this youth is concerned the die is cast, but I trust that as regards others (and I fear that many are in extreme peril at this moment at Cambridge, which is now my only motive in addressing you) I shall not have raised my warning voice in vain.

I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

A FATHER.

MONTMORENCY.-A ROMAN CATHOLIC TALE.

(Continued from page 430.)

It may perhaps be well, before proceeding, to give a short account of Annette, since she has been frequently mentioned, and her history seems involved in mystery. Annette was born the same day, and in the same village as Lady de Montmorency, her parents had been the faithful servants of this lady's parents, and on that account the young Annette was often invited to the hall on gala days, and soon became a favourite there. When Lady de Montmorency married, Annette obtained the summit of her wishes by being chosen as her own maid, and devoted attachment on the part of a domestic was never repaid by greater kindness on the part of a mistress. Sir Hubert left with his regiment soon after his marriage; on his return he was accompanied by a young Swiss named Philippe, who had saved his life in a late engagement, and who now remained as a confidential servant. After a due acquaintance Annette was united to this Swiss, with the full approbation of her master and mistress, who made them a present of a pretty cottage, together with a garden, field, and orchard, situated at some distance from the castle, in which cottage they passed two years of uninterrupted happiness, at the expiration of which time Sir Hubert again left home, and Philippe, as had been before agreed on, accompanied him; during their absence Philippe was wounded in an engagement, and confined for some months to the hospital. This was the first sorrow Annette had experienced, and even the caresses of her infant, Pierre, failed to gladden her heart. Philippe, however, recovered, and his return home once more brought joy to his affectionate wife. In minds at all capable of serious impressions happiness can scarcely fail to awaken gratitude. After the first transports of meeting were over, Annette entreated her husband to join her in thanksgiving to the Virgin for his recovery and safe return.

"We have, indeed, cause for gratitude,” replied Philippe; "to that God who alone has preserved me be all the praise."

"Not all," said Annette, "surely some portion is due to our gracious Lady."

Philippe sighed with an expression so sad that his wife anxiously inquired the cause.

"The Holy Word of God forbids worship to be paid to a creature ; dear Annette, look not so astonished. Since we parted I have found a treasure of whose value I have hitherto been ignorant, that treasure is the Word of the living God, it shall be my guide in life, since it cheered me in the prospect of death, and only with my life will I resign it."

The task was not so difficult as Philippe had feared, to reconcile Annette to the views he now held; it pleased God to bless his efforts, and he had at length the happiness of seeing her, not only cease to oppose, but even cordially embrace them. For some time neither had courage to avow their change of opinions, and carefully concealed the fact of their having a Bible, fearing the anger of the priest.

While in this state of indecision Philippe was again summoned from VOL. VIII.-November, 1846. I I New Series, No. 11.

home; during his absence he was thrown among the Waldenses, whose bold and fearless avowal of their principles filled him with a determination no longer to shrink from avowing his own. A contagious fever breaking out in the Castle, Clara was sent for safety to the cottage of Annette, her brother having already caught the infection. Nor will it be wondered at that Annette strove to teach the infant mind of Clara those truths she now felt to be so important, at times expressing opinions so different from what she heard at home that the child exclaimed, "Annette, you say it is wicked to pray to the Virgin. Why then does my mamma do it? I must tell her what you say.”

"Dear Clara," said little Pierre, " pray do not tell, for if you do, no one will love us, and we shall not live any longer in this pretty cottage." This much perplexed the poor child, who refrained from relating anything that passed, fearing Annette would be punished. However, upon Philippe's return, he resolved no longer to be guilty of what he now felt to be idolatry, and a refusal on his part to adore the host soon drew down the displeasure of the priest. For some time arguments and persuasions were alone resorted to; when these failed, threats were used, and complaints made to Sir Hubert; Lady de Montmorency also sent for Annette, and in many interviews urged her to renounce her error and return to her duty. Annette with tears protested she would die for her mistress, but dared not displease her God. Soon all intercourse was forbidden between the children and attached nurse; still the pretty cottage was inhabited by these apostate heretics. Father Joachim for some time vainly urged Sir Hubert to proceed to extremities; Lady de Montmorency would weep and plead with him to bear with one whom as yet the Almighty bore with. Sir Hubert at last consented, the pretty cottage was taken from them, and soon after, the weeping Annette pleaded at the Castle-gate to take a last farewell of her dear mistress,-pleaded, but in vain; and soon after, expelled from their much-loved home, the banished family left the village, and took refuge among the mountains of Switzerland. And here they might have remained in safety, could they have ceased to feel pity for those yet living in the spiritual darkness they had left. Philippe had procured at some risk many copies of the Bible, which he distributed at every opportunity, urging upon his fellow-men the importance of reading that revelation by which they would be judged. Three years had now passed since they had left their home, when one dark November evening a fellow-comrade of Sir Hubert's made his appearance at the Castle-gate, and requested hospitality for the night, which was most readily granted. It was but natural that the conversation should turn on the scenes of danger and glory in which they had been mutually engaged. "How," inquired the visitor in a tone of easy carelessness, "is that honest Swiss to whom we both owe our lives, his pretty wife, and thriving children?" Sir Hubert replied, they had long left the village, and he knew not their present abode. Surprise was expressed that they should leave a comfortable home, a master and mistress to whom they professed so much attachment. In the course of the evening, Sir Hubert was called to speak to a villager. Scarcely had he quitted the room, when his friend arose, and with some agitation walked towards Lady de Montmorency, to whom he

presented a parcel, saying, in a low voice, "I am requested by your still attached Annette, to convey this to her once affectionate mistress, entreating only you will not betray her to Father Joachim, since on your secrecy, her life depends." Too much surprised to reply, she hastily concealed the packet, which contained a copy of the Bible, with a most earnest letter from Annette, imploring her beloved mistress to read it for herself. The letter also informed her of the place of their abode, entreating to receive a line, as she longed to hear of the welfare of the dear children and her honoured master and mistress. It was couched in language, touching from its very simplicity, full of gratitude, love, and humility. Poor Lady de Montmorency, none can tell what she suffered from the struggle between her feelings of tender humanity and a mistaken sense of obedience to her Church; the latter, however, prevailed. The confessional revealed all. Harassed in mind, weakened in body, she gave up the secret confided to her, she revealed the abode of Annette and Philippe : happily for her, she never knew the consequences of that betrayal. Sir Hubert, too, by nature so generous, so noble, so keenly susceptible of every kind and manly feeling, so revolting at treachery and ingratitude,-what did he? Believing from his heart that dogma of the Romish Church,-no pity must be shown, no faith be kept with heretics: ashamed, then, of criminal weakness,— he not only consented-he even sent the messenger, who, in the solitude and silence of the midnight hour, roused Philippe from his tranquil slumbers, and hurried him to the secret chambers of that tribunal, whose secret actions the last dread tribunal alone shall fully publish. Annette struggled against her sorrow, for her children bound her heart to earth; she knew, too, the martyr's crown was gained by her lamented husband; but it was too great a shock for her tender frame,-and before a year had passed, husband and wife were no longer separated, but had renewed their holy, happy intercourse in the courts above, with those who refused to worship the Beast, or receive his mark on their foreheads.

Pierre thus early left the sole guardian of his little sister, took refuge among the Alpine mountains, where, well instructed in the Waldensian faith, he promised fair to be an ornament to those simple people. But restless till he had fulfilled his mother's last commission, he prevailed on some of their friends who were travelling that way, to take him and his little sister to view the ruined home of their childhood, and to convey the richest treasure to that lovely playmate, whom nought had banished from his mind. No events of a tragic nature attended this visit; and some years after Pierre was appointed Pastor over one of the churches of the Vaudois, where he taught his flock to sing the martyr's song

"Glory to our God above,

To our murderers peace and love."

CHAPTER III.

We left Clara studying her newly-found treasure, and from thence

deriving new views of the importance of heartfelt spiritual religion. Many thoughts of a painful and perplexing nature passed her mind as she perused its sacred pages. Had she sinned in thus receiving and reading the Bible, or did her Church sin in forbidding it? Was she right in keeping from her priest and her father the fact of her having this book in her possession? the consequence of confessing it would be to lose it, and perhaps to betray Pierre. Her father, too, had been more reserved than usual since their last conversation,Father Joachim more anxious than ever to gain her confidence, while she felt less disposed to give it.

Why is it, my daughter," said he one morning, "that you are so backward to confession, you who once were never happy till all your faults were confessed to and pardoned by me?"

"Are you sorry, dear Father, I have fewer to confess; or have you noticed anything in my conduct that leads you to think my faults escape my own observation?"

"I have noticed with concern a growing indifference to those duties which our Church requires: you pass our Lady's picture, and neglect to pay the devotion due; the sign of the cross is seldom made. Look, my daughter, into your own heart, and tell me, do you not find there a growing disinclination to holy things?"

"No, indeed, dear Father," said Clara, earnestly, "I can truly say I never felt so great a love for holy things, nor so anxious a desire to please that God, whom I daily see to be more worthy of my warmest affections, my most devoted service."

"Why do you then neglect to prove the sincerity of your love by doing what God commands?"

"I strive to do all that I believe God commands, and humbly implore His pardon wherein I fail."

"How can you know what God commands but through the teaching of the Church?"

"How, indeed, Father, (said Clara, involuntarily) when the Church alone has His Word, and forbids its members to read it?"

"The Church acts most wisely as well as kindly in this; since, if a wrong use be made of that Word, what was intended to nourish the soul will be converted into poison."

"But if I ask God to teach me, will He not preserve me from fatal errors?"

"My daughter, God has provided in the Church an infallible teacher to preserve you from fatal errors."

"Does the Bible say so, Father?"

"I am not accustomed to questions like yours, nor can I commend for your present disposition, which appears to savour more of presumption than humility."

you

"Pardon me, if I have erred, but I cannot prevent thoughts like those you condemn from arising in my mind."

"You can, at least, prevent concealing them from me."

"Well, then," said Clara, with a determined effort, "I will conceal them no longer; I cannot bow before the Virgin, I cannot render that homage to her which I believe to be due to God alone, and unless