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She will rage, as Father Lovel used to hear her, against us: but her brother will not endure it; they will part company, if we do not find some means of gaining her, too, and so comprise the whole family in the net of salvation. Even should they part enemies, much as we shall regret it, such things must be ; did not Christ come to throw a sword among men ?

“My opinion is, that Mr. Devigne will recover; but we must hasten the accomplishment, lest returning health should re-establish his former perversity: He

appears to be a very sensual man. “ The woman still loves him intensely; but struggles, seemingly, to overcome the feeling; and is very assiduous in prayer, and all pious duties. We cannot be too thankful for the providential ordination that she was a Catholic. Thus, his crime in first leading her astray will ultimately lead both to salvation, and promote the cause of religion. So mysteriously is virtue dependent on vice, and sometimes vice on virtue.

“I suppose you have been apprised of our enemy's destruction. We have thus nothing to fear in the case of Madame ; in which matter there was every chance of his terrible interference.

“I received the intelligence from Mr. Devigne, quoting his son's letter. How providential ! One grand obstacle to our enterprise is now removed. The only chance of extricating the youth from that counter-influence, was his speedy departure for Rome; this I urged very forcibly on the father,



expatiating on the disreputable character of the libertine. Mr. Devigne told me to calm my fears, 'for,' said he, Valremy is no more — killed in a duel.' I turned the intelligence to good account, and brought it home to the patient, by forcibly dwelling on the awful judgments of Heaven on impenitence. My exhortation had a deep effect; he trembled all over. I expect good results from that holy fear in which I left him.

“His controversial reading, under my direction, seems to have almost decided his mind; but 't is his sensuality that presents the main obstacle. Disease commonly changes the heart in that respect; we may hope for the result; if not, we must try other means; for his conversion is of paramount importance in the main enterprise. Should he once declare himself a Catholic, all will be well; for I shall suggest the publication of his “Reasons for becoming a Catholic;' and that being done, the man, such as I know him to be, will be ashamed to fall off, though he may continue his evil practices. The former is necessary for our enterprise, the latter only a contingent misfortune.

“ So far, all is well, I trust; and I remain, very Reverend Father,

Your very obedient,

Very humble servant,


P.S.-We shall have it all our own way in this part of the country. The neighbouring clergyman’



I was ;

is a breeder of race-horses.' 'He called yesterday,' said Mr. Devigne to me, but he only inquired how

he left his card.' See how these shepherds care for their flocks! See how these physicians of the soul visit their sick!

“ I need not add to this.”





MR. Devigne has passed a wretched night.

It is now morning. The day is gloomy, cold, and wet. The rain dashes against the panes of the windows fitfully, ever and anon startling the sick man by its sudden pattering. He is restless.

There has been a tempest-another is gathering. Soon the lightning flashes; the thunder shakes the firmament.

The agitation of the sick man increases. The wildness of his glance shows that inward terrors are more dreadful than the strife of the elements. Trembling with bodily fear -- a prey to ghostly horrors, he turns from side to side, and cannot escape ; he starts suddenly, sits for a moment, then falls on his pillow, gasping, exhausted.

He is alone.

How is it that his whole life is now mapped, pictured before the eyes of his conscience — that conscience of late so weak, and now so strongstrong as death battling for the mastery.

He is alone.




How is it that his memory with inconceivable velocity, darts from the present to his earliest childhood, gathering the spoils of conscience, and dashes them as they were, as they are, before its shuddering eyes, saying, “Behold thy deeds!"

He is alone.

And now the angel of Death-hideous Death, beckons him away, and points to an imaged cataract beneath his feet-a cataract, whose breadth without end is smooth as molten glass, slippery, rounded ; tumbling down, down, down, with the roar of many

waters. He is alone. And beyond that brink.

Oh! who will come to console him—to be with him in his fearful trouble?

Friends of his youth,-companions of his manhood, - ye who shared his pleasure, — will ye not come and make him strong to meet his enemy?

His worthy sister.

Why is she not beside him to whisper faith, to inspire hope, to defend him from despair and the terrors of unbelief?

He is alone.

No; his “friend and comforter," Father Percival, is come.

To the bed-side he walked, pressed the sick man's hand so gently; wiped the big drops of reeking sweat from his forehead, and in accents of sweetest compassion, whispered,

“My dear friend; you are worse, I fear.”

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