this time; to remind me of that reliance which he had always placed upon me; to remind me that he relied upon me now more than ever. For my part, although at this time I had no idea of becoming a Catholic myself, I had never felt my heart so truly and so faithfully drawn to my friend; I had never felt such a simple, earnest longing in the bottom of my soul to be true to him; to let him see, now that the clouds were beginning to gather around him, that those clouds should not be without their silver lining that the gloomy sky should not be without, at least, one star to point the weary wanderer on his way to cheer his fainting heart with pleasant, though, perhaps, but distant hopes of happier and of brighter times. It was nothing to me that he was acting, as I then thought, foolishly. It was nothing to me that he was taking steps, and involving himself in consequences, which I then could not help deeming unnecessary, and, to a certain extent, rash. I say that all these considerations had no weight, no influence, not a feather's, with me. I measured my friendship, my desire to serve my friend in no such scales as these. I was old enough, and my natural character was cold and severe enough, to protect me from being carried away by undue excitement, or unjust and unworthy enthusiasm ; but, on the other hand, I was young enough, and my heart and its affections were fresh enough, to enable me to put its kindly sympathies, and its generous instincts, above interest or mere worldly, calculating prudence. And by prudence I do not mean that becoming prudence, which must have its due weight in every action of rational and responsible man; but I mean that prudence, as it is called, which, no matter, how a man's heart may prompt him-no matter how the

generous instincts, the holy because the true and simple sympathies of nature, which must always be the better part of his manhood, yearn and crave to have their way-will not allow him to stir a finger to help a friend, because he cannot do so without sacrificing himself to some extent, or, perhaps, because he cannot approve of every shade of opinion, of every shadow in the actions of him whom he is called to assist. I repeat, and I am grateful for it, that, although at the time I did not think as he thought, I measured my friendship for him, my desire to be of service to him, iu no such scales as these. I am thankful to be able to remember that, as he hid his face between his hands, I thought only of his needs, and not of the acts by which he had involved himself in those necessities. When, after a little while, he raised his streaming eyes, and looked into my face with such a piteous, such a wan and sorrow-stricken look as might, I think, have pierced even his father's soul, I am thankful to be able to remember how all my heart went out to him in honest manliness, in pure and simple truth. When, after a little while, he repeated the terrible threats which had fallen from his father's lips, mingling, however, with them those very different words to the effect that " he that loveth father and mother more than Me, the same is not worthy of Me," and asking me whether he could turn back, whether he could act otherwise than he was acting, I am more grateful still to remember that I answered him, "No, Eustace, never turn back so long as you are sure that God is leading you. Never be a traitor to your conscience or to truth. Whatever it may cost you, be the same pure, honest, true man that I have ever known you; and, rely upon it, my dear fellow, dearer to me than ever you were be

fore, because you never before needed a true friend so much, that the Almighty hand, which has care of the sparrow on the house-top, the Almighty hand, without whose careful providence not a hair of our heads falls to the ground, will not leave you without your comfort and your support; without, sooner or later, your reward and your recompense, magna nimis, exceeding great." I am very thankful to be able to remember all these things-much more thankful, you may be sure, with the knowledge which I now possess, with the light which it pleased God to give me within so short a time of the incident which I have narrated in this chapter. It would have been a terrible thing if I had endeavoured, even by the slightest word of mine, to have turned away the mind and heart of my friend from the pursuit of God's blessed truth; and I thank God very humbly that He preserved me from so great an evil.

You will have gathered from this somewhat disconnected chapter that if we have not troubled ourselves much during the last three months with the future, it has not been because that future had not very strong and very urgent claims upon us. Those claims, strong as they were, have been put aside to make room for others stronger still. These latter ones, having had their full share of attention, have in like manner, given place in turn, so far as the paramount claims of religion can ever give place to anything else; and having endeavoured in all simplicity to discharge our duty to God, without allowing a thought of the world, or of mere worldly interest and affection to come between us and that duty; strong in our conviction that we have taken the only path that was open to us as true and honest men, stronger still in the warmth and the fervent

zeal of our new-found faith, Eustace Percy and I now stand face to face, and front to front, with the future which is before us; a future which, God knows, looks gloomy enough for both of us, but ten thousand times gloomiest for him who is the least able to bear the bitter shocks, the ruthless blows which, so far as human eye can see, it most surely has in store for him.

CHAPTER X.

A MOTHER'S LOVE-FAITHFUL EVERMORE.

E have disposed of our trifling effects, taken leave of our Oxford friends, and are just on the point of starting once again for Percy

moate. Several considerations have induced us to come to this determination. So far as I am concerned, I feel it absolutely necessary to retire for some little space from the hurry and the bustle of the world, that I may have time to think of the future, which must now be looked at once and boldly in the face, that I may have time to turn my attention to the plans which must now be contemplated and matured in all sober earnestness and reality; and where can I do this so well, or with so much freedom, as under my mother's humble but peaceful and secluded roof? Moreover, I have not seen my mother since my great change; and I feel that my duty, as well as my inclination, must of necessity lead me to her feet, that once again she may lay her hand upon my head— that once again her lips may press my brow, ere I go forth to take my part in the battle of life-a part which must now be so different from that which I had once expected to play. Eustace accompanies me, partly because he has nowhere else to go; but, principally, because I could not consent, under present circumstances, to allow him to be separated from me.