had never done before, and I felt as if I should have liked to have gone over to him, if I had dared, and take his hand, and tell him how much I sympathized with him in his heavy sorrow, and how I hated the vile Papists who had stolen his son away from him; and I am even afraid that if the Popish squire, to whom I have already alluded, had crossed my path at this time, I should once more have raised my voice against him, spite of the good resolutions which I made upon a former occasion.

In due season the rector ascended the pulpit. I was watching him very closely at the time, and it seemed to me that he cast a very anxious and perplexed look in the direction of the seat occupied by his wife. However, I had barely time to notice this, ere he commenced his discourse. I had often heard him preach before, but I had never heard a word bearing upon controversy drop from his lips. His ordinary sermons were certainly the very driest dissertations upon the most trite subjects; and his curate was a faithful imitator of his superior. But on this occasion we were evidently in for something very different. There was an unusual tremor in the rector's voice, and his face was very pale, as he commenced his discourse by remarking that recent events of a painful and very dreadful nature imposed upon him the obligation of warning his flock against the aggressions and the deadly cunning of the false and idolatrous Church of Rome. These words were scarcely out of his mouth when, to the intense astonishment of every one in the church, his wife rose from her seat and swept down the aisle with a step that would have become an empress, it was so haughty and defiant. Her lady's maid hurried after her; but, as she returned in a moment, it was

evident that it was not indisposition which had caused the rector's wife to leave the church in this strange and abrupt manner. The rector turned paler still as his wife passed out of the church; but he quickly recovered himself and delivered his discourse-a discourse, the effect of which I can fairly say was very small, when compared to that produced by the inexplicable conduct of his wife. I need scarcely add that this event was the subject for a nine days' wonder to the villagers of Atherby, and one which caused the tongues of the village gossips to wag very freely. I never heard it explained. ‘I know that the common impression was that the rector's wife had once been a Catholic, and had changed her religion when she married him. Others went so far as to insinuate that she had never changed her religion at all, but that she had merely given up the practice of it, being all the while a "Papist" in her heart. For her own sake I trust that there was no truth in these reports; but I am afraid they had some foundation. I am afraid she had sacrificed truth to interest, that she had bartered heaven for earth. Perchance, like other apostates, she had never lost her faith, and this faith had, spite of herself, risen up and asserted its dominion-had spoken to her with that voice which may be stifled for a time, but which can never be destroyed, and, working upon her strong will, and her naturally unbending disposition, had caused her to act as she did when her husband proceeded to vilify and traduce that religion which, no matter how she might have prevaricated from it, in her inmost heart she knew and believed to be the only true one. I am ignorant of her subsequent history, for she and the rector left Atherby the day after this famous sermon, and I

left for good and all in the course of a few weeks, and before they had returned If it were true that she was either an apostate or a woman who stifled truth and the dictates of her conscience for mere worldly motives, I hope and pray that she returned to the paths of duty and religion ere it was too late. I hope and pray that she went in humble sorrow and contrition to look for peace, and rest, and full forgiveness, where they could alone be found.

66

I have troubled my reader with these, perhaps, somewhat uninteresting details, because they contain the history of my first knowledge of, and acquaintance with, the Catholic religion. I may say that I had never heard of it before these events. Of course, I knew that there were a few people scattered here and there who were known as Papists," and who were to be shunned by every one; for, in my young days, the word "Papist was synonymous with idolatry, persecution, thumb-screws, visions of Guy Fawkes, and everything that was horrible. events which I have related first brought this tabooed and dreaded religion home to me as a palpable and existent fact, and I need scarcely add, that the circumstances through which it was thus brought under my notice, were not of a nature to remove my prejudices, or render me more favourably disposed towards it. I have also mentioned these things for another reason, which I will as briefly as possible relate to you.

The

As soon as the service was over on this memorable occasion, Tom Bowman, Eustace Percy, and myself began eagerly to discuss the events of the day. I don't intend to trouble you with an account of our sayings, which, doubtless, were more novel and wild than sapient. Whilst Eustace was inclined to side

with the young man who had " turned Papist," and to hold that every one had a right to do as he liked in the matter of religion, I remember that I was very loud in my denunciations of Popery and everything connected with it; although I cannot remember that I brought forward any very solid arguments to support my empty denunciations; in this respect imitating the example of many eloquent orators (and especially on religious matters) both of ancient and modern times. Although I have just said that the three of us began eagerly to discuss this matter, this is scarcely correct, for I remarked that Tom was unusually silent. Reticence, or backwardness in giving his opinion, was not one of Tom's usual failings; but, on this occasion, he said very little, and that little was expressed in cautious, hesitating words, very different from his usual blunt outspokenness. I remember that I was puzzled at this; and, at last, after making some more than usually offensive remark about the Papists, I appealed directly to Tom to support the opinions which I had advanced. Fancy our astonishment when Tom, blushing to the very roots of his hair, not merely refused to add his testimony to mine (on a matter of which I knew nothing), but absolutely went on to declare that he was half a Papist himself, and that he would listen to no more of my abuse of people of whom I was completely ignorant. I saw Eustace give one great start as the strange tidings fell upon his ear, and then he took Tom's hand in both his own. For an instant I felt a strong impulse to answer Tom in hot and angry words, but I stifled my resentment, and took his other hand in

mine.

"Tom, my dear old fellow," I said, "I didn't

know of this, or else I would not have spoken as I did. I didn't mean to offend you; indeed, I didn't; and, if I have annoyed you, I beg your pardon with all my heart," and I pressed his hand more warmly than ever.

Tom returned the hearty grasp of my hand, and I think I saw the tears come into his eyes, but, for a moment or two, he did not attempt to answer me. At length he led us over to a bench in a retired part of the grounds, and when we were seated under a tree, Tom began to speak to us in hot and impulsive words.

"I am sorry I have said so much," he said, "but I know that I can trust you, and so I will even say a little more. I know it's a shame for me to have kept this from you so long, because there ought to be no secrets between such friends as we are; but I didn't like to tell you, as I was afraid you mightn't think so well of me if you knew that I had any Popish blood in me," he continued, in a lower voice, and turning his head a little away from us, especially from me. However, I again took one of his hands in mine, and presently he went on. "Besides, you know," he said, half apologetically, "I'm not a Papist; I never said I was; but I'll tell you just how it is. My poor mother was a Catholic, and as long as she lived she brought me up in her own religion. She was the dearest mother in the world," continued poor Tom, big tears rolling down his cheeks the while; "and as long as she was alive my father never interfered with her, but allowed her to do as she wished with me. Soon after she died my father took his Indian appointment, and sent me to Atherby school. Before I came, he told me that I could do as I wished in regard to religion, but that,