"I shall not be angry with you for defending that people," I answered -"since my parents were of their number: but I have heard many things against them. In the mean time, let me caution you about talking thus; for it is very dangerous. A poor man, living not far from us, was yesterday stretched on the rack for saying that the Church was not infallible." "I have only given their opinions," returned Antoinette with a sigh -"but what an atmosphere of bigotry and intolerence have you breathed! You may yet become a bigot without knowing it—and then alas!"— Here her utterance was choked. She hid her face with her hands, and sobbed aloud.

Grieved and surprised, I exclaimed: "Surely, Antoinette, you are not well! To what cause must I attribute this unusual emotion? Have I said or done any thing"

"No, no, Edouard," interrupted she hastily: "you have ever treated me tenderly; but I tremble for the future. My happiness depends upon you; and I sometimes fear that the influence of those with whom you live will blast the fair prospect that has risen up before me. Indeed! I have expected too much of you. Had you lived with your parents, how different would have been your-your-your way of-thinking!"

"Antoinette!" cried I, starting up-"do you know what interpretation I must put upon your words? My parents-my way of thinking! You just now feared I should become a bigot, but are not the Hugenots the worst of bigots-bigoted in favor of heresy! I can look with a charitable eye upon the errors of such as have been led away from the true rock, by crafty heretics, and I cannot esteem those whose conduct is immoral, however zealous they may be in the performance of holy rites: but I cannot approve those errors which involved my poor parents in ruin, and which have given so much pain to the Holy Father at Rome. Do you not know that if I had been brought up by my parents, I might have been a heretic also; and then, dear Antoinette, what would your parents have said to our union? Then you would have spurned me with disdain, and would never have perilled your soul by conversing with me!"

"Oh, no, Edouard!" replied she with energy-"no difference of opinion would have alienated my heart from you. So that you possessed those high and noble feelings which first won my admiration, I should scarcely have noticed the difference in our creed."

I looked scrutinizingly at Antoinette. She met my gaze fully, and I read nothing in her clear bright eyes, but the utmost simplicity and candor. "Can you be in earnest?" said I. "You do then carry love too far. I have heard of those who would risk their lives, and lose them too, for a beloved object; but the soul, Antoinette! No one should trifle with his soul's salvation; and there is but one road to Paradise."

Antoinette burst into tears. I saw that she was very unhappy; but I thought her unreasonable to make so much ado about such a trifle; and even felt a little vexed that she should seem to insist upon my being so extremely tolerant as herself.

Soon after the foregoing conversation, we parted; but not as we had been wont to part. We separated in gloom and tears. It was the first time that any thing had happened to mar the pleasure which I had experienced in the company of Antoinette: and I could not avoid regarding

her as the originator of the unpleasant events which had brought up a cloud in our horizon.

Ought she to have wept, and thus given me pain, because I could not regard heretics with a favorable eye? I found no fault with her for doing So. But did she really expect to control me with her tears? Ought she to indulge in such wilfulness? I asked myself these questions, and they added to my distress. I was sad and moody when I reached my uncle's door. I perceived that visitors were in the house; and my aunt came out soon, with an unusually smiling face, to lead me into the room where they were. The company consisted of a Mr. Bloise, with his lady and daughter. I had frequently heard my aunt speak of this family; and the language which she used respecting them, intended for high praise, had prejudiced me much against them. Their personal appearance was not calcu lated to enhance their merit in my eyes. They all bore a near resemblance to each other. The daughter, though but nineteen years of age, looked as old as her parents. The freshness of youth appeared to have been withered up by bigotry; and if the face was an index of the mind, then indeed she must have possessed a heart devoid of every generous feeling. I turned my eyes away from a countenance so revolting, and took my seat at a distance from the group. The conversation turned upon the state of religion in France. The Hugenots were censured in unmeasured terms, and Mr. Bloise boasted that he had been instrumental in bringing more than a dozen of them to condign punishment. My aunt smiled applause, as he described the tortures to which the heretics had been subjected; and the daughter even had the assurance to look in my face with a smile of triumph, as if she expected that she should recommend herself to me, by a show of malignant joy at the bloody persecutions of her fellow-creatures. Throughout the evening my aunt evidently desired to bring us together. She caused me to move my seat nearer to Maria, for that was the name of the daughter; and at supper her chair was placed next to mine. In spite of all this finesse and maneuvering, but few words passed between me and Maria; and when she and her parents left the house, late in the evening, we had made but few advances toward an acquaintanceship. On the next morning, at the breakfast table, my uncle abruptly asked me how I was pleased with Miss Bloise. I replied evasively, that I had not been enough in her company to form an opinion of her char

acter.

"That you did not need," cried my aunt, "you had heard her character before she came here. Your uncle would know how you are pleased with her manners and appearance."

"Of course, she is not handsome," replied I.

"Not handsome!" exclaimed my aunt"What may then be your ideas of beauty? You chance to differ in opinion from not only me and your uncle, but also father Lomonde, father Costelli, and father Jaques, who have all declared that her face and form were of so etherial a mould that they❞—

"Not handsome, boy!" cried my uncle, laying down his spoon, and fixing his small black eyes upon my countenance. "Would you insult a young lady, with a fortune superior to my own, and of such exalted piety-such filial attachment to holy church as to be an example not only to you, but to those whose heads have grown gray in the service of God!

Don't let father Pierre hear you speak thus, or you will have a severe penance appointed you."

"I don't wish to insult her, or any other pious person," said I quickly, in order to avert the rising storm, "but the young lady is not to my taste."

66

Very well-very well-she must be to your taste if you expect any thing from me," exclaimed my uncle furiously; "What, boy, would you throw away a jewel that a monarch might be proud to wear-one who is the ornament of society, and the pride of all her acquaintances—while you -what are you, in short?"

"I am a friendless orphan," returned I, "and have ever shown a disposition to obey the commands of those who have taken care of me. I perceive, Sir, that you intend I should marry Miss Bloise; but I am still quite young, and of course, there will be sufficient time for me to get acquainted with her”—

No, boy: no time at all. She has always been intended for you, although we have not named her to you before. I have now received such tidings from Court, as renders it necessary that the marriage should be immediately solemnized-next week at the farthest."

I will not pretend to describe the shock which this announcement gave me. At that moment it seemed to me that if Antoinette had possessed ten thousand faults, I could have overlooked them all, and I wondered that I should, for a moment, have indulged resentment toward her. Veiling my distress as well as I could, I answered: "But, pray Sir-what can the Court of king Louis have to do with my marriage?"

"Every thing!" cried my uncle. "He is beset by ill-advisers, who have not the good of the church at heart, and they bid fair to throw impediments in the way of all good Catholics, and to render our plans for your happiness nugatory and abortive."

I was puzzled to make out my uncle's meaning; but earnestly hoped that whatever those impediments were, they would be thrown in the way of so horrible a union as that which my uncle and aunt had projected for me. Of that, however, I had little hope. The time was so short, and my uncle and aunt were so determined, that I was rendered desperate; and I frankly told them that I had long been paying my attentions elsewhere that I loved a being bright as the sun and pure as ether, and could be happy with none but she.

"Indeed!" said my aunt, with a sneer; "and who is this wonderful creature, that has the honor of your affection?"

"Antoinette Cimbrede!" cried I.

For a moment, not a word was said. My aunt fixed her eyes coldly upon me for a moment, and then turned them toward her husband. His face was fairly black with rage; his lips quivered; and his small black eyes grew red with spite and fury: "Have you eat at my table?" cried he, at length-" have you dared to address me by the sacred name of uncle-have you dared to set foot into this house while you have been carrying on a felonious correspondence with that family?"

"Felonious! No, Sir."

"Don't interrupt me!" exclaimed he, stamping so violently on the floor, that the breakfast dishes trembled and rang-"What else but a felonious correspondence can be carried on with-with heretics ?"

'Heretics!" said I; "certainly they cannot be"

"Alas!" interrupted my aunt, as if my words were of not the least consequence; "is it for this that we have trained him up in the way he should go? Is it for this that we have taught him to pray-that we have labored to make him all that we ought to be?"

By this time, my uncle's first transport of fury had, in some measure, subsided.

"The boy may be ignorant," said he "but now he must know the truth, and then he will see the gulf from which he has escaped. You must understand," continued he, turning to me, "that the Cimbrede family have long been suspected of entertaining heretical opinions. Your aunt and I have keenly watched for an opportunity to prove their guilt, in order that we might denounce them, and bring them to punishment. No such opportunity has yet offered, and we fear that certain events are now transpiring at Court, which will enable them to escape"

"God grant they may !" interrupted I, rendered desperate at the idea of seeing Antoinette's beautiful form mangled by the inquisitors.

"God grant what!" cried my uncle in redoubled rage, while my aunt's eyes flamed with diabolical malice. "Would you have them escape?Are you a Hugenot?"

"Merciful heaven!" I exclaimed, "can they be Hugenots?"

"There is not a doubt of it," replied my uncle, "and now, boy, you see your danger! Oh! what penances you must perform-what grief you must feel, to think that you have held communication with that family."

I covered my face with my hands and wept aloud. I now recollected the words of Antoinette, her defence of the heretics; and was at no loss to understand the meaning of her gloom and her tears. There was, indeed, an insuperable barrier between us.

"I am glad," said my uncle in a softened tone, "to perceive that you now appreciate our motives. You may be able, in some degree, to atone for what you have done, by delivering up this family to condign punishment. Perhaps you recollect some words-something that will fasten upon them the charge of heresy."

"No, Sir," said I, still weeping-"I was never in their house. I never saw her parents."

"The girl then-this Antoinette," said my aunt; "I am confident that you can bring her to the rack. Oh! how I should like to see her stretched upon it, until her joints were torn from their sockets."

"Yes, yes, that must be done," said my uncle; "but the first thing, now, is to have the marriage performed. It has been neglected too long already; and I fear that it is even too late to punish heretics; for the law in their favor, may be already passed."

I went forth from the presence of my uncle in a state of mind which I cannot describe. I was shocked at the malice which my aunt had exhibited toward Antoinette, and I began to doubt whether it was ever right to persecute people on account of their religion. I recollected, however, that the Hugenots had always persecuted where and when they could; and if the Catholics persecuted to a greater extent than they, it was only because they happened to be the party in power. Also, the Catholics believed that there was no salvation out of the pale of the ancient church; while the heretics claimed the right to exercise their own free judgment

on the subject of religious opinions. Therefore, when the Catholics persecuted, they merely carried out their principles; but when the Hugenots did so, they evinced the grossest inconsistency. My uncle had also intimated that a law was about to be passed which would free the heretics from farther persecution. This, I thought, did the Catholics much honor, since they would voluntarily lay aside the persecuting sword, while they had the power to wield it: whereas, I had never known any sect of Protestants to tolerate Catholics until the power to persecute had been fairly wrested from them. At this very time, Catholics were fleeing from England and Ireland, to France, to avoid the racks and gibbets of queen Elizabeth; while hundreds of Catholic priests had been hung and embowelled according to her laws and within her jurisdiction.

These reflections tended to incense me against the Hugenots, while they confirmed my reverence for Mother Church. I felt that I could not consistently marry Antoinette, and knew that I must marry the narrowsouled and homely Maria! My reflections were torturing to my inmost soul. I loved Antoinette, and every well-remembered word, and look of hers, bespoke purity, disinterestedness, and lofty virtue. I doubted not that she had been led away from the Truth by her parents, and I inwardly abhorred them for having tainted so lovely and amiable a creature with their own heresies. But little time was left me to indulge in unavailing regrets.

On one fine morning in July, I was called upon to attend my uncle and aunt to Church. As our carriage passed along, I observed a number of people collected together in the gorge of the mountains, and very soon I heard the sound of singing. The notes of praise to God were borne on the breeze to our ears. My uncle hastily drew up the blind of the coach to shut out the sounds, while, at the same time, it deprived me of the interesting sight. I could not, however, be insensible that there were sounds of rejoicing abroad. I could hear an occasional shout which floated over the plain from a great distance, and whenever the sound met our ears, my uncle clenched his teeth, and muttered an imprecation; while my pious aunt crossed herself with great rapidity.

At length we reached the church. Maria Bloise and her parents were already there, with several other individuals, whose countenances were as sour as if they had just undergone a baptism in vinegar. The priest soon came stalking into the Church. In a moment, preparations were made for the marriage. I stood up by the side of Maria, more dead than alive. I felt that I was about to be sacrificed. Never shall I forget that awful hour. Worse than the pangs of death had taken hold of me. One of the by-standers came to my support, or I should have fallen to the ground. The ceremony commenced; when suddenly, the door flew open; a woman walked hastily up the aisle, and did not stop until she had broken through the throng, and stood confronting the priest.

"Stop!" cried she-"I forbid this marriage!"

I looked with wonder at the woman. Strange recollections-strange feelings took hold of me; for there was something in her countenance that had the same effect upon me as that music which brings up the impressions of by-gone days.

My uncle and aunt turned suddenly toward the stranger. As their eyes fell upon her, they started, and both exclaimed in a breath--"Go on with