he is asked by the Catholic Bishops, whether, in his opinion, such colleges, so conducted, are likely to form institutions in which the Catholic youth of Ireland can be educated without danger to that faith, the corruption or loss of which is fatal to their salvation.

"The opinion of the Holy Father is, that colleges under such a system cannot be frequented by the Catholic youth with a prudent regard to the purity and integrity of their faith. That is the opinion of his Holiness; and he is bound, as he values his own salvation, to express it. It is not in his power to prevent the Government from building the colleges; neither can he absolutely prevent parents from sending their sons to them; but it is in his power, and it is his bounden duty, to warn them of what he considers their dangerous tendency. And now, I ask, what Christian father is there who does not, more or less, follow the same course, as the one taken by the Irish Bishops? Who is there amongst the many religiously-minded fathers in England that does not inquire of some clergyman in whose character be places firm reliance as to the relative merits of Eton and Westminster, of Cambridge and Oxford? How is it possible, with any regard for the common principles of justice and fair dealing, to blame men who act in their public capacity, a part precisely similar to that which every father who feels as a father should feel for the eternal welfare of his child must follow in the choice of the manner of his son's education? "To treat the subject as it deserves, and to answer all the arguments which have been unreasonably brought forward, would require a pamphlet rather than the small space which I can venture to hope for in your columns.

"I have the honour to be your obedient servant,

"Nov. 10."

"ARUNDEL AND SURREY. The Noble Lord contends that the Pope's rescript, in which he condems the colleges in Ireland, is not such as to merit the grave censure bestowed upon it by many of the English papers.

The reasons alleged are, that the Pope, as spiritual father, is bound to interfere, and deserts his duty if he neglects to do so. Now, if the Pope's power is a legitimate one, then by virtue of the same power which authorizes him to speak; nations, cabinets, people, and princes, are bound to obey.

There cannot be two supreme authorities at the same time. Divide and conquer, is the old maxim, and no less true than old. But to give to any foreign power, whether called civil or ecclesiastical, a control over the domestic policy of a state, is to make that state a province, and appendage to such power.

Britons struggled even when Popish against the foreign interference of the Pope, called spiritual but directed upon temporal objects.

Should Protestants, then, not fear? shall they succumb? shall they welcome the foe their ancestors drove from the shores of England? We trust they never will, but will demonstrate by their votes, their prayers, and petitions, their attachment to the cause of truth and freedom;-their opposition to that of falsehood and slavery.

MONTMORENCY.-A ROMAN CATHOLIC TALE.*

(Continued from p. 337.)

CHAPTER VI.

It was late one morning in the month of January when an aged domestic entered Sir Hubert's lonely breakfast-parlour, in which the untasted meal remained, and informed him that a young woman dressed like a peasant most earnestly requested to see him.

"I can see no one," was the laconic reply.

"Do see her, Sir," said the man in an imploring voice; "though meanly dressed she has not a common air, and has also come from a distance on most urgent business."

"Let her come in then," said the aged knight; and as the servant bowed and retired, Sir Hubert added, speaking to himself, "Why should I selfishly refuse to take one drop from another's cup of misery, because my own is filled to overflowing ?"

The peasantess entered, and waited only for the door to be closed ere she fell on her knees before Sir Hubert, whom she thus addressed :

"I kneel to you to implore your pity-to implore your aid, yet not for myself. I plead the cause of injured innocence-the cause of one ready to perish. Sir Hubert, I plead for your lovely, your hapless daughter."

"Who art thou? Where is she? What have they done to her? What can I do ?" asked the agitated father, with rapidity. The peasant replied, "I am the cousin of Clara."

"Frances!" exclaimed her uncle, starting, as though from a viper. "Oh, no; Frances will never plead the cause of her whom she has basely betrayed. I am Clarice, the friend as well as the cousin of Clara; to rescue her I have exposed myself to danger-to danger so great that I shudder at the thought of discovery."

"What intelligence do you bring of my daughter?"

"Sir Hubert, may I converse with you as with an honourable man; who will not reveal at the confessional all he knows? will you solemnly promise never to betray me?"

"I will," was the unhesitating reply. "I have been deceived, cruelly deceived by one who has already broken his solemn promise respecting my daughter; the time is past, and he still deludes me with fair and unmeaning words. Trust me then, my niece, and let me behold my child again, reclaimed or unreclaimed.'

"A week since," said Clarice, in a low tone of voice, "Father Joachim came to Ardennes, and at midnight was admitted by a private entrance into the closet of Father Adrian. I have long watched their every movement, but need not now detail particulars. From childhood acquainted with the recesses of the house, I concealed myself,' and learnt to my horror that Clara, who has already been a month in the convent dungeons, is next week to be sent to Rome. Much of the conversation passed in a whisper, but this I too plainly gathered. Father Adrian, it is true, seemed most reluctant; pleaded his solemn *The above Tale is now in course of publication by Messrs. Seeley, as a separate volume.

promise to you, and the tender years of the unhappy Clara; but he yielded at last, and consented to aid in conveying Clara to that Court whose name I tremble to utter."

Sir Hubert clasped his hands in anguish. "What step can be taken to save her?"

"I know of none that can be effectual unless you despise the power of the Church. When Father Joachim returns, place him in close confinement, and fearlessly refuse to release him till Clara is restored; he has the power, and thus only can he be compelled to use it. This will not be sufficient: you must also arm all among your domestics on whom you can rely, and direct them to conceal themselves in the forest that surrounds the Convent of F-. Go with them. Let your

son also go watch every avenue, on the night appointed, that leads to the public road-brave every danger; but leave not-oh! if you have a parent's heart, leave not your too confiding daughter to die a cruel death amidst the mysterious untold horrors of the Inquisition !"

Sir Hubert was for some minutes lost in thought, the agonizing nature of which made reason totter on her seat.

That Clara, his only daughter, should perish thus, was indeed most insupportable; yet how could he attempt to save her, but by despising the authority of that Church and those priests whose anathemas he believed would exclude his soul from heaven, and consign it to the torments of the lost; and dreadful as was the alternative of leaving his child to perish, it was not so dreadful as openly rebelling against the spiritual power of Rome. He therefore resolved to pursue a middle course, to renew his entreaties that Father Joachim would bring Clara to the Castle, where she should be kept closely confined under his entire control. Clarice vainly assured him that all his entreaties would be ineffectual, and that nothing but forcibly detaining Father Joachim would succeed. Sir Hubert, though he trembled for Clara, could not be prevailed on to adopt the plan proposed by his niece; she therefore left him more sad than ever, feeling all her efforts were unavailing to rescue her unhappy yet blessed cousin.

It was midnight, and the hour when so many were wrapped in tranquil slumber found Clara wetting her couch with her tears, while her heart meditated terror. True, she knew in whom she believed, and at times had been enabled to rejoice in the midst of her afflictions in anticipation of the glory that should follow; but though a child of grace, and as such supported by the God of grace, she was yet as a reed shaken by the wind; the blast that had blown on her had already been sharp and strong, and it threatened to blow with tenfold fury and to crush her beneath its tempestuous violence, and Clara, listening only to its dismal roaring, heard not the voice of Him whom the stormy winds obey, but yielding to unbelief was fast sinking to despair.

In addition to the sufferings she had endured the last three months, she had lately received a visit from him whom she most dreaded; for Father Joachim, since her apostacy, had treated her with cruelty, from which her every feeling revolted. Yes; Clara had been weeping, bitterly weeping, as she thought of her father, her brother, and her happy home; but horrible visions also arose before her vivid imagina

tion-the rack, the screw, the tortures, Father Joachim had been fearfully describing, while death itself closed the gloomy array. Now, then, was the time for the cruel enemy of her soul maliciously to whisper, What if, after all, you are in error, and should find these but the beginning of eternal torments ? Dreadful thought! great indeed was the gloom that now overspread her. Yet these clouds are not unfrequently permitted to pass over the faithful soul, these temptations are a part, and the most painful part, of the fiery trial that is to try them, against which the shield of faith must be held, and thus the darts of the wicked one shall be quenched. From these sad reflections Clara was roused by the light of a torch breaking on the thick darkness with which she was surrounded, and a figure stood before her enveloped in a cloak; the scream of terror died on her lips from an actual incapability of uttering it, and nature overtasked, she fainted. How long she lay in this unconscious state she knew not, nor through what scenes she passed, but the clear calm light of the moon was shining on her when she opened her eyes, and the pure fresh air of heaven played on her face.

One person only was near her, whose features were entirely concealed, and who, she felt assured, was the messenger sent to convey her to Rome; yet he had laid her on the grass, and held a cordial to her lips, with an attention that savoured not of savage ferocity.

"Ah!" exclaimed Clara, as consciousness returned, "it was a kindness too great to let me die from terror or exhaustion; I am therefore reserved for more lingering torments. Yet can it be that the God who formed us delights in cruelty? Oh, is it in his sight a curse to show mercy ?"

"I trust not," said a voice, whose accents of compassion fell like softest music on Clara's ear; "I trust not, for then shall I offend against my Maker as well as my fellow-men."

Clara trembled too much to reply, as she distinctly recalled the voice of Father Leo.

"Hearken," said he, "to the last words I shall in all probability ever address to you; I have saved you from the dungeons of the Inquisition, because I believe the rack and torture will never reclaim ; but if you feel one spark of gratitude toward him who has risked much to deliver you, bury in solemn silence what has passed within the convent walls, and daily, at the throne of grace, plead for me and one united to me by the bonds of nature-one who wishes well to you, though he has made you suffer much to prove it-remember brother Adrian and brother Leo when you pray to the God of the Bible."

Thus saying, the priest turned from her, and appeared as though he were leaving, when Clara, to whom hope had imparted new life, sprung to her feet, and implored him to direct her what to do.

"Fear not, for you are safe. A carriage is ready to convey you to a Protestant family with whom you will remain for the present. Your brother Hubert is near, and waits but for me to inform him all is ready."

We attempt not to describe the feelings of Clara at this moment,wonder, joy, and gratitude, alike overpowered her; but as Father Leo

still lingered, she strove to pour forth her thanks to him for the part he had taken in her deliverance.

Nay, thank me not," replied he, "since that fatal hour in which these lips first pronounced the vows that bound me for life to the spiritual despotism of Rome, I have never tasted a pleasure so pure— the pleasure of showing mercy; but for this how much must I suffer! Falsehood, deep-laid falsehood, can alone prevent the discovery of what I have done in rescuing you, and if these should fail to hide my crime, the displeasure of my superiors"

He stopped, as though ashamed of what he had said, and in a cold and haughty manner turned away. A few seconds of breathless suspense followed, when a carriage appeared, and one who, though also disguised, she believed to be her own loved brother, was about to lift into it the bewildered Clara. But gratitude to Father Leo overpowered all thought of herself, and falling on her knees before him, she thus expressed the warm feelings of her heart.

“Oh, kind and generous defender of the persecuted and oppressed; may the God of the Bible reward you! Oh, if the blessings of her who was ready to perish can avail, then will peace be your portion now and for ever, and as thou hast pitied the miseries, so despise not the advice of the heretic Clara-come out and be separate from a Church and community thus opposed to the religion of the Lord Jesus; fear not to follow the teachings of His word and Spirit, then He will bless and deliver you, as adored be His name He has delivered me."

Clara arose, the priest made no reply, but consigning her to the care of her brother, returned to scenes from which his heart revolted.

Hubert and his sister travelled swiftly till the break of day, when they reached a pretty cottage situated in a retired valley; here they were most kindly received by an elderly lady in mourning, who insisted on Clara's immediately taking some refreshment and retiring

to rest.

Clara, whose first feelings of joy and gladness at her deliverance had been damped by the coldness of her brother, burst into tears at the more than maternal kindness of the stranger lady. The light which now fell clearly on her face first discovered to Hubert the dreadful inroads made by the last three months of intense suffering. Much affected at the sight he tenderly embraced her; the returning kindness of Hubert was the sweetest balm to her broken heart; but here the lady, though evidently much pleased, interposed and entreated Hubert to leave them, both for his own and his sister's sake.

"Alas! Madam," said Hubert, "I do so with an aching heart. I fear I am endangering still further the soul of my sister, through weak pity for her perishing body."

"Still the same fears, my dear young friend; would that you knew the religion of the Bible!"

Clara, during this conversation, leant her head in a state of utter unconsciousness on the bosom of her new found friend, which the latter perceiving, again entreated Hubert to leave them, as she really trembled for his sister's life. Thus addressed, Hubert pressed his lips