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"Do not speak of it, dear Father," said Laurent, gently. "Do not think of it. Monsieur, the Chevalier, was most kind, and I was so glad to hear of the two charitable Fathers who were good to our poor unfortunates.”

"Ah, they are Christian men; indeed they are, Laurent. There, now, go and admit Brother Augustine. I hear his step."

Brother Augustine was a good, stupid sort of man; rather better than worse than the average monk. He had the most unbounded reverence for the Minister, and commended Laurent for his devotion to the holy man.

"You are almost as privileged," he said, "as Brother Leo, the Pecorella di Dio, (the little sheep of God,)* who was so long the companion of our blessed founder. I hope you will not long delay to follow his example, and consecrate yourself to Francis as his son."

"He has indeed been a dutiful son to me," said the Minister, "and now, Laurent, go and rest, and leave me with Brother Augustine."

Laurent, who had not the least ambition to imitate either St. Francis, or the Pecorella, went away somewhat startled by Brother Augustine's words.

"Can they think I am coming round?" he thought. "Indeed they will find themselves mistaken if they do."

"You have worked a miracle with that youth, Reverend Father," said Brother Augustine. "Never was such an obstinate heretic. Why, if you will believe me, he said once that he thought St. Clare, being such a young woman, would have been more like a saint if she had stayed at home and minded her mother, instead of running away to St. Francis' convent at midnight," and Brother Augustine lowered his voice to a whisper as he repeated this profane remark in such a holy presence.

"You must make allowance for his education, my brother," said the Minister, who in the bottom of his heart agreed with Laurent.

*This was the rame given by St. Francis to a favorite brother.

"True, but I trust he is fast coming to a better mind."

"Indeed I think he is truly desirous to serve Christ," said the poor Minister, trying hard to tell the truth and a fib at the same time. "But now you shall say some holy office for me, since this infirmity has to-day kept me away from all the services."

Brother Augustine, who had what is called "a particular devotion" for his patron, chose for edification a certain old litany of St. Francis, which has in its Latin a sort of sing song, greatly tending toward sleepiness:

"Sancte Francisce leprosorum mundator,

Sancte Francisce infirmorum consolator,

Ora pro nobis."

Under its influence the invalid did, in spite of himself, go to sleep, and woke next morning no worse than he had been for weeks, and ready to play his part.

CHAPTER XII.

BRIGHTENING PROSPECTS.

It began to occur to Laurent that, in a quiet way, Father Francis constantly managed to prevent any intercourse between his attendant and the brotherhood. He remembered that it was long since any one had said a word to him on the subject of religion, that for weeks he had hardly spoken to a soul except his two friends. He began to fancy that the change in the manner of the brotherhood was owing to an idea that he had conformed, or was about to conform.

The fact was that the Provincial and Father Paul had come to a quiet understanding without a word spoken, and the two priests constantly played into each other's hands with a skill unattainable by laymen, being determined, if possible, to save the boy in spite of himself. Each knew that Laurent was no nearer being a Catholic than ever before, and the Provincial felt that in all probability he never would be. Both Laurent's friends felt much like a man carrying a candle through a powder magazine. Any moment might show, not only

that the barbet was a barbet still, but that while retaining his heresy he had continued to be the favored attendant, almost the friend of so orthodox a person as Father Francis. The Father Provincial was not without his enemies. He had not been particularly austere in the exercise of those powers entrusted to him by his order, nor had he expected any one to imitate his own severe example; but in more than one instance he had rebuked and repressed sin with a somewhat strong hand, and there were those who would fain have done him an ill turn, if they could, with his superiors. If it were once whispered that he had protected or encouraged heresy, suspicion would be almost sure to grow into certainty, and no one knew better than the Provincial that he might with more impunity have behaved like Friar Tuck himself, than exercised toleration toward the Waldensian tenets or their holders.

A word spoken at midnight, the word of such a man as Gerome, or even in such a case, that of one like the Curé of Prali, might ruin the popular minister, and bury him alive in the prisons of the Inquisition.

Father Francis, in common with many other priests, even the Pope himself, was becoming disgusted with the arrogance and tyranny of Louis Fourteenth. The ravages in the Palatinate, the destruction of churches and convents, the insolence of the King toward the Pope, (for in spite of his devotion to the Church Louis had not scrupled to set Innocent at defiance in his own capital,) had alienated from the king of France the feelings of many of his former supporters. Father Francis knew the signs of the times, and thought it not impossible that in the coming changes he might be able to use his influence in softening the severity hitherto shown to the Vaudois. But to do this he must keep himself free from all suspicion of heresy, and he well knew that to keep Laurent with him, and continue to carry the idea that he was about to forsake his father's faith, was impossible, and that it was equally impossible that, as a heretic, the son of Pastor Leidet and the nephew of Henri Arnaud, he

should remain at liberty, even such as he at present enjoyed. So for Laurent's own sake, though it was like tearing the heart out of his bosom, the priest resolved to send the boy away from him. He arranged in his own mind a plan by which Laurent was to be placed under a very different guardianship from that of the convent, and from which he might be transferred to Switzerland.

If the boy were once free, poor Father Francis felt that he should care but very little for his own safety, which he had compromised already by what would be called toleration and protection of heresy.

It happened that two or three days after the Chevalier's visit, Father Bernard came to consult his Superior about the renting of certain lands belonging to the Convent, and which lay two or three miles down the valley toward La Tour.

A consultation with Father Bernard was a mere form. He simply stated the case, and left the burden of decision upon Father Francis.

"The man that has held the place is dying, and his brother wishes to hold it after him; is that the question?" asked the Minister.

"I believe so. Brother Augustine knows," said Father Bernard, calmly. "But I think he has some doubts about the matter."

"Why?"

"Really I can't remember now, Reverend Father," said the Superior, turning upon the Minister his large brown eyes, which in character and expression much resembled those of an ox.

"Go, Laurent," said the minister, well knowing how hopeless a matter it would be to lecture Father Bernard on his laziness. "Ask Brother Augustine to be so good as to come to us for a few moments. He is in the chapel with the novices, but I think the hour is nearly out."

The sub-prior had gathered the novices in the chapel, and was lecturing them on the use of the rosary, a means of devotion with which it would have seemed they ought to have been pretty well acquainted. But as the proper manage

ment of the beads is by no means so simple a matter as it would appear to the uninitiated eyes, Brother Augustine probably thought that it was well to impress line upon line, and precept upon precept. He had not quite concluded his lecture, and Laurent, not wishing to interrupt, waited a moment, and so received the benefit of the sub-prior's pious admonitions. "My brethren," went on Augustine, in a soft, sing-song, prosy manner, which characterized the good man's address "My brethren, the most holy rosary, as I have said, first came into extensive use by the influence of the blessed St. Dominic. Now as there are exactly a hundred and fifty beads, so there are exactly a hundred and fifty psalms; and this, my brethren, is a great mystery. You must not, my dear brethren, say the Holy Mary before the Hail Mary. To every Hail Mary an indulgence is attached, said on the rosary, not off. It is better for you that is, better for your souls, to say one Hail Mary, than if you were to be reading your manual from morning till night; for to every Hail Mary is an indulgence. If you say the Hail Mary on beads which are not blessed, you will get no indulgence and no good to your souls; neither will you if you say it on a string of beads which has been broken, or having been broken and mended, has not been blessed over again.* Now go, my brethren, and peace be with you. Ah! Laurent, what is it?" said Augustine, who had recently made the discovery that "the barbet" had a

name.

Laurent gave his message.

"It is a pity to trouble the blessed man about such temporal matters," said Brother Augustine, "and take his mind from those spiritual exercises which cannot but bring a blessing down upon this house. I am sure I could have attended to the affair," he concluded, speaking more to himself than to Laurent-"but I come."

ever, he was presently summoned to the minister's apartments.

The Superior, who was quite of the Lotus Eater's opinion, that "there is no joy but calm," had gone to the placid retreat of his own quarters, but Brother Augustine was still with Father Francis.

"I have determined to go down the valley and see this place myself," said the Minister to Laurent, speaking with the sort of distantly kind manner which he always used before others. "Do you think I could get to it, my son?" "I do not know where the place is, Reverend Father, nor whether the mule could reach it."

"I can show you on the map," said Brother Augustine, spreading out on the table a chart of the valleys, which Laurent recognized in a moment as from Leger's history. Brother Augustine had been. at the pains to cut out the Vaudois device in the corner; the candlestick with its seven stars, and its motto, but the blank spoke more loudly than the emblem itself.

"That is an unusually good 'carta,' remarked Father Francis, who, as it happened, had never seen the map, "and very correct, I should say."

"Yes, Reverend Father. It is out of the book of that pestilent old heretic, Jean Leger.* He contrived to escape everything, and died in his bed at last; but the devil helps his own."

Laurent could not help thinking that Father Francis was not much better pleased than himself with these remarks, but he said nothing, and Augustine continued: "The book belonged to that firebrand, the pastor at La Tour, and came into my hands in '86. I burnt the volume, of course, but I thought the map might be useful. Ah, they had better have caught that Arnaud than all the rest. I do not believe that so long as he lives there will be any peace really for the Church in these valleys-and yet I

Laurent, who naturally supposed that Leger's "history" is rather a compilahe was not wanted at the conference, tion. He has been accused, perhaps justly, went to his own cell, from which, how-riences, we think with Mr. Froude, that of "intolerance," but considering his expe

I did not invent this discourse.

"intolerance of one who seeks to murder you is pardonable."

must say," said Augustine, "that I am under some obligations to Arnaud myself. There were dreadful things done, Reverend Father-there were indeed-most unnecessary cruelty, especially where the women were concerned, and at La Tour, where I happened to be that day, I did try to save some of the poor creatures from the French soldiers, but they were as if possessed, and would not listen to me. I did buy off one poor girl with a little silver cross I had. I hope, Reverend Father, you do not think it wrong to have used the holy sign to save a heretic?"

"God forbid, my brother," said Father Francis. "You acted as became a reli

gious and a Christian."

Laurent turned away, trying hard to control the emotion that swept over him.

"When the soldiers chased the rebels up into Bobio I was with them. I hoped I might perhaps prevent unnecessary cruelty; and beside, there was the interest of the Church to be looked to in the matter of the confiscated property," added Brother Augustine, wishing to show that he had not been entirely ruled by the weakness of humanity. "They, the rebels, were surrounded entirely on the 13th of May, but instead of surrendering, they made a desperate assault, and cut their way through, and made good their retreat to the mountains. I was thinking of nothing less than danger, for no one had thought they could escape; and I was busy in the rear, hearing a dying man's

confession, when down they came like a storm, and first I knew, a tall fellow called out, "down with the monk." His sword was over my head, and I gave myself up for lost; but Arnaud-I knew it was he, for I had often seen him-struck up the weapon. 'Let the good Father alone,' says he. 'He helped to raise the devils, to be sure, but he saved poor Marie du Bourg from their clutches, and no one shall touch a hair of his head,' and then they were gone."

"It was well done, both for him and for yourself, my brother," said Father Francis," calmly. "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.' Laurent, we will try to reach this place. The dying man may need our help. Go my son, and have the mule ready."

Laurent disappeared, glad to be re

leased.

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'My brother," said Father Francis, when they were alone, "it is not well to recall that unhappy time to the boy's mind. May I ask you to be a little more careful in the future?"

"I am very sorry, Reverend Father," said the contrite Augustine. "It is my besetting sin-want of government of the tongue. It was ill-judged, indeed. The saints grant I have not injured your holy work. Any penance you think right, I am sure I will thankfully perform.'

"No, my good Brother, I will not interfere with your confessor, only speak no more of such matters in future, they are better forgotten. Peace be with you;" and Brother Augustine departed.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

BELIEVE nothing against another but on good authority; nor report what may hurt another, unless it be a greater hurt to another to conceal it.-W. Penn.

THE finest composition of human nature, as well as the finest china, may have flaws in it, though the pattern may be of the highest value.

WHEN once infidelity can persuade men that they shall die like beasts, they will soon be brought to live like beasts also.- South.

TRUE religion shows its influence in every part of our conduct; it is like the sap of a living tree, which penetrates the most distant boughs.

1872.]

IN MEMORIAM.-T. BUCHANAN READ.

BY MRS. C. H. B. LAING.

NEW

YORE

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And when Death woos me to his cold
caress,

My hovering soul shall watch her course
supreme."

But thanks to the Divine will, all that
was mortal of this gifted poet and painter
rests within the beautiful groves of Laurel
Hill, in his own native State; while the
immortal, bursting from the precious
clay, shall still weave those sweet songs
which charmed the world, and, soaring
higher and higher in its ethereal home,
join at length with the songs of angels
around the throne of God!

There was a sound of lamentation throughout the land when it was known that T. Buchanan Read, the Poet-Artist of America, had but reached his native Mr. Read was born March 12, 1822, shores to die! and when the sad tidings in the county of Chester, Pennsylvania. flashed across the Atlantic that this There he passed his childhood, uncongifted man had passed from earth, Eng-sciously acquiring that deep love of Naland renewed that tribute to the dead ture which is so sweetly embodied in the which she ever awarded him while liv-"New Pastoral," and in many other ing; and Rome, the adopted city of his heart, mourned that the remains of one so esteemed for his many virtues and deeds of kindness, so admired for his genius, could not rest with the kindred dust of England's illustrious poets, Shelley and Keats, in that peaceful spot set apart for the Protestant dead in that old, old city, whose very dust is but the disintegrated mould of dead empires; and where, amid the cypress and the elms, and under the covering of violets and netting myrtle, so many of America's loved ones are sleeping.

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minor poems. The thoughtful child
caught inspiration from the pleasant
scenes of rural life by which he was sur-
rounded in that quiet valley-home, and
which, as he grew older, burst forth in
songs, set to the "unwritten music" of
woods and streams. Said he:

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'Here my young Muse first learned to love
and dream;

To love the simplest blossom by the road-
To dream such dreams as will not come
again:

And for one hour of that unlettered time-
One hour of that wild music in the heart,
When Fancy, like the swallow's aimless
wing

Flitted eccentric through all woods of

nature

I would exchange, thrice told, this weary
day."

The death of his father caused a break

ing up of the family; and Thomas, then
a mere lad, accompanied a favorite mar-
ried sister to the then far West-where
the life of the child foreshadowed the

"And yet I love my country none the less man, in untiring energy and indomitable
My faith fulfils her prophet's grandest
dream,

perseverance to conquer the difficulties in
his path. At the early age of fifteen,

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