as a physician regards that of his patient. I was received with becoming respect, but their looks told of pity towards myself, and contempt for the calling I had However, adopted for a morsel of easy-earned bread. a dissenting chapel soon sprung up, almost by magic; schools also were erected, in order to train up the young in the right way; then a rival clothing society, called Dorcas, a remembrance of that pious lady of other times who made garments for the poor; then a society called the Poor Man's Friend, soup kettles and blankets for the cold weather; and as the people were considered ignorant and neglected, a tract society was formed, as a means of imparting true light; those selected to distribute them were smooth matrons and mature maidens, who thought it sinful to smile. Of course, these influences were effective in creating a commotion in the parish, and many soon gathered round the standard of the invader, for what motives I do not pretend to say. People have motives which we cannot always fathom, both pure and impure; but I do know that the poor lost their humility, the tide of patronage was turned in their favour; it was considered as doing either party an honour by sending their offspring to school, or to condescend to receive any particular charity. Neither did they care to offend, for by deserting one army they Then came were sure of finding refuge in the other.

petty annoyances; the dissenters looked upon themselves with much sympathy, and held special prayer meetings to invoke the protection of heaven against an imaginary foe. Thus the current of our village life It was very was turned out of its wonted course. painful to me, being by nature a lover of peace, and I

longed to escape from the scene of contention; and ere long my wishes were happily realised by gaining this small preferment. I came here with something approaching to a missionary spirit (to say the least, we are most hopeful in youth, before our early verdure has drooped and decayed), and I formed many well-meant and carefully sought plans, even with secret prayers and tears for the good of my pastorate. I thought of the sacrifice, even, of half my modest income for charitable purposes, for there was not a single benevolent institution in the parish. It is true that several legacies had been left at remote periods, but it was conjectured that my predecessors and churchwardens had appropriated them for their private benefit; and thus the poor were left to their own resources, hard work and hard fare; but they were independent, and remain so unto this day; they do not relish charity, and only in cases of extreme necessity will they accept it. In some respects I admire their feeling, but they carry it too far. A minister cannot gain that influence as in the parish I have just named; they seem a different people, rude but independent. The schoolmaster's charges are very high; yet a few poor children might be educated free, but their parents choose that they should remain in ignorance rather than abandon their independence. I have not been so successful in my sacred calling as I have earnestly desired to be; this is a matter of serious reflection; I might have been more so in a heather land."

"I think the character of the people suitable to a project I have formed touching my own independence," said Judith; "you will perhaps smile when I

tell you, and count me a visionary; but oh! how painful to exist at the expense of a parish."

“I do not think it any disgrace to you," said Miss Edith, "the pittance you receive is your birthright."

“We will reserve that, if you please, until Judith has told us something of the Spanish nuns," said the pastor. "I always pity their unnatural and miserable condition, but perhaps Judith has formed other opinions from her personal experience; we are continually told of the follies of the so-called religious houses, but we are all more or less disposed to delusive influences; and we may hope that the Father of our spirits will bear with our infirmities. Strong religious feeling without a proportionate power of reasoning, is more calculated to lead us into extravagance than any other passion of the mind; that this is the cause of so much disordered imagination in monastic seclusion we may reasonably suppose."

"I would that the puritan Harrison were here to witness Judith's confession," said Miss Edith merrily.

"Would he subject me to painful penance, think you, Miss Edith? Is he so strict that he would deny me the rites of absolution for a sin of necessity?"

"We must exercise our charities towards that individual," said the pastor; "poor Harrison has many excellent qualities, and means well after all is said. I do not think he can altogether control his prejudices; there is something in his person which indicates gloomy thoughts-the spare form and darkened brow, the acute angles of an elongated nose, and expression of the eyes, from which the soul cannot beam forth to advantage; and he never moves out of his own narrow

circle of friends. On Sunday mornings, regular to the clock, he mounts his lean, tall, and steady black steed, and jogs ten miles to hear a favourite preach about election, and receives spiritual food sufficient for a week's digestion. I think he is as bitter against my teaching as that of the Church of Rome. Perhaps Judith will proceed with her observations."

CHAPTER XI.

THE NUNNERY.

"THOSE who possess an enthusiastic temperament," said Judith, "enjoy or suffer as circumstances or feeling would dictate, and are too often left to the mercy of the winds which float them down the stream of time. Those who are not endowed with activity of soul are clogged by their own indolence, and cannot soar to the blissful heights of adoration, or sink into the depths of profound despair. Elevated piety is only found in the life and character of the sensible and hopeful believer. The gloom and discipline of a nunnery cannot alter human nature, so far as to give uniformity to the modes of thought and feelings of individuals. I knew the convent I alluded to before I lost my sight; it is situated in a fertile valley, watered by little rills which delight the ear with their gentle murmurs as they creep from the vine-clad hills. I love to think of that scene, and of the mirth of the vintage, and the corn reaper's song, and of the old convent bell waking the echoes at the hour of prayer. We regret that the ranker passions should luxuriate amidst scenes so tranquil and so fair; but even the outward form of religion, how lovely compared with the unblushing front of open depravity. The vestal robe and holy vow are not to be regarded with feelings of