University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.

Florence having succeeded, as she imagined, in convincing
her aunt that it was advisable to remove from San
Antonio, slowly proceeded to the church-yard, little dreaming
that the door had scarce closed behind her ere Aunt
Lizzy, with swift steps, directed her way to the house of
the Padre. He was writing, but gave his attention, and
heard, with ill-disguised chagrin, that Florence distrusted
his promised protection.

“Does she doubt in matters of faith, think you?” he
eagerly inquired.

“Indeed, Padre, I can not say. All I know is, that she
and Mary sat till midnight, reading and talking, and she
has not seemed like herself since.”

“Where shall I find Florence?” said he, taking his hat.

“In the church-yard, I think, beside her father's grave.”

“Say nothing to her, but apparently acquiesce in her
plans; and, above all, do not let her dream that you have
told me these things.”

Ah, Florence! who may presume to analyze the anguish
of your tortured heart, as you throw yourself, in such abandonment

of grief, on the tomb of your lost parent? The
luxuriant grass, swaying to and fro in the chill October
blast, well-nigh concealed the bent and drooping form, as
she knelt and laid her head on the cold granite.

“My father! oh, my father!” and tears, which she
had not shed before, fell fast, and somewhat eased the desolate,
aching heart. Florence had not wept before in many
years; and now that the fountain was unsealed, she strove
not to repress the tears which seemed to lift and bear away
the heavy weight which had so long crushed her spirits.

What a blessing it is to be able to weep; and happy are
they who can readily give vent to tears, and thus exhaust
their grief! Such can never realize the intensity of anguish
which other natures suffer—natures to whom this great
relief is denied, and who must keep the withering, scorching
agony pent up within the secret chambers of their desolate,
aching hearts. Sobs and tears are not for these. No,
no; alone and in darkness they must wrestle with their
grief, crush it down into their inmost soul, and with a calm
exterior go forth to meet the world. But ah! the flitting,
wintry smile, the short, constrained laugh, the pale brow
marked with lines of mental anguish, will ofttimes, tell of
the smouldering ruin.......

“My daughter, God has appointed me in place of the
parent he has taken hence; turn to me, and our most holy
church, and you will find comfort such as naught else can
afford.”

Florence sprung to her feet, and shuddered at the sound
of his low, soft voice. The Padre marked the shudder, and
the uneasy look which accompanied it: “Padre, I have

confessed, and I have prayed to almost every saint in the
Calendar, and I have had your prayers in addition to my
own; yet I find no comfort. No joy has stolen to my
heart, as you promised it inevitably would.”

“My daughter, if peace has not descended on thy spirit,
I fear you have not been devout. Tell me truly if you
have not doubted in matters of faith, for our most holy
Mother ever grants the prayers of her faithful and loving
children?”

“I have searched the Bible, and I nowhere find authority
for invoking saints or the Virgin.”

“I can convince you, without doubt, that there is such
authority—nay, command.”

“'Tis useless, you may save yourself the trouble; for my
mind is clearly made up that we have not even the sanction
of the Fathers.”

“Holy Mary, pardon her unbelief, and send down light
into her darkened soul!”

Florence fixed her eyes full upon him, and replied—
“Christ expressly declares `I am the light, I am the
life.'”

“Daughter, your heretic cousin has done you a great
injury. May God protect you, and forgive her blasphemy.”

“She needs no forgiveness, for she is pure in heart before
God, and truthful in all things.”

The swarthy cheek of the Italian flushed—“Florence,
you and your aunt must come and stay at my house till it
is safe here; and, I doubt not when you are at leisure to
hear me, you will duly repent your hasty speeches. I shall

pray God and our Lady to give you a more trusting, believing
heart, and intercede with the blessed saints for your
entire conversion.”

“Not so, Father Mazzolin; we shall leave this place in
a very few days, and I have come to bid adieu to the grave
of my father: leave me, for I wish to be alone and in
peace.”

“Do you doubt my will or ability to protect you, my
daughter? Beneath my roof no danger can assail.”

“We have fully decided to go from here, and further
reasoning or entreaty would be vain; accept, however, my
thanks for your proffered kindness.”

“Girl, you have gone too far! Hear me while I am
placable, for I tell you now, without my consent, you can
not—shall not leave here.”

“You have neither right nor power to detain me.”

“Have I not? I swear, if you do not hear and abide by
what I say, your father's soul will remain forever in purgatory,
where it justly belongs.”

“How dare you make so miserable a threat?” said the
calm, clear voice of Mary, who had approached unobserved.

“Cursed believer in a cursed creed, what do you here?
Begone, or dread the vengeance I shall surely inflict on so
blasphemous and damnable a heretic!”

Winding her arm tightly about Florence's waist, she replied—“`Vengeance
is mine saith the Lord. I will repay:'
and though I have never injured you, Padre—even if I had,
it ill becomes a consecrated priest to utter such language, or
so madly to give vent to passion.”

“Silence!” thundered the Padre, livid with rage; “I
will compass heaven and earth rather than you shall escape
me.”

“Come, Florry, this is no place for us now; even the
church-yard is not sacred. Come home.”

“Florence, dare you curse your own father?” The
girl's lips quivered, but no sound came forth—she seemed
stunned.

“You would usurp the prerogatives of Jehovah, Father
Mazzolin; but your threat is vain. You can not bless or
damn my uncle at will. How dare you, guilty as you are,
hold such impious language?”

For a moment he quailed before the calm, unflinching
girl, then seizing Florence's arm, hoarsely exclaimed: “One
more chance I give you. Florence, I am your brother—
your father, my father. On his death-bed he confessed
his sins and discovered his son.”

A deep groan burst from Florence's lips, and her slender
frame quivered like a reed in a wintry blast. The Padre
laid his head on the granite slab which covered the remains
of Mr. Hamilton, and continued: “I call God in heaven,
and all the saints, to witness the truth of what I say, and
if I prove it not, may I sink into perdition. When your father
was yet young, he made the tour of Europe. Traveling
in Italy, he met at Florence a poor but beautiful girl; and
she, struck, in turn, by the handsome face of the stranger,
left her humble home, and listened to the voice of seduction.
He remained five months at Florence, and then suddenly
left Italy for his native country, without apprising the unfortunate
woman of his intentions. Hatred succeeded to

love, and she vowed vengeance. That woman was my mother;
and when ten years had passed, she told me my parentage,
and made me swear on the altar of her patron saint that
I would fulfill her vow of vengeance. She died, and I became
a priest of Rome, and in time was sent by my order to
Mexico, and thence here to assist my aged and infirm predecessor.
I had in my possession a miniature of my father,
and no sooner had I met him here than I recognized the base
being who had deserted my mother. I kept my peace; but
ere he died, he confessed that one sin—heavier than every
thing beside—weighed on his conscience. In the agony
and remorse of that hour my mother was revenged. I
told my parentage, and he discovered his child. Feeling
that I was your brother, he bade you remain here, claim
my protection, and follow my advice. But, Florence, hear
me—your misery touched my heart; a kindred feeling for
you made me desire to serve you; but I swear now that
if you hear not my voice, and return to the bosom of our
church, your father's soul shall linger in damnation, and my
vengeance shall follow you. You know not my power, and
woe to you if you defy me!”

Had the spectre-form of the deceased, leaving the shadowy
band of the spirit-world, risen on the granite slab before them,
the two girls could not have been more startled. Tightly
they clung one to another, their eyes riveted on the face of
the Padre. There was a long pause; then Florence lifted
herself proudly up, and cold and haughty was her tone:
“It is not for me to deny your statement. If my father
sinned, peace to his memory, and may God forgive him.
One so sinful and malignant as yourself can not be invested

with divine prerogatives. I have known your intentions
with regard to myself since the hour I knelt in confession.
I was destined for a convent, and I tacitly acquiesced in
your plans, hoping that so secluded from the world I should
be comparatively happy; but my feelings are changed on
many points, and any further interference from you will be
received with the scorn it merits. No love for me actuates
your movements, else you would have spared me the
suffering of this hour.”

“You defy me, then?”

Florence had turned away, and heeded not his question;
but Mary, clasping her hands, looked appealingly in his face:
“Oh, Padre, by the tie which you declare exists between
yourself and Florry—for the sake of your lost parent—do
not put your threat in execution. Spare an unprotected
orphan. You will not harm your sister!”

“Know you not, girl, that when a Jesuit priest takes
the oath of his order, he tears his heart from his breast
and lays it at the feet of his superior? Appeal not to ties
of relationship: we repudiate them, and pity is unknown
among us.”

With a shudder Mary joined her cousin, and rapidly and
in perfect silence they retraced their steps homeward.
When they reached their gate, Mary would have opened it,
but her cousin, taking her hand, led the way to their old
seat beside the river.

Florence seated herself as near the water as possible,
and then tightly clasping the hand she held, asked in a
voice of suppressed emotion; “Tell me, Mary, is there a
purgatory?”

“No, Florry; I think there is less foundation for that
doctrine than any advanced by your church.”

“Mary, you speak truth, and all that you say I can
implicitly believe. Tell me what grounds support the
theory?”

“You remember the words of our Saviour. `All sin
shall be forgiven, save blasphemy of the Holy Ghost; that
shall not be forgiven, either in this world or the next.'
Now Papists argue in this way: Then other sins can be
forgiven in another world; there is no sin in heaven, in
hell no forgiveness, consequently, there must exist a middle
place, or, in other words, a purgatory. Florry, you smile,
yet I assure you I have seen this advanced as unanswerable.
In the book of Maccabees is a very remarkable passage
authorizing prayers for the dead, and on this passage
they build their theory and sanction their practice. Yet
you know full well it is one of the Apocryphal books rejected
by the Jews, because not originally written in their
language. It was never quoted by our Saviour, nor even
received as inspired by your own church till the Council
of Trent, when it was admitted to substantiate the doctrine
of purgatory, and sanction prayers for the dead. I admit
that on this point St. Augustine's practice was in favor of
it; though it was only near the close of his long life that
he speaks of the soul of his mother. Yet already history
informs us that the practice of praying for the dead was
gaining ground in the church, along with image worship.
St. Cyprian, who lived long before him, and during a
purer state of the church, leaves no doubt on our minds as
to his sentiments on this subject; his words are these:

`When ye depart hence, there will be no room for repentance—no
method of being reconciled to God. Here eternal
life is either lost or won. Here, by the worship of
God, and the fruit of faith, provision is made for eternal
salvation. And let no man be retarded, either by his sins
or years, from coming to obtain it. No repentance is too
late while a man remains in this world.' Our Saviour
nowhere gives any encouragement for such a doctrine. On
the contrary, he said to the dying thief: `This day shalt
thou be with me in Paradise.' I know of no other argument
which Papists advance in favor of their darling theory,
save the practice of the latter Fathers of their church.”

“Mary, I can not believe this doctrine, without further
proof of Divine sanction.”

“Indeed, Florry, I know of no other reason in its favor,
and have long supposed it a system of extortion in connection
with indulgences, now used only as a means of gain
by the dissolute clergy of the Romish faith. I need scarcely
say, that the abuse of this latter doctrine drove Luther to
reformation. It is a well-known fact, that in the 16th century,
Tetzel, a Dominican monk high in his order, drove
through Germany in a wagon, containing two boxes—one
holding indulgences, the other the money received for
them. You will smile, Florry, when I repeat a translation
of the German lines written on the outside of the latter
box:

Yet the boldness and audacity of his general language was
quite in accordance: `Indulgences,' said he, `are the most
precious of God's gifts. I would not exchange my privileges
for those of St. Peter in heaven; for I have saved
more souls with my indulgences than he with all his sermons.
There is no sin so great that the indulgence will
not remit it. Even repentance is not necessary. Indulgences
save the dead; for the very moment the money
chinks against the bottom of this chest, the soul escapes
from purgatory, and flies to heaven.'

“Yet this inquisitor was high in favor with Pope Leo
X. You will say, Florry, that the abuse of a doctrine
should be no test of its soundness; and I admit that had
he received the punishment he so richly merited it would
not; yet this is only one instance among many. We have
conversed on the doctrines of the Romish faith merely as
theories, should we not now look at the practice? We
need not go very far. When Aunt Fanny expressed surprise
on seeing our Mexican shepherd eat meat last Friday,
did he not reply in extenuation, `I have paid the priest
and can eat meat?' Now if it was necessary for him to
abstain previously, could the small sum paid to the Padre
exempt him from the duty? Again we see the working
of the system: was not Herrara scrupulously exact on the
same point? yet he rose from the table and told a most
positive lie. With regard to indulgences, there is not a
Papist who will admit that they are a license to sin. The
voice of history declares that `a regular scale for absolution
was graded,' and the fact is authenticated by a recent
traveler, who asserts that in the chancel of Santa Croce,
at Rome, is hung a catalogue of the indulgences granted
to all who worship in that church. Yet your priests will

tell you they are the remission of sins already committed.
Did not Herrara say, `I have paid the Padre and can eat
meat?' Now I ask you if this is not a license to commit
what would otherwise be considered a heinous offense by
all devout Papists?”

“Relying implicitly on what the Padre asserted, Mary, I
have never investigated these subjects as I should have done,
before giving my credence and support; but of the doctrine
in question I can henceforth entertain but one opinion—a
detestable and infamous method of filling the papal coffers;
for since you have led me to think on this subject, I clearly
remember that a large portion of the enormous expense
incurred by the building, ornamenting, and repairing of St.
Peter's, was defrayed by money obtained through the sale
of indulgences. Oh, Mary, how could I have been so deluded—allowed
myself to be so deceived!” She took from
her pocket the rosary and crucifix which had been given
to her father, and threw them impatiently into the river
gurgling at her feet.

“The perfect harmony with which the entire system
works is unparalleled in the civil, religious, or political annals
of the world. A complete espionage is exercised
in papal countries, from the Adriatic to the Californian
gulf. And the greater portion of this is accomplished
by means of the confessional. The Superior at Rome can
become, at pleasure, as perfectly conversant with your
domestic arrangements, and the thousand incidents which
daily occur, as you or I, who are cognizant of them. To
what is all this tending? Ah, Florry, look at the blood-stained
records of the past. The voices of slaughtered

thousands, borne to us across the waste of centuries, bid
us remember the Duke of Alva, the Albigensian crusade,
the massacre of St. Bartholemew, and the blazes of Smithfield.
Ignatius Loyola! happy would it have been for
millions lost, and millions yet to be, hadst thou perished at
the siege of Pampeluna. Florry, contrast Italy and Germany,
Spain and Scotland, and look at Portugal, and
South America, and Mexico, and oh, look at this benighted
town! A fairer spot by nature the face of earth
can not boast; yet mark the sloth, the penury, the degradation
of its people, the misery that prevails. And why?
Because they languish under the iron rule of the papal see
—iron, because it admits of no modification. Entire supremacy
over both body and soul, or total annihilation of their
power. May the time speedily come when they shall
spurn their oppressors, and trample their yoke in the dust,
as their transatlantic brethren will ultimately do. Oh,
Florry, does not your heart yearn toward benighted Italy?
Italy, once so beautiful and noble—once the acknowledged
mistress of the world, as she sat in royal magnificence enthroned
on her seven hills; now a miserable waste, divided
between petty sovereigns, and a by-word for guilt and
degradation! The glorious image lies a ruin at our feet:
for the spirit that gave beauty and strength, and shed a halo
of splendor round its immortal name, has fled afar, perhaps
forever; banished by the perfidious system of Papacy
—that sworn foe to liberty, ecclesiastical or political.

“How incomprehensible the apathy with which the
English regard the promulgation of Puseyism in their
church! It is stealing silently but swiftly to the very

heart of their ecclesiastical institutions, and total subversion
will ultimately ensue. That Americans should contemplate
without apprehension the gradual increase of papal
power is not so astonishing, for this happy land has never
groaned beneath its iron sway. But that the descendants
of Latimer and of Ridley, of Hooper and of Cranmer,
should tamely view the encroachments of this monster
hydra, is strange indeed. Do not imagine, Florry, that I
doubt the sincerity of all who belong to the Church of
Rome. I know and believe that there are many earnest
and conscientious members—of this there can not be a
doubt; yet it is equally true, that the most devoted Papists
are to be found among the most ignorant, bigoted, and
superstitious of men. The masses of your church are
deceived with pretended miracles and wondrous legends,
such as the one currently reported respecting the holy
house of Loretto, which seems so migratory, and flies
hundreds of miles in a night. These marvelous tales
are credited by the uneducated; yet no enlightened man
or woman of the present age, who has fully investigated
this subject, can say with truth that they conscientiously
believe the doctrines of the Romish Church to be those
taught by our Saviour, or its practices in accordance with
the general tenor of the Bible. This may seem a broad assertion,
yet none who calmly consider the subject in all its
bearings, and consult the page of history, will pronounce it
a hasty one.”

“Yet remember, Mary, that the sect in question is
proverbial for charitable institutions. One vital principle
is preserved. Surely this is a redeeming virtue. Catholics

are untiring in schemes of benevolence and philanthropy.”

“You will start, and perhaps condemn me, when I
reply, that their boasted charity is but the mask behind
which they disseminate the doctrines of the Romish
Church. I may appear very uncharitable in the expression
of this opinion; yet hear me, Florry; facts are
incontrovertible. If you will think a moment, you can
not fail to remember Patrick, the porter at our friend Mrs.
D—'s. Having received a dangerous wound in his
foot he was sent to the hospital, where several of the
nurses were Sisters of Charity. He remained nearly
a month, and on his return related to Mrs. D—,
in my presence, some of the circumstances of his long
illness. His words made a lasting impression on my
mind:

“`Indeed, and I am glad enough to come home, ma'am;
for never was I treated worse in my life. The first week
Sister Agnes, who nursed in my room, was kind and
tender as could be, and thought I, if ever angels come
to earth, this good woman is one; but I can tell ye I did
not think so long: she read some saints' lives to us,
and asked me if I was a Catholic. I said no, I was
no Catholic. Then she tried every way to make me
one, and told me if I refused I would surely die and
go to purgatory. Faith! the more she talked that way,
the more I wouldn't be a Catholic; and then she just let
me alone, and not another thing would she do for me. I
might call from then till now, and never a step would she
come, or nurse me a bit. It is no good care of hers that

has brought me back alive and well: I tell you, Sister
Agnes won't do for any but Catholics.'

“Florry, is such charity akin to that taught by the
Bible? Catholics boast of their asylums; and by means
of fairs and suppers, large amounts are annually collected
for the support of these numerous institutions. I have
been told by a directress of a Protestant orphan asylum,
that on one occasion a squalid woman, accompanied by
two boys, presented herself and entreated that her children
might be received into the asylum. The unhappy
mother informed the directress that she was a Roman
Catholic, and had claimed the protection of her own
sect; buts aid she, tearfully, `Indeed I had no money to
pay for their entrance, and they refused to take my children.'

“Such, Florry, is their boasted charity; and I might
add, their lives are little in accordance with the spirit inculcated
by our Saviour, who said, `When ye do your alms,
let not your left hand know what your right hand doeth.'
There are thousands who daily dispense charities of various
kinds; yet they do not term themselves Sisters of Charity;
neither promenade the streets in a garb so antiquated and
peculiar as to excite attention, or elicit encomiums on their
marvelously holy lives and charitable deeds. Do not suppose,
Florry, because I speak thus, that I doubt the sincerity
of all who enroll themselves as Sisters. I do believe
that there are many pious and conscientious women thus
engaged; yet they are but tools of the priests, and by them
placed in these institutions for the purpose of making proselytes.”

A pause ensued, and Florence paced slowly along the
bank. Somewhat abruptly she replied:

“Yet you will admit, Mary, that we owe much to the
monks, by whose efforts light and knowledge were preserved
during the dark ages? But for them every vestige of literature,
every record of the past, would inevitably have been
lost.”

“Tell me, Florry, what caused the dark ages? Was it
not the gradual withdrawal of light and knowledge—the
crushing, withering influence exerted on the minds of men?
And tell me if this influence was not wielded by the priests
of Rome—corrupted, fallen Rome? During the dark period
in question, papal power was at its height; the thunders
of the Vatican were echoed from the Adriatic to the
Atlantic—from the Mediterranean to the North Sea. An
interdict of its profligate Pope clothed cities, and kingdoms,
and empires in mourning; the churches were closed, the
dead unburied, and no rite, save that of baptism, performed.
Ignorance and superstition reigned throughout the world;
and it is said, that in the ninth century scarce a person
was to be found in Rome itself who knew even the alphabet.
Yet monasteries crowned every eminence, and dotted
the vales of southern Europe. The power of the priesthood
was supreme. Florry, I do admit that what remained of
light and learning was hid in the cell of the anchorite; not
disseminated, but effectually concealed. They forgot our
Saviour's injunction—`Let your light shine before men.'
Oh! Florry, did not the teachers of the dark ages put their
light under a bushel? Dark ages will ever follow the increase
of papal power. It is part of their system to keep

the masses in ignorance. How truly it has been said
that Rome asked but one thing, and that Luther denied
her—`A fulcrum of ignorance on which to rest that lever
by which she can balance the world.' They dare not allow
their people light and knowledge; and what to others
was indeed a dark age, is regarded by the priests of Rome
as a golden season. Can you point to a single papal country
which is not enveloped in the black cloud of superstition
and crime? To Italy, and Spain, and Portugal, the
dark ages have not passed away; neither will they, till
liberty of conscience is allowed, and the Bible permitted in
the hands of the laity. Under papal rule, those unfortunate
nations will never rise from their degradation; for
their masters and teachers `love darkness rather than light,
because their deeds are evil.' It has often been said by
those who fail properly to consider this subject, that the
Roman Catholic schools and colleges which abound in the
United States are far superior to similar Protestant institutions.
Why do not these very superior teachers disseminate
knowledge at home? Why do they not first enlighten
the Spaniards, ere they cross the Atlantic to instruct
American pupils? The ignorance of Neapolitans is proverbial;
yet Naples is the peculiarly favored city of Romanism.
Tell me why these learned professors do not
teach their own people? Florry, papal institutions in
America are but branches of the Propaganda. They but
come to proselyte. I have heard it repeatedly averred of
a certain nunnery, `that no efforts were made to affect the
religious views of the pupils.' Yet I know that such is not
the case. They are far too politic openly to attack the religion;
yet secretly it is undermined. I will tell you how,
Florry, for you look wonderingly at me. Prizes are awarded
for diligence, and application; and these prizes are
books, setting forth in winning language the doctrines of
their church. I have seen one of these which was given
to M— K—, and I also read it most carefully. It
was titled `Alethea; or, a Defense of Catholic Doctrines.'
Yet most indignantly they deny any attempts toward proselyting
the pupils intrusted to their care.”

“Who will deny the truth of your statements, Mary?
Yet, if such are the facts, how can the world be so utterly
ignorant of, or indifferent to them? Strange that they can
thus regard a subject so fraught with interest to every lover
of liberty—to every patriot.”

“Florry, Papists are unacquainted with these things;
for, begirt with darkening, crushing influence, they are effectually
secluded from even a wandering ray of light on
this subject. The avenue through which all information
is conveyed at the present day is barred to them. Books
are denied to the Catholic laity. You may ask how this
is effected in this enlightened and liberal age. The prelates
of Rome, who long ago resorted to ignorance as their
bulwark, are ever on the alert. No sooner is a new publication
announced, than it is most carefully perused by
them; and if calculated to point out the fallacy of their
doctrines, or depict their abuse of power, a papal bull is
forthwith issued, prohibiting all Catholics from reading the
heretical book. The writings of the prince of novelists,
Walter Scott, which are universally read by other sects,
are peremptorily refused to all Papists. And why? Because

many of his darts are aimed at their profligate priesthood.
Now if, as they tell their people, these are but
slanderous attacks on their religion, surely the shafts would
fall harmless on the armor of truth. Why then so strenuously
oppose their reading such works? Florry, the trite
adage, `Truth is the hardest of all to bear,' is applicable to
these prelates of papacy; who, knowing their danger, are
fully resolved to guard the avenues of light and knowledge.
The Pope of imperial Rome, surrounded as he is with luxury,
magnificence, and hosts of scarlet-liveried cardinals,
who stand in readiness to convey his mandates to the remotest
corners of the earth, has been made to tremble on
his throne by the pen of feeble woman. The truthful delineations
of Charlotte Elizabeth startled his Holiness of the
Vatican, and the assistant conclave of learned cardinals are
trembling lest their laity of the Green Isle should catch a
glimpse of light. A bull was quickly fulminated against
her heretical productions. Alas! when, when will the
Romish Church burst the iron bands which begirt her?

“The world at large—I mean the world as composed
of Protestants, latitudinarians, politicians, statesmen, and
fashionable dunces, are in a great measure acquainted with
these facts; but knowing the rapidly increasing power of
papal Rome, and the vast influence already wielded in this
happy land by its priesthood, they prefer to float along with
the tide, rather than vigorously resist this blasting system
of ignorance, superstition, and crime which, stealthily approaching
from the east and from the west, will unite and
crush the liberties of our glorious Republic. As patriots,
they are called on to oppose strenuously its every encroachment—yet

they dare not; for should they venture to declaim
against its errors, they endanger their popularity
and incur the risk of defeat at an ensuing election. Florry,
I was once conversing on this subject with a lady who had
recently visited Europe, and inquired of her if she had not
marked the evils and abuses which existed in the papal
dominions through which she traveled. She whisperingly
replied—`Certainly, my dear, I could not fail to mark the
ignorance and degradation which prevailed, but I never
speak of it, because, you know, it makes one very unpopular.'
Here, Florry, you have the clew to the mystery.
Americans quietly contemplate this momentous subject,
and silently view the abuses which are creeping into our
communities, because if they expose them, it is at the hazard
of becoming unpopular.”

“Mary, can I ever, ever forget that hour in the church-yard?”
Florence sadly said, as they rose and proceeded
to the house. “Oh! it seems branded on my brain; yet
I must cast this new grief from me, for enough of anguish
was mine before. Still I feel that there is a path just
ahead, and it seems lighted up. But a slight barrier intervenes,
and when that is passed all will be well. Pray
for me, Mary, that I may be enabled to lead the life of a
Christian, and at last die the death of the righteous.”

Clasping tightly the hand which rested in her own,
Mary replied:

“While life remains, it shall indeed be my prayer that
you may be blessed on earth, and rewarded in heaven.
Oh, Florry, I thank God that the scales have fallen from
your eyes, and that truth shines brightly before you.” She

stopped suddenly, and pressed her hand to her side, while
the pale brow wrinkled with pain.

“I have been talking too much, there is a suffocating
sensation here.”

“It is only momentary, I hope.”

Mary shook her head, and smiled sadly: “I dont know,
Florry; I have felt strangely of late.”

That evening, as the household were busily preparing
for their intended departure, Dr. Bryant abruptly entered,
and informed them, with a clouded brow, that removal
was impossible, as he could not procure a pair of horses for
any price.

“It is perfectly unaccountable what has possessed the
Mexican from whom I purchased as many as I thought
necessary. We agreed as to price, and they were to be
sent this afternoon; but about two hours ago, he came to
me, and declared that he had changed his mind, and would
not part with them. I offered double the original amount,
but he said money was no inducement. I strove to borrow
or hire for any given time, but every proposal was peremptorily
declined, and as it is impossible to leave here, I
came over to entreat you to remain with my sister, at least
for a few days, till we can determine what is advisable to
do.”

His proposal was accepted, and the ensuing day saw them
inmates of Mrs. Carlton's.