The female Jesuit; or, The spy in the family

THE

FEMALE JESUIT;

OR

Cjjt §^ in tilt jFamilij.

'^-:.

NV »^ ^;i . ^ ^ V^N NArv VvK^'^ Vs>***iv?»'.> ^^^) \-.Vs\^ ^-'

H. DAYTON, PUBLISHER,

36 HOWARD STREET.
IKDUNAPOLIS, IND. :— A8HBB A COMPANY.

1860.

THE NEW YORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY

503205 A

ASTOR, LENOX AND

TILDEN i-OUiNDATlONS

K 1930 i-

PEEFACE

The startling assertion tliat " truth is stranger than
fiction" has seldom been more fully verified than in
the details of this volume. The heroine whose extra-
ordinary scheme of deception is here recorded, intro-
duced herself to the Eev. as an orphan, with

no near relatives but a Jesuit uncle and an aunt, also
a " religieuse." She stated that she had been an in-
mate of various convents in connection with the " Faith-
ful Companions of Jesus" for seventeen years. These
she represented as an Order of Female Jesuits. She
described herself as having been for two years a pos-
tulant in their Order, and as about to be removed to
Paris, there to take upon her vows from which there
could be no escape. Having long been convinced of
the errors of the system, and having accidentally heard

Mr. L 's name and character, she had contrived to

get to him in order to throw herself on his kindness
for advice. As will subsequently appear, she was re-
ceived into his family, and thence obtained a situation

as a governess. She returned to Mr. L 's house on

account of supposed dangerous illness, and continued
there till the discovery of her plots. She is still at
large, and has been seen in London. Who and what

IV PREFACE.

she is remain a mystery. Whether she is self-taught
and self-prompted in the art of deception, or whether
the almost supernatural ability she displays, has been
acquired in the school of the Jesuits, must be left for
the judgment of the reader to decide, and the publica-
tion of this volume to elicit.

The statements in the "Introduction" relating to the
laws and mechanism of the " Community" which Ma-
rie L Gr had quitted, and to her escape, were

furnished by herself For these and for her "Auto-
biography," the writer cannot be answerable. All the
remainder of the hook is strictly and literally true.

The title of " The Female Jesmt" has been chosen
in accordance with Marias description of the Order to
which she said that she had belonged, and also as in-
dicative of the character of her proceedings. It is the
general persuasion of those who are acquainted with
the circumstances that she has acted under Jesuit in-
fluence, and the following narrative from Hogan's
"Auricular Confession and Popish Nunneries," 4th
Edition, pp. 90 to 97, in some respects so much resem-
bles the one which this volume records as to strengthen
the suspicion, and is for this reason inserted in full.

" Soon after my arrival in Philadelphia," he writes, " I be-
came acquainted with a Protestant family. I had the pleasure
of dining occasionally with them, and could not help noticing a
seemingly delicate young man, who waited at the table. There
was something in the countenance and whole appearance of
this individual which struck me as singular. I could see no in-
dication of positive wickedness or signal depravity in the exter-
nal configuration of the young man's head. The expression of
the eye indicated meekness, humility, and habitual obedience,

PREFACE. V

rather than anything else ; but I could see, nevertheless, in the
closely-compressed lips and furtive glance, which I could only
occasionally catch — and even then by a sort of stealth, — some-
thing that puzzled me. I know not why, but I could not like
him. There was no cause, as far as I could see, why I should
dislike the young man. Constitutionally, I was myself rather
fearless than otherwise. I cannot recollect that, with equal
means of defence, I ever before feared any one. * * * *
I could never find the eye of this man fixed upon me without
an involuntary feeling of dread. I met him often in the streets :
he always seemed neat and tidy in his person ; he was civil and
respectful in his deportment ; never seemed to forget that so-
ciety had its grades, and that circumstances had clearly desig-
nated his own. With that he seemed w^ell contented, never,
as far as I could see, seeming to feel the least desire of intrud-
ing upon that of others. This being rather a rare case in the
United States, twenty years ago — at any rate, when it was dif-
ficult to get servants who knew their places, struck me as an-
other singular feature in his manner and character, and did not
at all tend to remove the unpleasant impressions which his ap-
pearance made upon my mind. Not long after this, a messen-
ger called at my rooms to say that ' Theodore ' was

taken ill, and wished to see me. I was then officiating as a
Romish priest, and, calling to see him, was shown up stairs to
the door of a garret room, into which, after a loud rap, and an-
nouncing my name, I was admitted to the sick young man.
He had returned to his bed before I entered, and was wrapped
in a large overcloak. I asked him whether he wanted to see
me, and for what purpose. He dehberately turned out of his
bed, locked the door again, very respectfully handed me a
chair, and asked me to sit down, as he had something very
important to tell me. He wrapped himself again in his cloak,
lay on the outside of the bed, and spoke to me in a firm, de-
cided tone to the following effect : —

VI PREFACE.

" ' Sir, you have taken me for a young man, but you are
mistaken. I am a girl, but not so young as I appear to you
in my boy's dress. I sent for you because I want to get a
character, and confess to you before I leave the city.' I an-
swered, ' You must explain yourself more fully before you do
either.' I moved my chair further from the bed, and tight-
ened my grasp upon a sword-cane which I carried in my hand.
' Feel no alarm,' said this young woman ; ' I am as well armed
as you are' — taking from under her jacket an elegant poignard :
— ' I will not hurt you. I am a lay sister belonging to the order
of Jesuits in Stonyhurst, England, and I wear this dagger to
protect myself.'

" There was no longer any mystery in the matter. I knew
now where I was and the character of the being that stood be-
fore me. I discovered from her that she arrived in New Or-
leans to the priests and nuns of that city. She had the neces-
sary ' Shibboleth' from the Jesuits of Stonyhurst, to their
brothers and sisters, who were then, and are now, numerous in
that city. They received her with all due caution, as far as
could be seen by the public, but privately in the warmest
manner. Jesuits are active and diligent in the discharge of
their duties to their superiors, and of course this sister, who
was chosen from among many for her zeal and craft, lost no
time in entering on her mission. The Sisters of Charity in
New Orleans took immediate charge of her, recommended her
as chambermaid to one of the most respectable Protestant fam-
ilies in the city ; and having clothed her in an appropriate dress,
she entered upon her employment. She was active, diligent,
and competent. The young ladies of the family were delighted
with her ; she appeared extremely pious, but not ostentatiously
so. She seemed desirous to please in -all things; talked but
seldom of religion, but took care that her devotional exer-
cises should be noticed, though she seemed to avoid such a
thing. Her conduct was in every way unexceptionable. So

PREFACE. VU

great a favorite did she become in the fainily, that m a short
time she became acquainted with all the circumstances and
secrets, from those of the father down to those of the youngest
child.

"According to a custom universally in vogue among the
Jesuit spies, slTe kept notes of every occurrence which might
tend to elucidate the character of the family, never carrying
them about her, but depositing them for safe keeping with the
Mother Abbess, especially deputed to take charge of them. She
soon left this family under some pretext or other, obtained from
them an unqualified recommendation for honesty and compe-
tency, which, with the previous and secret arrangements of the
Sisters of Charity, obtained for her without delay a place in
another Protestant family. Here, too, she was without fault, —
active, honest, and industrious to all appearance. Little did
these families know that, while they and their children were
quietly reposing in the arms of sleep, this apparently innocent
waiting-maid or chambermaid was, perhaps, in the dead hour
of night, reducing to paper their conversation of the day pre-
vious, and preparing it, at least as much of it as could answer
any Jesuitical purpose, to be recorded among the secret archives
of the Jesuit college of Stonyhurst, from which they were to
be transcopied to those of the parent college in Rome.

" Thus did this lay sister continue to go from place to place,
from family to family, until she became better acquainted with
the politics, the pecuniary means, religious opinions, (whether
favorable or not to the propagation of Popery in this country)
than even the very individuals with whom she resided. No one
suspected her, all believed her innocent and industrious ; the
only fault they could find with her was, that she seemed too
fond of going from one place to another. For this, however,
the Sisters of Charity had some salvo or other.

"On arriving in Baltimore, she, of course, called upon the
nuns of that city, who were prepared for her reeeption, and had

Vm PREFACE.

already a situation engaged for a ' chambermaid whom they
expected from New Orleans, and who was coming highly rec-
ommended by some of the first families in that city.' She took
possession of a place as soon as convenient, spent several
months in that city, discharging all her duties faithfully, no one
finding any fault with her, except her restlessness in not staying
long with any family. Having now become acquainted with
the secrets and circumstances of almost every Protestant family
of note in Baltimore, and made her report to the Mother Abbess
of the nunnery of her order in that city, she retired to the dis-
trict of Columbia, and after advising with the Mother Abbess
of the convent, she determined to change her apparent charac-
ter and appearance.

"By advice of that venerable ladij, the Holy Prioress^ on
whom many of the wives of our national representatives, and
even grave senators, look as an example oi piety and chastity,
she cut short her hair, dressed herself in a smart-looking waiter's
jacket and trousers, and, with i-he best recommendations for
intelligence and capacity, she, in her new dress, applied for a
situation as waiter at Gadsby's Hotel in Washington city.
This smart and tidy-looking young man got instant employ-
ment : and now we have the lay sister in quite a different char-
acter. His intelligent countenance — we must not say her in
future — soon attracted the notice of some of our most eloquent
statesmen. He appeared so humble, so obedient, and so inat-
tentive to anything but his own business, and those senators on
whom he waited, not suspecting that he had the ordinary curi-
osity of servants in general, were entirely thrown off their guard,
and in their conversations with one another seemed to forget
their usual caution. Such in a short time was their confidence
in him, that thef/ most important papers and letters were left
loose upon their tables, satisfied with saying, as they were going
out, ' Theodore, take care of my room and papers.'

New the Jesuit was in her glory. Noto the lay sister had an

PREFACE. IX

opportunity of knowing many of our national secrets, as well as
the private characters of some of our eminent statesmen. Now
it was known whether Henry Clay was a gambler ; whether
Daniel Webster was a libertine ; whether John C. Calhoun was
an honorable but credulous man. Now it was known what
value was put upon Popish influence in this country, and what
were the hopes of Papist foreigners in the United States. In
fact, this lay sister in male uniform, and but a waiter in Gadsby's
Hotel, was thus enabled to give more correct information of the
actual state of things in this country, through the General of
the Jesuit Order in Rome, than the whole corps diplomatic
from foreign countries then resident at our seat of government.
After relating to me in her sick-room — as the family in which
she lived fancied it was — all these circumstances, she deliberately
said to me, * I want a written character from you. You must
state in it that I have complied with my duty ; and as it is
necessary that I should wear a cap for a while, having cut oflf
my hair, you must say that you visited me in my sick-room,
that I confessed to you, received the viaticum^ and had just re-
covered from a violent fever, in which I lost my hair. My busi-
ness is not yet done,' said she. * I must go to New York, where
the Sisters of Charity will find a place for me as waiting-
maid.' It is needless to say with what reluctance any man
could comply with such a request as this ; and my having done
so, is a stronger evidence than I have heretofore given of the
indomitable strength of early education."

Michelet's " Jesuits and Jesuitism" communicates
the fact, that Loyola's law, forbidding the employment
of female agency, has been expressly repealed, and
that some orders of nuns are available for Jesuit pur-
poses. The ladies of the Order of the " Sacre Coeur^^
m particular are said to be '' not only directed and
governed by the Jesuits, but since 1823 to have had

1#

X PREFACE.

the same rules." The facts quoted firom Hogan prove
that such a system is in operation.

The writer, however, does not intend to attach even
to the Jesuits the odium of a scheme of duphcitj in
which they may have had no share. If it be not so,
proof is invited to the contrary, and it is hoped that
the publication of these circumstances will bring out
the facts, and set conjecture at rest.

CONTENTS.

PAKT I.

INTRODUCTION.

Chap. ^^ Pa«9

I. PECULIARITIES OF THE ORDER OF " THE FAITHFUL

COMPANIONS OF JESUS
II. CONVENT AT I •

IIL THE OMNIBUS •
IV. MARIE^S NEW FOUND FRIENDS
V. FARTHER UNEXPECTED EVENTS
VI. THE CONVENT IN COMMOTION
VIL REVEREND MOTHER A LITTLE TOO LATE

17

20
22
26
28
32
89

PART n.

AUTO-BIOGRAPHY OF THE FEMALE JESUIT:

0K| SaVENTEKN YKA.R8 OF CONVENT hlTZ IN CONNECTION WITH THB "FAITHFUL
COMPANIONS OF JE8US."

I. MOTIVES FOR PUBLISHING • •

II. THE CONVENT SCHOOL • •

in. FIRST CONFESSION • • •

IV. FIRST COMMUNION • • •

v.. TWO TEARS AT I—
VI. DEATH OF A PUPIL AT CHATEAUROUX

45

46
50
52
55
67

Xll

CONTENTS.

Chap.

VII. THE NOVITIATE .

VIII. TAKING THE WHITE VEIL .

IX. MENTAL DISQUIETUDE
X. REMOVAL TO MANOTTE

XI. VISIT OF MY BROTHER
XII. RELIGIOUS DOUBTS

XIII. mamma's DEATH

XIV. DIFFICULTIES ABOUT PURGATORY

XV. THE DYING NUN .

XVL ENTERING THE COMMUNITY .
XVir. DESCRIPTION OF A C(^^VENT LIFE
XVIII. REMOVAL FROM CARROUGE ,
XIX. CHRISTMAS-DAY.

Page

59
63
65
67
69
11
13
15

Id

83

87

103

109

PAET III.

THE SEQUEL.

I. MARIE'S BOOK-MAKING

II. MARIE A GOVERNESS .

IIL uncle's FIRST LETTER

IV.. Marie's perplexities
V. Marie's reply ,

VI. THE FIRE in THE HOUSE
VII. THE UNCLE EXPECTED
VIII. MARIE AN HEIRESS .
IX. A MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE

X. A CORRESPONDENCE IN THE HOUSE
XI. THE uncle's admonitions ,

. 115

. 118

. 124

. 129

. 134

. 143

. 148

152

159

164

. 173

CONTENTS.

ZIU

Chap. Page

XII. Marie's occupations 181

XIII. Marie's ANSWERS FOR the GENERAL OF the JESUITS 188

XIV. the midnight bell ....

XV. the uncle knows all

XVI. Marie's poetry and essay

XVII. DELAYS IN UNCLe's ARRIVAL

XVIII. NEW TRAITS OF CHARACTER

XIX. ATTEMPTS AT CONFESSION .

XX. REHEARSAL OF A DEATH-BED SCENE .
XXI. TRIFLING CIRCUMSTANCES LEADING TO

EVENTS

XXII. THE SCENE BEGINS TO CHANGE . .

XXIII. STARTLING DISCOVERIES

XXIV. MARIE IN UNCONSCIOUS CUSTODY

XXV. THE SISTERS ENDEAVOR TO KILL THE UNCLE
XXVI. THE UNCLE DISAPPEARS
XXVII. PROGRESS OF DISCOVERY
XXVIII. CONVENT DISCLOSURES
XXIX. CROSS PURPOSES
XXX. THE TRIAL MORNING .

XXXI. Marie's transmigrations

XXXII. THE BANDAGED ARM .

XXXIII. TEMPORARY EXILE

XXXIV. WAS SHE NOT A JESUIT ?

. 198

. 202
. 207
. 215
. 224
. 231
. 242

GREAT

. 246
. 253
. 262
. 270
. 277
. 284
. 292
. 301
. 309
. 318
. 331
. 341
. 345
. 349

PART L

^titrnhtrtfnn

THE FEMALE JESUIT.

CHAPTER I.

%

PECULIARITIES OF THE ORDER OF

COMPANIONS OF JESUS."

When Ignatius Loyola had been prevailed upon by the
entreaties of three ladies to undertake their spiritual oversight,
and thus lay the foundation of a community of women, he
speedily repented of his compliance, nor could their utmost
efforts induce him to resume the trust. He declared that " the
control and direction of three women gave him more trouble
than the government of a society which had spread itself over
the face of Europe."*

But though the Lady Rosella failed, a feminine attempt of
more recent date has succeeded, and there exists at the present
time in the Roman Catholic Church an order of nuns cor-
responding in its aims and regulations with the society of the
Jesuits.

It was established early in the present century, and owes its
origin to a French lady of high rank and large property, who,
bringing both to the service of the Church, was constituted by
the Pope, foundress of a new religious order. Like the Jesuits,
it adopts for its designation "The Society of Jesus," or " The
* Isaae Taylor's "Loyola," p. 189.

18 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

Faithful Companions of Jesus." Those who join its community,
like the Jesuits, are bound to the most slavish subjection of body
and mind ; passive and unquestioning obedience being repre-
sented as the highest point of perfection. It may be as truly
said of them as of the Jesuits, that in their Order " obedience
takes the place of every motive or affection that usually awakens
one to activity, — obedience, absolute and unconditional, without
one thought or question as to its object or consequence. With
the most unlimited abjuration of all right of judgment, in total
and blind subjection to the will of his superiors, must each re-
sign himself to be led as a thing without life, as the staff, for
example, that the Superior holds in his hand, to be turned to
any purpose seeming good to him. The Society is to him as
the representative of Divine Providence."*

Like the Jesuits, moreover, the members of this female
society have no settled resting-place, but are moved from con-
vent to convent, and from country to country, at the will of
their superiors, without previous knowledge or choice on their
own part, and sometimes at a few minutes' notice.

As with the Jesuits, a perfect system of espionage is main-
tained over every member of the community, and the utmost
secrecy preserved with regard to the movements of the Order.
And, like the Jesuits, the chief though unavowed object ap-
pears to be the increase and prosperity of the Order, and the
accession of new converts by means of the education of the
young.

This Society was first established near Geneva, but it has
gradually spread itself over France, Germany, Italy, England,
and Ireland ; numbering upwards of twenty convents, and in-
cluding in its community about five hundred nuns, novices, and
lay sisters. There are also about twelve hundred pupils from
the higher orders of society in connection with the convent
schools, exclusive of the day schools for the poor.

* Ranke'8 "History of tke Popes." Boek XL

PECULIARITIES OF THE ORDER. 19

The foundress and head of the Order is styled the " Rever-
end Mother General," or the " Very Reverend Mother," and her
provincial deputy the " Reverend Mother." The power of the
former is despotic. She can make or unmake laws for the
community as she will, and is considered as standing to them
in the place of God. When she appears in the morning all
instantly kneel for her blessing, and none may approach her but
on their knees.

In the absence of the Very Reverend Mother or her Pro-
vincial, one of the senior nuns is appointed as Lady Superior to
each convent, but her authority is very limited, and she must
apply to the Very Reverend Mother for directions in any case
not explicitly provided for by the rules of the Order.

This Order has been, up to the present period, steadily pro-
gressing. The number of convents is increasing, as well as the
number of pupils in each, and many converts to the Roman
Catholic faith are annually made from among the Protestant
pupils in the schools.

The disciphne of this Order is in some respects less rigid than
that of other orders, for the service of the sisterhood being re-
quired for the purposes of education, it is deemed inexpedient
to injure their health by severe fasts and penances. On the
other hand, the implicit obedience required, and surrender of all
will and judgment, from the most important decisions of life
down to the merest trifles, involve a state of mental slavery
more trying to an independent spirit than any mere bodily
afflictions. The check put upon the natural feelings, and the
frequent and sudden removals from place to place, strike at the
root of all strong attachments and endearing associations. Those
who have been close companions for one or two years in one
convent, may in a day be separated never to meet again, and all
efforts to trace each other, either by letter or inquiry, be fruit-
less.
- The members of the community, being for the most part

20 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

ladies both by birth and education, of cultivated intellects and
refined sensibilities, are just such as are most keenly alive to
suffering from these causes, and the history which follows,
though it presents no harrowing detail of corporeal inflictions,
is probably but one specimen of many who are now in like
manner contending with the menbil struggles of a reflective
and upright mind, and the repressed and agonized yearnings of
an affectionate heart.

CHAPTER II.

CONVENT AT I

The convent at I belongs to the Order which has been

briefly described. It is a large red brick pile of building in the
Elizabethan style. The stables have been metamorphosed into
a chapel, and the court-yard is beautifully paved with small
stones, mingled with crosses and other designs. Without, ad-
joining the chapel, is a school for the poor, superintended in
turn by diflferent nuns and novices. The back of the house is
toward the road, and the front opens upon an immense lawn
and shrubbery. The grounds are prettily laid out, and are
bounded at the extreme end by a branch of the Thames.
There are several iron arbors, shaded by weeping ash-trees,
under which, when processions are made through the grounds,
temporary altars are erected. A grove of beautiful trees rises
upwards to an artificial hill, on which a grotto stands. Round
the interior of this grotto are fixed a number of little altars be-
longing to the pupils of the convents, bearing on them images
of the Virgin and Child.

On a Wednesday evening, Jan. lYth, 1849, between six and

GOSVENT AT I . 21

soven o'clock, while the nuns were at lecture, a young lady,
who had been for seventeen years a pu[)il in the convents of
this Ord(^r, and who for the last two years had been a postulant,
entered the grotto. She knelt, and wept, and prayed in an
agony of feeling, which He who searches the heart alone could
fully estimate. She had been gradually but fully convinced of
the errors of Romanism, and intensely longed for the light of
God's truth and the liberty of His Gospel. She had looked
forward for some time with increasing dread and disgust to the
profession of a nun, yet she could see no escape. She had
been educated for a nun. The last wishes of a dying mother
had already induced her to become a postulant. She had
neither father nor mother, brother nor sister, to whom to
appeal. Her uncle was a Jesuit priest, and impatient for her
to take the veil. Her aunt brought large property into the
Order, and stood high in repute for talents and sanctity as supe-
rioress of one of the convents.

From neither of these could she hope for sympathy. The
time for her profession had already been on various pretexts
delayed, and she could not put it off longer. She could not
confide in any of the sisterhood, as they would have been bound
by their vows immediately to reveal her secret. She had not
one Protestant friend. The penny a day allowed the nuns for
charity was the only money she ever possessed. Every article
of any value had been taken from her when she became a pos-
tulant, and how could she venture out on the wide world with-
out knowing a single person in it, or having the means of pro-
curing so much as a night's lodging. Indisposition alone had
prevented her being sent to the continent, in company with two
other nuns, a fortnight before ; and various Intimations, which
experience had taught her to understand, convinced her that she
was on the point of being sent to Carouges to perform her
novitiate. Driven from all creature help, she turned in her
distress to Him whose enlightened spirit had visited her, and

22 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

besought Him, in this her last extremity, to appear for lier de-
liverance. How signally her prayer was answered, she desires
to have recorded for the encouragement of others.

CHAPTER III.

THE OMNIBUS.

It was about nine o'clock on the following morning, when the

I omnibus drew up at the gate of the convent. Two of

its young inmates made their appearance, and asked to be taken
to town. There was but one vacant seat inside, so the young
lady stepped in, and her companion, who had apparently come
with her as an attendant, got outside. The omnibus rolled on,
and gradually set down the greater part of its passengers, till
four only remained. Among these was the young lady of the
convent. It was Marie, whom we introduced in the last chapter.
She was reading her Catholic prayer-book, as is the custom of
the nuns at all leisure moments, when out of it accidentally
dropped a little cross. It was picked up by a gentleman who
sat opposite to her, and courteously returned without a remark.
Shortly after, the two other passengers got out, and they were
left alone. He then entered into conversation with her, and,
presuming that she was a member of the Roman Catholic
Church, he gradually led the way to what he conceived to be
its errors. The gentleman in question was neither young nor
handsome, but the expression of his countenance was strikingly
benevolent, and his manner most kind and fatherly. The first
thought that he might be one of her own Church, seeking to
test her fidelity, was soon discarded, and his evident earnestness
and sincerity won her entire confidence. She frankly acknowl-

THE OMNIBUS. 23

edged her doubts, and stated her circumstances. He expressed
his surprise how she or any one could read the Bible and con-
tinue to be a Roman Catholic. She burst into tears, and told
him that she had never seen the Bible, and would not be allow-
ed to possess one. He seemed much shocked, and earnestly
entreated her to seek advice of some Protestant minister. She
told him she had long wished to meet with one, but knew not
where or how. He said she could go to some Protestant place
of worship, and remain to speak to the minister. She told him
that it would not be permitted, and that she could not do it un-
observed. He then recommended her to seek one that very
day. She expressed her willingness to do so. "To whom

should she go ?" and he began to think. There was a Dr. ,

a very good man, but he did not know where he lived, and

feared it was a long way oflf. There was a Mr. , but he

too lived at some distance. There was another minister, a Mr.

L , who had not long been in London ; the chapel at which

he officiated was near ; she had better go to him. She asked

whether she might indeed place confidence in this Mr. L .

He assured her that she might. She thanked him, and resolved
to follow the advice of her kind friend and adviser, feeling an
impression that he had been sent to her by heaven, in answer
to her prayer. The omnibus stopped. He expressed his re-
gret that he could not show her the way, having business in
another direction, and bade her farewell.

It was a feast and gala night in the convent of S ,

whither Marie was going. Her young attendant's services
would be required, so, availing herself of this pretext, on getting
out of the omnibus she sent the girl on, promising to follow as
soon as she had completed the business about which she had
been sent She, herself, went to execute a commission, and
then commenced her search for Mr. L .

Unacquainted with the neighborhood, and timid from her
convent life, she wandered about for three hours, getting into

24 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

courts and places which terrified her, and receiving one answer
from all whom she asked, " that there was no such chapel in the
square." It was getting dusk, and fatigue and fasting added to
her dejection. At length she met with a girl who knew the
place, and kindly undertook to be her guide. It was not in the
square, but in one of the many streets leading out of it. She

rang at the side door, and asked for Mr. L , and was told

that he was not there, and that he lived between three and four
miles off.

If Marie had not been inspired with energy and perseverance
from above, she would surely have given up in despair. But
she was not to be dismayed, even by this discouraging reply.
She inquired farther, and found that there was to be a service

at seven o'clock, and that Mr. L would be there a few

minutes before that time. Resolving to return, she hastened to
where she had some other business to transact, and was informed
that the lawyer to whom she was sent, would not be at home
till after seven. This suited very well, as it allowed time to

renew her inquiries for Mr. L in the interval, and furnished

an excuse for a late return to the convent. She walked about

for another hour, to while away the time, and returned to

street a little after six.

It was Mr. L 's custom to spend the Thursday in visiting

his people, and to take tea with one of them, before going to
the service. That evening, as he went his rounds, he felt so
unwell that he gave up his usual plan, went straight to the
vestry, and asked the pew-opener to send him tea there. He
arrived about six. But for this unusual circumstance, he would
not have been there till just before the service began, and too
late to speak to Marie.

She arrived a little after six, and was shown into the vestry.
Her agitation was extreme, and she glanced round as though
the walls had eyes and ears, but his calm and gentle manner
soon inspired her with confidence. There was not time for any

THE OMNIBUS. 25

lengthened conversation ; such as tliere was, soothed and com-
forted her. He gave her a httle New Testament, the first she
had ever held in her hand, and directed her to come to his
house the next day, if she could obtain her liberty for a few
hours.

From the vestry Marie posted on to the house of the Catholic
lawyer, and thence hastened back to the convent. She had
paced about four hours, and had not tasted food since early
morning. All at the convent were too busy to make more than
general inquiries, and after taking a little refreshment, she re-
tired to her room. She took her Testament from her pocket, and
placed it under her pillow, that it might not be discovered dur-
ing her sleep.

But sleep was not for Marie. Thoughts of the past, and
dreams of the future, crowded through her excited brain. All
the circumstances of her previous life passed in rapid review
before her, and a lifetime yet to come floated on her imagina-
tion. What was to become of her, if after all she did not
make her escape, or how she was to be provided for if she did ;
fears of discovery regarding the past evening, and cogitations
as to how she could get away for a few hours on the morrow,
kept her in such a whirl of thought and emotion, that she would
have been overpowered had it not been for the firm per-
suasion which possessed her, that the extraordinary meeting
with the stranger in the omnibus was the hand of God pointing
out her way, and that He would not leave her till He had ac-
complished her deliverance.

Marie was no longer friendless though she knew it not ; there-
were those in whose minds an interest had that nio^ht been
awakened which was soon to ripen into warm attachment, and
who talked of her and prayed for her as she lay on her restless
couch.

And where was he who had opened to her the door of hope,
who had seemed to her as an angel from heaven directing her

26 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

way ? Did he think of her and pray for her that mght ? Did
he tell the tale of his interview with her to some dear home
circle who could mingle their prayers with his on her behalf?
Does he ever think of her now ? Does he ever wish to know
what became of her ? It is her hope that he may chance to
see this book, and learn how, while instant in season and true
to his Master's work, his Christian fidelity and love were blessed
to her deliverance. And if any of the public journals or re-
views should notice her little history, she makes it her request
to them that they will repeat the circumstance of his meeting
with her, and tell him the gratitude she shall ever feel towards
him, and how she longs once again to see him and thank hira
for herself; or how if she may not thank him on earth, she
hopes to do so in eternity.

CHAPTER IV.

MARIE'S NEW FOUND FRIENDS.

The scene must change to a house of moderate size and
cheerful aspect at the extreme West End of London.

Its inmates consisted of the pastor, his wife, a sister residing
with her, another sister on a visit, and a lively warm-hearted
little girl not quite five years old.

The fire had thrice been made up, the slippers had long wait-
ed on the rug and the cloth on the table. The wife and one
of her sisters had listened in vain, as any footsteps neared the
house, for the step they were anxiously expecting, and again
and again had the door been opened in the hope of getting a
sight of him for whom they waited. Just when anxiety Avas
giving place to alarm at the unprecedented lateness of his

Marie's new found friends. 27

return, and they were about to send a messenger to inquire
after him, his knock was heard and their fears were dispelled.

He sat down in the arm-chair and seemed unusually silent.
" Is anything the matter, dear ? is your mother well ?" his wife
asked.

" Oh there is nothing amiss," he answered cheerfully. " First,
there were several people to speak to me after the service ; then
there was a Sunday-school committee to be held, and when we
thought it over Mr. Secretary brought out the Report to be
read and corrected. When I got into Oxford-street I had to
wait just an hour for an omnibus ; and, finally, your clock is
iust half an hour too fast, so the mystery is soon explained. But
though there is nothing amiss, I have met with an adventure.
Give me some supper, and I will tell you all."

So the supper was eaten, and then he told them of Marie's
visit to the vestry. They were deeply interested in the story.

" But," said Mrs. L , " I should like to see her and talk to

her myself, there have been so many impostors that it disposes
me to be skeptical ; I think you are rather apt to be taken in,
dear, especially by applicants of our sex."

" Well, I gave her our address and asked her to come, and
I hope she will be able to do so ;" and he mentioned several
little incidental circumstances which convinced him of Marie's
truthfulness. And so they talked till an hour beyond midnight,
and retired to rest to wait the issue of the next day.

28 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

CHAPTER Y.

FAKTHER UNEXPECTED EVENTS.

Four o'clock, summer or winter, was the hour for rising in
the convent, but on account of her delicacy of health Marie was
allowed to rest till five. Long before daylight, on the Friday
morning, she rose from her sleepless bed with the question yet
unsolved, of " how she was to get leave of absence during the
day ?"

She had not left her dormitory when, at six o'clock, the Su-
perioress came to her and told her to go with two mothers (or
nuns), who had just arrived from the continent, to the convent

at H . Having twice spent a short time at the convent she

could act as guide. The Superioress gave her permission to

spend the rest of the day at H , provided she went on an

errand to Regent-street before her return.

Marie was much struck with this unexpected opening, and
instantly resolved to avail herself of the opportunity to go to

Mr. L 's. A little after eight she started as guide to the

nuns, and reached H with them. After resigning her

charge, and seeing the sick nuns, she took the omnibus to C ,

and another in the direction of Mr. L 's house.

Being a new neighborhood Marie had great difficulty in find-
ing the house, but the experience of the past day had taught
her perseverance. When at length she found the terrace she
had forgotten the number, and tried several houses in vain. As
is often the case with London neighbors, the name was not
known. She went from house to house and found the right.

Meantime, the minister's family had watched and waited for
her with anxiety second only to her own. They had joined in
prayer that help and guidance might be given to her who

FARTHER UNEXPECTED EVENTS. 29

needed both. They scarcely dared to hope that she would
make her ^ay to them, and many were the regrets expressed
that the chances of several mornings had not been left open to
her.

The clock had not long struck eleven when a knock, just
such as suggested who it was, announced her arrival. She
was neatly dressed in black, with nothing else to indicate that
she came from a convent. She seemed timid and agitated, and
at every ring at the bell, or move in the house, she quickly
turned her head with fear lest she had been followed. We may
not describe our living heroine even to add to the reader's in-
terest, suffice it to say that five minutes' acquaintance convinced
all that Marie was no impostor — no concealed Jesuit seeking to
insinuate herself into a Protestant household. Her open and
speaking countenance, in which every feeling could be read
before it found utterance, every movement unstudied, every ex-
pression unpremeditated, none could believe her capable of
acting a part.

They chatted with her about her convent life, and ordered
some refreshment, and she became more at ease. The minister
left the room to return to his study, and his wife slipped out
after him. lie turned on the stairs and said, " What do you
think of her ?" " Oh ! I am perfectly satisfied ; I could not
doubt." He was going up, and she ventured to stop him again,
and to remind him of a little room at the top of the house
which would just do for Marie, if he should think it expedient
to offer her a home with them. He willingly fell in with the
suggestion ; but added, that they should be better able to judge
after further conversation as to how far her own mind was made
up, and whether she was in immediate danger.

To this they both agreed, and in a little while Marie and

Mrs. L were called up into the study, for more private

consideration of the subject. On entering into conversation with
her, they were gVeatly surprised to find how, unaided by the

30 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

Scriptures, and removed from Protestant books, or influence of
any kind, she had detected the leading errors of Popery.

The doctrine of transubstaiitiation had from the first horrified
her, as a species of spiritual cannibalism : the worship of the
Virgin and saints, and especially of the waxen images of the in-
fant Jesus, had shocked her as idolatry : the daily repetition of
scores of useless prayers, and the idle mummery of the public
services, had been an insult to her understanding : the revolting
questions of the confessional had outraged her modesty ; the
refusal of her confessor to permit her to read the Scriptures had
awakened her suspicions : her naturally frank and upright mind
had been disgusted by the mystery and concealment which
characterized all the movements of her Order ; and her free
spirit had risen in rebellion against the spiritual slavery to
which she had been condemned, as she had feared for life.
"With a heart awakened to its spiritual necessities, she longed
for liberty to read those pages which would reveal to her the
way of eternal life, and panted to approach her one only Saviour,
without the intervention of priests or mediators to bar her
access. She wanted, she said, to read the word of God, and
judge for herself where the truth lay. She would not join the
Protestants, for she had yet to learn whether they were right :
all the conclusion she had arrived at was, that Catholics were
wrong. She had hitherto been treated kindly. She had no
complaints to make of anything but " the system ;" that, and
that alone, was abhorrent to her, and from that only did she
wish to escape.

Mr. and Mrs. L offered her an asylum in their house.

They said that she need not return to the convent at all, if she
thought her danger imminent. She said she knew that her
nun's clothes were making, and judged from several little cir-
cumstances that she should soon be sent away. No direct in-
timation was ever given long beforehand, and she might any
day be taken out as for an ordinary walk or ride, and shipped

FARTHER UNEXPECTED EVENTS. 31

on board a foreign steamer. Should any suspicion of her be
excited, such would probably be the result. But she wished to
think the matter over, and plan how to leave, as frankly and
openly as her safety would permit. She did not like to abscond
clandestinely from those who had treated her with uniform
kindness ; besides, she had been intrusted with a commission to
execute before her return, and she thought it was not honorable
and upright to leave it undone. So she would return to the
convent that night, and contrive to communicate her decision to
them by letter. It would be, in some respects, a trial to her to
leave those who had been her only friends, under whose wing
she had spent seventeen years, and by whom she had regarded
herself as provided with a home for hfe ; — to venture out an
orphan indeed, friendless and penniless, on a world to her all
unknown, and cast herself upon the providence of God. Yet to
this course her mind was made up. As the expenses of her
education had been amply paid, she was under no pecuniary
obligations to the Order. Her happiness both for this world
and the next were at stake. The question of time and means
alone remained to be settled, and these she must ponder over
on her return.

And so, having dined together, they parted. Ehzabeth, one

of Mrs. L 's sisters, went w'ith her to Regent-street, and

thence accompanied her to the convent gate in S , sawng,

as the door opened and she bade her farewell, " I shall see you
again soon."

32 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

CHAPTER YI.

THE CONVENT IN COMMOTION.

Marie was not permitted to escape detection as well on the
Friday as on the Thursday evening. Some httle time before

her return a nun had arrived from I , bringing word that if

Marie had returned from H , she was to go on some other

business for the Reverend Mother. Soon after two girls

arrived from H with the chalice, and from thera it was

ascertained that Marie left early in the morning. Then arose
great wonderment as to the way in which Marie had disposed
of herself during the interval ; and immediately after lecture
she was summoned by the Superioress into the community
room, to give an account of herself.

Marie's heart sank within her when she found that her
absence had been discovered. Mother Ann, an old nun who

was superioress at I , commenced the investigation, and

asked Marie where she had been since leaving H . She

replied, " that she had been to Regent-street for the Reverend
Mother."

Mother Ann. — " You could not have been at Regent-street
the whole of the day. Who was the young lady with you at
the gate ? and what did she mean by saying, she should see
you again soon ?"

Marie. — " A young lady I had met with, and she kindly in-
vited me to spend a few days with her."

Mother Ann. — " That will be impossible. Besides, how do
you know who and what she is ?"

Marie. — " I am convinced of her being no imprudent or im-
proper acquaintance, and I intend to ask Reverend Mother to
allow me to accept her invitation. I mean to claim the priv-

THE CONVENT IN COMMOTION. S3

ilege of being a few days in the world, before taking the final
step."

This is allowable, but is rarely done.

Mother A , superioress of the S convent. — " But

where have you been, Marie ?"

Marie. — " I will answer that question to Mother J ."

The name of the Reverend Mother.

Mother A asked various questions, with no better suc-
cess, adding that it was certainly a mysterious business, and
that she never heard of a religieuse making acquaintances in
the world while out, and that it was contrary to all the rules of
the Society.

Mother P . — " But surely. Mother Ann, you will not

allow such an act of disobedience to pass over without penance."

Mother Ann. — " Certainly not." (To Marie) " For your dis-
edifying conduct, and the scandal you have caused to this So-
ciety, I shall inflict a penance, which I require you now to per-
form in the presence of this community, according to the rules
of this Society ; the rest I shall leave to the Reverend Mother,
who will solve the matter."

Said Marie to herself, " She will be very cunning to do so."

Mother Ann proceeded, according to law, to quote the rule
which authorized her to inflict penance.

' Any postulant, novice, or nun who shall wilfully, or care-
lessly disobey the Very Reverend Mother, her Deputy, Provin-
cial, or her appointed Superioress, shall, for such disobedience,
publicly atone for her fault, if such fault has caused scandal to
the said community, by prostrating and apologizing for the said
scandal ; and if her superiors deem it requisite, they shall re-
quire the said postulant, novice, or nun to kiss the floor; and
in extreme cases, shall prostrate and make the sign of the cross
with her tongue. This penance shall be performed in the pres-
ence of the community at lecture, or any convenient time,
when the comnmnity shall be assembled,' &c. " I shall,

'4*

34 THE FEMA.E JESUIT.

therefore, require you to perform the second part of this penance,
namely, to kneel down and kiss the floor."

Marie. — " I do not deserve it, and shall not perform it."

Here it may be necessary to remark, that Marie's conscience
would not have allowed her to perform this penance. On the
last occasion, she had reproached herself for having performed
such humiliations to a fellow-creature. Iler spirit, too, was
roused. She is conscious that something of natural warmth
and hastiness, mingled with conscientious resolution. She regrets
it on the one hand, while on the other she feels that it helped
to carry her through this trying scene.

Her open rebellion astonished the nuns, kind Mother X

excepted, who, having witnessed a similar scene when Marie was
a pupil, observed, "Oh ! it is just like Marie ; leave her till her
hasty temper has subsided. She will be sorry for it afterwards.
It is of no use to argue with her now." So the matter ended,
Marie leaving the room as Mother X was making her speech.

Marie had not been long in the dormitory, when Mother Ann
came to her, and in her usual affectionate tone informed her,
that Reverend Mother had received a letter for Marie from her
aunt, and proceeded to renew her inquiries ; Marie again re-
plied that she would explain all to Mother J . She went

down to supper, but could not eat. The novice, whose office it
was to read at meals, was dangerously ill, and Marie was asked
to read. She took the book, but was unable to articulate a

word. Mother X , who sat next her, took the book, and

was permitted to read in her stead. Recreation (or talking
time) followed, but it was a gloomy aftair. Few spoke, and
Marie could not utter a word. All then adjourned to the
chapel for evening prayers. Marie longed to get out her little
Testament to read, and felt more than fever horrified at the sight
of the altars, images, and signs of idolatry around her : and
she spent the moments in earnest prayer that she might soon
be delivered from her spiritual slavery.

THE CONVENT IN COMMOTION. 36

Marie again retired to her sleepless bed, and again her dear
little Testament was placed under her head. She slept in the

same room with Mother A , the Superioress. Mother

A came up a little while after her, and was soon asleep ;

but not so Marie, who lay silently cogitating on all that had
transpired, and planning how to escape with honor and up-
rightness, and yet with safety.

About two o'clock she heard the door open, and some one
softly approaching Mother A 's bed, and rousing her, com-
menced conversation in French. It was carried on in a low
tone, to avoid disturbing Marie, who eagerly listened to the

whole. Mother Ann had come to consult Mother A on

the number of articles to be taken to France by the novices and
others, who were going. Marie heard her own name mentioned,
and the question asked, how many articles were to be marked
with her name.

Mother Ann said there would be a parcel of English books
for Marie to take to Amiens for her aunt, who was Superioress

of the convent there. Mother A observed that there was

no hurry about the boxes being made up, as the party would
not leave till two o'clock on Sunday morning (or rather Mon-
day) ; to which Mother Ann replied, that the boxes would have
to be sent down to London Bridge on Saturday evening.

This realized all Marie's fears, and convinced her that no time
must be lost, as but one day remained before the time destined
for sending her to the novitiate, and at all hazards she deter-
mined to communicate with her newly-found friends.

Saturday morning arrived, and Marie was sent out on busi-
ness for Reverend Mother, attended by a girl, who from her
vigilance had evidently received a strict charge not to lose sight
of her. Her first errand was to the bookseller's to obtain the
English school-books which were to be taken to France. On
the way back Marie discovered that she had unintentionally
neglected to order the principal book. She instantly saw that

36 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

tbis might afford her the opportunity she wanted. She told the

girl she had to be at Mr. C 's, the lawyer's, at such a time,

so the girl must go back for the book, and meet her at Mr.

C 's. The girl replied, " Mother Ann told me not to leave

you." Aware that to persist would only awaken suspicion,
Marie agreed to return ; and the girl seeing that both could not
be done in time, consented to divide. No sooner was she out
of sight than Marie set off full speed for the Protestant chapel,
arid left a message with the pew-owner, requesting that Miss

T would come for her to the convent-gate on Sunday

morning, between eleven and twelve o'clock, when it would be
high mass, and an hour when she thought she could slip out
unobserved. Thence hastening back to the lawyer, she arrived
there before the girl. Her business done, she was returning

with the girl to S , when the latter exclaimed, " Oh ! what

shall I do ? I have forgotten a letter about which Mother Ann
gave me such a strict charge." This aroused Marie's suspicions,
and in the girl's agitation she caught sight of the direction. It

was to the Reverend Mother at I , and " immediate" was

written upon it. The girl was obliged to go back to the post-
office with the letter, and Marie, refusing to accompany her,
proceeded homewards.

Marie conjectured that the note to the Reverend Mother re-
garded herself, and that it would not be safe to delay her es-
cape till Sunday morning, as by that time the authority of

Mother J might place some insurmountable barrier in her

way. She had twopence left, which had been given her for
charity a day or two before, and of which she had not yet
given an account. She had also one postage &tamp with her.

She turned into a stationer's shop near , bought a sheet

of paper, borrowed a pen and ink, and wrote a note to her new
friends, entreating Elizabeth to come for her at six that even-
ing. The people were very civil, and gave her a wafer. At
the shop door she saw a little girl, and asked her if she knew

THE CONVENT IN COMMOTION. 3*7

where there was a post-office. The child replied, that she did.
" Are you sure that you know it ?" said Marie. " Oh ! yes, for
I often take letters for my father." Marie then gave the "-irl a
penny to take the letter to the post for her, and made the best
of her way to the convent.

The girl who had been sent as guard to Marie was questioned
on her return, and the double discovery was made, that the let-
ter to the Reverend Mother had not been posted till one o'clock,
and that Marie had been left some time alone. In consequence

of this Mother X and Mother M. J were dispatched

to fetch the Reverend Mother without further delay, as no de-
cisive measures could be taken in her absence.

Mat-ie now informed Mother Ann that she should leave at six
o'clock that evening. She expected her friends to call for her,
and she should leave a note to Reverend Mother to explain.
She wrote a note in the presence of one of the sisters, and

placed it in Mother J 's room. Mother Ann asked who

would come for her, and she said, the young lady who had ac-
companied her to the gate. Mother Ann observed that she
should not allow her to go, and should take measures to prevent
it. Marie replied, that she was of age, and was bound by no
vows, and should act as she thought proper, and that if opposed
she should call in the aid of the police.

During this altercation the nun in charge of the Infirmary
came to fetch Mother Ann to the bedside of Sister Julia, the
dying novice. Finding her near death the priest was summoned
from the confessional to hear her last confession, and another
priest was called to administer the last rites of the Romish Church.

Six o'clock came, and Mother Ann and another mother were
at the portress' gate watching for the arrival of Marie's new ac-
quaintance ; and about a quarter after six the two priests came
in and proceeded to the nuns' chapel. Had Elizabeth arrived
at this juncture Marie's departure would probably have been
intercepted.

38 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

The nuns were soon in commotion preparing for the usual
procession of the Host with torches round the convent yard.
Six o'clock having passed, they concluded that Marie's friend
would not make her appearance, and the Reverend Mother's
arrival being every moment expected, they were thrown otf their
guard.

Marie, knowing that if she lost this opportunity all her hopes
were at an end, and concluding that her friends had not re-
ceived her letter, thought it best to attempt her escape forth-
with, while the nuns were engaged in procession. She ran up
stairs, put on two gowns one over the other, hastily made up a
small bundle of clothes, hurried down, and passed through the
community room. Seeing in the lobby a small box of hers

which had been sent from I on the previous day, ready

packed for her to take to France, she requested one of the chil-
dren of the school, who was washing the lobby, to carry it for
her to the poor school lodge. She passed on unobstructed
through the chapel tribune to the day-school for poor children ;
the entrance to which is open on Saturday evening for the dis-
tribution of clothes to the poor. She deemed this her safest
exit, as being so puh>lic, she could, if necessary, have aroused
the whole neighborhood.

Mother J , who was mistress of the day-school for the

poor, was the only member of the community at hand. Being
attached to Marie, and seeing her resolutely determined to leave,
she offered no resistance. Marie ran out intending to call a
cab. How she was anticipated will appear in the next chapter.

REVEREND MOTHER A LITTLE TOO LATE. SO

CHAPTEE Yll.

EEVEKEND MOTHER A LITTLE TOO LATE.

It was Saturday evening at C Terrace ; the family

were assembled at the tea-table, talking over the occurrences
of the day, and making preparations for the morrow, when the
postman brought in an unpretending looking note. It was not
enclosed in an envelope, and seemed hurriedly sealed and di-
rected. Mr. L took it, and as he read he drew the lamp

nearer, and his evidently increasing interest awakened atten-
tion. It was from Marie.

" My dearest friends,

" If you value the happiness and eternal welfare of a

soul, which I arn convinced you do, send Miss T for me

this evening at the hour of six. She must, please, ask the man
to ring the nun's door bell, that is, the door through the yard
we entered last night, and he must say that he has come for
Miss G .

" I have had a most dreadful time since I saw you, but will tell

you all when I arrive at Green. I am now compelled to

make use of an ingenious stratagem to get away. If not dis-
covered, it will pass off very well, and then I will write to them
from your house. I have been out this morning, and had ar-
ranged another plan, but this one seems the most prudential.

." Oh ! my Christian friends, if you knew what I suffer — but
I entreat you will be very careful how you speak of me, for I
suspect some design, so the sooner I am away the better. I
write this in great haste and under great distraction of mind.
Humbly and earnestly begging your prayers that God may
preserve me, " I am,

" Your most distressed and destitute supplicant,

« M A RTF."

40 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

It was then half-past six, and before Elizabeth could reach
the convent it would be half-past seven. What was to be done 3
the note said six. Perhaps that was the only time at which
she could leave unopposed ; perhaps half-past seven might be
an inopportune hour, and not only fail of success, but subject
Marie to discovery and confinement. Yet, on the other hand,
she wrote in such distress, that the case must be urgent. Per-
haps she might be on the point of being sent out of the coun-
try, and this her last chance of escape. If she heard nothing
she might think they had deserted her, and be in an agony of
suspense, not knowing what next to do. If they waited till
Monday they would not then know what hour to choose ; so it
seemed better to run all risks, and to go for her at once.

Then who should go ? Elizabeth had been out all the morn-
ing, and was quite over-tired. She had not strong health, and
was unused to going about at night by herself. It is no very
agreeable undertaking for any young lady to go in cabs and
omnibuses at night atene : besides, she knew not what un-
looked for reception might await her at the convent. Should
her brother go with her? but it was Saturday night, and he
was preparing for his Sabbath duties, and he of all others
would be most likely to excite attention and opposition. Should
one of her sisters go in her stead ? But Marie had asked for
her ; she had been to the house and knew the gate ; she w^as
quicker in all her movements than they ; and she alone was
known to possess that feminine tact and readiness, which would
enable her to evade troublesome questions, and cope with diffi-
culties. So the general permission was given ; and fatigue and
timidity alike forgotten in the excitement of her enterprise, in
five minutes more she was equipped and on her way.

There is pleasure in sympathy, whether in a family or com-
munity, when various minds are brought together by one com-
mon impulse ; and pleasure in excitement, when directed to a
wholesome object; and pleasure in the active and united exer-
cise of (^!ii-isii;i!i kindness; — and ihe^se euKjtions were experi-

REVEREND MOTHER A LITTLE TOO LATE. 41

enc<?d by each member of that family circle, and diminished the
anxiety, which would otherwise have been painful, of the two
hours which followed.

The pastor went to his study, the wife to her room, and the
sister to hers, and probably all were at the same moment giving
vent to their feelings, in committing their messenger to the care
of heaven, and praying that her errand might meet with success.

There was one little room on the upper story, which had
been used in turns as a temporary sleeping room, or a summer
sitting room, or an oratory, or a reading room, free to all, yet
never decidedly appropriated by any, and it seemed to have
been kept waiting for some unknown occupant. It had the
prettiest view in the house, having fields and pleasure grounds
in the foreground, and beyond them a canal, winding more than
canals are wont to do, bordered here and there with trees,
which just allowed you to see a moving barge occasionally be-
tween them ; and further still, a well-known and picturesque
village on a hill, with the spire of its church rising among the
trees. It was as pretty a lookout as one could hope to find in
the near neighborhood of a great city.

There was a little bedstead not then in use, and the sisters
were soon engaged in drawing it from its receptacle, and pre-
paring it for her who might possibly be its occupant. When
ready it was not much unlike a nun's bed, only somewhat
wider and softer. A small washhand-stand and carpet, a few
chairs, and a rosewood standing desk, on which a Bible was
placed, were soon added to the furniture.

Little Lilly enjoyed the unwonted bustle, and must needs
" help" to the utmost of her ability ; lugging in articles much
larger than herself, and expressing most earnest desire for
Marie's safety. "While preparations were being completed up
stairs, her aunt went down to see that the fire was blazing, and
the kettle singing, and coffee ready for the stranger.

Meantime let us follow Elizabeth on her expedition. When

42 THE FEM.iLE JESUIT.

fairly on her way in the dark night, she began, she said, to feel
terribly frightened, not knowing but that she might get in, in-
stead of Marie getting out. No thought of turning back, how-
ever, was for one moment admitted. On she went, with more
than her usual activity ; and having got over a mile or more on
foot, she stepped into an omnibus, and in twenty minutes more
reached a cab stand, and was driven to the convent gate, where,
to her great joy, Marie appeared and sprang out to hail her.
The cabman asked them whither he should drive them. " To
where you took me up," was Elizabeth's ready reply : and off
they drove.

Elizabeth changed into an omnibus to avoid being traced,
and by half-past eight Marie reached her new home, almost
overwhelmed by the excitement of suspense and terror past on
the one hand, and joy at her deliverance on the other. The
sound of voices in the hall speedily brought all the family down
to meet her. Her bonnet and cloak were soon off, and she was
seated in the easy chair, by a cheerful fire, safe and free, taking
the refreshment provided for her. As the circle sat around and
listened to the account of all that had befidlen her during the
last four-and-twenty eventful hours, it would have been difficult
to say which were the happier, Marie or they who welcomed
her. They took her early to her little room, but she was too
excited to sleep till the dawn of day. She woke on the day of
rest— emphatically so to her. One of the sisters remained at
home with her that she might have entire repose, both of body
and mind, for that day ; and occasionally they read together in
that blessed book, which she had long sought, and prayed, and
wept for, as it seemed in vain.

Between eight and nine o'clock on Saturday evening, a coach
and horses w^aited at the gate of the convent of , to con-
vey the Reverend Mother to the convent at , where she

probably arrived about two hours after Marie's departure.

Marie having since resolved on the publication of her previ-
ous history, will now be left to tell her own tale.

PART II.

51 11 1 n li i n g r n p ti i|

THE FEMALE JESUIT

SEVENTEEN YEARS OF CONVENT LIFE IN CONNECTION
WITH "THE FAITHFUL COMPANIONS OF JESUS."

CHAPTEK L

MOTIVES FOR PUBLISHING.

It is a painful exercise to recall the particulars of a lifetime
marked by sutFerings neither few nor small — the loss of one
dear relative after another, till I have been left all but alone,
and the mental struggles. that have filled up each sad interval.
It is moreover an undertaking of no small difficulty to one
unused to composition to prepare a work for the press ; nor is
it without extreme reluctance that I can bring myself to make
reference to those from whom, during a long period of years, I
have received unvarying kindness ; and to seem for a moment,
either to them or to others, reckless of their feelings and un-
grateful for their care. None but the strongest motives could
have induced me to attempt a task so arduous.

Why then do I thus appear before the public ? The motives
that have actuated me, may be stated in few words. I wish
to warn Protestant parents against being tempted, by the un-
usual advantages of education, to send their children to CathoHc
schools. I am anxious, from the experience of my own mental
sufferings, to caution young people against being led astray by
the fascinating representations of a convent fife. I desire to
enter my testimony respecting the idolatry practised in conti-
nental convents, and the ignorance in which all are kept of the
word of God ; and above all, I feel bound to offer on His altar,
who has so wonderfully delivered me, a grateful acknowledg-
ment of that providential interference, which, unaided by ex-
ternal circumstances, first influenced my mind, and then opened

48 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

my path. I know not what further designs are to be accora-
phshed by my singular history. It may be that others are to
share the benefit, and to be led from the way of error into the
path of peace. In repeated illness, and a delicate constitution,
I seem to hear the warning, " Whatsoever thy hand findeth
to do, do it with thy might ;" and not knowing how short my
term on earth may be, I desire to improve the life that yet re-
mains, and leave behind me some record which may ahke be
useful to others and for the glory of God.

CHAPTER 11.

THE CONVENT SCHOOL.

I WAS born in Cumberland Terrace, Regent's Park, London,
in November, 1825. My mother was of an old Yorkshire
family, the members of which have been distinguished by their
devotion to the Church of Rome. My mother possessed con-
siderable musical and poetical talent, and some of the hymns
she composed in her youth are still used in the service of the
Church. My father was a German. I remember Httle of my
early years, and as they were marked by no events which could
interest the reader, they may as well be passed over in silence.
"When I was seven years old, circumstances caused our removal
to the continent, an event which was shortly after followed by
my father's death.

The first trial of my life which I was able vividly to realize,
was my separation from an only and dear brother, who was
a year and six months older than myself. My mother's brother,
being then a priest in office at the Court of Rome, used his in-
fluence to place my brother in the college of Santa del a Pedro.
My grief in parting with the dear companion of my childhood,

THE CONVENT SCHOOL. 47

may well be imagined. We who had never been separated
for more than a few days, were now doomed to be forever
parted. I saw him once, after an interval of nine years, for
three hours only, a circumstance which will be referred to in
the progress of this narrative.

Mamma's next care was to place me in one of those convent
schools, with which the different countries of the continent
abound. The convent selected by her was one of those to which
reference has been made in the introduction to this narrative.
Thus early was I enclosed in the very heart of Popery, and
where I should have continued to drag on a miserable existence,
had not the mercy of God wonderfully freed me from the
dark superstition of earlier days, by bringing me to the knowl-
edge of His truth.

Three days after my brother's removal to Rome, I was taken
by mamma to the place where I was to commence my educa-
tion. I was then between seven and eight years of age. It
was in the month of May, 1833, when we arrived at the con-
vent of Amiens, a picturesque chateau situated about a mile
from the town, the grounds and scenery most beautifully diver-
sified with hill and dale, and commanding a view of the lofty
towers of the well-known cathedral.

The nuns were taking their evening repast. I can well re-
member the feelings of that night. Oh ! how my heart fluttered
when I heard the sound of the deep-toned bell that announced
our arrival. We were received by the Lady Superioress, who
was well known to mamma. I was soon introduced to the
pupils of the school, then upwards of fifty in number. The
greater part of them were English, and many of them were
the children of Protestant parents. As the hour for retiring to
rest approached, the young ladies, with their mistress, adjourned
to the chapel for night prayers. In the chapel were three altars.
The centre or high altar, on which was placed the tabernacle
containino- the consecrated Host. Over the tabernacle was a

48 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

painting of the Crucifixion of Christ. On each side of the high
altar were two small altars dedicated to St. Joseph and the
Blessed Virgin, on which were placed an image of each.

The imao-e of the Virgin was much smaller than that of St.
Joseph, but had been retained on account of its reputation
for miraculous efficacy, many wonderful performances having
been attributed to it. The Virgin's altar was lighted up as
on special occasions ; and according to custom, when any new
pupil, whether Catholic or Protestant, arrived, I was led to it,
and in the presence of the assembled school, holding a lighted
taper in my h%nd, I repeated on my knees a form of dedication
to her service. The prayer was as follows : " Oh ! most bless-
ed and holy Virgin, I, Marie, do now choose you, this day and
forever, as my mother advocate, and friend. Deign to -receive
me as one of your adopted children. Obtain for me the grace
to imitate vour virtues. Grant that I may be humble, and
obedient, and persevering in all Christian duties. Oh ! most
pious. Oh ! most clement Virgin, Mother of our Saviour (Jesus),
Queen of Heaven, pray for me who have recourse to you. Hail
Mary, (fee. Oh I Mary, conceived without sin, pray for me. Amen."

Having repeated this prayer, as dictated to me by one of the
nuns, I joined with the rest of the pupils in the litany to the
Virgin and other evening prayers ; at the close of which I was
told to kiss the feet of the irnage. A number of the youHg
ladies did the same. These were the " Congraganists," which
is a society formed among the pupils for the greater adoration
of, and devotion to, the Virgin. It is considered a mark of
honor to be received as a member of this society. -^

On returning from the chapel I was met by the Superioress
and another nun, who was appointed by the former to take
cluirge of me. The next morning I was awakened by the loud
ringing of a bell, which was the signal to rise. W^hile we were
dressing, one of the nuns walked up and down the room repeat-
ing the beads to keep the children quiet.

THE CONVENT SCHOOL. 49

When dressed we assembled to hear mass in the chapel at
the hour of seven. I felt startled at the first sight of the whole
community entering the chapel ; the professed nuns in black
veils, and the novices in white, with slow and measured pace
in solemn procession passing to their appointed seats. After
mass we returned to the young ladies' " Refectory," which was a
large room opening out upon the lawn. Two or three nuns
were appointed to attend, or, as it was called, " serve" the pupils,
but were not permitted to eat with them. Strict silence was
kept during meals, except on Sundays and holidays. During
breakfast a novice generally read a short lecture. When it was
over they dispersed for a short recreation, and at five minutes
before nine, a bell tolled to summon them to the school-room.
At nine, the great or convent bell tolled for the second matin,
or third watch of the day, when every one in the house dropped
upon her knees and recited the following prayer : —

" Jesus, Mary, Joseph, I give you my heart, my life, my
soul ! Jesus, Mary, Joseph, may I breathe forth my soul to
you in peace ? Divine heart of Mary, pray for me ! Immacu-
late heart of Mary, pray for me ! Ave Maria, &c."

The school-room was very large, and hung with pictures of
St. Ignatius Loyola, St. Francis de Sales, St. Theresa, St
Angela, and many more. Over the mantel-piece was a large
crucifix, and on each side a picture of the sacred hearts of Jesus
and Mary. At the end of the room was a splendid altar of
white marble, dedicated to the Virgin. Her image was veiled
and crowned. A chain of pearl hung round her neck, from
which was suspended a gold heart, containing the names of
'those who had made their first communion that year. This
altar and image were dressed every day, the degree of splendor
varying according to the supposed importance of the day. The
pupils were selected alternately from the class of honor to take
charge of this altar. On the great festivals of the Virgin, both
altar and image were most gorgeously and expensively dressed.

3

50 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

There were several altars in the room belonging to the dif-
ferent classes, and also one devoted to the guardian angel. Over
every piano was placed a small altar, with a small stone or wax
image of the Virgin. At the principal end of every dormitory
was a large altar. On every staircase was an altar ; indeed every
part of the house abounded with altars to the Virgin. These
altars were on special occasions brilliantly lighted, and presented
a most imposing spectacle. The most beautiful flowers in costly
vases were interspersed with a large number of wax tapers in
silver candlesticks, and when lighted up, the whole convent ap-
peared illuminated. The entire cost of dressing and lighting
the altar devolved on the pupils, who contributed liberally to-
wards them. Lace, velvet, plate, and jewels, vases, flowers, and
candles, were supplied in profusion, and no expense was spared.
It was thought a mark of predestination to have a great devo-
tion to the Virgin.

CHAPTEE III.

FIRST CONFESSION.

It is a precept of the Romish Church, that the children of
Catholic parents shall, from the age of seven, attend confession
four times a year, until the period of making their first com-
munion, which generally occurs at the age of ten or twelve.
Three months after my settlement at the school, I was included
in the number of little girls who should make their confession.
The day before, one of the nuns took me aside for the purpose
of instructing me in the way to confess. The late amiable and
reverend Archbishop of Paris, whose death occurred in the con-
flicts of June, 1848, was then our cure, and my uncle's col-

FIRST CONFESSION. 51

league ; he being Grand Vicar, and my uncle Vicar General.
A nun introduced me to the confessional. Father Affre, for by
that name he was called in the convent, seeing I was afraid,
rose from his seat, and taking me very affectionately by the
hand put me to kneel at his feet.

After the usual ceremony of blessing a penitent, I repeated
the " Gonfiteor," as taught me by the nun on the previous day.
Having little idea of confession, I stoutly maintained that I was
never naughty but when provoked, and proceeded to make
complaints of a little girl who had vexed me. " My child," he
said, " you are to confess your own sins, not the sins of others."
He concluded by giving me, for a penance, the Lord's prayer,
and a " Hail Mary," to be said at the Virgin's altar immediately
after. Then, blessing, he dismissed me.

About this time the feast of Corpus Chris ti was celebrated
with the usual pomp and splendor. We dressed and garland-
ed for the occasion, and were instructed to take our part in the
erection and decoration of altars. I can well remember the im-
pression it made upon me, even at that early age.

My mother had a sister who had been married a short time
before my removal to school, and in eleven months after her
marriage was left a widow. When younger, she had a great
desire to be a nun, but delicate health at that time prevented
the realization of her wish. The circumstance of her husband's
death, to whom she was much attached, again created the
desire to leave the world, and to devote her property and
energies, which were both considerable, to the service of the
Church. A visit she made to me confirmed this " vocation,'*
she being much pleased with the community. Three weeks
after this interview she entered as a postulant, and three years
after took the final vows. In this Society she still remains, a
zealous promoter of its interests, temporal and spiritual — being,
at the time I left the community. Superioress of one of the
continental convents.

62 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

Between the age of nine and ten, I was confirmed with the
usual pomp of the Romish Church. It being customary to
take the name of some saint on this occasion, I took the name
of Magdalen.

CHAPTER lY.

FIRST COMMUNION".

My uncle was then residing in Amiens, mamma and he
thought a little change necessary for me, and determined upon
having me with them for a year or two, an arrangement with
which I was much pleased. I went every day for a few hours
to the convent to pursue my studies. Daring this interval,
mamma was very anxious to have my brother from college for
a short time, knovi'ing the pleasure it would afford to both of
us, and her maternal love could never feel reconciled to the idea
of that estrangement of the nearest relatives, and suppression of
the tenderest natural affections, enjoined by the Church : for
the devotees of the Roman Catholic religion are not thought to
have arrived at the standard of perfection until they feel that
they have broken through every tie of earthly attachment.

My uncle evaded mamma's request, on the plea that it was
not well to interrupt my brother's studies. The Order had
other ends in view. They feared, at my brother's age, to allow
him again to join the domestic circle, lest the affections of earlier
days should revive, and he should be induced to renounce the
intention he then entertained of preparing for the priesthood.
From the time of our separation to this period, I had received
from him two letters a year ; these were afterwards reduced to
one annual epistle.

FIRST COMMUNION. 53

The time was fast approaching when I must make my first
communion, a period of anxiety to all who are pre})aring for so
solemn an occurrence. About fifty of us were selected as candi-
dates, thirty of whom were accepted for that year. Three days
before receiving the communion we entered upon a strict " re-
treat," during which we observed entire silence, abstaining from
animal food, and employed the time in meditation and prayers.
This "retreat" I made in the convent with the rest of my com-
panions.

The day preceding that of receiving the Eucharist, we each
went to confession. On this occasion we are supposed to make
a general confession of all the sins we can remember to have
committed during the whole of our lives. We receive, for the
first time, absolution from the priest, and are supposed to be in
a state of grace : no member of the Romish church being al-
lowed to receive the Eucharist, unless he has been previously
absolved by his spiritual director.

After absolution one of the nuns taught us to practise the
proper mode of receiving the wafer, by giving us one that was
not consecrated. The head and mouth must be held in one
certain position for receiving the Host. The priest puts it on
the tongue, making the sign of the cross, and repeating the
words " Corpus Christi" as he does so. It must not be touched
by the hand or the teeth. Children are therefore always well
practised before receiving it, and the whole would strike a Prot-
estant as profane and disgusting.

The next day we all proceeded to the cathedral of Amiens.
On the continent tlie day of first communion is much thought
of, and this was additionally distinguished as the feast of the
Annunciation of the Virgin Mary, a day greatly celebrated in
Catholic countries. We were all dressed in white, and each
communicant had on a white veil confined on the head by a
wreath of flowers. We proceeded to the screen of the high
sanctuary, where we all remained kneeling, and each holding a

64 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

lighted taper. The late Archbishop of Paris was at that time
Grand Vicar of Amiens, and he celebrated High Mass. After
the consecration of the Host and his own communion, he pro-
ceeded in the usual form to distribute the sacrament or wafer,
each one believing that she received the real body of Christ,
" and became the living temple of the Divinity."

On the conclusion of mass we returned to breakfast, for com-
munion is always received fasting. My uncle, who was anxious
to add to the happiness of the day, had invited thcwhole of
my companions, the young communicants, to spend the feast
with me at his chateau. The day was spent very happily in
play, and in the evening we again attended the cathedral for
vespers and benediction, when all the splendors and imposing
ceremonies of a continental church were exhibited. The pro-
cession of the communicants attended by the priests, bearing
the sacrament under a canopy, together with acolytes bearing
lighted tapers, and the fumes of the censers, all tended to im-
press the pompous ceremonies of the day upon the young com-
municants. When the priests arrived at the Sanctuary, vespers
were chanted. The imposing service of " Benediction" followed,
and the " Litany of the Virgin" was sung.

On these occasions a very splendid canopy and throne are
always placed over the tabernacle for the "remonstrance."
This vessel is generally made of gold, and contains a consecrated
wafer or host. The wafers placed in the " remonstrance" are
stamped to represent the crucifixion, and the lights on the altar,
being behind the " remonstrance," shows the figure in transpa-
rency. The ringing of bells announces that the sacrament is
placed upon the throne for the adoration of the people, who all
bow with the greatest reverence, striking their breasts with ap-
parent humilitjji, not daring so much as to look at the glitter-
ing idol. This ceremony was concluded by benediction being
given in the usual form.

The same service is regularly performed in the Catholic

TWO YEARS AT I . 65

chapels in England, but the public procession of the Host is con-
fined to Roman Catholic countries.

CHAPTER Y.

TWO YEARS AT I—

After two years spent with my uncle, it was decided that I
should be sent to England, as a new convent was about to be
established in the vicinity of London for the purpose of educat-
ing young ladies. I was accompanied by ray aunt and seven-
teen of the community, nuns and novices included. The house
to be occupied by the school was a splendid mansion twelve
miles from the city, and previous to the purchase belonged to a
nobleman. The school commenced with five pupils, including
myself, but our numbers soon increased, and in the space of six
months w^e had fifty. At this time the pupils are seventy in
number, and alterations are contemplated to admit of the re-
ception of a hundred. Many of the pupils, even in this coun-
try, are children of Protestant parents.

On the first commencement of this school the altars and
images were not introduced to the same extent as on the con-
tinent ; but those members of the community who were ap-
pointed to conduct the school, gradually, and almost imper-
ceptibly, prepared the minds of the children to erect altars. It
was not designed to shock them by too sudden an introduction
of Popish observances. At the present time, none of the con-
tinental convents surpass that of I in the splendor and

value of its decorations and images. Every month the com-
munity and pupils have their procession round the extensive
grounds, the priest carrying the Host, as in Catholic countries,
and one of the children bearing an image of the Virgin.

56 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

The worldly advantages of a convent education in England,
induce many inconsiderate parents and guardians to expose
their children to the dangerous snares so early laid for them, by
the deep and crafty schemes of Popery. The facilities for ac-
quiring the continental languages, by general conversation with
foreign members of the community, present one great allure-
ment, tending greatly to increase the number of pupils in this
Society.

In each of the five convents in England there is the same
adoration of the Virgin and the saints, and the same super-
stitious ideas are -infused into the minds of the young. Blessed
medals, beads, &c., are constantly imported from the continent.
The pupils have also a society called the " poor souls," to which
they subscribe weekly, some a penny, others more. This all
goes into a general fund to pay for masses, to be said for the
souls of poor deceased- persons whose friends cannot afford to
pay for them. The poorer Catholics apply to the nuns to get
a mass said, and the cost is paid out of this subscription. The
lowest sum paid to a priest for saying mass is half-a-crown. I
was several times appointed treasurer to this Society, and upon
two occasions paid as much as two pounds for different masses
for the souls of the dead.

The Vigil of All Souls is an evening on which the grossest
superstition is practised, and the most ridiculous tales are told.
I have frequently on this night heard the nuns say, " 0 how
anxiously the poor souls in purgatory are waiting for the office
of the dead to be said," adding a hope that such a one if still
in purgatory would be released. They commence the office
with most devoted, but misguided zeal, to pray for the repose,
of the dead ; and I have frequently heard of several who, in
the excited state of their imagination, have fancied they have
seen little black objects which were souls escaped from purga-
tory.

DEATH OF A PUPIL. 67

CHAPTER YI.

DEATH OF A PUPIL AT CHATEALrKOUX.

At the age of fourteen I returned to the convent of Amiens.
A few days after my arrival I met with a serious accident,
wliich kept me in bed for nearly three months. Many were the
superstitious remedies used during this confinement, such as
blessed medals, and water from St. Victoire's well ; and my
recovery was at last attributed to the use of linen that had been
touched by the dead hand of a saint — a relic held in great ven-
eration by the Roman Catholics on the continent. My feelings
revolt with horror, when I reflect on the shocking superstition
of which I have been a witness and a partaker.

Soon after this illness, my health requiring a warmer climate,
I was again removed to another of the convent schools ; this
convent was at Chateauroux, about fifty miles from Paris, where
I stayed nearly a year. While there a circumstance occurred
which I cannot forbear to mention.

In the school was a young lady of reserved and rather mel-
ancholy disposition. She had early lost her mother, who was a
Protestant, and had subsequently seen some of her Protestant
relations. Her retiring and apparently distant habits, prevented
her making a confidant of either nun or pupil. When oppor-
tunity afforded, she would retire alone to a distant part of the
grounds. Anne, for that was her name, was not devout in the
observances of the Catholic religion, and never attended confes-
sion but when compelled by the rules of the convent, namely,
at each Indulgence ; and sometimes even on these occasions
fihe was dismissed by the priest because she would not speak a
word.

At the time I was at Chatauroux Anne was sixteen, and had
3*

58 THE f-EMALE JESUIT.

been in the convent five years. A short time before I left she
was seized with inflammation of the kings, which proved fatal.
The week before her death it was deemed advisable that she
should see her confessor, to which she had a great objection.

Father P visited her, and appointed that afternoon to hear

her confession. Before Father P arrived, Anne told sister

A , the Infirmarian, that she did not intend to make any

confession ; and we were all assembled in the chapel to pray to
the Virgin, that Anne might be induced to receive worthily the
last sacraments. I shall never forget the excitement of that
day. Then I thought it a very*sad event, but now I do not
doubt that God had caused a purer light to shine upon her,
and that she had, even amidst the darkness of Popish error,
been a secret disciple of Jesus.

While we were in the oratory upon our knees, many of us
weeping, the Superioress entered apparently in great distress.

" Pray for poor Anne. She will not confess. Father P ^^

has been entreating her for the last hour, and she will not
answer a word. Promise the Blessed Virgin ten communions,
make ten confessions and receive the communion ten times each,
for the poor souls in purgatory, if she will grant your requests."
Many were the communions promised, but those were of no
avail, Anne remained resolute. All that she said was, " that
she would confess to her uncle," who was a priest, "if she might
see him." He was sent for, but when he was told of the affair
he declined hearing her confession, as she had refused to con-
fess to her appointed confessor. The Superioress told us that
she was very anxious to confess to her uncle, but I doubt not
that she wished to reveal to him the real state of her mind.

The more I reflect on the conduct of this somewhat singular
girl, the more I am convinced that she sought the forgiveness
of her sins, solely through the blood of Christ. She died a few
days after this exciting scene. Not any of the pupils visited her
until an hour previous to her death, when we were all sum-

THE NOVITIATE. 69

moned to unite in prayer for the dying Anne. I, and five other
pupils, with several of the community, remained by her bed-
side repeating prayers for the " agonizing." She was insensible
to all around her. One of the nuns placed in her hand a cru-
cifix, and in a few minutes afterwards Anne expired. The priest
intimated that her disregard of the sacrament had exposed her
to the power of Satan, and long held up her example as a
warning to us.

CHAPTER YII.

THE NOVITIATE.

Soon after this event I removed to Switzerland, where the
community have a large convent, about a mile from Geneva.
In this convent is the only noviitate of the Society. Novices
are obliged by the rules of the Order to spend two years of
strict retreat or noviceship. A separate wing of the building
is set apart for the novitiate, and is entirely distinct from that
occupied by the pupils.

The novices are superintended by two senior nuns, who are
" Mistresses of Novices." Their business is to instruct and pre-
pare the former for a life of implicit and slavish obedience.
The novices are not permitted under any circumstances to speak
to each other, or accept the most trifling article, even so much
as a pin, without express permission from the Reverend Mother
or Mistress. They are treated quite as children, having no will
of their own. Whatever their former rank or station in life,
all, when required, are alike sent to perform the most menial
offices of the house. I have frequently seen novices brushing
shoes, washing dishes, scouring rooms, cleaning the children's

60 THE FEMALE JESUIT. I

hair, &c. The occupations that the nuns would prefer are pur-
posely interdicted, and those to which they feel the greatest
repugnance, enforced. Tiiis is done in order to break their
will, and destroy all feelings of worldly importance.

This discipline commences while they are postulants, and in-
creases in rigor after they become novices. In my ow^n case,
drawing being a favorite pursuit, was the one which, when I
became a postulant, I was not permitted to pursue. Such is
the passive obedience required ; and should any novice disobey
the command of her Superior, the most humiliating penances
are inflicted alike on postulant, novice, and nun.

The two years' noviceship is spent in study, that the novices
may be quite prepared for their future duties, viz. instructing
the pupils of the school ; and they are inured to the practice
of " religious obedience" and " holy poverty" by the humilia-
tions before mentioned. The time they spend in other convents
as novices is not reckoned into this period ; so that some remain
novices for four or five years, and sometimes longer. It is in
this convent that novices are professed, that is, make their final
vows. This is a most solemn and affecting scene. During my
stay in this convent I saw six novices take the black veil, two
of whom were not more than twenty years of age.

The ceremony of receiving the white veil rarely occurs in the
convent of Carrouge. I shall take occasion to describe both
hereafter.

It may not perhaps be generally known, that as soon as a
lady enters a religious community, she gives up the whole of
her property to the Society. It is placed at the exclusive dis-
jxjsal of the foundress, for the benefit of the Order. The nuns
do much more than support themselves by the education of the
young, so that large sums are continually expended for the ad-
vantage of the Church. The Bishop or Vicar of the district in
which the convent is situated, has power to call upon the Soci-
ety for any sum he may deem requisite for the erection of a

THE NOVITIATE. 61

church or monastery, or for the support of the priesthood.
This power does not extend to the Sisterhood of Charity and
Mercy, but is restricted to convents of education, so that the
Church of Rome has resources amply sufficient for any pro-
posed object.

During my stay at Carrouge, I had a severe and almost fatal
illness. I was afraid to die, because I thought I had performed
no good works, or had not used any self-mortifications, to sat-
isfy God for the punishment due to my sins (for I was not, up
to this period, a strict devotee). I did not then know that the
death of Christ had made full atonement, and that His blood
could alone cleanse me from sin.

On my recovery, I determined to consecrate myself to a life
of holiness, by endeavoring to satisfy God with works of super-
erogation and strict penance ; and in order to carry out this
more effectually, I renewed my dedication to the Virgin, in the
presence of the whole school.

While I was at Carrouge, not less than twenty young ladies
entered upon their noviceship, seven of whom had been my
school companions. Three of them w^ere converts to the Ro-
man Catholic faith. One who was called Sister M B ?

had, while in the convent of Amiens, been my_ most intimate
friend and companion, but when she became a " religieuse," all
communication was forbidden, and she was not permitted to
speak to me, though in the same convent, without permission,
and then only on general topic ; for it is against the rules of
the Society for novices or nuns to have any confidential conver-
sation with any pupil, or with each other ; they are of course
at liberty at any time to speak to their Superioress, she being
the only one with whom they are allowed to hold private con-
ferences. If a novice is seen speaking to a pupil on a subject
unconnected with the duties of the school, it is immediately
reported to the Superioress, and she has to undergo reproof or
penance for this simple oflfence. It is made a point of con-

62 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

Bcience with every nun, novice, and postulant, to report all that
she may hear. My conscience never being so tender on this
point as others, I have now the pleasure of recollecting that I
never brought any nun or novice into trouble.

Being once enjoined to relate the subject of some trifling
discussion with one of the novices in the dormitory, in which
she w'as the faulty party, I refused to give the particulars.
" You will be obliged to tell when you are a novice," said
the nun who was sent to investigate the business. "Well,
Mother A , I will wait till then," and so the matter ter-
minated.

Novices are strictly prohibited all avoidable intercourse
■with their family and friends. They are only allowed to write
to their parents once a year, and they never receive more than
three or four letters. If more letters come for them they are
kept back. All letters are sent to the Reverend Mother Gen-
eral, or her provincial deputy, and opened and read by her be-
fore they are forwarded to the postulants, novices, or nuns ; and
all letters written by them in reply, must be perused and
sealed by her.

When she is in another country, long delay often occurs in
consequence ; and a letter from a dying parent may not be re-
ceived till after his or her decease. I knew one novice, an
only daughter, who did not hear of her mother's death till
three months after it took place. The letter conveying the
intelligence was written in Scotland, and sent to Carrouge, the
head quarters of the Very Reverend Mother, who was at that
time in Ireland. It was sent from Carrouge to Ireland, and
after inspection was forwarded to the bereaved daughter at
Amiens. The letter was given to her as one of ordinary import,
and she was expected to go about her customary duties imme-
diately after its reception. This is a specimen of many similar
circumstances which occur to my memory. Should the Reve-
rend Mother find anything in a* letter that does not meet

TAKING THE WHITE VEIL. 63

her approval, it is withheld, and its arrival remains unknown
to its owner, unless it accidentally transpires at some future
time.

CHAPTER YIII.

TAKING THE WHITE VEIL.

The winter months being so very severe in Switzerland and
my health at that time in a very precarious state, my mother,
with my medical attendant, deemed it advisable to remove me
from the convent of Carrouge. My aunt, who had been with
me a few months at Carrouge, was then at Nice, and thither it
was determined at once to send me.

It was in October, 1841, that I reached the convent at Nice,
where the Society had a large school, there being upwards of a
hundred pupils. A few weeks after my arrival, four postulants
were to be " professed," or to take the white veil.

This ceremony I had frequently witnessed, but not having as
yet described it, I may as well do so in brief. The ceremony
is at all times most affecting and imposing. Before receiving
the habit, the postulants commenced that series of rigid prepa-
rations and observances known by the term "retreat." For
nine days they refrained from animal food, observed the fasts of
the Church, and maintained strict silence. Their emaciated
countenances and melancholy expression, as we passed them in
the cloistered walks, where they resorted occasionally for exer-
cise and meditation, conveyed the impression of mental suffer-
ing. One of the four belonged to the noble and illustrious
family of the Count de Belline. She was a sweet and amiable
girl of somewhat pensive disposition. She never seemed to

64 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

regain her spirits, and died nine months after her profession, at
the age of eighteen.

On the evening previous to taking the veil they make theii
last general confession to the Bishop, he being the only one
allowed, by the laws of the Church, to hear the general con-
fession of those who were to receive the veil. Great prepara-
tions were made, and every hand was employed.

The chapel was decorated in its gorgeous attire, the neophytes
remaining kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament, as it is termed,
until the first " nocturn," or the hour of midnight. They then
retire to rest for a short time, to fit them for the solemn duties
of the following day.

The convent is quite a scene of gaiety, for the friends and
relations of the neophytes are generally invited to be spectators
of the scene. The presence of relatives is also frequently re-
quired to sign legal documents ; the interest of all property
belonging to the novices being made over to the church : the
principal is reserved till they take the black veil.

At seven o'clock the four novices received communion as
usual, and at ten high mass was performed by the Bishop in the
presence of a large assembly. After mass the community re-
tij^d for a few minutes, and re-appeared with the four neophytes
beautifully attired as brides, each attended by two pupils as
bridesmaids, whose office was to raise her veil on her arrival at
the steps of the sanctuary. The organ and choir then com-
menced the chaunt of " Dominus non sum dignus, &c." At
the conclusion the usual ceremonies were performed, and prayers
repeated.

The Reverend Mother General then presented the Bishop
with the four habits, or dresses, which the novices were after-
wards to wear. These he proceeded to bless, and then present-
ed one to each postulant, at the same time cutting off a large
lock of their hair. The four novices, who had taken the names
of Sister Mary Stanislaus, Sister Mary Winifred, Sister Mary Clo-

MENTAL DISQUIETUDE. 65

tille, and Sister Mary Magdalene, returned to the house carry-
ing their habits. While the choir were chanting the Litany
of the Virgin, the novices were being dressed in their new
habits by an appointed nun ; their hair was cut short round ;
and when completely attired they returned, each carrying her
bridal dress. After a few more prayers were repeated, the
novices were asked if they finally renounced the world, and re-
plied in the affirmative. They then threw their dresses on the
steps of the altar, and trampled upon them, — this being figu-
rative of trampling upon the things of the world. The Bishop
presented them with a crucifix and a rosary. After giving them
the Benediction of the Sacrament in the usual form, the cere-
mony was concluded. The rest of the day was devoted to rec-
reation and pleasure by all parties.

CHAPTER IX.

MENTAL DISQUIETUDE.

The festival of Christmas soon followed the profession of the
novices. It is during this feast that the most profane idolatry
is practised.

A wax doll, representing the infant Jesus, was dressed in the
most costly attire ; and a bed of satin, decorated with laces and
wreaths of flowers. The Virgin's altar was erected, the cover-
ing being of velvet, embroidered with gold. The bed was
placed in the centre of tliis altar, with a large number of vases,
&c., containing the most expensive flowers ; and wax tapers in
silver candlesticks and lustres, added to the splendor of the
scene.

At the hour of twelve, immediately before the celebration of

6Q THE FEMALE JESUIT.

the fast mass, on Christmas morning, one of the nuns entered
the chapel, and placed the Infant on the bed prepared for it.
The candles were then lighted, and the whole of the community
and pupils, permitted to attend this service, fell on their knees
in adoration to the Infant, repeating the Litany of the infant
Jesus. Mass was performed by the priests.

At that time I was often perplexed with the strange contra-
diction of adoration, for the altar of the Infant was to the right
of the high altar, where is kept the consecrated Host. In pass-
ing the former, we bowed in adoration to the Infant doll, and
again bowed in going before the high altar. I could not re-
ceive the idea of Christ being present as God in the form of
wafer in the tabernacle, and in the form of an Infant on the altar
of the Virgin.

In this convent there was an artificial tear upon the cheek of
the wax image, it being customary in Italy to represent the in-
fant Jesus as having been born with a tear of sorrow.

Since that time I have frequently dressed the doll for this
occasion, and this occupation was one of the very many circum-
stances that tended to shake my faith in the Romish doctrines.

The chapel of the convent of Nice being open for public
worship at stated periods, I had an opportunity of witnessing
the spectacle of an Italian congregation, who, on entering the
chapel for midnight mass, all knelt in adoration to the infant
Jesus, as it were to pay him homage. I must not forget to
mention that in the cross room we had an altar of the infant
Jesus, which belonged exclusively to the young ladies.

This doll representing the Infant remains on the altars until
after the feast of the Epiphany ; and in this interval these altars
are every night lighted, the same adoration paid, and the litany
daily repeated. At the time I was endeavoring to fulfil the
resolutions I had made during my illness, I was, to the utmost
of my power, strict in the observance of my religious duties,
and sought every opportunity for self-denial and subjection of

REMOVAL TO MANOTTE. 67

my own will. I went to confession and communion every fort-
night, and also communicated on certain feasts, when indul-
gences are granted by the Church to those who worthily com-
municate; but with all these outward observances I never felt
the happier : they rather increased my restlessness and fear of
death, for I was at that period in a very precarious state of
health. Sometimes, in confession, I named these fears to my
confessor, who always replied that it was presumptuous in me
to expect it otherwise, and that the constant fear of death was
one of the crosses apportioned to all mankind. It was a cir-
cumstance that often created some surprise, that the "reli-
gieuses" should have such a dread of death.

After I had entered the community as a postulant, I fre-
quently heard several of the Society express a wish to die on
certain days. Some would prefer Good Friday, because they
could hope for more confidence ; others would prefer one of the
feasts of the Virgin, because they could better claim her inter-
cession, and Catholics believe that whatever the Virgin requests
of her Son is immediately granted, and that no petition of hers
is rejected.

CHAPTEE X.

REMOVAL TO MANOTTE.

Mv uncle was, in the year 1842, removed by the Pope from
his appointment as Vicar General to that of Grand Vicar of
Nice.

The duties incident on this change of office required him to
spend a greater portion of the year in travelling, and he, there-
fore, decided upon resigning his estabhshment of Amiens. This

68 TH-l FEMALE JESUIT.

arrangement prevented mamma's longer stay with him, and she

resolved upon entering the convent of as a boarder. Her

feelings were of late years much inclined to the life of a " reli-
gieuse," but that was legally impossible so long as her children
remained under age.

The convent of Manotte was the one selected for mamma's
future residence, being the most retired. She entered in 1843.
When my health permitted it I joined her in this convent, and
remained there till the time of her death, which occurred two
years afterwards.

I'his convent was the scene of two of the most melancholy
circumstances of my life — the last interview with my brother,
and my dearest mamma's death.

My rektions, and also several of the nuns, had a great wish
that I should become a nun ; and for the furtherance of this
object a Novena of thirty days to the Virgin was commenced,
for the purpose of interceding with her that a vocation might be
given me.

When any particular object is desired, the Reverend Mother
communicates it to all the convents of the Society, requesting
them to commence a Novena to the Virgin or certain saints for
so many days, varying from nine to thirty. This Novena is
performed as follows : — perpetual adoration before the sacra-
ment, the nuns being relieved in succession, and certain prayers
repeated. The one used on this occasion is too long to trans-
cribe. It is called "the thirty days Novena to the Virgin," and
concludes thus : — " Oh ! glorious and ever blessed Virgin, com-
fort the hearts of thy supplicants by obtaining for us (specifying
the request), and as we are persuaded our Divine Saviour
Vnows thee as his beloved Mother, to whom he can refuse
•lOthing, let us speedily experience the efficacy of thy powerful
iitercession, according to the tenderness of thy maternal affec-
' Ions. Oh ! most Blessed Virgin, besides the object of our pres-
ent petition, obtain for us, of thy dear Son, our Lord and our

VISIT OF MY BROTHER. 69

God, a lively faith, firm hope, perfect charity, true contrition, a
horror of sin, love of God and our neighbor, contempt of the
world, and patience and resignation under the trials and afflic-
tions of this life. Obtain fttewise for us, oh ! sacred Mother of
God, the great gift of true perseverance, and the grace to receive
the last sacraments worthily at the hour of death. Lastly, ob-
tain, we beseech thee, for the souls of our parents, brethren,
relatives, and benefactors, both living and dead, life eveilasting.
Amen."

The Novena was joined by most of the pupils of the school,
but it was not for some time after that I was at all disposed to
join the Society ; and then not so much from choice as from the
peculiar circumstances in w^iich I w^as placed as an orphan, that
I was at all induced to enter on the first step of a " rehgieuse."

Much as I have since regretted that first step, I cannot but
look back upon it as one link in that chain of providential cir-
cumstances which ended in my subsequent deliverance : since,
but for that fuller insight into the system which I obtained as a
postulant, I could not have been so thoroughly convinced of its
absurdities and enormities.

CHAPTER XI.

VISIT OF MY BROTHER.

It was on a gloomy day, in the month of January, 1843,
when my studies were interrupted by the agreeable intelligence
from my aunt, that my uncle had returned from Rome, and
was then waiting to see me in the reception room. I was de-
lighted, and hastened to meet him. On going down the corri-
dor I met my mamma ; she was much agitated, and passed

70 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

quickly by me without speaking. On entering the room, I was
much surprised to find my uncle accompanied by a young gen-
tleman, and to me apparently a stranger. He rose to shake
hands with me, evidently much excited. I repulsed him for
(as I deemed it) freedom, and returned his salutation with a
cool movement.

He could no longer restrain himself, but exclaimed in the af-
fectionate language of infant days, " Marie, don't you know
me ?" These words instantly recalled him to my recollection,
and convinced me that it was not the voice of a stranger. No ;
it was that of my dear and only brother whom I had not seen
for nine years. He had returned from Rome for the purpose
of bidding mamma and myself farewell, before making the vows
of a Jesuit priest.

It was a final parting in this world, though I little thought
it at the time. He died the following year. Mamma and I
remained in ignorance of our loss till a month after his death.
This interview lasted only three hours, for the next morning he
left with another priest for Rome, and was professed as a novice
at Santa del a Pedro, on the feast of the Purification, which
occurs in the month of February. I felt the separation from
him after this meeting more keenly than before. This visit
was very trying to mamma. Her inability to suppress her
feelings would not allow her to be present on our first interview.
This accounted for her agitation in the corridor, and it renewed
her maternal anxiety on his account.

RELIGIOUS DOUBTS. 7l

CHAPTER XIL

RELIGIOUS DOUBTS.

It was soon after my brother's visit, that the subject of the
Eucharist began to occupy my attention. The doctrine which
enforces that Jesus is present in body and soul in the wafer, and
that all communicants partake in reality of his flesh and blood
was, of all the tenets of Popery, to me the most fearful.

The doubts thus raised I then believed to be a temptation of
Satan, and endeavored as much as possible to dismiss them
from my mind, but without success. Sometimes when receiv-
ing communion I have recoiled with horror, when the priest
removed the " Host" from the " ciborium." I trembled at the
thought that it was Jesus Christ in his body and blood that the
celebrant held in his hands ; and when he put the wafer in my
mouth I shuddered, at the idea of a creature eating his Creator.
I cannot now write it without the same impression.

At this period I began to inquire (a subject that had never
occurred to me before) why the priests drank the wine, or (as
Catholics believe) the blood of Christ in the form of wine ; and
why the chalice or cup was withheld from the laity. These,
in the first instance, being rather a matter of inquiry than of
doubt, I did not mention them to my confessor, but asked my
parent, who was displeased with my curiosity, and reproved me
for my inquisitiveness. I was not satisfied with this rebuke,
but shortly after named it again to her and my aunt ; the re-
ply was, " that I reasoned too much, and that I ought not to
question the authority of the Church, she being our only guide,
and that whatever she arranged or commanded was right ;"
and they concluded this lecture by hoping I would not again
ask curious and improper questions. But though I refrained

72 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

from pressing this subject further, I could not forbear pondering
it over in my mind.

On going one day to my Httle sacristy (the sacristan being
the phice where I kept the ornaments for the altars) I found a
little book, whether placed accidentally or intentionally by
mamma I do not know. It was a short life of St. Elizabeth
of Hungary. In the early part of her life she had experienced
the same suggestions of Satan (as they were termed in this
book), but escaped this snare by submitting her own will and
opinion ; — and suffering herself to be entirely guided by the
authority of the Church, attained to eminent sanctity, and the
close of her life was distinguished by many miracles. I read
this book with great interest ; and it, for a time, had the de-
sired effect in stifling those convictions of the truth that had
just begun to dawn on my darkened understanding. I con-
tinued to follow in the same round of religious obs^-vances,
often frequented confession and communion, but my heart con-
stantly sighed after something it seemed to want, and was not
truly at ease. My wandering and sometimes agitated mind
could not find any object on which to rest. I was a stranger
to that peace revealed in the simple truths of the gospel, for
among the votaries of the Romish faith the Scriptures are but
httle known. The attempt to teach religion without the Bible,
and to raise the decisions of the Pope and council above those
of the inspired volume, demands from her devotees the surren-
der of their judgment and will to her authority.

I have met with several young Catholic pupils on the conti-
nent who have been altogether ignorant of the existence of such
a book, and was myself ten years of age before I understood
the meaning of the word Scriptures. I had imagined them to
be a mere record of the councils of the Church. The latter are
instilled betimes into the minds of the young, but nothing is
said to them of the Word of God, which all are alike com-
manded to search for themselves.

THE CONVENT SCHOOL. 7,3

In the convent-schools of England there is an abiidgment
of the leading characters mentioned in the sacred writings, but
even tliis poor apology for the Bible is withheld from the con-
tinental convents ; for it was not till I came to England, at
twelve years of age, that I was aware of such a one being used.
In the Missal, it is true, there are several selections from the
Bible for the diiferent feasts for the day, but these are shockingly
perverted statements ; and, such as they are, children are not
permitted to use a Missal for some time after their first com-
munion,— the devotions for mass being the prayer-book used
by them at that service. I have for years known that frequently
Protestants bring a Bible with them, but when the nuns ex-
amine their trunks, before allowing them to be removed to their
appropriate places, take this and every book from them. It is
considered to contain heretical sentiments. So careful is the
Society of any of these entering the convent, that on one occa-
sion a Protestant History of England, which for a time had re-
mained unobserved, was discovered by a nun, and found to con-
tain Protestant sentiments ; it w\^s instantly burnt, and the
young English lady was severely punished. This is but one of
the many similar circumstances I have witnessed on the conti-
nent.

CHAPTEE XIII.

MAMMA'S DEATH.

Having already alluded to the melancholy circumstance of
my brother's death, I shall briefly go on to state, that this se-
vere dispensation was soon followed by a still heavier bereave-
ment.

4

74 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

My dear mamma had long been suffering from an affection
of the heart ; the shock of my brother's death had caused an
acute and serioiiS" attack of this disease ; she rallied for a little
time, but all my fond hopes of her recovery were soon to be
blasted. I was not informed of her danger, or at least the im-
probability of her restoration, until the night before she wished
to bid me adieu. On the following morning I was summoned
to her room, to see hei* for the last time previous to her receiv-
ing the last sacraments. She had felt much and keenly, the
distressing situation in which I should be placed as an orphan ;
and also the impossibility there was of my residing under the
protection of my uncle's paternal roof, as that would be forbid-
den by the laws of the Church, after the death of my parent.

This increased her desire for me to become a religieuse, and
she knew that everything would be done by the Society, and
by my uncle, to meet this vocation. In several conversations
with me during her illness she expressed this wish, and the hap-
piness it would afford her in her dying hour, to be assured that
I had determined upon this as my future course. I accordingly
promised her one day that I would try the life of a nun, but
preferred waiting at least two years before I entered as a postu-
lant. This promise I fulfilled, though it cost me considerable
sacrifice of feeling and principle.

The morning of the day previous to that of her death, I was
summoned to her bedside, and was told that my parent desired
to take a final leave, as all distractions are avoided by Catholics
after partaking of the last sacraments ; and she was so weak,
that, with the peculiar character of her disease, the least excite-
ment might have proved fatal. She was not able to say much,
further than giving me her maternal advice if I should return
to the world ; but at the same time expressed the satisfaction
she felt on leaving me with the impression of my becoming a
nun. She desired me to pray for the repose of her soul, and
begged of me to unite my petitions for the repose of the souls

DIFFICULTIES ABOUT PURGATORT. 75

of my father and brother, for whom I must frequently hear
mass (that if^, offer it up on their behalf), by communicating on
the anniversaries of their respective deaths, and enjoined me
to have as many masses offered as were possible for me to obtain.

None but those who have witnessed the restless expression
of a dying person clinging to this last delusive hope of remission
ill the grave, can picture the agonizing look of my beloved pa-
rent, when she clasped my hand, saying, " Promise me, you
will do this." Oh ! that I could then have directed her to that
Saviour whose merits alone could save, and whose blood could
cleanse from sin. But I was then ignorant of these sacred
truths, and in my misguided zeal promised to do as she required.
This promise I kept until the Spirit of God convinced me of
the wickedness of the doctrine of purgatory.

I did not see my beloved parent again ; she died the follow-
ing night. Masses were celebrated for her by my uncle and
several other priests to whom my uncle had sent, and these are
continued yearly. My deceased parent was interred five days
after her death, in the church of St. Jose, Manotte.

After my dear mamma's interment, it was decided that I
should remain in the Society as a pupil until entering as a pos-
tulant, and should also reside, as usual, in the same convent
with mv aunt.

CHAPTER XIY.

DIFFICULTIES ABOUT PURGATORY.

I REMAINED at Mauotte for a fortnight after this bereavement.

The next place I visited was the convent of E , in the south

of France, one that I had not before seen. It is in the vicinity
©f Lyons, and had then been recently commenced.

T6 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

Owing to some circumstances for which I could not account,
my aunt remained but six weeks with me. I was left behind,
without any previous notice of her leaving ; but on account of
the depression and loneliness I felt after my late bereavement,
I prevailed upon the Reverend Mother to allow me to return to
Manotte, where my aunt was again staying.

About this period I began to feel a desire, or rather curios-
ity, to see a Bible ; for it was by little things that God gradu-
ally led me to see tlie system of iniquity until He thoroughly
convinced me, by Ilis Holy Spirit, of the shocking enormities
practised and enforced. I could not satisfy my mind with the
mysterious doctrine of the Eucharist, and was much perplexed
with the subject of purgatory ; for my parent's death had caused
me to think more about it.

I continued to offer up prayers daily for the repose of her
soul. I thought, suppose she were not out of purgatory before
the death of those who were interested in her happiness, would
she have to endure longer torments because there was no one
to pray for masses, and to offer up prayers for her. This sug-
gestion distressed me greatly, for I thought others might fail to
remember her in their petitions. Then again it struck me very
forcibly that I might go on praying for her, and getting masses
said for her, and still continue to feel unhappy about her, when
at the same time she might have been released from purgatory,
and I ignorant of it. I might have spent thousands of pounds,
had they been in my possession, for this purpose, and still be no
wiser ; perhaps one mass would have released her, and yet hun-
dreds of masses would probably be offered up for her ; the
thought occurred to me — if these are of avail and acceptable in
the sight of God, what becomes of them, for it will not benefit
mamma if she is in heaven.

With these reflections, I thought how much I should like to
see what the Bible stated on the doctrine of purgatory, feeling
assured that if I could only read that book from which thd

DIFFICULTIES ABOUT PURGATORY. 77

priests had their authority, my mind would be fully satisfied.
All that I then wished was, just to read that part that treated
oiJ purn^atory, little dreaming that there was no such doctrine
tauo-ht in th(». simple Word of God.

(.)h ! if there is one perversion greater than another in the
Church of Rome, it is that of Purgatory ; it is by that she
strengthens and supports this system of iniquity. The very
idea of a man bartering, as it were, the souls of his fellow-
creatures is horrible ; for the rich, who can give large sums of
money, are soon released from their torments ; but the poor,
who are not so fortunate as to get any human person to assist
them, their souls must remain a longer period in the place of
sorrow.

On mentioning these subjects one day, in the way of ques-
tion, how it was that masses must be paid for, it being no n)ore
trouble to the priest, as he would have to say mass just the same
if he was not paid ; — the answer given me was, that the Bible
declared that "Alms made an atonement for sin." This pas-
sage I have now discovered to be no part of the inspired
writings, it being a quotation from the Apocrypha, which is not
any part of them. I was also tuld that the overplus of masses
offered for deceased relatives were referred to the account of the
donors, so that they would avail for them M'hen dead.

I have frequently heard instances in which persons have paid,
during their lifetime, large sums of money yearly for different
objects, with the prospect of having the sacrifice of the mass
offl-red on their decease. It is this doctrine that embitters the
dying hour, as it leaves them destitute of that hope of imme-
diate happiness in the presence of their Saviour, which the
Protestant is taught in the Scri}>teires to entertain.

It is binding on every penitent to confess sins of " thought,
word and deed ;" it was therefore a duty to mention my views
of one of the first questions in the examinations of conscience,
which is, "Have you any thought against your faith, and have

78 THE P^EMALE JESUIT.

you wilfully entertained thoughts tending to heretical senti-
ments V I named to my confessor the thoughts that occm-red
to me, and expressed a wish that he would solve my difficulties
on this point. I asked him if he would allow me to have a
Bible for a short time, thinking it the best plan to arrive at a
satisfactory statement ; but his reproof I shall never forget.
He said, "that if the Church had thought it requisite or pro-
fitable fur her children to allow them to read the Bible indis-
criminately, they would have done so ; but the Church, to
whom God has given all power, and whom Christ had promised
to be with to the end of the world and teach her all truth, see-
ing that men ' wrested the Scriptures to their own destruction,'
wisely limited the disposal of them to her priests, who were the
only depositaries of them."

I felt somewhat perplexed at this rebuke, and thought it
very strange that the Word of God could lead men to destruc-
tion, and I vv'ept at so stern a rebuke, for I was both miserable
and discontented with all my religious performances, and was
very unhappy in consequence of my beloved parent's death. I
felt desolate and without any hope upon which I could really
rest.

There is one circumstance that occurs to my memory in ref-
erence to purgatory, that perhaps will serve to show the pecu-
liar views I took upon one subject. The Romish church asserts,
"that all persons go to purgatory who have not in this world
satisfied God for the temporal punishments due to sin, but the
eternal punishment of which sins have been remitted by sacra-
ments of penance ; that is, they have been by absolution and
the sacraments absolved from mortal guilt, but die in a venial
state." A question occurrecWto me in reference to those persons
who would be living at the day of judgment that were not in
a state of mortal sin, yet, according to the Romish doctrine,
will not go to heaven, until they have been purified of their
guilt, without purgatory. How, I asked myself, could they be

THE DYING NUN. Y9

released, for no masses had been said for them ? this appeared
a great mystery to me. I asked one of my confessors this ques-
tion, hear the absurdity of his reply : " That the Church sup-
posed God would cause them to feel as much and great tor-
ments in a few minutes as years spent in purgatory." It was
by such absurd replies as these that all my important queries
were answered ; but as the Spirit of God continued to en-
lighten and convince me of the glaring errors of Popery, these
evasive answers failed to satisfy me.

CHAPTER XY.

THE DYING NUN".

The great test of religion is in a dying hour, when all human
efforts cease to avail the expiring victim. Should this book fall
into the hands of any who may be tempted to be drawn aside
by the fascinations and delusions of Popery, and be persuaded
voluntarily to resign the liberty of a Gospel dispensation for the
bondage of the Romish priesthood; to such I could with all
earnestness (as one who has tried and proved it in all its ob-
servances both with sincerity and zeal) urge them to reflect ere
they take the final step. Let the painful history of one, of
whose life and dying hours I was a witness, make as great an
impression on their minds as it did on mine ; for from this sad
scene I may note my first real convictions of the errors of the
Church of Rome, and my subsequent conversion to God. I
have before stated that I had a great fear of death, and many
times when I have laid down to sleep I have been terrified lest
I should die before morning. It was the idea of suffering in
purgatory, and the fears I had that masses should not be offered

80 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

up for me, as I had not property to devote to that purpose.
During this mental suffering the death of one, to whom I am
alluding, increased my difficulties.

E. A. W was a native of England, and daughter of

Protestant parents : she became a convert to the Romish
faith. This event was soon followed by her entering our Societj
as a postulant, and in three years after she made vows which
irrevocably bound her for life. The devotedness and enthu-
siasm with which Mother Stanislaus pursued the rigid observ-
ance of every duty, her zeal and outward piety, combined with
a naturally amiable disposition, gave her the appellation of
"perfect saint." I often wished I had arrived at that perfection
she appeared to have attained.

In three of the convents I had visited she had been one of
the mistresses. At the period of which I write, we were at
the convent of Manotte. I was much attached to her, and this
attachment, as far as convent rules would permit it, was recip-
rocal.

That winter she was seized with consumption, and hngered
for some time. During the last few weeks of her life, her fear
of death and mental agitation increased. All attempts to famil-
iarize her with the approaching event proved unavailing; as
soon as the subject was referred to (for I frequently said to her,
" Mother Stanislaus, when you get to heaven will you pray for
me") she would burst into tears, and tell me that I should need
to pray for her that she might bo released from purgatory.

Being at this time, through ill-health, unable to pursue my
studies, I was often the companion of Mother Stanislaus in the
infirmary, and frequently for exercise attended her in the day-
time, and assisted her in repeating the " rosary," and read with
her the "devotions for the sick." But there was not that
desire in Mother Stanislaus for the different prayers to be re-
peated that I have witnessed in other Catholics ; on the contrary,
I have had to remind her to repeat her beads, to which some-

THE DYING NUN. 81

times she replied, " I am too tired, you say them for my inten-
tion."

Owinof to her fearful anticipations of death, the Reverend
Mother had, as a great favor, obtained a crucifix that had been
blessed purposely by the Pope for a happy death. It is custo-
mary for all the nuns to keep one against this period; but it
was thought if poor Mother Stanislaus had one blessed expressly
for her, it would inspire her with confidence.. My uncle took
the crucifix to the Pope, and was present during the ceremony
of blessing. He immediately forwarded it to Manotte, with a
small present of beads and medals for myself ; among which
was a seal of the Pope's, called the "Agnus Dei,"* or conse-
crated wax, sealed with the holy seal of the Church, to preserve
me in all danger. My aunt, who was then Superioress, told me
to take the cross and also my uncle's letter respecting it, and
read it to Mother Stanislaus. I was much elated at receiving
this commission, sincerely rejoicing to think that I could in any
way add to her comfort, for I loved her very dearly.

When I entered the room for the first time that morning I
was shocked to find so great a change in her appearance. I
went up to her bedside and exclaimed, " Oh, Mother Stanislaus,
the crucifix is come, and I have brought it to you : it is blessed
purposely for you, that you may have a happy death ; are you
not pleased ?" But what a look and answer to my question.
She raised her expressive and then ghastly face towards me, and
pushing from her my hand which held the crucifix, said,
" Marie, I have done wrong ; the religion I have embraced and
followed will not support me in a dying hour." She then sank
upon her pillow and wept bitterly. I tried to pacify her, but
it was of no avail : she continued to weep : I had soon after to
leave the room. I gave my aunt an account of the inter-
view. I was not allowed to see her again. She died the next
morning.

* This wax is consecrated in the first year of the Pope's accession.

4*

82 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

I could not shake off this mehmcholj scene from my mind :
it haunted me by day and by night. I thought if she who was
so holy and devoted, and who tried the Catholic religion to the
uttermost, found it would not support her in a dying hour, what
was I to do ?

One of the nuns told me that Mother Stanislaus was not
conscious of what she said : — that her mind was weak through
protracted suffering. This for a time quieted my fears, but my
disquietude soon returned. The sacraments of penance became
wearisome, and daily more repulsive. I no longer felt the same
anxious desire as formerly of frequenting the confessional, for
my impression then was, that it was no use mortifying and de-
nying myself every gratification if it would not render me hap-
pier when I came to die than Mother Stanislaus. Then I re-
flected upon one dear to me, now no more, who disowned
religion altogether, and became a follower of Voltaire, and I
ceased to wonder at the unhappy circumstance.

I cannot refrain from praising God with heartfelt gratitude,
that He did not leave me, but wonderfully preserved me from
every kind of scepticism, and led me to embrace the truth as it
is in Jesus ; and, strange as it may appear, I can but acknowl-
edge the mercy and providence of God in permitting me to re-
main for so long a time with the community in this state of mind,
for had I then left the convent, I fear the consequences would
have been fatal to my soul's best interests, for I should most
probably have imbibed, secretly, infidel sentiments. I still -en-
tertained the idea that the Protestant religion was erroneous,
for that had been early instilled in my mind, and I had not
seen anything in most of the Protestant pupils to prepossess me
in its favor. I can now account for the want of piety and de-
votion when they enter a convent. Had they been children
well and religiously trained, they would not have been placed
in so dan(yerous a situation.

ENTERING THE COMMUNITY. 83

CHAPTER XYI.

ENTERING THE COMMUNITY.

It was considered as quite decided that I should enter the
community as a postulant, preparatory to taking the veil of a
novice, and my studies and pursuits were directed to that ob-
ject. I felt unhappy when I thought of the subject : I could
not reconcile myself to the life of a religieuse in that undecided
state of mind.

It was in the month of November, 1846, when I arrived at
the age of twenty-one, a period I had previously fixed upon as
the time of my joining the Order. A few days after my birth-
•day I received a letter from my uncle, stating his wish, now
that I was no longer a minor, to decide upon any future course ;
and he reminded me of my dear mamma's dying request, and
enforced upon me the blessedness of a life devoted to God and
his Church. He also suggested the happiness it would afford
me, if by sanctity and mortification I should satisfy Divine
justice for the sins of my parents, and be the means of sooner
releasing them from purgatory. Several other inducements
were mentioned, and his letter concluded with the promise that
everything would be done on his part to meet all arrange-
ments.

I was convinced that this was a crisis. I could not bear the
idea of leaving many to whom I was much attached, having
spent nearly my whole life with them, nor could I decide to be
a nun. I could not remain much longer as a pupil, and I had
not courage to retract my promise, nor could I again postpone
it. I had no female relations, with the exception of my aunt,
to whom I could look, for needed maternal care and counsel ;
and I had seen but little of the world and its customs, having,

84 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

since the age of seven, spent only two years out of the convent,
which circumstance I have before mentioned, so that I was
placed in a peculiarly trying position. I had no home, for the
laws of my uncle's Order prevented his receiving me (after a
certain age) under his protection. This privilege only extends
in particular cases to sisters and brothers.

This consideration greatly influenced me to try the life of a
religieuse, and I was further influenced by the thought that I
need not take the veil after my probation as postulant if I did
not like a convent life, or in the event of my mind continuing
harassed with doubts.

I did not foresee the difiieulties that would await me in
escaping from this first step of a cloistered life. When once
a poor misguided devotee is drawn into the snare laid to entrap
her, and her property and energies to the service of the Church,
difiicult and dangerous is it to escape ; indeed, on the conti-
nent, it is almost impossible for a man to extricate himself from
it, much more a woman ; it is a dangerous experiment for any
one to try with the intention of abandoning it, should they not
like the life of a nun, for they are wholly in the power of the
Church.

Such is the entire secrecy of the proceedings, that the Su-
periors could send any nun away ; no inquiries would be insti-
tuted by the other members of the Society, nor would any,
but the parties implicated, be the least aware what had become
of the missing person. A nun might be imprisoned, and none
but those who authorized it would be privy to the aflair.
Neither can we expect them to shrink from any act of this
kind, when their religion teaches them that they render God
services by preventing a heretic from contaminating others
with his heresy.

The festival of Cliristmas drew near, when it was expected
I should, with five others, be received as postulant, and for this
purpose I was removed to Paris. The kindness of the nuns,

ENTERING THE COMMUNITY. 85

their congratulations, and the joyous circumstances attending
one joining the community, hilled ray fears and doubts for the
time. My confessor had tried to persuade me that all my pre-
vious doubts were suggested by Satan, who was making a last
effort to prevent my becoming a religieuse. He told me that
they were marked temptations, and if I conquered them, he
did not doubt that my future life would be eminent for sanctity ;
and further stated, that he was convinced mine was a great
vocation, or else the devil would not thus assault me. I was in
this way flattered, instead of being told how truly sinful I was
by nature and practicej and that I could not perform a pure
work in the sight of that Being who is too holy to behold in-
iquity. I was told that my previous good works and life had
merited the approbation of God, who had by the mouth of
His priests declared unto me a vocation.

AYith these feelings and views, I began to prepare for the
approaching ceremony. I entered with the others on my re-
treat for three days. This season I shall ever remember. I
would have sacrificed anything so that I might have retracted ;
fot during this retirement I had opportunities of seriously re-
flecting upon what I was doing : and on looking back on the
past three years, I felt that I was augmenting my misery so
long as I was not convinced that the Church of Rome was the
true one. I felt, too, that I was adding to my difficulties in
inquiring into the Romish faith, and I could not really believe
that such a step was meritorious. But it was too late to decide
otherwise, and I could not then have given satisfactory reasons
for my withdrawment.

The 2d of January, 184Y, was the day on which I entered
as a postulant. This ceremony was not particularly imposing,
all attractions of this kind being reserved till the period of re-
ceiving the white veil. I and my five companions were dressed
in white muslin. On the conclusion of mass we adjourned to
the outside of the chapel door. Each one knocked at the door.

86 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

The priest and Reverend Mother answered by opening it, de-
manding- our business. Each one requested admission, in the
usual form. We were then led up by the priest and Reverend
Mother to the sanctuary, and on our knees presented tlie scis-
sors to the priest, who in return cut off a small lock of our
hair. He then gave to each postulant a rosary ; and, blessing
us, we returned to our rooms to change our dress to that of a
postulant, which was a black one. This ceremony is more
private than the profession of novices, it being performed in
the presence only of a few invited friends.

My uncle, on our return to the chapel attired as postulants,
performed the Benediction service ; the day was spent in en-
joyment with both nuns and pupils. I was, for the first time,
admitted to eat with the community ; and though I had been
so long a resident in the convent I was quite a stranger to their
customs and ceremonies at table. When I saw the novice
present the book upon her knees at supper, my feelings revolted
at this humiliating posture ; but how much more did I feel it
when I was shortly after required to do the same. I had not
at all contemplated the slavery or hardship of a nun's life, for
the pupils are quite ignorant of the humiliating penances they
have frequently to perform. I was told that evening by the
Reverend Mother that I must now begin to practise holy obe-
dience, which implied I must do everything I was told to do
without any reasons being given, and must not do anything
without permission.

DESCRIPTION OF A CONVENT LIFE. 87

CHAPTER XYII.

DESCRIPTION" OF A COXVENT LIFE.

The next morning I was aroused by a lay sister at four
o'clock ; and half an hour after I joined the nuns in proces-
sion to chapel. We spent an hour on our knees in silent medi-
tation ; at half-past five a third bell tolled the " Angelus."
The following prayers are always repeated during .the tolling
of this bell : — " The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary ;
and she conceived of the Holy Ghost. Hail Mary, <fec."
"Behold the handmaid of the Lord." "Be it done unto me
according to thy Word."

" Hail Mary, (fee.

"And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.
Hail Mary, &c.

" May the souls of the faithful departed rest in peace. Eter-
nal rest grant unto them, 0 Lord, and may perpetual light
shine upon them. Glory be to the Father, (fcc.

" Remember, oh ! most Holy Virgin, that no one," &c. &c.

After the angelus the nuns hastened to their appointed du-
ties until the hour of mass, which is generally at seven o'clock.
I had now my seat with the community, and joined them in
procession to the chapel. At eight breakfast was served in the
refectory. I was the first of the postulants that was called to
read the lecture during breakfast, it being the duty of novices
or postulants to read at meals. The book was given me by one
of the senior nuns, who told me I was to take it to the Rev-
erend Mother, and present it in the usual form on my knees,
and must also ask for her blessing. I felt very reluctant to do
this before about forty of the Society, but after a great struggle
with my feelings I did as I was desired. The Reverend Mother

88

THE FENfALE JESUIT.

then blessed me, and makino' the sio-n of the cross over me she
returned the book opened in the part assigned me to read. I
had then to commence by making tlie sign of the cross. I con-
tinued reading until permission was given me to cease, and then
took my own breakfast ; not a word was spoken by either nov-
ice or nun, the strictest silence being observed. That day two
of the postulants were sent to Amiens.

A little circumstance occurred in the morning that will serve
to show how much the will is sacrificed. On going to wash my
hands, as usual, I was told I could not do that without permis-
sion from another professed nun. I was strictly prohibited from
speaking to any novice or fellow postulant without leave from
my Superior. My first occupation was to ring the bell for the
different prayers and arrangement of the young ladies' classes,
&c. At a quarter before twelve we were again summoned to
the chapel to make our " examen" of conscience : this lasts till
twelve. At a quarter before one the angelus was tolled : this
was the signal for dinner. The dinner was served in the refec-
tory, the nuns walking in procession, followed by the novices
and the other postulants, with myself walking last. On the
signal being given we each took our appointed places, the pos-
tulants sitting next to the Reverend Mother, this being always
their privilege at dinner. No cloth was laid on the table, each
one was provided with a napkin in which were enclosed a knife
and fork, spoon and goblet. These napkins were tied with
pieces of tape, bearing the names of the separate members of
the community. The dinner was served by Reverend Mother
in strict silence. At this meal was daily read the life of the
saint commemorated on each day of the year in the Roman
calendar and the Roman martyrology, varying in length to the
supposed sanctity of the saint. When dinner was concluded
we each wiped our knife and fork, &c., and folded them in our
na])kins. These were only cleaned once a week, without any
consideration of their bein<r used sometimes two or three times

DESCRIPTION OF A CONVENT LIFE. 89

a week for fish. This was most repulsive to me, and I have
frequently been reproved for my want of mortification when I
have been seen to put my knife down with disgust.

After dinner, when the signal was given, we all rose, made
the sign of the cross twice, and then adjourned to the chapel in
the usual procession, where we remained for a quarter of an
hour, and proceeded again to the refectory for recreation. Du-
ring this hour, the nuns are generally very merry, and on this
day were particularly so. The Reverend Mother appeared to
be very lively and affectionate towards us. Being always a fa-
vorite in the convent, she bade me to sit on a stool at her feet,
saying, " I was now her child," for she had promised my dear
departed mother she would be a parent to me ; and I must
say, that to this time, she had fulfilled her promise. The nuns
were all very kind to me, and congratulated me on the great
benefits bestowed upon me, and dwelt much upon the happy
state of a cloistered life ; but with all this I felt sad, and longed
to join my young companions, who were then playing on the
grounds opposite. I wished again to feel unfettered and free
from that great restraint which I was, and should be subject to.
Though I had been an entire resident in the convent for thir-
teen years, and an occasional one for two years, I had not the
most distant idea of the nuns being kept under such restraint
and obedience. None but those who are partakers of it can at
all imagine the slavery, if I may so speak, to which they are
subject. No despotic sceptre is more arbitrary than that of the
Reverend Mother's authority and power : her word, and that
of her Provincial, are law ; the neglect of which, as I have be-
fore stated, exposes the delinquent to the most humiliating pun-
ishment. Should the conversation at recreation lead to what
she may disapprove, she immediately calls them to silence;
they then lose their recreation : no one dares appeal against it.
Speaking of confessions or confessors is strictly prohibited : not
the slightest allusion may be made to it : the reason of this I

90 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

could never solve, and it still remains to me a perfect mystery.
To ask if a certain priest is a Jesuit is also forbidden ; and no
member of the Society is allowed to speak of that body, with
the exception of the Reverend Mother. Of course there were
priests Jesuits, individually known to us ; of them we might
speak, but not allude to the Jesuits as a body.

The recreation was concluded by the tolling of the bell,
whicli first tolled a few minutes before the hour was past. We
all continued talking till the second bell rang, when all rose
and made the sign of the cross : this is always done at the
commencement and close. We then knelt down, and turning
our faces to the image of the Virgin, repeated an Ave Marie
and Pater Noster, and afterwards proceeded to our appointed
duties.

I went that afternoon to the music room, to sit during the
pupils practising, and likewise to attend to the ringing of the
bell, for the different arrangement of the classes in the school
are summoned by this bell. On this afternoon I lost my fel-
low postulants ; one was sent to England, another to Nice. I
heard of all takino: the veil but one ; the reason assio-ned for
her omission was, that bad health prevented her. One of this
number died two months after her profession. I was not per-
mitted to see my young companions before leaving, nor was I
aware of their departure until supper, — such is the entire se-
crecy of their proceedings.

At four in the evening a bell tolled for prayer. The same
prayers were repeated as were used at nine in the morning.
On the continent we have not tea at five, as in England, but
take supper at six or a little after. At five the angelus was
tolled, and immediately after the nuns went into lecture. I
was told to retire to the chapel, for private meditation. I
found this a great relief to my burdened feelings, for I felt the
strict silence and restraint to be most irksome to my naturally
hvely disposition ; everything so dull and monotonous, com-

DESCRIPTION OF A CONVENT LIFE. 91

pared with the hilarity of my schoolfellows ; and I bitterly
repented the step I had taken, and found great relief to my
depressed spirits in a flood of tears. I then repeated the rosary
for the benefit of the souls of my dear and deceased relatives,
and then joined the community at supper. Being the only
postulant the book was given to me. After presenting it to the
Reverend Mother in the usual form, I commenced reading : it
was the life of St. Alphonsus Rodriquez, a lay brother of the
Society of St. Ignatius Loyola. On coming to one of the absurd
anecdotes, in which this saint's life abounds, I could not refrain
from laughing. The Reverend Mother, who could not forbear
smiling, seeing me so much amused, silently gave the signal
for one of the novices to take the book from me and finish the
reading. I was not reproved for this, but was teased about it
at recreation. After supper we retired to the chapel for a quar-
ter of an hour ; some went to the young ladies to serve their
supper and conduct them to chapel for night prayers. At seven
the bell again rang for recreation. The nuns who are appointed
to see the pupils in bed, lose a greater portion of their evening's
enjoyment. When assembled for recreation, one of the nuns
said to me, " Oh ! Marie ; so you laughed at poor St. Alphonsus.
I wonder what you will think when you read of his eating
rotten eggs in obedience to his superiors." I replied by saying,
"I would not have done it." At this reply the whole of the
community laughed heartily, exclaiming, "You don't know
what it is to practise rehgious obedience." In this way the
hour was spent.

At eight o'clock the complins, or night prayer bell, was
rung. There was something very solemn in this part of the
day's duties : the nuns all in procession, veiled in black, and the
novices with their white veils and caps, diversified the scene ;
and with heads hung down and slow step walked into the
chapel. A novice repeated the night prayers, — all the com-
munity responding, — the Litany of Saints, a portion of which is

92 TTIE FEMALE JESUIT.

as follows, viz. : — two prayers were daily repeated to the sacred
hearts of Jesus and Mary. While these prayers were being
said, two extra candles were lighted, and placed opposite the
pictures of the two hearts. The one on the right of the high
altar was a picture of the heart of Jesus encircled in a crown of
tJKjrns, and the one to the left, was the heart of Mary with a
sword pierced through. The prayer repeated to tlie heart of
Mary was, " Sacred heart of Mary, the most perfect of all
hearts," (fee. The lights were then removed to the picture of
the patron saint of the convent — St. Philomel : this was the
name I took when I became a postulant. Marie Philomel was
my religious name. A prayer was dedicated to her. After
this all remained in silent meditation for a short time, then a
meditation was read, the Reverend Mother pronouncing the
bles.-ing : this was the signal for each to kiss the floor, and
several of the nuns kissed the feet of the Virgin's image. The
portress placed the keys of the house on the Virgin's altar,
saying, " O holy Mother, be thou our protector, and preserve us
from all harm. Hail Mary," &c.

We then went to our appointed dormitories. Not a word
was spoken. It is considered a great breach of religious
obedience for any nun, novice, or postulant, to speak after night
prayers, without there is absolute necessity for it : we had no
lights. Before getting into bed we spiinkled ourselves with
holy water, and also sprinkled some on the bed. We again
kissed the floor, saying, " Remember, dust thou art and unto
dust thou shalt return." WHien in bed we had to make the
sign of the cross, repeating, " Jesus, Mary, Joseph, to you I
commend my spirit. Hail Mary," &c.

This is the daily routine of a convent life.

The whole community, if health permits, rise the year round
at four in the morning, and retire to rest a little after half-past
?ight. All must be in bed at nine, when Reverend Mother or
her Superior rings the last bell. On Monday night two nuns

DESCRIPTION OF A CONVENT LIFE. 93

and two novices, and occasionally a postulant, rise at eleven, and
proceed to the chapel to spend what is termed " the consecrated
hour," that is, to accompany our Saviour in spirit to the garden
of Gethsemane. They retire to rest at twelve.

The following morning before five were performed the " sta-
tions of the cross." Lest this term should not be understood
by the reader, it may be as well to explain that the " stations
of the cross" are performed as follows, viz. — We all knelt on
one side of the lower end of the chapel ; after repeating a prayer
we all rose and walked across to the opposite side and again
fell on our knees, and continued in silent meditation for a few
minutes. This represents our Saviour bearing the cross and
falling down exhausted with the burden. After this we walked
up nearer the altar, till at last we reached the steps of the
sanctuary : we all prostrated with our faces to the ground.
This is figurative of our Saviour on the cross : and His mother
and disciples kneeling in agony around it. In this position we
remained for more than a quarter of an hour. To a Protestant
it would appear most profane and absurd. We then concluded
our morning devotions as usual.

The professed nuns go to communion every morning, unless
deprived of a communion by the Reverend Mother or her
Superior, which is sometimes done as a penance or punishment.
The novices communicate four or five times a week, the pos-
tulants three times. Frequently our confessors would deprive
us of going to communion by withholding absolution for a time,
or sometimes they could restrict us to one communion in the
interval of confession.

I had not been with the community more than three or four
days, when I was required to give up everything I valued. I
found it to be a great trial to part with a miniature portrait,
enclosed in a locket, of my beloved mamma, which I had worn
since her death. I did think it cruel to tear from me the only
relic I treasured : I never experienced any deprivation to be

94 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

more acute than this, for since my dear parent's death the re-
semUance of her had afforded me a melancholy jJeasure. This
was given to my uncle, and I have not seen it since. I was
not even permitted to retain my silver thimble: this was taken
from me and an iron one given me in its place. They speak
frequently of voluntarily resigning every dear and earthly ob-
ject, but for my part mine was anything but voluntary, I had
not the most remote idea that such sacrifice of feeling was re-
quired : I had always thought that the nuns might keep little
things they valued ; I was not told the contrary, and I do not
doubt that numbers are in this way deluded. They are not
aware of the hardships and trials they will have to encounter,
until it is too late to retract, without taking the dangerous step
that I did — that of escaping from the snare so deceitfully laid
for them.

The next great trial I met with was the separation from my
aunt. Of this I was not aware until I had actually left the
convent. Three weeks after my entrance into the Society, I
was seated in the choir of the chapel practising on the organ,
where I had been sent by the Reverend Mother to practise a
mass, expecting to play at the following morning at high mass,
it being a day of " obligation." With this order no one would
have supposed it was the intention of the Reverend Mother to
send me away. I had not been in the choir more than an hour,
when one of the senior nuns came and told me that Reverend
Mother wished to speak to me in her own room. This being
the first time I had entered since I was a postulant, the nun in-
structed me in the way I was to approach her. On opening
the door I must kneel, and remain in that position until I was
told to go forward : then, on approaching her, I must again
kneel and ask her blessing. I accordingly went and did as I
was told ; but to n^ great astonishment the Reverend Mother
continued writing, and kept me kneeling for a considerable
time : she at last told me to rise. I then knelt at her side--,

DESCRIPTION OF A CONVENT LIFE. 95

and after she had given me her bU^ssing, took tny two hands
and embraced me very tenderly. After a little conversation
she asked me, in a very coaxing and bland manner, if I should
like to have a walk with her. I was much elated with the
prospect of so great a treat as to walk out with Reverend
Mother, and immediately replied, "0, yes." " Very well," she

said, " go to sister G for the bonnet and cloak I have

provided for you.*'

I had not since I became a postulant been out beyond the
grounds of the convent. We were accompanied by another
nun and novice. After walking some distance in the city we
came to the diligence office. I was a little surprised, and more
so when Reverend Mother said, "I am taking you a ride with
Mother C and Sister M. W , who are going to Car-
rouge ;" but how great was my astonishment on arriving at a
small convent about a mile from Paris, where there is a small
community (chiefly invalids), when Reverend Mother got out
and a novice from this convent took her place. She told me I
was going to Carrouge. I burst into tears at the communica-
tion, exclaiming, " I have not wished my dear aunt good-bye."
She replied by saying, that this was religious obedience, and by
overcoming this trial great merit would be the result. The
coach then filled, so that I was obliged to compose myself,
though it w^as with great difficulty.

After five days' travelling, the weather being very cold in
crossing the mountains, we arrived at Carrouge. The sudden
and unexpected manner in which I had been removed appeared
as a dream to me, but I soon ceased to be surprised at such
sudden changes.

It is in this way that all are moved from convent to convent.
A nun is frequently sent under pretext of taking a walk, when
to her surprise she is sent off to some other convent. If the
Society have houses only a few miles distant, some are sent
perhaps with a message, and when they get there they are told

96 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

to stay. All the nuns are very suspicious of being sent out,
even where there is no intention of " trapping," as they term
it in the convent. This affords many a joke during recreation,
on the adroit manner in which this trapping is accomplished.
With this system not any one is sure a moment ; for many
times when it appears most improbable and unlikely, that will
be the very time they have to leave for another convent. This
is done with a view of detaching them from the world.

This sudden removal from those I loved, without being per-
mitted to bid one farewell, was not calculated to reconcile me
more to the step I had taken ; but, on the contrary, I felt
miserable at the idea of spending my life under such painful
restrictions.

The sad scene of Mother Stanislaus' death was ao^ain brouo-ht
fresh to my memory ; and I thought, if she who had spent so
many years of living martyrdom should find (when she would
most expect comfort and consolation) she had been deceived,
and that all the years spent in penance and self-denial could be
of no avail in a dying hour : I thought, with agony, oh ! if
such should be my case. How I envied the freedom of the
poor peasant girls as I passed them on my journey to Carrouge.
I shall not easily forget the look of sympathy that an English-
gentleman gave me. He was our fellow-traveller to Lyons •
though seated in the same compartment we were not permitted,
by the convent rules, to speak to him or any of our fellow-travel-
lers, so that no opportunity was afforded us of making known
our feelings to others. I remember his looking very earnestly
at me when I had just been wiping away the tears that fell on
my cheeks ; and then, on seeing me take up my rosary that
hung to my side, gave me such a look of pity as now convinces
me that he was a follower of Christ. I was very sorry when
we parted at Lyons, for though I had not spoken to him, I felt
great esteem for him on account of his apparent sympathy,

DESCRIPTION OF A CONVENT UFE. 97

though a stranger to my grief. At Lyons two other nuns
joined us from Nice, and accompanied us to Carrouge.

We arrived at Geneva at a late hour, and I was rather sur-
prised to see the convent guides awaiting our arrival to conduct
us up to the convent. This circumstance at once told me that
our removal was arranged some days prior to leaving Paris.

On arriving at the convent the portress was up ready to re-
ceive us, and also the Superior. The latter, and Mother. Clo-
tille, the senior nun who, had accompanied us, retired for private
conversation on Reverend Mother's business. On their return,
the Superior, Mother Mary Borgia, conducted me to her dor-
mitory where a bed had been prepared for me. I did not rise
the next morning till a late hour, being so much fatigued. In
the course of the day the Superioress told me that Reverend
Mother desired that I should be sent into the novitiate, if well-
enough, the next day ; and she also wished her to tell me that
I was not, in recreation or any other time, to allude to my for-
mer station as a pupil in the schools ; that though there would
be many amongst the novices that would recognize me, yet, in
the novitiate, any salutation or conversation of this kind was
strictly forbidden. All worldly communications and inquiries
were entirely precluded. I found this injunction very irksome ;
for on entering the next day I saw two very dear school-fellows
who had just commenced their noviceship. They seemed
much surprised when I was introduced as a new postulant,
Marie Philomel, but did not dare give me a look of affection-
ate recognition. There were three other postulants then in the
novitiate, and fourteen novices. The former spent only an
hour a day in this department, but we joined the novices at
recreation : the same reserve is then maintained.

The first month of my time was partly occupied in assisting
in the poor school ; for in most of the convents they have a
charity school, varying in the number of recipients from fifty
to three or four hundred. These poor children are fed and

6

98 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

partly clothed. At Carroiige there were about two hundred.
I must not omit to mention that I still continued to pursue my
studies two or three hours a day, in order to qualify me better
for the duties that were expected to devolve upon me in assist-
ing in the education of the pupils of the different convent
schools. My usual hours were from half-past five, directly after
morning meditation, to seven, and from nine till ten. After an
hour spent in the novitiate, the rest of the day was spent in
the poor-school, and the different duties were assigned me.

Ill-health soon prevented me from walking down daily to
the poor-school, for it was not at the convent, but in the village,
about a mile distant; so after this I had much lighter duty to
perform. When I had been at Carrouge about two months, I
had again the opportunity of witnessing the very solemn and
melancholy scene of three novices making their final vows.
No spectators but those connected with the convent were al-
lowed to be present. Were this ceremony made more public,
I feel assured it would deter many from taking so rash a step,
for there is something so very appalling in the whole service,
that it would affect those most wedded to the Romish faith.

The novices were young, the eldest not being more than

twenty-five. Sister M X , Sister M A , and

Sister M I , were their names. They spent nine days

in retreat. The day was ushered in by the tolling of the
great bell, which was muffled for the occasion. This is only
done in the event of a death, or on the profession of nuns, that
is, the taking of the black veil : this is not a day of rejoicing
as on the occasion of receiving the white veil.

The three novices made their general confession as before
death. On the morning of their profession, previous to the
celebration of mass, the Bishop, who always officiated on this
occasion, adjourned to the confessional, to give the novices an-
other opportunity of confessing any sin that might have been
omitted. After this confession he gave them each pontifical

DESCRIPTION OF A CONVENT LIFE. 1»9

absolution. Solemn high mass was afterwards performed, the
celebrants having on black vestments ; the tabernacle and altar
were covered with bhick, as is customary in masses for the
dead. When mass was concluded, the solemn requiem for the
dead was chanted ; during this, the novices walked up to the
sanctuary, attended by the Reverend Mother (who came pur-
posely to Carrouge to be present at this ceremony) and the
rest of the nuns, each one carrying a wax taper. A black vel-
vet cloth was spread on the first step of the sanctuary leading
up to the altar ; the three novices then knelt upon it, repeat-
ing the " litany for the dead," intimating by this that they were
dead to the world. After several prayers had been repeated,
the white veils were removed by the Bishop ; they then re-
tired to the sacristy ; the hair, which on the former occasion
had only been cut short, was then entirely shaved off. When
this business was over, the novices returned to the chapel, three
of the nuns bearing the rest of a professed nun's habit. The
only alteration in the dress is in the shawl, veil, and cap : these
were blessed by the Bishop. The shawl and cap were then
changed ; the vows, which were previously copied on parch-
ment, were produced by the Reverend Mother. Having never
seen a copy of vows made by a nun on her profession, I can-
not give the reader the purport of them : they are pronounced
in so low a voice as only to be heard by the Bishop and pro-
fessed nuns. The vows taken are those of obedience, poverty,
and chastity. While the novice was repeating these vows, the
Host was held by the Bishop closely before her, so that she
was supposed to have made them in the presence of Christ
himself, to whom she then believed herself espoused ; she con-
cluded by signing these parchments, on her knees, with the
Host still before her : the Reverend Mother then signed it.
The Bishop then placed the black veil upon her head, at the
same time pronouncing her name, and proceeded to give her
the Host in the usual form. The other two proceeded wit'

ri n o o o c

100 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

same ceremony. The designation of " Sister" was exchanged
for that of " Mother," and their names were chosen in honor of
their patron snints.

When the ceremony concluded, the three nuns kissed the
feet of the Reverend Mother, as a profession of their obedience
and homage to her as their Superior. "Dominum non sura
dignus" was chanted ; after which, all returned to the house.

This solemn and thrilling scene made a great impression on
my mind, and more than ever tended to increase my doubts.
It also increased my desire to see a Bible, so that I might ascer-
tain if God really required us, in order that we should live
hereafter with Him, to sacrifice the liberty, energies, and prop-
erty He has given us for higher ends than the secluding our-
selves from every means of benefiting our fellow-creatures by
them. It seemed to me opposed to the venerable character of
God, that He should require from His creatures the renuncia-
tion of all those sources of enjoyment, and the rupture of those
social ties which owe their origin to Him. I did not feel satis-
fied to have my judgment ruled by a priesthood, without con-
firmed proof that it was right to submit to their authority. In
my next confession I mentioned this desire, more as a subject
of inquiry than of sin against the Romish faith.

When I had repeated " Confiteor," and proceeded with con-
fession in the usual form, I at once asked my confessor why we
were not to read the Bible ; that I had frequently requested it
of my different confessors, but had been reproved ; therefore I
wished the reason of the Church for so withholding the Scrip-
tures. He looked at me very sternly, and inquired why I
asked such a presumptuous question. My reply was, that I
desired to feel convinced that the doctrine the Church of Rome
taught, was in accordance with the Word of God ; assigning as
a reason, that my mind had for some time been very much per-
plexed, therefore I wished to know if I was really right.

This was indeed a daring and bold declaration te make to a

DESCRIPTION OF A CONVENT LIFE. 101

confessor, and was not made without the greatest effort and sac-
rifice of feeling. I had naturally a great dread and dislike to
confession, and it was always attended with painful excitement.
My confessor reasoned long with me on the impropriety and
wickedness of the question ; and the only reply I could get to
this important subject w^as, as given me on a former occasion,
viz. that it would tend to do me great harm, for I was incapa-
ble of understanding aright the Word of God ; and again
quoted St. Peter's warning on wresting the Scriptures. As a
penance for this presumptuous inquiry, absolution was withheld,
and several prayers were given me to repeat daily, that God
might be satisfied for the great sin I had committed in desiring
to search the Scriptures.

I returned from confession more dissatisfied than before with
these evasive answers. The unpleasant looks of the nuns that
were to follow me, did not tend to conciliate me to it. In my
late confessions I had detained the Father sometimes for more
than an hour ; on that day I had been about two hours in the
confessional. If any one had kept him beyond the ordinary
time, the result was that he became impatient and severe with
those who followed. This caused the nuns to dishke to go in.-
Under those circumstances they thought I was scrupulous, so
they were on this day more than ever displeased with me. At
the next confession I was required to go last, though the postu-
lants usually follow the Superior.

My doubts now assumed a more serious aspect. I felt con-
vinced that there was something wrong in the Roman Catholic
faith, and of its inadequacy to meet the wants of a sinner. I
could not believe that God would suffer his creatures to be kept
in ignorance of the things that belonged to their eternal peace.
It was contrary to all reason to believe that God should inspire
his prophets and evangelists to write a book that would lead to
the destruction of its perusers ; and the question naturally arose,
Why the priestliood escaped this destruction ? Then I remem-

102 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

bered the subterfuge of the infalUbility of the clergy, that it is
impossible for them to err in matters of faith. I reasoned the
subject over and over again, and at last came to the conclusion,
that let the consequences be what they might, I would never
receive the veil until I had read for myself a Bible ; little think-
ing that I should be fully persuaded of the pernicious errors of
Popery long before the perusal of those holy pages.

I had now commenced a painful mental conflict that lasted
through a period of two years ; and He who had called me to
pass through this trying ordeal, could alone have supported my
naturally delicate frame, and brought me out " more than con-
queror, through Him that has loved us and given Himself for
us," &c.

At the next confession I acquainted my confessor that I still
continued in the same state of mind in reference to the Bible,
and again repeated my request. He was this time very kind
and patient, and appeared more disposed to reason the subject
with more calmness than before. He asked me if I had per-
formed the penance he had given me on the previous confes-
sion. I replied in the affirmative ; adding, that I did not think
I had performed it with proper dispositions, such as the Church
required. On hearing which he endeavored to impress upon
me the great struggle I was now enduring with Satan, that these
doubts were temptations — it being Satan's device to lead me
astray from the true faith ; and urged me, by everything that
was sacred, to fight against them ; and also enjoined me to
spend much time in prayer and devotion to the Virgin, sup-
plicating her aid in this conflict to enable me to overcome these
suggestions of Satan. This was my last interview with my
Swiss confessor.

REMOVAL FROM CARROUGE. 103

CHAPTER XVIII.

REMOVAL FKOM CARROUGE.

I LEFT Carrouge the next day, under the following circum-
stances. Two nuns were leaving for Amiens, and the Superior
told me I might accompany them to Geneva. I did so ; but
on arriving at the diligence, I was told to get in, for I was to
return with them to Amiens. This removal was owing to the
state of my health, Carrouge not agreeing with me, and
Reverend Mother wished to place rhe under the care of an
experienced surgeon, under whose treatment I had several times
previously received benefit.

I was not sorry to leave Carrouge, so that this sudden change
was agreeable. This occurred in the month of April, 1847.
On arriving at Paris I was prevented from proceeding to
Amiens, in consequence of the return of a disease I had a few
years before been suffering from — the slight rupture of a blood-
vessel. I was very ill for a little time, and Monsieur Dupois,
my medical attendant, strongly advised an immediate change to
Italy. After a fortnight's stay at the convent at Paris, I again
became a traveller to Nice, a convent I have before named.
This rather alarming and dangerous illness increased my fear
of death, being convinced that the result of it might have been
a sudden removal from this world ; and the feeling that T was
not prepared to die distressed me greatly. Owing to the dan-
ger that was likely to occur on the least hurry or excitement, I
was not permitted to attend the confessional for more than a
month after my arrival at Nice. My next confessor was an
Italian priest, who could only converse with me in his own
language. In consequence of this, I found it difficult to men-
tion to him all the doubts that were then disquieting me, so I
did little more than make my usual confession.

104 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

At this convent they had what they terra an " extraordinary
confessor," that is, a priest who attended for the accommodation
of those who were not conversant with the Itahan language.
Not feehng satisfied to go again to confession, without entering
on the subject that so occupied my thoughts, and knowing that
it was very important that my confessor should fully understand
the questions proposed, and myself the answers given, to avoid
any misunderstanding, I came to the conclusion that it was
better I should at once request permission to attend the French
priest of whom I have spoken, then a resident at Nice. He
was a kind and venerable old man, and the expression of his
countenance strikingly benevolent. I frankly told him of all
the difficulties then in my way. He listened to me with great
patience and forbearance, and endeavored to clear up my
doubts in a calm and aflfectionate manner ; but refused my one
great request to have a Bible. He warned me that Satan was
having a severe conflict with me, and exciting this desire as the
great snare for my destruction. In discussing the doctrine of
the Eucharist, he quoted to me those memorable words of our
Saviour, " This is my body," saying that it was preposterous to
think that Jesus meant it was only bread ; but when I was
permitted to read and search the Word of God for myself, I
found it was as reasonable to believe that our Saviour was a
door, for he there as emphatically says, " I am the Door." I
then asked him how it was that the laity could receive the
entire body and blood of Christ in the wafer, while the priest
partook of both wafer and wine. He endeavored to explain this
mysterious doctrine, by stating that after our Saviour's death,
his body could be no more broken, that is, the blood could be
no more separated from the body, and that the mass was
emblematical of the crucifixion and death of our Redeemer.

The next subject of doubt that occurred was the doctrine of
justification by works. In the different prayers of the Romish
Church there seemed to be a strange contradiction ; for in some

REMOVAL FROM CARROUGE. 105

the petitioner would express himself as resting solely on the
death of Christ for salvation, and perhaps the very next prayer
would express the opposite.

I was of course taught to believe that we were fallen by
nature, and if Christ had not given himself a ransom for us we
must all have perished eternally. So far I was right ; but
then thought I, why need Christ have died if we are to merit
heaven by works of supererogation ? I was required to trust in
Christ for salvation, and yet to believe I was to perform a life of
mortification and penance, in order to satisfy God for my sins,
when Christ had already made satisfaction for them. I could
not reconcile these contradictions ; and when I contemplated
the purity and holiness of God, and compared my works with
His greatness, I could but exclaim, " God cannot regard these
miserable self-imposed penances as a satisfaction for sin." I
felt sure that God must have the inward service of the heart,
not the daily irksome repetition of a number of prayers, in
which the lips only were employed, the very trouble and trial
of repeating them unwillingly being considered more meritorious.
To say your rosary under feelings of repugndlhce was con-
sidered a very good work. The Roman Catholic religion,
followed out in its strictest requirements, makes its devotee a
gloomy, anxious, restless creature. 'There is in her service that
which tends to fascinate the senses ; but when this temporary
excitement is past, her misguided follower is miserable as
before. I speak for myself; for when one of the attached
adherents to her creed it failed to render me happy. The
more I tried to follow out her teaching, the more I felt ill at
ease and dissatisfied with my performances. I am convinced,
from bitter experience, that Popery can never give comfort to
the sincere inquirer, either on a bed of sickness or anticipated
death. I have proved this, and am also able, through the
mercy and love of God, to contrast it with the liberty and
freedom of a purer Gospel. I now enjoy the happiness of
5*

106 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

trusting alone in the merits of a crucified Saviour, instead of
leaving my soul's great interests to the intercession of the
Virgin and saints, many of whom I have no real ground to
believe ever entered heaven, or . in some cases ever had any
existence ; and resting my hope of pardon on the will of a
priesthood, who may be living a most abandoned life. I can
nowhere find -in God's word, that either the intercession of saints
is enjoined, or that man is permitted to take upon himself the
power of God : I there read that " there is no name given under
heaven by which man can be saved except the name of
Jesus :" the Bible does not tell me of mediators and mediatrix.

My confessions now assumed a different character, partaking
more of argument or controversy than of confession of sin. I
esteemed tiie kind old priest for his patience with me, and his
earnest endeavor to remove all my doubts ; and trust that if he
still lives, these confessions may have awakened his attention to
the gross enormities of his faith. The Superioress of this con-
vent I loved very much for her kind and amiable disposition —
Mother Genevieve was her name.

One evening, in the month of December, when she had re-
tired to the chapel for private meditation, I was told to fetch
her out, letters having arrived from the Reverend Mother. I
went to her and whispered my message, when she requested me
to fetch them to her. I suppose she anticipated their purport,
it being to call her away from that convent. Owing to circum-
stances requiring her stay, she had been there the unusual pe-
riod of five years, and both nuns and pupils were much at-
tached to her. When it was found out the next day that she
was to leave on the following morning, we were all very much
distressed. On seeing her at recreation I said, " Oh 1 Mother
Genevieve, I am very much grieved that you are going :" — she
replied very calmly, "and you are going too." I was very
much pleased with this intelligence, for I was in anxious ex-
pectation of seeing my dear aunt and uncle if I went to France.

REMOVAL FROM CARROUGE. l07

I had not seen ray aunt since I had entered the community,
and had only had a moment's interview with my uncle once
since that occasion. I felt desirous of opening my mind fully
to him, but this I was never able to do ; nor was he at all
aware, at least from myself, of my doubts, or my non-attach-
ment to the religious hfe, until I wrote to him on the subject
after my secession.

After a journey of five days we arrived at Paris. I saw my
aunt; she was just leaving for Amiens, and I was not more
than ten minutes in her company. This was most tantalizing
to me ; I could not think that true religion required the separa-
tion from every dear object of our affections, and earnestly did I
desire to know if God really demanded this sacrifice of every
endearing tie of affection.

Reverend Mother was then in Paris, in order to be present
at the grand high mass that was to be celebrated in the cathe-
dral of Notre Dame de Victoires. Our community had the
charge of the altar and vestments belonging to this cathedral.
When in Paris, I frequently assisted some of the nuns in deco-
rating the high altar for special feasts. The late Archbishop
of Paris was then residing at Paris : he frequently visited our
convent, so that I often had the pleasure of seeing him. I
longed to open my mind and unburden my feelings to him,
for I had great esteem for him. I was privileged by him,
at his own request, to dress the altar of his private chapel
at his own palace, and also to dress the wax image of the
infant Jesus. Some would have been much elated at so high
an honor, but to me it was anything but pleasing. The doll
was most beautifully dressed in a robe of white satin, which
I embroidered with gold ; its bed was made of crimson velvet,
with a fringe of gold and satin to correspond ; the canopy
was made of velvet, lined with white satin, and this was con-
fined at the top with a small crown of great value belonging
to the Archbishop. This was above a week's labor ; and many

108 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

were the silent tears it cost me, whilst others almost envied me
my employment. I would gladly have resigned the task to
those whose conscience would not accuse their idolatry.

On the eve of Christmas-day I completed all the decorations
of the mass altars in the Archbishop's oratory, which had taken
me the whole day : having had to put about a hundred tapers
in the splendid candlesticks and lustres, and had also to dress
the Virgin in her most costly attire, and the choicest flowers
that Paris could produce were spread in profusion in very
splendid vases. When I had completed the whole it struck
me as appearing idolatrous, and for the first time I passed the
altar without adoration, for I felt convinced it would not be
pleasing in the sight of God.

On passing the altar of the infant doll I could not refrain
from bursting into tears, for I was truly miserable. As I was
about to leave the door, the Archbishop entered the chapel,
and immediately prostrated in profound adoration. Before
leaving him he presented me with an indulgence medal ; then
blessing me, he allowed me to kiss the ring worn by the Bish-
ops and Archbishops on the third finger of the right hand.
This is considered a great privilege ; for it is thought by Cath-
ohcs to be a hundred days' indulgence from purgatory.

When I returned to the convent I found all very busily em
ployed in preparing for the grand services of the Christmas-
day, one that is anticipated with great delight in the convent,
for we had recreation the whole day. Reverend Mother, see-
ing me much depressed in spirits, and attributing it to the re-
membrance of mamma, told me I must come into her room
directly after lecture. On this interview she talked to me
rather severely on the impropriety. [Here a blank occurs in
the manuscript.]

CHRISTiM AS-DAY. 109

CHAPTEE XIX.

CHRISTMAS-DAY.

We retired to rest on the eve of that day earher than usuat,
in order to be better prepared for its services. Those members
of the community who wished to be present at midnight mass
rose at twelve o'clock, when the first mass was celebrated ; each
priest being obliged by the laws of the Church to say three
masses in honor of the blessed Trinity.

In the convent we always had high mass celebrated at this
hour. The sweet voices of the nuns, and the melodious strains
of the organ, as the well-known hymn, "Adeste Fideles," was
chanted before the altar of the infant doll, and the imposing
appearance of the altars, which are like one splendid luminary,
— appeal strongly to the senses and feelings of the enthusiastic ;
and they mistake that for devotion, which is merely the effect
any other imposing spectacle would produce on the mind of
the enthusiast. There is no real religious feeling in such ser-
vices. I have frequently wept with excitement at such scenes ;
not that I was seriously impressed with these ceremonies. No ;
it was nothing more than a mere sentimentality, acting upon
my feelings, which I found it impossible to control. In the
same manner, very frequently, sweet plaintive music will excite
the listener, but no one could suppose these were emotions of a
religious character. But to return to my narrative.

Not being in the enjoyment of good health, or in a state of
mind to feel much inclined to rise at so early an hour, I did
not get up for midnight mass. I had to communicate that
morning, having been at confession the day but one previous.
I said mass on that day no less than nine times ; for the priests,
being all unable to say three masses each in the different

110 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

churches, gladly availed themselves of the opportunity of per-
forming or saying them in the convent chapels. The last one,
which was high grand mass, I saw celebrated in all the splen-
dor of continental pomp and grandeur, in the cathedral of Notre
Dame de Victoires. I went with Reverend Mother at eleven
o'clock ; and the service, including " solemn benediction," was
over about two. We then returned to the convent, where all
was hilarity and joy ; it being the only day in the year, with
the exception of those on which postulants received the white
veil, that we were allowed to have recreation for the entire day.
There is one duty that rather encroaches upon this enjoyment.
The nuns believe that if they say a thousand Hail Marys, they
will have any particular wish granted. This observance causes
much anxiety amongst the community, lest the thousand should
not be repeated, for if one should be omitted the rest would be
unavailing. I once tried this but soon gave it up, for I had
not the perseverance to go through it.

In the evening we had the benediction and vespers, in our
own cliapel, but these services gave me no pleasure. I re-
volted with feelings of horror when I had with the rest to pros-
trate before the altar, for there was something within, which
convinced me I was doing wrong in bowing to the work of
men's hands. I did not enter that night into any of the ser-
vices, but remained a silent spectator. I did not even smite
my breast, as is customary, when the Host is elevated at bene-
diction ; in the remonstrance it was not noticed, or else I should
have been called to account for my omission. My conscience
would not permit me to utter the blasphemous acknowledg-
ment to the wafer inclosed in the ghttering idol : for while this
is done the whole congregation prostrate, repeating three times
" Agnus Dei qui tollis peccatur mundis miserere nobis," each
time striking the breast.

It would be difficult and almost impossible to describe what
passed in my mind that night. I was in a state almost bor-

CHRISTMAS-DAY. Ill

dering on distraction, for I could not find peace or comfort in
any way. I had no idea of simply praying to God without
form or ceremony, thinking He was too great a being to be ap-
proached with simplicity ; but He who knows the hearts of all,
knew the desire of mine, and though I did not give those de-
sires utterance, mercifully regarded them, and in due time
taught me, by the aid of His Holy Spirit, to approach Him aright.

From that day I was fully persuaded that Popery was wrong;
and my awakened spirit began to look more and more into its
enormities, and inquired. What could be truth, and where was
it to be found ? I felt assured it must be in the Bible, and I
began to consider the best way of obtaining one. Many were
the schemes formed and abandoned. I knew there was no op-
portunity of getting one on the continent, and I ardently wished
I was in England.

I again acknowledge the Providence of God in thus prevent-
ing me ; for had I possessed a copy of the Scriptures for any
time, previous to leaving the convent, it might have placed me
in very dangerous circumstances, for it would have been impos-
sible to have kept one concealed for any length of time.

I was now placed in a very peculiar and critical position : I
felt miserable in appearing in my faith, and shrank from the
idea of deceiving those by whom I was surrounded. If I had
openly declared these sentiments I could not, on the other
hand, have given full satisfactory reasons for so acting, being
still a stranger to the gospel. It was to me a very great load
to keep all these things secret from others, with the exception
of my confessors ; and even to them I did not, for the last few
months I spent in the convent, fully confess all the thoughts
and troubles that harassed me.

The Christmas passed awaj without any occurrence worth
narrating. *****

******
******

PART III.

iqitti

THE FEMALE JESUIT.

CHAPTER I.

Marie's book makinq.

The completion of Marie's convent history having been pre-
vented by circumstances which will subsequently appear, it is
necessary to resume her narrative at the period at which she
first took shelter among her Protestant friends.

Her first cai'e was to write to the Reverend Mother, account-
ing for her disappearance on the ground that her mind had
long been agitated by misgivings respecting the system in
which, she had been brought up, and that she had felt it her
duty to read the Scriptures, and examine the subject for her-
self, before taking final vows. She expressed her thanks for
the kindness shown to her through a period of so many years ;
but to avoid being followed, she gave no address.

Shortly after she wrote at more length to her uncle, inform-
ing him of the step she had taken, expressing her regret for
the pain she must inflict on him, and stating the overpowering
motives and convictions which alone could have determined
her on adopting such a course. She requested him to write to

her, and to direct the letter to the care of the Hon. Mrs. .

This address, being a hundred and fifty miles distant, was
chosen in order to maintain her privacy, and also to satisfy
him that she had fallen into the hands of persons who were
able to protect her. This letter was directed and posted to
" The Very Rev. Herbert Constable Clifford, G.V.A., Manotte,
near Amiens."

During the weeks and months which followed, one or other

116 THS FEMALE JESUIT.

. of Marie's friends always accompanied her when she went out.
It was long before a ring at the bell ceased to awaken her ap-
prehensions, and a glimpse of any lady in black at the gate,
used to throw her into the most violent agitation. She was
never left in the house for any considerable time, and the
servants had strict orders never to introduce any visitor to her
alone. Her protectors long concealed her story from all but
their own family circle and a few intimate friends ; and even
when in course of time the fear of her being terrijSed or kid-
napped passed away, they deemed it prudent still to keep her
in retirement, lest public interest and attention should have an
injui'ious influence on her character. They thought she might
be less able to bear it than one who had been accustomed to
the world, and dreaded lest her humility and simplicity should
suffer through injudicious notice.

Marie soon manifested considerable anxiety to relieve them
from the expense of supporting her, and expressed a wish to
meet with a situation as speedily as possible. They were too
warmly interested in her to be in haste for her to leave them,
nor could it be felt a burden to entertain one whose gratitude
and affection were unbounded. Her apparently delicate health,
and the long period of mental anxiety through which she had
passed, seemed to call for a season of repose : they therefore
urged her for a while to dismiss all immediate anxiety on the
subject. She spent much time in searching the Scriptures, and
tracing out in them all that applied to her peculiar difficulties.
Not knowing where to find her places, she had to learn the
order of the sacred canons as a child would do, and the greater
part of their contents seemed to burst upon her with all the
freshness of novelty. She surprised her friends by the rapid
progress she made in this study, and by her aptitude in apply-
ing different passages to the subjects which had engrossed her
thoughts. For instance, in reading the account of the lame
man healed at the Beautiful gate of the Temple, she remarked

Marie's book making. 11 Y

on the expression of Peter himself, — " Ye men of Israel, why
look ye so earnestly on us as though by our own power or
holiness we had made this man to walk," — as being in striking
contrariety to the spirit of the Pope and of the Roman Catholic
priesthood..

With the avowed object of devoting this quiet interval to
some useful purpose, Marie determined upon preserving a
record of the principal events in her life, and in particular of
her somewhat singular mental history. This was an under-
taking of no small difficulty, for having, as she said, been
altogether unused to English composition, except when writ-
ing notes at the dictation of the Very Reverend Mother, she
knew neither how to form or to' arrange" her sentences. Her
deficiency in habits of order and method was another ob-
stacle. Her recollections of the past, as they came to mind,
were recorded on sundry scraps of paper of all sorts and sizes,
in ink or in pencil, crossed and interlined, as the convenience
of the moment dictated. When seated by Mrs. L to re-
view her daily or weekly task, it was often the business of
nearly half an hour to collect and arrange from desk, pocket,
and portfolio, the various parts ; and when fairly stitched
together, to prevent the truant pieces from again wandering,
they presented an amusing variety of size and quantity. It
was a further exercise of patience to decipher the half rubbed
out pencil scrawl, or all but illegible ink crossing ; and then
each sentence had to be re-made, and put in its proper place.
She frequently declared that nothing but the hope of doing
good would induce her to persevere, and that as this was her
Jirst, the public might be assured it would be her last, piece
of authorship. As she proceeded, however, the work of com-
position became easier, and the latter half of the narrative re-
quired very little correction. The introductory account of her
escape was written for her by Mrs L : all the incidents re^

118 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

lating to the convent being suj^pUed hi/ herself , and those which
related to her .arrival, by her Protestant friends.

While the book was in progress, another subject engaged
Mane's attention. She expressed herself as dissatisfied with
Roman Catholic baptism, and as earnestly wishing to be re-
baptized. Her friend Mr. L-. objected, that as Cathohc

baptism was administered in the name of the Trinity, it was
Christian baptism. She replied that she could not regard it as
such, for it was so mixed up with idolatrous ceremonies, as to
assume in her view an idolatrous character. After consulting
some intelligent, pious, advisers, and considering that " what-
soever is not of faith is sin," her wish was granted, and after
the next administration of infant baptism she was baptized,
and subsequently became a communicant.

CHAPTEE 11.

MARIE A GOVERNESS.

Shortly after this decision, and before the book was finished,
an opening unexpectedly presented itself for Marie. It was as

governess in a kind and Christian family. Mr. and Mrs. S

had heard her story, and being deeply interested, had resolved
on engaging her as governess to their children. They resided
within a few miles of her home, and she would have frequent
opportunities of seeing her friends, and would enjoy every com-
fort and consideration which her delicate health required. The
offer was at once accepted. A few additions were made to her
scanty wardrobe, and a few books added to her little library ;
and with much good advice and many praters, she quitted her
home for one of, in some respects, increased advantages. He;

MARIE A GOVERNESS. 119

friends looked anxiously for her first letter, and were pleased to
read as follows : — •

"April 6th, 1849.
* « # * *

" In answer to your kind inquiries, I am happy to say that
I am very comfortable. Everything is done to conduce to my

happiness, temporal and spiritual. In the latter, Mr. S

takes great interest. I have from five till ten at night entirely

to myself. Mr. S has arranged how I must spend these

few hours. I am to pursue my studies under his direction,
and he has bought me a number of books for that purpose.
When he has given me the plan for the division of my time, I
will send you the copy.

" I have two nice rooms to myself. The servants are re-
quired to pay me every respect, and they are, so far, very kind
and respectful. I rise at six, and go to rest at half-past ten.

" Tell dear Miss T I have done some of her purse. I

should be so glad to hear from her and dear S . My heart

is often at C Terrace ; and sometimes I cannot forbear

shedding a tear when I think of you all, and when I reflect how
much I owe you.

" I am progressing in the book, and will send you some on
Monday, with another letter.

" With dearest love to all, and many, many kisses to dearest
Lilly, ever believe me, as long as life remains,

" Your attached and affectionate

"Marie."

Marie had not been many weeks in her new quarters, when
her friends were grieved to hear of the increasing delicacy of
her health, and soon after received from herself the following
particulars : —

120 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

*' My very dear Mrs. L-

" Since you last heard from me I have become the
subject of affliction and suffering. On Tuesday the spitting of
blood, attended by a slight cough, returned ; and in the even-
ing it became more frequent, so much so, that Mrs. S was

quite alarmed ; and it made me very faint and ill.

" Mrs. S thought it very necessary that I should have

medical advice ; so as you had before wished it, Mrs. S de-
cided upon going with me herself the next morning. I was
told that there was a threatening of great mischief in the lungs,
particularly the right one ; but that if I was careful, it could be
now soon remedied, and further disease checked.

" Mrs. S is so kind to me, and seems quite determined I

should attend to every direction ; but of course I shall feel it
to be a religious duty to do all I can for the restoration of my
health.

" I have felt exceedingly unwell all day from the effects of
my blister and medicine, and feel also mentally depressed with
the thought of my present position — a lonely orphan, thrown
entirely on the kindness of friends ; and I feel it so very much
when I am ill. And yet when I reflect upon what God has
done for me, how much need have I to feel humbled in his
presence for doubting his providential care over me for the fu-
ture ! Oh ! dear Mrs. L , cease not to ask for me at a

throne of grace that this affliction may be sanctified to my eter-
nal good, and that I may be in all things prepared to say,
*Thy will be done.' You have often prayed for me in the
sanctuary, at the family altar, and in the retirement of your own
room ; then may I still desire the same interest, for I much
need it now ! I feel so very low in spirits, all appears so dark
and gloomy to me.

" I cannot express to you all Mr. and Mrs. S 's kindness

to me. The latter has shown it more than ever this week in
her maternal kindness and care.

MARIE A GOVERNESS. 121

"I shall try after tea to go on with my book. I did a little
last night. I go to rest at nine.

" I find increasing delight in instructing my young charge,
and rejoice to tell you that they listen with deep interest and
attention whenever I speak to them on religion."

Early in June, she wrote —

" I still spit blood, but not so frequently on the whole. For
the last two or three days I have been much better.

"Miss M went with me to , and in returning

home I had a sad fright. To my great consternation, who

should get into the omnibus but Mr. , Reverend Mother's

attorney, and Mr. the very last priest to whom I con-
fessed. Fortunately I sat near the door, and' they went up to
the top. We are not sure if I was recognized, for when we
alighted I went into the druggist's near to avoid them, and to
leave my prescription. They went into a shop opposite. We
stayed a little time, but when we had got near home Miss

M turned round and they were behind us. I nearly

fainted with fright when I got in."

Contrary to expectation, Marie progressed so favorably during
the summer that her ailments were almost forgotten, but towards
the end of August the tidings reached her friends that she had
ruptured a blood-vessel, and had lost a considerable quantity
of blood. This happened during the absence of Mr. and Mrs.

S from London, and while she was alone in her room.

Feeling very poorly she lay down on her bed, and in a few mo-
ments the accident occurred. She fainted ; and on coming to
herself she felt too ill to rise, and lay there for some time alone.
At length she was missed, and discovered in this distressing
state with the clothes saturated with blood. Ice was applied
to her chest, and the bleeding did not return ; but an inflam-

6

122 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

matory attack followed which farther reduced her strength.
Her friends wrote to request that she might have a holiday and
return for a little while to them in order to recruit. They re-
ceived the following reply : —

"September 3d, 1849.

" After I had written to you on Saturday, Mr. called

and told Mrs. how ill I had been, at which she was very

much grieved. I showed her your letter. She very consider-
ately and kindly concurs with you that a rest is requisite, and
desires me to have a month ; and she this morning most affec-
tionately said, that if my health required she would give me
the winter. She is engaging a daily governess till I return.

She said she should not like to part with me. Mr. H

wants me to go to the sea-side for a fortnight, but that must be
left for your consideration. If you come to-morrow I shall re-
turn with you : if not I shall come in a flly.

" My dearest Mrs. L , I cannot express my gratitude for

your kindness. I was quite overpowered with emotion when I
read your letter, but I pray God to bless you for your kindness
to a lone orphan.

" I am very weak, and my cough still teases me. I have no
sleep. I feel grieved to be again burdensome to you for a time.
Hoping to see you, believe me with gratitude and love,

" Your dearest

"Marie."

Marie returned and spent about five weeks at home. She
obtained a respirator, and thus protected, walked out daily.
She excelled in fancy work, and made presents for many who
had shown her kindness, and contributed to Fancy Sales.
Reading and music occupied some portion of her time, and
with careful nursing and cheerful society her strength and spirits
rallied, and sanguine hopes were entertained of her speedy re-
covery. A recurrence of the accident which had occurred in

MARIE A GOVERXESS. 123

, soon put these hopes to flight. Neither her medical at-
tendants nor her friends considered her capable of any active
exertion, and she was advised to relinquish her situation and to
spend the winter at home. So strong, however, was her de-
sire to resume her occupation, that her doctors said it would be
better to yield the point than to thwart her. They said that
another month would quite suffice to convince her of her inca-
pacity for active service, and that she would then return more
tranquilly to her home. She resumed her engagements in Oc-
tober, 1849.

Marie's first letter after her return gave a discouraging re-
port : —

" I know you would wish me to tell you all candidly without
reserve. I cannot say much as to the state of my health allow-
ing me to discharge my duties without injury to myself. I fear
I shall soon sink under them."

A few days after this she wrote again —

" I have been going on with my book this evening, but I felt so
low and depressed I was obliged to put it aside. — You know the

young lady who is at , came from a convent. Before I went

away I had chatted to her frequently on the subject, and had
lent her several books which she has read. A few days ago

she asked Miss to lend her a Bible, which she now reads

with deep interest, though she will not own to Miss — — that
it is from motives of inquiry. I called to see her to-day, and

desired Miss to take no notice of it, but leave her to read

without any comment as to motive. She has read Father
Clement. I wish you would tell me of a nice little book I could
send her. I am very anxious about her, but do not think it
prudent to press the subject too much. I know it requires
great caution in deahng with a Catholic.

124 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

" Mr. called this rnorning. He told me that I was re-
ally consumptive, so must take care. He also said that if I had
not rallied with the rest and change, there would have been no
hope for me, it being the only thing they had to hope from.

" With dearest love to all, kisses to Lilly and my darling
Arnold. (Be sure you let the little jewel have pretty caps, not
forgetting the rosette.) Write soon, and ever believe me, with
very dear love,

" Your grateful

" Marie.

« p. S.— I will send my book."

CHAPTBK III.
uncle's first letter.

About a fortnight after Marie's return to a letter in

a foreign hand, with a black border, directed to Marie, reached

C Terrace. No answer having ever been received from

Marie's uncle, it struck her friends that this letter might contain
the intelligence of his death, and that, considering her delicate
and excitable state, it would be better to open it, and gently
break the tidings to her. It proved to be from the uncle him-
self. It was written in French, and conveyed the announcement
of her aunt's decease.

Mr. and Mrs. S were requested to allow Marie to come

to C Terrace for a day, and they readily consented. She

came. It was agreed that nothing should be said to her before
dinner, and conversation went on as usual. After dinner Mr.

and Mrs. L took her into the study, and, drawing their

chairs round the fire, began to talk to her of her own affairs, her

UNCLES FIRST LETTER. 125

health, the events of the year, &c. They asked if she had
abandoned all hopes of hearing from her uncle, or her aunt.
In what state was her aunt's health when they parted, &c. &c.
At length her attention was awakened by the succession of

questions. Turning to Mrs. L , she said, " Why do you

ask? Have you heard anything? You have, you have!
Oh ! tell me, tell me ;" and she rose in agitation. " Yes, dear
Marie, we have heard ; but do not be alarmed : there is nothing
to make you uneasy. It is a letter from your uncle, and for the
most part a kind one. You shall read it for yourself." The
letter was produced, and with a tremulous hand, Marie seized
and attempted to read it. Her agitation was such that Mrs.

L was obliged to come to her assistance. The letter was

as follows : —

(translation.)

t

I. H. S.

" LoxDox, Nov. 8th, 1849.

" My dear Marie,

" I have for a long time proposed to write to you on the
subject of your horrible apostasy from the Catholic faith.
Duties of a very important nature have until now prevented me.*

" When the news of your apostasy reached me, I was at
Malta. My first impulse was to write you a letter of maledic-
tions, but more recently, other considerations have led me to
perceive that such expressions were little worthy of the charity
and abstinence of a disciple devoted to the most holy faith. I
subsequently tore that letter up, with the determination of
altogether abandoning you ; but after two or three months'
interval, I have felt much disquietude on your account, fearing
that I was not liberated from duties towards the Church from

* It will be remembered that this uncle was high in office, and in re-
Dute among the Jesuits. .,

126 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

which you have apostatized, and to a much loved sister ; for
your sainted mother committed you to me as a funeral legacy,
and she is thus spared the painful emotions that your ungrateful
conduct could not have failed to occasion.

" I have felt remorse of conscience in not having fulfilled the
responsible trust, in not having taken any notice of your apos-
tasy, or having tried to raise you again to a height from which
you have so profoundly fallen. O Marie ! I tremble for you.
Do you remember the terrible malediction of that Church to
which God has given power to punish on earth and in heaven?

"My sorrow on your account is deep. Numerous are the
hours that I pass in my oratory, imploring the aid of the Mother
of our Redeemer, hours which I should otherwise have devoted
to that necessary repose which my duties and my responsibility
require. Ail ungrateful as you are, I love you still, as the only
child of a once dearly-loved sister, and I cease not day and
night to hope that you may return to the true faith.

" Marie ! this has been a great trial to me. I could have
borne any trial with resignation except that of seeing a relation
so near and dear embrace heresy. How you have been led into
error is still a mystery to me. If you had been much mixed
up with the affairs of the world, I should not have been so
surprised. I could never have believed that a person with so
frank and so candid an air as yourself, could have been guilty
of such deception : but I must stop, or I shall be betrayed into
saying what I shall afterwards regret. God has well fulfilled
his threatening of visiting the sins of the fathers upon the chil-
dren. I feel that He now avenges himself upon you, child of
an infidel father ! In His mercy He has taken one, but the
other remains as a monument of the anger of God. Think and
reflect upon his miserable end."*

* TJie reference here is to Marie's father having adopted the princi-
ples of Voltaire, and to the death of her only brother, whilst being
educated for a priest.

UNCLE S FIRST LETTER. 127

" How cruel !" she exclaimed ; and tears blinded her eyes.
She read again, " Your aunt is dead ;" and shocked at the
abrupt announcement, she dropped the letter. " 0 Mrs.

L ! this is a trial," she said ; and bursting into tears, she

threw herself on her friend's shoulder, and wept, and sobbed
again. She gradually became more calm, and was able to
listen to the suggestions which were offered to her, and to
resume the reading of the paragraph.

"Your aunt is dead. She was ill six months in consump-
tion, and died in June. In her last moments she spoke much
of you, and requested the prayers of the community for you."

The next two sheets of the letter cannot be found, but the
substance is well remembered. They informed Marie that her
uncle had heard that she was about to publish her life, and
that he could not be expected to sanction a step so ungrateful
to the community from whom she had received so much kind-
ness. He proposed that she should postpone the publication
for a year, when she would have seen more of the Protestant
world, and be better qualified to write. If at the end of that
time she continued in the same mind, he would then consent
that she should follow the dictates of her conscience.

He further told her, that when her aunt entered the commu-
nity, taking into it the sum of £30,000, she was allowed to
leave £1000 in his care, for the use of her widowed sister and
children, Marie's mother having given up her entire settlement
to pay her father's debts ; preferring to throw herself on the
world destitute, rather than suffer his name to descend dis-
honored to his children. That her Uncle Everard had, un-
known to her mother, intrusted him with another £1000 ; and
that though her brother's expenses at college and her own at
Bchool had far exceeded the interest of this money, he had still
retained the principal ; and it was to have been paid over to
the Order when Marie became a nun. That he was willinof at

128 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

the end of a year to settle the £2000 on her, provided she
yielded to his wishes respecting her book, and he would also
endeavor to make an addition to it. He expressed his confi-
dence that she knew him too well to suppose he intended to
bribe her by his offers ; and reminded her that the fatherly
care he had exercised over her from so early an age, claimed
something like gratitude and consideration at her hands. He
added that should she, notwithstanding all, persist in her hasty
determination to disgrace him and her family, he swore " by
the faith of his holy church," that he would never see or speak
to her again.

The concluding sheet is preserved, which proceeds thus : —

" I much wish to see a copy of your manuscript, to under-
stand the motives which have prompted you to take the fatal
step of apostasy. Will you send me one ? If you feel so
disposed, do not be prevented by your friends influencing you
otherwise. I do not deserve to be despised by one for whom I
have done so much. Now that I am about to close, permit me
again to remind you, that your future welfare in this life de-
pends on the decision to which you come in taking the incon-
siderate step in contemplation, or in waiting till you have seen
more of the Protestant world. If you choose the latter, you
may lead your friends to suppose that you have acted con-
scientiously.

" I cannot neglect to remind you, that your eternal happi-
ness depends upon your return to the bosom of that Church,
the arms of which are always open to receive the repenting
prodigal, who having quitted his mother's house of abundance
speedily finds himself in want. Cannot you soon exclaim, ' I
will arise, and will go to the church of my mother, and will say,
I have sinned against heaven and against thee.'

" That you may yet regain the heart of him who offers up
daily prayers on your behalf, is the earnest wish of your faithful
and affectionate relative, H. C. Clifford."

Marie's perplkxities. 129

CHAPTER IV.

MARIE'S PERPLEXITIES.

It will be easily imagined that Mr. ClifFord's xetter furnished
abundant occupation for Marie's thoughts, and that she ap-
peared at first almost overwhelmed by the mingled feelings it
awakened. These will be best described in her own letters,
after returning to her situation.

"Friday Night, 9 o'clock.

" My dearest earthly friend,

" With a mind bordering on distraction, I sit down
all alone to unburden my feelings to one who sympathizes in
my every woe. Sympathy is sweet to a troubled and affec-
tionate heart.

" I have sat for the last hour ruminating over the circum-
stances of the past day and its events. I was lost in a train
of thought and perplexity. I roused myself, thinking it would
not do to give way to this despondency, but earnestly seek the
guidance of Him who has so mercifully cared for me.^ Those
who have passed through similar trials can well enter into my
feelings of sorrow, in seeing one dear object after another taken
from ^them unprepared for the mighty change. To me it is a
grief of the most poignant kind. I do indeed feel this a heavy
trial now that I am alone and away from those who can ten-
derly sympathize with my peculiar feehngs. I seem to realize
this bereavement in all its bitterness. I am so bewildered and
confused that I cannot settle to anything. 1 hope to be more
composed to-morrow. I felt it such a struggle and trial this
morning to begin teaching.

» T shall o-pt the manuscript ready forthwith to send to

Manotte. Mr. S thinks that very important.

6*

130 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

"I do not yet think of my uncle's proposals in anyway,
wishing to feel more calm before I give him any decision, for
I am now just in that frame of mind that it is difficult to think
of anything calmly and deliberately, for I am so very confused
and perplexed. I am also much indisposed, for my head aches
and my cough is troublesome.

" Mr. S says that he can get one of his friends, a pub-
lisher, to forward the manuscript to my uncle in one of their
parcels, so that will be much better t-han posting it. What do
you think ? Do write to me. I will write again to-morrow
afternoon, for I must tell some one of my troubled feelings. I
know you will listen to them.

" Give my dearest love to all, and accept the warmest
thanks and love that an affectionate and grateful heart can
offer. Marie."

The week following, Marie wi'ote thus : —

" Friday Night, 1 1 o'clock.

" My very dear Mrs. L-

" Your very kind and affectionate letters were indeed
a great relief to my mind, for I was in such a state of anxiety
and suspense, that I really think I could scarcely have kept in
any way calm, had not you sent me a letter by this afternoon's
post. I was indeed most agreeably surprised in having a let-
ter from Mr. L . I shall value it, for it is the first one he

has ever written to me.

" In reference to my uncle's letter, there appears to me to be
some very important considerations on each side. On the one
hand there are a few things that scarcely reconcile me to falling
in with his wishes; and unless these difficulties can be provided
against, I cannot do so, viz. Can there be any design on the
part of the Jesuit community ? I cannot suppose for a mo-
ment that my uncle would really sanction any violent means,
and as far as he is concerned, I believe the letter to be a very
sincere one ; but I feel some little difficulty about the manu-

MARIES PERPLEXITIES. 131

script. In tlie second place, if my death should occur before
the time is passed, what must be done then, because / wish
the hook publiahedj and no earthly consideration would influ-
ence me otherwise. On the other hand, I do think there is
some respect due to the feelings of my uncle, for he has been a
VERY kind relative to me, and I can well enter into his feelings.
I know he looks upon my apostasy as a personal disgrace to
him. I quite think this, that he is under the impression that I
shall one day return to the Church, and therefore he does not
wish me to do anything which would stamp me when I did so ;
and it is also evident he thinks I have acted under the impulse
of a moment. I think that reading my book will undeceive him
on this point.

"I should not like to have any trouble afterwards. If I
thought there was the least chance of this occurring, I would
not give the subject a second thought. I must tell you can-
didly what I feel. My feelings say it is my duty to agree to
his request, because it opens a communication which, if now
closed, will forever remain so, unless God changes his heart.
We do not know to what good end our friendly intercourse
may lead — and it will be a source of comfort to me sometimes
to hear from one I love — but I have one great fear of mistak-
ing my own will for convictions, or the right dictates of con-
science. I shall see Mr. L on Sunday, so can say more

about it. Now dear Mrs. L , if you have the least doubt

as to the propriety of deciding either way, do not scruple to
tell me, for I do not feel "capable of settling so important an
affair. I do not care for worldly good ; my only wish is to
keep the glory of God in view.

" I never had such a piece of worldly business to think of
before, so do manage for me. I have several times wished I
had not had any letter till all was over, for it has teased my
poor brain so.

" Believe me, in haste, with dearest love,

" Your grateful Marie."

132 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

" My dear Mrs. L-

I have been expecting to hear from you, but I sup-
pose you were too much engaged.

" I write to say, that as I have my book ready, I purpose
coming over for a few hours to-morrow or Wednesday. The

children are going on one of these days to E , so I shall be

at liberty.

" I want to see you in reference to my stay here. I fear I
shall be obliged to give up. I shall be very grieved, but I
really have not strength for my duties."

Marie's friends were not surprised by this communication :
she had an interview with them, and it was settled that she
should return to them at Christmas. In anticipation of this
removal, she wrote as follows : —

" My very dear Mrs.

" I have left the drawing-room for a time, for we
have several friends here to tea and supper, so I gladly sit
down to have a little silent intercourse with one I so dearly
love. It is indeed a source of great comfort to me, that when
separated from those I love and esteem, I can write without
restraint, and tell my every feeling. I do assure you I am now
looking forward with great pleasure to the time when I shall
again join your affectionate circle.

" I do not, dear Mrs. L , yet see my way quite clear in

reference to the postponement of the publishing. My feelings
say, ' consent to your uncle's wishes,' but my judgment says,

* publish.' I have, dear Mrs. L , a strong presentiment,

which I have and do all I can to shake off from me, that my
earthly course will soon be run. I have not told you this be-
fore, but I cannot get rid of it. I have continually the monitor,
as it were, sounding in my ears, ' Set thy house in order, for
thou shalt die, and not live.' There are many very serious con-

Marie's perplexities. 133

siderations in this letter, certainly, to induce me to acquiesce in
his proposals ; and \fear one greatly influences me, particularly
while I am here, that of being placed beyond dependency,
for to an upright and sensitive disposition this is a great trial.

" Many thanks for the offer of 's room, but I shall

not leave till Christmas, as I do not wish to inconvenience Mrs.
S if I can avoid it.

" I have been thinking, that being about to leave, I should
like to make the servants a little present. Indeed, I think it
is my duty, for they have been so kind to me in illness, that I
can do no other than make them some acknowledgment.
AYhat if I give them each a print dress? I saw some at

■ , near you. Should you not think it too much trouble,

I should be so glad if you would kindly buy me three dresses.

I can give you the money on Monday, or send it by Mr. L .

I wish to give them on Thursday, it being Ann's birth-day ;
so if you consent to my giving them perhaps you will forward
them to me by Parcel Delivery. I fear you will think it more
than 1 ought to give, but I will deprive myself of something to
make up for the cost."

Mrs. L was unable at the time to attend to this little

commission, and indeed she felt some doubt about the propriety
of giving full scope to Marie's generosity. She thought less
expensive presents would suffice.

Meantime the answer to Mr. Clifford's letter was finished,

and Marie forwarded it to C Terrace for the approval of

her friends. It summed up so ably the events of her past life,
and traced so distinctly their influences on her mental history;
it contained so good a digest of the principal points of contro
versy between the two churches, and stated her own views so
frankly and forcibly, yet with such a mixture of tender respect
for his feelings, that her friends were much delighted with this

134 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

unaided effort of her pen. It was directed to "The very Rev.
Herbert Constable Chfford, G. V. A., Chateau de St. Jose, Ma-
notte, near Amiens, France," and posted forthwith.

CHAPTEE Y.
Marie's reply.

"London, December, 1849.
" Mj' dearest uncle,

" I need not tell you the emotions of pain and pleas-
ure your letter created — the former caused by the melancholy
intellig-ence of my dear aunt's death. It is a severe trial to a
fond and affectionate heart to see one dear object of affection
after another taken from me. When I look back upon the last
six years, I can but weep when I remember the events that
have occurred ; three beloved relatives removed by death, and
myself alienated from the only remaining and beloved one.
But I rejoice to know that I have realized the truth of that
passage in Holy Writ — 'When my father and mother forsake
me, then the Lord will take me up.' God has, indeed, wonder-
fully fulfilled his promise, in raising me up parents amongst
strangers, and in opening the hearts of many to care for, and
sympatliize with, the lone orphan. If you love me, which I
doubt not you do, you can but feel some degree of satisfaction
in knowing that none could better supply the place of fond
parents than the kind friends to whom I was directed by the
Providence of God. I mean the minister and his dear wife
whom I before mentioned to you. Words would fail to ex-
press tlie extent of their parental care and affectionate solici-
tude ; suffice it to say that I have in both, a kind f^ither and an
affectionate mother.

Marie's reply. ' 135

" I said your letter caused both pain and pleasure : — it was
pleasure to hear once more from you : I had long given up the
hope that you would notice me. I have felt your silence very
acutely. Many^ many have been the hours that I have wept
and mourned in ray retirement when I have thought of you,
and the trial was embittered by the recollection that I was an
alien from you. I am not, dear uncle, as you seem to infer,
dead to all those affections which were ever ardent to those I
loved. No ; my heart still glows with love and gratitude to
those from whom it is separated.

" You may perhaps think me neglectful in not replying to
your letter ere this. I should have done so but that I wished
to deliberate the purport of it well, so that I should not write
under sudden or rash impulse.

" I conclude from your letter, that you have the impression
that I renounced Catholicism under circumstances of momen-
tary excitement, without any previous consideration upon my
part. If you read my letter carefully through, you would there
find that I stated it was not so ; nor was it through the influ-
ence of any Protestant friends. No ; it was simply and purely
the workings out and convictions of my own mind through a
period of two or three years, which brought me to this de-
cision ; indeed doubts had arisen some time before my dear
mamma's death.

" I am sorry I cannot comply with your request, in sending
the copy of the manuscript, for the present: it is not yet
ready ; but I will just briefly give you the heads of it. Before,
however, I go further, I must tell you that I have not made
any statement in my book in reference to any personal unkind
treatment. On the contrary, I have endeavored to make the
reader clearly understand that I was treated with uniform kind-
ness and affection : I think when you read it you will conclude
the same.

" In commencing this brief narrative, it will be as well to go

136 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

back to the time when I had so dangerous an illness at Carrouge.
I was then about fifteen. You are aware that up to this period
I was not at all seriously disposed, but very neglectful and
thoughtless in all my religious duties. In this ilhiess I felt
deeply the powers of the world to come, and was much terri-
fied at the prospect of death. On that bed of sickness I made
a vow that if God would then spare me, my future life should
be devoted to one of penance and good works. In order bet-
ter to fulfil this promise, on my recovery I renewed my vow
before the altar of the Virgin in the presence of the whole con-
vent. I think you know to what extent I fulfilled this promise,
for you frequently, in your letters, alluded to it as giving you
great comfort in hearing the reports of my mortifications, &c.,
from my mamma and Reverend Mother. I continued to per-
form the same routine of religious observances, but I still felt
unhappy with the constant dread of death."

Marie then enters into all the workings of her mind in refer-
ence to purgatory, the reading of the Scriptures, &c., as de-
scribed in her own history of her previous life. It is not, there-
fore, deemed necessary to give this letter at full length. In
connection with purgatory she thus refers to her mamma's
death —

"I shall not dwell upon that harrowing and distressing scene
of the deathbed of my beloved mamma: but can you ever
forget that expression of her ghastly countenance when she
clasped my hand, saying, ' Promise me, Marie, you will do
this,' having previously desired me to hear mass for her, and
also to get masses said for the repose of her soul. I can never
erase from my mind the intensity and agony with which this
request was made."

Here follows the account of Mother Stanislaus, for which the
reader is referred to page 96.

137

" The limits of time and paper will not allow any lengthened
detail of what passed through my mind in reference to the
Roman CathoHc faith, up to the period when it was expected I
should enter the community. The mental conflict was indeed
intense. I could not bear the idea of being a nun. On the
other hand, the thought of leaving those with whom I had
spent a greater part of my life seemed to me impossible. Soon
after my twenty-first birth-day you wTote to me desiring me to
decide uj^on my future course. In that letter you alluded to
my mamma's dying wish that I should become a nun. This,
combined with other things, strongly influenced me to try the
life of a reliffieuse, and I further thought if I did not like it, or
if I continued to have the doubts, and the answers of my con-
fessors failed to satisfy me, I need not remain ; but little did I
foresee the great difficulties that would obstruct my path.
Still I have now abundant cause for gratitude to God that I
did take that step, for I was by it enabled to see more fully
into tlie glaring enormities of Popery, and was by it preserved,
I fully believe, from flilling into the snare of infidelity.

"I cannot now describe to you the feelings of horror I en-
dured when I became a postulant. In the first instance I was
cruelly deceived, for though I had been with the Society
fifteen years I had not the most remote idea of the humiliating
and trying ordeal they were called to pass through. I knew
nothing of their customs- &c., till I entered the community.
You may imagine my feelings of grief, and also surprise, when
I was told to give up (with other things) the onhj earthly
treasure I valued — my beloved mamma's portrait. Oh ! uncle,
you say I shall no longer value it. Did you know the tears
and wishes that were spent in parting with that dear relic of a
fond mother, you would not say so ; or if you have still left
any consideration for my feelings and affections, you will soon
make me the happy possessor of that v^hich, if it were in the
power of any earthly good to create happiness, this would to

138 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

me ; parting with which was so great a trial to me, that it ap«
peared as if it were to tear away every fibre of what I loved.
I was never told I should be required to do this.

" The daily routine of a nun's life soon became most irksome
and wearisome to me. The severing of every tie of affection
was contrary to the benevolence of that Being who alone insti-
tuted the bond of social enjoyment. The vow of implicit obe-
dience to a fellow-creature was most repulsive. The doctrine
that teaches that men are saved by their own good works, began
to occupy my thoughts soon after becoming a postulant. I
could not reconcile the two great contradictions in the Church
of Rome : on the one hand teaching that Christ made an atone-
ment for sins, and then she commands her devotees still to per-
form certain good works in order to merit heaven. If you will
look over any of the prayer-books carefully, you will there see
that in some of the prayers it is emphatically stated, ' that we are
saved alone by the blood of Christ,' when perhaps in the very
next prayer there is a gross contradiction, — making our own
merits, and those of saints, a plea for salvation.

" These doubts and perplexities I continued to mention in
my confessions, but always met with stern reproofs and absurd
replies to my momentous questions. The answers of my con-
fessors only tended to increase my difficulties, for I was still firm
in my request to see a Bible.

" The doctrine of the Eucharist soon appeared as the most
glaring error in the Church of Rome. Long before any doubts
on the subject occurred to me, I frequently shuddered at the
thought that it was Christ Himself I received in the form of a
wafer. The bare idea of a creature eating his Creator is horri-
ble. I recoil now with horror when I think of it. Oh ! dear
uncle, what are your feelings when professing to consecrate that
Host ? Do you not tremble with the thought you are taking
upon yourself to create God ? I know that the Scriptures state
that the last night Jesus took bread with His disciples prior to

139

His crucifixion, He said ' This is my body ;' but He frequently
spoke in figurative terms to them. It is just as reasonable to
believe Him a door, &c. ; for if you have a Bible, you will there
find He says, ' I am the door,' ' I am the way,' ' I am the
truth,' ' I am the vine ;' but I must stop, for I am getting into
the maze of controversy.

" I had a long argument, or rather conference, with the good
old French priest at Nice, on this doctrine. He was almost 'the
only confessor who listened to me with patience and kindness.
But plausible as his answers were, they failed to satisfy those
perplexities, which only increased upon each confession. The
gross idolatry of the Romish Church shocked my awakened
spirit, for I saw it in all its pomp and perfection in a convent
life. The adoration of the Virgin was another part of that
shocking system of Popery.

" In this state of mind you can but see that it was impossible
I could either enter the community as a nun, or yet remain in
the Church of Rome. You will now be ready to say, 'Why
did I not open my mind to you V My dearest uncle, many
were the times I had resolved to do so, and upon one occasion,
when you visited me at Paris, after a severe illness, I had quite
determined to tell you all ; but when I saw you my lips ap-
peared as if they were sealed, for had the universe been offered
me I could not have told you a word. Shortly after this inter-
view I came to England, with the fixed determination that I
would by some means gain further information in what was
really truth or error, for I had long before vowed I would not
become a nun until I had read for myself the Word of God.

''It was in the serious attack of illness that T had in Liver-
pool, of which you were a witness, that I felt my lost condition
and dreadful position as an unsaved sinner in the sight of God.
I had not one plea or ray of hope that I should be saved. Had
I died then, I must have utterly perished.

" Words would be inadequate to express the mental anxiety I

140 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

passed through to the period of my deliverance, which was,
through the Providence of God, brought about in the following
remarkable manner. I had for some weeks previous been
aware that it was the intention of Reverend Mother to send me
back to Paris, where I was to receive the white veil, and be sent
to Oarrouge to perform my noviceship. I should have left the
first week in January, with Mother Helen, had not indisposition,
or rather Divine interposition prevented it. A few days before
taking any final step, several circumstances occurred to convince
me that my immediate departure was contemplated.

"The d^y (18th of January) that these suspicions were fully
confirmed, was one spent in a state almost bordering upon de-
spair and desperation. During the nun^s lecture I walked in
the grounds instead of adjourning to the chapel, as was my
usual custom. On coming to the grotto on the grounds, I
there threw myself on my knees, and earnestly poured out my
soul to that Being who alone could be my deliverer. How that
prayer was answered you shall soon learn."

Marie here gives the account of her meeting with the gen-
tleman in the omnibus, as detailed pages 6, 7.

"How I escaped, you will have heard from other quarters.
I have never seen tJiis gentleman since, nor have I heard any-
thing further of him.

"So far, and I trust ever shall I have abundant cause to
praise God for this eventful step in my life. I have proved in
the hour of deep affliction, that Christ has been precious to me ;
and have in such seasons contrasted the dread of a Catholic
devotee, with the confidence and hope of the Christian, who
feels that Christ is his only rock and plea for salvation.

"My dear uncle, you can but see I have had no earthly con-
sideration in this step. On the contrary, I have turned myself
upon the world to gain my own bread. I have been since April

Marie's reply. 141

in a situation as governess. I am now compelled, by the deli-
cacy of my health, to resign a good situation in a kind and Chris-
tian family, and return — at least for the winter — to my kind

friends, Mr. and Mrs. L , though I feel great reluctance again

to trespass on their bounty. I say there could be no earthly
inducement to cause me to take this step. No ; for had I only
disliked a convent life, and still remained a Cathohc, I should
have occupied a very different place to my present one. I have
thus sacrificed worldly position and rank,

"You tax me with ingratitude. This heart will cease to
beat ere that become my sin. Your kindness will never be
erased from my memory.

" In reference to your request of postponing the publishing
of my book, — in consequence of the respect, gratitude, and af-
fection I feel towards you, my dear uncle, and also to convince
you it is no rash proceeding on my part, I am willing to post-
pone the pubhshing of my narrative until I hear further from
you. I would not wish you to have the impression that the
idea of placing me above a dependent has brought me to this
decision. That I leave to your feehngs of love and honor,
knowing from past experience, that you will honorably carry
out your own proposal, so that I may be placed in circumstances
more in accordance with the station and honor of the family to
which I belong, and be spared the pain of being a dependent
upon the charity of others, or of exertions to which my del-
icate health is unequal.

" I shall be most happy to remain open to any communication
you like to make, or answer any questions you may propose.
If you again wish to see me, do not let any advice influence
you otherwise.

" Many thanks to you for your kind promise of sending me
my late mamma's effects. I shall indeed value them for her
sake.

" You ask me if I am happy ? I rejoice to say I am very,

142 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

very happy, for I can now look upon God as my reconciled
Father, knowing that Christ made a full atonement for my
guilt on the cross. I can now draw nigh to Him without the
aid of mediators or mediatrix, and boldly approach a throne of
grace, there confessing my sins to Him^ not to fallen, guilty
man. I can now read undisturbed the Word of God, and can
look forward, when this my earthly career is run, to a joyful
entrance into the mansions of bliss, not fearing purgatorial
flames ; and with the apostle I can exclaim, ' For me to live
is Christ, and to die is gain.' How can I be otherwise than
happy with this hope and prospect ?

" I beg your immediate answer to this letter, for I am anxious
to know your sentiments after reading this brief narrative.

" I have no doubt Mr. L will be most happy to com-
municate with you, if you think proper to write to him upon
any subject relating to my temporal affairs.

" I assure you, my dear uncle, that all my friends, so far
from prejudicing me against you, are so liberally disposed, that
they have, one and all, strongly advised me to yield to your
wishes as far as I can without the sacrifice of conscience.

"I beg you will read patiently what I have written, and do
not condemn me for doing that which my conscience convinced
me was right, and do not judge of me so harshly as to suppose
\§.% either guilty of ingratitude or ' deception^ I love you still,
dearest uncle, if possible, more intensely than ever.

"That you may be led to see the simple truth as it is in
Jesus, is the earnest and constant prayer of your dearest and, I
trust, still loved niece,

" M L G .

" P. S. — You can address your letters as before, if you like,
or to me, at ."

tHE FIRE tN THE HOUSE. 143

CEAPTE'R YL

THE FIRE IN THE HOUSE.

OxV the 13th of December, 1849, a fortnight before the time
appointed for her return, and without any previous notice,

Marie arrived one morning in company with Mrs. S . Her

boxes were deposited in the hall, intimating that she was come

to stay. Mr. and Mrs. L ran out to receive her. Their

first impression was, that renewed illness had brought her thus
suddenly home, and wretchedly ill she looked. No smile of
pleasure dawned upon her pale countenance as she met them.

She looked equally ill and miserable. " Oh Mrs. L ," she

exclaimed, " I have done wrong, verij wrong : I want to tell

you all ;" and Mrs. L led her into a back room, while Mr.

L took Mrs. S into the dining-room.

Mrs. L made her sit down, and took a seat by her side.

" I have fallen into sin," she said : " I have told a fidsehood, and
I wanted to see you once more and confess all to you, and then
return to my uncle ;" and she related the circumstances. She

had bought some print dresses for the servants at ,

and had said that they were a present from Mrs. L . When

asked by Mrs. S where Mrs. L had purchased them,

she had said, " In the Edgeware Road." But the boy who
brought them was recognized by one of the servants as belong-
ing to a shop in the neighborhood : and on inquiry it proved
that she had bought them there.

A great grief it was to her friends that one whom they had
deemed so particularly truthful, should have been betrayed into
the opposite sin. But her sobs and tears, and expressions of
penitence and self-reproach could not but excite their pity.
There appeared to be no selfish motive about the first falsehood,

144 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

but rather a wish to give the credit of her hberality to another,
and the second falsehood was an attempt to cover the first.

She retired to her room after Mrs. S was gone, took to

her bed and remained there three days ; scarcely ate anything ;
did not venture to raise her eyes to meet the looks of her
friends ; and seemed in a state bordering on despair. They
spoke to her faithfully of her error, but sought to mingle
encouragement with rebuke, and to awaken her hopes that she
might yet live to retrieve her character, and regain their confi-
dence.

She told Mrs. L that she had once, at the age of

thirteen, fallen into the same sin, and had told a succession of
falsehoods : that her mother and uncle had been greatly dis-
tressed, and had taken every means to bring her to repentance :
that they had kept her in solitude for a fortnight, and she had
seen no one but her confessor during that period : that she had
afterwards become remarkable for her strict adherence to truth,
and had never again violated it till recently. She attributed her
fall to the absence of confession, and other restraints of a con-
vent life ; and that having grown remiss in the duty of self-
examination, and careless and self-confident, she had no longer
had any check upon her conduct. She appeared at times
almost distracted, and her friends found it necessary to treat her
with tenderness, lest her health or her reason should give way
under her mental struggles.

Some misgivings crossed their minds respecting the suras of
money which Marie had collected for different benevolent ob-
jects. Before parting, Mrs. S had asked her for £10,

which Marie said she had collected for a church at ; and

Marie had replied that it was packed up at the bottom of her
box, and she would send it. Mrs. L sat down by her bed-
side one day and, without looking at her, turned the conversa-
tion towards this subject.

" Marie, dear," she said, " this is the time to clear up every-

THE FIRE IN THE HOUSE. 145

thing, and to begin again anew. If anything still rests on your

mind I hope you will tell me, and let it be set right. Mr. L

and I feel uneasy about that money. You are so careless in
your accounts, and so generous in your presents, that we are
afraid you may have been tempted to use part of it. Now if
it is so, only frankly tell me, and we will do our best to save
your character, as well as keep your secret. Then you may
start with a clear conscience, and a lightened heart."

" No, indeed, Mrs. L ," she replied, " the money is all

right, and I have nothing else to confess. Do you think I would
not tell you everything? You may be quite easy, for you
know alV And hoping that such was the case her friend left
her.

Saturday evening arrived, and she was still in her self-imposed
solitude at the top of the house. The family assembled for
their evening prayer, and before they rose, Marie's voice was
heard in loud screams from above. Mr. L hastily con-
cluded. Mrs. L seized the light, and hastened up stairs,

followed by the servants and one o^her sisters. On reaching
the second landing, they found Marie in her night-dress, with
her arms round Lilly, screaming that the house was on fire.
" Take baby down, Sarah," was the brief command, and the
rest rushed up stairs.

As they entered the room where the little girl had been
sleeping, a fearful blaze met their eyes, and the smoke was al-
most suffocating; but the prompt application of water and
heavy cloths soon put out the fire. It was matter of surprise
and thankfulness that the flames had not caught the muslin
blinds and window curtains, which were close to them, and the
bed which was almost as near. In one minute more they must
have done so, and in three minutes more the flames would have
been uncontrollable by private hands. No engines were to be
had within a mile and a half distance ; and not only the house,

146 THE* FEMALE JESUIT.

but the whole terrace, might in a brief space have been a sac-
rifice.

Mr. L and the other sister had not followed. They

thought Marie was hysterical, and that she had enough attend-
ants, so they sat chatting by the fire-light, unconscious of the
excitement up-stairs.

Presently the gate-bell rang violently, once and again. Then
came a loud rat, tat, tat, at the door, and as no servant came

down, Mr. L went to open it. " Your house is on fire, sir,"

said a manly voice, " the people in the road are watching the
flames and sparks." The light showed the visitor to be Mr.

, the occupant of the next house. They sprang up-stairs,

and found the flames already extinguished. Then commenced
a variety of conjectures about the origin of the fire, but all were
at fault. No one had been in the room for two hours. The
nurse-maid had been in last, and it was surmised that she might
have left a spark behind her. Lilly knew not that there was a
fire. Deep in the first sound sleep of childhood, she had been
unconscious of the smoke and flame, had seen nothing, heard
nothing, till Marie dragged her down the staircase. Part of
the wood-work by the window was much burned. Elizabeth's
toilet-bag had hung there, and her conjecture was, that when
she brushed her hair at six, a spark might have lodged in her
brush, and being hastily put in the bag, had been smouldering
there for nearly four hours. Marie's account of it was, that
feeling her room warm, she had risen and opened the door :
that soon after she lay down again she perceived a strong smell
of burning : that again rising to ascertain the cause, she saw a
light under Lilly's door, and on opening it, the flames caught
her view. She dragged Lilly out of her crib, and gave the
alarm. In vain were all further surmises and investigations, —
the cause seemed fated to remain in obscurity. But excitement
and conjecture subsided into deep thankfulness to Providence
for the timely preservation of the family. Then came the sense

THE ril{E IN THE HOUSE. 147

of gratitude to Marie. She and Lilly had been wrapped up in
the room below, and it was two hours before, with all the win-
dows open, the suffocating smoke could be sufficiently dispersed
to allow of their return to their ow^n story. At length, how-
ever, they were again quietly laid in their own resting-places,

and Mrs. L returned to thank Marie for having saved her

child ; and Marie looked up for the first time, and the first
smile of pleasure dawned upon her dejected countenance.

Marie's spirits seemed revived by the active part she had taken
in rescuing Lilly; and on the Monday she rose and dressed.
She could not be prevailed upon to come down to dinner. She

shrank from meeting Mr. L , whom she had not seen since

the morning of her return. He desired Mrs. L to tell her

that he should speak to her as formerly, and make no reference
to what had passed. Thus encouraged, she ventured down to
tea, and in a day or two she seemed to feel that all was forgiven
and forgotten.

It was on one of these days that Marie brought to Mrs.

L the copies of her manuscript. " Now Mrs. L ," she

said, " you must accept of this, and publish it at the end of the
year. I shall not be in want of anything now, and I should
like you to dispose of it, and buy a piano for Lilly." Mrs.

L attached little importance to this gift, not thinking it

likely that the uncle would ever allow it to be published : but
lest he should, at some unexpected visit, induce Marie to put
the manuscript in his hands, she took the precaution to conceal
it in a secure and somewhat singular hiding-place.

148 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

CHAPTER YIL

THE UNCLE EXPECTED.

Wednesday evening's post brought a letter from Mr. Clif-
ford. Marie was greatly agitated at the sight of the hand-
writing, and her trembling hand almost refused to hold the

letter. She called Mrs. L to her side, and they read it

together.

(translation.)

" My dear Marie,

" Why are you so long in replying to me ? I did not
expect to be so treated. Had you written the letter, it would
have been forwarded directly. I remain in London for some
days ; how many, this evening's post will decide. I shall
probably come to see you, but our interview must be private.

" So you have left your situation. I think you will soon
have seen enough of your new fi'iends to be convinced of your

error. I know better than any of you think. I have

suffered much anxiety on account of you, lest you should be
turned aside from the right way ; for knowing your frivolity,
your easy disposition, your thoughtlessness, and your entire
inexperience of the world, and also that you are easily led by
those who surround you for good or for evil, I cannot but feel
some degree of solicitude for you ; and I am fully convinced
that there is no one who takes so much interest as myself in the
right direction of your character, and can counsel you in the
same judicious and affectionate manner as the community
whom you have so ungratefully quitted.

" I am now with Captain Kenyon, who married one of my
cousins, Constantia. I arrived with them from Yorkshire last

THE UNCLE EXPECTED. 149

Friday. Mrs. Kenyon much wishes to see you. They have
both most kiiklly proposed that you should return with them,
and that you should be allowed to enjoy your own sentiments ;
but this is on two conditions, which future serious considerations
will decide. If I do not call upon you within a week, you may
conclude that I have left London. I hope soon to see or heal
from you, and I am, dear Marie,

" Your atfectionate,

" H. C. Clifford."

The prospect of so soon, and so unexpectedly, seeing her un-
cle, quite overcame Marie. It appeared probable that he would
come the very next day. He asked, moreover, for a private
interview, and she did not feel sufficient confidence to meet him

alone. Mr. L had engagements from home for the next

day, so after much consideration, she resolved to spend the
morrow at a friend's house, and to leave the following note : —

" 5, C Terrace, Wednesday Night

" My dear uncle,

" I felt your letter required so much deliberation, that
I took some time to consider its purport. I replied to it with
very full details last week, and posted my letter on Friday, ad-
dressed to you at Manotte.

"Your communication of to-day found me in so weak a state,
that I feel quite unequal to an interview for the present. Hav-
ing twice ruptured a blood-vessel during the last few months, it
is necessary that I should be kept very quiet ; and feeling that
were I in the house, I could not refuse to see you, I have
thought it better on the whole to absent myself. I hope in a
little time to be better able to bear so exciting a meeting, and
should you still wish to see me, if you will fix a time a few days
hence, I will endeavor to meet you.

" In my letter last week I felt it my duty to yield to your

150 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

request to postpone the publication of my book, but your pro-
posal of to-day I cannot, under any consideration or inducement,
entertain, however kindly it may be intended by Mrs. Kenyon.
I speak decidedly on this point, and beg you will not again re-
fer to the subject.

" With kindest love, I am, dear uncle,

" Your grateful and affectionate niece,

" Marie."

It was settled that Mrs. L should see the uncle when

he came, and receive him with all due courtesy. She felt some
slight trepidation at the idea of receiving him alone : the cir-
cumstance of his being a Jesuit priest, added to Marie's state-
ments respecting his talents and high position, rendering him
rather a formidable visitor. Marie expressed some anxiety for
the house to look as well as possible, that he might not suppose
she lived in a style unworthy of her family or of him ; and to
satisfy her, the drawing-room furniture was uncovered, the
vases were filled with choice flowers, every chair and every cur-
tain-fold was put in its proper place, and all those little arrange-
ments were made, so familiar to the mistress of a house when
visitors of more than usual importance are expected. On Fri-
day Mrs. L was at home, and Marie stayed at home too.

But Thursday, Friday, and Saturday passed in anxious expec-
tation, and no uncle came. On Saturday evening the following
note accounted for his non-appearance : —

t

I. H. S.

Saturday Morning, December 22d, 1849.
" My dear Marie,

" I had quite decided to call upon you to-day, but
this morning's post has prevented me. I received your letter
last evening, but cannot yet pronounce judgment on its oon-

THE UNCLE EXPECTED. 151

tents. It is very probable that my next reply will be to Mr.
L ; but I cannot yet decide. I hope, however, that every-
thing will be arranged to the satisfaction of all parties.

" If I could follow the impulse of affection, I should soon
conclude the pecuniary arrangements ; but I must not confer
with flesh and blood ; I must do the will of my Father in
heaven. It is a great struggle between love and religious obe-
dience. Dear Marie, do not divulge this part of my letter.
What are your feelings respecting your return to your fomily ?
I do not say as a dependent ; far otherwise. If this is agree-
able to you, I shall be at liberty to grant you a liberal annuity
out of my own revenue. Write to me and tell me all you
think. Be frank as usual.

"I have seen your good friend Mr. L , and have heard

him preach.

" There is one thing, my dear Marie, which makes me very
unhappy. It is the fear lest you should be induced by your
inconsiderate and ardent feelings, to contract an imprudent
engagement. Do not go much into the world, either for the
sake of your health or of your reputation. I have reasons for
requesting this.

"I believe that before long you will receive a letter from Mrs.
Kenyon, and perhaps a packet from me. I cannot promise you
an immediate reply to your letter, for I have other persons to
consult. When you write, let me know if you are better. Ad-
dress to Manotte. It is a great satisfaction to me that your
present friends are so good to you. It is more than you de-
serve after your ingratitude towards those who have shown you
so much kindness for so long a period. I learn that Mr. and

Mrs. L love you much, and that they watch over your

health and your reputation. I am not surprised that you have
become endeared to them, for all who know you well must love
you. It would be a source of infinite happiness to me spiritu-
ally, if I could forget you. I often wish that you had died some

152 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

years since, for you are my only earthly tie. I should be happy
if I could break the cord which binds my natural affections te
you.

" With many prayers, I am, my dear Marie,

" Yours, most faithfully,

" H. C. Clifford. '

From this note it was evident that Marie's letter had been
well received. The almost tenderness -it breathed reconciled
her to the postponement of his visit on the one hand, while it
made her long more to see him on the other.

CHAPTER YIII.

MAEIE AN HEIKESS.

A FEW more posts brought the promised letter to Mr. L .

It thus commenced : —

(Translation.)

t
I. H. S.

Manottc, December 31st, 184i>.

"Sir,

" I think that it will not be necessary to apologize for
the liberty that I take in writing to you, after the obliging per-
mission granted in Marie's last communications.

" The care and direction of a person whom I have so tenderly
loved, and over whom I have watched with a father's aftection,
devolves through her apostasy and your generosity upon you

and Mrs. L . I believe it to be my duty, thoogh by so

doing I may expose myself to the censure of others, frankly to

MARIE AN HEIRESS. 153

make you acquainted with Marie's future expectations ; but I
do not wish that she should hear this part of my letter, for if
you knew her disposition as well as I do, you would agree with
me in the necessity of concealing this information from her, at
least for the present. If Marie is spared, she will become, at
the death of an aunt of her mamma's who lives in Staftbrd-
shire, the possessor of considerable landed property.

"Thus much I may say, — the lands were entailed by my
late uncle, upon the children of his nieces and nephews. There
are but four of them, including Marie, who will become heirs
to the property in question. I am now in correspondence with
the solicitor for the estate, and endeavoring to obtain the lady's
consent to settle a portion of the property upon Marie, that is,
immediately. I have not yet had a reply.

" My reasons for making this request are as follows : — In the
first place I think that, with the assistance of this property,
Marie will again take the place and rank which belong to her
in society. It would be better for her now to have an income
more suitable to this position. The other reason is, that with
this in view, you can prevent any unsuitable connection or inti-
mate friendship with undesirable persons. I think you will find
Marie a little hasty in this respect. She believes that every
person who gives evidence of some good sentiments is sincere.
She is very unsuspecting, and being little accustomed to the
world is easily imposed upon.

" As far as regards the carrying out of my proposition, I am
very anxious to fulfil my promise immediately, rather than to
wait the expiration of the appointed time — the end of this year.
Marie has doubtless made you acquainted with my position in
the Church, and the impossibility of doing anything without
the control and direction of persons who are above me.

" If she had acceded to my request in returning to her fam-
ily, I should then have been permitted to follow the dictates
of affection. I am grateful to you for your great kindness to-

154 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

wards the only child of a beloved twin sister deceased, and I
hope to make you some remuneration for all the expense she
has occasioned you ; and I hope also that before long, Marie
will be capable of rewarding you for your disinterested good-
ness. The circumstances which induced her to cast herself
upon your hospitality, cannot but attach disgrace and infamy
to her family. I assure you, sir, no trial was ever felt more
keenly by myself than her having thus apostatized from the
religion of her ancestors, who have ever been renowned for
their attachment to their faith, and some have even been mar-
tyrs to the cause of truth. I rejoice that her mamma has been
spared this sorrow. I pray sincerely that she may soon see
her error, and return repentant within the pale of the fold of
Christ. The proposed publication of her life augments the dis-
grace which she has brought upon us, and adds to the difficulty
of my yielding her assistance.

" You will perhaps bear with me if I trespass on your time
in making you acquainted with the weak points in the charac-
ter and disposition of a person whom I have so much studied,
and in whom I feel so deep an interest. You will, I am sure,
already have discovered that Marie is very excitable, betraying
her sometimes into a degree of impetuosity if she is not checked.
She is also very ardent and devoted in her attachment to those
whom she loves. This sentiment is praiseworthy in itself, but
may, if ill directed, lead to evil when the object is not worthy
of so sincere an attachment; and there is in her character
a lightheartedness and thoughtlessness which tend to make her
forgetful of herself in wishing to think and act for others.
This, if not restrained, conduces to a certain degree of impru-
dence. I do not think that she ever looks forward to the
future, but acts on the impulse of the moment. There are
many points truly noble and amiable in her, having so total an
absence of selfish motives. But to use the expression of the
late Archbishop of Paris, who knew her well, in speaking of her

MARIE AN HEIRESS. l55

to me one day, he said, * There is in Marie an indescribable
charm which every one must love ; that simplicity which no one
can fail to admire.'

" Captain and Mrs. Kenyon will visit Manotte before long,
and I shall avail myself of this opportunity to send Marie's*
jewels, for I am afraid of risking articles of such value by pub-
lic conveyance. I should advise Marie to sell the coins, as they
are not family property.

" I have not opened my sister's desk since her death, nor
shall I do so. If it contains any of her poems, I shall request
Marie to return them to me, that they may be published if of
sufficient merit.

" I hope Marie will take care of her health, for when in the
convent she was much to blame in this respect, being so
thoughtless and inconsiderate. I think you will find that kind-
ness and firmness combined will be necessary in the manage-
ment of your recently adopted charge, for, comparatively speak-
ing, she is still a child in many things. The change has been
very great for her, after having been seventeen years in seclu-
sion, to be thus thrown upon the world to act and judge for
herself. It is this that makes me tremble for her, lest by her
simplicity she should be seduced into evil.

" I shall be obliged to you if you will answer this letter,
which will probably be enclosed in Marie's, stating what are
your views with regard to the best means of making future
provision for Marie ; and what sum will suffice for last year, and
that which is now approaching.

" I wish to know Marie's deportment towards those who
surround her; and all that you think of her health, and if any-
thing can be done which will conduce to its entire re-establish-
ment. I cannot now write to Marie, but will do so immediately
after liaving received some decisive information on the termina-
tion of this affair. It is probable that before long I shall call

156 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

upon you. Present, if you please, ray affectionate regards to
Marie, and accept, sir, ray respectful corapliraents,

"H. C. Clifford."

It may be supposed that the coramunication relative to
Marie's property awakened no little surprise. It seemed to
account, however, for much of her uncle's anxiety about her,
and for rauch of the care and kindness exercised towards her for
so many years in the convents of her Order. Her friends
scarcely knew whether to be pleased or otherwise, so much did
they fear the effects of such a discovery on Marie's excitable and
sanguine temperament ; and they thought the annual stipend
proposed by her uncle quite as much as was likely to do her
good. According to his wish they resolved to keep the com-
munication a profound secret, not only from Marie, but also
from all her circle. They had some difficulty in evading her
inquiries.

" IJiave had a letter from your uncle," said Mr. L ,

" Oh ! have you ? May I see it ?"

" We will read it to you."

" May I not read it myself?"

" Well, you may read the greater part of it ; — almost all ;
but there is one little point which your uncle did not wish
mentioned."

" Oh dear ! there must be something the raatter."

" No, not at all."

" Then what can he have to tell you that I may not know ? It
must be something dreadful, and he is afraid of my knowing it 1"

" No, indeed it is not," said Mrs. L . " It is only about

the money."

" Well, then, if that is all, why can't you let me read it ?"

" Because it would not be honorable after he has enjoined the
contrary. So now you must be content. We shall not do it,
80 it is in vain for you to ask any more."

MARIE AN HEIRESS. 15Y

" I wish you would not be so positive," said Marie laughing.
" As it is I suppose I must give it up."

The interdicted paragraphs were withheld, and she was
allowed to read the rest. Her replies to her uncle's notes re-
ceived about Christmas have not been preserved. Mr. L 's

answer to the letter of December 31st was as follows : —

"January 8th, 1850.

" Sir,

" You will, I am sure, appreciate the difficulties I have
felt in replying to your letter — difficulties created by the rela-
tion which I so unexpectedly sustain towards one in whom you
take so deep an interest, the delicacy of the subjects on which
you ask my opinion, and the fact that we are personal strangers.

"Marie's own previous narrative relieves me from any
lengthened reference to a change which must, I am sure, have
occasioned you pain. I should ill deserve your esteem if, hold-
ing the opinions that I do hold, I had not, under such cii^um-
stances, welcomed her. And yet, when reflecting upon the
grief which it has occasioned you, her beloved relative, it is a
satisfaction to me that her mind was fully decided before I
became acquainted with her. I saw so much of her ??rdent
temperament in our earliest interview, that I should have hesi-
tated to encourage her change, had it been prompted by the
impulse of the time, rather than the result of years of reflection.
I think it only frank to add ray conviction, that subsequent
examination has firmly established her in her present views.

" This is all I need say on so painful a subject. Permit me,

however, to assure you that Mrs. L and myself wish Marie

ever to retain and manifest the love which she cherishes for
you. We wish her to consult your wishes on all matters not
affecting her religious convictions.

" There are two main topics on which you ask my opinion.
The first relates to my young charge herself. On this subject

158 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

Mrs. L is likely to form a safer judgment than myself, and

I have therefore requested her to write her opinions.

" Tiie second topic regards pecuniary arrangements. You
kindly ask me to name a sum for the past current year. Allow
me to acknowledge your consideration for the past, but to re-
quest that you will not take that into account. I cannot con-
sent to receive any remuneration for the past year. Marie was
introduced to me in a way so entirely providential, that I felt
it at once to be a case to which the Saviour's command ap-
plied. I received her into my house as an apparently destitute
orphan, entrusted to my care by Him, and I wish still to enjoy
the pleasure without repayment.

" As it is your wish that she should not take a situation, I
cannot feel the same hesitation as to the future. You are
aware that the cost of a young charge like Marie depends
much upon the comforts enjoyed, and that these should be
regulated by the resources or station of the party. The usual
rate for boarding in private families in London, is from £60 to

£80 per annum. Mrs. L estimates that she would require

£25 at least for clothing. There are always a few extra claims,
especially for medical attendance, medicine, &c. ; and perhaps
in the summer time you might wish her to accompany us to
the sea-side. I mention these things that you may judge.

" You ask my opinion as to the best means of arranging a
settlement for her. I beof to susfo^est that the £2000 men-
tioned in your first letter, if invested in the annuities of the
English government, would yield an income quite sufficient
without any farther pension. This might be arranged to secure
her for eleven years, or even longer. By the first period men-
tioned, she would probably come into possession of her
property.

^Should any difficulty occur to you in carrying out this
plan, you can remit through almost any London banker a sum
for the current year.

A MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE. 159

"We fully concur in the prudence of withholding from
Marie the knowledge of her prospects at present. She requires
to be watched over as one ignorant of the world, and you may
rest assured that we shall be very careful as to the society into
which she is introduced.

" Anticipating the pleasure of a visit from you at an early
period, I am, sir,

" Yours respectfully,

« S L ."

CHAPTER IX.

A MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE.

It will be necessary to go back a little way in order to intro-
duce an extraordinary circumstance which happened about this
time.

A few days after the fire, Marie was removed into her own
little room, endeared by associations connected with her first
arrival. The weather became intensely cold, and brought on
her cough to an alarming extent. That night she sat up in
bed, coughing almost incessantly, and the servant went in to
support her under the violence of the paroxysms. The next
morning Marie was taken down stairs to a warmer room for
the day. Then every means was taken to raise the temperature

of her room for the night. Mrs. L stuffed every crevice

of the window with wadding, to make it air-proof, and Mr.

L nailed strips of carpet round the door. Thick curtains

were put round the window and bed, and a fire kept burning.
A baize curtain was hung outside the door, under which those
who went in entered as to a gipsy tent ; but with all their
efforts they could not get the thermometer above thirty -five,

160 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

and her medical adviser recommended that next day she should
be removed to a lower room. He would have preferred her

being taken to Torquay for the winter. Mr. S , whose

family she had just quitted, offered to defray the expenses ; but
Marie would not hear of such an arrangement. She could not

leave her friends at C Terrace, and go into voluntary

banishment from those dearest to her on earth. "That was
her only home. If she was to die, she would die there."

The next best thing was to keep her in as equal a tempera-
ture as possible. Exposure to air on the staircase renewed her
cough, and threatened the rupture of a blood-vessel. The
back parlor, which had been the children's play-room, was con-
sidered the best for her accommodation, and it was forthwith
fitted up as a bed-room. Lilly cheerfully turned her toys out
of the closet, to leave it for Marie's wardrobe. The carpenter
was sent for to put up a bedstead. Great pains were expended
in making the large and ill-fitting window air-tight ; a large
fire was made up within, and a large curtain hung without;
and she who engaged so many thoughts and anxieties, was led
in, and expressed with tears her gratitude for all the concern
manifested about her. That room she occupied for three
months, and left it, as her health permitted, only to go into the
adjoining dining-room. The raised temperature mitigated,
though it did not remove her cough, and as she still com-
plained of a tightness on her chest, leeches were applied.

Meantime the meeting at drew near, when Marie's £10

were to be presented, and she was gently reminded that it was
necessary to send the money. She could not make up the ac-
count without her collecting-book, and that remained with Mr.

S . She wrote to him, and it was forwarded. Then she

found that she had lost the keys of her box, and the whole
house was swept, and a rigorous search instituted. They could
not be found, and just at this juncture, a recurrence of the
heemorrhaofe from the luno-s renewed alarm for her life. It

A MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE. 161

came on in the night-time, and the family knew nothing about
it till the morning, when they beheld the fearful signs of what
had occurred, and Marie lying pale and exhausted on her bed.
She had no bell that would ring up-stairs, and had lain there
alone and helpless. Medical advice was obtained, and suitable
medicine prescribed, but the extreme tend^erness of which she
complained below the collar-bone, defeated all attempts at ex-
amination by the stethoscope. The next evening, when left
alone for reading, the bleeding returned. The medical attend-
ant was again sent for, and a blister was prescribed for the ten-
der lung. She was to take everything cold, not to talk, and to
be kept perfectly quiet.

Mrs. L sat much in Marie's room, and read and worked

there, but forbade her speaking, and endeavored to anticipate
her wants. As all excitement was dangerous, the subject of
the money was for a few days dropped. When a little better,

she was told that Mr. L had promised to call on Mr. S ,

and to settle it that week. She sent for a man to force the
box, and said she would dress by-and-bye, and get the money
out. She fainted, however, on rising, and was obliged to lie
down, and the rupture of another vessel once more drove off
the settlement of the business.

At length it became imperatively necessary that the money

should be produced, and Mrs. L asked her for it. She was

still in bed, but she directed Mrs. L to her box, and told her

to take it. Mrs. L opened the box, and a scene of unexam-
pled confusion presented itself. Clean clothes and soiled ones,
light things and heavy ones, books, work, Albert lights, lucifer
matches, tapes, strings, ribbons, innumerable bits of paper, let-
ters, bonnets, and shoes, were exposed to view.

" You will find the money at the bottom of the box," said
Marie, " it is in notes, with the tickets."

" In notes ! Why I thought you collected it in gold and sil-
ver ?" said Mrs. L .

162 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

" Yes, but I changed it into notes, for I thought I should Hke
to present a £10 note at the meeting. And there was another
£5 note for the Bible Society — three £0 notes in all."

" There are the tickets," said Mrs. L , as at length she

dived to the bottom of the box, "but they are burnt. There
are but a few fio-ures reraainino;."

"Burnt, Mrs. L ! burnt!" cried Marie, "you don't say

so ! Let me look, let me look !"

The box was brought to her bedside, and she was satisfied.

"Then the notes are burnt also. How could it happen?
Here are lucifers ; one of these must have done it. Sarah,"
she said to the nurse, " I sent you to the box for my Concord-
ance the Sunday after I came home ; you must have rubbed
the lucifers in hunting for it. '

Mrs. L put tbe contents of the box back, and carried it

out of the room, saying that she should consult her husband on

his return, and see what he thought of it. Mr. L returned

home two hours after, and Mrs. L communicated what

had transpired during his absence. Next morning they exara-
in(,d the box and its contents, and found that the fire had
scf.rcely extended beyond the tickets. The box itself was un-
sij/ged, and only a few papers were burned. It is needless to
stnte the painful conviction that was forced on the minds of
both respecting the whole aflfair. " Two fires in one house in
a month !" said the servant, who had been taxed with going to
the box. " It is a very strange business, / think. I was brought
in for the blame about the fire up-stairs, and now I have set
light to the box, it seems ;" and in her indignation she talked
to her fellow-servants of leaving, lest some still more serious
clarge should be fixed upon her; but she thought again, and
fo't that she could not leave her little nursling.

Marie seemed in such a state of excitement that her fi-iends
ffared to endanger her life by entering on an investigation at
that juncture : and as her uncle was expected, they resolved to

A MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE. 163

await his arrival and communicate the whole to him. She saw
that they did not believe her, and the following evening she re-
iterated her statement to Mrs. L . She spoke rapidly, and

uttered several palpable falsehoods. " I have the numbers of
the notes," she added, " for my uncle taught me always to keep
them. Look, I have found one," she said, as she called Mrs.

L 's attention to some figures in her pocket-book, set down

something as follows :

1 4

2 8
7

" You do not mean that that is the number of a note ?" said
Mrs. L .

" Yes, I do," she said ; " it is my random way of putting it
down. It means 14287."

Mrs. L could not bear to hear any more. She laid her

hand gently on Marie's shoulder, and said, " Do not say any
more about it now, dear Marie."

" Do you mean that I am not telling the truth ? Am I not
to explain ?" said Marie, almost fiercely.

" I mean that under your present feelings, you may say much
which you will be sorry for afterwards. You should learn cau-
tion and self-distrust from the past."

And Marie replied with a look of black defiance which

haunted Mi's. L long afterwards. It might have been the

look of a murderess.

The next morning Marie asked to speak to Mr. L .

" He is just going out, and has a busy day before him," said
Mrs. L .

" Do ask him to come in. I have written a letter to my un-
cle, and I want him to post it for me."

" Have written a letter ! When ?"

" Last night, when you were in bed, I got up and did it. "1
kept up my fire, so do not be angry."

164

THE FEMALE JESUIT.

" But your uncle told you not to write till his retreat was
over; and he is at Eoine. Perhaj^s you will get him into
trouble."

" Oh ! it must go, indeed it must ;" and Mr. L was

called.

After some conversation, he persuaded Marie to wait her un-
cle's time, and at last gained her permission to read the letter.
It was sealed and directed. The superscription was a long one.

Immediate. The Very Reverend

If not at Manotte, jj^ ^ Clifford,

to be forwarded

forthwith

Grand Vicar, A.F.C.R.
iQ tlje Chateau de St. Jose,

Rev. H. C. Clifford. Near Amiens,

Postage Paid. France.

The principal object of this letter was to inform her uncle
that through a sad act of carelessness, which from his acquaint-
ance with her character he could well appreciate, she had acci-
dentally destroyed three Bank notes, which were not her own
property. That having collected this money for benevolent ob-
jects, her character was at stake, and she entreated him to ex-
tricate her from her distressing difficulty by forwarding the
amount. It entered into minute details respecting her health
and depression of spirits, and would not interest the reader.

CHAPTER X

A CORRESPONDENCE IN THE HOUSE.

Marie gradually recovered, though she required constant
watchfulness and medical attendance.

Mrs. L could not feel it right to pass over what had

A CORRESPONDENCE IN THE HOUSE. 165

recently occurred in silence, though Marie's precarious health
and mental excitement were an effectual barrier to conversation.
She wrote the following letter, and left it on Marie's desk one
evening after bidding her good night : —

"January 31st, 1850.
" My dearest Marie,

" It is not my intention frequently to adopt the plan
of writing letters to you, because I think it would rather tend
to check the freedom of confidential intercourse ; but in this
case I think it better to do so that you may more thoughtfully
and calmly consider the subject of this, and also to -spare both
you and myself some of those painful feelings to which conver-
sation about it would give rise. I fear, too, that in the excite-
ment of the moment you might be tempted to say much that
would hereafter be remembered with pain. It costs me an
effort to write, and I would not do so if I did not love you, but
I must prove my love in the best way, by being faithful to your
soul.

" The circumstances attending your removal from Mr. S 's

caused us much grief. We hoped, however, that you had truly
and deeply repented, and in the strength of God had begun a
new life. Last week, however, our sorrow was renewed. I do
not know when my heart has ached so much as it did then,
and my dear husband felt scarcely less keenly. My cold fur-
nished an excuse for seeming dull and poorly, and I tried to
conceal my feelings as much as I could, knowing that in your
then state of health any excitement was dangerous. I am sure
you wish our happiness, but you could scarcely have marred it
more effectually than by giving us such anxiety and distress on
your oviu account. The extent to which you have deceived us,
is known only to God and your own conscience. I believe that
had you frankly confessed all on your return to us, the real
truth would have been/ar less culpable than the series of false-

166 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

hoods and artifices to which you were tempted to resort for the
purpose of -concealment. I do not wish jow to confess to me
now. Having delivered my conscience, I wish to bury the sub-
ject in oblivion, and hope that by a new course, you will so re
gain our esteem and confidence that the past will never coma
to mind. But I do entreat you to confess to God, — Him against
whom you have sinned. Return with deep contrition and re-
pentance to Him. If you try to forget, and hide your sin from
your own conscience or from Him, you will never have His
blessing, and never know true peace. It will separate you from
Him, destroy all confidence and joy in drawing near to Him,
and at every returning illness or thought of a future life, there
will be darker forebodings than at any period of your convent
history. Your sin has been greater because committed against
Him who not only lived and died for you, but who has appeared
for you in so signally providential a way. Does He not seem
to heap kindnesses upon you, as if to bring your ungrateful
heart to repentance ? How wonderfully He delivered you from
your anticipated bondage ! But as if that were not enough,
He provided friends for you among strangers, and then in-
chned your uncle's heart towards you, and has now granted
you all that could be imagined to contribute to your comfort
and happiness in this life. And will you, dearest Marie, con-
tinue to grieve and vex His Holy Spirit ? It is indeed folly
and short-sightedness to sacrifice His smile and favor by yield-
ing to this besetting sin.

" You may be assured that this is a crisis in your history.
Your freedom from a state of dependence, and the prospects of
comfort and earthly enjoyment now opening before you, will
be used by Satan as a snare to lead you farther astray from
God and holiness, unless sin is first purged from your heart,
and you start anew in your heavenward course with most earn-
est and prayerful resolution henceforward to maintain a con-
scienc« void of all offence towards God and towards man. No

A CORRESPONDENCE IN THE HOUSE. 167

day should close without self-examination and confession, and
prayer for forgiveness and peace.

" I am rather jealous of your love of verse-making, lest it
should rob you of that precious evening season which ought to
be given to the examination of your own heart, and your prepa-
ration for judgment and eternity. Let that time be sacredly
and conscientiously devoted to God, and I think you cannot
then go far astray.

" If you ever hope to see your kind uncle favorably inclined
to a purer doctrine than that which he has been taught to hold,
there must be the most exemplary conduct on your part.
What responsibility may rest on your soul as it regards his
soul, if you should prove a stumbling-block in his way. What
misery, too, would you bring upon him, if you fell into open
sin, and brought disgrace on yourself. Surely he deserves a
better return for a lifetime of kindness. We are but the friends
of a day compared with him, and therefore I speak not of our
claims upon you, but I am sure you would like to be the source
of happiness to us all ; and remember that can be not half so
much by personal kindness and proofs of affection, as by letting
us see you walking in the fear of God, blessed by Him, and a
blessing to others.

" I have had my fears lest you should be too much elated by
the change in your circumstances, and lest that should induce
carelessness about higher and greater things. / find, and I
think, dear Marie, you will find it still more forcibly true in your
case, that you can never be happy without the love and esteem
of those whom you love. You may be happy, in sickness or in
poverty, with loving friends and God's sustaining grace ; but if
unloved, your life will indeed be desolate. And we cannot
love you for money. The possession of thousands would make
no difference in our feelings towards you, or our estimate of
you. I think you must have been conscious of late, that with
all our anxiety to be kind and careful of you, there has been

168 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

less warmth and ' empressement' in our manner to you under
your improved prospects that when we thought you penniless.
That is just because we then regarded you as sincere and guile-
less, and loved you dearly for your own sake alone. Will you
not allow us to love you again as warmly ? to feel the same
complacency, the same confidence, — to meet your look with un-
restrained and answering looks of pleasure and affection ?
Seek mercy and help of God, and we shall soon be as happy in
you as we have been.

" I wish you would look out in your Concordance for all the
texts which regard truth and uprightness. Make it one of your
evening exercises. You will then see what supreme importance
is attached to these things in the Word of God, and find how
He regards them.

" I trust you will also set out with an anxious desire to live
not unto yourself. I do not like to hear you talk too much
about yourself. And do not indulge in frivolous conversation,
such as various things you like or dislike in the eating way,
little maladies and sensations, fancies in the way of dress, &c.
I do not mean that there is any harm in occasional reference to
such things, but it is a poor sign when we can talk of nothing
else. I want you to awake to your responsibilities as an
immortal creature, as one signally favored by God and bound
to unusual devotedness, as one who is now her own mistress,
with time, abilities, advantages, at her own command, and with
a life held by an uncertain tenure. You know not how soon
you may be called to give in your account. Oh ! that you may
do it with joy and not with grief.

" I hope you will spend your money thoughtfully, and as
accountable to God for this newly entrusted talent. That you
will try to conquer those habits of disorder and thoughtlessness,
which, as your uncle justly observes, may seriously affect your
interests and influence and character, in ways you little antici-
pate. You may be very happy now. It rests in great measure

A CORRESPONDENCE IN THE HOUSE. 169

with yourself, for God has placed within your reach nearly all
the things which constitute earthly happiness. Oh ! that you
nciB-j, dear Marie, have wisdom to know in what your true
happiness lies, and to act accordingly.

" I do not expect or wish any answer to this letter, but I
shall hope, or fear, according to the spirit in which I may per-
ceive that you have taken it. I wished to write before we
commenced our morning studies, in the hope of dismissing from
my mind the burden and restraint which so many painful
thoughts have imposed. May God forgive you, dear Marie, as
I do, and restore to you the sunshine of His countenance and
forgiving love. So often prays

" Your anxious and affectionate friend,

"J. L ."

Marie wrote two notes in reply to this letter. One has been
lost. The other, which is similar in purport, remains, and is
here inserted.

« Thursday.

" My dear Mrs. L ,

" I have tried for the last week or two to speak to you
personally, but have as yet found it quite impossible. I need
not tell you how painfully I have felt your altered manner
towards me. It has and does cause me much misery. Though
you are equally kind and attentive to me as ever, yet I can but
feel conscious that my affection is not returned. I am sure you
must have noticed that many times in coming to kiss you I
have hesitated, for I felt as if it was an effort on your part to
show me that expression of affection for me.

" I never at any period of my life stood so much in need of
both maternal sympathy and counsel ; and I am sure, that did
you know all my feelings you would not wound me by increas-
ing coldness of manner. It would be an infinite source of

8

170 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

comfort to me, could I openly express to you all I feel on the
past. Unreserved communication would, I am convinced, tend
to our mutual happiness. I fear you do not feel the same
liberty in telling me of what is wrong as you once did, now
that circumstances are changed. I am sure it will both grieve
my uncle and myself if such is the case ; for who can I now
look to for parental care, if you shrink from this ? I would
much prefer speaking to you personally than resorting to this
mode of intercourse ; reserve is very painful to me. I do wish
to throw it off, and be able to be as frank with you as with my
own dear mamma, for I feel both your atfection and displeasure
equally the same as with mamma's. I am sure I could not en-
dure much longer in my present state of mind, for my spiritual
conflict is great. Added to this is the change in you, and my
own great bodily weakness. I feel as if I was not a welcome
guest. I could often burst into tears, and sometimes find it
difficult to restrain them, when I look at you and see that my
affection is not reciprocated. It is this, with my present weak
state, that makes me anxious to see my uncle, for I do want to
be fully reconciled to you. I cannot live with you under a
sense of your displeasure, for I love you too well not to notice
or care for it. If you will pardon the past, and receive me
again to your favor, I hope then to be able to say all I wish, and
for the future to be as frank with you as I was with my dear
mamma and uncle ; for I have and do miss much that open in-
tercourse that existed between the latter and myself.

" Educated and trained as I have been in a circle, in which I
do not hesitate to say I was much loved by all those with whom
I was more immediately connected, though I was never spared
when in the wrong, I can but now feel very sensitively the want
of that love and affection you once bestowed upon me ; and
more particularly now that I am afflicted, and also separated
from those I so dearly love. I grieve now, and feel much the

A CORRESPONDENCE IN THE HOUSE. 1*71

loss of a mother, for I ain so very desolate and alone now that
I cannot meet you as I once did.

"I am quite conscious that there are many faults in which I
may often displease you ; but if you will always tell me of them
at the time, I will try to do all I can to correct them.

" I do trust I shall be able to say all I wish, and that this
may be the last time I shall ever have need to adopt this means
of conveying to you my feelings.

" With kind love, I am still

" Your affectionate

" Marie."

Mrs. L was far from being satisfied with Marie's notes.

The main topic was slurred over, or rather altogether omitted,
while there was something of the tone of an injured person in
reference to her alleged treatment. She frequently intimated,

however, to Mrs. L 's sisters, that she could explain all, had

she but courage to do so, and that it would relieve her of an
almost intolerable burden. She was again ill, and it was attrib-
uted to her state of mind. Many opportunities for the dis-
closure were afforded her ; but her resolution always failed, and
each attempt was followed by increased nervous excitement.
Week after week passed, and threw no light on the disappear-
ance of the money. The conjecture to which the family most
frequently reverted was, that she had been too liberal in her
gratuities to a poor sick servant out of place, with whom she
had become acquainted, and that being ashamed or afraid to
acknowledge that she had exceeded her resources, she had been
tempted to greater departures from rectitude to conceal the fact.
She reiterated the assurance that it could be explained, and that
when she had told her uncle all, he would clear it up for her.
She proposed sending him a full statement by letter ; but as he
was not then at home, and there was no certainty of a letter
reaching him, her friends thought it better not to risk a com-

lY2 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

munication involving her character, to the uncertainties of the
continental post.

Mr. L having received a letter from Marie expressive of

intense mental suffering and religious despondency, lent her
what he deemed a suitable book. It was returned with the fol-
lowing note : —

" Saturday.

" My dear Mr. L , .

" I return you the book, with many thanks for your
kindness and interest. It is an excellent little work, but I am
sorry to say that I have not derived the good from it that you
might have anticipated. The fiiult I know is mine^ but I feel
my mind in that state that would rather seek for something to
charm than encouragement from the promises of God's truth.
I wish 1 could have a conversation with you on the subject. I
do indeed feel grieved you should have so much trouble and
anxiety on my account. I can never repay you, but I trust God
will ; and earnestly do I hope and pray that if I ever again
regain the favor of God, and be as I once was, happy with a
sense of His ftivor, that you may then have the happiness of
seeing me more consistent in all my Christian duties. I think
I could open my mind to you if you would not feel reserved.
I wish you always to be open and faithful with me, for I have
now no other friends to guide and advise me. I am convinced
it is my present unhappy state of mind that is preying upon my
health, for I cannot sleep or rest when alone. If you have ever
departed from God, you can enter into the distressed state of a
backslider. I cannot hope, or look for mercy. I hope you will
not be displeased in my writing to you, but it is and would be
a relief to me to speak freely with you upon this subject. I have

tried a time or two to do so to Mrs. L , but somehow I feel

too timid, having never said much to her on the subject of re-
ligion.

" I hope you will bear with patience all I have said, for I

THE uncle's admonitions. 173

am in need of both your j))kyers and counsel, for I am venj un-
happy.

" Marie."

As Marie requested to see Mr. L alone, he called her

into his study. She spoke in the same strain as in her notes,
and wept much when giving expression to the mental agony
which she was enduring. She attributed her errors in great
measure to her defective education. She said that she had
been taught to regard sin as committed against the Church or
against her fellow-creatures, and that after making acknowledg-
ment and reparation she had been absolved, and the subject
dismissed : that she had never been taught to regard sin as
committed against God, or to entertain any fear of displeasing
Him. She spoke of what had occurred before her return

from , but did not refer to the money burnings, and

when Mr. L made a distant approach to the subject, she

arose from her chair and rushed out of the room.

CHAPTEE XL

THE uncle's AD:.rONITIONS.

Marie's friends were rather amused, and Marie appeared to
be not a little annoyed, at the graphic delineation of her char-
acter, contained in the following letter : —

(translation.)

f
I. H. S.

"Manotte, 25th January, 1850.
" My dear Mai ie,

" I am just about to terminate all my arrangements

before quitting this place to commence my six weeks' retreat.

1*74 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

Having an hour to spare before dinner, I embrace the oppor-
tunity to fulfil my promise of writing to you. I hope that my
dear Marie will receive with humility of mind the faithful ad-
vice and reproofs that I am about to give her. Let me assure
you, my dear child, that those are our friends who frankly tell
us of our faults, in order that we may correct them. It is then
because I love you that I write thus plainly as in former days.

" In the tirst place, I was not thoroughly satisfied with your
last letter. Not that there was in it any particularly offensive
expression, but the whole tenor of it convinced me of what I
have been well capable of ascertaining by experience, that light-
ness and thoughtlessness are still the weak points of your char-
acter. There was in the letter a frivolity which could not but
have struck a stranger, and was to me most displeasing. The
writing was truly characteristic, displaying so little care, part of
a word being forgotten, and so many et ceteras, that had I not
known you, and the letter had been placed before me, I should
instantly have said, ' the writer is a careless person.'

" I had formed a very favorable opinion of you after your
previous letter, though regretting the sentiments there ex-,
pressed : the whole exhibited serious thought and strong intel-
hofence. There was also a measure of consideration which led

o

me to believe that you were much improved in this respect.
Do not think me too severe if I give you pain ; it is for your
good. I fear that you do not regard this subject in its proper
bearing : it is a more serious matter than you believe it to be.
It is a fault that will cause you much sorrow, now that you are
entering upon the world. Now that I am upon this subject, I
will give you an incident which was the result of your folly, but
which I have never before told you. Do not think that I am
displeased with you for this : I tell it you that it may be a les-
son to you, and that you may act with more prudence and
caution for the future.

" You recollect that two years since I remitted to Madame

THE UNCLES ADMONITIONS. 175

D'H the sura of £80 to pay Monsieur Dupois for his

medical attendance while you were ill in Paris. She then paid
him, and gave you the receipt, in order that if she were absent,
you might give it me, as I was shortly expected. A short time

after, Madame D'H having asked you for the receipt, you

replied very composedly, ' I had entirely forgotten it, and I fear
that I have lost it.' This was certainly a most sensible reply
where £80 were involved. In consequence of your departure
from Paris, and other circumstances, it was forgotten, though
Monsieur Dupois had been requested for another receipt a few
days before his death, which was very sudden. Monsieur
Dupois not having generally been in the habit of receiving his
payments in person, had forgotten to enter the sum as paid.
At Christmas twelvemonth I received a second medical account ;
and as the receipt could not be found, I had to pay the money
over again. Some weeks after, the receipt was found in Paris.
You had used it for a wool-winder. Now who but a person so
careless as yourself would have done this ? The money was of
course returned. When you were with me you had a similar
misfortune, though that was excusable, for you were then but
a child ; but that should have taught you a little wisdom. I
speak of the roll of valuable papers with which you lighted the
fire in your boudoir. Was it £30 or £40 that I had to pay
for the loss of one paper ?

"I will not enumerate other similar incidents, and only men-
tion these to show you the consequences of your forgetfulness.
I wish you to rise above such follies, and to act with a thought-
fulness and discretion worthy of the good sense with which
God has liberally endowed you. Think how your dear mamma
would be grieved if she knew that you had not yet lost this
deeply-rooted habit. It is so sad that all who become ac-
quainted with you should so soon discover this fault. I should
be truly glad to learn, when I come to see you, that you are
trying to overcome it, I know that this will be an affair of

176 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

time. If you are resolved to make the experiment, you must
not be discouraged if you do not immediately succeed, for you
must not expect at once to conquer a habit so firmly rooted.
You must do as I have often told you to do, ' Think twice be-
fore you act once.' This maxim will preserve you from many
dangers.

" There is another thing against which I wish to warn you.
It is your rash disregard of your health. I hope you do not

give Mrs. L any trouble on this subject. You know well

that you have often been to blame here. When you see that
they care for you, the least that you can do is to remain pas-
sive, and not to retard your cure by your own folly. Recollect
that if we thus voluntarily destroy our health, we are equally
responsible with those who terminate their lives by violence.
I hope that you are very submissive to the wishes of Mr. and

Mrs, L in this respect. Their conduct and kindness to

you has secured my respect, and has induced me to make the
concession I have done, for I was convinced that they had no
motives of interest in offering you their friendship when you
apostatized from the true Church. I pray daily to God for
them, and hope that he will reward them for their good deed,
by converting them to the true faith. I hope that in all things
unconnected with rehgion, you will act according to their
wishes, and that you will do nothing without their approbation,
for you are too prone to act on the impulse of the moment.
I do not think that you are headstrong — far otherwise ; but
you must acknowledge that you are sometimes rash in your
decisions. With the consciousness of this defect, I recommend
you to be always open and frank with your good friends, for

from what I know of Mr. L , I have a great opinion of his

conduct and judgment. The lively interest that I take in you
has naturally led me to obtain every information respecting
him, before deciding to make any permanent arrangement for
you. He is the first Protestant in whom I have placed con-

THE uncle's admonitions. 177

fidence. Some days since, in writing to Mr. L , I stated

to him my wish that you should continue your education. If
you do not acquiesce in my proposition of sending you to a
good school for a year or two, which I believe would be the

best thing for you, I shall be very glad if Mrs. L will

superintend your studies according to any plan that she thinks
best; but that can be settled when I reach London. I much
wish you to go through a course of English, in order that you
may be able to write and speak that language with ease and
elegance. I wish you to resume your Latin and German. My
wish that you should not continue your studies at home, is
caused by the fear that you will not apply your mind daily and
constantly ; without which you cannot be expected to make
great progress.

" Wilton, your dear mamma's maid, died on Thursday. I
went to see her. She spoke of you with much affection, and
said, that one of her most earnest desires in this world was to
see you once more. She knows not what a change there is in
you, for it is still a secret from the servants,

"Arthur C is here for his health. He has left college

for a time, and will have a private tutor instead. Before closing
my letter, I shall mention the arrangements that I wish, if
possible, to make before the end of the year. My first proposi-
tion is to invest in the funds without farther delay, (after my
retreat) a sufficient sum to yield an annual revenue of £200,

which I have thus appropriated. I propose that Mr. L

should have the same sum annually as Madame D'H re-
ceived, viz. £100 per annum for board and English instruction :
£40 will suffice at present I think to spend in clothes, amuse-
ments, (fee. The remaining £60 would be for medical fees,
books, education, <fec. If any part of this sum remain at the
end of the year, it can be set aside as a fund for exigencies.
The investment of the money, which is a subject you do not
understand, will be confided to two trustees, a Catholic and a

8*

178 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

Protestant, perhaps Captain Kenyon and Mr. L . The

reason why I select a Catholic is, that if you should return to
the true faith, your Protestant friend would be free to give up
his charge to Captain Kenyon. I do not think that it would
be good for you to be without any restraints. I know that
this would have a bad tendency, and it is for this reason I ap-
point trustees. I do not think that you would wish it otherwise.
If I cannot at present succeed in making the addition I before
mentioned, you must be content, at least for a time. You
must not be too eager, for you well know my peculiar position,
and that I cannot be too prudent if I would not defeat my ob-
ject. I have placed the affair before the General in as favor-
able and as simple an aspect as possible. I must not forget to
say that I have entire permission to fulfil my promise at the
end of the time before mentioned; but on account of your
delicate health, and my aversion to your taking a situation, I
wish at once to place you in independent circumstances. I am
sorry to inform you that your apostasy has brought much cen-
sure upon me. I have been blamed for not having taken meas-
ures to prevent it. This costs me many sleepless nights. At
times when I think of you I am in an agony of feehng.
Oh! why cannot I efface you from my memory ? You are
truly my cross in this world of sorrow. You have poorly re-
paid me for all the anxiety that you have cost me. How
cruelly are we deceived when we expect our reward fiom men!

"I advise you to reply carefully to the enclosed questions,
for they will have to be examined by other persons than my-
self. Be prudent. I would not deceive you.

" That you may seriously consider all that I have said in
regard to your conduct, and that I may still have the happi-
ness of seeing you an ornament to your sex, is the sincere
desire of

" Your faithful and attached friend,

" H. C. Clifford.

THE uncle's admonitions. 179

" You or Mr. L will hear from me at the end of my re-
treat, after which you will soon see me."

QUESTIONS PROPOSEES.

"1°. Si I'EgHse Catholique n'est past la vraie eglise, ou
etait I'Eglise Chretienne avant I'epoque de Luther ?

" 2°. Si la vraie Eglise n'existait pas pour quelque siecles
anterieurs a cette epoque, comment a-t-elle ete corrompue? et
comment cela peut-il etre accorde avec les mots du Christ :
' Les portes de I'enfer ne prevandront pas contre elle V "

Enclosed with Marie's letter was the followinor to Mr. L .

(translation.)

t
L H. S. •

Saturday Morning.

" Sir,

" Since writing to Marie, the thought has occurred to
me, that if you do not know the contents of her last letter you
will be dissatisfied, under the supposition that she has expressed
herself improperly.

"I wish to destroy this impression by informing you that
there was nothing greatly amiss in her communication. Per-
haps you will think me too severe in my remarks ; but, sir,
I who have been accustomed from Marie's infancy to analyze
her feelings, thoughts, and character by her letters and by
other means, can understand her well, and her last letter
confirms my conviction that she is as careless as ever. She
attaches much importance to a reprimand from me, and I have
therefore ventured to speak to her very faithfully. She will
tell you, I am sure, all that I have said to her, and if she ap-

180 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

pears sorry, a word of advice from you will give eflfect to my
remarks. I am assured that you will see with me the im-
portance of destroying this propensity, for with her prospects
this constant thoughtlessness will be a source of great evils.
If she do not gain the ascendency over it now, there will be
no hope for her subsequently.

"I know Marie's disposition to make light of this defect.
Whenever you see a tendency to do this, I advise you to re-
prove her severely. From what Marie has said, I believe that

you and Mrs. L have much influence over her. From my

position in life, I have had great experience in human char-
acter, and I must say I have always found that Marie's re-
quires cautious management. The first and most essential
thing is to gain her entire confidence, in order that she may
be able frankly to avow her difficulties and her faults, in order
that all reserve may be avoided. She has always been in the
habit of writing to me in^his way, frankly confessing all her
faults ; and I, in return, have given her advice or reproof as the
case required. I cannot now attend to this ; but it is my wish
that the same sentiments may exist between Marie and her good
friends. If, in consequence of her delicacy and timidity, you
have hitherto been unsuccessful in this respect, the best means
to attain it is always to speak to her very frankly as circum-
stances call for it. She has too much good sense, and you love
lier too much to oflfend her by so doing. If you act thus, she
will amply repay you with the greatest affection. My late sis-
ter and myself always found that she preferred being reproved
when alone.

" I have not now time to revert to business, as the courier
will soon start. I beg to apologize for the liberty I take in
writing to you, but I wished to say thus much with Marie's
letter. I will not revive this subject again without your per-
mission.

Marie's occupations. 181

" Marie's letter will explain to you my present plans. With
respectful compliments,

" I am your devoted servant,

" II. C. Clifford."

CHAPTER XII.

Marie's occupations.

As Marie's health improved her spirits returned. She again
joined the domestic circle, and mingled in their occupations.
The impression of the past was to some extent effaced ; and
though none could feel the same confidence in her as formerly,
and none could altogether forget that there was a painful mys-
tery still unexplained, it ceased to be continually present to their
memory. Her precarious state led them to treat her with a
measure of tenderness and indulgence which would not have
been granted to one in vigorous health. They knew not how
short her stay on earth might be, or how sudden her removal :
and who has not felt, in similar cases, an anxiety to avoid the
cold look and harsh expression which might be recalled with
pain when too late to be forgiven ? They regarded her as a
child specially committed to their care by Providence, and not
to be lightly cast off or too severely treated.

There was, moreover, another tie between Marie and her
friends which it is difficult to explain in so many words. It
partook of a feeling as deep and tender, perhaps, as any of
which our nature is capable, though less dwelt upon, and it may
be less understood than other aflfections, namely, — the love we
bear to the creature we have saved.

The child walks abroad on some winter's morning, and picks

182 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

up a little robin perishing in the cold. He warms it in his
bosom, and carries it tenderly to his home ; and by-and-by the
dim eye brightens, and the bird begins to flutter, and to pick
the cruiiibs from the hand of its benefactor, and warble forth
its thanks. Is it not dearer to its young deliverer than the
hvely canary or gay paroquet which hang in his window in
their gilded cages ? Why ? Because he has saved it.

The Christian missionary lingers near the scene of some sav-
age conflict which he has vainly sought to avert. He sees a
babe which has dropped from the arms of some slaughtered or
captive mother. He rescues it from the spear or the flame, and
folds it in his arms, and hastens with it to his home : and dark
though its skin, and offspring of heathen and savage though it
be, it is reared as tenderly as his own children, and is almost
as dear to him as they — because he has saved it.

We hear much of the love which belongs to earthly relation-
shij)s, but perhaps there is no love more delightful in its exer-
cise tlian this. It seems to take its impulse from the love of
Ilim who came to save — that love, the joy of which he himself
desci-ibes in the beautiful parable of the shepherd rejoicing over
the recovered sheep.

And somethinr/ of this mingled with the feelings entertained
for Marie, by those who fondly deemed that they had been the
means of saving her from a life of misery. It required much,
veiy much, to break through such a tie.

And finally, if Marie had been guilty of one grievous delin-
quency, there were many exhibitions of character which they
could not but love. Her virtues appeared to be her own ; her
faults those of the system in which she had been brought up.
Grateful for every act of kindness done to her, and ready for
every act of kindness she could render back ; patient and cheer-
ful in illness; warm-hearted, affectionate and sympathizing;
uncompromising in the expression of her opinions, and frank
almost to excess in the avowal of her thouo-hts and failino-s;

183

they came to think of what had occurred as something apart
from herself, and originating in some pecuHar mental state arising
from disorder of the brain. No fellow-creature in trouble, no
poor person in distress, could come under her observation with-
out calling out her ready sympathy and active efforts. There
w^as a poor man of the name of Wood occasionally employed
about the house, who shared largely in her thoughts and atten-
tions. This poor man had a bad cough, the sound of which
she said went to her heart, and that she could not but contrast
his circumstances with her own. She made him two flannel
waistcoats : she bouo;ht a arown for his wife, and worked hard
at some frocks for his children ; and more than once she made
a quantity of rice-milk for them on her own fire, that she might
be sure of having it nicely done. She excelled in fancy work,
and spent much of her time in working for bazaars for charitable
objects, and in making little presents for her friends. She wrote
letters of sympathy to such as she knew to be in affliction, and
of advice to her younger friends ; and no scheme of kindness or
of friendship could be proposed in the family, but she must take
the first and most active share in its execution.

In conformity with her uncle's wishes about her education,
Marie set apart tvvo hours every morning to study with Mrs.
L , and commenced a course of English reading and com-
position. For the choice of masters in other languages, she was
to wait her uncle's arrival. She occasionally practised, but in a
very irregular way. She sadly wanted method and quiet per-
severance ; and her disorderly habits occasioned no little annoy-
ance to the family. There was also an increasing measure of
restlessness, and a looking out for excitement, which interfered
with the pursuit of duty, and the tranquil enjoyment of life,
and occasioned perpetual anxiety to her friends. This latter
tendency found for a time some healthful exercise in pjreparing
the answers to her uncle's questions, and set her reading and

184 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

thinking to good purpose. She had scarcely commenced her
undertaking, when she received the following letter : —

t
I. H. S.

Convent of St. Marie, Maggiore,
2d February, 1850.

" My dear Marie,

" Duties of an important nature have interrupted my
retreat, and compelled my immediate presence in Germany,
where I shall be detained for three weeks, after which I hope to
finish my retreat.

" In consequence of this unfi)reseen event, I cannot see you
until after the Easter services. I believe that it is better you
should be made aware of this now, rather than disappoint you
later.

"I shall be obliged if you will send me your replies to the
questions I sent you. I v^-ish particularly to have them before
again entering on my retreat. Send them to me therefore
between the 16Lb and the 24th instants. I leave it entirely
to your honor to reply to them, without the aid of your friends.
It is the commencement of a series of subjects to which I wish
you to reply from time to time.

" Having so much to say in my last letter in the way of re-
proof, I forgot to mention that it is probable that Mr. and Mrs.
Kenyon will visit Manotte during my absence. I have packed
all the things which belong to you, in order that Mr. and Mrs.
K. may take them with them to London, and thence send them
to you. There are five boxes. The first has been opened, and
is a great wooden box, with iron bands. Inside the lid, nailed
under a piece of leather, you will find the keys of the other
boxes. In the tin box, No. 2, you will find all the principal
articles of value, that is to say, the jewels of your beloved
mother, her watch, and other things. You will also find there
a little tin box, in which there are letters and {)apers requiring

MARIES OCCUPATIONS. 185

mucli care. It is for this reason that I have separated them.
You will find the key of this box in the ink bottle of your desk.
Do not open it while you examine the papers, lest it should
meet with some accident. I do not wish them to be used for
wool winders. I have put in this box a bank note for Mr.

L . I believe that it will be better for you to give him the

papers, for I fear that you cannot be trusted with them, espe-
cially in the state of excitement in which you will be when you
receive them. I have burned a great quantity of letters of
little importance, written by you to your mamma. I have
found one packet of letters that your mamma had tied together
— the correspondence which passed between you during a sor-
rowful period when you were in England : I mean to say the
two months which you passed under our great displeasure. I
thought it better to destroy these, with the exception of the
two last, — the confession and the reconciliation. You know
that I rarely allow myself to be carried away by my feelings ;
but in reading several of her letters written at different periods,
and above all those already mentioned, I was much moved, so
forcibly did they bring to mind the loss which you had sus-
tained in losing such a parent. I fear that this will be not
only a temporal, but also a spiritual loss, involving the loss of
your soul ; for if she had lived, you would never have apos-
tatized from the true faith. How can you think of her, and
be happy ? Few persons have had the happiness to possess
such a mother, for she was truly one of the excellent of the
earth. You knew not her real value, being too young to ap-
preciate the integrity and honor of her character. She had had
much mental suffering, of which you never knew the extent.
It was a painful effort to collect these things, for they recalled
one whom I strive to forget ; and this sorrow was doubled
when I thought of you, and of your sad position. Oh ! think
of your mamma, and then tell me whether you can still re-
main estranged from the true faith.

186 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

" I shall be very glad to receive a letter from you with the
questions. I hope that the remarks I made last time will not
hinder you from writing freely to me. I shall be sorry if that
is the case, for it will defeat the object I have in view of judg-
ing of your character by your letters. My dear child, do all
you can to correct your youthful follies, for strangers will not
bear with so much patience and goodness the thoughtlessness
so strongly indicated in all that you do, as those who have
watched over you with so much interest from your infancy. I
well know how little capable you are of sustaining a severe re-
proof, so for the sake of your own happiness try to destroy this
propensity, which obscures so many noble traits in your char-
acter.

" You will say that I arn always preaching on the same sub-
ject. I can imagine the expression of your countenance when
you hear again the old song, but I know that when the cloud
hcas passed, my dear Marie will appreciate all that I have said.
I hope that I shall not again refer to this subject, except to ex-
press my pleasure in your having entirely corrected it. I shall
know from Mr. L when that is, and then, as an encourage-
ment, I shall present you with £50, with which to buy any-
thing that you please in memory of having conquered so em-
barrassing an enemy. When you have passed three months
without one careless action, and are capable of acting in all
respects with discretion and reflection, then you will receive the
gift ; but it must be steadily carried out in your most impor-
tant duties, and in your daily occupations. Bear in mind the
proverb which you know so well. When you write to me, tell

me how you spend your time, and how Mr. and Mrs. L

behave towards you. I know that they are very good to you,
but have they sufficient interest in all that concerns you, to
point out your faults and counsel you to avoid them ? Tell
me frankly what sort of person Mrs. L is. Give me par-
ticulars, that is to say, as to her dispositions and character. I

Marie's occupations. 187

have seen her, but I cannot judge at sight. Do you feel any
reserve with them, and can you speak to them freely on all
subjects ? I wish particularly to know all your feelings in this
respect, and if there are any difficulties which I can remove.
Above all, tell me if your health is improved. I hope you will
not visit much, for I have a decided objection to your going

into society. Do Mr. and Mrs. L visit a great deal ? I

suppose you were delighted with the escape of the apostate Dr.
Achilli. Your sentiments correspond with his.

" You must not write again after the next letter until you
have had tidings of me. Next Thursday is the anniversary of
poor Earnest's death. It causes me regret when I think that
I neglected him, ray regard being concentrated upon you.

" I leave here at seven o'clock this evening. It is time now
to assist at confession. I left my retreat last evening, though I
am still in the convent. I am, my dear Marie,
" Your aflfectionate relative,

" H. C. Clifford.

" Address to me — Duchess of Bellini's, Palace of Bellini,
near Strasburgh, Germany."

Marie shed tears over some parts of this letter, but as a whole
it afforded her much gratification. As will readily be supposed,
she manifested much girlish pleasure in anticipating the arrival
of her boxes. Her thoughts took a pensive turn when remem-
bering how much there would be to recall her parent to mind,
but the expected arrival of her own property was mingled with
no such associations. She planned many gifts for her friends,
the servants, and the poor. The coins she should sell to pur-
chase a piano for hei'self. Then from her first quarter's pin
money and incidental fund, she proposed buying furniture for
her own little room, to which she longed to return. There was
in it a recess in which she had ascertained that a little iron bed-
stead, long enough for her, would stand, and this would leave

188 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

the area of tlie room vacant to be fitted up as a boudoir. She
proposed buying- a pretty carpet, ati ottoman, and a handsome
chest of drawers and bookcase, also a flower-stand ; and she
Fpoke to the gardener about procuring her some choice flowers.
Slie anticipated many a pleasant hour in the opening spring,
but her friends often doubted whether those bright visions
would ever be realized.

CHAPTER XIII.

MAPvIE'S answers for the general of the JESUITS.

Marie finished answering the questions, and accompanied
them by a lengthened reply to her uncle's letters. AVith the
exception of a few suggestions in the arrangement, and a
few verbal alterations, the answers were her own, and her
friends were not a littte pleased with the way in which she had
accomplished her task. Her letter went into minute detail ou
all the topics of his last, and being very lengthy, is here
omitted.

QUESTION T.

" If the Church of Rome is ?iot the true Church, where was the
true Church before the time of Luther ^^^

In order to answer the first question, it is necessary to ascer-
tain the true meaning of the word ' Church.' There are only
two senses attached to it in the Bible. The one applies to any
congregation or body of Christians meeting in one place ; for
example, the Apostle Paul speaks of ' the Churches of God in
Asia,' ' the Churches in Macedonia,' ' the Churches of Achaia,'

MARIES ANSWERS. l89

' the Churches of Galatia,' ' the Churches of Judea,' ' the
Churches of Ephesus.' In the last chapter of Paal's Epistle to
the Romans the following references are made : — 1 ver. ' Phoebe,
a servant of the Church in Cenchrea ;' 4 ver. ' All the Churches
of the Gentiles salute you ;' 5 ver. * Greet the Church that is in
their house ;' (the house of Aquila and Priscilla) ; 16 ver. ' The
Churches of Christ salute you;' 23 ver. 'Gains, mine host, and
of the whole Church, saluteth you.' In his 1st' Epistle to the
Corinthians, 1 ver. we find it thus addressed : — ' Unto the
Church of God which is at Corinth, to them that are sanctified
in Christ Jesus, called to be saints, with all that in every place
call upon the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, both theirs and
ours.' At the close of this Epistle we again find, ' The Churches
of Asia salute you, Aquila and Priscilla salute you much in
the Lord, with the Church that is in their house.' ' Salute the
brethren which are in Laodicea, and Nymphas, and the Church
which is in his house.' — Col. iv. 15. In the 1st Epistle to the
Thessalonians reference is made to those who became 'follow-
ers of the Churches of God which are in Judea.' In addressing
Philemon he again says, ' And to the Church in thy house.'
The Apostle Peter, in closing his 1st Epistle, v. 14, writes, 'The
Church that is at Babylon, elected together with you, saluteth
you.' The Apostle John, in the Apocalypse, addresses ' the
Churches of Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamos, Thyatira, Sardis, and
Philadelphia.'

The second application of the term Church in the Scriptures
is to the whole body of true believers, gathered out of all
Churches, and forming one cathohc or universal Church in
Christ Jesus, recognizing him as their only head. ' And he is
the head of the body the Church, who is the beginning, the
first-born from the dead, that in all things he (Christ) might
have the pre-eminence.' — Col. i. 18. 'Gave him to be the
head over all things to the Church.' — Eph. i. 22. ' Unto him
be glory in the Church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages,

190 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

world without end.' — Eph. iii. 21. *As Christ also loved the
Church, and gave himself for it. That he might sanctify and
cleanse it with the washing of water by the word. That he
might present it to himself, a glorious Church, not having spot
or wrinkle, or any such thing ; but that it shall be holy and
without blemish.' — Eph. v. 2o, 26, 27.

Let us now proceed to the question itself — ' If the Church of
Rome is not the true Church,' &c.

The Church at Rome, when first formed, was a true Church,
being founded or built upon Christ alone ; but it was not the
only Church, or even the first Church. The first Christian
Church was formed at Jerusalem, and owed its origin chiefly to
the preaching of the Apostle Peter. The Church at Antioch
was formed before that of Rome, and was the first place where
the disciples were called Christians. — Acts xi. 19-26. The
Churches in Asia Minor, Syria, and Greece, if not formed before^
were contemporary ivith the Church at Rome.

It is a remarkable fact, that while in most of the Apostle
Paul's Epistles he addresses the Church at each place by name,
in his Epistle to the Romans no direct reference is made to the
Church at Rome.

Taking the Bible as our only guide, we find nothing to lead
us to suppose that the Apostle Peter ever preached at Rome or
even visited Rome, his mission being chiefly among the Jews.
There is no mention of either Rome or the Romans in his his-
tory or epistles ; being indebted for our chief information con-
cerning the Church at Rome to the visits of the Apostle Paul.
If he visited Rome, as some historians seem to infer, there is no
evidence of his having sustained any official relation to that
Church.

The question again asks, ' Where was the true Church before
the time of Luther V The true Church is composed of all true
believers, from the time of the Apostles down to the present day

After the Church departed from the simple principles of

MARIES ANSWERS. 191

Christianity, and substituted the forms and customs invented by
man in tlieir stead, we find that through all ages of Church
history, however corrupt, there has remained a true Church of
God, preserved from the degenerate mass, thougli concealed hy
their obscure position. It was thus that the band of the Wal-
denses and many others, like those in I^lijah's time, would not
bow the knee to Baal.

From the writings of the most inveterate opponents of the
Waldenses we find the following statements : — Bishop Sylvester
says, ' The sect of the Waldenses is the oldest of any ; some
even trace them up to the Apostolic age.' The Archbishop of
Turin writes thus, ' There must have been great and powerful
reasons why this sect has continued so many centuries ; and
this, notwithstanding all sorts of people armed with the greatest
power, have from time to time labored in vain to extirpate
them, for they have ever invaiiably triumphed contrary to all
human expectations, and have always been found invincible.'
These are the sentiments of their persecutors — the Roman
Catholics.

In the eleventh century, the Albigenses, Leonists, the Picards,
and the Arnoldists are mentioned, as keeping themselves pure
from the erroneous doctrines of the Church of Rome. Tben
the Lollards formed another part of the Christian band or true
Church.

In the twelfth century, the Waldenses drew up a confession
of their faith, which is precisely the same as made by the
Christian Church of the present day, so that in the great funda-
mental truths of the gospel the Church of Christ has ever been
one. The following is a brief summary of the Waldensian con-
fession : —

" I. They acknowledge the Bible as the only rule of faith.

"II. That there was but one Mediator, and that no invoca-
tion ought to be to Mary or the saints.

" III. That purgatory was a fiction.

192 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

" IV. That there are but two sacraments — baptism, and the
Lord's Supper.

" V. That the mass was to be rejected.

" VI. That all religious ordinances of human institution, as
Romish fosts, festivals, monastic orders, pilgrimages, and such
ceremonies, are to be rejected.

" VII. Disavowing the supremacy of the Pope.

" VIII. That the traffic of indulgences and the law of cehbacy
are inadmissible.

" IX. That they who hear the Word of God and do it, are
the Church of God."

Though this faithful band of true believers were severely
persecuted through a period of three centuries, all endeavors to
extirpate them were fruitless; and before the year 1525 the
Waldenses succeeded in* banishing the Romish priesthood from
their valleys, and had the whole Bible translated in the Wal-
densian language, for, prior to this, they had only the New
Testament in their native tongue.

About this time, the year 1521, Luther, the bright star of
the Reformation, emerged from the dark cloud of Popery, after
spending many years of severe mental conflict. He, — ^guided
by the unerring Word of God and the counsels of one of the
secret disciples of Christ, Staupitz, a monk in the monastery of
Erfurth, — became the honored instrument in the hands of God
of rescuing the countries of Britain, Germany, and Switzerland,
from the influence of that corrupted Church — the Church of
Rome ; and caused a purer light to shine upon them — the light
of God's truth, the Gospel.

From these facts it will be observed that the true spiritual
Church was preserved previous to the Reformation, and th©
Church of Rome has no claim to the exclusive title of the truf^
Church.

Marie's answers. 193

QUESTION II.

*' If the true Church had ceased to exist before the time of
Luther, how had it become corrupted prior to its fall ? and how
may this be reconciled with the words of Christ — " the gates of
hell shall not prevail against it P^ (signifying the Church.)

The first clause of this question has been already answered
in the latter part of the first query — ' that the Church of Christ
had not ceased to exist prior to the time of Luther.'

The second part of the question is, ' how had it become
corrupted V

1st. By departing from the true and certain Word of God
and substituting the traditions of men ; as Christ himself said
to the Pharisees, ' Making the Word of God of none efifect
through your traditions.' — Mark vii. 13. And as the Apostle
Paul says, ' Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy
and vain deceits, after the traditions of men and after the rudi-
ments of the world, and not after Christ.' — Col. ii. 8.

2d. Mixing the ceremonies and doctrines of Judaism with
Christianity.

We have a striking proof of this error in the conduct of the
Apostle Peter. ' When Peter was come to Antioch I (Paul)
withstood him to the face, because he was to be blamed. For
before that certain came from James, he did eat with the Gen-
tiles ; but when they (the Jews) were come, he withdrew and
separated himself, fearing them which were of the circumcision.'-—
Gal. ii. 14, 15.

The Church at Rome, when she was freed from persecution,
and had received into her communion one of the heathen
emperors, Constantine, departed still further from the simple
worship of God, and substituted many of the pomps and cere-
monies of Judaism. Crucifixes also became objects of adoration,
relics were sought after and worshipped, as, in the days of

9

194 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

Ahaz, the brazen serpent became the idol of the children of
Israel. The repeated observances of fasts and festivals ; priests
clothed in costly and gaudy vestments ; the sacrifice of the
mass in the place of the sacrificial otfering of the Jews ; the use
of incense, holy water, (fee. So that the primitive simplicity of
Christian worship was gradually lost in the variety of humaq
inventions and ordinances.

These ceremonies became so numerous, that even in the days
of Augustine, about the year 400, we find him thus com-
plaining,— 'that even the Levitical ritual was not so burden-
some as the new ritual of the Christian Church.'

3d. The third cause of corruption was accommodating
Christianity to the idolatrous propensities of the nations. The
general propensity of the world is to idolatry. The Church of
Rome, in departing from the first principles of the Gospel, not
only corrupted the purity of her faith, but substituted rites and
ceremonies to meet the taste of the heathen world. In the
place of their heathen gods, she supplied them with images or
idols of the Virgin and saints. Take as an example the Pan-
theon at Rome, which was dedicated to Jupiter and all the
heathen gods : papal Rome reconsecrated it to the Virgin and
saints : so that it has served the two purposes of pagan and
papal idolatrous worship. In the first, every heathen might
worship his favorite god : in the latter, his patron saint. This
was the case with many other heathen temples : one idol was
exchanged for another. In a letter written by Pope Gregory
to Melitus, he advises him thus : ' I have long been cogitating
upon the matter of the English people, and the result is this :
that the fanes of the idols that are in them ought by no means
to be demolished ; but the idols that are in them ought to be
destroyed ; the temples, meanwhile, sprinkled with holy water,
altars constructed, and relics of the saints deposited. In the
same manner let this be done : as these people have been in
the habit of slaying many cattle in the sacrifices to their

Marie's answers. 195

demons, so far for their sakes ought there to be some solemnity,
the object of it only being changed.'

All such idolatry is in direct opposition to the Word of God,
and has in all ages of the world caused His displeasure. There
are numerous instances of this recorded in the Old Testament.
The following is one selected from many. By the command of
God, ' Hezekiah removed the high places, and brake in pieces
the images and brazen serpent that Moses had made ; for unto
those waj's the children of Israel did burn incense to it.' — 2
Kinors viii. 4. Hezekiah feared God, therefore soui^ht to banish
idolatry from his kingdom.

In the New Testament, idolatry is equally condemned : the
Apostle Paul exhorts all to flee from idolatry, 1 Cor. x. 14, and
to renounce idolaters, 1 Cor. v. 11.

The felling away and declension of the Church was foretold
by the Apostles. ' Let no man deceive you by any means, for
that day shall not come, except there be a falling away first, and
that man of sin be revealed, the son of perdition ; who opposeth
and exalteth himself above all that is called God, or that is
worshipped"; so that he as God sitteth in the temple of God,
showing Himself that he is God. For the mystery of iniquity
doth already work : only he who now letteth will let, until he
be taken out of the way. And then shall that wicked one be
revealed, whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of his
mouth, and shall destroy with the brightness of his coming :
even him, whose coming is after the working of Satan, with all
power and signs and lying wonders.' — 2 Thess. ii. 3 — 9. ' Now
the Spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times some shall
depart from the faith : speaking lies in hypocrisy. Forbidding
to marry, and commanding to abstain from meats, which God
hath created to be received with thanksgiving of them which
believe and know the truth.' — 1 Tim. iv. 1 — 3. These predic-
tions cannot apply to any other part of the Church than the
Church of Rome. In the Apocalypse we have again striking

196 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

prophecies concerning this Church. In the l7th chapter we
find her thus described : as ' a woman sitting upon a colored
beast which had seven heads and ten horns.' The 9th verse
gives as the explanation the seven heads are seven mountains
on which the woman sitteth. The city of Rome is built upon
seven hills, over which the woman (Popery) reigneth. In the
dress of the woman we have the two great colors (scarlet and
purple) of the Church as worn by her prelates.

The Church of Rome is a corrupt and fallen Church, having
left her first love. The people of God are earnestly exhorted
to forsake her: 'Come out of her, my people, that ye be not
partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues.
For her sins have reached unto heaven, and God hath remem-
bered her iniquities.' — Rev. xviii. 4, 5. It is evident that these
predictions likewise can apply to no other Church than the
Church of Rome.

The closing clause of the question is, 'if the Church had
become corrupt, how may it be reconciled with the words of
Christ? — "The gates of hell shall not prevail against it." '
It has been already proved that one portion of the Church had
become corrupt, but not the Church, for that must ever remain
pure. We have strong proofs of the possibility of the falling
away or corruption of any particular Church, in the second and
third chapters of the Apocalypse. The first Church there ad-
dressed, is the one at Ephesus. After commending them for
their labor and patience, he says, ' Nevertheless, I have some-
what against thee, because thou hast left thy first love.' The
Churches of Pergamos, Thyatira, Sardis, and Philadelphia, are
each reproved for their spiritual declension. These passages
from Holy Writ are quite sufficient to prove the possibility of
a Church departing from the first principles of the Gospel, and
consequently becoming a corrupted Church.

The last sentence of the closing question is, ' The gates of
hell shall not prevail against it.' The previous answers are

MARIES ANSWERS. 197

quite enough to prove that the gates, or deliberations of hell,
have never yet prevailed against God's truth.

As soon as the Christian Ciiurch commenced its career, se-
vere persecutions by heathen Rome seriously tried it. The efforts
of Papal Rome seemed for a time to succeed ; but the Church
soon burst forth with greater brightness.

In the ninth century the counsels of hell again seemed to
prevail ; but a small band of true worshippers were found in
the retired valley of Piedmont. Through a period of three
centuries they endured increasing persecution : thousands were
put to death. Did the gates of hell then prevail ? No ; for
in the fifteenth century we again find them a flourishing
Church.

This corroborates the fact that God has in all ages pre-
served his Church. The gates of hell could not be said to
prevail.

It is cheering to learn that while tribulation and destruction
were spreading in every direction, a branch of the true Church
remained, whether amidst the Alps, or elsewhere, serving God
in Spirit and truth, proving the fulfilment of our Saviour's
promise, that ' the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.'
Nor shall they so long as the world exists. And when the
consummation of all things shall come, the Church of Christ
will then be found gathered from every people, nation, tribe,
and tongue, and will form one triumphant Church above, as-
cribing glory to ' Ilim that hath loved them, and washed them
from their sins in his own blood.' ' To Him be glory and do-
minion forever and ever. Amen.'

Marie.

198 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

CHAPTER XIY.

THE MIDNIGHT BELL.

The mental effort required in answering the questions, and
the excitement occasioned by her uncle's letter of February
28th, appeared to be too much for Marie, and another illness
followed. One night in the beginning of March, Elizabeth was
roused from her sleep by the sound of her name ; and the faint
hght from the gas-lamp in the road, showed her Marie standing
by her bedside half covered with blood. In the first moment
of alarm she had rushed up-stairs, and not liking to disturb

Mrs. L , had come up to her sister. Elizabeth covered her

up, led her carefully down, laid her on her bed, and did all that
could be done for her till morning broke, and medical advice
could be obtained. A bell was fixed from the head of her bed
to the rooms up-stairs, so that she might in future give the
alarm on the first symptom of illness. Several times during
the following fortnight, in the dead silence of the night, the
sound of that bell raised the family from their slumbers, and

one or all would hasten to her assistance. " Oh ! Mrs. L ,

I can never stand this," said Marie, faintly, as, on the seventh

occasion of the kind, Mrs. L stood by her side. " It must

be my death before long." In the morning she asked to speak
to Mr. L , and entreated him to write to her uncle imme-
diately, and hasten his coming, or she feared she should not

live to see him. She also requested Mrs. L to lend her

the manuscript of her book, as she wished to make a few cor-
rections while she had sufficient strength remaining ; but Mrs.

L did not think it well to attend to this request. Mr.

L went to her medical attendant to ascertain his opinion,

and was relieved to find that he was far from being: so much

THE MIDNIGHT BELL. 199

alarmed as themselves. He saw no ground for breaking in upon
the uncle's retreat. He said she would soon rally, and be as
well as before ; and so it proved.

At this period, and indeed throughout her illnesses, it may
be truly said, that every means that skill or kindness could sug-
gest was fully tried. A variety of medicine, ice, leeches, <fec.,
were resorted to, as the case required. She was not for some
time allowed to take animal food, but poultry and fish, calves'-
feet jellies, new-laid eggs, and vegetables (cooked according to
her directions in French fashion), were provided for her. Her
friends had great difficulty in inducing her to be sufficiently
careful of herself, or to take her medicines regularly. She was

a perfect child in this respect. Mrs. L had often to stand

by her some minutes, persuading and reasoning, and at last
was obliged either to show or to feign displeasure before she
could be induced to take her medicine. Sometimes she would
say, "I cannot take it just noio : only leave me a httle, and I
promise you to take it presently."

Marie had recovered from her recent attack, and the alarm
of her friends had subsided. Ten days passed over undisturbed,
and again the dreaded midnight bell was heard. Another day,
and the same cause of alarm occurred early in the evening.
The family tried to persuade Marie to keep her bed for a few
days, as the bleeding so invariably recurred after the fatigue
and excitement of the day. But Marie could never be kept in
bed if it was possible to rise. She would get up, and mingle
with the family, and talk more rapidly, and laugh more hearti-
ly than any, and flushed and excited as the day closed in,
they scarcely felt surprised when again summoned to her aid.
When the bleeding had ceased she all but fainted, and was
then slightly delirious. He friends became increasingly anxious,
and resolved on having a consultation respecting her case, feel-
ing that, in the event of a sudden and distressing termination,

200 «THE FEMALE JESUIT.

they should wish to have no cause for self-reproach, or for the
reproaches of her uncle.

Marie strongly objected ; but her objections were overruled,
and the 25th of March was appointed for the consultation.
She seemed much entertained with the anticipation. " Indeed

Mrs. L you must not sit at the foot of my bed," said she,

" or I shall laugh outright. They will tell me to count, and
draw a deep breath, and tap here, and listen there, and give a
rap here ;" and she playfully suited the action to the word.
The doctors came, and with their process of investigation just

realized Marie's Hvely description. She caught Mrs. L 's

eye and laughed. In vain they told her to keep still. She
shrank from every application of the stethoscope to her tender
chest ; and after various unsatisfactory efforts to hear what they
wanted to hear, and to know what they wanted to know, they

retired to another room. Mr. and Mrs. L were called in

to hear the report. " As well as we can ascertain with so fid-
getty a patient, we are happy to state that disease appears to
be in a very incipient stage, and if her strength can be kept up,
there will be no cause for alarm. Had it not been that several
members of her family have died from similar causes, we should
see no ground for apprehension. She may live twenty years,
if no violent cold or strong excitement bring her life to a speed-
ier termination." All unfavorable symptoms gradually disap-
peared after this visit, and sanguine hopes were entertained of
her complete recovery.

Marie expressed some anxiety to obtain her uncle's offered

£50, and requested Mrs. L to keep a journal. This was

done, somewhat to the amusement of all parties ; but its de-
tails are too exclusively domestic for insertion.

There was one bad habit of which frequent intimation occurs
in the journal, and which seemed incurable. The postman's
knock operated like an electric shock ; and let the wind and
weather be what they might, or half-a-dozen other hands ready,

THE MIDNIGHT BELL. 201

neitlier argument nor reproof could prevent her from running
to the door to see if there was a letter from her uncle. The
postponement of his long anticipated visit continually added to
this excited feeling, and her friends ceased to struggle with her
respecting the interdicted practice.

About this time, Dr. Achilli arrived in England. Marie
eagerly entreated permission to be allowed to attend the meet-
ing held to welcome him in Exeter Hall. She was sure that
if she had a fly from door to door, was cloaked up and had her
respirator on, she could get no harm. Her friends could not
consent to her encountering the cold and excitement. She then
exj)ressed an earnest wish to meet him in private. She said
that he must know much of the Jesuits, and would probably

know her uncle. To gratify her, Mr. L went to Dr. Achil-

li's, stated her case, and invited him to dinner. Dr. Achilli
cheerfully agreed, and a day was to be fixed as soon as Marie
was considered equal to the interview. But fresh symptoms of
oppression on the chest postponed the meeting, and the time
never came.

One day it transpired that Marie had posted a newspaper for
her uncle, directed to him at Rome. She persuaded Elizabeth
to write the direction for her. It was a copy of the " Christian
Times,''^ containing a full account of Dr. Achilli's meeting, and

of his previous imprisonment. Mr. and Mrs. L took Marie

to task for so inconsiderate an act. Her apostscy having al-
ready brought suspicion on her uncle, the receipt of such a
newspaper was as likely a step as she could take to compromise
his character in the estimation of his Order. Marie only
laughed, and could not be brought to take any serious view of
the matter.

9*

202 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

CHAPTER XY.

THE UNCLE KNOWS ALL.

Early in March Marie received the following letter, which
agitated her extremely. Having caught sight of its drift, she
exclaimed, "Oh! my uncle knows all," and hastily left the
room. It was long before she returned, and then tearful,

flushed and agitated, she put the letter into Mrs. L 's

hands. She wept much for days, refused to eat, and said she
could not sleep.

(translation.)

" Gand, February 28th, 1850.

I.H.S.

" My dear Marie,

" If a severe illness had not prevented me from quit-
ting Bellini, at the appointed time I should unfortunately have
missed your letter, which did not reach till two days after date.

" I have been suffering from quinsy with a slight attack of
inflammation, the consequence of a cold which I caught in trav-
eUing. I kept my bed in Bellini for ten days. My doctors
feared lest it should turn to bronchitis. I hope it will soon pass
offj for I have no more time to spare for taking care of myself,
— it makes so great a breach in my arduous duties.

"I was very well satisfied with the care and propriety of
your last packet. I shall not now make any farther observa-
tion on your replies than to commend you for the trouble which
you have taken to please me. Though the sentiments were
erroneous, the care and thoughtful ness were the same.

THE UNCLE KNOWS ALL. 203

"The news of your indisposition gave me real sorrow. I am
very uneasy about you. If money could save you, I am sure
you know me well enough to believe that there is nothing I
would not do to prolong your life.

" You have not yet received your boxes. Captain Kenyon
wrote to me to say that they should wait a few days until a
certain event relating to their eldest daughter had taken place,
after which they would immediately leave Welby for Manotte.
They will only remain there three weeks, so you will receive
your boxes before I see you. I mentioned in my last letter
tliat I had sent you money in your desk. You are also sure to
find some Bank notes in your mamma's desk.

" There is one part of your letter which has occasioned me
much solicitude. You say that you are becoming reserved.
I had already discovered, though I have not hked to tell you
of it, that you are not so frank with me as formerly. I have
been much pained at your concealment of your recent error.
I know to what extent you were culpable, and also to what
extent you were injured. I am more inclined to pity than to
blame you. I well know your thoughtless and ardent temper-
ament, and can therefore enter into your feelings, and the
temptations of a false world from which you have hitherto
been preserved.

" I must tell you, my dear Marie, that the late affair has
greatly distressed me. I feel so grieved that you should have
again fallen into the sin which caused your mamma and my-
self so much sorrow some years since. It is not your natural
disposition, for there have been but two periods in your life
in which you have fallen into this lamentable fault. At other
times you have been as remarkable for the contrary. I be-
lieved that you would not again have fallen into this snare, and
I hope sincerely that the painful remembrance of the past will
prevent your again yielding to so sad a temptation. I shrink
from wounding your feehngs, but if I did not love you, I would

204 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

not give myself the trouble of warning and counselling you.
I have often wished to mention this circumstance to you, but
I could find no occasion for doing so, until, in your last letter,
your remarks made me think that there was something which
you wished to tell me, but were hindered by reserve, and I
then determined to speak to you faithfully. I feared that in
consequence of your timidity you had ceased to confess frankly
when you had done wrong. This has induced me to say so
much upon this point to Mrs. L . I knew all that had oc-
curred, and as you did not unfold the matter to me, I appre-
hended that you had become reserved. You say that you love

Mr. and Mrs. L . Why then can you not open your mind

to them ? If their love is sincere, I am sure they will not think
the less of you, but will rather return your confidence with in-
creased affection. I well know that unless your love for a per-
son be very great, you cannot give your confidence ; but I
think that from what I hear that your affection is mutual, and
yet you say you are reserved with them ? I cannot understand
it. Try by all means to conquer it, for unless you do so, I
foresee incalculable evil to your naturally frank disposition. Is
not pride at the root of this feeling ? I propose to speak with
you at length upon past circumstances. I have much to say
to Mr. L .

" Your exact description of the character of Mrs. L has

pleased me much. One thing especially has given me pleas-
ure ; it is that she is firm and decided. Your easy disposition
requires firmness. I do not like her the less for not retracting
what she has once enjoined. The hymn is very good and very
pretty. There is nothing in it to reprehend.

" Your anxiety to know the secret of my communications

with Mr. L has a little amused me. As ' suspense is

really worse than reality,' I leave to Mr. L 's discretion the

care of enlightening you upon the mysterious affair. If Mr.
L thinks it well to tell you, his decision will be mine.

THE UNCLE KNOWS ALL. 205

" I am thankful that Mrs. L endeavors to convince you

of the importance of moving about gently. I suppose she oc-
casionally trembles for the safety of her doors, chairs, tables,
&c., when these articles find themselves under your gentle
touch.

" I hope that you apply yourself to your studies. Wh'
progress are you making towards the promised reward ?
you more advanced than you were yesterday ? I shall not put
up with childish excuses.

" I hope to be with you by the iVth of April. Before that

time Mr. L will hear from me. If the Kenyons should

invite you during ray stay in London, I wish you to refuse the
invitation, but do not say that it is at my desire.

" I do not wish that your first introduction into your family

should be as an object of curiosity. I know that A C

much wishes to see you, but I cannot bear the idea of your

being distressed by the sight of any one of the C 's. I

would rather wait for more favorable circumstances, which will
probably restore to you the favor and attention of your rela-
tions.

" I must now conclude, for I have other letters to write,
which must all be closed in another despatch for England by
this evening's courier. I leave here to-morrow.

" Present my compliments to Mr. and Mrs. L , and

accept the most ardent wishes for your happiness, of

" Your attached and faithful friend, ^

" H. C. Clifford."

After the permission here given, Marie was gradually ac-
quainted with her prospects, and to the relief of her anxious
friends, she manifested far less elation and excitement than they
had anticipated. The expectation did not seem to lay hold of
her half so much as had the immediate provision proposed by
her uncle. His last letter, and the reproach still resting on her

206 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

character, seemed to occupy her thoughts, ahnost to the exchi-
sion of any other subject.

The other letter, which came by the same post, was to
Mrs. L .

(translation.)

t

I. H. S.

"Gand, Feb. 28th, 1850.

" Madam,

" After your goodness in sending me particulars re-
specting my dear niece Marie, I feel that it is needless to apolo-
gize for the liberty that I take in writing to you.

"The deep interest that I take in Marie's temporal and
spiritual welfare, induces me to make some remarks, and also
to give you some advice as to the manner of guiding and rightly
directing her character. There was in Marie's last letter a re-
mark which caused me much uneasiness. She said that she was
becoming reserved, and that she could not frankly express what
she wished particularly to tell you. She frankly avows that it is
her fault. There is in Marie a degree of timidity, and a disposition
which requires much encouragement. She is extremely sensi-
tive, and a look of approbation or of displeasure on the part of
those whom she loves, is sufficient to render her happy or mis-
erable. She is very firm and faithful in her attachments. Few
persons love so ardently as she does. I have seen and known
many young persons who were much attached to their relations,
but I never met with one whose love surpassed that of Marie.
She watches every look, and the consciousness of having dis-
pleased her mother was more than she could bear. That alone
was generally a sufficient punishment.

" I mention this solely to show you how great the influence
which may be acquired over Marie ; and I am well convinced
that there is no one so competent to exercise it as yourselC

Marie's poetry and essay. 207

From what she says to me, she appears to pay much attention
to what you do or say. For this reason I wish you to en-
deavor to gain her entire confidence, in order that the great evil
of reserve may be avoided. In the first place, never shrink from
the necessity of pointing out to her faithfully what has been un-
satisfactory; seek for a frank explanation when she has done
wrong, and always mention your reasons for every cause of dis-
pleasure. Sympathy is the great key to gain her heart and
confidence. I have always regarded her as a grateful and
generous girl. Selfishness finds no place in Marie. She is, it
is true, childish in many things." * * #

# * * # # #

Marie tore up the other sheet of this letter to light a candle.

CHAPTER XYI.
makie's poetry and essay.

It has already been intimated that Marie had some taste for
poetry, and her verses, though not of the highest order, were
easy and pleasing. She wrote fluently and frequently. A few
specimens written about this time may suffice.

TO LILLY ON HER BIRTH-DAY.

March 10, 1850.

I've seen two lovely roses grow,

United on one stem,
And summer's heat, and winter's snow,

Were shared alike by them ;
To full maturity they'd grown.
And flourished on that bough alone.

208 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

Seasons have passed ; at length I've seen

A tender bud appear ;
But oh ! so fragile it has been,

That while with anxious care
I've tended it, I've feared each day
Lest all its beauty should decay.

How often then with lively joy,
My treasured tree I viewed,

The pair have seemed to fancy's eye
With human powers endued.

Bending with kind parental care.

O'er the young bud they hoped to rear.

Would you my simple song improve ;

Reflect, dear child, how you.
By tender parents' watchful care.

Are kindly cherished too !
From infancy's first feeble breath
They've shielded you, and will till death.

And they have offered fervent prayer
That, through a Saviour's blood.

Their child the early marks may bear
Of one belov'd of God ;

And theybe favored to behold

Their child a lamb of Jesus' fold.

But verse can ne'er the love express
With which their bosoms glow.

The full deep stream of tenderness,
Increasing in its flow ;

Their many kind parental cares

For you, dear " child of many prayers."

Marie's poetry and essay. 209

Oh ! make their inmost souls rejoice,

Yield to your parents' God
Yourself, a " living sacrifice"

Through the atoning blood ;
May you, my darling, live and grow,
A cedar in the church below ;
Then, filled with peace, and joy, and love,
Reio-n jxlorious in the church above.

Marie.

LINES TO ELIZABETH.

Why should a giddy world pursue.

With such intense desire,
Joys which no sooner meet the view

Than quickly they expire ?
And why so fondly, closely cling

To earth-born friends and ties ?
The dearest may conceal a sting,

Td wound the sweetest joys.

When Spring o'er fjiir Creation's face

Her budding beauties poured,
I joyed ; and when Sol's warmer rays

Those beauties had matured.
Still more I joyed ; but soon the cold

Autumnal blast swept by :
Stern Winter followed, and behold

Scenes desolate and dry.

And thus it is with all below.
Where'er our footsteps range ;

For scenes of happiness and woe
Alike are stamped with change

210 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

E'en friends, aye bosom friends, with whom
Our hearts were closely joined.

Too often in the soul's deep gloom,
Prove faithless and unkind.

Yet were it not so, were each heart

Sincere and free from guile.
And were we, my belov'd one, blest

With friendship's faithful smile ;
Yet death, whom none can long withstand,

Will snap the closest ties ;
And snatch, with unrelentins: hand.

Earth's treasures from our eyes.

Then since all worldly joys decay,

And fairest scenes are changed,
And dearest friends are snatched away

By death, or grown estranged :
Let us, my dear one, fix our eyes

On more substantial bliss,
Nor trust to aught beneath the skies,

For happiness and peace.

Marie.

THE STAGES OF LIFE.

I've looked on infency, pure and bright,
When clad in its robe of simple white.
And I've loved to look on the brow so fair,
For fancy could trace gay visions there.
Visions though fleeting, perchance, and vain,
Yet bearing along in their joyous train

Much that was lovely.

MARIES POETRY AND ESSAY. 211

I've looked on childhood's laughing face,
Aud marked with delight each dimpled grace,
The sparkling eye, the prattling tongue
Just lisping forth its imperfect song ;
The winning love ; the endearing smile ;
I've marked them all, and have felt the while
Much of true pleasure.

I've marked the child when swift-winged Time,
Had borne him along to the youthful prime;
And have marvelled much to behold the face.
So pure in its inftmt loveliness.
Oft wearing the trace of sadness now.
While frowns o'ershadow the once calm brow,
Marks of humanity.

I've watched him still as his course he ran.
And have seen him rise to a perfect man.
And his brow was more wrinkled, for time and care
Had planted many a furrow there.
And his voice had lost its joyous tone.
He had sought but the world, and that alone
Now was his portion.

I've marked in another how infancy's grace,
And childhood with mirth's expressive face,
And youth with its feelings fresh and warm
Have passed into manhood ; but yet a calm,
Purer and holier still than that
Which once on the brow of the infant sat.
On him hath rested.

'Twas not that his life had less of woe
Than falls to the lot of man below ;

212 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

'Twas not that affliction within his heart,
Had thrust less keenly her barbed dart ;
'Twas not that to him the weight of years,
Brought no addition of toils and cares,

That he was peaceful.

Oh no ! but his heart, by grace divine,
Was daily laid on Jehovah's shrine ;
And though sharply and sorely affliction's dart
Pierced once and again his bleeding heart,
He knew 'twas God, and his soul was calm.
While the hand that smote applied the balm,
Sweet balm of heahng.

And I've thought when the contrast I've surveyed,
(As suDshine is bright compared with shade,)
How bright are the characters divine
On the features of the saint which shine.
Compared with the many and anxious cares,
Which the wrinkled brow of the worldling wears,
Speaking of anguish.

I love pure infancy's artless glee,
I love young childhood blithe and free,
I love the vigorous fire of youth,
I love bold manhood with brow of truth,
I love old age as with stealthy pace
He steals along to his resting place ;
But the settled peace and the calm repose.
Which should sweeten life as it nears its close,
)well3 not on the brow disturbed by care.
Those only the sweet expression wear

Who rest in Jesus. Marie.

.arie thought she would write some essays for uncle's in-

Marie's poetry and essay. 213

spection on bis arrival, and that through them she would
make him better acquainted with her views. The following
unfinished attempt has been found among her papers. She
was diligently collecting the evidence from the New Testa-
ment on the subject here chosen, and in particular the frequent
and open appeals of Christ and His Apostles to the testimony
of Scripture, when illness again compelled her to discontinue
her studies.

(UNFINISHED) ESSAY

On the Reasons for concluding that God intended all Men to
search and read the Bible.

The Churcb of Rome uses as a plea for withholding the
Bible from the great mass of her adherents, that God only in-
tended it for his prophets, apostles, and their successors in the
ministry of Christ. It is the purpose of this essay to prove
from the Word of God that He not only intended, but com-
mands all men to read for themselves that book which is alone
able to make them wise unto salvation.

The adaptation of the Scriptures to the most unlearned and
humble capacity of man, as well as to the intellect of the wise
and profound theologian, is in itself a proof of this. Each
alike may read and understand the gracious truths they pro-
claim ; and while they both read of that love that brought the
Son of God from his throne to take upon himself our nature,
and at last to give his life a ransom for us, they can each with
the Psalmist exclaim — ' How sweet are thy words unto my
taste ; yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth.' Even the little
child is not forgotten : while the greatest philosopher can gain
knowledge from the Bible, it equally entertains and arouses the
sympathy of the little child. If God had not purposed that
all men should search the Scriptures, would he thus have pro-
vided for the spiritual wants of all his creatures ? If he in-

214 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

tended them only for the learned and great of the earth, the
difficulty arises, How is it to be ascertained who are sufficiently
learned to read and understand the Word of God ?

The second proof is, that the Scriptures themselves enforce
the duty, and also show the benefit resulting from the search.
Moses, in speaking to the children of Israel, commanded them
as follows : — ' And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy
children, and shalt talk of them when thou walkest by the
way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up ; and
thou shalt write them upon the posts of thy house and on thy
gates.' — Deut. vi. 7, 8, 9. This command was not restricted to
the tribe of Levi, through whom the priesthood descended.
The whole house of Israel were not only to read the laws of
God, but were commanded to teach their children diligently.
And this must not suffice ; they must also give all possible
publicity to the Word of God. We are told in 2 Chronicles
xxxiv. 29, 30, 31, that the young 'king Josiah gathered to-
gether all the elders of Judah and Jerusalem, and the king
went up into the house of the Lord, and all the men of Judah
and the inhabitants of Jerusalem, and the priests and the
Levites, and all the great and small, and he read in their ears
all the words of the book of the covenant that was found ia
the house of the Lord.' Here the learned and the unlearned,
the rich and the poor, the young and the old, were alike sum-
moned to hear the WoTd of God. We read of no distinctions.
Even the inspired writer prepared his heart to seek the law of
the Lord, and to do and to teach in Israel statutes and judg-
ments.— Ezra vii. 10. In the book of Nehemiah we find that
the people gathered themselves together, and desired him to
bring them the book of the law of Moses. 'And Ezra tlie
priest brought the law before the congregation both of men and
women, and all that could hear with understanding, upon the
first day of the seventh month, and he read therein.' * *

* ** * * :Nr * * #

DELAYS IN UNCLES ARRIVAL. 215

CHAPTER XYII.

The genial weather with which the month of April opene(i
allowed Marie again to venture out of doors. Iler rapture was
great when, for the first time after her winter's imprisonment,
muffled up, and protected by her respirator, she was permitted
one sunny morning to pace round the little garden plot in front
of the house. She was soon fatigued, and glad to come in and
rest. In another day or two she was able to take a short walk
along the Terrace, and gradually to extend it to the immediate
neighborhood. She leaned heavily on the arm of her friends,
who took it in turn to guide her feeble steps. She was allowed
to vacate the back parlor, and again to have a room up stairs.

Finding a walk of any length attended with much fatigue,

Marie asked Mr. L occasionally to hire a conveyance for

her, and she took several rides. She was well assured that her
uncle would consider this a very legitimate appropriation of a
part of her "incidental" balance. On one occasion she re-
quested Mr. and Mrs. L and Elizabeth to accompany her

to Hampstead, and ordering the driver to stop on the brow of
the hill, she alighted, and took them by a retired and circuitous
path, till they stood in front of the little Catholic chapel, and
thence to the convent where she had been nursed after illness.
Nothing could exceed her exhilaration of spirits as she again
caught sight of her former abode, and rejoiced in her present
liberty.

In April Mr. L had occasion to visit Staffordshire.

Marie requested him to make inquiries about the place where,
from her recollections of what her aunt had said, she imagined
her property to be. He looked in^ all the guide-books and

216 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

county maps for the house and village she nacaed, and raade
many unsuccessful inquiries. At length, falling in with a party
of travellers at an hotel at Burslem, he met with one who

knew the village of T . " There is a servant here," said

his informant, " who hved at the house, and can tell you all

about it." Mr. L saw the maid, and from her obtained

full corroboration of all Marie's impressions, as well as addi-
tional particulars, though, from consideration for Marie's uncle,
he did not feel warranted in pursuing the inquiry farther by
going to the place.

About this time the following letters came from Mr. Clif-
ford :—

(translation.)

t

I. H. S.

"Nice, March 23d, 1850.

"My dear Marie,

" You will be surprised to find that I am here instead
of resuming my retreat. On account of the state of my health,
the air of Nice was prescribed for me by my physicians. The
General wrote that he desired I should repair hither directly
for some weeks' recreation ; and I do not therefore propose to
complete my retreat until the autumn.

" After I had fixed the time to see you, in order to settle your

pecuniary aflTairs, I found I had neglected to consult Mr. L

as to whether it would suit him to see me at that time. I have
written to him in order to obtain a reply before quitting this
place. I have thought much of you during the last few days.
Having no particular occupation to engage my thoughts, they
have naturally turned to you. The events of the past year ap-
pear to me like a dream. I can scarcely believe in the reality
of what has transpired. The subject of my last letter often
sorrowfully presents itself to my mind. Yes, I sometimes even
weep when thinking how the sad results of absence from the

Delays in uncle's arrival. 217

confessional have manifested themselves in your case. This cir-
cumstance has caused me much anxiety, and though I sympa-
thize with you, I should not prove ray love by passing hghtly
over this atfair. It is too grave, too serious to be trifled with.
I wish you to feel the disgrace and the punishment you have
brought upon yourself. I have therefore resolved, though it

will deprive me of much pleasure, that if Mr. L cannot

answer ray questions satisfactorily, I will only see you once for

some months, and Mr. L and I can meet elsewhere. I

know that this will give you pain. It is severe, and I wish it
to be so ; but it is my great affection which, after much consid-
eration, induces me to act thus. As I was walking to-day, I
considered how I could sufficiently impress upon Marie her error
and my disapprobation ; and this mode of treatment seemed to
me likely to have the most salutary influence. I do not for an
instant wish you to think that my regard is diminished. It is
rather increased, for your fault makes me more anxious. When
you write, tell rae frankly the feelings and conduct of Mr. and

Mrs. L with regard to this occurrence. I have special

reasons for asking this, especially with regard to Mrs. L .

I am very glad to have had the opportunity of mentioning this
before seeing you in person, both to relieve my own mind, and
to enable us to understand one another when we meet. I hope
that you will seriously ponder over the past and the future.
Be always on your guard, lest you should again fall into the
same snare. Above all things avoid the gossip of the world.
Let charity govern your conversation. Never speak maliciously
of the faults of others. I think you would be in danger of
giving way to this temptation : I mean that of animadverting
on the conduct of those who surround you. I believe that your
dear mamma sometimes reproved you for this faihng, for you
know that calumny is a sin against which Catholics are very
much on their guard.

"I much fear that your answers will appear with rephes
10

218 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

in the Tablet. I wrote yesterday to the General to oppose it
strongly, and I believe that I shall succeed. I tell you that
you may be prepared if you should hear of it. I had not the
least idea of such a thing, so do not blame me, fur I am en-
tirely innocent. No name will be mentioned, and this may
perhaps reconcile you to it. When you write, pay the postage,
and direct the letter to the post-office. Write frankly and
fully.

"Tell me about your health. Is it better or worse ? I wish
you were here. The weather is splendid, and the town is full
of visitors. , So many English families are here. What will
you say when you hear that I dined last Saturday with a dig-
nitary of the Anglican Church. We met for the first time in
an excursion on the water. We held many arguments. He
is opposed to the high-church party, so you may imagine that
we differed widely in our opinions. He is perfectly v.'ell-bred,
and I enjoy his society, and that of his family. He has five
daughters. I felt inclined to speak to them of you, but thought
it better to be silent.

" With my love and most earnest prayers for your happiness,
I am,

" Yours very affectionately,

" H. C. Clifford."

(translation.)

t

I. H. S.

"Nice, March 23d, 1850.
" My dear Sir,

"I feel that it is necessary to apologize for not having
asked, if the time fixed for my visit was convenient to you. I
am glad that the alteration in my own plans allows me to ar-
range according to your time and convenience.

" I shall now be free until the end of the month of June. I

219

can, if that is more agreeable to you, see you at any time that
you may fix after the 16th of April. I should myself prefer
remaining here a little longer on account of my healtli, the
climate and the season being favorable to me, and I think that
it will do me a great deal of good. Marie will not want money,
as I have sent £50, and £25 in the desk. I leave it to Mrs.

L 's discretion to supply her.

" Have the goodness to write to me as soon as possible how
you wish the deeds to be prepared. I shall reflect upon the
matter, and then you can perhaps, with my consent, employ
your own solicitor to prepare them. For special reasons, I do
not wish to engage the family solicitor. I propose to give Marie
without any restriction, a sum sufficient to realize an annual in-
come of £200. I shall be obliged if you will take the trouble
to ascertain clearly the amount that will be required. Captain
Kenyon says £3500. All that I shall be permitted to do will
be to give the money. I cannot in any way act legally, and
must therefore request you, on Marie's account, to take upon
you that part of the concern which relates to her affairs. When
I come I may possibly have to employ a good deal of your
time, for it will require several days finally to arrange all. I
have not had any farther correspondence respecting the affair
in Staffordshire, for the old lady will probably not live long ; so
I should prefer that Marie were free from all obligations until
she received her ow^n right. I rejoice that poor Marie is shel-
tered ; for several members of our family have wronged the
orphans of my dear sister ; but my greatest joy will be, in spite
of all. to see the only and beloved child of a dear sister raised
above all their disdain and negligence. I only want an increase

of wealth, to present her with a dignity worthy of the C s.

They cannot then, in point of etiquette, do otherwise than re-
ceive her with suitable respect. I hope that Marie will not
widen the breach by imprudent acquaintances. She must be
very prudent in these matters. If Ernest, the brother of Marie,

220 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

had lived, he would have had the entire property ; and now
if the actual heir die without issue, and Marie married and had
a son, he would be the heir. I intend to procure all the deeds
when I come to London, in order that we may examine them
together. You will perhaps be a little surprised that I, a Cath-
olic, should be so confidential with you ; but you will be more
surprised when I tell you, I am grateful that Marie, having been
guilty of so inconsiderate an act as her apostasy, has fallen in
with a family so kind and so prudent as your own. She might
have connected herself with persons who would have taken no
interest in her health or spiritual welfare. From what I know
of Marie's dispositions, I cannot hope that, without a great
change indeed, she will ever change her habits, and therefore
think it well worth while to preserve her from the evils to which
a situation would expose her.

"It consoles me to know that she is so well protected, and
with persons who love her; for I am certain that she loves you
all ardently, and I believe that you have great influence over
her. I am amused with some expressions in her last letters,

particularly those which relate to Mrs. L . She seems to

have acquired much power over her. I have laughed heartily

in reading that you were very indulgent, and Mrs. L strict,

but equally kind. Marie easily discovers when persons give way
to her ; but the more firm they are, the more she esteems them.
I hope that she attends to her duties, and tries to be more
thoughtful.

" When you write to me, I shall regard it as a favor, if Mrs.
L or you will frankly tell me your opinion of the circum-
stances which occurred at Mrs. S 's. I wish, above all, to

know how Marie was betrayed into them, and whether she has
expressed penitence ; also what you think of the plan I have
proposed in the letter to Marie. I can realize her peculiar
temptations with a sympathy which none but myself can feel.
1 shall be at the same time the last person to treat the aflPair

DELAYS IN uncle's ARRIVAL. 221

leniently. I have never excused her when she has done wrong.
I love her too well for that. She feels my displeasure so
heavily, that I think this would have a good effect upon her.
If we decide to follow out this plan, we can meet in tSH^r at
the apartments of Ca{)tain Kenyon, which are not far from your
residence, being near the Park. I particularly wish to know all
that relates to her health, and her conduct, and also whether
you wish me to say anything to her with regard to it. I
entreat you to be frank with me ; for the next year or two will
be of great importance to Marie, either for good or for evil. I
am desirous that she should be all that is excellent, and an
ornament to her sex. There is much to admire in her, and also
much to regret ; and I am certain that, if well guided and
restrained in her follies, she will eventually become all that we
could wish. You cannot be too firm, for she is very thought-
less and inconsiderate in many things. I believe that Marie is
too prone to place herself on a level with her inferiors and with
servants. Though she has been brought up to -conduct herself
towards them with suitable consideration and kindness, she is
apt to depart from the dignity so essential to gain their respect.
This very freedom will convi*ice you that she does not like any-
thing haughty or overbearing. I have mentioned this in order
that you may guard her against it.

" Oblige me with a confidential reply to this letter, clearly
stating how you wish the money to be invested, as well as the
legal form of investment. I can then give you my reply. If I
approve it, the documents can be prepared immediately, and
some time may thus be spared ; or, if you wmsIi it, they can be
left till my visit. Fix the time most suitable for your own
arrangements. If April will not suit, I should, on account of
my delicate health, prefer remaining here this entire month, if
that agree with your arrangements. I leave it entirely to you.

As Mrs. L sent me so complete and so judicious a report

before, I hope that she will pardon the liberty I take in request-

222 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

in<>- another. This will give me occasion to speak to Marie -
res})Octing every part of her character which requires correction.
*' With respectful compliments to Mrs. L and to your-
self, I am,

" Faithfully yours,

" H. C. Clifford.

" P. S. — Have you spoken to Marie of the affair in Stafford-
shire ?"

Here was another proposed delay in the long talked of visit.

Mr. and Mrs. L were almost as sorry for the postponement

as Marie, but it seemed ujireasonable and unkind to urge Mr.

Clifford to leave immediately. Mr. L therefore suggested

the second or third week in May.

The replies of Mr. L and Marie to the foregoing letters

have not been preserved. Mr. L 's was a short note only,

as, by his desire, Mrs. L sent a fuller reply, which was

enclosed in his own. Her letter was as follows : —

"C Terrace, April, 1850

" Sir,

" It will give me much pleasure in any way to diminish
your anxieties with respect to Marie, though there are many
things which might be answered in a personal interview which
cannot be so well committed to })aper.

"The circumstances which occurred prior to her leaving
caused us, as you may su})pose, equal surprise and regret. We
felt, however, that many extenuations might be offered. She
appeared overwhelmed with sorrow, and after a week or more
of reflection on her part, and admonition on ours, we indulged
the hope that she was in the state of mind which we could
desire. It was at this juncture that I wrote to you, and having
advised Marie to communicate fully with you on your then
expected visit, I did not think it necessary to refer to so painful

DELAYS IN uncle's ARRIVAL. 223

a subject. Subsequently to this, however, other circumstances
transpired which led us to doubt the genuine character of her
repentance, and raised for a time a barrier between us which
was painfully felt by us both, and to which she doubtless
referred in her letter to you. The absence of the restraints of
her former position, and subsequently of the friendly watchful-
ness exercised by ourselves, would account for much of what has
been so painful ; and not having her mind fully possessed with
that holy fear of offending God, that hatred of all which he
hates, and that ever present sense of His observing eye, which
pioiis Protestants are accustomed to cultivate as the best safe-
guards against sin, she was left for a time to err without re-
straint. Both Mr. L and myself earnestly sought to bring

her to a perception of the evil of sin as committed against God,
and entreated her to make full confession to Him^ and to seek
Ilis forgiveness. Pier chief regret in the first instance seemed
to be that she had grieved us ; but this was very far from
satisfying us, and we trust that a deeper and more enlivening
principle than that of affectionate regret has taken its place.
Her mental sufferings have evidently been great, and we
attributed her recent illness in a considerable degree to them.
She seems now to have rallied, and to be again more herself
and more tranquilly cheerful than since her return to us. And
here allow me to thank you for the kind suggestions contained
in your letter to myself. They fully accord with my own views
of her character, though my impressions of the evil of the error
into which she had fallen, may possibly have made me too
stern in dealing with it. I am very sure that it proceeded from
anxious desire for her best welfare, and that no one but yourself
takes so deep an interest in her as I do. So singular were the
steps by which she was led to us, and so peculiarly did she
seem to be entrusted to us by Divine Providence, that we have
felt her almost as much our own as if she had been given to us
in infancy, and the tie which binds her to us as second only to

224 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

that of our own children. Her own affectionate and grateful
disposition has bound her still more closely to us, and far, very-
far, would it be from my thoughts ever to be unkind to her, or
to be so harsh with her faults as to repel her confidence. I
trust that all cause for anything like severity has passed, and I
may here add that we should be greatly concerned were you to
carry out your idea of seeing her only once. The painful excite-
ment so severe a decision would occasion might be dangerous
to her health, nor do we think that it could answer any good
end in regard to her character. It would restrain those fi'ee
communications on her part which are so desirable, and tend to
diminish your salutary influence over her."

After entering into details respecting her health, education,
&c., the repetition of which is unnecessary, the letter con-
cludes : —

" I think I have gone through all the points which come
within my department, and assuring you of the intense desirt
I feel to see her attain to all excellence and happiness,
" I am, sir,

"Yours with much respect,

" J. L ."

CHAPTEE XYIII.

NEW TKAITS OF CHAKACTER.

The proposed arrangement of her affairs naturally engaged
much of Marie's attention, and the forethought and acuteness
which she displayed, would have done no discredit to one in
training for the legal profession. Tiiere was one stipulation in

NEW TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 225

her uncle's letters to which she strongly objected, namely, the
power Captain Kenyon was to have of choosing another trustee,

in the event of 'Mr. L 's death. She wished that riijfht to

be vested in herself, lest Captain Kenyon should choose one
who might give her annoyance. She wished also to have more
absolute control over the money. She wished when she came
into possession of her estate, to be able to appropriate the £4000
to an object she had at heart. It transpired that this summit of
her ambition was to build a chapel of her own, as a memorial

of her deliverance from Popery. Mr. L should preach in

it, she said. It should be built in some neighborhood, of his
selection, and his favorite idea should be carried out of having
the greater part free. Her friends smiled at her fancy ; but

Mr. L reminded her that it would be departing from every

principle of honor and uprightness, to employ money which
her uncle had appropriated to her individual comfort, in diffus-
ing sentiments directly opposed to the views which he consci-
entiously held.

Marie suggested one difficulty in reference to the completion
of the trust deed, namely, that her uncle, as a Jesuit, was dis-
qualified for transacting any legal business, and would not be

allowed to add his signature. At her request, Mr. L went

to his solicitor for advice on this point, and was advised that
Marie could herself sign the money over to the trustees. She
laughed heartily, asking what was to prevent her taking sole
possession at the time, instead of transferring it to others ; but

Mr. L told her that it would probably be lodged at a

banker's, in her uncle's name, till she had actually signed the
transfer. In speaking of her uncle, she said she had but one
impeachment to bring against the uprightness of his conduct,
and that was his having kept her in ignorance of her prospects.
Her supposed destitution had induced her to yield to his wish
for her to be a nun ; and she would forever have regretted it,
when acquainted with whnt might have been hers.

10*

226 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

There was a measure of restlessness about Marie which often
distressed her fi-iends, and sadly interfered with the comfort of
the household. By her account there was always something
wrong either with the children, or sisters, or servants. One

Sunday evening she wrote a long letter to Mrs. L , too long

indeed for insertion, to prove that Lilly had on one occasion
three months before, been guilty oT equivocation. " Owing to
my own failing," she wrote, " I do feel the more keenly for
Lilly. I love her so well that 1 tremble at the bare idea that
she should suffer as I have done. If I have sinned, do not
think me the less anxious on her account. No; if possible, I
feel more alive to her danger." She went on to request that
the matter might be thoroughly investigated, that the servants
might be questioned, and that she might be present. Mrs.

L found this letter on her table one Sunday evening, when

retiring to rest, and did not see Marie till the next day. She
then spoke to her in reply — " Marie, you tell me that your
uncle disapproves of writing letters in the house, and in this
case it was quite unnecessary. I cannot yield to your wish in
this matter. It is three months back, and I doubt whether
either the servants or ourselves can remember all the particu-
lars of so trifling an occurrence. It was to me that Lilly spoke,
and my conviction is that she said nothing but the truth.
Were it otherwise, I should not punish a child of her age for
what happened three months ago. Should it happen again, and
you tell me at the time, I promise you it shall not be passed
over. No one could regard any departure from truth more
seriously than I." Marie was anything but pleased with this
reply, and intimated as much. " I do wish, Marie," said Mrs.
L , " that you could let things go on more quietly, espe-
cially on Sunday, when, of all times, we desire to be in peace.
You keep the house in a constant state of commotion. It is
bad for you, as well as for us, to be in such perpetual excite-
ment. You neither rest yourself, nor let others rest." Marie

KEW TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 22Y

"was highly offended at this plain speaking. She rose, left the
room, and rushed up stairs. The sisters could not prevail upon

her to come down from the cold room, and Mrs. L went

up (o endeavor to pacify her. After some persuasion she
yielded so far as to be led down stairs, but she would eat no
dinner that day.

Mrs. L had often been much concerned to see the

growing jealousy that Marie appeared to feel in reference to
Lilly. It seemed strange that she should be jealous of a child ;

yet so it was. When she and Mrs. L and Lilly were alone,

she could not bear Lilly to be noticed. She would monopolize
all the conversation, and pay no attention to the child's patient
efforts to win a word or look from her mother. If at length

Mrs. L broke off for a moment to satisfy her little girl,

she seemed annoyed. She neglected no opportunity of placing
Lilly's fiiilings in as prominent a view as possible, and there
was a look of unmistakable satisfaction on her countenance
when the child was reproved. It is true that there was no love
lost between them. Lilly had at first been as warmly interested
in her case as a child could be ; but by degrees she seemed
fully aware that, with all Marie's professions of attachment, her
accession to the household was no addition to her happiness.
She dared not engage in open warfare, but she kept as much
as possible out of Marie's way. Little Arnold, too, did not at
all fancy her boisterous caresses ; and when he had kisses and
smiles for every one else, he screamed when she attempted to
take him : and when she tried to kiss him, would most unscru-
pulously slap her in the face. Sarah would have it that Marie
pinched him, according to the practice of certain soi-distant
mothers, who adopt this method to work on the sympathy of a
benevolent public ; but of course no one but Sarah entertained
the foul slander. The family attributed Marie's growing rest-
lessness to the circumstance of her uncle's delay, and to her own

228 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

heart being ill at ease ; and they treated her with forbearance

is

and induliifnee.

One other feature in her character was so frequently devel-
oped, as to call for a passing notice. This was curiosity. No
visitor could call, no letter bo received, but Marie must know
the history and business of the one, and the purport of the other.
So completely had she become identified with the family in-
terests, that there were few things which they ever thought of
concealing from her. If by chance they withheld any particulars,
a playful inquiry, a warm expression of interest, or a straight-
forward question, would generally attain her object, and put her
in possession of the whole story. The inquisitiveness which
from any other quarter would have been annoying in the ex-
treme, was in her accompanied by so much winning naivete
that they seldom felt disposed to give it a*check.

If sometimes staggered by the contrarieties in Marie's char-
acter, they could not but love the ready benevolence which
manifested itself on the most trivial occasion. One instance
may suffice as a specimen. Marie was taking one of her daily

airings, and with slow and heavy step leaning on Mrs. L 's

arm. As they walked down Westbourne Terrace, a poor
woman crossed the road from one of the side streets, another
Meg Merrilies for stature and sinewy frame, thin, gaunt, aged,
with a look of starvation and misery in her countenance, and a
heavy load of wood on her head. She had picked it up in the
unfinished houses, and she hurried on, as if to reach her wretch-
ed home while enough of her failing strength remained. " Oh !
look at that poor creature," said Marie ; and instantly her hand
wjis in her pocket, and a sixpence out, and she bade Lilly run
after the object of her pity. The poor woman, who was no
beggar, turned round and gazed as if transfixed, and at length
curtseying her gratitude, hastened on.

About this time Elizabeth went to visit some friends in the
north. They had heard a distorted version of Marie's story,

NEW TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 229

and were somewhat prejudiced against her. Elizabeth exerted
herself with all the earnestness of a true friend to set Marie
right in their o|»inion. In this she was entirely successful, and
they soon became deeply interested. She made a passing
reft*rence to the subject in writing to Marie, and received a
long epistle in reply, from which the following is an extract : —

"C Terrace, April 12th, 1850.

" My dearest Elizabeth,

********

" The tale about the young lady and the convent is

really true. Mrs. L has a letter written by Lady B

on the subject. It appears the young lady is a convert from
Popery ; her father, a bigoted Papist, is resolved to remove
his daughter (she being under age) from the influence of Prot-
estants, and place her in a convent. To make this step appear
less arbitrary, he will yield the point if she collects by the 20th
of April, £2000 worth of old stamps. I forwarded mine yes-
terday by rail to Heading, and enclosed the young lady a note
stating who I was, and also presented my sincere sympathy,
having passed through a similar ordeal. I gave her my ad-
dress, so perhaps we shall hear more of her. ^ # *
*####*#! am truly glad
you have not been pestered for a recital of my history. I am
sorry your friends in the north still regard me with suspicion.
Happily for the Protestant cause I have as yet exercised my
Jesuitical powers to little purpose, having not yet made one
addition to the Church of Rome. If they had no agents more
zealous in their cause, the whole concern would soon be broken
up. I do not wonder they should regard anything belonging
to so horrid a system with suspicion ; but they cannot abhor it
as much as myself, having been so nearly made their dupe. I
have suffered enough with them, so do feel somewhat pained
that any should still suspect my principles. / never was de-

230 THE FEMALE JESL IT.

slyned for a Jesuit Jiaving so little tact in anything^ let alone
the tact required in a Jesuit. My uncle though one of them is
not K'ss dear to me. They do not know all about him and his
struggles with obedience and love, or else they would feel dif-
ferently towards him. I feel perfectly indifferent as to what
others think about us, having the testimony of a clear con-
science. My answers do not much resemble the answers of a
Jesuit. I must say this dear E., and I say it with pain, that I
have met with more of the treachery of Jesuits among professing
Christians than ever I did in the seventeen years spent amongst
them. I do not hesitate for a moment to make this statement.
It is not their religion I blame, but the want of it. It is an
awful thing to be only a professor in name without the power
and reality of rehgion. I have learnt a great lesson from the
painful circumstances of the past — the immense importance of
Christian consistency. Earnestly do I hope and pray that I
mny nut piove a stumbling-block in the way of another. My
diisire is that I may daily become more humble and watchful,
a'ld that, if it should please God to spare me, I may by my
consistency and usefulness adorn the doctrine of Christ my Sa-
viour in all things; and that if I am spared to possess wealth I
may prove a faithful steward, remembering for what purpose it
is given me. So that at last when I have done with the things
of time, I may hear the glad news — ' Well done good, and
faithful servant, thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will
make thee ruler over many things.'

"I am looking forward to our journey to the sea-side with
great pleasure, the time will soon be here." * *

ATTEMPTS AT CONFESSION. 231

CHAPTER XIX.

ATTEMPTS AT CONFESSION.

Marie continued the custom of welcoming the postman, and
the point had long been tacitly yielded. One day she took
from the postman's hand two letters which she said were both
for her. One was in deep black, as was usually the case with
her uncle's letters. She locked herself in her room, and re-
mained there some time. She returned to the dininor-room
with heightened color, and expressed her regret that she could
not show Mr. and Mrs. L the letter which she had just re-
ceived from her uncle. There were one or tw^o things which
he had mentioned to her in confidence, and which it would not
therefore be right to show. He was still so delicate that he
was about giving up his office for a twelvemonth, and taking
up his residence in Yorkshire. She was sure that there was a
great deal passing in his mind. She did not at all despair of
seeing him a Protestant before he died. At any rate she
thought that he would soon cease to be a Jesuit, and become
one of the secular clergy.

On the 6th of May Mr. L himself received the following

long letter. A brief note for Marie accompanied it.

(translation.)

t
I. H. S.

"Nice, April 2oth, 1850.

" Sir,

" I received your letter last Monday, and I should

have replied to it by return of post if I could have done so.

"The day after the receipt of your dispatch, I caught cold in

232 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

an excursion on the water, since which I have been confined to
my room. I have suffered much in the throat, and for some
days I was unable to speak : I could take nothing but lif[uids.
My medical attendants said that it wius a severe attack of bron-
chitis, but not dangerous, not being attacked with cough. I am
under severe treatment, and suflfer much from the constant ap-
plication of caustic to tlie throat.

"My illness could not have happened at a more unfortunate
juncture, for L am most anxious to see you as well as Marie.
My surgeon tells me that my great anxiety retards my recov-
ery. I have other very pressing and important affairs which
require my presence in Yorkshire ; in consequence of which,
and of my anxiety to see Marie, my patience is severely tried.
We must hope that all is arranged for the best by the great
Disposer of events. I hope to go out to-morrow, and to be
able soon to leave here for England.

"Before entering on the subject of your last communications,

permit me to offer to you and Mrs. L my best thanks for

the interest that you have both evinced in a person so dear to
me as Marie.

" We will conclude all matters of business before entering
upon circums|,ances equally sorrowful to all parties concerned.
I write now confidentially, being assured that you will not abuse
my confidence. I am much obliged to you for having taken
the trouble to see your solicitor. The best investiture of the
money would be to lay it out on mortgage, for I cannot exceed
£4000 ; but the difficulty about this would be that Marie could
call in the money at her pleasure, or if vested in the power of
trustees, it miglit be eventually a source of contentions and
losses for them and for Marie. I know that she would not do
anything dishonorable, but in case of a disagreeable circum-
stance, I wish to ensure them and Marie from all uneasiness.
The funds would meet the difficulty.

" With regard to the employment of my signature : after

ATTEMPTS AT CONFESSION. 233

having seriously considered the affair, and consulted with Cap-
tain Kenyon, who is now at Nice, we have come to the conclu-
sion, that for the safety of the trustees, and to avoid all trouble
in the event of my death, it would be most desirable to obtain
a brief, empowering me to act legally. I have no doubt that
through interest I could obtain this permission. I had not
foreseen the difficulties which w^ould probably arise from the
absence of my signature, until Captain Kenyon pointed them
out to me. He refused to be a trustee unless I invested the
money, and legally transferred all power to the appointed trus-
tees. We perfectly agree with you as to the way in which the
deed is to be drawn up, except that in the event of Captain
Kenyon's death, he alone would have the right of choosing a
successor, in order to secure a Catholic trustee. I think this is
not unreasonable. You alone would have the power of acting
so long as Marie remained Protestant. Another stipulation is
that Marie at her death could not make any bequests in favor
of religious objects. If she die without heirs, she may bequeath
it to any friend, or to objects tending only to the moral benefit
of man, without regard to religious interests. Considering my
peculiar position, you will not fail to see the propriety and
honor of this restriction ; for if I consented otherwise, it would
be at the sacrifice of principle and conscience, which I am sure
you would wish to consider. Captain Kenyon leaves me to-
morrow to obtain the dispensation. If we cannot succeed in
this we can have recourse to the plan proposed. My only
anxiety is to exempt the trustees from any future disagreement.
Above all I wish to protect you as a Protestant, and I am sure
that Captain Kenyon desires it equally.

" As to the affair in Staffordshire, any day may decide it, for
it is not probable that my aunt will live long. She is now
seventy-six years old, with all her limbs paralyzed. You will
receive immediate intelligence of her death ; for Marie, being
the eldest, her presence will be necessary before anything can

234 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

be done. I think that it would be only proper for Marie to
write to her. She once saw her when visiting rae.

" I now come to a more disagreeable subject, and one which,
for poor Marie's sake, I could wish forever to bury in oblivion.
Before entering into detail, it is necessary to request you as a
favor not to make known this part of my letter. I have always
made it a rule to hold sacred every important communication,
and this is the first time that I have violated confidence.
Nothing could have induced me to do so, if I had not believed
it to be justice to Marie, and for her own happiness. The cir-
cumstances to which you make indirect allusion in your letters
have been fully confirmed by Marie in a letter which I received
from her yesterday. I cannot express the feelings called forth
by her two last letters — especially by the last — and I rejoice
that, by her frank and sincere communication, she has become
doubly dear to me. She has written to me in defiance of every
one, and expresses her deep regret that the state of her mind
and feelings obliges her to break a promise that she had made
to you. Taking into consideration her extreme sensibility and
her mental sufferings, you will not, I am sure, blame her for
wishing to confide her causes of disti*ess to one who so well
understands her every feeling. I am extremely thankful that
she has not waited for a personal interview ; for if I had then
heard all for the first time, I fear that I should have spoken
with haste, and have caused you pain. Your letters have dis-
quieted me a little ; but after the receipt of Marie's last letter,
all the mystery was explained. I much regret that you did
not think it prudent to permit her some time since to write to
me fully and freely. This would have spared poor Marie and
yourself much needless pain. I gather that she has suffered in
some respects very unjustly. I cannot recall having ever felt
anything more strongly. I have always been the last to excuse
or extenuate Marie's faults : but T must frankly confess, and I
am sure that my candor will not displease Mrs. L , that

ATTEMPTS AT CONFESSION. 235

though she has acted from the purest and most elevated mo-
tives, she has still judged Marie rather too severely. I wish I
were at liberty to give you the substance of her long and inter-
esting letter, which it took her the greater part of three nights
to write. This must be very bad for health ; for she tells me
she sometimes sits up for several hours, saying that she feels it
a relief to give vent to those feelings when alone, which she
has controlled throughout the day. I burned her letter imme-
diately, or I could perhaps have sent it to you ; for had you
read it, you would have loved her still more tenderly. Marie's
reasons for avoiding an explanation proceed from another mo-
tive, and from a higher source than those which had been at-
tributed to her : and she was afterwards restrained, or rather
frightened, from confiding an explanation by rather too much
coldness and severity. Now do not think that Marie utters
a murmur or a complaint. On the contrary, in giving me a
recital of everything that has passed, she mentions it to show
her deep anxiety that Mrs. L should treat her with jus-
tice : but I immediately discovered the cause of Marie's reserve*
She is very timid. I have seen her suffer so much from fear in
going to the confessional that she has been obliged to have
medical advice. It is physical. Her mamma was the same,
though she possessed great strength of mind. It will be long
before Marie conquers this. Some years since I took the same

course as Mrs. L has done, but I had reason to regret

it. I have a copy of Mrs. L— — 's letter to Marie, which, with
the exception of one remark, is very praiseworthy, and mani-
fests a faithful spirit. The phrase in question I will mention

to Mrs, L in person. It weighs much upon Marie's mind.

" It is as much Marie's purpose as my own to enter fully into
all the circumstances of the past. Marie is most anxious to do
so, and she says that she hopes to have some conversations
before my visit. I much disapprove of the habit of writing
letters in the house. Marie tells me that she has written twice

236 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

to Mrs. L . I hope that she will not do so again. I lay-
great stress upon this, as tending to increase those feelings of
reserve which will destroy one amiable feature in her character.
I have not for a length of time been so struck with any letter
of Marie's as with the last. She has given me a full and sin-
c«-re account of all that has occurred, from the commencement
to the close, before and since her return. It was a pleasure to
find that she was not only very frank, but very sincere, and truly
humble in her avo\vals,'vvith()ut any disguise, or in any way ex-
cusing herself, even when I well know that she might justly
have d(jne so. I had learned all from other sources, and was
therefore able to judge impartially. Her expressions of regret
when she has erred, are genuine and profound, and her feelings

towards Mrs. L and yourself, are those of most ardent

gratitude. Her great anxiety is to be placed on the same foot-
ing as before. Slie dee))ly feels the absence of that look of
complacency which once met her own. I could never have be-
lieved that Marie could have loved any one but a parent to the

SMHie extent as she loves Mrs. L . It would be well for

her happiness if she loved less ardently. She anxiously awaits
my visit as the means for an entire reconciliation, and I am
deeply grieved that this illness hinders me from seeing her, for
I cannot bear the idea that she is suffering so intensely. I
tremble for her health as much as for the state of her mind.
Under the constant effort to stifle her feelings, the mind must
in the end give way. Marie suffers more for a long period after
the trial, than even during the trial itself. You have perhaps
discovered that though she is very thoughtless, she is disposed
to dwell much upon her troubles. After her mamma's death
every one trembled for her. For more than a year she fell into
a state of despair. She rarely laughed, and it was with diffi-
culty that she could be drawn into conversation. I am very
uneasy about her on this account, though I know that she
struggles against it. Do not leave her too much alone.

ATTEMPTS AT CONFESSION. 237

" This and other considerations have a Httle altered my plan
with regard to Marie. * * * * But before arranging
anything, I must know what you think about the propriety of
introducing Marie into a circle where the past is unknown. I
cannot proceed further before having your sincere opinion.
Mrs. Kenyon much wishes to have Marie with her for some
months, but I cannot consent to this until the Staffordshire
affair is settled. I have had some idea of placing her with my
new friends, the clergyman to whom I have before made allu-
sion. I have told them all about Marie, and they intend to see
her on their return to England. I am certain that they would
willingly receive her for a time, after which, if agreeable, she
could return to you. Do not consult Marie on this subject, but
give me your own impartial judgment. I hope that Marie will

soon be reconciled to Mrs. L , or rather that the reserve

which exists between them will soon be destroyed. Without
this she can never be happy. I hope that she will endeavor
to say to Mrs. L what she has written to me.

" The af!liir of the newspaper was truly a piece of folly, and
has caused me much vexation. The General is well aware of
its having been sent. Marie was immediately suspected, and
I was very glad I did not then know it, for I could deny the
handwriting. I beg that she will never do it again. This was
beyond a joke, for if it had been known that Marie had sent it,
I could not have answered for the consequences — above all the
interlineations about Dr. Achilli. Speak to her seriously on
the subject.

" I thank yourself and your circle for all the kindness shown
to Marie during her severe illness, and of which she speaks in
most ardent terms. I will pay the medical fees, and also
Marie's notes, when I see you. She cannot have her boxes
until I come. I shall pass through Manotte on my way to
London, for great alterations are being made there. I am
having flues carried through the house to keep the hbrary aired

238 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

without any one going into it, during my absence from Manotte.
I must remain there some days. I cannot until the receipt of
your letter, and the return of Captain Kenyon, leave for Lon-
don, for nothing can be done without him. If I were well the
aftair would still have to be postponed, on account of his ab-
sence. We shall return together. I hope to leave in a few-
days, for I am now extremely anxious to arrive in London as
soon as possible.

"The affair of the Tablet was stopped. I am too fetigued
to write to Marie. Assure her that weakness alone prevents
me. It will be necessary for you to write almost by return
of post, for I shall be ready to leave before if Captain Kenyon
succeed, and my strength return. I am sorry that the sea has
been recommended for Marie ; I should prefer her remaining
quiet, at least for the present. There are many reasons which
thus influence me.

" I must not forget to express my approbation of your having
taken the opinion of a second physician. I fear that this com-
plaint will be flital to Marie. It was the opinion of her first
medical attendant some years since.

" I should have enclosed a five-pound note for Marie if I had
one at hand, but I have only an hour left before the post goes,
and cannot obtain one in time. It did not occur to me till a
moment or two ago.

"I shall not stay more than a fortnight in London. Cap-
tain Kenyon and you can conclude the aftair after I have given

you the legal power. If it is agreeable to you and Mrs. L

I shall be happy to pass my first evening with you. This will
give more time for conversation than we could have in a for-
mal visit. I shall not write again until I am on my way to
London. I shall give you due notice. The deed cannot be
prepared until I see how I ought to act.

" I beg you not to delay your reply. You need not pay the
postage of the next letter.

ATTEMPTS AT CONFESSION. 239

"Present my sincere thanks to Mrs. L for her amiable

letter, to which I shall reply verbally.

" With my respects, and hoping that your health is re-
established,

" I am, dear sir,

" Yours faithfully,

" H. C. Clifford."

On witnessing the receipt of this letter, Marie informed

Mr. and Mrs. L that she had written to her uncle, and

gave them her reasons for doing so. She then inquired whethei
he had mentioned it. They replied that he had. She ex-
pressed her surprise that he should violate her confidence ; and
to clear him in her estimation, they thought it better to show
lier the letter : her own communication of the fact having re-
leased them from the obligation to secresy.

After breakfcist, when left alone with Mrs. L , Marie

placed in her hands the note to herself, which was as fol-
lows : —

(translation.)

t
I. H. S.

" Wednesday.
" My very dear Marie,

" I have only a few moments left before closing my

despatch, and cannot therefore say more than a few words.

" Mr. L will explain to you the reason of my long

silence with regard to your first letter. In reply to the last, I

wish to tell you that you have not only my free and entire

pardon, but my warmest sympathy. I need not tell you what

a weight you have removed from my mind by your frank and

sincere avowal. There is, however, one remark which has

rather wounded me. It is where you allude to our treatment

of you at another period. How can you make reflections on

240 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

maternal counsels and treatments? I will convince you ot
your error when I see you.

'' I cannot close without the expression of a wish that the
late sorrowful events may serve as a warning to you to the close
of life. I wish you to repeat all that you have told me to

I^Jrs. L . Try to overcome your timidity befere my visit.

I shall be well pleased if you do so.

"I am very glad that you have received the intimation of
your change of fortune with so much self-control. I hope that
when you possess riches, you will prove a good stewardess.
They are given you for the good of others, and not for your
own indulgence. Do not dwell too much on the past, and
above all do not continue the habit of sitting up alone at mid-
night. As I hope soon to see you, I shall leave the subject of
your letter for a personal interview. I wish you to write to
my aunt Charlotte. Mrs. Kenyon will enclose the address in
this letter.

" I beg that you will speak, not write to Mrs. L , and do

it immediately.

"I am truly sorry that time compels me to be so brief; and
letter writing does not at all agree with me. With my most
earnest wishes and constant prayers, I am ever,

" Your faithful and attached relative,

«H. C.Clifford."

Mrs. L inferred from Marie having shown her this note,

that she wished to prepare the way for making the long-talked
of communication respecting the burnt notes, and she gently
referred to the subject. As usual Marie hastily left the room,

and rushed up stairs. Mrs. L stayed in that room all the

morning, hoping she would return, and once went up to invite
her down, but in vain. She stayed up stairs till dinner. Re-
solved to bring the matter to a point, when dinner was over,
Mrs. L followed Marie into the back parlor, closed the

ATTEMPTS AT CONFESSION. 241

door, and sat down by her side. " Marie, your uncle wishes
you to speak to me, and he says that you wish it yourself.
What is it that you would like us to know ?"

Marie's cheeks flushed, and she said, " 1 would rather leave
it till my uncle comes, Mrs. L ."

" But he wishes you to get it over at once ; and if it would
relieve your mind, if it can be so easily explained, it is a great
pity that you should postpone it."

" Yes, indeed ! it can be explained, Mrs. L ," said Marie,

in the indignant tone of an injured person.

Her manner roused Mrs. L , and for the first time she

spoke in direct terms of the one interdicted subject. " Do not
talk to me in that style, Marie. No one has injured you but
yourself. Your uncle's words imply that we have treated you
with injustice and severity, but you well know that has not
been the case. Had it been any one else, we should long since
have insisted on investigation and restitution, but we feared for
your life, and were silent. Where there has been nothing said,
nothing done, there can have been no severity."

Marie lowered her tone. " I think you mistake my uncle's

words, Mrs. L . I feel persuaded he would never say that.

I have always told him the very contrary."

" Yes, he does," repeated Mrs. L .

" Well, shall I show you the copy of the letter I wrote to
him?

" If you like to do so, and prefer it to speaking."

" I will think about it," said Marie.

Mrs. L requested a sight of the letter she had onoe

written to Marie, and continued, " Your uncle proposes your
removal from this house. And now, lest you should think we
are anxious to detain you, I must tell you frankly that nothing
but the deepest interest in you would have enabled me to bear
the anxiety and confinement of this winter. You are no longer
unprovided for ; and if you can be as safe and as happy else-

11

242 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

where, I would not wish to keep you here one moment
longer."

Mr. L was not aware of this conversation, but he, too,

wrote in the same strain to Mr. Chfford, and said that while it
gave him much pleasure to be of any real service to Marie, and
neither he nor Mrs. L shrank from any trouble on her ac-
count, the moment her true inteiest could be promoted by any
other arrangement, he should cheerfully be relieved of «o rp-
•sponsible a charge.

CHAPTER XX.

REHEAESAL OF A DEATH-BED SCENE.

Marie had gained strength so rapidly, that the hopes of her
friends had risen high. May had come — bright and cheerful
May ! the time so anxiously anticipated for her uncle's visit.
It was long since the midnight bell had roused the sleepers ia
the upper part of the house, and they had ceased to fear it.
About one o'clock on Tuesday morning, the 7th of May, Mrs.

was awakened by Marie's bell, and her blood ran cold

d not-to-be-mistaken signal. The conversation of the after-
.on rushed back upon her mind, and reproaching herself for
having suffered an impatient word to escape her, she hastened
down. She found Marie in distress, without light or water,
having, as was usual when left to herself, forgotten to light her
little lamp. In about an hour the bleeding ceased, and she
sank into a tranquil sleep.

On Tuesday she seemed almost as well as before. On

Wednesday morning Mrs, L was again summoned. Oh !

that bell ! It sounded hke a premonitory death-knell. Never

REHEARSAL OF A DEATH-BED SCENE. 243

was it heard without a fearful apprehension that Marie niiglit
have bled to death almost before they could reach her. Never
had she who first heard it dared to wait for dressing, even in

the coldest weather. Mrs. L was indeed alarmed when

she entered Marie's room. There was more than a (piart of
blood in the basin, and she lay deathlike and speechless, ller
limbs were cold, her upper lip was swollen, and her mouth
was drawn on one side. Presently there came on a convulsive

twitching of the mouth and hands, such as Mrs. L had

before witnessed on two sorrowful and well-remembered occa-
sions. And could it be that poor Marie was indeed going when
her uncle was so near, and when her prospects were so bright ?
Was she " to die and make no sign ?" The sisters were away,

and Mrs. L durst not leave her to call Mr. L . She

resolved to ring loudly if the alarming symptoms became more
decided, and watched in intense anxiety for the issue. One
wish was uppermost — that Marie might live to give more as-
sured evidence of repentance for the past, and of a prepared
state of mind. Gradually Marie revived, and a reaction com-
menced. Her head and hands became as hot as before they
were cold ; her face flushed — her pulse beat quickly — her mind

wandered. She called for her mamma — called for Mrs. L ,

murmured complaints that they did not come to her. By de-
grees she became more collected, recognized Mrs. L , took

a dose of medicine, and in another hour fell into a calm sleep.
She was tenderly watched and waited upon that day and
night.

At eight in the evening Elizabeth's knock was heard at the
door. She had had a hurrying day, and had had neither din-
ner nor tea. She had been to the Strand in the morning on
an errand of kindness, and back to Queen Square. Thence she
had been to the Hall of Commerce to assist in arranging the
tables for a fancy bazaar on the morrow. She had left the
sale-room at seven to come up to C Terrace, and must re-

244 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

turn to Queen Square that night, and be at the Ilall of Com-
merce early in the morning. "My dear Ehzabeth," said Mrs.

L , " how could you tliink of coming here to-night ? You

will be quite knocked up." " I could not be ea-^y without, I
was so afraid I might never see poor Marie" — again, she would
have said, but tears choked her utterance. She soon recovered
herself, and went into Marie's room. " How kind of you !"
said Marie, and she too was moved, and she turned her head
on her pillow and wept. Elizabeth stayed an hour with her,
settled her comfortably for the night, and then started off. She
did not get back to Queen Square till past ten. The shops on
the road were shut when she entered the Square, and it looked
darker and drearier even than usual. She reached her friends
without adventure, and thankfully retired to rest.

Marie did not attempt to leave her bed on Friday; but she
said she must write to her uncle ; and, propped up with pillows,
she wrote almost without pausing for nearly three hours. Her
friends did not see her letter till three months afterwards, and
were not aware of its contents.

After expressing her de-ep sorrow and anxiety on account of
his illness, she writes —

" I know not how to thank you sufficiently for the deep anx-
iety and solicitude you have evinced towards me, and also for
your very sympathizing and affectionate letters. Your last has
tended in some degree to tranquillize and soothe my agitated
mind. Before answering your queries, I must first express my
vexation — I cannot say sorrow — that the newspaper should
have caused you so much annoyance. Had I foreseen this I
should not have sent it. I have too much respect and venera-
tion for so dear a relative to play any jokes with you. I cer-
tainly must say, this increases my feelings of indignation against
a system that holds men like yourself in bondage ; mere slaves
to the caprice of fallen man."

REHEARSAL OF A DEATH-BED SCENE. 245

She then enters at gfreat length on the subject of her " re-
serve and timidity," tlie distress which it causes her, and the
inipossibihty of overcoming it ; the kindness of Mr. and Mrs.

L , and her wish, with his permission, to make them some

handsome present in acknowledgment of the past year; her
intense desire for his visit, which is to set all right ; her misery
at lying under false accusations, and her comfort that his con-
fidence in her remains unshaken. As the letter occupies two
sheets of foreign post closely written, one other extract may
suffice.

" Mrs. L said, ' she could not bear to see my pale, un-
happy face.' I longed to tell her it was not the amount of
remorse that she supposes makes it pale. Oh, how could I
have borne with such a load as that when often near eternity,
not knowing any night might be the last ? Hardened, indeed,
in crime I must have been to have existed under it. I was

truly grieved to find that Mrs. L does, in some degree,

think me ungrateful in not reposing confidence in her ; but
what have I to say ? I cannot confess a sin of which I am in-
nocent ; and their confidence is so far gone, that to assert my
innocence would make them think still worse of me. So, as I
said, I would rather bear the blame of a fault, than the disgrace
of denying one. So I must leave my case for you and God to
plead. You say you wonder I could have restrained my indig-
nation at being supposed guilty of such an act. Oh ! dear un-
cle, after what had passed, it little becomes me to indulge in
feelings of indignation. I deserved punishment for my sin of
ingratitude and departure from God ; so I have received this
reproach as such. I have been made to feel the bitterness of
departing from Him, and also the sorrow sin entails upon us.
I wanted something to humble me, and this has had the desired
effect, though the trial has been a ver?/, very sore one. You

246 THE FE^IALE JESUIT.

can little fancy what I have endured in the estrangement of
one I so dearly love. ******#

" Accept my best love and heartfelt wishes for your recovery,
and prayers that you may reach here shortly and safely.
" I am, ever dear uncle,

" Your grateful and attached niece,

" Marie."

CHAPTER XXL

TRIFLING CIIICUM*3TANCES LEADING TO GEEAT EVENTS.

Marie was mr^ch fatigued with penning so long a letter to
her uncle, and she experienced the usual results of an additional
excitement in a return of the bleeding on Friday night. It was
but slight, ai^d soon subsided.

With the exception of the previous Thursday morning, Mrs,
L had seldom left her. Visits to the congregation, com-
mittees, anl the claims of friendship, had long been in great
part set 'iside, to keep watch over her of whose life they could
not be assured from hour to hour. A claim of kindness and
afF('ctiop, more imperative even than Marie's, obliged her to
leave h'^ine on that Saturday afternoon for a few hours. She
hastened to the relative who needed her sympathy, and again
with all possible si-peed returned home.

Marie's door was closed. Mrs. L knocked, and received

no answer. She hesitated to knock again lest Marie should be
engaged at her devotions. Wishing to be satisfied that all was
right, she gave another gentle tap. A feeble and indistinct
sound induc<^d her to open the door. With a sickening of
heart she beheld Marie faint and bleeding. Her clothes and

TRIFLING CIRCUiMSTANCES, ETC. 247

Bible were stained, and apparently in an almost lifeless state
she could not call for help. There was a large fire in the grate,
and the room was oppressively hot. To throw open the door,
take oti' the fire, lighten the clothes^ bathe her with Eau de Co-
logne, and apply salts, was the work of two minutes. It was
some time however before she was able to take the prescribed
medicine. It was pitiable to see her exhaustion, and the low
fever and delirium which followed. From this too she recov-
ered. She was not again left that night. The servants were
very sorry that they had closed her door, and left her in the
evening, but it had been at her request.

Marie wrote the following note to Elizabeth before her attack
on Saturday.

" My dearest Elizabeth,

" I feel quite overcome with the kind expression of your
love and affection in this my season of affliction. It was more
than I could have expected from any other than a relative. I
cannot express sufficiently my thanks, but accept all that is
possible for me to convey.

" I had another return last night about ten : it lasted for
more than an hour ; I do not feel so very weak, for another is
coming on, my chest being still very tight. I am in bed.

Mrs. L is calling to see you this evening, so I could not

resist the temptation of writing. Do come to-morrow, you will
cheer me for I am so low spirited. When I am alone I begin
to fret. I am so anxious to see my dear uncle, I sometimes
fear I shall never see him again, thinking God will take me very
soon. I cannot long rally over these attacks, for I have no
strength to stand against them. It does grieve me to give so
much trouble to you all, but I cannot help it. I hope God will

reward you all, / never can. Mrs. L is so kind to me, you

can little fancy my feelings towards her. I never loved any one
but mamma and uncle so dearly.

248 THE FEMA-.E JESUIT.

" I had such a kind letter from my uncle, I will tell you about
it to-morrow.

" I cannot write more, so good-bye, and accept the dearest

love of your poor and aftectibnate

" Marie."
" Saturday Afternoon,

"May 18th, 1850."

Elizabeth came back to take the place of nurse on Sunday
afternoon and evening. Marie spoke of death as if anticipating
its near approach, and asked Elizabeth to repeat many favorite
verses bearing on the subject. " Which is the happiest death
to die ?" " Deathless principle arise :" " 0 the hour when this
material :" " There is a world we have not seen :" " Can angel
spirits need repose ?" and " In heaven there's rest." Also in
very different strain. Miss Jewsbury's " Lost Spirit," for which
she asked twice.

The medical attendant came, and ordered leeches to relieve
the oppressive tightness of which she complained. Elizabeth,
who was a capital nurse, as usual put the leeches on for her,
changed her dress, made her bed, and saw her comfortably
settled before the family returned from evening service. She
then went back to Queen Square.

The cause for alarm soon passed away. In two or three days
Marie was able to dress and recline on the sofa. On Friday and
Saturday she was able to take a little walk. On Monday even-
ing she walked out with Mr. and Mrs. L . Aided by an

arm of each she went at the rate of about a mile an hour, as far
as Kensington Gardens. There she rested ; and declining the
offer of a conveyance, managed by slow degrees to reach home
on foot. Each day she gained strength, lengthened her walk,
and acquired a somewhat firmer step.

Marie was now able to return to her favorite occupation of
fancy work, and she exerted herself to finish a variety of articles
which she had long been preparing for a bazaar in . It

TRIFLING CIRCUMSTANCES, ETC. 249

was for the building of the church for which she had some time
before collected £10. She was very anxious to cover a table at
this bazaar, and she asked all her friends for a contribution.
She bought her wools and silks of some honest tradespeople of

the name of P , who had recently started in business

nearly o|)posite. They had several children, and being a new
neighborhood, they had a great struggle to make their business
answer. Marie expressed much sympathy in all their troubles
and anxieties, and would often sit half an hour in their shop,

endeavoring to cheer poor Mrs. P . She employed Mrs.

P. to finish and ground a piece of work for her, but this proved
rather an unfortunate order. The husband was a hair-dresser,
and he had a waxen figure in the window to indicate his em-
ployment. This figure had cost £2. Mrs. P rose at four

o'clock one morning to get Marie's work done by the specified
time, and opened the shutters of the shop. The morning sun
came with full power on the window at that hour, and poor

Mrs. P , engrossed in her employment, did not observe its

effects. She had been working about two hours, when a boy
ran in, exclaiming "Your wax head is melted away." She
looked up, and to her consternation saw that it was too true.
The head was indeed gone, irrecoverably.

Marie comforted the poor couple by the promise of an ample
equivalent as soon as her uncle arrived. Many were the
promises which she made, and the hopes which she held out to
the various objects of her interest and sympathy, so soon ^s her
uncle's arrival should put her in possession of her anticipated
resources.

On Thursday morning, May 23d, Marie took a long walk

with Mrs. L , and surprised her friend by the information

that she had an engagement in town that afternoon with Mr.

K . This was a valued fiiend in the congregation, who had

throughout shown Marie much kindness, and to whose daughter

11

250 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

she was much attached. Mrs. L was vexed at her thought-

" Why did you not tell me this morning, Marie ? We are
half-way there, and could have spared so much time and
fatigue. Now we must return to dinner, and go over the
ground again."

" O ! but I am going alone."

" What ! when you can only just creep along with our help ?
What would your uncle think of us if we could be so careless
of you? Suppose you were taken ill in an omnibus, or fainted
in the street ?"

Marie must go that afternoon, for Mr. K would be stay-
ing at home for her, and she must go alone, for " it was private

business," she said laughing, and Mrs. L was to know

nothing about it.

" Then," said Mrs. L , " I must take you to the house,

and leave you there, and return again for you ;" -and so it was
settled.

On Friday Marie stated that she had made another appoint
merit, and must go to town again. It happened to be very in-
convenient to post off to town without notice on two successive
days, but rather than let her go alone, Mrs. L again ac-
companied her.

On Saturday Mrs. L went out on some little business in

the neigliborhood. As she returned, she met Marie coming
from the house of a friend and neighbor. She ran up to Mrs.

L with a quicker step than for many a day, and eagerly

exclaimed, " Oh ! Mrs. L , I have had a note from my uncle.

He will soon be here. He may be here to-day or Monday; for
he says that perhaps, like the Irishman, he may be with me
before his letter. It is a very short note, as he says he shall so
soon see me."

Marif^'s glee passed away in the afternoon. She told Eliza-
beth and Selina that her uncle insisted on her speaking to Mrs.

TRIFLING CIRCUMSTANCES, ETC. 251

L , and said, that if on his coming he found she had not

done so, he should not let her stay. They advised her at once
to summon resolution, and get it over.

Marie was able to accompany her friends to morning service
on Sunday (May 26th). On her account they had a fly, and
she requested that the man might drive through Brook -street,
and let her have a peep at Mivart's Hotel, in case her uncle
should be there. In this she was indulged, but, as was to be
expected, gained no information from the exterior of the house.
Before service she passed to Mrs. L a few lines in pen-
cil :—

." Dear Mrs. L ,

" Can I have a little conversation with you in the
vestry this afternoon, after your class ?"

Mrs. L wrote in reply below,

" Yes, dear Marie, if it is not on a subject that will
unfit us for the evening service. You know best."

Marie went with Elizabeth to dine at Mr. and Mrs. K 's.

Mrs. L expected her in the vestry, but she did not come.

She was seized with a violent headache in the afternoon, and
obliged to leave the table and lie down. She asked for a mus-
tard plaister at the back of her neck, and Elizabeth put it on,
and tried cold applications to her forehead. She returned to
the evening service, but unable to bear the heat, was obliged to
go out. She went up to the minister's vestry, and with the
door open below, was able to hear the sermon.

On Monday evening Marie requested Mrs. L to walk

out with her. ITer step was slow and feeble, and she was very

silent. Mrs. L tried to converse in order to lessen Marie^s

restraint, but met with no response. They were out an hour

252 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

and a half, and walked about three quarters of a mile. At

length Mrs, L brought her home, and leaving her at the

door, went to take a brisk turn for exercise. On her return, the
servant informed her that Marie had been very ill : that she
had fallen down senseless on the stairs, and that as Sarah and
she with difficulty raised her, and carried her up, she had faintly

uttered, " I wanted to speak to Mrs. L , and I could not."

Mrs. L ran up, and found Marie pale and cold on the

drawing-room sofa. She said she had been seized with a vio-
lent palpitation of the heart. Of this in a slighter degree she
had often complained. She said that her mamma had died of
disease of the heart, and she apprehended that this, rather than
disease of the lungs, would carry her off.

This was the third time that illness had followed Marie's at-
tempts at making the communication respecting the burnt notes,
which the uncle required. On the first occasion she had rup-
tured a blood-vessel ; on the second, had suffered from intense
headache; and on the third had been attacked with palpitation

of the heart. Mr. and Mrs. L therefore told her that it

had better be postponed till his visit, the near approach of
which was now so anxiously expected.

On Tuesday morning Marie joyfully announced the receipt
of another note from her uncle. He and the Kenyons were to
come by the packet on Thursday. lie would send her boxes
under the care of Roberts on Thursday evening, and he would
himself come on Friday at six, and, if convenient to Mr. and

Mrs. L , spend the evening with them. He wished her to

be ready to accompany him on Monday to Staffordshire, and
return to town on Wednesday. He expressed his regret that
she had not written to her aunt, and it was to atone for this
neglect, and place her on a footing of equal interest with her
cousins, that he wished to take her. If she felt afraid to trust

herself with him alone, perhaps one of the Misses would

go with her.

THE SCENE BEGINS TO CHANGE. 253

Marie asked Elizabeth if she would accompany her on this
important journey, and Elizabeth signified her willingness to do
so. Much conversation passed as to how far she would conform
to the usages of the Catholic family under whose roof she would
rest ; and she stated her resolution not to be present at prayers.

The arrival and contents of her boxes was another fruitful
topic of speculation ; but these lighter thoughts soon passed
away, and she gave utterance to mingled emotions of a ten-
derer and more serious character, in the prospect of soon seeing
her much loved relative.

CHAPTER XXn.

THE SCENE BEGINS TO CHANGE.

Thursday came at last, the day so long and anxiously ex-
pected. After breakfast Marie requested Mrs. L to go to

town with her, and purchase a new dress, as she wished to look
neat when her uncle came. She had long had a wish for a
lavender French merino, which she said had been her uniform

at Amiens, and her uncle had always liked it. Mrs. L

objected that it would soon be too warm for the season of the
year. Marie replied that she could then put it aside till the
warm weather was over. In short nothing would do but this
merino, so they sallied out. At the first large shop to which
they went, the greater part of the merinoes had been packed
away to make room for summer stock, and there was no laven-
der merino to be found. At the second shop it was the same,
but the master produced a French de laine of the veritable
shade ; and Marie, captivated by the sight of the long-desired
color, said that would do just as well as the merino ; and with

254 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

the eao-erness of a child, she insisted on carrying the parcel
herself. Thence they proceeded to a dressmaker's in Berners'
Street, where a number of hands were employed ; and Mario
was fitted, and the dress promised by twelve o'clock the next
day. On leaving the dressmaker's, they walked along the
quiet streets. It was early in the day, and they could converse
undisturbed. " I have been thinking a great deal about the
visit to Staffordshire," said Marie. "I am not sure whether I
ought not to make up my mind to go alone. I feel some un-
easiness about taking Elizabeth with me."

" Why so ? You do not think that anybody would do her
any harm ?"

" Oh ! no, I could trust my uncle for that matter. He would
never do anything dishonorable. The Jesuits would never
choose him to do any underhand work. But I look at it in
this way. My uncle is very pleasing. He has just those quali-
ties which Elizabeth would appreciate. He is a perfect gentle-
man, and highly intellectual and intelligent. There is nothing
on which he cannot converse. It is part of the education of
the Jesuits to make themselves agreeable, and it is natural to
him besides. Elizabeth could not but admire him. And I am
sure he would be pleased with her, — with her wit, and grace,
and disposition to please. He would think her a convert
worthy of his efforts. Then she would be introduced into the
most refined Cathohc society, where no outrage would be done
to her feelings and opinions, and she would see everything to
advantage. He might even go so far as to plan some Catholic

connection for her. I do not know young , but perhaps

he may be a fine elegant young man. He would feel quite
justified in trying any such scheme. He would think he was
saving her soul, and he would spare no pains to make some
atonement for the loss of me. I should never forgive myself
if I were the means of bringing any evil upon her. I would
rather run all risks myself than incur that danger."

THE SCENE BEGINS TO CHANGE. 255

Mrs. L was much struck with the forethought and pru-
dence evinced in these remarks. There was, indeed, a strange
combination in Marie. Reckless and wilful as she appeared at
times, almost even to childishness, she could treat subjects of
real importance with an amount of consideration and sagacit}*

unusual to her years. Mrs. L so far agreed with her as

to propose that Elizabeth should consult her father very fully
on the subject, and that the responsibility of the decision
should rest entirely with him. They then parted — Marie to

go to Mr. K 's, on her "private business," and Mrs. L

in another direction, — to meet at home at five o'clock.

At half-past five Marie returned. The back-parlor was
cleared for the reception and unpacking of the cumbrous
boxes. Marie changed her dress, that Roberts might have no
remarks to make on bis return to his master, and took her
tea quietly. She said that there would be considerable delay
at the Custom House, and that Roberts would probably attend
his master and the Kenyons to their hotel before he brought
her things ; so she did not at all expect them before seven
or eight o'clock. As the evening wore on she became restless
and excited, watched at the window till dusk, started at the
sound of every cab, and ran to the door at every ring. Eight,
nine, ten o'clock came, and no boxes. She began to despair,
but at that moment a ring was heard at the bell, and presently
a man's voice in conversation with the servant at the gate.

Mrs. L ran up to the drawing-room window to see if it

was the expected arrival. Was it Roberts ? No ; it was only
Wood, come to fetch some broth for his children.

Marie bore the disappointment better than could have been
anticipated. She said she should now expect them the first
thing in the morning, as her uncle would not send so late.
Probably there had been delays at the Custom House, or they
might have come by a later packet. Her friends commended
her fortitude : they supped and retired to rest.

256 ~ THE FEMALE JESUIT.

The family rose on the Friday morning with something like
an impression that Roberts and the boxes might arrive before
they were ready to receive them. They met at breakfast.
One of them gently opened Marie's door, and saw that she
still slept. Exhausted with excitement and expectation, she
had slept longer than usual. The postman brought a long

letter to Mr. L , which he read with deep attention and

then put it in his pocket. Elizabeth had her letters too and
did not observe him, but the wife did, and wondered.

She had forgotten it, however, when an hour afterwards he
called her into his study, and put the following letter into her
hand : —

" Marseilles, May 24th, 1850.

" Sir,

" It is with deep regret that I impose upon myself the
painful duty of acquainting you of the very dangerous illness of
the Rev. H. C. Clifford, the niece of whom is now under your
protection.

" For the last six months we have been apprehensive that he
was gradually declining in health, though he himself was
unwilling to acknowledge it; and it was not until he was abso-
lutely compelled by serious indisposition, that he could be pre-
vailed upon to retire for a time from his very responsible and
arduous duties.

" Since the severe attack he had a few weeks ago, his medical
attendant and myself have endeavored to dissuade him from his
purpose of attempting for the present to come to England ; but
his extreme solicitude to see Maria overcame our persuasions.
We therefore left Nice last Thursday, intending to be with you
on the 1st of June ; but unhappily our worst fears were realized.
He was very much fatigued with the journey here ; but on
Sunday he was seized with dangerous spasms of the heart. Dr
Kouchetti stated there was considerable enlarQ:ement of the heart.

THE SCENE BEGINS TO CHANGE. 25'"/

and also bronchitis in a severe form, which opinion has been
confirmed by two eminent physicians, and to-day give but Httla
hope of his recovery.

" Under the present circumstances I feel it my duty to in-
form you at once of his present condition, to relieve you from
the suspense of expectation, and also to remove your anxiety in
reference to the settlement of Maria's affairs in the event of his
death.

" From respect for him, and the great esteem I had for
Maria's mamma, I shall consider it a privilege to do all I can to
carry out the kind and generous intentions of Mr. C. towards his
niece, though she has justly forfeited the notice and friendship
of her relatives by her late step of apostasy.

" I deeply sympathize with my esteemed friend in his great
anxiety and sorrow for one so dear to him as Maria. She is
now the chief object of his conversation and solicitude. During
the past night he was delirious, and spoke much of Maria.
From his incoherent expressions, and other little circumstances
that have previously occurred, Mrs. Kenyon and myself can but
think that Maria is laboring under some trouble or depression
of mind. What it is we of course do not know ; but if it is
anything we can remove or alleviate, we shall feel a pleas-
ure in doing so, in order, if possible, to remove Mr. L 's

anxiety.

"Last night we had great difficulty in persuading him to re-
main in bed, as he fancied he heard Maria in the next room
crying, so he wished to go and comfort her. You can imagine
how much we were distressed to see him in such a sad condi-
tion. Mrs. Kenyon tells me that he received a long letter from
Maria a few weeks ago, since which he has been most impatient
to see her. I wish it was in any way possible for Maria to come
here. I suggested it to Mr, Clifford before I commenced my
letter ; but he would not consent to it, as such a step in ^laria's
case was quite impossible.

258 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

" The last few houn he has been more cahn and collected,
which cheers us a little.

" We sent express last night to Paris for his usual medical
attendant ; so we are looking forward with extreme anxiety for
his arrival.

" I had, at the request of Mr. Clifford, an interview this morn-
ing with an English solicitor residing here, and have instructed
him to draw up the deed which will entitle Maria to receive her
uncle's intended gift, and also to enable you and myself to act
as joint trustees. Mr. Clifford is very anxious to settle this
matter immediately, knowing that Maria cannot claim anything
after his decease. The document will be drawn up agreeably
with your wishes with one exception, that we shall each have
power to nominate our successor.

" Mr. Clifford wishes me to come to England at once to com-
plete the business ; but I cannot yet determine upon my course
till there is some decided change.

" I had a long conversation with him yesterday about Maria,
but to-day he says but little. He desired me not to write to
her, fearing the shock would have a serious effect upon her
health, to say nothing of the disappointment she will have to
endure. We leave it to your discretion to acquaint her of the
melancholy news. She 77iust be prepared for the worst, though
we would hope that God in his goodness will again raise so

valued a relative. I expect that some of the C 's will

arrive here in two or three days.

" Mrs. K has just brought me in a message from Mr.

Clifford to Mrs. L- . He begs that she will endeavor to

persuade Maria to overcome her reserve, and also to tell Maria
that he has perfect confidence in the truthfulness of her state-
ment, whatever others may have thought of her ; and if he is
never permitted to see or write to her again, that he has freely
forgiven the past, and hopes that she will for the future treat Mrs.
L with that entire confidence to which she is so justly entitled.

THE SCENE BEGINS TO CHANGE. 259

"I think he feels great anxiety as to the effect riches will
have upon the unsuspicious character and disposition of Maria.

" I am not at all aware of Maria's pecuniary resources, or
whether she is in want of money. Mr. Clifford has been re-
served upon this point, so do not know whether he has made a
remittance lately ; but should she require any, if you will kindly
supply her I will settle with you should Mr. Clifford's death
occur. Maria will soon be in the possession of her own property,
for her aunt cannot possibly continue long. I shall write to you
again in the course of a day or two.

" Mrs. Kenyon and myself will be glad to have a few lines
from you in reply to this, stating how Maria receives the pain-
ful intelligence. With the kind regards of Mrs. Kenyon to
Maria, in which I desire to unite,

" I am, sir,

" Yours truly,
" Charles W. Kenyon.

" P. S. — Please direct for me here, to be left at the post-
office till I call."

"I think this is a trick," said Mrs. L , when she had

read it.

" Why should you think so ?" said Mr. L , and he looked

as reproachfully at her as it was possible for him to look, for her
want of charity.

" For three reasons," she replied. " In the first place, there is
bad spelling, of which no person such as Captain Kenyon is
represented to be could be guilty. In the second place, it is not
a gentleman's hand ; it is more like the hand of those writing-
masters who profess to cure bad writing ; and, in the third
place, when I have had a doubt, for doubts have crossed my
mind since the discovery of Marie's falsehoods, I have always
thought that the plot would break up in this way ; and that the

260 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

uncle would be taken ill and die, just when on the point of making
Lis appearance."

" And will you set these vague surmises against all the inter-
nal evidence of the uncle's letters ? Have we not posted them
to all parts of the continent, and in due time received answers, and
none have been returned? Oh! no, no, you must not allow
yourself to admit such unworthy suspicions."

lie reminded her at more length of the features of genuine-
ness about the letters ; the character of a priest maintained
througliout, yet ovcrK^rne by strong affection for his sister's
child ; the fidelity of his reproofs to her, and the extenuations
offered to them ; the gentlemanly language employed in all
pecuniary matters, without any concession unsuitable to a Cath-
olic or a man of business ; and at length he so succeeded in re-
assuring her, that her first scejitical impressions were removed,
and deep sympathy for Marie's overwhelming disappointment
took their place.

Then how to communicate the tidings to her was the ques-
tion. They agreed that it would be better to keep her in sus-
pense for a day or two, and so prepare her for the shock ; and
they resolved that all should go on that day as if the uncle
were still expected, — the drawing-room should be arranged, the
tea service got out, books such as " Elliot's Horse Apocalypticse,"
and others bearing on the Popish controversy should, as Marie
had stipulated, be removed out of the way, and Elizabeth al-
lowed to go and consult ^her papa about the Staffordshire
journey as if nothing had happened.

Marie rose about ten. " Is there no letter for me ?"

" No, not any."

"Then I am afraid something has happened to keep my
uncle. He would certainly have sent this morning to account
for the delay, for he would know what suspense I should be in."
She could not eat — she could not settle to work — she wandered
about the house pale and restless. The new dress arrived, but

THE SCENE BEGINS TO CHANGS. 261

she would not put it on ; she liad no heart to do so. They
dined, and Ehzabeth went oflf to meet her father who was then
in London. Marie had ceased to expect her uncle, having re-
ceived neither note nor boxes. She waited, however, till the
appointed hour of six was past, and then she put on her things,
and said that she would go out a little way alone, and try to
walk down her excited feeling.

She did not return till half-past eight, and looked much ex-
hausted. She said she had been to Kensington Gardens.

" Oh ! Marie," said Mrs. L , " how could you think of

going there alone, and at this hour. What would your uncle
say ?"

"He will hear of it then," said Marie, "for I met Mary

L , one of my school-fellows at Isleworth, and we walked

up and down, and had a long conversation together. She says

they were talking about me at Mrs. Frederick 's the

other evening, and she heard that my uncle was reconciled to me,
and everybody was very much surprised. She talked so much
and so fast, that I could hardly follow her. She asked me all
about the people I was with, and wanted to know what could
have made me turn Protestant. I told her I would write to
her, for I did not feel in spirits to go into it all then. I did not
tell her of my disappointment, for I thought he might not like
them all to know that he was coming here. She says she is
going to Cheltenham — 6, Suffolk Square — on Monday, for six
weeks, and I am to write to her there. She will call on me
when she comes to town." Elizabeth returned in the midst of
this narration. " What ! no uncle, no Roberts, no letter ! What
could it mean?"

262 THE FEMALE JEiUIT.

CHAPTER XXIII.

STARTLING DISCOVERIES.

The day to which all had so anxiously looked forward had
passed over. The heads and hearts of all were variously exer-
cised. For once they thought and felt apart, and yet all were

conscious that an extraordinary crisis was at hand. Mrs. L

rose first. Oh 1 w'hat a dead weight was on her spirits when
she woke. All Marie's past trials seemed nothing to the one
now before her. Eepeatedly disappointed, and now warmed
up to the highest pitch of expectation, — all her fondest affec-
tions drawn out towards her only remaining relative, — her own
life hanging on a thread, — how were they ever to break to her
tidings which in all human probability must be her' death-
blow ? She tried to meet Marie with an appearance of hope
and cheerfulness, but it was hard work ; and when her hus-
band prayed with reference to Marie, in a way which she alone
understood, she could not restrain her tears. She concealed
them, however, and she stole a glance at Marie on rising to see
whether it had occasioned any emotion or inquiry on her part ;
but Marie looked out of the window, in dreamy abstraction, and
her thoughts were evidently far away.

Marie said after breakfast, that she should take a walk, her
usual recourse when agitated, and she went up stairs. Mr. and

Mrs. L resolved to show the letter to Elizabeth, and they

called her into the study. She read the first sentence, and ex-
claimed, " How strange ! I read this very sentence in Marie's
handwriting the other day."

" When ? where ?" said Mr. and Mrs. L , anxiously.

" At her desk when she went out for a walk. I told her I
should sit and write a note there. I tried to pull the desk out.

STARTLING DISCOVERIES. 263

and sometliing obstructed the movement. I looked behind to
find the cause, and in the httle vacancy between the top and
bottom of the desk there was a paper. It was the copy of a
letter. I pulled it out and read this."

" And why did you not tell us ?"

" Because I did not read any more, and so there was nothing
to tell."

'' But why did you not read it all ?"

*' Because I thought it would be dishonorable. I was ashamed
of having seen that."

" Oh ! not in such a case," said they both. " With any
ground for suspecting deception, we are perfectly justified in
reading such a paper. What a pity you did not read it
through ! Why what could you think of it ?"

" I thought it very odd, and I felt puzzled. But I remem-
bered hearing something about the uncle being ill a little while
ago, and I supposed it was about that. I wondered he should
have been so very ill, and I not have heard of it ; but then I
had been away some time. I thought it was a letter you did
not wish me to see, and that when you had given it to Marie
to read, she had taken a copy of it."

" Well, that is the most suspicious circumstance that has
turned up yet," said Mr. L , and they looked at one an-
other, and felt as if they could hardly get their breath.

" Think it over again, Elizabeth," said they. " Can you rec-
ollect nothing else ?"

"Ko," she said, "but I am sure about this sentence, and part
was crossed out and altered."

" Well, read the letter, and see if anything occurs to you."

" Nothing more," said she when she had done, " except that
my eye caught the word ' sohcitor' farther on. She will soon
be going out, and I will have a hunt for the paper."

" Are you sure,^'' said Mr. L , " that you read that sen-
tence ?"

264 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

" Oh, yes ! it is so fresh in my mind. It struck me the first
instant I read it again here, word for word."

" She will be down," they said, " and if she hear us in con-
clave, she will think that something is going on. Nothing
must escape us. We must talk it over again by-and-by."

They agreed that Mrs. L should propose walking with

Marie, and keep her out while Elizabeth instituted a search up
stairs. At that instant they heard Marie pass down stairs.
The sisters left the study, and she ran up, calling for Mrs.
L .

" If you will wait a minute, Marie," she said, " I can walk
with you." ^

Mr. L was standing at his door. Marie stopped.

" Mr. L , how pale you look !" she exclaimed.

" Do I ? I am not very well this morning."

She began speaking to Mrs. L , and again stopped to

look at him.

"I cannot help looking at you. How very pale you are."

" I have the headache, but perhaps I shall be better when
you see me again. Go and get your walk."

She and Mrs. L went, and Elizabeth ran up to her

room. The letter was gone from its hiding-place, nor was it to
be found among her papers. Elizabeth went to her brother to
tell him of her ill success. He had been pondering the subject
over, and he could not but think that her memory inight have
deceived her in reference to that one sentence. It seemed to
him far more easy to suppose that she had retained some in-
correct impression, than to imagine that all was false. Eliza-
beth herself taxed and retaxed her recollection till she became
quite bewildered, and began almost to think with him that she

might have been mistaken. Not so Mrs. L . Elizabeth's

exclamation had been so fresh and genuine, that she felt more
confidence in her first vivid impressions, than in her subsequent
perplexities ; and she tried to reassure Elizabeth.

STARTLING DISCOVERIES. 265

Marie went out again after returning with Mrs. L . She

did not come back till dinner was half over. " I am very sorry
to be so late," she said cheerfully, " but I have been doing a
good work. You shall hear." She threw her bonnet down,

and seated herself at the table. " I walked to , and as

I came back, I called in at Mrs. P 's, for some purse-silk.

She had none of the right shade, so I went down to the shop

opposite the . I met Mr. R , and he told me that

Mrs. II was so low and weak, that it would be kind in me

to call upon her. I found her on the sofa. She was doing a
crochet collar, and she could not manage the pattern, so I

stayed and put her right. Mr. R asked me to dine with

him, but I said you would wonder what had become of me."

They asked her many questions about Mrs. R 's health and

appearance, all which she readily answered. They heard and
doubted ; but there were as yet no proofs against her. They
could only watch and wait. They resolved to let her go out
unrestrained, and give her full scope, assured that the progress
of events must speedily bring her truth or falsehood to light.

In the evening she went out again, and again stayed till

half-past eight. Elizabeth and Mrs. L determined in any

case to take all prudent precautions, and they ran up stairs to
make the most of the time during Marie's absence. They again
examined her room, taking care not to alter the position of any
papers or other articles. They searched under the carpet, at
the top of the bedstead, up the chimney, felt over every part
the mattresses, but could discover nothing of a suspicious char-
acter. Yet here and there, amidst what now appeared to them
the studied confusion of drawers and boxes, were pious effusions

and expressions of attachment to Mrs. L , written on various

scraps of paper, and left as if by accident in various places.

Thence they went to Mrs. L 's room, and were relieved to

find the copies of the manuscript safe in their hiding-place.
There were no fewer than three copies of this production : the

12

2G6 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

original in Mrs. L 's and Marie's wiiting, and two copies

which she afterwards had taken, one for her uncle and one for
the publisher. Elizabeth and she now thought it better to di-
vide them, and hide them in different places. The few articles
of jewellery and plate were also deposited in the most unlikely
hiding-places, and rubbish of all sorts carelessly thrown over

them. Mrs. L gave her husband all the " uncle's letters"

which Marie had asked her to take care of, and he placed them
in his study, under lock and key. They resolved to keep a
sharp watch on all her movements, without appearing to do so,
and never to leave her in the house alone.

Marie was extremely anxious to go with the family on Sun-
day morning, but Mr. L persuaded her not to do so. Marie

endeavored to prevail upon Elizabeth to go and hear her brother,
but Elizabeth assured her that she could not think of leaving
her alone when she had so much to make her anxious and de-
pressed, and they went to a neighboring place of worship.

In the evening Marie was seized with a sudden desire to at-
tend the Catholic chapel in St. John's Wood, or the one at
Paddington Green. Elizabeth thought that she must have
some plan, and would have gone with her, but through an
oversight there was not sufficient time, and they again went to
a Protestant place of worship.

On Monday morning, Marie w^as up in good time, and break-
fasted \yith the family. The postman's knock was heard.
There was a letter for her in a strange hand. She opened it,
and read the first sentence — " my uncle,'' " change," " out of
danger." " What is it ?" " O take it, take it !" and trembhng
excessively, she dropped the letter.

Mrs. L picked it up. " Give it to me," said Mr. L •

and he read as follows : —

"Marseilles, 28th May, 1850.
" My dear Marie,

" I am requested by your uncle to write to inform

STARTLING DISCOVERIES. 267

you tliat there is a slight change for the better, though he is
Dot yet out of danger.

"I deeply sympathize with you in your great disappoint-
ment, and it is equally felt by your dear uncle.

" Dr. Martigny has arrived here from Paris. On the 24tk

(the day on which Mr. Kenyon wrote to Mr. L ) he gave

but little hope of his recovery, but this morning the two physi-
cians have given a more favorable bulletin.

" Mr. Kenyon is daily expecting a reply to his letter from

Mr. L . I will write again in a day or two, to give you

ev^-ry information.

" Your uncle desires his sincerest love, and with kind sympa-
thy from Captain Kenyon and myself,

" I am, yours sincerely

" CONSTANTIA KeNYON."

^farie appeared to be in the greatest agitation and distress.
She rushed out of the room, and went into the back parlor to
give vent to her feelings,

" Does not that look like genuine feeling ?" said Mr. L — — .
The others answered with a look of incredulity. They con-

ded, however, that the note was in a lady's hand, and that its
^sententious brevity was not Marie's style. It was more hk^
that of a woman of fashion.

Marie returned in a short time. " Now, Marie," said Mr.

L , " I may tell you what I did not think it well to tell you

before. On Friday morning I received intelligence of your
uncle's illness, but we thought it would be such a shock to you
just then, that we would wait for the next letter before say in f*
anything to you about it. As this morning's note is more favor-
able, I do not mind telling you."

]\Iarie was all anxiety to see Captain Kenyon's letter, and
Mr. L gave her the first part. She .was dwelling on the

208 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

details all the morning, and then retired to her room to write
to her uncle.

Anxious to ascertain how far Marie was telling the truth,

Mrs. L went to call on Mrs. R . She rang at the gate.

The servant came out, but did not offer to open it.

"How is Mrs. R V

" Better, thank you, ma'am, but she is still very weak."

" Can I see her ?" The girl looked surprised.

" No, ma'am ! she has not been dressed yet."

" Oh ! very well. I hope she was not fatigued after Miss
(Marie) left her on Saturday."

" Miss who, ma'am ?"

Mrs. L repeated the name, and added, " The young

lady whom you have seen with me."

" No one was here on Saturday, ma'am. Mistress has not
seen anybody yet."

" I thought Miss had called on Saturday."

" She called once a long time ago, but not on Saturday. It
is quite a mistake."

Mrs. L left her kind regards. She had learned what

had already been suspected, that Marie had been on some other
errand on Saturday.

Mrs. L returned home, and communicated the result

of her call. Marie was still writing in her room. She re-ap-
peared at dinner, but did not eat. Mrs. L had once begun

to sketch Marie's face in an album. That afternoon she asked
Marie whether she should finish it, in case her uncle should
wish for it. Marie sat. Mrs. L ■ was struck with the al-
tered expression. She could not catch the animated happy
look of former days. A shadow seemed to have fallen upon
it. Some might have called it pensiveness or sorrow, but to

Mrs. L- there appeared a restless, deep, absent, plotting

look, which altered the whole character of her countenance.
The features were there, and yet the face scarcely seemed the

STARTLING DISCOVERIES. 269

same. Wliile sitting for her picture Marie asked Mrs. L

to return her all her uncle's letters, as she wished to arrange

them, and also Mrs. L 's admonitory letter to her. She

had made the same request a few days before. " Mr. L

has them," was the reply. Marie applied to him on his re-
turn home, lie evaded a direct reply and changed the sub-
ject.

Marie was increasingly anxious to watch for the postman.
She went out for a walk at five, and came in about six.* Hap-
pily, she had just missed him. She went out again to meet

Mrs. L and Lilly, but missed them also. Mrs. L

came in first, and EHzabeth opened the door, and took her up
stairs to be unheard by Lilly and the servants. She said, " I
am so thankful Marie was not in when the postman came. He

brought a paper of inquiry for the Rev. S. L , to know

whether he had yet received a letter, signed Charles W. Ken-
yon, dated Marseilles, May, 1850, posted in Vigo Street, and

directed to 5, C Terrace. He would not give me the

paper. He said that the letter had been inquired for at the
post-office on Saturday morning."

No more convincing proof was needed by the sisters that
Marie was playing a deep game. They had not informed her
of the arrival of the letter till Monday morning. How then
could she be acquainted with the signature and date on Satur-
day morning unless privy to its contents ?

Mr. L came home and heard the tale. He too was

convinced of INIarie's falsehood, but more perplexed than ever
as to its motive and extent. He still thought " the uncle" was
true, but that Marie, weary of restraint and anxious for a change,
had invented some felse tale for her uncle, and a fictitious cor-
respondence to deceive them. If, indeed, the tale of the uncle
should be a fiction, he was satisfied that she must have some
able accomplice, — that the " uncle' letters could never be the
invention of a girl of twenty-five He could suppose Captain

270 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

KenyoTi's letter to be her composition, but be could not believe
her capable of such a series as Mr. Clifford's. Sometimes he
thought that Marie had received Captain Kenyon's letter at
the door, had opened and read it, and frightened at what she
had done had re-posted it, and had thus become aware of its
contents. The wife and sisters entertained no such hopes; but
as the evidence of the past was still incomplete, they endeav-
ored to prepare him for the future, and to fix in his mind that
if there was no Captain Kenyon, there was no uncle. Of this
thev felt convinced that there would soon be proof.

CHAPTER XXIY.

MAKIE IN UNCONSCIOUS CUSTODY.

In commencing this chapter, -we must bespeak the indul-
gence of the upright and truth-loving reader for the family at

C Terrace. For the next fortnight they were compelled to

act a part to them entirely new, and to conceal their suspicions
from Marie till they had traced out all her movements. Con-
vinced that such ability in intrigue could proceed from none
but a Jesuit source, they felt that had she suddenly left them
at this juncture, they would constantly have had before them
the idea of other Jesuit plotters and spies haunting their every
step, — of some conspiracy, the object of which yet unfulfilled
was to be attained in some new way. They feared too that if
she found they were tracking her, she might resort to some
desperate means to have her revenge. Perhaps they wronged
her in their thoughts, but who can wonder after having so
trusted, and been so deceived if the reaction in their minds led
them to suspect her even too far. The mother had fears of

MARIE IN UNCONSCIOUS CUSTODY. 27l

anotlier kind. All past indications of indifference or dislike to
the children rushed back upon her recollection, and she felt
that life dearer than her own might depend upon her silence.
Throughout this exciting period they never gave utterance to a
falsehood, but they kept up their apparent belief in Marie's
fictions, and talked as fluently as if they received thera to the letter.

It was a great relief to Mr. and Mrs. L that Elizabeth

■was still with them. The atmosphere of her country home
was too damp for her in the winter, and several circumstances,
among which Marie's doubtful state of health was prominent,
had detained her in town longer than she had intended.
Warmly sympathizing with her brother and sister in a trial so
new and strange, and ready to blame herself for the unconscious
part she had taken in fetching Marie from the convent, she ex-
erted herself to the utmost. Her sleepless nights testified to
the extent of the effort, but no one would have detected it by
day. Her ready tact and courage never failed, and keeping up
a lynx-eyed watch under every supposable manifestation of
sympathy, she contrived to out-manoeuvre Marie herself.

To return to Monday evening. Marie, unaware of the post-
man's visit, came in to supper. The family stifled their emo-
tions, and talked with her as usual. She took a little milk
only. She had scarcely eaten at all for several daj's, and they
urged her to take something more, but she shook her head.

She was too anxious, too sad to eat. Mrs. L carried up

her candle for her, and she retired to rest.

They chatted a little in an undertone in the dining-room,
and tried to lay plans for the morrow.

" We must consider what to do about the postman," said
Elizabeth, " for he will come again in the morning."

" I will have an early engagement," said Mr. L , " and

go out to meet him."

Elizabeth went into the hall, and fancied that Marie was lis-
tening over the banisters. They felt that it was not safe to

272 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

prolong the conversation. Marie's door was open when they
went up, but she closed it soon afterwards.

Mrs. L went up stairs, and stood by the side of her

beautiful boy. Ilis little fat rosy cheek rested on his dimpled
hand, and the expression of sleeping innocence and peace seemed
to rebuke her fears. She dared not take him into her own
room, lest any unusual prc^ceeding should arrest Marie's atten-
tion,— still less did she dare to put Sarah on her guard. She
could only commit him to the care of his heavenly Guardian,
and she thought of Ilankinson's beautiful lines,=* altering the
pronoun only, —

" I bent me o'er my infant child,
And marked that in his (her) sleep he smiled ;
I could not tell from what bright thought
His cheek that ray of gladness caught,
Yet doubted not his angel's voice
Had bid my little one rejoice :
^ And when with all a parent's fears,

I pore into the gulph of years,
'Tis sweet to think of Him whose hand
Caressed the infant race,
"What time with voice divinely bland,
He spake those words of grace —
* The children's angels always stand
Before my Father's face.' "

More than once that night she started from her sleep, and fan-
cied that she heard the boards creak, and that Marie was
stealthily crossing the room : it was only Lilly turning in her
crib, and the door was locked. Once she dreamed that she
was lying on the drawing-room sofa asleep, and that Marie, ex-
pressing a fear that she was fatigued, held a smelling bottle to
her nose. She thought she tried to push it away, but in vain,
and opening her eyes, beheld Marie with a look worthy of

* " The Ministry of Angels." — Seatonian prize poem.

MARIE IN UNCONSCIOUS CUSTODY. 27t

Madame de Brinvilliers, eagerly holding the bottle fitst to he)
nostrils. She struggled violently and awoke.

Morning came, and baby and all were safe. Marie had a?
engagement with Miss K . Mr. L had his engage-
ment still earlier, and he met the postman at some distance
from the house. lie then went to the branch post-office to
ascertain who had been making inquiries ; and was thence re-
ferred to the General Post Office in St. Martin's le Grand.
There he learned beyond a doubt that it was Marie, and that
she had been there on Saturday morning, at the hour when

she represented herself to have been with Mrs. R . He

went to a bookseller's for a " Court Guide,^'' and found the ad-
dresses of all those who bore the name which Marie had as-
serted to be her mother's. He looked at the Peerage Book,
and found her statements of lineage and intermarriage in that
family, for the most part correct. He searched for a Captain
Kenyon, but could find no such person. He looked in guide
books for Welby Hall, the Kenyon domicile, but could find no
such place. He went to the residence of one member of the
family, with whom Marie claimed relationship, but he was not
in town. He returned as much in the dark as ever. Indeed
he seemed so confounded and paralyzed by what had tran-
spired, as to be quite at a loss what course to pursue. Mrs.

L urged him to take some friend into his confidence, and

confer unitedly on the steps which should be taken. It was
indeed too oppressive a weight to bear alone. Single-minded
and unsuspicious, he was not the one to track a rogue, or to be
very adroit in what more resembled the calling of a Bow Street
officer than of a Christian minister. He yielded to her wish,
and promised the next morning to go and communicate the
whole to ^fr. K .

After bidding Marie good night as she passed her door, Mrs.

L went up to Elizabeth's room. " What is Marie so busy

about at Mr. K 's ?" said Mrs. L .

12*

274 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

Elizabetli hesitated. " No liarm," she said at length.

" No good, I am afraid," said Mrs. L , " tell me."

" Marie told me in confidence, but I think you ought to know
now. She is collecting money from the young people in the

congregation, to make S. (Mr. L ) a present. I believe it

is to be Dr. Arnold's Works, nicely bound, as she had heard
him say how much he should like to have them."

*' Then, indeed, I shall go to Mr. K , and put a stop to

it at once," said Mrs. L . " The poor things will all be

cheated out of their money. She wants it to pay for her fic-
titious letters, I do not doubt."

" But if you interfere she will find it out."

" No ; Mr. K will contrive that :" and fearing to remain

longer together they parted.

On Wednesday morning Mr. L started on another jour-
ney of inquiry, intending to consult Mr. K by the way,

and return home at three o'clock. Marie went out, and was
absent about an hour and a half. On her return she wrote

letters to Mary L , Mrs. Kenyon, and to her uncle, and put

them into Mrs. L 's hand to read.

The letter to Mary L , grounded on their meeting in

Kensington Gardens, stated in full her reasons for becoming a

Protestant. Mrs. L silently remarked that Marie, though

requesting an answer, had given no address, and had merely
signed herself, " Marie." It was directed and posted to 6 Suf-
folk Square, Cheltenham. Whether there is any such place,
the reader may possibly know.

The letter to Mrs. Kenyon is not of sufficient interest to merit
insertion. An extract from the letter to her uncle may suffice.

"June 5th, 1850.
"My very dear uncle,

" I need not tell you of the great sorrow the intelli-
gence of your serious illness has caused me. The disappoint-

MARIE IN UNCONSCIOUS CUSTODY. 275

ment of not seeing you was hard to bear, but to hear you were
ill, and so far distant too was much greater. I do trust that
God will, in his infinite and boundless mercy, again restore you.
We cannot understand the purposes of God in these dispensa-
tions, but we do know that He designs them for some good
and wise end. I do pray that whether it please God to remove
you or not, that you may be enabled to cast all your care upon
the sinner's only Rock, the Saviour ; and if death must soon be
your portion, may it find you 'ready the summons to obey :' it
will then usher you ' into the dwelling-place of God,' not to
the dark regions of purgatory. Bear wftli me, dear uncle, in
saying this much : I cannot refrain from doing so, for the Word
of God tells me ' there is no wisdom, or device, or knowledsie
in the grave,' and that ' there is no other name by which men
may be saved than the name Christ Jesus.' No mediator or
mediatrix can save you in a dying hour. I know, dear uncle,
it does not become me to preach to one so much wiser and
older than myself, but my love to you will not permit me to
refrain from persuading you to inquire into the realities of
religion."

^frs. L could scarcely suppress her indignation at the

desecration of all sacred things with which this letter abounded.
She returned it without a remark, and left the room. The pro-
priety of giving publicity to such hypocrisy may be doubted,
but it seems necessary to the full exhibition of Marie's char-
acter. This letter is but a specimen of what she had been in the
habit of writing to her friends for a period of many months.

The most direct way of proceeding at this juncture was
evidently to w^-ite to the family whose name Marie had em-
ployed. Mr. L had hesitated, for he still clung to the idea

that the uncle was a reality, and that it would not do to indi-
cate suspicion of him without positive proof. Mrs. L re-

276 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

solved to meet the difficulty by writing to Lady , whom

Marie had claimed as her cousin, and enclosing a bona fide let-
ter to the uncle, requesting her to forward it. To avoid Marie's
observation, she took the pen and ink to her room, locked her
door, and standing at her drawers with an open bonnet-box
beside her, wrote the two notes. Marie came and tried the

door. Mrs. L quickly and quietly transferred the writing

apparatus to the bonnet-box, and threw the door open. Marie

merely came to ask a question and withdrew. Mrs. L

finished the notes, and waited till nearly post time to consult

Mr. L . He did not return, and she resolved to run the

risk of posting them herself.

« To Lady ,

" Madam,

" May I request your ladyship kindly to direct ^nd
post the enclosed to the Very Reverend Herbert Constable Clif-
ford, of Manotte, near Amiens, but of whose present address I

am ignorant. The letter relates to his niece Miss M

L G , the daughter of his late sister. She has been

for some time residing with us, and the letter is of immediate
importance.

" As a perfect stranger, I owe you many apologies for thus
troubling you, but as the object is connected with the interests
of a member of your family I hope to be excused.

" I enclose stamps for the value of the foreign postage, and
am, madam,

" Yours respectfully,

"J L .

"5, C Terrace, ,

"June 5th, 1850."

The letter to the uncle mentioned the fact of Marie's in-
quiries at the post-office, and requested him to explain the cir-
cumstance. It was merely written to meet the possibility of

ENDEAVOR TO KILL THE UNCLE. 277

his existence, of which Mr. L still entertained a latent

hope.

Elizabeth took the letters to the post-office. Marie heard
her go out, and ran to the window to see which way she went.
Elizabeth had turned in a different direction, and gone to a
more distant post-office than the one opposite.

Mr. L returned home soon afterwards, but Mrs. L ■

did not then acquaint him with what she had done.

CHAPTEE XXY.

THE SISTEES ENDEAVOR TO KILL THE UNCLE.

It was Wednesday evening, June the 5th. The postman
knocked at tea-time, and Marie rushed out to open the door.
It was a letter to Marie from Mrs. Kenyon. " Oh dear ! it's
bad," she said, as she glanced over it. She passed it to the
others, and hastily left the room. The letter ran thus : —

"Marseilles, May 31st.

"My dear Marie,

" I truly regret that I cannot at this time give you
so favorable a report as my former one. Your uncle has had
a severe relapse, and since yesterday has been quite un-
conscious.

" I grieve, dear Marie, to tell you that I fear there is but
little hope of his recovery.

" I am sure what I am now writing will be a great trial to
you. The loss will be almost that of a second parent, but I
trust God will sustain you in your affliction.

" Your dear uncle has spoken much of you, and you seem

278 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

to have been constantly in bis tboughts. Dr. Roucbette says
that the next twenty hours will decide a change.

" As a small matter of consolation to you, will you pardon me
saying- that your dear uncle's death, should it occur, will not
affect your pecuniary prospects.

" I have promised your uncle that should you ever express a
wish to return to your friends my house will be open to receive
you.

" Allow me, dear Marie, to urge upon you affectionately one
Httle matter that has distressed your uncle very much, namely,

that reserve which still exists between Mrs. L and yourself.

I am sure you would be glad to do anything to relieve his
mind, therefore at once comply with his request ; it may be his
last.

" He has written a letter to you and Mrs. L , to be

forwarded in the event of his death.

" I strongly advised your coming to see him, but he opposed
it for reasons which he said he had before explained to you.

"Captain Kenyon will write to-morrow. With my sincere
sympathy and kind love, I am,

" Yours affectionately,

" CONSTANTINE KeNYON."

The sisters were rather encouraged by this letter. They
were most anxious for the winding up of the drama, as their
present position would have been insufferable for any length of
time. What would come next, they could not imagine. Per-
haps some person in the shape of Captain Kenyon with papers

for Mr. L to sign. Nothing could be done till the uncle

w^as either better or worse; and as the l.uter course was more
decisive, they resolved, if opinions could have any influence not
to hold out the slight vsl hope, and bring his life to as speedy a
fonclusion as possible.

They went to Marie. She sat with the back parlor door open,

ENDEAVOR TO KILL THE UNCLE. 279

in an attitude of distress and agitation, but said she could not
weep. She feared that all was over when Mrs. Kenyon wrote,
that this letter was designed to break it gently to her, and tliat the
next would inform her that he was no more. " Did they think
so ?" " Indeed it did seem too probable. They should so view
it were it their case. At any rate the event must have taken
place before now, as the letter had been six days in corning."

Elizabeth felt so disgusted at the part Marie was acting, and
so weary of acting her own, that she said she would go to the
evening service at the Lock chapel and endeavor to calm her
mind. Marie went to her own room. She complained of head-
ache, and said she should lie down. Mrs. L shpped out

with Mr. L for a little air. They met Elizabeth coming

from the Lock, and he related his adventures. He had been a
long round without success. First he went to the Horse Guards
to get a sight of the Army List. No Captain Kenyon was
there ; but as no record was kept of those who had sold their
commissions, this was no iwoof. Thence he went to the
Catholic booksellers and publishers to try to obtain a list of the
Catholic clergy, but could find no list of those in England, far
less of those in France. At length one bookseller suggested
that he might obtain the information he needed at the Jesuit's

house, Street, Berkeley Square. He went, but it was

a festival day. The priests were engaged in their services, and
he could hot see them. He was told to go again th^ next

morning. Mr. K undertook this errand, and he returned

home.

They supped. Marie could neither eat nor talk, and retired
before the others. They dared not indulge in lengthened con-
versation lest it should awaken conjecture. Mrs. L had

been in the habit of going into Marie's room the last thing,
lighting her "Albert," and seeing her comfortably settled.

" You must not omit your nightly visit," said Mr. L ; " and

you too, Elizabeth, should look in." They went up. Marie

280 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

was seated on a cliair by the bedside. Her desk was drawn
close, and the Bible lay open upon it. She sat with her head
bent on her chest, in an attitude of deep despondency. " Are

you not going to bed, Marie ?" said Mrs. L . She shook

her head. " Come, let me help you to undress."

" It is of no use, I could not sleep."

" Perhaps you may if you try. At any rate you will get cold
and tired if you sit up."

" I will in a little while, but I can get no sleep till I hear that
my uncle is better. If I could but cry — but I feel too stunned
and stupified to shed tears. To see one dear object after another
taken from me — and now last of all my uncle, who has of late
become so very dear ! What do you think about him ?"

Mrs. L- and Elizabeth never suffered any hope of the

uncle's recovery to pass without a check. " Well," said the
former, " I do not think it kind to nourish groundless expecta-
tions. If this is a relapse, and he has been twenty-four hours
unconscious, there does not seem to me the shadow of a hope
that he will recover. If I were you, I should try to prepare my
mind for the worst."

" He did once rally though from a similar illness. I cannot
give up hope yet."

" Well, do get to bed soon."

Mrs. L was about to take her leave. Marie did not seem

ready. At length she jumped up, threw her arm around Mrs.

L 's neck, and said, " To-morrow I hope to comply with my

uncle's l^st request."

" Ah ! indeed you have been long enough in coming to that

resolution. Do you not regret it now ?" said Mrs. L in an

admonitory tone. Elizabeth caught sight of herself-in the look-
ing-glass laughing, and she withdrew through the half-open

door. Mrs. L followed. They closed Marie's door, and

went into Mrs. L 's room. They retreated to the other end

of the room, and bujst into a fit of laughter which they in vain

ENDEAVOR TO KILL THE UXCLE. 281

endeavored to stifle. Tliej were by the bedside, and they buried
their heads in the counterpane, lest Marie should hear the sound.
It was well for them that they could laugh. Their minds were
kept on so unnatural a stretch, that it was a relief when circum-
stances prompted to relax into a laugh ; and distressed, shocked,
horrified, as they were at the discovery of Marie's wickedness, and
painful as it was to them to act the part they were compelled to
act, there were some incidents so truly ridiculous, that the transi-
tion was not so difficult as might at first be imagined.

Marie appeared at the breakfast table on Thursday morning,
and expressed much anxiety for further tidings respecting her
uncle. The postman brought no letters for her. She retired
to her room, and was heard to groan frequently. In the course
of the morning she returned to the sitting-room, and took up
her crochet-work, but frequently put it down as if unable to
proceed. Elizabeth proposed that she should take a little walk.
" Not yet," she said. " She felt too poorly, and had not suffi-
cient energy, not having slept till daybreak." She spoke at
intervals of the subject that engaged her thoughts.

" Where will your uncle be buried, Marie ?" said Elizabeth.

" Wherever the General may appoint," she replied. " I do
not know whether he will be buried according to secular or
monastic vows, as he was thinking of becoming a secular,"

" But if he should die at Marseilles, as you fear ?" said Eliz-
abeth.

"It will not be at Marseilles certainly, but whether it will be
at Rome, Amiens, Manotte, or Yorkshire, I cannot tell. The
Kenyons will accompany the body, and it will lie in state for
a week. I should think it most probable that the funeral will
be at Manotte. Mamma is buried there, and I am sure that it
would be his wish to lie with her," she added in a tone suited
to the occasion.

Mrs. L was glad on some pretence to make her escape

from the room. She feared lest she should catch Elizabeth"'s

282 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

eye, and one of lier merry glances would have betrayed the
whole. She ran up-stairs, and Elizabeth soon followed her.
They locked themselves in Elizabeth's room, and again, though
under their breath, indulged in a hearty laugh. The idea of
the honors paid to the supposititious body was so exquisitely ab-
suj-d, that it was too much for their gravity.

As the day wore on, and two other post deliveries passed
without a letter, Marie expressed a rising hope that her uncle
might be a shade better. Her poor mamma had rallied for
two months and gone off suddenly at last. Perhaps he too
might rally'. This hope gained strength, and the sisters per-
ceived that their patience must be kept in longer exercise.

Some doubts were now for the first time suggested, whether
Marie had really come out of the convent at all. Elizabeth
was quite sure that she saw her go in on the day when she first
walked back with her. In order to be more fully satisfied, Mr.

L and she went to S . The door of the Catholic

chapel was open, and they went in. It all answered to Marie's
descriptions. The altar and the altar-piece, the confessionals
and the names of the priests. They looked for the side entrance
through which she had spoken of making her escape. There it
was, the lobby and the little court leading to the convent at
the back ; and they came away fully satisfied that she had in-
deed been there.

After Marie had withdrawn for the night, Mrs. L re-
mained to say a few words to Mr. L respecting the letter

to Lady . It must be confessed that she had some few

misgivings about having made so important a movement with-
out his sanction, and she did not go directly to the point.

" Are you going out to-morrow morning, dear ?" she asked.

"Why?"

" Because I want you to open the door for the postman.
You can keep the key of the house-door a little longer in your
pocket."

ENDEAVOR TO KILL THE UXCLE. 283

" What for ?" said he, rousing up.

" Because I expect a letter which I do not wish Marie to
see."

" From whom ?"

" From Lady ;" and she told him what she had done.

If woman is unequal to the lengthened process of reasoning
by which profound and sagacious man arrives at his conclusions,
she certainly often comes as by intuition much more speedily

at the same result. In this case Mrs. L was quite sure

that her husband must eventually see the necessity for writing
to Lady , though it might have been a week or more be-
fore he had so decided. She could not expect him to express
app'oval of the course she had adopted, lest it should become
a precedent. What thoughts were passing in his mind did not
appear, but she conjectured that he was not sorry. At any
rate he did not reprove her.

" How will you manage it ;" she said, " will you keep the key
of the house-door in your pocket in the morning, instead of
putting it back in the door when you come down ?"

" Leave it to me, I will manage it better than that."

Mr. L was down before Marie was in the morning. He

drew the top-bolt of the house-door, and removed the chair
which stood in the hall. They breakfasted. The postman
knocked, and Marie rushed out. She could not reach the bolt,

and while she ran to get a chair, Mr. L opened the door,

and took the letters in, but there was not one from Lady .

On the previous day, Mr. S had placed in Mr. L 's

bands, a correspondence between Marie and Messrs. Cameron
and Viall, 50, Oxford -street, of whom it appeared that she had
obtained a velvet mantle, and some other articles.. Her notes
to Mr. Viall were full of the most atrocious falsehoods ; but as
they are not characterized by any particular interest or ability,
they are omitted.

284 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

CHAPTER XXYI.

THE UNCLE D 'SAPPEARS.

It was Saturday morning, June 8tli, just a week from tlie
discovery of Marie's treachery, and though every day brought
additional evidence of her falsehood, the "proof of the non-ex-
istence of her uncle was still wanting. This, Lady 's

answer could alone supply ; and as the postmark would betray
the correspondence to Marie, the anxiety of the family lest it
should fall into her hands was extreme. They could not adopt
the same precautions two mornings in succession. This morn-
ing, for the first time, they breakfasted without a fire, and the
servant, from the force of habit, had brought up the kettle and
placed it on the cold hob. Marie, as usual, established herself
between Mrs. L and the fireplace, in full view of the win-
dow. " Marie," said Mrs. L , " I should be obliged to you

if you would sit on the other side. In the cold weather I was
glad for you to have the warmest seat, butliow the fires are
done with you will be more out of the draught on the other
side. It is rather inconvenient for you to sit here, as I have to
go round you to get at the kettle."

Marie dared not raise an objection. Looking extremely dis-
concerted, she took her seat on the other side of the table

where she could not see the postman's approach. Mrs. L

saw him coming, and went out before Marie was aware, but
the much desired letter was not in his budget.

Marie expressed her full persuasion that she should receive
some intelligence from the Kenyons that day. She watched
eagerly at the window for the eleven o'clock post. The sisters
conjectured that she was anxious to intercept any unwelcome
communications from Mr. Viall, or returned letters from the

THE tXCLE DISAPPEARS. ^ 285

continent. Some conversation arose as to the medium through
which Mrs. Kenyon transmitted her letters, as they bore the
English postmark. Marie always said that her uncle's letters
were for greater security enclosed with his church despatches,

and posted in London. Mrs. L expressed some surprise

that Mrs. Kenyon's letters should come in the same way; as
cliurch despatches could not be going so often, especially while
the uncle was so ill. Marie replied that the Kenyon letters

ivere sent under cover to Mrs. Frederick , a relative of

:he family. Mrs. L expressed surprise that she should

(vrite on such thick paper. " Oh !" said Marie, " they would
lever think about postage."

As she stood at the window watching for the postman, a lady
mknown came to the door. Marie thought it must be Mrs.

Frederick , and was in a state of appropriate excite-

nent; but the lady was a stranger who had mistaken the
Jiouse.

Marie went to her room, and was writing letters till dinner.
She intimated to Elizabeth that she intended to disclose the

long talked-of secret to Mrs. L by letter, as she found it

impossible to spsak. She was at her post of observation for
the three o'clock deHvery, but received no letters.

Cheered by Mrs, Kenyon's silence, Marie became conversa-
tional at tea time. Turning to Elizabeth she asked, " Did you
ever read a book called ' Elizabeth ; or the Exiles of Siberia?' "

" Yes," said Elizabeth, laughing, " before I was born."

" The Archbishop of Paris gave it to me," continued Marie,
" when I was a child. Mamma did not approve of it. She
and my uncle had a dispute about it I remember, and they
told me to go out of the room. I believe mamma did not
like it, because there was something of love in it."

After waiting the arrival of the six o'clock postman, Marie
went out for a walk. She came in about eight o'clock, and ran
up to Mrs. L in high spirits. " My uncle is better. I

286 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

have had a letter from Mrs. K . I met the postman in

B Terrace. She says that Captain Kenyon is quite

Avorn out. He sat up with my uncle six nights. The General
has been to see him, and he sat up with him one night. I am

not to write to him for some days. The T 's are to go and

nurse him at Manotte. I cannot show you the letter yet, for
Mrs. Kenyon has made an offensive remark, which has offended
me very much. I shall have another letter on Monday, and'
then, perhaps, I shall be at liberty to show it to you." Mrs.

L was putting away some things in her drawers, and did

not trouble herself to bestow much attention upon Marie's com-
munication. They all met at supper, and Marie repeated the

contents of her letter to Mr. L . lie advised her to go to

Bome church near home in the morning ; and Marie retired to
rest.

When she had been heard to shut her door, Mr. L

turned to the sisters. " Would you believe it V he said, " she
has not had a letter at all. I met the postman myself, and he
said, ' That young lady, sir, came up to me just now, and
asked me if there were any letters. I told her there were none,
and if there had been any, I should not have given them to
her after what happened last week.' "

On Sunday morning, Marie appeared absent and uneasy at
breakfast.

" How silent you are, Marie !" said Mrs. L , " any one

would have expected you to be quite in good spirits at your
uncle's recovery."

" I was thinking of Mrs. K 's remarks," said Marie, " I

feel very much annoyed at them. I think it most unwarrant-
able," added she in an indignant tone.

Mrs. L signified her intention of staying at home.

EHzabeth went with her brother, and returned to relieve guard
in the evening. Marie waiited to hear some new preacher, and
mentioned a variety : Mr. Noel, Mr. Nolan, and Dr. Gumming,

THE UNCLE DISAPPEARS. 287

— the Catholic Chapel in St. John's Wood, or Mr. Fisk. On
2onsideration, some difficulty occuried in the way of each ; and
mentioning the old sensation of tightness on her chest, she de-
termined on staying at home. She urged Elizabeth to go to
the Lock ; but Elizabeth pleaded fatigue from her long walk
through the Park, and said she should stay at home with her.
They sat reading some time, and then Marie went to her own
room. About eight o'clock, Elizabeth heard Marie tapping,
and went in. " I have been trying so long to make you hear,"
she said faintly. She had had one of her old attacks, and a
quantity of blood was m the basin. Elizabeth used Eau de
Cologne and vinegar, and Marie was soon herself again. She
said it had relieved her. She came down to supper on Mr. and

Mrs. L 's return, and ate heartily of cold meat. They were

glad when she was satisfied, and withdrew.

On Monday morning Marie hurried over her breakfast ; and

rising from table, stood and watched for the post. Mr. L

sat on one side of the table, and Elizabeth on the other, in such

a way that she could not pass without violence ; and Mrs. L

being near the door, went out to take in the letters. There was

no letter from Lady , but there was another from Mrs.

Kenyon. Marie read it, and said it was good news. Her
pocket was always full of letters. She pulled some out, miiied
them together, and then handed over one which she said had
arrived on Saturday night ; but which was, in fact, the one just
received. As she had herself given the substance (see page
'^86,) its insertion is unnecessary. Marie went to her room to
write a reply to this letter ; and having finished, brought it to
Mrs. L to read.

It was a most convenient circumstance for Mrs. L that

Marie imagined her to be offended by her continued " reserve,"
that is, by her postponement of the explanation about the
burned notes. It furnished an excuse for the absence of for-
mer cordiality. Thoroughly sickened of Marie's hypocritical

258 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

letters, she declined reading the one now offered her. Marie
reddened violently, and expressed disappointment and vexation.

"I do not like half-confidences, Marie," said Mrs. L .

" When you have told me aZ/, I will read anything you wish
me to read." The letter was left lying about for some days ;
but was not read by those for whose eyes alone it was written,
till some time afterwards. It is very lengthy, and not of suffi-
cient interest to merit insertion.

The postman came at three o'clock on this day (Monday),
and wonderful to say, Marie was up stairs at the time. Eliza-
beth opened the door, and glad she was that it had so hap-
pened. The long looked-for letter had come at last. Lady

. wrote from Paris, and her absence from home had

caused the delay.

" Hotel , Place Vendome,

- "Paris, June 8th, 1850.

" Madam,

" Your letter, and one enclosed to the Reverend H.
C. Clifford, was forwarded to me to-day, with some postage
stamps, wishing me to send it to Mr. Clifford, which I should
have great pleasure in doing, but I am not aware what Mr.

Clifford it can be, or to whom you allude. I only know

. and of .

" I should be very happy to forward this letter, if I knew
where ; and I will keep it, with the stamps, until I hear from
you what you wish to have done with it ; and remain, madam,
" Your obedient servant,

This letter was decisive. Mr. L doubted no more.

" You had better write again," he said, " and give Lady

fuller particulars of Marie's fictitious pedigree." Mrs. L

did so.

THE UNCLE DISAPPEARS. 289

In comfortable ignorance of a correspondence so fatal to all
lier plans, Marie continued her indefatigable efforts to keep up

the deception. While Mrs. L was writing to Lady ,

she was writing to Mrs. L , and produced the following

epistle : —

"5, C Terrace,

"Monday, June lOtli.

"My dearest Mrs. L-

"I had written a long letter to you on Saturday
last ; but owing to Mrs. Kenyon's recent letters, I shall defer
the subject of it, feeling assured my uncle will be able before
long to see you himself, so I much prefer waiting till his visit,
as I shall not feel timid or afraid of saying what I wish when
with him, having the assurance that his confidence in me re-
mains unshaken ; and I rejoice to say that I feel within myself
the consciousness of not being quite so undeserving of yours,
as you appear to think me. Nothing less than this, and ray
love and affection for you, would have enabled me to bear the
coldness at different times of the past five months. Very differ-
ent reasons and motives have influenced my silence than those
of impenitence or distrust; and my uncle's extreme anxiety
that I should overcome the timidity that has hitherto prevented
me from speaking, arises from his consideration for my hap-
piness ; and also the confidence he has in the candor and
truth of my explanation, leads him to suppose you would have
the same. He felt desirous after all I had said to him, that I
should mention it before his visit, so that he might know how
it was received ; for he justly remarked that if you loved me,
which he wa^sure you did, you could not, or would not doubt
my sincerity. I, however, feel that I have lost your confidence,
so I cannot hope to regain it by any explanation or vindication
of my conduct. I would sacrifice anything again to occupy the
same place in your affections I once did. If I act sometimes
13

290 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

strangely and closely, it is this feeling that influences me ; and
I am thrown so much upon my own thoughts, that this alone
makes me restless and unhappy. I have not now the coldness
of one alone to bear, but your sister is now cold and shy to-
wards me. I feel it now the more, because it was so different
when my uncle was expected. The grief and disappointment
has been my own, for I had been anticipating his visit with ex-
treme delight, thinking it would render me happy with you, for
I shall never be so while you think of me as you do.

" I much wish that either you or Mr. L would write in

a few days to my uncle, should he continue to improve, and
give him your statement and opinion. He will then write in
reply, and it will be settled in some way. You will find that
he will not screen me or spare me, where I am deserving of
blame ; for no one is more severe with me than himself when
reproof is needed.

" I will now take the opportunity of mentioning one little
matter which I did not intend to name till ray uncle's visit. In
one of his late letters he remitted me a sum of money for
pocket money ; since which I have sent the £5 to the Bible
Society.

" I am extremely sorry you should have thought I do not
take your advice so readily as I once did. I have mistaken
you, and thought you did not wish me to consult you. I have
felt this much myself, so we have misunderstood each other.

" May I ask or beg that all unpleasant feeling or embarrass-
ment may cease between us ? It shuts up all the avenues of
confidential friendship. Let the matter be at once submitted
to my uncle, and do not longer let me be an object of suspicion

or conjecture. If you or Mr. L write to him, he will soon

decide it. The reason he did not do so when he last wrote, he
was fearful of violating my confidence in him. He would be
glad, I am sure, if you were to do so, for he feels the reserve
and unhappiness that exists between us most painfully. He

THE UNCLE DISAPPEARS. 291

knows from experience what it cost me when a similar timidity
and reserve existed between him and me some years ago, but I
overcame it ; and since then I have now the happiness of think-
ing that I have never concealed a liiult intentionally from him,
though I have ever dreaded his displeasure.

" I have never yet ventured to ask you if it is your wish that
I should remain with you. A separation from you would be
one of the greatest trials I could endure. I should still be act-
ing very ungratefully to you, were I to stay longer than would
tend either, to your happiness or comfort. I have felt this very
painfully of late, particularly as my affairs have been so long
delayed. I feel as yet a dependent upon your hospitality, upon
which I have no claim, though I know it will not always be so ;
though I must ever remain a dependent upon the kindness of
others, having no social or near ties to whom I can look for
either sympathy or love, with the exception of my uncle ; and
I must continue almost an alien from him, for I can never live
with him, — and if he recovers I can but seldom see him. I
often wish I was the poor dependent of last year, rather than
what I am now, for then I possessed both your smile and affec-
tion ; but now, though the expected heiress of wealth, I am
without what I most value — your esteem and confidence.
Wealth is poor compensation to me, compared with that. I
value only the smile and approbation of God and those I love.

" When all coldness and estrangement is removed I shall
bring up the matter myself: but I can never be led into con-
versation by shyness or reserve.

" I was suggesting to Mr. L that it would be well if I

was to go from home for a few days.

" I should be glad to have your letter to me when you have
done with it ; for my uncle desired me to keep it till he came.

" In conclusion, may I beg that as far as I am concerned the
affair be buried in oblivion, and all explanations rest with my
uncle, for he is the most proper person to plead my cause. He

292 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

is in possession of everything that has transpired since coming
to you, and also of the correspondence that has j)assed between
us ; for in writing to him I felt determined to withhold nothing
from him. I confessed in what I was wrong, and stated every-
thins: as it then stood, and left him to draw his own conclu-
sions. With warm love and gratitude,
" I am, ever

" Your affectionate and attached

" Marie.

" P.S. — I hope this letter will not agitate you ; but I
thought it better to write and relieve your suspense, and also
inform you of my wishes, for I could not express them
verbally."

Mrs. L was inexpressibly shocked at the lie about the

Bible Society. Marie did not pretend to have refunded the
money collected for the church. That could have been refuted,
but it was very easy to point to any anonymous £5 in the
Bible Society list, and say, " That is mine." Worse than the lie
of Ananias and Sapphira, Mrs. L shuddered at the provo-
cation she was offering to the truth and justice of offended
heaven. She returned no reply to Marie's letter that day, and
indeed scarcely took the trouble to speak to her at all.

CHAPTER XXYIL

PROGRESS OF DISCOVERY.

Mr. L was engaged from home the whole of Tuesday,

and Marie favored the sisters with much of her company. She
used her utmost endeavors to persuade them to walk out. She
was very obliging, and begged to be allowed to do some work

PROGRESS OF DISCOVERY. 293

for Lilly and baby. Slie kept a sharp lookout for the post,
and after post time had past went to her room to write.

Relieved from her presence, ana with two floors between, the
sisters indulged in conversation,

"I hope," said Elizabeth, " that she will not be ill just now.
What sliould we do if she were laid up ?"

" Do not fear," replied Mrs. L , " it would not suit her

plans to keep the house just now."

" You do not mean," said Elizabeth, " that her illness is all
make believe."

"I cannot help thinking so, now that everything else turns
out to be fictitious. Remember she has always been taken ill
when alone, and always at night."

" Very true," added Elizabeth, " and last night when I did
not pity her she soon got well. She came down to supper half
an hour afterwards."

" And she ate a hearty supper of cold meat, and went out
in the rain the next morning. Do you think any one who had
really ruptured a blood-vessel on the lungs would eat a hearty
supper directly afterwards 2" suggested Mrs; L .

" But how can she manage it ?" asked Elizabeth. " Have
we not really seen blood come from her mouth ?"

" I cannot tell how," said Mrs. L . " Perhaps she has

some way of putting blood in her mouth, or perhaps she has
some way of bleeding it at the time. We must try and find
out."

They could come to no conclusion on the subject that day ;
but once on the scent, and their perceptions sharpened by re-
cent exercise, they did not despair of getting at the truth.

As dinner was coming up, Marie reappeared. Mrs. L

took the opportunity while Elizabeth was out of the room, to
make short work of Marie's note of yesterday. " Marie," she
said, " I do not wish to answer your letter in writing, as your
uncle so decidedly objects to it; but it shall be as you say, ' We

294 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

can let the matter rest till be comes.' " Marie ran up stairs aa
soon as dinner was over, and wrote as follows : —

" My very dear Mrs. L ,

"I fear my letter of yesterday has grieved you,
though I did not intend that it should. I wrote under feelings
of excitement, so perhaps have expressed myself more warmly
than I ought to have done to one so kind as you have been
to me.

" I confess my fault in acting so strangely as I have of lato
by my great reserve. Whilst in bed last night I reflected on
my own disrespectful conduct towards you in treating you with
such ingratitude b}^ my moroseness. I have felt very miser-
able about it all day, and so think it best to at once acknowl-
edge it. If you will forgive me I promise that my conduct in
future shall be very different. I feel determined to overcome
it, for it has caused me so much misery. I feel the double
pang of conscience, for I am not only behaving unkindly to^
wards you, but disobeying a dear relative in being so reserved
with you. But I have fancied you were very cold with me and
did not feel interested in my different plans and pursuits, so
have avoided mentioning them.

" Do please relieve me from my present anxious state in as-
suring me of your forgiveness, for I do feel so distressed with
the humbling sense of my conduct and ingratitude towards
you.

" I have acted very wrong during the past week for which I
am truly sorry ; such an occurrence shall not again take place
-so far as I am concerned.^ Do forgive me, and let me feel that
T am again reconciled to you, for I do feel very unhappy.

" From your distressed

" Marie.

*'P.S. — I came in to speak to you this afternoon, but my

PROGRESS OF DISCOVERT. 295

feelings would not permit me to do it without agitating both
of us."

As Marie seemed so anxious to get a note, Mrs. L wrote

in reply —

" Dear Marie,

" I am not offended with you. You have done
nothing to offend me. To say that your notes are satisfactory
would not be the truth, for they contain neither confession nor
explanation, and of course leave the matter just where it was.
One inference only can be drawn from your silence, namely,
that the explanation you have given to your uncle is one which
you know I shall not believe ; and I have but one request to
make — that you will not again refer to the subject till you are
resolved to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing hut
the truth. That you may be delivered from the snares of the
evil one is the wish of her who has ever desired to be
" Your sincere and faithful friend,

" J. L ."

Elizabeth was out at tea-time, and Marie referred to Mrs.
L 's note.

" I am sorry, Mrs. L ," she said, with a slight toss of the

head, " that you should think me capable of telling my uncle
what I knew you would not believe."

" Then why all this mystery, Marie ? If all is f^xir and
straightforward, why is there so much difficulty about an ex-
planation ?"

Marie was silent. They took their tea without another word ;
and Marie, glad to escape, went up, and put on her things to
go out. She returned at ha^f-past eight, and said, " Good
night."

Mr. L came home. He was glad to find that Marie

had absented herself.

296 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

" Mr. K met ,me at the railway station," he said, " to

tell me that the veritable Captain Kenyon is discovered. Miss
K has found him out."

" Indeed ! Well done, Miss K ; and pray who is

he?"

" A writing-master in Street. Mr. K told his

wife and daughter of Marie's affair. When he mentioned the

application from the post-office, Miss K immediately said

that she thought she could throw some light on that subject.
When she and Marie were out collecting, Marie stopped at the

stationer's shop in Street, and telling Miss K to

go on to a friend's, said she would rejoin her there. Instead

of doing as Marie had directed. Miss K turned back and

followed her. The side door was open, and Marie was ascend-
ing the staircase. Miss K waited some time, and then

saw Marie coming down with a letter in her hand. Marie
joined her at the door of the shop. They made one or two

calls, and Marie posted the letter in Vigo Street. ]\Ir. K

went with his daughter to take a review of the shop, and
found that the name on the side door was , writing-
master. So we shall pay a visit to the writing-master in due
time, and learn particulars."

It was half-past eleven, and they went up to rest. Mrs.

L looked in at Marie's door. She was still up, sitting at

her desk, with her writing apparatus before her. She was
talking to Eliza, the cook, in a piteous tone, and groaning at

intervals. Mrs. L was afraid of her practising on the

servants. " Marie, your uncle does not like you to talk to the
servants ;" and she called Eliza out. " It is quite time for you
to go up stairs, Eliza," she said." " What does Miss G. want
you for?"

" Nothing, ma'am ; but," added she, in a voice of sympathy,
" Miss G. says that she was taken ill by the canal side to-night,
and brought up a great deal of blood."

PROGRESS OF DISCOVERY. 297

Mrs. L did not express much concern ; and the girl

seemed to think her mistress had become strangely unfeeling.

On Wednesday morning, at breakfast, Marie said she had
been thinking whether she could not send some one to Manotte
for her boxes.

" Surely you would not entrust any poor man with the care
of such valuable articles?" said the others.

" No ; I meant some confidential person, such as Mr. King,
for instance.''

" He would not undei-stand the language, or find his way
about the continent," they replied ; and she ceased to urge her
proposition.

After breakfast Marie set off to meet Miss K . Elizabeth,

as usual, embraced the opportunity to search her room. She
ran down stairs to her sister. " I have made one discovery,"
she said : " a box of dead leeches."

" She can have no honest use for them," observed Mrs.

L . " It is long since any were ordered for her, and those

were always put in a jar of water in the back kitchen. I will
go to the chemist's, and find out when she had leeches."

Mrs. L went, and bought some trifle. " When did

Miss G — '■ — have leeches here ?" she inquired.

" She cam.e for some one day last week."

" What day ?"

" Oh ! I recollect," replied Mr. N ; " it was Saturday

evening."

" Saturday evening ! and it was Sunday evening that she
threw up blood. Then she puts leeches in her mouth," was the
instant conclusion of both the sisters.

" But how can she get enough ?" asked one.

" Probably she mixes it with water ; and that would make it

look like blood from the lungs. Dr. said that it was

very thin blood. Then, I suppose, she calls us in ; and the
13*

298 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

little which we see coining from her month, is from the leech-
bites," said the other.

" How can she lower her pulse to deceive the doctors ?" was
the next question, and not quite so easy a one to answer.

" You know she is very familiar with the prescriptions which
have been ordered to check the rapidity of the circulation. She
has often talked about ' Digitalis,' and other medicines, as very
lowering. She may take a large dose when she knows the
doctor is coming," was the most probable conjecture.

A subsequent examination of the chemist's book showed that
Marie had several times had leeches on the sly, and that the
dates corresponded with her illnesses.

Marie was out all day collecting with Miss K . To avoid

the loss of the money Mr. K had arranged that instead of

paying their subscriptions at once, the young contributors
should meet on an appointed day and pay it all in together.
Marie had therefore received a few shillings only. For these

she had made Miss K receipt the book, and she had kept

the money. All unknown to Marie, Miss K was going

about with her in the capacity of jailer. A gentle, timid, lady-
like little thing of seventeen, it was amusing with how much
self-j)ossession and adroitness, she came out in her new character.

Durino^ Marie's absence a second letter was received from
Lady

&

*' Hotel , Place Vendome,

" Paris, June 11th.
" Madam,

"I have this moment received your letter, and fearing
you may be further imposed upon by the person whom you say
is now under your roof, I am anxious to let you know that not
one word of what she has said respecting our family is correct,
and I am quite convinced there is no such person as the Rev.

H. C. Clifford. The statement respecting Mrs. Frederick

is also incorrect, but any information you may wish to have

PROGRESS OF DISCOVERY. 29 9

respecting her, you will learn from now residing

at . The T 's are also in town, who will, I have

no doubt, be able to contradict the statement respecting them.
" I have enclosed the letter and postage stamps, and remain,
madam,

" Your obedient servant.

Marie returned home to tea. At six a Captain Kenyon letter,

addressed to Mr. L , arrived. Elizabeth turned it over, and

could not suppress the inclination to have a little innocent
amusement at Marie's expense.

" What a vulgar seal !" she said. " It looks like a bread
seal. Is this the Kenyon crest ?"

Marie examined it in her turn, seemed much annoyed, but
said nothing.

Elizabeth took it again, and said, " It is not at all like a
gentleman's hand. I am sure I feel no anxiety to see this
Captain Kenyon."

Mr. L came in, and the letter was read.

" Maeseilles, June nth, 1850.

" Sir,

" I should have written to you yesterday, but was pre-
vented by indisposition.

" I have been daily expecting a reply to my first letter, for
we have felt very anxious to know how Marie bore the dis-
appointment, but I presume more important duties came in the
way.

"You will be happy to hear that Mr. Clifford is rapidly
improving, though he is still very weak and feeble. The very
excruciating pain he has endured seems to have quite prostrated
his energy and strength, and I fear it will be some time before
Me recovers himself. »

300 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

" We all gave him up last week, for no one thought it pos-
sible he could survive such a relapse.

"I had proposed leaving here this week in order to reach
home by the 15th, that being my rent day ; but Mrs. Kenyon
is not willing to leave Mr. C. until he is so far convalescent as
to be removed to Manotte. Owing to the excited state of
France I do not deem it prudent to return home without her.
So I shall probably remain with Mr. C. till he visits England.
He has resigned his office in the church for a year, which
period he intends spending chiefly in Yorkshire.

"As he is now so far recovered as to be able I trust in a few
weeks to see you himself, I have from prudential as well as re-
ligious motives, declined settling any business in reference to
Marie. Nothing but his death would have quieted my religious
scruples in transactions of this nature.

" You are no doubt aware that Mr. C.'s love and affection
for his niece had induced him to act contrary to religious
principles and obedience. To avoid this I have frequently
offered to take Marie till she comes into the possession of her
own property, which cannot now be long, but he firmly opposes it.

Mr. C. requests that you will send h.im Marie's account. If
she goes to the sea-side, which he leaves entirely to your dis-
cretion, he will most likely join her for a few weeks, so that it
will enable him to spend more time with you and Marie, and it
will also benefit his own health. He wishes to know where and
when you are going.

" Marie must spend a few days in Staffordshire soon. She
may now write to her uncle. Mrs. K. will write to her again
in a day or two.

" With kind remembrance to Marie and respectful compli-
ments to yourself,

" I remain,

" Yours truly,

" Charles W. Kenyon."

CONVENT DISCLOSURES. 301

'•Why, Marie, this lettHr is dated June 11th," said Mrs.

L , "and this is only the 12th. It never can have come

from Marseilles in a day."

Mr. L thought this was coming rather too close to the

point, and turned it off. Marie had had as much as she could
bear, and possessing herself of the unfortunate letter she left
the room.

" We will go to I to-morrow," said Mr. L to his

wife, " and Elizabeth can keep guard at home."

CHAPTER XXYIIL

CONVEKT DISCLOSURES.

It remained to be ascertained how much there was of truth
in Marie's convent story, and Mr. and Mrs. L had pur-
posed putting it to the proof by a journey to I . Mr. L

had been completely upset by the disclosures of the past ten
days, and on Thursday morning he was scarcely able to rise.

To avoid further delay he thought it better for Mrs. L to

go without him, and proposed that in her way she should call
on Mr. K and request him to accompany her as a witness.

As Mrs. L was going out she encountered Marie at the

dining-room door, " 0 ! Mrs. L ," she said, " where are

you going ? How nicely you are dressed !"

" I am going out for the day. I have several calls to make.
Perhaps I may see . Have you any message ?"

" Yes ; tell him I have a very bad headache. It is just like
what I had before the brain fever in Liverpool," she said, look-
ing up with half-closed eyes.

"Very well; I will t^-ll him."

802 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

Mrs. L passed out, and Elizabeth followed her with a

parcel of open newspapers in her hand. In these she had
concealed the album which contained the sketch of Marie's face.

She slipped it under Mrs. L 's mantle, and escaped Marie's

observation.

Mrs. L called on Mr. K , who readily consented to

accompany her. They crossed Hungerford Bridge, and took

the train to I . They walked through the quiet village

to the still more quiet convent, with its high brick walls, and
large sheltering trees. They rang at the little gate, and a thin,
sedate-looking person in black, slid back the tiny shutter, and

peeped at them. They asked for Madame (Reverend

Mother, or Mother Julie, as Marie designated her alternately),
and the lay sister conducted them to the house. An old piano
was going in the hall, and several young people were round it.
They were shown into the reception room, of which Marie had
talked so much, and which she said that it had been her office
to keep in order. It was a respectable old-fashioned room, but
without one sign of the grandeur of which Marie had so fre-
quently boasted.

They waited a short time, and a lady appeared. She was
dressed in a black cap, with a quilling of crape round the face,
a black gown, and a little black shawl, or rather handkerchief,

crossed in front and pinned. Mrs. L rose, and asked if it

was Madame .

S. — " No ; Madame is not here at present. Perhaps

you can tell me what you wish."

Mrs. L. — " We called to make some inquiries about a young
person who was educated here. She was afterwards a governess
in the family of some friends of ours, and left on account of
ill health. It is necessary that she should find another home ;
and as our friends were not fully satisfied, we thought that,
perhaps, you would favor us with a little information respecting
her."

CONVENT DISCLOSURES. 303

S. — " Wliat is her name ?"

Mrs. L.— "M L G ."

. S. — " I do not know that name."

Mrs. L. — " Perhaps she was here before you ?"

S. — " Oh, no ! I have been Superioress of this convent for a
number of years. I am quite sure that we have had no one
here of that name."

Mrs. L. — " She states that she was twice here : on one occa-
sion, for a period of two years ; and that she has been seven-
teen years in convents of your order. She says that she used
to write letters for Madame D'll " (V^ery Reverend Mother).

S. — " That cannot be, for Madame D'H never has any

one but a religious person to write for her. She cannot speak
English, and she never comes to England."

Mrs. L. — " It is just possible that this young person may
have changed her name. Perhaps you may recognize the
handwriting," producing a specimen.

S. — " This is the handwriting taught in our schools, cer-
tainly."

Mrs. L. — " She says that Madame de la R ,* who died

last June, and who joined your community when she became a
widow, was her aunt."

S. — " Madame de la R was never married, and she is

still living."

Mrs. L.— "Perhaps you would know this young person's
portrait. I have brought it with me."

S. — "No; I do not know this face. I am sure she was
never here."

After a pause the Superioress added, " Perhaps you will al-
low me to take it out of the room for a few minutes, to see if
any one else can recognize it."

* This was the aunt mentioned in the uncle's first letter, the an-
nouncement of whose death occasioned so much emotion, Marie went
into mourning for her.

804 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

The lady left the room, — the piano ceased, the voices in the
hall dropped, and a quiet debate appeared to be going on. In
a few minutes she reappeared.

" No, we do not know the person ; but we think that Madame

(Reverend Mother), who is now at S , would be able

to tell you. She may have been brought up there."

Mrs. L. — " I did not know that there was any school at S

except the poor school."

S. — " Oh, yes ! there is a very large school for an inferior
class of pupils to those who are brought up here. Madame

will be here to-morrow, or you could see her at S

this evening, if more convenient."

They thanked her, and returned to town by the next train.
They went back to Mr. K 's, and thence hastened to S .

It was nearly eight o'clock when they entered the outer gate
in the street, by the side of the Catholic chapel ; and passing
through the little court, or garden, to another entrance, they
rang the bell. A novice in her white cap drew back the little
sliding panel, and inquired their business.

" We wish to see Madame . We will not detain her

many minutes. We have been to I , expecting to find her

there, or we would not have come at so late an hour."

The novice withdrew, and presently another came, unlocked
the door, and showed them into a little room close to the gate.
The floor was covered with oil-cloth, and there were a few
wooden chairs.

Presently a third person appeared, and led them into another
little room adjoining the first. It was carpeted, and a little
better furnished than the other. It looked out into the large
court-yard, where several nuns with measured steps were passing
to and fro. A large range of building surrounded this court ;
but they had scarcely observed thus much when another mes-
senger came up to ask the name of each. The names were
given and she withdrew.

CONVENT DISCLOSURES. 305

Finally, Madame , the Reverend Mother, appeared. Mrs.

L again stated the case as at I , and asked if Madame

could oblige her with any particulars respecting Marie.

" O yes ! She was with us for a month about a year and a
half ago."

" Only a month ! She says that she was seventeen years in
convents of your Order, and that she had been for the two last
years a postulant."

" She was not with us longer than a month or five weeks.

She was introduced to me by the Keverend , a priest in

Liverpool, as a young person who had become a Catholic, and
was very much persecuted by her Protestant friends. She was
obliged to leave home and wanted an asylum, and he said that
it would be kind if I would take her."

" She says that she was six weeks in your Liverpool convent,
and two years at I ."

" She never set f©ot in our Liverpool convent. I brought
her to town with me the same night, and we made her up a
bed in the little parlor, because the house was full. She ivanted

to go to I , and she was there for one day, but I sent her

back again, for we have none but young ladies there, and we
only employ persons of confidence."

" She says that she has been in convents of your Order at
Amiens, Manotte, Paris, Chateauroux, Carrouge, Nice, and
Limerick."

" It is very true that we have convents at all those places, but
she has never been in them."

" I should like to be quite sure that it is the same. Do you
know this portrait ?"

" O yes ! That is she certainly."

" Will you kindly tell me why she left you ?"

" Yes. After she had been with us a little while she became
restless, and said that her temporal affairs required her return
to her friends. She showed me some sort of deed and a law-

306 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

yer's letter, and said that she should lose her property if she
did not go."

" And how did she go ?"

" She said that a friend of her family lived in Street,

and that if she went to her, she knew that she could soon get
back to her relations in the north. I sent, but probably the
lady had moved, for no such person could be found. She went
out another day, and came back saying, that she had found
her friend, and that she would come for her at half-past six
o'clock. I offered to send a responsible person to ascertain that
it was all right ; but she said there was no occasion, as she
was quite satisfied. A lady came in a cab that night, and she
went. As her health was delicate, and she did not feel well
enough to do anything, we were not on the whole sorry that
she decided on leaving."

Mrs. L thanked Madame , and rose to leave.

The lady requested that her name might not be brought for-
ward, and Mrs. L promised that it should not. " She was

a very well-conducted young person while with us," added
Madame , " I have nothing to say against her."

Madame moved with them to the gate. The key

had to be sent for. The gate was unlocked, and they parted.

On Mrs. L 's return to C Terrace, she found that

Marie had had another attack of illness. Elizabeth gave her
an account of the whole transaction, which shall be inserted in
her own words.

" During the afternoon Marie complained much of headache,
and seemed very depressed, restless, and anxious. She wan-
dered about the house, looking out of the window and setthng
to nothing. Tea came in. It was a very quiet solemn meal,
and few words were spoken on either side. While reading to
Lilly, Marie darted out of the room and hurried up stairs. I
remained and enjoyed a quiet half-hour by myself. Wanting
Bometliing at the top of the house I ran up stairs, and hearing

CONVENT DISCLOSURES. 307

a muffled groaning as I passed Marie's room, I peeped in.
Marie was lying on her bed, and Sarah standing by her side
looking the picture of commiseration, and bathing her face with
cold water. The basin stood in the chair full of blood. ' Oh !

Miss , Miss G has been so ill — thrown up all this

blood.' Looking at it in anything but a sympathetic frame, I
said, ' Yes, it is more than usual ;' and well I might say so, for
to my apprehension it would have needed pretty well all the
blood she possessed to fill that basin. Thinking it a pity that
Sarah's feelings should be worked upon, I told her to leave,

and that I would attend to Miss G . Sarah looked very

much as if she thought that I had left ray compassion down
stairs, and reluctantly obeyed. The vinegar bottle was on the
mantel-piece. I poured some into a tumbler, glad to give her
what I knew would be anything but pleasant.* She drank
this, but still continued very faint and scarcely conscious.

" I was determined to seize the opportunity, and if possible
to find the leeches which had caused this dreadful rupture. I
opened a drawer, and said, half aloud, ' Oh, how very untidy !
I shall set these in order for you, Marie ;' and drawing a chair
to me, most energetically set to work. A degree of conscious-
ness seemed to return, and in a very feeble voice she said, ' No,
you need not do that. I will as soon as I can. Leave it for
me.' Seeing I was resolved, she yielded, and continued her
subdued moaning. The drawers being finished, but no dis-
covery made, I turned with increased zeal to confer a like bene-
fit on the desk. The water, Eau de Cologne, and vinegar had
failed to revive her ; but what they could not do, this sudden
movement on my part at once effected. Rousing herself in a
moment, and raising her head from her pillow, she leaned for-
ward and said, ' Don't, pray don't take all that trouble. I will
do that myself.' Not appearing to notice her, I set to and

* Acids were ordered to stop the bleeding. Marie generally had
lemons, of which she was rather foud.

308 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

very soon made a clearance. I arranged every corner most
carefully, routed out everything, and satisfied myself that what
I was in search of had yet to be turned up from some other
hiding-place. So large a loss of blood had of course left her
very weak. Her head was very bad, and as ' brain fever was
coining on,' I found it very easy to persuade her to undress.
To add to her comfort I shook her pillow and put the clothes
smooth, taking care to feel in every direction for what I longed
to find, but all to no purpose. 'Jlien I folded up her clothes
with double care, and felt in the pockets, but was ngain disap-
pointed. All my toil had been for nothing. I lighted her
lamp and bade her good night."

Not long after, Mrs. L returned and went up. Marie's

door was open, and Eliza, the cook, was in attendance, changing
the wet cloths which Marie had directed to be placed on her
forehead. The servant saw her mistress and came out. " Miss

G is afraid she is going to have brain fever, ma'am. Her

he;Kl is so bad."

Mrs. L went in with the candle in her hand. " So,

Marie, you have been ill again, I hear."

"I can't bear the hght," said Marie in a faint voice, and
pulled the curtains round her.

Mrs. L withdrew ; and presently Marie sent to inquire

if she had brought her a prescription.

" No ; she had not done so,"

Then came a message requesting that Eliza might sleep with
her. This was permitted, and a charge given to Eliza not to

let Miss G talk, as it would be so bad for her head. Last

of all came Sarah, and with much compassion in her coun-
tenance, as if wishing to make one more effort in Marie's be-
half, said, " Miss G says she has thrown up some of her

lun<:cs to-night, ma'am."

The sistprs looked at one another, and broke out into a
hearty laugh, and Sarah, surprised and puzzled, said no more.

CROSS PURPOSES. 309

CHAPTER XXIX.

CROSS PURPOSES.

The unprecedented loss of blood and anticipated brain fever
of Thursday evening having failed to call forth any demonstra-
tions of sympathy from her former friends, Marie came down
the next morning much as usual. She went out and paid Mrs.
P a visit, and on returning wrote the following note : —

" My dear Mrs. L ,

" If you will allow me to go from home for a few
days, it is my determination now to confess and explain all the
circumstances that cause us both so much misery. I cannot
endure any longer your cold and embarrassed look. It is tor-
ture of the most agonizing kind to me. I prefer being away
when I do it. I think I can feel more freedom than if I had
to meet you directly after. I may then hope the subject will
never again be brought up, but be buried in oblivion.

" Mrs. Y has invited me several times. I can write and

offer now to accept it. Miss K is going from home.

" I have written to ray uncle, telling him of the present state
of things, so I hope you will soon have a reply from him.
" I am, with love, your distressed

"Marie."

" Mr. and Mrs. L fancied that Marie might intend to

decamp, so they agreed to prevent such a movement. She

was then working in the dining-room. Mrs. L went to

her. " Marie, I think it would be a very good plan for you to

go to Mrs. Y 's, but I do not think you ought to go without

ascertaining whether it is convenient. Suppose you write by

SIO THE FEMALE JESUIT.

the half-past one post, and you will get an answer either this
evening or to-morrow morning."

Marie seemed uneasy. This evidently did not meet her
views, though what they were is unknown. She could not,
however, raise any plausible objection, and after a little hesita
tion she rose, and wrote the note to Mrs. Y as requested.

Mrs. Y was a friend in the congregation who had been

very kind to Marie. It happened that her spare room was oc-
cupied, and that she could only invite Marie for a day. This
did not suit the inclination of the latter, and she declined.

On Friday afternoon, Marie wrote some lines in commemora-
tion of little Arnold's birthday, and sent them to Mrs. L .

Elizabeth was present when she composed them, and saw her
scribble the rough copy, altering and amending, and asking
Elizabeth to help her about a short line or a bad rhyme.
They were undoubtedly her own, and are here inserted to
show the entire self-control with which she could govern and
direct her thoughts in the midst of the plots and anxieties of
the period.

TO S. ARNOLD L ,

ON THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF HIS BIRTH, JUNE 14th, 1850.

SmiHng boy of twelve months old,
Now my gladsome eyes behold
Thy birthday ! and with rapture I
"Wish thee, dearest, every joy.
Thou art but an infant now —
Joy sits smiling on thy brow ;
Yet we sometimes tears may trace,
Rolling down thy dimpled face,
E'en in infancy to show.
All is not serene below.

CROSS PURPOSES. 311

No ; for infancy has cares, —
Childhood is not free from tears ;
Manhood, — trouble still is seen ;
Age, — and still unchanged the scene.
Sorrow, grief, distress, and pain,
Mark the fleeting life of man !

This dear infant is the soil
Thou art planted in awhile ;
This is the ungenial chme
Thou must dwell in for a time.
Dost thou from the prospect shrink ;-
Yet I would not have thee think
All is barren, and no flowers
Grow upon this globe of ours :
No ; though happiness is sought
Oft by those who find it not ;
Though comparatively few
Gain the prize which all pursue ;
Though unruffled streams of bliss
Flow not in a world like this :
Yet there's much of peace and joy
In religion's paths, my boy.

Shrink not, then, in terror back,
Follow in the Saviour's track :
He whom now we dimly see.
Once became a child like thee ;
He was nurtured here below,
Suffered agony and woe ;
On the cross resigned his breath,
Made a sacrifice in death.
Darling ! may thy infant days
Be devoted to His praise ;

312 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

If maturer youth be thine,
Still pursue the track divine ;
Manhood, if thou'rt spared to see,
Live as for eternity ;
And should age with stealthy pace,
Steal the beauty from thy face,
Placing wrinkles there instead, —
Then, dear, may thy hoary head
Be a crown of glory bright,
While thy spirit, ripe for flight.
Patient waits, till freed from clay
It mounts to realms of endless day,
And there beholds with full delight.
The glories of the Infinite.

M.

Saturday was Mr. L 's quiet day, and Marie's affairs had

to stand over till the next week. Mr. K went to Mr.

S , to arrange a meeting at C Terrace for their final

settlement, on the following Tuesday, and Mr. A'B , a legal

friend, of character and standing, kindly expressed his willing-
ness to be of the party.

Mr. and Mrs. L were out in the evening. "When they

reached home, Marie opened the door, and eagerly informed
them that there was a bulletin in the " Tahlet^'' of her uncle's
recovery, and she showed them the printed scrap which she had
cut out, as she said that " M'Shane wanted the paper back for
another reader." The notice ran thus : —

" We are happy to state that the Reverend H. C. Clifibrd,
who was attacked with spasms of the heart at Marseilles, and
whose alarming illness excited the most serious apprehensions,
is now in a fair way of recovery, and is able to proceed to Paris,
whence it is anticipated that he will shortly remove to his own
chateau at Amiens."

CROSS PURPOSES. 313

'' Does not that almost stagger you ?" said Mr. L when

she had gone up stairs. The sisters recommended him to go
to the " Tablet'^ otfice, and try to obtain a sight of the hand
writing.

On Sunday morning Mrs. L took Marie to the service at

a neighboring chapel, and in the evening they all went together

to their own accustomed place of worship. Mr. L no

longer opposed Marie's wish to go. Re was anxious that she
should hear the voice of warning yet once again before she
should leave his house, never more to enter it. He had never
preached for any one individually before ; but that night he
preached for her, and for her alone. He took as his text, 2
Pet. ii. 21: "For it had been better for them not to have
known the w^ay of righteousness, than after they have known it,
to turn from the holy commandment delivered unto them."
He preached with all the pathos and earnestness which the con-
viction that to her he was making one last appeal, naturally
called forth. The congregation insensibly caught his emotion,
and many were in tears. Several subsequently made the re-
mark that they felt that he must have some individual case in
view, and they asked themselves, " Is it I V And one there
was who felt as if the concentrated emotions of many months
had been crowded into that hour, and the pent-up feelings of the
last distressing fortnight could no longer be restrained. She
wept uncontrollably, and could scarcely refrain from sobbing
aloud. And Marie sat near her, not unobserved by some. She
did not weep. She looked uneasily round, and her restless eye
wandered over the congregation. Did she wonder why her
friend was so moved ? or would she remember and interpret
the signs of sorrow that she had caused, in days yet to come?

Monday, the 17th, was a tolerably quiet day, and the sisters

have no clear recollection of the morning's occupations. They

remember a little incident which passed at dinner time, which

may amuse the reader by the way. Strange were the transi-

14 .

314 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

tions from the pathetic to the ridiculous which that never-to-be-
forgotten period presented.

" What a beautiful painting that is, and so like," said Marie,

looking up at Mr. L 's portrait, as she sat at the dinner

table. " I hope Mr. William Harling will be in town when my
uncle comes. I would give anything for such a likeness of
Aim."

" Mr. Harling is very clever, dear," said Elizabeth. " T dare
say he could do your uncle from description. How should you
describe him ?"

For once Marie's ready tongue seemed to be at fault, and the
only thing she could get out was, " He is very dark. He has
a very black beard."

" And dark eyes ?" asked Mrs. L .

" Yes, very dark eyes."

" Is that all ?" said Elizabeth. " What is his nose ?"

" I hardly know how to describe his nose. He always wears
Roman collars."

" Oh, well ! we will soon make your uncle up, dear," said
Elizabeth : " a black beard and Roman collar. Mr. Harling
will have no difficulty, I dare say."

Marie turned a scrutinizing glance on Elizabeth, but could
read nothing in her countenance ; and they passed to another
subject.

In the afternoon Marie went to her room, and wrote a long

letter, which she said was for Mrs. L , and contained the

long-talk ed-of explanation. Elizabeth sat with her and worked —
professedly to keep her company, but really to watch her, and
prevent her giving them the slip. Marie rose from her desk,
and going up to Elizabeth, kissed her, and thanked her much
for all her sympathy and kindness. She did not know what
she should have done for the last few days, had it not been for
her. " I knew it was the last day," said Elizabeth, " so I had
been doing it with double zeal. I thought I was very like

CROSS PURl'OSES. 315

Judjis in accepting the thanks and kisses, but I could not well
refuse. I suppose she saw that I did not respond very warmly,
for she soon marched back to her desk and her writing." She

talked of going to , to see a young convert from Popery ;

and Elizabeth arranged to go with her, but she afterwards gave
it up.

Mr. L had been to town. He returned at eight. The

house was being painted and pointed on the outside, and the
men had -left the scaffolding in such a position as to seem to

tempt the entrance of thieves. Mr. L called his wife and

sister out, and they looked up at the house as if talking of the
danger ; and there, safely out of Marie's heaiing, he communi-
cated the result of that day's inquiries. " I have learned two
things," he said. " First I went to the ' Tahlef office, and tried
to ascertain who had sent the notice. I was disappointed to
ffnd that it was published in Dublin, and that the people at the
London office could throw no light on the matter. When
about to leave, I thought I would ask to have a look at the
paper. I found the paragraph, and at its conclusion read this
clause — ' We think it right to add that this notice has been
sent to us anonymously.'* This was why she cut the paragraph
out, and returned the paper to M'Shane. Did you ever hear
of anything more daring, than a girl of her age sending a ficti-
tious advertisement to a public paper ?

" Mr. K and I then met by appointment to go to the

writing-master. We left it to the last, on the supposition that
if he was an accomplice, he might play us false, and give her
warning. We went up to the top of the house, and entered a
room fitted up with desks for writing. A stout old gentleman
in spectacles made his appearance, and asked us to be seated.

* Any reader who doubts the truth of this story may be satisfied by
referring to the " Tahlef Newspaper of June IStli, 1850. Being quoted
from mem(7ry there may be some slight verbal inaccuracy, but the sub-
stance i« the same. See page 312.

316 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

We commenced the conversation by assuring him that we had
come in a friendly spirit, though on somewhat disagreeable
business. A letter, signed Charles W. Kenyon, had been
traced to his house, and our object in calling was to request
that he would communicate all he knew respecting it. The
honest bearino- of the old Scotchman at once disarmed all sus-
picion, and convinced us that he had been as much Marie's
dupe as any one else had bee-n. lie said that a young lady
called on him, and stated that a friend of hers had sent her from
Marseilles some letters in the Italian language, which, as he
did not understand English, he had requested her to translate,
and he wished them to go to his correspondent in a gentleman's
hand. As she seemed to be a respectable young lady, and
there was nothing objectionable in the letter, he had written it
according to her orders. A few days after, he received the fol-
lowing note : —

" ' Please Mr. will you write this letter directly, and

post it by the next post. I will call for the copy this afternoon.
By so doing you will oblige,

"'F. H. Affre.

" ' Direct the envelope Reverend .

" ' Please to seal the letters with your seal.'

She called in the afternoon, as arranged in her note, and his
suspicions being excited by the repetition and apparent strange-
ness of the commission, he sent his boy to follow her, and see
whither she went. The boy saw her enter a shop in Regent
Street, and returned. Still feeling dissatisfied and suspicious,
he made a special entry of the occurrence in a book, which he
produced and read. Thus the mystery of the Captain Kenyon
letters was explained, and the honest Scotchman cleared of all
suspicion of collusion."

CKOSS PURPOSES. 31 7

Mr. L having finislied his tale, they went into the house,

Marie went out fur a sliort time, and they took advantage of
tlie opportunity to make some arrangements for the morning.
They placed pens and ink on the drawing-room table, and
strong salts in readiness for real or pretended fainting. Fear-
ing that when accused she might rush up stairs and do mis-
chief, they resolved to lock all the bed-room doors on the arri-
val of the gentlemen, and they put a mark on each key. They
looked out boxes and coi'd in readiness for packii>g her clothes.
They planned to finish breakfast only just before her examiners
arrived, in order to keep her in till they came ; and they agreed
to send the children out for a long walk till all should be over.

Last of all, Mrs. L requested the tradespeoj^le to send in

Marie's bills at ten o'clock the next morning.

Marie supped with them, but withdrew at an early hour.

" Has she any suspicion ?" said Mr. L .

" Not the least."

" Well, it has been a regular game of chess for the last fort-
night, and with all her cunning, she is check-mated at last.
One cannot help feeling some sort of satisfaction in such a con-
clusion, after having been duped for so long."

Elizabeth found Marie writing when she went up. It ap-
peared to be the same long leUer which she had been writing
in the afternoon, Elizabeth thought that it really might con-
tain some confession, and that she would do all she could to
encourage it. The night was a cold one, and the servants
were gone to rest, so she herself lighted Marie's fire, and fetched
her a new candle. Then devo'.itly hoping that the house might
not be burned down before morning, she bade Marie " good
night."

318 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE TRIAL MORNING

Tuesday, June 18tli, dawned in almost cloudless beauty.
Marie came down to breakfast, little thinking of the dark cloud
which waS' louring over her, preparing in one short hour to
burst upon her. She had arranged to walk across the Park to

Mrs. Y^ 's, and Elizabeth was to accomj)any her. As soon

as breakfast was over, she ran up stairs to get ready. In a few
minutes more she would have been otf. A knock was heard at
the door. Elizabeth ran up to her, " Marie, a gentleman wants
to speak to you."

She turned pale. " Who is it ?" she asked anxiously.

"It is only Mr. K ."

Marie seemed relieved, and went down to the drawing-room.

According to pre-arrangement, while Mr. K engaged

her in conversation, Mr. S and Mr. A'B arrived.

Mr. L was watching for them, and he opened the door

before they knocked. They ascended the staircase as noiselessly
as possible, and opened the drawing-room door. There they

stood ! Mr. S in whose family she had lived, Mr. L

whose kindness she had abused, Mr. A'B with whose pro-
fessional character she was well acquainted, and Mr. K

their confidential friend. Why had they all assembled at that
hour to confront her ? She saw it at a glance. She bent her
head, and there she sat, calm, modest, self-possessed, without
any of the excitement so well feigned in earlier days. She did
not faint, she did not move. In former days the slightest inci-
dent would throw her into a state of excitement which alarmed
her friends. Now, when any one else would have been agi-
tated, she sat unmoved. If there was a struofSfle within, there

THE TRIAL MORNING. 319

was no manifestation of it without. Her examiners betrayed
more emotion than herself.

Two of the gentlemen placed their chairs between Marie and
the door, and they all seated themselves in silence.

Mr. L spoke. He said he had invited these friends tc

be present, while he entered upon matters too important for
conference with her alone, and wishing them also to hear any
explanation which she might have to give.

He then stated, that two facts had come to his knowledge.
Her previous acquaintance with the contents of Captain Ken-
yon's letter, and inquiries for it at the post-office ; and her cor-
respondence with Mr. Viall, full of mis-statements which had
come into his possession. "Can you," he inquired, "explain
either of these ?"

Marie seemed about to maintain the veracity of her state-
ments to Mr. Viall, till assured by Mr. K that the whole

matter had been thoroughly investigated, and that such asseve-
rations were useless. She was silent.

Mr. L repeated the question, whether she could explain

these circumstances.

A scarcely audible " no" dropped from her lips.

" It now becomes my painful duty," said Mr. L , " to tell

you that there is too much reason to fear that you have been
an impostor from first to last."

Marie raised her eyes, and without manifesting the slightest
emotion, gently said, " It is too true, sir."

The whole party looked at one another in amazement at her
unparalleled self-control.

" Well, then," said Mr. L , " it only remains for you to

tell us who you are, where you came from, and what have
been your motives for acting in so extraordinary a way?"

With great firmness Marie replied that there were some cir-
cumstances connected with her early history which she must
'decline to communicate. Indaed she would rather die than

320 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

reveal the circumstances under which she had left her family.

Thus much she would say, that she was a native of M ;

that her father was a surgeon ; that he and her mother died
when she was young, leaving her to the care of an only broth-
er : he treated her unkindly, and she had long since left him.
For two years before coming to London, she had had a situa-
tion at Hall, near C , and the charge of two little

girls. Their mother and father dying, they were sent to the
care of their guardian. Being again thrown upon the world,
she had had recourse to the expedient of going into a convent.

Growing tired of its discipline, and having heard of Mr. L

in the north, as a man of benevolence and kindness, on coming
to London, she determined to find him out.

" Well," said Mr. L , " if I were to express what I think

of your conduct, it would only give you pain, and under present
circumstances do little good. I presume that you have no uncle ?''

" No."

" How were his letters managed ?"

" I wrote them all myself in your house, and had them trans-
lated and rewritten by Mr. , a teacher of languages in

Street."

" Then am I to conclude that the money you received for
the church went to pay Mr. ?" (the translator.)

"Yes."

" And we have every reason to believe that your illness was
feigned."

She showed a little emotion, and seemed about to deny it.

" Oh !" said Mr. A'B , " Mr. L has been to Dr.

(mentioning a shrewd physician to whom the case had

been submitted) and he knows all about it. You had better
say nothing more."

She was silent.

" Can you refer me to any parties who will authenticate your
statement about beino^ in a situation ?"

THE TRIAL MORNING. 321

She gave tlie names of two parties.

" Is your brother hving ?"

" Yes ; the last I heard of him was that he was practising
as a veterinary surgeon at S ."

"Of course you can no longer remain under my roof.
What can you do ?"

*'I will emigrate," she said with emotion.

Her apparently artless tale had worked on the sympathies
of the visitors, and so great was the power she was capable of
exerting over the judgments and feelings of others, that their
abhorrence of her imposture was forgotten in pity for her ap-
parently unprotected and destitute condition. There was a
short conference among them, and they all agreed that she
should not be turned out without shelter, but that an apart-
ment should be taken for her, while they should consider
whether any plan could be devised for her emigration.

Mr. L said that she must not be surprised if, after the

deception she had practised, he suspected all her movements.
He thought it right, therefore, to warn her that if she ab-
sconded while they were making inquiries, he should advertise
her in the papers.

"Oh ! Mr. L , you cannot think that I should do that."

She then said, " I shall leave the house directly ; I cannot

bear to see Mrs. L ." She proposed taking a walk while

an apartment was being provided for her ; and it was settled
that a note with the address should be left at a shop near, and
that she should call for it.

How were Mrs. L and her sister engaged during this

interval ? No sooner were the gentlemen ushered into the
drawing-room, than they both ran up stairs, locked all the bed-
room doors, and pocketed the keys, and then locked themselves
in Marie's room. They emptied out her drawers, and carefully
packed her clothes. These they found all neatly washed up,
as if in readiness to abscond. Then they turned out her desk,
14

322 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

and just inside her portfolio, they found two letters carefully
copied out, and evidently all ready to take with her. She had
doubtless been writing these when Elizabeth was in the room
the day before. One professed to be a letter from her uncle to

Mrs. L , and the other one from him to herself. In one

of the little drawers they found a sealed enclosure, on the out-
side of which was written, " Private Papers." They had often
seen this when her desk stood open, and she had told Selina

that it contained a confession and explanation for Mrs. L

to read in the event of her death. Between the bed and
mattress they found two novels, a class of books of which she
had always professed a perfect horror. These were " Misrep-
resentation" and " Agincourt." On opening a China-box on
the drawers, they found some dead leeches and blood in a state
of putrefaction. They must have been standing there some
time, but the pretty box in which they were hid excited no
suspicion. They found a small glass tube about two inches in
length, curved, and with a very small opening at one end. It
was such as she had once told them was used in France for
the application of leeches to the mouth and nostrils. The new
dress which had been obtained by a trick, they kept back, and
the velvet mantle, of which she had defrauded Mr. Viall, to

return to him. The mantle and bonnet which Mrs. L

had given her, they left out for her to put on. They had the
boxes corded, and her name attached ; and as they doubted
whether she would get any dinner that day, they cut a few
sandwiches for her, and put them in her basket. They brought
h(ir boxes down, and were seated in the back-parlor before the
conference broke up.

Mr. L came to them, and briefly told them what had

passed, " She says she cannot meet you, so I have come to
ask you to keep in this room." He returned to the drawing-
room, and Marie hastily ran up stairs. Doubtless she was
eager to ascertain if her letters had been discovere 1. Desk,

THE TRIAL MORNING. 323

drawer^*— all were empty. They heard her go to the closet on
the landing for the velvet mantle. That too was gone. In
another minute she rushed down stairs as for her life, opened
the hall-door, banged it after her — she was gone !

The gentlemen came down stairs, and the letters found in
her desk were read. From the first sentence in the uncle's

letter to Mrs. L , in which he apologizes for employing an

amanuensis, it is evident that she was giving the slip,

and about engaging another translator. These letters have not
the advantage which the others gained by the French transla-
tion, so effectually concealing as it did the peculiarities of her
style ; but considering the difficulties by which she was hedged
in on every side, it must be conceded that they are not inferior

in ability to their predecessors. Mr. A'B expressed his

high admiration of the talent displayed in the whole series,
and declared that in all he had ever read in romance, or met
with in his profession, nothing at all approached the realities
of this extraordinary case.

The letter from the uncle to Mrs. L , found in her desk,

was as follows : —

t
I. H. S.

" Madam,

"I much regret that illness compels me to depute a
second person to write for me. On account of this I shall not
be able to comply with poor Marie's request, in entering fully
into the detail of the event which has caused so much embar-
rassment to both parties.

" I have received two letters from her which have both
grieved and seriously displeased me. I never felt so really
angry with her before. I hope you will never think that I
should for any motives screen or palliate her faults ; but you
can sympathize 'with me when you remember my peculiar re-
lation or position to Marie. If I take her part when I may

324 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

think she is not to blame, designing reasons are Hk^y to be
attributed to me, though I feel sufficient confidence in you and
Mr. L to believe that you would not entertain such a sus-
picion ; but I am well aware of the fact that some few oflScious
friends have questioned my sincerity to Marie. On the other
hand I feel it is my duty not only to reprove her when in the
wrong, but I must also exonerate her from unjust conjectures.
" I have no doubt you have been much tried with Marie's
reserve ; you cannot be more displeased with it than I am, but
still you are not right in doubting the truthfulness of her state-
ment and confession to me ; she did not tell me what you could
not believe. I have had too much experience of human nature
and character not to discover the slightest prevarication, and
more especially with Marie. There was one part of her letter
alluding to a subject which has caused me many sleepless nights.
It will be sufficient to explain what I mean when I say the
newspaper aflfair. I am convinced from her evasive statement
some other party was privy to it. I strongly suspect one of
the servants, or some very improper friend. I have charged
Marie with the equivocation, and am much displeased that she
has not answered me satisfactorily. Marie was most frank and
sincere in her confession to me. I have not taken her testimony
alone, but have had other sources of information that corrobo-
rated all she said. I do feel grieved that you should have
taxed her with insincerity to me after she had performed so
painful a task. Whatever may occur between you and her I
hope you will never question the truthfulness of her confessions
to me. Few, considering Marie's altered position, would have
written so frankly, so I do wish to commend her where praise is
due; she is most anxious that I should give you the full expla-
nation of all that has transpired, but I do not now deem it pru-
dent, but will leave it for a personal interview, providing she
does not do so herself before my visit. I fear now to hazard
such a communication under the present circumstances ; suffice

THE TRIAL MORNING. 325

it then to say tliat Marie is not exempt from, great blame, nor
yet is slie guilty to the extent you perhaps suppose her, so I
hope the impression will be removed that no satisfactory expla-
nation can be given.

"I must clear her from one very unjust circumstance with
which she was indirectly charged by your sister a few months
ago. I mean an event that occurred the day after Marie's re-
turn to you. She has felt this most painfully. I should have
taken more notice of it were I not aware of Marie's failing in
being so sensitive, and being also possessed of so lively an im-
agination. From the conversation that passed I concluded that

the expression used by Miss was not intended to convey

any specific charge to Marie. I could understand it either \ray,
or have placed the more favorable construction upon it. I can-
not suppose for a moment you entertain such a suspicion ; if I
thought you did I should then feel obliged to endeavor to clear
Marie from it. Such a conversation as the one alluded to, has,
I am sure, done much to lead to her reserve. She has never
been accustomed to anything hke taunting, and I have always
found such a system is attended with very bad results to an
open disposition. No one ought to reprove Marie but you and

Mr. L . I beg you will not think that Marie has been

making any complaints, for in relating all that passed she had
to mention the conversation in question : she could not omit it,
and she spoke in the most glowing terms of the kindness shown
to her by your sisters, particularly by the one mentioned.

" I perfectly concur with Mr. L that this is a crisis in

Marie's life, therefore the deep interest I take in her will induce
you to bear with me in a few remarks and suggestions. In the
first place I think it will now be well that the circumstances that
have caused so much misunderstanding be left till Marie has
quite overcome the reserve — I mean as far as she is concerned.
I shall give you a full explanation, but let nothing more be said
to her about it. When she recovers herself she will be the first

326 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

to tell you, but while she is so timid with you the e« il is only
progressing. In the next place do not yourself be afraid of
speaking openly to her ; she thinks you are afraid of her, so it
would seem the timidity and reserve is mutual. I know from
experience what this feeling is, for she once behaved as strangely
to me for nearly six months. I was very distant and cold with
her, though it was a great struggle to me. The late venerable
Father Affre advised me to take an opposite course, which was
to affectionately expostulate with her and gently to invite her
confidence. I did so ; she did not then confess her fault, but in
a few days after she came to me in my study and with deep
penitence acknowledged her error. I spoke seriously to her,
since then that confidence has remained unbroken.

" I have been much distressed to hear that she has lately
fallen into the same sin ; she mentioned the incident. I cannot
tell how to account for it, for it was not her besetting sin : she
was remarkable for many years for the contrary. If confidence
were restored between you I am sure she would be preserved
from it. Marie must be able openly to confess her faults and
be checked in them ; she has never had free license before, so
that if she has not a confessional of one kind she must have of
another.

" I think it is now time to adopt some stringent measures for
the checking of this sin, and also the reserve. I purpose send-
ing her a very stern letter. I much regret it, for my late letters
have been so very severe, and I am rather doubtful of the result
of such severity.

" In the first place, I must strictly prohibit any letters being
written or received without your sanction. I was not a little
astonished when I heard that there was no restraint in this.
I forbid any plans or purposes being carried out without your
knowledge, and I shall in future expect her to account to you
for money spent. In these restrictions I beg you will kindly

THE TRIAL MORNING. 327

give me your prompt assistance ; tell Marie they are my com-
mands.

"She expressed with deep contrition her consciousness of
having treated so good a friend as yourself with great ingrati-
tude. I think a fearful struggle between good and evil is going
on now with Marie. I should esteem it a kindness conferred

upon myself, if you or Mr. L would take the trouble to

speak seriously on her present temptations and the sinfulness of
her errors. Nay, may I go still further, in appealing to your
fee^gs as a mother, and beg that you will still feel a mother's
interest in Marie. In the name of one who is now no more, I
would plead for her dear and beloved orphan child, whom she
loved with the tenderest affection ; and it cost her many a bit-
ter pang, when, in her last hours, she thought of Marie's lonely
position should she enter upon the world. She knew how unfit
Marie was to contend with its temptations and snares. Let this
consideration induce you to bear with Marie's failings. She
will not I am sure long continue so reserved, for she seems to
have suffered so much, that she will be thankful for any measure
that will break the chain asunder. I do heartily sympathize with
her in her present state of feeling and her alienation from you.
She is thrown so much upon herself, that it tends to make
her both irritable and unsocial ; but you could not have acted
differently, if you are to prove your love by faithfulness and
disapprobation of her faults. My esteem for you has been
doubly increased by your conduct to Marie ; and while I may
think that you have perhaps judged her rather too harshly,
I must attribute that judgment to your own high sense of
virtue in abhorring that which is hateful in Marie.

"I was much pleased with her answer to Mrs. Kenyon,
though she has, I fear, lost her friendship and notice; but
I quite think Mrs. K 's interference merited Marie's re-
marks.

" Marie is very anxious for my permission to show you m^

328 TFIE FEMALE JESUIT.

late letters. I am sorry I cannot grant her request. I said
several things in confidence to her, and consulted her upon one
or two little matters that I wished none but herself to know for
the present. Such communications are not likely again to pass
between us.

" I have been much amused with Marie's great annoyance,
that Captain Kenyon's letters should have given you an unfavor-
able impression of him. She was vexed at his bad spelling, <fec.
I should think it too ridiculous to notice, did I not consider it
right, in justice to Mr. K , to endeavor to remove that im-
pression. There is no one amongst the circle of my friends and

relations whom I more sincerely esteem than Mr. K . I

respect him for his high moral worth and gentlemanly conduct
and deportment. His incorrect orthography does not arise from
want of education, for he is a man of considerable intellectual
attainments ; but it is from an extreme degree of nervousness,
which produces often an absent state of mind, and which ab-
sence is considerably increased by excitement. He rarely ever
writes letters at all, and frequently have I known him to write
part of one sentence, forget what he has said, and he has com-
pleted it with a totally ditierent subject. I read over his second
letter, fearing any blunder of this kind. I hope ere long to

have the pleasure of introducing him to you and Miss ,

when I think the latter will sa}^, Captain Kenyon is a gentle-
man, though his seal and letters are so ungentlemanly. I am
now joking, so hope no oflence will be given.

" If Marie has not yet written to acknowledge my remittance,
please see that she does so directly. I should have sent more,
but I trust to see you soon, and there is £75 in the boxes. I
could not send one of my servants with them, for nothing could
be removed during my illness, as the General sent a person to
Manotte, who will remain till I am able to go there. I think
Marie forgets how peculiarly I am situ;itt'd, or she would not
be so impatient. She may by such impatience defeat my plans,

THE TRIAL MORNING. 329

and cause me much censure. She has got a strange fancy now :
she fears that you would wish to part with her, which fear dis-
tresses her very mucli.

" I was much annoyed to hear of Marie being seen alone at
the time and place, by her old companion and schoolfellow,

Miss . It has gone the whole round of the family, with

tlie addition that she looked dull and miserable.

" I should feel obliged by Mr. L forwarding me Marie's

account, and also acquainting me of his plans for the sea. If
he writes in a few days he may direct for me here. I should
feel favored by a few lines from yourself about my dear Marie.

"Please present my very kind regards to Mr. L , and

say I hope he will not think I have taken a liberty in again
addressing you. With my most respectful compliments, I am,
dear madam,

"Yours faithfully,

" II. C. Clifford."

The " Private Papers" when opened, proved to be her Will,
bequeathing the imaginary articles in her non-existent boxes to
various members of the family.

" I, Marie Lucille G , now residing at the house of the

Reverend S L , , near London, do will and

bequeath the following articles to my several dear fi-iends, they
being my own property, left me by my mother, Marie Con-
stable G , who died in Manotte, France, on the Tth of

August, 1844 : —

To my uncle, the Reverend Herbert Constable Clifford, of
Manotte, I leave my late mother's desk and contents, her por-
trait, books, and all the diamonds and jewels belonging to my
late grandmamma, Marie Talbot Clifford.

My own desk made of porcupine quills, I bequeath to my
dearest friend, J L .

330 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

The jewels belonging exclusively to my late mother, to be
disposed of as follows : —

My uncle to select any he may particularly desire as family
relics.

To E T a ring, and cameo brooch, and diamond

crucifix, and bracelet.

To S T a brooch and ring.

To the Reverend S L my late mother's watch,

seals, and gold guard.

To J E L my own miniature, enamelled

Geneva watch and gold chain, my pearl ornaaients, and coral
necklace, and ruby crucifix.

To S A L my silver mug, and silver case of

spoons and forks.

To S H a ring.

To S S , second son of T S , Esq., my

gold pencil case, or some other token of love.

To the Reverend W F and his wife, a ring and

brooch.

To T S and his wife E S , each a trinket.

The rest of my jewels, clothes, books, boxes, &c., I leave to
J L , wife of the Reverend S L .

Each of the servants to have some trifling token of remem-
brance of me. The coins to be sold, and the proceeds to be

expended on a font for , left as my last dying legacy,

and a suitable inscription to be put upon it.

This is my last wish and will, signed by me on this, the
fourth day of March, 1850.

Witness."

The codicil which follows refers to articles really in her pos-
session.

" The Bible given to me by S T , I leave for my

dearest undo, and also the book called the ' Anxious Enquirer.

MARIES TRANSMIGRATIONS. 331

My first little Testament I bequeath as my greatest earthly
treasure, to Lilly.

My work-box to Miss T .

A Bible to Miss S .

My ' Cruden's Concordance' to Miss K .

The copy of ' Young's Night Thoughts' to Mrs. T-

My smelling bottle to E P .

One of my little books to T D .

Hymn book to E S ."

CHAPTER XXXI.

Marie's transmigrations.

After the departure of their friends, Mr. and Mrs. L

set out in search of an apartment for Marie. They at length
found one at about a mile and a half distance, where the poor
woman who owned the house appeared honest and respectable ;
and giving her a charge to attend to Marie's comfort, as a
young person intending to emigrate, they agreed on the terms
for her board and lodging, and turned their steps homeward.
The address was left for Marie at the shop before mentioned,
and her boxes sent to her apartment.

Mrs. King called soon afterwards to inform them that Marie
had been at her house. Mrs. King not being at home, she
asked to go to the kitchen fire, and there to the surprise of the
girl, she emptied her pockets of a great quantity of papers and
burnt them all. She went up stairs to wait, and found Mr.
King* at his dinner. He was finishing on gooseberry pie, and

* This was a nursery gardener, who had brought Marie many ores'
ents of choice flowers during her iUness.

332 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

she took some with great rehsh. Who else could have sat
down to eat immediately after such a conviction ?

On hearing of this conflagration, the gentlemen regretted
tliat they had not insisted on her turning out the contents of
her pockets, but a mixture of gallantry and pity had induced
them to let her oft' more easily than she deserved.

Very strange and sad were the feelings of those whom she
had left. It was certainly a rehef to be freed from the anxiety
and watching of the last fortnight; but who can imagine the
blank which she left behind ? The dream of eighteen months
was over. She whom they had loved and cherished as a
daughter had, as far as her place in their aftections was con-
cerned, suddenly ceased to be. They felt as if they had been
keeping guard over a felon, and as if she had that morning
been tried, condemned, and sent beyond the seas.

They could not bear to sit down and thinlc. There was no
bright spot on which they could rest in the past — no gleam of
hope in looking forward to the future. There were several sub-
jects of inquiry still remaining, and they resolved to busy
themselves about these, and escape for a few hours from the
desolate house. They started in search of the professor of lan-
guages, and found his rooms without difficulty. They were
shown into a drawing-room, and presently a short, stoutly built
German entered ; — a sturdy uncompromising person, a man of
business, a man of the world, and as it would seem little likely

to be imposed upon. " I have called on you," said Mr. L ,

" in reference to some letters which have been sent to my house,
written by Miss G , and translated here."

" Oh, it is Mr. L I suppose ?

" Yes."

" Well, I am glad to see you. I was thinking of calling
upon you to know if you can tell me about Miss Clifford, as she
has not been here for some time."

" It is a Miss G , not a Miss Clifford," said Mr. L .

Marie's transmigrations. 333

" No, it was a Mrs. or Miss Clifford who came here, and the
letters she sent were to Miss G ."

Mr. and Mrs. L looked perplexed and puzzled.

" She was a short stout young lady," said Mr. , " and

she came to me, and said she wanted some letters translated

for her niece, a Miss G , at Mr. L 's, C Terrace.

She asked me if I was a Catholic. I said, ' If you come to me
on business I will attend to you, but if it is about religion, I
have no time to talk on that subject.' She said it did not mat-
ter, only she thought if I were a Catholic I could better enter
into the feelings with which she wrote these letters."

Mr. and Mrs. L could not yet make it out. Here was a new

character appearing on the stage in the shape of a Miss Clifford.

Mr. proceeded, " She told me that her niece had

apostatized from the Catholic Church, and that she had been
so angry with her at first that she had declared she would never
write to her again, but latterly she had relented, and wished to
try to bring her back to the true Church. Her niece did not
speak English, so she wished the letters to be in French ; be-
sides which she should save her word by our writing them."
He then produced two packets, one of Marie's English originals,
and the other her orders to him to translate them. " I did
them up," he added, "in case I might be out, as she said she
was going to call; and I wrote the account outside, 131 pages
at Is. a page, £6 11 5."

" But these letters were from a gentleman, a priest," said Mr.
and Mrs. L — — ; " not from a young lady."

Mr. was puzzled in his turn. He rang for his French

assistant, a tall, grave young man, and they began to chatter
away in French.

" Those letters, Miss Clifford's letters, were from a priest,"
said

" A priest ! no," said the young Frenchman. " They were
from a lady !"

334 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

" Why how could you translate these letters, and think they

were from a lady ?" said Mrs. L ; and she eagerly seized

one of Marie's copies to show the impossibility of understanding
the writer to be a lady. She ran her eye down a page. " There
is frequent mention of the General," said she, " the General of
the Jesuits."

" It does not say what general," they replied, " it might be
a father or brother, a military general."

" Here he talks of keeping his retreat," she said again.

" Ladies have retreats too," they replied.

And true ienough, as she looked down page after page, she
saw that they would suit equally with either of Marie's assumed
characters, an aunt or an uncle. To the Frenchman she was

an aunt, to Mr. L she was an uncle. Like those cosmo-

ramic amusements, which used to be in vogue when we were
children, in which any compartments of landscape scenery,
however variously placed, would form one perfect whole, so
these letters were arranged to make up a consistent story in
the character either of aunt or uncle, as the case might require.

" But how could you make out her writing to her niece
from Ghent, and Marseilles, and Nice," asked Mr. and Mrs.
L .

" Why she wrote to me from those places herself," said

Mr . " She called on me the first time, and afterwards

she wrote to me from abroad, and she said that her letters were
sent to England in other despatches :" and he showed her notes
to him, which corresponded in their statements with the uncle
or aunt letters which accompanied them.

"I am very sorr}'- I have been done," said Mr. .

"We poor professors have nothing but our time to depend
upon. A great deal of time has been taken up about these
letters. She only paid us thirty shillings. A shilling a page :
that is not too much, I am sure : 131 pages, at one shilling a
page, unpaid for: £6 lis. left to pay. Many a time we sat up

335

at nights to write these letters, because they were always want-
ed in such a hurry, and sometimes we put off lessons to get
them done. One hundred and thirty-one pages at a shilling a
page," repeated the poor professor in hopeless despondency.
" I am truly sorry I have been doney

To show the ingenuity with which Marie acted out her
character of a wealthy aunt, some specimens of the orders sent
to Mr. are here inserted.

" Monsieur will oblige Miss Clifford by sending by

the bearer the letter left by her last night.

" Miss Clifford hopes that her French letter was duly sent,
and she also desires to say she shall not forget Monsieur
's prompt attention to this commission.

" Portman Square,
" Thursday Morning."

" Sir,

"I saw ray niece on Thursday, and was glad to find
you had written so promptly. I should have seen her again
to-day, but am unable from other engagements. I should be
very glad if you will translate the enclosed immediately^ and
post it for me forthwith. I was unable to call or send yester-
day, but I shall be returning in my carriage this evening

through Street, at least I expect so : if not I shall be

at the Pantheon on Monday, so will call for the copies, and pay
you for the translations. I have not any stamps: if I send
for any I shall miss the next post, which I am anxious to avoid.

" I was pleased with the neatness of your note, for we had
occasion to refer to it. I noticed one mistake in the direction

of the name, it was spelt thus G , which was wrong, it is

G , but that is of no consequence.

" I wish my niece to have the letter at the latest on Sunday
morning, so you will oblige me bj being prompt. If you ara

336 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

not in when I call, will you please leave me a few cards of your
terras, I may use them for you.

"lam,

" Yours respectfully,

"H. C. Clifford.
" Westbourne Terrace,
" Saturday Morning."

" Sir,

" I should feel obliged by your translating forthwith
the enclosed letter in French. I wish you to send it by to-
morrow morning's post. Street will do.

"Please do not put ' signed' to the name, as I give you free
permission to sign my name.

" Be particular in putting the day ' Wednesday morning.' I
wish the same person to write this one that translated the otl^er
letter of mine.

" A sheet of plain paper with envelope sealed with black
will do. I wish the postage paid. In calculating your charge
for the other translation, I think the stamps sent will defray the
expense. I have not any more by me, or should send them,
but I shall either call to-morrow, or send my page for the
English copy, so can then pay the remaining charge.

" I have mentioned you to some relatives of mine in London
who wish for a French tutor. They will call upon you soon.
By your immediate attention to this business you will much oblige,

Yours respectfully,

" H. C. Clifford.
" Westbourne Terrace,
" Tuesday Morning.

"great haste."

" Sir,

" The illness of a relative called me suddenly away, so
that I could not call, or yet send. My time has been for thd

Marie's transmigrations. 33Y

last week so much engaged with the Christmas duties, that I
have been unable to attend to anything beyond them.

" I enclose you the sum for the last one, and desire you to
topy out the enclosed in French. Please do it directly, and
^ate it by the month as given, and post it from the City.
Direct it from the given address. I am leaving London to-
night for our country residence Manotte Park, from whence I
came yesterday on business. I shall be up again on Saturday
next, so hope to call for the copies.

" By attending to this directly you will oblige,

"Yours, &c.,

« Wednesday Morning." " H. C. Clifford."

" Saturday, Feb. 3d.
"Sir,

" I have not convenient change by me before I post

this letter, ha\ing only notes, or should enclose 10^. for the

other letter ; but will pay you for the two on my return home,

or, if I see my cousin Mrs. Kenyon, I will direct her to forward

you the money. I hope the last sum was correct.

" You will oblige me by translating the enclosed immediately ^
and forwarding it forthwith.

" It has struck me, that it perhaps might appear mysterious
my requiring you to translate these letters ; but it being in the
way of your business, it is scarcely necessary to enter into
explanations; but I would just say, that I pledged myself,
under very painful circumstances, not to write to my niece. I
being her only friend in our family, and she also not understand-
ing much of the English language, I have spared her feelings by
having them written in French : so the excuse has served both
purposes.

" By prompt attention you will oblige

" Yours truly,

"H.C.Clifford. •

" Address to Miss G as before."

15

338 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

"Mount St. Benedict, Jan. 19th 1850

t
I. H. S.

« Sir,

" Having a little nephew who is under our care, and
who is now in rather delicate health, we have been induced to
remove him from the public college where his education has
been conducted for the last year. Feeling it unadvisable that
he should entirely discontinue his studies, his uncle and myself
have almost come to the decision of engaging a private tutor.
We had some thought of having a priest, but have now given
up the idea.

" As you have an establishment, it struck me that you might
hear of some worthy young gentleman fully competent for the
duties required. A sound English education, with a knowledge
of mathematics. He must understand the Latin and Greek,
German and French languages. Drawing would be another
inducement, and it is indispensable that he be a member of the
Roman Catholic Church. If you know of any one that is able
to take this situation, I should be glad if you would communi-
cate with me after the 12th of March, for I shall be engaged
till then in religious duties. The tutor would have all the
comforts and treatment of a gentleman, and salary would be no
object to us, providing he was a clever, intellectual person. We
shall reside in London, and trust that will be the home for the
tutor and pupil during the summer months, so that we are not
particular to a resident or daily tutor.

" When I come to London I will send my address, so that
you may call upon us, which will be about the time stated,
that is, when we have fixed upon our residence. I have de-
sired my cousin, Mrs. Kenyon, to call upon you with this letter,
having sent to her, and having deputed her to pay you your
charges for translating, and also to receive the copies. If she
does not call with the letter, she will do so, I dare say, a few

MARIES TRANSMIGRATIONS. 339

days after. You can mention to her if you know of any person
that will suit us, for we have a decided objection to advertising.

" Please translate the enclosed as soon as possible.

Street post will do. I have discontinued black paper. I do
not know if you have used it. Please observe the date given.
By so doing you will oblige

" Yours truly,

"H. C.Clifford."
" Address Miss G ^ &c., &c.

" P. S. I wish the letter enclosed in an envelope, so di-
rected that my niece can hand it over to her friend, the party
addressed."

t
I. H. S.

"Ghent, February 28th, 1850.
« Sir,

" Having been detained by illness much beyond my
purposed stay, I have not been able to remit you the money
for the translating of the two last letter. I shall be in Eng-
land in the course of another fortnight or three weeks, so will
enclose the money from Manotte, for I shall not come to Lon-
don till April, when I hope to make arrangements with you for
my nephew, for we have taken a house in town for the season.
I should feel obliged by your translating the enclosed directlt/y
for considerable delay will have ensued through the transmis-
sion of the letters from here to you. I have had to enclose
them in another despatch, so that two delays will have oc-
curred. You will really greatly favor me by attending to them
immediately.

" The letter to Mrs. L I wish translated, and very neatli/

enclosed in a small envelope, sealed with a small black seal.
The other letters I wish directed as usual to my niece, sealed
with black.

340 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

" By your immediate and prompt attention to this commis-
sion, you will favor

Yours truly,

"H.C.Clifford.

" P. S. — Use nice paper to Mrs. L , and let the writing

be carefully attended to. My niece's is not required to ho
particular.

" Address, Miss G , &c."

t
I. H. S.

" Nice. March 23d.

"Sir,

" I really feel quite ashamed to put you to so much
trouble, being so far distant; but being unable to return so
soon as expected, on account of health, I am obliged to write
again to my niece.

" I have enclosed you money for this letter. I cannot send
more, for it would add to the postage, and I have to enclose
this in another despatch for London ; but I could not think of
sending to you again without paying for this one. As soon as
I come home, I will remit you the other. Please translate it
immediately/, for I want their answers directly, it being of im-
mense importance.

" I should be glad if you would use black. I am obliged to
use white, for I cannot purchase-black here.

" Enclose the Reverend S L 's letter in the one to

my niece. By so doing, you will oblige
Yours respectfully,

" H. C. Clifford,

" Great haste:'

THE BANDAGED ARM. 341

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE BANDAGED ARM.

The mystery of Mrs. Kenyon's letters was still unexplained.
"Well written, and in a lady-like hand, they formed the most
perplexing subject of speculation that yet remained. On re-
turning from the French translator, Mr. L went to the

post-office opposite, to ascertain if Marie had ever attempted
any tricks there. " Never but once," said the young man who
kept it. " She wished to persuade me to post a letter without
marking it. She said she wanted to play a joke on a young
friend, and did not wish her to find out where the letter came
from." He recollected the address, having once known the
lady. It was a Miss H .

Mr. L suspecting that some light might here be ob-
tained on the unexplained mystery, went to Miss H , a day

or two after, and found that she and her sister kept a highly
respectable boarding-school. He was shown into the drawing-
room, and a ladylike, pleasing person appeared. He introduced
himself by name, and apologized for his visit. " Oh ! you have
come about Miss D'Orsay," said the lady. Mr. L imme-
diately saw that this was some new trick, and requested that

Miss H would kindly acquaint him with all that had

passed between Miss D'Orsay and herself.

Miss H readily complied. " One evening, about a

month ago, a lady called on us, and stated that she was a niece
of Count D'Orsay, and that she was now in England for the
benefit of her health, under the friendly as well as professional
care of Sir James and Lady Clarke. She said that she had
both a French and English governess, but between the two, had
not become perfect in either language ; and she wished while in

342 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

England to have the advantage of improving in English. She
had heard of us through her friends, the daughters of Colonel
Watson, and thought that a residence with us would just meet
her views. She said that she wanted two rooms for herself,
and a little room for her maid, and offered us four guineas a
week for our drawing-room floor. We had never thought of
letting any part of our house before ; but she was so agreeable
and interesting, that we thought she would be a pleasant addi-
tion to our circle, and we agreed to meet her wishes. She
spoke of several persons in fashionable life with whom we were
slightly acquainted ; and her broken English^ and simplicity of
expression, agreed with her account of herself. She had all the
French animation of manner, and seemed very intelligent. We
wondered at not having heard from her again, and felt anxious
to do so, as we were about purchasing furniture for another
room, to use instead of our drawing-room."

Mr. L inquired if Miss H could throw any light on

some letters which had come to his house from a Mrs.
Kenyon.

" 0 yes ! we wrote them out for Miss D'Orsay at her request.
Her arm was bandaged up in a nice cambric handkerchief, and
she told us that she was now under Sir James Clarke's treat-
ment for it. She then said that she had that morning received
a letter from her friend Mrs^. Kenyon at Marseilles, and that
Mrs. Kenyon had enclosed a letter for a young friend of hers in
that neighborhood ; that Mrs. Kenyon could not write in

English, and her friend Miss G could not read French, so

Mrs. K had asked her to translate and send it. ' I would

do it directly,' she said, ' but my arm is so bad, I cannot use
it. If you would kindly write it for me while I translate, I
should be so much obliged.' She took out of her pocket what
appeared to be a French /etter, and dictated while my sister
wrote. As there were no matters of business in the letter,
merely an account of the illness of a relative, we did not see

THE BANDAGED ARM. 343

any objection, and we corrected the mistakes, and wrote and
posted it for her."

" And how was the next letter managed ?"

"She came again, very nicely dressed, with her arm still
bandaged up, and said that she could not come to us so soon
as she intended, as Sir James had ordered her to Hastings for a
few weeks. She fixed to come to us the first week in August.
She talked a great deal as before, and asked us to write another
letter for her, as her arm, though better, was still too weak to
guide the pen."

" And did you feel no misgivings as to the correctness of her
story ?"

" No, not the slightest ; but we afterwards had a letter from
her, dated Hastings, the extreme vulgarity of which quite shook
our confidence. We thought that no lady could be capable
of penning such references."

" Well," said Mr. L , " how could you be misled by that ?

because, if she were capable of writing a letter from Hastings,
she could write Mrs. Kenyon's letter and send it herself."

" O," said Miss H , " I will soon show you how that

was done ;" and, producing a scarcely legible scrawl in pencil,
Mr. L read as follows : —

"Hastings, June 5th, 1850.

" My dear Miss H ,

" Most gladly do I take up a pencil — not a pen — to
fulfil my promise in scribbling a few hnes to you, to tell you of
all the troublesome disasters that have befallen me since my
arrival at this outlandish domicile. I have made a change for
the worse, not for the better ; for I must tell you that Sir James
Clark has been most unfortunate in his choice of apartments. In
the first place, there are six noisy children. I have had ' le bon-
heur' of hearing the shrieks of two boys, while undergoing the
penance of flogging from their ill-tempered papa. I felt strongly

344 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

inclined to go out from my bedroom to the next one to inter-
fere, for he was in a violent passion with the poor unfortunates.
In the next place, I did not sleep through those horrible night
intruders ; this morning when I got up my eye was swollen
quite up. I shall not remain here, for Lady Clarke thinks I
must go to some other place ; for if I go elsewhere in Hastings
it will give mortal offence. Lady Clarke is returning this
evening, so I hope soon to gain my dismissal from here, for it
is so very, very miserable. My hand is so painful, I fear you
will not be able to read this ' hlllet doux ;' my little finger is
now breaking out. I told Sir James about your decision, but
he would not give me any answer, and he said it had better not
be settled in any way till I returned to London ; for he did
not know yet whether he should have me in London for the
summer : it depends upon my state of health after my hand is
well. I may perhaps go to St. Leonard's if I do not stay here.
I am sure to come to you for the autumn, if I don't for the
summer. I am much annoyed at being sent from London so
soon, for I am so dull when in strange places. I should like
you or your sister to come down and see me when I am settled
somewhere. Lady Clarke is going to London after dinner, so I
shall get her to post this letter for me there, so as to save a
post, for I am too late for the one here. The last is three ; so
it will be so long on the way if I leave it till to-morrow. Will
you kindly write me the enclosed note, and address it to Miss

G : I received it this morning from London. I must

now go and dress for dinner. Do not write till I write again,
for I do not know how soon I may leave. I will write directly
to you, and give you full particulars.

" With many thanks to you for your kindness to a lone
female,

" I am, with love, yours sincerely,

" Julia K. D'Orsay."

TEMPORARY EXILE. 345

By a comparison of dates, the first visit to Miss H ap-
peared to have been paid on that same Friday when Marie pro-
fessed to have met her friend Mary L in Kensington

Gardens ; and in all probability she then sought the deepest
shade of those gardens, not to converse with a friend, but to
bandage up her arm, and employ a stratagem worthy only of
the meanest beggar.

In clearing a table drawer in the back parlor at C Ter-
race, another set of dead leeches were found ; and the butcher
added the information that she had a little time before brought
him a phial to be filled with bullock's blood, which she said she
wanted to put to the roots of a choice vine that her uncle had
sent her from Provence. By the mixture of this with warm
water, she could imitate blood from the lungs. It was subse-
quently ascertained that when feigning loss of appetite, she had
supplied her wants from the larder and the pastry-cook's shop.

Her gifts to the poor, her presents to friends, and her contri-
butions to fancy sales, were all found to have been left unpaid. -

CHAPTER XXXIII.

TEMPORARY EXILE.

Mr. L — — and Mr. K made inquiries about the possi-
bility of Marie carrying out her proposal to emigrate. They
found that her outfit and passage would cost between £40 and
£50. To this outlay no one appeared disposed to contribute.
The congregation, indignant at the imposition practised on their
minister, would more readily have paid the expenses of her

prosecution. Mr. L and Mr. K went to her at

Street, informed her of the difficulty, and asked if she could

15*

34G THE FEMALE JESUIT.

suggest any other plan. She said that her early governesses,

Misses A and C , had removed to Dieppe and set up

an English school there, and if she could only get to them, she
was sure of a welcome and a home. On a subsequent inter-
view she stated that she had written to them and ascertained
that they had removed to Ghent. It was agreed that her passage
thither should be paid, and that she should go as soon as possible.

Letters were in the interval received from two parties to
whom she had referred. One confirmed her statement of hav-
ing been two years in a situation as governess. The other con-
jectured that the inquiry must refer to a relative, though the
Christian name was different, and the surname was spelt dif-
ferently, and he had not heard of her for years. As Marie
spelt her name in four different ways, it was not easy to iden-
tify her. A doubt also arose whether she was indeed the per-
son whom she had latterly represented herself to be, or whether
she was personating some other character with whom she had
come in contact.

A letter to her alleged brother at S , was, after sundry

wanderings, returned by the post-office as " not known."

The Roman Catholic priest, mentioned by Madame

on application confirmed Madame 's statement.

On one point all were agreed, that whoever Marie might be,
it was very desirable to send her out of the country ; and what-
ever might be her object in going to Ghent, no more feasible
project for disposing of her could under present circumstances
be suggested. It was arranged that Marie should leave by the
steamer for Ostend, so as to take train for Ghent. Some sus-
picion as to her intentions being still entertained, her friends
were anxious to be assured that she really went. It was not
thought safe to entrust her with the passage money, lest she
should appropriate it in some other way. It was therefore de-
termined that she should go by herself to the packet, and that
Mr. L and Mr. K should meet her there.

TEMPORARY EXILE. 347

At half-past tight o'clock on Friday the 28th of June, Mr.

L and his friend repaired to St. Katherine's Wharf. The

scene was such as to awaken no ordinary feelings. It was an
unusually wet and gloomy evening for the bright month of
June. The day had been a brilliant one, and made the con-
trast the greater. Heavy clouds obscured the sun as he
hastened to his setting, and heavy showers fell. The Thames
was covered with thick mists ; the masts of the shipping looked
through like unearthly spectators ; the gray tops of the Tower
of London added their gloomy associations to the scene ; the
dark coming shades of night were already deepening the gloom ;
and the deep-toned bell of a neighboring church tolled mourn-
fully as on the morning of some fearful execution : and, as if
to complete the impression, an occasional flash of lightning
gleamed in the sky, as a type of that light from heaven which
had so wonderfully laid bare the artful imposture now brought
to a close.

The two friends felt the influence of the scene. They looked
down upon the steamer. The drops of falling rain echoed on
the deck ; and the busy crew, amidst harsh sounds such as
sailors alone can utter, were taking on board, and depositing in
the hold, large bales of merchandise. Pacing to and fro upon
the deck in plain attire, friendless and unprotected, was seen a
female form in strange contrast with all other objects. Could
it be Marie, the frail girl over whom little less than a mother's
love had watched, expecting every moment to be her last ?
Could it be she whose touching history had delighted so many
hearts ? It was : but, alas ! how changed in circumstances,
and character, and appearance. Such is crime. It may have
its sunny day, but its evening will close as cheerlessly as
Marie's.

Indisposed to have more conversation with her than neces-
sary, the friends did not immediately go on board. The keen
eye of Marie had been watching th. m as they linger..'d on the

348 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

wharf, and fearing probably lest they should leave without re-
plenishing her purse, she disappeared below, and soon the
steward ascended the ladder with the following note. It was
written on a fragment of soiled paper, torn out of an account-
book. -■

" Please Mr. L do you wish to bid me good-bye ; and

will the captain see me, or arrange for me to go to Ghent ?"

They went on board. Marie received them in the cabin with
her recently adopted self-possession, and without any indication
of anxiety in her countenance. Mr. L paid her fare, sup-
plied her with pocket-money, and gave her a small book cal-
culated to arouse conscience. Without one word of thanks,
one expression of regret for the past, one sign of emotion,
Marie received his last act of kindness and sad farewell, and
hurried into the ladies' cabin.

Mr. L and his friend left the wharf. The mists yet

hovered over the river : the deep toll of the bell seemed to
proclaim the character of the occasion : the lightning, now
more clear amidst the darkness, but still fitful and lurid, seemed
to hover over the criminal. Will it be called weakness if he
who had regarded her with almost a father's interest and a
father's hope wept, and his friend sympathized in his emotion ?

On the return of the vessel to London, the steward informed

Mr. L that she had been landed at Ostend, and that he

had seen her take train for Ghent.

In the month of August Mr. L and his sister were

travelling on the continent. They stayed a night in Ghent,
and availed themselves of the opportunity to inquire after
Marie. They went to all the ladies' schools in Ghent, and
made every inquiry at the post-office and elsewhere, but no

such names as those of Mesdames A and C had

been known in Ghent within memory of the present generation.
What was Marie's motive for going, and how she obtained the

WAS SHE NOT A JESUIT? 349

means for returning, are questions still unexplained. She has
since reappeared in London, and is believed to be still in some
family at the West End in the capacity of a governess.

CHAPTER XXXIY.

WAS SHE NOT A JESUIT?

Marie's name has so far been suppressed, under the sup-
position that she may possibly belong to some respectable
family, whom they would not wish to implicate in her disgrace.
The circumstances, dates, handwriting, and portrait will, it is
thought, be sufficient to lead to her detection wherever she may
be carrying on some new imposition. She states her age to
be twenty-six. She is short, and rather stout. She plays a
little on the organ and on the piano, and excels in all kind of
fancy-work.

Marie's transactions with the post-office may be explained on
the supposition -that some of her letters were sent without her
own address, that others were recalled from the foreign post-
offices, and that others when returned were intercepted at the
door. The answers to the questions, page 188, and the letter
mentioned, page 244, were the only two which came back
after her departure. The foct that not one of the numerous
letters to Manotte was returned has suggested the suspicion
that she may have had some accomplice there to receive them.

A long letter from Mrs. S informing Mr. and Mrs. L

of various suspicious circumstances which had come to her
knowledge, never found its way to them. The letter to Rev-
erend Mother, referred to page 115, was posted by Mr. L.

himself; but whether the one originally written ever went, or

350 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

whether another enclosure in the same envelope was dexter-
ously substituted for it, cannot now be ascertained.

Marie's statements respecting the Order to which she said
that she belonged, page 17-20, are well worthy of investigation,
though the writer cannot now vouch for a single particular of
her convent history or of her escape. All that regards her in-
troduction to the family at C Terrace, with the whole of

the "Sequel" from page 115 to the close, is literally true.

Marie brought with her from the convent two rosaries, two
crosses, a sealed wafer, said to have been blessed by the Pope,
several little pictures of Mary and the Infant Saviour, Saint
Francis de Sales, &c., with pious reflections, two medals with a
figure of Mary on the one side, the " sacred hearts" of Jesus
and of Mary on the other, and the inscription " 0 ! Marie,
concue sans peche, priez pour nous, qui avons recours a vous,"
and a third with the motto, " Souvenir de mission^

Marie's imposture has been explained, but Marie and her
object are still involved in mystery. The question naturally
arises. Was it her own unaided project ? Was she acting
without the assistance or concurrence of any other party ? re-
taining her own fearful secrets without a single confidant — liv-
ing a life of plotting and guilt, and hazard, without one friend
with whom to divide her anxieties? Had she sacrificed all
human affections, and left herself without one to love, and by
whom to be loved ? It is difficult to imagine the case of a
heart so utterly lonely and desolate — living among her fellow-
creatures, and yet altogether as apart from them in all of inter-
est and communion as if she had Hved in some uninhabited
desert. It would be difficult to find such a case even among
thieves and assassins, of a being without one remaining tie — of
one so entire in its solitariness and isolation, for —

" There can be no companionship
For loneliness of heart."

WAS SHE NOT A JESUIT? 351

Then comes the second question. What could be her mo-
tive ? Was it the mere love of deception and romance ? We
can scarcely fancy that sufficiently powerful ?nd durable to
carry her through for so long a period, and counterbalance all
the risks and terrors it involved. If it did, her case was unique.
Men do not lie and scheme without the hope of some great
ulterior gain.

Was it indolence ? that rather than undergo the fatigue of
teaching children, she preferred to be nursed in ease and idle-
ness ? Yet she exerted herself far more than if she had been a
governess. Her brain must have been always at work, plotting
and counterplotting ; she was writing almost incessantly ; she
sacrificed her rest at night ; she gave up a comfortable salary,
and involved herself in straits and difficulties for want of money ;
she underwent much punishment and privation in connection
with her fictitious illness ; she sacrificed conscience and charac-
ter : and the supposition of indolence furnishes a very unsatis-
factory solution of the wonderful and untiring energy with
which she carried out her well-contrived and consistent story.

The conclusion can scarcely be resisted that there must have
been some strong concealed motive for her deception, which has
yet to be explained. It has been surmised by many that she
may have been a lay sister of some religious order, and em-
ployed by the Jesuits for some purpose of their own. If so, it
would account for the assumption of a character altogether the
reverse of her own, and so consistently maintained from first to
last ; for the seeming frankness, conscientiousness, thoughtless-
ness, recklessness, and excitability which had no place in her ;
for the system of lying and trickery in which she was so great
an adept ; for her prying curiosity ; for the religious garb which
she so zealously assumed ; for her intimate acquaintance with
convent life, Catholic observances, and continental services ; for
the wonderful self-possession which she manifested at her con-
viction ; for her anxiety to destroy all the papers which she car-

352 THE FEMALE JESUIT.

rkd about with her ; for the indifference with which she went
otf all but penniless to a foreign land ; and the ease with which,
without a character, she appears to have obtained a situation on
her return. If she had a higher motive to sustain her, — if she
had powerful protectors to fall back upon in the event of failure,
her proceedings would no longer be inexplicable.

There is no apparent reason to doubt the truthfulness of the
replies given by those who introduced and received her into
the convent; but supposing the parties concerned to have
acted in good faith, and from pure benevolence, even they may
not have been made acquainted with Marie's object; and her
brief refuge in the convent, may have been sought merely as a
stepping-stone to its attainment.

It has been urged upon those whom she has deceived, that
so extraordinary a development of character is too interesting a
study for the mental and moral philosopher, to be consigned to
oblivion. Other considerations might have silenced this and
similar arguments, had not the conviction gradually, but irresis-
tibly, forced itself upon them that Marie was only an agent,
and her plot a part of some great system which may have been
brought into action far more widely than Protestants are aware.

It must be obvious to all, that women introduced into fami-
lies for Jesuit objects would be far more efficient than any out-
agents could be ; and that feminine tact, combined with Jesuit
cunning, could scarcely miss the attainment of any desired ob-
ject. " If," remarks a popular French writer, " there is any-
thing more dangerous than a Jesuit, it is a Jesuitess." How
many governesses, or household servants, or even other " es-
caped nuns," whose story has been concealed from regard to
their safety, may now be aiding the purposes of the Jesuits in
this country, is well worthy of inquiry.

Supposing this to be the case with regard to the subject of
this volume, it is far beyond the power of those who sheltered
her to track the wilv course of a Jesuit. In the absence of

WAS SHE NOT A JESUIT ? 353

positive proof, they do not wish to charge her deception on the
Jesuits ; but they put it to the reader, whether the circum-
stances do not warrant suspicion. They can but bring the
facts — and facts which, with such convictions, they would not
feel justified in concealing — before the notice of the public, and
leave their Protestant countrymen to pursue their own investi-
gations, and to form their own conclusions. It will surely be
conceded, that the agent in so extraordinary a series of plots,
has earned for herself the title she assumed, of "a Female
Jesiilt."

TBS END.

'V

UL^