not one of the party being able to speak German. Our perplexity being great, the hostess went over the way in search of an interpreter; making us understand that there was a poor woman, a stranger, who had arrived there a few days before, and had been stopped from mere penury; not having wherewithal to carry her on to Mayence, where she expected to meet a friend. Conceive our astonishment, when this poor creature arrived, to find in her la Mère Genefride, dressed as a peasant, and reduced to the extremest poverty. Oh, that was a joyful moment! I rushed into her arms. Emily did the same, though at the hazard of frightening the poor old religieuse into fits; for, as we found afterward, she was as little aware of the substitution of poor Agnace for Clarice, in the funeral ceremony, as I had been. From that time the troubles of the worthy old woman were at an end; she accompanied us to England, and never left us till the hour of her death. She could give us little account of what had happened at St. Siffren after we had left it, having fled during the night of the uproar to the cottage of the peasant who had nursed Ella Rosa; from whence (having changed her dress) she had actually begged her way to the place where we had met her,-her object being to reach Madame Barthelemis, who resided at Mayence. She added that she had been laid up during the snow at Geneva, and had met with much kindness there. It was at the end of a month from our leaving the house of Madame d'Ivannois that we arrived in London, and proceeded without loss of time to the house of Mr. Beaumont, in the beautiful county of Devon. There we found a handsome house, though not large, situated in a beautifully wooded park, having the ground diversified with gently swelling rises; for in England there are no mountains. Yet there are a deep verdure and richness of landscape, which make even a native of Piedmont } almost ready to say, I can dispense with mountains. And all is so clean, and neat, and fresh, and consistent, that one is ready to exclaim, Surely this England is an earthly paradise! And then there is such a liberty of conscience-such an ease and freedom to do well, that there is no law that restrains in aught but in that which is evil. And in the same parish, just beyond the woods, was a eautiful villa. It was small, indeed, but as elegant and fair as a vase of alabaster; and there resided the man to whom, as Mr. Beaumont often said, he owed, under God, many of those exalted views of religion which made him what he was. He had been a school and college friend of Edward, though some years older. Mr. Beaumont had given him the care of the parish in which he lived; and he was ready to receive his friend when we arrived. It will be expected that I should describe him, but I should find it difficult so to do, because there was nothing in him which struck the stranger at first but extreme humility and gentleness, added to great kindness of manner. appearance, however, had all the elegance which proceeds from extreme refinement of sentiment-using that expression in the best sense of which it is capable; for it almost appeared to me as if true piety had particularly manifested itself in him, by rendering him one of the most blameless, elegant, and simple persons I had ever seen. It does not suit me to give his real name, I will therefore call him Theophilus-the signification of which name is well understood, and is as appropriate to him as to any one I ever knew. His We did not see him at first to advantage; he was under a cloud of natural grief, for it seems that he had lately followed to the grave a fair young sister who lived with him; they called her Lucy, and he still wore a band of crape round his hat, in memory of her. The return of his friend seemed to be a great consolation to him, and he was pressed to spend every hour with us which he could spare from his parochial duties. Thus was the party with which we set out from Switzerland augmented; and being happy, most happy, among ourselves, we avoided other acquaintance, as much as neighbourly kindness would permit. The English are particularly suited to give charms to domestic life. I felt myself getting too much attached to this society, and asked myself more than once what I was about. We are poor weak creatures, and it is well for us that we should not be left to our own discretion. But it may be asked, What did la Mère Genefride do among us? I reply, that she was very happy. She had an apartment to herself, and within it a light closet, and there the poor creature dressed up a sort of altar, and hung up a cross on the wall, and set up a waxen baby for a Virgin, decorating her altar with artificial flowers; and she kept this closet so shut up, that I had been some weeks in the house before I accidentally saw its interior. 1 was much shocked at this discovery, and described what I had seen to Emily and her brother, and they were of opinion that we should still seem to be ignorant of the circumstance, but take every opportunity to engage the venerable mother in hearing the Bible and listening to true statements of doctrine. And as we feared lest she should tamper with the servants, Emily and I resolved to wait upon her and assist her to dress, by which we attached her more and more to ourselves; and although she never, till on her death-bed, acknowledged her entire conviction that Christ was all in all, and the Roman Catholic Church apostate, yet, some years afterward, getting another peep into the closet, I perceived that the cross, the image, and the artificial flowers had disappeared, and that nothing was left on the table but a green cloth, on which lay an open Bible, a hassock being on the floor before the table. And now, my reader, how shall I, who was once a veiled and cloistered nun, venture to close my narrative. May I dare to say that the year of my novitiate, that is, the year which was dated from my becoming a sister of the white veil, was not concluded before I became the happy wife of Edward Beaumont: that I am now the mother of two sons, taller than myself, and of three daughters, namely, Emily, Pauline, and Agnace; that my sweet sister Emily was prevailed upon, some months after my marriage, to become the wife of Theophilus; and that my eldest son expects, with the Divine permission, to be blessed in a few weeks with the hand of his cousin Agnace, in whom all the graces, personal and mental, of her lovely mother, have bloomed afresh. This marriage is waiting only for the arrival of Pauline and William, who are on the road from their sweet valley, with three of their family, the two elder of whom are sons, and the younger a daughter, named after me; and thus I terminate my history, trusting that those things respecting the Roman Catholic Church which I have faithfully recorded may tend to fill the inhabitants of this Protestant land with a sense of gratitude to that God who has liberated their country from the slavery of that great apostacy whose name is Mystery. END OF THE NUN. |