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thou must abide for all eternity, how would it there is His tender mercy, and this too is in. be with thee for courage ? Wouldst thou finitely great. Ah, my God! despair of God's mercy, or whither wouldst

- Thou hast answered right well, and thou betake thee? Bethink thee awhile, and done true honor to the Most High Majesty of then answer me what thou wouldst do.

God in that thou hast attained to so noble a Ans. -Oh no, I would not despair, I would conception of His goodness. Now, then, I still hope God would be merciful to me. I must know something further. In case the would hope that the dear Blood of Jesus Lord God because of thy sins should afflict Christ would not allow me to perish everlast thee with a loathsome disease, even as He did ingly. I would hope that if I cried right out the godless Antiochus, as we read in Holy of my deep misery to God, and right inwardly Writ (2 Maccab. 9), and no one should be able from the love of God, He would have compas. to abide thee on account of the frightful stench sion upon all my sins and would hearken unto and infection; if even thy friends and relations

had thrust thee forth from the house, and thou Oh God! as much and a great deal more I must needs lie without, to die like a beast, hope from Thy tender mercy, and this hope deprived of all human comfort and assistance; shall not be borne from my heart forever. and even when thou didst have a priest sent For I know Thee already much too well, o for, he should fee away from thee, crying out Jesus, Thou meekest of all, and I know that that thou wert already lost, that God had Thy love for Thy poor children is much too already cast thee away, and thou must be great. Thou hast let Thyself go in the way of damned forever : oh say what wouldst thou expenditure on our behalf too far, and now then do - wouldst thou not at length despair? Thou canst not with all Thy Almightiness Ans. — Yet would I not despair, O Thou even once come to this, that Thou shouldst my God! thrust out one single right penitent sinner from

- But when now further thy strength before the mercy-seat of Thine everlasting altogether fails thee, thine eyes are darkened, Goodness, and why then should I despair? thy hearing gone, thy tongue paralyzed, thy Ah me ! ah me! if all the sinners of the whole breath choked, and now, even now, thou must world did but know Thee aright, how it would die; and thereupon a vast number of evil grieve them that they had ever angered a Mas. spirits gather round thee, shrieking out in ter so unspeakably gentle. Ah, my Jesus ! monstrous fashion that thou must come forth

Qu. 2 - But how would it be, my child, if and be delivered over to them for all eternity, thy whole life long thou hadst done no good wouldst thou not then despair ? thing, but on the other hand hadst upon thy Ans. — I would certainly even then not deconscience all the sins that had been com- spair: God could in a moment still deliver mitted from the beginning of the world by me. evil spirits and men, wouldst thou not then Qu. 6. — If, when in these straits, thou despair? Bethink thee and give me an an- shouldst cry to all the blessed in heaven, and

if they should all answer thee with one voice, Ans. — I would not despair.

that they could not help thee, that it was too But if being in such a state of sin late, and that God had already cast thee off thou of a sudden camest into an assured dan forever, wouldst thou not then despair ? ger of death; for instance, if midmost a fierce Ans. — No, I would not yet despair, O God, sea thou wert suffering shipwreck, what think- O God! est thou, how wouldst thou abide it? Set it

- But if the Mother of God herself before thine eyes in a right lively manner, should give thee a like answer, would not then and tell me what thou thinkest. The ship is all thy courage fail? sinking, the storm hath the upper hand. Ans. — No, not at all ; so long as I had There is no help for thee, there is no creature breath I would evermore hope. that can deliver thee, down thou must go. Qu. 8. — But if Christ appeared to thee, and There is no priest far or near; the abyss declared that His precious Blood would no awaits thee and Hell, and now, even now, thou more avail for thee with His Heavenly Father, art to be lost for all eternity: art thou not yet and thou must therefore be damned, wouldst of a mind that thou wouldst despair?

thou have any power then of hoping ? Ans. - No, no, I would not despair, I would Ans. As long as I lived I would hope, for from the bottom of my heart cry unto God. I so long I should always be able to reconcile would present before Him the precious Blood nyself with God (Job xxxi.). His fatherly of Jesus Christ, I would wholly hope and trust and motherly heart is so endlessly tender that that He would nevertheless help me, and would it would, as it were, break and fly asunder in a moment have compassion upon my miser. whenever a sinner with a really true and pure able sins, if only I would love Him above all contrition and sorrow should come in contact things. He could not refuse to pardon me with it; wherefore I would never give myself again. He would give way in my regard to up for lost: I would hope, yea, I would hope. His unspeakable tender mercy, and in such a Qu. 9. — But how ! would you not believe hope I would fearlessly let myself slip into that Christ? Could He by any possibility tell you sea, as though I were sinking into His arms. a lie? You must now infallibly despair. For He is everywhere, and nowhere can one Ans. — No, no, of a surety no. So long as escape Him (Ps. cxxxviii.); and where He is, I should have breath I would not despair of


Qu. 3.


Qu. 7.


His mercy. For even if God Himself should | Amongst the latter we are told of a cer. say that He would damn me, that I should tain grand lady who was wholly given never be admitted to pardon, that would all be up to gaieties of a very questionable sort, on the understanding that as long as I lived I and exercised a very bad influence in the did not convert myself to Him (Job xxxi): neighborhood. She was very beautiful, Therefore I will never give myself up for lost, but bewail my sins and creep back with the and it was the fashion amongst the young Prodigal Son (Luke xv.). Out of the abyss of men of the place to entertain her with His mercy would He then receive me back as nightly serenades beneath her window. He did the Ninevites and others upon whom Now Fr. Spee was a skilful musician and He had already spoken the sentence of death, choir-master, as well as a poet, and had and yet admitted them again to pardon. O set many of his verses to music. So one God, my God! O God, kinder than all others, night he sent his choir to the lady's winThou art a God so full of compassion that dow, and there they made such excellent even when Thou settest thyself against me, mus c concerning the love belonging to and wouldst pour out all thy Almightiness with heavenly things, and Fr. Spee's spirit in infinite wrath upon me, I would never despair of Thy mercy.

I know Thee much too well, words and melody so wrought with her, for all Thy ways are Truth and Mercy. Thy that, altogether forsaking her former life, Father's heart is much too soft; Thy compas- she thenceforward gave great edification sion is far too great; Thou canst not contra- to the whole town. dict Thyself; Thou hast long ago declared We hardly koow the occasion of Spee's that Thou wouldst show mercy to all who next and last removal, but in 1633 he left should be converted to Thee. Now it is im. Cologne for the Jesuit house at Trèves, possible that thou shouldst gainsay Thyself, where he had made his novitiate, and and so I cannot despair. Accursed be the where his brief but ardent course was to man who hopeth not in Thee. In Thee, O Lord, have I hoped, let me not be confounded terminate. His health had been very deliforever (Ps. xxiv.).

cate ever since the attempt upon his life

which had so nearly proved successful, but Was ever more generous wine poured nothing could moderate bis zeal for work. from the flask of the Good Samaritan? He went on for the next two years doing All through the book one feels that the parochial work, and revising his “ Trutzwriter is staunching wouods, not merely nachtigall;" and it looked as if this heroic meditating, exhorting, or poetizing. I can life would end in a quiet, prosaic wearing recall, besides the book of Job, but two out; but this was not to be. works which produce this same effect of In August of the year 1633 Trèves had tender realism: Savonarola's “Commen- been delivered over by its governor to the tary on the Miserere Psalm," composed French, and the Jesuits, who were strong for his own comfort during the last days Imperialists, had bad their schools closed. of his imprisonment, and "The Sufferings They were still holding on in a small way of Christ," by Fr. Thomas, the Augus- as parish priests in their Church of St. tinian, a collection of meditations on the Simeon at the Porta Nigra, when, in the Passion wherewith he kept alive the faith beginning of 1635, the goveroment issued and hope of his fellow-captives in a Mos. a decree for their expulsion, which was to lem prison.

be carried into effect on the 27th of the In 1631 the troops of Gustavus Adol. ensuing March. It was the pight between phus overran a_great portion of the the 25th and the 26th of March when the Rhineland, and Fr. Spee had to leave Imperialist Graf von Rettberg, at the his pleasant retreat at Falkenhagen for head of twelve hundred men, managed to Cologne, where we find him professing effect an entrance, and, after some eight moral theology in the year 1631 and 1632. hours of desperate street fighting, found During that time he had as his pupil the himself master of the town. During all famous Busembaum (reputed the fountain. this time Fr. Spee was busy among the head of modern Probabilism), who always combatants, doing important service to spoke of his master with enthusiastic ad. friend and foe, carrying the wounded on miration, and regretted exceedingly that his shoulders into safe corners where he nothing of his moral theology course bad slaked their thirst, dressed their wounds, been published.

and, where it was needed, gave them the During his brief residence in Cologne, last sacraments. Five hundred Frenchin addition to his professional duties, Fr. men were slain, and as many more, with Spee worked very hard in the confes-their leader, were taken prisoners. As sional, having a great number of penitents; soon as the battle was over, Fr. Spee and many conversions both from heresy hastened to Von Rettberg and prevailed and ill life were due to his efforts. / upon him - Heaven knows how, except


that Spee was not an easy man to refuse easy house. The cheerful company, the

to grant all the prisoners their liberty. friendliness, the soothing atmosphere of Within a month of the capture of Trèves feminine sympathy around him ; and unFr. Spee had the consolation of seeing all derneath all the foolish hope, more sweet the prisoners who were fit to travel well than anything else, that a certain relenting supplied with clothes and money by his on the part of Constance must be under. charity, and en route for their homes. Death, took away the gloom and dejection, Many, however, of the wounded of both in great part at least, from the young solsides still lay in hospital, where a pesti- dier's looks. He exerted himself to leoce soon added to the difficulty of the please the people who were so kind to situation. There it was that Fr. Spee at him, and his melancholy smile had begun once established himself as confessor, to brighten into something more natural. nurse, physician, and general servant, and Frances for her part thought him a very there he met with his reward; they brought delightful addition to the party. She him home to die. He died surrounded looked at him across the table almost with by his brethren on the 7th of August, the pride which a sister might have felt 1635, with no last words that have come when he made a good appearance and did down to us, but “full of hope and happy.” | himself credit. He seemed to belong to He lies in the crypt of St. Simeon's her more or less, to reflect upon her the Church at Trèves, and his epitaph says as credit which he gained. It showed that much and no more : “Hier liegt Frieder- her friends after all were worth thinking ich Spee.”

of, that they were not unworthy of the adIf my readers in any degree share my miration she had for them, that they were feeling for this man of love and song and able to hold their own in what the people suffering, they will not fail to rejoice that here called society and the world. She this last phase of his life — a public life raised her little animated face to young of something less than ten years – ends Gaunt, was the first to see what he meant, with so true a cadence.

unconsciously interpreted or explained Requiem pro anima tali non cantamus,

for him when he was hazy, and beamed Immo est introitus missæ “Gaudeamus,"

with delight when Lady Markham was inQuia si pro martyre Deum exoramus,

terested and amused. Poor Frances was Ưt Decretum loquitur, Sancto derogamus. not always quite clever enough to see,

when it happened that the two elders were amused by the man himself, rather than by what he said, and her gratification

was great in his success. She herself From Chambers' Journal. had never aspired to success in her own A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF. person; but it was a great pleasure to

her that the little community at Bordi. BY MRS. OLIPHANT.

ghera should be vindicated and put in

the best light. “They will never be able AFTER this, for about a fortnight, Cap. to say to me now that we had no society, tain Gaunt was very often visible in Eaton that we saw nobody,” Frances said to her. Square. He dined_next evening with self, attributing, however, a far greater Lady Markham and Frances; Sir Thomas, brilliancy to poor George than he ever who scarcely counted, he was so often possessed. He fell back into melancholy, there, being the other convive. Sir however, when the ladies left, and Sir Thomas was a man who had a great Thomas found him dull. He had very devotion for Lady Markham, and a very little to say about Waring, on whose be. distant link of cousinship, which, or some half the benevolent baronet was so much thing in themselves which made that interested. impossible, had silenced any remark of “Do you think he shows any inclinagossip, much less scandal, upon their tion towards home?" Sir Thomas asked. friendship. He came in to luncheon

“I am sure," young Gaunt answered whenever it pleased him; he dined there with a solemo face, "that there is nothing

- when he was not dining anywhere else. there that can satisfy such a creature as But as both he and Lady Markham had that.” many engagements, this was not too often “ He has no society, then ? " asked Sir the case, though there was rarely an even. Thomas. ing, if the ladies were at home, when Sir “Oh, society! it is like the poem,"

," said Thomas did not "look in.” His intimacy the young man with a sigh. “I should was like that of a brother in the cheerful, think it would be so everywhere. Ye

VOL. LI. 2650


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common people of the sky, what are ye Perhaps it is not very benevolent, so when your queen is nigh? ”

far as he is concerned; but I hope he'll Sir Thomas had been much puzzled by linger a long time,” said Sir Thomas. the application to Waring, as he sup- *Oh, so do I!. These imbroglios may posed, of the phrase, " such a creature as go on for a long time and do nobody any that; ” but now he perceived, with a com- harm. But when a horrible crisis comes, passionate shake of his head, what the and one feels that they must be cleared poor young fellow meant. Con had been up!” It was evident that in this Lady at her tricks again! He said with the Markham was not specially considering pitying look which such a question war. the sufferings of poor Mr. Winterbourn. ranted: “ I suppose you are very fond of “What does Markham say?” Sir Thompoetry?

as asked. “ No,” said the young soldier, aston- 'Say! He does not say anything. He ished, looking at him suddenly. • O no. shuffles you know the way he has. He I am afraid I am very ignorant; but some. never could stand still upon both of his times it expresses what nothing else cap feet.” express. Don't you think so ?

“And you can't guess what he means “I think perhaps it is time to join the to do?" ladies,” Sir Thomas said. He was sorry

“ I think But who can tell? even for the boy,

ough a little contemptuous with one whom I know so intimately as too; but then he himself had known Con Markham. I don't say even in my son, and her tricks from her cradle, and those for that does not tell for very much." of many another, and he was hardened. "Nothing at all,” said the social phil. He thought their mothers had been far osopher. more attractive women.

“Oh, a little, sometimes. I believe to Was it the same art which made Fran. a certain extent in a kind of magnetic ces look up with that bright look of wel. sympathy. You don't, I koow. I think, come, and almost affectionate interest, then, so far as I can make out, that Mark. when they returned to the | ham would rather do nothing at all. He Sir Thomas liked her so much, that he likes the status quo well enough. But hoped it was not one of their tricks, then then he is only one; and the other paused, and said to himself that it would cannot tell how she might feel.” be better if it were so, and not that the • Nelly is the unknown quantity,” said girl had really taken a fancy to this young Sir Thomas; and then Lady Markham fellow, whose heart and head were both sent away, by the hands of the footman, full of another, and who, even without her anxious, affectionate little billet "to that, would evidently be a very poor inquire.” thing for Lady Markham's daughter. Sir Meanwhile, young Gaunt sat down by Thomas was so far unjust to Frances, Frances. On the table near them there that he concluded it must be one of her was a glorious show of crimson, the great tricks, when he recollected how compla. dazzling red anemones, the last of the sea. cent she had been to Claude Ramsay, find- son, which Mrs. Gaunt had sent. It had ing places for him where he could sit out been very difficult to find them so late of the draught. They were all like that, on, he told her; they had hunted into the he said to himself; but concluded, that as coolest corners where the spring flowers one nail drives out another, a second lingered the longest, his mother quite “affair," if he could be drawn into it, anxious about it, climbing into the little might cure the victim. This rapid re- valley's among the hills. "For you know sumé of all the circumstances present what you are to my mother," he said with and future is a thing which may well take a smile, and then a sigh. Mrs. Gaunt place in an experienced mind in the mo- bad often made disparaging comparisons ment of entering a room in which there - comparisons how utterly out of the are materials for the development of a question ! He allowed to himself that new chapter in the social drama. The this candid countenance, so open and simconclusion he came to led him to the side ple, and so full of sympathy, had a charm of Lady Markham, who was writing the - more than he could have believed; but address upon one of her many notes. “It yet to make a comparison between this is to Nelly Winterbourn,” she explained, sister and the other ! Nevertheless, it "to inquire - You know they have was very consolatory, after the effort he dragged that poor sufferer up to town, to had made at dinner, to lay himself back be near the best advice; and he is lying in the soft low chair, with his long limbs more dead than alive."

stretched out, and talk or be talked to, co

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longer with any effort, with a softening would not. And I, a poor little brown tenderness towards the mother who loved sparrow, in all the fine feathers - I feel Frances, but with whom he had had many inclined to call out : “I am only Frances.' scenes before he left her, in frantic de. But that is not needed, is it? when any fence of the woman who had broken his one looks at me -she said with a laugh. heart.

She had met with nobody with whom she * Mrs. Gaunt was always so kind to could be confidential among all her new me,” Frances said gratefully, a little moist. acquaintances. And George Gaunt was ure starting into her eyes. " At the Du. a new acquaintance too, if she had but rants', there seemed always a little com- remembered; but there was in him some. parison with Tasie ; but with your mother, thing which she had been used to, some. there was no comparison.”

thing with which she was familiar, a breath “A comparison with Tasie !” He of her former life — and that acquaintance laughed in spite of himself. "Nothing with his name and all about him which cao be so foolish as these comparisons," makes one feel like an old friend. She be added, not thinking of Tasie.

had expected for so many years to see Yes, she was older," said Frances. him, that it appeared to her imagination “She had a right to be more clever. But as if she had known him all these years — it was always delightful at the bungalow. as if there was scarcely any one with Does my father go there often now?” whom she was so familiar in the world. “ Did he ever go often ?”

He looked at her attentively as she “,” said Frances, hesitating; " but spoke, a little touched, a little charmed by sometimes in the evening. I hope Con- this instinctive delicate familiarity, in stance makes him go out. I used to have which he at last, having so lately come out to worry him, and often get scolded. No, of the hands of a true operator, saw, whatnot scolded — that was not his way; but ever Sir Thomas might think, that it was sent off with a sharp word. And then he not one of their tricks. She did not want would relent, and come out.”.

any compliment froin him, even had he “ I have not seen very much of Mr. been capable of giving it. She was as Waring,” Gaunt said.

sincere as the day, as little troubled about “Then what does Constance do? Oh, her inferiority as she was convinced of it it must be such a change for her! I could - the laugh with which she spoke had in not have imagined such a change. I can't it a genuine tone of innocent youthful help thinking sometimes it is a great pity mirth, such as had not been heard in that that I, who was not used to it, nor adapted house for long. The exhilarating ring of for it, should have all this and Con- it, so spontaneous, so gay, reached Lady stance, who likes it, who suits it, should Markham and Sir Thomas in their col. be — banished; for it must be a sort of loquy, and roused them. Frances herself banisiment for her, don't you think?" had never laughed like that before. Her

“I -- suppose so. Yes, there could be mother gave a glance towards her, smilno surroundings too bright for her,” he ing. “ The little thing has found her own said dreamily He seemed to see her character in the sight of her old friend," notwithstanding walking with him up into she said; and then rounded her little epithe glades of the olive gardens, with her gram with a sigh. face so bright. Surely she had not felt " The young fellow ought to think much her banishment then! Or was it only of himself to have two of them taking that that the amusement of breaking his heart trouble.” made up for it, for the moment, as his “Don't talk nonsense,” said Lady. mother said ?

Markbam. “ Do you think she is taking Fancy,” said Frances ; "I am going trouble? She does not understand what to court on Monday -1- in a train and it means." feathers. What would they all say? But “Do any of them not understand what all the time I am feeling like the daw in it means ?” asked Sir Thomas. He had the peacock's plumes. They seem to be a large experience in society, and thought loog to Constance. She would wear them he knew. But be bad little experience as if she were a queen herself. She would out of society, and so, perhaps, did not. not perhaps object to be stared at; and There are some points in which a woman's she would be admired.”

understanding is the best. “ Oh yes !”

The evening had not been unpleasant “She was, they say, when she was pre- to any one, not even, perhaps, to the lovesepted, so much admired. She might lorn, when Markham appeared, coming have been a maid of honor; but mamma back from his dinner party, a signal to the


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