tion of the scholar, and unknown to all but themselves, they became respectively pupil and teacher. Many were the animated discussions held between them, sustained with almost equal ingenuity on both sides, concerning the difference of their creeds; and, though neither ever confessed conviction from the other's argument, each admitted and felt that the differences in their opinions were more of letter than of spirit. These discussions by no means tended to break off their agreeable intercourse. Father Lungen, while he took delight in the freshness of his pupil's mind, secretly entertained hopes of making a convert of him in the end. John sought the society of the Padre for the sake of that experience, and superior knowledge, which so much assisted him in his eager search after truth.

"In summer they roamed the woods and fields together; or, when his pastoral duties summoned him to some act of his ministry, the good Padre would invite his young friend

to accompany him: thus alternately instructing the mind of his pupil from the vast book of nature, and engendering in his heart the benevolence and charity which his own conduct exemplified among the sick and needy. In winter, young Boulton spent many an evening in the turret-chamber of Mona Castle, where Father Lungen and he pored together for hours over the learned volumes long since returned to these shelves. Secretly he came, secretly he went away; for had Lord Longvale found a Protestant, and the son of Sir Everard Boulton, cosily seated over a blazing fire in his house, he would, if he could, have pitched him from the window, or perhaps have sent him to the dungeon below the oratory. But John cared little for the danger of his enterprise; and in course of time had a much stronger inducement to risk his life in coming stealthily to Mona, than either the love of his books or the society of Father Lungen.

"It was one wild night in winter, when John Boulton left the Manor House. Before he had half-crossed the bleak moorlands between his father's house and the castle, he was overtaken by a heavy snow-storm, and lost his way. The snow changed to sleet, and although the change enabled him again to discover his path, he was drenched to the skin by the time he reached the castle. At the foot of the turret-I dare say you have observed it-is a small stone arch, now closed up with rubbish, and overgrown with ivy. By means of this little doorway, John gained admittance into the castle, and ascending the corkscrew staircase, entered the chamber of the priest.

"Perhaps it was owing to the lateness of his visit, that he found on this occasion, his usual place occupied by a strange tenant. Father Lungen's new pupil-if pupil she might be called-was a girl of about eighteen. When John entered the room, she rose with

an exclamation of surprise; but, as he still remained in the doorway, she appeared unwilling to pass him, and retreated a step, so as to place her hand on the protecting arm of her instructor.

"Come in, and close the door, my son,'

said the priest; the night is so foul, I did not expect thee; and, as thou seest, have admitted a visitor, who has often asked permission to see her old confessor in this retired part of her father's mansion, allotted to his retreat. Come in, I say, and bar out that whistling night-air. Ave Maria sanctissima! what is the lad staring at?'

"But John still stood with his hand on the door, entranced by the loveliest face it had ever been his good fortune to behold.

"You are sadly wet, Sir,' said the girl, recovering from her first alarm. 'Will you not draw nearer to the hearth? The log burns briskly, and I will presently fetch you that from the kitchen shall cheer you, if you

be in the mind to partake of my father's hospitality.'

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Nay, nay,' said the priest, 'he will not send thee drudging to the kitchen, lady, I warrant him. Stay where thou art, and let him dry his garments; while you, my daughter, translate for both our ears the remnant of this chapter.'

'Lady Maud did as he bade her; and having ended her task, curtseyed to the stranger, and left them.

"Such was the commencement of an acquaintance soon destined to affect the fate of both of these young people. Sometimes they met by accident, sometimes by agreement. Father Lungen encouraged the intimacy, for he felt a paternal care in their present welfare, and a spiritual interest in the culture of their minds. Many a long evening was passed by the three together in the priest's turret. Lady Maud listened in silence to the discussions of the two companions; and, though