title="[23]"/> Saviour, who has only to will it, and it is done!—Oh, my children, here is a lesson to humble the pride of intellect, and to fill you with awe before the Creator of your reason, and the revealer of his word!—Reason, when hearkening to revelation, must be as a little child; not as an idiot, that receives all, and does all, without understanding the nature of the command;—but as a little child, humble and intelligent, eager to apprehend the truth, and ready to obey it. Such a little child as that which appeared with the Doctors in the Temple, hearing and asking them questions, Mark you!—He did not then speak as one having authority, but he came to hear, and to inquire!—In all things, He is our example; and that example bids us search the Scriptures for truth; and to apply to God alone, through one Mediator for salvation here and here-after."

Mrs. Coningsby did not answer her uncle, but pressed the hands of her listening daughters; who cast down their eyes in reverence of their beloved teacher and his divine subject.—Mr. Athelstone paused a few minutes, and resumed.

"The Grand-Pensionary, being aware how happy I should be to see the Marquis Santa Cruz, and to render every service in my power to his invalid son, gave him this letter, which has introduced to us two such interesting persons.—So now, my dear niece, you must do your part, in the shape of aired rooms and nourishing diet; and I will try to perform mine so, as to induce the father and son to become our guests for as many weeks, as they have purposed days:—They would be visitors after Louis's own heart."

"I thought the young Spanish nobleman looked very ill," observed Alice in a tone of pity; "he leaned so languidly in his chair; and his large dark eyes moved so heavily, it seemed a labour for him to turn them even from me to my sister; though we sat close together.—Poor young man!—And how kindly he asked about Louis!—Did not you, Cornelia, think he looked ill?"

"Indeed," said her sister, "I scarcely noticed his looks at all; which I am sorry for.—He must have thought us most unfeelingly inattentive, to allow an invalid to sit so long in a hot room with that heavy cloak on."

"I rather think the fault was mine," rejoined their mother, "but the remembrances of past days had totally obscured present objects. And, as another proof of it, my dear Sir;" said she, turning to the Pastor; "I had forgotten to tell you that the boatman has returned from Bamborough without Louis; and bearing no other message than Sir Anthony Athelstone's respects, and Mr. de Montemar will remain at the castle the remainder of the week."

Further remarks were prevented by the re-entrance of the travellers. They were conducted by their hospitable host to the supper-room; and after partaking of its northern fare with good appetites, Mrs. Coningsby led the Marquis and his son to the doors of their apartments, where she bade them adieu for the night.

CHAP. II.

Ferdinand arose next morning at a late hour, refreshed and lighter in spirits than he had been of a long time. The day was bright and balmy; and when he descended to the breakfast-room, the Marquis glanced at his renovated appearance, and addressing Mr. Athelstone, exclaimed—"Already my son's cheerful countenance bears witness to the efficacy of this blessed spot!"

The family of the Pastor were assembled round the table; Mrs. Coningsby presided over the dispersion of her fragrant tea; and her daughters, blooming with the freshness of the dewy flowers, did the honours of the coffee and kneaded cakes. Social converse, augmenting in interest with its prolongation, succeeded the hospitable meal, till Mr. Athelstone observed Ferdinand turn his eyes wistfully towards the open window. The light foliage of the spruce, which bent towards it, floated into the room on the gentle impulse of a soft south wind; and the aromatic breath that followed, seemed to be regarded by the young Spaniard as an invitation to taste its fragrance nearer. The Pastor, who anticipated the wishes of invalids with the same solicitude he would administer a salutary medicine, turned to his young nieces, and desired they would put on their hats, and introduce Don Ferdinand to their Michaelmas-daisies. The ladies withdrew; and Ferdinand, not requiring a second permission, was soon in the little porch, ready to accompany his fair conductors.

The youthful party had scarcely withdrawn, before a note was brought from Bamborough Castle. It was in answer to one the Pastor had dispatched that morning to Sir Anthony Athelstone, to explain the necessity of Louis's immediate return to the Island. Mr. Athelstone took the letter, and read as follows:

"To the Reverend Richard Athelstone.

"Sir Anthony Athelstone is very sensible of the respect due to his reverend Uncle, and to his noble guests; but Louis de Montemar being engaged with a hunting-party, it is impossible he can have the honour of waiting upon them."

"Bamborough Castle,
Saturday Morn."

"From what I can gather from the man who brought the letter, Sir;" said the old servant who had delivered it, "the Duke of Wharton is at the Castle."

At this intimation, an unusual colour spread over the face of Mr. Athelstone. "Peter, that cannot be!—With all Sir Anthony's errors, he will not forfeit the honour of a gentleman!"

Peter bowed his grey head, and respectfully answered; "The lad, Sir, who brought that note, told me a fine Duke from foreign parts, with a company of ladies and gentlemen, came yesterday through all the storm to the Castle; and they were so merry and frolicsome, they sat up all night dancing, and singing outlandish songs, which the butler, who understands tongues, told him were arrant Jacobite."

Mr. Athelstone rose hastily from his seat.—"Peter, I am afraid you are right."—Peter bowed again, and withdrew.—Mr. Athelstone re-seated himself, and for a moment covered his discomposed features with his hand.

"I remember the Duke of Wharton eight years ago in Paris," said the Marquis; "I think it was in the summer of 1716; when he came to pay his homage to the illustrious widow of King James of England.—Wharton was then a very young man, hardly of age; certainly not arrived at the years of discretion; for with a genius that equalled him in some respects to the maturest minds in France, he was perpetually reminding us of his real juvenility, by the boyish extravagance of his passions:—And I have since heard that time has not tamed them."

"It seldom does," exclaimed the Pastor, "when the reins have once been given to their impulse.—Oh, my dear Lord, where-ever human passion is, the law of reason and lawless appetite contend there, like Satan and the archangel.—Duke Wharton has yielded the mastery to the ill spirit:—and he is the less pardonable, his intellectual endowments being equal to any resistance. If the man who only hides his one talent, meet condemnation; what will be the eternal fate of him, who debases a countless portion, to decorate the loathsomeness of sin?"

Mr. Athelstone paused a few moments, and then added:—"I have so great a horror of the contagion of such characters, that I made it a point with Sir Anthony, he would never, willingly, bring his nephew into the company of this dangerous nobleman; and