CHAPTER V.-ADRIENNE AND DJALMA.

The prince, in spite of his impetuosity, approached Adrienne with a timid step and downcast eye, which betrayed the deepest emotion, and Adrienne, too, notwithstanding her knowledge of the world, and her proud and independent character, was not less embarrassed. Their eyes had not yet met; both feared the electric shock of the first glance; that invincible attraction, which draws two loving and passionate beings to each other; that sacred flame which, with the rapidity of lightning, fires their blood, and raises them from earth to Heaven; for to indulge with religious delight in the noblest and most irresistible passion that God has planted in us, is in itself an approach to the Deity; it is the only passion, indeed, which the dispenser of all things, in his adorable wisdom, has sanctified by endowing it with a spark of his divinity.

Djalma at length raised his eyes; they were humid, and sparkled with all the ardour of youth. His exalted admiration for beauty was pictured in his passionate glance, which was, however, imprinted with respectful timidity, that gave to his countenance an indefinable expression; so, when Adrienne met the glance of the prince, her whole body trembled. En deavouring to calm her feelings, she arose, with grace and dignity, and said, "Prince, I am happy to receive you here;" then pointing to one of the portraits, she added, Prince, my mother."

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Djalma understood Adrienne's allusion, and gracefully bending on one knee, he said, looking at the portrait, in a soft manly voice, "I shall love you, and bless you, and my mother also will, in my thoughts, be present by the side of your child."

Adrienne then pointed to a seat, and said, "Sit down, my dear cousin, let us call each other by this name; and now let us talk like friends."

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"Yes, cousin," replied Djalma. "Now, as frankness is best between friends," said Adrienne, smiling, "I must just reproach you for being so late."

you mean?"

"What do "When I left my house, a man approached my carriage, and implored me to go to the assistance of Marshal Simon, who, he said, was in great danger."

"It was a snare, said Adrienne, "for an hour has scarcely elapsed since the Marshal called here."

"Then I am relieved of a great weight; this happy day, at least, will not be saddened."

"But how was it you did not suspect this emissary?"

"I thought the Marshal might be in danger, for I know he has enemies.”

"You were right; our enemies are implacable; but our happiness will triumph over their hatred. We will still talk a few minutes of the past, which has been so painful to us, and then forget it like an evil dream. How could you show yourself in public with-"

"With that young girl?"
"Yes," replied Adrienne.

"A stranger to the customs of your country, I was misled by the mischievous advice of a man devoted to our enemies. I was told that in exciting your jealousy"

"I understand," interrupted Adrienne. "One question more; did you receive the letter I sent you on the morning of the day I saw you at the theatre?"

Djalma replied not; a sombre cloud passed over his fine countenance, which for a moment assumed an aspect so threatening that a momentary terror crept over the senses of Adrienne; he, however, soon regained his composure, and said calmly,

"I have been more merciful than I thought. I pardoned the man, who, to serve my enemies gave me such mischievous advice; he must have kept back your letter. A short time ago, on thinking of the evils he has brought upon me, I regretted my clemency. I thought of the letter I received from you yesterday, and my anger vanished.”

"The distrust and suspicion which have so long tormented us are now banished for ever," cried Adrienne, "a smiling future is before us without a single cloud; a beautiful horizon, so pure in its immen→ sity that its limits stretch beyond our view."

Djalma involuntarily dropped on his knees, and lifted his eyes to Adrienne, with a look almost of adoration; then bending his head, he covered his face with his hands. Adrienne observed a tear trickling through his fingers, and stooping towards him, she withdrew his hands from his face, which was covered with tears.

thy of you."

"We are both, my friend, so to speak, overwhelmed with happiness, for henceforth our felicity will have no bounds, although, from different causes, sad thoughts still crowd in upon us. There are moments when, in the full tide of happiness, the soul refuses to contain all, and thereby overwhelms us, even as flowers droop their heads under the too powerful rays of the sun, which is, notwithstanding, their source of life and love. Oh! my friend, this sadness is sweet!"

In uttering this Adrienne gently bent her head, so that her golden tresses fell on the ebony locks of Djalma, and the tears of the two lovers fell silently on their clasped hands.

While this scene was passing in the Hotel de Cardoville, Agricola was proceeding to M. Hardy, in the Rue Vaugirard, with Adrienne's letter.

CHAPTER VI.-IMITATION.

M. Hardy, we have said, occupied a pavilion in the dwelling in the House of Retreat adjoining the Rue Vaugirard, which was inhabited by a goodly num ber of the reverend fathers belonging to the Society of Jesuits. Nothing could be more still, nor more silent, than this abode; all spoke in whispers, and the servants, even, had something of smoothness in their speech, and sanctity in their appearance. Thus, as in everything far and near, when under the blighting influence of these men, life and animation were excluded from this house of mournful tran. quillity. The boarders led a life of heavy monotony, of chilling regularity; and, in accordance with the interested designs of the reverend fathers, the mind, without sustenance, without excitement, and without intercourse with the world, soon languished in solitude; the heart seemed to beat more slowly; the soul grew gradually enfeebled; all freedom of will was extinguished; and, at last, the boarders, subjected to the same withering influence as the novices of the company, became like lifeless bodies in the hands of the Jesuits. The object of these merciless priests was to inveigle their victims into making over large sums of money, which enabled them to pursue and ensure the success of their projects, heedless whether all the horrors of civil war, fomented by them, ravaged the country they were desirous of having in their possession. Money was their lever, which they secured by the most diabolical means, their aim the despotic domination of mind and conscience; such have been, and such will always be, the means and the object of this Society.

The reverend fathers, among other contrivances for causing money to flow into

their coffers, had founded the House of Retreat, in which M. Hardy was residing, whither persons, ill at ease, broken-hearted, enfeebled in intellect, or misled by false devotion, were attracted. At first, great attention was paid to them; then they were insensibly isolated, and finally despoiled in this religious asylum, which, in Jesuitical jargon, was styled, "A holy asylum, open to souls fatigued with the vain bustle of the world." Or else it was designated, "A calm retreat, where the faithful, happily delivered from the perishable attachments of this world, can at last, alone with God, efficaciously work out their salvation."

Such, then, was the asylum of peace and innocence to which M. Hardy had been inveigled. He occupied an apartment on the ground floor, which had been judiciously selected on account of its gloomy situation. Only one book, entitled "Imitation," was left, as if by chance, in the room; but, as there was a probability that M. Hardy would neither have the desire, nor the courage to read, extracts taken from this book of merciless desolation were hung in black frames from the wall, so that he could not help seeing them whenever he raised his eyes. The reader will perceive, by the following extracts, the fatal and despairing circle in which the reverend fathers had enclosed their victim:-"He is extremely vain who places his hope in man, or in any creature whatever." "You will soon have to leave this world-examine yourself." "The man who is alive to day dies on the morrow, and scarcely has he disappeared from our sight than his memory is effaced from our thoughts." the morning bear in mind that thou mayest not live to see the evening." "In the evening do not flatter thyself that thou shalt see the morning." "Who will remember thee after thy death?" will pray for thee?” "Thou deceivest thyself if thou lookest for aught but suffering." "Life is full of misery; bear it and mortify your body." Despise thyself, and desire to be despised by others." "Be assured that life is continual death." a man is dead to himself, the more he is alive to God."

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"In

"Who

"The more

It was not sufficient to plunge the victim into incurable despair by the aid of these desolating maxims, he must be rendered obedient to the Society of Jesuits, therefore, other passages, such as the following, were selected:-"To live in obedience-to have a superior-and not be the master of thy own actions, is highly essential." "It is much better to obey than command." "We are happy in relying only on God in the person of our superiors, who fill his place."

After having reduced the victim to blind and degrading obedience-after having

persuaded him, that to submit passively to a priest was submitting to God, it was necessary to retain him in the house in which they wished to chain him for ever; therefore the following maxims were added: "Go where'er thou wilt, repose is only found by submitting thyself to the guidance of a superior." "Many have been deceived by the hope of being better elsewhere, and by the love of change."

Now, imagine M. Hardy taken to this house wounded in body, his heart lacerated by suffering and treason, which bled more than the wounds of his body. At first, surrounded with care and attention, he was soon cured by the skill of Doctor Baleinier of the injuries he had received, when he precipitated himself into the midst of the flames which consumed his factory. In order to further the projects of the reverend fathers, an opiate was administered to him, by Baleinier, which kept him for a considerable time in a state of stupor, so that the victim, abandoning himself to profound apathy, soon regarded this benumbing of the mind as a precious blessing, even as an unfortunate being who, racked with pain, accepts with gratitude an opiate, which kills slowly, but which, at least, relieves his suffering.

In our previous sketch of M. Hardy's character, we endeavoured to pourtray his extreme kindness, susceptibility, integrity, and generosity; and now we recal to mind those endearing qualities for the purpose of stating, that with him, as with every one who possesses them, they were not, they could not, be allied to energy and resolution. The good he had accomplished at his factory was not effected by that ener. getic will which actuates some noble hearts, but by the force of affectionate persuasion; he did not attack evil face to face, but turned away from it in sorrow and sadness. His most intimate friend had infamously betrayed him; an adored mistress had abandoned him; the house he had established for the happiness of his workmen was now in ruins; all the springs of his soul were broken; and, if at long intervals, a remaining spark of life and affection kindled within him, he saw, on looking round, only such sentences as these "Thou art nought but dust and ashes." "Thou art born to sorrow and suffering." "Believe in nothing upon earth." "There are neither relations nor friends." "All affection is deceitful." "If thou diest in the morning, thou wilt be forgotten in the evening." "Think not, reason not; place thy sad destiny in the hands of a superior; he will think and reason for thee." "Remember death-let it be the object of all thy thoughts." "We cannot render ourselves acceptable to the terrible, implacable iod, whom we adore, but by sorrow and mortification."

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Such was the consolation offered to the unfortunate being, who, now terrified, closed his eyes, and relapsed into a mournful lethargy. Leave this sombre House of Retreat he could not, or rather he did not desire it; he had become accustomed to this abode; the silence which reigned in it accorded so well with the silence of his heart, in which was now buried his last love, his last friendship, and his last hopes for the future welfare of his workmen. All his energy was extinguished. He had undergone a slow but inevitable transformation, which had been anticipated by Rodin, who guided this intrigue even in its slightest operations. At first M. Hardy was frightened with these sinister maxims, but he gradually accustomed himself to read them mechanically, as the captive during his confinement counts the nails in the door of his prison. This was an important result for the reverend fathers. His mind was soon enfeebled by the apparent truth of some of these deceptive and blighting maxims. He read-"Rely not on the affection of any creature upon earth;" and he had been shamefully betrayed. "Man is born to live amid desolation;" and he lived in the midst of it.

Two places of concealment were skilfully worked in the wainscot of each chamber for the purpose of overhearing what was said by the boarders. Some exclamations of sorrow that escaped M. Hardy were reported to d'Aigrigny by a mysterious spy. The reverend father, scrupulously following the instructions of Rodin, did not at first often visit his guest.

We have said that the fascination of d'Aigrigny's manners was almost irresistible. In visiting M. Hardy from time to time to inquire after his health, he displayed his consummate address. The information of his spy, and his own natural sagacity, soon enabled him to see what advantages might be drawn from the physical and moral dejection of his victim. He urged him, if the gloom of the house was not agreeable to him, to leave it, well knowing that in M. Hardy's present state of mind, such a proposal was sure not to be complied with. By degrees his interviews became more frequent, and he expatiated at great length on the desolating maxims which often occupied the mind of M. Hardy. He reminded his guest of the deceptions he had suffered instead of urging him to seek consolation in the accomplishment of his duties toward humanity; he described mankind to him as deceitful, ungrateful, and wicked, and at length succeeded in rendering his despair incurable.

This object attained, the Jesuit went a step further. Knowing the kindness of M Hardy's heart, and profiting from the weakness of his mind, he spoke of the consolation it was for a man overwhelmed

with sorrow and despair to believe that his sufferings were acceptable to God, and that they might aid in procuring the salvation of others. This atrocious doctrine, representing the beneficent creator as delighting in the sufferings of humanity, was, owing to the skill of the Jesuit, gradually received as truth, by the enfeebled mind of his victim. Such then was the moral and physical condition of M. Hardy, when, by the connivance of a servant, he received from Agricola a letter asking an interview. The day for this interview had arrived, and two or three hours before the time appointed for Agricola's visit, d'Aigrigny entered the chamber of M. Hardy.

(To be continued.)

SUNDAY AMUSEMENTS AND

OCCUPATIONS.

For many centuries the christian world has been divided as to the manner in which the sabbath should be kept. The varieties of opinion on this subject are, perhaps, now as great as they have ever been. In Scotland, the sacred day is held to be profaned by the sound of music, and to touch the piano is, in the opinion of many worthy persons, to sin against religion. In England generally the observances are less strict; but if we pass into France or Germany, we find something like fairs, merry meetings, and dances, even at the church doors.

Luther regarded the day as one in which christians were to improve themselves, or go to school. In other respects he maintained that the day was not to be regarded as set apart from others, and it was free to all christians to dance, to sing, or to play.

In the "Life and Times of the Good Lord Cobham," it is mentioned that, in 1392, an act of parliament was made to compel servants to practise archery on Sundays. This, however, it is shown, was on account of its being supposed a work of necessity, as the safety of England was then supposed to depend upon the skill of our soldiers in using the bow and arrow, being then in general estimation, what their prowess with the bayonet is now. That in this arm our power should never decline, it was deemed expedient that every one, strong in body, at leisure times or holidays, should use, in their recreations, bows and arrows, or pellets and bolts, and learn to exercise the art of shooting, forbidding all and singular that they should apply themselves to the throwing of stones, hand-ball, foot-ball, handy ball, lambuck, or cock-fighting, nor such other vain plays which have no profit in them. The circumstances which dictated this stern inter

ference with the amusements of the lower orders, were thought to justify such exercises on the seventh day.

From a very ancient period we find that some exceptions were made. Thus, in the Theodosian code, there is a law of Constantine (A. D. 321) decreeing that on the dies solis, "so famed for the reverence due to it," the Forum should be closed to all legal disputes, but leaving it open to the grateful acts of conferring liberty and legal rights-to the emancipation of sons from the paternal authority, and to the manumission of slaves.

In Mr. Neal's lately published essay, we read that the "first English law on the subject (in the collection of Ina, A. D. 693) enacts, that if a master compels his slave to work on the Lord's day, he shall pay a fine of thirty shillings, and the slave be set free. If the slave works of his own accord, he is also to be fined, or if he has no money, to be flogged. A freeman guilty of the offence was to lose his freedom, or pay sixty shillings. The canons of the council of Berkhampstead (A. D. 697) are similar in tenor, only they make no mention of the slave's enfranchisement; while, on the other hand, they exact a penalty for Sunday travelling-the slave to pay a fine of six shillings or to be flogged-the freeman one, according to his condition in life. By Cuthbert, archbishop of Canterbury, (A.D. 747), and by Egbert, archbishop of York (A.D. 749), travelling and labour on Sundays and holidays are also condemned. Alfred the Great exacts a double penalty from those who steal on the Lord's day, Christmas day, or Easter Sunday. Labour is strictly forbidden on the day when the Lord Jesus triumphed over the devil.' In a treaty between Edward the Elder and Guthrum the Dane, it is agreed that the Englishman who trades on Sunday shall pay thirty shillings; the Dane twelve pence, and forfeit the article. For labour on that or other feast days, the freeman is fined or degraded to slavery-the slave fined or whipped. Similar prohibitions are to be found in all the subsequent records of Saxon jurisprudence. Edgar also prohibits public assemblies; and he is followed by the council of Enham (A. D. 1009), and by Canute (A. D. 1032), who prohibits both them and merchandising, with mundane works' of every kind. The last named prince declares, like Alfred, that crime on Sundays and saint's days is more criminal than at any other time: and, like him, he will punish it the more severely."

After the Reformation he shows that the strictness with which Sundays had previously been kept, was relaxed in the first of Edward VI, "all parsons, vicars, and curates are to teach and declare to their parishioners that they may, with a safe and

quiet conscience, in the time of harvest labour upon all holy and festival days, and thus save what God has sent; and if, through scrupulosity or grudge of conscience, men should surreptitiously abstain from working on those days, then will they greviously offend and displease God." Wilkins, Concilia, iv. 6. Of this Cranmer was, beyond doubt, the author. There are no denunciations of Sunday markets for the sale of any kind of commodities, save during the hours of divine service. From the canons of Elizabeth's reign, it is clear that any kind of wares might be sold, in market or otherwise, after the morning service. But there is something more than this: except that during brief suspension, not only might the shops be open, but innkeepers might admit people "to drink, play at cards, tables, or bowls." He could be fined only for admitting them during the service. It was by Elizabeth's influence that a bill brought into parliament for postponing fairs and markets falling on a Sunday to the following day, was thrown out. James I was content to leave the laws in this respect much the same as he found them; or at most to restore them to the state in which Edward had left them. He would not allow shoemakers to display various manufactures on that day, without subjecting them to the penalty of three shillings and four pence for every pair sold, with the loss of the article. Charles I endeavoured to be more strict than his immediate predecessors: "Carriers, waggoners, carters, wainman, butchers, and cattle drivers" had greatly profaned the Lord's day, "to the great dishonour of God and reproach of religion." To remedy the evil, a fine of twenty shillings was imposed on all who drove teams, and a third of that sum on the butcher who killed or sold meat. The Long Parliament and Cromwell left the law as it stood.

It will excite surprise in many to find that in the reign of Charles II, when decorum, as well as piety, was generally laughed out of countenance, work on the sabbath-day was more rigorously prohibited than it had previously been. It was then determined to enforce the old laws, and it was "enacted, that no trades man, artificer, workman, labourer, or other person whatsoever, shall do or exercise any worldly labour, business, or work of their ordinary callings, upon the Lord's day. or any part thereof (works of necessity and charity alone only excepted), and that every person being of the age of fourteen or upwards, offending in the premises, shall for every offence forfeit the sum of 5s.: and that no person or persons whatsoever shall publicly cry, show forth, or expose to sale, any wares, merchandizes, fruit, herbs,

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goods, or chattels whatsoever, upon the Lord's day, or any part thereof, upon pain that the person so offending shall forfeit the goods so cried or shown forth, or exposed to sale.' The act proceeds to prohibit any drover, horse courser, waggoner, butcher, or higgler, or their servants, from travelling, or coming into his inn or lodging on the Lord's day, under a penalty of 20s. for every offence; while it attaches a penalty of 5s. to the offence of using, employing, or travelling upon the Lord's day, with any boat, wherry, lighter, or barge, except it be upon extraordinary occasions, to be allowed by some justice of the peace of the county, or head officer, or some justice of the peace of the city, borough, or town, where the act shall be committed.' The payment of the penalty was to be enforced by distress; and if no sufficient distress can be found, the party offending is to be set publicly in the stocks, by the space of two hours.' An exception was made in favour of dressing meat in families, and dressing and selling meat in inns, cooks' shops, or victualling houses, for such as cannot otherwise be provided: and also for the crying or selling of milk before nine of the clock in the morning, or after four in the afternoon,' the right of persons travelling on the Lord's day, and being thereon robbed, to bring an action against the hundred where the robbery took place, for the loss sustained was taken away: but it left on the hundred the duty of making pursuit after the robbers, on notice of the robbery being given them."

Under William III this act was repealed-first, as to the hire and use of hackney coaches, chairs, &c., "within the limits of the bills of mortality," and next as to that of boats on the Thames. The number of ferry boats on Sunday was limited to forty: in our own times it was reduced to eight; but, more recently, all limitation has been virtually removed.

Amusements were, on Sunday, prohibited in 386 by Theodosius, save_shows which were reserved for that day. In A.D. 408, a canon of the council of Carthage expressed a hope that theatrical shows would be prohibited on the Lord's day, which was done seventeen years afterwards by Theodosius II and Valentinian. Coming down to our Saxon ancestors, we find the council of Clovishoff, in 811, forbidding

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games, and horse-races, and banquets." In the following century there was a canon against "songs, or the profane canticles of the Gentiles, and games and devilish mimicries." The council of Enham (1009) and Canute (1052) also forbade hunting on the sabbath. There is extant a licence of Elizabeth to "a poor man fallen into decay," permitting him to use some plays and games on three Sundays, to be named