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by the divine blessing, she had contrived to place the whole paraphernalia of popery so far in the back-ground, that Madame's mind was almost conducted to the simplicity of the Reformed Religion without being sensible of it; and the consequence of this was, that her mind was more calm, her opinions were more simple, her desires more heavenly, and her affections much refined; and all this was accomplished without her being conscious that she was no longer a Papist.

One morning, while Antoinette was congratulating herself upon this blissful change in the mind of her mother, Eleanore, on some slight occasion being given at breakfast, began to speak upon the subject of religion; touching on some of those points which had formerly been the cause of dispute between herself and her mother. Madame's cheek

began to flush, and her eyes to express displeasure. Antoinette looked imploringly at her sister; but Eleanore refused to take the hint. Madame grew angry-she spoke loudly-she trembled, and reverted to the unpleasant affairs which had taken place in the convent; adding, that the abbess had censured her justly when she condemned her for allowing heretics to educate her daughters.

Antoinette was exceedingly displeased; perhaps she had seldom, in the course of her life, felt herself so carried away by hasty feelings. She turned to her sister, and said, "Eleanore, by your entire neglect of our mother, for many weeks past, you have forfeited your right to address her any longer on religious subjects."

Eleanore, as might be expected, answered with warmth. But as she spoke, Antoinette had time to recollect herself; and, with true Christian grace and humility of spirit, she held out her hand to her sister, and begged her pardon; while, in a tone more worthy of her high and holy profes sion, she humbly entreated her, as a friend, henceforward to avoid religious disputes; and thus the contention ceased between the sisters. But not so the consequences of the imprudent remarks made by Eleanore; for she had revived by them so many painful remembrances in the breast of her mother, that the poor afflicted lady was again filled, for a length of time, with spiritual distress; and it was many days before Antoinette could be the means of restoring her to a composed state.

Now the spring arrived, with all its attractions; and Antoinette was engaged in leading the parent she loved through the fair and pleasing scenes which surrounded them. Antoinette found perpetual objects of amusement for her dear parent; and discovered, with delight, that she was gradually recovering her cheerfulness; though, at the same time, she perceived more childishness and feebleness of intellect in the afflicted lady than she had remarked in the autumn.

It was in the month of April, when all nature was smiling around, that the family were surprised, one morning, while they were at breakfast, by the arrival of a young gentleman; who, entering the room, addressed Madame as his aunt, the two young ladies as his cousins, and Monsieur as an old friend.

This was no other than the eldest son of Madame Northington's brother, the Comte de J, the young Theodore de J-; or, as he was termed, the Chevalier de J. He had been taking a tour in Italy; and, on his return, had left his travelling-companions, that he might visit his relations in the valley of Anzasca.

The Chevalier de J- was the complete man of fashion though possessing all the ease which is common to his countrymen. His person was remarkably fine, and his face strikingly handsome; his eyes being dark and brilliant, and his features regular and manly. "I am come, Madame," said he to his aunt, after the first salutations were over, "to spend a fortnight with you; and to explore with you, Monsieur, the various heights of your mountain. Afford me and my valet some room in a neighbouring cottage, and we shall be perfectly satisfied."

Madame was all rapture at the sight of her nephew; Monsieur full of compliment; and Eleanore violently seized with her old temptation, viz. the desire of pleasing at all events. What was passing in the mind of Antoinette was not equally apparent, as the expression of her countenance did not vary from its usual composure. Certain it is, that a mind under divine influence, as we suppose that of Antoinette to have been, is not liable to those rapid transitions from joy to sorrow, from elation to depression, to which other minds are subject. She, however, was particularly courteous to her cousin, and thanked him for his kindness

in visiting her poor mother; but, as the rest of the company were all eager to talk, less was required of her.

The party sat some time over their breakfast; after which, they placed themselves before the doors which open into the garden, where they enjoyed a fine prospect of the mountain.

Madame had many questions to ask her nephew, and the young gentleman had much to relate. Eleanore had also many little contrivances for drawing attention to herself; and Monsieur had also his stories to tell: in consequence of which, the conversation did not flag; and Antoinette, who was silent, had ample leisure to contemplate the character of her cousin. She thought him pleasingparticularly so; his manners were a pattern of ease, refinement, and fashion. He was aware, that, by this visit, he was conferring a favour; while his vanity and self-love were pleased by the manner in which he had been received: he was, therefore, in high good-humour; and his fine features glowed with youth and conscious pride. Another circumstance also rendered him additionally pleasing in the eyes of Antoinette. From the first moment he had seen her, he had been struck with her appearance; for her modesty and piety had given her forcible attractions in his eyes, though he was probably unaware of the cause whence these attractions proceeded. And although the loquacity of the party had prevented him from addressing her particularly; nevertheless, there was a something in his manner, when he turned towards her, of respect and deference, which raised him in her opinion. In short, she thought him so amiable, that she could not help frequently saying to herself, "How heartily do I wish that my cousin Theodore were of the Reformed Church!"

A conversation, carried on for some hours, is seldom worthy of recapitulation; especially when the parties are, for the most part, destitute of true seriousness; I shall, therefore, pass on till the dinner-hour; after which, the evening being cool, the party set out to walk. Antoinette, as usual, kept close to her mother, and declared her intention of proceeding no further than her mother could conveniently bear. Monsieur wished to tempt the chevalier into the higher regions of the hill; and Eleanore was ready to accompany them. Accordingly, these three climbed some

considerable steeps; and the sound of their voices in loud laughter frequently reached the ears of those below.

Antoinette pointed them out to her mother, in different points of view, as they ascended; and the old lady regretted her inability to be with them.

At length they quite lost sight of them, and Madame sat down on the grass with her gentle daughter by her side. Antoinette's little Bible was then produced; and she had already read several chapters from the Prophet Isaiah; commenting, in her simple way, as she proceeded; and endeavouring to represent to her mother the future glory of Christ's kingdom on earth; a subject on which she especially delighted to dwell; when suddenly she heard a noise behind her, and, looking upwards, she saw her cousin bounding like a chamois down the hill, having left his companions on the heights above.

"Theodore!" exclaimed the old lady, as he approached, his fine features glowing from the exercise, "where have you left your cousin, and Monsieur?"

The young gentleman made no reply to this question, but approaching Antoinette, he presented her with a bouquet of mountain flowers, saying, "My beautiful cousin, I bring you this offering from the hills, to prove to you, that, lovely as these flowers are, they are infinitely excelled by those of the valley."

Madame called for an explanation; when the gallant chevalier added, "There is a bloom in this flower of the valley (pointing at the same time to his cousin) more rare and excellent than any thing which Paris or Versailles could possibly supply."

Madame laughed: "Ah," she said, "des complimens, such as I remember in my youth:" then turning to Antoinette, she added, "but she deserves every compliment you can pay her; she is the best of daughters."

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"To the best of mothers," returned Antoinette quickly : and, laying her hand on her mother's arm, a good mother, cousin Theodore," she added, "will make a good daughter."

By this time Theodore had extended himself on the grass, at the feet of the ladies, and, having thrown aside the ermine cap which he used for travelling, was brushing up his hair from his forehead with his open hand, at the same

time whispering to Antoinette a compliment of a less equivocal nature than the one he had before ventured to utter.

He had spoken low, but Antoinette answered aloud, "Dear cousin, let us be as brother and sister while we are together, and do not say more to me than you really think."

"I never say more than I really think," said the young man, looking earnestly at her, and speaking with quick

ness.

"I did not mean to call your sincerity in question, Theodore," said Antoinette; "but while we are together let our intercourse be that of a brother and sister. I have no brother; I have never known that endeared relation. Let me experience this kind of friendship in my cousin."

Theodore looked at her with an expressive and enquiring glance; then added, "So let it be. And now, my dear sister Antoinette, tell me, do you never leave

ther's side?"

your mo"I never wish to do so," said Antoinette, cheerfully; "for where, I pray, can I be better?"

"My sister Antoinette is a prodigy," remarked Theodore.

"What!" said Madame, "is it such a wonder in these days to see a daughter by her mother's side?"

The conversation then took another turn; and Eleanore presently appeared descending the hill, and playfully reproached her cousin for want of gallantry, in having led her into difficulties, and left her in them.

It was impossible for him to be deaf to such a call; he sprang up immediately, and was at the young lady's side in a few minutes. The party then returned to supper, and the conversation was kept up with considerable gaiety till the hour of rest.

In the manner described above, did several days pass after the arrival of Theodore, with the exception of one or two exploring parties on the mountain, from which the ladies were of course excluded.

During this time, it became evident to all, that Antoinette was the favourite of her cousin; and Madame, with her usual want of judgment, expressed her pleasure on this

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