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the danger of setting up any human being as an idol, or inducing any one to think that he is a pattern to his brethren, or in any way a meritorious object of praise.

The Scripture saith, Many that are first shall be last; and the last shall be first: (Matth. xix. 30.) and, no doubt, in the great day of account, it will be found that many, whom we may not expect to realize that blessedness, may be admitted into the kingdom of heaven; and some excluded, whom we have looked up to as saints and leaders upon earth. Then if any man shall say unto you, Lo, here is Christ, or there; believe it not. For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect. (Matth. xxiv. 23, 24.)

But the chief object of this narrative is, to point out how far a person may approach to the right way—how well he may talk-how busily he may work-how zealously he may seem to labour for God-and yet be utterly destitute of true godliness; and, because he is influenced by selfish and worldly motives, he may be as utterly devoid of saving grace as the vilest reprobate on earth.

The leading motives of Eleanore's conduct was that selfishness which induced her to accommodate herself to the prevailing fashion in whatever society she happened to reside. It was worth her while, in many respects, to appear pious during the latter years which she spent at school; the same inducement presented itself when living under Mrs. Montague's influence: and as self-deception is readily practised, it was particularly soothing and agreeable to her to be told, by Joanna, that she was an exalted Christian, and one who was ready to renounce all for her God; and there is little doubt but that, at the time, she believed all her friend's commendations to be no more than she thoroughly deserved. On coming to Abbeville, however, all temptation to seem what she was not, suddenly ceased; and it was therefore not surprising that she presently threw off the cloak, and plunged into all the pleasures of the world.

Madame had a particular restlessness of disposition, owing, in some measure, perhaps, to her disagreement

with her mother. She wished to be restored to favour, and to move again in the exalted sphere in which she had been born. Accordingly, at the end of a twelvemonth, she gave up her house in Abbeville, and moved towards Paris, where her parent then resided, and employed several instruments to bring about a reconciliation, but without effect, her mother being a woman of extraordinary pride. She seemed to feel this disappointment much; and, finding no rest in the neighbourhood of Paris, she yielded to Eleanore's solicitation to proceed towards Switzerland, where Monsieur had a small estate and farm-house, occupied by a tenant, in the valley of Anzasca.

The journey was tedious; and the family met with a very painful accident in descending a steep road in the south of France. The horses took fright, and running furiously down the hill, the carriage was overturned; and Madame, who had very imprudently put her head out of the window at the first alarm, received so dreadful a contusion, that she was taken up for dead, and remained for many hours totally insensible.

It was in the neighbourhood of a large and venerable convent where this accident happened; and to this place Madame, being taken up by some peasants who were working in the adjoining field, was conveyed; Eleanore and Antoinette, who were but slightly hurt, followed their mother; while Monsieur and the Irish maid remained behind, to look after the carriage and baggage.

The convent to which the peasants were bearing the apparently lifeless Madame Northington, stood at the bottom of a deep valley, enclosed with high grounds, covered to their summits with vineyards. The valley widened just around the convent; and a number of ancient and magnificent trees half concealed the Gothic walls and turrets of the venerable edifice.

The peasants hastened forwards, and, having rung at the gate, the door was presently opened, and Madame was carried into a large hall; where, being laid on a long bench, various members of the society gathered round her; and an elderly nun, who had been accustomed to act as doctress and nurse of the society, de

clared, that if the lady were not instantly bled, no hope could be entertained of her recovery.

"Oh, Madame !" said Antoinette, in extreme agony, (6 cannot we procure some one to bleed her? O my mother! suffer her not to die in this way, without time for thought, for repentance, for any serious reflection."

"Do not agitate yourself, my daughter," said the lady-abbess, a venerable and dignified personage, who had entered the hall on the first report of the affair; "all that you so piously wish shall be done." And, so saying, she with her own hands bared the arm of Madame; while the old nun before mentioned prepared to perform the operation.

It was some moments after the incision was made before the blood began to flow; and, during that time, an awful stillness reigned through the hall, interrupted once only by the voice of the abbess, who uttered an expression of fear lest their help should be too late. The blood at length flowed freely; and Madame, after having uttered one or two deep sighs, opened her eyes.

"The holy Virgin be praised!" said the abbess; "she lives! But, my sisters, more must be done; a physician must be sent for, and her head examined: there may be injury there."

Accordingly, the abbess very kindly gave orders that a medical man, who lived in the neighbourhood, should be immediately called; and directing that the sick lady should be lifted up, and laid on a bed, she continued some time conversing with Eleanore, and inquiring the name of the family, and the cause of the accident.

In the mean time, Madame was raised up on the arms of the nuns, and carried through the hall, followed by Antoinette. They passed a high and arched door-way, and came to an ample staircase, illuminated by a high Gothic window of painted glass, and ornamented with a ballustrade of richly carved wood. They ascended this staircase, and entered a very long gallery, receiving its light from a window at each end. Along this gallery were ranged many doors, opening into the little cells of the nuns. At the end of this gallery two others branched off, in the form of a cross. At the further end of one of these was the chapel; and, at the other, the abbess's

apartment, and a chamber appointed for distinguished guests. Into this chamber Madame was carried, and laid upon a bed, from whose lofty tester were suspended curtains of dark velvet.

This apartment was hung with the tapestry of gobelin, the subjects represented being from the legends of the saints. In the centre, between two large windows, was a figure of the Virgin, large as life, wearing a crown, and holding, on one arm, the infant Jesus, and on the other, a globe, indicating her sovereignty over the earth. Before this figure was a marble table, on which lay a superb Missal and a string of beads.

Antoinette, as soon as her mother was laid on the bed, approached her, and spoke to her; but, although Madame had her eyes open, and appeared to be looking about her, she made no answer.

"Are you better, Madame?" said Antoinette; “are you in pain ?"

Antoinette repeated her question several times; and at length Madame replied, by asking her if it would be long before they reached the highest summit of the Alps; "for," added she, "I long to go down on the other side; this excessive elevation, this towering height, so far above the clouds, makes my head dreadfully dizzy."

Antoinette turned with terror from her mother, and looked at the nuns, several of whom stood by her.

"My daughter," said the sister Beatrice, (the old nun before mentioned,) "your mother's head is affected: she does not know what she says. Do not speak to her."

Antoinette made no reply; but, sitting down by the bed, she continued to weep for some time; her mind being exercised by many exceedingly painful thoughts respecting the spiritual state of her mother; who had appeared more averse to real religion, and more attached to mere forms, for some months past, than she had ever before known her.

When the surgeon arrived, he expressed a fear that Madame had received a very severe injury on the head; and added, that an operation must be performed, which, though painful, was absolutely necessary for the preservation of life.

It being thought improper that her daughters should be present during the operation, and as they felt unfit for conversation with strangers, the abbess very kindly permitted them to retire to a small apartment prepared for them, where they were presently joined by their old servant; who, having informed them that Monsieur was lodged in the village, hastened to attend her mistress, leaving the two sisters to converse with each other.

"I cannot sleep," said Antoinette, "till I hear that all is safely over. O my poor mother! may her life, if it please God, be preserved a little longer!"

Eleanore joined in the same wish, and proceeded to relate to her sister the conversation which she had entered into with the abbess. She expressed her sense of the kindness of these strangers; and added, "While we are here, we must, if possible, conceal from them that we are not of the same sentiments with respect to religion."

"It will not, perhaps, be necessary to enter on the subject," returned Antoinette.

"But they will surely require of us to join them in prayer, and to hear mass," said Eleanore.

"Why should we look forward to difficulties which may never happen," replied Antoinette.

"It is as well," returned the other, "to make up our minds on what we are to do, if required to avow our faith one way or another."

"There can be no difficulty in that," returned Antoinette; "we must not pretend to be what we are not. But we may hope, that, although firm, we shall have grace given us not to be violent or ungrateful."

Eleanore made no answer; and the sisters remained silent till their servant returned to them, and told them that the operation was over, and their mother was going to sleep.

The young people were much relieved by this news, and soon were enabled to take some rest.

It was necessary to keep Madame still for many days; no one was allowed to speak to her: and as her Irish maid was thought to be the most experienced nurse of the family, she was ordered to remain with her; and her daughters were by this circumstance left at liberty.

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