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becoming a Catholic than the inquisition, dear Eugenia," said Mrs. Wolburn, "that should not prevent you."

"What, Mrs. Wolburn, could you for an instant harbour the idea that I would be a Catholic?-never-never-"

"So I once thought, as well as you, Eugenia," returned Virginia. "Your prejudices are not so strong as mine were. I despised the very name of Catholic, before I conversed with Mr. Rowland; and I must inform you that my first doubts were excited by Dr. Dorson."

"How so?" asked Eugenia.

"Because he could not reply to an argument which was proposed by Rowland."

The controversy would have continued till night, had not the time arrived for the departure of Mrs. Wolburn and her daughters. They had determined on assisting at vespers before they returned home. Mr. Charles evinced towards them more of affection than ever; for he believed they were acting rightly. But Eugenia expressed a sensible change in her regard, and seemed by her coolness at parting to say, that her intimacy with the girls had ceased. The ladies possessed too much of magnanimity, were too deeply impressed with the importance of the affair they had engaged in, to suffer themselves to be moved from their purpose by the bigotry and ostentation of Eugenia. They pitied her, and so must every person whose ideas are enlarged and whose heart is expanded.

The hour of vespers had arrived, and Mrs. Wolburn and her daughters were just entering the premises of the chapel, when the bell rang. Groups of merry children, whose buxom voices re-echoed through the grove, were running to the gate, and vieing with each other who would be the first to reach the church. Father Rowland had already entered the sanctuary, and as soon

as the ladies entered, he entoned the Deus in Adjutorium, or "Incline unto my aid, O God." He was answered by a full choir, who continued the anthem; after which the Father and the whole congregation sat. The Psalms 109, 110, 111, and 112, were then chanted without interruption, in a plain, noble, and solemn tone. The verses were sung alternately by male and female voices. The effect of the evening service is truly delightful. I know not what a calm and holy influence pervades the heart, when all around breathes devotion: the light tapers, the neat altar, the crucifix, the ornaments, the clergy. Oh! if there be anything like an anticipation of the bliss of heaven, it is that moment! compared with this, any other pleasure is empty. The pageant of the theatre, the splendour of the ballroom, the vanity of the world, melt away like

vapour.

After the psalms were concluded, the Father arose and chanted the lesson of the day. A hymn was then sung by the choir, and then followed the beautiful canticle of the Virgin Mary, Magnificat, or "My soul doth magnify the Lord."Luke, 1st chap. During which, Rowland, with great dignity and piety, ascended the steps of the altar, and from a plated censer, shed a cloud of incense around; it resembled the spirit of prayer arising in fragrance to the throne of the Most HIGH, and called to mind those beautiful sentences of the psalmist, which are recited at the incensation of the altar: "Let my prayer, O Lord, ascend like incense before thy sight-the lifting up my hands is an evening sacrifice," &c. Which being concluded, he sang the Dominus Vobiscum-"May the Lord be with you." The prayer of the day, and the Benedicamus Domino "Let us bless the Lord." He then sat, and the choir sang the hymn to the blessed Virgin Mary. The prayer was sung by the Father. Then com

menced the most solemn and awful part of the vespers. The blessed sacrament was exposed in a rich case, from which emanated rays of silver and gold: in a moment the altar was again concealed in a cloud of incense. After a hymn in honour of the blessed sacrament, the Father entoned the Tantum ergo, or " To this mysterious table now," &c., which was continued in full strain by the choir. He then chanted the Panem de Cœlo, or "Thou hast given them bread from heaven," and the prayer; after which he mounted the platform of the altar, took into his hands the blessed sacrament, and turning towards the people, amid the ringing of the bell and the soft tones of the organ, blessed the congregation: with this the service ended. Mrs. Wolburn and her daughters appeared almost in another world during the service.-Louisa shed an abundance of tears, which were commingled with those of her mother and sister. Virginia knew not how to suppress her feelings: with her eyes turned up to heaven, and her hands clasped, she poured forth her soul to prayer and thanksgiving to Him who had brought her to the knowledge of the truth. On opening a small collection of Catholic Hymns, in English, which lay near her in the pew, she met the following beautiful paraphrase of the 148th Psalm, and conceiving it a most suitable acknowledgment to God, for all his mercies to her, recited it with great feeling.

Begin, my soul, th' exalted lay,
Let each enraptur'd thought obey,

And praise the Almighty's name.

Lo! heaven, and earth, and seas, and skies,
In one melodious concert rise,

To swell th' inspiring treme.

Ye fields of light, celestial plains, Where gay, transporting beauty reigns, Ye scenes divinely fair.

Your Maker's wondrous power proclaim, Tell how he form'd your shining frame, And breath'd the fluid air.

Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound,
While all the adoring thrones around
His boundless mercy sing;

Let ev'ry list'ning saint above,
Wake all the tuneful soul of love,

And touch the sweetest string.

Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir,
Thou dazzling orb of liquid fire,

The mighty chorus aid:

Soon as grey evening gilds the plain, Thou, moon, protract the melting strain, And praise him in the shade.

Thou, Heaven of Heavens, his vast abode, Ye clouds, proclaim your forming God,

Who called yon worlds from night: 'Ye shades, dispel !'-th' Eternal said, At once the involving darkness fled, And nature sprang to light.

Whate'er a blooming world contains,
That wings the air, that skims the plains,
United praise bestow:

Ye dragons, sound his awful name
To heaven aloud; and roar acclaim,
Ye swelling deeps below.

Let every element rejoice:

Ye thunders, burst with awful voice,
To him who bids you roll:

His praise in softer notes declare
Each whisp'ring breeze of yielding air,
And breathe it to the soul.

To him, ye graceful cedars bow;
Ye tow'ring mountains bending low,
Your great Creator own;

Tell, when affrighted nature shook,
How Sinai kindled at his look,

And trembled at his frown.

Ye flocks that haunt the humble vale,
Ye insects fluttering on the gale,
In mutual concourse rise;
Crop the gay rose's vermeil bloom,
And waft its spoils-a sweet perfume,
In incense to the skies.

Wake, all ye mountain tribes, and sing,
Ye plumy warblers of the spring,
Harmonious anthems raise

To him who shaped your finer mould,
Who tipp'd your glittering wings with gold,
And tuned your voice to praise.

Let man, by nobler passions sway'd,
The feeling heart, the judging head,
In heavenly praise employ:
Spread his tremendous name around,
Till heav'ns broad arch rings back the sound,
The general burst of joy.

Ye, whom the charms of grandeur please,
Nurs'd on the downy lap of ease,

Fall prostrate at his throne;

Ye princes, rulers, all adore;

Praise him, ye kings, who makes your pow'r An image of his own.

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