Fernando ran to him, thinking that he was dead. Escobar wished to assist him, but Fernando pushed him off, saying,

"It is you who have killed him. I well knew that there was treachery here, for which you will have to answer before God, and before man; but Piquillo is free, and goes with me.”

"He shall not go out of this!" exclaimed the superior. "The king had rights upon Piquillo, he has none upon Fray Luis d'Alliaga, monk of this convent, who now only depends upon me, its superior." Then turning to several monks, who had been attracted by the noise, "Carry him away," he said, pointing to the young man, as he lay senseless on the ground, "and convey him to his cell."

"I protest against vows that are null!" exclaimed Fernando. "I protest against the treachery to which he has been made a victim. Every thing has been violated in his case. He was here as a prisoner, and that scarcely a month. It requires three months' novitiate, at the least."

"Two months at the work of redemption, as the Archbishop of Valencia himself attests," replied Escobar," and six weeks here, make three months and a half."

Fernando was about to throw himself upon the monk to strangle him.

"Do it brother," said Escobar, with evangelical resignation; “for I see it will be easier for you to assault than to answer me.'

Fernando, suffocated with passion, hurried out of the room, jumped on his horse, and galloped off to Madrid.

CHAP. X.-THE FEBRILE PAROXYSM.

ALLIAGA remained a long time in a swoon. When he came to his senses, and perceived the walls of his cell, and Father Jerome by his bedside, he cried out,

"Fernando, Fernando! where are you? Do not abandon me!" "He is no longer here," said the monk.

"That is impossible. He would not have left me in the midst of my enemies."

"Of your brothers!" said the superior, piously.

"You, my brethren; you, whom I repudiate and detest! You, more cowardly and more cruel than Ribeira himself, for he employed violence only, you make use of treachery; I could resist his executioners with courage, but there was no defence against the snares with which you and Escobar surrounded me."

"My son, calm yourself, and listen to me. It was necessary to acquaint you with the eternal truth. The end justifies the means, and when you shall have remained some time with us

"I shall not remain, I am free. God knows at what condition I engaged myself."

"Permit me, brother," said the Jesuit, "there are the laws of God, and there are also those of the convent. Now we are in the convent just now, and the rule of the convent is, that no monk shall go out without the permission of the superior."

"If you detain me here by force, I will also employ force to tear myself from your hands. I will proclaim everywhere how you fill your

convents. I will tell Ribeira of the means you employ to bring conviction."

"And I, brother, I have only one word to answer you. You are constantly opposing the archbishop to us; you affect to exalt him, no doubt to humiliate us, but we also acknowledge that there is something good in his pious practices, that his means of conviction are not always to be despised, and we have not only adopted his system to meet certain occasions, but we have perfected it, and I assure you that we have here some model dungeons to which we do not fail to consign those who would dare to calumniate our order!"

"To calumniate it!" exclaimed Piquillo, "is that possible! Do not your wickedness and treachery exceed all that could be invented? Listen to me for I am not like you. I would deceive no one, not even an enemy. To you and to Escobar, to you and all your order, I declare from this moment mortal hatred! That vow I make of my own free will, and I will keep it. So now that you know me, call your executioners, and tell them to open their dungeons."

I will

"Not now," replied the father, "presently, I will not say. But just now you are in a high fever, and scarcely know what you say. send you a brother skilled in medicine, who will at present be of more use to you than I can be."

A quarter of an hour afterwards, a monk arrived who declared that Piquillo was really in a high fever, nor could he assuage its violence for several days. One night, during a febrile paroxysm, when his attendant had left him for but a few moments, he rose up and dressed himself.

66

They have given me this dress," he said, as he clothed himself; they have done well. I am like them, a minister, but it shall be a minister of revenge. There is neither law nor justice here below. I will be law and justice myself. I will begin with Escobar, and then to Father Jerome!" And, in his murderous frenzy, he rushed into the apartment of Escobar. Luckily for him he was absent, for Piquillo, in his madness, might have strangled him.

It was

"Ah, not here!" he said, "well, let us to Father Jerome's first." So saying, he drew his hood over his head, and traversed the court. night time, and the bell was ringing for the Angelus, but instead of following the other monks to the chapel, he pursued his way towards the rooms of the superior. As he entered, Paolo, the monk attendant upon Father Jerome, was coming out with an empty basket on his arm. liaga did not give the monk time to speak, but, seizing him by the arm, exclaimed in a smothered tone, "Silence!"

Al

"Ah!" said the monk, taken aback; "are you one of those who are expected ?"

"Yes-the one that God sends."

This was the pass-word, for Paolo did not hesitate to open the door; and Piquillo entered into a dark room. Father Jerome was not there. Looking around him, Piquillo saw a ray of light penetrating from beneath a panel, and he approached the spot to examine more closely. There was a panel, or rather a secret door, behind a full-length portrait of Saint Jerome, which Fray Paolo had apparently neglected to close with sufficient accuracy. Alliaga placed his finger in the chink, and the panel sliding back, his eyes weakened by fever and suffering, were dazzled by the light that burst upon him.

Before him was a small apartment neatly decorated. A collation of cold meats, pastry, fruits, and preserves, was laid upon a table, which was covered with a fine damask-cloth. Wines were cooling in jars of ice. Four covers were placed for four guests. The arm-chairs, soft, silky, and comfortable, seemed to invite the visitor to be seated; while at the other side of the table was a sofa with cushions, beyond which on each side was a cabinet, merely closed by curtains of green baize.

Alliaga had remained for a few moments stupified and astonished. He carried his hand to his head, and his memory at first vague and confused, began to grow more clear; his ideas became more distinct, and he felt as if awakening from a dream, and that he had been impelled by a wild delirium. He remembered that he had quitted his cell in the intention of destroying Father Jerome. To revenge himself for a treachery he was going to commit a still greater crime. But the paroxysm was gone, and he resolved to return to his cell before he was discovered. This, however, he soon found to be no longer in his power. Fray Paolo had carefully locked the door after him, and the poor young monk remained a prisoner in the apartment of his superior.

"NOW OR NEVER!"

BY J. E. CARPENTER.

I.

Now or never, now or never!

Let the maxim ne'er depart,

"Tis a watchword that for ever

Should inspire each manly heart;

For, if justice must be render'd,"

On the wrong that's done to thee,

That no malice be engender'd,
"Now or never" let it be !

II.

Now or never! why to-morrow
If the deed be good to day?
There may lurk an age of sorrow,

In one hour that's thrown away:

It is better to be doing,

For the future who may see?

And delay may lead to ruin,-
"Now or never" let it be!

III.

Now or never! now or never!

When grim poverty appears

Do the best of your endeavour,

To assuage the mourner's tears;

For a time may come, thy measures
May be meted out to thee,

Would ye give from out your treasures?
"Now or never" let it be.

EDITH CARLETON.

BY EDWARD KENEALY, LL.B.

CHAP. VII.

I INSERT in this chapter an autobiographical fragment highly illustrative of the feelings of Edgar Hyde at this period, and which I have found in my friend's handwriting. It is penned on several scraps of paper, pinned together, and appears to have been composed at hurried intervals. I think it interesting. A sporting friend asked it of me to convert into wadding for his gun; another begged it to light his cigars with. I think the printer will make better use of it than either the partridge shooter or the tobacco-smoker. The devil shall have it before one or the otherpoor harmless little printer's devil.

"When I recall to memory the many strange incidents of my life, I know not whether I should smile or weep. Strange they have been, and sad-but from this sadness I have drawn forth the pearl of deep thought --and this has been the amulet of my existence.

*

"I am an only son. My father was a gentleman of good family but of small estate. He idolised me. Our lineage was ancient and respectable, but our fortunes had been impaired by the loyalty of an ancestor. The religious scruples of another-he was a Catholic-sunk it still more. Everard Hyde was a melancholy and haughty man, and the consciousness that the follies of his forefathers prevented him from occupying the position in society to which he was entitled, made him still haughtier. Instead of depressing it added new pinions to his pride. We lived in a large and noble mansion, the sole relic of our former grandeur. It was one of my father's humours to preserve intact the furniture, the books, the portraits that had descended to him from his ancestry. Amid all his early depressions, and they were many, he never sold a shilling's worth of these treasured memorials, and with one of the finest country residences in the kingdom, he had the poorest equipage and the most homely table.

"Our small demesne was situated on the sea-shore; and it was amid the ravines of the wild hills that bounded it, or upon the broad bosom of the silver waters that foamed up almost to our door, that the spell of solitude first came upon my soul, and filled it with its most gentle magic. Thus I became from my earliest years a wild and lonely visionary. The sports of boyhood had for me no charm; the happy communion of heart which springs from intercourse with friends and equals I never knew and never sought to know. Solitude alone had a spell which even in mere childhood I felt to be irresistible. The silent grandeur of inanimate nature was my passion. I worshipped its majesty; I loved its beauty; the bustle of towns I hated; the mute eloquence of wood and water fascinated me. To be alone-alone and happy-all my wishes centred in this point, and in the loneliness of my library amid my books, amid my

busts, amid pictures and casts, I nursed the passion. From that time upward I have adhered to what many would proclaim the capricious whim of the child, and I have found in solitude a more perfect elysium than in busy, luxurious life. Nunquam minus solus quam cum solus.

"I became a careless, joyous dreamer of things that are not. I knew of no world, nor cared for any, outside the bright horizon that bounded our mountains. My realm was not of earth-my home was the ideal. And as the sun-born rainbow clothes the form of nature with a charm of beauty, which words can but feebly and insufficiently describe, in like manner does Fancy, like the Iris, colour the picture of the Future, with all that is most exquisite and bewitching; alas! too, with all that is most fallacious. O Life, what

*

"The evening walk amid the sombre greenwood, the lonely musing amid the spectral-looking old abbey which lay within a mile of our grounds-the startled deer-the sharp stroke of the woodman's axe-the low soft music of falling waters-the dazzling flutter of the brightwinged pigeon-the murmuring of the summer bees-the shrill note of the blackbird-the rich purple of the twilight-the calm beauty of the moonlit heavens-the night-talk with the lonely stars-the waves sleeping in the sunshine-the morning minstrelsy of the birds-such sights, and sounds, and meditations I loved. My spirit drank deeply of this rare enchantment. Books did but nurse my passion. How often have I strolled forth to that beloved forest nook beneath which, a picture of the Beautiful and the Sublime charmingly mingled, the landscape stretched away to an immense distance, and in the glorious hour of noon, when all around me seemed to breathe the spirit of universal happiness and peace, have I opened those dear, well-remembered pages of the immortal allegorist of old-Spenser-and filled my mind with those celestial visions of loveliness which colour his pages like some magnificent arras, and seem to move before you like glimpses of that Arabian Paradise which the shepherd of the East sometimes beholds when wandering in the far wilderness. And Plato-Plato, too, in the centre of scenes like these has been my companion, my friend, my adviser, my preceptor. And there, in moments of inspiration, how often have I wished that my spirit, disenthralled from earth, were free to roam at will amid eternal space, and become the Seer of the Future. Then how often have I wished that the hour had arrived when I too might partake of the majesty of immortality, and become one of those omniscient spirits to whom All Beauty is as a household scene. The noble view of wood and water before me; the wild mountains around; heaven, the sun, and the winged stars above; these were the things that linked my soul unto them; these were the magicians by whose spells of loveliness and power my spirit was lifted from the low desires of earth. # It was in one of these sweet evening rambles through the woods and by the blue waters, that the first dawn of love came upon me like sunshine. I had been unusually abstracted all day. In vain did I search amid my books for the accustomed attraction. I turned over the pages of the poets; I communed with the philosophers of the past; I mingled in the fictions of romance. Shakspeare to Bacon, from Plato to Ariosto I passed in turn, and found in neither a charm which could amuse. I rode out-I galloped with unusual rapidity: even this did not arouse me from listlessness to pleasure, I returned, and flinging myself into a library-chair, reverted to the Past

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