"And is it, can it be, indeed, Mr. Verschoyle, Vicar of St. Elda, that I have the pleasure of seeing?" asked Mr. Vernon.

"The same,-yes, the same," said Verschoyle; "is the name of Verschoyle familiar to you? St. Elda was once the place of my labours; but that is past, and for ever," --and he sighed heavily.

"I once visited that beautiful spot," said Mr. Vernon, "many years ago; but it is still as fresh in my recollection as if it were but yesterday. Sir Kenelm is one of my oldest friends."

As Mr. Vernon spoke of Sir Kenelm, Verschoyle's countenance was overcast by an expression of the deepest agony.

"Pardon me," said Mr. Vernon, "I grieve to have even for a moment wounded your feelings."

"It is the bitter result of my own folly," said Verschoyle; "but there lives not that being that I dare call by the name of father: I violated every tie of kindred by becoming a priest of the Romish church. The hour that beheld me take orders in her communion,

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saw me marked to be disowned, disinherited by Sir Kenelm. He deserved, indeed, a child more worthy of his name; little as I have known of him, that little was well calculated to make me respect and revere his character; but I may not think of him as my father, I dare only to pray for him; and trust that in a holier, and happier world, free from all enthusiasm, and prejudice, and fanaticism, and every sin, I may be permitted to meet him, and enjoy that intercourse with him in heaven, which is denied me on earth."

"I trust in God, that if it be his holy will, that you may yet be reconciled to him in this world; he would, I am sure, hail you now with joy."

"I dare not hope it," said Verschoyle: "had my mother lived, she might have had some influence with him; but her attachment for me only embitters him against me for I fear, I greatly fear, that her sorrow over her apostate child, brought her to a premature grave."

"Well, let us confide all these our griefs to Him who careth for us," said Mr. Vernon ;

"and now let us seek repose; you, I am sure, Mr. Verschoyle, must be greatly fatigued by the exertions of the day."

"I am," said Verschoyle; " but for you, my dear friends, it is almost impossible to enter into the holy calm that fills my breast, since I reached this dwelling. I bless God for having put it into your hearts to invite me beneath your roof. I am very little able to express myself as I could wish; may the Lord reward you for all your christian kindness."

"Think not of this," said Mrs. Vernon; “believe me, we are truly happy to receive you; and, I trust, if it be the will of God, to see you restored to health."

"Ah, no," said Verschoyle, "never; there is an omen here," and he laid his hand on his heart," which, I believe, tells true, and it seems to warn me my time on earth is short." Living or dying, may we be the Lord's," said Mrs. Vernon, as she looked on him with the most heartfelt sympathy. "Farewell,

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now."

Verschoyle arose on the morrow, but seem

ingly little refreshed; indeed, disease had now so wasted his body, that wakeful nights were his portion; but they were not passed as they once had been, in misery; indeed in the very depth of despair, he could say with the psalmist, "My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness, and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips; when I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the night watches.”* At times he suffered agony of body, but in mind enjoyed much peace. His Bible, his newly-found treasure, was his great delight and constant companion; he was totally unfit for every other exertion but reading; once only after his arrival, was he able to attend public service in the parish church. The painful remembrance of past days on this occasion, seemed to be more than his weak frame was capable of sustaining, he was evidently very much the worse for the exertion. But he had hoped publicly to attest the truth of his recantation of Popery, and to partake of the communion in church: this, however, was not permitted to him; he * Psalm lxiii. 5, 6.

never had sufficient strength to enter Ashton church again, much as he desired it.

When he first came to the rectory, he was enabled to enjoy the salubrious air of the beautifully cultivated garden, but this was not of long continuance; he very shortly was confined entirely to the house, and only able from the window to breathe the pure air of this highly favoured spot, which, as we have had occasion to notice, was so greatly gifted by the God of nature and of grace. It was not likely that an event so remarkable as the recantation of Mr. Verschoyle, or his residence with Mr. Vernon, would long remain unknown to the popish priests of Ashton. They had, in concert with their brethren, hailed with great satisfaction Verschoyle's adoption of their sentiments some years before; they well knew of what very great importance such a profession was to their cause, and had flattered themselves that he would be one great means of re-establishing Popery in Britain. At Rome it was a well-known fact, that a high ecclesiastical dignity was to be conferred upon him; and the place appointed for his future la