when his body, which was sown in corruption, should be raised in incorruption; sown in dishonour, raised in glory; sown in weakness, raised in power; sown a natural body, raised a spiritual body; and by faith they looked beyond the grave, beyond the narrow bounds of time and sense, to that place when, having overcome, Verschoyle had entered into the joy of his Lord; where the crown of glory had wreathed his brow, and the immortal palm of victory was in his hand, where he ceased not to ascribe glory, and honour, and dominion, and power, and might, to him that sitteth on the throne for ever and ever.

Having committed " Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection through our Lord Jesus Christ," the mourners on their return to Ashton, met a travelling-carriage, which had been detained on the road by a storm, and was now proceeding at a slow pace through the snow. It was the carriage of the Fitzgeralds: they were on their way to Ashton Hall.

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Inquire whose funeral that is," said Mrs.

Fitzgerald to her servant; " I hope it is not that of any one we know. We shall be detained here again, for at present it seems impossible to get forward.”

The servant instantly obeyed, and returned shortly with the information, which he happened to have obtained from the faithful but loquacious Morgan.

"It is the funeral of Mr. Verschoyle, ma'am, son of Sir Kenelm Verschoyle, who is chief mourner. He was a priest, ma'am, of our church, and lived in Italy, but lately he became a Protestant, and died at Mr. Vernon's."

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Verschoyle, did you say?" said Mrs. Fitzgerald; "are you certain that was the name?"

"Yes, ma'am, certain," returned the servant, “Mr. Verschoyle; it was his own servant I spoke with, ma'am, and I am quite sure it is no mistake, for he repeated the name very often."

At the name of Verschoyle, Mrs. Fitzgerald made a strong effort to control her feelings, but in vain; she sank back, and covering her face with her hands, groaned heavily. Not a

tear came to her relief, and she seemed quite unconscious of the presence of her husband, who ascribed to far different motives than the truth, the cause of her distress. Every attempt to soothe her appeared useless, and when she arrived at home, she was lifted from the carriage in a state of stupefaction; every means was tried to arouse her without effect. She did not speak for some hours, and then only a few words, and relapsed again into the same state as before. But sleep, that soother of sorrow, at length closed her eyelids, and on the following day, though oppressed in mind, and apparently suffering deeply, she was somewhat relieved.

Fitzgerald, who could assume when he pleased the most soothing manners, in the tenderest manner entreated her no longer to vex herself about the past.

"And do you think," said she to him, "I can so easily forget one to whom I owe so much?" Verschoyle she tried to say, but the words died upon her lips. "Never!" and she looked at her husband with an expression almost of abhorrence.

Still he tried to soothe her. "It concerns our safety,—yes, Millicent, our safety, that we speedily forget this deluded man—that we never breathe his name ;-you have too plainly shown me that you know the whole truth." "What truth?" said Millicent ; "what have I more to learn, than I already know that I am the most miserable of human beings?"

Fitzgerald, though evidently in great anger, still tried to appear calm. "Unless," said he, "you wish me disgraced for ever, may I entreat you to be silent on this .... never to reveal aught of Verschoyle ?"

"And why may I not have even this mournful satisfaction?" said Millicent, who now, losing all command of herself, made no further attempt to cenceal the renewed agony of her feelings.

"Because you know, you are aware, that Verschoyle was....." but here he paused; and, turning from his wife, walked hastily up and down the room, in a state of the greatest agitation; then, retracing his steps to her, he looked at her with an expression of the strongest anger.

"It is of no use your re

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sistance," said Fitzgerald; "I command that you never speak the name of him who, being leagued with my enemy, you know

"Know what?" said Millicent, in a state of the most terrible excitement."

"That this hand took his life," said Fitzgerald," as you are conscious, pretend as you may, or why all this agitation ?”

But the latter appeal fell on Millicent's ear unheard; the former part of this address she alone distinguished, and frightfully shrieking, "Murderer of Verschoyle!" she sobbed violently, and turned with a look of the greatest scorn and disgust from her husband.

"Wretched, wretched being that I am!" was all she could say. "How deceived!"

It was in vain that by kindness, and then in a tone of the most imperative authority, Fitzgerald deprecated her conduct: she listened not; and, weary with remonstrance, he left her, and sent her confessor to her; though far more gladly would she have received Mr. Vernon, and have heard from him