event; and said, more than once, "O, Antoinette, what delight would it give me to see you married to your cousin!"

Antoinette could have answered, "How could you expect me to marry a Roman Catholic?" but, dreading to refer to this, she said, "Am I not without a dowry, mamma? it cannot be expected that my uncle should give his consent to such a marriage. It is better therefore that we should never think of it."

In the mean time, the marked attentions and strong expressions of the young man were continually drawing the thoughts of Antoinette to the subject; and the strength of natural inclination, though powerfully controlled in her regenerate heart, now arose with a vivid power and influence to plead for the young man; and Antoinette was compelled to confess that she had never known so great a trial. Nature now entered into a contest with grace, as warmly and as vehemently as could be imagined; and Antoinette painfully felt that she should asssuredly fall in the contest if not divinely upheld. For some time past she had slept in a little closet within her mother's room, instead of her sister's apartment; and now she found the comfort of such retirement; and, by the divine blessing, she used the opportunity to indulge in earnest prayer, and endeavours to raise her soul above all vain allurements. Sometimes, indeed, she could do little more than say to her God, "Thy will, O Lord, be done!" Nevertheless, He who had given her the heart to cry thus to him in the anguish of her spirit, speedily appeared for her relief; and, before the young man had left the valley, she found herself fully enabled to renounce him in her own mind; and, to further her object, she withdrew as much as possible from his society. She was afterwards confirmed from day to day in the propriety of this renunciation, by finding that her cousin, though a nominal Papist, was, in fact, an infidel of the school of Voltaire; of whom he continually spoke with enthusiasm, until checked by her; for, one day, in the warmth of her feelings, she observed that she considered the friend of Voltaire as an enemy of God.

From that time the young man spoke more cautiously of this infidel writer, and more guardedly in the presence of Antoinette on the subject of religion; notwithstanding,

sufficient proofs were afforded her, that her opinion respecting his infidelity was well founded.

But my history has run to so great a length, that I feel myself compelled to pass over certain events very briefly, that I may be able to enter more fully on some circumstances of more importance.

After a protracted residence of a month in the valley of Anzasca, the Chevalier de J-took his leave, though not before he had made such a declaration of his regard for Antoinette, as rendered it necessary for her to give him a very decided answer, which she did agreeably with the intention she had formed of rejecting his suit, should it ever be brought forward.

Madame and Monsieur were displeased at her behaviour on this occasion; but she soon found means to reconcile them to her again by the amiableness of her deportment.

After his departure, the little family continued to reside together, in some tranquillity, till the end of the autumn, when a decided change took place in the state of Madame's mind.

The conduct of Antoinette, with respect to her cousin, had so forcibly convinced her mother of the stability and sincerity of her religion, that she began to regard her with increased esteem, and to listen to her with increased delight; and many were the profitable hours which this mother and daughter spent together in the beautiful regions at the foot of the mountain. While such a revolution took place in the mind of Madame, as Antoinette could no otherwise account for than by believing that the Lord had granted a blessing on her humble endeavours to lead her parent in the heavenly way; this caused her to rejoice exceedingly, and her heart was filled with consolation.

The change observable in Madame was this-her spirits were become calm and equable, her mind was full of heavenly things, and her concern about worldly matters nearly vanished. She appeared truly a new creature in Christ Jesus old things were passed away, and all things were become new. Her health in the mean time was feeble; and, in the end of the summer, her weakness increased; but, before the autumn was far advanced, her state was such, that her children daily looked forward to her death. At length, that event took place; and, though some time

expected, it seemed sudden at last. She expired in the

arms of Antoinette; and the last words she uttered were expressive of gratitude to God for giving her such a child, and of her hopes of salvation in Christ her Saviour.

I will not attempt to describe the grief of Antoinette, or the feelings of other individuals of the family, on the occasion. Among Madame's clothes a will was found, which had been made and executed at Abbeville, but with the existence of which her daughters were unacquainted.. In this will the Comte de J- and his mother the comtesse, were appointed guardians of her daughters, if she died while they were under age; he was also appointed trustee for the whole of his sister's little property.

This arrangement was replete with many very unpleasant circumstances to Antoinette, though, as it appeared, by no means equally so for Eleanore, who had long secretly sighed to be acknowledged by her noble relations. Some doubt was, however, entertained whether the comtesse and her son would administer to the will and accept the offices of guardians; but this doubt was cleared up so soon as letters between the parties could be exchanged. The old comtesse, when informed of the death of her daughter, seemed to lose all sense of displeasure against her, and even expressed a wish to see her children.

Monsieur accordingly settled his affairs in Switzerland, and once again prepared to pass the Alps with his young cousins; resolving to take leave of them when he had consigned them to their grandmother's care.

I could say much of the grief of Antoinette in quitting the valley of Anzasca-a place endeared to her by many tender recollections. She continued to cast many a look back on the high peaks of the Monte Rosa, till, after several days' journey, these peaks were no longer distinguishable from the white clouds which rested on the horizon.

Monsieur and the young people, with the Irish maid, lingered long on the road: perhaps they were sorry to part; but certainly they might have accomplished the journey in a much shorter time than they actually did.

It was in a dark, cold evening in November, when they reached the Barrière à Paris, and drove through its gloomy streets for a considerable length of way before they arrived

at the gates of the Hotel de J Honoré.

in the Fauxbourgh St.

At the gate of this hotel Monsieur took his leave, saying he would call upon his young friends in a few days. The old man was affected, but he did not like to shew it before strangers; he therefore made his escape at the moment before the gates of the court were thrown open to receive the carriage.

The houses of persons of consequence in Paris, and, indeed, in all other towns in France, are, for the most part, built in courts considerably back from the street, and presenting to the view of the passenger without high and gloomy walls and gateways. These courts are generally paved; and a flight of steps and folding-doors must be passed before the visiter is ushered into the great hall of the hotel. The apartments in all these houses are arranged in suites, one room opening into another, and presenting to the eye of a stranger a more magnificent coup d'œil than more superb apartments could supply on a less ostentatious plan.

Eleanore was not so entirely overwhelmed by her feelings but that she was fully aware of the magnificence of the house she was entering the moment she set her foot in the hall; where two superb staircases, and a variety of marble figures as large as life, indicated the dwelling of a family of rank. Several laquais, who were apprized that such ladies were expected, were ready to conduct them to a range of apartments above stairs, which had been set apart for their use; and here one of the fille-dechambres of the comtesse presently waited upon them, to tell them that Madame the comtesse was not that moment at home, but that she was expected every hour. She also brought them refreshment, and offered to assist them to change their dresses; by which they perceived, that their grandmother expected them to appear in their best dresses before her.

It was eight o'clock in the evening, however, before the arrival of the comtesse was announced. She was then going to dinner, an hour when the young people had been accustomed to think of going to bed; and they were introduced to her in a saloon, most sumptuously furnished, where she was seated on a sofa.

The young people had expected to see an old woman. They were therefore much surprised to find her looking younger than their mother had done some months before her death, highly rouged, and dressed in the extreme of fashion. Madame de J. was habitually a haughty, worldly-minded woman; which appeared through the whole of her conduct. She was, however, softened, and evidently pleased, by the appearance of her granddaughters; in whom she saw beautiful and well-educated young women, in whose external appearance nothing was needed but what a little fashionable society, and a Parisian milliner and dress-maker, could speedily confer. The old lady was, moreover, not entirely divested of some compunctuous feelings respecting her daughter, whom she was conscious of having treated with too much severity.

The Comte de J the father of the chevalier, was not at that time present in Paris, being absent in a foreign court, on some diplomatic business.

The first compliments between these newly-met relations were scarcely over, when the Chevalier de J- in the uniform of the Garde du Corps, among whom he had lately been admitted, came joyfully into the room, accosting his cousins with a warmth of affection which was particularly acceptable to them, after the cold and formal manner with which the comtesse had received them. It was impossible for Antoinette not to feel a second time the influence of his attractions, connected as they were with so much warmth of affection towards her; and, as she had now no object of affectionate regard, such as she possessed in her mother, her disengaged heart was in greater danger of yielding to the temptation than ever; but she knew in whom she might trust, even in him who has said, I will never leave thee nor forsake thee. (Heb. xiii. 5.) Her feelings were, however, such for the moment, from a sense of her present situation, and a remembrance of the past, that she wept when Theodore accosted her; a circumstance which the young man did not fail to interpret much in his own favour. The re

cent death of her mother was supposed to be a sufficient apology for this effusion of feeling, by the rest of the company; and as she soon recovered her usual composure, the party adjourned into the dining-room, where they found an addition to the party in the Abbé St. J- who was