A L B A N. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2014 
 
 https://archive.org/details/alban01hunt 
 
A 
 
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 a €\ik nf l^t Mm f0nrft. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "LADY ALICE.' 
 
 " A man of free and active mind will remain tranquil in the peaceful regions of trutli, or he will seek it with 
 restlessness and disquietude. If he find only false principles to rest on, — if he feel the ground move imder hi» 
 feet, he wUl change his position every moment, he will leap from error to error, and precipitate himself from 
 one abyss to another." 
 
 Balmes. 
 
 " "We cannot make this world a paradise, and all its inhabitants saints, as foolish puritans dream." 
 
 Bbownson, On the Fugitive Slave Law. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 GEORGE P. PUTN'AM, 155 BROADWAY. 
 LONDON: COLBUEN & CO. 
 
 M . D C C 0 . L I. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by 
 GEORGE P. PUTXAM, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY 
 
 BILLIX & BROTHERS, 
 
 10 NORTH WILLIAM-STREET, N. T. 
 J. F. TROW, PRINTER, ANN-STBEHT. 
 
A WORD ABOUT "LADY ALICE." 
 
 The author of the above-mentioned (too?) celebrated book 
 had no reason to complain either of the public for not reading or 
 of the critics for not noticing it, few novels recently published 
 having had a wider circulation, and perhaps none, for a long 
 time having received so much notice from the press. And not- 
 withstanding the extreme severity with which it was assailed, he 
 is not disposed to complain of injustice ; the criticism was often 
 one-sided, but it was not, generally speaking, unfair in spirit, or 
 unkind. The author was often edified and oftener amused by it: 
 and, upon the whole, although he would have been glad to have 
 seen some of the positive merits of his literary offspring better 
 appreciated, for otherwise he would have seemed to lack the natu- 
 ral vanity of literary paternity, (and any thing unnatural is mon- 
 strous,) yet he could not, except in one instance, have spared 
 any thing that was actually said. He has always meant, how- 
 ever, to take the opportunity, whenever it came, of saying some- 
 thing in regard to the morality of Lady Alice, to the disparage- 
 ment of which so much has been said ; and particularly as he 
 feels a sort of traditional respect for one ancient Quarterly — the 
 "grand-mamma" of American periodicals — in which he was as- 
 sailed on this score with such unmitigated virulence that it seems 
 as much a duty to make some sort of reply, as it does for one 
 who has been bespattered with mud (I was going to use a stron- 
 ger word) from any quarter, to brush his clothes before presenting 
 himself again in decent society. Literary people (for scarce any 
 
vi A WORD ABOUT ''LADY ALICE." 
 
 other will have seen the article) will understand that I allude to 
 the North American Review. 
 
 There is, I think, a limit beyond which the misrepresentation 
 of a book under review ought not to go in a respectable periodi- 
 cal. One expects that a hostile critic will take his own point of 
 view, and sometimes even force a meaning on his author which 
 was never intended ; that he will make sweeping assertions in 
 regard to the tone, drift, and spirit of a book, quote passages with- 
 out much regard to their context, and, in short, so distort the 
 thing that the author would hardly know his own work, and feel, 
 like Warren Hastings under the unjust castigation of Burke, that 
 he was the greatest villain in existence. But assertions which 
 are point-blank falsehoods, without even a shadow of truth to 
 support them, are a stretch of the reviewer's prerogative, and 
 when made to support a charge of studied indecency and immo- 
 rality against a clergyman, as the author was then, convert a 
 review into a libel. Out of a dozen examples of such " false wit- 
 ness," I select one of the least offensive, uttered (I regret to say) 
 with the avowed purpose of showing the " thoroughly licentious 
 character" of Lady Alice. " Promiscuous public bathing of both 
 sexes," says the reviewer, " is represented as only offensive to a 
 taste not sufficiently catholic ; and ' Clifford, who knew the cus- 
 toms of all countries, and had reasoned on all with the calmness 
 of philosophy, thought not the worse of the modesty' of the Ital- 
 ian women for their attachment to this custom." Now the pro- 
 miscuous public bathing of both sexes is a custom of our own 
 surf-beaten, tide-rolling ocean coast, and our American woraem, 
 whether they are attached to it or not, certainly practise it uni- 
 versally, as it is a choice between that and not bathing at all, for 
 a woman cannot enter the surf with safety alone. At Rockaway, 
 and I presume at Nahant, one gentleman, or two, is what most 
 ladies require. But this is not the case on the coast of the Medi- 
 terranean ; the " sandy floor" of whose scooped and retired hol- 
 lows " a tideless sea never wets," to quote from Lady Alice. 
 Here the most decorous separation of the sexes in the use of the 
 
A WORD ABOUT "LADY ALICE." vii 
 
 sea-bath exists, is enforced by the police, and is carried out spon- 
 taneously by the natural decorum of a southern people, who are 
 "very scrupulous in respecting any spot of the coast that they 
 see to be occupied by ladies, or females of any rank," to quote 
 again. In short, nothing of the sort is said or described or allu- 
 ded to in Lady Alice, and the peculiarity for which " Clifford 
 thought no worse of the modesty" of the Italian ladies, was sim- 
 ply that they unmade and made the inevitable toilet on these oc- 
 casions " beneath the open sky." This in fact is what princesses 
 and maidens have done from the heroic times of the Odyssey, 
 and the sacred times of the Bible, on all the shores of this famous 
 sea. But the modern Italian women use bathing dresses, I need 
 scarcely observe, although the only observation to which they 
 are exposed is that of some distant passing boat. 
 
 If Lady Alice had not been a girl of spirit, a genius, an 
 heiress, and above all, so nobly born, (which has its weight even 
 in America,) she never would have survived all this. But sur- 
 vived it she has, and it is agreed that she is a captivating creature, 
 whether in " the flowing garments of modesty," as the author 
 expresses it, or in the " dreamy elegance" of a " basquined waist- 
 coat and black trowsers of oriental amplitude." From the in- 
 nocent composure with which she receives a stranger's kiss " on 
 the shore of Vietri," to her conscious blush in the last hour of 
 maidenhood, she shows a courage and frankness, which are not 
 perhaps inconsistent with her piety and chastity, but which render 
 her extvQm^j piquaiite. 
 
 And then Louise Schonberg ! what an idea to represent her 
 as clandestinely married to Augustus without knowing it — 
 against the laws of England, but in accordance with the laws of 
 God; breaking off the connection before she knows what its 
 consequences will be, refusing to legitimate it, because its con- 
 sequences are irreparable, discovering that it binds her for ever 
 just as she is about to commit an unconscious bigamy, escaping 
 from that difficulty by the most improbable, yet probable decep- 
 tion, then telling all this to her maiden friend ; and finally, in 
 
viii 
 
 A WORD ABOUT "LADY ALICe/' 
 
 that curious and much blamed scene of the gondola, seeking her 
 husband to impart to him the secret of the validity of their 
 union, to confess the folly of which despair has made her guilty, 
 and to implore his pardon and his patience ; ending by marrying 
 him again, before the Church, without his knowing who she is ! 
 These strange, apparently involved, yet really simple plots, in 
 which every step is linked to the one preceding it, amid apparent 
 recklessness of consistency, and the remote cause, the initiative 
 of the mistakes, and the flmlts, traceable up to a progenitor's 
 sin, are in the ancient rather than in the modern spirit, we confess. 
 
 But we really cannot stop to explain or vindicate " Lady 
 Alice." If it deserves explanation or vindication, instead of 
 forgetfulness, reproductive criticism has arrived at such a pitch 
 of excellence in our day, that no doubt justice and more than 
 justice will be done to this singular story. From the dull false- 
 hoods of the North American Review, to the sparkling raillery 
 of the Lorgnette, I leave therefore the critics to themselves, till 
 my day comes, if it ever comes, for appreciation and praise. I 
 cannot blow my own trumpet, nor find " understanding as well 
 as verses." The fimlts of Lady Alice lie on the surface, like 
 scum on the sea ; it is unnecessary that I should confess them to 
 be faults, or excuse them by showing that there is a pure and 
 deep and cleansing w^ave beneath. Every body, whose good 
 opinion is worth having, sees, or may see, both. 
 
 I may, however, throw out one idea, as not having a merely 
 retrospective bearing. The passion of love may be made in- 
 teresting, I think, without those conflicts which the moderns love 
 to paint, and which suppose a degrading anarchy in the soul. 
 Nothing has done more to confuse the distinction between virtue 
 and vice than modern English sentimental fiction, particularly 
 that which claims to be moral, if not religious ; and one object 
 which I have had in view in my former, and have pursued in 
 my present work, has been to make the lines sharp and distinct. 
 
 New York, July 14, 1851. 
 
A L B A N 
 
 BOOK 1. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The New England coast is Yery much indented (as is well 
 known) with fine bays, which the numerous rivers of the Eastern 
 States have united with the sweeping tides of the Atlantic to 
 scoop out in the generally low, but stern and unalluvial shores. 
 These bays are also, for the most part, good harbors — the homes 
 and rendezvous of those adventurous whalemen whose hardy 
 enterprise, three quarters of a century ago, gained the magnificent 
 eulogiums of Burke. Yantic Bay, on the coast of Connecticut, 
 particularly answers to this description. It is the mouth of a 
 beautiful river, which, rising in the above-mentioned State, after 
 a certain course of rapids and waterfalls, unites its waters with 
 those of an equal tributary, and flows navigably for about thirteen 
 miles through rich embosoming hills, when the latter, gaining 
 both elevation and severity of aspect, expand around the bay 
 itself in a wide sweep of woodless and stone-fenced heights, 
 having a white beach, and a long, low, surf-beaten point of 
 bleached stones and shells for their terminus. At the sea end of 
 
10 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 the point, stands a white light-house : nearly two miles higher up, 
 on the opposite heights, is a still formidable fort ; and near it, 
 (at the present writing,) a colossal monument of some j)assage in 
 the war of the Revolution, of which that foit was the scene. The 
 bay is also dotted with a few rocky islets. From the absence of 
 wood, and the profusion of stone, the landscape, if bold, is rather 
 severe in aspect, but at the in-flowing of the river, some outjutting 
 points, covered with thick groves, promise a softer inland. 
 
 Just out of the shelter of the groves just mentioiicd, close to 
 the water side, and rising rather picturesquely from it, is situate 
 the ancient town of Yanmouth. The Indian name of the river 
 there emptying, was thus adjusted by the early settlers with an 
 ending of their mother tongue and country, with a felicity rarely 
 to be observed in the geographical nomenclature of the New 
 World. We call Yanmouth an ancient town, but that is as cis- 
 atlantic antiquity goes : it has a date of two centuries. It had not, 
 indeed, quite so much in the year 1815, in which our story opens. 
 At that time several British men-of-war were lying in Yantic 
 Bay, which quite recently they had been engaged in blockading. 
 The men were very often ashore in parties on leave, which broke 
 the quiet of the town, and injured its morals, but, on the other 
 hand, this disadvantage was compensated by the visits of the 
 ofiicers, between whom and the little aristocracy of Yanmouth 
 an agreeable social intercourse had succeeded to hostile relations. 
 There is an aristocracy in every society however limited or inarti- 
 ficial, as there is a top and a bottom to every thing. 
 
 It was on a Sunday — and that a memorable Sunday, on 
 which the fate of the world was being elsewhere bloodily decided ; 
 for it was the 18th of June; and the peculiar calm of a New 
 England " Sabbath" in midsummer, rested on those iron hills, and 
 wide, bright waters, and pervaded the rudely-paved streets of the 
 old-fashioned rural town, half country village, and half seaport. 
 At about ten o'clock, a. m., the silence was broken, but the 
 sentiment of repose rather heightened, by the sound of the church 
 bells answering one another at well-regulated intervals. There 
 
ALBAN, 
 
 •11 
 
 were two bells only in Yanmouth then : — that of the old Congre- 
 gational "Meeting-House" where the mass of the real Yanmouth 
 people, especially the gentry, still served the God of their fathers ; 
 and that of the less pretending edifice, where a small body of 
 Episcopalians maintained what in New England was regarded 
 as a novel and schismatical worship. Both bells were fine 
 toned, though they were different. That which swung in the 
 tall, white Congregational steeple had been captured from the 
 Spaniards by a Yanmouth privateer, a half century before, and 
 was both high and musical. That which answered it with a 
 graver yet mellow accent, from the square bastard-gothic turret 
 of the Episcopals, was the gift of the Society for the Propagation 
 of the Gospel. 
 
 Even in advance of the hour for meeting, or church, (as it 
 would be variously termed according to the afRnities of the 
 speaker,) three boats had put out from the British frigates, and 
 pulled up the bay to the landing. Two were captain's gigs, out 
 of which got a half-dozen officers, who paired oft", and sauntered 
 in the direction of the Episcopal church. The other two con- 
 tained, besides their crews, about a dozen " young gentlemen," 
 whose course after landing was various. A few, and those the 
 more unfashioned in face, shape, mien, or dress, followed their 
 seniors ; but a set of neatly-equipped, rather good-looking young- 
 sters, after some delay and mutual consultation, set their cox- 
 combical faces in the direction of the meeting-house. The streets 
 of Yanmouth ran partly parallel with the water side, partly at 
 right angles with, and ascending steeply from, it. They were 
 wide, and lined with large, handsome, old-fashioned, white houses, 
 chiefly of wood. Some were long and low ; some had " piazzas" 
 [anglice verandas) in front. Here and there a high, narrow, red 
 store, with gable to the street, its heavy block and hoisting tackle 
 swinging from under a projecting peak, added to the picturesque 
 variety. Before the principal houses stood old trees — vast and 
 spreading elms, white-armed button-balls, or gigantic Aveeping- 
 willows. All was now silently stirring, and quiet] y alive with 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 men and boys in bright blue coats and nankeens, and the gracious 
 wearers of histrous silk brocade or snowy muslin. 
 
 Yanmouth meeting-house stood about half way up one of 
 the rising streets of the town, being built (to use the local phrase) 
 on a "side hill," in a situation, therefore, of great conspicuity. 
 It was built of wood, and painted white, like all New England 
 meeting-houses of the time, and was adorned with the usual 
 double row of green-blinded windows down its sides ; yet being 
 of very ample dimensions, and even grand in proportions, with a 
 bell-tower and spire of gradually lessening galleries, enriched with 
 elaborate balustrades, it stood out against the blue sky a very 
 imposing and almost beautiful object. It had a small church- 
 yard — a green square, two sides of which were occupied by the 
 "meeting-house shed," destined for the shelter of the equipages 
 of such of the congregation as might come from a distance to 
 worship. Hence the other two sides were open to the street, and 
 the trampled turf contained, of course, no graves. The burying- 
 ground is usually quite separate from the church, in a New 
 England village. 
 
 The worshippers from the town flocked in, slow but unloitering, 
 exchanging few greetings. The long gray shed also filled up with 
 horses, gigs, and wagons. Their male owners seemed to regard it 
 as a privilege to stand about the doors or under the eaves of the 
 meeting-house so long as the bell continued to toll, but yet without 
 profaning the sanctity of the Sabbath by entering hito conversation. 
 At length the bell ceased, and these lingerers also entered ; the 
 noise of their feet mounting the gallery stairs was soon over, (there 
 was no organ, of course, to pour out its volumes of unspiritual 
 sound,) and a profound silence filled the sanctuary. The body of 
 the house was divided into great square pews, so that one half the 
 congregation sat facing the other half. In modern New England 
 churches the seats all look towards the minister, and this seems, at 
 first sight, the most sensible arrangement ; but, in reality, the old 
 one was more in accordance with true New England principles. In 
 the new places of worship there is none of that solemnity which 
 
ALB AN , 
 
 13 
 
 used to be felt from the consciousness of each individual that he 
 was under the grave and unavoidable observation of all his 
 brethren. The downcast looks and formal composure of the 
 females that marked the old congregations have disappeared. 
 Ease has succeeded to awe. But the worst of it is, that the 
 genuine idea of Congregationalism is violated. The centre of ac- 
 tion and interest is shifted from the assembly itself to its minister ; 
 and the nature of the action is also changed ; a solemn, if severe, 
 synaxis has degenerated into a lecture ; a church watching over 
 itself has sunk to an audience. 
 
 The young officers of Her Majesty's ship of the line Avenger 
 and frigate Tonnerre (captured at Trafalgar) liked the old square 
 pews for the view they afforded of many a lovely New England 
 countenance. Truly, the summer light, softened by its passage 
 betwdxt the numerous green slats of the Venetian blinds, fell on 
 more than one face of exquisite beauty, of a bloom as delicate as 
 Britain could boast, and features of more classic precision than her 
 humid atmosphere permits, at least without a certain hot-house 
 culture. In many instances this physical beauty was united with 
 that air of saint-like purity and heavenly peace which is often 
 ascribed to nuns, but which is, or was, very common among New 
 England Congregationalists ; proceeding in both cases, doubtless, 
 from the same causes, habitual self-control, and the frequent con- 
 templation of Divine things. 
 
 As a general thing it may be doubted whether this spiritual 
 style of female loveliness attracted the regards of our naval friends 
 so much as that which was more mundane. Their admiring 
 glances were bestowed, however, with great impartiality ; the 
 young Yanmouth ladies were doubtless, in most instances, ac- 
 quaintance, at the very least ; in some cases, a tenderer, though 
 temporary interest, might be almost acknowledged ; and it seemed 
 that only the successive contemplation of all the fair faces present 
 could satisfy that hunger of the sailor's eye after a long cruise, for 
 the soft peculiarities of feature and expression proper to the other 
 sex. We have not come to Yanmouth church, however, to observe 
 
14 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 and describe these profane distractions, which have forced them- 
 selves, we must say, unpleasantly, upon our attention. Our own 
 business here is iutinitely more serious. 
 
 In a large wall pew, which shares with one other in the 
 church the distinction of red cloth lining and brass nails, is a fam- 
 ily that claims particular notice. The master sits in his proper 
 place, (that is the corner seat next the side aisle, and command- 
 ing the pulpit,) a man rather below the middle height, slight, 
 erect, yet evidently, from his thin silver locks, of venerable yeare. 
 The head is characteristically New Englandish ; small, rather 
 square than oval ; nose Grecian, with refined nostril, and com- 
 pressed mouth ; eyes not large, but well set and piercing. The 
 lower part of this face was charged with a florid color which 
 proved that seventy winters had not exhausted a rich and abun- 
 dant vitality ; but the wide, serene, scarcely-wrinkled brow, was 
 as silvery in tone as faultless in mould. Ideality, causality, be- 
 nevolence, veneration, conscientiousness, firmness, all well de- 
 veloped I It is easy to see what character this man will have 
 displayed. He has been the kind father, the admirable citizen, 
 the patriot, finally, the saint. 
 
 His vis-a-vis oflers a striking contrast. It is a man in the 
 prime of life, tall, large framed, but well knit. He is dressed in 
 the fashion of the time and season, a blue coat, with white neck- 
 cloth, waiscoat, and trowsers, of an immaculate purity ; his large 
 shirt ruffles are elaborately plaited ; — then the ordinary mark of 
 a gentleman. From this snowy J ust-au-corps, so fresh and clean, 
 emerges a grand, handsome head, oval and brilliant. It would be 
 too vital were it not that rhe massive, clean, white forehead is 
 prematurely bald ; the activity of the cerebrum has left little 
 more than half of the dark brown locks that once shaded its su- 
 perb temple. 
 
 The interior corners of the pews were occupied by two females, 
 the elder of whom could not have passed thirty. She was short, 
 slight, and ]iale. She wore what was then distingue, a white 
 shawl, of Chinese silk, over her high, lace-rufied, short-waisted, 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 15 
 
 black silk dress, and a Leghorn bonnet and lace veil, that seemed 
 modish, and even imposing, in Yanmouth meeting-house. Her 
 features were good, but irregular ; the mouth, in particular, was 
 deficient in symmetry, yet was its expression sweet ; one eyebrow 
 was markedly higher than the other, but the eyes were finely cut 
 and of the softest blue ; the nose was a little high, yet beautifully 
 formed. She had the saint-like expression of which we have be- 
 fore spoken. It was, indeed, a very interesting face. 
 
 Her companion was like her, but the likeness was a family 
 one ; the mould was the same, but the casting had been more 
 fortunate. In short, the face of the younger lady was as nearly 
 perfect as possible ; but its expression was tinctured with a faint 
 haughtiness, not unusual in features of extreme regularity. Be- 
 tween these fair and gracious personages sat a neatly-attired 
 black girl — black as the ace of spades ; — around her curly head 
 was gracefully wound a bright parti-colored cotton • handkerchief. 
 In her arms she sustained a burden of flowing muslin petticoats, 
 and long lace robes, from which emerged the small, fair, slumber- 
 ing features of an infant — a sleep-bound monthling. These were 
 indications, appreciated, doubtless, by all the congregation, that 
 Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Athferton were intending that morning to 
 "dedicate" their first-born son to God "in the ordinance of bap- 
 tism." 
 
 The aged minister entered the assembly, walked with slow 
 dignity up the middle aisle, and more slowly, yet with greater 
 dignity, ascended the pulpit stairs. He was an old-fashioned par- 
 son of the " standing order." His somewhat shrunk legs were in- 
 vested in black small-clothes and stockings, and he wore great sil- 
 ver shoe-buckles. His hair was long, flowing on his shoulders, and 
 white as snow. After some moments of silent preparation in the 
 deep interior of the wine-glass pulpit, moments during which the 
 congregation became gradually hushed as the grave, this venerable 
 man arose ; all arose with him ; and lifting up his hands, he com- 
 menced his prayer. 
 
 It is not our intention to report it. It was a good prayer, brief 
 
16 
 
 A L B A N . 
 
 and pointed, in the nature of an introduction to the exercises about 
 to follow. The good pastor had used nearly the same every Sun- 
 day morning, for more than half a century that he had exercised 
 the pastoral office over the church in Yanmouth. A hymn was 
 then sung, about dedicating little children, like Samuel, to God. 
 Then the pastor read the passage of the New Testament where 
 the Lord commissions his Apostles to go forth and baptize all na- 
 tions. Then followed a much longer prayer, very discursive, very 
 theological — like an abstract of the Westminster Confession, united 
 to an exposition of the Book of Revelations. Towards the close 
 of it, however, the speaker narrowed down his theme to the present 
 time, and spoke of the family whose youngest " hope" was to be 
 offered for admission into the visible church. He declared that 
 this unconscious babe, on whom so much of the interest of the pres- 
 ent occasion was concentred, was the descendant of a long line of 
 eminently pious and now mostly sainted ancestors, whose graces 
 he prayed that the babe might inherit, as well as their name. 
 He alluded particularly to one living and present, a venerable 
 servant of G-od, the grandsire, as it seemed, of the babe, now wait- 
 ing for the call of his Master, ready like Elijah for translation, 
 whose mantle, he asked might fall on this infant descendant. 
 Finally, he expressed great confidence in the real election of the 
 yet unconscious candidate for the baptismal sprinkling, on the 
 ground that a child of so many prayers as had gone before his very 
 birth, and would ever follow him through life, must have been pre- 
 destinated from all eternity to the enjoyment of the celestial man- 
 sions, it being, as he said, the well-known method of the Omniscient 
 and Sovereign Dispenser of all good to stir up his people to ask 
 with fervor those blessings which he had in each instance eternally 
 predetermined to bestow. With the exception, perhaps, of the 
 young English officers, a look of pleased internal acquiescence was 
 visible on all the countenances of the congregation as the prayer 
 concluded. 
 
 " The child," said the minister, still erect in the lofty pulpit, 
 *' may now be presented by the parents for baptism." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 17 
 
 " Who are the godfather and godmother ?" whispered a mid- 
 shipman to a staring Yanmouth youth in the next pew. 
 
 " Them are the parents," was the reply, accompanied with 
 an expression of pity ; " we don't have nothing of that kind you 
 said." 
 
 The ceremony of baptism is not necessarily deprived of its 
 solemnity by the simple manner of performing it customary among 
 the New England people. On the contrary, the mere act of 
 baptism, left entirely to itself, with no benedictions of the Avater, 
 no promises and renunciations of sponsors, no signing with the cross, 
 not to say, without the numerous rites used in the Catholic 
 church — the salt, the spittle, the insufflations, the exorcisms, the 
 unction, the lighted candle, the white robe — is perhaps even the 
 more impressive. The minister exhorted the parents to bring up 
 their child in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. The nature 
 of the present transaction he described, indeed, as a mere oblation 
 of the child to God ; but he assured them, on the other hand, that 
 God had promised to be a Father to the children of His saints, and 
 that the offspring of believers were the most likely subjects of dis- 
 criminating grace, a consummation to which their efforts and 
 prayers ought constantly to tend. The father held the babe at the 
 font ; the white-haired old minister dipped the tips of his trembling 
 fingers, sprinkled a few drops of water on the face of the infant, 
 not even waking it from its deep and awful slumber, and said : 
 
 " Alban, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the 
 Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." 
 
 2» 
 
18 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The British tars sauntered along the quiet streets, rolHng on 
 their hips, and squaring their elbows like yard-arms. There were 
 no grog-shops open in Yanmouth on the Sabhath day, and though 
 immoralities ol" another kind were far from being unknown, there 
 was yet no absolute rendezvous in this comparatively innocent sea- 
 port, where the distraction of equivocal female society could be 
 obtained. The selectmen exercised too strict a vigilance. So, 
 finally, a little knot of the blue-jackets, enmiyc with promenading 
 without a purpose, sat down upon the stone door-step of a store, 
 and one of them pulling out of his pocket a pack of dirty cards, 
 they fell to amusing themselves with a game that is a prime 
 favorite with sailors. 
 
 Cards are dull without a stake ; so the next thing some of His 
 Majesty's silver pictures were produced, and the shillings and half- 
 crowns changed hands rapidly. Unfortunately the position of the 
 gamesters was commanded from the windows of the meeting-house 
 gallery. They were quiet at first, as they had been strictly 
 enjoined to be, and spoke in under tones, for the hush of the town 
 awed them ; but forgetting themselves by degrees, particularly the 
 lookers-on of the game, they gave way to occasional laughter, with 
 loud talking, to whicli now and then a ripping oath added its pecu- 
 liar energy. In the deep pause between the giving out of the last 
 hymn, and the preparatory mi sol of tlie volunteer choir, the 
 noise of a laugh came faintly in at the open windows and caught 
 the ear of Deacon Jabez Flint, a zealous upholder of the ancient 
 laws, and one of the selectmen of Yanmouth. To seize his hat — a 
 broad-brim — and staff (it was silver-headed) and go forth to ascer- 
 tain the cause of these profane sounds, was in fact the duty of 
 Deacon Flint ; and his investigations soon brought to light the 
 enormities that were in the act of commission : — card-playing, 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 19 
 
 gambling, swearing, and unseemly merriment on the Sabbath in 
 the open streets of Yanmouth, in meeting-time, with consequent 
 disturbance of public worship, added to the profanation of the 
 Lord's day, each in itself a circumstance involving a separate vio- 
 lation of the by-laws of the town, and constituting all together a 
 complex offence of no ordinary magnitude. What did it matter 
 that the offenders were foreigners ? In the command to sanctify 
 the Sabbath was there not a special clause including " the stranger 
 that is within thy gates ?" So reasoned Deacon Flint, who had 
 " set his face as a flint" against such doings ; and he took his 
 measures accordingly ; the consequence whereof was, to be brief, 
 that by the time meeting was out, four seamen of His Majesty's 
 frigate Tonnerre had been arrested by a constabulary force of eight 
 fanatical Puritans, under the guidance and authority of Deacon 
 Flint, in his broad-brimmed hat and silver-headed round cane, and 
 lodged forthwith in the county jail. 
 
 From insignificant causes arise, oftentimes, the wars of mighty 
 nations. The arrest of a few sailors for violating the municipal 
 laws of a New England town was a matter of no great import 
 in itself; but construed as an insult to the British flag, under 
 which those sailors and their officers had landed, — a less thing 
 might suffice to dissolve the peaceful relations then newly re-es- 
 tablished between the two countries. Thus the zeal of Deacon 
 Fhnt, approved by some, was deemed injudicious by others. The 
 British officers were indignant, and some of the juniors proposed 
 to storm the jail and effect a rescue. This counsel was indeed 
 promptly rejected by their superiors in the informal consultation 
 which took place at the moment, as both unwarrantable, and 
 certain of defeat from the well-known spirit of the people. Some 
 of the middies said that the commodore would bombard the town 
 if the prisoners were not instantly surrendered ; but it was an 
 obvious answer to this prediction, that the British ships themselves 
 lay directly under the guns of Fort Yantic. 
 
 While the people, collected in groups, in spite of Sunday, dis- 
 cussed the affair with the phlegm peculiar to New Englanders, 
 
20 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 and the knot of cockpit officers at the boat wharf were holding a 
 somewhat excited, if not angry, colloquy on the subject, the 
 captain of the Tounerre himself consulted apart witli his first 
 lieutenant, in the veranda of an inn that fronted the landing. 
 
 "Best to treat it good-naturedly, as an instance of respectable 
 zeal, but ludicrous in our eyes," said the senior officer. 
 
 " 1 call such an instance of zeal, confounded impudence," re- 
 plied the lieutenant, with dehberate emphasis. 
 
 ** No doubt, Harvey, no doubt ; but the object at present is, to 
 get the matter over amicably, without seeming to pocket an 
 insult. The men must be released though, to-night." 
 
 " This Deacon Flint, they say, is as obstinate as a mule ;" 
 observed the lieutenant. 
 
 " I think I have hit upon a way of managing him," said his 
 superior, looking at the subaltern. The lieutenant in turn regarded 
 his captain with an air of inquiry. 
 
 " General Atherton has unbounded influence," pursued the 
 latter. " The people here regard him as little less than a saint." 
 
 " duite so," assented the lieutenant, slightly flushing. 
 
 " Deacon Flint would follow his advice implicitly, no doubt, 
 especially iu a case like this, which, in fact, is a question of reli- 
 gion," said the captain, gravely. " You know the family, Harvey ; 
 you must see the old gentleman. He is a gentleman, every inch 
 of him, and a soldier ; — he would enter into my feelings, — into 
 the feelings of a commanding officer," 
 
 " General Atherton is very rigid in his ideas about Sunday — 
 the Sabbath, as he would call it," said Harvey, hesitatingly, 
 
 "Pooh ! pooh !" 
 
 " I mean, he might object to one's calling on -him to-day, on 
 such an afiair ;" persisted the junior. 
 
 " Nonsense. You will have the goodness to go up to General 
 Atherton's immediately, Mr. Harvey, and make such a represen- 
 tation of the case as will procure his interference to liberate the 
 men at once," said his commander moving off. " I am going to 
 the ship ; you won't come aboard without them, of course I" 
 
ALBAN, 
 
 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 By this time the bells had begun to ring for afternoon meeting ; 
 for, as many of the congregation always come from far, it is the 
 custom of New England to allow but a brief intermission be- 
 tween morning and afternoon service, seldom exceeding an hour. 
 Lieutenant Harvey did not proceed on his errand till after the 
 evening service therefore, which, for some reason, he attended 
 at church, and though he had often heard the beautiful prayers 
 hastily read before an impending action or gathering storm, 
 when Sunday happened to precede, he had perhaps never more 
 heartily prayed to be " defended from the fear of our enemies," or 
 from all perils and dangers of this night," than when he was 
 simply going to ask a favor of a particularly quiet New England 
 country-gentleman. 
 
 But service was over — it was longer than meeting by at least 
 a quarter of an hour — and the brave lieutenant's way led him 
 into the broad ascending street on which the meetiiig-house stood. 
 It was lined with great trees and paved with rubble stones, 
 from which the rapid descent of waters in every rain had long 
 since swept away the lighter portions of the soil. Here and 
 there native rock, smooth and flat, appeared above the surface. 
 At the top of this street ran another at right angles, and beyond, 
 the hill extended in an open green terminating in a white court- 
 house, flanked by a stone jail — a square, solid building with grated 
 windows, from one of which the English officer's blood boiled to 
 see the grim faces of his men peering out in durance vile. 
 
 This was the end of the town in that direction. Behind the 
 court-house and jail were seen only stone-fenced hills and the" 
 sky. But on the right of the court-house green, in the midst of 
 lolly and considerable grounds, stood a large white mansion of 
 brick, having a many-sloped black roof without gables, of which 
 
22 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 the eaves projecting like a veranda, and supported by massive 
 and square brick columns, formed a huge piazza quite round the 
 house. The white front wall of the grounds flanked the green, 
 and was of brick, stone-coped, and broken by quaint brick pillars, 
 like those of the piazza. There were two gates, a larger one at 
 the lowest point of the hill for carriages, and a smaller one, but 
 more enriched, latticed, and flanked by pillars, above, which served 
 for pedestrians, or even for visitors in carriages, if they did not 
 mind walking a hundred yards, or thereabouts, to the house. 
 Lieutenant Harvey directed his steps to this entrance, and entered 
 by it without using the brass knocker. "Within was a small lawn, 
 planted with shrubbery, and a flagged pathway led from the gate 
 to a flight of half a-dozen stone steps, which brought the officer to 
 the level of a green and shrubberied terrace, with a continuation 
 of the pathway leading to another flight and another terrace, 
 whereon stood the house, the great brick pillars of the piazza 
 having their quaint lofty bases rooted in the turf Those of the 
 front were wreathed with honeysuckles. Roses bloomed between 
 them, and beneath the open windows. There was a path under 
 the piazza, and on one side was a garden rising in terraces and 
 skirted mth fruit-trees ; on the other, the hill descended in a green 
 slope to the carriage-road, and the view was open over the town, 
 to the bay, the wooded mouth of the Yantic, and the gray heights 
 beyond, with their fences of stone and guardian forts. 
 
 Lieutenant Harvey raised the bright brass knocker of the 
 double-valved green door. An old negro in a white coat an- 
 swered the summons. His wrinkled black face evinced great 
 surprise at the visitor. 
 
 " What, Massa Harvey I you come to de Cassle a-courtin' on 
 de Sabbat' day I Sir I as sure as my name is Sam'l Ath'ton, the 
 general no 'prove it." 
 
 " I have not come to the ' Castle' to-day a-courting, Sam. I 
 wish to see General Atherton himself on particular business." 
 
 " The gen'ral never tend to biz'ness on de Sabbat'," said the 
 negro, letting in the visitor with evident reluctance. " My good- 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 23 
 
 ness, Massa Harvey ! de Cassle de las' place you ought to come 
 to, to do biz'ness on de Sabbat' day afore sun-down. You lose 
 your crak'ter in dis house entirely." 
 
 The vestibule into which Harvey was admitted, was a small, 
 square hall, nearly filled with a broad, well-lighted staircase. 
 
 The narrow, but very rich foreign carpet with which this 
 was laid, and a hall-lamp of cut glass suspended from the ceiling, 
 gave it an air dilFerent from most Yanmouth interiors at that pe- 
 riod, although now it w^ould be far from unique. A sword, and an 
 old revolutionary cocked-hat hung on the wall. The negro threw 
 open a door, and ushered the visitor into a spacious drawing-room, 
 — in the vernacular, the parlor. 
 
 " Mr. Harvey I" said a soft voice, in an under tone of shght 
 surprise. 
 
 There were three ladies in the parlor, two of whom have 
 already been introduced in their pew at the Congregational meet- 
 ing-house, and it was the younger of these who spoke, and who, 
 at the same time, rose to receive the English officer. The other 
 two remained sitting and silent, but regarded him with a stare of 
 undisguised curiosity. 
 
 " I called to see your father, Miss Atherton, on an errand of 
 importance from my commanding officer." 
 
 " Your father is in the bedroom, Betsey," said a voice with 
 quickness ; and the young lady addressed left the parlor without 
 further remark. 
 
 *' The bedroom," in a New England house at that time sig- 
 nified the bedroom of " the heads" of the family. It was gen- 
 erally upon the first or principal floor, and was much used as a 
 more sacred kind of sitting-room, to which all the members of the 
 family proper had access ; but when the best, or drawing-room 
 chamber, was occupied by guests, as happened at this time at 
 General Atherton's, it would also afford a place, on Sundays, or 
 at other times, for devotional retirement ; and such, doubtless, as 
 Lieutenant Harvey immediately understood, was the case at that 
 instant. The reader will also at once comprehend, that the above 
 
24 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 observation, addressed to Miss Atherton, proceeded from her 
 mother. She was a woman on the shady side of sixty — perhaps 
 nearer three score and ten ; very slight, very straight, sitting 
 erect in her chair by the open east window, without leaning in 
 the least upon the high back for support ; a large book was open 
 in her lap, and she was reading without the aid of glasses. The 
 close cap of the time entirely concealed her gray hair, and sur- 
 rounded a face that must once have been beautiful. It was still 
 full of vivacity. On the wall directly opposite her hung her own 
 portrait, a few years younger, perhaps, but in the same costume 
 that she actually wore— a dark silk gown and snowy muslin neck- 
 erchief, arranged with neat precision. Many other portraits < 
 adorned the walls, and we may indeed scrutinize the apartment a 
 little, while we are waiting in solemn silence for General Ather- 
 ton to appear. 
 
 It was a large room, as we have said, and lofty, and the por- 
 traits were ranged down one side of it. General Atherton, whom 
 we have already seen at meeting, was there by his lady's side, in 
 the old continental blue and buff, the high, white cravat, and 
 rich frill of '76. The painter had caught well his expression of 
 saintly serenity. There was a head which you would have 
 sworn was his father's, but of harder lineaments ; — the costume 
 plain and citizenish, but otherwise scarcely to be made out ; and 
 another which you might divine to be his mother's, — very soft, 
 and the most youthful in the collection : it must have been taken 
 three quarters of a century before. Probably it was painted 
 by Smybert, who flourished in the then loyal colonies, before 
 the French war. The other portraits were more modern ; one 
 smooth, youthful countenance, almost boyish, surprised you by its 
 association with a parson's gown and bands, — signs of office which 
 the Congregationalist ministers in Boston, and the larger cities of 
 New England still retained. At the lower end of the room, over 
 the very high mantel-piece of dark native stone, hung also nearly 
 a dozen miniatures in oil, exquisitely painted ; evidently all by 
 the same hand. The massive little gilt frames made the wall 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 25 
 
 sparkle ; and they were disposed round a central piece, — a lozenge- 
 shaped coat of arms, worked in gold filagree and blue, — a re- 
 splendent object preserved in a glass case. There was very little 
 furniture in the apartment, compared with our modern profusion. 
 An escritoire bookcase of mahogany, polished by constant rub- 
 bing into a sort of golden looking-glass, and nearly covered with 
 spotlessly bright and fanciful brass mountings and drawer-handles, 
 stood near the fireplace. A tall, old-fashioned clock, with the 
 moon's ever-varying face moving on its dial, stood in a darkish 
 corner, solemnly ticking in the silence. And there was little else 
 that was ornamental. 
 
 The beautiful Miss Atherton returned from her mission, saying, 
 in a low tone, that "Pa" would come in presently, and seating 
 herself by a window, resumed her book. Young Mrs. Atherton 
 had not uttered a word. She sat ih a low rocking-chair, medita- 
 ting apparently, for her air was serious though sweet. Ten 
 minutes elapsed, and General Atherton did not appear. 
 
 " Have you been to church to-day, Mr. Harvey, or to meet- 
 ing ?" suddenly asked old Mrs. Atherton. 
 
 " To meeting, madam, in the morning," said the officer. 
 
 " Ah I then you saw my grandson christened," broke in the 
 old lady with animation. 
 
 " Saw him baptized, you mean, ma !" said young Mrs. Ather- 
 ton, faintly, and with a slight winning smile of remonstrance, 
 
 " No, child, I mean christened ; — is not that what you call it 
 at home — in Old England, Mr. Harvey ?" 
 
 " Baptized or christened, madam, is the same, I have always 
 understood," said the lieutenant. 
 
 Miss Atherton' s lip curled, but she did not look up from her 
 book. 
 
 "How did you like the name ?" pursued the old lady, with a 
 courteous but sarcastic air. Harvey s£i,id he thought it a very 
 good name, and Miss Atherton's lip curled again. 
 
 " It comes from, a good source," said the old lady, turning 
 
 over to th§ fir&t pEiges of her book, — " the calendar of the Church 
 
 3 
 
26 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 of England Prayer-book — the only prayer-book I ever use. — 
 Yesterday was St. Alban's day, and I find he was the first 
 English martyr,- so, as I was promised the naming of the boy, I 
 chose that. It is better than Hezekiah or Samuel, don't you 
 think ?" 
 
 " Those names are both in the Bible, you know, mamma I" 
 said the married daughter ; " I am sure you really like them." 
 " I like Hezekiah in your father, Grace." 
 
 " And Samuel in my husband, I hope," said the daughter, 
 with a smile, though somewhat pained. 
 
 " He was named after his father, who was President of Con- 
 gress," said the old lady, " and a signer of the Declaration ; — not 
 that I think any better of him for that," — and she glanced out 
 of the window towards the fort on the distant heights. 
 
 " And Samuel in the Bible was one of the judges, and a 
 prophet of the Lord," said Mrs. Samuel Atherton, with perse- 
 vering suavity. 
 
 " And Alban in the Prayer-book was one of the martyrs, and 
 a saint of the Lord ;" rejoined her mother. 
 
 Truly, it has excited our surprise that this young descendant 
 of the Puritans, christened in a Congregationalist meeting-house, 
 should receive the name of a Catholic saint. But we have not 
 time to think about it, for at length, the General Hezekiah so 
 long waited for, comes in from his retirement, and listens with 
 grave but gracious attention to the British officer's story. 
 
 " What you urge is reasonable, Mr. Harvey," said he, at its 
 conclusion. " Deacon Flint is a good man, but his zeal in this 
 instance has carried hira further than duty required him to go. 
 It would have sufficed to reprimand your men, and send them 
 back to their boat. I will go with you to his house, and doubt 
 not to obtain an order for their release." 
 
 " It is a work of necessity and mercy," said the younger Mrs. 
 Atherton. 
 
 " I think so, daughter Grace." 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 27 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It was almost the longest day of the year, of course, and it 
 seemed that the sun never ivould go down that evening. Grad- 
 ually, however, the shadow of the hill climbed up the quaint brick 
 pillars of the old Atherton house — the " Cassle," as black Sam 
 called it — and chased the red light up the varied slopes of the 
 black roof, till at last only the gilt points of the forked lightning- 
 rod sparkled in the day-beam. Then Elizabeth Atherton came out 
 among the roses and honeysuckles of the piazza, and sauntered 
 into the garden, lifting her gracious white drapery a little, as she 
 went up the terraced parterres, till her form was seen at their 
 highest point defined against the crimson sky. 
 
 It was in the angle of the wall that she stood, where a great 
 rock emerged above the surface ; the road ran some twenty feet 
 below on one side ; on the other, her father's domain extended, in 
 grass land and locust groves. The land on the farther side of the 
 road was also General Atherton's, except the very topmost slope 
 of the hill, which was fenced off by itself, with a line of trees run- 
 ning along its lower boundary. This separated lot manifested the 
 purpose to which it was devoted, by hundreds of grassy mounds, 
 with numerous white gravestones interspersed. At the date of this 
 present writing. General Atherton, with his wife, and both their 
 daughters — the beautiful Elizabeth herself — repose beneath one of 
 the highest knolls, which is crowned by their tall obelisk tomb- 
 stones. Be not too sad, reader ; for consider that thirty-five years 
 have elapsed ; and of those four, one only died in youth. A com- 
 mon fate, late or soon, ingulfs the earthly life of all. 
 
 The golden ray (we mean it) at length had ceased to tinge even 
 the highest rampart of Yantic fort ; it was positively sundown ; 
 and a stir became apparent in Yanmouth. From her lofty post of 
 observation, Betsey Atherton could see many a doorway become 
 
28 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 enlivened with white dresses and summer trowsers ; now a soHtary 
 beau, and then a whole bevy of girls would flutter down or across 
 a street. Laughter was heard in the twilight, and music, and the 
 resounding of gates swung to with a sort of consciousness that the 
 Sabbath was over. Soon a quite numerous party were descried 
 corning up the hill, and crossing the green towards her father's 
 house. They came in at the upper gate talking gayly and loud. 
 Ehzabeth saw her father and elder sister go out to meet them on 
 the terrace steps. After a short conversation, two or three girls, 
 and as many youths, broke away from the rest, and came actually 
 running into the garden, the females in advance of their compan- 
 ions. As they flew along the terraces, one gave a faint, hoydenish 
 scream, and another laughed. 
 
 " Vt'hy girls.' how you act said Miss Atherton, reproachfully, 
 in her low, soft voice, slightly drawling the two itahcized words. 
 
 They were all beautiful creatures, to speak generally, fragile 
 in make, and reaching apparently, in age, from sixteen to twenty. 
 One had a profusion of long, light brown ringlets falling on her 
 shoulders ; another's glossy raven hair was classically twisted ; 
 the third had short crisp French curls all around her forehead and 
 temples. Two of the gentlemen who followed them were English 
 officers, and one of these was our friend Harvey, with whom Miss 
 Atherton shook hands, and said, with a very sweet and gentle, 
 though amused smile : 
 
 " I trust you have succeeded in liberating the captives, Lieuten- 
 ant Harvey ?" 
 
 " I wish J. could as easily deliver another captive that I know 
 of, Miss Atherton," replied the lieutenant gallantly. 
 
 The girls all giggled, and the other gentleman exclaimed, "All 
 the captives I you ought to say, Harvey." And the three girls 
 laughed again, and Miss Atherton said she thought " they were 
 possessed .'" 
 
 "VYe are afraid that if we were to continue our account of the 
 conversation, it would not prove greatly more edifying than the 
 slight specimen we have given. Miss Atherton herself gradually 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 29 
 
 took part in what she at first seemed to consider the undignified 
 conduct of her friends : at least she laughed, though low and 
 musically, as people say, and^retorted their silly railleries. By and 
 by it was proposed to promenade up and down the walks ; and 
 the young ladies accepted without scruple the oflered arms of the 
 cavaliers. The conversation now became more subdued ; the 
 moon rose upon the rugged but beautiful landscape ; the terraces 
 of turf and stone, and the long, white piazza were partly in shade, 
 and partly in a soft glitter. 
 
 " The new world is more charming than the old," said the 
 English officer. 
 
 " A nd you are really serious in your plan of giving up your 
 profession and settling in the West ?" 
 
 " Never more serious in my life.. Your brother-in-law has 
 promised to sell me a township in the Genesee country, not entirely 
 beyond the reach of civilization either, and for a mere trifle." 
 
 " But you first return to England ?" 
 
 " We sail on Thursday," said the lieutenant. 
 
 " I am very sorry," said Miss Atherton, looking up at him. 
 The English officer was a handsome fellow. 
 
 "And I was never so sorry in my life," replied the lieutenant. 
 " To be quite plain — since I am going so soon — and may not have 
 another opportunity, (let us turn up this walk, Miss Atherton,) you 
 are the cause." 
 
 The sailor hemmed and cleared his throat. There was nothing 
 sufficiently definite said yet for a lady to answer, but enough for 
 a lady to understand. Miss Atherton looked down of course, 
 
 " I ventured to speak to your father this afternoon," pursued 
 the lieutenant, rather vaguely. " He reproved me for mentioning 
 it on Sunday — on the Sabbath I mean — but referred me to you." 
 
 " Mentioning what ?" said the young New England lady, with 
 characteristic caution. 
 
 " I thought I had explained that. Miss Atherton. What could 
 I mention but my attachment — my respectful, devoted attachment 
 to yourself?" 
 
 8* 
 
30 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 The young lady immediately had the air of one very much sur- 
 prised. Young ladies are always surprised, and yet somehow they 
 know very well. Miss Atherton withdrew her hand softly from 
 her companion's arm. She stopped abruptly midway of the walk, 
 aud turning away slightly, looked over the low rough wall towards 
 the burying-ground, where the gravestones glittered like her own 
 raiment. What a question is she deciding I It is whether she 
 shall be a wife and mother, and go with a companion whom she 
 likes, and whom she would easily learn to love with tenderness, to 
 a clime and soil, an air and mode of life far more favorable to her 
 delicate, but untainted constitution, than that of the stern New 
 England coast, and where she would probably have lived as long 
 as our New England flowers generally do when transplanted to 
 the alluvial West ; or whether she shall lie soon — a virgin — under 
 yon moonlit knoll. She has no conception of this aspect of the 
 question, yet there seems something deeper than either maiden 
 coyness in confessing, or womanly reluctance to give pain in. 
 denying, a reciprocation of the feeling with which she has 
 been addressed. She does not look at her companion, which is 
 unfortunate, for he is a manly figure, most particularly good-look- 
 ing, and now an ardent and sympathetic agitation quickens his 
 deep respiration, and his fine embrowned features express many 
 things that females instantly appreciate, and greatly like, — sin- 
 cerity, warmth of feeling, respectful fear, passionate admiration. 
 There was clearly a struggle in the maiden's bosom, but it was 
 brief. 
 
 " I am sorry — veiy sorry — that you feel so, Mr. Harvey, — that 
 is — I cannot — ." She hesitated. " You know my principles, 
 Lieutenant Harvey ; I cannot reconcile it to my conscience to 
 marry one who is not a Christian," 
 
 "Not a Christian, Miss Atherton ! My God ! do you take me 
 for an infideL?" 
 
 " Oh, no, not an infidel, sir ; but you do not so much as believe 
 in that change of heart which we think necessary to make a real 
 Christian. I always resolved," added she, and her delicate pro- 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 31 
 
 file looked firmness itself, — " I always resolved never to marry 
 any but a Christian." 
 
 " But this is a very extraordinary resolution," said the lieu- 
 tenant, with profound seriousness. " You have three married 
 sisters, Miss Atherton, and not one of their husbands is a Chris- 
 tian, in that sense of the word. Why, there is your own mother, 
 Miss Atherton, who is of my church : — I am as much a Christian 
 as she is, am I not ?" 
 
 " That does not alter the right and wrong of the case," said 
 Miss Atherton, mildly. 
 
 Others of the party now approached, and the pair resumed 
 their walk, but Miss Atherton did not resume her lover's arm. 
 
 " I may venture to think that at least you have no other ob- 
 jection," said the lieutenant. " My family, I believe, is as good 
 as yours, though it may not be so distinguished. Miss Atherton." 
 
 " I never thought of comparing them," said the young lady. 
 
 " I cannot boast of my million acres of wild land, and my 
 forty ships sailing to the Indies, like your brother-in-law, Mr. 
 Samuel Atherton." 
 
 After a few moments' thoughtful silence Betsey Atherton 
 touched quickly with her finger that region of the forehead where 
 phrenologists locate the organ of calculation, and replied, with a 
 mixture of archness and sweet sincerity : — 
 
 " My highest aspiration, when I have sometimes thought of 
 wedded life as most desirable for one of my sex, has been to marry 
 a talented minister, settled over some large society, in New York 
 or Boston, like my brother Jonathan, whose income. Lieutenant 
 Harvey, is considerably less than your patrimony would produce, 
 if converted into dollars and put out at the American rate of in- 
 terest." 
 
32 
 
 A LB AN . 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The life of Master Alban Atherton, till he was about eight 
 years old, crept on (the days, upon a child, drop one by one, 
 slowly, like the beads of a novice) between his father's house in 
 the great city and his grandfather's in the rural haven of Yan- 
 mouth. At that time, owing to the nearly annual visit of yellow 
 fever, New York was not considered a safe summer residence, and 
 as the commercial difficulties that followed the peace pressed too 
 dangerously on one who had (literally) so much heavy canvas 
 spread as our hero's father, to allow of his remaining long at a 
 distance from his counting-house, and Mrs. Atherton would not 
 permit the long months from May till the frost to separate her 
 from her husband, the boy was naturally sent to his grandfather's. 
 Here his aunt Elizabeth took charge of him ; and it is no slight 
 privilege to know in early childhood the modesty of virginal care. 
 By itself, indeed, it might have proved too cold an influence, under 
 which the young soul would have blanched like flowers exposed 
 only to moonlight ; but at the end of every six months little Alban 
 passed into the warmer arms of his mother, and played his winters 
 through in the glow of his father's hearth. The great parlor at 
 the " Cassle," with its sparse, old-fashioned furniture, and windows 
 shaded but by the honeysuckles and massive pillars of the piazza, 
 was not more different from Mrs. Atherton's winter drawing-room 
 with its crimson damask curtains, its modern sofa covered with 
 sumptuous red velvet, and the sideboard of silver plate and 
 Chinese porcelain which glittered in its deep recess, than was the 
 spirit of the former abode from that of the latter. 
 
 Mr. Samuel Atherton was a hearty, genial character, devoted 
 to the world, particularly to the increase of his fortune, fond of 
 good living, hospitable, friendly, generous, confiding, quick in re- 
 sentments, susceptible of the influence of female beauty. With 
 
ALB AN 
 
 33 
 
 his intellectual power and his strong passions he might have made 
 a bad man, had he not been endowed with great conscientiousness. 
 His education had been one of great simplicity, and he had always 
 been involved in business. His Affection for his wife and son was 
 of the warmest kind. If refmement, gentleness, and a deep sense 
 of religion breathed out upon young Alban from his slight, quiet, 
 blue-eyed mother, the great frame, vital activity, and cordial laugh 
 of his father inspired quaUties, as well physical as moral, of a far 
 different order. 
 
 There was a difference of system as well as of persons and 
 things between New York and Yanmouth. At both our young 
 hero learned the rudiments of religion from the Westminster 
 Catechism, but at his grandfather's, twice a day, the household 
 were assembled round what is called in New England, metapho- 
 rically, the family altar : while at his father's, a grace before 
 meat, of extreme brevity, constituted the visible domestic worship. 
 Mr. Samuel Atherton was not a " professor," and in fact, rather 
 went beyond the New England notion of consistency, in one as 
 yet unacquainted with the power of vital godliness, even by say- 
 ing grace at his own table. The Sabbath was observed in both 
 houses with equal strictness, but (it was a less point, yet by no 
 means an unimportant one) at Yanmouth, Saturday evening was 
 "kept;" in New York, Sunday evening was reckoned "holy 
 time." So, at a very early age, the boy learned that at Yanmouth 
 the church of the family was Congregationalist, but in New 
 York, Presbyterian ; and that these churches differed not in 
 " doctrine," as he was told, but *' only in church government." 
 The longing for unity, which is one of the strongest instincts of 
 the human mind, compelled his young soul to puzzle itself over 
 this mysterious diversity, and unable, as children always are, to 
 think that two ways to heaven can be right, he inwardly, even 
 at that early age, exercised his power of choice, and finding the 
 mere claim of authority doubtless a proof of its validity, he 
 accepted Presbyter}^ and placed Congregationalism, as such, under 
 his childish anathema. 
 
34 
 
 AL BAN . 
 
 At Yanmouth, too, a mystery of another sort became an 
 element of young Al ban's imagination. It is that geographical 
 mystery which children and peasants, — all ignorant minds, — feel 
 as so attractive, yet so awful. " What lay beyond the circle of 
 hills that bounded on the north the view from his grandfather's 
 terraces ? Alban, at seven years, had journeyed by water, but 
 never by land. And then there was the Yantic, that came 
 flowing out of those hills, with rich woods overhanging its eddy- 
 ing stream — what sort of region lay about its sources ? — who 
 dwelt around its fountains ? 
 
 " "VYhat do they call the place where the river falls, aunty ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " It is called Yantic Falls, my dear." 
 
 " That is not the same Yantic Falls where uncle and aunt 
 Hezekiah live, and cousin Rachel, is it aunty ?" 
 " The very same, Alban." 
 
 " Oh, is it the same ?" said the child. Then, after some 
 minutes' meditation, " And grandpa lived there too, a great — 
 great while ago, did he not, aunt Betsey ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear child, he did. All the Athertons lived 
 first at Yantic Falls. Your great-uncles — your grandfather's 
 brothers — live there now ; and a great many other Athertons, 
 who are your relations, more or less near." 
 
 " Is Yantic Falls so large as Yanmouth ?" 
 
 " Yes, Alby, it is larger." 
 
 " It is not so pretty, is it, aunty ?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear, it is a much more beautiful place — the most 
 beautiful I ever saw in my life." 
 
 " And do my great-uncles all live in houses just like grand- 
 pa's ?" 
 
 " No, my dear : — they, with others of your kindred, live in 
 the old Atherton homesteads, where our ancestors have lived, ever 
 since the family came here, that is, almost for two hundred 
 years." 
 
 *' AYhat are ancestors ?" asked the child. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 35 
 
 Our grandparents, and our great-grandparents, and our 
 great-great-grandparents, and our great-great-great-grandparents, 
 and so on, as far back as you like to go, up to Noah or to Adam," 
 said his aunt, soberly laughing. 
 
 " And homesteads — what are they ?" 
 
 " A homestead is the house where our ancestors lived, one 
 after another, and which belonged to them, with all the land 
 round it. But you have asked questions enough for the present. 
 Some day I will take you to Yantic Falls, and then you shall 
 see the old homestead, — our own, I mean — the old homestead of 
 all." 
 
 ^ But I cannot see our ancestors, aunty, for they are dead." 
 
 " 'No, Alby, but you shall see their graves." 
 
 It was a great event when little Alban was taken by his 
 aunt one Saturday afternoon to Yantic Falls. One of Elizabeth 
 Atherton's married sisters was " settled" in Yanmouth, and it was 
 young Mansfield — a nearly full-grown nephew, and Alban's 
 cousin, who drove them in General Atherton s chaise. The 
 chaise, alias gig, and the pleasure- wagon, were nearly the only 
 carriages then known in Connecticut. It was about a century, 
 in fact, since the great-grandfather of General Atherton had set 
 up at Yantic Falls the first chaise ever seen in the colony, and 
 the family had never since used any grander vehicle. The dis- 
 tance from Yanmouth to the Falls, was only a dozen miles or 
 thereabouts ; the road was hilly, indeed, but in fair order, and 
 wound its way through a half-wild, and highly picturesque 
 country, that showed, however, at every step, more of fertility 
 and of culture. The little Alban evinced a quick eye for 
 scenery. Every gray rock overhanging the road, every copse, 
 with its sweet spring gurgling over living green by the road-side, 
 every glimpse of the winding river, with its shadowy islets, 
 elicited expressions of delight which made Tom Mansfield laugh, 
 and charmed the quiet heart of Betsey Atherton. But it was 
 when, about half-way to the Falls from Yanmouth, they suddenly 
 came upon an Indian village in an ancient clearing, belted with 
 
36 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 the oldest woods of the region, that Master Albaii's transports 
 could scarcely be restrained. Here was indeed a new world 
 which no one could have suspected to exist within so short a 
 distance from Yanmouth. Not but that the Indians frequently 
 came down to the port, with fruit and fish, or moccasins, and 
 baskets of birch-bark, braided with porcupine quills ; and 
 sometimes a blanketed squaw, with blue trowsers under her single 
 short petticoat of the same color, and a man's hat on her 
 head, her patient papoose bound ta a straight board between 
 her shoulders, would stray into the kitchen of the " Cassle," and 
 sit in silence, (till black Hagar as silently brought cold meat, 
 or perhaps some cast-off finery of her mistress,) scorning to 
 beg, and departing with a stately " good morning" by way of 
 thanks. 
 
 Alban was familiar with this ; but an Indian town I the huts,' 
 the yellow gourds, the half-naked little boys ; it was quite like 
 one of grandma's stories. He almost wished that he had been an 
 Indian. Betsey Atherton's beautiful face also lighted up Avith 
 intense feeling of some sort, as they passed out of the old Mohe- 
 gan village. 
 
 " When you are a man, Alban, if you are a true Christian, as 
 I hope you will be," she said, " you can be a missionary, and 
 teach the Indians to love Christ." 
 
 The " Falls" answered very well to Elizabeth Atherton's de- 
 scription. Alban was silent and attentive, as the strong bay 
 horse drew the chaise up the hill that led from the " Landing," 
 or business part of the town, to the " Plain." Under the hill-side 
 covered with junipers, across the wide greens shaded with elms, 
 they trotted along with the steal thiness peculiar to gigs. All the 
 houses were of wood, double and two storied, and painted white 
 or yellow. They stood in green shrubberied court-yards, with 
 white railings, and noble trees in front ; gardens in the rear. They 
 stopped at one which seemed older than the rest, for it was more 
 deeply embowered. Before Thomas Mansfield could help his 
 aunt and Alban out of the chaise, the yellow front-door was 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 37 
 
 opened, and a young lady came out exclaiming, " Why, Bessie, 
 how do you do ?" and ran to meet them at the gate. 
 *" How do you do, Rachel ?" 
 
 The ladies kissed each other with great seeming affection, and 
 Rachel kissed Alban two or three times, but the great Thomas 
 Mansfield once. The passing by of one or two persons, who gave 
 the arrival a look of curiosity, did not seem to embarrass at all 
 these cordial welcomes. Rachel led them into the house, and at 
 the door met them a middle-aged motherly matron, who kissed all 
 the new-comers. 
 
 " You come in good time, sister," she said to Miss Atherton. 
 ** Dinner will be ready in half an hour, but if little Alban is 
 hungry, as he must be after his ride, he shall have a piece of 
 gingerbread immediately. Do, Rachel, get Alban a piece of that 
 gingerbread hot from the oven." 
 
 In fact, the house was fragrant with the recent " bake." It 
 was Saturday, you know. 
 
 4 
 
38 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " I LIKE exceedingly the plan of taking Alby to see all the 
 Athertons, and the old Atherton homesteads," said Rachel Ather- 
 ton to Betsey. " It is a very wholesome thought that we belong 
 to a race rooted in the land for many generations — a race which 
 God has multiplied and blessed." 
 
 " I thought that it would teach the child what is meant by the 
 God of his fathers," said Betsey Atherton, with her sweetest smile. 
 
 " To whom I trust that he will be faithful as his fathers have 
 ever been, in spite of his being named after a Catholic saint," 
 said Rachel's father. 
 
 This conversation occurred at dinner. 
 
 Deacon Hezekiah Atherton was Elizabeth's oldest brother, 
 the sterner image of their father, yet of a singular and almost en- 
 chanting suavity in his occasional manner. Rachel was but a 
 few years her aunt's junior, and their intimacy was sisterly. She 
 was in her maiden prime then, — scarcely turned of twenty ; tall, 
 a dark, bright face ; fine eyes, sparkling teeth, a smile of irresisti- 
 ble sympathy. Rachel Atherton was what is called an intellec- 
 tual girl. She had imagination, enthusiasm, and great moral 
 energy. She was by no means so beautiful as her aunt ; her 
 figure though passable, wanted the charming undulations of Bet- 
 sey Atherton, whose every line was harmony, and her every 
 motion grace ; yet Rachel had already twenty admirers to Eliza- 
 beth's one. 
 
 " You don't find our table so elegantly furnished as yours at 
 the ' Castle,' sister Betsey," said Deacon Atherton. 
 
 " I am afraid Bessie finds more serious fault," said Rachel, 
 glancing at the slice of fresh bread, by the side of her aunt-friend's 
 plate, of which the crust only had been touched. " My bread is 
 sour to-day," 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 39 
 
 " E-achel has so many books to read, and so many enterprises 
 of charity on hand, that her housekeeping suffers ;" said her 
 father. 
 
 " The bread is raised a trifle too much," said Ehzabeth, 
 candidly, "but I get along very well. Pa is so particular, that / 
 am obliged to be as particular myself at the Castle, as you say." 
 
 " And you have no pictures to paint," said her brother, glancing 
 at the numerous water-color copies of celebrated pictures which 
 decorated the dining-room. 
 
 " No ; I do not possess Rachel's enviable talent in that respect," 
 rejoined Betsey, with an admiring glance at a finely-colored 
 "Deposition," after Rubens. 
 
 Indeed, it was not only the sour bread that betrayed to Bessie's 
 experience some neglect of the fine details of New England house- 
 keeping ; but she knew her friend's infirmity. Cutting an over- 
 sweetened tart, (which Master Alby — little epicure — left on his 
 plate,) Rachel informed her friend that after dinner she would 
 accompany her in a general visitation of the Atherton famihes, 
 and would take the opportunity to unfold to her a scheme of which 
 she was full, and which Bessie, she was sure, would approve. 
 The chaise was brought to the door ; the two girls took their 
 places, with Tom Mansfield sitting between them on the edge of 
 the two cushions just where they met ; Master Alban had a stool 
 placed at his aunt's feet. It was a load, but the bay horse was 
 strong. Away they go, under the lofty elms that line the road. 
 On one side of the broad green are the white houses amid their 
 gardens ; on the other rises the steep hill, covered with juniper 
 and pine. They are to call on at least a dozen families, all own- 
 ing the name of Atherton, all more or less nearly related to little 
 Alby, either on the father's or mother's side, all in a circuit of some 
 four miles square, — a beautiful rus-in-urbe, so mingling farm and 
 town, fair streets, wild hills, thick groves, romantic waterfalls, 
 lonely meeting-houses, and factory villages. The burying-ground 
 of Indian sachems lay in a wood near one of the finest mansions, 
 and many a strange tradition was told by Rachel of Indian battles 
 
40 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 and sanguinary acts of vengeance, of which she pointed out to 
 Alby the precise locahties. Then the manners of the people, 
 which Alby was too young to appreciate : — the blended urbanity 
 and rusticity of his kinsmen, — people who had never known a 
 superior, and acknowledged none but their j\Iaker, dwelling in the 
 old homesteads which had never (so they boasted) passed out of 
 the name ; or swarming in new hives, destined, as they hoped, to 
 a similar permanence. Everywhere Alby was made much of: 
 all said that he must be very happy to live with his grandfather, 
 and that they hoped he would one day be as good a man. It 
 being Saturday afternoon, all invited him to stay to tea, and 
 promised him a dish of local celebrity, which on the eve of the 
 Sabbath smoked on every decent supper-table in Yantic : — baked 
 beans and pork. Alby wanted to accept the first invitation, but 
 finding that he was sure of the regale anywhere, he declined the 
 subsequent invitations with the best grace. Upon the whole, it 
 may be doubted whether any scion of English aristocracy was 
 ever more impressed by a visit to the stately manorial residence 
 of his race than was our Alban by his, to the rural city founded 
 by his Puritan and republican ancestors, who, indeed, had been 
 the founders, not of that single community only, but of vast 
 commonwealths . 
 
 It was not till they had finished the round of calls, and had 
 turned their faces homev/ard, the day-star being already sunk 
 beneath the wooded hills, that Rachel opened to Betsey 
 Atherton the scheme with which her mind was now profoundly 
 exercised. It was two-fold. First, she wanted to establish in the 
 family a weekly " concert - of prayer," for the " conversion" of 
 all its members : — this met Bessie's warmest approval. Secondly, 
 she wanted Bessie to unite with her in a project for converting 
 the Indian village between Yanmouth and the "Falls" to real 
 Christianity, and for giving them the regular institutions of the 
 gospel. 
 
 " It is most desirable," said Bessie ; " but how are we to 
 accomplish so good an object ?" 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 41 
 
 " We are to go and live among them," replied Rachel ; " teach 
 the women and children, — hold regular prayer meetings with the 
 former." 
 
 " But how is my father's housekeeping and yours to go on 
 meanwhile, my dear Rachel ? Our mothers depend on us, you 
 know." 
 
 "Why," said Rachel, "Ma is as zealous as I am in the 
 matter ; she has agreed to take weeks with me ; you must do the 
 same with grandmamma ; and then lue can reside alternately a 
 week at a time at Mohegan Town." 
 
 "What, alone I" exclaimed Bessie, in alarm. "Oh no: I 
 could not. Besides, my mother, you know, is too far advanced in 
 years, for the fatigues and care of housekeeping. Really, it does 
 not seem to be my duty to throw them upon her every alternate 
 week, in order that I may go teach the Indians." 
 
 " What is to become of the Indians, then, in the next world, 
 Betsey ?" asked Rachel Atherton. 
 
 " Very true," said Betsey, much perplexed. " But to take 
 weeks with me would soon kill mamma." 
 
 This checked the ardent missionary for a moment, but she 
 soon returned to the charge. " Why cannot the house go on for 
 a week at a time without your superintendence ? Some things 
 might not be quite so well done as you would do them, but with 
 servants so well trained as yours, it could not amount to much, 
 and grandpa is so good a man, I am sure that he would cheer- 
 fully submit to it for the sake of saving souls." 
 
 Bessie laughed outright. 
 
 " You know nothing about the care of superintending a house 
 full of black servants, dear Rachel. Your Esther will get along 
 well enough in your absence ; she is a sharp New England girl ; 
 but to think of Hagar and Sam being left to ' rule the roast ;' — 
 ' de Cassle' would be topsy-turvy in half a week ! What do 
 you think, Alby ; could you do without aunty a week at the 
 Castle?" 
 
 " I wish you could go and save the Indians, aunty," said the 
 
 4* 
 
42 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 child, who felt the contagion of his cousin Rachel's enthusiasm, 
 more than the justice of his aunt Betsey's reasoning. 
 
 " My opinion is," said Tom Mansfield, who had been giving the 
 bay horse a good many cuts with his whip, while the discussion 
 proceeded, "that the weeks aunt Betsey went to Mohegan they 
 would have to eat sour bread at the Castle." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 43 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Rachel Atherton was not a girl to be defeated by any thing 
 short of impossibihties in a scheme that had once thoroughly 
 engaged her enthusiasm. After failing in every other argument, 
 she had one sure card in the peculiar family pride of the Athertons 
 — a pride which attached itself far more to the high religious char- 
 acter of their ancestors than to their worldly position. It was a 
 source of unacknowledged, but more real, self-complaisance to 
 Elizabeth Atherton herself, as we may have seen reason to sus- 
 pect, that her race was distinguished by an incontaminate piety 
 and saintly devotion, than that it appertained to the gentry of the 
 land. That the first Atherton in the colony had enjoyed among 
 his fellow-settlers the exclusive title of Mister, that they had 
 given a President to Congress, G-overnors to States, Judges to the 
 Supreme Bench, Generals to the army of the Revolution, and, 
 brightest distinction of all, a " Signer" to the Declaration, was 
 nothing in comparison to the number of devout and learned min- 
 isters they had produced, and to the fact, often mentioned in their 
 annals, that the blood of an early apostle to the Indians flowed in 
 their veins. In addition to these glories in its spiritual escutcheon, 
 the family was always conspicuous for the piety of many of its fe- 
 male members : more than one volume of " Memoirs," illustrating 
 the remarkable Christian graces of some daughter of their house, 
 gone to the grave in her virgin bloom, perhaps in a holy childhood, 
 or of some lovely matron — the scion of another tree transplanted 
 into the Atherton inclosure — who, if she had not drawn her blood 
 from them, had infused into them of her own, enriched the hagi- 
 ography of New England. But as yet the name had produced no 
 female missionaries, and the missionary character was separated 
 from every other to a New England apprehension, as if its posses- 
 sors were almost of a different species. The popular idea of these 
 
44 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 laborers of either sex, especially when their self-devotion had been 
 consecrated by a premature death, approximated to that of the 
 saints among Catholics. 
 
 Rachel made a visit at the Castle, and staid a week. She 
 talked of her missionary project the whole time, and appealed 
 successfully to the feelings which we have described, the more 
 successfully, because unconsciously, as one who was profoundly 
 influenced by them herself, without being aware of it. Old Mrs. 
 Atherton, indeed, was entirely deaf to all that her granddaughter 
 could urge, but her opposition was almost passive, or at least, con- 
 fined itself to sallies of witty ridicule, while over her grandfather, 
 who was fond of her, Rachel gained a complete victory. He was 
 very assailable by the idea that he might be suffering considera- 
 tions of his own temporal comfort to stand in the way of the eter- 
 nal welfare of his benighted fellow-creatures. Mrs. Atherton's 
 old-fashioned high churchmanship, associated, as it was, with a 
 scarcely concealed Toryism in politics, rendered her influence in 
 the family, on a religious question, nihil. Rachel quite plainly 
 intimated that grandma's indifierence was akin to that of Gallio. 
 Even Betsey feared it was a proof that her mother had not expe- 
 rienced a vital change of heart. It was out of the question, how- 
 ever, she said, for he?' to take part in the new enterprise, as long as 
 Alby remained under her care. It would be betraying a trust to 
 quit him in order to teach Indians. But she promised that in the 
 autumn, when he returned to his parents for the six months, she 
 would allow Jane Mansfield to take her place on the alternate 
 weeks at the Castle, and become Rachel's co-laborer at Mohegan. 
 
 Jane Mansfield was the hoyden of sixteen introduced to the 
 reader on the Sunday evening described in the third chapter of 
 this book. She was the granddaughter of General Atherton, of 
 course, and their almost daily visitor, but to consent to her being 
 substituted for his daughter was no doubt a great sacrifice to the 
 claims of Christian charity. A more serious one was in store for 
 General Atherton. It often happens that when good men make 
 a formal resignation of any possession to God, scarce expecting, 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 45 
 
 perhaps, to be called upon to make it actual, he takes them at 
 their word. 
 
 The autumn came, September blowing eastern ofales, and 
 October breathing southern airs. The parents of our little hero 
 came on to Yanmouth with their younger children, to spend a 
 fortnight and keep Thanksgiving. There was a round of 
 dinners and teas in the ancient town, and the mutual hospitali- 
 ties extended even to Yantic Falls. " Woe worth the day" to the 
 turkeys, as the first Thursday in November approached. Gen- 
 eral Atherton entertained at dinner at least twenty of his rela- 
 tives, chiefly his children and grown-up grandchildren, besides 
 as many more juveniles. The principal table was spread in the 
 great parlor ; the children feasted in the smaller ordinary 
 dining-room. The E-t. Rev. Dr Richard Gray, Mrs. Atherton's 
 brother, an " Episcopal bishop," (as the Yanmouth people pleo- 
 nastically termed him,) said grace before, and the Rev. David 
 Atherton Devotion, the new pastor of the Yanmouth Congrega- 
 tional church, made a long prayer, by way of grace, after dinner ; 
 almost as long as that with which he had opened the morning 
 service. Some of the guests, females of course, who had never 
 seen a bishop before, except at confirmation, wondered that 
 Dr. Gray did not wear his robes on this occasion. Dr. Gray 
 and Mr. Devotion were extremely cordial, though the bishop 
 thought the minister unordained, and the minister returned the 
 comphment by thinking the prelate unconverted. Both did 
 justice to their hosts Thanksgiving cheer, and (especially the 
 bishop) to his fine old wines. With what consummate grace old 
 Mrs. Atherton presided ! how well, apropos to some obsolete 
 plate, she told (for the hundredth time at least) the story of her 
 entertaining the Due de Lauzun, the Marquis de Lafayette, and 
 half a dozen more French officers of rank, at a dinner, " not 
 nearly so good as this, you must know," at Yantic Falls, in the 
 Revolutionary war ! With what an air of unaffected pity for 
 the present generation, she declared that the Due was "truly" a 
 gentleman, and with what a gracious mixture of sadness and 
 
46 A L B A N . 
 
 sense of the historical dignity of the event she alkided to his 
 subsequent fate. " You know," she said, (every body knew it,) 
 "he was guillotined in that terrible French Revolution." 
 
 They observed early hours in those days. Dinner, even on 
 Thanksgiving day, was served at two o'clock, p. m., and at half- 
 past six, " the drawing-room" (opened only on such occasions) 
 was already lighted up lor the evening party that followed. 
 This apartment, so famous in Yanmouth, was adorned with a 
 cream-colored carpet of roses, in a single piece, and high-backed 
 chairs, gorgeously worked on yellow satin, by the hands of 
 patient female Athertons. But it could not suffice that evening 
 for the company which overflowed into all the apartments of the 
 floor; even the sacred recesses of " the bedroom," converted into 
 a depository for gentlemen's hats and overcoats, admitted parties 
 of both sexes, seeking rest after dancing. For they still danced 
 in New England, even in pious families, although the line 
 was already beginning to be more strictly drawn. But the 
 voluptuous dances of Germany and Russia had not yet obtained 
 a footing in the new world. Cotillions and country dances suffi- 
 ciently interested the youth and the youthful beauty at General 
 Atherton's ; besides that, two ladies of the old school, in matronly 
 brocades, performed a minuet. 
 
 The week after these festivities Betsey Atherton commenced 
 her missionary labors. On one Saturday evening Rachel came 
 to Mohegan-town from the Falls ; on the next, her aunt ar- 
 rived from Yanmouth to take her place ; and thus through the 
 winter they alternated, regardless of weather, of the discomforts 
 of their temporary abode, of the solitude of their work. Fre- 
 quently, they both went and returned from their mission on foot. 
 Coarse was their diet ; hard their couch ; comfortless their crowd- 
 ed school-room ; tedious their task of instruction, with pupils 
 who had the primary habits of attention to acquire, as well as the 
 simplest elements of knowledge. They were cheered by each 
 other's presence even only for an hour or two on the Saturday, — 
 hours which they sanctified by devoting them to united prayer for 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 47 
 
 the objects of the mission. They then held a female prayer-meet- 
 ing for the squaws, of about a half-hour's duration, begun and 
 closed with a hymn sung by their own sweet voices only ; then 
 fervently embraced, and parted for another week. 
 
 The solicitudes of Rachel Atherton were not limited to pro- 
 curing for the neglected people she had undertaken to Christianize, 
 merely such religious and temporal instruction as two young 
 ladies could bestow ; she would not be satisfied with any thing 
 short of seeing the Mohegans converted into a community of Con- 
 gregationalists, with a church and settled pastor of their own, a 
 permanent school, and all the elements of New England civiliza- 
 tion. To realize these objects, she resolved to apply at once to the 
 government of the United States. She boldly wrote in her own 
 name to the Secretary of War, to whose bureau all Indian affairs 
 belong, to advocate the claims of her protegees. A nephew of 
 General Atherton, and of course the cousin of Rachel and Eliza- 
 beth, had a seat in the Federal Senate. She obtained his support 
 without difficulty ; and a petition which the secretary might have 
 found reasons for evading if it had been urged in any other way, 
 became irresistible when it was advanced in the name of two 
 young ladies, who had first devoted themselves with so much self- 
 denial to the cause which they advocated. A sum was granted 
 from the Indian appropriation to build a meeting-house and par- 
 sonage, and support a minister among the remnant of the Mohe- 
 gans. In the spring, with the rains that softened the frozen soil 
 of the Yantic valley, a shower (as Rachel and Betsey believed) 
 of divine grace descended to soften the colder hearts of the half- 
 savage inhabitants of the Indian village. Several adults of both 
 sexes gave, in the language of the country and the time, " no 
 equivocal tokens of being the subjects of a gracious work," and 
 when thorough examination by the church at the Falls had suffi- 
 ciently proved this, as was thought, they were baptized. 
 
 Such a work as this could not be carried on in secret. The 
 enterprise of the Misses Atherton became a topic of conversation 
 in all the religious circles of New England ; its success was 
 
48 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 prayed for in monthly concerts ; sympathizers in remote towns 
 sent contributions of money, books, and clothing, in aid of the 
 interesting and successful mission. The youth and personal love- 
 liness of the missionaries could not but transpire. Unmarried 
 ministers felt their interest peculiarly excited ; and some of these 
 were in a position to allow of their manifesting it. 
 
 The Rev. President Hopewell was a distinguished preacher 
 and divine, whose reputation at the age of thirty had placed him 
 at the head of a rising Xew England college. He was in search, 
 of a wife, and he came to Yantic Falls to apply for the hand of 
 Rachel Atherton, although he had never seen her. He was 
 handsome, intellectual, self-confident, a man much coveted ; he 
 made his advances with graceful skill. But Rachel was far above 
 being thus diverted from her work. She thanked him with en- 
 chanting expressions of sj^mpathy, and recommended him to try 
 a friend of hers who had leisure to be married and who was far 
 more titted than herself to adorn the station he ofiered. Before 
 taking this advice the President went down to Yaumouth to see 
 Elizabeth. Betsey Atherton was withheld by no such lofty 
 notions as those which influenced her friend in the rejection of 
 every kind of matrimonial project ; but Betsey Atherton had, 
 what even Rachel had not — a purely virgin soul, to which not 
 this or that wedlock, but marriage itself, was a thing to recoil 
 from. It was not that she lacked the tender instincts of her sex, 
 as we have seen in the case of Lieutenant Harvey. She was 
 proud, not cold ; delicate in her thoughts, and therefore exacting 
 in her ideal. She would have been perfect, if in the way she 
 had been brought up she could have apprehended the living object 
 which alone can absorb the heart ^sithout defiling it, — of which 
 she could have said, Queni cum amave^'O, casta sum ; cum teti- 
 gero, munda mm; cum accipero, virgo sum . 
 
 Betsey Atherton was one of those, who, as the proverb is, are 
 "not long for this world." She caught cold in her visits to 
 Mohegan-town. The school-room was cranny some, and full of 
 draughts. In the spring she had a cough — fatal sign on the 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 49 
 
 New England coast. Our young Alban was with his aunt again 
 in the summer, at her urgent wish, though she was already 
 marked visibly for the grave. She had one of those beautiful, 
 rapid declines of which we mostly read in books. After the first 
 shock of learning her danger, she neither hoped to recover, as 
 most do, nor feared to die. Her frame of mind was even sweeter 
 as her disease advanced, and her death was triumphant. Its 
 effect upon our Alban's story is what we have here to note. For 
 General Atherton did not long survive his daughter's ]oss ; the 
 Mansfields moved into the Castle, now become old Mrs. Atherton's 
 house ; and it ceased to be one of our hero's homes. We must 
 follow him to another. 
 
 5 
 
BOOK 11. 
 
 Irljnnl; nr^ fommut €^t Inn Ss^tinilnte, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It came about the time of the great September gale, and was 
 very like one in its efiects. As sometimes it is one of the 
 mightiest trees that is uprooted by a hurricane, so often it is a 
 colossal fortune that is prostrated by a crisis. Ever since the 
 unexpected peace had toppled down half the commercial houses 
 in the Uuited States, Samuel Atherton had been gallantly fight- 
 ing for his credit. Knowing himself to be solvent,' it was hard 
 to strike under a sudden broadside from an unexpected enemy. 
 The treason of a confidential agent, whom he had just made his 
 partner, and who absconded after using his name to a fearful 
 extent to cover his own private losses at the gaming-table, was 
 the immediate cause of Mr. Atherton's stopping payment. We 
 may as well say at once that he ultimately paid every thing, but 
 for the time all was lost. He saved nothing for himself Even 
 his wife's fortune, just paid by her father's executors, was 
 swept into the vortex. Plate, library, pictures, carriage, of course, 
 went under the hammer, and from the fine mansion in State- 
 street, hitherto so hospitable in the Avorst of limes, the family 
 were forced to remove into a small house in the jail liberties, to 
 avoid at least a prison ; and from that safe point Mr. Atherton 
 began as a poor man to reconstruct his fortunes. 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 51 
 
 The aspect of New York at that time was very difTerent 
 from that which the city exhibits at present. The neighborhood 
 of the Battery (then a safe and dehghtful play-ground for 
 children) was the aristocratic quarter of the town, occupied by 
 large and well-built mansions, and distinguished by its air of 
 seclusion. In Whitehall, where now a dozen omnibuses at once 
 are thundering at every instant down to the South Ferry, over a 
 pavement shattered and gullied by their incessant wheels, the 
 grass then grew in the middle of the street. Wall, William, 
 Beaver, Broad, and the contiguous streets, were full of little old 
 Dutch houses, with high gables, rising in narrow steps to their 
 apex. There were no palaces then on the yet unknown Fifth 
 Avenue, rivalling those of the merchant aristocracies of Italy ; 
 Mr. Upjohn had not thickly sprinkled the city (the half of 
 which did not exist) with those churches of brown stone, so 
 beautiful in detail, of which the material will always excuse the 
 architectural defects. Mr. Atherton, then, attended pubhc wor- 
 ship in Wall-street, in the First Presbyterian church, which the 
 rising generation will know nothing of, though it has not ceased to 
 exist, having been transported like Aladdin's palace, as it were, 
 without displacing a stone, into New Jersey. On Christmas, 
 which Presbyterians then did not observe, the children were 
 taken by their nursery-maid to old Trinity, to see " the greens," 
 enjoy the mysterious music of the organ, (equally unknown as yet 
 to Puritan assemblies,) and wonder at the under-ground murmur 
 of the responses, at the minister's "white gown," and the strange 
 and almost awful change to black which preceded the sermon. 
 In those days the reality of Santa Glaus was unsuspected, and 
 Alban with his brothers suspended their stockings over the 
 chimney-piece on Christmas eve, earnestly begging that a candle 
 might be left burning, whereby the good-natured visitant, the 
 lover of children, when he descended the chimney with his 
 reindeer-sledge, might not fail to peruse the certificates of good 
 conduct carefully pinned to the carved wooden mantels. 
 
 Poetical elements mingled in the existence of the young Knick- 
 
52 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 erbockers in those days of which our vulgar modern New Yorkers 
 know nothing. What a glorious region for Alban and his set 
 was the district of rocky heights and wild ponds within a boy's 
 afternoon walk of the City Hall I What kite-flying in spring on 
 the former I what rare skating in winter on the latter I How 
 the clear ice-tracts embraced the snowy islets, and formed endless 
 labyrinths among the thick, leafless marsh bushes, where it 
 was a pleasure to be lost I What a place for fun and fear was the 
 City Hall itself, with its long vaulted corridors, its mysterious lob- 
 bies, dark basement cells, its marble staircases, echoing dome, its 
 gallery and terrace. Every Saturday afternoon they played in it, 
 ignorant as it was of the blackguards and loafers who now loiter 
 about the Park, and fearhig only lest " Old Hays" should seize 
 them for climbing too adventurously along the perilous basement 
 ledge under the windows of the public oflices, or for trampling 
 down the grass of the Park, by " double base," or " every man to 
 his own den." 
 
 " The army," said Uncle Toby, " swore terribly in Flanders," 
 School-boys swore terribly in New York in the days of which we 
 speak, and they did not limit themselves to swearing, A language 
 even worse than profane was but too frequently on their lips. 
 The ears of our Alban, at this period of his life, became familiar 
 with a phraseology to which at Yanmouth he had certainly never 
 been accustomed. At first it shocked, then it amused him ; by 
 and by he took a certain pleasure in hearing and repeating it ; 
 (we are sorry to record these infirmities, but historic truth obliges 
 us ;) and although a sense of delicacy in part, and in part an honest 
 fear of being wicked, withheld him from both profanity and coarse- 
 ness de j^roprio motu, yet we fear that he was often ashamed of 
 his own timidity. There was one peculiarity of his position at this 
 time which deserves to be noticed, Alban had no sisters, and 
 from the retirement in which his parents hved he could not boast 
 so much as the acquaintance of any young persons of his own age, 
 but of an opposite sex. His school intimates were boys either sis- 
 terless like himself, or whose sisters had grown up, or at whose 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 53 
 
 homes he was not allowed to visit. He had the sweet recollection 
 of his aunt, and he knew the reserved tenderness of his mother ; 
 but apart from these influences, it was a hard, a boisterous, and a 
 far from refined society in which he lived. Yet all agreed that 
 Alb Atherton, though foremost in sports, for innocence of manners 
 and sweetness of temper was the girl of the school. And he was 
 the notorious favorite of the masters. There was nothing that he 
 could not learn, and he got on so rapidly that he read the Eneid 
 through for pleasure while his class were working at the first book. 
 The mathematical teacher was forced to give him recitations apart, 
 he devoured Euclid with such impatience. 
 
 Indeed, our young hero displayed an insatiable appetite for 
 €very species of knowledge. On the heights where he flew his kite, 
 the strata of which the fatal process of grading for new-invading 
 streets had already laid bare, he mineralized in his small way, and 
 his spare cash (not much to boast of) went to augment his speci- 
 mens or to enrich a tiny collection of shells and coins. The huge 
 volumes of the British Encyclopedia were for ever littering his 
 mother's sitting-room, while Alban, as far as he could without 
 assistance, patiently mastered its elaborate treatises, which he could 
 not know were, in the march of science, already obsolete. At this 
 time the Waverley novels were issuing from the press, and his 
 father got them from the libraries as they appeared ; but the perusal 
 of Waverley, when he was about nine years old, so excited the 
 boy's imagination, that Mr. Atherton would not even allow his son 
 to hear another of the series. But there was an old copy of the 
 Arabian Nights, saved with the Encyclopedia from the sale ; and 
 one birthday, his father gave him a large Pictorial Pilgrim's Pro- 
 gress : — at twelve, Alban knew these and Shakspeare almost by 
 heart. 
 
 " This boy has no moderation in any thing," said his father ; 
 " he tires himself to pieces with playing in the streets, and then he 
 buries himself in a corner with a book till he is almost blind." 
 
 " I wish Alban would not play in the street at all," said his 
 mother, "or at least that he would keep in sight of the house, 
 
 6" 
 
54 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 Grey-street is quiet, (for it is not a thoroughfare,) and it is almost 
 as clean as our own yard. I should think it would be a great deal 
 better for any plays than Hudson or Greenwich, or that odious 
 Park." 
 
 "You can't keep such a boy in bounds, in a city like New 
 York." 
 
 ** That is what I am afraid of," replied his mother, "that he 
 cannot be kept in bounds. I don't like all his associates. And 
 he is getting into bad habits already — " (" Bad habits I" ejaculated 
 Mr. Atherton) — " why only last night he and Bob Simmons were 
 out till nine o'clock, double knocking at all the doors, and ringing 
 all the bells for a dozen squares." 
 
 " What, Alban I" exclaimed Mr. Atherton, with a hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 " Certainly ; they call it playing the Old Harry I Bob wanted 
 to break a pane of glass in every house, but Alb would not consent. 
 Robert Simmons is a very bad boy," said Mrs. Atherton emphati- 
 cally. Mr. Atherton laughed again. 
 
 " The Simmonses are our next-door neighbors, you know, my 
 dear, so that Alban would not avoid Bob, even if he never stirred 
 out of Grey-street, ]\Ir. Simmons is alderman of the ward, and 
 a member of the church ; and he is rich. You can't forbid our 
 son associating with his. Boys must take their chance." 
 
 " I believe that a city is a bad place for the education of boys," 
 replied Mrs. Atherton. " See the young Mortons. If Albaa 
 should turn out dissipated like one of them, it would break my 
 heart." 
 
 "Would you be willing to send him away to school ?" asked 
 her husband. 
 
 " If poor Elizabeth had lived, he might have fitted for college 
 at Yanmouth," was Mrs. Atherton's indirect reply. "As it is, I 
 don't know where I could be willing to send him, unless to your 
 Sister Fanny's, at Babylon." 
 
 Our hero was destined to owe a great deal to maiden aunts. 
 The virgin sister of his mother had watched over his childhood ; 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 55 
 
 the virgin sister of his father was to preside over his incipient 
 manhood ; for it is somewhere, we think, from twelve to sixteen, 
 that young Americans begin to be men. Aunt Fanny hved in her 
 own house at Babylon, which was a small country village in the 
 green heart of the State of New York, She had brought up al- 
 ready one generation of young Athertons, motherless cousins of 
 Alban, and was now trying her hand on another — her great 
 nephews and nieces — with whom, in point of age, our hero might 
 be classed. Aunt Fanny had a very poor opinion of Mrs. Samuel 
 Atherton's domestic management, and had been anxious for a long 
 time to extend to the latter's children the benefits of her own ex- 
 perience. To send Alban thither, to finish his preparation for col- 
 lege, was therefore an eligible plan, and to execute as easy as 
 talking. 
 
 Babylon, an ancient colonial fort of great fame in the early 
 Indian wars, had been effectively settled soon after the Revolution 
 by the paternal uncles of our hero, who had migrated thither 
 from Yantic with their flocks and herds, or, in plain English, 
 with the proceeds of their patrimony converted into continental 
 currency. The rich farms of the vast township belonged chiefly 
 to them, and from one of them, in solemn but characteristic jest, 
 it had received its ridiculous name. The village boasted a select 
 school of high provincial repute, founded under their patronage 
 and chiefly sustained by their liberality. 
 
ALBAN, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ** He is a fool," said young Alban. 
 
 The blank was filled up at the time by a profane expletive, 
 with which we would not willingly sully our pages. 
 
 The first oath I It was the first, and Alban had not uttered it 
 in a rage, but with cool premeditation. He did it to seem manly. 
 It was for the same reason that he had tried to smoke cigars, un- 
 successfully, for his cerebral temperament "was absolutely intoler- 
 ant of the narcotic. " He is a fool." The expression was 
 
 neither scholarly, nor gentlemanlike, nor Christian, nor even 
 intelligible, and Alban thought of it a good deal that night in bed, 
 before falling asleep. 
 
 The day following Alban swore again, not faintly as at first, 
 but ore rotundu, and that two or three times. He is getting on. 
 But it was that evening that he learned from his father that he 
 was going to Babylon to school. 
 
 " I have begmi to swear just at the wrong time," said Alban 
 
 to himself " That last to-day really came out without 
 
 thinking ; what if I should get into a habit of it before I go to 
 Babylon. They are all so very religious at Babylon. There has 
 been a great revival, and I don't know how many have joined 
 the church. My cousin Henry is a convert, and George St. Clair 
 — the only fellows there that I do care about. George has written 
 me a long letter about religion, and saving my soul. What will 
 they think of my swearing ? I must certainly break myself of it 
 at once. Certainly the habit of swearing is a dreadful thing. 
 Every body says so. People have been struck dead for swearing. 
 "What would Aunt Betsey say to my using such expressions ! 
 Perhaps she saw and heard me at that moment. God saw me at 
 any rate, and heard me too. I believe I have been very wicked', 
 and very silly. Oh, our Father in heaven I" he concluded with 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 himself, " help me not to swear any more, and give me a new 
 heart, so that I may not wish to swear." 
 
 Alban prayed to this effect very earnestly. The prime and 
 moving reason doubtless was the fear of disgracing himself in the 
 sanctified public opinion of young Babylon, which, after the great 
 revival, must be so very different from that of young New York. 
 But this primary influence of human origin awakened also the 
 slumbering conscience, smiting it internally with the rod of the 
 sudden perception of the Divine Presence. Under this impression 
 he wrote a very pious letter in reply to George St. Clair's, a letter 
 which filled Babylon — young and old — with rejoicing, and which 
 caused Alban, when about a month after he arrived there, to be 
 greeted universally as a " young convert." Wicked boy I little 
 hypocrite I not for resolving, although from motives partly human, 
 to avoid profane language ; not for resolving to be as good as 
 possible in future ; in both which he was of course right : — but 
 for allowing himself to pass as one mysteriously sanctified, in a 
 society where the notion of such a supernatural change was 
 current. 
 
 The greatest difficulty in going to Babylon was the physical 
 one of the journey ; not a serious one by any means, but neither 
 so short nor so easy as at present. Our little hero embarked at 
 New York on a steamboat, at nine o'clock one fine May morning, 
 under the protection of a Babylonish uncle. It was thought to 
 have been a good passage when they disembarked at Albany at 
 three p. m. of the day following. The next day conveyed them by 
 stage up the wild Mohawk valley. It was only on reaching the 
 central table-land of the State, that a canal-boat offered to Alban 
 the delight of a yet untried mode of travel. It was at noon of 
 the fourth day that they arrived at Babylon. 
 
 Alban forthwith received a class of very little boys in the 
 Babylon Sunday-school ; he was invited to attend the " young 
 converts' prayer-meeting," composed of about a dozen boys of 
 from twelve to sixteen years, all " hopefully pious," and all (but 
 himself) already " church members ;" and Mr. Jeremiah Cant- 
 
58 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 well, a candidate for the ministry, and beneficiaiy of the Ladies' 
 Benevolent Sewing Society, which had called him from the oc- 
 cupation of a journeyman hatter to pursue his studies at Babylon 
 school, and who presided at the aforesaid young converts' prayer- 
 meeting, called upon Alban the very first night to " lead in 
 prayer." 
 
 Tremendous moment I our hero would have given w^orlds to 
 decline ; but before he could utter a syllable the whole meeting 
 was on its knees, each young convert with his face buried in his 
 hands, and his elbows supported on his chair. There was a 
 moment's dead silence, and Alban, desperate, plunged in medias 
 res. His quick perception took in at once the situation with all its 
 proprieties, and if from the utter want of experience his prayer 
 was somewhat unique in Babylon, it was not on that account less 
 refreshing. He warmed as he got on. He had in fact opened a 
 new vein. Recollections of his maternal grandfather's daily 
 fervent appeals to Heaven shot like lightning through his mind — 
 a torrent of devotional eloquence flowed forth. 
 
 " What a prayer you made, Alban I" said his cousin Henry, 
 as they walked home arm in arm. " We had no idea of your 
 having such a gift." 
 
 Aunt Fanny's cottage was an irregular, rambling structure, 
 the several members of which had been erected at different 
 times, as convenience or necessity required. It was of wood, 
 and painted white, of course, and stood on the skirts of the 
 village, in the centre of an ample garden, orchard, and green 
 shrubbery tastefully laid out. The moon shone bright on the 
 gravelled walks as the young cousins flung behind them the 
 swinging gate ; and before they reached the open front door, 
 a little girl in a white frock came out upon the steps to meet 
 them, 
 
 *' Have you had a good meeting?" she asked. 
 " Very interesting," said Henry Atherton. 
 The child took the answerer a little apart from Alban, and 
 whispered in his ear. Henry replied in the same tone. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 59 
 
 " No secrets," said Alban, rather awkwardly, for he suspected 
 the subject of the conference. 
 
 " Oh, it is no secret," said the young girl, putting her hand in 
 his. " Come, let us all sit down on the sill. There I you, Henry, 
 on this side, and Alban on the other, me between you. There is 
 just room for us three." 
 
 They did so. She was a pretty little creature, nearly of 
 Alban's age ; with large blue eyes, the most dazzling skin, and 
 long flaxen ringlets, flowing nearly to her waist. She put one 
 of her Avhite bare arms round Henry Atherton's neck, but she only 
 looked affectionately from time to time at Alban as he sat very, 
 very close to her side on the door-sill. 
 
 Thus we may leave them ; Alban being, as it were, in a new 
 world. 
 
60 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 All the young converts at Babylon kept journals. Henry Ather- 
 ton (lid ; Jane did ; and so Alban did. Here is a leaf from 
 Alban's. It will give us a notion of him at that period of life. 
 Some of it is spicy. 
 
 Aug. 15." (There is no Anno Domini, but he is thirteen 
 and a half years old.) " I have been now three months at B. 
 When I first arrived, I remember being puzzled by St. Clair's 
 asking me in Sunday-school, whether I had yet experienced any 
 decline in my religion. I suppose I understand now what he 
 meant. My heart is very cold, and I certainly no longer feel the 
 same pleasure in prayer that I used. By George's asking the 
 question, it is a regular thing, I take it. 
 
 " Sept. 15. Aunt Fatuiy entertained me to-day with an ex- 
 planation of the Book of Revelations, which she understands, as 
 she does the whole Bible, in a sense quite peculiar to herself. 
 She thinks the seven Churches of Asia, denote the seven Chris- 
 tian denominations of the present day, viz. : the Cathohc, the 
 Episcopalian, the Presbyterian, the Methodist, the Baptist, the 
 Congregationalist, and the (ciuakers. She pretends to fix each 
 Church. Thus the Laodiceans are the Episcopal Church, because 
 it is ' neither cold nor hot ;' the (Quakers are the ' Church of Phila- 
 delphia,' of course ; the Presbyterian, (on which she is very 
 severe,) is the ' Church at Sardis,' for it has the name of being 
 alive, and is dead, yet has a few names which have not defiled 
 their garments. The Methodists are the ' Church of Thyatira,' 
 because its works are mentioned twice, showing that they believe 
 in perfection. The Roman Catholics long puzzled her, for 
 the description of each of the Churches seemed to suit them 
 exactly, one not more than another ; but at last she concluded 
 they must be the ' Church at Pergamos,' because ' it dwells whei'e 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 61 
 
 Satan's seat is.' It seems to me there is a good deal of fancy in 
 this, but I love to hear her talk. There is a new servant — 
 ' help,' I mean — come to-day, a tall, handsome girl, with black 
 eyes : I must find out if she is a Christian. 
 
 " Nov. 5. I am afraid that Jane is going back as w^ell as I. 
 I have long kept np, under the sense of my own declension, 
 because I thought she would not fall away. A girl — that is, 
 like my cousin Jane — seems so pure a being. I can't imagine 
 her having one of the thoughts that daily come into my mind. 
 Then she never hears the language that I do. To be sure, I 
 don't associate much with boys of my own age. I wonder if 
 girls ever use bad language when they are by themselves. 
 
 " Nov. 10. Jane is always in the house with Polly and Maggie. 
 They are very good servants, but not fit companions for a young 
 lady. It can't be well helped in Maggie's case, for they are of 
 the same age. Indeed, till Polly came, we all amused ourselves 
 together, and very innocently. Now the girls keep by them- 
 selves, and I cannot help suspecting mischief. If so, Polly, with 
 her black eyes and pouting red lips, is at the bottom of it. She 
 is eighteen years old, four years older than any of us, and she 
 ought to know better. 
 
 " Dec. 10. Just a month since I wrote last. It was the very 
 
 next day that Jane first hinted to me privately that Polly 
 
 amused them when they were alone by telling them ludicrous 
 
 stories. I had a great mind to tell Aunt Fanny at once, but 
 
 finally concluded to tax Polly herself. In her defence, she told 
 
 me one of the stories, at which I could not help laughing. From 
 
 that it has gone on, till we have come to listen and repeat, — 
 
 all of us. Even Jane will repeat the ' funniest things,' as Polly 
 
 calls them, before my face, without a blush. We spend thus 
 
 almost every one of the long evenings in that great kitchen, 
 
 with its bright floor and roaring fire of logs. It is a curious 
 
 thing that that little German, Madeleine, whom aunt employs for 
 
 charity, and who cannot speak pure English, will not hear a 
 
 word bordering on indelicacy. At the first hint, she sticks her 
 
 6 
 
62 
 
 A L B A N . 
 
 fingers in her ears, and runs off. She puts us all to shame, I 
 must say, for she has scarcelj^ clothes to her back, can neither 
 read nor write, and prays to the Virgin Mary, I believe, every 
 night and morning. AYith all our superior light, — for even Maggie 
 reads her Bible daily, — we are not so good as this ignorant and 
 superstitious child. 
 
 " Dec. 20. 1 have been trying to convert the little Madeleine. 
 I wanted her to let me read the ten commandments to her out of 
 our Bible, that she might see the wickedness of worshipping 
 images, but she would not listen, any more than to Polly's equivo- 
 cal stories. She said she had learned the ten commandments in 
 her catechism, and that was enough for her. 
 
 " 'But, Madeleine,' said I, 'your priests leave out one of the 
 commandments. I only want to read you that one, to show 
 you what a sin you commit in worshipping the cross and the 
 Virgin Mary.' 
 
 " ' I guess there is one of the commandments left out by your 
 priest, Mr. Alban,' replied the little sauce-box, ' or else you don't 
 tell him of your carryings on with Polly and Miss Jane, when 
 you go to confession.' 
 
 " ' We never go to confession, Madeleine,' said I, rather red, I 
 guess, for I was cut, and speaking sharply too, — ' that is one of 
 your popish corruptions.' 
 
 " ' Ah, Mr. Alban,' she said, ' I thought you didn't go to 
 confession, or you would know some things to be sins, which now, 
 perhaps, you think are not,' 
 
 " ' And why do you pray to the Virgin, Madeleine, instead of 
 to God ?' She was cleaning her knives, and could not get away, 
 or I believe she would have run. After a while, as I persisted in 
 questioning her, she answered, very pertinently, I must admit, ' I 
 do pray to God.' 
 
 " ' ^Yhy then do you pray to the Virgin too ? Do you thmk 
 that God cannot hear you ? or that the Virgin is more willing to 
 answer your prayers than He V 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 63 
 
 " She looked puzzled, and only after some time answered, in the 
 words of the catechism, doubtless, — 
 
 " ' The Holy Virgin and Saints, hear us m God, and God's 
 charity makes them ivilling to pray for us I' With what a touch- 
 ing foreign accent the poor girl said this. It is no answer, of course, 
 yet I did not know exactly how to meet it. 
 
 " Dec. 25. Christmas, and no dinner ! My father always 
 has a Christmas dinner. I went to the Episcopal church last 
 evening, for the first time in Babylon, although it is directly 
 opposite aunt Fanny's. It is merely a long room, and a very 
 low ceiling ; but dressed with the greens, and lighted up, it 
 looked really beautiful. The pulpit had a canopy, like a crown, 
 of evergreen mixed with white artificial roses. The roses formed 
 the name Immanuel. The pulpit, too, and the desk under it, 
 (I like having a prayer-desk,) were a mass of dark foliage ; and 
 the communion table, which is not bigger than aunt's workstand, 
 being covered with white, and having all the silver vessels on it, 
 was a kind of sparkling centre right in front of the desk. The 
 rails were hung with heavy festoons of spruce boughs, and white 
 drapery to match. I must say I liked it, and more particularly 
 that reading the psalms alternately by the minister and the people. 
 Old King Nebuchadnezzar, as the boys call him — the church- 
 warden, uncle says he is — gave me a prayer-book, and found me 
 the places. I dare say he was pleased to see one of the Atherton 
 boys come to his church, I was almost ashamed to join in the 
 reading at first, but by degrees I grew accustomed to hear my 
 voice, and, ' responded' as they call it, with the best of them. 
 
 "Dec. 27. Sunday. I have been to the Episcopal church 
 
 again to-day, with B , who is allowed to go because his family 
 
 are Episcopalians. Aunt don't like it, I see, but she says nothing, 
 except that the Episcopal Church is lukewarm, like that of Laodi- 
 cea. The Episcopal service takes hold of me wonderfully. It is 
 so pleasant to have something to do in church besides stand up 
 and sit down. But I am afraid there are few spiritual Christians 
 among them. I call to mind grandpa, and aunt Betsey, and 
 
64 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 cousin Hachel, and all the shining Christians I have ever known. 
 None of them were Episcopalians. Our cousins, the Greys, in 
 New York, are of this Church, but they do not seem so pious and 
 saint-like as my mother, who is a Presbyterian. And 1 perceive 
 that it is since I have declined* in religion that I feel myself so 
 drawn that way. "When I have been carrying on, as Madeleine 
 says, with Polly and Miss Jane by the kitchen fire, or stealing a 
 kiss from the latter on the stairs, as she is creeping up to bed on 
 Saturday night, all dewy with the recent ablutions, (sweet child 
 that she is I) though I know — at least I believe — there would be 
 nothing wrong in the last, if we had not been talking so, why, 
 the next morning, somehow, I ieel as if I wanted to go to the 
 Episcopal church. The Presbyterian Church is for saints, but the 
 Episcopal is for sinners. 
 
 " Dec. 31. It is the New Year to-morrow, and I mean to turn 
 over a new leaf. I am nearly fourteen years old, and a companion 
 
 for young men grown. G , R, , W , and K , are 
 
 all past twenty, yet our standing in the school is the same ; we 
 are fitting for the same class in college ; we associate on equal 
 terms. I beat them all in composition, and yield to none of them 
 
 in debate. F is a full-grown man, yet I believe I have 
 
 more influence over him than any body in the world. Why, then, 
 for very shame, do I not control myself, and refrain from doing 
 what I know I shall repent of when it is done ? It must be that 
 I am not a real Christian : I have never been truly converted. If 
 there is a revival here this winter, I shall give up my hope, as 
 Jane tells me she has already given up hers, and try for another. 
 Polly, who is a Methodist, says she has no doubt I ' had rehgion,* 
 but I have ' fallen from grace.' Her advice is to enjoy myself now, 
 not to lose time, but to attend the next camp-meeting, and go into 
 the 'anxious circle ;' — perhaps I shall get religion again I" 
 
 Here occurs a long hiatus in the diary, which we must sup- 
 ply. The revival which Alban looked for to set him right came 
 that very winter. First, the Methodists held a camp-meeting in 
 the wild woods near Babylon. The Presbyterian- Congregation- 
 
• ALBAN . 
 
 65 
 
 alists, (for they had a compromise of the two systems at Babylon,) 
 despised this movement as fanatical. Alban visited the camp 
 witli one of his mature school-friends, and they both agreed to call 
 it a kind of spiritual orgie. But the ground-swell of the commo- 
 tion soon communicated itself to the haughty Presbyterians. It 
 was ascertained that there was a seriousness. Prayer-meetings 
 were held every morning before light, for the awakening of the 
 Church. A renowned revivalist was sent for, and his coming was 
 the signal for deep excitement. Anxious meetings were held, to 
 elicit and concentrate the interest of the unconverted. The pri- 
 mary symptom of a great work was, that nearly a hundred pro- 
 fessing Christians in this large church gave up their hopes, which, 
 besides its other effects, removed the scandal hitherto occasioned 
 by their inconsistent lives ; for it now appeared they were not 
 real Christians at all. Alban and his cousin Jane, though not 
 church members, were in the number of those who tlius renounced 
 their claim to the possession of a new heart. Both were said to 
 be under the deepest conviction, but it was very brief, for they 
 were among the earliest of the new conversions, and both found 
 peace on the same day, — a bright Sabbath of February, the sun 
 glittering on fields of stainless snow, and on trees hanging with 
 icicles. Alban was converted in the morning, and Jane in the 
 evening. 
 
 The cousins threw themselves into each other's arms in trans- 
 port, when they first met, after Jane's happy change was an- 
 nounced. Certainly they were both happy, for they believed 
 themselves emancipated from the corruption of human nature. 
 Alban, particularly, to whom it was entii'ely new, although 
 hitherto remarkable for his cool propriety,' was thrown quite off 
 his balance, and for nearly a week acted like a fool. It was only 
 expected, however ; young converts are always somewhat extrav- 
 agant, and are wisely allowed a spiritual honeymoon. 
 
 As the work progressed, the operations of business were sus- 
 pended, from the intensity of the excitement. The school was 
 closed, and the school-housiir shghtly darkened at midday, was oc- 
 
 6* 
 
66 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 cupied, early in the morning, at noon, and in the evening, by 
 meetings of the scholars for prayer, with reference to the revival. 
 The girls were on one side, as in school hours, and the boys or 
 young men (for nearly half the scholars of both sexes were grown- 
 up young men or women) — the young men on the other. They 
 led in prayer alternately. Jane's sweet voice learned to raise it- 
 self, tremulous with excitement, so as to be heard by. the whole 
 breathless and kneeling school. Different individuals, sometimes 
 at their own request, were prayed for by name. The preaching 
 was chiefly on Sunday, when there were three sermons ; but the 
 interest was prevented from flagging during the week, by an im- 
 passioned discourse in the evening, on two of the intermediate 
 days. The zeal of Alban directed itself to the conversion of Polly, 
 from the first moment of his own, and after a fierce, prolonged 
 struggle, it was accomplished. Hers was one of the very bright- 
 est and most evident transformations that were effected in the 
 revival. But though " brought in" under Presbyterian influence, 
 Polly joined the Methodists. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 67 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It is the scliool-house ; — a pretty, white Grecian building, stand- 
 ing in a yard among young acacias. It is the school-house 
 in the long summer vacation. Alban is its sole occupant. It 
 consists of a single room, lighted on the four sides. There are two 
 long ranges of clean white desks, and two short ones. There is a 
 middle space, with a stove, a table for some older students, 
 and a high desk for the master in one corner. In the opposite 
 corner is the small vestibule. The windows look out on cottage 
 villas ; on some dark, unpainted houses, standing in vegetable 
 gardens, embowered in hops, beans, and alders ; and on the green 
 school-house yard. This last is divided into two portions by a high 
 board fence, one portion for the boys, one for the girls. But Alban 
 is now sole lord of the whole. He can take one of the girls' 
 desks, if he likes ; he can lie on the shady grass, on the sacred, 
 tabooed, screened-ofF girls side of the play-ground, or he can walk to 
 and fro the whole length of the school-room in revery, such as fif- 
 teen is prone to, and Alban above all youths of his age. Alban is 
 luxurious in his free range. His ^Eschylus, lexicon, and Greek 
 grammar are on one desk ; a trigonometry lies on the much- 
 whittled table, under the blackboard chalked with diagrams ; and 
 his writing materials are disposed in a third quarter. The school- 
 house is the private property of one of Alban's uncles, by whom 
 the master is also in a good degree supported. Alban has finished 
 his day's Avork, and writes. Let us look over his shoulder. 'Tis 
 his journal. We shall not confine ourselves to this day's record. 
 
 " Aug. 5. In two months I am to enter college. I have been 
 at Babylon more than two years, enjoying singular privileges. 
 How have I spent them ? I fear I have not improved them as I 
 ought — not even the last eighteen months, since I obtained, as I 
 hope, the great gift. The waste of precious time which I cannot 
 
68 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 recall, now gives me the liveliest sorrow. The brief, monotonous 
 entries in my journal show how I lived : — in the spring, fishing ; 
 in the summer, riding, bathing, and playing ball with the uncon- 
 verted ; in the autumn, out shooting, (a daily record almost ;) in 
 the winter, skating, snowballing, and sleighing. I considered that 
 these things were necessary for my health, but my motive, I fear, 
 was amusement. Last winter I read hard, to be sure, but I fear 
 it was more from ambition than a sense of duty. This summer I 
 appear to have lounged away. Relying on being already two 
 years in advance of the class I am to enter, I have neglected my 
 studies to pass the hours in light reading or unceasing revery. 
 
 " It is since Jane left us in the spring for Mrs. W.'s great school, 
 that I have been so dreamy. I am irresistibly impelled to be ever 
 constructing in imagination my own future destiny linked, as I 
 hope, with hers. I fancy the four years of my college life, the 
 three years of professional study, which I hope to reduce to two. 
 Yes, at twenty-two I may very well, with my quickness, be admit- 
 ted to the bar. Jane will then be turned of twenty. 
 
 "Sept. 1. I have worked pretty well during August ; dream- 
 ed a trifle too much. This month is the last. I will try to keep 
 clear of revery altogether. Instead of imagining the future, I will 
 endeavor in the hour of revery to recall the past. 
 
 " I have had a thousand imaginary love-scenes with Jane, but 
 notwithstanding all our cousinly familiarity, and living so long un- 
 der the same roof, I never had the courage to hint such a thing to 
 her ; once I wrote her an absurd letter, (it was a year ago,) but I 
 had the sense to burn it. It makes me blush at this moment to 
 remember it. 
 
 ** 2. I have appropriated the desk which used to be Jane's, 
 and which was next to mine. They were two privileged fellows 
 who had desks next the girls' row, with but this narrow passage 
 between. How often when she was writing her exercise where 
 my journal now lies before me, I have watched her long, fair 
 ringlets, glossier than silk, now drooping over the paper, and now 
 falling back on her neck. And the hussy was so careful never to 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 69 
 
 look round towards the boys' school, any more than if it did not 
 exist. I cannot remember catching her eye in school-time more 
 than once or twice, all the time that we sat daily next each 
 other, though sometimes her frock would brush my desk as she 
 passed. 
 
 " Sept. 18. It appears that my father can afford to send me 
 to college. This is an immense relief to my mind. I had feared 
 that some one of my uncles was to do it. I think I Avould have 
 rather learned a trade or gone behind a counter. Well, Henry 
 and I are to pack next week for New Haven. I pretend to be a 
 candidate for eternal happiness, yet I am conscious that the coming 
 ten years reach to the farthest boundary of my wishes and hopes. 
 The first seven I mentally devote to preparation and anticipation ; 
 the following three to a quick bloom of success — and to the perfect 
 bliss of being married to Jane. Beyond stretches a misty region 
 which I have no wish to penetrate so much as in thought." 
 
 The hour when Alban should quit Babylon for college was 
 indeed at hand. His cousin Henry, and George St. CJair, a 
 scion of the house on the female side, the cousin of both, were to 
 enter the same University at the same time, so that a general 
 family sympathy was excited, which extended itself through the 
 community, about to lose for a time the very flower of its youth. 
 Alban went the rounds of the principal families of the village and 
 of its vicinity, to take leave. All hoped that he would spend as 
 many as possible of his vacations at Babylon. Those who knew 
 about him expressed the hope that he would be the valedictorian 
 of his class. The old schoolmaster even ventured to predict this, 
 not only to Alban, but to others. 
 
 " 1 have fitted a great many young men for college," he said 
 to his favorite pupil, " among whom were several of your family. 
 Most of them have done me credit. Some have graduated with 
 honors. But I have never had a valedictorian among my scholars. 
 I count upon you, Alban, to procure this great gratification for an 
 old man's pride." 
 
 Alban promised that he would try. It was his own secret 
 
70 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 ambition. He had also to bid farewell to about twenty female 
 cousins, ranging from seventeen to thirty, and distributed among 
 four or five households. Some of them were plain and shy, some 
 were graceful and chatty, some beautiful as the morning. Alban 
 kissed them all. It was the custom of the country between so 
 near relations. In their calico morning-dresses, without any 
 ornament but their neat, beautiful hair, and their white hands, 
 they came out into the wide halls of their fathers' houses to meet 
 him, and accompanied him to the trellised front-doors to bid him 
 renewed farewells. They all sent their love to his father and 
 mother. They begged him not to injure his health by study. 
 Rose St. Clair was the youngest of all Alban's Babylonian cousins, 
 and she did not live strictly at Babylon, but at St. Clairsborough, 
 a beautiful village about ten miles distant. She was the youngest 
 of his own generation, for Jane was one degree farther removed. 
 Rose was seventeen, and by universal acclaim the beauty of the 
 county. The boy had gallantly kissed all his other cousins, but 
 with Rose he hung back coyly, though he had just saluted her 
 sisters. She laughed and blushed, and holding his hand, ofiered 
 her red, beautifully pouting lips. 
 
 *' When I see you again, cousin Rose," said Alban, " you will 
 be married, I dare say." 
 
 " Why, you see, cousin Alban," she replied, " I can't wait for 
 you. By the time you were old enough, I should be an old maid." 
 
 Aunt Fanny's parting advice had reference chiefly to the 
 religious views which her nephew had adopted while under her 
 roof 
 
 " You may hear revivals, and particularly Mr. Finney's 
 system, unfavorably spoken of, where you are going, Alban," she 
 said ; " but you have had an opportunity of forming an opinion 
 on these subjects for yourself In regard to the Episcopal Church, 
 to which I thought you at one time inclined, I am very glad that 
 you did not unite yourself to it. For although I believe there are 
 real Christians among Episcopahans, as well as in other denomi- 
 nations, yet I think the number is comparatively small ; and, 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 71 
 
 generally speaking it is not uncharitable to say, that their church 
 system tends to make people satisfied with the mere forms, without 
 the life of piety. Episcopalians also, very commonly, if not 
 universally, disapprove of revivals, which I must consider a very 
 bad sign. As I have mentioned to you, their Church, in my 
 opinion, is pointed out in the Revelations by that of Laodicea, 
 which was lukewarm, neither cold nor hot, and which Christ 
 therefore threatened to spue out of his mouth. That signifies that 
 unless they embrace the system of revivals, and the other benevo- 
 lent operations of the day, they wall be cast off as a Church. I 
 am very sure that this is the true meaning," said aunt Fanny, 
 looking over her spectacles with great earnestness. 
 
 " I have not an idea at present of joining the Episcopal 
 Church, aunt," replied Alban. 
 
 " 1 hope you will always continue as zealous, Alban, in all 
 the benevolent operations of the day, as you now are," con- 
 tinued aunt Fanny. " I will say it to you now, that though so 
 young, you have done a great deal here, especially for the Tract 
 cause. I consider that the miracle of the loaves and fishes, Alban, 
 is significant of the multiplication of knowledge through the efforts 
 of the Bible and Tract Societies. 1 believe you are President of 
 the Juvenile Foreign and Domestic Missionary Society, and Cor- 
 responding Secretary of the Babylon Auxiliary of the American 
 Sunday- School Union. You must not lose your interest in these 
 things at college, Alban, as so many do." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure I shan't, aunt Fanny." 
 
 " Much alarm is felt by ministers and others," continued his 
 aunt, " at the great increase of Catholics in our country, iii 
 consequence of immigration. If the ministers understood the 
 Scriptures in their spiritual sense, I think they would feel less 
 alarm. It is very clear to my mind that the Apostle Peter 
 represents spiritually the Roman Catholic Church. As Peter 
 denied his Master, so the Church of Rome has become apostate ; 
 and as Peter dissembled at Antioch towards the Grentile converts, 
 BO has the Church of Rome taken away the word of God from 
 
72 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 the common people ; and Paul withstanding him to his face, 
 signifies the Protestant Church opposing the errors of popery. 
 But Peter afterwards repented, and then the Lord gave him the 
 charge of the flock, and commanded him to strengthen his 
 brethren ; which shows that the Catholic Church is to be reformed, 
 after which it will strengthen other Churches, and feed the whole 
 world. "VYe have not yet a Catholic church at Babylon, but the 
 number of Germans of that religion increases here so much from 
 immigration, that I should'nt be surprised if they had one in a 
 year or two, which will distress our people, but will give me a 
 great deal of pleasure. We shall then," concluded Aunt Fanny, 
 with a look of peculiar satisfaction, " have all the seven churches 
 in the Revelations in this town." 
 
 " Were you ever in a Roman Catholic church, aunt Fanny ?" 
 asked Alban. 
 
 " I never saw the outside of one, that I remember," said his 
 aunt, smoothing her gray hair thoughtfully under her prim, 
 snowy cap. 
 
 " It appears to me, aunt," said Alban, abruptly and energeti- 
 cally, "that the Presbyterian Church neglects too much the 
 moral education of young people, both before and after they are 
 converted." 
 
 Aunt Fanny looked at her nephew in great surprise. 
 
 " Yes, their moral education, aunt. We need minute super- 
 intendence over what we say, and what we think. They cram 
 us with the Bible till we are surfeited with knowledge. I tell 
 you what, m.y dear aunt, I would be willing at this moment not 
 to know A. from B., to have a right clear conscience." 
 
 Aunt Fanny stared. 
 
 The servants, or rather the help, felt most keenly the departure 
 of Alban and his cousins for college. It was true that in the 
 Atherton households these domestic appurtenances had always 
 been obliged, by the irresistible, because quiet, haughtiness of the 
 family, to forego the privilege which in that region was then 
 generally accorded to native American servants, of associating 
 
AL B AN. 
 
 73 
 
 with their employers both at the table and in the drawing- room ; 
 but this did not prevent the children, as we have seen, from 
 making the ample and cheerful kitchen their play-room, and the 
 young " ladies" engaged in its respectable occupations, their play- 
 mates and confidants. Even to Alban, accustomed from infancy 
 to the privileged familiarity of black house-servants, this seemed 
 quite as much a matter of course as to his Babylon cousins. But 
 Polly and Maggie were well aware that when Mr. Alban and Mr. 
 Henry came back from college, young gentlemen grown, the case 
 would be entirely altered. They resigned themselves to the loss 
 of their friends ; still it was painful. Even the plain and resolute 
 little Madeleine, with hor blue petticoat, and the yellow figured 
 handkerchief crossed over her modest breast, cried as the carriage 
 rolled away from the gate. 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 €n[[tp : tliB fmi Itnrij. C'Ijb arrjiitBtturnl ^^kn nppniri 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The city of New Haven is, or was, (for it is many years since we 
 saw it,) most characteristically a New England capital, and not 
 unworthy to be the site of New England's most Puritan, and most 
 New Englandish University. For the information of our Old 
 English readers, we may observe that it is situate on Long Island 
 Sound, (an arm of the sea, Avhich washes the southern boundary of 
 Connecticut,) on a bay where the great ranges of the White and 
 Green Mountains terminate, a few miles apart, in two bold and 
 beautiful bluffs rising like the crests of breaking waves above a 
 vast green plain. These are called East and West Rock. New 
 Haven lies between them, some two miles from the beach. 
 
 According to its original plan, New Haven is a square, laid 
 out in squares, the central one forming an immense green. The 
 houses stand chiefly iu gardens ; the streets are lined with noble 
 elms, forming a series of arbors, ever crossing. On the upper 
 half of the declivitous green are grouped three graceful churches, 
 and a state-hou>e copied from the Temple of Theseus ; and this 
 collection of public buildings is overlooked on the north by the 
 long line of brick colleges embowered among trees. 
 
 Altogether, if it cannot compare ever so distantly with that 
 wondrous relic of the middle ages on the banks of the Isis, the 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 75 
 
 locality of Yale is stately and academic. In early October, — the 
 streets all waving overhead and rustling under foot, with bright 
 colored leaves, — its aspect was almost poetic. Alban and Henry 
 were soon installed in pleasant rooms in an old college. The 
 professor who had examined them, observed, with a smile, in des- 
 ignating their apartment, " That college was built by your 
 grandfather, young gentlemen, and has since served as a model." 
 Alban was pleased to find the names of several Athertons cut on 
 the window-seats. The University (which the boys went over) 
 bore several other marks of connection with his race, and already 
 blended in his fancy with those images of a patriotic and pioiis 
 ancestry, by which from infancy he had been surrounded. He 
 observed with pride the name of his maternal grandfather among 
 the donors of a fine full-length of Washington, adorning the 
 Philosophical Chamber. 
 
 " I passed the first eight years of my life in his house at Yan- 
 mouth," he said, exultingly, to Henry ; "I assure you it is a 
 famous place, there is nothing like it at Babylon." 
 
 The young Athertons themselves were regarded with great 
 interest by both the faculty and the undergraduates. It was but 
 two years before that one of the family had taken his degree with 
 the reputation, always coveted in an American college, of the " best 
 writer" in his class. Alban's own tutor had been this Atherton's 
 generous rival, and the Senior class still cherished the tradition of 
 the brilliant themes, and the eloquence in debate which had fas- 
 cinated them as Freshmen. Was either of these innocent-looking 
 boys, whose simplicity now provoked the smiles of wise Sophomores 
 and dignified Juniors, going to prove as "talented" as their cousin ? 
 There were not wanting those who already affirmed with positive 
 certainty, that the "little" one would even be valedictorian. 
 Meanwhile, Alban and Henry were visited in their new rooms by 
 the Sophs, and unmercifully quizzed. Their being " members of 
 the Church" was a fact that soon transpired, and became the occa- 
 sion of infinite mirth. One Soph pretended to ask a history of their 
 experience ; another gravely introduced the poor boys as " pious 
 
76 
 
 ALBAN , 
 
 young men" to some tall, gaunt, nasal beneficiary of the Education 
 Society. Alban was privately advised by one to keep the fact of 
 his being a " professor" a strict secret, as it would subject him to 
 cruel persecutions. This information was confirmed by others. 
 Smoking-out, ducking, window-smashing, and riding on a rail were 
 the least of the inflictions with which (by their account) the hap- 
 less church-member was sure to be visited. 
 
 " Let them try it, by George," said Alban, with more of the 
 impulses of the old man than of Christian submission in his youth- 
 ful breast. " They won't try it twice, I guess." 
 
 A more serious disadvantage of his religious position soon 
 threatened our hero. Some fellows, who hated rehgion in the ab- 
 stract, and believed that all who professed it were either nirmies 
 or hypocrites, said that Alb Atherton would be a blueskin. Some 
 other fellows of his own division, jealous of his recitations, took it 
 up, and declared that Alb Atherton ivas a blueskin. It needs very 
 little to blacken an unknown character in the eyes of the multi- 
 tude. A few determined slanderers are quite sufficient. With the 
 exception of the charity-students, and of a few self-supporting 
 scholars of humble origin, but resolute industry, such as are always 
 to be found in a New England college, Alban's class were shortly 
 persuaded that he was by nature, if not yet by actual transgression, 
 one of that much-hated fraternity, blueskins, trucklers to authority, 
 spies on their fellows. Alban soon perceived the light in which 
 he was regarded. Some young Southerners with whom he had 
 begun to contract an intimacy, suddenly avoided him. A couple 
 of Yanmouth boys who had at first proudly claimed his notice, cut 
 him. The fellows who sat next him in division did not speak to 
 him. One day, as he entered the division-room, there was a half 
 hiss. Henry Atherton partly shared his cousin's unpopularity, and 
 although stolidly indifferent as respected himself, he felt indignantly 
 for Alban, whom he ardently admired and tenderly loved. 
 
 Some lads droop under such an influence, which it is vain to 
 think of resisting. We have known a young man of the most 
 amiable character actually die from the depression and misery thus 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 77 
 
 occasioned. Alban Athertori shrunk into himself, walked haugh- 
 tily past his classmates, chased ball by himself on the green. He 
 would not even suffer the affectionate Henry to keep him com- 
 pany. Fellows who would not speak to him, would speak to 
 Henry. 
 
 One day, as he was approaching his college at noon after a 
 solitary promenade, half a dozen Sophs approached him from his 
 own entry, two of them bearing a long, rough rail. Alban stepped 
 aside upon the grass to let them pass. 
 
 " Now, have him," cried they all in a breath. 
 
 Two of them seized him by the collar and waist ; a couple 
 more caught his legs, and the others placed the rail under him in 
 a trice. In the States there can be no more ignominious punish- 
 ment inflicted on the object of popular odium. At the South it 
 has often been the fate of the itinerant abolitionist or fraudulent 
 pedlar. It is painful too, and even dangerous. Elevated to the 
 height of the bearers' shoulders, the unfortunate victim is held 
 down to the rail on either side by his feet, and compelled to hold 
 on with both hands, to save himself from torture. 
 
 Alban had never fought a regular battle in his life. For the 
 last three years, having been a professed Christian, he had not, per- 
 haps, doubled his fist. But he was agile of limb, supple as India- 
 rubber, and now ireful as a savage. Little did he regard the 
 agony of bending himself back till he could reach the face of his 
 hindmost bearer. In the twinkling of an eye, before one could see 
 how it was done, the rail was flung on the grass, and Alban rolled 
 over with the Soph's cheek between his teeth. He fought " hke 
 mad," with very little science, but terrible execution. He broke 
 the nose of one assailant, doubled up another by a furious coup de 
 pied, knocked another flat with a huge stone on the temple. The 
 fellow whom he had bitten — a tall Creole from Arkansas — now 
 approached him with a drawn knife, calling out with frightful 
 curses, that he would kill him, and a minute more would undoubt- 
 edly have ended this history, but at that instant a cheer, or rather 
 a yell, broke from a throng of some thirty or forty Fresh, who had 
 
 7* 
 
78 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 rushed from various quarters to look on ; and with the yell they 
 threw themselves forward as one man to the rescue of their young 
 classmate. 
 
 " Fresh I Fresh I Fresh !"— 
 
 " Soph I Soph ! Soph I Yale I Yale I" were the fierce resound- 
 ing cries. It was the most public hour of the day, and the most 
 public place in college, and in a few minutes, a couple of hundred 
 fiery youths were arrayed against each other. On the one side, 
 the Creole, with drawn knife, still swore he would kill the cow- 
 ardly blueskin, and was hardly restrained by those around him 
 from rushing alone into the thickening phalanx of Freshmen, who 
 were now headed by their bully. On the other hand, Alban 
 stood in the midst of his new friends, with arms folded, slightly 
 panting ; his curly head bleeding disregarded, his turn-down col- 
 lar and shirt-bosom torn, and covered with blood that was not 
 wholly his own. Forgetting entirely their prejudices, the class 
 were in transports of rage at these marks of violence ; a fight was 
 imminent ; the bully's singular authority alone restrained them. 
 Alban approached this functionary, who was exerting himself to 
 keep his class on the defensive. 
 
 " I don't want a fight about me, Mr. Hayne. Let me go to 
 my room, while you keep the rest here. I am not afraid of Lau- 
 rier's killing me." 
 
 Several loudly opposed this proposition, but, the bully said ; 
 ** You may try it, Atherton. "We shall be in time to save you, if 
 necessary." 
 
 Alban walked quietly ofi' toward his college ; the Creole, Lau- 
 rier darted instantly after him, but was again caught by his own 
 friends. Alban turned at the noise. There was a general shout 
 from the Fresh, bidding him cut for his room. But after a mo- 
 ment's hesitation, our young hero walked up to the party from 
 whom his enemy was still violently struggling to free himself. 
 
 "Laurier," said he, in French, "what a big fool you are! 
 If you did not struggle, they would let you go of their own 
 accord." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 79 
 
 "You be off, and be to you," said Laurier's friends, who 
 
 did not understand a word ; but Laurier himself became quiet. 
 
 " Let us shake hands for the present," continued Alban, in 
 the same language as before, " and afterwards we can settle it 
 like gentlemen," 
 
 Laurier replied with a curse of unutterable coarseness, but 
 added to the others, turning away as he said it, " Let him go ; I 
 will find a time for him." 
 
 And now the scene was very characteristic of a college com- 
 motion. The Freshman class was the most numerous, and, phys- 
 ically, by far the most formidable in the University, having an 
 unusually large proportion of full-grown meu. The attack on 
 Atherton was unanimously voted to be an affront to the whole 
 class. It made no difference, it was fiercely said, whether he was 
 a blueskin or not, the Sophs had no right to interfere. But the 
 public feeling towards him was entirely altered in a moment by 
 the spirit he had displayed. His successful resistance of the infa- 
 mous insult offered to them all in his person, elicited a triumphant 
 sympathy, and the severity of the injuries he had inflicted on the 
 enemy inspired a ferocious delight, that exalted him positively 
 into a champion. A meeting of the class was called in the 
 Rhetorical Chamber after dinner, to consider what was due to 
 their own honor. Atherton was greeted on his entrance with 
 enthusiastic cheers. He w^as called out for a speech, and he had 
 too much native tact not to speak at once to the point of the 
 " slanderous imputation" which had been cast upon him, " of 
 being a blueskin." Amid the laughter of the class he drew a 
 sarcastic portrait of the blueskin character, but affirmed that 
 even the blueskin was more estimable than the slanderer ; for 
 the former, he said, might possibly be acting " under a kind of a 
 sneaking sense of duty" — this expression called forth uproarious 
 applause, and Alban repeated it wath emphasis, amid renewal of 
 laughter and cheers — but the slanderer of a classmate, in his 
 opinion, must be actuated by unmixed, diabolical mahgnity. 
 This speech, aided by a black patch on the temple, at once made 
 
80 * ALBAN. 
 
 Alb Atlierton the most popular man in college. They declared 
 *' he was a talented fellow," and " real spunky," and that " he 
 had pitched it into the Sophs, first-rate." 
 
 With tolerable reason to be satisfied, even as matters stood, 
 the Freshmen did not propose any measure of serious hostility 
 against their foes. Something, however, must be done to express 
 the resolution of the class to hold its own. They and their rivals 
 sat in chapel in the same aisle, but made their exit at its op- 
 posite doors. It had been a common piece of insolence for 
 Sophomore classes, to make a rush on the Freshmen after prayers, 
 and push them out. An ineffectual attempt of that kind had 
 once been made by the present Sophs. But after prayers on the 
 day signalized by our hero's affray, occurred a thing without pre- 
 cedent, the Fresh making a successful rush on the Sophs. Young 
 Alban was placed, against his will, nearly in the van between 
 two of the most athletic of his classmates, and the whole body 
 pressing on with irresistible force, he was borne triumphantly out 
 of chapel by the Sophomore door. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 81 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Alban had thus an exciting debut at Old Yale, but after that, his 
 college life flowed on. in. collegiate tranquillity. It is true that 
 there were some violent academical storms in his time, — one 
 fierce riot between the students and the townspeople, in conse- 
 quence of which some of Alban's class were expelled, and after- 
 wards taken back ; one fierce rebellion, ending in the expulsion 
 of half a class ; one mighty revival, gathering half the college 
 into the " College Church :" and our hero's light sails bent and 
 fluttered, his slender mast creaked, his graceful bark danced like 
 those of others in the gale, but it was only sympathy. He took 
 all the first prizes in his division ; he was universally admitted to 
 be sure of an " oration" when his class graduated ; and men said 
 that Atherton might be valedictorian if he wished. He did not 
 wish it. He had started for it at first, but his ambition soon took 
 another turn. He acquired, almost without effort, a more fascina- 
 ting and very peculiar reputation. If he rose to speak in a de- 
 bating society, every body listened ; if he had an address to deliver 
 at a college anniversary, the chapel was thronged ; his themes 
 were the topic of conversation, his name was the brag of the 
 college society of which he was a member. There is no political 
 or literary eminence of after life so gratifying. With this academ- 
 ical success a personal trait developed itself in Alban Atherton 
 which one would not have foreseen. He became shy. He had 
 no social brilliancy. Other men of his standing addicted them- 
 selves very much to the society of New Haven, which then boasted 
 some celebrated belles ; but even when Alban had got into his 
 junior year, and had consequently passed his nineteenth birthday, 
 he seemed only to have grown more diffident. If he saw ladies 
 fluttering down the elm-shaded street towards him he would turn 
 immediately into another. 
 
82 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 Neither did he form any permanent college intimacy, although 
 he had always many devoted personal admirers. The nearest ap- 
 proach to confidential friendship which he enjoyed was Avith some 
 of the hard-handed, coarse-grained, but often true-hearted, earnest 
 students, known as *' charities." As a professor of religion he 
 knew them all, and with one or two was on terms of very famil- 
 iar intercourse. They loved the highly-nurtured, gifted, and pious 
 youth, who sympathized with their indigence and rehgious zeal. 
 To them Alban appeared a " rich student," for he knew no em- 
 barrassments about his bills, boarded in the upper commons, 
 dressed like a gentleman, and with Henry and St. Clair, indulged 
 freely in the expensive pleasures of riding, driving, and boating. 
 
 Among the fellows of his own proper standing in the intra- 
 collegiate world, Alban had not a permanent intimate. He 
 cronied for a time, when a Freshman, and even up to the third 
 term of his Sophomore year, with several fellows in succession, 
 but hardly one of these friendships lasted m.ore than a term. He 
 continued to treat one or two of the individuals as famihar ac- 
 quaintance after the violent intimacy had ceased ; but others he 
 dropped entirely. No one knew exactly why, unless perhaps in 
 some cases the parties themselves. Henry and he were chums, 
 and the affection of the two cousins was constant. 
 
 Our hero's vacations were variously spent : the spring and 
 "winter mostly with his parents in New York, the long autumnal 
 one in travelling with them, or at least with, his mother. In. the 
 May vacation of his junior year he visited Yanmouth and Yantic 
 Falls, where his piety, his college-prizes, his modesty, his purity, 
 and the great warmth of his affection for his kindred, caused him 
 to be received with unparallelled cordiality by his relations, old 
 and young. His uncle Hezekiah alone shook his head, for he 
 found that Alban had become infected with the heretical theology 
 of New Haven. 
 
 " That is not the faith of your fathers," he said, with a sternly 
 beautiful smile ; " abandon it, Alban, at once, if you wish to be the 
 hope of your family." 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 83 
 
 " Nay," said the enthusiastic Rachel, beautiful as ever and 
 more than ever sought, though vainly, " there must be something 
 in the New Haven theology which fascinates cousin Alban by its 
 partial truth. I rather like what you say, cousin Alban, about 
 conversion being a rational act. It corresponds with my own 
 experience." 
 
 Alban did not feel that shyness with a cousin some twelve 
 years his senior, which made him shun young ladies more nearly 
 of his own age, not related to him. He had several topics in. 
 common with Rachel Atherton, and their mutual love for the 
 memory of their aunt Elizabeth was a strong bond of sympathy. 
 Rachel made him. take her out to drive in the ancestral chaise, 
 which had now come into her father's possession. She wept as 
 she spoke of Betsey Atherton. She smiled — her father's beautiful 
 smile softened by her womanhood — when she told him that this 
 visit would make her think of him more than she had done for 
 years. She promised to pray for him more particularly than for 
 others of her young male cousins ; she engaged him to unite in 
 the " concert of prayer" for the unconverted members of their 
 family. Alban left Yantic with a more intense feeling than ever 
 of proud love for the old Puritan line from which he was doubly 
 descended. 
 
84 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It was about six months after this visit to Yantic, (the date is not 
 unimportant,) and our hero had arrived at the first or fall term 
 of his senior year. The city of elms Avas leafless, but the Indian 
 summer still permitted rides to East Rock. Alban had just re- 
 turned from one on a Saturday afternoon, and was crossing the 
 green from the livery-stable to the colleges. He overtook a class- 
 mate. It was an undersized fellow of delicate features, but with 
 a wasted look about the eyes and an uncertainty in his gait that 
 betrayed premature excess. He had formerly been one of Ather- 
 ton's inseparables, and they were still on good terms although the 
 intimacy had ceased. 
 
 " You walk a little stifi^, Atherton. Been riding ?" 
 
 Alban assented. 
 
 " You are out every Saturday. You don't visit at all. I 
 wonder you don't get a gig or buggy instead of a horse, and ask 
 out some young lady. It would cost you no more." 
 
 " It would not be half so good exercise, Shepherd." 
 
 "Well, I never saw a fellow like you. Every other man in 
 the class that is a man, (except the charities and future theologs,) 
 is either dissipated or in love with some New Haven girl. You 
 are neither. By George, I sometimes think that you are a girl 
 yourself" 
 
 " I am a professor of religion, which amounts to the same 
 thing." 
 
 " That's true. Nothing but religion can keep a man out of 
 it, and religion does not always. There's not a man in the senior 
 class, in fact, except you and Henry, and the charities, that does 
 not dissipate. See all those fellows in our division that joined the 
 Church last spring during the revival. This winter two-thirds of 
 them have been disciplined ; and the other third ought to be. 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 85 
 
 There is little Edwards, and Bob Winthrop, they are worse than 
 ever." 
 
 " I have pretty much lost my confidence in religion," said 
 Alban, as if impulsively. " I ought not to say so though." 
 
 " Lost your confidence in religion !" said his companion. "So 
 have I. All the intellectual fellows in the Senior class are infi- 
 dels. But really, Al, I did not expect to hear it from you. Why, 
 do you know what they say of you ? That you are the only 
 sincere professor in college, except some of the charities. You 
 are the only man in the class that is pious and popular too." 
 
 " I am not so pious as you think," replied Alban. 
 
 " Oh yes, you act on principle. Come, I know it, if no one 
 else does." 
 
 " You know. Shepherd, that I acted as principle w^ould have 
 dictated in a particular instance, but after all, my motive may have 
 been pride. I am as proud as Lucifer. If I had weaknesses like 
 Edwards and Winthrop, I should be very careful to keep them to 
 myself." " 
 
 " No, you would not," returned Shepherd, acutely. " Some 
 fellows might ; but you would lose that kind of pride. It is odd 
 that you have doubts about religion." 
 
 " I have none about morality, Shepherd. It is the New 
 Haven theology that has subverted my faith, not a wish to live 
 like you fellows." 
 
 " Professor preaches it every Sunday morning in the 
 
 chapel, but I can't say that I know the difference between the 
 New Haven theology and any other. What is it ? I am curious, 
 if it has made you skeptical." Alban bit his lip. 
 
 "The New Haven theology," he replied, after a moment's 
 thought, " is, that we are not sinners till vve actually sin." 
 
 " Why do we sin at all then ?" demanded Shepherd, waking up. 
 
 " Because the will always follows the strongest motive," re- 
 plied Alban. " Consequently, as soon as the will begins to act, 
 the motives to sin in this fallen world being stronger and more 
 evident than those for obedience, we sin." 
 
 8 
 
86 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 " Why, that's what our fellows say. The motives to vice 
 being so much stronger than those to virtue, we cannot help 
 faUing into it. I have heard Bob Winthrop say so fifty times." 
 
 " He is a good theologian. But he forgets the other part of 
 the theory, which is, that God can heap the virtue scale with 
 motives till it weighs down that of vice ; that is to say, He can, 
 by His Spirit, so present to the eye of our reason the supreme 
 advantages of goodness, that we mmt choose it: — which pro- 
 duces the phenomenon of conversion." 
 
 " A very clear explanation," said Shepherd. " For my part, 
 the Spirit has never presented to me the advantages of virtue in 
 that irresistible light. On the contrary, vice appears to me so 
 sweet, that, as Winthrop says, I couldn't give it up if I were sure 
 of going to hell in consequence." 
 
 " To me vice is repulsive," said Alban. 
 
 " The theory seems to suit you exactly, then. How has it sha- 
 ken your confidence in religion ? That is what I don't understand." 
 
 " For one thing, it is contrary to the Bible. And for another, 
 Shepherd, it is possible to be very far from inwardly just and pure, 
 without being plunged into the mire where you and your set 
 wallow like unclean animals : — forgive me." 
 
 "Oh, I'll bear any thing from you. Alb." 
 
 " How it is possible," pursued Alban, "for a man who has 
 sisters, or fair cousins, so to contaminate his eyes, hands, and lips, 
 and make himself unfit for the presence of modesty, not to say 
 the pure kiss of consanguinity, passes my comprehension." 
 
 " Well, I wish I was as good as you, Alb. I wouldn't trouble 
 my head much about theology." 
 
 The young men parted at North College to seek their respect- 
 ive entries. Alban paused at the door of his, and gave a look at 
 the chapel porch. The bell for evening prayers was just begin- 
 ning to ring. 
 
 "Certainly," said he, running up stairs two or three steps 
 at a time, — " certainly I will go to the Episcopal church to-mor- 
 row morning ; come what will of it." 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 87 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It "vvas usual, in reference to the monitor's reports, to call off the 
 delinquents after lecture, and hear their excuses. Monday morn- ♦ 
 iiig the Professor performed this duty as usual. A. Atherton 
 should have been the first called out, but the Professor began at 
 B. Alban thought he was passed over. At the close, however, 
 the Professor observed — " 1 wish to speak to A. Atherton." Al- 
 ban waited. The Professor merely said — " Come to my room 
 after tea. I want to see you." 
 
 The Professor was a young man who had been tutor of Alban's 
 division till the class completed its junior year, and had then been 
 elevated to his present position. He was already noted as an able 
 man, and has since attained celebrity. Alban was his favorite. 
 In fact, as tutor, Mr. B. had indulged him too much, so that men 
 said, Atherton might do what he liked, no notice would be taken 
 of it. 
 
 The Professor shook hands with his young friend and pushed 
 him a chair by the blazing Franklin. 
 
 " You are looking very well this term, Atherton ; better, I 
 think, than any other man in the class." 
 
 " Horseback exercise agrees with me much better than the 
 gymnasium, sir." . • 
 
 "The gymnasium is not a bad thing either. I remember 
 when I was a Senior and could practise there, my muscles were 
 like bundles of ropes. I felt like knocking down every man I 
 met, and jumping over every fence I passed."' 
 
 Professor B. laughed with a quiet, intense enjoyment pecuhar 
 to him. 
 
 " Your other habits agree with you too, eh ?" he continued, 
 " I like to see such clear eyes as yours in a Senior. It is a good 
 sign." 
 
88 
 
 AL BAN . 
 
 Alban had been rather ugly for a couple of years, but he 
 was now got to be a very handsome fellow again. His features 
 were well-cut, spirited, and of a poetical cast. His blue eye, open, 
 and as the Professor said, very clear. The brow was fit to en- 
 chant Spurzheim, and the masses of chestnut-hair carelessly 
 thrown off from it, slightly tended to a glossy curl. The keen eye 
 of the Professor scanned this fine countenance of downy nineteen 
 by the shaded light of his study lamp. 
 
 " You were absent from chapel yesterday morning, Atherton. 
 I did not wa>nt to call you up before all those dissipated and irre- 
 ligious classmates of yours ; not that I doubted you had a good 
 excuse, but because it was better," said the Professor, slightly 
 laughing again, " that they should not know you needed one." 
 
 " I went to the Episcopal church yesterday morning," said 
 Alban, quietly. 
 
 " Umph ! You had forgotten, I suppose, that it was Sacra- 
 ment Sunday." 
 
 " Does that make any difference, sir," said Alban, with a 
 demure, but penetrating glance at the professor. 
 
 " Why — why — the violation of the college rule in being absent 
 from chapel without permission, of course is the same." 
 
 " I thought so," observed Alban. " I have been often absent 
 before, but never was questioned about it, although, I suppose, the 
 monitor did not fail to report me." 
 
 " Yes, but you were never absent on a Sacrament Sunday 
 before." 
 
 " No, sir ; but you have just said (pardon me) that that does 
 not make the breach of college rules any worse." 
 
 The Professor was a little embarrassed, and perhaps somewhat 
 displeased. There was a profound silence of some minutes. 
 
 " You have many privileges, Atherton, which are accorded to 
 you because it is known you will not abuse them. You have 
 been tacitly allowed to attend church in town without asking 
 permission on every particular occasion ; I wish you to continue 
 to do so ; but perhaps you have not considered that your absence 
 
A L B A N . 
 
 89 
 
 on a Sacrament Sunday may have a bad effect. Your influence 
 is very great, Atherton." 
 
 " I staid away purposely, sir. I have felt a great reluctance 
 for some time to come to communion." 
 
 " You surprise me. But why ?" 
 
 Atherton did not reply. The professor waited for him a 
 while, and continued : 
 
 " It is hardly possible that you can be affected with those 
 morbid doubts of your conversion to which some are subject. 
 Your mind is too healthy." 
 
 " Oh, I adopt the. New Haven system, sir, so far as that. I 
 think conversion is an act of the will. If I thought I had never 
 yet submitted to God, I would submit now. My mind was made 
 up long ago that if there really were such a thing as being a 
 Christian I would be one." 
 
 " So I supposed," said the Professor, cheerfully. " We have 
 talked these things over before, Alban, and always seemed to 
 agree." 
 
 " My doubts," said Alban, clearing his voice a little, but 
 speaking huskily after all, — " my doubts — respect the truth of the 
 Christian religion itself" 
 
 " You have been reading Gibbon, perhaps ?" said the Professor, 
 in a low tone. 
 
 " Oh, it is not any books that have made me skeptical," said 
 Alban, speaking more freely. "It is my becoming a Taylorite, 
 sir, that has led to it. Ever since Dr. Taylor's sermons in the 
 revival last winter, I have been working the system out by 
 myself." 
 
 " You are a very young man, Atherton. Nineteen last sum- 
 mer, I think I Last winter, is it ? You are very clever, I know, 
 but this is a disease of your age, not a legitimate conclusion of 
 your intellect. You will outgrow it. I have gone through the 
 same thing, myself." 
 
 "But I cannot go to the communion while I feel these 
 doubts," said Alban, with a look of distress. 
 
 8* 
 
90 
 
 ALB AN, 
 
 ** Have you mentioned the matter to any one else ?" inquired 
 the Professor. 
 
 " Yesterday I let something fall to Shepherd, unguardedly. 
 My mind is so full of it. It requires considerable self-command 
 to keep it in." 
 
 " I hope you will keep it strictly to yourself. It would injure 
 you, Atherton, very much, to have it known that you feel such 
 doubts, which, I repeat, you will outgrow ; and it would injure 
 the cause of religion in College still more. As for coming to the 
 Sacrament," added the Professor, " it will be two months, you 
 know, before there will be another occasion. By that time, I 
 trust, your doubts will be removed, but if not, stay away. You 
 shall not be troubled. Take time, and do not commit yourself." 
 
 The unburdening of his mind, and the Professor's kind (though 
 certainly also politic) treatment, softened Alban. He shed tears. 
 
 " And pray, what logical sequence have you discovered," asked 
 his friend, by way of diverting his attention, " between New En- 
 
 glandism, as B calls it, and a skeptical conclusion ? Give us 
 
 your syllogism." 
 
 Alban was at first unwilling to bring forward his difficulties ; 
 but when the Professor remarked that Christianity ought not to 
 be made to stand or fall with the doctrine of any school, he was 
 drawn out. 
 
 "I have always believed Christianity," he said, "because I 
 had been taught it from a child. And I believed it just as I was 
 taught it : the hardest doctrines as well as the simplest. The 
 Trinity, election, particular redemption, and the eternal damnation 
 of non-elect infants, were, or would have been, just as easy for me 
 to believe as the inspiration of the Bible or the sanctity of the 
 Sabbath. I put no difference between doctrine and doctrine. I 
 believed them altogether." 
 
 " I dare say. That could not last, of course," said the 
 Professor. 
 
 " That's just it, sir. Dr. Taylor and President Edwards over- 
 threw my faith in Regeneration. Dr. Taylor uses the word Regen- 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 91 
 
 eration, but he denies and disproves the thing. The revival last 
 winter was conducted on the principle of the young men needing 
 to be converted, not to be regenerated. We all, following the 
 Dr.'s lead, urged the unconverted to make an act of submission to 
 God. We set before them the motives. That is the line I took 
 
 with F and C ." 
 
 " I remember your zeal." 
 
 " But, sir, when 1 had succeeded in converting them, I found 
 I had lost my faith. I had before supposed myself to have under- 
 gone a mysterious change in the substance of my soul, when I 
 experienced rehgion. I had now learned to understand it as a 
 change in my will under the influence of motives. I could not hold 
 this theory as I used to hold the other. I have been forced, con- 
 sequently, to enter into an examination of every other point of my 
 religion. Now, I do not feel sure of any thing." 
 
 " I must suggest to the President to begin the lectures on the 
 evidences," said the Professor. " You have never studied the 
 evidences, Atherton." 
 
 " I am looking forward to that to restore Tsiy faith again," said 
 Alban. 
 
92 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Alban was President of the Brothers in Unity. This is the most 
 ancient of three literary societies which exist in the hosom of Yale. 
 The Presidents, who are chosen every term, and are not re-eligible, 
 must be always of the Senior class. The most honorable presidency 
 is that of the first or autumnal term, which is, indeed, the most 
 brilliant of intra-collegiate distinctions. A profound secrecy, how- 
 ever, is observed in regard to all that passes within the Societies, 
 by their respective members. The names of the Presidents and 
 other officers, the subjects of debate, the decisions, the writers and 
 performers at their exhibitions, and the time of the latter coming 
 off, are spoken of only s,uh rosa. They are all facts which 
 transpire, at least in process of time, but even then are not openly 
 admitted by members of the Society. This mystery wonderfully 
 heightens the interest inspired by these venerable institutions. No 
 member of the Faculty can ever be present at a debate ; but the 
 exhibitions, one in each term, being principally dramatic entertain- 
 ments, are usually graced by the presence, not only of the Professors, 
 but, at a second performance, held specially in their favor, of the 
 ladies of New Haven. The Societies all possess fine libraries and 
 beautiful rooms. 
 
 Alban left his room in North College, as usual, one Wednesday 
 evening, after tea in Commons, to attend the regular weekly meet- 
 ing of his Society. He was soon joined by classmates sallying forth 
 with the same purpose. The night was cold, the stars shining 
 keenly through the leafless trees, as they went down Chapel-street. 
 The Brothers' room was in the town, at a considerable distance 
 from the colleges. 
 
 " How clear it is," said Alban. 
 
 *' Yes, I wish it would snow," replied his companion. " I 
 
AL BAN. 
 
 93 
 
 want to have a sleigh-ride with a whole lot of young ladies. You 
 used to go last winter, Atherlon ?" 
 " Never." 
 
 " Oh, you are not a ladies' man. It is capital fun. "We dash 
 over to East Haven in no time ; run by moonlight, or the Aurora, 
 some dozen miles in about an hour, and then get a supper of oys- 
 ters and mulled wine, which makes the dear creatures as lively 
 as possible coming back. You are all snug and warm together 
 under fifty buffalo robes, you know." 
 
 " And you sit by the young lady you are in love with, I sup- 
 pose, Winthrop ?" 
 
 " Provided she is pretty, I don't much care who it is." 
 
 " No ? I should fancy that would make all the difference in 
 the world," said Alban. 
 
 " There are so many of us what is called in love with the 
 same girl, that some of us must be disappointed," rejoined a com- 
 panion at Alban's other arm. 
 
 " I have heard that Miss Ellsworth is very much admired," 
 said Alban. 
 
 " The new belle — Miss De Groot of New York — cuts her out 
 en-tirely," said Winthrop " Half the Senior class are desperately 
 in love with Miss De Groot. Perhaps you know her. Alb, as you 
 are from New York." 
 
 " Not I," said Alban, half contemptuously. 
 
 " Don't say any thing to Atherton about Miss De Groot, I 
 beg," said his other companion. 
 
 " You must go to the fair next week," persisted Winthrop. 
 " It is for the new church, you know. Miss De Groot and Miss 
 Ellsworth will both have tables, and you can inspect and com- 
 pare them at your leisure." 
 
 " No, don't you go, Atherton ; they will only take all your 
 spare cash for mere nonsense." 
 
 " I certainly can't afford to go to fairs where beautiful young 
 ladies take tables," said Alban, innocently laughing as they 
 mounted the stairs of the Society's rooms. 
 
94 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 " St. Clair, they say, is smitten in the worst way with Miss 
 De Groot," said Winthrop. 
 
 " What, George I Well, perhaps, I ivill go in that case — to 
 take care of iny cousin's pocket." 
 
 The room of the Brothers' Society was a long and lofty 
 chamber with a coved ceiling. About the middle of the room, 
 opposite the doors of entrance, was the raised tribune for the 
 President's chair, rich with cushions, curtains, and canopy of crim- 
 son damask. Below and in front of it was a long table. The 
 settees for the members were ranged in rows on either side, 
 leaving the carpeted space in front of the tribune free. The 
 apartment was well lighted by gilt lamp-chandeliers, the windows 
 at the extremities hung with crimson, the walls adorned with 
 handsomely framed engravings. Perhaps fifty young men were 
 already assembled when Alban and his companions entered. 
 They talked freely, but not loud, till some one moved that the 
 President take the chair. 
 
 There was considerable miscellaneous business, during the 
 transaction of which the room gradually filled. The first 
 literary order of the evening was then announced to be a criti- 
 cism by Mr. E. 0. Dwight, of the Senior class. A tall, awkward, 
 black-haired youth, with a very sardonic expression and an open 
 shirt-collar, advanced to the green table in front of the President's 
 desk, seated himself at it, took out a manuscript tied with pink 
 ribbons, and announced that his subject was " Don Juan, a Poem 
 by Lord Byron." 
 
 Very great attention was paid to the reading of this criticism. 
 The critic made an able analysis of the poem, extolled the flexi- 
 bility of the style, the wondrous facility of versification, the force 
 of the descriptions, the rapid movement and natural conduct of 
 the story, its irresistible humor, its pathos, the beauty of the ideas 
 it suggested. Above all, he became enthusiastic in giving a vivid 
 prose transcript of the character and story of Haidee, — the imper- 
 sonation of love under its double aspect of ardor and disinterest- 
 edness. Removing entirely from our thoughts, he said, all pro- 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 95 
 
 fane associations and every base desire, it was so that, in idea 
 every one must wish to love and be loved. Then he passed to 
 the consideration of the imputed immorality of the poem ; he 
 admitted that it contained some freedoms, but he maintained that 
 it was the freedom of vitality ; that the story, as it stood, was but 
 a transcript, fresh and original, yet of a more than mirror-like 
 fidelity, from life itself. He compared the reviewers who thus 
 declaimed at the morality of this exquisite and unrivalled poem 
 to those coarse critics of art, who, standing before the Venus of the 
 Tribune, forgot all the matchless charm of those outlines which 
 the divine Artist Himself had primarily evoked out of all beauti- 
 ful possibilities into actual existence, to gloat over and point at 
 the circumstance of the statue's nudity. The critic was often, 
 interrupted, especially at the last, by lively marks of approbation, 
 and closed amid general applause. 
 
 This choice of subject, its treatment, and the reception it met 
 ■with, were highly indicative, no doubt, of the prevalent sentiment 
 in the most orthodox of New England Colleges ; yet it would be 
 wrong to suppose that all the audience shared in the sentiments 
 of the majority. A good many grave, and for the most part, 
 rustic-looking, yet not unscholarly young men, some of them pale 
 and spectacled, looked or whispered disapprobation. The features 
 of the young President were illumined with a smile, half of sym- 
 pathy and half of dissent. He bent down and said something in 
 the ear of the secretary, while the renewed plaudits of the Society 
 accompanied the critic to his place, and then announced with 
 calmness the business of the evening — the " Catholic debale." 
 
 " The question before the Society for debate this evening, is 
 the following : ' Does the probable increase of the Roman Catho- 
 lic rehgion in the United States, by conversion and immigration, 
 threaten the liberties of America V The secretaries will read 
 the names of the gentlemen appointed to debate." 
 
 There were eight names, two from each class, of whom four 
 had been appointed to sustain the affirmative, and four the nega- 
 tive of the question. They were called up in order, beginning 
 
96 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 with the two Freshmen, neither of whom, though present, an- 
 swered to their names. It was not expected of these new 
 members to flesh their maiden swords so soon. Both the Sophs 
 appeared, and argued with their usual self-sufficiency. The 
 negator of the proposition took the line of denying that such an 
 increase of Popery teas probable, and consequently that it could 
 endanger American liberty. The Society listened with evident 
 languor. 
 
 The Juniors followed. The affirmative here was a debater 
 of rare powers. It was a sallow man of about eight and twenty, 
 with a slender body and a massive head already inclining to bald- 
 ness. This young man's eye was black and piercing, his voice 
 deep and sonorous. He drew a fearful picture of Popery as the 
 ally of European despotism, and then proceeded with masterly 
 array of causal analysis to show that this feature of Romanism 
 sprang from the essential principles of the Catholic Church in 
 regard to faith and opinion. It was necessary, he observed, to 
 seize the radical diflerence between Protestantism and Catholr- 
 cism, in order to comprehend the diflerence of their results. 
 Protestant faith was the result of rational examination ; Catholic 
 faith was the submission of reason itself to infaUible authority. 
 There was no doctrine of religion so sacred but the consistent 
 Protestant dared to subject it to the test of rational inquiry ; there 
 was no dogma of the Church so absurd in the eye of reason or 
 so contradictory to experience, but the consistent Catholic must 
 receive it with unquestioning submission. It was from the dia- 
 metrical opposition of the interior states thus produced — the men- 
 tal independence of the one, and the subjection of the moral and 
 rational powers themselves in the other, to an external law — that 
 their opposite political spirit necessarily derived. The Protestant 
 would submit to no law which did not virtually emanate from his 
 own free choice : the Catholic, on the contrary, would be as ready 
 to submit to God governing him by another's will, as to God 
 teaching him by another's inteUigence. " Our institutions," con- 
 cluded the speaker, " are but the political blossoms of our religion ; 
 
A L B A N . 
 
 97 
 
 when we cease to be Protestants we shall cease to be internally 
 republicans ; and no institution can long survive after the spirit 
 which it represented has passed away." 
 
 The other Junior rose impetuously on the opposite side of the 
 President's chair, without waiting to be called. His appearance 
 presented a contrast to his opponent in every respect. He was of 
 Herculean frame, with a sanguine complexion, light blue eyes, 
 and auburn hair. His features were handsome but peculiar, and, 
 in that company, unique. The moment that he said " Mr. Presi- 
 dent," with great distinctness, you perceived that his Celtic physi- 
 ognomy did not belie him. 
 
 " Mr. President," he said, " I myself have the honor to be a 
 Catholic, and I feel therefore the greater pleasure in refuting en- 
 tirely the observations of the gentleman who has preceded me, 
 whose premises, sir, are all correct, but they prove the very re- 
 verse of his conclusion." Here there was a general laugh, in 
 which the Irishman good-naturedly joined. 
 
 This imported American was, in short, at the same time a 
 Catholic (the only one in the society) and an ardent republican. 
 There was not a great deal of argument in what he said, but a 
 great deal of fervent assertion, which, with many, had all the 
 effect. If he did not prove his view, he at least illustrated it 
 with infinite humor and eloquence, and sat down amid lively 
 applause. These were the interesting speakers of the night, for 
 the two Seniors were heavy. Each of the regular debaters was 
 allowed a reply, which did not occupy much time, and then the 
 question was thrown open to the Society. Half a dozen spoke on. 
 it. Tv/o or three of the speeches were highly interesting. The 
 points made on the affirmative side were, the restriction of men- 
 tal liberty by the Catholic Church — the anti-democratic constitu- 
 tion of the Hierarchy — the claim of dominion over the conscience 
 — the known opposition of the Church to the diffusion of knowl- 
 edge — the actual ignorance and superstition of the mass of Catho- 
 lics — and the general tendency of the human mind to a blind 
 faith and passive obedience, of which the Church would not fail to 
 
 9 
 
98 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 take advantage, and which would prevent her policy from being 
 essentially modified in the new world. On the negative, it was 
 contended that Catholicism had more to fear from the general 
 Protestantism of the American people than they from it — that it 
 could not stand before our universal intelligence and education — 
 that the children of Catholic emigrants did not grow up in \he 
 ignorance of their fathers — that, in hue, vast numbers of the emi- 
 grants themselves were already hot republicans, and that even in 
 Europe the downfall of Popery and monarchy both was surely 
 at hand. Except on the part of our Irish friend, of whom it was 
 almost assumed that he could not really believe his ostensible 
 religion, there was not an intimation — not a suspicion was ever 
 so distantly expressed by the speakers on either side — that the 
 religion whose political tendency they were discussing could be 
 otherwise than false. That point was taken for granted by all. 
 
 The Society now became hushed and still, to hear the Pre.si- 
 dent's decision. Alban had occasionally made a note during the 
 debate, and he began by summing up the arguments on both 
 sides with great fairness and precision. Each debater felt that 
 more justice was done him than he had done himself Without 
 any thing original in this part of the decision, it was at the same 
 time so flowing in utterance and so accurate in style as to enchain 
 the attention. You might hear a pin drop. 
 
 But next was to come the President's own view, and it was 
 thought that Atherton's were sometimes almost inspired. The 
 question before them, he said, looking round on the Society, in- 
 volved two problems, each of which had exhausted the resources 
 of genius in its attempted solution, and which transcended all 
 others in interest, viz. : the true origin of religion and the true 
 origin of government. It was necessary, he thought, to ascend 
 higher than had been done in the debate, and ask whence politi- 
 cal liberty was derived ; — was it an acquired or a natural right ? 
 "Were we entitled to our inestimable franchises, as men, or had we 
 inherited them as glorious and distinguishing privileges from our 
 special ancestors, as the fruit and the reward of their virtue, over 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 99 
 
 and above other nations and other men ? Had the JSTegro or the 
 Hindoo, strictly speaking, the same right to freedom as ourselves ? 
 For his part, he was not willing to concede that freedom, political 
 or personal, was a natural right of the human being since the 
 Fall, and it appeared to him that the theories which claimed it, 
 were over-boastful, infidel, and practically ignored the corrupt 
 and forfeit state of human nature. (Here there were murmurs of 
 dissent, mixed with applause.) " As an American freeman," said 
 the young President, firmly, " I do not stand on the natural rights 
 of man — I disdain such a source of my franchises — but on the 
 hereditary privileges of the race from which I have the honor 
 and happiness to be descended. We Englishmen of the New 
 AYorld are not freedmen, but free born I — generosi^ not libertini I 
 The question before us this evening, gentlemen, is, whether the 
 increase of the Roman Catholic religion in America threatens the 
 subversion of those hereditary privileges of ours, — of what I may 
 call that ancient freedom, which is the haughty heir-loom of the 
 great Anglo-Saxon race." Lively and general applause followed 
 this adroit popular turn. 
 
 Alban then proceeded to treat as trivial and evasive the 
 ground assumed by the negative of the question, that Romanism, 
 namely, was not likely to spread in America. The probability of 
 this increase of Popery was taken for granted, at least as an hy- 
 pothesis, by the terms of the question, and the effects of such an 
 increase on our liberties were the only fair domain of the debate. 
 He might add that it was the only interesting one for them to 
 discuss, and he marvelled that only one individual had been found 
 to defend the paradox, that the Roman Catholic religion was the 
 natural ally of the people against power, and the bulwark of 
 civil and religious liberty. He thought that more might have 
 been said in defence of this position. It was sustained by some 
 striking facts in the History of Europe, and it was in accordance 
 with that theory of political freedom which he had vindicated as 
 the most sound. A society which rested on prescription was the 
 natural advocate of all acquired privileges, but it would by instinct, 
 
100 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 defend chiefly the rights which belonged to the bulk of its members, 
 and in the Roman Catholic Church that was the people. Thus it 
 was that the Church had exerted itself with such irresistible force 
 to abolish servitude. As for liberty of religious opinion, he 
 thought it might be justly contended on the side of the Roman 
 Catholics, that no one could ever acquire the right to believe a 
 false doctrine, or disbelieve a revealed truth, consequently it never 
 could be a violation of any right to punish the obstinate advo- 
 cates of religious error. 
 
 " In truth, gentlemen," continued Alban, " it has struck me 
 painfully to hear it said this evening, that the Roman Catholic 
 religion alone demands of its votary a submission of the reason to 
 the authority of faith. What, then, shall we say of the doctrine 
 of the Trinity, or of that of the Incarnation? We believe them 
 because we think we find them in the Bible, and we believe the 
 Bible to be the Word of God. What difference in point of principle 
 is there between this and believing what the Church teaches, be- 
 cause we believe the Church to be the living Prophet of God? 
 I may doubt the infallibility of the Church, and may doubt the 
 inspiration of the Scriptures, but to accept either, or hoth, involves 
 precisely the same submission of reason to faith ; and if that sub- 
 mission be incompatible with our spiritual freedom, then all reve- 
 lation is a miserable imposture." Here the applause was warm 
 but partial. 
 
 " I conclude, therefore, gentlemen," said Alban, "as I began, 
 that this question is not capable of being solved, without running 
 it up higher, and discussing the truth of the Roman Catholic re- 
 ligion itself A fahe claim to teach in God's name, must, if it 
 succeed, produce all the pernicious results which have ever at- 
 tended religious imposture. The first result will be a false faith ; 
 the next will be a great depravity of manners ; the next will be 
 a loss of all those institutions from which the life will then have 
 departed, of those privileges won by virtue, which vice will have 
 rendered hateful. It is thus, gentlemen, that kingdoms as well as 
 republics have ever fallen ; and it needs no argument to prove, 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 101 
 
 that if the Roman Catholic religion be false, which, however, it 
 would be very unbecoming in me, in this place, to assume, its tri- 
 umph in America would render our liberties nominal, even though 
 our government should still be administered, like Rome under the 
 Caesars, with all the empty forms of popular sovereignty." 
 
 The moment the decision was finished, men began to go out, 
 and during the brief business that followed, such as choosing new 
 questions, appointing debaters, &c., the room thinned so rapidly, 
 that at the moment of adjournment scarcely a score of members 
 remained. It was after eleven o'clock, and the town was still, the 
 shops closed ; the empty streets echoed only to the regular tread, 
 and occasional voices of the young men returning to the colleges. 
 
 " Atherton gave a splendid decision to-night," said one. 
 
 " Splendid I but rather anti-republican, eh?" 
 
 *' Rather anti-protestant, I thought." 
 
 " Baker, and the other religious fellows, looked a little blank at 
 some parts of it, I noticed." 
 
 "Yes, I saw Baker staring at Atherton through his spectacles, 
 with his great mouth Avide open." 
 
 " Ha I ha I Well, suppose we go to E's, and open our 
 mouths for some champagne and oysters." 
 
 Omnes. " Agreed." 
 
102 
 
 AL B AN. 
 
 CHAPTER \r. 
 
 "When money is wanted to pay off the debt of a cliurch, or for 
 any other object of piety or benevolence, the unfaihng resource, 
 at least if it has not been already tried too often, is a Fair. The 
 New Haven ladies had had several fairs, but then they could 
 very well have one at least once in four years, as. they would be 
 sure at any rate of its being a novelty to all the under graduates, 
 upon whose patronage they naturally a good deal rely. The one 
 now in contemplation was for the benefit of a new Episcopal 
 church ; but those were days of liberality, when the high claim 
 of exclusive spiritual jurisdiction had not excited the alarm and 
 indignation of Congregationalist New England ; and the Congre- 
 galionalist ladies of New Haven worked as hard as those con- 
 nected with the Church, to produce articles for the approaching 
 sale. 
 
 The important day at length arrived. The ball-room of the 
 Tontine was the place, and very tastefully was it arranged. A 
 party of students, pressed into the service by irresistible sohcita- 
 tions, had hung the walls with green festoons. The private con- 
 servatories contributed fresh flowers ; and the tables groaned 
 under piles of pincushions, pen-wipers, pocket-books, purses, and 
 guard-chains. There was a post-office where letters could be re- 
 ceived on inquiry, charged with a postage of half a-doUar apiece ; 
 and a fortune-teller, who required you to cross your hand at least 
 with a dollar bill. In the evening, the sale-room was brilliantly 
 lighted up, and at that hour — the crowd being greatest — the 
 tables were tended by some two dozen of the prettiest girls in New 
 Haven, " of all denominations." These saucy tradeswomen, who 
 were in pairs to keep each other in countenance, made it a 
 rule never to give change. A perpetual stream was flowing up 
 and down the Tontine staircase, and at the door the squeeze 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 103 
 
 was so great that it was almost a fighting matter to get in or 
 out. 
 
 Alban went with George St. Clair ; but when they had 
 reached the top of the stairs they were speedily separated. St. 
 Clair pushed on, mercilessly crushing some ladies who were try- 
 ing to get in, or, to speak more accurately, crushing the founda- 
 tion muslin of their enormous sleeves, (then the tasteless rage,) 
 while Alban held back, and, indeed, twice ceded his own chance 
 of entrance in favor of a gentle struggler, more anxious about her 
 silken wings than her slender person. But at last he was re- 
 warded by being borne softly on in the very midst of a whole 
 party. 
 
 Our hero went so little into society that he knew none of the 
 damsels behind the tables, and he moved round the room without 
 venturing to stop, because he felt an awkwardness in buying any 
 thing of a young lady to whom he had never been introduced. 
 At length, however, he was addressed by one who was already 
 surrounded by customers. 
 
 " What, Mr. Atherton, are you going to pass my stall without 
 buying even a guard -chain ?" 
 
 " Certainly not," said Alban, coloring, but making an effort to 
 appear at ease, " unless your price is too extravagant." 
 
 " They are of all prices to suit customers," said the young 
 lady. " This is five dollars, and this," holding up one exactly 
 similar, " is only one. Take your choice." 
 
 " I take the cheapest," said Alban, paying for it. 
 
 "Oh, but surely you will buy something else of me, Mr. Ath- 
 erton. See, here is the prettiest watch-pocket ; 'tis but two 
 dollars, and worked by me — no, by Miss De Groot. She will add 
 your initials and send it you without any additional charge. Of 
 course you will take it." 
 
 " Why, of what use is it ?" asked Alban. " I carry my 
 watch in my waistcoat. Certainly I can't need a guard-chain 
 and a watch-pocket too." 
 
 The young lady laughed. 
 
104 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 " You affect ignorance, Mr. Atherton, to make me explain. I 
 am sure you know what a watch-pocket is for as well as I do." 
 
 " Not I, upon my honor, unless it be to carry a watch," said 
 Alban, with a puzzled air. 
 
 " Really, I must tell Miss De Groot. Mary," turning to her 
 partner, " here is Mr. Atherton (Miss De Groot, Mr. Atherton) 
 pretends not to know the use of a watch-pocket." 
 
 Several of the gentlemen who were talking to and making 
 purchases of Miss De Groot were preparing to explain ; but that 
 young lady, who had bowed slightly to Alban as her friend intro- 
 duced him, was before them, and said, taking it in her hand, 
 without looking at him — • 
 
 " It is to hang your watch in at night, sir, instead of putting 
 it under your pillow, which is a very dangerous practice. If you 
 hang it against the wall, you know, the ticking disturbs you. 
 In this nicely-wadded pocket it makes no noise though ever so 
 close at hand." 
 
 " After so clear a statement of its advantages, I must buy the 
 watch-pocket," said Alban, laying down a half eagle. 
 
 " We never give change, you know, sir," said the young lady, 
 with a quick glance at him instantly withdrawn, and dropping 
 the gold into the money-drawer, " but you may take any thing else 
 here that you like for it." 
 
 " The choice is easily made," said Alban, trying to catch her 
 eye and bow. 
 
 " What is it ?" replied Miss De Groot, looking at the myriad 
 articles on the table, but not at Alban. 
 
 " No matter," quoth Alban, biting his lips. " I wish you much 
 success." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said she, curtseying, but never raising her 
 eyes. She took up a purse to offer a fresh customer, and Alban 
 moved on. 
 
 The next stall was the fortune-teller's, personated by a most 
 enchanting damsel, full of mirth, and attired as a gipsy, and there 
 was a crowd round it. Alban stopped as if he wanted to see, but 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 105 
 
 really to look back stealthily at Miss De Groot. Having heard that 
 she was a belle, he was surprised at her appearance. 
 
 He had expected a young lady of some nineteen or twenty, but 
 Miss De Groot could not be more than sixteen. She was fragile 
 and undeveloped. Alban thought he could easily have spanned 
 her waist just where the blue cincture confined her loose white 
 muslin dress. Her rose-tipped arms and neck of lilies were bare and 
 shght in mould. It was the face, then, which caused her to be so 
 much admired, and lovely it was beyond di.spute — fauhless in 
 every feature, and of a resplendent beauty of color. Its glance 
 was quick and shy, but the mouth, a trifle haughty in repose from 
 its exquisite perfection, became sweet as an opening rose-bud the 
 moment she smiled or spoke. Its charm was then beyond all 
 beauty. The eyes, of whose glances she was so chary, were large 
 and dark-gray, set beneath brown-pencilled eyebrows, a shade 
 lighter than her beautiful, abundant, very dark hair, which she 
 wore brushed off' her temples in a loose waving mass, half hiding 
 her ears, and twisted behind with a careless native grace. 
 George St. Clair came up while Alban was gazing at her, and 
 laid a hand on his shoulder, saying, 
 
 " Did you ever see so beautiful a girl in your life ?" 
 
 " I think Jane is quite as beautiful," replied Alban, with some 
 confusion. 
 
 " Jane I" cried George. " Oh, no, you don't think so. It is 
 impossible. I dare say Jane will turn out a finer character. Our 
 Babylon cousins, Alban, have an infinite deal of dignity and purity, 
 and all that. Between ourselves, Miss Mary De Groot is a bit of 
 a coquette." 
 
 " They all seem coquettes to me. I am not at ease with 
 any of them as I used to be with Jane," said Alban, with sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 " Let me introduce you to Miss Ellsworth," said George, 
 patronizingly. "She will put you at your ease at once. I want 
 you to get over this confounded diffidence, Alban. In a fellow 
 with your advantages it is too absurd." 
 
106 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 " Very well ; introduce me to Miss Ellsworth. Is not her 
 name Mary also ?" 
 
 " Her name is Mary also," said St. Clair. 
 
 St. Clair led Alban through the throng to the other end of the 
 long saloon, where stood a table of refreshments. Miss Ellsworth 
 was serving it. She, too, was young, but not quite so youthful 
 as Miss De Groot. Her form was developed, her attire rich 
 and showy. Low-cut dresses were then the fashion, and Miss 
 Ellsworth's shoulders were so well formed, her neck so full and 
 snowy, that she probably could not resist the temptation to comply 
 with the mode. She seemed gratified by Alban's being intro- 
 duced to her, and helped him immediately to a cup of coffee. 
 
 "Do you take cream and sugar, Mr. Atherton ? Please help 
 yourself A superb tea-set you think ? It is mamma's. She 
 lent it for the fair, on condition that I would preside at the coffee- 
 table and take care of it. By the by, mamma says that you are 
 a relation of ours, Mr. Atherton. Grandmamma's maiden name 
 was Atherton, and mamma says that she was first cousin to your 
 grandfather. Yes ; that makes us third cousins. Not very near, 
 true ; but blood is not water, after all. The Ellsworths are very 
 clannish, and so are the Athertons, I believe. The fair is going 
 off' capitally, as you say. I think we shall make a great deal of 
 money. You pay what you please for refreshments." 
 
 Alban had got on so famously with Miss Ellsworth that he 
 was in a mood to be generous. He took another gold piece out of 
 his purse. It was only a quarter-eagle, however Miss Ellsworth 
 received it in the palm of the whitest and prettiest hand imagin- 
 able. He was about to retire after that, but she contrived to 
 detain him. She said that he had overpaid extravagantly his 
 cup of coffee and bit of sponge cake ; he must at least eat an ice. 
 He preferred some more coffee, for Miss Ellsworth poured, sugared, 
 and creamed it with so much grace. With this second cup our 
 hero gained additional confidence. He rallied some of his class- 
 mates who came up for ices and lemonade, in a very sparkling 
 manner. He positively jested with Miss Ellsworth, he laughed, 
 
AL B AN. 
 
 107 
 
 genuinely laughed, at a remark of hers. In fine, he staid at her 
 table three-quarters of an hour, went away and came back again, 
 and at length offered his services to see Miss Ellsworth home, 
 which she accepted on the score of their relationship. So when the 
 sale was closed, that is to say, punctually at eleven o'clock, p. m., 
 Alban helped Miss Ellsworth get her things in the ladies' cloak- 
 room ; she took liis arm in a very confiding manner, and joining 
 themselves to a party composed of similar pairs, they took their 
 way to her father's house. It had been snowing at last, and the 
 path was covered to the depth of two or three inches. So the girls 
 went along laughing, and talking, and holding up their dresses. 
 Miss De Groot and a cavalier were just in advance of Miss Ells- 
 worth and Alban, but the former young lady refused to take her 
 beau's arm on the plea that she must hold up her dress. She did 
 it very decidedly, and made a rather singular figure, for she had a 
 white opera-mantle (a capuchin) thrown over her head and 
 shoulders, a thing seldom seen in those days, and below it were 
 visible only a white dimity petticoat, somewhat short and scant, 
 and the extremities of her muslin pantalets. But Alban thought 
 that Miss De Groot stepped very gracefully through the light snow, 
 and when they arrived at Miss Ellsworth's gate, she turned and 
 said " Good night, Maiy," in a frank, innocent voice that won his 
 sympathy. 
 
 Our hero accompanied Miss Ellsworth through the shrubberied 
 court-yard to the very door. It was a large house, the white front 
 enriched with a good deal of old-fashioned carving about the win- 
 dows and pediment, as you could see by the setting half-moon and 
 the reflection of the snow. Miss Ellsworth herself threw open the 
 door, which was neither bolted nor locked. 
 
 " Won't you walk in, Mr. Atherton ?" 
 
 " Not to-night, I thank you, Miss Ellsworth. But I shall soon 
 give myself the pleasure of calling." 
 
 " We shall be very happy to see you, Mr. Atherton. Good 
 night, since you won't come in." 
 
 The young lady enters a quiet house, for the servants are gone 
 
108 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 to "bed. She locks and bolts the door after her. The hall stove 
 diffuses a genial warmth, but she stamps her snowy feet on the 
 mat, opens a door, and enters a sitting-room where a wood fire is 
 blazing on the iron hearth of a Franklin. The apartment has no 
 other light, but rays issue from an inner door that stands ajar. 
 
 *' Mary," cries a voice, " is that you ?" 
 
 *' Yes, mother." 
 
 *' Have you locked the front-door ?" 
 " I have, mother." 
 
 " Oh, very well ! Who came home with you ?" in a lower tone. 
 *' Mr. Atherton, mamma." 
 
 " Oh, very well ! Now do go to bed immediately, for it is al- 
 most midnight." And the bedroom door was shut. 
 
 Miss Ellsworth took off' her " things," i. e., a large cloak, thick 
 hood, and moccasins. Then standing in the firelight she looked 
 at herself in the mantel glass. It was a serious inspection ; she 
 twirled her brown ringlets over her fingers, and then let them fall 
 upon the shoulders that beamed so clear and well defined in the 
 dark mirror. She was satisfied that so far as that fair, well-formed 
 bust was concerned, her young rival could not vie with her. But 
 what of the face ? That light coming from below was so trying ! 
 Still it could not spoil her regular mouth, fluted nostril, and black, 
 sibylline eye. Young Mr. Alban Atherton had certainly been very 
 much pleased with her, yet she remembered that his admiring and 
 somewhat untutored glance had fallen oftener on her shoulders 
 than her face. She would like to form his taste and manners. 
 The last were good essentially, save a college gaucherie, arising 
 from his having kept away from ladies' society since he had been 
 at New Haven. He was worth forming, for all agreed that he 
 was the most " talented" man in his class. He was very young 
 to be sure — not more than twenty. Miss Ellsworth guessed — but 
 then to an experienced young lady of twenty-one he was all the 
 safer for that. 
 
 An old clock in a corner struck twelve, and Miss Ellsworth, 
 roused from her revery, considered that she had better retire. But 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 109 
 
 as there was no fire in her bedroom she deemed it prudent to say 
 her prayers in the parlor. So she knelt down speedily at a large 
 rocking--chair, in one corner of which she buried her ringleted face 
 for some fifteen minutes, during which period she once fell asleep, 
 then sprang up again, unfastened her dress, put her hair in 
 papers with drowsy rapidity, lit a candle, and, gathering up her 
 things, stole up stairs, where she was soon, we presume, dreaming 
 of handsome, intellectual, shy students, and of dreadful rivals in 
 white capuchins, short skirts, and pretty muslin trowsers. 
 
 10 
 
110 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The snow on the night of the fair proved the first of a storm, 
 which, in a few days, cleared up cold, with splendid sleighing. 
 Fortunately, too, it had come with the moon. No foreigner can 
 imagine the brilliancy of an American winter- night with a round 
 moon riding in the zenith, and a surface of crusty snow, two feet 
 deep, spreading all round to the horizon. 
 
 St. Clair, Winthrop, Hayne, and Alban. Atherton had invited 
 Miss Ellsworth, Miss De Groot, and two other young ladies, to take 
 a sleigh-ride. The last young lady called for was Miss De Groot, 
 and it was about half-past seven when they dashed away from 
 the door of the mansion where she was a guest. Three ladies 
 sat on the back seat, three gentlemen on the front ; a gentleman 
 and lady, who were Hayne and a sister of Winthrop's, occupied 
 the driver's seat, and the driver was on his legs. There was a 
 driver — for it is infinitely too cold an amusement to drive one's 
 self with the thermometer nearly at zero. The ladies were en- 
 veloped in furs and covered with buffalo robes, and the whole 
 bottom of the sleigh, by St. Clair's care, had been laid with hot 
 bricks wrapped in flannel. There never was so comfortable a 
 party, all agreed. The countless bells on the collars and girths 
 jingled merrily ; the horses dashed forward in excitement, and 
 were scarcely to be restrained from a gallop ; the houses flew by ; 
 in an instant they were out in the open country, and soon flying 
 along the base of East Rock, the clifls and woods of which loomed 
 up grandly in the effulgent night. 
 
 Very sweetly the three fair faces on the back seat peeped out 
 of their close winter bonnets. Miss De Groot, as the youngest and 
 slenderest, was in the middle. She seemed to enter into the ex- 
 citement of sleighing more than any one She exclaimed with 
 astonishment at the wonderful brightness of the moon, counted 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 Ill 
 
 the few visible stars with the most eager interest, never failed to 
 express a new delight whenever they passed a fine hemlock or 
 spreading pine, with its evergreen boughs laden with glittering 
 snow. Alban's notion was that this girlish pleasure was affected, 
 as a means of fascination. At all events it was wonderfully suc- 
 cessful in attaining that end. St. Clair» full of courtesy to his 
 vis d-vis, Miss Ellsworth, could not keep his eyes from wandering 
 to her youthful neighbor, with the air of one perfectly enamored ; 
 and Winthrop, whose style was more off-hand seemingly, but 
 really more guarded, while he cultivated most assiduously the 
 good graces of his opposite neighbor — a very handsome girl, whose 
 surname was Tracy — gave from time to time a glance at Miss De 
 Groot, which Alban wondered how the latter could bear. Our 
 hero M'as so new that things struck him crudely which people 
 used to society hardly notice. It was difficult, though, for either 
 of Miss De G-root's admirers to catch her eye ; and her raptures 
 about the moonlight she addressed chiefly to her newest acquaint- 
 ance, which was Alban himself 
 
 " See, Mr. Alban," — so she called him all the evening — 
 "another great snow-tree is coming;" — or at a glimpse of the 
 far-off Sound, with moon-tipped waves flashing against a 
 white, ice-bound coast, — " Is not that very, very beautiful, Mr. 
 Alban ?" 
 
 Miss Ellsworth also took every opportunity of addressing our 
 hero, not in her friend's open, undisguised way, but in a tone of 
 confidential intelligence that won Alban more. 
 
 " We count on you, Mr. Atherton, to help us dress our church." 
 — They were talking of the variety of evergreens with which East 
 and West Hock abounded. 
 
 " On what day of the month does Christmas fall this year ?" 
 asked Winthrop, who was a pure Congregationalist. 
 
 *' On the twenty-fifth of December, I believe," replied Miss 
 Ellsworth, looking at Alban. 
 
 " What an ignoramus you are, Winthrop I" cried St. Clair. 
 " Do you imagine that Christmas is a movable feast ?" 
 
112 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 "Mr. St. Clair is better instructed," said Miss Ellsworth. 
 " He has been studying the Prayer-book so diligently of late." 
 
 " I admire the Episcopal Liturgy," said Miss Tracy. " Don't 
 you, Mr. Winthrop ?" 
 
 " If there was nothing but the Liturgy," responded Winthrop ; 
 ** but the other parts make the service too long, in my opinion." 
 
 *' Winthrop means the Litany," again interposed the accurate 
 St. Clair, " The whole service is the Liturgy, my dear fellow." 
 
 Miss De Groot, who was hstening for the first time to the 
 conversation of the rest, smiled, Alban thought contemptuously. 
 
 " Miss De Groot does not agree with you there, George," he 
 observed, with more than usual promptitude. " I suspect that she 
 and Miss Ellsworth think you as ignorant as Winthrop." 
 
 " Oh, / know nothing about it," said Miss De Groot, hastily. 
 "I am not an Episcopalian." 
 
 " Mary is hardly a Christian," remarked Miss Ellsworth, with 
 a smile and sad shake of the head. 
 
 Miss De Groot's dark eye flashed angrily, and she turned her 
 beautiful face to her neighbor's with warm indignation. 
 
 " I believe in Christ as truly as yourself, I suppose, if that is 
 being a Christian, although I cannot believe contradictions about 
 Him, and don't believe that mere outward forms are necessary to 
 salvation." 
 
 " Some outward forms are commanded by Christ Himself, you 
 know, Mary," replied Miss Ellsworth, with an irritating calm- 
 ness, " and you must beheve what seems a contradiction to your 
 short-sighted reason, if it is revealed in God's word." 
 
 " Then why do not you believe in Tran substantiation ?" re- 
 torted Miss De Groot, hardly suffering Miss Ellsworth to finish. 
 Some quicker blood than Saxon evidently stirred in her veins. 
 
 " Because it is not taught in the Bible, Mary." 
 
 " Just as much taught in the Bible as the divinity of Christ," 
 rejoined Miss De Groot. " I appeal to Mr. Alban, if it is not." 
 
 " If you take the Bible literally. Miss Mary, you may certainly 
 say so." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 113 
 
 " And if you don't take it literally, Mr. Alban, you may as 
 well explain away one passage as another." 
 
 For the first time she looked him in the face steadily and 
 brightly. Her irritation was gone, and she seemed to have for- 
 gotten it. She repeated her words earnestly. 
 
 " We must explain one passage by another, and by the gen- 
 eral tenor of the Bible, Mr. Alban, — must not we ? The Apostles 
 never speak of worshipping Christ ; never pray to Him after His 
 ascension, but only to God. He Himself says, ' My Father is 
 greater than I.' * I go to my God and yours.' What can be 
 plainer than that?" 
 
 " Extremely well put," said Winthrop, who had not a spark 
 of religion, and liked any thing that hit hard at orthodoxy. St. 
 Clair looked horrified at Miss De Groot's talking Unitarianism. 
 Alban alone, who had been in the background all the evening as 
 respected vivacity and small talk, answered in a gentle but 
 slightly patronizing manner, 
 
 " If the Bible be an inspired book. Miss Mary, we must not 
 treat it in that way." 
 
 " You speak as if you doubted its inspiration, Mr. Alban." 
 
 *' No, that is not what Mr. Atherton means, Mary." 
 
 " Every sect understands the Bible in its own way, and you 
 never can make them all understand it alike," said Winthrop. 
 
 After this theological burst, the party were whirled on in com- 
 parative silence ; but Hayne and Miss Winthrop, on the driver's 
 seat, inattentive to what was going on inside, conversed inex- 
 haustibly, and with so marvellously slender a store of topics, that 
 Alban could never admire their facility enough. At last the 
 horses drew up in great style under the piazza of a country tavern. 
 All got out, and the mulled wine was ordered. St. Clair made 
 the inn people take out all the bricks to heat over, whereat they 
 grumbled. The ladies threw off their hoods and outside wrap- 
 pings, and appeared in becoming demi-toilettes ; such pretty 
 worked collars on their necks I such tasteful kerchiefs round their 
 throats I such well-chosen silk and chalHs dresses ! Let Yankee 
 
 10* 
 
114 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 girls alone for not missing their points on such occasions. Only 
 the young: New York beauty with the old Dutch name, was some- 
 what plain in her garb. When Miss De Groot had removed her 
 furs, (the envy of her companions — she said her papa brought 
 them home from Russia,) and the pelisse M^hich she wore mider 
 them, nothing had she to show but a little black silk frock (with 
 a touch of the pantalets) and her own graceful shoulders, which 
 gleamed as if they had been carved out of elephant's tooth and 
 gold, in contrast with that dark, scant vesture. So they all sat 
 round the blazing Frankhn, with their tumblers of mulled wine, 
 quizzing the rosy maiden who served it, and laughing at every 
 thing " countrified" which their sharp eyes detected in the appur- 
 tenances of the inn, or the manners of its inmates. There is 
 probably not another country in the world where four young la- 
 dies of the same social rank would be intrusted thus to the pro- 
 tection of as many young gentlemen. The only pledge given to 
 propriety was, that two of the party were brother and sister ; for 
 these were not " any sort" of girls, but belonged (always excepting 
 the young New Yorker) to distinguished branches of the gentes 
 majores of Connecticut. 
 
 Winthrop was the first to observe that Miss De Groot was not 
 so taken up with the flowing cheer and mirth within, but that 
 she had a longing eye for the freezing splendors without. The 
 inn-parlor looked out upon a small, half-frozen lake, with woody 
 shores rising into snowy hills. Miss De Groot went to the win- 
 dow with her foamy tumbler, and Mr. Winthrop followed her. 
 Miss Tracy, who was a funny girl, began to tell a story, (she 
 was famous for that,) and all eyes and ears were soon given 
 to her. 
 
 Of a sudden there was the sound of a smart blow — it could 
 be nothing else ; Miss Tracy stopped with a httle shriek, and 
 every body turned round with a start. Miss De Groot was coming 
 hastily back to the fire, spilling her mulled wine on the carpet ; 
 the fire was not half so red as she. Winthrop followed her with 
 one hand laid to his cheek. 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 115 
 
 " Upon my word, Miss De Groot," he said, amid the exclama- 
 tions of the rest, " you understand the use of your hands." 
 
 The young lady made no reply to him, but looking excessively 
 angry, said in an audible whisper, as she seated herself between 
 Miss Ellsworth and Alban, " I hope it will teach him the use of 
 his." 
 
 " Why, what have you done to Miss De Groot, Winthrop ?" 
 cried the gentlemen, St. Clair turning white and red. 
 
 "Nothing, on my honor," said Winthrop, afiecting to laugh, 
 " but what 1 have done fifty times before to other young ladies, 
 without incurring a similar punishment." 
 
 " Why, what did he do ?" inquired the ladies in whispers, of 
 the offended fair. 
 
 " He put his arm round my waist," replied the latter, very 
 straiglitforwardly, but with a suppressed sob. " I asked him once 
 to remove it ;" with a little resentful shake of the head, pecuHar 
 to young girls, — " I did not ask twice." 
 
 *' Wiiichrop," said Alban, "you must beg Miss De Groot's 
 pardon on your knees." 
 
 " I declare I am very willing," cried AYinthrop. 
 
 The other ladies expressed much indignation at him, particu- 
 larly at his saying that he had done the same thing before, fifty 
 times, without its being resented. " Never to me," said Miss Ells- 
 worth, scornfully. " Nor to me," said Miss Tracy, coloring. " I 
 presume you mean to me. Bob," said his sister, with a half laugh. 
 
 Winthrop went down on his knees to Miss De Groot with a 
 very good grace, and Hayne, a gigantic Southron, interceded for his 
 friend in the most polished tone of chivalric deference. St. Clair, 
 an uncut diamond, half waggishly and half sincerely observed that 
 for his part, if he had been guilty of the ofl^ence, which Heaven for- 
 bid, he should have considered the punishment a reward. He 
 never before knew the case in which he should have been dis- 
 posed literally to obey the precept, Avhen one cheek was smitten to 
 turn the other also. He quite envied W inthrop the honor of having 
 his ears boxed by Miss De Groot. 
 
116 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 *' I view it quite in that light," said Winthrop, " though I can 
 assure any one who hkes to try, that Miss De Groot hits hard." 
 
 Miss De Groot did not show herself implacable, but she kept 
 close to Miss Ellsworth's side the rest of the time that they staid 
 at the inn. It had been proposed to sit differently in returning. 
 Hayne would not come inside, bat Miss Ellsworth and Miss 
 Winthrop changed places, and Winthrop himself wished to ex- 
 change with one of the ladies ; whereupon Miss De Groot insisted 
 that it should be with herself, of course that she might not be 
 obliged to sit next him ; and because she would not be opposite to 
 him either, she quietly took the outside place, to the disappointment 
 of St. Clair, who found his cousin Alban between him and the ob- 
 ject of his adoration. Miss De Groot seemed to have lost all enjoy- 
 ment of the beautiful night ; Miss Tracy and Miss Winthrop rallied 
 her on continuing to be so disconcerted by a trifle, and Alban 
 caught sight of a tear on her averted face. He desired to soothe 
 her, and (his skepticism did not alter what had become a moral 
 habit with him) to do her good. 
 
 " Did I understand you. Miss Mary," trying to divert her atten- 
 tion and confer a benefit at the same time, " to avow yourself that 
 very unpopular character here — a Unitarian ?" 
 
 " My father is a Unitarian, sir, and I have been brought up to 
 think as he does." 
 
 " We all believe at first as our parents believe," said Alban. 
 
 " In Boston the first families and the most cultivated people are 
 Unitarians," said Miss De Groot. 
 
 " But you, by your name, are pure New York." 
 
 " Papa was educated at Harvard." 
 
 " Ah, one naturally takes up the system that prevails in one's 
 university," said Alban. " Is your mother not living, may I ven- 
 ture to ask ?" 
 
 " Mamma died when I was little more than two years old," 
 turning a little towards him and looking him in the face less shyly 
 than usual. " I remember her though perfectly, 1 wear her hair 
 and miniature together in a locket." 
 
ALBAN, 
 
 117 
 
 " Do you I" said Alban. " Have you no brothers or sisters ?'* 
 " I had a little brother who died just before mamma. He was 
 only a few days old, you know, Mr. Alban. I have his hair too, 
 in the same locket with mamma's, and it is as dark almost as 
 mine." 
 
 " And was your mother a Unitarian ?" 
 
 " No," said Miss De Groot, " she was a Roman Catholic ; and 
 that is what I will be if ever I change my religion, which I don't 
 think I ever shall, Mr. Alban." 
 
 " Oh, really I" said Alban, rather shocked, for it was hard to 
 tell which faith he regarded with the greater horror. A Papist 
 was a more unpopular character than a Socinian, and here was 
 this young Miss De Groot avowing that she was resolved always 
 to be either one or the other. Alban began to consider to what 
 sect, for her own sake (for his feeling was purely disinterested) he 
 would like to convert her. He could not make up his mind 
 exactly, though he thought of the Episcopal Church, and he 
 pursued, " You will think me a true Yankee, but I must really ask 
 you one more question. Was your mother a native American, Miss 
 De Groot ?" 
 
 " Oh, ask as many questions as ^qw please. There is no im- 
 pertinence in your curiosity, Mr. Alban, No, my mother was 
 Irish. I am very proud of my Irish blood. You have seen that I 
 have something of its quickness." 
 
 " After all," thought Alban, " there is a good deal in you, and 
 I don't believe that you are such a coquette as they would make 
 out." 
 
 But Miss Tracy said, laughing, " What a decided flirtation be- 
 tween Mr. Atherton and Maiy De Groot ! Mr. Atherton did not 
 give into it at first, but ' beauty in distress' has proved too strong 
 for him." 
 
 For some reason or other the young lady's native temper did 
 not rise at this imputation. She only replied, so mildly that Alban 
 wondered at her again, 
 
 " Since you all say that I am a flirt, there must be some foun- 
 
118 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 dation for the charge, but I hope that Mr, Atherton will not believe 
 it merely on your authority." 
 
 " Oh, he has better evidence, I think, Mary," said Miss Ells- 
 worth, turning round from the driver's seat ; for she was so near 
 her friend that their backs almost touched. 
 
 *' You, too, Mary Ellsworth I Now that is really unkind I" 
 said Miss De Groot, smiling in the moonlight, but speaking with a 
 tremulous voice, as if she were hurt. " I must not ask you, Mr. 
 Alban, if you think I have flirted with you this evening, but I do 
 assure you that nothing was further from my thoughts. 1 have 
 spoken to you more than to the other gentlemen, because I have 
 an aversion to Mr. Winthrop," (that gentleman bowed,) "and 
 Mr. St. Clair, I am afraid, — has an aversion to me," she added, 
 laughing. "Haven't you, Mr. St. Clair?" 
 
 " The greatest I" said St. Clair, with a comic contortion. 
 
 " And Mr. Hayne is outside," continued Miss De Groot. 
 
 " I was your only resource," said Alban. " It is quite clear. 
 I feel extremely flattered." 
 
 " So do all the gentlemen, no doubt," observed Miss Tracy. 
 
 " Myself especially," said Winthrop. " For next to a lady's 
 preference, give me her aversion." 
 
 "Let us part friends," exclaimed St. Clair, in a mock heroic 
 tone, "for we are approaching rapidly to the end of our journey. 
 For my part, I forgive all the injuries I have received." 
 
 " I bear no malice," said Winthrop. 
 
 " Nor I," said Miss De Groot, with a smile of fascination, 
 principally bestowed, however, on St. Clair and Alban. 
 
 The sentiment of a vanishing pleasure subdued our party to 
 silence as the horses renewing their homeward pace, approached 
 New Haven. As Miss De Groot had been called for last, .so she 
 was set down first, the mansion where she was a guest being out 
 of the town. They had to drive in at a gate and ascend a gradual 
 carriage sweep to get to it. Her friends discussed her character 
 when they had lost her presence. Miss Winthrop and Miss Tracy 
 were pretty severe. " Bob was saucy," said his sister, " but it 
 
AL B AN. 
 
 119 
 
 was a very unlady-like thing for her to slap him, in my opinion." 
 " My belief is that it was all done for effect," said Miss Tracy. 
 " Just to seem extremely dainty." — " How hard they are on their 
 own sex !" said St. Clair. " It seems to me that nature gave you 
 your hands, ladies, as well as your nails and teeth, to defend your- 
 selves from impertinence, if the occasion require, as well as for 
 other purposes." — " The occasion did not require such a use of her 
 hands on the part of Miss De Groot," rejoined jSIiss Tracy. St. 
 Clair and Hayne maintained the contrary, although Mith many 
 expressions of deference for the sentiment of the ladies. — " How 
 you all talk !" said Miss Ellsworth. " Mary De Groot used her 
 hand to punish Mr. Winthrop's rudeness just from instinct, with- 
 out stopping to think about the pros and cons." — " Exactly," cried 
 St. Clair; "it is just as a cat scratches, or a cow hooks at you 
 with her horns. I told you so." — " I think that Miss De Groot 
 afterwards regretted having boxed Winthrop's ears," observed 
 Alban. — " It was only one ear that she boxed," said Winthrop, 
 " and quite enough, I assure you. I was bending down to whisper 
 a compliment, you know, about her eyes being brighter than the 
 moon, or some such nonsense ; and I did'nt put my arm round her 
 waist, as she said I did, but just touched her with my open hand, 
 as one does in taking out a lady to waltz, or in passing her into a 
 carriage, — nothing more, on my honor, — and she said as quick as 
 a flash, ' Please take your hand off' my waist, sir,' with so much 
 haughtiness that, by George, I wouldn't at first, and then she 
 drew back and struck me as if she would have knocked me down. 
 I declare I had no idea that a girl of her slender build could strilve 
 so hard." 
 
 AYinthrop had evidently received a deep impression. The rest 
 of the party laughed at his story, in various tones, while the sleigh 
 cut along an arcade of leafless elms. One by one the other ladies 
 were deposited at their homes, and in a trice after that, the young 
 men got out together at North College gate. It was a reasonable 
 hour ; — not quite midnight. 
 
120 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The approach of Christmas excited far less interest in New 
 Haven than that of the Brothers' Society exhibition which was to 
 take place soon after the festival. The work of rehearsals was 
 going on secretly but zealously at the Society's room, and many 
 were the rumors afloat respecting the interest of the new tragedy 
 
 by , (the name could not transpire,) the murderous fun of the 
 
 farce by , and the splendid additions which the committee on 
 
 the exhibition had made to the Society's theatrical wardrobe. 
 The members of the other societies were intriguing furiously for 
 tickets, and all the young ladies who had not yet been privately 
 invited, were in a fever of nervous excitement lest they should be 
 left out. 
 
 Whether Alban had worked so hard at his tragedy, (for ive 
 are not bound to keep the secret of the Brothers' Society,) or at 
 the Evidences, for he confounded the Divinity Professor by bring- 
 ing every day some fresh and subtle objection to be solved, or 
 whether the image of Mary Ellsworth, or that of Mary De Groot, 
 (since the sleigh-ride,) visited him in dreams and rendered his 
 sleep less refreshing to his body than agreeable to his imagination, 
 or whether the fare in Commons, as he averred, was really exe- 
 crable that term, it is certain that about the first of December he 
 had suddenly become aware of having lost his appetite, digestion, 
 color, and elasticity. He called on his physician, wisely thinking 
 that it was the business of a professor of the healing art to save 
 him from all care concerning his clay tenement when it got out 
 of order. To employ another's ministry in our ailments, whether 
 of body or soul, enables us to avoid dwelling unhealthily upon 
 them ourselves. 
 
 The doctor felt the pulse, looked at the tongue, thumped the 
 chest, peered into the eyes, inquired into the functions. 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 121 
 
 Circulation irregular — mucous membrane slightly disordered. 
 You have not been dissipating in any way ? You smile. Well, I 
 think not, wdth that clear, bluish-white conjunctiva and girlish 
 blush. Then you have been working that fine brain of yours too 
 hard. What have you been doing ?" 
 " Writing a tragedy, doctor." 
 
 " Enough. All accounted for — the pain in side included. 
 Excites the passions as much as dissipation, and draws more 
 fearfully on the nervous energies. You must give it up." 
 
 " I have got through my work now, doctor, and am really re- 
 cruiting ; I make a call in town every morning." 
 That's well." 
 
 " The main difficulty, sir, is the stomach or the liver. I have 
 an idea that I need some blue pill." 
 
 " Blue nonsense I You want some old sherry, a change of oc- 
 cupation and a change of diet. Go board at Mrs. Hart's. I will 
 write you a certificate this minute." 
 
 Alban lost no time in availing himself of the doctor's certifi- 
 cate. The President, on its being presented, gave him leave at 
 once to board in town ; he gave notice to the Steward that very 
 morning, and at one o'clock punctually he was entering Mrs. 
 Hart's dining-room. 
 
 The single large table neatly spread with linen damask, was 
 as wonderful to him as if he had never seen the like in his life. 
 The mere glow of the decanters warmed his stomach. The very 
 location of the salt-cellars between crossed silver spoons was appe- 
 tizing. The knives and forks regularly laid, the tumblers and 
 wine-glasses, the bright plated castors, the napkins in rings of 
 silver or ivory, refreshed his vision, accustomed to the nakedness 
 and disorder of the Commons' tables. How cosy, too, appeared the 
 old-fashioned japanned plate- warmer by the fire I What a savory 
 odor from the not distant kitchen saluted his olfactories I 
 
 " 1 declare," thought he, " I did not realize in what a piggish 
 way we live in Commons." 
 
 For three years, saving the vacations, our hero had lived in 
 
 11 
 
122 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 such a piggish way, a good deal distressed by it in his early days 
 of Freshman simplicity, but accustoming himself to it by degrees, 
 till he was himself grown considerably careless, a fact which his 
 dear " particular" mother puzzled him by lamenting. The manners 
 as well as the arrangements of Commons were very unrefined in 
 those days ; the rude haste, the unseemly neglect of forms, made 
 the tables even of the higher college classes most unlike the old 
 Catholic refectories, which, plain as they were, were schools of de- 
 corum as well as of simplicity. Still, it had been better for Alban 
 than luxury, or the fastidious ostentation of the moderns. 
 
 Presently came in Mrs. Hart — 3. tidy dame of forty — whose 
 looks commended her own cheer. The boarders dropped in quietly, 
 and Mrs. Hart introduced Alban to some of them. The first of 
 these was a fresh-looking, well-conditioned, closely shaven young 
 man of some six or seven and tw^enty, carefully dressed in a 
 black suit and white cravat, whom our hero at once recognized as 
 the assistant minister of the Episcopal church. The other male 
 boarders were Southern students, — fellows of whom Alban's 
 principal notion was, that they were planters' sons, and boarded 
 *' in town." There were also several ladies, — one a stately South- 
 ern matron who had a son in the Freshman class, and had come 
 on to be near him ; the rest were single, of whom the prettiest and 
 youngest was a niece of Mrs. Hart's, a young lady of extremely 
 affable manners, and very nicely dressed. Indeed, Alban, who had 
 come to dine quite as a matter of business, and in his wonted 
 recitation gear, observed that his fellow-boarders and companions 
 of both sexes were all clothed literally in purple and fine hnen. 
 Most of the fellows in the Senior class dressed a good deal, but 
 our hero had never given in to it. His shirts were still fashioned 
 in the simple domestic form which had reigned in Babylon in his 
 boyhood ; his neck was encircled by a plain black silk handker- 
 chief, tied in a careless bow ; a blue frock-coat, threadbare at the 
 elbows and whitish in the seams, had seemed to him good enough 
 even for a morning call on Miss Ellsworth. Now he perceived 
 his mistake. He resolved that he would have a black suit and a 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 123 
 
 large flowered blue cravat, and, to say the least, a set of new 
 collars. 
 
 But soup was served, and the Rev. Arthur Soapstone said 
 grace in a brief, rotund style, which said as plain as manner could, 
 " This act*3^erives its efficacy from my legitimate ordination ;" 
 which our hero, however, being used to the "personal piety" 
 manuer, did not quite comprehend. His reawakened appetite 
 did not allow of his dwelling much on the subject, and very soon, 
 the appearance of a magnificent roast turkey, accompanied by a 
 truly American profusion of nicely cooked vegetables, and counter- 
 poised by a superb Virginia ham, dappled with pepper and adorn- 
 ed with sprigs of curled parsley, completed the temporary victory 
 of gastronomy over all other sciences in our young friend's esti- 
 mation. It was not till the third course (Massachusetts par- 
 tridges, &c.) came on, to tempt too far his yet delicate palate, that 
 Alban began to open the ears of his understanding to the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 In spite of his white-seamed blue coat and primitive shirt- 
 collar, not only the pretty Miss Hart, but stately Mrs. Randolph 
 Lee, was very gracious to our hero, the fact being, that his plain 
 and worn, but scrupulously neat garb harmonized exactly with the 
 idea which (unknown to him) all had formed beforehand of the 
 "talented" Atherton. Mr. Soapstone remarked to Alban that he 
 had heard of him before, through some young ladies of " the parish." 
 Miss Ellsworth, Alban presumed with a blush. She was one. 
 Mr. Soapstone inquired if he were not a member of the " College 
 Church," as he believed it was called. Alban assented, adding, 
 
 " I thought you had been a Yale man, Mr. Soapstone." 
 
 " Certainly, sir," said Mr. Soapstone. " I belonged to the 
 Class of '26. I remember I had a classmate of your name. Mr. 
 Hez-e-ki-ah Atherton, J think." 
 
 " There was no ' College Church,' I suppose, in those days," 
 said Alban, in perfect good faith. 
 
 "Oh, there was what they called the ' College Church,' the 
 same as now," replied Mr. Soapstone. 
 
124 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 Alban was puzzled. He was not yet aware that the Congre- 
 gationahst Churches (so called) in New England were not real 
 churches, but only conventicles. However, we are all ignorant 
 till we are taught. We hope our High Church readers will not 
 give up Alban yet on the ground of this pitiable lack of ecclesi- 
 astical information on his part ; he may live to be as great a 
 stickler for Apostolical succession as they can desire. He nmay 
 learn to call the " New England Churches," as they were termed 
 by his ancestors, " synagogues of Satan," and to talk of schism and 
 heresy as confidently as the best of them. Alban, however, per- 
 ceived that some insulting sense lay couched in Mr. Soapstone's 
 emphasis, so he tarried not in replying. 
 
 ** You mean to imply that it is improper to speak of a ' College 
 Church ?' " 
 
 " I mean," said Mr. Soapstone, " that a mere association of 
 persons who are mutually satisfied of each other's personal piety, 
 and who agree in their religious opinions, cannot constitute a 
 Church." 
 
 " No," said Alban, " of course they must also unite in 
 Christian ordinances." 
 
 " That will not make them a Church," replied the clergyman, 
 with a bow of triumph, " unless they have power to administer 
 the ordinances." 
 
 "Do I understand you, sir," said Alban, "to assert that the 
 College Church has not the power to administer the ordi- 
 nances ?" 
 
 " I do assert it without hesitation. Allow me to take a glass 
 of wine with you, Mr. Atherton. I hope we shall some day have 
 an opportunity of discussing the grounds of my assertion, which, I 
 perceive, surprises you." 
 
 " It seems to me ridiculous," said Alban, very good-naturedly, 
 filling his glass at the same time. " I dare say you can prove it, 
 
 though, as convincingly as Professor F does the inspiration 
 
 of the Scriptures ; which 1 could believe more easily for their owti 
 glorious sake, than I can upon his arguments." 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 125 
 
 In fact, Alban, when he found there was an Episcopal clergy- 
 man at his new boarding-house, had immediately thought of the 
 opportunity it might afford him to obtain a new solution of his 
 doubts, and a better one perhaps, than all the elaborate historical 
 deductions of his Divinity teachers could supply. After diuner, he 
 drew Mr. Soapstone again to the topic, in which all the Southern- 
 ers, although perfectly irreligious young men, joined with great 
 interest. But Mr. Soapstone seemed unable to enter into the 
 question of the Christian religion itself He was too much occu- 
 pied wiih that of the right to administer its Sacraments. At first, 
 indeed, he took a ground which seemed novel, by saying that he 
 believed the Scriptures to be inspired, on the testimony of the an- 
 cient Church ; but when pressed to say how he knew that the 
 ancient Church had not been deceived in that respect, he was 
 unable to answer. 
 
 " The canon of Scripture," said Alban, " was fixed, you say, 
 by the Church, in the fourth or fifth century. If we take it then 
 at her hands, because she could not err, why we ought to take in 
 the same way every thing else that the Church teaches, and then 
 ■we shall be Roman Catliolics at once." 
 
 " That's a fact I" cried the Southerners. 
 
 " If she could err," continued Alban, as Mr. Soapstone was 
 silent, " then we must not accept her decision bliudly. We 
 must examine the question for ourselves. And so we get back to 
 the historical argument again, which, to me, is wholly uncon- 
 vincing ; and it perfectly revolts me," said he, warmly, "to be 
 told that my salvation depends on my being convinced by it." 
 
 " You are an iufidel, then," said the clergyman, waving his 
 hand, as if such a being were unworthy of an argument. 
 
 " No," said Alban, seriously. " I am not an infidel, but a 
 Christian sadly perplexed. I do not know how much I ought to 
 believe. I do not know why I ought to believe it." 
 
 " Submit to the Catholic Church, Mr. Atherton, and she will 
 
 tell you what to believe," said Mr. Soapstone, rising, and speaking 
 
 with animation ; "I mean to that pure branch of it which is es- 
 
 11* 
 
126 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 tablished in the United States." So saying, Mr. Soapstone retired 
 to his room. 
 
 "The man is crazy," observed one of the Southerners. 
 
 " On that subject I should think that he was," said Alban. 
 
 The youno; men, who at first had regarded our hero suspiciously, 
 not overlooking the white-seamed coat like the ladies, seemed 
 now to have imbibed a quite new idea of him. They were not 
 of his class, and being Calliopeans, of course they knew nothing 
 of him as a Society man. They had only understood that he was 
 a religious fellow and a Northerner. They now broke out into 
 warm expressions of their distaste for religion in any shape, except 
 as a necessary part of virtue in girls of good family. 
 
 " My God I" exclaimed one of them, with the rude energy of 
 his class and country, "would I have my sister an infidel? I 
 reckon not, I should like to see the man that would presume to 
 talk infidel to a sister of mine. I would shoot him as I would a 
 dog." 
 
 Alban was so taken by surprise that he could not help laugh- 
 ing at the oddity of their expressions, but he was shocked at their 
 sentiments. It seemed to him that both sexes had the same in- 
 terest in truth, and the same obligation to purity. This they 
 hooted at, not, however, in an unkindly way. Indeed, though 
 they could not make out Alban, they took a great fancy to him. 
 They had never seen a Northern man they liked so much. Al- 
 ban's strong propensity to do good made him reason with them on 
 their bad principles, and while they maintained that love was 
 only lust, and that virtue in young men was a physical impossi- 
 bility, they unconsciously envied him as he vindicated the purity 
 of female affection, and warmly protested that he would rather 
 die than violate the laws of chastity. Atherton would always 
 try to cut blocks with a razor. 
 
 It was nearly four o'clock when he left Mrs. Hart's, and these 
 '•lower class men had to go to recitation. There was no Senior lec- 
 ture, and he was strongly moved to call on some of his new female 
 friends. Mrs. Hart's boarding-house was on that side of the towu 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 127 
 
 where (but just out of it) Miss De Groot's friends lived. He had 
 never yet called upon her. It was a duty neglected. He found 
 that it would be just a pleasant walk up the leafless avenue half 
 choked with snow. The mansion stood on an eminence with 
 lawns around, an extensive wood and hill in the rear. It was of 
 gray stucco, with an Ionic portico, from which the view was fine, 
 especially by that evening light. Alban was admitted immedi- 
 ately, and ushered without much form into a sitting-room that 
 looked towards the west, where he found Miss De Groot and an- 
 other lady, sitting by a window that came down to the floor ; the 
 former was reading aloud and the latter was at work. Miss De 
 Groot put down the book and rose to greet him. When she had 
 introduced him to her hostess, and resumed her seat in the window, 
 her lovely face was flushed, and her eyes were bent upon the 
 carpet, with that shy look which he had observed at their first 
 meeting. It was not one of the houses where young students felt 
 themselves at liberty to call without ceremony, and Miss De Groot's 
 shy manner made Alban feel some doubt as to his position, partic- 
 ularly as she had never, like Miss Ellsworth, invited him to call 
 upon her. There was nothing said either, that tended to relieve 
 this awkwardness. Miss Everett — the hostess of his young ac- 
 quaintance — a maiden lady of a certain age, sat very quietly on 
 her ottoman, working at an embroidery frame by the fine western 
 light, with her richly flounced black silk dress spreading around 
 her in great state, her gold watch-chain, gold keys, gold pencil, 
 dangling at her waist, and seemed to think that she was not 
 called upon to say any thing to the student who had called to see 
 Miss De Groot. Alban was obliged to open the conversation by 
 remarking upon the beauty of the winter weather, the continuance 
 of the sleighing, &c., hoping that Miss De Groot did not take cold 
 after their sleigh-ride. 
 
 *' A slight one," replied Miss De Groot, raising her eyes from 
 the carpet, " but I got quite over it a fortnight ago." 
 
 "Is it so long since our sleigh-ride ?" said Alban wdth embar- 
 rassment. 
 
128 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 " How long is it since I took that sleigh-ride with Mary Ells- 
 worth and the girls, cousin Harriet ? Oh, it must be more than 
 a fortnight since," 
 
 " 'Tvvas a fortnight last Tuesday," said Miss Everett. 
 
 " I have been so busy preparing for the Exhibition," said Al- 
 ban, " that time has slipped away insensibly." 
 
 " Mary Ellsworth told me as a secret that you were writing, 
 or, as I understood her, had written, a tragedy. I believe you are 
 very well acquainted with Miss Ellsworth, Mr. Atherton ?" 
 
 " My acquaintance with her dates from the fair at which I 
 had also the pleasure of seeing Miss De Groot for the first time," 
 said Alban. 
 
 " But that's a month ago," said Miss De Groot, " and you have 
 seen her almost every day since, have you not ? No I "Well, I 
 hardly ever see Mary that she doesn't speak of your calling the 
 day before." 
 
 " Have you been invited yet to our Exhibition, Miss De Groot ? 
 If not, I shall be very happy to send tickets for Miss Everett and 
 yourself." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr, Atherton, three or four gentlemen have 
 already made us the same kind ofier," 
 
 " But you have declined it from them all, Mary," observed 
 Miss Everett. " Don't you mean to go to the Exhibition ?" 
 
 " I can not only send you tickets but reserve you places," 
 said Alban, " although, from my duties on the night of the Exhi- 
 bition, I can not personally wait upon you, ladies, to the Society's 
 room," 
 
 " That would suit us exactly," said Miss De Groot, addressing 
 her hostess, "We really do not need a beau on the occasion, so 
 I think that I will accept your offer, Mr. Alban, if Miss Everett 
 is willing." 
 
 " Of course I shall go on your account, dear," said Miss Everett. 
 " I really want you to see one of the Exhibitions. We are very 
 much obliged to you, Mr. Atherton, I am sure." 
 
 Alban did not feel particularly flattered at the manner in which 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 129 
 
 his offer had been accepted. Was Miss De Groot vexed that he 
 had deferred so long calling upon her ? 
 
 " I should have taken the liberty of coming to see you much 
 sooner, Miss Mary," he said, resolved to try this tack, " if I had not 
 been afraid of Miss Everett." 
 
 " Miss De Groot's friends are all very welcome here, I assure 
 you, sir," replied that lady, slightly smihng at this sally of the 
 young student. 
 
 Miss De Groot blushed, and said, " I should have been very 
 happy to see you if you had called, Mr. Alban." 
 
 " How have you enjoyed your residence at New Haven ?" 
 asked Miss Everett, wishing to be civil to him since he had 
 promised them tickets. 
 
 " I never liked any other place half so well." 
 
 " You are like Mary. But she has only seen it in winter, I tell 
 her. She can form no idea of what it is in summer." 
 
 " It would have the same charm for me at all seasons," said 
 Miss De Groot, looking out of the window towards West Rock. 
 " Do you know, Mr. Alban," turning to him, " that I do so wish 
 I were a young man, so that I could be a student. Every time 
 that I see one in my walks, entering one of those old colleges, I 
 quite envy him." 
 
 " I think I have seen you at the chemical lecture," said Alban, 
 wondering if after all Miss De Groot were not a flirt. 
 
 " She is crazy to attend them," said Miss Everett, " but she 
 complains that the students look at her too mucli when we come 
 away." 
 
 " Oh, that is not fair I" exclaimed Miss De Groot, crimsoning 
 to the temples. " Really, cousin Harriet I But I hope Mr. Alban 
 will not repeat such a thing." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Alban, " although I think it is very 
 rude in our fellows. For my part, I have always kept back, 
 although I had the honor of knowing Miss De Groot, fearing 
 that it would be an annoyance to her to be saluted by so many 
 young men." 
 
130 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 " Papa has told me, and so has Mr. Everett, of Itahan ladies 
 of birth and beauty," said Miss De Groot, addressing Alban with 
 animation, " who went regularly through the University, attending 
 the lectures in scholars' gowns, and taking all the degrees, yes, 
 and lecturing afterwards, themselves, to learned audiences. That 
 (except the last) is what I should like." 
 
 " College would be an enchanting place with such classmates," 
 said Alban. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Alban, you put down my enthusiasm with a com- 
 pliment. I see 1 must be resigned to being a pretty girl and 
 knowing nothing. If it had but pleased Heaven to make me 
 plain, it would have suited me better, I assure you. It is so 
 humiliating to be made a toy of, when one is thirsting for knowl- 
 edge." 
 
 The young face glowed with indignation and pride, and the 
 fine — excessively fine — eyes were raised to Alban's with a degree 
 of spirit and courage which he had neverobserved in them beibre. 
 Indeed, they shot fire. Miss Everett glanced from her to Alban, 
 with an expressive shrug. 
 
 " You ought not to repine, Miss De Groot, at the part assigned 
 to your sex by the will of God — ought you ?" said Alban. 
 
 " It's not the will of God, Mr. Alban, that we should be 
 regarded in the light I complain of It is your will, and our 
 weakness." She was still angrily flushed, so that Alban thought 
 involuntarily of that cherub " severe in youthful beauty." " What 
 right," she exclaimed, "have you thus to confine us to frivolous 
 pursuits — to persecute us with thoughts that destroy our self- 
 respect ! On every side it meets us, and for my part I should be 
 glad to go into a convent or anywhere, to be environed no longer 
 by this degrading admiration." 
 
 " My dear I" said Miss Everett, reprovingly, for Alban was 
 completely silenced, " you are ungrateful to talk in that manner. 
 How many girls would be glad to have half the beauty that pro- 
 cures you so much notice. Most, indeed, complain of nothing but 
 neglect." 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 131 
 
 Miss De Groot sprang up hastily from her seat, book in hand, 
 ran to the pier-glass, (there was one that came down to the floor,) 
 and surveyed herself in it. She was attired in the same plain, 
 somewhat scant black silk which she had worn at the sleigh-ride, 
 and, as then, it was wholly unrelieved by any of the light orna- 
 ments or trimmings with which females take so much pleasure in 
 setthig off their charms. Such was then the mode for school- 
 girls, but young ladies brought out hke Miss De Groot, seldom 
 adopted it unless in the retired hours of the morning. But her 
 exquisite loveliness defied the sombre and in itself ungraceful 
 garb. She looked at herself steadily a few moments, while Alban 
 wondered. Not the slightest shade of self-complacency was dis- 
 cernible on the soft, girlish countenance which he saw reflected 
 in the mirror, but her sparkling resentment gradually subsided 
 into melancholy sweetness — a sort of self-pity, and her eyes sank 
 modestly as she resumed her seat. She addressed Alban as if she 
 had forgotten the singular excitement under which she had 
 uttered things so remarkable for a girl of her age, and, as Alban 
 thought, scarcely feminine in sentiment. 
 
 " Do you understand German, Mr. Alban ? I was reading a 
 German romance to Miss Everett when you came in. It is called 
 Ondine, and is very, very beautiful." 
 
 There was something very pretty in her way of saying this. 
 At Alban's request she gave him an outline of the story, which 
 interested him. 
 
 " The manner in which it is told is every thing," she said. 
 
 Alban had frequently glanced round the apartment with an 
 observant eye during this conversation. It had an aspect of 
 urban luxury, not usual in New Haven. A sea-coal fire blazed 
 within the mantel-piece of black marble ; there were silken dra- 
 peries, rosewood furniture. On one side of the high, polished 
 mahogany door, stood a piano open. He ventured to ask Miss De 
 Groot for so rue music. He had heard of her singing and playing 
 as something quite superior. 
 
 "It is," said Miss Everett. " Do, Mary, play something for 
 
132 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 Mr. Atlierton, to show him that you are not quite such a little 
 savag-e as he suspects." 
 
 " No, not to-day," said Miss De Groot, in an absolute way. 
 " The next time he comes to see us I will play for him as much 
 as he hkes." 
 
 The college and the town clock struck five, and the chapel- 
 bell began to ring for prayers cheerily. Our hero rose to go. ^ 
 
 *' Ah, that is for chapel, is it, Mr. Alban ?" 
 
 " I am sorry you are not obliged to be in your place among 
 the Freshmen," he replied, smiling. 
 
 "So am I," she ans\vered, rather gravely, although her lips 
 smiled. Her dark eyes looked up to him more sad than merry 
 for a half minute, and then were withdrawn according to her 
 wont. " I would wear a thick green veil to the chemical lecture," 
 she added, " if I were not afraid somebody would divine my 
 motive. Please, Mr. Atherton, keep my little eccentricities to 
 yourself." 
 
 " How much character she has I" he thought, as he hurried 
 down the avenue. " Rather more than I like, but I don't think 
 she can be a flirt : time will show." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 133 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Conversations with Mr. Soapstone occurred daily, and more 
 than once a day. Breakfast, dinner, or tea seldom passed without 
 Mr. Soapstone finding some occasion to insinuate or proclaim his 
 views of the Church, and Alban made so many hypothetical ad- 
 missions that the clergyman was the more irritated, and yet urged 
 on, by his obstinate skepticism. On one point the High Churchman 
 speedily obtained a victory. He convinced Alban that Baptismal 
 Regeneration was the doctrine of the New Testament ; but this, in 
 the latter's peculiar state of mind, only set him to weighing how 
 far the Apostles and Evangelists themselves were worthy of cre- 
 dence, in matters, as he said, of opinion. Meanwhile Christmas 
 week arrived, and one evening after tea the Episcopal minister 
 broke off his customary argument to visit the chapel which was 
 his special charge. He invited Alban to accompany him, and our 
 young friend, who liked to hear Mr. Soapstone talk, readily con- 
 sented. 
 
 *' The chapel is gothic, you observe, Mr. Atherton," said the 
 clergyman as they approached it. " Mark the picturesqueness of 
 its hooded towers against the night sky I How superior to those 
 poor Grecian fronts with wooden spires erected by the schismatics 
 on the green I It was the Catholic Church that perfected the 
 glorious pointed architecture." 
 
 " Of which the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United 
 States is the modern representative," observed Alban. 
 
 " Say rather the purest modern Branch," said Mr. Soapstone. 
 
 " That is what I meant to say," returned our hero. "The 
 other branches are rotten, and he who hangs by them will be apt 
 to catch a fall. If one could onlij he sure tltat tJiis one ivas 
 sound. However I" 
 
 They entered the chapel by an obscure vestibule choked with 
 
 12 
 
134 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 greens. The interior presented a white-walled oblong, with a 
 plaster ceiling. A gallery, painted in imitation of oak, and carved 
 in a running ogive pattern, ran round three sides, and was already 
 hung with heavy festoons ef evergreen, intermingled with the huge 
 letters of an inscription. The aisles (an incorrect term, as Mr. 
 Soapstone observed) were littered with boughs of pine, spruce, and 
 cedar, and a large party of young gentlemen and ladies were dis- 
 persed through the church, tying wreaths, dressing columns, or 
 planning where to place inscriptions. There was a good deal of 
 talking, and occasionally a laugh. 
 
 The principal operators were collected in the chancel. A 
 couple of young ladies were in the pulpit. They were covering 
 the purple-velvet book-cushion with white, which was to be 
 trimmed with evergreen. Below them, a young gentleman 
 mounted on the reading desk, was affixing a sacred symbol in 
 laurel to the front of the pulpit, an operation which other young 
 ladies were anxiously watching from below. On one side, a long 
 slender ladder rested against the wall ; and in front of the desk, 
 between the communion table and the rail, some six or seven 
 young people of both sexes were consulting about the mode of 
 putting up the chief inscription by which the chancel was to be 
 adorned. Some sat on the rails ; one young lady was half 
 sitting on the holy table itself, which had on it besides, some ever- 
 green twigs, a pair of scissors, and a ball of twine. A lamp or 
 two along the gallery, and tallow candles on the desk, illumined 
 this scene. 
 
 " Hats on I" was the first low exclamation of the minister. 
 He walked hastily up the middle aisle. " Do you know," said 
 he, addressing a young man, " that this is a consecrated build- 
 ing?" 
 
 In a few minutes, by dint of like reproofs, and of the signs 
 which the guilty individuals made to others, all the hats were 
 removed. Mr. Soapstone approached the chancel. 
 
 " What, young ladies I sitting on the communion rail I sitting 
 on the altar I Miss Reynolds !" 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 135 
 
 " I declare I didn't know that it loas an altar, Mr. Soapstone !" 
 said the yoiuig lady, starting np with a blush. 
 
 " Where is Miss Ellsworth ? Pray, Miss Ellsworth, let those 
 articles be removed from the altar. This is really a — desecra- 
 tion of which 1 should not have expected Church people to be 
 guilty." 
 
 Miss Ellsworth was conversing with Mr. St. Clair on the cul- 
 ture of the sentiment of veneration by the usages of the Episcopal 
 Church, and she colored violently at this address. 
 
 " We must have wme place to lay things," she said, rather 
 shortly, " and I suppose, Mr. Soapstone, there is no peculiar holi- 
 ness in the table itself." 
 
 " We always, laid the things we used in dressing the church 
 on the communion table, and Mr. — — - (naming Mr. Soapstone's 
 predecessor) never reproved us for it," cried Miss Reynolds. 
 
 " Are we to put the ball of twine in our pockets ?" demanded 
 a black-eyed gipsy, " and set the young gentlemen hunting for it 
 till they find it ? That will be the best way, I think, Kate," 
 flinging back her curls. 
 
 " Now this shows the importance of the appropriate arrange- 
 ment of chancels," observed Mr. Soapstone to Alban. " If the 
 altar here were a foot higher, a young lady could not sit on it ; 
 and if it were set against the eastern wall, as it should be, and 
 raised a few steps above the chancel floor, no one would think of 
 laying things upon it. I hope to see it done yet, and the pulpit 
 and desk turned out altogether. The chancel, Mr. Atherton, 
 should be appropriated to the altar alone." 
 
 Miss Ellsworth dissented from these principles. She thought 
 the pulpit would be very inconveniently placed for hearing and 
 seeing, anywhere but exactly where it stood. Mr. Soapstone and 
 she argued the matter at some length. He pronounced the exist- 
 ing arrangement of the chancel Genevan, and said that it 
 savored of " anti-sacramental heresy." She was afraid that her 
 pastor's ideas about the altar savored of anti-protestant supersti- 
 tion. Nor was she, it may be imagined, disposed to be complying 
 
136 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 when Mr. Soapstone suggested that a pair of plated candlesticks 
 should be put upon the altar when it was dressed. Miss Ellsworth 
 thought that candles on the altar were a symbol of Popery. She 
 was sure it would give oflence ; she would not have any thing to 
 do with dressing the church if it were persisted in ; she had been 
 decidedly opposed to a cross among the decorations ; candles were 
 worse. Mr. Soapstone was obliged to yield the point for the pres- 
 ent. The only voice raised to sustain him was Miss De Groot's. 
 She had first suggested the cross, and she approved of the lights. 
 Both, she thought, had a beautiful significance. But as Miss De 
 Groot was a Unitarian, her support rather injured Mr. Soapstone's 
 cause. 
 
 The Christmas dressing meanwhile proceeded. The inscription 
 was got up, and was beautiful : — Emmanuel, in letters formed of 
 wild laurel, on a ground of white artificial roses. The chancel 
 was gradually converted into a bower of evergreens mixed with 
 flowers, 
 
 " There is one other point," observed Mr. Soapstone to Alban, 
 " that I should like to press, but 1 abstain on account of Miss 
 Ellsworth's irritation. The young gentlemen have taken off their 
 hats, which is well ; but the young ladies, on the other hand, 
 should put on their bonnets. All those ringleted and braided 
 heads in the very sanctuary are extremely out of place." 
 
 " Miss De Groot keeps on her hood." 
 
 " She has a fine sense of propriety. She would become a con- 
 sistent church-woman with a little instruction. I think she has 
 already a tendency. I must lend her some books. Let us go and 
 speak to her." 
 
 Miss De Groot had retreated with the Miss Reynolds who had 
 sat on the altar, to a distant pew where they were working to- 
 gether on a wreath. Some young gentlemen who approached 
 them had already been sent away with short answers. Alban fol- 
 lowed his reverend friend slowly, as doubting whether the young 
 ladies did not prefer to be left alone. Miss Ellsworth also detained 
 him by asking his advice. He came up to the retired party in 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 137 
 
 time to hear Mr. Soapstone say, " Were you baptized in the Uni- 
 tarian denomination, Miss De Groot ?" 
 
 " I was never baptized at all, sir." 
 
 " Never baptized, Mary !" cried Miss Reynolds. 
 
 " Never baptized. Miss Mary I" exclaimed Alban. 
 
 " Papa does not believe in infant baptism." 
 
 Mr. Soapstone seemed less shocked than our hero expected. 
 
 " If you become a church-woman, Miss De Groot," he said, 
 " you will have no schismatical baptism to give you scruples." 
 
 " But this makes Miss De Groot absolutely a heathen, does it 
 not ?" asked Alban. 
 
 " She is not worse off than half my flock," replied the Episcopal 
 minister, coolly, " who were originally Congregationalists, and have 
 never received a valid baptism." 
 
 " Like me," said Miss Reynolds. 
 
 " Mr. Soapstone puts us in the same category, Mr. Alban," said 
 Mar}'' De Groot, looking up with a smile, " so you need not look 
 down on me so pityingly." 
 
 Alban was silent, pondering the mystery of his own inconsist- 
 ency, how, while he was questioning the truth of Christianity itself, 
 he should be so much shocked at another's wanting its initiatory 
 Sacrament. 
 
 " There," said Miss De Groot at last, holding up the result of 
 her industry, " whether I am a Christian or not, I have made you 
 a cross of native holly, Mr. Soapstone." 
 
 Mr. Soapstone was dehghted. Alban, even after all he had 
 seen of him, was a good deal surprised at the undignified eagerness 
 with which he caught at the prospect of setting up a cross of ever- 
 greens over his altar, although well aware that it would give 
 great offence to at least half his parishioners. He seemed to think 
 that if the material symbol could once be set there, it was a great 
 point gained in the progress, as he expressed it, of Catholicism in 
 the Church. 
 
 The cross, nevertheless, was finally placed over the commu- 
 nion-table, and then, as Mr. Soapstone could not bear to leave his 
 
 12* 
 
138 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 work unfinished, the candles were set iqjon it. This procedure 
 caused many heart-burnings in the parish, although the Protestant 
 mind was then far less sensitive than Puseyism has since made it. 
 Miss Ellsworth, who " had set her face against the cross," as 
 Mary De Groot said, was highly displeased. Alban was curious 
 to know from what motives the latter young lady had acted. 
 They seemed to be mixed ; — a little malice towards Miss Ells- 
 w^orth, some wilfulness about having her own way, the love of 
 what was in itself beautiful and perfect, and, at the bottom of all, 
 a lurking, hardly conscious devotion to the Cross as the symbol of 
 redemption. As they were all leaving the church, she turned 
 back, and unobserved, except by Alban, who was furtively watch- 
 ing her, slightly bent her knee towards the simple altar. 
 
 " In what light do you regard Christ ?" asked Alban, as he 
 walked by her side. " Do you regard Him as in any sense your 
 Saviour?" 
 
 " Why, Mr. Atherton, what a question I Of course, I do. 
 Does not the Bible say that the Lord Jesus Christ is our Saviour ? 
 Do you really suppose that Unitarians are heathens ?" 
 
 " But does not God say in the Bible, ' Beside me there is no 
 Saviour ?' If Christ is our Saviour, it appears to me that He 
 must be our God." 
 
 " It is a sweet idea," said Mary De Groot, "that Christ is our 
 God ; I could adore Him with all my heart if I were not afraid of 
 committing idolatry." 
 
 " The real idolatry, it seems to me, would be in ascribing sal- 
 vation to a creature." 
 
 Miss De Groot half apologized to Alban for accepting his 
 I escort home, although she had taken his proflered arm as a matter 
 of course. 
 
 *' I have been here almost all the afternoon," she said. " I 
 had no idea of being kept so late." 
 
 " To see you home is an envied privilege, Miss Mary — if you 
 will overlook the compliment." 
 
 " Oh ! I overlook a great many every day," she replied. 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 139 
 
 Our hero's theological notions were now so completely topsy- 
 turvy that he refrained from speaking of Miss De Groot's unbap- 
 tized condition, although he kept thinking of it. She herself, 
 after replying absently to several observations of his on light 
 topics, alluded again to this. 
 
 " Is it worse to be unbaptized than to be a Unitarian ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " According to Mr. Soapstone it makes you a child of wrath, 
 Miss Mary." 
 
 " Oh I do you believe in original sin, then ?" 
 "It M^as the doctrine of the Apostles." 
 
 " Then, for example, I am a totally depraved creature. That 
 must be false," she exclaimed, indignantly. " I know I have 
 faults. You may call them sins, if you please. But I have some 
 virtues too. I always endeavor to act justly by others. I am 
 conscientious about myself — far more so, Mr. Alban," she added 
 proudly, " than these young ladies who say that I am no Chris- 
 tian. I would sooner die than utter a falsehood, or admit an 
 impure thought." She spoke in a sweet, sweet voice, but with 
 vehemence. 
 
 " You never told a lie ?" 
 
 " Never deliberately, since I was a very little girl, Mr. Alban. 
 And I have told the truth a thousand times when I was sure to 
 be punished or ridiculed for it." 
 
 " From pride, perhaps," said Alban, " which is the sin of sins." 
 
 " Because I wish and mean to be a good girl, — if that is pride." 
 
 " The true motive would be the love of God, who forbids and 
 hates lying," said Alban. 
 
 " Do you always act from that motive, Mr. Alban ?" she de- 
 manded, after a pause, and half sobbing like a child reproved. 
 
 " Indeed I fear not," said Alban, soothingly. 
 
 'i Papa taught me when I was little that it was noble to tell 
 the truth, and that a liar was despicable," said Miss De Groot, 
 recovering herself. " But I try to act from the better motive you 
 spoke of just now, Mr. Alban, for I had a friend who taught me 
 
140 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 to. She used to say that truth and purity were no virtues if they 
 proceeded from any other ; but that vexed me to hear." 
 
 " Do you then expect to merit heaven by your good life, Miss 
 Mary ?" said Alban, as a last resource. 
 
 " No, Mr. Alban, I expect that from God's infinite goodness. 
 He gave me my being and a thousand good gifts for which I daily 
 thank Him, without any merit of mine. He will give me, I 
 trust, a blissful immortality in the same way. In that sense, as 
 papa says, I allow that salvation is of grace." 
 
 " There is more truth in your way of thinking than many of 
 my friends would allow," replied Alban. " But where does Christ 
 come in, on your system ? How is He your Saviour 
 
 " Mr. Alban, I will be candid. I am not contented with my 
 own thoughts about Christ, nor with my father's explanation how 
 He saves us. I say my prayers in His name, but what that 
 means, is dark to me." 
 
 At the foot of the avenue they met Mr. Everett, Miss De 
 Groot's bachelor host, coming for her. Alban, therefore, reluc- 
 tantly resigned his charge, who, on her part, however, bade him 
 good night with no outward sign of regret. As he watched them 
 from a distance going up the snowy avenue he heard them laugh- 
 ing gayly. 
 
 Mary De Groot was giving her new companion a droll ac- 
 count of the scenes at church. When they reached home, she had 
 to tell it all again to Miss Everett, and again there was much 
 pleasantry at the expense of the Episcopalians. Perhaps it was 
 rather unsympathizing and contemptuous in its tone. A glass of 
 cold water and a dry biscuit were brought in for Miss De Groot, 
 who had not supped, and then, without prayers, but with very af- 
 fectionate good-nights, the brother and sister and their youthful 
 guest departed to their several chambers. 
 
 Mary De Groot did not linger in the sitting-room to put up 
 her hair, say her prayers, or unhook her dress ; — perhaps, because 
 there was a hickory fire and Miss Everett's maid waiting for her 
 in her own room. Her simple night-toilet was soon dispatched, 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 141 
 
 she was left alone, and, kneeling down at the side of the French 
 bed which graced the Everetts' elegant guest-chamber, blessed 
 Pierself, as a Catholic would express it, i. e., made the sign of the 
 cross from the forehead to the breast, and folding her hands, said 
 " Oar Father" slowly in a low voice. Then she blessed herself 
 again, as her Catholic mother doubtless had taught her in infancy, 
 and so with this simple devotion laid herself to rest. 
 
 Fair child of the first Adam 1 but not unconscious haply of 
 the faint impulsions of prevenient grace, and saved yet by the 
 sign on thy forehead from the adversary qui tanquam leo rugiens 
 circuit, qucerens quern devoret, — may pitying angels guard thy 
 virgin repose. 
 
142 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER X. « 
 
 The chapel which our young friends had assisted to adorn 
 ■was excessively crowded at the service on Christmas Eve. The 
 chancel was much admired, particularly the effect of the numer- 
 ous lights of the pulpit, desk, and communion tahle, ghttering 
 among the fresh evergreens. The centre, however, of this illumi- 
 nation, was Mr. Soapstone himself, first in the desk in his surplice, 
 and then in the pulpit in his gown, Mr. Soapstone, though a res- 
 olute Laudian, (for the name of Puseyite was not yet famiharly 
 know'n,) stuck to the gown. He looked well in it, and particularly 
 well that evening. The white " choker," as O'Connor profanely 
 called Mr. Soapstone's cravat, and the cambric bands were beau- 
 tifully relieved by the black cassock, and the ample silken sleeves 
 of the gown gave scholastic dignity to the preacher's graceful 
 gestures. 
 
 The sermon was capital. Mr. Soapstone had talents of no or- 
 dinary kind, and on this occasion, knowing that there would be a 
 great gathering of " Dissenters," he laid himself out. His subject 
 was the Divine Institution of the Festival System, and the point 
 he made was, that in instituting the Festivals of the Old Law, the 
 Divine Prudence had instituted the system, and sanctioned the 
 principle, which the Church had carried out in new Feasts, the 
 Memorials of new Mercies. Substituting, perhaps, cause for effect, 
 he was inclined to connect the preservation of orthodoxy with the 
 use of Festivals, and concluded by charging upon the Puritan re- 
 jection of the Festival system, the rise of that baleful heresy of 
 Unitarianism, which so much infected the Congregationalist 
 Churches of New England. Some of our student friends warm- 
 ly discussed the sermon as they moved on with the outpouring 
 crowd. 
 
 " Abominable to abuse us in that way," said Winthrop, " after 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 143 
 
 Ave had helped to dress the church for him. I'll be hanged if 
 ever I do it again." 
 
 " As if there had never been any Socinians in the Episcopal 
 Church," exclaimed a charity student. "Why, the fact is just 
 the reverse." 
 
 " Yes, but it arose undoubtedly from neglecting to dress their 
 churches properly with Christmas greens," observed St. Clair. 
 
 " It wants something deeper than this mechanism to keep 
 alive faith," said Albaii. 
 
 " You are right there, Mr. Atherton. It wants grace, sir," 
 cried O'Connor. " Carroll and I are going to sing carols to-night. 
 As your sentiments are satisfactory, will you join us ?" 
 
 Here our friends had to cross a street, and were stopped in a 
 heap by a sleigh with ladies in it, from the church door, dashing 
 by in the dark with loud jingling bells. A lady waved her hand. 
 
 " It is the Everetts and Miss De Groot," said Wiuthrop. " I 
 wonder how thcij liked' the slap about the Unitarian heresy." 
 
 The Everetts and Miss De Groot were much displeased. Miss 
 Everett wondered (as if she had never wondered before) at the 
 illiberality of the orthodox. She thought that after Mary had 
 helped to dress the church, and had made the very cross for Mr. 
 , Soapstone's " altar," when none of his own flock would do it, it 
 w^as downright insulting. Miss De Groot was not so warm as 
 was her wont when any thing occurred to rouse her high spirit, 
 although she could not suppress (perhaps she did not try) a slight 
 bitterness in commending Mr. Soapstone for his candor and con- 
 sistency. If he really believed our Saviour to be God, he must 
 treat them as heretics. She went on to confess that the service 
 was so beautiful, the lessons, the collects, the chanting and all, 
 were so impressive, so devotional, (Mary was seldom so wordy,) 
 that several times before the sermon began she had wished herself 
 an Episcopalian. But hearing such uncharitable opinions ex- 
 pressed had completely repelled her. Mr. Everett observed with 
 emphasis that it was language which would be appropriate in the 
 mouth of a Cathohc ! He could find nothing to say more cutting ! 
 
144 
 
 AL B AN. 
 
 " I wonder," said Mary De Groot, " w^hy we do not adopt some 
 of the Episcopal forms. What right have they to monopolize 
 every thing beautiful ?" 
 
 "At the Stone church in Boston they do use a liturgy," re- 
 marked Miss Everett, " and they dress the church for Christmas, 
 which is rather against Mr. Soapstone's theory." 
 
 " They are much attached to it," said her brother. " I won- 
 der, as Mary says, that it has never spread." 
 
 " Js it true, as Mr. Soapstone mentioned, that there is a Uni- 
 tarian New Testament with the story of our Saviour's birth put 
 between brackets — ?" 
 
 "As of doubtful authenticity. Well, I have seen such a book, 
 Mary, but it is a calumny to say that it is in use. It was first 
 edited by an English archbishop, too, I have heard, and Coleridge, 
 who is a great Church-of-England man, and a stanch Trinitarian, 
 rejects the account of the miraculous birth of Jesus with con- 
 tempt." 
 
 " But that is shocking," said Mary. " One might as well give 
 up the whole Bible at once." 
 
 "One can't well enlarge upon it to you, Miss Mary, but it is a 
 hard doctrine to believe." 
 
 " Fie, James," said Miss Everett. " How can you ?" 
 
 The sleigh jingled on amid a silence of the party in it, and 
 dashed into the avenue to Mr. Everett's house. But as it began 
 to ascend the heavy carriage sweep, Miss De Groot suddenly burst 
 forth in her warmest manner, as if giving way to a feeling which 
 she had pent up from girlish delicacy. 
 
 " I as firmly believe," she said, in a voice that trembled with 
 passion, " that the mother of our Saviour was always a spotless 
 virgin, as that I am at this moment, and I declare it makes 
 my heart swell with indignation that any Christian should dare 
 to question it." 
 
 She would hardly take Mr. Everett's hand Avhen he offered to 
 help her out of the sleigh, she was so angry. Perhaps to make 
 his peace, Mr. Everett went to his library, and presently returning 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 145 
 
 with a thin quarto, hound in red morocco, handed it to his quick- 
 tempered young guest with a penitent smile. 
 
 " That is the ' Chapel Liturgy,' as they call it, Mary." 
 
 Mary took it eagerly, and hegan turning it over. 
 
 " Why, it is a kind of abridgment of the Episcopal Prayer- 
 book." 
 
 " The addresses to the Trinity, and all prayers to Christ or to 
 the Holy Ghost, are left out or altered, you will find." 
 
 " Ah," said Mary, " I have heard papa say, that the Prayer- 
 book is the Mass protestantized, and I suppose that the ' Chapel 
 Liturgy' is the Prayer-book socinianized." She smiled, looking 
 at Mr. Everett, as if they had always been the best of friends, and 
 she had not been so angry with him the moment before as to re- 
 solve never to speak to him again except with mere civihty. 
 " Thank you, Mr. James. I must take it to my own room, if you 
 please, and look it over." 
 
 13 
 
146 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The white dimity curtains of bed and window in the young 
 guest's room had a cold but virginal air, like the white Marseilles 
 quilt, in spite of the thick blankets it covered. She herself looked 
 the same in, her clean (Thursday) night-gear, the dark hair low 
 and smooth on her pure brow, and holding out one of her rosy feet 
 to the fire, working its little toes, like an infant's, in the warmth. 
 The toes were pretty enough to have rings on them, or bells, like 
 the aged heroine's in the nursery rhyme, 
 
 " With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes," 
 
 but Mary De Groot had none even on the former, i. e., no rings. 
 Her virgin hands were absolved from all ornament save their own 
 beauty, not only when undressed, as now, but at all times. 
 
 After playing thus awhile as a child might, without aim, and 
 so serenely that she might seem either an angel or quite soulless, 
 she suddenly turned round from the fire to her chair, assumed her 
 little maidenly wrapper, thrust the fairy feet into their dear little 
 slippers, and seated herself at a little table or stand, whereon 
 were placed her candle and the " Chapel Liturgy," Having read 
 the preface intently, bending down upon it in a very school-girl 
 fashion, like as if she had been conning a lesson, she looked up 
 and said aloud, 
 
 " My Unitarian friends excuse the alterations that they have 
 made in adapting the Episcopal Prayer-book to their own use, on 
 the same ground which the Episcopalians allege to justify the 
 changes in their own service, from the old English Book of Com- 
 mon Prayer ; and both cite the latter itself" — Looks at the book 
 and reads — " ' Every partAcular Church has a right to ordain, 
 change, and abolish ceremonies or rites of the Church, ordained 
 only by man's authority, so that all be done to edifying' — 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 147 
 
 What more reasonable I I declare, I should like to see what 
 changes the American Episcopalians have made from the English 
 Prayer-book. That should be very instructive to a little girl 
 like me." 
 
 To think and do were the same thing with Miss Mary De 
 Groot. She rose quickly, drew the silken cords of her wrapper 
 tighter round her waist, tripped with her candle to the chamber- 
 door, and peeped out into the corridor. Mr. Everett's boots lay 
 outside his door. — " After all, he is only an old bachelor I" said 
 the girl of sixteen, and fluttered down stairs. She is in the 
 library with her candle. 
 
 " Now, how in the name of goodness am I to find it ? Who 
 knows if Mr. Everett has got one ? Ah, here is the theology — 
 sermons — Channing, Clarke, Newcome, Tillotson, — ah, here it is ! 
 But my I it is a thick quarto — big enough for a church I Oh, 
 here is another that is smaller — never been used, I guess. Oh, 
 Mr. James, you are not very devout I And the American Prayer- 
 book close by it, not near so well bound. I must have them both, 
 Mr. James." 
 
 She returned exultingly with her prizes. The beautifully 
 bound " Common Prayer," when unclasped, lay open of itself on th©. 
 broad quarto page of the Chapel Liturgy ; the rigid American 
 Prayer-book she held in one hand. She must spring up again to 
 fetch from a drawer a well-worn volume of the pocket-size — the 
 Manual of devotions which had belonged to her Catholic mother. 
 It was in French, and contained among other things the ordinary 
 of the Mass, with a translation in parallel columns. So the young 
 girl began to collate and compare with a grave and singular pa- 
 tience, having the old Roman Mass — the venerable Liturgy of St. 
 Peter, and much of the daily Office, at one extreme, and the So- 
 cinian Chapel Liturgy at the other, as the final result of Protest-' 
 ant improvements. In a very short time, perplexed by having 
 so much before her at once, she devoted herself to those changes 
 made by the American Episcopalians, in regard to which her curi- 
 osity had been primarily excited. 
 
148 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 " What singular alterations are these I" she exclaimed aloud, 
 in her way. " What could have possessed the people to make 
 them ! How vulgar, how unpoetical, — really — how impure they 
 are I — " She put both her little hands before her blushing face, 
 as if her delicacy had been, shocked. — " Oh, if I were an Episco- 
 pahan and knew that these things had been changed so, I should 
 feel so ashamed !" 
 
 As she got on she grew more excited and perplexed. Here 
 was the creed of St. Athanasius, which the Church of England 
 ordered to be read on all the great Feasts, cast out of the Ameri- 
 can Prayer-book altogether. — " Is it because it takes away all hope 
 of salvation from us poor Unitarians ? How kind in the Ameri- 
 can Episcopal Church to decline pronouncing so severe a sen- 
 tence I Oh, Mr. Soapstone I you ought not to be so hard upon us 
 since your Church will not say that we shall be condemned. 
 Really how precise this Creed is on that point 1 — ' He that tvlll 
 he saved, must thus think of the Trinity.' — ' W/dch faith 
 except every one do keep tvhole and undefled, ivithout doubt 
 he shall perish everlastingly.'' Well, I like that," said Mary, 
 characteristically. " We know what we have to expect. If, 
 after such a warning we persist in being heretics, we shall have 
 nobody to blame but ourselves when we are sent to a bad 
 place." 
 
 Mary De Groot actually cried over these plain and stern denun- 
 ciations of the Church Catholic. They were tears of pride, but 
 mingled with humility. She did not like to venture her salvation 
 on the chance of Unitarianism being true ; for if it were false, it 
 was clear that she, Mary De Groot, dying a Unitarian, would be 
 damned — dreadful word — more dreadful thought I Was it for 
 that awful end that she had been brought into existence ? 
 
 The omission of the Athanasian creed by the American 
 Episcopal Church enabled even so inexperienced a mind as Mary 
 De Groot's to see in its true light the next thing that naturally met 
 her as she pursued her comparison through the morning and even- 
 ing prayer, and that was the rejection of the Evangelical Hymns. 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 149 
 
 She would not have expressed her perception in those words, but 
 she saw well enough that it indicated the ritual degeneracy which 
 as certainly follows the loss of faith as bodily decay follows enfeebled 
 vitality. The Church's joy iti her Divine Saviour — her niystical 
 but real joy, ever fresh and new — was lost when the Song of 
 Zachary was cut down into a Jewish psahn by leaving out its 
 personal peculiarities, when the Hymn of the Blessed Virgin exul- 
 ting over the Incarnation, was cast aside as fools throw away a 
 precious gem, and aged Simeon's canticle, uttered with the Holy 
 Ghost in his heart and the Lord in his arms, was dropped out of 
 Even Song as inappropriate for the modern Christian's Nunc 
 dimitth. 
 
 The intelligent and, in her way, highly cultured, though preju- 
 diced, young girl had begun her investigation with the notion that 
 ritual was uncoirtiected with doctrine in any vital way. She had 
 fancied that whatever was beautiful in the Episcopal worship 
 might be easily accommodated to the wants of her own Church. 
 A faint eesthetic idea had floated through her mind, ol" a Unitarian 
 chapel in New York, either for the Chapel Liturgy, or soniething 
 yet nearer to the Episcopalian rite which had so interested her that 
 evening. Now a new light altogether had broken upon her. She 
 saw that the old worship of the Church, from which by mutilation 
 and corruption these Episcopal forms had been derived, was built 
 upon the faith that Christ was God. 
 
 " If that faith be true, what an insult to Him is this Chapel 
 Liturgy," she thought. 
 
 But what was the " true Church" doing at the moment when 
 this insult was offered ? — and in the same land ? — Casting out the 
 Athanasian creed, mutilating Benedictus, throwing away Magni- 
 ficat, ignorant why sJlc ought to rejoice nightly at the " Light to 
 lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel," thinking 
 it bootless for her to sing any more " For mine eyes have seen thy 
 salvation." 
 
 Thus Mary thought, without framing her thought any more 
 into words. Her head was confused and her heart perturbed. 
 
 13^ 
 
150 
 
 A-L B A N . 
 
 Although it was already midnight, she was about to take up her 
 Catholic mother's manual of devotion, when a strain of sweet, ani- 
 mated, soul-cheering music suddenly broke the silence of the hour. 
 She remembered that it was Christmas, and, putting out her hght, 
 went to the window, opened the shutters, and looked out upon the 
 snowy lawn where the carollers stood. 
 
 There was a violin with manly voices. She opened the win- 
 dow a little, and to her ear came words which sung of the Babe of 
 Bethlehem as the Mighty God. It had been the faith of ages 
 that Heaven and Earth were espoused on this sacred night, — that 
 God had appeared at this time in the nature of man to be the 
 Saviour of men. Mary made haste and knelt with her face to the 
 starry sky where angels carolled eighteen centuries before. 
 
 " 0 God," she exclaimed, " of the substance of Thy Father, 
 begotten before the worlds I Man, of the substance of thy Mother, 
 born in the world I I believe in Thee — I adore Thee. Teach me 
 Thy will. Lead me in Thy way." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 151 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Christmas Day came, and the weather had changed again. 
 Snow fell in great soft flakes, thick and fast, piling the streets 
 with huge drifts. There was good cheer within, not so general as 
 on the national festival of Thanksgiving, but still to be found in 
 houses where no other notice was taken of the commemoration of 
 the Saviour's birth. Some families, indeed, took a pride in not 
 deviating a hair's breadth from their every-day life, but, on the 
 whole, the time was gone by when the Puritans (although that was 
 not in New England) appointed the Nativity of the Lord a public 
 fast. The shops, however, were not generally closed, nor were any 
 places of worship open for divine service, except the beautiful 
 Episcopal churches and one small chapel in the poorest part of the 
 town, plain as a Methodist meeting-house, and which might have 
 been mistaken for one but for a wooden cross that crowned its 
 gable. 
 
 Mary De Groot was puzzled what to do that day. She longed 
 to repair to church to honor her new-found Saviour, new-born that 
 day in the Church's affectionate forgetfulness of time, and new 
 found by herself, a prize of her heart, a treasure of her faith, secret 
 but dear, as to Her who first knew that wonder of wonders. 
 Should not she repair to Bethlehem and worship at the manger ? 
 But whither? — Vere tu es Deus absconditus, Deus Salvator — 
 words found, with a translation, annexed to the act of Faith in her 
 mother's manual- — was a sentence that ever trembled on her lips. 
 
 If she had been in Boston (inconsistent as it may appear) she 
 would have gone to King's chapel to worship her " hidden God," 
 even in the forms of the " Chapel Liturgy ;" or if there had been 
 a Congregationalist meeting-house in New Haven open that day for 
 worship, she would have attended it ; or in New York, she would 
 have hastened, not unjoyfully, to the old South Dutch church, where 
 
152 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 the old De Groot pew was still retained, though seldom visited by 
 the family ; but she was in New Haven, and her friends took it 
 quietly for granted that she would not wish to attend either of the 
 Episcopal churches after the evening's experience. This taking- 
 for-granted was a mighty obstacle in the young girl's path, harder 
 to overcome than the snow which blocked up the avenue. She 
 could not propose walking, and on what pretence ask for the 
 sleigh ? 
 
 " They will think I want to see or be seen by some of the stu- 
 dents who will be there. Mary EllsAvorth, I know, will say so if 
 I come out in all this storm, not being an Episcopalian. I have 
 no right to go anywhere. And I won't expose myself to such an 
 imputation from those girls." 
 
 Tap, tap, tap, went the little fingers on the frosty pane of the 
 breakfast- room window. The garden paths, the paths of the leaf- 
 less wood beyond, were choked with snow. The frozen linen on 
 the clothes-lines swung stiffly in the wind. Mr. Everett came to 
 the window, shrugged his shoulders hopelessly at the dreary scene, 
 remarked that it was going to prove a stormy Christmas, and that 
 he was glad they were not going to dine out. Then he looked 
 down at his slippers, worked by Mary and purchased by him at the 
 fair at an extravagant price, and said he should adjourn to the 
 library, where perhaps his guest would by and by make him a visit 
 in search of an old novel for this gloomy day. So he took himself 
 off. Calm, cold, handsome, heavy man of five and forty was Mr. 
 Everett. 
 
 Miss Everett sat on the edge of a chair with one foot on the 
 grate-fender, and one hand protecting her knee from the fire. She 
 was glad, too, that they were not going out, and she meant to spend 
 the morning in answering letters. She looked up at her blooming 
 guest who had glided to her side, and wondered for the five hun- 
 dredth time that Mary never put her hair in papers, it would look 
 so beautifully, curled in her neck, and she liked to see it in girls of 
 her age. The " Middle church" clock began to strike nine. The 
 College clock told the solar time, and then, instead of the vocifer- 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 153 
 
 ous College bell for study hours, commenced a deep, deliberate, 
 church-going peal from the gothic tower of Trinity — the first 
 Episcopal bell. The young girl's heart began to beat, and she 
 was trying to frame a petition that she might be sent to church 
 after all, since it was Christmas, when sleigh-bells jingled suddenly 
 in the background, and, glancing out of the window, she saw 
 David and the horses dashing off with a wood-sled, and she knew 
 that he had been sent to draw a load of pine. She suppressed her 
 petition, and departed with an excuse to her own room. 
 
154 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. ^ 
 
 " Merry Christmas, Bridget." 
 
 " Thatik you kindly, miss, and many more of the same to your- 
 self," said the housemaid, who was finishing Miss De Groot's room. 
 
 " Have you seen my presents, Bridget ? Well, you must come 
 into the drawing-room by and by, and I will show them to you, — 
 the most beautiful English holiday books from papa, a set of corals 
 complete from mamma, a gold pencil from Mr. Everett, and from 
 Miss Everett an elegant copy of a book that I admire very much. 
 Besides it all, papa has sent me a beautiful Paris box of bonbons, 
 that is, sugar-plums, with a picture of the Holy Family on the lid, 
 which I know you will admire very much. They are all arranged 
 on a table to show Mr. Everett's company at dinner to-day ; but 
 you must go in and see them, Bridget." 
 
 " That I will, miss ; but you can't be more plased with your 
 fine presents, miss, than I and Sally Ann was with the beautiful 
 collars you give us. I haven't thanked you for it before, Miss 
 Mary, and sure I'm very much obliged to you for thinking of me 
 at all." 
 
 " You don't go to church to-day, I suppose, Bridget ?" 
 " Indeed I've been to five-o'clock mass, miss." 
 " Do you mean to say that you had church at five o'clock this 
 morning ?" 
 
 " Surely, miss. The first mass — that's the midnight mass in 
 Ireland — was at five o'clock. In this country I've niver known 
 a mass properly at midnight." 
 
 " And when is the second mass ?" inquired the young lady 
 with interest. 
 
 " The second mass was directly after the first, miss." 
 
 *' They are both over then I" with disappointment. 
 
 " There's the third mass at half-past ten, miss." 
 
AL B AN. 
 
 155 
 
 " You have mass again at half-past ten, Bridget ?" said Miss 
 De Groot, with animation. 
 
 " With music, miss, and Father Smith will praach. Being 
 the only Catholic in the house, none of the servants wants to go 
 to church to-day but myself. And Father Smith doesn't come 
 very often, miss. It is a month, come Sunday, since we had a 
 mass before." 
 
 " Is that why you have three masses to-day, Bridget ?" 
 
 "Oh, no, bless you, miss. 'Tis on account of Christmas, 
 Every priest says three masses on Christmas Day, because Christ 
 was first begotten of His Father from all eternity, and secondly 
 born of the Blessed Virgin to-day, and thirdly every day in the 
 hearts of believers." Bridget said this in such a tone as made it 
 easy to see she was repeating something often heard. There was 
 a little innocent pride, too, in understanding her religion, which 
 made the young lady smile. 
 
 " I want to go to this third mass with you, Bridget," said 
 Miss De Groot, " but you must not say any thing to any body of 
 my intention. I know that the walking is very bad, but I shan't 
 mind that in going to you?' church," 
 
 In her sober walking apparel of dark-green merino and tartan 
 shawl, and with her hood drawn close over her face, she may 
 pass for a young servant girl. By Bridget's advice she has drawn 
 on a pair of coarse w^oollen socks over her boots, for in the drifts 
 the snow is knee-deep. Here she toils till her breast is filled 
 with sharp pain at every rough breath she draws. Even in the 
 streets of New Haven, the deep-lying snow is not shovelled off 
 the sidewalks, and they go, although more easily, yet with fatigue, 
 in the middle of the street. By and by they strike into a well- 
 tramped path. People are following it in single file. On the 
 steps of the plain church with a cross upon its gable, the females 
 shake the snow from their garments, and stamp it from their feet. 
 
 The interior of the chapel (it scarcely merited to be called a 
 church) was rude. Instead of pews were rows of benches w'ith 
 backs. The men were on one side and the women on the other, 
 
156 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 and both sexes spread their handkerchiefs on the floor (at least 
 many did) to save their clothes in kneeling. The altar was of 
 plain unpainted deal, and yet it was rather solemn from its eleva- 
 tion and furniture. The chalice was upon it, under a veil of white 
 silk very richly embroidered in gold and colors. There were no 
 lights except a taper that burned in a common glass tumbler. 
 
 Mary De Groot has knelt down by Bridget, has crossed herself 
 in imitation of the latter, and because, in fact, she is used to do 
 so ill her private prayers, and has opened her Journee du Chretien 
 to find a fitting devotion. In her life before she has never offered 
 one like that which first meets her eye, being the first morning 
 act in the manual. The young convert from Unitarianism uses 
 it with a beating heart. 
 
 " Mo-;t Violy and most august Trinity, one only God in Three persons, I 
 believe that Thou art here present. I adore Thee with feehngs of profound 
 humihty, and render Thee, Avith my whole heart, the homage due to Thy 
 sovereign mnjesty." 
 
 The doctrine of the Trinity was one that she had not yet 
 thought of To her it had always seemed to be a doctrine of three 
 Gods. But she remembered that stern Athanasian creed — "-He 
 that will he saved must thus think of the Trinity^ 
 
 ** I submit," she cried, internally, and bending herself adored 
 the Triune God. 
 
 The act seemed to liberate her soul, and give it a freedom be- 
 fore uiikno\A'n. With a generous courage, offspring of divine 
 faith, she foUovved the rest of the prayers in her book, at once with 
 her heart and her lips. 
 
 " My God, I most humbly thank Thee for all the favors Thou hast be- 
 stowed upon me liitherto. It is owing to Thy goodness that I see this day ; 
 I will theref >re employ it in serving Thee. I consecrate to Thee its thoughts, 
 words, actions, and sutferin<?s. Bless them, Lord, that there may not be one 
 which is not animated by Thy love, or tends not to Tliy glory. 
 
 " Adorable Jesus ! divine model of the perfection to which we should 
 a=pi'-e, I ^vill apply myself as much as I can to mnke myself like Thee : 
 meek, hamble, chaste, zealous, patient, charitable, and resigned like Thee. 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 157 
 
 I will use eveiy effort not to fall to-day into the faults I so often commit, but 
 ■which I sincerely desire to correct. 
 
 "Mv God, Thou knowest my weakness. I can do nothing without Thy 
 grace. Refuse it me not. Give me strength to shun every ill Thou forbid- 
 dest, to do all the good Thou requirest, and to suffer patiently whatever 
 affiictions it shall please Thee to send me." 
 
 "If an angel," thought Mary, "had descended to teach me 
 prayers for this morning, what else could he have said ?" 
 
 These prayers were in French, but next came some in Latin, 
 and not knowing where to find the translation, she skipped until 
 she came to the Litany of Jesus, where the two languages ran 
 side by side. She had just finished reciting it with a great deal 
 of fervor, for it was just what she wanted, and the Agnus Dei, 
 w'hich so many say coldly, moved he?' to tears, for the first time 
 supplicating Christ as the Lamb of God, when the great candles 
 w^ere lit. 
 
 " Do the Catholics have little clergymen ?" thought Mary, 
 with an innocent smile, but pleased, when six young boys in 
 cassocks and w^hite cottas entered with the priest. 
 
 The lace of the latter's albe, and the embroidery of his vest- 
 ment also caught her female eye, and made her throw a glance 
 around the church. She had been so absorbed that she had not 
 observed it filling. Every part of the floor was occupied by men 
 or women, all kneeling, all of the humblest class of society. Their 
 demeanor was the most devoat she had ever witnessed. And 
 now the music attracted her attention. Slie could not help look- 
 ing back at the organ gallery, and saw that it was full of foreign 
 music-teachers of both sexes, connected with the schools of jSTew 
 Haven. As she did not understand what was going on at the 
 altar, her eye sufHoed to attend to it, and her whole mental atten- 
 tion was absorbed by that wonderful Kyrie. She perceived that 
 the words were the same with which the litany she had just said, 
 he^au, Kyrie eleison, Chri te eleiwn, Kyrie eleison ! without 
 end. At length it was done ; the congregation rose ; the chasu- 
 bled priest suyg something in a suigular tone ; the choir recom- 
 
 14 
 
158 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 menced, and in a minute all sat down as if to hear it through. 
 Bridget saw that Miss Mary was bewildered, and showed her that 
 it was the Gloria in excelsis. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she thought, "that is the song of the angels at the 
 Saviour's birth. That is what I came here to sing, at least in my 
 heart. They are singing it in the mass." 
 
 Turning over the index of her little prayer-book, Mary had 
 found the 3Iesse de No'd ; and when the priest intoned the collect, 
 epistle, and gospel, she was able to follow, while her familiarity 
 with the Scriptures enabled her to understand it all very fairly, 
 although the words were in a dead language. But in the gospel 
 certain words were printed in Italics, Et Verbum caro factum est^ 
 and when the priest, solemnly chanting, arrived at that point, he 
 and the surphced boys and the entire congregation bent the knee ; 
 in a moment after, he took off his vestment, turned round to the 
 people, still standing, and having received another book from one 
 of his youthful assistants, said, 
 
 "The gospel which has just been sung at mass is taken from 
 the first chapter of the gospel of St. John." 
 
 He read it in English, down to the words A7id the Word was 
 made Flesh, &c., and added, as he returned the book to the min- 
 ister, "You know, my brethren, that it was at these words we all 
 knelt just now when they were sung at mass." 
 
 " Ah I" thought Mary, " they beheve in the Incarnation in. 
 this Church !" 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 159 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Mary was charmed and grateful when Father Smith took these 
 words for the text of the discourse which he now dehvered 
 from the steps of the altar. It was the very theme which she 
 desired to hear more fully treated — the dogma in which she newly 
 believed — the Incarnation of the Eternal Word. Father Smith's 
 manner was fervent; he gesticulated a good deal; his accent was 
 foreign ; but his thoughts were fresh, and his method singularly 
 perspicuous. The congregation hung upon his lips. 
 
 "In these words," said the popish priest, — "The AYord was 
 MADE Flesh, — is contained the Hoot and principle of all that the 
 Catholic Church believes and teaches; and yet this Root itself 
 springs from a deeper ground, if I may say so, and is planted ia 
 the doctrine of the Divine Nature." 
 
 This exordium interested Mary deeply, and still more so when 
 by throwing the idea into several shapes successively, the preacher 
 rendered it distinctly intelligible not only to her, but, as she felt, 
 to his entire audience. God, he explained to them, was one, and 
 no unity was so simple or so perfect as His. The Divine Substance 
 was one simple undivided, indivisible essence, one simple indivisi- 
 ble Spirit, Which yet existed in Three Persons really distinct, 
 without ceasing to be the Same in each ; a truth which we could 
 not know except by particular revelation, but which when re- 
 vealed contradicted neither consciousness nor experience, for both 
 these were silent before it. The text declared that One of these 
 Divine Persons became Flesh, The means by which this sublime 
 union of Godhead and Manhood was accomplished v/as a creative 
 act of the Three Divine Persons, whereby the Word and Son of 
 God, according to the Will of His Father, and with the co-opera- 
 tion of the Holy Ghost, assumed into Himself the whole and per- 
 fect human nature, and became the Son of Man ; so that Jesus 
 
160 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 Christ, the First-born of creation, the Anointed in respect to the 
 Holy Ghost Who dwelt in Him, was in Himself the Everlasting 
 Son of the Eternal Father, His Wisdom and His Word, by Whom 
 He created all things, and Whose every earthly w^ord and action 
 was a Fiat of Almighty God. 
 
 From this statement of the pure revealed doctrine of the God- 
 head and Incarnation, the preacher proceeded to unfold its doc- 
 trinal and practical consequences. A divine fact like that, he 
 observed, could not stand alone in a bari-en solitude ; it was fruit- 
 ful as the Divine nature itself Neither could it be believed alone 
 in its naked simpHcity ; it was but the seed of a joyful and abound- 
 ing faith. Because the Word was made Flesh, we saw a visible 
 Church, we heard an audible teaching, confessed a human priest- 
 hood, sacraments with a sensible form and matter, saints working 
 sensible miracles, vocal prayers, bodily penances. It was neces- 
 sary to salvation not only that the heart be purified by faith, but 
 that the body be washed with water. The Word made Flesh had 
 ordained these things and filled them with virtue ; and the Church 
 knew their value, because, believing Him to be God, she under- 
 stood all His w^ords in their divinest, mightiest, most enduring 
 sense. The Church never attached a common, weak, human 
 meaning to any saying or any action of the Word made Flesh. 
 W^hen Incarnate Wisdom bade her teach all Tiations,'' she knew 
 that she became His organ and therefore infallible ; when the 
 Mediator between God and Man declared " Whose sins you shall 
 forgive they are forgiven'' she knew that Penance became a 
 Sacrament ; when the Creator pronounced '■'This is My Body,'' 
 that Transubstanliation became a truth ; when the Pontiff after 
 the order of Melchisedech, added, " This is My Blood luhicli shall 
 be shed for the remission of sins," that the Mass was to be a 
 sacrifice. For the whole doctrine of the Church had distilled from 
 the 11 lis of Christ, as her whole life was breathed into Her by His 
 grace. 
 
 While Father Smith was saying this, Mary De Groot was 
 entirely convinced that these high dogmas of the Catholic Church 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 161 
 
 did indeed flow necessarily from the Incarnation of God ; but the 
 objection recurred to her mind that that Church which so faith- 
 fully accepted the consequences of the Incarnation, did also make it 
 null by setting up creature mediators, like the Virgin, and enthro- 
 ning them in the place of the Saviour. Father Smith suddenly 
 approached this theme in winding up his discourse. 
 
 " In nothing, my dear brethren," he said, " is the faith of the 
 Incarnation more manifest than in what the Church believes con- 
 cerning the exaltation of the Saints. Christ declares that they 
 shall reign with Him, that they shall sit with Him on His throne. 
 So the Church understands that He is not injured by their glory 
 — His own gift, nor disparaged by the intercessory mediation, 
 which is but their promised participation of His. For He is their 
 God and Lord, and cannot be excluded from any thing that they 
 do. She knows, therefore, that He is in His Saints, is glorified in. 
 them, is invoked, intercedes, obtains graces, works wonders, and 
 in a word, reigns in them ; so that while they really share His 
 mediatorial throne, He, notwithstanding, wholly fills it, God and 
 Man, the Saint of saints, and Crown of them all." 
 
 This was very startling to our young friend, but she saw its 
 truth. Yet what followed was by no means unnecessary for the 
 complete satisfaction of her mind. 
 
 " Above all," concluded the father, in a softer voice, "it is on 
 the doctrine of the Incarnation that depends our love and vener- 
 ation for that Blessed One whose womb bore the Eternal, whose 
 paps this day gave Him suck. Mary is our mother because she 
 is the Mother of our God. On the throne of the universe, He is 
 constrained by the truth of His humanity to confess Himself her 
 Son. And as it was through her individual faith, as the Scrip- 
 ture testifies, that we received the Person of the Word into the 
 bosom of our nature, so it is in her exaltation that our nature 
 gains the highest glory which the Word made Flesh diffuses in 
 His members without losing in Himself How vainly do men ad- 
 mit a truth under one form of expression while they betray their 
 unbelief by denying it in another ? When the Eternal was found 
 
 14* 
 
162 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 as an infant of days, do they still wonder that a woman is ac- 
 knowledged as the Mother of God ? If the Son of Mary were 
 an exalted creature, our love for her might do Him an injury, 
 but since He is the Creator of Mary, the Author of her merits, 
 and their Infinite reward, all our homage to her but magnifies 
 Him the more. The Catholic Church knows very well that 
 Mary is a simple creature, and that she has nothing which she 
 has not received. She is but the ark of the covenant, the gate of 
 heaven, the golden mansion of our God and King. As such we 
 revere her, but her Son is our God and King himself, and Him 
 we adore. 
 
 " See then, my brethren, how simple in its principle is that 
 holy fuith, every article of which is guaranteed to you by the 
 Divine veracity. Adhere to it with unshaken confidence, because 
 God has revealed it. Believe on the Word made Flesh under 
 every one of these lowly manifestations in which it has pleased 
 Him to hide His majesty, that you may become the sons of God, 
 according to the promise that has been read to you in the gospel : 
 — a blessing which I wish you all, In the name of the Father, 
 
 and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." 
 
 The priest turned to the altar, threw the rolled up back of 
 the chasuble over his head, replaced the maniple on his left arm, 
 and the people rose. 
 
 €xth in mum Bbuih/' 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 163 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ** It is my new faith," said the young girl, " which I came here 
 to confess. The priest has said it at the altar ; they are singing it 
 in the choir. I follow it in my heart. When the priest came to 
 the words which confess the Incarnation, he and all the people 
 with him knelt. Shall we do so again, I wonder, when the choir 
 arrive at that part ? See, it comes, and the music pauses. Yes, 
 the priest rises with the white-and-scarlet- vested boys ; they go to 
 the front of the altar and kneel, and we kneel also. Et Incar- 
 NATUs EST. This is awful. Et Homo factus est. We rise again. 
 Wonderful Church I Which believes the mystery and so compre- 
 hends all truth. Did not I read in the Protestant Episcopal 
 Prayer-book that the Nicene creed need never be said by them, 
 but at the option of the minister ? Counterfeit Church, I know 
 you by this hesitation ! Wolf in sheep's clothing and false pro- 
 phet I well may the anathema expire on your trembling lips." 
 
 Mary found no difficulty now in following in a general way 
 the course of the glorious sacrifice. It would merely have dis- 
 tracted her could she have traced more minutely an action at 
 once so full and so rapid, in which every word has a value, every 
 gesture a sense, whose boundless scope takes in three worlds, and 
 darts from Abel's offering to that of the present moment. She 
 knew that there was an oblation, for she saw the lifted chalice. 
 She saw the priest purify his hands, and prayed instinctively that 
 her soul might be purified by grace, and her body washed with 
 pure water, that she might be worthy to adore so awful a mystery. 
 Sursum corda " lifted her heart" to the Lord, and the sweet tones 
 of the Preface of the Nativity : — but lo I He comes in the name 
 of the Lord, God and Lord like Him by Whom He is sent ! 
 She saw the lights and incense, (ofiering of humble zeal to grace 
 this much-loved day,) and she hasted to bow her head^ while the 
 
164 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 choir was hushed, and the bell alone broke the deep stillness by 
 its quick and awful warning. 
 
 The last thing at mass is, that after the benediction the priest 
 reads a second gospel ; — as a general rule, the beginning of the 
 gospel of St. John, in the reading of which, as has been already- 
 noted, all kneel at the concluding sentence (And the Word was 
 made Flesh) in honor of the Incarnation. But as the reader will 
 already have observed, this gospel is the proper gospel for the 
 third mass on Christmas Day, and so another is read at the end, 
 taken from St. Matthew, and containing the visit of the Magi to 
 the infant Redeemer. One of the females near our young convert, 
 perceiving that she was a stranger to the worship, offered her 
 here an English missal, with the place found, and pointed her to 
 this gospel. Though exhausted and languid after so many emo- 
 tions, Mary gratefully read it, understanding of course that it was 
 the same which the priest was reading at the altar. 
 
 " Faithful Church I" she again cried to herself, as she per- 
 ceived whither this second gospel tended, " she never loses sight 
 of Him whom her soul loveth I Her last glance is the same as 
 her first. She was about to depart, but she turns to Him yet 
 again, her Divine Spouse I" 
 
 For at the words " a?id falling doivn they adored Him'' all 
 again genuflected, and Mary saw that it was so enjoined in the 
 book. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 165 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Fathep^ Smith had been up all night hearing confessions : the 
 little church having been crowded with penitents from fsix in the 
 evening till the early mass. He had sung mass twice, and said 
 one low mass between, giving communion to nearly four hundred. 
 In the interval, he had administered Extreme Unction and the 
 Viaticum to a dying woman, (Death waits not for festivals,) and 
 ahhough it was past midday, except in purifjdng the Chalice in 
 the last mass, he had of course not broken his fast since midnight, 
 by so much as a drop of cold water. His human nature had a' 
 right to be exhausted. But he has yet to make his thanksgiving 
 for that Bread which whoso eats shall hve for ever. He kneels 
 in his long black soutane at a desk in one corner of the sacristy, 
 M'ith his face hidden in his hands. His close-cut hair is thickly 
 sown wdth premature gray, and a bare spot at the crown is not 
 the tonsure, which in the mission is not worn, but the commence- 
 ment of baldness. Two of his young assistants are noiselessly en- 
 gaged in putting away the sacred vestments. There is a knock at 
 the door which communicates with the church. One of the boys 
 opens it. A young lady — a young girl, one would say — is there. 
 She desires to speak to Father Smith. The boy motions her to 
 come in, and points her to a chair. She takes it, and gazes 
 around timidly. The priest kneels on in his corner. In the other 
 is a low screen, with a sort of grating in it, a kneeling-board in 
 front, and a chair behind. There is perfect silence. Her heart 
 sinks within her. She looks up for help. Her eye falls on a large 
 crucifix fixed to the opposite wall, over a table. " He died for 
 me," she thinks, " died on a cross I Nothing shall prevent me 
 from confessing His name !" 
 
 At last, Father Smith rose. He saw the young girl, and ap- 
 proached her with a look of inquiry. Mary rose, but she was 
 
166 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 voiceless. She could not utter a word ; she knew not even what 
 she wanted to say, and so she just looked down. The father 
 glanced at her dark, plain hood and blanket-shawl, and -the knit 
 "socks drawn over her shoes. 
 
 " You want to go to confession ? Yery well :" — pointing to 
 the confessional. The boys left the vestry, and Father Smith 
 was going to put on his stole. 
 
 " No, sir, I do not want to confess," said Mary, in a choking 
 voice, and trembling from head to foot. 
 
 " What then do you want, ray dear child !" rejoined the priest, 
 with some surprise, and some quickness. " My time is precious, 
 but if I can be of any assistance-to you, speak. If you have any 
 thing on your mind, you had better go to confession at once." 
 
 " I wish to be baptized, sir," said Mary. 
 
 " Ah I" The priest observed her more narrowly. She had 
 broken the ice, and now looked up courageously. " You are a 
 Protestant ?" asked he, gently. 
 
 " Not now," said Mary. 
 
 " Sit down. How long is it since you came to this resolu- 
 tion ?" 
 
 " This morning, sir." 
 
 "Ah, at mass, I suppose. God is very good. But your 
 friends — they know nothing about it. Are your parents living ?" 
 
 " My father is living. My mother was a Catholic, sir." 
 
 " God is venj good I" said the father, with an upward glance. 
 " But have you never been baptized at all ?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Is your father in humble circumstances ? Has he any re- 
 ligious behef ? Do you live in New Haven ?" 
 
 " We live in New York, sir. My father is a Unitarian. He 
 is not poor," said Mary. 
 
 " I think that you must be careful not to act precipitately. 
 You must consult your father, and you will yourself need to be in- 
 structed, probably, in our holy faith. If God has really touched 
 your heart with His grace, a short trial will only make your 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 167 
 
 faith more firm and pure. What Cathohc books have you 
 read?" 
 
 Mary handed him the httle " Journee du Chretien." He 
 glanced at it. "Is this all?" he asked, with a smile. "Well, 
 it is enoug-h. God's grace can employ the feeblest instruments. 
 But you will certainly need instruction. And I don't know who 
 will instruct you. Where are you staying ? At Mr. Everett's. 
 Oh, I understand. Is there a Cathohc servant in the family ? 
 Ask her to lend you her catechism. You need no better prayer- 
 book than this for the present. It will be a month before I shall 
 be here again, for I have other stations to serve." 
 
 " A month. Father Smith I Oh, I cannot wait a month." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you can. It will soon pass. If your faith continue 
 firm, and your desire of baptism is sincere, your soul will be in no 
 danger from the delay. You must write to your father ; and, 
 meanwhile I would say as little as possible to others. Do not 
 commit yourself It is not necessary. Pray a great deal, and 
 particularly make the act of faith every night and morning with 
 fervor and attention. Now go, my dear child. God has been 
 very merciful to you. You can never love Him enough in 
 return." 
 
 Mary De Groot dropped on one knee. Father Smith blessed 
 her, and bid her be of good cheer. She went out joyfully ; 
 Bridget had waited and wondered in the church. 
 
 The good people of New Haven, and the student community 
 of Yale College, passed their Christmas morning in a very different 
 way. The Episcopal churches had been crowded on the eve, but 
 the morning congregations, partly on account of the weather, were 
 thin. The students lamented that the holiday was thrown away 
 on a storm. Smoking, card-playing with locked doors, and kin- 
 dred amusements, filled up the time of many. Reading novels, 
 lounging in each others' rooms, and all sorts of corrupt conversa- 
 tion, occupied others. The ambitious "studied," as the American 
 phrase is, i. e., read hard. The Professors and Tutors had a day 
 for their private use, unbroken by lecture or recitation. The 
 
168 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 Professor of Chemistry shut himself up in his laboratory; the Pro- 
 fessor of Natural Philosophy pursued his experiments on the 
 construction of stoves ; the Rev. President corrected his last 
 mathematical text-book, and the Divinity Professor recreated him- 
 self with a novel. Among the five hundred and more members 
 of the University, there were probably not above five and twenty 
 who went to church on Christmas morning, in the year 1834. 
 
 Among the five and twenty was our friend Alban. He had 
 indeed two invitations, one from Mr. Soapstone, to hear his sermon ; 
 one from Miss Ellsworth, to sit in her father's pew ; and the latter 
 he accepted. It was in Trinity. There was something exceed- 
 ingly comfortable and old-country-like in the whole thing, that 
 pleased Alban, and reminded him of Washington Irving's beauti- 
 ful descriptions of English Christmas. There was no new-fangled 
 " Catholicism" in the arrangements at Trinity, no Puseyite inno- 
 vation, as people would now say : no candles, no crosses, no shams 
 of any sort. It was an old-fashioned church, dressed for the cheer- 
 ful festival in an old-fashioned way. A young deacon read the 
 prayers in a very graceful manner, and the excellent rector 
 preached an old-fashioned sermon, in which he clearly proved to 
 his hearers from the Scriptures, the Divinity of Him whom he 
 called the great Founder of their religion. His text was the same 
 as Father Smith's, which was not a surprising coincidence, since 
 the same gospel was read in the Communion. The English 
 reformers in arranging their new service, took for Christmas Day 
 the old gospel for the third mass in Nativitate Domini. In the 
 well-cushioned pew of the Ellsworths, with Mary Ellsworth's 
 shot-silk dress rustling by his side, occasionally, her delicate, gloved 
 hand pointing out the place, our hero was very well oS. There 
 was literally nothing to disturb his enjoyment. There were no low 
 people near at all events, to pollute the air with their breath, and 
 with the peculiar odor that emanates from the unchanged gar- 
 ments of the poor. The sweet breath of Mary Ellsworth, with a 
 fine fragrance of cologne from her clothes, was all that mingled 
 with the fresh smell of the spruce, cedar, and balsamic pine that 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 169 
 
 drooped in deep festoons along the gallery. The Brussels carpet 
 under his feet harbored none of the small but active gentry from 
 whose persecutions poor Mary De Groot suffered all day. 
 
 Alban was engaged to dine with the Ellsworths, and when 
 service was over accepted a seat in their sleigh. It was still by 
 the beautiful daughter's side. They were going directly to dinner, 
 for the communion had made it late, as Mr. Ellsworth remarked. 
 
 " How fatiguing it must be for the clergy to have so large a 
 communion," observed Mrs. Ellsworth with matronly considera- 
 tion. 
 
 " Particularly if they were fasting, as Mr. Soapstone says they 
 ought to be," said Alban, smiling. 
 
 " Mr. Soapstone is a — most preposterous young man," said Mr. 
 Ellsworth. 
 
 " Did Mr. Soapstone fast this morning ?" asked Mary Ellsworth, 
 answering Alban' s smile. 
 
 " Why not exactly. But he explained to me at breakfast, that 
 in the present anomalous position of the Church the rule could not 
 be strictly followed ; and he really did not think he could get 
 through the whole service alone on an empty stomach." 
 
 " I wonder he should think of it," said kind Mrs. Ellsworth, 
 while her husband laughed bitterly and Miss Ellsworth gayly. 
 The sleigh swept round a corner, dashing between two girls who 
 were crossing the street, and in a moment the bells ceased jingling 
 at Mr. Ellsworth's gate. 
 
 The rector and the deacon were among the Ellsworths' 
 Christmas guests. Wine flowed ; the Church was lauded; the 
 denominations received many mortal thrusts. Even the poor 
 Papists did not wholly escape. The cross and candles at Mr. 
 Soapstone's chapel were canvassed and condemned. After dinner, 
 roLuid the dining room fire, the gentlemen filled up an hour and a 
 half or so, with smoking, politics, and anecdotes of rather dubious 
 edification. Tea and cofiee and the ladies succeeded, and the 
 evening of games and music, dancing, laughter, and mulled wine. 
 Alban was Mary Ellsworth's partner in the games and in the 
 
 15 
 
170 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 cotillion, and his hand trembled when it touched hers in bidding 
 her good-night. 
 
 The Everetts' dinner company was naturally of a different cast, 
 
 Professor S , P , the poet, several ladies of a somewhat 
 
 literary and scientific turn, and a young Marylander of the Senior 
 class, who was a connection. The beautiful maid of sixteen was 
 silent at dinner as a rose in a vase ; but in the evening she sang 
 like a Virginia nightingale in an aviary. Young Carroll got beside 
 her after some manoeuvring, and she blushed as she asked him if 
 there was not a catlicdral in Baltimore. 
 
 " Of course, Miss Mary, since it is the see of an archbishop. 
 You should visit Baltimore, Miss De Groot. You would form a 
 very different idea of- Cathohcs from what you get in the North. 
 The best families in Maryland are Catholics." 
 
 " Are they really ? The faith is the same as that of the Cath- 
 olics here, is it not ?" 
 
 " Certainly — oh, certainly, the faith is the same. But we 
 fancy that we are a little more refined than the low Irish you see 
 here." 
 
 " Of course you did not go-to mass this morning among all the 
 low Irish ?" said Mary. 
 
 " Oh, indeed, you are very severe. Miss De Groot. Of course 
 I went to mass — at five o'clock. Some of us sang Christmas carols 
 under your windows at midnight, and we staid up for mass, I 
 assure you; — at least O'Connor and I did." 
 
 " Bat at half-past ten ?" persisted Miss De Groot. 
 
 " Why to tell the truth, at half-past ten I went to the Episcopal 
 churches, first to one and then to the other, in the hope of seeing 
 you. Miss Mary ; not for the service, I assare you. But I suppose 
 you found the weather too unpleasant to go out." 
 
 " A pretty way of spending your Christmas morning, Mr. 
 Carroll I Is that your Maryland refinement ? Would your Catho- 
 lic friends in Baltimore approve of your turning your back on High 
 Mass at the cathedral, and ranging from one Protestant church to 
 another in quest of an heretical young lady?" She glowed all 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 171 
 
 over, brow, cheek, and neck. " I don't take it as a compliment 
 that I was the person you sought, if indeed I was. I was at the 
 • third mass, Mr. Carroll, and I can tell you that I think Protestants 
 excusable in the vile things they say, because they are ignorant, 
 and know no better, but not a Catholic who knows what the 
 mass is and neglects it." 
 
 Young Carroll, who was really a good fellov/ and a thorough 
 gentleman, had great difEculty in making his peace. He insisted 
 strongly on his having satisfied the precept of the Church by 
 hearing one mass, that he was not obliged to hear another, and 
 that he went to the Protestant service (he urged that) purely to 
 see her. He had not taken, nor would he take on any account 
 the least part in their worship, so much as in thought. Nay, to 
 feel the slightest devotion in a Protestant church would be a moral 
 impossibility for him. Mary was silent while he related the his- 
 tory of several attempts to convert him since he had been at New 
 Haven. It was very amusing, for out of pure contempt, the easy 
 Marylander had let himself be argued with, and plied with books 
 to almost any extent, just giving encouragement enough to draw 
 on the zealous proselyters who desired to save him from the scarlet 
 lady. 
 
 " But I knew," said the young planter, with gentle animation, 
 " that if I had been blown into ten thousand atoms, the faith 
 would have been found entire in every separate fragment." 
 
 " That's the best thing you have said yet, Mr. Carroll," said 
 Mary. 
 
 Professor S , with the instinct that shrewd Protestants 
 
 have in regard to the danger of conversing with Catholics about 
 their religion, yet influenced by that uneasiness which leads them 
 always to attack it, interposed and asked Carroll some questions 
 in a cahn tone of superiority. 
 
 " What is the reason, Mr. Carroll, since the Pope possesses the 
 whole treasure of indulgences, that he does not apply it at once 
 to let all the souls out of purgatory ? Why does he demand to be 
 paid for each one separately?" 
 
172 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 " Because he possesses no such power," rephed Carroll, with 
 the greatest pood humor. 
 
 " What, the Pope cannot let as many souls out of purgatory as 
 he pleases ?" 
 
 " Decidedly not, or it would he very cruel in him not to do 
 it. You don't seem to know, Professor, what the doctrine of the 
 Church is on the subject of indulgences." 
 
 " Pray enlighten my Protestant ignorance, Mr. Carroll." 
 
 " An indulgence as applied to the souls in purgatory, sir, is 
 only an application of the merits of Christ and the saints in their 
 behalf in the way of a prayer to God. The Church has no juris- 
 diction over the dead, sir, and the Pope can no more release a 
 soul out of purgatory by any direct act of authority than you or I 
 can." 
 
 " That I believe," said the Professor, sarcastically. " You 
 only think, then, that the Pope can pray people out of purgatory, 
 not that he can open the door with his big keys ?" 
 
 " Certainly," said Carroll, " we believe that there is a purga- 
 tory, and that the prayers of the living are useful to those who 
 are detained there : both very consoling truths to poor sinners like 
 me, though not to saints like you. Professor, Avho will of course go 
 straight to heaven when you shake off this mortal coil." 
 
 Mary De Groot laughed, and whispered to Carroll that she 
 was glad he had the courage to defend his religion so manfully. 
 
 " I cannot want that," replied the young Marylander, coloring 
 and smiling, " while I am true to the grace of confirmation. I am 
 sorry to say that I don't practise my religion so well as I might, 
 but I should have courage to die for it, if necessary." 
 
 After the mulled wine had been duly honored, Miss De Groot 
 returned young Carroll's good-night with abrupt cordiality. She 
 drew back coyly indeed from the hand which he extended with 
 Southern frankness, and made him a deep curtsey instead of taking 
 it, but she gave him one look in saying hon wir, that was winged 
 with girlish admiration, due partly to his great personal advan- 
 tages, partly to his manliness and spirit. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 173 
 
 " We must not have Charles Carroll here too often, Mary, or 
 he will convert you to Popery," said Miss Everett, laughing, when 
 the guests were gone. 
 
 " Not he," replied the young girl with a blush at her own 
 evasion. But bold as she was, she dared not confess herself a 
 convert to the Church of Rome. 
 
174 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 In addition to the profound religious questions which now interested 
 him, and the novel excitement of mature female society, our hero 
 was at this time almost overwhelmed with the perplexity and 
 trials of authorship. He had imagined that to write his tragedy 
 was all he had to do ; he was not prepared for the far more diffi- 
 cult business of getting it up. Distributing the parts, iuciiing the 
 industry and correcting the dull misapprehensions of some actors, 
 repressing the vivacity and self-will of others, superintending the 
 rehearsal, all were new, and tiresome enough. He became heart- 
 ily sick of his own work, and anticipated nothing less than a 
 total failure on the night of performance. He never thought of 
 the time as drawing inevitably near without a sickness at heart. 
 The only hope he had, was, that his new female friends would be 
 prevented from attending the Exhibition to witness his exposure. 
 The last rehearsal, in the presence of a chosen few, somewhat 
 encouraged him. His friends, indeed, pointed out to him several 
 faults in his play — an excess of plot, over-refinement in the sen- 
 timents, and occasionally too great plainness of language — an un- 
 sophisticated, unveiled expression of love, which they thought 
 required to be softened so as not to offend the delicacy of the fair 
 audience before whom the Exhibition was to be repeated. Alban 
 said it was too late to correct these faults, but he had no doubt 
 that his critics were entirely in the right. He confessed that he 
 was very inexperienced, and he wished a thousand times that he 
 had had his fingers cut off before he attempted to write that 
 unlucky tragedy. He proposed that the Exhibition should not be 
 repeated, and was but slightly consoled when his principal confi- 
 dant assured him that in a first efibrt much would be forgiven. 
 
 At length the night of the Exhibition arrived. Alban presided 
 in his chair of state ; the Society's room, had been converted into 
 
ALB AN , 
 
 175 
 
 a simple but convenient theatre. Every sitting or standing was 
 occupied. The crowd was suffocating. The tragedy was highly 
 successful, and Alban observed, to his surprise, that the points 
 which had been so severely criticised by his friends in private, 
 were precisely those which elicited from the full theatre its live- 
 liest applause. It was voted a brilliant thing, and wonderfully 
 more spirited, more racy, than could have been expected from so 
 serious a fellow as Atherton. His own friends said that the sur- 
 prise occasioned by this contrast between the author's well-known 
 character and the impassioned dialogue of his work, was the secret 
 of the success which it obtained before the student assemblage. 
 There was some truth in the remark, for nothing else was so much 
 talked of as this novel feature in a performantje of Atherton' s. 
 The experimeiitum crucis remained, however, yet to be made, in 
 the presence of nearly two hundred young ladies. 
 
 It was a brilliant coup d'cEil, the theatre on the second night, 
 at the rising of the curtain : — row rising on row of lovely faces on 
 a background mostly of white muslin, mingled occasionally with 
 richer fabrics, but all festive, while a framework of dark manly 
 costume, varied with white waistcoats, inclosed the whole on the 
 sides and rear. The President's seat of dignity commanded a view 
 of both the stage and the audience. In front of his chair three 
 seats were reserved in the middle of a settee for Miss Ellsworth, 
 Miss Everett, and Miss De Groot. The first arrived early, looking 
 very beautiful in her low cut dress and finely-drooping shoulders. 
 Miss Everett and her youthful guest came just as the curtain rose. 
 For various reasons they were sure to attract attention, which 
 their being late increased. Miss De Groot's color rose as she made 
 her way with some difficulty to the place reserved for her. She 
 got seated at last, and looked towards the stage, while Miss Ells- 
 worth, whispering " How late you are 1" glanced at the dress of 
 the rival belle. An oration and a poem were to be delivered 
 before the commencement of the dramatic performances, and the 
 orator was already in the full tide of declamation. 
 
 The title of the tragedy on the printed bill of the exercises, 
 
176 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 was " The Fall of the Inca ;" an American subject, "but admittincr 
 the richest European costume of a romantic age. The heroine 
 was the Princess of Peru. As the female parts were necessarily 
 performed by young men, this idea presented great means of effect. 
 The Princess was enacted by a Louisianian, a handsome, dark boy 
 of sixteen, and a Calliopean. His sex was a positive advantage, 
 by warranting that strictness of savage costume which otherwise 
 would not have been allowable. Young Badeau, of mixed French 
 and Indian ancestry, wore in front his own straight black hair, 
 femininely parted, and rendered with infinite spirit the wild pas- 
 sion of the Inca's daughter. The part of Pizarro was played by a 
 young man of dissipated tendencies, but great histrionic talent, 
 who subsequently went on the stage. The lover of the piece was 
 also a capital actor, now an eminent evangelical clergyman in the 
 Episcopal Church. The play, therefore, was well cast. But we 
 must not forget the Inca himself A pious classmate of Alban's, 
 whom no one would have suspected of such a talent, and at whose 
 name most smiled when it was announced, a candidate for the 
 Congregational ministry, in fact, and a man past thirty, personated 
 the Indian Sovereign — the Child of the Sun — with admirable suc- 
 cess. Alban's heart went beating triple time during the whole 
 representation. The last two acts were of thrilling interest ; the 
 incidents exciting. They passed rapidly amid breathless attention, 
 and received, at the close of the scenes, the meed of soft plaudits, 
 not unmingled with sighs and blushes. The death of the Inca 
 was wonderfully well managed, and when the Princess swooned 
 on the body of her lover, one of the young ladies, who had never 
 seen a play before, fainted, and had to be carried out. This real 
 incident added to the eclat, and the curtain fell amid enthusiastic 
 applause. Black waiters now brought in ice-cream and other re- 
 freshments for the ladies, and the President, quitting his chair of 
 state, tremblingly approached his fair friends. They welcomed 
 him with all their hands. 
 
 It does not boot to relate all the flattering things they said. 
 Miss Everett, however, fought shy of a topic on which Miss Ells- 
 
A L B A N 
 
 177* 
 
 Worth rallied him, namely, the impassioned love-scenes. Whence 
 had he drawn his knowledge of ladies' hearts and ladies' ways ? 
 His Indian princess was a true woman, and Miss Ellsworth 
 appealed to Miss De Groot. Mary had risen for a change of 
 position and was regarding Alban as if in a revery. She started 
 at Miss Ellsworth's question, made her repeat it, and answered 
 with a blush, 
 
 " 1 thought the princess a little too forward, — but then I never 
 saw a play before." 
 
 " That was meant to be a part of her character as a princess 
 accustomed to boundless submission and indulgence," observed 
 Alban. 
 
 "Oh, it seemed to me all very real, so much go that it made 
 me quite — " she hesitated. — "Christian deHcacy does not grow 
 wild in a woman's heart, of course, Mr. Alban. I think that you 
 have painted what we are by nature very truly." 
 
 Her face glowed, a».d it was impossible not to be struck with 
 its cherubinical intelligence brought out by the novel excitement. 
 Mary Ellsworth abruptly drew attention to her friend's dress. 
 
 " You have departed from your ordinary simplicity in honor of 
 the occasion, Mary. Mr. Alban ought to appreciate the compli- 
 ment. I wonder you have never worn that lovely pink satin belbre. ' 
 You should make her always dress as becomingly. Miss Everett." 
 
 Miss De Groot was in fact arrayed with an unusual care. Her 
 hair was relieved by a slender gold band, over which its dark 
 thick waves seeme struggling to rise. She laughed girlishly at 
 her dress being noticed, and said something awkwardly about 
 having out-grown all her dresses since she came to New Haven, 
 and then the beautiful eyelids drooped, 
 
 " What a child she is after all," thought the President of the 
 Brothers' Society, and turned to Miss Ellsworth, 
 
 The comedy produced much merriment. The principal char- 
 acter was a raw New England farmer. The wit was not very 
 refined, but the truthfulness of the representation in respect to ac- 
 cent and dialect, and the reckless fun of the preposterous incidents 
 
178 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 rendered it irresistible. Every body laughed, Mary De Groot 
 lauohcd till she cried, and Miss Everett nearly ruptured a blood- 
 vessel in the vain attempt to preserve her dignity. Mary De 
 Groot's uncontrollable convulsion sunk her again in the. grave 
 estimate of Mr. Alban, while Miss Ellsworth proportionably rose 
 in virtue of the expressions of disgust vidierewith she avenged her- 
 self for an occasional surprise. 
 
 The performance was not concluded till nearly two o'clock. 
 
 Miss Everett and Mary waited for the crush to be over, 
 and Alban, as their inviter, kept near them, 
 
 "Are you going home for the vacation, Mr. Alban ?" 
 
 He had thought to spend it at New Haven. The Sound was 
 not pleasant at this season ; there was sometimes danger I'rom the 
 accumulation of ice ; and it was his last winter vacation, 
 
 " But I should think it would do you good to get away from 
 New Haven for a fortnight," 
 
 Here Miss Ellsworth elbowed her way out of the cloak-room 
 and approached, all muffled, to take leave of the President. 
 
 " We shall expect to see you every day in the vacation, Mr. 
 Atherton," 
 
 Alban thanked her, shook hands, and bade her good-night 
 with a gratified and admiring air. Following with his eye her 
 receding figure, and watching her gracefully take up her dress to 
 descend the carpetless stairs, he forgot Miss De Groot, until the 
 latter appeared in her snowy capuchin, and with the pink satin 
 carefully gathered up. 
 
 " And I must say ' good-by,' I suppose, Mr. Alban," 
 How so ?" 
 
 " I am going home on Monday — to New York." 
 
 Accompanying them down the stair, he learned that this was 
 settled, Miss De Groot having only waited for the Exhibition^ 
 She had written to her father that very day to meet her at the 
 wharf on Monday evening. 
 
 " The idea of her going home alone on that frightful Sound," 
 said Miss Everett. 
 
 12 
 
A L B A N 
 
 179 
 
 " I wish you were going down for the vacation, Mr. Alban," 
 said Miss De Groot. " Why can't you change your mind, and be 
 my escort ?" she added, in a sportive girlish manner. 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure," answered Alban, gallantly. 
 Will you, really ? Oh I you are only in jest, Mr. Alban. 
 New Haven has too many attractions for you to leave it." 
 
 " It loses one of its greatest in losing Miss De Groot, who does 
 not think me capable, I hope, of accepting such an invitation in 
 jest. After all, my mother would be disappointed not to see me 
 this vacation." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Alban, if you have a mother who expects you, I 
 shall do a good turn by persuading you to spend your vacation in 
 New York. You can get permission to go on Monday, I sup- 
 pose ?" 
 
 " The vacation does not begin till Wednesday, but there will 
 be no difficulty about that," said Alban, half feehng that he 
 might get off on this score, if he chose, and he thought of spending 
 the evenings at Miss Ellsworth's, around a table for games, with 
 ail the too agreeable incidents sure to follow ; nor did he not re- 
 member the morning tete-a-tetes which he might hope so much 
 more frequently to enjoy. But Miss Everett took up his offer, and 
 observed, that if Mr. Atherton were really going dowu for the 
 vacation, it would be quite a relief to her mind. Atherton prom- 
 ised to call at the Grove on the morrow and complete the arrange- 
 ment ; Miss De Groot thereupon expressed her satisfaction, 
 without any disguise, and the sleigh glided away with its jingle 
 and slide. 
 
 " These rich and proud people seem really to make use of one," 
 thought Alban. " It is rather selfish in Miss Mary to make me 
 quit New Haven to wait upon her on the steamboat. Still, she 
 is a young lady, whom, for what I have seen of her, I sincerely 
 respect." 
 
180 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 The day after an exhibition, men sleep over and g-et marked 
 by the monitors ; but Atherton, having a favor to ask, was in 
 his place at the head of the Seniors, (being A. A.,) just as the 
 chapel-bell ceased tolling, and Henry Atherton, who was Senior 
 monitor, and never failed to note his cousin and room-mate's ab- 
 sences with rigid impartiality, smiled gravely as he rose and took 
 out his chapel book. Our hero was at the President's lecture and 
 got the permission he required, the good Doctor observing that 
 Atherton had been hard worked this term ; but indeed Alban 
 was never refused any thing. It was the only thing which in- 
 jured his general popularity, that he was such a favorite with the 
 "dons." He made his arrangements then in the afternoon, and 
 in the evening called at the Grove agreeably to his promise. 
 
 The small, lofty drawing-room, looked cheerfully manorial 
 with its high mahogany doors, crimson satin window curtains 
 drawn, blazing grate, pictured walls, and open piano. Alban 
 had seen so little of Miss De Groot that he did notice she had 
 grown since he first saw her at the fair. 
 
 She declined an invitation to attend the College Chapel the 
 next day, but offered to take a walk with Mr. Alban in the after- 
 noon, if he would call at the Grove. She strove, it was evident, 
 to make herself agreeable to him. She went to the piano and 
 played. Mary was one of those gifted individuals who play by 
 ear and catch a piece the first time they hear it. Doubtless her 
 refined musical organization was connected with that quickness 
 of temper which we have noticed. Her voice was neither con- 
 tralto nor soprano ; but soft in the lower register, bird-like in the 
 higher. As she sung, her well-formed chest played freely in its 
 easy vesture. It was curious, though, how quietly she sat on the 
 music-stool — like a child. Miss De Groot paid so much respect 
 
AL B AN , 
 
 181 
 
 to the vicinity of the Sabbath as to play only sacred music. She 
 performed admirably the Kyrie which she had heard at mass. 
 
 Alban's ear was pleased, but he was so uncultivated that he 
 knew not whether what he had heard was very good or not ; so 
 he was silent. 
 
 Mary began some grave and solemn unisons — a sublime Dorian 
 chant. She added words as before. It was the Preface of the 
 Nativity. 
 
 "What kind of music is that?" asked Alban, with emotion, 
 when the strain abruptly closed. 
 
 " You feel that, do you ? It is the intonation of a part of the 
 mass," said Mary, in a low voice. " And this is more of it." 
 She toned off the Pater nosier, with one hand, singing the words. 
 
 " Mary spends her Sunday mornings singing mass," observed 
 Miss Everett. 
 
 " Not exactly," said Miss De Groot, bending over the piano. 
 
 " You must take care how your father hears you amusing 
 yourself in that way," continued Miss Everett. 
 
 " Trust me for that," replied the young girl quickly, and turn- 
 ing merely her head towards the speaker. 
 
 " Ever since Mr. Carroll dined here on Christmas Day, Miss 
 De Groot has done nothing but read Catholic prayer-books, and 
 shig Catholic hymns," said Mr. Everett, with a smile and shrug. 
 
 "I won't play another note after that," cried the young lady, 
 springing from the piano with her wonted crimson flush when 
 touched. And dropping upon a low seat by the centre-table, and 
 resuming some hght work, she added with a spirited toss of the 
 beautiful head, " I assure you, Mr. Alban, that Mr. Carroll has 
 nothing to do with my Catholic reading or music, — at least — " she 
 added, — "nothing in the way of personal influence." 
 
 " If you were not so strict about truth, I should say that was 
 a fib," thought Alban ; but he merely observed that Carroll was a 
 favorite with the ladies, whereat Miss De Groot colored still 
 more, and he inferred that whether conscious of it or not, she was 
 no exception ; but that opinion he was wise enough to keep to 
 
 16 
 
182 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 himself. After all it did not interest him greatly, and soon after 
 he took leave, reminding her that he should call the next day after 
 evening chapel. 
 
 The Sunday afternoon walk was pleasant. While the path 
 lay through the wood, as it did at first, they were obliged to go in 
 Indian file ; but as soon as they gained the open road, they walked 
 abreast in the double furrow worn by the sleighs, with a little 
 mound of snow running between. They walked fast. Mary 
 brushed the snow with her short dark green merino. Sometimes 
 they had to turn out for a sleigh, and the people, as they flew by, 
 gave them looks of curiosity. The sun cast a red, setting light on 
 the woods, precipitous cliflTs, and snowy back slopes of East Rock. 
 Nearly three miles out they approached a picturesque half-frozen 
 mill-stream. 
 
 " Beautiful New Haven I" exclaimed Mary De Groot. 
 
 " And yet you run away from it," said Alban; " very unneces- 
 sarily, as I gather from Miss Everett." 
 
 " Are you sorry to feel yourself under a chivalrous obligation 
 of being my escort ?" 
 
 " Nay," said Alban, " I must return in a fortnight, you know, 
 and then I shall not find you here." 
 
 " But you will find Mary Ellsworth. You have not been such 
 a daily visitor at the Grove as to miss me much." 
 
 " I have been somewhat neglectful of you. Miss Mary, I con- 
 fess, but you know how busy I have been with my tragedy." 
 
 " Oh I I don't complain. A little school-girl like me (for I 
 have had masters every da}^ you know) has no pretensions to re- 
 ceive visitors like Miss Ellsworth. It would have interfered with ** 
 my lessons too much. That is one reason why I had to excuse 
 myself from seeing Mr. St. Clair so often as he called. I do not 
 like a great many gentlemen friends like Miss Ellsworth. But 
 apart from your tragedy, Mr. Alban, it is evident that if you call 
 almost every evening or morning on one young lady, you cannot 
 see much pf any other, unless you give up your whole time to 
 visiting. How often in a week were you at the Ellsworths ?" 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 183 
 
 Seldom more than twice, really," said Alban, blushing a 
 little under this frank catechising'. 
 
 " Ah I twice too often," exclaimed Miss De Groot, with quick- 
 ness. 
 
 " Well, why so, Miss Mary ?" said Alban, reddening still more. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Alban, distinguished as you are in your class, you 
 can't be seriously ' paying attention,' as the girls say, to a young 
 lady like Miss Ellsworth, a couple of years older than yourself. 
 And you can't have the vanity to suppose that courted as she is, 
 she is going to think seriously of you, much as she may like you 
 and admire your talents. I am a mere chit ; 1 have no experience 
 in such matters ; but an instinct warns me that you are betraynig 
 your own dignity." 
 
 Our hero looked sheepish. 
 
 " Mary tells, and laughs at, the compliments and soft things 
 you say to her," pursued Miss De Groot, with girlish mahce. " I 
 myself believe that if the truth was known, she gives you in pri- 
 vate plenty of encouragement. Now that is treating you shame- 
 fully, /would never do so. If it were me you admired, I should 
 keep it to myself, and if I showed the least sign of particular re- 
 gard for you the?t, it would — mean a great deal, Mr. Alban." 
 
 " Many thanks for your honest revelations, Miss De Groot." 
 
 " I hope I have not offended you." 
 • *; Not the least." 
 
 "And now I must tell you what brought me to New Haven, 
 and what takes me away," continued Miss De Groot, diverting his 
 attention to another subject. " You must kri'ow, Mr. Alban, that 
 I have a stepmother. She is not unkind to me, but you are aware 
 that my temper is infirm. Mamma used to try it. She is a bigoted 
 adherent of the religious vievv^s in which you have been educated, 
 and she used to reflect very severely (no doubt she thought it her 
 duty) on papa's sentiments, in which, as you know, I have been 
 brought up, while (I really could not bear that) she called my 
 own mother an idolater. Mamma and I quarrelled, in short, and 
 papa took my part. Then I begged to be sent to school or any 
 
184 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 where, and papa, finding it was necessary, consented to my passing 
 the winter with the Everetts, who are distant relatives. Now 
 for why I am going back. It is partly because I have learned 
 lately from a good source that it is best not to shun such trials, 
 but to learn humility and patience by taking them as they come, 
 even if one has the mortification of often displaying one's weakness. 
 So I am going home to be a better girl if I can, and to bear the 
 disgrace of being a bad one, if I can't," 
 
 Our hero was gratified to be the depositary of such a confidence ; 
 at the same time that there was a force of will, and an independent 
 clearness of thought in this young girl, which prevented him from 
 feeling any thing like sentiment in her regard. 
 
 " May I ask a question. Miss Mary ?" 
 
 " Fifty. I shall use my discretion about answering, Mr. Alban." 
 *' Your music last night suggests it. Is your mind turning to 
 your mother's faith ?" 
 
 " It is the only true religion," said Mary. 
 " Heally I have you got so far already I" 
 
 " I am indebted to you, Mr. Alban, for the first word, as far as 
 I know, that prepared me to believe in the Divinity of my Saviour ; 
 and that, I beheve, includes every thing." 
 
 " It may be that you are right there," observed Alban, re- 
 garding her with interest and surprise. " A Church founded by an 
 incarnate God ought to be infallible, particularly as He promised it 
 perpetual inspiration, a fact of which I am surprised that Protest- 
 ants take no notice. If Christ was divine, His Church ought to 
 be the pillar and ground of Truth." 
 
 " What a little way you are from the truth, Mr. Alban I I 
 am iure you will come to it," said she, earnestly. 
 
 " Well, I shall not be guilty of assailing a young lady's reli- 
 gious convictions, if I sayncz^," replied Alban, " that my difficulty 
 about Christianity for some time past has been, that if it be true, 
 Popery follows. No intermediate ground is strong enough to bear 
 the weight of a God-man." 
 
 " That's it, Mr. Alban !" 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 V85 
 
 They mounted the stile which marked the boundary of Mr. 
 Everett's domain. Again they passed in Indian file along the 
 woodland snow-path, the young maiden leading the way. "When 
 they came in sight of the house a covered stage-sleigh was driving 
 out of the avenue. 
 
 " An arrival I" exclaimed Miss De Groot, with a tell-tale 
 blush. 
 
 Alban went in with her of course. A portmanteau stood 
 in the hall. 
 
 *' Papa I" she exclaimed. " I thought so," 
 
 16* 
 
186 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Alban had a vague idea that the father of Miss De Groot was 
 the representative of a race of manorial proprietors on the North 
 River ; that he was also the owner of an old farm residence on 
 New York Island, on the ponds of whose domain he had skated as 
 a boy. He remembered at that period a large house at the lower 
 end of Greenwich-street which bore such a name on the door- 
 plate ; and far, far back among his dimmest recollections of the 
 time when his father lived in State-street, and he Avent to a 
 woman's school, appeared the image of a little girl with dark 
 ringlets, and a passionate temper, for whom, on rainy days, a car- 
 riage was sent, or, when it snowed, a buffalo-robed sleigh, to con- 
 vey her the distance of two or three squares which intervened 
 between the aforesaid mansion and Madam 's. These remi- 
 niscences assumed really for the first time a definite conscious ex- 
 istence in his mind when his eye rested on the figure of Mr. De 
 Groot in the Everetts' drawing-room. It was a form, face, and 
 even a garb, familiar to the young New Yorker in days gone by. 
 
 Mary's father was a man above the middle height, having a 
 spare but well-knit frame, slightly stooping,, and a classic head. 
 His dark brown hair, cut short and curling massively, his splendid 
 brown eyes, and largely moulded, but regular features, combined 
 to form a commanding, and, at the same time, attractive physiog- 
 nomy. He was dressed in an obsolete fashion : a blue, gilt-but- 
 toned coat and buff waistcoat, a frilled shirt and white cravat. 
 Between him and his daughter existed, besides some other varia- 
 tions, the ineffiible difference of sex and youth. 
 
 Their meeting was tender without being very demonstrative. 
 Mary introduced Alban with a slight embarrassment and yet with 
 perfect .openness. ' 
 
 " Mr. Alban Atherton of the Senior class, papa. Mr. Ather- 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 187 
 
 ton had kindly offered to take charge of me, sir, on the boat to- 
 morrow. And so you came in an extra from New York to take 
 care of your little girl yourself" 
 
 " Not so little," said her father. " You have grown, Mary. 
 i\'r. Atherton is very kind, though, as you say, and I am much 
 obliged to him." 
 
 Alban was about to withdraw, but the Everetts politely urged 
 him to stay for tea ; Mary warmly, although with a rising color, 
 seconded the invitation, and her father, at whom he involuntarily 
 glanced, said, bending his rich brows, and speaking in a rich 
 voice, " Stay, Mr. Atherton." 
 
 They sat round the table for the Sunday tea, and there was a 
 beef-steak for Mr. De Groot, who had arrived hungry. He par- 
 took of it sparingly, but drank many cups of weak black tea, 
 conversing the while in a very agreeable way with his hosts. At 
 length he turned to our hero, and asked him a quiet question 
 touching the new rehgious theories which had been promulgated 
 at New Haven. 
 
 " The point of the new school," said Alban, in an explanatory 
 way, which he judged level to the apprehension of a Dutch Uni- 
 tarian, " is to get rid of the mysteriousness which has hitherto 
 attached to the doctrine of original sin, and the new birth, and the 
 influence of the Spirit in regeneration, and make it all plain to 
 our understandings." 
 
 " And how is that done, may I ask ?" said Mr. De Groot, 
 gravely, while his daughter slightly reddened. 
 
 " Oh, in the neatest manner," replied the student. " Original 
 sin is explained thus. The will being as the strongest motive, 
 unhappily the motives which are first presented to the youthful 
 stranger arrived in this world are such as to compel him to choo.se 
 what the law of God forbids. The New Birth is the turning of 
 the will from these forbidden objects to the service of God ; and 
 the agency by which the will is thus turned about, is the presen- 
 tation of the motives to obedience in so strong a light by the 
 Spirit, that holiness is necessarily the resulting choice." 
 
188 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 " The thought of New England," said Mr. De Groot, when 
 Alban had finished, " may be compared to momitain rills, some of 
 which leap boldly over the precipitous face of high clifTs ; others 
 follow gentle and sinuous declivities, but all unite in the common 
 valley. The theory you so well state differs but verbally from 
 that of Dr. Channitig, which is, that man is a being who requires 
 moral culture. The pure and earnest thinker will yet arise to 
 teach all the different schools their inward identity. The old 
 Church" — glancing at his daughter — " had a true meaning when 
 she asserted the Divinity of Christ ; and, indeed, the more purely 
 we contemplate God in Christ, forgetting the mere man by whom 
 Eternal Wisdom sought to instruct and elevate our race, the 
 nearer shall we be to the soul — not of course to the mere dog- 
 matic body — of the ancient Faith." 
 
 This style of speculation was new to our hero, and altogether 
 he was somewhat taken by surprise. He was silent from modesty 
 and admiration, but Mary De Groot replied to her father with 
 feminine promptitude. 
 
 " How can I be near your soul, papa, by true sympathy, and 
 your body not be precious to me too ? Suppose I were to love in 
 you the father abstractedly, but regard Mr. Eugene De Groot as 
 a common acquaintance." 
 
 The Everetts laughed. They did not relish Mr. De Groot's 
 pantheistic refinements. They hated the orthodox doctrine soul 
 and body both. Mr. Everett said he never could believe Unita- 
 rianism and Trinitarianism to be at bottom the same doctrine. 
 
 " I do not say they are the same in form," responded Mr, De 
 Groot, " but they exemplify the same spiritual impulse, that of 
 finding God to be all, and all to be God," and he looked at 
 Alban. 
 
 " Then God is sin and error, papa. He is falsehood and hate. 
 How dreadful I" exclaimed Mary, growing warm. 
 
 " Sin and error, falsehood and hate," answered her father, 
 with a calm smile, and in a rich triumphant intonation, " are but 
 the discords which are resolved into the harmony of God." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 189 
 
 " Let God be true and every man a liar !" quoted Mary, 
 shaking her cherubic head. " Ah, my dear father I" 
 
 " Mary's feehiig is right," returned her father, a little coldly. 
 " A right feeling is the strength of Trinitarianism. I own that 
 those love most warmly who do not so clearly distinguish. The 
 hottest rays of the spectrum do not coincide with the most 
 luminous." 
 
 " But the undivided ray of the sun both lights and warms," 
 answered Mary, with surprising quickness. 
 
 *' Let us change the theme," said Mr. De Groot. 
 
 He did not change it much. Reverting to original sin, he 
 ridiculed the idea of hereditary guilt in the creatures of the All- 
 good. Then he dilated with eloquence on the sole necessity of an 
 interior change in ourselves from the first selfishness of ignorance 
 to the disinterested love of God and Man, in order to make us at 
 one with the Just and True. Christ first had triumphed over 
 selfishness and sensuality, and sacrificed all to that disinterested 
 love ; and therefore was He said to have redeemed mankind : for 
 in Him man was reconciled to God, i. e., had attained a divine 
 disinterestedness, for it was man only who was reconciled to God 
 in Christ, not God — the ever-benign — who was reconciled to 
 man. His voice became full of vibration and sweet cadences as 
 he proceeded. 
 
 " Paul was inspired, but what is inspiration ? In its highest 
 expression you must look for a human element, Read your Bible 
 on your bended knee, but read it not servilely. The great teacher 
 of the Gentiles well explained the Mosaic records as symbolizing 
 a spiritual system. The time has come to explain Paul, as he 
 explained Moses. Inspiration is not, never can be, withdrawn 
 from our race, no more than God Himself. Bat the inspired, 
 who ever feel a sacred confidence in their own thoughts, are few. 
 Time also must seal their prophecy ; time unfold it. The 
 prophets are always men of a remote age, and their writings are 
 ancient. A Bible will take a millennium to compose ; another to 
 be accepted." 
 
 15 
 
190 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 '* You think, papa," said Mary De Groot, between laughin 
 and crying, " that a thousand years hence you will pass for a 
 prophet." 
 
 Mr. and Miss Everett were overawed by the melodious elo- 
 quence of their guest. Mr. De Groot was, in fact, one of tho 
 splendid Unitarians whom their own circle nearly deified, and 
 whose daring transcendentalism, although not accepted as sound 
 by the body at large, composed for the most part of hard, literal 
 thinkers, and controlled by a most New England materiahty of 
 conception, was nevertheless listened to by them all with some- 
 thing of that reverence which the Orientals pay to the utterances 
 of the insane. 
 
 The Everetts were very urgent with Mr. De Groot to induce 
 him to stay a few days at New Haven. His arrival had necessa- 
 rily superseded the attendance of our hero upon his daughter ; 
 but he inquired with courtesy if Mr. Atherton meant at all events 
 to go down to New York on the morrow. Alban recalled his 
 conversation with Miss De Groot respecting Mary Ellsworth, and 
 promptly replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " We shall go too," said Mr. De Groot, quietly. " The boat 
 starts at six, I believe. You are all ready for the journey, Mary ? 
 And of course I am." 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 191 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 On Monday morninj^, while Alban was dressing by candle-light, 
 Mr. Everett's sleigh-barouche stopped at North College gate. 
 Then he remembered that the arrangements made on Saturday 
 had not been revoked. Mr. Everett's servant came for his trunk. 
 Alban was sensible of an extreme awkwardness in taking the 
 vacant seat in the sleigh. It was too dark to discern the faces of 
 his companions, and he fancied that their salutations were frigid. 
 
 The engine of the Fanny was in full play when they reached 
 the wharf, snorting like a racer, and churning the water behind 
 the boat into a furious foam. Her cables creaked, and the foot- 
 plank swayed to and fro with every stroke of the paddles. Mary 
 attempting, like a giddy girl, to go on board alone, was nearly 
 thrown off — would have been, but for Alban's timely aid. It was 
 so dark that no one saw it but themselves. "Without withdrawing 
 his arm from the waist it had clasped to save her, he guided her 
 through the crowd of boat-hands and porters to the door of the 
 ladies' cabin. Mr. De Groot came on board with a grim aspect, 
 wrapped in Uussian furs. 
 
 Mr. Everett followed with a courteous but formal air, to take 
 leave of his lovely guest. The girl of sixteen, coyly bending 
 under the swinging lamp of the ladies' cabin, gave him the tips 
 of her fingers and the sweetest smile. The bachelor of forty-five 
 thawed before it. " All aboard that's going I''' thundered the 
 captain of the Fanny from the wheel-house." Mr. Everett ran 
 off like a man of five and twenty. 
 
 The cables M'ere slipped ; the Fanny moved past the wood- 
 piled wharf. Soon they were in the icy bay ; then in the tossing 
 Sound. By daybreak nothing could be seen above the horizon, 
 even in the north, but a white land-streak, the snowy coast of 
 Connecticut. 
 
192 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 The Fanny felt the winter rocking of the Sound. Mr. De 
 Groot's dyspeptic stomach did not bear it too well. He was glad 
 to leave his daughter and Alban at the steamboat breakfast- 
 table. Even they broke their fast daintily, and were glad to get 
 on deck again, where Atherton arranged a sheltered seat for Miss 
 De Groof, while her father, with his furs almost hiding his face, 
 lay near them on a bale of merchandise. The familiarizing in- 
 fluence of travelling in company is proverbial, particularly under 
 circumstances of bodily discomfort. The young people sat very 
 near to each other by tacit mutual consent. Mary De Groot's 
 cloak of sables became a matter of contention between them. 
 She, being very warmly clad, insisted on Alban, who was the re- 
 verse, throwing it over his lap. They compromised by sharing it. 
 
 " Why, you have only that wretched, scanty, faded camlet, with 
 such a queer velvet collar standing above your ears. I don't mean 
 to laugh at your student garb, Mr. Alban." 
 
 " I thought my camlet was rather a fine thing when I got it — 
 two years ago, 'tis true." 
 
 " I can fancy it being fine for you two years ago. But now it 
 is short, and has lost its color. You must get a real Spanish full 
 circle of fine blue broadcloth, and a pelisse trimmed with furs." 
 
 " I can't afford such things," replied the young man. " And 
 if I could, my father would think me stark mad to wear them." 
 
 " Would he really ? Now papa thinks nothing good enough 
 for me. But I hate being dressed up hke a doll. It is my pride? 
 I suppose. Now that I am going home I shall take up with 
 wearing my fine clothes — as an act of humility." She laughed. 
 "But, Mr. Alban, are you really skeptical?" 
 
 " It would be an affront to confess it to a young lady — unless 
 to one like you, who, I fear, have too much faith." 
 
 " I should take it as an affront, in general." 
 
 " For the just reason that such an avowal by a young man is 
 usually equivalent to a profession that he rejects the restraints of 
 morahty," replied Alban. " But that is not my case. What has 
 destroyed my confidence in Christianity is precisely that it does not 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 193 
 
 keep its promise of making me good and pure. I am as anxious 
 as ever to be both." 
 
 Miss De Groot rose and went to her father to inquire how he 
 
 did. 
 
 " No better," was the laconic reply of the sick philosopher, 
 without opening his eyes. 
 
 When the young lady returned, she insisted on her student- 
 friend's taking the sable cloak to himself, declaring that it really 
 oppressed her. Alban was warmer, but not so happy, as when 
 the rich heavy garment lay over Mary De Groot's knee as well as 
 his own. The maiden probably minded the looks of the thing 
 more than the reality, as there was always a little cabin-stool 
 partly interposed between them, on the rounds of which she rested 
 her feet. The acquaintance ripened hour by hour. One might 
 suppose that the youth rapidly fell in love. Bat mystery is almost 
 essential to excite the imagination at that age. Mary's absence 
 of disguise and clearness of apprehension on every topic, left no 
 recess of her mind or heart into which the pure light of Heaven 
 did not seem to shine. Moreover, a sense of honor led Alban to 
 refrain from every word or act which might be construed as taking 
 advantage of a half-grown girl's inexperienced fancy. And a lit- 
 tle, it must be confessed, her apparent preference elated his vanity, 
 and this is the feeling most opposite to love, in which a natural 
 humility and self-distrust ever mingle. 
 
 The shores of the narrowing Sound began to attract their at- 
 tention. They passed slowly through fields of ice. Sometimes 
 the scene was quite Arctic. Coming upon a long white building 
 with wings, lying under the shelter of a bold promontory, a bell 
 slowly tolling like a chapel bell saluted their ears 
 
 " Look, Mr. Alban, what a site for a convent !" 
 
 17 
 
194 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " Would you like to be a nun ?" 
 "Not I." 
 
 " They say that nunneries are bad places." 
 
 " I have heard Protestant girls say so, but I knew a girl who 
 had been educated in a convent, and she was the best girl I ever 
 knew. My own mother passed all her life in a convent till she 
 was married, and I have always heard papa say that though 
 bigoted, she was the most innocent creature that could possibly be. 
 
 " But, like other young ladies, you wish and expect to be mar- 
 ried one of these days ?" 
 
 " Girls have a horror of dying old maids, you know," blushing 
 and laughing. " So have I ; it is reasonable, Mr. Alban ; for old 
 maids are neglected and pitied by every body. But I would not 
 mind — I'm not sure I don't prefer — dying a young maid." 
 
 " A sweet idea," said Alban, " but shocking. You mustn't 
 mention it." 
 
 " I had a friend — the dearest school-friend I ever had — who 
 died so — in her virgin bloom. She was just turned of twenty, and 
 five years older than I, although we had been room-mates for two 
 years. The most conscientious girl I ever knew I You have heard 
 me speak of her before. I owe her every thing. She was to me 
 a friend, a mother, and a sister, all in one." 
 
 These school-friendships are generally so exaggerated, especially 
 when death has dissolved them, that Alban gave more credit to 
 Mary's fancy than to the real excellence of her school-mate for the 
 warmth of this eulogy, although its sincerity was attested by tears. 
 He observed that it must have been an inestimable advantage at 
 Miss De Groot's age to have had such a friend at school. 
 
 "You may well say that, Mr. Alban. I feel it more than 
 ever now, knowing the source of Alexandrine's angelic virtues." 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 195 
 
 *' She was a Catholic ?" 
 
 " She was. But she never tried to convert me. She had 
 promised when I was placed with her that she would not. We 
 were two and two in a room throughout the establishment, each 
 havinof a separate cot. There was nothing- peculiar about her, you 
 know, except that she said her praj'ers kneeling before a crucifix 
 instead of in bed, as most of the girls used, and that at night she 
 recited the Rosary. I wonder it did not make a greater impression 
 upon me then ; but I was so prejudiced against worshipping Christ, 
 that I always regarded her as an idohiter, although I used to stand 
 up for her when her religion was attacked by the orthodox girls." 
 
 Mr. De Groot's stomach had become tranquillized in the 
 smoother waters of East River. He got up, approached the 
 young people, and announced his intention of going on the prome- 
 nade deck. The wind had shifted to the south, and the tempera- 
 ture had become comparatively mild as they approached jSTew York. 
 Mary instantly offered to accompany her father to the hurricane 
 deck, to which he assented, but requested Atherton to give her his 
 arm. So Mr. De Groot walked rapidly up and down on one side 
 by himself, while his daughter and Alban, equally glad of the 
 opportunity of stretching their legs, promenaded arm in arm, on the 
 other. 
 
 " Your idea of dying unmarried comes back to me," said Alban, 
 perhaps unfairly probing her thoughts. " Have you no day-dreams, 
 then. Miss Mary, of pure, romantic love, in which every thing is 
 noble and perfect, your lover a hero, yourself adored by him, and 
 so forth ?" 
 
 " Alexandrine used to say that castle-building was a vice, and 
 yet I do build castles in the air sometimes, Mr. Alban. And you 
 are very penetrating to know that there is a great temptation, to 
 have a hero, and I own that in spite of Alexandrine's warnings I 
 have not always had the virtue to resist it. But, since you are so 
 curious, my romance i« always a tragedy : the heroine dies." 
 
 " It was Alexandrine's death that put such ideas into your 
 head." 
 
196 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 " 0 dear, no I I have had them these three years — but let us 
 talk of something else." 
 
 By a little teasing he got her to pursue the subject. She 
 was shy of it, yet willing to be persuaded. 
 
 " To tell you the truth, it was a singular dream I had three 
 years ago, which first suggested to me the idea that I should die 
 — not exactly unmarried — but I can't well explain it to you, JMr. 
 Alban." 
 
 " You know I have always tried to do you good," said Alban, 
 in an insinuating tone. 
 
 " You have, Mr. Alban. I feel it, I assure you. Well, I will 
 tell you my story. But let us stand out of the wind : it flutters 
 my clothes so that I can't hear myself talk. The thing occurred 
 when I had been a few months at school. Papa and my present 
 mother were in Europe, you know ; so that I Vv^as like an orphan, 
 and it was the first time in my life that I had even been away 
 from home. There were more than a hundred girls in the 
 school, and among so many, some of course would be bad. But 
 I must say, Mr. Alban, that our public opinion was against bad- 
 ness, and those who were openly wicked, or were known to be 
 secretly so, were kept at a distance by the others. We had a 
 great deal of pride, and there was no end of foolish talking about 
 fashions, and society, and beaux, and so on, but I never knew in my 
 circle of intimates the slightest approach to impropriety in word 
 or conduct that was not frowned down at once. But those who 
 were ba.d and had the tact to conceal it, w^ere dangerous friends, 
 as you may suppose. My first room-mate was of this description. 
 Papa and mamma had chosen her for me, because our families 
 were acquainted, and because her manners were so lady-like. 
 She was about two years my senior. There is no telling you in 
 how many ways that girl was unprincipled. I shudder to think 
 what a risk I ran during the three or four months that I was her 
 room-mate. Indeed, I did not quite escape. Is it not strange, Mr. 
 Alban, that evil companions always do us harm, although without 
 our own consent they can do us none ?" 
 
AL BAN . 
 
 197 
 
 " It is very true." 
 
 " Henrietta was idle, vain, mendacious — does not that say all ? 
 A liar is already every thing bad. She was mean, a petty thief — 
 she stole confectionary and fruit from the g-irls, and even once, a 
 trinket, which I discovered and returned to the owner — and — she 
 was not modest. She was always on her guard in the school, for 
 she loved popularity — no one louder than she to condemn any thing 
 amiss in others — but before a little girl like me, her room-mate, 
 who knew necessarily most of her faults, she betrayed even this. 
 You must remember that I was only a few months past thirteen. 
 I was afraid to tell of her. I could not bear to be a tell-tale, of 
 all things ; and insensibly I began to be less shocked than at the 
 first discovery of her badness, and sometimes I was conscioiis of a 
 temptation (so weak we are) to imitate. I claim no merit for not 
 telling lies, cheating, or stealing sugar and cake ; such meau 
 vices ; but to neglect my books, wardrobe, and person, spend my 
 time in looking at myself in the glass, or reading the novels Henri- 
 etta had surreptitiously procured, and, worst of all, to think when 
 alone of what she had said to me on topics which openly to her I 
 resented her mentioning — these things, Mr. Alban, sorely tried the 
 principle of a child to avoid." 
 
 " I tremble for you." 
 
 " At last : — it was on a day, or rather a night, of mid- winter ; 
 — a bitter night, when the door-handles in our fireless dormitories 
 blistered my little hands, and the crusty snow on the window- 
 panes made thern hall-dark in spite of the moon, after the candle 
 was put out. We had gone to bed, and Henrietta talked to me. 
 She was in one of her communicative moods, such as I had often 
 answered by flying into an impotent passion. That night, some- 
 how, I had not the spirit to be angry, I had been thinking of my 
 desolate, half-orphan condition, and the difference between school 
 and home, and what care my own mother would have taken to 
 guard the innocence of my mind, of which I was being ruthlessly 
 robbed, and (I well remember) of the terrible school-future that 
 lay before me, when perhaps I should get to be as bad as this cor- 
 
 17* 
 
198 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 rupt companion, — and even at the moment I was assailed by tlie 
 dreadful supfirestions of curiosity to know how I should feel if I 
 were M'icked like her. So while she talked, I lay silent, weeping 
 and strufriilitig with myself — oh, it was horrible I" crie-d Mary De 
 Groot, half turning' away from her companion, and hiding her face 
 in the sable of her muff. 
 
 " Poor child I" said Alban, in a tone of deep commiseration, 
 " I enter into your feelings perfectly. It is a pitiable tale." 
 
 She walked on a little way, looking down, bu.t never with- 
 drew her hand from his arm. 
 
 " I never dreamed of being carried away to tell so much — but 
 now I mu?,t finish." — She resumed in a steady voice. — " I was 
 always sensitive about being touched. It was one reason of my 
 dislike to Henrietta, which amounted to perfect detestation ; for 
 she was very caressing. Me she generally left alone ; for the 
 contrary was sure to provoke a storm. I believe I was terribly 
 quick-tempered. Well, this night, when she found I did not reply 
 to her as usual, she got up, and making a plea of the cold, pro- 
 posed to get into my cot. I flamed up in a moment. I said she 
 shouldn't ; I resisted ; I struck her. She got angry, too, and said 
 she would in spite of me. I soon found that she was a great deal 
 the strongest, as well she might be. She overpowered me, and 
 then I experienced the most piercing temptation of my life, before 
 or since, which was to abandon that inward resistance which I 
 had hitherto opposed to her corrupting influence — for it wearied 
 my life — and henceforth be even like the companion to whom 
 Providence seemed to have abandoned my orphan youth. I be- 
 lieve it was the thought of my mother that saved me. My de- 
 spair changed to fury. I fastened my teeth suddenly in Henri- 
 etta's arm, and she let me go with a scream. I sprang up and ran 
 just as I was, and as fast as I could, through the hall and down 
 stairs, to the room of the principal, where I burst in and threw 
 myself at her leet. Fancy her astonishment. I recounted with 
 sobs the insult I had received, exposed Henrietta in all respects, 
 and implored Madam to let me have a room by myself. 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 199 
 
 " How well I remember her conducting me, barefoot and in 
 my little night-dress, up a moon-lit stair and into a large, carpeted 
 room, where was indeed a single cot, but occupied. The young 
 lady occupying it started up, and the principal, having told my 
 story with brevity, said to her, ' Will you change beds for to-night 
 with this child, Alexandrine, or will you take her into yours V — 
 ' If she will come to me,' replied Alexandrine, ' I will take her 
 into mine.' The next day at her earnest petition I was placed with 
 her, and Henrietta was sent away — packed off home I Nobody 
 
 ever knew why, except Madam , Alexandrine, and myself; 
 
 and that caused me a great deal of suffering ; for I passed for a 
 tell-tale (Henrietta gave me the nam^e ere she quitted the house) 
 mitil I left the school. Q.uick as my temper was, I had been the 
 universal favorite before ; and after it, although I was respected, 
 I was never popular again. I don't think any of my female 
 friends. now love me much." 
 
 "Did not Alexandrine love you ?" 
 
 " Did Alexandrine love me, Mr. Alban I Oh, never shall I 
 forget the tenderness with which she folded me to her bosom that 
 first night that I, little trembler, lay beside her like a frightened 
 dove. How sweetly she talked to me, how wisely she instructed 
 me, how earnestly she prayed for me I She told me that Jesus 
 was the lover of chastity and purity, and that when He became 
 man for our sakes He chose to reside first in the bosom of a spot- 
 less virgin, probably at that time not a great deal older than I 
 was. Then when I cried and confessed to her in what respects I 
 had not been so good as she thought, she begged me never to 
 think or speak of it again as long as I lived. — ' These are almost 
 involuntary stains, dear Mary,' she said, ' which your brave and 
 lovely behavior of to-night has, I am sure, entirely effaced. Ex- 
 cept our immaculate Lady, perhaps no mortal tempted as you 
 were, was ever entirely free from such.' — ' Did I do right to bite 
 Henrietta V I asked. — ' A thousand times right !' exclaimed Alex- 
 andrine, in a way that made me love her so dearly ! ' You would 
 have done right to bite her head off, if you could, sooner than risk 
 
200 
 
 A L B A N . 
 
 consenting to a mortal sin !' — Ah, Mr. Alban, you are as gentle 
 as a girl, and it makes me forget who you are." 
 
 " Still you have not told me your dream." 
 
 " It was just four weeks after that. I had fallen asleep in my 
 cot with my hands crossed on my breast as Alexandrine had taught 
 me, and I knew that 1 was dreaming of the room being full of 
 angels. Alexandrine had told me about our guardian angels. At 
 last I became sensible that one approached my bed, and by degrees 
 all the rest faded away. It was not winged, as we see angels 
 represented in pictures. Its face was beautiful, and its golden hair 
 was full of light, by which the rest of the appearance seemed visi- 
 ble. Its garments were simple and white, girt under the breast 
 with a golden girdle, and its sparkling hands were crossed on its 
 bosom. Its eyes, radiant and full of love, were fastened on me." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " It spoke to me. You can form no idea of the mortal fear I 
 was in. It was not like dreaming of one speaking to you ; but if 
 you saw some one in your room and supposed you were dreami^ig, 
 and the person were suddenly to speak, you know how it would 
 startle you. — ' Mary,' it said, — but I need not repeat the very 
 •words ; — they intimated that it was the spirit of my mother, and 
 warned me just in the simple way that a living mother might, 
 against three things — pride, love of dress, and whatever could sully 
 a maiden's purity ; ' ibr in three years,' concluded the vision, ' you 
 will be married and buried in one day.' — You will say, Mr. Alban, 
 that this singular admonition is easily accounted for, like the vision 
 itself, by the strong impression made on my mind by recent occur- 
 rences. I leave you to settle that as you hke. I only know that 
 Alexandrine said I shrieked, and that springing up to waken me, 
 she found me cold and insensible, not asleep, but having fainted 
 quite away. The next year, when I had some expectation of 
 dreaming again, nothing happened that is worth mentioning ; 
 but on the second anniversary Alexandrine died, and she declared 
 a little while before she expired, being supported at the time in my 
 arms, that the same bright visitant whom I had described came 
 
ALB AN, 
 
 201 
 
 into the room, (she was sleeping, and told me this when she awoke,) 
 approached and touched her, and that the soft, sparkling hand sent 
 a coldness like ice to her heart." 
 
 " Strange I What is the day thus marked ?" 
 
 "Next Saturday is the anniversary." 
 
 " Did you tell any one your dream at the time ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I told it to Alexandrine herself, and to several girls 
 who were intimate with us. They all said ' Well, Mary, you must 
 take care not to marry till the time fixed by the vision is gone by. 
 But I don't know, Mr. Alban, if it is possible so to disappoint a real 
 prophecy, which always comes true by some combination that we 
 do not foresee. As the time approaches I cannot help thinking of 
 it a good deal. It is one reason why I am anxious to be baptized. 
 If I were baptized, I should be willing to die next Saturday, wed- 
 ded or unwedded : and as I was saying to you, Mr Alban, such is 
 the picture that closes 7nij day-dreams, — myself vested as a bride 
 with orange flowers and veil, but white as they, and stiff, laid out 
 with bloodless hands crossed and tied on my girlish breast, ready 
 for the pure and passionless grave." 
 
 " Dreadful !" 
 
 The Fanny was got alongside the wharf by cables and back- 
 ing water, with hoarse vociferations of the captain from the wheel 
 deck. The plank was thrown across the gangway in the midst 
 of a flock of drivers flourishing their whips, very much as at the pres- 
 ent day. Mr. De Groot's carriage was waiting on the wharf. He 
 offered Alban a seat, which our hero declined, but accepted an in- 
 vitation to call very soon at Mr. De Groot's residence up town. 
 In New York the snow was pretty much confined to the dirty heaps 
 shovelled up on the sides of the streets. Alban had soon passed all 
 the familiar corners, and was set down by his hackney-coach at the 
 old house in Grey-street. Embraced with pride and aflection by 
 his father and mother, and sitting between them on the old-fashioned 
 chintz settee, he felt that their hearth was the warmest, brightest 
 spot in the world. 
 
BOOK IV. 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 Call on Mr. De Groot ? Of course you must, my son, since 
 he asked you. Why, what a proud fellow you are I" said Mr. 
 Atherton. 
 
 It was in a sunny back parlor, snug and old fashioned, with 
 the wood fire blazing cheerily on tall brass andirons, and a bright 
 copper kettle singing on a chafing-dish inside the fender. For 
 the Athertons were at breakfast, and a tidy girl brought in from 
 time to time, a hot plateful of that Knickerbocker delicacy — 
 buckwheat cakes. 
 
 The gilt pendulum of an old-fashioned French clock on the 
 handsome mantel, swung and ticked between wdiite marble columns, 
 and the hands pointed to the quarter before nine. The apartment 
 was pretty enough altogether. A massive sideboard of golden 
 mahogany, that shone like a mirror from constant w^axing and 
 rubbing, Avith its bright ring handles dependent from gilt lion- 
 heads, and an escritoire book-case to match, had been stylish in 
 our grf ndmothers' day, while the light chintz-curtained chairs and 
 settee, painted in green and gold of the Greek pattern, bespoke a 
 later date and newer country. The chimney was adorned with 
 miniatures, the walls with portraits — Mr. Atherton, senior, in 
 a red-backed chair, and the same boy-face in gown and bands, 
 
ALB AN, 
 
 203 
 
 which we have seen once before at the old Atherton house in 
 Yaiimouth; both mellow, broad, old-masterish, but plain, un- 
 affected pictures ; and at the end of the room, on either side of 
 the folding doors, hung a water-color of no great merit, but both 
 immense favorites with Mrs. Atherton, having been executed by 
 Rachel one winter that she spent with her aunt in the metropolis. 
 To complete this interior, we should not omit the Indian chintz 
 window-curtains, and the green crumb-cloth under the table, to 
 save the ingrain carpet, the iormal squares of which our hero had 
 measured to and fro in the reveries of many a dreamy vacation. 
 
 " But you say that he is one of the richest men in New York, 
 sir." 
 
 "Undoubtedly. And a great aristocrat, like all them old 
 patroons," said Mr. Atherton, whose early education, owing to his 
 father's death, had been left pretty much to chance. Mr. Ather- 
 ton laughed heartily at the idea of any one being an aristocrat in 
 these times, and proceeded. " I remember when his father was 
 not so rich, but extremely proud of being the Patroon of Walla- 
 hook. Thirty years ago he offered me the old De Groot farm up 
 town — it was out of town then — for a mere trifle. I wish I had 
 bought it and retired from business ; but I had no idea that real 
 estate would rise so immensely in New York. The property is 
 worth a million now at the least calculation, and by building ju- 
 diciously he may treble it in ten years. You must call on him, 
 Alban. I dare say he will show you his pictures and books. 
 Perhaps not. He is shy of letting people see his things. He may 
 receive you in his office." 
 
 " It is likely that Alban will see Miss De Groot, since he is so 
 well acquainted with her," observed Mrs. Atherton, with a slight 
 warmth. " I should think it was very strange if he didn't, after 
 she had asked him to take charge of her on the boat." 
 
 " Mr. De Groot is a very proud man, my dear," said Mr. Ather- 
 ton, laughing and drumming on the table, for his breakfast was 
 finished. 
 
 " I shall feel awkwardly in calling," said Alban. 
 
204 
 
 ALB AN , 
 
 *' I don't see why," replied his mother. " I don't see why you 
 should feel awkward about calling on any body." 
 
 " I don't think Mary is at all proud," continued Alban. 
 
 " I should call upon her just the same, whether she is proud 
 or not," said his mother. 
 
 " Undoubtedly," said his father, " That should make no dif- 
 ference. Jf you meet with a cool reception, you need'nt be in a 
 hurry to pay a second visit ; that's all." 
 
 " A cool reception I" said Alban, musingly. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. De Groot will be very polite to you," said his 
 father. 
 
 " Pity if he were not, in his own house I" observed Mrs. 
 Atherton. 
 
 " You will ask for Mr. De Groot, you know," said his father, 
 " Afterwards make inquiries for Miss De Groot, I dare say, (since 
 your mother seems to think so.) she will come down and make you 
 a curtsey before you go." 
 
 " If I don't see more of Miss Mary than that, I shan't call 
 again in a hurry," said Alban. 
 
 " Mr. De Groot does not live in Greenwich-street now," pur- 
 sued his father. " He has built a new house on his up-town 
 property — in the Fifth Avenue, I think they call it. You had 
 better take the omnibus as far as Washington Place. It is the 
 nearest point. You go on about a quarter of a mile beyond the 
 new houses on Washington Parade-ground. i\[r. De Groot's is a 
 large house of brown stone standing by itself You can't miss it." 
 
 Before departing for Wall-street, Mr. Atherton, who knew 
 what young men want, drew his sou a check, and bade him order 
 a new suit and a fashionable cloak of a Broadway tailor. 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 205 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " A LARGE house of biown stone !" 
 
 It were not a very clear direction now to a house on the Fifth 
 Avenue, but it sufficed sixteen years ago. Passing the " new 
 houses" on Washington Square, the mansion thus described became 
 visible at a distance, with fruit-trees and the glazed apex of a con- 
 servatory rising above its garden wall. Arriving at the square on 
 which it stood, Alban beheld the front and lateral perspective of 
 something like a palace. A lofty rustic basement of great beauty 
 and solidity, crowned by a massive, projecting balcony, had in the 
 centre a nobly-arched portal. 
 
 The vestibule was hospitably open, showing a pavement of 
 tesselated marble, a rich hanging lamp, and an inner folding-door 
 of carved and polished black walnut, with plate glass hghts cur- 
 tained with French embroidery. Alban timidly pulled a silver 
 bell-handle, and one of the battants was instantly flung open by 
 a blue-liveried porter of foreign aspect. 
 
 " Is it on business ?" 
 
 " No," said Alban, foolishly coloring, " I merely called to see 
 Mr, De Groot." 
 
 " Oh I" said the porter, with a glance that took in our hero, 
 faded purple camlet and all, but admitting him. " What name 
 shall I say, sir ?" 
 
 Alban found himself in an imposing hall of great length, 
 paved with white and green marble and adorned with busts and 
 bronzes ; but the porter rather insisted on his entering a sort of 
 waiting-room, an oil-cloth'd apartment hung with engravings 
 from Trumbull's pictures, and having high-backed walnut chairs 
 stiffly ranged against the walls. Our hero rallied at the print of 
 the Declaration ; the head of his ancestor among the Signers, 
 
 18 
 
206 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 inspiring a feeling akin to that with which a scion of English no- 
 bility might have seen his on the tapestry of the Lords. The ser- 
 vant who had taken his card returned, took the purple camlet 
 with a grimace of respect, and showed him up an imposing 
 staircase to the drawing-rooms. 
 
 Three spacious saloons en suite extended in a vista of hitherto 
 unimagined splendor, carpeted from French looms, ceiled by Ital- 
 ian painters, the walls covered with the delicate papers invented 
 by Parisian taste, and hung with endless pictures in elaborate 
 frames of massive gilding. Ideal busts of lovely female person- 
 ifications, placed on pedestals of buhl or precious marble, flanked 
 the doors ; statues sparkled like snow in front of the lofty mirrors. 
 Tables of buhl and pietra dura, cabinets of inlaid work, and 
 etageres of rosewood or ebony, supported vases and other curious 
 objects ; here gleaming solitary, as if too rare to be otherwise ; 
 there grouped in orderly confusion ; of porcelain, of Etruscan pot- 
 tery, of half-gems, even of gold and silver. The wilderness of 
 sumptuous seats astonished him. The corresponding richness of 
 the window-curtains was enhanced by the style of the shutter- 
 panelling in dark wood, and by the massive stone balconies seen 
 between. A line of rich chandeliers consummated an efiect 
 which was not of mere splendor, for besides the grand eflect of 
 space, a certain simplicity presided over all. 
 
 The rooms were all well-warmed, but in one only a sea-coal 
 fire was burning brightly in a mantel-piece of sculpture in Carrara 
 marble. The shelf, sustained by elegant Caryatides, was orna- 
 mented by an Italian clock of bronze, — Phuibus and the Hours ; 
 supported on one side by a magnificent bacchanal cup of the same 
 material, with a lip of gold, and on the other by a funeral-urn, 
 with candelabra, and so forth, — beautiful and heathenish. While 
 Alban yet stood admiring it (for he was afraid to sit on the 
 rich chairs) the soft rustle of female garments made him turn. 
 It was Mary's simple garb, and the same beautiful, ingenuous 
 face, bright with friendship. 
 
 ** Do these rooms make as awful an impression on you, Mr. 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 207 
 
 Alban, as they did on me when I first came here from school, I 
 wonder." 
 
 " I am quite overpowered." 
 
 " You will soon get over that feelino; — wonderfully soon." 
 
 She made him sit on one of the richest sofas, while she placed 
 herself near him in a light chair of gilding and brocade. She in- 
 quired if he had found his parents in good health, and told him 
 that papa had requested her to show him the house and pictures. 
 
 " At least," thought Alban, " it is not the reception which 
 my father led me to anticipate." 
 
 The pictures in the drawing-rooms were chiefly by such Amer- 
 ican artists as were then known to fame. Allston contributed a fiery 
 Prophet and a pair of love-lyrics ; Cole, two romance-landscapes. 
 Stuart was represented by a lovely female head. A conspicuous 
 portrait by Ingham, finished like a miniature, represented a beau- 
 tiful, fair woman, in a well-fitting muslin robe and silk shawl, 
 move natural than reality itself, which pleased our hero's unde- 
 veloped taste. " My stepmother I" said Mary. 
 
 There was a child's head by Sully, with the shoulders bare 
 to the waist ; the flesh crude ; the slight drapery merely indica- 
 ted ; but the dark, living eyes a miracle. 
 
 " That's me at seven," said Mary, with a blush. 
 
 Adjacent to the third saloon of the suite was a cabinet, or 
 rather boudoir, in which one wall was occupied by a large paint- 
 ing covered with red silk. The young lady with a slight hesita- 
 tion drew aside the curtain. 
 
 It was the Ariadne of Vanderlyn — world-renowned for that 
 one picture, but doubly a favorite with Mr. De Groot on account 
 of his descent. The enchantress is represented at the moment 
 when Theseus deserts her in her sleep. She lies on a bank of 
 grass and sand, backed by trees. Her drapery — purple and linen 
 — is beneath her, an extremity of the latter slightly covering the 
 groin. The arms being raised over the head in a natural attitude 
 of slumber, the hands freely grasp the black, goddess-like, waving 
 and dishevelled tresses. The flesh, upon the whole, is sweetly col- 
 
208 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 ored, especially in the face, the light broad and simple, the outline 
 elegant. The greatest beauty of the picture, however, is the back- 
 ground — a deep, olive-tinted landscape, with mighty trees and 
 broad leaves overshadowing the repose of Ariadne, while in the 
 distance is seen the Mediterranean, with the bark of the treacherous 
 Theseus. The smoke of his parting sacrifice ascends from the 
 shore, and a rosy, volcanic peak rises beyond the blue waves. 
 
 While Alban w^as looking at it he found that Mary had disap- 
 peared, and perceiving that the Venetian window of the cabhiet 
 was open into a conservatory, he went out presently, and discovered 
 her making a nosegay. An amphitheatre of beautiful plants, with 
 orange, lemon, and magnolia trees, surrounded a fountain. Going 
 round it (after she had given him the bouquet) they came to a flight 
 of steps, and a door in a blank wall. It admitted them into a lofty 
 gallery lighted from the roof. Here was the bulk of her father's 
 collection — E.eynolds, Wilkie, Newton, Leslie — names that awed 
 Alban — a reputed Titian, some fine Italian pictures by less known 
 masters, some Flemish interiors of churches, and Dutch market 
 scenes. The floor was parqueted and spread at intervals with 
 small Turkey carpets, on which antique oaken chairs were placed 
 for the view. There were also huge stands filled with portfolios, 
 and solid oaken tables for the inspection of engravings ; — " But 
 these," said Mary De Groot, " we will keep for the next time, Mr. 
 Alban." 
 
 They spent more than an hour in the gallery, time passing 
 away quickly where was so much to interest ; and Mary was never 
 weary of those interiors of churches, where in one a priest was 
 saying mass at an early hour, with a devout congregation of 
 peasants, in another a stately procession bore some holy relic to its 
 shrine. Except the little chapel at New Haven these were the 
 only Catholic churches she knew. She entertained Alban mean- 
 while with her lively and natural gossip. When they had looked 
 enough, she took him back by the conservatory, and the Venetian 
 window of the Vanderlyn cabinet. Mary drew the curtain before 
 the Ariadne, and then led him on to a room beyond. 
 
AL B AN. 
 
 209 
 
 " This IS the dining-room, Mr. Alban. I have kept it for the 
 last." 
 
 Alban was not surprised at her doing so as he gazed around the 
 apartment. It was wainscoted to a certain height with old dark 
 oak, carved with fruit, flowers, satyrs, bacchantes, and leopards' 
 heads. Superiorly the walls were covered with red-figured velvet 
 and adorned with genuine family pieces of the Dutch and Flemish 
 schools, brought by the ancestor of Mr. De Groot from Holland. 
 In splendor of tone and purity of carnations these surpassed all the 
 rest of his collection. Alban had no idea that New York possessed 
 such treasures. " A good many old Dutch families," said Mary, 
 with pride, "possess such heir-looms; but none so untouched as 
 ours, or so valuable. The carved oak papa got from Belgium." 
 
 Alban slightly smiled, but he felt a strong sympathy. The 
 furniture of the banqueting-room corresponded to the walls — dark 
 carved oak and red velvet. Massive silver sconces holding wax 
 candles were fixed to the wainscotting at suitable intervals, and at 
 the upper end of the room, a lofty oaken cupboard in the same 
 style, with its carved doors thrown open, displayed a range of 
 shelves that glittered with ancient plate and porcelain. The room 
 was lighted by a single large window, the lower half of which was 
 filled with stained glass that probably had once lighted a refectory, 
 for the subject was from Scripture — the Lord entertained by the 
 Pharisee. 
 
 When our hero had admired all this sufficiently in the estima- 
 tion of his young cicerone, she opened one of the knopped and flow- 
 ered oaken doors, and preceded him into a dim, secluded, wain- 
 scoted lobby, lighted by an oriel of stained glass. She showed 
 him that this passage communicated both with the hall, and with 
 a private stair, by separate doors concealed in the panelling. 
 
 " What a place for lovers I I must be a little witch at heart, 
 for I declare I never pass here without that thought popping into 
 my head. Can't you fancy a midnight meeting at the foot of that 
 secret stair, Mr. Alban, or a stolen kiss by day in one of these 
 shadowy corners ?" 
 
 18* 
 
210 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 The instant these words had passed her lips, Mary became 
 scarlet, and tripping away to a door in a deep recess, set it wide open 
 and invited her student friend to pass. As he approached she 
 leaned back against the wainscot, and her face was laid hke a rosy 
 cameo against the dark panel. Alban would as soon have dared 
 strike that red cheek as kiss it, and the picture lasted but a moment. 
 She whispered " Papa I" He glanced into the next room and saw 
 that it was the library, where, about halfway down, Mr. De Groot 
 was reading by the fire. He moved on therefore, but when he 
 looked back for his fair guide, she made a graceful obeisance and 
 closed the door on him. 
 
 Although our pen is almost weary of description, we cannot 
 quite pass over a locale so celebrated and yet so inaccessible as Mr. 
 De Groot's library. It was a room at least twice as lofty as any 
 of those Alban had seen, except the gallery, and was lined to 
 the ceiling with glazed bookcases of black unpolished walnut. 
 The ceiling was coved, and admitted the light by a lantern dome. 
 There was also one high, dim, square, muUioned window of stained 
 glass. A solid gallery, of the same material as the bookshelves, ran 
 round the room about midway up. The white vellum and other 
 rich old bindings, and the vast number of fohos, promised well for 
 the collection. At regular intervals round the lower room, in wal- 
 nut niches, were placed busts of philosophers and founders of sects. 
 Over the mantel hung a beautiful youthful portrait of Dr. C banning. 
 The book tables and study chairs were of black walnut, and the 
 latter had cushions of dark green leather. The soft light from the 
 dome produced a beautiful effect on this sober and scholastic inte- 
 rior, into which Alban advanced slowly, and at first unnoticed. 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 211 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Alb AN was received by the owner of this magnificent house with 
 the appearance of perfect cordiahty. Mr. De Groot inquired par- 
 ticularly how he had liked the pictures, and made him specify 
 which he had preferred. Every thing that Alban said suggested 
 some striking remark on the part of his entertainer. The Ariadne 
 was alluded to. 
 
 " In persons unaccustomed to Art," said Mr. De Groot, " there 
 is a kind of susceptibility which compares with real modesty as the 
 liability to take certain infections on the part of those who have 
 never been exposed to them, does Avith health. Our country- 
 women have a great deal of this. The purity of a work of Art does 
 not depend on its being draped or the reverse. There are draped 
 representations which are immoral, and there are nude ones which 
 are pure as new-fallen snow. I don't say the Ariadne is quite one 
 of these. The motives of Correggio, who was Vanderlyn's master, 
 were not of the highest kind, although he has succeeded in invest- 
 ing the most repulsive subjects — the Danae, for example — with a 
 haze of luminous execution, that prevents the dazzled eye from see- 
 ing their indelicacy. The 2mde, purely treated, blunts curiosity, 
 and in that point of view has a moral utility." 
 
 Alban listened with interest. 
 
 " I remember," continued Mr. De Groot, " a picture of Titian's, 
 called Sacred and Frofane Love. By the by I never saw a true 
 criticism of it yet. The background is one of Titian's noble land- 
 scapes, with deep blue hills. A clump of brown trees divides the 
 distance, on one side of which is seen a castle, representing the 
 secular Hfe, and on the other a convent, or the life of religion. In 
 the foreground sits a young lady completely attired and coilTed, in 
 the mode of Titian's time. She is debating between Sacred and 
 Profane Love — the world and the cloister. Directly in front, on 
 
212 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 the edge of a fine yellowish-white sarcophagus, sits another female 
 figure, entirely nude, except a crimson drapery just falling from 
 her shoulder, and against which her elegant form is defined : she 
 regards the other with a face full of tenderness, and extending one 
 pure arm, lifts on high a burning lamp : — this is Sacred Love. 
 Imagine the sweetness and purity of color and outline in this 
 sitting figure, with its innocent nakedness and modest candor of 
 attitude, in, contrast to that modish damsel, clothed to her finger 
 tips ! You feel at once, that drapery would impair its spirituahty 
 and destroy its chastity. What ardor in the action of the pectoral 
 muscles sustaining the lifted arm — what modesty in the close 
 union of the limbs and bend of the knee — would be lost ! Behind 
 the sarcophagus, and stooping over the edge to gather the flowers 
 ■within it, is a Cupid, nude and winged boy — ProfaneLove. Thus 
 Profane Love gropes in a sarcophagus for flowers — the perishable 
 ofispring of earth ; Sacred Love lifts above the tomb itself a flaming 
 lamp — type of the soul and immortality, and the aspirations that 
 ascend to Heaven." 
 
 " Beautiful I" exclaimed Albaa. 
 
 Our hero's eye had often rested during this conversation on a 
 low desk and stool near the fire. The desk had upon it an open 
 volume in black letter with richly illuminated margins, and a 
 lady's pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " A manuscript missal on vellum," said Mr. De Groot, fasten- 
 ing his dark eyes on the volume, but not oflering to show it. 
 " The illuminations are not in the highest style of art. I will 
 show you some one day, that I am really proud of. I am glad 
 you have a taste for these things. I often think what will become 
 of my treasures when I am gone and Mary is married." Mr. De 
 Groot cast a jealous glance around the stately book-chamber. "A 
 fellow, for example, whom I would not willingly let peep under 
 the covers of my favorites, how could I bear the idea of his being 
 their master I" 
 
 "It is to be hoped that Miss De Groot will take a fancy to 
 some one capable of appreciating your fine collection, sir." 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 213 
 
 "What profession do you intend to follow, Mr. Atlierton ?" in- 
 quired Mr. De Groot, rather sharply, after a moment's pause. 
 
 Alban was undecided. In his pious days he had looked for- 
 ward to the ministry. Lately he had thought of Law and Medi- 
 cine, of Literature and the Army. He had in fact a hundred 
 wild ideas in regard to his future career. 
 
 " A medical education will do you no hurt," said Mr. De 
 Groot, in his oracular way. " All knowledge is good. But as a 
 pursuit it would leave some of your finest faculties unemployed. 
 The pulpit offers a field to a man of first-rate organization," 
 glancing at the portrait of Channing — " but it requires too great 
 a sacrifice to consecrated prejudices in order to win or retain the 
 popular approval. The Protestant preacher, however superior he 
 may be, is obliged to cede as much as the Catholic, to the tyranny 
 of his sect, without having the comfort of believing his guide in- 
 fallible. Law is a hard, dry pursuit, but it will give you inde- 
 pendence. Then with us the forum leads to the senate. Your 
 grandfather was a lawyer, and rose by his own abilities from a 
 carpenter's apprentice to be President of Congress." 
 
 " My paternal grandfather," said Alban. 
 
 " Hem I Your maternal grandfather was a soldier. He got 
 rank because he was rich and well-connected, but I don't remem- 
 ber that he distinguished himself particularly. A conscientious, 
 dependable man, and the confidential friend of Washington ; but 
 that was all ?" 
 
 " I believe so." 
 
 '* Oh, you can go farther back — if that's what you mean," 
 said Mr. De Groot, with a dry smile. " You came of English 
 squirearchs — armigeri at least. Your Puritan ancestor, who fled 
 to New England from Laud and the pillory, or the branding-iron, 
 or some other mild argument for Episcopacy, had a brother who 
 was a rattling cavalier and a captain in the life-guard of Charles 
 L himself. I know something, you see, of your antecedents. 
 Well, I don't see why you shouldn't follow the noble profession of 
 arms, if you have a leaning thereto. In popular states a success- 
 
214 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 ful general will step up before all the orators and statesmen in 
 existence into the seat of power. We shall have wars. There 
 will be opportunities enow. But think of spending the best 
 years of your life in garrisons and frontier forts, and perhaps 
 dying at last in your first battle without any kind of distinction, 
 or the peculiar usefulness of which distinction is the token. In 
 another career you may command it." 
 
 " That is why I turn to literature with such predilection," 
 said the young man, greatly excited by Mr. De Groot's way of 
 talking. 
 
 " Letters," resumed Mr. De Groot, after a long glance around 
 his endless book-shelves., " are a pursuit that surpasses every other 
 in enjoyment, and nearly every other in dignity. We must have 
 our own literary men. We can't atlbrd to let other nations write 
 our books for us. That were vv'orse than the policy which would 
 hire them to fight our battles. There is a thought and there is a 
 sentiment which belongs to us, and which we are in a manner 
 bound to elicit. But — I am sorry to interpose so many buts, 
 young sir — you are to consider that you must live. You cannot 
 live by literature. It is difficult anywhere, but in this country it 
 is impossible. As pride distinguishes the Spaniard, revenge the 
 Italian, lust the Saxon, and sanguinary violence (they say) the 
 Celt, so pecuniary injustice is our national trait. We steal the 
 author's right in every book we publish, native or foreign. Now, 
 Atherton, you can't live by a craft where people hold themselves 
 at liberty to steal what you have produced." 
 
 " You are very kind, sir, to give me all this advice," said 
 Atherton, sincerely. 
 
 " We are a rich people," pursued Mr. De Groot. " A virgin 
 soil — the untouched mould of centuries — yields us — fortunate pro- 
 prietors — its overflowing returns, and yet we are mean enough to 
 be willing to enjoy the fruit of others' labor without paying for it : 
 — and who are those others ? our brethren, whom nature distrib- 
 uting the faculties and inspiring the tendencies of men according 
 to a law not to be violated with impunity, has compelled to con- 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 215 
 
 struct out of meditation and passion through the divine art of 
 language, our mental habitations, and whom we are not ashamed 
 to compel to find straw as well as brick, and to rob of their just 
 wages. It is a thief's mistake to suppose that we derive any 
 benefit, except of the most temporary and illusive kind, from the 
 cheapness of our pirated literature. No doubt we have a selfish 
 pleasure in getting something for nothing, but it is a pleasure which 
 pollutes and degrades. We are such a reading people, forsooth I 
 Yes ! it is one of our vices : for the endless reading of cheap 
 books is a vice. I am an old Knickerbocker — a plain Dutchman, 
 not sharp, perhaps, but honest, and I detest (excuse me, Atherton) 
 these Yankee notions of property. I thank Heaven I am pure in 
 this matter. I can look round these walls without a reproving 
 conscience. There is not an American reprint in my whole 
 library. No poor devil of an author, starving in a garret, while I 
 weep over his pathos or smile at his wit, curses me over my 
 shoulder with his spectre face." 
 
 I give up authorship," said Alban. "I think it must be 
 law for me." 
 
 " If I were you I would enter myself in a lawyer's office at 
 once/' replied the patroon. " Those handy octavos in tawny 
 sheepskin will be better reading for you than illuminated missals." 
 
 Alban confessed that this was probably true enough. Mr. De 
 Groot mused, and then adverted to the subject of his daughter. 
 She was very young. He felt bound to watch over the formation 
 of her friendships, especially with persons of her own age and 
 another sex. 
 
 " If parents were not proverbially blind," he said with a smile, 
 "it would be strange that in sending my daughter to visit some 
 old friends at New Haven, the possibility of her forming some inti- 
 macy that I might not approve in a place like that, never occurred 
 to me. When I told her at parting not to fall in love with any 
 of the College boys, it was certainly not because I apprehended 
 such a thing, and I beheve she deemed the idea quite beneath 
 her dignity. I was completely taken by surprise, therefore, Mr. 
 
216 
 
 A L B A N . 
 
 Atherton, to hear from her in a letter of characteristic frankness, 
 that the conversation of a ' distinguished' member of the Senior 
 class whom she thought I would like, had unsettled her Unita- 
 rianism. I went to New Haven express. I found her, as you 
 remember, out walking with you on a Sunday afternoon. She 
 had also accepted your escort down to New York. I confess 
 I was more annoyed than a little, although I saw that you were 
 not an ordinary youth. Perhaps you Mill not blame me for over- 
 hearing your conversation with her on the boat yesterday — at least 
 enough of it to give me a pretty good notion ,of your character." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Alban, who had blushed during this 
 address. 
 
 " Let it suffice that I was convinced by it that you would be 
 a safe friend for my little girl. I perceived, Mr. Atherton, that it 
 was really friendship, a point in regard to which I was at first 
 skeptical," said Mr. De Groot. 
 
 " I was going to say," eagerly interrupted Alban, " that I have 
 never breathed a syllable to Miss De Groot that could bear any 
 other interpretation." 
 
 " Well, all I ask is, that you will avoid the delicate ground of 
 religion with your young friend as much as possible. Her youth 
 and her sex alike unfit her to consider such questions with profit. 
 I have imposed the same condition on her. I hope you will con- 
 sent to it as she has." 
 
 " Of course," said Alban. 
 I suppose Mary did not take you over the chambers," pur- 
 sued his host. " Would you like to see them ? To one who has 
 not been in Europe they may be curious." 
 
 Alban would have preferred to look over the library, but he 
 assented of course to what Mr. De Groot proposed. The latter 
 made him admire the great staircase on the side of the hall, with 
 its massive oak-grained balustrade, its broad leisurely flights, the 
 bronzes which sustained the lamps at the landings. They reached 
 the corridor of the chambers, hung in its whole length with col- 
 ored prints and drawings, following which you might make the 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 217 
 
 tour of Europe without missing one of its celebrated sites or monu- 
 ments. Then through room after room in which, although every- 
 thing Avas really sumptuous and nothing wanting, yet all seemed 
 simple, Alban admired the bath-rooms, (the Croton had not yet 
 rendered this luxury familiar,) where hot and cold water was 
 supplied to marble basins by silver cocks. In one stately chamber, 
 with dressing-rooms attached, and separate baths, two elegant 
 couches stood side by side under the same canopy of blue satin, 
 and veiled in clouds of embroidered muslin. 
 
 " Mrs. De Groot's room," remarked his host. " We became 
 accustomed to separate beds when abroad, and now we prefer it." 
 
 The last room which Mr. De Groot showed our hero was 
 somewhat different from the rest. In lieu of the French bed- 
 steads and silken draperies elsewhere seen, it had an old-fashioned 
 four-poster of old mahogany, almost as black as ebony, with cur- 
 tains of Indian chintz. The rest of the furniture was of the same 
 style and date. The toilet-glass — placed in front of the large, 
 deeply-recessed window — had a frame of silver, with sconces. But 
 a more interesting object was an antiquated dieu, or kneeling 
 desk, supphed with sconces matching those of the mirror, and a mas- 
 sive silver crucifix. The room had an air of occupation, a wood- 
 fire burning on the hearth. Over the mantel hung a portrait — of 
 whom it was easy for Alban to divine ; — a beautiful woman in a 
 dress of dark gray cloth falling softly over a figure of unusual ele- 
 gance, and confined at the waist by a simple cord of the same 
 sombre hue. In her finely-shaped hand she held a common black 
 rosary. Yet it was not a nun ; for her raven hair, arranged as 
 Mary De Groot always wore hers, was profuse in quantity. The 
 only ornament of any kind upon this striking and noble pictured 
 personage was the tiny circle of gold on the ring-finger of her left 
 hand. 
 
 " My daughter's taste," said Mr. De Groot, standing on the 
 threshold and looking at the portrait. " Perhaps I should 
 not have shown her room. Do not mention that you have 
 seen it." 
 
 19 
 
218 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 The basement of the mansion was hke another house, and here, 
 in one of its lofty, sunny parlors, portrait-hung and of domestic as- 
 pect, a white-haired negro — the type of an old family servant — was 
 getting luncheon ready. Here Mary De Groot was again found, 
 sitting, or rather half-recliniug, in a red Boston rocking-chair, with 
 her tiptoes just touching the carpet, a position which she quitted 
 when the gentlemen entered. And here was also a lady whom 
 Alban, by the resemblance to Ingham's portrait, knew to be Mrs. 
 De Groot, She was nearly as handsome as her picture, and quite 
 a§ handsomely dressed. A robe of rich shot silk, fitting very, very 
 tight, (for the figure was redundant,) a costly lace cape, and a 
 delicate coif to match, made an imposing drawing-room lady. 
 She received Alban with great cordiality of manner, accompanied 
 by the warm pressure of a plump, white hand sparkling with 
 rings. 
 
 Are you not a nephew of the late E,ev. Jonathan Atherton ? 
 Delighted to see you I Mary has been telling me about you. 
 Your uncle was inUrumental , Mr. Atherton — but you understand 
 ine. Where does your mother live ? I must really take the lib- 
 erty of calling on her immediately to tell her how much I loved 
 Jier brother, and also to congratulate her on the possession of such 
 a son." 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 219 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " I AM afraid you have given up reading your Bible, Alby ?" said 
 his mother, with a grieved but tender look. We may understand 
 from this expression that Alban had been making his mother a 
 confidant of his religious difficulties. 
 
 *' The more I read the Bible the more I am filled with doubt." 
 
 " You must not consult your own reason — but look to Heaven 
 for light," said his mother. 
 
 " The more I pray the mightier are rny perplexities," 
 
 " It is a trial of j'our faith ; you must persist in reading and 
 praying," said his mother. 
 
 " But what can I do with such a passage as this of St. Mat- 
 thew ?" said Alban, with a sort of irritation: " Tliat it might 
 be fid filed ichicJi icris spoke?i of tlie Lord by the iiroj^liet, smjing, 
 Out of Egypt have I called my Son. I turn to the prophecy 
 referred to and find it thus, When Israel ivas a child then I loved 
 him, and ccdled my son out of Egypt ; referring, as the context 
 plainly shows, to the departure of the Israelites out of Egypt 
 under Moses I Such were the arguments of the Apostles I The 
 dexterous apjplication of the words of an ancient Jewish prophet, 
 so as to tally with some real or supposed event in the life of Jesus, 
 sufficed to produce faith in their credulous hearers." 
 
 " You shock me, Alban." 
 
 " Nay, mother, I only adduce it to show you how things strike 
 me as I read the Bible even on my knees. I could multiply such 
 instances in the ISTew Testament : lie shall be called a. Nazcirene ; 
 A Virgin shall conceive ; A bone of him shall not be broken ; or 
 Peter's argument from the words of David, Thoit ivilt not suffer 
 thy holy one to see corruption. All fall under the same category. 
 In fact, the reasonings of our Lord Himself with the Jews are open 
 to the same objection. How inconsequent is it to infer the resur- 
 
220 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 rcction of the body from the words I am the God of Abraham, 
 Isaac, and Jacob, since it is manifest that in the ordinary use of 
 language this expression need mean no more than that / am the 
 God u'hom Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob icors]iip2:)ed ichen alive I 
 Just so," continued Alban, waxing warm, " of our Lord's cele- 
 brated question which silenced the Pharisees : — The Lord said 
 unto my Lord, Sit on my right hand. — David therefore in 
 spirit calleth Him Lord, how is lie then his Son ? Whereas, 
 if the Pharisees had understood the simplest figures of rhetoric, 
 they would have answered, that although David may have been 
 the composer of the psalm in question, he need not be supposed to 
 speak always in his own person.'"' 
 
 " You must put such thoughts away ; they are suggestions of 
 Satan," said his mother. 
 
 " Why, it is precisely thus that Roman Catholics reason from 
 the words of Christ Himself Why does not This is my Body 
 prove Transubstantiation, as they say?" 
 
 " Because, my dear Alban," said his mother, impatiently, " that 
 only means that the Bread signifies Christ's Body." 
 
 " Ah I there it is. That is all it need mean, and the same 
 might have been said by the Sadducees in answer to. the passage 
 adduced by our Lord for the resurrection." 
 
 " But Transubstantiation is an absurdity, Alban," cried his 
 mother, quickly, " and therefore cannot be the meaning of our 
 Saviour." 
 
 " And pray what is the resurrection of the bodies of the infinite 
 myriads of men since the world began, after they have been scat- 
 tered to the four winds, and dissolved into dust and gas ? And 
 what is to be done in the case of cannibals, my dear mother ?" 
 
 " The power of God, my dear Alban I You don't pretend to 
 limit omnipotence," retorted his mother. 
 
 " No, I do not pretend to limit it," replied Alban, with a slight 
 smile at himself for getting drawn into such an argument. " I 
 only spoke because I craved sympathy, my dear mother. Nobody 
 understands my difficulties." 
 
AL B AN. 
 
 221 
 
 Mrs. Atlierton was silent. A syllogism is pretty much lost on 
 a woman, but she feels the faintest appeal to her heart. 
 
 " I am glad you have told me your difficulties, Alby," she said 
 at length. " I should be very sorry if you were afraid or unwilling 
 to confide them to me. I dare say now you've relieved your mind, 
 it will be easier." 
 
 " There are things in the Old Testament I can't get over, or 
 get round," resumed her son, who was sitting on the settee with 
 the family Bible open on a stand before him, — his mother's work- 
 stand, the remainder of which was taken up with the etceteras of 
 her plain sewing. " For instance, the history of Moses, the provi- 
 dential circumstances attending his birth and education, the ap- 
 pearance of God to him in a bush, the miracles by which he is 
 said to have brought out his twelve tribes from the land of bondage, 
 the wonderful passage of the Red Sea, the manna and miraculous 
 water in the desert : — all to usher in what ? The giving of the 
 Ten precepts of the Moral Law on a desert mountain to this camp 
 of fugitive herdsmen and bricklayers I I do not think it possible 
 that such a history, with such a finale, could have been imagined 
 or invented by mortal man. If God ever took out a people for 
 himself out of another people, as Moses says, with signs and won- 
 ders and an outstretched arm, it must have been, it would have 
 been, to announce such a code, which contains the essence of all 
 religious and social rules, the great foundation-stones of the primary 
 duties, stripped of all extraneous matter, simplified, methodically 
 placed, and laid firm in the authority of the Creator Himself. The 
 history of the Jews ever since just comes in as a proof that this 
 view of the transaction is no flight of fancy. The Jews are a 
 fact. I am mre that God spake by Moses I'' 
 
 "And not by Jesus Christ?" inquired his mother. " Surely 
 you must be blind, Alban." 
 
 " I can find nothing worthy of God in Christianity as it has 
 been taught me, mother," replied her son, sternly. " Forgive me 
 for saying so. I don't mean to reflect on your teaching. I speak 
 of what is current. Justification by faith and this new heart, 
 
222 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 seem to me mere baby-talk. It is worse than that, for it is talk 
 that undermines the first principles of morals. I see it theoreti- 
 cally, and I have experienced it practically, and I have done Math 
 it for ever." 
 
 " This comes of New Haven divinity," said his mother, tears 
 running down her pale, delicate cheek, and falling on the shirt 
 she \vas making for her son. 
 
 The sound of wheels was heard in the quiet street, and ceased 
 at Mrs. Atherton's door. The bell was rung with a jerk. Mary 
 Anne, the maid of all work, was cleaning her knives. You could 
 hear her in the kitchen entry. But the sound instantly ceased, 
 while the girl hastily washed her hands and tied on a clean apron 
 before running to the street-door, which she would be sure to open, 
 out of breath, and with a face as red as a jieony. Alban observed 
 that it was the De Groots, and half wished a fire had been lit in 
 the front parlor : but it was too late to wish it, for the lady visitors 
 came sailing in like two angels fresh from Paris. 
 
 Not to describe Mrs. De Groot's costume would be to omit 
 her almost entirely. She was nothing apart from her clothes, 
 and with them she appeared to be a great deal. Her large, white 
 velvet hat {Aiiglice, bonnet) and its drooping plume, the long, 
 starry veil, trailing cashmere of Ind, and flounced amethyst silk, 
 seemed, as they spread in a glory of shooting iris hues and snow 
 over the chintz settee, to look Mrs. Atherton's modest parlor out 
 of countenance. As for Mary, she appeared to have caught a 
 light from her mother's eflulgence of fashion. No more of that 
 charming plainness which had marked her at New Haven. A 
 great bonnet of Mazarin blue silk surrounded her lovely face, and 
 a cloak and robe of the same material and of the newest fashion 
 invested her form. She looked surprisingly larger and older, and 
 Alban realized that she had grown since he first saw her. She 
 was so wonderfully easy, too, sat with such a careless grace in 
 her corner of the settee, her neatly shod feet playing hide-and-go- 
 seek with each other, for the robes were short in those days, and 
 betrayed the white stockings and morocco slippers neatly cross- 
 
AL B A N . 
 
 223 
 
 laced around an ankle straight and fine. Alban introduced the 
 visitors to his mother, who quietly laid aside, but did not put out 
 of sight, her homely work. Mrs. De Groot glanced at the portrait 
 of the clerical uncle, and began at once on that subject. 
 
 It soon appeared what Mrs. Da Groot's idea of our hero was, 
 nor was it unnatural. Mary had truly said that Alban's conver- 
 sation had first set her to thinking, which had ended, as Mrs. De 
 Groot expressed it, in her abjuring her father's shocking opinions 
 — so far a great triumph for Mrs. De Groot. In answer to her 
 stepmother's further inquiries, she had stated that Mr. Atherton 
 was a member of the College Clmrch, reputed very pious, emi- 
 nently pure and irreproachable in morals, &c. Of course she could 
 say nothing about Alban's skepticism, which he had acknowledged 
 to her in confidence. Moreover, Mary herself believed it to be 
 but a temporary perplexity, natural and inevitable in a thought- 
 ful Protestant, (the child already begins to talk in that way,) and 
 rather to be approved as disposing him to seek a better faith, 
 which she was sanguine he would. Mrs. De Groot, therefore, had 
 really formed the most exalted opinion of our hero, and as women 
 generally forestall a conclusion, above all where j'oung marriage- 
 able people are concerned, she considered him already as good as 
 a son-in-law. Nor was this an ill-founded or rash opinion ; for 
 both parents naturally regarded their daughter as being in love, 
 and had discussed the affair in that point of view. If Mary 
 should marry an orthodox Presbyterian — particularly a " nephew 
 of ]\rr. Atherton's," — really Mrs. De Groot had not expected 
 any thing half so good. Her father thought — but hh motives 
 are not so easily fathomed : at all events he told his wife that he 
 had determined to let things " take their course." He thought 
 Atherton was a conceited puppy, and Mary might do a great deal 
 better, and she might also do a great deal worse. " He's as poor 
 as Job's turkey," he concluded ; and this again rather pleased Mrs. 
 De Groot, who liked to feel herself in a position of patronage to- 
 wards the future connections. The origin and past of the Ather- 
 tons were such as to make this peculiarly gratifying to Mary's 
 
224 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 stepmother, who had not always enjoyed so eminent a station as 
 at present. One might have supposed, to hear her talk to Mrs, 
 Atherton about her brother, that she had been in a situation to 
 patronize her minister extensively, in the days of which she spoke, 
 but the fact was, that only her " interesting state of mind" had 
 ever obtained his notice. Let us do Mrs. De Groot justice, how- 
 ever. We believe there is always a heart — seat of amiable 
 weakness — under the tightest silk bodice ever held by hooks and 
 eyes. In those days, before Mary was born, or Alban either, 
 when that heart was eighteen years old, and beat in a maiden 
 bosom, she had loved the clerical boy-face whose likeness hung 
 over Mrs. Atherton's bright sideboard. The Rev. Mr. Atherton 
 never dreamed of it, and soon scattered many such hopes to the 
 wind by bringing from his former parish in the country a beauti- 
 ful, pious, clever creature, to fill the important and envied sta- 
 tion of minister's wife : and now a nephew of whom he knew 
 nothing, reaped a benefit from his unconscious conquest. 
 
 Meanwhile the young people conversed separately. 
 
 " What a dear home-like home you have got, Mr. Alban," 
 said Mary, with a smile. 
 
 "You think so ?" said Alban, looking round. 
 
 " And what a dear gentle mother I I love her already." — 
 With a blush, and in a whisper. — " I wonder if she would like 
 to have me come and read to her. I should enjoy it so much." 
 
 "She would be charmed," said Alban, with a gratified look, 
 yet a little embarrassed ; for he had not Mary's openness. 
 
 "I am ashamed to admire every thing," said she, "but really 
 what a pretty fire-screen that is of your mother's. Did she em- 
 broider it herself? Oh, I wish she would teach me. Of all 
 things I want to learn to embroider." 
 
 " Mother — " 
 
 " Oh, don't, Mr. Alban—" 
 
 " Miss De Groot wishes you to teach her to embroider — a fire- 
 screen. Miss Mary?" 
 
 "Not precisely, Mr. Alban." 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 225 
 
 " Where did you learn to work so beautifully, Mrs. Ather- 
 ton ?" asked Mrs. De Groot. 
 
 " At Bethlehem," replied Alban's mother. 
 
 " What, where our blessed Saviour was born I" exclaimed 
 Mary, innocently. 
 
 But Bethlehem was a celebrated ISIoravian school in Mrs 
 Atherton's girlhood. The conversation turned on it. Mrs. Ath- 
 erton described the customs of Bethlehem in a lively manner, with 
 many a characteristic New England turn of expression and accent, 
 refined, as all national peculiarities are in cultivated women. 
 Mary listened with tears of delight in her joyful dark eyes, and a 
 vivid blush on her rich cheek. Mrs. De Groot shrugged her 
 shoulders at the Easter processions, white robes, and lighted tapers 
 of the Moravians. After that, the call terminated by Mrs. De 
 Groot inviting Mrs. Atherton with her son and husband to dinner 
 the next day to meet the Rev. Dr. Fluent, Mrs. De Groot's pastor. 
 
 " You were reading the Bible when we came in ?" said Mary, 
 glancing, as she rose, at the sacred volume still open on the work- 
 stand. She smiled and hesitated. — " I suppose I may ask how 
 you get on, Mr. Alban ?" 
 
 " I have got so far as to believe in Moses," replied the young 
 man, remembering his promise to her father. 
 
 " Moses I" said Mary, curiously. 
 
 " Exactly," said Alban, smiUng. " You are going to turn 
 Roman Catholic, Miss Mary. I may perhaps be forced to em- 
 brace a faith yet more ancient, and become a Jew." 
 
 " Christians," Mrs. De Groot was saying to Mrs. Atherton, 
 " should maintain a closer intercourse. In future, I trust it will 
 be so with us." 
 
 " We shan't keep up much intercourse with Infidels and Jews, 
 I hope," said Mary, aside, with, a flash of the old haughtiness. 
 
 " I shall follow my convictions," returned the young man in 
 the same tone, " even if they lead me to the Synagogue." 
 
 " Well, don't ask me to be present at the ceremony of your 
 reception — .that's all !" cried the young lady, turning away to 
 
226 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 follow her stepmother out of the room. She came back, quite 
 scarlet, to shake hands with Mrs. Athertou, but did not salute 
 Albaii at all. He conducted them to the carriage, but she never 
 looked back, and sprang in without touching his olfered hand. 
 " People will treat you so, one day." 
 
 Havnig picked up her mulF, which she seemed to have knocked 
 purposely off the seat, as she raised herself with a countenance 
 still brightly tinged, she answered to her mother's evident horror- — 
 
 "You read the Bible too much, Mr. Alban. That is not the 
 way to find out the truth, but to become an infidel, a heretic, and 
 an apostate. Oh, Mr. Alban, I hope you will never be an apos- 
 tate 1" 
 
 "Did you ever I" exclaimed Mrs. De Groot. 
 
 " Miss De Groot means that we cannot hope to understand the 
 Scriptures wilhout the light of faith," said Alban. 
 
 " Yes, the faith of the Church," said Mary. 
 
 " Well, I concede that," replied Alban: "but you must let me 
 search till I find the true Church." 
 
 She extended her hand frankly, and pressed his with a free- 
 dom unusual to her. — " I shall pray for you," she said. 
 
 " Do come to see us often," said Mrs. De Groot, as he bowed 
 himself away. 
 
 Our hero's aberration seems at present grievous indeed. How 
 he will get out of this scrape is more than we undertake to answer 
 for. We shan't have recourse to a miracle to open his eyes. He 
 has Moses and the Prophets, and to them he has appealed : by 
 them he must be taught, if at all. As ceremonies — next to cos- 
 tumes — are allowed to be our forte, the reader must not be sur- 
 prised if we have presently to describe that of our hero's circum- 
 cision. We engage to do it with the most perfect delicacy, and 
 meanwhile must accompany him to a scene which certainly looks 
 that way. 
 
 In the afternoon Alban dressed himself in his new clothes, 
 just sent home from the tailor's. In puLn[)S and tights, and an 
 embroidered waistcoat, his own mother would scarcely know her 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 227 
 
 son. He throws the new Spanish cloak gracefully over one 
 shoulder, and enters a hackney-coach. 
 
 It rolled slowly down Greenwich-street, entered State-street, 
 while the waters of the chilly bay still gleamed with the dull red 
 of the Western sky, and stopped before a large irregular house, 
 following the curve of the street, with a deep balcony-portico, 
 and while marble steps. It was in this mansion — once his father's 
 — that our hero was born, and it was one of the homes of his 
 childhood. The door-plate now bears, simply " Seixas." A 
 servant of pecuHar physiognomy admits him, and asking " Mishter 
 Atherton admits him into a drawing-room, around which he 
 throws a glance of curiosity. 
 
 On a yellow satin divan, extending the whole length of the 
 room, on the side opposite the door and old-fashioned chimney, re- 
 clined a man in the prime of life. His waistcoat was finer than. 
 Alban's, and a mass of brilliants glittered on his bosom like a star. 
 He had gentle black eyes, black pencilled eyebrows, jet curls, and 
 beard, fringing fine, but characteristic features. He was lion- 
 chested and narrow-hipped, but stooped slightly in the shoulders. 
 
 " The salutation of peace," said he, smiling, as he sprang up, 
 and took Atherton's hand. " You are in good time. We will 
 order dinner at once, that we may discuss it at our leisure, since 
 we are going to the Opera afterwards. I am sorry that Mrs. 
 Seixas cannot appear, but my sister will play hostess in her 
 stead. — Miriam I" 
 
 The place of the folding-door — between white Corinthian 
 columns — was hung with a crimson velvet curtain looped up with 
 a cord and heavy tassel of gold bullion. At the call of Mr. Seixas 
 a young lady presented herself beneath this rich drapery. She 
 was apparently a year or two younger than Alban, tall, elegantly 
 formed, and perfectly beautiful, although in a very peculiar style. 
 What Alban first noticed, however, was her garb, which was 
 dificrent from the fashion of the day. It was a light green bro- 
 cade of India, the gold pattern predominating so as almost to hide 
 the ground, and fitting closely to the shape to the lowest point of 
 
228 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 the natural waist. The neck was cut in an indescribable curve, 
 to uncover just so much of the bust as was beautiful to show 
 without any immodesty, and the short loose sleeves were looped 
 over gems upon each polished shoulder. For the lady's figure, 
 notwithstanding her manifest youth, Was the deep-breasted," uni- 
 versally-undulating beauty of the Orient. Her hair — purple 
 black — was in plain bands, without a single ringlet, secured by a 
 gold comb, from which a white lace veil fell nearly to her feet. 
 And she bore a jewelled fan. Her face must be imagined ; it 
 was on the softest Jewish model, and of a rich golden paleness. 
 Never were seen such long, long-eye-lashed black eyes, liquid in 
 their glance, yet virginal and calm. Alban had never felt so sud- 
 den and vivid an admiration for one of her sex before. He had 
 heard of love at first sight, and now he experienced it. 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 229 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 We must retrace our steps a little, and as the way our hero is 
 goiiin: oil does not please us, turn our attention to the more inter- 
 esting course of Mary De Groot, 
 
 We take her, then, on the first day after her return home, at 
 the hour between luncheon and dinner, when Alban, having con- 
 cluded l]is long call, had left the house. It is a beautiful afternoon, 
 she dons her Broadway walking gear, and in the accustomed 
 liberty of a young New York lady, sallies forth alone for a walk. 
 
 yhe proceeded down the Avenue towards Washington Square 
 — then an almost naked rectangle. There were no churches on 
 the Fifth Avenue or near it, where now so many cluster. There 
 were none on the Square, nor had the white marble turrets of the 
 University yet risen, nor did its chapel window glimmer through 
 trees. She turned into Broadway and walked down one or two 
 squares. There was a church on the corner ; a Gothic church of 
 gray rough stone, flanked by grim towers. The ways of New 
 York were then simpler than now, and Broadway " so high up" 
 as Houston was quiet in a way that cannot now be imagined. 
 Mary stopped at the iron railing and gave a wistful glance to the 
 stern church frant. Usually an inscription tells to what faith the 
 edifice is dedicated, but here was none. 
 
 "I see no cross on the gable-peak. And if it were a Catholic 
 church I guess there would be images of saints in the niches. I 
 bet any thing it is Episcopal." 
 
 Good reasoning in '35, but it would not serve in '51. A cross 
 on a gable is no more a safe guide, nor yet a marble saint looking 
 down from the niche of a medieval tower. We do not say that 
 there is not yet a physiognomy by which the pinchbeck religion, 
 that takes so with our fashionables, may be detected even at first 
 sight, and distinguished from the faith it imitates, 
 
 520 
 
230 
 
 A L B A N . 
 
 Our young friend might have consulted a directory, but she 
 forgot there was such a thing, or she might have asked one of her 
 father's Irish servants, if she had not been restrained by a feehng 
 of dehcacy. She thought of inquiring in a shop, or of sorne 
 passer-by, for the nearest Catholic church, and then again an in- 
 vincible timidity prevented her. She began to reflect. The 
 Catholics Avere poor — foreigners — Irish — were they not ? Their 
 churches M'ere not to be looked for in Broadway, but in some 
 obscure district. Mary had an idea that such a region lay on the 
 east of Broadway, but she had a fear of wandering in that 
 direction. It was a terra incognita to the young Knickerbocker, 
 and contained, she knew, some dreadful places where a modest 
 girl's foot could not pass without danger. And yet surely it was 
 safe so high up. Lafayette Place was east of Broadway ; so 
 was Bond-street. She had friends living in both ; they were 
 fashionable streets. From Bond to Houston, on the corner of 
 which she stood, was only two squares ; she would venture to 
 walk a little way down Houston-street, east. 
 
 Indeed, it was rather a nice street ; a stable in the first " block," 
 but that was common in cross streets. At the first corner she 
 stops, and looks up and down Crosby. She sees uo church, but 
 the High School, and troops of boys (for it is just three p. m.) 
 running and shouting. She has a mind to retreat, but they are 
 only boys, and she crosses Crosby and boldly pushes forward to 
 the next corner. 
 
 What sees she ? Not the great silver door-plate of St. Catha- 
 rine's Convent of the Sisters of Mercy, (for neither Convent nor 
 Institution yet existed.) but on the lower corner of the opposite 
 square in Mulberry, in a walled churchyard, she saw the rear 
 gable of a Gothic edifice. It was of stone, plain and high, but 
 faced below by a wooden lean-to of octagon shape, with a wooden 
 porch and steps. The body of the church was hidden by the 
 houses in Mulberry-street, but over the roofline of the latter 
 rose a nondescript wooden steeple, or pinnacle, surmounted by a 
 great gilt cross. The sign of salvation, glitternig in the afternoon 
 
AL B AN 
 
 231 
 
 Sim which smote the roof and upper portion of the church, ex- 
 tended its arms briofhtly and boldly a,2:aiiist the blue sky. 
 
 So Mary turned into Mulberry-street and walked slowly down 
 the square, looking at the church and its lofty, glittering cross. 
 
 " How impossible to mistake it !" she thought. " I need no 
 one to tell me thai this is one of the homes of our mother — sancfa 
 mater ecclesia — humble, yet exalted in the eyes of her God. 
 Surely an angel guided my steps." 
 
 A man in a long surtout came out of Prince-street and 
 crossed Mulberry in front of her. He turned into Mulberry, 
 walked rapidly along the church-yard wall to the back entrance of 
 the cathedral, ascended the wooden steps, and disappeared in the 
 porch. 
 
 The steps M'ere shackling and creaked under Mary's light foot. 
 The outer door of the hurricane porch (as it is called) was closed 
 by a pulley. The inner one was heavy, but yielded to a resolute 
 push, and she found herself in a small chapel. The first object 
 that struck her eye was a wooden Baptismal Font against the 
 wall. At the altar end of the chapel was a door that stood ajar. 
 Seeing no one, she proceeded thither and tapped. No answer ; 
 and she ventured to push the door open, and then to enter. It 
 was a carpeted room with a fire. It contained some large ward- 
 robes, as they seemed, of dark wood, a crucifix against the wall, 
 and a confessional in a corner. Then she knew that it was a 
 place where women might come. Father Smith and the New 
 Hav^en sacristy recurred to her mind. Next she perceived another 
 door which she knew must lead into the body of the church ; but 
 as the adventurous young girl approached to try it, it opened and 
 the man in the long surtout appeared. His face, now that she 
 saw him uncovered, gave her a great surprise : it was the New 
 Haven missionary. 
 
 " Father Smith," she joyfully exclaimed. 
 
 The priest did not remember Mary, and intimated as much with 
 great courtesy. She reminded him of his third mass on Christmas 
 Day. 
 
232 
 
 AL B AN. 
 
 " Ah, it is the young New Haven convert," said the missionary. 
 " I should not have known you had not you spoken first, my young 
 lady. So you have come to New York. I suppose you have been 
 received into the Church." 
 
 " No, sir, I am waiting a month as you directed me, studying 
 my catechism and other books." 
 
 " You have seen no clergyman here then ?" 
 
 *' "VYe arrived from New Haven but yesterday." 
 
 " You had better see the Bishop or the Vicar General. I sup- 
 pose you are in the cathedral parish." 
 
 " Whatever you tell me, Father Smith, I will do." 
 
 " I was just going to call on the Bishop, I will mention your 
 case to him. What is your name, my dear young lady ?" 
 
 He took down her name, age, and place of abode. 
 
 " Go into the church and say your prayers," said the missionary, 
 *' while I see the Bishop. In a short time I will bring or send you 
 word." 
 
 At present the cathedral extends back to Mulberry-street, and 
 the lean-to chapel no longer exists. The space thus gained affords 
 a deep and spacious sanctuary ; but at that time the sanctuary was 
 miserably contracted, and the pews were pushed to the very rails. 
 Mary found the church empty, and most of the pews locked. She 
 discovered at last one that was open, and entering, placed herself 
 gladly on her knees. This cathedral was very unlike those beau- 
 tiful Flemish interiors in her father's gallery from which she had 
 drawn her principal notion of a Catholic church. Over the altar 
 was a painted perspective that carried the church back like a deep 
 choir, closed by a calvary. If this did not please our young friend's 
 refined taste, it did not long arrest her attention, caught by a reality 
 which makes us forget all outward tawdriness, all poverty. A lamp 
 hung burning in the empty church before the tabernacle, and 
 Mary now knew what that meant. The thought of that heavenly 
 presence had not occurred to her before. She put down her head 
 and adored. So low, however, was then the tone of Catholic feel- 
 ing, (to borrow a phrase from a recent sect-movement,) or so great 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 233 
 
 the poverty of Catholics in New York, that there was nothing else 
 in the church to excite either interest or devotion — not even a pic- 
 ture of our Lady. But the young- convert drew from her bosom her 
 mother's rosary and began to say her beads. She was just finish- 
 ing the " Sorrowful Mysteries," with her eye fixed on the calvary, 
 when the sacristy door opened, and a female came out attired in 
 deep black — as one might fancy a Quakeress in mourning. As 
 soon as her eye rested on Miss De Groot she came forward. In 
 passing before the altar this dark-robed person turned and sank on 
 one knee. She uttered Mary's name, and receiving a word of 
 assent, with a look and tone of sweet courtesy invited her to come 
 to the sacristy. Trembling, though glad, Mary followed her dark- 
 stoled guide, who, as they went before the altar again, again bent 
 the knee to the earth. Mary followed her example, for she was 
 not ignorant why it was done. Her new companion made her sit 
 by the sacristy fire. They were alone. 
 
 "You desire baptism, Miss De Groot?" inquired the dark- 
 habited lady, with a glance that habitually, it would seem, sought 
 the ground. 
 
 " I do," replied Mary, fastening her earnest eyes on the face of 
 the questioner. 
 
 "You are sure you were never baptized ?" 
 " I have always been told so." 
 
 " I suppose you can say the Creed, the Lord's Prayer, the Hail 
 Mary, the Commandments, and the ConfiteorT 
 
 Mary answered like a little girl, by reciting each formulary as 
 it was named. The Sister smiled, and asked how many sacra- 
 ments there were, whether all the seven were instituted by Jesus 
 Christ, and how that was proved from Scripture. Mary recited the 
 texts. 
 
 " As you have been bred a Protestant, I suppose you are very 
 familiar with the Scriptures?" said the Sister. 
 
 " 0 dear, yes I I know the greater part of the Bible almost by 
 heart." 
 
 " That's more than I do," answered the Sister, smiling. " Was 
 
 20* 
 
234 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 it in the perusal of the Scriptures, Miss De Groot, that you became 
 convinced of the truth of the Cathohc rehgion ?" 
 " 0 no, indeed I" 
 
 " Well I think that without the lamp of faith the sacred 
 volume must be a labyrinth to the inquirer," said the Sister, look- 
 ing up Avith a bright intelligence, but immediately withdrawing 
 her glance. " Whence do you obtain faith, Miss De Groot?" 
 
 " From the Church," said Mary. 
 
 " What is the Church ?" 
 
 " The society of the faithful under legitimate pastors," respond- 
 ed the catechumen, following her catechism. 
 
 " Then from what part of the Church do you obtain faith ?" 
 " From the pastors." — " Right, Faith cometh hy hearing ; and 
 hoiv shall they liear ivithout a preacher ? And hoiv shall they 
 preach unless they be se?it ? What is not proposed to us to be- 
 lieve by an authority appointed by God, and secured from error by 
 His promise, can never be the object of faith. Hence we Catho- 
 lics say and prove that Protestants, so far as they are such, can 
 have no faith, but only opinion. However, the grace to believe 
 what the Church teaches — whence comes it?" — "From God 
 alone." — " Right again. And by what means do we obtain it 
 from God ?" — " By prayer and the sacraments." — " Right. By 
 the sacrament of baptism more particularly. For though none 
 but believers are to be baptized, the sacrament infuses the habit 
 of faith, which before was only a precarious act. Yoti believe, 
 but you have in a manner no right to faith, and except in virtue 
 of the sacrament you cannot retain faith." 
 
 The Sister of Charity had a pleasant face, though not beautiful. 
 Her complexion had that peculiar brilhancy which is so often seen 
 under the veil of the Virgins of the Church. Her eyes, as we have 
 said, were habitually downcast, yet with an occasional glance of 
 singular penetration. Her manner was refined, her voice sweet, 
 the accent slightly foreign : — it might be French or the high Irish, 
 which is the most pleasing and thorough-bred in the world. She 
 touched the rosary which hung at her girdle. — " You know what 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 235 
 
 this is ? And how to use it ? Oh, you say the beads daily, do 
 you?" She- regarded Mary with an expression of great tender- 
 ness, which, however, she immediately checked. " It would be a 
 sin," she continued, " to keep you from baptism. Father Smith 
 mentioned that you had no Catholic friends. Should it be neces- 
 sary I would present you at the font, although it is against our 
 rules." 
 
 Mary gently hid her face in her hands. 
 
 " The Bishop has requested Father Smith to receive you as soon 
 as he finds you prepared," added the Sister. " But here comes the 
 good father himself" — Father Smith entered. — " She knows her 
 catechism, father. Her faith is rational as well as firm, and she 
 prays, above all." 
 
 " Have you a great desire for baptism ?" inquired the priest, 
 standing by the fire, and looking down upon her tranquilly. " 1 de- 
 sire it," replied Mary, in tears, " more than any thing else in the 
 world." 
 
 " Why do you ?" 
 
 Mary looked up. — *' Because unless we are born of tvater and 
 the Holy Ghost we cannot enter the Jcingdom of God.'' 
 
 " You are then formally a postulant for salvation — " glancing 
 from her to the Sister. " We cannot refuse you what you ask. 
 God would require your soul at our hands." 
 
 He inquired about her father. Mary frankly stated that her 
 father knew and strongly disapproved her intention of becoming a 
 Cathohc, that she believed he would absolutely refuse his consent 
 to her being baptized, and that she would prefer not to ask it. 
 When it was done, and could not be undone, she meant to tell him 
 at once, and did not doubt to obtain his forgiveness. The mission- 
 ary sat down and questioned her on the nature of the sacrament 
 she was about to receive, but rather in the way of instruction than 
 to elicit her knowledge. 
 
 Did she understand why she needed baptism at all ? He asked 
 because it was an error of the sect in which she had been bred, to 
 suppose that the human being was born innocent. 
 
236 
 
 ALB A N. 
 
 " Your soul \vas created by God, and you may say that it 
 came pure and good from the hands of its Creator ; but that 
 which is born of the flesh is flesh. Child of Adam, you did not 
 receive at the moment of your conception that which is the com- 
 plement of a moral creature, the divine life of grace. Naked 
 and stripped of original justice and sanctity you M-ere born ; and 
 hence, ignorant of God, perverse in will, weak in virtue, a captive 
 to the desires of the flesh and fleshly mind, a seeker of pleasure and 
 transitory good : Avhich is concupiscence. Humiliating as this 
 fact is, it is true ; and up to this date you have done nothing, nor 
 can you ever do any thing, to merit that God should bestow upon 
 you the grace which in a moment can eflace it all. If you had 
 died in infancy or in youth, while yet unconscious of this misery, 
 you could never have seen God ; and if old enough to have com- 
 mitted actual sins, you must have endured for ever their punish- 
 ment, according to the greatness of their demerit. Now then you 
 see why you need baptism. It is the womb of a new birth, where- 
 in that which was born of Adam may be born again of Christ, and 
 the soul united to sinful flesh may receive its true life — the Holy 
 Spirit which Adam forfeited." 
 
 To this the young lady listened with an air of quiet assent and 
 pious interest. 
 
 Did she understand, then, pursued the missionary, with delib- 
 eration, that in baptism, provided she received it with suitable 
 dispositions, all the sins of her past life Avould be entirely washed 
 away, together with that sin in which she had been conceived — 
 the original defect and guilt of her human nature — so that she 
 would become in an instant perfectly pure and holy, and if she 
 were to die that moment, would go immediately to heaven, and 
 see God eternally as he is, by the sole merit of faith ; God, that 
 is, crowning his own free gift by a free and infinite reward ? Did 
 she understand this ? 
 
 " I understand it," said Mary, tremulously. 
 
 Did she understand, moreover, that this sacrament, thus 
 worthily received, (for that was a condition,) would change her in 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 237 
 
 an instant from a child of wrath into a child of grace, infuse into 
 her soul the justice of God, (that, namely, whereby He makes us 
 inwardly and truly just,) illuminate it by His light, inflame it with 
 His charity, implanting the habit of all virtues ; that her very 
 body would become the temple of God, her members the limbs 
 and members of Christ the Incarnate Son, the same Spirit inhabit- 
 ing her mortal frame and talking possession of the interior recesses 
 of her heart, which dwelt in and quickened, sanctified and united 
 to the person of the Word, the adorable Humanity of the Son of 
 God? 
 
 "The Holy Trinity will come and dwell with you : do you 
 understand that ?" demanded the priest. 
 " Yes," murmured the catechumen. 
 
 Did she also know — the priest's voice lowered a little — that the 
 sacrament which thus effaced all sin and replenished the soul with 
 the Author of sanctity Himself, would leave concupiscence within 
 her, wounded but not destroyed ; whence must spring a dail3'', 
 hourly conflict— a conflict in which she would be liable to fall, 
 but in which if she overcame she would be croivned ? This was 
 serious : let her think of it well. 
 
 Mary wept. 
 
 " In what degree the sacrament of baptism may diminish con- 
 cupiscence, depends in part on the dispositions more or less perfect 
 with which you receive it, on the fervor of your prayers, and the 
 simplicity of your intention before and after. The sevenfold grace 
 which the Holy Ghost inspires in confirmation is a sevenfold pan- 
 oply against this enemy as well as every other. The daily, super- 
 substantial bread of the Divine Eucharist will be a remedy for 
 infirmity as well as a perennial source of life ; and finally, even a 
 fall will not be hopeless, for the Sacrament of Penance remains. 
 Still I must tell you that none of these things will change your 
 nature, my dear child, nor your acquired habits ; but they will 
 give you a life and a strength above nature, by virtue of which, if 
 you will, you may, while in the flesh, live not after the flesh but 
 after the Spirit. But to do so is not easy. It will cost you much 
 
238 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 suffering — internal and external, many a hard battle with yourself ; 
 nor must you count on a single day's remission of" the struggle 
 while you Ifve. It is a narrow way : you may easily miss it. It 
 is a rough way : you may easily be discouraged by it. It is the 
 only way : you must persevere in it till the soul and body are 
 parted by death, or both are lost for ever. I rejoice, and yet I 
 tremble, when I see one like you who has been nursed in the lap 
 of luxury, and before whom the w^orld spreads a thousand fascina- 
 tions, called — mysteriously called, as few of the rich and noble are 
 — to enter upon this rugged path, which leads indeed — but through 
 much tribulation — to the kingdom of God." 
 
 " I am called, father : let me enter it," said Mary, sinking on 
 her knees by the side of her chair. 
 
 " You must spend some days, my daughter, as our holy mother 
 the Church enjoins, in exercises of piety, viz., fasting, alms-giving, 
 and prayers, which you know from your catechism are the three 
 emineiit good works. It was by these that Cornelius the centurion, 
 while yet a heathen, gained such favor with God that an angel 
 appeared to him by whom he w^as directed to Peter to learn the 
 terms of salvation. At your age fasting must be practised with 
 great moderation. Sister Theresa will suggest to you what is 
 prudent ; if you can deny yourself some delicacy which you would 
 buy from your own purse, so as to give the money to the poor, it 
 will be very acceptable to God. It is probable you have not many 
 grievous sins to charge yourself with, but you must call them to 
 mind, whatever they are, and be very penitent for them. Resolve, 
 by the aid of God's grace, never to offend him deliberately again 
 as long as you live, and remember constantly what you are about 
 to do — to renounce Satan with all his works and pomps. Your 
 own will, the world's vanities, the desires of the mind and the 
 flesh, are no more to be your rule ; but you are to mortify your 
 passioiis, to imitate the humility of your Saviour, and, hke Him, 
 live only to do the will of God. Will you endeavor in this way 
 to dispose yourself to receive the grace of baptism ?" 
 
 " I will, father," said Mary, still humbly kneeling. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 239 
 
 The priest made the sign of blessing over her, and gently 
 hade her rise. 
 
 " There is a mass at the cathedral every morning at half-past 
 six, another at seven, and by the mercy of God I shall say one 
 here every day this week at half-past seven. Now you can do as 
 your piety and your circumstances allow as. regards coming on the 
 intermediate days, but on Saturday morning, if you will be here 
 as early as seven, with any of your friends, or alone, Sister Theresa, 
 if no one else can be thought of in the mean time, will be your 
 godmother, and I will baptize you. Probably the Bishop will 
 give you confirmation immediately after. At all events you will 
 stay to hear mass, and make your first communion. And would, 
 my child, that I were in your place." 
 
 Sister Theresa led away Miss De Groot, They pause and 
 converse in the chapel. It is growing dusk, and a little lamp, 
 which Mary observed not before, gleams out upon the almost 
 naked altar. Above the low, plain tabernacle is an image, carved 
 in wood, of the Mother of God. The meek brow, on which the 
 altar lamp at her feet casts upward an effect of light like life, is 
 crowned with white roses. The tAvo females implore the protec- 
 tion of the Glueen of Saints. The young convert indeed felt a 
 thrill of indescribable joy for the first time to see Mary thus pub- 
 licly honored. But her father's dinner hour was close at hand. 
 It was important not to be called upon to explain where she had 
 been. So she kissed the Sister of Charity, and sped away, light 
 of foot and rejoicing in heart. 
 
 No one insulted by word or look the beautiful and well-attired 
 young lady, threading so rapidly and fearlessly the half-twilight, 
 half-lamp lit streets. It was a famihar sight in New York, 
 and by no means an unfamiliar circumstance to herself But the 
 last lonely quarter of a mile after she had left the houses behind, 
 was more nervous, and our dear heroine almost ran over this part 
 of the way, till she set her foot, reassured, on the broad pavement 
 before her father's stately mansion. 
 
240 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It was a cold, stormy morn of mid-winter, wben, at about a 
 quarter past six, the young- convert stole down the private stair 
 and let herself out of the house by a side-door. There she paused. 
 The street was dark. The line of lamps down the lonely Avenue 
 rendered it more gloomy. The young lady was afraid to venture 
 forth. 
 
 A man passed, going towards the city, and walking fast. He 
 was attired as a laborer, and heeded not, if he perceived, the female 
 form in the basement doorway of the great house. Then a milk- 
 cart rattled by. Not being given to foolish fears, Mary began to 
 accuse herself of timidity. She stepped^forth and walked on quite 
 bravely. But she sees a man approaching in the opposite direction, 
 she becomes nervous and retreats to her doorway. The individual 
 approached. His appearance, as he passed under the street-lamp, 
 was that of a gentleman, and he slackened his pace on seeing a girl 
 in a doorway at that hour. • He stopped at the court-yard and spoke 
 to her, whereupon jNIary hastily retired into the house, nervously 
 bolting the door. The stranger impudently whistled a tune and 
 sauntered on. The young lady opened the door ajar, but dared not 
 come out again from her place of security, until she distinguished 
 the voices of some women. They were approaching rapidly, and 
 speaking in an unmistakable national accent. She went out to 
 them as far as the gate. They were hurrying past. 
 
 " How far are you going, ma'am, please ?" said Mary, with 
 quickness. 
 
 " Sure we're goin' down the street a piece, ma'am." 
 
 " May I keep along with you ?" asked Mary, hoping it might 
 prove a good piece. " I am afraid to go alone." 
 
 " Ye' re entirely welcome, and any way the street is free. But 
 it's late we are this minute." 
 
AL B A N . 
 
 241 
 
 They strode on as fast as she could well walk, though active of 
 limb. 
 
 " It's mighty discreet ye are to w^aut company," said the 
 woman who had answered her. " I suppose ye work for a 
 milliner ?" 
 
 " Not exactly," said Mary. " I am not going to my work." 
 " May be ye've a place in yon great house ?" 
 " Yes, I have a place there at present." 
 
 " But ye're afraid of losing it. Well, there's always more to be 
 had in this counthry, they say. But they're not all good places 
 by a great dale. Here's me daughter has jist lift one where she 
 got siven dollars a month, becase she thought better to lose a place 
 than her sowl, let alone her body into the bargain. The thrials a 
 poor girl has to go through in most rispictable families from them 
 as should know better is dreadful. Lord have mercy on us I" 
 sighing. ** 'Tis a wicked city, as Father Murphy tould her at con- 
 fession, jist to encourage her like, and the poor Irish servant girls, 
 says he, is what saves it from bein' burrent by a shower of fire and 
 brimstone like Sodom and Gomorrhay." 
 
 "I dare say he spoke truth there," observed Mary. 
 
 " Och !" sighing again, " it's likely enough ye know the thruth 
 of it as well as us or better, if ye live in yon fine house. Ye seem 
 a purty gintale little body, and a sweet voice ye've got any way : 
 I wish ye mayn't know the thruth of what I've been sayin', too 
 well. Ye've not the honor and advantage of bein' a Catholic, I 
 suppose ; but keep y'r innocence, and may be it's yourself that will 
 be one before ye die." 
 
 " I dare say you are going to the cathedral to hear mass," said 
 Mary. 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am, ye niver spoke a truer w^ord in y'r hfe. It's 
 jist to the cathaydral we're goin'." 
 
 " I am going there too for the same purpose," said Mary. " I 
 call myself a Catholic." 
 
 "And is it a Roman Catholic that you mane ?" returned her 
 new acquaintance, with characteristic caution. 
 
 21 
 
242 
 
 AL B AN. 
 
 Yes, a E-oman Catholic, or what should I be going to mass 
 
 for?" 
 
 " Indeed, and that's true, but there's people that wants us to 
 take their little books and says they ' call themselves Catholics,' but 
 the Lord knows that nobody else iver called them so," said Mrs. 
 Dolman, whose acute ear had noticed both the unfamiliar expres- 
 sion and the young lady's accent. 
 
 The discovery somewhat altered her companions' notion of her. 
 If she was a Catholic and going to mass, her being in the street at 
 that early hour was not so positive proof of belonging to their own 
 class or one not much above it. It was now clear twilight. Ten 
 or fifteen minutes had made a great difference. The Irish mother 
 and daughter regarded the young lady with curiosity. Mary's 
 courage and dignity came back with the first ray of the ever pro- 
 tecting light. She asked her companions where they lived, and 
 learned that it was in a shanty on the Avenue, near her father's 
 freestone palace, and that they went to mass at that hour every 
 morning. She engaged them to stop for her. The old woman 
 began to apologize for speaking too freely to the young lady, but 
 Mary cut her short. They reached the cathedral, which was 
 crowded — at least in the aisles ; — for it was a day of obligation — 
 the great feast of Epiphany. With some difficulty Mary made her 
 way to a pew, one of the few open so early. 
 
 The seven-o'clock mass was said by an old ecclesiastic, who 
 entered in a trailing purple cassock and rochet of very rich lace, 
 and who put on the vestments for mass at the altar itself. It was 
 the first low mass Mary had heard ; it seemed to her very rapid. 
 A considerable number of persons received communion, and among 
 them one of her new Irish friends — the daughter. Mary could not 
 help noticing this girl's absorbed attention, kneeling on the floor of 
 the aisle just before her. The mother, except at the gospels and 
 creed, remained nearly prostrate on the floor, and when her daughter 
 went up to the rail, sobbed aloud. Mary observed how wretchedly 
 they both were clad. 
 
 " The Hfe that dwells in those poor creatures," thought she "is 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 243 
 
 the very life of my Lord : when shall it dwell in me I The Star 
 which I saw in the East, has again appeared. I rejoice with the 
 Magi. I have found the young Child with Mary His mother, in 
 the House of Bread. But come and inhabit my heart, 0 divine 
 Babe I Expectation of the Gentiles, I expect thee. Messiah, 
 King of Israel I I long for thee, as wanderers long for the morning 
 light. 0 Sun of Justice, arise on my soul I" 
 
 She was full of ardent desires : the mass intensely excited 
 them. She would gladly have waited for another; indeed, it 
 seemed to her that she could hear mass for ever, — never quit her 
 knees before the Tabernacle. She dared not stay, however, but 
 while the purple-stoled ecclesiastic was unvesting at the altar, 
 went by lowly genuflecting, openly and yet unnoticed, with deep 
 and safe feeling shared by many and deemed natural by all, and 
 so passed out by the chapel, leaving her humble friends, one at 
 her thanksgiving, the other at her beads. The city, adorer of 
 Mammon, is now awake. 
 
 Miss De Groot's morning excursion attracted no notice at 
 home ; for she had been accustomed to walk before breakfast in 
 the autumn, after she came from boarding-school to reside with 
 her parents in their new house. Sometimes it would be on Wash- 
 ington Square, then not very inviting ; sometimes down a cross 
 street to the still beautiful river-side ; or again, beyond Broadway, 
 where at that time a winding road passed by gray rocks and 
 golden groves. To have gone forth a half hour or so earlier, to 
 attend church with some hundreds of poor people, did not consti- 
 tute a very grievous offence, and the father whose- daughter is 
 guilty of no greater indiscretion, may congratulate himself 
 
 Mary was a sensible girl, in spite of her popish flights. She 
 was aware that no act of piety she could perform would be so 
 distasteful to her parents as fasting. Much, therefore, as she 
 desired to fast on the days preceding her baptism, she resolved to 
 do nothing that could attract their attention. Nevertheless, by 
 a holy artifice which saints have practised, she contrived to go 
 without her breakfast every morning. One day she had it sent 
 
244 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 to her room ; another she amused herself during the entire meal 
 with reading tlie newspaper aloud ; the last day, which was Fri- 
 day, she had no need to dissemble the matter. As for luncheon, 
 she could make it as sparing as she liked, and confined herself 
 to bread and water for the quality, which cost her much faintness 
 and headache. At dinner she made amends, (for a growing girl 
 must eat,) but (except one day) on fish and vegetables ; flatulent, 
 unsatisfying food she found it. Altogether, the flesh suffered, 
 and it is to be hoped that the spirit profited. 
 
 After breakfast on Wednesday morning, Mary tied on her 
 bonnet, and visited the shanty of her Irish friends — a low cabin 
 of boards, ten feet by twelve, with one smalt window, through 
 a pane of which the stove-pipe made its exit. Like Mr. De 
 Groot's freestone mansion, it occupied an entire square ; but in 
 lieu of the high-walled garden planted with fruit-trees, and 
 traversed by lines of box, the circling court-yard with its shrubs 
 and frequent evergreens, making even winter cheerful, and the 
 conservatory glowing with red cactus, and a hundred other 
 bright-flowered plants, and exhaling on a sunny noon the fragrance 
 of the myrtle, the rose, and the orange-tree — around the widow 
 Dolman's shanty extended a bare stony lot, fenceless and rude, 
 where not a blade of grass would grow even in summer, the soil, 
 and many a foot more of the old earth, having been carted away 
 in grading the Avenue. 
 
 The widow Dolman had six children, of whom Margaret, the 
 girl who had received at mass, was the eldest, and about seventeen. 
 Three more were of the same sex, with a good leap from Margaret 
 to the next sister, and the two boys were quite little. They were a 
 bare -footed, ragged set, not over clean, with long uncombed hair 
 flying loose on the shoulders of the girls ; but all had good features, 
 though wild ; and Margaret was pretty ; her poor calico frock, and 
 the scant under-clothing which made it hang like a rag about her, 
 betrayed a rounded, healthy shape. The shanty contained neither 
 table nor chairs, nor yet a bedstead. The beds were miserably 
 huddled into a corner, and the younger children sat upon them. 
 
ALB AN , 
 
 245 
 
 To Miss De Groot they offered a trunk. Yet there was a cradle 
 where the baby nestled, (a child under two years,) and with it the 
 youngest girl, a poor little creature barely four, white as chalk 
 with chronic dysentery. And yet this family, poor as they were, 
 had taken in out of charity a woman poorer still, a common street 
 beggar who sought cold victuals from door to door, and who with 
 her child of seven, both in the unequivocal garb of beggary, with 
 their mop hair and dirt-brown garments, the child's dark skin 
 showing through her rags, cowered over their bag of broken meat 
 in a . corner of the shanty. The young visitor was shocked at the 
 all but nakedness of the girls. 
 
 " How you must have suffered this cold weather I And you, 
 Margaret, are hardly decent." 
 
 Margaret began to cry. 
 
 "And indeed, miss, I would keep meself dacent if I could." 
 
 " Och, and I must tell ye the thruth," said Mrs. Dolman, 
 " Margaret has gone and pawned her petticoats (beggin' ye'r pardon 
 for mentionin' them,) to pay for doctor's stuff for this one," point- 
 ing to the pallid little creature in the cradle. "And I've been 
 tryin' to get some lady to take her sisters there, for it's too hard 
 upon meself to fill so many mouths." 
 
 " How can you expect a lady to take such dirty little girls ?" 
 demanded Mary, \vith quickness. " Even if they must go in 
 rags, and without petticoats, Mrs. Dolman, their faces might be 
 washed and their hair combed." 
 
 " And indeed, miss, we've niver a comb lift, for we've been 
 sellin' and pawnin' these three months, and I not able to get 
 work. And it is of washin' ye were spakin' ? Sure there's 
 nothin' lift to hold water, barrin' the one mug, and the pot to 
 boil the pratees in." 
 
 " And the pratees — you have enough of them at least ?" 
 
 " Troth, miss, there's niver been the day yet but we've had 
 some, let alone that we mightn't always have what we wanted. 
 But thank God for not littin' us starve either with cowid or 
 hunger." 
 
 21* 
 
246 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 And how had they been reduced to these straits was what the 
 visitor wanted to know : for it seemed to her almost incredible 
 that such destitution existed. The thing began about six months 
 before, when the father was brought home on a shutter, killed by 
 the falling in of a bank : — an Irish laborer, honest, industrious, and 
 thoughtless ; a trifle fond of the whiskey, and ready, under such 
 circumstances, for a row ; given to hearing mass outside the 
 church when he might as well have gone in, negligent about his 
 "duty," but chaste from infancy to manhood, and most happy in 
 having made his Easter only a fortnight before his unexpected 
 death. For the first three months after this bereavement they got 
 on pretty well, for Margaret had a place, and a good share of her 
 earnings M'ent to support the shanty establishment. Mrs. Dolman 
 got some chores, and they trusted in God. Then Margaret, Avho 
 like her more favored visitor, was just budding into womanhood, 
 began to be tried. She did not mind the impertinence of the 
 young gentlemen in the family ; she told her mistress, who put a 
 stop to it, at least to what could not be endured. But to go to 
 mass on Sunday morning she staid at home all the Sunday after- 
 noons ; — the time that girls at service generally prefer going out, 
 for it is a time of visiting, walking with beaux, &c. Thus she 
 was left alone in the kitchen, and her master, feigning an excuse 
 for not accompanying his wife and daughters to church, used to 
 come down and attempt to corrupt the innocence of this young 
 maid-servant. He offered her money and presents of finery, such 
 as other girls of her rank wore, but which she could not aflbrd, 
 (for he knew where the wages went,) and offered to clothe her 
 sisters and get them places, and all that ; while Margaret, as ap- 
 peared from her own artless story, resisted in the most feminine 
 and gentle way, weeping, and representing to him the wickedness 
 of his conduct. Finally, after telling her story to Father Murphy 
 one Saturday afternoon, she left her place, giving so short notice 
 that her mistress refused her a character and kept back part of 
 her wages. Since then, she had been an inmate of the crowded 
 and dirty shanty, and a full sharer of its privations. 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 247 
 
 Our delicate Broadway promenaders will of course laugh at 
 Mary De Groot for parting with one of her petticoats to Margaret 
 on the spot, in a fervor of charity. The next thing was to get 
 the poor girl's clothes out of pawn, and provide the whole family 
 with the means of cleanliness at least. Mary's pocket money was 
 nearly exhausted, when all was accomplished which she deemed 
 absolutely necessary. To put the girls in such decent trim that 
 they could reasonably hope for admission, into proper families, 
 seemed the wisest outlay she could make for them. The grateful 
 Margaret accompanied the young lady home to receive some ad- 
 ditional presents of cast-ofF clothing. Mrs. De Groot's carriage 
 was at the door, it being the day and nearly the hour when Mary 
 and her stepmother called on Mrs. Atherton. The astonished 
 Irish girl foUow^ed her young benefactress to her apartment. 
 Strange contrast to the board shanty, that marble hall and broad 
 staircase ; nor less the young lady's own room, with its rich old 
 furniture, its bath-closet open, streams of hot and cold water 
 steaming and dashing into the marble basin ; the tall mahogany 
 wardrobe agape, and the well-stocked, nicely-arranged drawers ; 
 the toilet's elegant apparatus displayed : — for Mary had to dress 
 in haste, while Margaret Dolman, staring around, ate up her 
 luncheon with an avidity painful to see. 
 
248 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Our hero and his parents appeared punctually at five on Thursday, 
 at the mansion in the Avenue. A bright sea-coal fire illumined 
 the innermost saloon, and the Rev. Dr. Fluent, whom they were 
 invited to meet, was already there, sitting bolt upright on a sofa 
 of silver brocade. He was a gentleman of striking physiognomy 
 and high-bred air, and his black, erect form, relieved against the 
 throne-like seat he had taken, was quite imposing. Mrs. Fluent 
 was nooked with their hostess in the corner of another, a retiring 
 woman, remarkably pretty withal, as your ministers' wives gen- 
 erally are, and no wonder, since the ministers, if at all popular, 
 usually have their pick among the young lambs — we mean the 
 young ladies — of their flocks. At first there was no one else 
 present, and the conversation ran very orthodoxly, the reverend 
 doctor pretty much engrossing it. He spoke en passant, but with 
 unction, of a revival in which he had been engaged ; and Alban, 
 who knew what revivals were, hardly listened, till the doctor 
 diverged to a paper conflict into which he had been drawn with 
 a high-church bishop, wherein, from his own account, confirmed 
 by Mrs. De Groot, our hero would have supposed the former to 
 have been completely victorious, and to have demolished for ever 
 the figment of Apostolic Succession, if he had not that very morn- 
 ing heard the very contrary asserted by his cousins the Greys. 
 Then the doctor spoke oi" Old School and New School, (or " Twee- 
 dledum and Tweedledee," as he termed them;) of Low Calvinism 
 and High Calvinism ; and of the Hopkinsian tenet once popular 
 in New England, or that it was necessary to be willing to be 
 damned fur the glory of God, which he entirely exploded. This 
 led him to discuss a famous text of the Hopkinsians, which the 
 doctor slipped through finely, by dint of grammar and rhetoric, 
 and thence, to defend his position, his genius and his memory 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 249 
 
 leading him on, plunged into an ocean of quotation, passage after 
 passage heaving up ore rotitndo, like waves breaking in foam. It 
 was a novel exhibition, to Alban, who was equally surprised and 
 entertained. 
 
 The De Groots, however, had invited others. A Mr. Clinton 
 came first — a retired merchant, with his fashionable M'ife and 
 daughter, people of particularly easy manners, whose arrival en- 
 tirely changed the tone of the conversation from religion to the 
 chit-chat of the day. Next entered a Mr. Livingston Tan Brugh 
 (so announced) a tall, broad-shouldered young man of some five- 
 and-twenty, appertaining to Mr. De Groot's own class, his father 
 being a manorial proprietor on the Hudson. After him entered 
 the patroon himself, who alone of all the manor-lords disputed 
 Mr. Van Rensselaer's exclusive claim to that title, and, lean- 
 ing on his arm, a friend — the Rev. Mr. Warens, minister of the 
 Unitarian church, or chapel, in which Mr. De Groot was a pew- 
 holder. Last of all glided in the daughter of the house, in virgin 
 white, and a trifle pale. 
 
 Mary was saluted by Mrs. and Miss Clinton with a kiss on 
 both cheeks ; to the remainder of the guests she made her wonted 
 graceful obeisance, except Mr. Warens, to whom she went up, 
 and shook him cordially by the hand as an old friend. White- 
 haired Scip announced dinner, and the party filed off through 
 the Vanderlyn cabinet into the dining-room. 
 
 An effective scene of domestic splendor presented itself to 
 them as they entered. The table was round, lighted with bran- 
 ches of silver gilt, and in the centre an ancient salt-cellar of the 
 same, terminating in a quaint, spreading flower-vase. The sconces 
 on the walls were filled with lighted tapers, and the old Dutch 
 pictures, the carved oak wainscot and chairs, the sparkling cup- 
 board, the high and broad oak-shuttered window, the rich festive 
 board, the soft abundant light, completed a picture rarely seen on 
 this side the Atlantic. Nor were the guests unworthy of it, at 
 least in outward appearance. Mr. Clinton, notwithstanding his 
 aristocratic name, had been a poor boy and the architect of his 
 
250 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 own fortune ; but he had rather the air of an old noble gracefully- 
 decaying after a youth of splendid excess. It was the more re- 
 markable, as he was not an American but a native of the Green 
 Isle. His wife was a New Yorker, of a fashionable family — 
 Grace church people : all the world knows what that signifies. 
 Their daughter was highly distinguished, brilliantly fair, with a 
 profusion of light brown ringlets, very fine teeth, and a delicate 
 though sensual physiognomy. Next to Miss Clinton sat Yan 
 Brugh, who had a gentlemanlike countenance, a little marred by 
 dissipation. Mr. Warens was short, thin, and dark, with a bald 
 forehead and penetrating black eye, somewhat restless. The 
 head of Alban's father had become grand and historical as he ad- 
 vanced in years ; but slight, pale, irregular in features and plainly 
 attired as she was, nature and breeding had written lady on the 
 face and mien of Mrs. Atherton, more unequivocally than on 
 those of any other woman present. The time we have occupied 
 in noting this would scarcely have sufficed for Dr. Fluent's elo- 
 quent grace, in which he thanked God for every thing but the 
 dinner, and asked every blessing except a blessing on the food. 
 
 " The reverend gentleman must have forgot to say his prayers 
 this morning by his taking this opportunity for it," whispered Mr. 
 Clinton to Mary De Groot, while she took off her gloves. 
 
 " We must say grace for ourselves if we don't hke what is 
 said for us," replied the young lady, 
 
 " I observed you ' blessing' yourself. Is that anywhere a 
 custom of Protestants ?" 
 
 " Blessing myself? What is that ?" 
 
 " Making the sign of the cross. We call it so in Ireland." 
 " Oh, indeed I" 
 
 " You seem hungry. Miss Mary." — She had attacked her 
 bread. " Be patient and your turn will come for soup." 
 " My fingers were restless, Mr. Clinton." 
 
 " No, I see real hunger sparkling in your eyes. The sharp- 
 ness of famine is in your youthful face. You have been fasting. 
 This is wrong. Even in the Uoman Catholic Church boys and 
 
AL B AN. 
 
 251 
 
 girls under age are not obliged, and generally not permitted, 
 to fast." 
 
 " What do you know about that ?" 
 
 " Living so long as I have, one picks up a deal of miscellane- 
 ous information." 
 
 We are thinking whether it would not be something in our 
 way to describe the dinner, course by course, as was the method of 
 the old romancers and poets, beginning with Homer. A first-rate 
 Knickerbocker dinner is a peculiar, a national thing. We may 
 pass over the inevitable fish and boiled, with a gentle reference to 
 the oysters, which do not taste as if they had been stewed with 
 an equal qiiantity of old ha'pennies, as oysters always do in Eu- 
 rope, (but we learned to like that coppery flavor,) and to those 
 innocent apples of the earth (let us have refinement in phraseolo- 
 gy before all things I) crumbling like pollen, white as lilies^ and 
 hot as — don't burn your mouth with them at least. But we 
 can't help a sensation, however we may try to look calm, when 
 that huge saddle of underdone wild venison appears, with a 
 bright array of silver heaters to cook the slices on the table ac- 
 cordnig to the taste of each several guest. This is our real din- 
 ner — a meal which London or Paris, or the ancient Baiae, never 
 knew — of which, and of some of the endless American legumes, 
 our innocent and refined predilection, all partake : and we will 
 jiot spoil it, although a course of small game tempts us not alto- 
 gether in vain by the bounteous choice it offers — partridges from 
 the . mountains, grouse from the plains, canvass backs from the 
 rivers, and flocks of nameless smaller birds. What Muse that 
 neither soars too high nor sinks too low, shall aid us to present the 
 delicacies of the dessert (general cisatlantic name for things sepa- 
 rately classed abroad) so refreshing alike to the eye and the palate. 
 . Snowy ice creams — as glaciers descend to the border of flowery 
 valleys — precede by a moment the rich tropical and native fruit 
 and flowers intermingled, that finally stand, with the wines and 
 colored glasses, on the polished black oaken table. The patroon 
 though a philosopher, being also a true Knickerbocker, was proud 
 
252 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 of his wmes. The choicest vintages of France and the Rhine 
 made his cellars almost poetical, and he invited you to try some 
 Madeira which had mellowed for a third of a century in his gar- 
 ret storeroom under the suns of American summers, with as high 
 and fine a feeling of dignity, almost, as that with which he had 
 received Alban in his magnificent library. 
 
 When the weather had been spoken of, and all had agreed 
 that December had been a very cold month, but not so cold 
 as the year previous, that we were now having the January 
 thaw, but that we might expect something severe in February 
 and-March, Mrs. Clinton mentioned the new Opera House in 
 Church-street, and as this topic was talten up rather timidly at 
 first, owing perhaps to the presence of the reverend clergy, the 
 conversation ran in a general, abstract way on the practicability 
 of establishing this musical luxury in America. 
 
 " It can be introduced, but not yet," said Mr. Clinton, who was 
 generally right. 
 
 " Never in this country," said Mr. Atherton, senior, with posi- 
 tiveness. " We don't want to pay so much money to hear Italian 
 singing." 
 
 Mr. De Groot differed from his guest. The opera," said he, 
 " has produeed some of the sublimest works of human genius. 
 Without it a chasm would exist in the works of the imagination 
 which ought not to exist there any more than in nature." 
 
 " The grander it is as a work of art, the more I object to it," 
 said Dr. Fluent, looking round and sitting up. " Yes : for that 
 but renders it of all theatrical amusements (which I condemn ^?^ 
 toto) the most perfect masterpiece of sensual and secular seduc- 
 tion." Dr. Fluent rounded off^ his periods with an oratorical 
 flourish. "With the opera," he continued, "is necessarily con- 
 nected the ballet, and the defence so ingeniously set up for the one 
 by our accomplished host, is equally applicable, mutatis mutandis, 
 to the other. Without the ballet — the laws of beauty and ryth- 
 mical expression applied to the movements of the human (and par- 
 ticularly of the female) body — " the doctor was somewhat too 
 
A L B A N 
 
 253 
 
 scientific here for the ladies — " there would be a chasm in the 
 works of the imagination. This is a rediictio ad absurd um ; for 
 the immorality of the ballet, I hope, will be admitted." The 
 reverend gentleman finished with a long quotation from a Latin 
 satirist that threw the few hackneyed phrases which he had already 
 from habit employed completely into the background. He first 
 recited the original with great effect and then edified the company 
 with an elegant extempore paraphrase. With all his pretension 
 and extravagance Dr. Fluent possessed a scholarship and taste that 
 carried him through. The finest actor could not have done it bet- 
 ter ; it told admirably ; and Mr. Clinton ironically applauded wath 
 his two index fingers. 
 
 " I still must think the opera moral," said Mr. De Groot, with 
 a smile. " I can never forget the effect of the Freischutz at Dres- 
 den, performed by Weber's own choir. That opera, and Don 
 Giovanni, are as edifying to me as High Mass to a devout Catholic 
 like Mary, or one of Dr. Fluent's eloquent discourses to a pious 
 Presbyterian like her mother." 
 
 This caused some gentle laughter ; but Mrs. Atherton looked 
 shocked, and Mary De Groot blushed. Miss Chnton turned quickly 
 to the latter, and leaning somewhat familiarly past Alban, who sat 
 between them, half-whispered " Is that true, Mary ? Have you 
 become — ? Well, I always thought you would, you know." 
 
 Miss Clinton's attention was principally occupied by her other 
 neighbor, Mr. Van Brugh, but she occasionally spared a soft ques- 
 tion or two for Alban, looking into his dark blue eyes while he 
 responded, and if any thing was said that excited a general smile, 
 hke Dr. Fluent's display, she generally bestowed hers sympatheti- 
 cally upon him, showing her double string of pearls set b^'tween a 
 pair of rose-leaved lips. But now our hero found himself appealed 
 to most unexpectedly by his host. 
 
 " What is your opinion on this subject, Mr. President ? — I heard 
 at New Haven that your son's decisions," addressing Mr. Atherton 
 — " were famous in the Brothers'." 
 
 " Were you President of the Brothers in Unity ?" inquired Dr. 
 
 22 
 
254 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 Fluent, with obvious deference. " Pray let us hear your decision. 
 You have heard the argument on both sides." 
 
 " A decision from the President of the Brothers' Society I" said 
 Mr. De Groot, in a low voice and looking round. 
 
 " Speak up, Mr. Alban," whispered Mary De Groot, addressing 
 him almost for the first time. 
 
 " The question is the Italian Opera :— can it, and ought it, to 
 be introduced in America?" put in Mr. Warens, neatly. 
 
 ''Can it?" said AlHan, plucking up courage, "has been 
 answered by Mr. Clinton. I think we are Europeans still, after 
 all. We have changed our sky but not our minds." 
 
 " Hear, hear I" said Mr. Clinton. 
 
 " Black Care behind the horseman sits," quoted Dr. Fluent, (he 
 quoted it in Latin, however,) " and you think, Mr. — Pres-i-dent, 
 that something blacker yet sits at the poop of ships bound from 
 the old world, novas quccrere secies^ Dr. Fluent pronounced 
 the Latin so distinctly that even the ladies fancied they under- 
 stood it. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Alban. " I saw the Opera last night 
 for the first time — 
 
 " Did you ?" exclaimed his mother. 
 
 "And I certainly felt what Mr. De Groot has said so much 
 better than I can, that it was one of the foreordained achievements 
 > of the imagination." 
 
 The patroon nodded approbation. 
 
 " But whether Christianity would not class such creations of 
 genius among the pomps of this wicked world — " 
 
 " Well, I tlwughtr said his mother, exchanging a glance of 
 satisfaction with Mrs. De Groot. 
 
 " Is a qu«^stion, "'continued Alban, " upon which I cannot be so 
 presumptuous as to ofl^er an opinion in the presence of the reverend 
 clergy." — Bowing to Dr. Fluent and Mr. Warens. 
 
 " Very well done, Mr. Alban !" said Mary in a whisper, and 
 with a smile of triumph. 
 
 " Alban dined with Seixas yesterday," observed Mr. Atherton, 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 255 
 
 senior, by way of explanation. " He invited you to go to the 
 opera with him afterwards, I suppose/' 
 
 " Exactly so, sir. And he told me what I was surprised to learn, 
 that all the great operatic composers, as w^ell as singers, were Jews." 
 
 " I had a dispute on that point with Seixas the other day," 
 said Mr. Clinton. " I maintained that the greatest composers were 
 Catholics in religion, and not even Jews by birth. I wonder if 
 
 Mozart and Weber were Jews. And even and , the 
 
 new composers, and the greatest of all, if they are Hebrews by ori- 
 gin, are Catholics in faith." 
 
 " Catholics or Jews — it amounts to the same thing, I suppose," 
 observed Mr. Atherton, senior, with a look of humor. " At least 
 I never could see any difference." 
 
 Mr. CHnton reddened, and Mary De Groot opened her candid 
 mouth in a half-scornful surprise ; but every body else smiled 
 except Dr. Fluent, who seemed to think that some slight was 
 intended to religion in general. Miss Clinton, with the blended 
 forwardness and tact of an American girl, turned the conversation 
 to Mr. Seixas's liberal support of the Opera, which led to a discussion 
 of his wealth. Miss Clinton was enthusiastic on the subject of his 
 beauty. She thought he was the handsomest man in New York. 
 Alban observed that Miss Seixas w^as very beautiful — a real 
 Rebecca. 
 
 " What jewels she wears I" said Miss Clinton, turning to him. 
 " If she were not a Jewess it would hardly be in good taste for a 
 demoiselle — would it ?" — Miss Clinton herself was simple as a 
 white rose, yet one of her taper indexes sparkled with a little hoop 
 of brilhants. " And Mrs. Seixas I since the last bal we were at 
 at the Tuileries, I have seen nothing to compare with her 
 stomacher." 
 
 " I have not seen Mrs. Seixas yet," said Alban. 
 When Miss Clinton turned again to her other supporter, Mary 
 addressed Alban in a slight tone of pique. 
 
 " So you have found some Jewish friends ?" 
 *' Very interesting ones." 
 
256 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 *' I have found some Catholic friends who interest me. One is 
 a young girl — about my age — who possesses finer jewels than 
 Miss Seixas, I dare say." 
 
 " You mean virtues ?" 
 
 " Yes, humility, resignation, devotion, purity, charity, self-de- 
 nying love, and unspotted chastity," said Miss De Groot, with a 
 shght flush and speaking quick. 
 
 " The last," replied Alban innocently, " is a virtue, as Mr. 
 Seixas told me, which is most conspicuous in Jewish females. 
 Their notions of delicacy, he says, are strict to a degree unknown 
 among Christians, and as for a Jewish lady's slipping, it is unheard- 
 of 1 did not quite appreciate his remark," continued Alban, " for 
 I told him I thought all ladies naturally detested every thing of 
 that sort. With rare exceptions, of course, like your friend — " 
 
 Miss De Groot turned to him quickly and pressed his arm, 
 although Alban had unconsciously lowered his voice. 
 
 " Hush I" she whispered. 
 
 Mr. Clinton, listening, smiled. 
 
 " It is very true, Mr. Alban," said Mary gravely, and yet with 
 a glance almost of tenderness. " In us — as in Jewesses — it is a 
 virtue in the natural order, but in Catholics it is a grace." 
 
 " You are a zealous convert," replied Alban, while Mr. Clinton 
 listened with a peculiar look. 
 
 " My poor Margaret Dolman," she continued, " is nothing but 
 an Irish servant girl — careless and slipshod as any you will meet ; 
 no one has ever taught her how to be otherwise ; — but such white- 
 ness of soul I I could not have acted as she did. I could not have 
 united such meekness under insult with such firmness in not doing 
 th-e slightest wrong. My virtue would have been half pride, but 
 hers was supported by the single fear of oflending her Creator : — 
 * You know, miss,' she said, ' it would be better to die a thousand 
 deaths than ollend Almighty God once I' What a beautiful mo- 
 tive, and so holy I It could never fail, but pride might, as I have 
 often feared, Mr. Alban, and Alexandrine used to warn me." 
 
 Mary raised her voice a little in uttering the concluding sen- 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 257 
 
 tence, and Miss Clinton gave a start. Mr. Clinton fell into so 
 deep a revery that he forgot to rise when the ladies left the table. 
 
 Cigars, and wreaths of smoke curling among the candles ! 
 Livingston Van Brugh was now at home. He asked for some 
 brandy and water. Old Scip brought in a boiling tea-kettle and a 
 silver punch-bowl. All smoked except our hero and Mr. Warens. 
 The latter drew up to Alban and asked about New Haven. He 
 was evidently surprised to meet a young man of untrammelled 
 mind from the orthodox university. Mr. Warens spoke of the want 
 of moral culture among the orthodox. 
 
 " They substitute for it," observed Alban, " the spasmodic 
 stimulus of revivals. A young New Englander, instead of regard- 
 ing the whole of life as a continuous probation, from the dawn of 
 reason to the grave, considers that all depends on being truly con- 
 verted once. Hence, before conversion, he makes no conscience 
 of his actions, for he is not a Christian. After it, he is careless 
 of committing private sins, provided he can retain the belief that 
 his conversion is genuine. If this proves too difficult, the remedy 
 is to give up the old hope and get another. A fresh delusion thus 
 succeeds, and so on, till shame forbids the repetition of the process, 
 or a hardened insensibility is content to dispense with it." 
 
 Dr. Fluent had pricked up his ears at this conversation, and 
 now regarded the wainscoted walls with a wild stern look. 
 
 " These are the majority," said Mr. Warens, laughing at Al- 
 ban's picture. " But all are not such." 
 
 " Oh, there are good people among us," said Alban, — " a sort 
 of spoiled angels I They disdain, you know, to do good works to 
 merit heaven, which they consider already secured to them by 
 God's special favor ; but they will do something for the Almighty 
 in return, purely out of gratitude. It is impossible to give an idea 
 of the intense spiritual pride fostered by such a system," 
 
 "You must get acquainted with liberal Christianity," said 
 Mr. Warens. 
 
 " How can revealed religion be liberal ?" replied Alban, thought- 
 fully. " If you deny the faith in one point you cannot be saved." 
 
 22* 
 
258 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 " That is Homan Catliolicism." 
 
 " And Judaism. What rehgion was ever more intolerant 
 than that of Moses ? A hberal Judaism was punished with 
 death." 
 
 " Christ has done away with that." 
 
 " Yes ! the alternative He offered was faith or damnation." 
 
 " You ought to be a Roman Catholic," repeated Mr. Warens, 
 with a slight asperity, while Dr. Fluent, with his massive chin in. 
 the air, smiled grimly at the carved Bacchantes of the wainscoting. 
 
 " Or a Jewish proselyte of the gate," said Alban. 
 
 " Then you do not accept Christianity at all," returned Mr. 
 Warens, stiffly. 
 
 " I believe God spoke by Moses," said Alban, " because the 
 existence of the Jews at this day proves it. I know what Judaism 
 is, and my heart bows before a system of morals evidently divine. 
 ' The Law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul ; the com- 
 mandment of the Lord is pure, enhghtening the eyes,' " added 
 Alban, with a certain fervor. " Let Christianity present me similar 
 credentials. Let it show me a people — a polity — built upon it, 
 and witnessing to it, and gifted with like permanence. Let its 
 doctrine seem worthy of God and wholesome for man. Let some 
 one at least tell me what that doctrine is, for after all my inquiries 
 I am still in the dark on that point." 
 
 Mr. Clinton had been puffing out volumes of smoke from his 
 nostrils (for he inhaled the weed) and apparently not listening. 
 He broke in with unexpected effect. 
 
 " You want a people — a polity, Mr. Atherton," — Mr. Clinton 
 spoke with a rich, unusual brogue, from which he was generally 
 quite free — " a polity built on Christianity, or rather built by its 
 Founder, sir, to bear witness to it, and existing immutably, like 
 the Jews, in spite of all changes. Sir, the Catholic Church is 
 such a polity. She can tell you, sir, what Christianity is, and 
 you will find it worthy of God and wholesome for man. You are 
 nearer faith, Mr. Atherton, than either of these learned divines. 
 I declare it is strange to see a man in a fog, seeking for what is 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 259 
 
 close at his hand. Any poor Irish servant girl who knows her 
 catechism could teach you more about Christianity, gentlemen, in 
 five minutes, than you have all learned in your great universities 
 in all your lives." 
 
 This outburst was received in silent astonishment, not less 
 than if Mr. Clinton had suddenly given signs of lunacy. Mean- 
 while the apparent, because louder, stream of conversation had 
 run in a poUtical channel, whither, by an abrupt defection of Mr. 
 Warens, the whole current now flowed. Nullification, the great 
 speeches of Webster, the policy of Clay, the craft of Van Buren, 
 the rude but patriotic energy of Jackson, were successively dis- 
 cussed. Alban listened in a fever of ambition, and was sorry 
 when Scip brought a message from the ladies that the gentlemen 
 would please come and take some coffee. 
 
260 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 In tlie drawing-room the ladies had divided into pairs. Mrs. 
 De Groot took Mrs. Atherton into a corner to tell her (she could 
 keep it no longer) the story of her stepdaughter's sad perversion, 
 to which Alban's mother listened with astonishment, and consid- 
 erable alarm for her unsettled son. She felt that so eccentric a 
 pair of young people had better have as little intercourse as possi- 
 ble, and when Mrs. De Groot, fearing that Mrs. Atherton might 
 be alarmed for Alban, proceeded to say how much she hoped 
 from his pious influence over Mary, Mrs. Atherton thought herself 
 obliged to let Mrs. De Groot know how much she was mistaken. 
 It was now Mrs. De Groot's turn to be astonished, and to perceive, 
 moreover, that she had been regularly sold by her husband in this 
 transaction, having been allowed to suppose that Mary was at- 
 tached to a pious and orthodox young collegian, when all the 
 while it was an audacious speculator like Mr. De Groot himself — 
 " one of his own kidney" — as she somewhat hastily expressed her- 
 self, — an infidel, a moralist, and perhaps a Jew I Mary, too, had 
 deceived her, like a Roman Catholic as she was. In her agi- 
 tation Mrs. De Groot nearly suffocated, being, as we have said, 
 inclined to flesh, and tightly laced. Meanwhile the easy Mrs. 
 Clinton entertained Mrs. Fluent (who was naturally an accom- 
 plished listener) with an account of the splendors of their last 
 winter in Paris ; and Paris was the theme on which Miss Clinton 
 expatiated with Mary De Groot. 
 
 Miss Clinton, whose companion listened with a singular smile, 
 and made half-sarcastic replies, could tell of balls, operas, and 
 carriage-promenades in the Bois de Boulogne, and of the court 
 at the Tuileries. She was enthusiastic about the young French 
 princes, and had danced with the Due de Nemours. She thought 
 American society so unexciting — no dukes and duchesses, no prin- 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 261 
 
 ces and courts. Mary ought to go abroad. With her beauty and 
 fortune, and aristocratic position, she would have the e/itree every- 
 where, and might marry a duke. 
 
 " Thank you," said Mary, with a flash of that pride of pro- 
 vincial noblesse of which she was very sensible ; " the duke who 
 marries me will have to come to the Manor to woo me. I shan't 
 cross the water for a husband, I promise you." 
 
 " Your being a Cathohc would add to your currency in the 
 high French circles," observed Miss Clinton, after answering a 
 question of Mary's respecting the churches in Paris. 
 
 " I wonder you didn't become a Catholic, Henrietta I" 
 
 The gentlemen approached from the Vanderlyn room where 
 the Ariadne was now unveiled, the ladies having been looking at 
 the pictures. Mr. Warens and Mary's father threw themselves 
 on a sofa together to take their coffee. 
 
 " How do you like the youth, Warens ?" 
 
 *' A brilliant fellow, but eccentric. Says he's a Jew." 
 
 "Ha, ha ! Better a Jew than a Papist. The Jews are Uni- 
 tarians, Warens." 
 
 " And Romanists are Christians. I am sorry to see you so 
 bitter." 
 
 *' Look at those girls, Warens, with Van Brugh and young 
 Atherton doing the agreeable to both. Do you see how Henri- 
 etta Clinton's eyes turn sparkling from one to the other ? What 
 a sympathetic smile I Livingston, you see, is a trifle too familiar 
 — he has taken punch enough to stir his Dutch blood — and she. 
 laughs and edges off from him. How quiet, on the contrary, is 
 Mary De Groot. She has color since dinner, but her eyes are 
 fastened on the magnificent head of old Atherton as he bends 
 over that table of miniatures." 
 
 " Like the virtuous Moabitess, she follows not young men, 
 whether poor or rich." 
 
 " I would rather," said Mr. De Groot, with irritation, " see 
 her voluptuously flirting like Henrietta Clinton, than hiding filial 
 disloyalty under that modest show." 
 
262 
 
 ALBAN 
 
 " You shock me." 
 
 " I have had experience. The moment your wife or daughter 
 embraces this rehgion — adieu to confidence I I adored her mother, 
 who was purity itself. When we were first wedded I could with 
 difficulty make her undefiled fancy comprehend my rights. In 
 twenty maiden years her thoughts had never strayed, although I 
 received her not from the cloister where she was educated, but 
 from the midst of a court. And yet the thought was ever be- 
 tween us, that unless I adopted her faith, I was the future com- 
 panion of devils — the food of Hell, body and soul I" — Mr. De 
 Groot frowned terribly. " Is it nothing to me that my daughter 
 adopts these dogmas ?" 
 
 Mr. Warens soon after quitted his friend and drew Mary aside. 
 She blushed a good deal while he talked to her, answered with ani- 
 mation, and when he left her, dashed away a tear. Van Brugh 
 and Miss Clinton being now at the piano, she joined Alban again. 
 
 "Are you really going to turn Jew ?" she asked, with vexation. 
 
 " The Jews do not admit proselytes now," replied he, smiling. 
 " Nevertheless, I am going to the Synagogue on Saturday to wit- 
 ness the ancient worship." 
 
 " On Saturday I to the Synagogue I" said Mary. 
 
 " "Will you go ? Females, you know, sit in a gallery by them- 
 selves, but I will introduce you to Miss Seixas." 
 
 " / go to the Synagogue on Saturday !" exclaimed Mary. 
 
 " I remember — it is your anniversary." 
 
 " If I engage to go, you will say nothing to any one of my 
 intention ?" 
 
 " It shall be a profound secret." 
 
 " Will you come for me in a carriage ?" 
 
 " Of course. It is going to be quite a mysterious adventure." 
 
 " At such an hour as I shall designate ?" she continued. 
 " On your honor ?" 
 
 " Command me, Lady Mary," said Alban, gallantly bending, 
 as if to kiss her fingers. " The Synagogue service lasts from 
 eight to twelve." • 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 263 
 
 " I will let you know what hour will suit me when I know it 
 myself. I count upon you on Saturday, remember." 
 
 " You may do so with confidence," said Alban, gravely and 
 significantly. 
 
 And now by twos and threes, white-necked young ladies and 
 while- waistcoated, or at least white-gloved young gentlemen drop- 
 ped in. A rattling fire of small talk ran along the intricate 
 battle line of silken seats. The piano, which had merely motived 
 a desperate flirtation between Van Brugh and Miss Clinton, 
 awoke into life. There was a heavy cannonade of instrumenta- 
 tion, and a briUiant charge or so of songs. Some of the new- 
 comers clustered round the beautiful daughter of the house, whose 
 return home seemed the occasion of this reunion, others swarmed 
 round the piano and music-racks, ferreting out the most approved 
 pieces. These were not the charming negro melodies since so 
 popular, nor the noble German airs, but some Italian opera-bits, 
 Mrs. Hemans' romantic ballads, "The Sea," "The night was 
 dark," and other old favorites now forgotten. Accustomed to a 
 society with a deal more whalebone in it, Alban was equally sur- 
 prised and gratified by the facility with which he got acquainted 
 with Mary De Groot's friends. A most unusual sympathy and 
 mutual kindness appeared to exist between these young people, as 
 well as a spirit of I'rank enjoyment which he had not elsewhere ob- 
 served. In the surnames of those to w-hom he was introduced, he 
 perceived one cause of this difference. It was a set of Stuyvesants 
 and Brevoorts, Gansevoorts and Van Rensselaers, Van Brughs and 
 Livingstons, De Witts and De Lanceys. As the evening advanced 
 a marked disposition to romp developed itself in this very well- 
 dressed but very inartificial circle. Dancing, which they tried 
 first, did not appear sufficient for their spirits. Different plays 
 were proposed. Mary De Groot objected to several, and finally 
 blind-man's-buff was carried by acclamation. 
 
 "Oh, really I" said Alban, " are these grown-up young ladies 
 and gentlemen going to play blind-man's-buff in your father's 
 beautiful rooms ?" 
 
264 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 " As sure as fate," replied Mary, laughing and spinning away 
 from him in a dancing step, with her drapery spread and whirl- 
 ing around her. 
 
 In short, they were soon all racing through the saloons like 
 children, dodging behind chairs and tables, springing over divans, 
 hiding in corners. There was much laughter, now and then a 
 scream, and the young gentlemen who were blindfolded handled 
 the young ladies when they caught them, rather freely. Alban 
 could not help suspecting that this was half the charm of so rude 
 a game. Van Brugh really carried it quite too far, particularly with 
 Henrietta Clinton, who was several times caught. The last time 
 she caught Alban. He was so modest that he would never have 
 detected those who suffered themselves to be apprehended, par- 
 ticularly as he was not yet well acquainted, and he invariably 
 called the names wrong, amid bursts of laughter. He began to 
 feel annoyed. He had observed that Mary, while she entered 
 into the amusement with spirit, running like a little deer, and per- 
 fectly wild with fun, always contrived, in whatever position her 
 sportive fancy involved her, to escape without being caught. 
 Livingston, with one eye (as all believed) unblinded, pursued her 
 once with pertinacity, but he might as well have chased a ray of 
 light. Now our hero had perceived some one hovering near him- 
 self, evidently of the long-robed sex, who evaded his pursuit with 
 a similar dexterity. At last she stood on the opposite side of a 
 gigantic vase ; they went round it once or twice ; suddenly, 
 Avhether accidentally or purposely, her hand rested on his, and 
 with a quick motion he caught it. There was a laugh. He 
 drew her into the middle of the room. Was it Mary or was it 
 not ? The manner of play was like her, but would Mary have 
 touched his hand ? He could have decided the question in a trice 
 by feehng her temples, for no other girl present had the hair simi- 
 larly arranged. It was a liberty (not to speak of others) which 
 the young men had taken with their prizes without ceremony. 
 While he stood considering, the hand at first passively resigned 
 in his, made a slight efTort to withdraw itself. 
 
AL B AN. 
 
 265 
 
 It is Mary De Groot. 
 
 The young lady removed the bandage from his eyes amid 
 a general silence. All the youths and maidens were gathered in 
 a close circle round them, looking over each others' shoulders. 
 Then they all laughed, and the young ladies demanded, " How- 
 did you know ?" — others exclaimed, " You saw I" and one, 
 " There's some freemasonry here I" Henrietta Clinton said, " It is 
 magnetism." But Alban, tying the handkerchief over Mary De 
 G root's eyes, said, " There are moral as well as physical signs of 
 individuality." Mary said nothing, and darting off, in a minute 
 or two had caught and named quite a little girl — the youngest of 
 the party, whose eager flight and vexation at being captured 
 were etxtremely amusing. 
 
 The company M'^ere gone. The father and daughter were 
 alone in the library. The walls piled with bookcases, and the 
 gloomy circling gallery frowned around them. Mr. De Groot 
 placed himself in his study-chair and motioned Mary to her stool. 
 The fire was expiring in the grate, and a solitary burner in a 
 chandelier of Berlin iron, which represented a mass of shields, 
 swords, spears, and other weapons, offensive and defensive, cast a 
 cold light upon her virgin drapery. The meaning of this was 
 that her father had first observed her abstinences, then suspected 
 that she went to mass, next had watched to see, and that morning 
 from his window had perceived her exit, (being too late to prevent 
 it) observing her come out of the side-door, join her humble friends 
 under the street-lamp, and hie away. 
 
 *' You are treacherous, ungrateful, and unfilial," said her father, 
 after stating these circumstances. " After all my indulgence — 
 my readiness to gratify your least whim I You asked to come 
 home that you might learn, forsooth, to fulfil your duty as a 
 daughter, and the first thing in which you are detected is stealing 
 away before light to attend the mummeries of the mass, disap- 
 proved and detested by both your parents. I can characterize 
 such conduct but by one word — hypocrisy I It is of a piece, in- 
 deed, with the maxims of Romanists." 
 
 23 
 
266 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 " I am no hypocrite, papa," replied Mary. " You knew that 
 I had embraced the rehgion of my mother, and you might infer 
 that I would practise it." 
 
 " You have embraced a religion I A chit of sixteen I a child 
 just out of school, and taken out too soon. Your religion is to 
 listen to the advice of your living parents and to obey their com- 
 mands," said her father, with some violence. 
 
 " I am sixteen and six months," replied Mary, " and Sister 
 Theresa says that St. Catherine and St. Agnes were only thirteen 
 when they were martyred. Father Smith says the Church has 
 decided that when children are old enough to have faith, they are 
 bound to embrace the true religion whether their parents consent 
 to it or not. It is plain, papa, that I have a right to be baptized," 
 she continued, with a bright and sparkling courage ; " and to whom 
 shall I apply for baptism ? Not to mamma's pastor, surely : he 
 would not baptize me, because he would say I had never been 
 converted. Not to Mr. Warens, certainly, since he does not be- 
 lieve in the Trinity. Oh, I must go to the Church, of course — 
 there is no other way for me. And soon, papa, — or else I may 
 die, young as I am, and lose Heaven. And secretly, papa," — with 
 increasing spirit, — " for you know you would try to prevent it, and 
 why should you and I have a fight about that ?" 
 
 Mr. De Groot stared at her with mingled astonishment and 
 wrath. He grew almost livid, so that Mary began to be frightened. * 
 He started up and seized her wrist. His lip was flecked with a 
 slight foam. 
 
 " You defy me, do you ? What hinders me, insolent girl, from 
 inflicting the summary chastisement such language to your father 
 merits ?" 
 
 Mary now held her tongue. Courageous as she was, she 
 quailed. Physical pain and fear subdued her partly, and partly 
 the moral agony of incurring what is intolerable to a woman's 
 feelings, particularly to one who had never, even in childhood, 
 known what it was to be so much as threatened with corporeal 
 punishment. Her spirit rose again with a rebound. 
 
ALBAN. 267 
 
 " It is the first time, papa, you have ever threatened to whip 
 me — now that I am a woman I" 
 
 He flung her arm from him as by a violent effort at self-control, 
 and resumed his seat. She glanced at her empurpled wrist. This 
 violence was strangely contrasted with her graceful mien in her 
 party dress, a white rose at her bosom, and buds of the same with 
 rich green leaves, in her raven hair. Haply this modest elegance 
 pled for her. Reproaches are sometimes excuses in disguise. 
 
 " Your conduct, Mary, whatever you may think, is a treason to 
 that love which once bound us together as father and only child. 
 You have wounded me in the tenderest point — robbed me of the 
 hope of years. From the daughter and friend you have voluntarily 
 sunk into a slave, doing things by stealth, abusing confidence 
 reposed in you. You can no longer be trusted. Generous, delicate 
 treatnnent is become inapplicable to you. Harshness, strict sur- 
 veillance, and physical restraint must take their place." 
 
 " Papa, you wrong me indeed," replied his daughter, in a heart- 
 broken tone. " Last fall you refused to let me be baptized by Mr, 
 "VYarens. I thought it was a shame for such a great girl to be 
 unbaptized, but I submitted. Now I must receive baptism. I 
 believe it to be necessary to salvation. I may die very soon. I 
 have some reason to think that the day of my death is at hand." 
 
 "What stuff I" said her father. 
 
 " Nay, sir, hear my reasons," continued Maiy. " They may be 
 silly, but you shall not accuse me any more of want of openness." 
 
 She told the story of her dream plainly and M-ithout a blush. 
 
 " And to whom do you expect to be married next Saturday ?" 
 demanded her father. 
 
 " I leave that to Heaven, and you, sir. It matters little, if I 
 am to die immediately afterwards," replied Mary, innocently. 
 
 " I am to conclude, then, that in anticipation of dying next 
 Saturday you have been baptized ? or is that still future ?" 
 
 " Nay, papa, I am not so weak as to be governed in my con- 
 duct by a dream. You may be sure I have not, when I tell you 
 that Saturday has been appointed for my baptism, and that I would 
 
268 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 not yield to a superstitious feeling so far as to ask for an 
 earlier day." 
 
 These ingenuous avowals had not the effect which might have 
 been expected. Mr. De Groot surveyed his daughter with a look 
 of stone. What he said partook, nevertheless, of his characteristic 
 composure, though broken by more than one sudden burst of almost 
 inexplicable passion. 
 
 " When you were born at the Manor," said he, " there was no 
 Romish priest to be had short of New York. Your mother, though 
 the least ailment incident to infancy excited her anxiety for your 
 salvation, was willing to postpone the great remedy for the guilt 
 you had incurred by being born, until it could be administered with 
 all the ceremonies. From your birth till her death I resided con- 
 stantly at the Manor for this very reason. Once a year a priest 
 came up that she might fulfil the obligations of her religion, and 
 then I had to undergo a species of martyrdom to prevent your being 
 subjected to this magical rite which was to make your Maker cease 
 hating you. I was determined to allow no incantations over my 
 innocent child I I had to tell your mother," said Mr. De Groot, 
 with vehemence, " that a priest should never cross my threshold, 
 for such a purpose, unless over my dead body." He rose and re- 
 peated it, as if the words called up the scene, and looking at Mary 
 as if she were his departed wife, struck his hand violently upon the 
 table, saying again, — " never — unless over my dead body I" He was 
 white as a sheet, and stared as if he saw a ghost. Again he struck 
 the table violently. " Never shall a popish priest enter my house 
 for such a purpose — unless over my dead body !" 
 
 " Papa I" said Mary. 
 
 He looked at her wildly, and sat down again, glaring still ; his 
 hand trembhng and clenching itself He passed it through his hair 
 and resumed. 
 
 " When she was dying I had a priest sent for, to save her from 
 the horror of leaving the world without the sacraments — a horror 
 which caused me horror. At that time I had a last contest with 
 her on this point. She said — but no matter for that I Do you think 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 269 
 
 that after having been deaf to her entreaties and wild, absurd 
 threats, under such circumstances, I shall yield now to your wilful 
 fantasies ? Do you think it?" said her father, rising again, and 
 glaring at her. He resumed his seat. " I shall take care of you for 
 a few days, as I would if you were out of your senses. You fancy 
 something supernatural has occurred to you I At your time of hfe 
 girls are subject to these illusions. I shall contrive it so that you 
 get over next Saturday without either wedlock, or burial, or bap- 
 tism. After that I will talk to you again. Be sure that I shall 
 not permit you, at your inexperienced age, to be inveigled" — Mr. 
 De Groot again (apparently because he could not help it) struck the 
 table Ibrcibly with his hand — *' inveigled by the arts of Romish 
 priests^ or nuns, into committing yourself to a system of vile trum- 
 pery and imposture" — again his manner became violent — " of vile 
 trumpery and imposture. Entice a girl of sixteen — without the 
 knowledge of her parents — to throw herself into their detested sect ! 
 A young lady of fortune — an heiress I Never was any thing more 
 base. But they will find in me an older and more determined op- 
 ponent than they dream of" 
 
 A chasm had suddenly gaped at the daughter's feet ! In the 
 father she still loved next to God, what new revelation of insane 
 violence and hate 1 what a drear change in their mutual relations 
 — drear and scarce credible I As soon as Mary really understood 
 it, she behaved in a quite feminine and filial way, threw herself at 
 once at her father's feet and implored his forgiveness, if she had 
 forgotten the respect she owed him. He bade her rise, and desired 
 her to go to her room, accepting with coldness her kiss of good- 
 night. 
 
 In the hall Mary paused a moment, hesitating whether even, 
 yet she ought not to return and humiliate herself still more, but 
 she glanced at the arm which bore the mark of her father's 
 fingers, and catching up her robe with feminine spirit, flew up to 
 her own apartment. Here the crucifix recalled her quickly to 
 humble and patient thoughts. Her humiliations, however, were 
 not ended. While she was yet kneeling at her mother's prie-dieu^ 
 
270 ' 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 praying and meditating on the silent sufferings of the Lamb of 
 God, her stepmother entered unbidden. Our heroine's rapt expres- 
 sion, her large dark eyes fastened on the crucifix, her lips just 
 moving, the beads dropping between her slightly clasped fingers, 
 were a picture of devotion, which, unconscious as it was, excited 
 the instinctive disgust of Mrs. J)e Groot. Had any convenient 
 weapon of destruction been at hand she would have dashed in 
 pieces the image which appeared to her the object of this worship, 
 in a transport of iconoclastic rage. " Idolatress I" was the only 
 word she could at first utter, Mary rose, a little astonished at 
 this new style, and crossing her hands meekly on her breast, 
 listened in silence to such a reproof as the indulged child had 
 never received before. Finally Mrs. De Groot directed her 
 daughter in a severe tone to read before retiring, the eleventh 
 chapter of Hebrews, and withdrew, locking the young lady in. 
 The philosophy of sixteen could not repress some tears, but it 
 was some consolation obediently to read the chapter assigned her, 
 where she learned that the Patriarch Jacob when dying, prescient 
 of the wood of the cross on which the World's Salvation was to 
 hang, " adored the top of his rod." 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 271 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 An Irish girl came out of the garden gate of the great house 
 with a bonnetless head and a pail of dirty water. Another girl 
 was passing and repassing, and watching from a distance. The 
 latter drew near, and the two recognized each other. — " What, 
 Ann Murphy I is that you ?" — " The Lord save you I is it Marga- 
 ret Dolman ?" — so they stopped and chatted. 
 
 " And sure it was a dreadful sin to keep Miss from bein' a 
 Christian," said Ann. " And there's Catharine — that's the 
 chambermaid — she towld us this morning that Miss was locked 
 up, and there was a talk among the servants that she was wantin' 
 to run away with a young gintleman that was here to see her the 
 day after she came home — a young college gintleman he was — 
 but niver a sowl of us suspicted it was because Miss was going to 
 be a Catholic like her mother. And sure this very morning when 
 I set her room to rights, the cross and beads was gone. And it's 
 no wonder Miss looked as if she'd niver a friend lift in the worrld." 
 
 " I don't believe she'd be for mindin' any thing at all, if she 
 was only baptized," said Margaret. And to-morrow morning 
 it was to be. Pity it was not yesterday, and the divil himsilf 
 couldn't help it now." 
 
 "Troth, but its cruel. To think there'd be such heathens," 
 replied Ann. " And I would have me clothes torn off me back 
 for Miss Mary any day, but what can / do, Margaret dear ?" 
 
 Here a loud cry of " Ann ! Ann I" from the kitchen windows, 
 separated the two girls in haste. 
 
 We have mentioned that Alban called upon his cousin Greys. 
 t This he did in all his vacations. They lived in a sort of clerical 
 street near old King's College — such a street as nowhere exists in 
 New York now. Low half-blinds softened the light in the south- 
 ern parlor and excluded the gaze of passers-by. The walls were 
 
272 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 hung with prints of British battles, encircled at this festive season 
 with rich green wreaths. The Greys were kind to Alban, and a 
 good deal pleasant er than his Presbyterian friends in his then turn 
 of mind. They were great laughers. They laughed about Pres- 
 byterianism, and prophesied that he would be a Churchman. 
 They advised him, laughingly, to attend Wednesday and Friday 
 prayers. It impressed him so favorably, that the next morning, at 
 eleven o'clock, he sauntered into St. Paul's chapel. 
 
 A few High Church old ladies, mostly in weeds, one elderly 
 gentleman, a young man looking forward to the Episcopal minis- 
 try, who responded very loud, and the sexton, whose loud parish- 
 clerk tone was heard in the gallery, constituted with our hero the 
 congregation. The small number present scarcely diminished the 
 impressiveness of the service, and rendered it perhaps more sooth- 
 ing. The fine old chapel, with its beautiful Corinthian columns 
 and nobly recessed chancel, the numerous mural tablets, the high 
 pews, the lofty white pile of the reading-desk, pulpit, and sounding 
 board, all handsomely carved, contributed to the effect. The pe- 
 culiar, deliberate sing-song of the rector, whose locks were already 
 prematurely sprinkled with gray, his quiet, yet interested air in 
 going through the service, and even the soft, regular, impressive 
 gesture of his hand, that reposed on the cushion of the desk in 
 reading the lessons, were singularly in harmony with all the rest. 
 
 " We have here," thought Alban, " a venerable Church, a beau- 
 tiful Liturgy, decorous forms, a sober piety, equally removed from 
 the extravagances of Puritanism and the superstitions of Rome. 
 I like this notion of a week-day service. Even if ill-attended, it 
 is an impressive witness to the duty of worship ; and to the few 
 who gather here, how consoling I" 
 
 At that period Morning Prayer was read in Trinity, and its 
 two chapels, on Litany days, at the hour which we have already 
 mentioned. This was all the week-day service of a regular kind 
 in about twelve large city parishes of the Episcopal Church. This, 
 however, was an inestimable consolation, as Alban observed, to 
 those who knew how to appreciate it. The mutual reciting of 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 273 
 
 psalms, the reading of Scripture lessons, the beautiful suffrages of 
 the Litany, made an hour of ancient calm in the vulgar hurry 
 and noise of the commercial emporium. Since '35, there has been 
 a great development in the Episcopal Church, in the way of week- 
 day services. We find by the Churchman of the present date that 
 seven churches of that denomination in the city of New York have 
 daily Morning-Prayer, and four of these the Evening service also. 
 In one there is a weekly celebration of the Lord's Supper. This 
 may seem little, considering that the whole number of their 
 churches in the city is between thirty and forty, and of clergy 
 about seventy, but still it is an increase. The week-day congre- 
 gations also are larger than they used to be in the old times, and 
 we are sorry to add (for this thing ought to be encouraged) that 
 lor some two or three years the movement has been stationary. 
 
 It is hardly fair to Episcopalians, but to excite them to emula- 
 tion, we may compare with this the week-day worship of the Ca- 
 tholics in the same city. In '35 there were but four Catholic 
 churches, but two masses, at least, were said daily in each, eight 
 or nine in all, or one-third (perhaps one-half) more services in a 
 day than the thrice as numerous and vastly richer Episcopal con- 
 gregations sustained in a iceek. "We have not yet overtaken our 
 friends in the number of churches or of clergy. Of the former 
 there are only nineteen in New York, and four convent chapels ; 
 but the number of daily masses in this city cannot be less than 
 fifty, at a considerable majority of which, if our observation holds, 
 there are communions. On Sundays and Festivals the commu- 
 nions are large ; on ordinary days, of course, they are smaller. 
 Sometimes you will see one poor laborer go up to the altar, or a 
 single poor woman. Some — particularly servants, who cannot go 
 out at an early hour — communicate on Sundays at High mass, 
 although it obliges them to be fasting till past noon. But be it 
 one or more, rich or poor, High mass or low, the rite is suspended, 
 the white linen is turned over the rail, the confession is said, the 
 tabernacle is opened, and the people kneel. The things that are 
 said are said softly, although they are so beautiful that in a Prot- 
 
274 
 
 ALBAN 
 
 estant Church they would be proclaimed as with a trumpet. He 
 comes and departs almost in. silence, as of old : — He shall come 
 down like rain njDon the fleece, and as showers falling gently 
 upon the earth. Who thinks of that unfailing early, and that 
 latter, rain which descends on the mountains of Israel ? Who 
 thinks of the fragrance that ascends unceasingly from its humble 
 valleys ? 
 
 If Alban had thought of it at all, he would have deemed the 
 murmur of the mass a blank and little edifying substitute for the 
 intelligible Common Prayer. But Moses Jmth in every city them 
 that preach him, being read in the synagogues every Sabbath 
 day. As Mary told him, what doth it avail to read or hear the 
 word written, while the veil is on your heart ? 
 
 Our hero came out of St. Paul's into the thronged Broadway. 
 Sights of this world assail him : a theatre, a museum, a Hotel de 
 Ville, and "stores" -without end : hat-stores, dry-goods-stores, book- 
 stores, any kind of store you like ! On the sidewalks are ladies 
 in silken walking-dresses and gay winter-bonnets, rich shawls and 
 splendid cloaks — the gayest promenade in civilization. They 
 are shopping — shopping in the Broadway stores. It ought to be 
 "storing," or else the stores should be shops. Omnibuses, there 
 are not many yet, but carriages and cabs not a few. A line of 
 handsome ones extends along the north side of St. Paul's : in 
 London you would suppose they were private equipages. Then 
 in front of the church, under the protecting image of the great 
 Apostle in the pediment of the portico, are ranged the contradic- 
 tions (in terms) of which Miss Sedgwick took notice — the Catho- 
 lic Orangemen with their rich brogue and baskets of golden fruit. 
 These are things which have passed away already, i. <?., the cabs 
 and the orangemen : for a few years on this side of the Atlantic, 
 make antiquity and give us a right to remember. But we dilly- 
 dally here in Broadway, among the free and loitering crowd, 
 whilst Mary De Groot is a prisoner in her father's freestone 
 palace : she whose graceful step has made this vulgar flagging 
 poetical. Not a square inch on these sidewalks but may have 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 275 
 
 been pressed by her light foot ; not a stone on that half-dry 
 crossing on which she may not have stepped. Even Alban,. vi^ith 
 conscious thoughts of a very different kind about others, so far 
 worshipped his beautiful and innocent mistress as to feel thus 
 about the places where she had been. 
 
 An elegant chariot stopped before Marquand's as Alban ap- 
 proached that famous shop, and two ladies got out. One of them 
 arrested her tripping step, and saluted him. It was Miss Clinton. 
 
 " Are you baying jewelry this morning ?" 
 
 " Merely going to have -a cameo set. Come in and look at it, 
 Mr. Atherton. It is one I bought in Rome." 
 
 Alban went into the jeweller's accordingly : Miss Clinton 
 produced the cameo, which was large, classic, and admirably cut 
 after an ancient terra-cotta. The subject was the Flight of Helen. 
 The lovers were in a Greek chariot drawn by four spirited steeds. 
 Paris was driving, nude ; Helen, graciously draped. 
 
 " It is exceedingly admired," said Miss Clinton. 
 
 Our hero admired it, although he thought it required some 
 hardihood for a young lady to wear it on her bosom. Miss Clin- 
 ton told him that her father was going to build on the Avenue, on 
 the square next to Mr. De Groot. Mrs. Clinton invited him to 
 visit them in Broadway, and after some further chat, at the in- 
 stance of the young lady he promised to call that very evening. 
 Having handed them into their carriage again, giving his circle 
 cloak a cavalier sweep, he pursued his walk towards State-street. 
 As he went along, he drew a comparison between the young 
 lady he had just left and his friend Miss Ellsworth, and this 
 brought to mind his conversation with Mary De Groot on the 
 Sound, and the story of her school-days, which again, by an asso- 
 ciation of ideas, recalled Henrietta Clinton. In such a revery, he 
 arrived at Mr. Seixas' door, and after feeling for a moment that 
 he had a right to enter here without notice, rang the bell, and 
 the sound of a piano and female voice, which he had previously 
 heard, immediately ceased, 
 
 Miriam Seixas rose from the instrument at his entrance, and 
 
276 
 
 A L B A N . 
 
 saluted him ^vitli grace. She motioned him to the yellow di- 
 van, and, after ringing the bell, took a seat opposite him upon 
 an ottoman. A moment after, a maiden of inferior aspect, but 
 neatly attired, entered the room, and placed herself in a corner 
 where she remained, silent, and almost unnoticed, dtiring Alban's 
 stay. 
 
 Notwithstanding this etiquette, Miss Seixas was full of affa- 
 bility. She was even a voluble talker. She was a musical en- 
 thusiast. The opera was her chief passion, nor did she scorn the 
 ballet. She was a proficient in both arts. She sang for Alban 
 some beautiful Spanish songs ; she danced Spanish and Moorish 
 dances for his amusement in the most obliging manner. Nothing 
 more oriental, even in a New York drawing-room, than Miriam 
 Seixas with the castanets. The virginal freedom of her move- 
 ments partook of the heroic, revealing her noble figure in outlines 
 so grand and flowing as to blend rather with feelings of religious 
 awe or patriotic ardor than of voluptuousness. She might have 
 danced with her ancestress and namesake on the sands of the Red 
 Sea, or in the procession of the virgins of Zion, before the trium- 
 phant returning Ark. 
 
 Nor was she without serious thoughts, such as were not un- 
 worthy of her origin, and her frankness was unlike any thing he 
 had known. She told Alban that there were children of the Most 
 High (blessed be He) among all nations, and in every faith which 
 acknowledged His unity, but Israel, though degraded and despised, 
 was his chosen people. She herself was not without hope of being 
 at least the ancestress of Messiah, and would deem it a misfortune, 
 if not a reproach, to die unmarried or childless. She was espoused 
 to her cousin, a Hebrew of jiure blood, whom she had not seen 
 since she was twelve years old. Alban had got upon this ground 
 by asking Miss Seixas if she would be courteous on the morrow to 
 a young Christian lady whom he was to bring with him to witness 
 the synagogue worship. Miriam readily promised to pay her every 
 attention. The young Jewess spoke English with perfect purity, 
 but with a foreign accent. 
 
AL B AN. 
 
 277 
 
 " It is a high order of character," thought Alban, returning 
 home, " but pecuhar." 
 
 There was a naive earthliness about the beautiful Miriam 
 that reminded our hero of the old Greek spirit. She seemed not 
 to look beyond the grave. Her idea of her own sex partook of the 
 ancient depreciating.- estimate. She was the handmaid of man, 
 and aspired to norhigher destiny than that which nature had 
 written iti such exquisite characters on her very form. The chastity 
 which breathed like a natural fragrance in all the language and 
 manners of the young Jewess seemed to Alban quite different 
 from the same quality in the purest Christian maidens whom he 
 had known. It was not the pride which in his Puritan kinswomen 
 scorned to defile an imagined sanctity ; still less the humble vigil- 
 ance with which Mary De Groot w-atched over what she seerried 
 to regard as a sacred, though scarce understood, deposit intrusted 
 to her care ; but simply the native reserve of her sex, which the 
 culture of a law extending to the minutest points of female conduct 
 had developed into a moral habit. Her openness again was dif- 
 ferent from Mary's, being a matter of familiarity, while the latter's 
 sprang from ignorance : for Mary's child-like candor (it required 
 little penetration to see) arose from her comprehending, indeed 
 very well, what was the virtue which she practised, but not having 
 the least idea wherein consisted the vice which she abhorred. 
 Thus our hero felt that something was wanting — a trait of spiritual 
 beauty — in what was else so worthy of admiration. Alban could 
 not divest himself of his Christianity, do what he would. The 
 character which baptism had impressed was not to be effaced. 
 
 But the passion which the first sight of Miriam had awakened, 
 was strengthened by all that he observed at this interview ; and 
 even her betrothal to a distant, scarce known cousin, was a 
 circumstance which inflamed it, by means of the jealous anxiety 
 which it excited. 
 
 After quitting Miss Seixas, Alban returned home to dinner, and 
 it happened that on that day his mother's uncle. Bishop Grey, 
 whom we met some dozen years before at Yanmouth, was his 
 
278 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 father's guest. The bishop had become a most venerable florid old 
 gentleman, adhering to his knee-buckles, &c., and with long silver 
 locks streaming down upon his shoulders. 
 
 Bishop Grey partook of some boiled bass and oysters, and after- 
 wards was helped twice to roast turkey, which some may deem a 
 luxurious Friday dinner for a bishop ; but " the measure of absti- 
 nence especially suited to extraordinary acts and exercises of de- 
 votion" (as the prayer-book luminously expresses it) may vary 
 greatly in individuals. Dr. Grey was a fervent evangelical, and 
 conversed with unction on the subject of personal religion with 
 Mrs. Atherton. At the same time he was a great enemy of Cal- 
 vinism, and defended Baptismal regeneration, although in a timid 
 way, as conscious of the unpopularity of the tenet. The good 
 bishop in fact had a High Church head and a Low Church heart, 
 and that we take to be the perfection of an Episcopal clergyman.' 
 When the table-cloth had been removed, with some old Madeira, 
 and a decanter of fine port before him, he became witty and con- 
 versational, told anecdotes of the Revolution strongly smacking 
 of Toryism, and gently dissected the Puritans, to Alban's great 
 delight and the hearty amusement of his father, who had small 
 sympathy for religionists of any creed. There was a keen yet 
 calm fire in the old prelate's eye, as he delivered himself of the well- 
 arranged and sweet-toned sentences, not unconscious of his own 
 witty facility. Tea was over before Alban remembered his 
 promise to call on the Clintons, as well as the necessity of learning 
 from Mary De Groot at what hour next morning it would please 
 her that he should come with a carriage to take her to the Syna- 
 gogue. 
 
 The hand of Providence was quietly guiding our hero along. 
 He found the ladies of Mr. Clinton's family in a state of affliction 
 for which he was not prepared. Mother and daughter were both 
 in tears, and could not disguise their distress from the young 
 visitor. He feared to ask the cause. Bankruptcy or a death 
 could alone account for such visible grief He rather insinuated 
 than openly addressed an inquiry to Miss Clinton. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 279 
 
 "Would you believe, Mr. Atherton," cried Henrietta,, "that 
 papa has declared himself a Catholic I He has been one all along, 
 without our knowing it. It has come upon us now like a thun- 
 derbolt." 
 
 " Well," thought Alban, " I could have told you this morning." 
 
 " He has been Jesuitically concealing his sentiments from me 
 ever since we were married," exclaimed Mrs. Clinton. " But 
 they think deception is right, you know." 
 
 It appeared on further inquiry that when Mrs. Clinton was 
 married she supposed her husband to be indifferent to all religion, 
 " like most men of the world." He had taken a pew in Trinity, 
 and subsequently in Grace church, and had even been talked of 
 for vestryman. It was an aggravated case, 
 
 " Papa expresses a great deal of sorrow for having deceived 
 us," said Henrietta, (a curious expression on h-er part,) " but what 
 reparation is that now ?" 
 
 " After all," observed Alban, consolingly, and taking his 
 usual high religious tone, " is it not better that Mr. Clinton should 
 be a good Catholic than nothing at all ?" 
 
 " You do not understand it, Mr. Atherton. Papa is going to 
 take the children (not me, be sure,) away from Grace church — 
 from among people of our own class — to that horrid St. Patrick's, 
 crowded by all the low Irish !" 
 
 " To think of my girls being taken to confession I And Mr. 
 Clinton says they must be brought up Catholics from this day 
 forward." 
 
 '* / will never go to confession," cried Henrietta, with spirit, 
 "to be asked insulting questions by an unmarried man I" 
 
 "Is that the case?" inquired Alban, thinking immediately 
 of Mary. 
 
 "Indeed, Mr. Atherton, if you have any influence, as is gen- 
 erally supposed, with an amiable young friend of ours," said Mrs. 
 Clinton, " I do hope you will use it to prevent her from exposing 
 herself to what must be so shocking to lemale delicacy. The 
 books which are put into the hands of young ladies to read in 
 
280 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 preparing for confession (for I have read them myself) are not fit 
 for the eye of any virtuous and innocent young person. And it 
 is upon these dehcate subjects that they must communicate in 
 private with priests, who, as Henrietta says, are not married, and 
 it is not uncharitable to suppose, few of them correct." 
 
 " It is a sad thing," said Alban, warmly. " Have you placed 
 the matter in that light before Mr. Clinton, ma'am ?" 
 
 " You might as well talk to the wind," said Mrs. Clinton. 
 
 "To the wind I" echoed Henrietta. 
 
 Alban remembered his appointment with Mary De Groot. 
 He must keep it, and yet he must endeavor to remonstrate with 
 her, if, as he suspected, this morning expedition of hers tended to 
 something very different from the Synagogue. Mrs. Clinton and 
 her daughter both thanked him warmly for his sympathy, and 
 begged him to call again very soon. He was hurrying through the 
 basement hall, when a servant advanced and requested him to 
 step for a moment into his master's study. Although annoyed at 
 this detention, he could not well refuse. It was the back base- 
 ment room, neatly furnished with bookcases, a study-table, study- 
 lamp, and cheerful fire. J\lr. Clinton had a happy look, although 
 his manner was more grave than ordinary. He did not keep his 
 visitor long in suspense. Not to keep the reader in suspense either, 
 it was about ]Mary De Groot's intention of baptism that Mr. Clin- 
 ton wished to speak. Alban had not heard of it, which a little 
 surprised him. He had heard it from the bishop, who had asked 
 if he knew the family. It seemed that Miss De Groot was not at 
 church as usual in the morning, and a suspicion was entertained 
 that her intentions had either been discovered by her parents, or 
 voluntarily communicated to them, and that she was consequently 
 under restraint. 
 
 " Ah ?" said Alban, in a tone that implied, "What business is 
 it of mine ?" 
 
 " I have no right to interfere, of course," pursued Mr. Clinton, 
 " Mr. De Groot would brook my meddhng in his family concerns 
 as little as I would his in mine. At the same time, I thought it 
 
ALLAN. 
 
 281 
 
 my duty to do what I could, and, if possible, induce you to use 
 your influence, which is considerable in a certain quarter, I have 
 reason to think, to obtain for our estimable young friend the free 
 exercise of her religion." 
 
 "Miss De Groot has a right to be baptized," said Alban. 
 " That is incontestable ; and I should regard it as a manifest 
 wrong in any one to attempt to prevent her. At the same time, 
 Mr. Clinton, I must say, that I should not be inclined, even if T 
 had the power, to further a step which, in the way she means to 
 take it, is to commit her so early in hfe to the system of your 
 Church, objectionable as I fear it is in ways of which she probably 
 has no idea. Pardon my frankness." 
 
 Mr. Clinton bowed, disappointed, but giving the matter up. 
 
 " I do not mean that I consider -the Church of Rome anti- 
 Christian or idolatrous," pursued Alban, rising. " I have none of 
 those bigoted notions, Mr. Chnton, My objection is a practical 
 one altogether, founded on what appears the necessarily evil influ- 
 ence of the confessional, and its degrading danger to a young and 
 innocent woman — and on what is said with aj)parent probability 
 of the personal character of the Roman priesthood, with whom 
 this institution brings every member of your Church into so close 
 intercourse. Pardon me again." 
 
 " Stay a moment," said Mr. Clinton. " If I could convince 
 you, Mr. Atherton, that these objections are utterly without founda- 
 tion — would you use your influence in favor of your young friend's 
 liberty of conscience ?" 
 
 " I have little time to spare at present," said Alban. 
 
 " A quarter of an hour is all I ask," responded Mr. Chnton. 
 
 Alban could not refuse a quarter af an hour to be convinced 
 of so much. 
 
 "Perhaps you will be disappointed by what I have to say. It 
 is only to state facts observed by myself If the confessional be 
 what Protestants suppose, how is it that Catholic females of all 
 classes of society, married women and single, mothers and young 
 maidens in the bloom of modesty, but especially those who excel 
 
 24* 
 
282 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 ill piety, Mr. Atherton, consider it as the greatest means of sancti- 
 fjcation, and the greatest security for an unblemished life ? Do 
 you suppose that all these Catholic women and ladies are corrupt, 
 tolerant of insult, and devoid of self-respect?" 
 
 " There is great force in that," replied Alban, with his wonted 
 candor, 
 
 " How is it that Catholic women always entertain an exalted 
 opinion of the goodness, and very frequently of the sanctity, of their 
 own confessor ? For it is a fact that they do. I have heard priests 
 accused by their female penitents of severity, of impatience in 
 listening to confessions, which are often of a tiresome and useless 
 character, or of being prosy themselves, but never once did I hear 
 a complaint of being rudely or improperly questioned. Priests are 
 generally prudent men, to say the least, with a perfect knowledge 
 of what is expected of them. The morals of the confessional, and 
 its proprieties, are well understood, and are rigidly enforced by the 
 law of the Church. And what is more, Mr. Atherton, a consid- 
 erable number of our clergy — quite enough to raise the tone of 
 the whole body — are saint-like men, whose whole lives are passed 
 in the presence of God. It is such who are always sought after 
 as confessors." 
 
 "I can understand," said Alban, "that it must be as you say." 
 
 " I am not willing to stop there," continued Mr. Clinton, flush- 
 ing slightly, although his manner was calm. " I am certain that 
 the confessional is an immense safeguard to the purity of both 
 sexes. You must bear in mind, Mr. Atherton, at what age chil- 
 dren begin confession. It is at about eight or nine years. Now 
 every body must see that a child of that age could only be bene- 
 fited by being questioned prudently and in private by a grave and 
 perhaps aged clergyman, on the subject of any sins into which it 
 may be .liable to fall. Imagine an experienced pastor, who is 
 famiUar with the heart, hearing the sincere confessions of two or 
 three hundred boys and girls of that age. Of course he will know 
 how to ascertain whether they are conscious of any offence against 
 modesty, in act or word, without suggesting to their minds any 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 283 
 
 thing of which they are happily ignorant. You know better than 
 I do, in what ways Protestant children of both sexes corrupt 
 themselves and each other at so early a period of life. But sup- 
 puse they knew they must tell every immodest word or action 
 they say or commit to the minister 
 
 "Ah," exclaimed Alban, "would that I had felt such a re- 
 straint pressing upon me when a boy I" 
 
 " There it is I Catholic boys, and, above all, Catholic girls, 
 learn at a very early age to avoid such things. The shame of 
 confessing them is too great. Hence, as they get older, they are 
 able to resist in the same way the first beginnings of more serious 
 sins against purity. The vile secret habits from which, I am 
 credibly informed, not one Protestant boy in a hundred is free, are 
 comparatively unknown among Catholic youth." 
 
 " Are they indeed ?" 
 
 Mr. Clinton told several stories illustrative of the singular in- 
 nocence of Irish Catholics of both sexes, even at mature age. 
 Whatever else they proved, they proved that the confessional had 
 not tainted such people's minds with premature knowledge. 
 
 " Why, it is the complaint of our old Irish people that the 
 children in this country know what married people hardly know 
 in Ireland. A young man of twenty-five, butler in a wealthy 
 family, left his place because his young mistress offered him a kiss. 
 No mortal would ever have known it, if he had not told his priest. 
 What compelled this Hibernian Joseph to act thus ? Faith, Mr. 
 Atherton, and the fear of committing mortal sin : — the last instilled 
 by the peculiar and silent operation of the confessional. A beau- 
 tiful young woman of twenty (I knew this case personally) a 
 daughter of the people, but intelligent beyond her class, for she 
 had been instructed in the day-school of the Sisters of Mercy in 
 Cork, a gay, affectionate creature, married a Protestant in this 
 j country, away from her mother. She had been in the habit of 
 going weekly to confession, and twice a week to communion ; she 
 had once made a sort of resolution never to marry ; you would 
 not suspect her of not knowing what her new duties were ; yet 
 
284 
 
 A L B A N . 
 
 SO it was : and distrusting her bridegroom's representations, after 
 a painful struggle with herself, her love of jDurity and resolution 
 to maintain it being stronger than virgin shame, she flies to her 
 priest — an aged man — and tells him all." 
 
 " Beautiful I" said Alban. " I should like to have been cor- 
 rupted in the same way myself." 
 
 " There have been bad priests, and the tribunal of penance has 
 been abused, like every thing good," said the Catholic layman, 
 *' but that does not prevent, Mr, Atherton, that one great motive 
 of my return to the Church, is my desire to secure its advantages 
 for my young sons and daughters. And one thing you may depend 
 upon, that if any thing can arrest the torrent of licentiousness 
 which threatens to undermine the whole fabric of society in this 
 country, it is this very institution. I was tossed about a great 
 deal in my youth, and have consequently seen a great many coun- 
 tries, and I know that in every land where the confessional has 
 been laid aside, the common people are fearfully corrupt. Want of 
 chastity is the shameful mark of Protestant nations as compared 
 with Catholic. North Germany and Sweden, in this respect, are 
 infinitely below Italy and Austria. England and Scotland are 
 not fit to be mentioned in the same breath with poor, ignorant, 
 down-trodden and degraded Ireland. As for America," added 
 Mr. Clinton, " they say (you know best) that there is great' 
 purity of morals in New England." 
 
 " We will discuss that on another occasion," said Alban, rising, 
 " but now I must really go." 
 
 " I have said nothing yet," exclaimed Mr. Clinton. " I have 
 not told you, for instance, how edifying confession is ; how advice 
 comes home in that sanctuary of conscience, where your adviser 
 knows what you are, for your own good, and brings a vast experi- 
 ence, and the rules of a science perfected by saints, to bear upon 
 your precise case. Let me tell you, Mr. Atherton, since you 
 seem so sincere, that to one who knows the comfort and solidity of 
 this system, Protestant religion seems the most dreary sham." 
 
 Alban hurried away to the Fifth Avenue. It was past nine 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 285 
 
 o'clock, but, luckily, the distance was not great. The interview 
 with Mr, Clinton had produced a complete revolution in his mind, 
 but one which had been for some time preparing. Pledged 
 already to aid Mary on the morrow, he now resolved, or rather, he 
 was anxious, to do so in the most effectual manner. 
 
 Our heroine, still a prisoner in her room, was agreeably inter- 
 rupted in her reading by her stepmother's entering and bidding 
 her come down stairs. Mr. Atherton was there, and had asked 
 for her. 
 
 The young lady appeared in the drawing-room cheerful and 
 self-possessed as if she had been a domestic idol, and sat down 
 with her work at the centre-table. The conversation ran pleas- 
 antly till ten o'clock. Young Atherton asked for some music, and 
 Miss De Groot played and sang with gayety and spirit — 
 
 " She's married the carl wi' a sack o' siller, 
 And broken the heart o' the poor barley miller." 
 
 A servant brought in wine, cake, and fruit, and Atherton, de- 
 clining the hospitality, rose to depart. 
 
 " What a short evening you make of it by coming so late, Mr. 
 Alban. Pray, the next time you call on me, come at six o'clock 
 instead of nine," said Miss De Groot, carelessly putting aside her 
 work. 
 
 *' I will be punctual to the minute. Miss Mary," replied the 
 young man, with a patronizing smile. Mary was not given to 
 shaking hands, but whenever she did go through that ceremony 
 she did it honestly and cordially. Alban, on the contrary, had a 
 timid, girlish way of giving the end of his fingers to a lady. It 
 was a trait, like the satin softness of the palm and tips themselves. 
 But he really had muscle under all that velvety surface, and Mary 
 De Groot, saying " Good night, Mr. Alban," felt an iron grasp 
 which almost made her cry out. 
 
 Alban, then, brave and faithful friend, would come for her in 
 the morning, but how she was to leave her room was as great a 
 ir7stery as ever, when her stepmother locked her in as on the 
 
286 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 preceding night. Still she prayed fervent]}^ without the crucifix 
 and beads of which she had been vainly deprived, and undressed 
 herself singing hymns. She was full of courage, for she had no 
 will but the will of God. "When she threw open the bedclothes, 
 a dark object caught her eye. It was a key I Those Irish girls ! 
 She wept for joy. 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 2S7 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The poor heathen father who was determined to keep his 
 daughter from the arms of Christ, was a restless being that night. 
 The devil who had possession of him tormented him grievously, 
 and knowing that the believing maiden would else certainly es- 
 cape, compelled him at last to rise from his bed, don his garments, 
 and descend into tjae library to watch, lest his child should defy 
 the polished bolts of her chamber doors, and come forth, according 
 to her departed mother's prediction, to wed a heavenly bridegroom 
 and be buried with Him in the waters where the old Adam ex- 
 pires. Eugene De Groot had a feeling that he was contending 
 with the dead, — that the mother and he, who had once before 
 struggled for the soul of their child, were now again antagonists. 
 He swore that he would maintain his paternal rights against the 
 grave itself Yet he could not but fear his viewless and loving 
 foe, one of whose prayers, perhaps, could crush him in an in- 
 stant. 
 
 Mr. De Groot had a single candle, and he paced his library 
 with both doors thrown open. One of these looked into the lobby 
 of the private stair, the other into the hall near the foot of the 
 great staircase. There was a couch in the library — a green leather 
 couch, and, when he became fatigued, he lay down on it to think 
 and listen. His eye fastened on the iron chandelier of trophies 
 hanging black and flameless over his study table. Towards five 
 o'clock he fell asleep, and dreamed that his daughter had eloped 
 with young Atherton — not to be baptized, but married clandes- 
 tinely. All the possible causes of such a step blended themselves 
 confusedly in his dream, gathering vividness from reminiscences 
 of his own wilful youth and Henrietta Chnton's indelicate behavior 
 at school. He heard their carriage wheels rolling before him in 
 the dark, while he himself, "afoot, pursued the phantom fugitives. 
 
288 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 He awoke. The sound of wheels was certainly in his ear. He 
 rushed out into the hall, where a taper on a tripod gave a feeble 
 light. There was the broad, oaken staircase, with its green bronzes 
 and flameless lamps casting monstrous shadows on the wall, and 
 he beheld, slowly descending the highest flight, a figure like a 
 bride, veiled, and in white, which now passed behind the bronzes, 
 and now came gleaming into view. Was it a bridal veil, or the 
 garments of the grave ? Was it Mary from her bolted chamber, 
 or Mary's mother from beneath the willow of the cathedral 
 church-yard ? 
 
 Mr. De Groot had been laying plans all night against the very 
 occurrence which had now taken place, yet the actual sight of his 
 daughter escaped from a room where he believed her to be under 
 lock and key, smote him with terror. Your skeptic is proverbially 
 open to superstition. This rationahst believed that he saw the 
 spirit of his Roman Catholic wife. Gliding down the last flight 
 of the stair, Mary necessarily approached him ; her features re- 
 vealed themselves distinctly ; and the eyes of the father and 
 daughter met. 
 
 " Whither are you going, my child ?" said the patroon, whose 
 knees knocked together. 
 
 " To church, my father." 
 
 *' At this hour I in this guise I" 
 
 " Mr. Alban Atherton waits with a carriage at the door." 
 
 So saying she offered her father a mantle, which lay across 
 her arm, to place it on her shoulders. He mechanically complied. 
 She drew the capuchin over her head. Her mien was lull of 
 womanly dignity, which seemed to rise higher under the outrages 
 it had received. And the name of Alban at that moment was a 
 powerful support, as Mary herself felt. It is one thing to be de- 
 spotic with a daughter, and another to quarrel with a stranger to 
 your hearth. Nothing bends a purpose, however violent, (if it be 
 unjust, unbecoming, or violent,) like the certainty that it is to pass 
 under the judgment of a person whose impartial and accurate es- 
 timate of conduct you know. The fairness of Alban' s mind, his 
 
ALB AN 
 
 289 
 
 calm, sweet temper, and a certain solidity in his moral constitu- 
 tion, which gave this fme, smooth edge an irresistible force, pro- 
 tected Mary without his presence. Mr. De Groot had himself 
 made young Atherton master of the situation ; he had exhausted 
 the force of his own will during the night upon an impalpable ob- 
 stacle, and now he was led, like the fierce As.syrian, " by a hook 
 in the nose," to do the very thing which he had said a thousand 
 times he would never suffer to be done. He accompanied his 
 daughter down to the lower hall, took his hat and cloak from a 
 hall-stand, composed of huge antlers of deer, and opened the ves- 
 tibule doors. She fluttered down the broad stone steps to the 
 gas-lit pavement. Directly in front at the curb-stone stood a car- 
 riage, and several persons. Young Atherton advanced a step or 
 two, rather haughty and business-like. Mr. De Grroot half ex- 
 pected to see the point of a rapier protruding beneath his young 
 friend's Spanish cloak. But Mary tripped forward, as if she had 
 been going to a party, and sprang into the carriage unassisted. 
 With feminine promptitude she decided several questions which 
 might have created difficulty. 
 
 " Get in, Margaret," she said, " and sit by me. Get in, Mr. 
 Alban, and sit opposite me. Now, papa I" 
 
 The coachman closed the carriage-door and mounted the box. 
 Mrs. Dolman was left standing on the sidewalk, Mary directed 
 her to get up with the driver, and they set off. 
 
 Every minute or so a bright gas-hght shone in at one or the 
 other window, showing the faces of the party within the carriage 
 to each other. Margaret Dolman's countenance, being that of a 
 stranger, naturally attracted Mr. De Groot's attention. It pos- 
 sessed no rich physical beauty or fine intellectual traits — still less 
 that rare combination of both which made his daughter bear off 
 the palm even among the lovely ; but it Avas marked by the 
 sweetness and purity pecuhar to practical Catholics in that rank 
 of life. It is the tna.muetudo Christi, and often infuses its own 
 gentleness into the heart of the beholder unawares. Some reflec- 
 tion of it speedily softened the sternness of Atherton's glance, 
 
 26 
 
290 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 "which at first said very plainly that he had come to do a certain 
 thing, and meant to do it, let what would betide. Mr. De Groot 
 even yet wondered what that certain thing precisely was, and 
 why Atherton had intervened. No one spake till the carriage 
 stopped at the back entrance of the cathedral, when Miss De 
 Groot let down the glass, and called for Mrs. Dolman. Neither 
 of the gentlemen said aught, for neither knew what was to come 
 next. The coachman — a Paddy — helped the good woman down 
 with tender care. 
 
 ** Go into the vestry, please, my good Mrs. Dolman," said Mary, 
 sweetly, " and let Father Smith know that we are here." The 
 old woman went up the creaking wooden steps and disappeared in 
 the hurricane porch. Alban and Mr. De Groot successively bent 
 forward and looked out of the carriage window at the church. 
 Neither could fail to notice those singular adjuncts of the pile — 
 the wooden lean-to, the boarded porch, and its rickety steps. All 
 gave a notion of poverty and temporary shifts, which excited the 
 contempt of the magnificent Anglo-Dutch patrician, but impressed 
 Alban's imagination more than the elegance and ecclesiastical 
 dignity of St. Paul's chapel. Was this the religion for the sake 
 of which, long ages ago, in the dawn of its mysterious power, 
 maidens of rank and wedded wives quitted before day the palaces 
 of their consular fathers and husbands, to assist, in the dark re- 
 cesses of the catacombs, at a rite universally execrated, yet pure 
 and holy ? 
 
 Under no aspect could Alban regard the poor shabby cathe- 
 dral with contempt. He could not look without emotions of 
 inquisitive awe upon one of the local centres and radiating points 
 of an influence pervading the earth which some thought divine 
 and others diabolical, but which all admitted to be, in one sense 
 or the other, supernatural. In this unsightly edifice was the 
 throne of a CathoHc bishop, one of a thousand similar seats of 
 spiritual authority, so intimately united together that each be- 
 came a representative of all, while the highest was but the bond 
 and key-stone of a common supremacy. Alban had been taught to 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 291 
 
 think, and, strange to say, the idea even now came over him with a 
 mysterious horror, that such a church was one of Satan's visible 
 seals, and the worship offered in it profane and impious. And truly 
 if it were so, the Prince of this world had a powerful and consoli- 
 dated empire, militant, by his profounder artifice, not under his 
 own banner, but under that of Christ. What more signal tri- 
 umph could Hell obtain over Him who once conquered it by His 
 death, than by converting His own appointed memorial of that 
 death into a service of idolatry, so that at the very moment when 
 His pretended ministers (but the ministers of Satan, in fact) are 
 repeating the Saviour's words, "As often as ye do this, ye 
 shall do it for a memory of me," His prostrate people adore a 
 creature for Himself? — and they have done it well, for not an. 
 instant of time passes that a mass is not offered and the Hos-t is 
 not adored. Talk of an empire on which the sun never sets I — 
 of the British reveille, drum ever beating as our planet revolves 
 on its axis, and day chases night round the globe I — what is that 
 to the unending oblation of the Catholic Church ? — what mo- 
 ment is not a priest's voice uttering, Te, igitur, clementisslme 
 Pater ! in the low tone which is heard in another sphere I — 
 What moment are not a priest's hands spread, dove-like, over the 
 oblata ! — What moment — what moment is not counted by the 
 bell which announces the silent and invisible coming of their God 
 to prostrate adorers in some quiet sanctuary, in Europe, or in Asia, 
 or in America, in the Atlantic cities, or the Avoods of Oregon, in 
 the Alps, or on the Andes, on the vast terra firrna all along the 
 meridians, or in the scattered islands of the sea I 
 
 It was into this vast fellowship, this society everywhere dif- 
 fused and everywhere the same, (is not Popery everywhere the 
 same ?) — whether it were really the mystery of iniquity, the 
 kingdom of Antichrist, the mystic Babylon, the harlot sitting on 
 many nations, or the kingdom of the Son of God extending i'rom 
 the river to the ends of the earth, the rock become a mountain 
 and filling the whole earth, the true Zion, the immaculate Spouse 
 of the Lamb ; — it was into this society, so mysterious, and whose 
 
292 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 character, like that of its Founder, is the problem of ages — that 
 Mary De Gioot, for her weal or her woe, came to be initiated. 
 
 Mrs. Dolman reappeared, and said that Father Smith would 
 be ready in a few miuutesw Then Sister Theresa came out, and 
 approached the carriage window. 
 
 " Good morning, my dear Miss De Groot. Are you well ? I 
 feared you were not, liom your non-appearance yesterday. Mar- 
 garet is here too, I see I You adhere to your purpose ? Well, 
 Father Smith is now at the altar, my dear young friend, reciting 
 the psahns of preparation." 
 
 Mary sank back in the carriage for a moment. 
 
 " I think you may come now," said the Sister. 
 
 Mary motioned to Alban to get out of the carriage. Her father 
 followed. She herself, when she stood on the pavement, seemed 
 overcome, and was as pale as if she were going to faint. She 
 leaned on IMargaret. 
 
 " Shall I fetch a glass of water ?" said Alban. 
 
 " No, no. I must not drink." 
 
 The thought revived her. It was in great part physical weak- 
 ness from her three days' fast, which had told on a youthful 
 frame. Sister Theresa and Margaret were obliged to support her 
 in ascending the steps. On the last step she looked round for her 
 father, who had slowly followed them. 
 
 " Forgive me, papa." 
 
 He was silent, and Mary added, " God is too good to me in 
 allowing you to be present." 
 
 Mr. De Groot suddenly advanced and took her hand. He 
 was aware that the time was come — the last moment in which 
 he could exercise his parental right of preventing by force the 
 action which was about to take place. Once his daughter had 
 crossed the threshold of the church, and physical coercion was no 
 longer a resource. He held her hand firmly, and gazed sternly on 
 the rest. The door of the porch was held open at that moment 
 by Mrs. Dolman ; that of the chapel was already open, and a 
 procession with lights approached from within. 
 
ALB AN 
 
 293 
 
 ''You must return home," said Mr. De Groot, with a fierce 
 calmness. 
 
 Tlie Sister's mild countenance expressed surprise ; Margaret 
 exclaimed ; and the old woman's dark skiimy face, as the chapel 
 lights fell upon it, was corrugated with indignation. Alban 
 turned slightly away, when Mr. De Groot relinquished his daugh- 
 ter's hand as suddenly as he had seized it. His glance was 
 directed to the door of the chapel, whither all instinctively turned. 
 Somehow, in another minute all were collected within the porch, 
 and the outer door had swung to upon them. 
 
 On the threshold of the chapel was a group composed as fol- 
 lows : On either side stood two young boj^s, with sweet, innocent 
 countenunces, robed in scarlet to the feet, over which they wore 
 short, fine surplices, and each bearing a lighted candle. In the 
 midst of these stood a priest. His short Roman surpHce was fine 
 as lace ; a magnificently-embroidered violet stole was laid over 
 his shoulders, like a yoke of purple and gold, the beretta covered 
 his head, a book was in his hand. His long black habit was 
 confined at the waist by a sash. To Alban all this was utterly 
 strange ; as a picture beautiful ; but with difficulty regarded as 
 the serious garb of religion. The scarlet cassocks of the boys 
 reminded him of the Woman in the Revelations. Mr. De Groot's 
 eye was fastened with evident recognition on the priest's counte- 
 nance. Both he and Alban involuntarily retired from Mary, who 
 stood with Margaret, facing the clergyman. The Sister and Mrs. 
 Dolman drew back on the opposite side. There was a moment's 
 breathless silence, which was broken by the voice of the priest. 
 
 " What is thy name ?" 
 
 " Mary," was the reply, in a voice somewhat faltering. 
 " Mary, what dost thou seek of the Church of God ?" 
 -Faith." 
 
 " What doth faith give thee ?" 
 
 " Eternal fife," answered the postulant, in a firmer voice. 
 " If thou wilt have eternal life," said the priest, " keep tne 
 commandments. ' Thou shalt love the Lord thy God.^ 
 
294 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 But Faith is," he added, after finishing the text, " that thou wor- 
 ship one God in Trinity and Trinity in Unity, neither confounding 
 the Persons, nor dividing the Substance. For there is one Person 
 of the Father, another of the Son, another of the Holy Ghost ; but 
 of these three the Substance is one, and one the Godhead. Mary, 
 dost thou renounce Satan ?" 
 
 *' I renounce him," said Mary, reading, in a firm voice. 
 
 " And all his works ?" 
 
 *' I renounce them." 
 
 " And all his pomps ?" 
 
 " I renounce them." 
 
 She gave the book to Margaret, as if no longer needing it. 
 The priest interrogated her on the Apostles' creed in a brief form, 
 dividing it into three parts, to each of which the answer was, " I 
 believe." Then he seemed to blow in her face thrice, saying in 
 Latin and English, " Go out of her, unclean spirit, and give place 
 to the Holy Ghost, the Paraclete." Beckoning her to approach, 
 he breathed in her face, in the form of a cross, saying, " Mary, 
 Receive by this insufflation the good spirit and the benediction of 
 God. Pax tihi'' 
 
 " Et cum s.piritu tuo,^^ answered the boys with lights. Their 
 young voices rung loud and clear, startlingly so. 
 
 Alban had never before witnessed any Catholic rite, had never 
 stood even at the threshold of a Catholic church, or distinguished 
 a Catholic priest. He naturally watched every movement, and 
 listened to every word with closest attention. It would be giving 
 him altogether too great a superiority to the prejudices of education 
 to suppose that these insufflations and the accompanying words 
 did not appear to him superstitious. Mary stood near the clergy- 
 man, and Margaret had put back the hood of her mantle. He 
 signed her with the sign of the cross. 
 
 "Mary, receive the sign of the cross as well in the forehead ►J* 
 as in the breast : receive the faith of the heavenly precepts : be 
 such in manners that thou mayest now be the temple of God : and 
 entering the Church of God, joyfully acknowledge thyself to have 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 295 
 
 escaped the snares of death : abhor the Arian and Socmian per- 
 fidy ; worship God, the Father Almighty, and Jesus Christ, His 
 only Son, our Lord, who will come to judge the living and the 
 dead, and the world by fire," 
 
 The surpliced boys said, " Amen." 
 
 " Let us pray," said the priest. The prayer spoke of God's 
 handmaid Mary, (famulam tuam Mariam,) now wandering, un- 
 certain and doubtful in the night of this world, and besought the 
 Holy Lord, the Almighty Father, the Eternal God, to show her 
 the way of truth and of the acknowledgment of Himself, that the 
 eyes of her heart being unsealed, she might recognize Him, one 
 God the Father in the Son, and the Son in the Father, with the 
 Holy Ghost, and reap the fruit of that confession both here and in. 
 the world to come ; and Atherton perceived that Mary was con- 
 sidered as still unacquainted wdth God. But the rite rapidly pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 The priest signed the candidate with the sign of the cross in. 
 her forehead, and on several other places, saying, 
 
 " I sign thy forehead ►J* that thou may est receive the cross of 
 the Lord. 
 
 " I sign thine ears that thou mayest hear the divine pre- 
 cepts. 
 
 " I sign thine eyes »J* that thou mayest see the Brightness of 
 God. 
 
 " I sign thy nostrils bf« that thou mayest perceive the odor of 
 the sweetness of Christ. 
 
 " I sign thy mouth that thou mayest speak the words of 
 
 life. 
 
 " I sign thy breast that thou mayest believe in God. 
 " I sign thy shoulders that thou mayest receive the yoke of 
 his service." 
 
 And as Mary, whose neck and shoulders Margaret had bared, 
 raised herself from bending before the priest after the last words, 
 he signed her whole body, but without touching her, saying, 
 
 " I sign thee all, in the name of the Father i^, and of the 
 
296 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 Son and of the Holy Ghost that thou mayest have eternal 
 life, and Hve for ever and ever." 
 " Amen." 
 
 " Orcmtis'' aofain — and the priest rapidly recited several Latin 
 prayers, of which the purport was that this " Elect one, this hand- 
 maid of God, might be kept by the power of the Lord's cross, and 
 the efficacy of His mercy, so that from the rudiments of faith to 
 which she had now been called, she might proceed day by day till 
 she could fitly approach the grace of Baptism, arrive at the glory 
 of regeneration, and what she could not obtain by nature, rejoice 
 to have received by grace," always through Christ our Lord. And 
 now followed a very superstitious part of this strange ceremony — 
 the blessing and exorcism of salt, which one of the innocent-look- 
 ing surpliced boys gravely presented in a silver vessel. The priest 
 read a long Latin prayer, interspersed with ever so many crossings. 
 "We translate, that our readers, before they unawares adopt it, may 
 see what a singular religion the Catholic is. 
 
 " I exorcise thee, creature of salt, in the name of God the 
 Father Ahnighty, and in the charity of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 and in the virtue of the Holy fc|<» Ghost. I exorcise thee by the liv- 
 ing God »J*, by the holy God *|«, by the God who created thee for 
 the safeguard of mankind, and commanded thee to be consecrated 
 by his servants for the people coming to the simplicity of faith, 
 that in the name of the Holy Trinity thou mayest be made a sal- 
 utary sacrament to put the enemy to flight. Therefore we ask of 
 thee, Lord our God, that sanctifying thou wouldst sanctify and 
 blessing thou wouldst bless this creature of salt, that it may 
 become to all who receive it a perfect medicine, abiding in their 
 entrails, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, who shall come to 
 judge the quick and the dead, and the world by fire." 
 
 And then the priest put some of the salt on the tongue of the 
 young catechumen, adding, " Mary, receive the salt of wisdom : 
 he it a propitiation to thee unto eternal life." — " Amen.'" — " Pax 
 tibi." — " Et cum spiritu tuo."'' — More Latin prayers followed, to 
 the efiect that the God of their fathers, the Author of all truth, 
 
AL BAN. 
 
 297 
 
 Would look upon His handmaid, Mary, and as she had " lasted 
 that first food of salt, not permit her longer to thirst, but bring her 
 to the laver of regeneration." 
 
 " Elect one, pray. Bend the knee, and say, our Father." 
 
 And Mary knelt before the priest and said the Lord's Prayer. 
 
 " Rise. Finish thy prayer and say, Amen" 
 
 ''Amen" {rising.) 
 
 " Sign her," said the priest to Margaret, and to the young 
 Elect he added — " Approach," — and Margaret signed Mary on 
 the forehead, completing the priest's sentence, " In the name of 
 the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost :" — an action 
 and words which the priest immediately ratified by repeating. 
 And then followed the strangest prayer of all, or rather, a series 
 of prayers and adjurations, rising like the fearful note which shall 
 prepare for the last regeneration. It was awful to hear in that 
 poor porch. The priest lifted his hand over her head. 
 
 " God of Heaven, God of Earth, God of Angels, God of Arch- 
 angels, God of Patriarchs, God of Prophets, God of Apostles, God 
 of Martyrs, God of Confessors, God of Virgins, God of all that live 
 well, God, to whom every tongue confesses, and every knee bends, 
 of heavenly, earthly, and infernal beings : I invoke Thee, Lord, 
 upon this Thy handmaid Mary, that Thou wouldst deign to keep 
 her, and bring her to the grace of Thy baptism. Through Christ 
 our Lord." 
 
 " Amen" was the voice of the young light -bearers. 
 
 " Therefore, cursed devil, recognize thy sentence, and give 
 honor to the true and living God ; give honor to Jesus Christ, His 
 Son, and to the Holy Ghost ; and depart from this handmaid of 
 God, Mary ; for God and our Lord Jesus Christ has deigned to 
 call her to His holy grace and to the font of baptism, and this 
 sign of the holy cross i^, which we give her in the forehead, do 
 thou, cursed devil, never dare to violate. By the same Christ our 
 Lord, who will come to judge the living and the dead, and the 
 world by fire." 
 
 'Amen," they replied. 
 
298 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 " Pray, Elect one. Bend the knee and say, Our Father. 
 And Mary knelt b<;fore the priest, and said the Lord's Prayer. 
 " Rise. Finish thy prayer and say, A?7ien." 
 " Amen,'' {rising.) 
 
 And the priest said to Margaret, " Sign her," and to the 
 Elect, " Approach ;" and Margaret signed her forehead, comple- 
 ting the invitation in the name of the Trinity, and the priest rati- 
 fied it as before, by repeating both the action and words of the 
 godmother. And the priest once more raised his hand over her 
 head. It was a prayer to the " God of Abraham, Isaac, and 
 Jacob, who appeared to Moses in Sinai, and brought the children 
 of Israel out of Egypt, deputing to them the Angel of his pity to 
 guard them day and night, that He would deign to send His holy 
 Angel from Heaven to guard this His handmaid, Mary, and bring 
 her to the grace of Baptism, through Christ our Lord," 
 
 And the light-bearers said, " Ame7i.'' 
 
 " Pray, Elect one. Bend the knee and say, Our Father^ 
 
 And it was all done the third time. At the end, the priest, 
 with his hand still lifted over her head, said, 
 
 "I exorcise thee, unclean spirit, by the Father and the 
 Son and the Holy Ghost that thou mayest go out and 
 depart from this handmaid of God, Mary. For He commands 
 thee, cursed, damned one, who opened the eyes of the born blind, 
 and raised Lazarus on the fourth day from the tomb. 
 
 " Therefore, cursed devil, recognize thy sentence, and give 
 honor to the true and living God, give honor to Jesus Christ His 
 Son, and to the Holy Ghost, and depart from this handmaid of 
 God, Mary ; for God and our Lord Jesus Christ has deigned to 
 call her to His holy grace and to the font of Baptism, and this 
 sign of the holy cross *J«, which we place on her forehead, do thou, 
 cursed devil, never dare to violate. By the same Christ our Lord, 
 who will come to judge the quick and the dead, and the world by 
 fire." 
 
 And the boys still answered, ''Amen.'" 
 
 He raised his hand over the head of the catechumen once 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 299 
 
 more — yes, once more — and said, as she bowed before him, " Let 
 us pray." 
 
 I entreat thy eternal and most just pity. Holy Lord, Almighty 
 Father, Eternal God, Author of light and truth, upon this thy 
 handmaid, Mary, that thou wouldst vouchsafe to illuminate her 
 with the light of the intelligence proceeding from thee : cleanse 
 and sanctify her : give her the true science, that she may be made 
 worthy to approach the grace of thy Baptism, hold a firm hope, 
 a right counsel, a holy doctrine, that she may be fit to receive thy 
 grace. Through Christ our Lord." 
 
 And those boys in scarlet and fine linen answered, as before, 
 Ameny 
 
 He gave the end of the violet stole into her hand, and said, 
 " Mary, enter into the holy Church of God, that thou mayest re- 
 ceive the heavenly benediction from the Lord Jesus Christ, and 
 have part with Him and His saints." 
 
 And the boys answered, ''Amen.'^ 
 
 Rapid in comparison was the remainder of the rite, of M'hich 
 the mere preparation had been so long, and, one may say, tedious. 
 Many are the steps of the Temple, and its porch is many-col- 
 umned and deep ; but once you have entered the gate — crossed 
 the threshold — and the pure light shines, the cleansing water 
 flows in a perennial stream. Holding the priest's stole, Mary en- 
 tered the church, and, taught by the Sister, (for all accompanied 
 her), fell upon her knees and adored, touching the chapel floor 
 with her oft-signed brow. She rose and now recited with the 
 priest the Apostles' creed, and Lord's prayer. He imposed or held 
 his hand again over her head. It was another exorcism, but he 
 signed her not again with the cross in pronouncing it. It reminded 
 Satan of the day of judgment at hand, the day of everlasting pun- 
 ishment, the day which should come as a burning oven, in which 
 everlasting destruction was prepared for him and all his angels. 
 It bade him, therefore, " damned one, and to be damned hereaf- 
 ter," give honor, as before, to the living God, the eternal Trinity, 
 in whose name and power he was commanded, whoever he was, 
 
300 
 
 AL B AN. 
 
 impure spirit, " to go out and depart from this handmaid of God, 
 Mary, whom to-day the same God and our Lord Jesus Christ had 
 deigned to call by a gift, to His holy grace and benediction, and 
 to the font of Baptism, that she might become His temple by the 
 water of regeneration for the remission of sins ;" concluding by 
 the ever-recurring adjuration, " ]n the name of the same our 
 Lord Jesus Christ, who will come to judge the hving and the 
 dead, and the world by fire." 
 
 VYiih saliva from bis tongue the priest touched her right and 
 left ear, saying, " Ephpheta, — that is, be opened" — and her nos- 
 trils, " Unto the odor of sweetness ; but thou, devil, fly, for the 
 judgment of God is at hand." 
 
 Ouce more he demands, " What is thy name ?" 
 
 " Mary," said the young Elect, pale and faint, in the midst of 
 her friends, yet unsupported, though Margaret stood near. 
 
 " Mary, dost thou renounce Satan ?" 
 
 " I renounce him." 
 And all his works, and all his pomps ?" 
 
 " I renounce them." 
 
 The holy oil of catechumens stood in a small vessel on a 
 table, and the priest anointed her therewith on the breast and 
 on the shoulders, as she bowed before him, temporarily un- 
 mantled. 
 
 " I anoint thee with the oil of salvation," he said, " in Christ 
 Jesus our Lord, unto eternal life." 
 " Amen.'" 
 " Peace to thee." 
 
 " Et cum spiritu tuo'^ was the unwearied response. 
 
 " Go out, impure spirit,'' added the priest, drying with a 
 napkin the places which he had anointed, " and give place to 
 the living and true God. Fly, impure spirit, and give place to 
 Jesus Christ, His Son. Depart, impure spirit, and give place to 
 the Holy Ghost, the Paraclete." 
 
 And now they drew around .the font itself, which was 
 opened, and a silver vessel brought to receive the excess of the 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 301 
 
 hallowed waters. The priest removed his violet stole, and 
 assumed one of white silk, but richly embroidered, like the 
 other. In laying aside the one, he kissed it ; he kissed the other 
 in putting it on. 
 
 " What is thy name ?" he demanded once more of the trem- 
 bling handmaid of the Lord. 
 
 " Mary." 
 
 The reply was low, but quite clear. 
 
 " Mary, dost thou believe in God the Father Almighty, 
 Creator of Heaven and Earth ?" 
 " I believe," 
 
 *' Dost thou believe in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord, 
 who was born and suffered ?" 
 " I believe." 
 
 " Dost thou believe also in the Holy Ghost, the holy Catholic 
 Church, the communion of Saints, the remission of sins, the resur- 
 rection of the flesh, and life everlasting ?" 
 I believe." 
 
 *• Mary, what seekest thou ?" 
 
 " Baptism." 
 
 *• Wilt thou be baptized ?" " 
 " I will." 
 
 The veil was removed from her head, and the mantle from 
 her shoulders, by the females. Mary bowed before the font, with 
 head and neck and shoulders bare, her hands crossed on her 
 bosom. Margaret held her arm ; and the priest, taking water in 
 a silver vessel from the font, poured it on her head thrice, in the 
 form of a cross, saying once, 
 
 Maria, Ego te baptizo in nomine Patris»J<, et Filii»J<, et 
 Spiritus*J* Sancti." 
 
 No one said amen, but he touched his finger immediately in 
 the sacred chrism which stood by the side of the oil of catechu- 
 mens, and anointed her head in the form of a cross, saying, 
 
 " Almighty God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, Who 
 hath regenerated thee of water and the Holy Ghost, and Who 
 
 S6 
 
302 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 hath given thee remission of all sins, Himself anoint thee with 
 the chrism of salvation in the same Christ Jesus, our Lord, 
 unto eternal life." 
 "Amen." 
 
 " Peace be to thee." 
 
 " And with thy spirit." 
 
 He put on her head the white chrismal. 
 
 " Receive a garment white and spotless, which thou mayest 
 bear before the tribunal of our Lord Jesus Christ, that thou may- 
 est have eternal life." 
 
 '* A77ie?t.'' 
 
 He gave her a lighted candle of virgin wax, which was 
 brought by the dark-robed Sister. It was a noble-looking, gray- 
 haired man who gave it, and then drew back into shadow. 
 
 "Receive a burning lamp, and keep thy baptism without 
 reproach ; keep the commandments of God, that when the Lord 
 shall come to the marriage, thou mayest meet Him in the celes- 
 tial mansion unto life eternal." 
 
 " Amen.'' 
 
 " Mary, go in peace, and the Lord be with thee." 
 
 " Ame?i:' 
 
 The surpliced boys, with their candles and scarlet robes, turned 
 about to depart from the chapel, and the priest prepared to follow 
 them : but ere he departed, Father Smith, bending down, said to 
 her, in a low voice, — not the voice of a priest in the office, but his 
 own — " Pray for me." Margaret kissed her hand, which still held 
 the burning candle, and said, in a sobbing whisper, " Oh, pray for 
 me." — Sister Theresa approached in tears, and said, " Pray for me, 
 Mary," and kissed her. " Pray for me, I entreat you. Pray for 
 the sisters of our society." One or two old women, who had been 
 kneeling on the chapel floor, hobbled up and whispered, " Pray 
 for us." One said — " Oh that it was me, if I might die the next 
 minute I" 
 
 But there was another sacrament to be received. The Sister 
 took the candle from her ; the veil was thrown again over her 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 303 
 
 head. In a minute she was kneeling- at the rails of the altar of 
 the Virgin in the same chapel, where the candles were already 
 lit, a little table stood prepared with the holy chrism ; and the old 
 ecclesiastic, whose mass she had heard every morning at seven, 
 was sitting with a mitre on his head, and a priest for his assistant. 
 In two or three minutes the bishop had confirmed her, had smit- 
 ten her sinless cheek to teach her to bear hardship for Christ, and 
 given her peace and a blessing. While she yet, lost and over- 
 powered, thanked God for this second grace — the gift of the Holy 
 Ghost Himself, and prayed for those who had asked her prayers, 
 Sister Theresa put the candle again in her hand, and made her 
 go into the church to hear mass. She knelt between the sister 
 and Margaret, who offered their communion for her. Mary lis- 
 tened to the mass of the Epiphany, (for it was the octave.) familiar 
 to her from having heard it already twice. The gospels, of course, 
 were the same as at that Christmas mass when she was convert- 
 ed, although their relative position was reversed. She heard 
 them now with the white veil of confirmation on her head, 
 with the lighted candle of the neophyte in her hand. Again, as 
 on Christmas morn, she adored with the wise men, but it was as 
 one who had found the Saviour in the House of Bread ; again she 
 bent the knee in honor of the Word made Flesh, but it was as 
 one who had received power to become the Child of God. 
 
 ''Ecce Agnus Dei I Ecce qui tollit perxata mundi .'" 
 
 It came upon her before she was aware. The Author of sanc- 
 tity reposed in a bosom made whiter than snow by His Blood. 
 Love Incarnate sought and folded in Its divine embrace a creature 
 purified by the divine love animating the creaturely heart, and 
 effacing all its human stains. What joy, what peace, what puri- 
 ty on purity, and grace on grace, did He not impart in that kiss 
 of communion I in the touch though under a veil, of that life- 
 giving and immaculate Flesh which has ascended to the Father I 
 
 " Let Him kiss me luith the kisses of His mouth, for thy 
 breasts are better than wine.''' 
 
 Her father and Alban witnessed the communion from a pew 
 
304 
 
 A L B A N. 
 
 not far distant, where both patiently waited until the new re- 
 ceived convert had finished her thanksgiving. The bishop was 
 in the vestry when the party passed through, returning to their 
 cariiage. He wished to speak to the young convert, who knelt 
 for his blessing. 
 
 " My dear demoiselle,'" said the purple-vested old man, min- 
 gling French words with English, and speaking the latter language 
 with some accent, " you are fasting, you must be exhausted. Do 
 not return home without some refreshment. Come into my poor 
 house with your friends, and take a cup of coffee, I pray you." 
 
 "You are very good monseigneur,'' replied Mr. De Groot, 
 speaking for his daughter, " but our carriage waits, as well as the 
 breakfast at my house, and I therefore beg your lordship to excuse 
 us." 
 
 " As you please, sir. I should be sorry if this young lady 
 suffered any inconvenience. God bless you, my child. I thank 
 Him for this auspicious day, in which He has been so good to you, 
 and has consoled all our hearts by yowr faith. Pray for me." 
 
 The bishop and ecclesiastics made a courteous and very foreign 
 reverence to the strangers, which Mr. De Groot, who was not to 
 be outdone in politeness, returned in the most formal manner of 
 the old court. When they got into the street Alban had some 
 difficulty in realizing that he was in New York. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 305 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " Will these Christians come, think you, seilorita ?" 
 
 "The young man is not a Christian, Rebecca, and the young 
 lady is one still less than he : for she believes not the divinity of 
 the Notzry, and has never been baptized." 
 
 " I did not understand the young senor to say that precisely. 
 That she had renounced the creed of her childhood wa.s what he 
 intimated ; from which I inferred, seiiorita, that she is now more 
 a Christian than ever. At best, how can you be sure that she is 
 purified to enter the sanctuary ?" 
 
 The young Jewess made no reply, though her brow indicated 
 that the question troubled her. The mistress and maid stood in 
 the porch of the synagogue, which was considerably elevated 
 above the street. Many male Jews were loitering on the steps or 
 about the doors, and the service within was already begun. 
 
 " I doubt they will not keep their engagement, seiiora, and I 
 like not that you should wait here for them." 
 
 " I will wait," said her mistress, impatiently. " And see — 
 here they are I" 
 
 A beautifully appointed chariot drew up, indeed, before the 
 synagogue. A black coachman and footman, both bearded, cock- 
 aded, and arrayed in many-caped blue overcoats, sat together 
 on the blue hammercloth, with a superb robe of fox-skins over 
 their legs. A sympathetic smile, dashed with profound respect, 
 was on their coal-black visages, when the fellow whose office it 
 was, held the chariot door open for Miss De Groot and Alban to 
 descend, and the face of the young lady was crimson as she set 
 foot upon the pavement. She looked up at the two Jewesses with 
 curiosity, being at no loss to distinguish Miriam by her richer dress, 
 and particularly the lace that decked her ankles, and the immacu- 
 late purity of her white skirts, rendered visible by her elevated 
 
 26* 
 
306 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 position. They ascended the steps of the synagogue, and Alban 
 introduced the young ladies. After a brief colloquy, the latter 
 withdrew to the women's gallery, and the young man entered, 
 unquestioned, upon the floor of the Hebrew sanctuary. 
 
 The interior was fitted up with much taste. White columns 
 in the palm-tree form supported the gallery ; colunms of scagliola, 
 with emblematically designed bronzed capitals, encircled the Ark, 
 which had doors of fine woods, and curtains of silk. The holy 
 scrolls, exposed to view during the greater part of the service, 
 were ^Y^apped in embroidered silk, and the silver rods on which 
 they were rolled, terminated in glittering ornaments of silver bells 
 and pomegranates, which tinkled when the sacred volumes in use 
 were borne in procession to and from their place of repose. Before' 
 the ark burned the " Everlasting Lamp." There were also nu- 
 merous candlesticks, containing huge candles of wax, but the 
 latter were not lighted on this occasion. Upon an elevated square 
 pulpit in the centre, trimmed with white damask silk, the service, 
 consisting of the law, psalms, and prayers, was chanted with fine 
 effect by Readers in white albes. The Oriental separation of the 
 women, the men wearing their hats, their peculiar physiognomy 
 and singular manner of worship, their long, white shawls, and 
 see-sawing while they muttered Hebrew prayers, or joined in the 
 harshthunder ofthe response, were very impressive. At one point 
 all present prostrated themselves with so much suddenness that 
 our hero was startled. 
 
 " Such then," thought he, "is what remains of the worship 
 of the sacred tribes — the worship in which our Saviour joined 
 when on earth, and at which, after His ascension, the Apostles 
 still occasionally assisted." 
 
 Alban had every disposition in the world to be pleased, and 
 really the rite affected him deeply. The chanting, use of lights, 
 vestments of the Readers, prostration, and other ceremonies, 
 reminded him of the Temple. But where were the divine pecu- 
 liarities of that celestially designed worship ? Where was the 
 sacrifice, and Divine Presence, and the lamb for a burnt offering ? 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 307 
 
 From the steps of the Catholic altar, that morning, he had heard 
 a reply, which still rang in his ears, — " Behold the Lamb of 
 God — behold Him icho takeih aiuay the sins of the ivorld 
 Despite himself, and as if by force, the conviction was wrung 
 from his mind — that not here, but there, was the continuation 
 of the Temple worship. It was an intuition above and be- 
 yond all argument. That everlasting lamp pointed to a local 
 sanctity, a divine inhabitation, which once existed. Had so 
 blessed a reality ceased these two thousand years ? Impossible to 
 credit its non-existence if it ever existed at all. And the victims 
 which had ceased to bleed, the incense which no more curled 
 upward from under the hands of the Cohen ! And the voice of 
 prophecy — the light and perfection of the High Priest's breast- 
 plate — the abiding oracles of God — the power which preserved 
 the line of Aaron, and inspired the lips even of Caiaphas — had it 
 all come to nothing, and vanished like the legends of a fabulous 
 age ? Not if it was divine. Wels the Babel of Protestantism 
 the successor of the Temple w^hich was built without sound of 
 hammer ; and where d,welt in visible glory the God Who maketh 
 men to be of one mind in a house ? Was a system which left 
 all doubtful, and which substituted emotions for morality — a 
 debasing, inefficacious, no-creed — was this the heir of the proph- 
 ets, and the antitype of the Law? He had answered that ques- 
 tion before. 
 
 Alban opposed a vigorous resistance to these impressions. His 
 pride recoiled from seeming to follow Mary De Groot, and still 
 more from being forced by circumstances into the position of her 
 lover. It was her father who had sent them to the synagogue 
 together that morning, rather against both their wills, as matters 
 now stood, and sent them in his own carriage, which compromised 
 them both. If now he became a Catholic ? And Miriam ? His 
 heart beat as he glanced up at the gallery of the synagogue ; 
 and her figure, as she stood on the steps, floated before him. 
 Then he beheld her dancing in her brother's drawing-room, 
 where he had played as a child. He saw her come bending for- 
 
308 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 ward under the cvimson drapery of the folding doors, and appear 
 in the sunset light, as at their first meeting. Then his imagina- 
 tion kindled, and he passed, in thought, to the East. Ambition 
 blended with passion. Adventure, conflict, triumph ! He was a 
 conqueror, a prince : he laid the reins on the neck of pride. This 
 was not the temper in which he could embrace the cross. 
 
 Meanwhile, Miriam and Miss De Groot were in the women's 
 gallery. Mary felt strangely out of place in it, and half-degraded. 
 Miss Seixas talked to her almost incessantly — chiefly about dress, 
 the opera, dancing, and her friend Mr. Atherton, topics more in- 
 consistent with the sanctity of the place, if it had any, than the 
 ceremonial pollution which alone the young Jewess had seemed 
 to fear.- Yet Miriam occasionally took part in the worship, and 
 prostrated herself with the rest, with great apparent devotion. 
 But she laughed the moment after, as she brushed the dust of the 
 floor from her silk dress. 
 
 Day after day of the vacation passed, and Alban became more 
 intimately acquainted with the persons he had met. Livingston. 
 Van Brugh took a great fancy to him, and from a singular cause. 
 In a rencounter of young men one morning, at a chess-room. Van. 
 Brugh avowed his unrestrained libertinism, expressing absolute 
 disbelief in the existence of virtue in either sex. Alban broke 
 out in such a hearty and contemptuous denunciation of these 
 principles, that most of the others expected Livingston to knock 
 him down. Instead of showing resentment, however, he imme- 
 diately began to cultivate our hero's society — a flattery against 
 which Alban was not proof. Van Brugh laughingly said that he 
 wanted to find out to what sort of vice Atherton was accessible, 
 since that which contented young men generally, excited his dis- 
 gust. So, with praise of his delicacy, and appeals to every latent 
 passion of youth, he worked to inspire, if possible, a craving for 
 forbidden pleasure. Van Brugh had too much tact ever to speak 
 of Miss De Groot, except in terms of highest respect. He 
 believed, he used to say, that if there was a virtuous girl living, 
 it was she. But to Miss Clinton he w^as not so indulgent. 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 309 
 
 On the other hand, Alban learned from Mr. Clinton that 
 there was a discipline in existence designed to fortify man against 
 himself, and a treasure of grace accessible to all ; by the aid of 
 which, even youth, if it would, might perfectly triumph. Thus 
 his bane and antidote were both before him. He used to see 
 Mr. Chnton every day, for the latter never omitted to give him 
 an excuse for calling again. And when Alban went away, Mr. 
 Clinton would say, "Pray, go up to the drawing-room and see the 
 ladies ; and if you have an opportunity of speaking to my daugh- 
 ter on these topics — since they interest you — I wish you would." 
 
 Thus Alban, who was ashamed to call in State-street as often, 
 as he wished, and who purposely stayed away from Mr. De 
 Groot's, saw Miss Clinton daily, and sometimes alone. She was 
 extremely agreeable — more so than Miss Ellsworth ; for she had 
 seen so many things abroad that were interesting to Alban. Her 
 temper was imperturbable, in which she had greatly the advan- 
 tage of Mary De Groot ; and instead of treating our hero, like 
 Miss Seixas, as a youth whom she was bound to amuse, she 
 appeared to look up to him, listening with admiring respect to 
 every thing he said, on the religious and moral topics on which 
 he was stronger than on any other ; and, in fine, entered into 
 Alban completely, just as he was — conforming herself exactly to 
 him, not attempting to mould him to herself Mary De Groot 
 had an inward position of her own, from which there was no 
 moving her. Her mind worked, and her heart glowed independ- 
 ently. Somehow, Alban did not like that altogether, even when 
 the heart glowed towards him. Miriam seemed inapproachable 
 in her race and her womanly loveliness — in her religion and her 
 betrothal. But Henrietta floated right along with him, wher- 
 ever he would. She merely undertook to improve his manners in. 
 some small particulars — reformed his French pronunciation, im- 
 parted to him several secrets of etiquette, and taught him how to 
 tie his cravat. 
 
 "We do not care to dwell on these things, but the interviews 
 we speak of, coming upon the conversations of Van Brugh, and 
 
310 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 perhaps recalling associations \vith Miss Clinton's name, supported 
 by mach that he really could not help observing in her manners, 
 threw a strange light into unsuspected hollows in Alban's heart. 
 Strange images would rise up, and flit before his mental eye, like 
 bats in the dusk. Not that they looked like bats to him. They 
 had, on the contrary, a beauty from which he could with difficulty 
 avert his gaze ; they had soft, seductive faces ; their flowing hair 
 was like the hair of women ; their forms were female to the waist ; 
 and the rest was lost in a drapery of fiery mist. 
 
 It must not be supposed that Alban did not visit the De Groots 
 at all. He went there in the evening, when he was sure to see 
 the parents as well as the daughter. Then they had a pleasant 
 social lime. You never would have supposed that of those four 
 persons, one was a Pantheist, one a bigoted Presbyterian, one a 
 devout convert to the Catholic CJiurch, and one something between 
 a Deist and a Jew. Religion was never mentioned, and if love 
 was present, it was in a modest, quiet guise. The party generally 
 played whist, after which Mary De Groot went to the piano. Her 
 style was exactly suited to charm a domestic circle like that, pa- 
 tient yet flowing, and dehghtfuUy accurate, without too much 
 vigor ; and her singing a full-breasted, smooth warble, negligent 
 of petty ornament, and delighting in pure simple eflects. Alban 
 appeared very manly, and considerably recovered the good graces 
 of Mrs. De Groot, to whom he was more attentive than to Mary. 
 Twice he rode out with the latter and her father, and Mr. De 
 Groot kindly placed a horse at his disposal, to use whenever he 
 liked. Thus Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday 
 passed. Returning on Thursday afternoon, from his first solitary 
 ride, and skirting the fine (but then leafless) woods, where the old 
 Lorillard mansion (now the Convent of the Sacre CcEur) com- 
 mands a view of both rivers, at the base of the hill he overtook 
 a carriage containing two ladies. They were his Jewish friends. 
 He had passed them going out, but at the New York trotting pace 
 of a mile in two minutes and forty seconds, which certainly gave 
 no time for recognition. 
 
ALBAN. 311 
 
 " You ^vent by us like lightning, I was very much afraid for 
 you,'' said Mrs. Seixas, in a foreign accent. 
 
 " \Yhen you go to the East, you will ride an Arab," said Mi- 
 riam, eyeing with admiration the black, wild-eyed horse, with 
 fiercely curving neck, which Alban rode. 
 
 " And wield a Damascus scimitar instead of this," — waving 
 his riding-whip. 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " ^Ye always rode donkeys at Smyrna," observed Mrs. Seixas. 
 *' They are safer, and none but Turks and Franks are allowed to 
 ride horses in the East." 
 
 "Do you go to Mrs. Clinton's party to-night ?" asked Miriam. 
 
 " Of course. Is not the whole world to be there ?" 
 
 " I have heard so," replied Miriam, with a smile. " What is 
 called the whole world in this corner of it." 
 
 " We shall be great people," said Mrs. Seixas — " I mean at 
 Mrs. Clinton's party : — for we are to take with us a real Count, 
 Mr. Atherton, who has brought letters of credit and introduction 
 to my husband, from Baron Rothschild, at Vienna. 
 
 " I expect the Count to fall in love with your beautiful Miss 
 De Groot," said Miriam : "for like her he is a Catholic." 
 
312 
 
 AL B AN. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 There was something pleasant, and what is called aristocratic in. 
 the way society was managed in New York sixteen years ago. 
 The wealthy families were fewer ; the rooms were larger ; the 
 parties not so large, but more select. It was possible to dance at 
 private balls, and even usual, and a young lady could attend one 
 without having her clothes torn off her back, which often happens 
 now-a-days. Mrs. CUnton, for instance, who was a leader then, 
 lived in a wide basement house, (as it is called,) the principal 
 drawing-room extending across the front, with three windows to 
 the floor. The back room was equally fine, though differently pro- 
 portioned, and there was an extensive back building with a dining- 
 room in the basement, and a billiard-room (Mr. Clinton was fond 
 of playing at home) on the first floor — a spacious, lofty apartment, 
 which, when Mrs. Clinton gave a party, the floor being prettily 
 chalked, was converted into a ball-room. What made this pe- 
 culiarly convenient and agreeable was, that the windows of the 
 billiard-room looking south opened into the conservatory, which 
 ran the whole length of the back building, and was available on 
 a party night. The music was always placed here. Thus Mrs. 
 Clinton, who liked something of a crush at her parties, could 
 afford to issue three hundred cards of invitation. 
 
 By nine o'clock that part of Broadway was a regular lock of 
 carriages. The guests as they were set down ascended to the 
 bedrooms — gay with French upholstery and bright as day with 
 tapers — to lay aside their outer wrappings. In the room al- 
 lotted to the darker sex, Alban found Mr. De Groot, who imme- 
 diately said — " You have no young lady with you, of course ? 
 Well, you must take down Mary. Let us go into the hall as soon 
 as you are ready, and wait for them." 
 
 While they waited, Alban being extremely nervous, as it was 
 
ALB AN 
 
 313 
 
 his first party, Miss Clinton, so beautifully dressed that he did not 
 know her, came out of the ladies' toilet-room, and after a glance 
 at the group of gentlemen, singled him out by name, saying, 
 " Mary wants you," and bade him follow her. He did so. and she 
 re-enlered the apartment whence she came, parting the fair throng 
 within. Here a bevy of damsels were admiring their toilets 
 and figures in a psyche; there one was adjusting her ringlets 
 before the toilet-glass ; in one corner, a prudent girl was exchan- 
 ging the thicker chaussure with which it was deemed best to be 
 protected in stepping from the carriage to the door, for the satin 
 slippers appropriate for dancing ; and there was a sHght movement 
 of apprehension and displeasure at the entrance of a young man ; 
 but it was to tie Miss De G root's slipper — an office Avhich the 
 young lady, already gloved, with her bouquet, tablets, and fan in 
 hand, seemed expecting from some one, but not from him, to 
 judge by her ready blush. In a moment, however, at Miss Clin- 
 ton's bidding he had knelt at her feet, thanking all his stars for 
 the happy chance which made that narrow ribbon come untied. 
 He was not used to tying ladies' slippers, his modesty was in his 
 way, and the beauty all around confused him ; he blundered, 
 and the young ladies tittered ; Mary, with angry promptitude, took 
 her foot upon her knee, turning away from him. But Alban 
 looked so mortified that Math a forced laugh she bade him try 
 again, directing him how to cross the ties, and inserting her fin- 
 ger (lor the glove was already off) in the knot as he secured it. 
 When done, she dropped her foot and dress quickly, and took his 
 arm. 
 
 It was a trivial incident, but one of those which sometimes 
 are very important in the inner world, where our story mainly 
 flows. It must be remembered that Alban's feeling towards our 
 heroine, up to this date, was principally characterized by esteem, 
 which had gradually increased until it amounted to absolute ven- 
 eration. The idea that her delicacy was in any way compro- 
 mised in his regard, and that involuntarily, touched him deeply 
 There was nothing, however dear to his passions, which he would 
 
 27 
 
314 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 not sacrifice, rather than it should be so, was his generous 
 thoug-ht. 
 
 Mary hung on her friend's arm, while a brilliant mass of both 
 sexes flowed and retired through the folding doors, like the moon- 
 lit tide through a water-gate. Her mien was embarrassed — not 
 exactly because it was her first ball, for we have seen that she 
 had, when she chose, a formed society manner, native as her 
 graceful carriage, a matter of birth and early habit ; but she was 
 an object of universal and inquisitive attention. People stared 
 and people whispered. Some faces expressed pity ; some,-horror ; 
 some, contemptuous curiosity. It was a protection, even to the 
 daughter and heiress of Mr. De Groot, to appear with such a beau 
 as Atherton, under these circumstances ; and it was an additional 
 relief that attention was soon diverted to her dress, although she 
 was not arrayed in that pure Avhite muslin, so effective and dis- 
 tinguishing, which your heroines always wear at the balls which 
 are given in novels. 
 
 Father Smith had said, when the young convert had consulted 
 him in reference to this party — " Go with the intention of pleas- 
 ing them" (her parents) " and God ; but by all means, my dear 
 child, be modestly dressed. A young lady who goes to a ball, 
 as I am told they do now, more undressed than dressed, is an 
 arrow of Satan, for the wounding of souls." 
 
 Mary was a determined character. She did not ask, when 
 her dress came home, whether, after all, there could be any harm 
 in being decollettee so slightly, at her age especially. She might 
 be a dowdy, but she would not be an arrow in Satan's quiver. 
 She had plenty of the stuff, fortunately, and with her own ready 
 fingers — sitting up half one night for the purpose — somehow or 
 other, she made what she was sure even Father Smith would 
 allow to be a decent corsage. In those days young ladies did not 
 wear the vapory tulles, and other gossamer robes, which are now 
 the rage for dancing parties. A pink lutestring, changeable with 
 white, which, in the evening, had a silvery sheen, extremely 
 youthful and brilliant in effect, was the ball-dress of the wealthy 
 
AL BAN . 
 
 315 
 
 patroon's daughter. The most modest of her school frocks had 
 served Mary for a pattern ; but to give an elegant, and even 
 'piquant character to it, she had omitted the sleeves altogether, 
 substituting a single ruffle of Brussels lace. It had the most 
 ingenuous air possible ; and many a damsel, with a robe half off 
 her shoulders, envied that innocent toilette. So much to convince 
 our fair countrywomen that their costume is still a subject in 
 which we are interested — as, in truth, it is one of great import- 
 ance — and luckily, where we are now, every thing comes in 
 play. 
 
 So does dancing, for instance. 
 
 Some Catholic ladies, the gayest people in town, had sought 
 an introduction to Mary ; she was separated from Alban ; her 
 spirit rose ; her beauty told upon the male portion of the com- 
 pany ; her modest garb inspired, respect, for men are quick in 
 observing those things ; and she herself determined to carry off 
 her position bravely. By the time the quadrille was formed, she 
 had more engagements on her tablets than the evening would 
 have sufficed to fulfil. Alban's name was first. Mary laughed 
 as they took their places. 
 
 " Dancing was a religious exercise among the Hebrews ; you, 
 I take for granted, mean to practise it with devotion." 
 
 " Hang the Hebrews," thought he — " Miss Seixas is opposite 
 us, by the by." 
 
 " And who is her partner ? How very distinguished he is I" 
 
 " By his decoration and yellow mustaches, the German 
 Count, of whom they spoke to me." 
 
 " How incongruous for a Christian knight — all starred and 
 crossed, and red-ribboned — to be dancing with a Jewess 1 She 
 and I ought to change partners, by rights." 
 
 It soon appeared, moreover, that the Count danced better than 
 any body ; it made him more distinguished, even for a count. It 
 was beautiful to see him — now Avith his partner, now A\itli 
 his vis-a-vis. Miriam's grand and plastic style has been 
 described ; and a quadrille in those days admitted, though it 
 
316 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 did not require, the display of it. Mary De Groot — a girl 
 all over — danced as she sang, with faultless accuracy, which was 
 made beautiful by her gay manner, just checked by modesty, 
 bearing her head with a rose-like grace, and her arras, like 
 wreathed lilies, over or beside her silver drapery. The Count, 
 attending to all her movements with foreign gravity, appreciated 
 her finely. S-he praised, to her partner, his thorough-bred 
 respect, so natural and seemingly spontaneous — so unlike the un- 
 tutored freedom which passed for ease with the native beaux. 
 They exchanged courteous French phrases as they touched their 
 gloved fingers. Alban, on his part, flirted as much as he could 
 with Miss Seixas, who gave him every encouragement. 
 
 " He is just the proper person for you," said he to Mary, lead- 
 ing her into the conservatory to rest. " You know he is of your 
 religion." 
 
 " Which is indispensable," she replied. 
 •* Well, 1 think it ought to be in every case." 
 *' You of course will make up to Miss Seixas." 
 " She is indeed charming," replied Alban. 
 " Oh, what a pretty waltz I" 
 
 The Count waltzed with the daughter of the house, the fair 
 Henrietta, and Alban, who had never seen waltzing before, looked 
 on, shocked but fascinated. Henrietta's dress was a novelty — 
 white tulle, countless folds confined apparently by a silver gir- 
 dle, over a rich white silk, and looped up with flowers. It flew 
 behind her like a white cloud. Then the Count took out Miss 
 Seixas. This was less objectionable from the magic of art. Miri- 
 am's slippers had no tie, nor even a heel — the fashion of Spain ; 
 it was wonderful how she kept them on by the mere muscular 
 action, her feet twinkling like moonbeams on M^aves, Her rich 
 skirts did not fly like Henrietta's gossamer attire. Waltzer after 
 waltzer joined the circling pairs, like birds rising from a copse. 
 Alban looked round for Miss De Groot, but she was gone. He ob- 
 served with a pang that Miriam accepted every invitation, and 
 after watching her for some time with strangely blended feelings, 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 317 
 
 upon Van Brugh's taking her out, he turned away and went in 
 search of Mary. She was in a corner of one of the rooms, with 
 the Count ; Henrietta was retiring from them and looking 
 back. 
 
 " I do not wahz, sir." 
 
 " You waltz not, mademoiselle ? Alors, il faut commencer . 
 But Miss Clinton assures me that you waltz extremely well." 
 
 *' I have not waltzed since I left school, monsieur." 
 
 " C'est a dire — a week ago, jmadenioiselle, These are quite 
 ideas de pensioii, I assure you." 
 
 He plead with so much grace and good humor that it seemed 
 ridiculous to refuse him. Miss De Groot laughed. He even inti- 
 mated that nothing could show off that charming classic style of 
 costume hut the attitude and movement of the waltz. He man- 
 aged her as a gentle knight does a spirited but timid filly. 
 
 " I know some of the devoutest young ladies in Vienna who 
 scruple not to waltz. There is Madame Washington Lynch 
 waltzes, and she is a very good Catholic. I have waltzed with 
 her myself, to-night, and she spoke of you in raptures. It is not 
 a sin, I assure you, mademoiselle. You err to be so strict. At 
 least suffer me to lead you back to the salle where they are dan- 
 cing, and which your absence deprives of so great an ornament." 
 
 She took his arm and moved forward slowly, as if ashamed to 
 persist in her refusal. Alban was so near as she passed that he 
 could see the lace round her neck rise and fall. The hand which 
 was free stole up to a spot where, doubtless, some memento was 
 hidden. People made way for the Count ; Alban followed ; they 
 got within the circle in the dancing-room ; the waltzers swam 
 round. Miss De Groot stood by the Count, with her hand on his 
 arm, and in front of Alban, who, indeed, could not extricate him- 
 self from the position. In such a crowd, moreover, he did not feel 
 himsL4f a listener. Mary's eyes were steadily bent on the floor. 
 
 " I prevent your dancing, M. le Comte." 
 
 " Ah, one turn with you, mademoiselle, and I vow to you that 
 I will waltz no more this evening." 
 
 27* 
 
318 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 *' I certainly shall not waltz, monsieur, and if yon please, I 
 will not trust myself to look at the waltzing. I know, sir, that 
 neither is a sin, but I have been advised that it is difficult to do 
 either without sinning." She turned and perceived Alban, whose 
 arm she almost instinctively took, relinquishing the Count's. 
 
 " Ah, I see that you are formed to be a saint, mademoiselle," 
 said the latter. " I will not urge you farther against your holy 
 resolutions. More late in the evening I hope to have the honor 
 of your hand in the quadrille. Priez j^our moi,'' he added, bow- 
 ing and smiling. But in a minute he was again among the 
 waltzers. 
 
 It was with Miriam. Alban could not help trying to per- 
 suade Miss De Groot to look at this pair : the action of Miriam's 
 feet was so beautiful. The room was now so crowded, especially 
 about the doors, that it was nearly impossible to stir from the spot 
 where they were ; it was somewhat difficult to keep from crowd- 
 ing in upon the dancers, and sometimes Mary, who persisted in 
 not looking up, was pushed against her companion, by some 
 sweeping couple. Alban was offended at this strictness, particu- 
 larly that she would not look at the graceful Miriam. Not that 
 he wanted Mary to waltz — far from it : he hardly knew what he 
 wanted. Henrietta was now waltzing with Van Brugh, and her 
 drapery brushed them as she went by. 
 
 " I must get into the other room, Mr. Alban : can't you man- 
 age it ?" 
 
 They ran across the waltzers. Alban penetrated resolutely 
 the opposite mass towards the front drawing-room. He was 
 obHged to put his arm fairly round Mary, which caused another 
 of her perpetual blushes. At length they got through the folding 
 doors, and found fresher air and iced punches circulating, while 
 Mrs. Seixas was the object of attraction. She sat indolently on a 
 divan — dark, but clear as amber, superbly embonpoint, and 
 blazing with jewels like an Orient queen, or one of the diamond 
 images of King Zeyn. Altogether these Jewesses outshone all the 
 other women present. Yet some how a feeling had been awaken- 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 319 
 
 ed in Alban's heart, an idea (though repelled) had been presented 
 to his mind, which made all the splendors of the world and se- 
 ductions of sense seem dim and weak. In the midst of this scene 
 so opposed to the cross in every shape, he had experienced one of 
 those moments when Truth sends a piercing ray into the soul, and 
 discovers to it the vanity of all earthly things, Was he the youth 
 who that very day had dreamed of a flight to Syria with Miriam 
 Seixas, and a passionate retirement with her in the desert or the 
 mountains of that clime of the sun, preparatory to a fierce career 
 of battle and empire. 
 
 At supper these sublime fancies received another shock. 
 While our Mahomet M^as oflering his Ayesha some oysters (which 
 she of course refused) a careless youth ran against him, and made 
 him spill some of the liquid on her dress. The individual who 
 had caused this misfortune turned to apologize, and, in so doing, let 
 nearly a plateful of the same mixture run over Mary De Groot's 
 pink and silver skirt. 
 
 " Oh, my pretty dress," exclaimed she, in consternation, hastily 
 wiping it with her handkerchief — " How provoking I I declare, 
 Mr. Lynch, you deserve not to be invited to another dancing party 
 this winter." — But she caught Alban's eye, and laughed, — " I 
 will make him pay me for it, and put the money in the poor- 
 box." 
 
 Miriam said not a word except to assure Mr. Atherton that it 
 was of no earthly consequence, but she answered young Lynch's 
 frightened apology with one look of her expressive Oriental face — 
 a glance of her long Jewish eye — fit to have conveyed the tragic 
 wrath of a Norma. 
 
 Mary De Groot would retire after supper with her parents, in 
 spite of all remonstrances, although Alban offered to take her 
 home, and her father rather encouraged the idea. In vain Hen- 
 rietta called her a spoil-sport. The young lady v/as resolute, 
 although very far from the appearance of moroscness. The 
 brightness of her cheek, the sparkle of her eye, and beauty of her 
 smile, rather indicated that the emotional nature was in a state of 
 
320 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 effervescence. If the various incidents of the evening had affect- 
 ed her slightly one by one, the repetition had at length awakened 
 all her sensibility. But the voice of the spirit was clearly audible 
 amid all the tumult of the world and the flesh. She was not 
 forced to obey it, but she did without hesitation, humiliated by the 
 temptation — the love of pleasure and excitement which she ex- 
 perienced — but innocent of even exposing herself to it longer than 
 she could avoid. It was a great merit in one so young and so at- 
 tractive, who could not but feel herself formed to be the ornament 
 of society. She would have persuaded Alban to come away too, 
 but he said it would not do for him — a young man and all that. 
 
 Returning to the ball, after handing Mary into her father's 
 carriage, he was caught in passing the supper-room by Van Brugh, 
 and compelled to come in and drink some more champagne. 
 Many other young men were lingering to eat partridges and toss 
 off champagne after their manner. Van Brugh assured him that 
 this wine was like so much water, which our hero, being unused 
 to it, partly believed. It was a gay party which sprang upstairs, 
 and encountered the Seixases also going away. Miss Clinton was 
 teasing Miriam to stay. 
 
 " This must be put a stop to, Atherton," cried Livingston. 
 
 Miss Seixas turned a deaf ear to Van Brugh's representations, 
 and listened to Miss Clinton's entreaties with an unmoved smile, 
 but when Alban chimed in, begging to dance with her, which he 
 had not been able to do all the evening, and offering to attend her 
 home, after a yielding glance at her brother, who offered no oppo- 
 sition to an arrangement then sufficiently common, she suffered 
 herself to be led triumphantly back to the dancing- room. They 
 w^ere waltzing ; Alban had never waltzed in his life, but wine 
 gave him courage for any thing, and having learned to dance at 
 an eavlv age, before he was sent to that pious place, Babylon, he 
 caught the step from Miss Seixas directly. However, one does 
 not learn any thing perfectly at once. Mary De Groot had ex- 
 pressed a doubt of the possibility of waltzing without sin, that is, 
 as it seemed to him, without treading on his partner's toes : for 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 321 
 
 the agreeable sensations which he experienced in being taught by 
 Miss Seixas, surely there was no sin in those. She bore his 
 bhmders with an ahiiost Christian patience, and only laughed 
 very much when once obliged to stop to recover her slipper. 
 
 Henrietta next offered herself to complete his education, and 
 the difficulty of waltzing without sin was now very great, unless 
 Albau had closed his eyes. Besides her extreme of fashionable 
 undress, which had shocked our hero at the commencement of the 
 evening, and was perilous indeed for her partner, Henrietta had 
 adopted since supper a novel and spirited style of managing her 
 drapery, instead of letting it stream cloud-like behind her, by 
 taking it up on one side in a mass, and throwing the full skirts, 
 fine as cobweb and white as spray, over her arm. AVhat with 
 the glancing arm buried in those innumerable folds of semi-trans- 
 parent tissue, and the silver gleam of the under dress, it was 
 irresistibly charming, and our poor Alban's bosom was soon all in 
 a light blaze of concupiscence. 
 
 As the ships which approached the mountain of loadstone in 
 the Arabian Tales had all the iron drawn out of them by the 
 mighty magnet, and went to pieces, so it is with the souls which 
 near this fatal coast. It is strewn with wrecks. Moreover, from 
 the combined influence of the wine and the waltz, our hero's 
 head began to swim, and his fine judgment to become not a little 
 obscured. To vary our comparisons, he had arrived, unawares, 
 in that region of inward illumination, where the moral sense is 
 eclipsed, and man walks in the twilight, or rather the penumbra, 
 of the irrational natures. In plain English, Alban was partly 
 tipsy. Fortunately for him, habit is still a guide where reason 
 ceases to be a light. Physically, Alban could no longer direct 
 his steps — he made strange gyrations in dancing, and addressed 
 his partner so strange observations, exemplifying the in vino veri- 
 tatcm, that Henrietta, for her own sake as well as for his, was 
 glad to get him away from the company. Alban had began to 
 talk about her school-days, evincing a knowledge more than he 
 was fairly in possession of when in his sober senses, but which 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 frightened her sufficiently. He was giving her maudlin good 
 advice, and finally (fur how far the unprincipled school-girl lived on 
 in the dashing belle, or what startled Alban into a sense of his 
 humiliating slate, our story requires not to be said) he broke from 
 her with a stern rebuke, such as perhaps only a Puritan, born and 
 bred, would have had the heart to iiitlict upon a woman, whose 
 fault, such as it M'as, he had shared. In truth, pride went for some- 
 thing m our hero's conduct ; but the main thing was the fear of 
 hell ; for he had fallen so far, at least in his own estimate, that it 
 seemed to him scarcely an additional humihation to fall further, 
 perhaps even less. But come what would — seem craven and 
 spiritless as he might — he resolved to flee. 
 
 The ball-room was still full of light-hearted dancers ; the 
 Count was indefatigably waltzing ; Miriam stood near a window 
 listening, with a vacant air, to the compliments of Van Brugh. 
 Alban approached, pale, but with a sparkling eye. 
 
 " One more waltz, beautiful Miriam." 
 
 " Spare my tip-toes," she answered, instantly breaking into a 
 smile, and laying her hand on his shoulder. But he whirled her 
 round the room without missing a step. 
 
 " Since you have really learned to waltz now, Mr. Atherton, 
 suppose that we go home." 
 
 The distance that Alban and Miss Seixas had to accomplish 
 was considerable, being nearly the whole length of Broadway. 
 It was at about half-past two when the coach sluggishly stopped 
 in State-street. Mr. Seixas himself came to the door to admit 
 his sister, but instead of getting out, Miriam called to him from 
 the coach window. He came down the old marble steps. 
 
 "Mr. Atherton has swooned in the carriage, my brother. We 
 were obliged to stop to recover him, but he is not yet conscious." 
 
 Alban lay in the bottom of the carriage, with his head resting 
 against the cushions. 
 
 " Why did you not take him home, Miriam ?" 
 
 *' I knew not where that might be." 
 This is the home of his childhood," said her brother, after 
 
AL B AN. 
 
 323 
 
 some meditation, " we cannot deny him its hospitality. " You 
 are strong, Miriam. Help me lift the boy out of the car- 
 riage." 
 
 Alban was soon laid upon the divan of the apartment where 
 we first saw the Hebrew brother and sister. The scene was re- 
 markable even for a metropolis which is. the resort of all nations. 
 Seixas was attired in an Oriental robe of scarlet and sables, having 
 loose hanging sleeves. A high cap, in the same style, crowned 
 his thick black curls. The jetty beard vv^hich fringed his colorless, 
 peculiar visage, completed the ideal of his race. He regarded 
 with a look tranquil as marble that pale face of the youth, on 
 which an impassioned expression still lingered. The attitude and 
 garb of Miriam, who, drawn up to her utmost height, looked down, 
 upon the insensible Alban with a strange regard, were not less 
 striking than her brother's. The robe which Miriam had worn at 
 the ball was of Eastern stuff, gold on a ground of blue, fitting 
 closely to her flexible shape, but leaving bare the arms and supe- 
 rior portion of the fine amber bust, where it had a border of gems. 
 Her waist tapered so exactly, her bosom swelled in such harmoni- 
 ous full waves, beneath this vesture, that nothing could be more 
 admirable in female beauty. She lifted the skirt carelessly over 
 one knee, the foot resting with graceful boldness on the yellow 
 satin cushion of the divan where Alban lay, showing, what a deep 
 slit up the side often exposed, an under-skirt or petticoat of cherry 
 satin finely worked in silver. The barbaric splendor of this dress 
 was relieved by the perfect simplicity of her black hair with its 
 Spanish plait, and by the light effect of a veil of white lace which 
 hung from her comb, and floated like a mist around her. An 
 enormous taper of yellow wax burning on a lofty candelabrum of 
 rosso, shed a soft hght on this fine group. 
 
 " Was this sudden ?" inquired Seixas. 
 
 " He had been saying to me beautiful but impossible things," 
 answered Miriam, without taking her eyes off from Alban. " All 
 at once he laid his hand on his heart, and went off thus." 
 
 " Were they ardent things, Miriam ?" asked her brother. 
 
324 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 " It raay be. I never heard such before," replied the maiden, 
 with haughty tranquillity. 
 
 " Were the lad s actions as strange to thee, Miriam, as his 
 words?" continued Seixas, with a sudden flash of the eye, and 
 turning towards her his astute Jewish countenance. " A freedom 
 passes for naught with the colder females of this land, which a 
 Spanish woman would resent as a deadly insult." 
 
 " Thyself, Manuel," replied his sister, rather slowly, but with 
 her eyes still bent down on Athert.on's form, " could'st not respect 
 me more scrupulously, in the days of my separation, than this 
 young Gentile to-night." 
 
 " A swoon from wine and emotional excitement is sometimes 
 dangerous," said Manuel, meditatively. He stooped down and felt 
 Alban's pulse, still looking fixedly in his face with those gleaming 
 eyes. " Remain with the boy, Miriam, while I seek a remedy 
 which may rouse him." 
 
 The countenance of the young Jewess underwent an instanta- 
 neous change when her brother had disappeared. She advanced 
 a step and slipped down at the same time in a careless Eastern 
 way, on the edge of the low divan. She took Atherton's hand 
 into her lap ; her soft, peculiar face, bent down to gaze on his, 
 assumed an expression indescribably passionate. She remained 
 thus, without motion almost, until her brother's step resounded 
 again in the next apartment, when after a momentary sidelong 
 glance of her eloquent eye, she bent down still further and im- 
 printed a kiss on the youth's pallid lips. For a moment it seemed 
 that she would fling herself upon his bosom, but when Manuel 
 again drew aside the curtain between the rooms, Miriam had 
 already resumed the position in which he had left her, and only 
 the long swell of her respiration lifting the gold-wrought silk of 
 her robe higher and more frequently than before, betrayed her 
 recent passion. 
 
 Go you, Miriam, — for 'tis not worth the pains of calling 
 servants — and dispose the apartment over this to receive the 
 young Atherton. He was born in it, I have heard him say, as 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 325 
 
 were two ^fenerations of his maternal ancestors, merchants and 
 exiles like ourselves." 
 
 " That chamber is next mine own, thou knowest," said the 
 maiden, reservedly. 
 
 " There is no other where he can fitly be placed. Lock the 
 door between thy chamber and his, if such a lad inspires thee with 
 fear. Thou wilt do that at all events." 
 
 " Nay," said Miriam, " I shall do so, of course, though not from 
 fear of him. But do thou take the key." 
 
 " If thy purity or my trust in thee needed such a precaution," 
 replied Manuel, " neither were worth preserving, I might doubt 
 him for a moment, for he is but a Christian after all ; but my sis- 
 ter is above the very name of suspicion." 
 
 28 
 
326 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 At about eleven o'clock, on Friday morning, our hero awoke and 
 heard Trinity bells tolling. At first he supposed it was St. John's, 
 thinking himself in Grey-street, till puzzled by the room and fur- 
 niture, he sprang out of bed and ran to the window. The Bat- 
 tery, white with new-fallen snow — the wintry bay, and the tide 
 dashing against the old sea-forts — the scene familiar to his child- 
 hood — told him where he was ; and then he looked around and 
 recognized the roorn which, in childhood, had been his. It all 
 flashed on him — how he had drunk too much wine at a party, 
 had unpardonably insulted one young lady, and betrayed to 
 another the most ridiculous vanity conceivable. He divined that 
 the Seixases had too well learned his condition, and had taken 
 him in from pity ; for his memory w^as here at fault. He could 
 recall nothing later than a violent spasm at the heart, as he was 
 talking in a most absurd way to Miriam Seixas, in the carriage. 
 Hurrying to the glass, he perceived a pale, haggard face. Inter- 
 nally he felt an utter sickness and hoUowness, a sense of misery 
 and remorse. Glancing around the room, he perceived his clothes 
 laid in order, with fresh linen, slippers, a chamber-robe, and a 
 shower-bath, with its curtains open. He bathed and dressed as 
 expeditiously as possible, hoping to escape from the house without 
 notice. 
 
 "While Alban w^as dressing, he adopted (as is usual on such 
 occasions) several resolutions. First, he would write to ]Miss 
 Clinton, retracting his unwarrantable observations, and imploring 
 her forgiveness ; although, indeed, it was manifest that he had 
 said nothing but what was true. Then he must see Miriam, (he 
 would rather enter the cage of a lioness,) and beg her to forget his 
 .folly — at least, not to mention it. And he must certainly tell the 
 whole story, so far as it was proper to be told, to Mary De Groot. 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 327 
 
 He had implicated her (fool that he was) with Miss Clinton ; and 
 besides, it was due to her that she should know his weakness — so 
 true a friend as she was I Otherwise, he should feel like a thief. 
 But what should he say to his father and mother, in explanation 
 of his staying out all night? After involuntarily imagining fifty 
 false statements, he adhered to the resolution of telling the exact 
 truth. Perhaps Seixas had already told his father, and would not 
 Henrietta avenge herself by telling every body that Mr. Atherton 
 got tipsy at supper ? Had Miriam made herself merry that morn- 
 ing, with her sister-in-law, at his expense ? Would it be all over 
 town ? Poor young man I 
 
 Recalling some of his impulses, and some points of his con- 
 duct, more exactly, he felt thankful for having been preserved, at 
 any cost, from such sin as he had never learned to contemplate 
 without horror. We have not dared, and certainly not wished, to 
 paint Alban's temptation and Henrietta's want of virtue. He 
 was sensible of little else but the degradation of having yielded 
 at all, though no one but himself and God knew how far. Still 
 their hearts had met in that polluting sympathy, and who 
 could tell when the bond would be severed, or into what closer 
 fellowship of sin — opportunity favoring — it might yet unite them ? 
 He resolved, on his knees, and with tears, never to see her again 
 if he could help it. So he finished dressing and went down, 
 hoping to make his exit unobserved, and meaning to repair to 
 Delmonico's for breakfast. 
 
 He was met at the foot of the stairs by Miss Seixas's personal 
 attendant, who invited him with a sweet tone of arch respect into 
 a room overlooking the Bay, and adorned with innumerable fine 
 engravings, where a fire glowed cheerfully, and a table was spread. 
 Tea, cofiee, and cocoa were proffered him by the sprightly Rebecca, 
 and a dumb waiter, at her touch, brought up every other luxury 
 of a Knickerbocker breakfast — except ham and eggs. A beauti- 
 ful bouquet lay beside his plate, and a note. The last was as 
 follows : — 
 
328 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 Dear Atherton, — To save your mother's anxiety I dis- 
 patched a line to Grey-street this morning, to say that you had 
 kindly attended Miriam home last night at my request, and that 
 on account of the lateness of the hour I had kept you, I added, 
 that unless you had been sound asleep after so much dissipation, 
 you would doubtless send your love. If I were you, I would not 
 mention having been ill, as it might excite groundless apprehen- 
 sions in regard to your health ; and I really think that your sin- 
 gular seizure was entirely owing to your stomach being disordered 
 by that confounded bad champagne of Clinton's, which I have no 
 doubt was made in New Jersey. 
 
 " Faithfully yours, 
 
 " Seixas." 
 
 The perusal of this note relieved our hero's mind considerably, 
 and when a cup of coffee had dissipated his remaining headache, 
 he was able to do his breakfast justice. He inquired cheerfully 
 for the ladies, and learned from his dark-eyed, intelligent attend- 
 ant, that Mrs. Seixas had not yet risen — a fresh consolation, 
 although it confirmed an opinion he already entertained of her 
 indolence — ^but that her more youthful mistress had been up a 
 couple of hours, and that it was she who had selected the bouquet 
 for Mr. Atherton from the conservatory, as soon as she knew that 
 he was stirring. 
 
 Fascinating and reviving attentions I Alban admired the fra- 
 grance and happy combination of roses and myrtle in the bouquet, 
 and asked if he could see Miss Seixas, not doubting, though some- 
 what fearing, to receive an affirmative reply. But Rebecca, with 
 a smile and arch toss responded, that at that early hour he could 
 not expect a young lady to be presentable. Not that he must 
 infer, continued she, quite in the style of an Abigail in Gil Bias, 
 that her mistress was one of those fine ladies who in the morning, 
 before being dressed for company, appear in a dirty and crumpled 
 loose gown, and untidy hair, or flit from room to room in petticoat 
 and stays, and stockings down to the heel, (the young Spanish 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 329 
 
 Jewess was evidently describing something very common ;) — no, 
 it was only the perfect modesty and dignity of Donna Miriam that 
 would prevent her receiving a young cavalier like Senor Atherton, 
 in a wrapper, though white as snow. Alban let her run on, but 
 when he had finished his last cup of tea, slipped into her hand, 
 quite appropriately, a Spanish pillared dollar, and begged her to 
 procure him a moment's interview with her young lady before he 
 quitted the house. 
 
 " Why, you see, senor," replied Rebecca, dubiously, " what 
 you ask is hard and easy. No one need know it if you spend an 
 hour or two with Donna Miriam, for the Senora Seixas is asleep 
 at this moment, and Moses has gone on an errand for my master 
 to the upper part of the city, whence he will not return, I know, 
 before three o'clock ; and there is nobody else in the house but the 
 old black cook, who is so fat that she can't get upstairs, and An- 
 tonia, the Christian maid-servant, (for we must have one for the Sab- 
 bath, senor,). and she never by any possibility comes into this part 
 of the house unless she is called to bring wood or water, or a fresh 
 scuttle of this nasty coal ; and I need not tell you, Senor Atherton, 
 who were born in the house, that Antonia has her back-stairs. But 
 all these favorable circumstances, of which another would take 
 advantage, are just what will prevent my young lady from ac- 
 ceding to your request." 
 
 " Well, well, Rebecca : enough said," interrupted Alban im- 
 patiently ; " you can but deliver my message to your m^istress. Say 
 that I beg her to see me for a few minutes ; for I have — yes, I have 
 an important favor to ask." 
 
 E-ebecca retired with a shake of the head, which rather inti- 
 mated her sense that no good would come of it, than any fore- 
 boding of the hopelessness of her errand. She was absent so long 
 that Alban was beginning to despair, although, by a conamon con- 
 tradiction, he was not sure whether he wished his request to be 
 granted or not, when at last she returned with a grave, flushed 
 face, and with an air of mystery bade him follow her. She led the 
 way into the back drawing-room, which Alban had not entered 
 
 28* 
 
330 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 since he had renewed his acquaintance with his childhood's home 
 as the dwelling- of these foreig-n Jews. 
 
 Rebecca closed and locked the white folding-doors between the 
 two drawing-rooms, and let down the curtain already described, 
 the solemn folds of which on that side were of dark purple, making 
 an effective contrast with the old-fashioned white pillars and 
 architrave of the doorway in which it hung. The walls of the 
 room were adorned with Hebrew inscriptions in gold and color ; 
 the seats and furniture M'ere of carved ebony, with draperies of 
 purple velvet ; and the means for lighting it at night consisted 
 of silver lamps, ranged on tall stands or candelabra of ebony, and 
 of antique silver branches on the mantel. A fire of hickory wood, 
 laid on curious silver andirons, blazed in the chimney as in the 
 time of Alban's mother. At one end of the room stood a harp, 
 and near the fire a table whereon lay a casket of ebony mounted 
 with silver. Rebecca turned the key in a door at the lower ex- 
 tremity of the room, which conducted, as Alban remembered, into 
 the back hall and servants' stair. She also drew the window-cur- 
 tains in such a manner that no one could see into the room from 
 the garden. Alban wondered that the girl was so long, and why 
 she took these precautions ; but she approached him again before 
 going to summon her mistress. 
 
 " Senor Atherton," she said, "my young lady is about to see 
 you alone, although I begged her to let me be present at such a 
 distance that you might say what you liked to each other without 
 my overhearing it. Now it is very plain to me, of course, what 
 this means, as well as her solicitude about your breakfast, and the 
 pretty message conveyed in those flowers, which I understand as 
 well as she, (and I hope you will take care my master does not 
 see that bouquet.) She loves you, seiior, as you doubtless know 
 well enough ; and it can't turn to good, for although she says that 
 you believe our holy law, and worship only the God of Abraham, 
 it makes no difference, since you are not of her race, and she is 
 betrothed since she was twelve years old to her cousin Josef Ah, 
 senor, my mistress is not yet eighteen : she is as simple-hearted as 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 331 
 
 a child, with all her lofty manners, and though she is loyalty 
 itself, and chaste as the daup-hter of Jephtha, the blood which 
 flows in her veins is not like that of your northern damsels ; you 
 must not treat her as you would one of them. You have one of 
 those calm glances, Sefior Atherton, which show self-command ; 
 think, then, for her as well as yourself, and do not by words, still 
 less by caresses, to which, however innocent you may think ihem, 
 she is wholly unaccustomed, awaken the sensibility of my mistress, 
 which the more it has hitherto lain dormant, the more violent and 
 uncontrollable will it be when it is roused." 
 
 The manner of the young Jewess was animated in the ex- 
 treme, and her language tinged with a Southern poetry from the 
 earnestness of her feelings. Alban was naturally much embar- 
 rassed for a reply, and before he had time to frame one, the quick 
 ear of the maiden caught the step of her mistress on the stair, 
 and she darted away with an appealing look. Miriam's voice 
 was heard without in a tone of impatient reproof, and the maid 
 submissively answering. The young lady rejoined more softly, 
 and immediately entered. Rebecca closed the door, but before 
 doing so, looked in again and made Atherton a quick gesture of 
 warning. 
 
 The first address of Miriam was always characterized by a 
 lowly bending modesty. On this occasion she approached with a 
 look of peculiar submission almost amounting to fear, and curt- 
 seyed to him without raising her eyes from the ground. The 
 usual richness of her habits was wanting also, her attire being a 
 fine white wrapper, such as R.ebecca had described, to which she 
 had only added a Spani.sh veil or mantilla of black lace, placed 
 with care over her head, and which she gathered around her as 
 if to hide the hght robe beneath. Her black hair, which never 
 was glossier, took a gleam from the fire, and her eyes, when she 
 raised them for a moment, darted a strange soft light which might 
 be partly from the same source. Alban had never felt her pres- 
 ence so softening, and this manner, united to what Rebecca had 
 said, disconcerted the apology he had intended to make, and left 
 
332 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 him in a perfect perplexity how to address her. He thought of 
 the bouquet which he held in his hand. The flowers, doubtless, 
 did speak a language. 
 
 *' I wished to thank you for this," said he, somewhat coldl)% 
 perhaps. " It is a kind answer to my last night's presump- 
 tion." 
 
 " I thought not of seeing you when I sent it, Senor Alban." 
 
 She slightly turned from him, and bending her head, seemed 
 to struggle with a feeling which he could in no wise interpret ; 
 then she advanced with a quick movement to the table, and 
 opened the ebon casket with a key which she held concealed in 
 her hand. It was filled with cases of red silk, containing a most 
 surprising quantity of jewels. She drew out the glittering con- 
 tents, and spread them on the table before Alban's wondering 
 eyes. They were apparently the ornaments of an Eastern lady^ 
 and of enormous value, — bracelets and necklaces of emerald and 
 turquoise ; great strings of pearls ; a girdle composed entirely of 
 brilliants ; a Turkish dagger hilted with rubies ; ear-rings, ank- 
 lets, slippers, and velvet caps for the head that were alike abso- 
 lutely one mass of diamonds. 
 
 " Take these," said Miriam, extending her hand to him with 
 an inexpressible air of sweetness and humility, "and go raise the 
 standard of Israel on the land of our inheritance, if perhaps God 
 will deliver us by the hand of a believing Gentile, in whom must 
 flow, I cannot but think, unknown to himself, the blood of our 
 sacred tribe. I have loved thee unawares. That I can no 
 longer help," she continued, laying her hand on her heart, " but 
 my faith, thou knowest, is plighted to another, and I must keep 
 it. A holy enterprise cannot begin with an act of treason. Take 
 these, then, and go ; it is all Miriam can give thee, though she 
 would willingly have given all." 
 
 He was thunderstruck. 
 
 " Except thou fly with me, Miriam," he exclaimed, adopting 
 her own tone, while he involuntarily drew near to take her hand, 
 " this is impossible." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 333 
 
 She drew back a step or two, with haste, and made a repel- 
 lant gesture, as if to warn him not to touch her. 
 
 " It is all mine," she said ; — " the portion of my Smyrniote 
 mother. 'Tis a poor restitution for the heart which I owe thee 
 and the person which is not mine to bestow. I shall be deeply 
 grieved — inconsolably — if thou refuse it at my hands. What if 
 thou fail in thy daring enterprise I Have I not thought of that ? 
 It will still be a thing to remember for ever, that, after ages of 
 contempt, the sword was drawn again for Judah." 
 
 The more enthusiasm the young Jewess displayed, the more 
 Alban's embarrassment increased. To her the whole was real ; 
 to him it had been but a dream — a wild revery of imaginative 
 ambition. He was not, and never could be, a Jew. Why, in his 
 moments of greatest estrangement from Christianity ill-understood, 
 the cold reasonings by "which Seixas had concluded against even 
 the possibility of a Divine Messiah, had deeply offended him. 
 Alban's heart was never really divorced from Christ, and he felt 
 that truth, now when a Jewess of Avhom he was deeply 
 enamored, M'hose benevolence he had witnessed, and whose present 
 generosity, as well as the sincerity of her virtue, excited his admi- 
 ration, offered him an immense treasure to take arms against 
 nothing else in reality but that name of sweetness and benedic- 
 tion. Never I 
 
 It was a delicate ground to break, to let Miriam know that she 
 was deceived in regarding him as a young proselyte of the gate. 
 She faltered and changed color at the most cautious statement he 
 could frame to insinuate the error into which she had been led in 
 this particular. 
 
 " I am not ashamed of my faith in Moses and the Prophets," 
 said he. " I still believe a perfect unity in God, and freedom in 
 man, in spite of his weakness, Miriam, I believe that our justice 
 must be in truly fulfilling the Divine Law. But I believe also 
 that grace has descended from the Most High to implant this 
 justice in our souls. I believe that a Jewess like thee, a virgin 
 like thee, and bearing thy very name, blossoming like Aaron's 
 
334 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 rod, conceived and bore the Hope of Jew and Gentile alike — the 
 Jehovah whom thou adorest." 
 
 Alban pronounced the sacred name in a manner known only 
 to the JcAvs, and in which it is uttered by them only on certaia 
 rare occasions of awful solemnity, and Miriam who had been 
 listening in a startled attitude, threw herself hastily upon her 
 knees and bowed her head to the carpet at his feet. 
 
 "Yes, w^orship Him, Miriam," continued Alban, with emotion, 
 " the Notzry whom thy lathers in their ignorance slew, but thy 
 God and theirs." 
 
 " It was not that I intended, thou knowest," replied Miriam, 
 rising with agitation. " But be brief, Mr. Atherton. I compre- 
 hend now that you are still a Christian, but of which of the num- 
 berless sects of Christianity ? or will you found a new one ?" she 
 demanded sarcastically, and haughtily averting her face. Alban's 
 reply was prob;ibly not unexpected, for her expression in listening 
 to it altered only by being rapidly heightened into violence. 
 
 " The God of Israel has never wanted a people, Miriam. Yes, 
 beautiful but unbelieving one, thy race is not more widely dif- 
 fused by its exile, than the Catholic Church by its conquests." 
 
 "It is then a woman whom you will adore I I thought so," 
 cried Miriam, in a bitterly scornful tone. " Is it not in the dark 
 eyes of one that you have read the pl'oofs of your new faith ! 
 How easily I discern your falsehood I" She drew herself up to 
 her full height. " Gracious Heaven," she exclaimed, " why do I 
 not repay this man's treachery as in my country the females of 
 his own religion would I" 
 
 In her sudden jealousy and sense of slighted love, Miriam 
 forgot every thing else. Her forehead grew purple with the dark 
 blue veins that started up upon it. It seemed that her passion 
 would stifle her. She caught up the Turkish dagger from the 
 table, and raised it with a motion quicker than thought. The 
 armed hand descended with such celerity and force, that, though 
 Alban caught her wrist, he could not so far divert the blow but 
 that the edge of the weapon divided her fine robe, and the point 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 335 
 
 grazed her "breast. He wrested the dag^rer from her relaxing 
 fingers and held her in his arms. She looked at him wildly. 
 
 " Tell me," she said, hardly able to speak from panting, " why 
 did yon make me think you loved a Jewess, and extort from my 
 bosom a secret of which else I had mysidf been unconscious ? 
 And now I stand before you a woman — a maiden — whom you 
 love not, but who has humbled herself to say that she loves 
 you I" 
 
 " I do love you I" said Alban, with fondness, though shocked. 
 Be a Christian, Miriam, not adoring, but venerating the blessed 
 Mary, your namesake, and worshipping her Son, the King of 
 Israel, as you did just now in outward act, and I will joyfully 
 take you away, with the treasures you would so generously have 
 bestowed upon me. But overcome this wild emotion, proper to 
 guilt and shame, not to virtue and honor hke yours." 
 
 " Ah, thou mockest me, Alban. Yet thanks for holding back 
 my wicked hand. God of my fathers, what would I have done I 
 But release me ;" — with a peculiar expression, struggling with that 
 of pride and anguish — " see, I bleed ; release me." 
 
 The dagger had barely grazed the skin, but the blood trickled 
 fast from the scratch, and Miriam stanched it with her hand- 
 kerchief, heedless of Alban's eyes. Her look was of complete 
 abandonment and desolation. Like most women of her half 
 Oriental education, although sumptuous in the adornment of her 
 person, she owed nothing of its shape to art. Miriam wore the 
 black silk petticoat and chemise of Spanish Central America, 
 the latter surrounded in the neck with rich yellow lace, with- 
 in which swelled the untortured bust " like two young roes 
 that are twins, which feed among the lilies," to use the compari- 
 son of Holy Writ. What lover could behold, mimoved, his mis- 
 tress thus despairing, with her own hand unveil her chaste 
 bosom ? Pity, delicacy, gratitude, a generous desire to heal the 
 wounds of her pride, (the same feelings which had carried on our 
 hero further with Mary De Groot in live minutes, than in months 
 of an intimacy full of interest,) blended now with a kind of 
 
336 
 
 AL B AN. 
 
 sentiment which Mary had never inspired ; and, truth to say, the 
 wisest and strongest have seldom come off conquerors in this 
 strife. 
 
 " Hearken to me, IVfiriam," he said, in tones very different 
 from those which he had lately employed, and the young daughter 
 of the South instantly felt the change — " that which has touched 
 thee so nearly, in my recovered faith, bears another aspect, which 
 thou hast not considered. Had I, in spite of the reluctance of 
 thy people to receive proselytes, become a Jew, thy betrothal to 
 thy cousin, scarce just as it seems to me, would separate us more 
 than ever, as th5'^self didst but now admit. But if thoit becomest 
 a Christian, thy conversion necessarily dissolves thy contract. To 
 wear a mixed garment of linen and wool is forbidden by the Law 
 of Moses ; so, for the baptized and unbaptized to be joined in 
 wedlock is contrary to the Law of Christ. You will be free to 
 bestow your hand upon me, Miriam, from the moment that the 
 waters of baptism shall have separated you from your nation, as 
 the Red Sea divided your fathers from the Egyptians. I would 
 not seduce thee, Miriam, even from thy unbelief, as I must term 
 it, by the power I may possess over thy earthly affections ; but 
 thy human love may be His instrument, "Who made and controls 
 the heart, to open thine eyes, hitherto blinded by prejudice, to the 
 light of heavenly truth. Think of that ungovernable violence 
 of passion which has so long been hidden under thy virgin 
 serenity of mien. Thy law condemns, but can it impart the 
 inward strength thou needest to restrain it ? Has it power to 
 banish the keen remorse thou feelest, by the sense of innocence 
 restored ? Christ can do this for thee, Miriam. He can remove, 
 in a moment, the shame that bows thy head, and calm the tem- 
 pest which agitates thy bosom." 
 
 Even during this address, Miriam had gently concealed her 
 bosom, and a further attempt to hide the spots of blood upon her 
 wrapper, by drawing the veil over it, showed that hope was 
 reviving in her humiliation, and the faith that she was beloved. 
 Alban, perhaps, ascribed those symptoms to a conviction produced 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 337 
 
 by his arguments, which were really due to a sense of her sex's 
 power reviving in the woman. Miriam, on the other hand, was 
 not sufficiently reassured on that point, to dare resist the caresses 
 with which her lover, giving way to his passion, now seconded 
 his eloquence. He recurred to the picture which, in his delirium 
 of the night before, he had drawn of their mutual existence in a 
 remote land. The young Jewess, who passed from one extreme 
 of feeling to another with Southern facility, murmuring a con- 
 denmation of her own weakness, tacitly consented to all that he 
 proposed, when the door flew open, and Rebecca burst in, an- 
 nouncing that her master was approaching the house, and that 
 madam, also, was just risen. The position of the young people 
 gave a different turn to her exclamations. 
 
 " Oh fie, Seiior Atherton ! is this your fine self command ? 
 your arm round my mistress I Oh, sir, pray begone !" 
 
 " You don't understand it, Rebecca." 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed, too well I Will you go, seiior ? What's to 
 be done with these trinkets ?" 
 
 Miriam, regardless of her maid's presence, leaned her head 
 and clasped hands on Atherton's shoulder. 
 
 " This is base, Seuor Atherton. You will ruin my young lady 
 without benefiting yourself There's my master's knock. Now, 
 if you wish my assistance in future, senor, run yourself and open 
 the door for him, while we escape with these things I" 
 
 At this suggestion, Alban extricated himself from Miriam, 
 and darted off ; yet hardly had he taken a step, ere he felt 
 tempted to return, for Miss Seixas stood rooted, as if despairing, to 
 the spot where he had left her. Rebecca, seeing his irresolution, 
 when every moment was precious, and observing, for the first 
 time, the tell-tale spots of blood on her lady's dress, became 
 frantic, forced him out of the room with a violence approaching 
 to fury, and locked the door. Even while he threw on his 
 cloak, however, in the hall, the white raiment of the Hebrew 
 maiden appeared above, at the top of the stairs, and Miriam's 
 hand, mournfully waving, bade him farewell. 
 
 29 
 
338 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 It will be seen that our hero is gradually emerging into light, 
 amid all the confusion Avhich his passions and the world have 
 raised. It is in the hour of temptation that the battle of life is 
 lost or gained. Many are they who fall ; few the victors. But 
 to be wounded, however severely, is not to lose the battle ; to be 
 covered and defiled w'ith blood and dust is nothing. The point is 
 to see who, after the melee is over, stands with his sword drawn 
 in his hand, and his enemy gasping at his feet. 
 
 Alban has made some points and certainly lost others. This 
 entanglement with Miriam Seixas is very much in his way, and 
 is likely to injure the simplicity of his course. He will be afraid 
 to submit himself immediately to the Church, which is the true 
 and generous course for him to take, lest he should be required to 
 abandon his Jewish mistress. Any w^ay, dispensations would be 
 required, a formal marriage in the face of the Church must be 
 resorted to, whereas Alban thinks of nothing but a civil contract 
 and instant flight to a foreign land. As for poor Mary De Groot, 
 her image recedes away into the distance again. In fact, her im- 
 maturity has been too much against her with a youth of Alban's 
 age— w^hich is the period of impatience, and will not wait for the 
 slow ripening of the fruit it covets. If Ave represent love as so 
 powerfully influencing our hero, and show his heart so inconstant 
 and open to so many impressions, it is because the heart of youth 
 is so in fact. Alban is far from being a perfect character. His 
 intellect is first-rate, and his will has hitherto, upon the whole, 
 acted virtuously, so that it seems congruous that light should be 
 afibrded him, but not too much. A man like him ought to act 
 on less evidence than would be required to satisfy inferior persons, 
 and if his passions do not prevent, he probably will readily corre- 
 spond to whatever measure of grace may be vouchsafed him. 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 339 
 
 Alban has arrived at a sufficient truth, viz., that Christianity 
 is one organized body. This truth, which pervades the New 
 Tejitament, he has seized upon, and we may see ho^^^ if we attend 
 for a few moments to his meditations on the day of his interview 
 with Miriam Seixas, after his return home. Let it not excite 
 surprise in any one, that Alban reverts to these topics after such 
 a scene ; for the soul which is tossed on the sea of passion and cir- 
 cumstance, like a landsman on shipboard, naturally endeavors to 
 fix its gaze upon the permanent object of revelation, as on steady 
 stars. 
 
 His parents did not question him closely in regard to his stay- 
 ing at the Seixases' the night before. His father asked about the 
 house ; his mother inquired in what room he slept, and whether 
 it seemed familiar to him. She hoped that he had remembered 
 to ask for the ladies in the morning before coming away, and 
 then she recurred to the party at Mrs. Clinton's. As Alban knew 
 that Miss De Groot was not in his mother's good graces any 
 longer, he was particular to mention her refusal to waltz, and 
 going away so early when every body begged her to stay. As 
 Mrs. Atherton could not find fault with either of these things, the 
 conversation languished, and when dinner was over, both his 
 parents disposed themselves for a siesta. His father took the 
 settee, his mother dozed in her rocking-chair, and Alban, after a 
 short revery^ — much shorter than usual — took down the Episco- 
 pal prayer-book. Action indisposes us to dreams. He took the 
 common-sense view of every thing now, and nothing disgusted 
 him so much as unreality. 
 
 When our hero first went over the Episcopal order of Baptism 
 with Mr. Soapstone, he thought it beautiful. Now, with the 
 solemn baptism of Mary De Groot fresh in his memory, it natu- 
 rally seems nude as well as unpractical, and he is struck with 
 the sign of the cross being left optional with the candidate. This 
 Church in the very rite of initiation, allowed the catechumen his 
 private judgment in opposition to her own. The postulant for 
 faith was permitted to dispute and make terms at the font itself, 
 
340 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 with those who pretended a commission to teach and haptize all 
 nations. Nay, he rejects the sign of Christianity I " You are not 
 to make a cross on my brow," he says, *' I object to that old su- 
 perstition." And the Church lets him have his own conceited, 
 unhumbled way about it. Where is the firm, unhesitating, au- 
 thoritative tone of God's conscious Prophet and Priest ? Where 
 is the conviction that truth and power are hers ? 
 
 " No wonder the other old ceremonies of Christian baptism 
 are omitted altogether. Of course it is foreign to the notions such 
 a Church entertains of her own powers, to suppose that insuffla- 
 tions, or touching the ear with spittle, or the tongue with salt, or 
 the body with holy oils, can have any spiritual efficacy by virtue 
 of the name of Jesus, or that devils can be cast out now-a-days by 
 invoking it ; but still, M'here was her sense when she failed to see 
 that these rites associated Christ's sacrament of spiritual healing 
 with its designed types. His miracles of bodily cure, in a way far 
 more instructive and more productive of faith than her cold textual 
 deductions I And Avhen the regeneration is at length complete, 
 and the new-born Christian stands before her, with the dew of 
 the new birth upon him, what inexplicable want of tact leads her 
 to substitute an exhortation of her own for those touching allu- 
 sions to the Lord's parables, which the ancient Church employs, 
 when she gives her neophyte the lamp of the virgins, and bids 
 her wear and keep undefiled the white garment of innocence and 
 sanctity, that she may have eternal life I" 
 
 Alban laid down the book and thought of that character of 
 objectivity, and almost of personality, assumed in this great action 
 by the Catholic Church. She appeared on the threshold of her 
 temple as a regal and sacerdotal society, dispensing truth and 
 grace. Her every step, as she preceded her postulant to the font, 
 was the step of a queen. Yet how tenderly she reiterated the 
 name of the ignorant, defiled, and demon-bound, whom she was 
 about to enlighten, cleanse, and loose I What is like this majestic 
 mother I You know her by her accents of blended authority and 
 love. No false step-dame can imitate the sweetness that tempers 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 341 
 
 the dignity of the true Spouse of Christ. How coldly on the ear 
 fell the " Dearly Beloved," with which the English State-church 
 begins, and the abstract tone in which it calls upon the congrega- 
 tion to pray for "this person," compared with the individualizing 
 address of sancta mater ecclesia : "What is thy name?" — 
 ''Mary, what seekest thou of the Church of God?" The mother 
 knoweth her own though future, and calleth it already by name, 
 but the hireling nurse is not so. In the Episcopal order of Bap- 
 tizing, Alban noticed, neither previous to, nor after the act, is the 
 name of the baptized mentioned, but only in the act of baptism 
 itself, where, indeed, it is the Catholic Church who suddenly 
 speaks, and by the icomb of her handmaid, brings forth children 
 to God. And not otherwise was the difference at the close. 
 ^yhen the exhortation which this State-functionary, or this fash- 
 ionable, secular, money-holding Corporation, addresses to the new- 
 baptized is concluded, it has, of course, no parting salutation to 
 intimate the existence of a new bond between itself — soulless 
 thing — and the neophyte's spirit : but the Church Catholic, true 
 to Her maternal instinct, turns not her back thus coldly upon her 
 offspring : " Mary,'' she says, as if it were a mother's kiss upon 
 her infant ere she lays it down — " Go in peace, and the Lord be 
 with thee." 
 
 All this was but physiognomy, although as truly indicative 
 of character to those who have the gift of reading it, as the lin- 
 eaments of a human face. A deeper and more essential mark 
 of ditierence between the true, living Church and the Shadow 
 which mimics her functions, arrests Alban's intelligent and scru- 
 tinizing gaze. The Church takes original sin for granted, or 
 that mankind are naturally lost, and regards herself as the incor- 
 porate Society of the saved ; consequently she knows no other 
 way of salvation but by being incorporated into her, which in the 
 case of infants, who have not the use of reason, and cannot join 
 her by will and choice, can only be by baptism. Hence she 
 declares, without hesitation, that infants dying unbaptized cannot 
 enter heaven or see God — that supreme happiness which God 
 
 29* 
 
342 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 owes no man and grants to no mortal out of Christ. The Church 
 of England follows this view of the state of infants dying unbap- 
 tized, and consequeiitly'refuses them the rites of Christian burial, 
 for the just reason that she cannot speak of them as " resting in 
 the Lord," (since they do not,) or imply in any way that they are 
 among the " blessecr' dead. 
 
 Imagine this vast multitude of souls lost out of the innumera- 
 ble redeemed, wandering like pale stars in the illimitable outer 
 night; neither offenders nor yet just; untormented, yet not at 
 rest ; the undeveloped germs of spirits which might have shone 
 brighter than angels in the blissful Presence, or groaned, haply, 
 with demons in the lowest caverns of penal fire ; the unlighted 
 lamps of Heaven ; the unkindled brands of Hell ; the failures of 
 the Eternal Designer ; the mysterious abortions of the Universal 
 Parent I Flowers of Adam's race coldly budding forth into the 
 unhallowed light and air of this world, and swept down by the 
 destroying scythe to which their lives were forfeit ere they began, 
 before the hand of pity could transplant them into the garden of 
 the Lord I we weep over them hopelessly as they lie, without honor 
 or beauty, on the cold, dead earth. Alas I Rachel mourneth for 
 her children, and will not be comforted because they are not I 
 
 But the American Episcopal Church gives unbaptized infants 
 Christian burial, as our hero observed, singing over them, " Bless- 
 ed are the dead who die in the Lord I" And she omits the sig- 
 nificant declaration of the Church of England, that "children 
 •which are baptized, dying before they commit actual sin, are un- 
 doubtedly saved." The meaning of which is, that the American 
 Episcopal Church cannot believe that the Church is the elect 
 people of God, or that all who are not of the Church are lost. 
 " The consequence is," thought Alban, " that she cannot be any 
 part of the true Church, which of course knows its own relation 
 to God and to the rest of mankind. Any doubt or wavering 
 about the terms of salvation is impossible in the Society of the 
 saved," said he. " This is trifling with us. I had rather be a 
 Jew, than a Christian on such a plan." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 343 
 
 The inquirer meditates and concludes, but at the end comes 
 some regular duty of his existing position. Mrs. Atherton sighed 
 with pleasure when her son at length laid aside the prayer-book, 
 and took occasion to remind him of the Friday evening prayer- 
 meeting. Alban recollected that he was a member of the Pres- 
 byterian Church, in good standing. Whether getting tipsy at a 
 dancing party, toying with a wanton girl, (though he repented,) 
 and proposing in the morning to run away with a Jewess, par- 
 ticularly fitted him to " take a part" in an evening prayer-meet- 
 ing, he doubted. These little circumstances, if known, would 
 scarcely edify, if they did not subject him — which was more than 
 probable — to the somewhat inquisitorial discipline of the breth- 
 ren. On the other hand, such was the nature of these societies, 
 that a failure to comply with this duty would excite suspicion, 
 either of some secret guilt or some heterodox bias. Alban went 
 
 to the prayer-meeting, and Dr. did not fail to call upon him 
 
 to pray. A young man from college is always a relief to the 
 tedium of these occasions. When the brethren and sisters spoke 
 afterwards of the exercises, young Atherton's prayer was singled 
 out for warm approval. There was a freshness in his perform- 
 ances which agreeably roused the mind, and an unction that 
 gratified the sensibility. Certainly, his prayer, that night, was 
 unhackneyed. The rich quality of his voice, and its perpetual 
 variety of modulation, contributed not slightly to the charm, and 
 some of the females declared that, on this occasion, it affected 
 them even to tears. 
 
344 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 After meeting-, Alban walked down to the Battery, and watched 
 the house in ^State-street for more than an hour, in the hope of 
 seeing Miriam at her window. It was with difficulty, when he 
 saw a light in her room, that he refrained from scaling the balco- 
 ny — a feat he had a thousand times performed when a boy — and 
 endeavoring to obtain a fresh interview, in which something- 
 definite might be agreed upon. His father and mother, who kept 
 early hours, had retired when he reached home, and in his own 
 room he found three notes, and a neat little parcel lying on the 
 table. All were directed to himself, in female hands ; and after 
 some hesitation which to open first, and trying to guess the 
 writers, all being alike unknown to him, he opened that of which 
 the handwriting looked simplest, and read as follows : — 
 
 "Fifth Avenue, Friday. 
 " Dear Alban, — I gather from your note of this morning, (it 
 startled me very much at first reading,) that you have done some- 
 thing which you feel to be wicked and silly, under the influence of 
 wine. I am very, very sorry, of course, for you are a dear friend. 
 There is no presumption, I assure you, in your taking that for 
 granted. I wish you had a confessor, with whom you could be 
 explicit, and who, besides advising you, could relieve your con- 
 science fi-om its burden. Sometimes we are left to sin, to hum- 
 ble our pride and teach us our frailty. You may live (I am sure 
 you will) to thank God for letting you fall. Whatever you have 
 done, I beg you won't speak of yourself any more in that un- 
 natural strain, as unworthy of my friendship. We are all weak, 
 and if God left me to myself, I might become the most degraded 
 creature that breathes. Assuredly, I shall never cease to pray for 
 you. I send this by Margaret, whom papa kindly lets me keep 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 345 
 
 as a maid. She knows little of her duties yet, but is willing to 
 learn, and I take a great deal of pleasure in teaching her. I 
 thought it best to ask papa's permission to answer your note, of 
 course without saying any thing to him about the matter of it. 
 " Your affectionate friend. 
 
 "M. De G." 
 
 " She is an angel I" cried Alban. It was like a ray of purest 
 heavenly light shining in upon a gloomy scene, illumined only 
 by red and smoking torches. He kissed the note devoutly, read 
 it over twice or thrice, and placed it in his bosom. The next was 
 in the third person. 
 
 Miss Clinton sends her compliments to Mr. Alban Ather- 
 ton, and acknowledges the receipt of his note. Her delicacy was 
 deeply wounded, she need scarcely say, by what escaped him last 
 evening, under a temporary excitement, for which she readily 
 believes he was not to blame. She would be glad of an oppor- 
 tunity to explain more fully than she can trust to paper, an 
 occurrence which appears to have come to his knowledge, in 
 which her conduct and motives were misunderstood. At present 
 she would only observe that even last night she felt grief rather 
 than resentment, in regard to what happened, and that she 
 accepts Mr. A.'s frank and gentlemanlike apology as a full 
 atonement. 
 
 " Miss C. has observed the strictest secrecy iir regard to all 
 that has occurred, and trusts to Mr. Atherton's honor to do the 
 same. Will he have the goodness to burn this when he has 
 perused it. 
 
 " Friday Evening^ 
 
 Alban read this note also twice, and then, agreeably to the 
 request of the writer, committed it to the flames. He opened the 
 third epistle, trembling, yet eager, and read : — 
 
 " My brother found the poniard on the sofa, where you flung 
 it when you had wrested it from my guilty hand, in that moment 
 
346 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 of passion. Other circumstances had ah'eady awakened his sus- 
 picions. He questioned Rebecca, and she betrayed all she knew. 
 Manuel is not angry with us, Alban. I think he is flattered that 
 thou lovest me. He forgives me for loving thee, whom he also 
 loves. But he has convinced me — indeed, T knew it as well as 
 thou — that unless I become a Christian I cannot be thine. Alban, 
 I would abandon all else for thee but the religion of -my fathers. 
 I must see thee, therefore, no more. I have promised Manuel to 
 accompany him, forthwith, to the city where Joseph Seixas 
 resides, and there, if he will overlook what I shall confess, fuHil 
 my early contract. How my hand can trace such words I know 
 not. You are young. One lovelier, worthier, perhaps even now 
 better loved, will console you for the loss of Miriam. 'Twere 
 base and wicked, indeed — so Manuel has truly said — to take 
 advantage of your inexperience, and inflict upon you a Jewish 
 wife. You must not seek then — it would be vain — to bend my 
 purpose. To-morrow is the Sabbath, and on the day after, we 
 shall be gone. I send you a remembrance of Miriam and her 
 weak love. Keep it for her sake. May the God of Abraham 
 watch over you. Farewell I" 
 
 It was all distinctly written. The parcel was a jewel-case, 
 and contained the Turkish dagger. Alban could see Manuel 
 Seixas taking it up deliberately, and fastening his keen Eastern 
 eye on its ruby hilt, and crooked inlaid blade. 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 347 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Alban slept soundly for six hours. Now-a-days, when you want 
 a light all night you turn down the gas to a blue, imperceptible 
 flame, but in '35, our hero's lamp was burning on the hearth. He 
 took his watch from the pocket purchased of Mary at the New 
 Haven fair. It was half-past five, and he sprang out of bed. 
 There was no flowing Croton then, and in our turn we have 
 almost forgotten the mahogany lavatory with its service of blue 
 porcelain. It was a cold morning, and the ewer became full of 
 ice the instant Atherton moved it. Hot water-pipes have put 
 an end also to that : still, there was a generous hardihood in it 
 which we half regret. 
 
 Alban dressed and sallied forth, bending his course to the 
 cathedral — somewhat distant. It had snowed again in the night, 
 and a gusty wind had whirled the sleet into drifts. Over head it 
 was clear and starry, and the morning star ghttered in the south- 
 east with a brilliancy which must be seen to be appreciated. On 
 account of the weather, mass was said in the chapel, more easily 
 warmed than the church. The congregation, although it was not 
 any particular day, (as the phrase is,) quite filled it. When Alban 
 arrived the vestry door was open, and the confessional was visible, 
 with a priest hearing the confession of a woman. After hearing three 
 or four, he took ofl' his stole and left the box ; the rest were obliged 
 to wait, and he soon came out vested for mass. A considerable 
 number of persons received communion. It was over in half an 
 hour ; the congregation partly dispersed ; but a second had come 
 in, and the same process was repeated ; and now the confessions 
 were going on without intermission. Alban waited. He did not 
 perceive Mary, and began to think that the snow had prevented 
 her coming. He was surprised, at the communion in the second 
 mass, to observe her among the females returning from the altar. 
 
348 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 She resumed her place in a remote corner, and he perceived that 
 she had been there when he arrived. She staid through the third 
 mass, and directly it was over, went out, accompanied by Marga- 
 ret Dolman, evidently not aware of Alban's presence. He joined 
 them in the street. The two girls made their way with difficulty 
 through the drifts and against the gusty wind. 
 
 Atherton took Miss De Groot's arm familiarly and helped her 
 along : " Really, Miss Mary, you ought not to walk on such a 
 morning as this." 
 
 " Mr. Alban I" with a pleased surprise, and she went on, 
 struggling with the snow and wind. 
 
 A covered sleigh stood ready harnessed before the livery stable 
 in Houston-street ; Alban ran forward and engaged it to take 
 them home. In a minute it had dashed through the drift, and 
 drew up jingling at the young lady's side. 
 
 " How very kind you are, Mr. Alban I" 
 
 He handed them in and paid the driver in advance, as if Miss 
 De Groot had been a little girl. She thanked him in a simple, 
 cordial manner, and asked him to ride. 
 
 " My way lies in another direction, you know. Yet I wish to 
 see you to-day. Miss Mary. At what hour shall I find you disen- 
 gaged ?" 
 
 " At any hour which is convenient for you," with great sweet- 
 ness. " I shall stay at home all day to finish some work. Come 
 when you like." 
 
 " It will be in the afternoon, then ; as early as I can make 
 
 it." 
 
 The young heiress began to expect her friend at twelve. At 
 half-past lour she was still expecting him. The southwest 
 drawing-room began to grow dusk, for the day had continued 
 overcast with spells of snowing. Since ]\Iary's return home this 
 a]):ir1ment had acquired an aspect of feminine inhabitation which 
 it did not possess previously. There were flowers on the stands ; 
 the })iano was open ; a cozy group of seats had got formed in the 
 corner where the young lady worked, between the fire, glowing in 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 349 
 
 its mantel of statuary, and the richly-curtained south window, 
 with its balcony of stone overlooking the street, hereafter to be- 
 come so beautiful. At this time Mary could see all the way down 
 the Avenue. She was at work on some strange little garments 
 of muslin. Not to affect mystery where there is none, we may 
 say that they Avere baby's chemises, which Miss De Groot was 
 making for a poor woman M'ho lived in a shanty on one of the 
 Avenues. Through Margaret she was rich in cases of real want 
 of the most touching kind. She had finished a certain number 
 of the little things, which were neatly folded and laid in a pile on 
 a dark rosewood workstand. Close by stood an embroidery frame, 
 with an incipient chalice-veil stretched upon it, and the bright 
 silks for working it lay ready sorted on a tabouret. It was clearly 
 the young lady's intent to change her other work for this and 
 hide the former, as soon as her friend should come in sight. 
 
 At last, when it was so dark that she had already put away 
 the baby garments, a cab came up the Avenue. There was a 
 ring — a gentle ring which she knew — and presently Atherton 
 came into the room. She did not rise to greet him, and he came 
 to her cozy corner. They shook hands in friendly fashion, and 
 Alban dropped familiarly into a chair. 
 
 Had Miss De Groot been at work he would probably have 
 begun by some commonplace observation, but it was not light 
 enough even for embroidery, and she sat playing with the pencil 
 that hung at her waist. He alluded at once to her kind reply to 
 his letter of confession. 
 
 " I feared that you would feel so disappointed in me," he said. 
 
 Mary waited some time before answering. " You Puritans 
 are so self-righteous. You can't bear to be thought weak like 
 others." 
 
 " That's the way you view it ?" 
 
 " Certainly. It has given me great hopes of you, to learn that 
 your self-complacency had received a wound," with a smile. " I 
 was quite discouraged about you, Alban." 
 
 " 1 believe I showed my irritated pride, rather than virtue, 
 
 30 
 
350 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 in that part of my conduct which at the time I thought most com- 
 mendable." 
 
 " I dare say," said Mary hastily. She played with her pencil. 
 *' Let us not speak of it any more, I pray you, Mr. Alban. I am 
 sorry you thought it necessary to accuse yourself to me at all. I 
 knew you were human without your telling me." And the smile 
 became arch. 
 
 " I am going to consult you now in regard to an affair that will 
 be a new proof of my humanity." 
 
 " I dare say," replied the young lady, her dark eyes gleaming 
 with witchery in that blended fire and twilight. 
 
 " I must premise," said Alban, with some confusion, " that I 
 have got over my Jewish notions." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it." 
 
 " I believe you would say that pride and earthliness were 
 behind the fact of so strange an aberration." 
 
 " I don't know. Father Smith says that sincere and humble 
 persons who have never known the truth, may wander very 
 strangely in seeking it." 
 
 " I had sincerity enough, but precious little humility, I am 
 afraid. And how worldly — really how sensual — shocks me to 
 think. The hope of another life — the trampling upon this — of- 
 fended me. I desired my Paradise here. 
 
 "God has been teaching you, Alban," said Miss De Groot, 
 with awakened interest. 
 
 '* Indeed, 1 think so. I am sure there was never any one more 
 unworthy of the gift of faith." 
 
 " Do you mean," said Mary, dropping her pencil and leaning 
 forward, — " do you mean that you will be a Catholic ?" 
 
 There was something in his face which answered her before 
 he said with his lips — " By God's grace." 
 
 She uttered a faint cry of joy, sprang up hastily, and throwing 
 her arms round his neck, kissed him on both cheeks. She sank 
 back immediately upon her low seat, and buried her face in her 
 lap. Alban turned paler than when he read Miriam's letter. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 351 
 
 He could not say a word, while she sobbed in her apron like a 
 child. She lifted her face at last, glowing red, and dried her eyes, 
 without loooking at him. 
 
 "The Blessed Virgin has heard my prayers I knew she 
 would, but I did not expect so soon. Tell me how it happened. 
 How did God give you faith ?" 
 
 " It was this morning at the mass in which you received com- 
 munion, that I was first able to say with all my heart — / believe.''' 
 
 " I offered my communion for your conversion," said Mary, in 
 a quiet, natural tone. 
 
 "Did you?" rephed he, quite in the same, as if not at all 
 surprised. ** I went to a Presbyterian prayer-meeting last night 
 and took part in the exercises," laughing. " But as soon as 1 got 
 into the chapel this morning, (I came there full of any thing else,) 
 and knelt down, pretty much, I think, with the intention of acting 
 like others, but feeling tolerably sure, too, that there was at least 
 nothing wrong in it, an indescribable certainty stole over me that 
 this was the true, divine religion. I envied the poor people going 
 to confession ; the Presence in the Tabernacle penetrated me with 
 awe, and the image of our Lady with the Child, above it, carried 
 me back to Bethlehem. I saw as clearly as could be that let the 
 world think as it might, He was here the same as ther^, in a form 
 of weakness, but still the Almighty Saviour of Israel. I had con- 
 cluded thus before frorh mere reasoning, you understand, nay, I 
 had soAd it, but now I saw it. I heard the first mass in that state 
 of mind. And yet — do you know, all the while I was uncertain 
 what I should do in consequence, or how long I should retain this 
 clear conviction. I felt as if I just saw into the other world, but 
 what would happen when the vision vanished was be3'ond me. 
 There was an obstacle — something to be given up — a great deal 
 to be given up ; more particularly the power of deciding upon my 
 own conduct in a certain case where my feelings, my interests, my 
 honor as a gentleman, and every thing I held dear in this world, 
 were concentred. I felt as powerless, Mary, to surrender my 
 own settled plan on this point, as to lift the cathedral from its 
 
352 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 base: I kneio that I should go on with it as I had determined 
 and as I wished, even if Hell-fire were before me as the inevitable 
 end of the path I had chosen. Even now my feelings are as 
 strong as ever, but my resolve is changed. And this happened in 
 the second mass. The priest read so distinctly that I could follow 
 a great deal of it, and the gospel, rapidly as he articulated, sank 
 like molten lead into my heart — ' If any man will come after me, 
 let him take up his cross and follow me. For he who will save 
 his life shall lose it, but he who shall lose his life for my sake 
 shall save it. For what doth it profit a man, if he shall gain the 
 whole world, but sufTer the loss of his own soul ? or what shall a 
 man give in exchange for his soul ? For the Son of Man shall 
 come in the glory of his Father, with his angels, and then will he 
 render to every man according to his works.' " 
 
 " I remember thinking of you as I followed it in my missal, 'said 
 Mary, with evident awe. 
 
 "The rest of that mass passed in a struggle with myself I 
 knelt down again after the gospel with the rest, I joined in the 
 worship of the people as far as I understood it, I adored at the 
 elevation, but with the dreadful feeling that when I looked at last 
 without a veil upon His face who was then lifted up, it might be 
 a face of wrath for me. After the elevation, I began to pray earn- 
 estly, until the perspiration, notwithstanding the coldness of the 
 chapel, ran down my body in streams. I appealed to Mary, the 
 Gate of Heaven and Refuge of sinners, as she is called in that beau- 
 tiful litany you showed me the other day. Then you all went up 
 to communion, (although I had no idea of your being there,) and 
 the thing flashed upon me again. For the love of a woman — a 
 mere creature and of a fallen race, a fair corruption, whose body 
 would soon be dust, and her soul, without faith, go down to eter- 
 nal night — would I forego the sweetness of the Creator I" — Mary 
 clasped her hands. — " For one draught from the filthy puddle of 
 sensual plea.sure — for it was that alter all which attracted me 
 — would I lose the beatific vision, and never know what it was to 
 possess and enjoy God I ' 0 my Author and my End,' I exclainied-, 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 353 
 
 * take from me every thing which thou hast made, but give me 
 Thyself.'" 
 
 Mary had Hstened with mixed feelings to this burst. After 
 some little delay, several things being said which were of lit- 
 _ tie importance, she inquired what it was that brought him to 
 mass. 
 
 " This very affair in regard to which I still wish to ask your 
 sisterly advice." 
 
 He drew from his pocket a letter which the reader will not be 
 slow to identify, observing that it would put her in possession of 
 the facts. He thought that under the circumstances, he was jus- 
 tified in showing it to her. 
 
 Mary received Miriam's letter with a grave, curious face, 
 glancing first at the feminine superscription of the envelope. She 
 turned towards the fire to read it, spreading it open in her lap. 
 Before she began, however, covering it with both her hands, she 
 looked up to Alban and said — " Is it from Miss Clinton ? — Oh, it is 
 not I" — with a relieved air — " I asked because if it had been, I 
 should have been unwilling — but no matter." 
 
 Thus saying, she began to read. Blank astonishment was 
 first depicted on her countenance. As she went on, leaning on 
 the elbow, she shaded her face with one hand, and the other 
 stole softly to her heart. She perused the letter evidently more 
 than once, seeming, by the motion of the eye, to dwell on particu- 
 lar expressions. She remained a good while after as in thought, 
 with her eyes closed; but when she addressed Alban, it was with 
 a countenance quite free from emotion. She laid her finger on a 
 passage of the letter. 
 
 " I understand from this that you have proposed to Miss 
 Seixas ?" 
 
 Precisely," said Alban. 
 
 " She is contracted to another person — is she ?" 
 
 " A cousin — a Jew," replied Alban, dropping on one knee by 
 Miss De G root's side, and looking over the letter still spread in 
 her lap. 
 
 30* 
 
354 
 
 AL B AN. 
 
 " There is another ottoman, Alban." 
 He drew it near her and sat down. 
 
 " I don't sec what you can do in such a case," said Mary. 
 " She is going somewhere with her brother, to be married to this 
 cousin of her own faith — isn't she ? And that will be the end 
 of it." 
 
 " Unless I can contrive to see her before she goes, and induce 
 her to change her mind again." 
 
 " Is that what you propose ?" asked Miss De Groot, with 
 some quickness, and giving him back the letter. 
 
 " I will presently tell you. You must know that I have ascer- 
 tained that Miss Seixas is going to Smyrna. They sail in a 
 Spanish bark, the Mamtel, with as ugly a looking crew and des- 
 perado-looking captain as you would wish to see. Now it is easy 
 to foresee that when they reach Smyrna, which is a voyage of not 
 less than seven or eight weeks, and may be longer, and Miriam 
 finds herself among her own people, she will marry Joseph Seixas. 
 I cannot abandon her thus without a struggle," said Alban, with a 
 resolute air. " If I cannot obtain an interview with her before 
 her departure, in which I may fairly try the experiment of com- 
 bating a resolution, which, you must have observed by her letter, 
 springs in part from womanly pride and a sense of justice to me — 
 I say, unless I can obtain such an interview — I am resolved to 
 make this voyage with them. To let a woman from whom I have 
 obtained a confession of love go away to misery here and here- 
 after, without an efibrt — a strenuous effort — to save her, comports 
 neither my principles nor with my feelings. What think 
 
 you?" 
 
 Mary kept her eyes on the carpet, except when she gave Alban 
 now and then a glance of surprise. 
 
 " How old are you, Alban ?" 
 
 " Just twenty," replied the youth. 
 
 " You have tried to see Miss Seixas to-day?" 
 
 " I w^ent to the house and was refused admittance. Miriam 
 sent down word by her maid that she M^as particularly engaged 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 355 
 
 and could not see me. After that I found Seixas at the synagogue. 
 He was mild as possible, but inexorable. He said that Miriam 
 was free, and had a right to refuse me an interview. On his part 
 he considered it her duty, and therefore he could not be expected 
 to interfere, even for my sake. He was deaf, in short, to my en- 
 treaties, and only smiled at my threats ; lbr I got very angry at 
 his immovable obstinacy in sacrihciug his sister's soul and hap- 
 phiess." 
 
 " Why don't you go to a priest," said Mary, " and impart every 
 thing to him under the seal of confession ? He will tell you exactly 
 what to do." 
 
 Alban shook his head. She gently took the letter from him 
 again. 
 
 " I should be sorry to seem unwilling to act the part of a sister 
 and friend, when you appeal to me in that character. But how 
 can I advise, not knowing all the circumstances ? In your note to 
 me you accused yourself of some mysterious sin. It had nothing 
 to do with Miss Seixas ?" — " No, no ; she is innocent as nature 
 can be." — " I thought so. Well, I will tell you what I think : 
 that Mr. Seixas, considering he is a Jew, is very kind and wise — 
 more so than most Christians would be in like circumstances, 
 Alban ; and that Miss Seixas's conduct is noble and dignified — 
 like a true-hearted woman," — with gentle warmth. " But her 
 passions must be naturally violent. True, she is not to blame for 
 that. Still, dear Alban, the less any of us have to do with poniards, 
 the better. She has permitted herself to love you, although she 
 was already betrothed. That is what I least like. It must have 
 been voluntary in part ; all love is. I must say that my notions 
 of fidelity between phghted, or conscious, lovers, do not allow any 
 deliberate thought of that kind about another person." 
 
 She spoke in a rapid, unpremeditated, earnest sort of way, as 
 a girl naturally talks. Alban shaded his eyes and seemed lost in 
 thought. 
 
 " I need not a priest's counsel in this matter," he said at length. 
 " No priest can tell me what I want to know." 
 
356 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 Mary bent over the letter as if it could tell her what Mr. Alban 
 wanted to know. She murmured rather shyly, that it was strange 
 he should want to know any thing but what he must know better 
 than any one — the state of his own afiections. It seemed to her a 
 very wild idea though — that of his going with the Seixases to the 
 East against their will — leaving his college — he such a youth. 
 Where would he get the funds for such a voyage ? 
 
 He explained to her that he had some money left him by an 
 aunt, and that even as a minor he could easily obtain an advance 
 on it from the Jews. An old Israelite had promised him a sum 
 which he deemed sufficient. 
 
 " You will be betrayed by these people, Alban. It makes me 
 shudder to think of that dreadful Spanish captain and his crew. 
 How do you know that they are not pirates ? or slavers, which is 
 just as bad ?" She began to cry. 
 
 Alban was provided with an answer also to this. It was true 
 that piracy was then not unknown in the American seas, and he 
 conjectured that this Spanish shipmaster had been at least in the 
 African trade ; but he was a devout Cathohc. In his cabin hung 
 a picture of the Holy Virgin, with a lamp perpetually burning. 
 In short, it was by appealing to his religious feelings that Alban 
 had obtained from him the information in regard to the move- 
 ments of the Seixases. The skipper and he had made a condi- 
 tional bargain. 
 
 " If I can obtain her previous consent, I am to be on board 
 when they come to the vessel in the morning. The skipper will 
 then haul up the ladies first — that is, Miriam and her maid. As 
 soon as they are on d|pk, instead of lowering the ladder down the 
 side for Manuel Seixas, the boat in which they come is to be 
 dropped loose, and we shall make our Avay out to sea with what 
 promises to be a most favorable wind. Now the question is, 
 shall I, in the interview which I have the means of securing, sim- 
 ply ask her consent to this plan of a mutual flight, saying nothing 
 of a change of faith, or shall I make the latter a prerequisite ? 
 Without vanity, I think that could I see Miriam, I should infalli- 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 357 
 
 bly succeed on the former plan, and should almost certainly fail by 
 taking the latter alternative." 
 
 " I dare say," said Mary, changing from pale to red by 
 turns. 
 
 " When Miriam is under my protection — after having broken 
 thus irrevocably with her own people and family — she will be 
 readily won, I doubt not, by my arguments and entreaties, to 
 embrace the Christian faith." 
 
 " Alban," interrupted Miss De Groot, " sa)'' no more on that 
 point. I am sure, that not even to save Miss Seixas's soul, ought 
 you to persuade her to elope with you as a Jewess. It would be 
 a sin on your part, and shame to her. You cannot go to her 
 except to persuade her to be a Christian." 
 
 " So I think," said Alban, " but shall I use the means which 
 I possess of obtaining an interview for that purpose before to- 
 morrow's light ? For it must be by night — nor sooner than mid- 
 night — and by means of a step which, for any other end, would 
 be unjustifiable. Still, that is not the point. Would you have 
 me make the attempt under the properest circumstances ?" 
 
 The dinner-bell rang. A glance at the mantel-clock showed 
 the hour of six. 
 
 " You must stay and dine v/ith us, it will give me time to 
 think." 
 
 With the natural manners of American life, the young lady 
 herself conducted Alban to an apartment where he could freshen 
 his morning toilet, as well as circumstances allowed. A servant 
 came in to help him, and preceded him down stairs ; and just as 
 he arrived at the door of the dining-room, a step, like a bird on 
 the wing, came down the last flight. She was in her wonted 
 evening array, without a trace of haste or negligence. Mr. De 
 Groot was ever enlivened by Alban's presence. He ordered a 
 bottle of champagne to be put in the cooler. Our young hero, 
 Avho begins to be more heroic than heretofore, was not sorry, like 
 his predecessors since Homer, to renovate his energies by a stimu- 
 lating repast, after a day of labor and excitement. 
 
358 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Dinner lasted about an liour, Mr. De Groot indulging in an extra 
 glass of wine, and displaying a cheerful courtesy. Mrs. De Groot 
 inquires respecting "the state of feeling" in Dr. M.'s congregation, 
 having understood that the last night's prayer-meeting was ohn of 
 " special interest." Alban is self-possessed, occasionally gives in 
 to a concealed humor in answering the questions of Madame. 
 Mademoiselle regards him with wonder, sometimes smiles in spite 
 of herself, and sends away her plate almost untouched. 
 
 The half-hour after the ladies have withdrawn (Mr. De Groot 
 adheres to that old custom) passes slowly, although the host 
 wakes into animation, and wondering at Alban's apparent disgust 
 for champagne, regrets again and again that the vacation is so 
 nearly at an end. Then comes tea in the drawing-room, and the 
 card-table set with candles and counters, and two fresh packs. 
 The patroon claims his rubber on account of Alban's being there. 
 
 " After w^hich, Mary (I see her impatience) may take you into 
 any snug corner she hkes. I declare, Atherton, I believe I shall 
 miss you as much as she will." 
 
 Miss De Groot, having employed the interval between dinner 
 and tea to visit her own room, had regained her serenity : still she 
 revoked in the first hand and thereby lost the game ; whereat hier 
 father, being her partner, was irritated, and talked of people 
 being so much in love that they could not mind their cards. 
 Mademoiselle blushed a little, and became more attentive ; they 
 won the rubber, which restored the patroon's good humor. 
 
 " Now take Mr. Alban where you please, child. The library 
 has a fire, and is a famous place for tcte-a-tctes. Please to con- 
 sider, Atherton, that I give in to this New England custom, on 
 the ground of your being too thorough-bred a Knickerbocker to 
 abuse the concession." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 359 
 
 The young lady flitted before him. The library was darkish 
 and light by fits, as the flickering fire of Liverpool coal allowed, 
 and Mary, after a glance at the sentimental locale, passed on to 
 the lobby, which she had once pointed out to Alban as fit for the 
 interviews of lovers. It was worse than the library, but she 
 stopped there, going to the oriel as the lightest spot ; for the only 
 illumination came from a street lamp, through the stained glass, 
 shedding a mystic, patchwork beam upon the dark wainscoting. 
 It sufficed to render visible on the young lady's face the reserved 
 expression natural to one of her sex who remembered that her 
 companion had so recently enjoyed similar interviews with others ; 
 and presently she put her handkerchief to her eyes and wept — a 
 still, silent shower of tears that soon wet through the cambric. 
 
 " How can I give my sisterly advice," she suddenly exclaimed, 
 with a sort of gentle passion, " when I am a party interested. 
 Really, Alban, your coming to me about this, is the most indeli- 
 cate thing 1 ever heard of" 
 
 " Mary I" 
 
 " If you run away with Miss Seixas, every body will say that 
 you have jilted me. Papa will be very angry. Now let me 
 finish ; don't speak, Alban, till I have said all I have got to say. 
 I have never formed any false notions myself in regard to your 
 friendship. I knew all along that you considered me as a little 
 girl. Because you are such a scholar, and take the lead, in col- 
 lege, of men grown, you seem to yourself very mature : whereas, 
 in society, j'ou are only a youth, a boy under age, a college stu- 
 dent, which is nothing at all ; — a girl like Henrietta Clinton 
 thinks she can twist you round her little finger ; and nobody 
 else would have taken any notice of you, unless they had sup- 
 posed, from your appearing with us, that I had been so silly as to 
 engage myself, before I am seventeen, to an under-graduate. 
 Now I am a young lady in society — ^girl as I am — and if I were to 
 be married in six months, people might say it was a pity, but no 
 one would think it strange. 'Twas but yesterday that the Count 
 called on papa, with Mr. Seixas to back his representations of his 
 
360 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 family and fortune', and made proposals for me in the foreign way ; 
 and papa told him he did not wish me to marry out of my own 
 country, and besides, that my afiections, he beheved, were already 
 engaged. You see, Mr. Alban, how the case stands. Papa took 
 a fancy to you from the first. I saw by the way he acted and 
 talked, that Sunday evening at Mr. Everett's, and by his choosing 
 to go down with you to New York, instead of staying a few days, 
 and then turning me over to you on the steamboat, that his mind 
 was made up to have you for a son. I am sure you have every 
 reason to be flattered by his partiality. I observe, indeed, that 
 other people who have experience, like you ; and, for myself, it 
 seems to me quite natural they should ; but I never dreamed of 
 your doing such a thing as to fall seriously in love with a Jew- 
 ess, who is espoused to another person, and audaciously winning 
 her affection, (she must be very susceptible,) and proposing to 
 elope with her, and that at the moment when you profess to have 
 been converted to the Catholic faith. Least of all would I 
 dream that you would come to ask my advice on the subject. All 
 this is strange to me, Alban, and places you in a perfectly new 
 light. It makes me almost wish I had never known you, and 
 quite that I had never given you so many marks of an affection, 
 which, I take Heaven to witness, a sister, so far as I know, might 
 have felt without blame." 
 
 " It appears," said Alban, when she had finished, " that what 
 I thought is true. You have a claim upon my delicacy, which I 
 should disregard by pursuing this affair. I might have seen it 
 without trying your feelings thus, if I had not been blinded by 
 the remains of passion and the obstinacy of my will. To recede, 
 after taking a step, is so painful to me. Yes, I might have saved 
 this if I had gone to a priest at once." 
 
 She spoke of his parents. Any clergyman would tell him 
 that it was sinful, in such matters, to act without their advice 
 and consent. Then the rashness I It made her wonder to hear 
 him speak of a voyage in the company of that beautiful Jewess — 
 so ardent and impulsive. 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 361 
 
 '* Yet see her, Alban, if you can obtain an interview without 
 violating decorum, and try to persuade her to become a Christian. 
 If she consents, bring her here. I will receive her as a sister, 
 and I answer for my father's not objecting. She can stay with 
 me until you have graduated and are of age, and then you can be 
 honorably married. I would be bridesmaid and all that" — speak- 
 ing quick — " and happy as Miss Seixas herself." 
 
 " But if I cannot see her without violating decorum — without 
 scaling her window at night, for instance," said Alban, blushing 
 in the dark. " As a young inexperienced brother, I ask the ques- 
 tion of a sister the instincts of whose sex are wisdom." 
 
 " Don't dream of such a thing," said Mary, with a candid 
 glance and an extremely gentle accent. " Dear Alban, we have 
 no means of securing our virtue except by never putting it volun- 
 tarily in peril. When you have been a Catholic a very little while, 
 you will not ask such questions." 
 
 " And what return shall I make for your kindness ?" said 
 Alban. The whole scene inspired him with a sudden impulse. 
 Something ho felt was due to this blameless friend, whose pride, 
 if not her affection, he had wounded, yet who showed no resent- 
 ment. He sank on one knee and took her hand. She tried to 
 withdraw it, but did not till he had kissed it. " I have been far 
 from a true knight, Mary, but you are the truest of ladies ever 
 heard of — the tenderest and most forgiving mistress that ever was. 
 The only return I can make is to ask you to love and pray for 
 rae as heretofore, and one of these days, perhaps, I may be more 
 worthy of you." 
 
 She bade him good night in a less composed voice, and moved 
 shyly towards the door of the private stair. She paused with her 
 hand on the lock. 
 
 " Be faithful to your religion, Mr. Alban. No human respects 
 will now be mixed with it. Do not defer seeing a priest, and pray 
 for me when you have been received into the Church." 
 
 She opened the door quietly and stole up the stair. He listened 
 till the sound of her steps was lost in the corridor of the story above. 
 
 81 
 
BOOK V. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 We must take the reader once more to New Haven, and intro- 
 duce him or her to the interior of a room in North College, fire- 
 glowing, red-curtained, book-shelved, study-tabled. The student 
 sat in a rocking-chair by the fire, with his feet on the Franklin, his 
 trowsers strapless, his waistcoat unbuttoned, neckcloth laid aside, 
 his dilapidated frock-coat showing the shirt-sleeves at the elbows 
 and. at wide gaps beneath the arms, the buttons off, and the button- 
 holes torn through, and the silk lining completely in tatters. But 
 for two or three other points, the young man would have seemed 
 as great a sloven as could be found in an American college. His 
 morocco slippers were whole and not turned down at the heel ; the 
 "white cotton stockings protruding from the strapless trowsers were 
 spotless as a young lady's, and the linen so liberally displayed by 
 his open waistcoat and gaping elbows would have dressed an 
 Englishman for a dinner party. But the careless brown locks 
 clustering and curling over the ears would not have satisfied 
 English precision, notwithstanding the clearness of the brow and 
 cheek they shaded, and of the hand half-buried in them, as the 
 student leaned on his elbow. Being the study-hour, he had in 
 hand a volume of Plato's Republic, while a great folio lexicon 
 lay open on the floor by his side, so that he could reach it by 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 363 
 
 stooping a little, as he half sat, half lounged, in the low chintz- 
 cushioned rocking-chair, which no American collegian is willingly 
 without. 
 
 There was a short authoritative rap at the study door, and a 
 gentleman entered, without waiting for an answer to the warning. 
 The intruder was a man of about thirty, pale but in good flesh, 
 scrupulously attired in black, with a neat white neckcloth. The 
 student sprang up and remained standing. The tutor's duty is to 
 make such calls, and generally it is absolved by opening the 
 door, exchanging a bow with the occupants of the room, and 
 retiring. But this gentleman came decidedly in, and the young 
 man offered him a chair. 
 
 " Where is your cousin ?" 
 
 " Henry is out somewhere, sir. I have not seen him since 
 breakfast." 
 
 " I am glad to find you alone. I want to have some conver- 
 sation with you, Atherton." 
 
 Alban had already laid his Plato carelessly on its face upon the 
 lexicon. The Professor took it up. 
 
 " You have made beautiful recitations in the Republic I hear, 
 Atherton. It is agreed, I understand, that you are to have the 
 last ' oration.' It is really a higher honor than the valedictory, 
 and all the initiated people present at commencement understand 
 it so. I expect to enjoy your oration, as I enjoy every thing you 
 write." 
 
 " You have always been too partial to me, sir." 
 
 " You told me last term that you had some difficulties about 
 the evidences of religion. I suppose you have settled that point 
 with yourself, eh ?" 
 
 *' I think so, sir." 
 
 " And you are convinced of the truth of revelation, I hope ?" 
 " duite convinced, sir. I am sorry and ashamed to have ever 
 doubted." 
 
 *' I am rejoiced to hear you say so," said Professor B , 
 
 with emphasis. " In fact, from some things you have let fall in 
 
364 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 your answers, or some questions you have asked, at the Natural 
 
 Theology Lecture, Dr. got the impression that you were — as 
 
 he expressed it — a concealed infidel. I told him you were the 
 last man in the world to be a 'concealed' any thing. I have 
 always found you frank to a fault. But you did not partake of 
 the sacrament last Sunday, they say, although you were present. 
 Some of our quidnuncs, in fact, are a little excited about you, 
 Atherton. Just give me a word to quiet them. I suppose you 
 are fancying that you are not worthy, or something of that sort." 
 
 " I went to chapel with the intention of receiving," said 
 Alban, "but — I did not dare." 
 
 " I thought so. Oh, well, you must get over that. It is dis- 
 creditable to your clear judgment. We are all unworthy, in one 
 sense." 
 
 " It was not my own unworthiness — great as it is — which 
 deterred me," said Alban, uneasily. 
 " What then ?" 
 
 " Really, sir, I would rather be excused from answering. It 
 is a matter which I have confined strictly to my own breast." 
 
 " That is not wise, my dear Atherton. Heally, I did not sup- 
 pose that there was this weak spot in your manly organization. 
 I never should have suspected you of brooding over these morbid 
 scruples." 
 
 " I feel no such scruples as you suppose, sir," said Alban. " I 
 doubt whether the Lord's Supper, as administered among us, is 
 the sacrament at all." 
 
 " Oh I" said the Professor, " you have been too much with 
 that weak fellow, Soapstone. You are going to turn Episcopalian, 
 eh, Atherton ?" 
 
 This was said in a tone of undisguised contempt. 
 
 " I am not going to turn Episcopalian, I assure you, sir," said 
 Alban, much annoyed. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you are. If you have got doubts into your head 
 about ordination, and apostolic succession, and all that sort of 
 thing, you will become an Episcopalian sooner or later. I never 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 365 
 
 knew a case that turned out otherwise. It indicates a weak spot, 
 as I told you ; and weak spots always betray themselves." 
 
 " Harry is going to join the Episcopalian Church," said Alban, 
 " and yet I have done every thing in my power to dissuade him 
 from it. But Miss Ellsworth's bright eyes, and the charm of the 
 beautiful Liturgy, are more than a match for my arguments. I 
 have actually lost all my influence over Henry by the ground I 
 have taken in reference to the subject." 
 
 " You hope to introduce Episcopacy and Liturgies among our- 
 selves ? I have heard of such an idea. It is the first thought 
 of a youth who begins to see, as he says, ' the importance of these 
 things.' Well, try it, Alban. But take my word for it, you will 
 only do yourself harm. You will pass for a silly visionary. 
 Every body will laugh at you. Our own people, of course, will ; 
 for they don't want to be turned into Episcopalians ; if they did, 
 they would take the shorter way of joining the Episcopal Church. 
 And Episcopalians will only say that you are grossly inconsistent, 
 and that you ought to come into ' the Church' at once." 
 
 " They would be quite right," said Alban. " It would be the 
 height of absurdity to go about to reconstruct the Church on a 
 supposed divine model, when, if the Church be a divine thing at 
 all, it must exist in the world ready made to our hands. If I 
 were satisfied with the Episcopal Church, I would join it ; but 
 I am not. The Church, it seems to me, is, at least, the faith that 
 believes Christ and the love which embraces Him, made visi- 
 ble. The Episcopal Church neither behoves nor loves as I do. 
 Its articles outrage my faith, and its Liturgy disappoints my 
 heart." 
 
 " Well, and heartily said I I declare, Atherton, you have no 
 idea how you relieve my mind. To see your fine understanding 
 beclouded by this fog of Episcopacy, — a mere unmeaning, super- 
 stitious formalism — would have been too pitiable. But what do 
 you mean then about the Sacrament ? I hope you are not getting 
 into the mystical line, and renouncing outward forms altogether. 
 This has ensnared some choice intellects, refining too much for 
 
 31* 
 
366 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 humanity. We need memorials. It is not philosophical, Atherton, 
 to overlook the immense influence that the Lord's Supper has 
 exercised over the feelings of Christians in all ages. It has revivified 
 their love for the Redeemer almost more than every thing else. 
 Don't you feel, now, that this is true ?" 
 " Certainly.'' 
 
 The Professor was nonplussed. He thought he had explored 
 the whole ground. What point was left ? He began to feel pro- 
 voked with Atherton. 
 
 " Pray, let me know what is your difficulty," he said with 
 irritation. " My whole wish is to serve you, and it is hardly 
 treating me well to let me go on beating about the bush in the 
 dark." 
 
 " I have been in some confusion as to my duties, sir, from my 
 being actually a member of the College Church, Obedience to 
 my father, and love for my mother keep me from openly avowing 
 a change which has taken place in my faith, I had persuaded 
 myself that I might innocently join a company of Christians with 
 whom I was providentially associated, in partaking of bread and 
 wine in memory of Christ's death. But when it came to the point, 
 I shrank from doing it, for whatever it is to them, to me it could be 
 nothing but a sacrilegious substitution for the adorable sacrament of 
 love in which I believe." 
 
 The Professor stared as if he thought him deranged. 
 
 " At one time, not long ago," continued Alban, with some ex- 
 citement of manner, " I was forced by the manifest contradiction 
 between our New England religion and the Bible to retreat upon 
 the Hebrew position. I found there an ancient revelation and a 
 living witness in perfect harmony," 
 
 The Professor gave him a look of piercing scrutiny, but was 
 silent, 
 
 " It was deeply painful to me to have these ideas, Christ was 
 dear to me : — yes. He was dear to me through it all. I could 
 never bear to hear Him spoken of with irreverence. Somehow, I 
 had an idea that He was the real Messiah, but that neither His 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 367 
 
 own nation, nor His actual followers had understood him. I grew 
 more and more bewildered. I began to look for Him to reappear. 
 I was desirous of going to Palestine, in the hope, mixed with 
 many a carnal aspiration, of seeing Him. My heart cried out for 
 Christ." 
 
 Alban shed some quiet tears. The Professor now regarded hirai 
 with a mixture of fear and pity. 
 
 " We will talk over these things another time, my dear Ather- 
 ton. You are excited at present." 
 
 " No, no," exclaimed Alban. " Now I have begun, let me 
 finish. I can do it in a word. I have found Christ where alone 
 He really is on this earth, I have not as yet found Him, indeed, 
 as I hope to find Him, but I know where to seek Him ; and he 
 who knows where to seek has already found. It is not in Syria, 
 sir, but it is in Jerusalem, in a city set on a hill, of which all men 
 know at least so much as this, that He is said to be there. In 
 faith, sir," continued Alban, recovering his usual quiet manner of 
 a sudden, — " in faith, I am now, what you, perhaps, will consider 
 worse and more foolish than an Episcopalian : — namely, a Roman 
 Catholic." 
 
 " Poor Atherton I I do believe his head is turned," thought the 
 Professor. " Next he will say that he is a Mahometan. Or if 
 not crazy, he is dangerous. His influence is unbounded over cer- 
 tain minds. There are a dozen fellows in the senior class alone, 
 who would follow him anywhere he chose to lead. This must 
 be looked to in time. A Roman Catholic I oh, he is clearly not 
 sane. I must talk this over with you another day, Atherton," he 
 added aloud. " At present, I see, you are busy with Plato. Good 
 morning. And Atherton, — I hope you will keep this matter 
 to yourself That's right. Hem I" concluded the Professor, as 
 the door closed upon him. " I must communicate this forthwith 
 to the President." 
 
368 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 According to the interpretation of many CathoHc expositors of 
 the imystical Book of Revelations, it is a little more than three 
 hundred years ago since the star fell from heaven upon the earth, 
 to whom was given the key of the bottomless pit. This is agree- 
 able to the rules of symbolic interpretation recently laid down by 
 Mr. Lord, and now, we believe, generally received by his Protest- 
 ant brethren, viz., that a star signifies a Christian teacher, and a 
 star falling from heaven the apostasy of such a teacher. That 
 the star fell upon the earth intimates (agreeably to the same sys- 
 tem) that this teacher fell from the divine to the human sphere 
 in his doctrine ; and the key of the bottomless pit being given him, 
 that he opened an abyss to which there is really no bottom, by 
 appealing to human reason as the interpreter of the divine word ; 
 from which arose a smoke which darkened the sun and the air, 
 (the infinite heresies, and gross, light-obscuring prejudices of Prot- 
 estantism,) and from the smoke came out locusts upon the earth, 
 or the military and civil powers by which Protestantism was prop- 
 agated, the Church plundered, and the people persecuted to 
 make them fall from the faith. These hateful and violent powers, 
 however, could not hurt the truly faithful, but only those whom 
 mortal sin, whether sensual vice or intellectual pride, or covetous- 
 ness, rendered deserving of it, that is, the men who had not the 
 sign of God in their foreheads, who readily fell away and perished. 
 They were as horses prepared to battle, to show the rapidity of 
 their conquests ; they had crowns of gold, to show that the move- 
 ment against the Church was conducted by princes, like the sover- 
 eigns of Saxony, Brandenburgh, and England ; their "faces were 
 as men," to indicate their pretensions to human learning and better 
 reason, criticism, philosophy, and so on, (Humanitarianism ;) and 
 *' hair as the hair of women," to indicate the efieminacy of their 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 369 
 
 doctrine, in rejecting celibacy, authorizing polygamy, dissolving 
 the bonds of sacred marriage, rejecting the ascetic principle in. 
 Christianity, and denying the merit as well as the possibility of 
 heroic virtue, (the apsry) of the N. T.) Their teeth were as lions, 
 to show their destructiveness, evinced in the ruin of those splendid 
 institutions and monuments wherewith centuries of piety had en- 
 riched Europe. They had " breastplates as breastplates of iron," 
 to indicate that they would be insensible to reason or pity, as in 
 the cruel proscription of the Catholic religion and the bloody per- 
 secution of its professors and ministers ; and " the noise of their 
 wings was as the noise of chariots and many horses running to 
 battle," to show their great conspicuity and importance and appa- 
 rent triumph, their skill in filling literature with their doings, and 
 their semblance of being the great movement of the age and of 
 time. The double period of five months during which they were 
 to torment and hurt, is supposed to intimate a duration of three 
 hundred years, which now happily is come to an end ; the Church 
 is already, we may say, emancipated everywhere from their 
 power ; they may threaten, but can no longer injure ; their " scor- 
 pion sting" is lost. However all this may be, and we don't under- 
 take, like Aunt Fanny, to determine positively the sense of so 
 mysterious a prophecy, the application is extremely pat in every 
 particular, even to the succession of sovereigns, (doubtless of vari- 
 ous countries.) by whom these symbolic locusts were to be led. 
 " They had a king over them," that is, says Mr. Lord, " many 
 kings reigning successively," the angel or representative of their 
 principles ; if, indeed, this does not rather refer to the sect-leaders, 
 to whom they always appeal, and whose destroying names flourish 
 in regal pomp at the head of their armies. But we leave so subtle 
 a point to those who can understand a proverb, and the interpre- 
 tation thereof. 
 
 We suppose that even at the date of our story the scorpion sting 
 in the tail of Protestantism could no longer hurt. It was true the 
 teeth as lions" were shown about that time by the burning down 
 of a convent in Massachusetts, and of a church or two in Philadel- 
 
370 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 phia, by an anti-popish mob, but as neither of these proceedings 
 made any converls to Protestantism, but rather the reverse, the 
 sharpness of the bite was wanting. And our Alban, in a Puritan 
 college, although there is an immense dust kicked up and an un- 
 earthly clamor made, is in no danger of life or limb. He will 
 neither be hung nor burned, nor even set in pillory, nor whipped 
 at the cart-tail, of all which he might once have stood in danger, 
 even in New England ; still less will he be embowelled, as priests 
 used to be in Old England lor saying mass, or pressed to death, as 
 women used to be in the same country for hearing it. Still he is 
 a culprit, and must " suffer some." 
 
 The thing was whispered. It got about in the town before it 
 did in the college, which shows that some who were in the secret 
 had female friends. Then the case was mentioned in a social 
 prayer-meeting in college, that the unfortunate young man in 
 question might be unitedly prayed for I A hundred young men, by 
 the way, in a college lecture-room at five in the morning, some on 
 their legs, some kneeling on the floor, some resting their heads on 
 the back of the bench before them, so as to conceal their faces en- 
 tirely, while one of their number, standing with closed eyes and 
 extended arms, or clasped hands, is pouring forth an extempore 
 prayer, — measured, deliberate, long, rather in the manner of rea- 
 soning than supplication — is an impressive scene. There was a 
 faint stirring of the waters for a revival in college at that time, as 
 there generally is in the spring term, and prayer-meetings were 
 held every morning before chapel in the Rhetorical Chamber. 
 Alban was prayed for without mentioning his name, but the ab- 
 sence of a " professor" hitherto so shining, and always conspicuous 
 from his talents, could not escape notice. It was easy to put this 
 and that together ; the secret was soon nominal ; and one morn- 
 ing, not long after prayers had been mysteriously requested in his 
 behalf, a coarse but fervent youth — a Western man — ripped out 
 the name in full in a long supplication, in which the speaker took 
 occasion to enter into all the circumstances, for the benefit of such 
 as might yet be ignorant. 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 371 
 
 Alban's friends fell off at once. Even Henry Atherton, as we 
 have intimated, had grown cold. His class no longer cheered him ; 
 the Brothers' Society hstened to him in unsympathizing silence. 
 The new President was applauded in turning his palmary argu- 
 ment in a debate, into ridicule, and the Society decided for the first 
 time against the side he had supported. Society, in any of its 
 spheres, is never so unjust as when it turns against a former idol. 
 He is still great by the memory of her favor, and therefore she 
 feels no pity. O'Connor, who was a plucky fellow, and would 
 have stood by Alban, had left Yale and gone to St. Joseph's 
 Seminary. The gentlemanly Charles Carroll was cold to the sup- 
 posed convert. 
 
 It was felt by Alban's religious friends that it would not do to 
 trust wholly to prayer. Charitable charity students, whom Alban 
 had befriended or loved in the days of his fervent experimental 
 religion, called to pay the debt by earnest warnings. Hardly a day 
 passed without one such visit. Some came repeatedly. Old ladies 
 in the town sent for him to touch his feelings by reminding him of 
 his grandfather and mother, of his departed aunts and living 
 uncles, and missionary cousins, and a host of good people of his 
 all but sacred name and blood, who dead, would be ready to start 
 up in their graves, or living, would almost break their hearts, to 
 hear that he was fallen into such fearful errors. 
 
 Our young friend answered the old ladies that his living fnends 
 might err, and that the present opinions of such as were dead might 
 be very diflerent from what they supposed. 
 
 His pious classmates, his friends in the Theological Seminary, 
 and the Divinity Professors, opened upon him a terrible battery of 
 arguments. Alban smiled when they told him that Popery was 
 pointed out in the New Testament as the Man of Sin, by the clear 
 marks of forbidding to marry and commanding to abstain from 
 meats. It was as clear a case as Aunt Fanny's notion that the 
 " Church at Philadelphia" meant the Gluakers. Did that Church 
 forbid to marry, he smilingly demanded, which declared matri- 
 mony to be a Sacrament ? which interrupted its august sacrifice 
 
372 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 for one purpose alone — to bless the new-married pair, and invoke 
 for them fruitfulness in the bed and peace at the board, chaste 
 constancy in love and length of mutual days ? It was not forbid- 
 ding or dishonoring marriage, he argued, to say that celibacy was 
 more excellent ; for St. Paul himself expressly said it, affirming 
 that it was " beautiful to remain a virgin'' These were Chris- 
 tian ideas, he assured them, not Popish^ 
 
 " But the Papal Church forbids po'iests to marry — a clear proof 
 that matrimony is considered impure," said one obstinate reasoner. 
 It was a theological student who was engaged to be married to a 
 daughter of one of the Divinity Professors. He was ever harping 
 on this string. He came every day to see Alban about it, and 
 Alban at first declined to meet the objection. At length our hero's 
 patience and modesty were alike exhausted. 
 
 " Do you pretend to talk to me in this way," he cried, with a 
 deep flush on his own virginal cheek, " when I have the Bible in 
 my hands I Do I not know that God Himself enjoined a sacred 
 abstinence, not on a few priests only, but on the whole nation of 
 the Jews, for three days before he descended on Sinai ? Do I not 
 know that God laid a perpetual obligation of this sort upon all 
 priests during the time of their service ? Did God Himself in this 
 signify that union to be impure which He had hallowed in Para- 
 dise ? Yes, or no ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then neither does the Church insinuate that marriage is 
 other than a holy estate, although she requires a better choice of 
 those who are to serve continually at her altars, daily handling 
 mysteries of which those of the Old Law were but the shadows. 
 It is painful to me to talk of these things," added Alban, " I am 
 shocked at your notions of Christian sanctity, and of the power of 
 grace." 
 
 It was pretty much in this style that the aggressive Protestant- 
 ism of the College was met by him. One candid classmate said 
 that Atherton had a " fatal familiarity with the Bible," and that 
 Scripture, as he handled it, was a two-edged sword. 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 373 
 
 Mr. Soapstone, too, who did not confide so much in the Bible, 
 interpreted, as he said, by private judgment, but who was strong 
 in Patristics, could not suffer his interesting young friend to fall a 
 prey to Romanism without stretching out an arm to save him. 
 When Alban however heard that the Church of Rome had com- 
 mitted schism in separating from the Church of England, he 
 laughed outright. 
 
 As if the button should say to the coat — ' Why did you fall 
 off 1' " 
 
 In reply to this irreverent squib, Mr. Soapstone developed his 
 great idea of local Catholicity. 
 
 " Our Catholic and Apostolic bishops," said he, " having re- 
 ceived consecration in Scotland and England, came to the United 
 States and set up their jurisdiction here, several years before the 
 See of Baltimore was created by the Pope, and the Romish Bishop 
 Carroll consecrated for it. Consequently the erection of that see, 
 and the exercise of Episcopal authority by the said Carroll and his 
 successors, were acts of intrusion into our jurisdiction, and schis- 
 matical. The Romish communion in the United States is there- 
 fore in a state of schism, consequently it is no part of the Church 
 of Christ ; and the encouragement of this schismatical commu- 
 nion by the Church in France and Italy, is culpable in the ex- 
 treme." 
 
 " Your Catholic and Apostolic bishops, as you term them," 
 replied Alban, rather tartly, "were themselves heretics and schis- 
 matics when they came here, like the Church of England from 
 which they derived both their doctrine and their orders." 
 
 " Piove it," retorted Mr. Soapstone, triumphantly. " Prove 
 that the Church of England was guilty of heresy or schism at 
 the Reformation, or since. For if you cannot prove this, then she 
 must be allowed to be a branch of the Catholic and Apostolic 
 Church, and the consequence as to the exclusive jurisdiction of 
 the daughter Church established in these United States follows of 
 course." 
 
 "I see the point you make," said Alban, thoughtfully. 
 
 32 
 
374 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 " I never knew it fairly met by a Romanist," cried Mr, Soap- 
 stone. 
 
 " One does not like to enter into single combat with a woman," 
 replied Alban. " If you, whom I personally respect, had not 
 urged this argument, I could scarcely regard it as meriting a 
 serious refutation." 
 
 " Where is the fallacy?" asked the young clergyman, a little 
 trembling before the logical reputation of the quondam President 
 of the Brothers. 
 
 " Grant you valid orders and an orthodox faith," said Alban.; 
 " then you say you came to these countries first with your bishops. 
 You claim on the score of priority. But what you claim is terri- 
 torial jurisdiction." 
 
 " Certainly, exclusive territorial jurisdiction." 
 
 " Good. Now jurisdiction is a thing that cannot exist where 
 it is not claimed publicly, and in such a manner that all whom it 
 may concern are bound to take notice of it. It must be claimed 
 in the mode which custom authorizes. My neighbor has no right 
 to complain of my trespassing upon his field if he neglects to in- 
 close it, or to mark his right by some other customary sign of 
 property. There is a regular way, as I understand it, of claiming 
 the Episcopal jurisdiction of a territory, and that is by taking a 
 territorial title. When a man calls himself ' Archbishop of Can- 
 terbury and Primate of all England,' we know what he means to 
 claim for himself — a territorial spiritual jurisdiction over Canter- 
 bury and all England, for such is the customary style of bishops 
 with such jurisdiction. Pray, what was the style taken by your 
 bishops when they established themselves here ?" 
 
 " Bishops of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the States of 
 New York, Pennsylvania, &c.," returned Mr. Soapstone, reluc- 
 tantly. 
 
 " That is not a claim of territorial jurisdiction," said Alban, 
 ** but distinctly the reverse. The adoption of a new mode of 
 designating themselves, and taking a sectarian appellation, was a 
 tacit repudiation of territorial claims, and, unless I am mistaken, 
 
AL B AN . 
 
 375 
 
 was so intended by your first bishops. But whether intended or 
 not, the fact remains. In abandoning the system of local sees, 
 you abandoned what M'as signified by it. What does your Church 
 call itself? — 'The Protestant Episcopal Church in the United 
 States.' Such a title claims nothing. Can you lay your finger 
 on any other thing — any act, any document, any notification, of 
 what nature soever, emanating from your Church, in which she 
 claims exclusive territorial jurisdiction ? If not, how can a 
 Catholic bishop be guilty of schism, by coming into a country 
 where such a Church exists, and establishing a new see ? What 
 has the erection of the See of Baltimore, by the Pope, to do with 
 the existence of the * Protestant Episcopal Church in Maryland ?' 
 The Pope could not dream that he was invading jurisdiction 
 where none was asserted, and must be pardoned for overlooking 
 what you yourselves ignore." 
 
 " I have always regretted the sectarian title assumed by our 
 Church," said Mr. Soapstone, rather pale and worried, " as well 
 as our not estabhshing sees like other churches, but I never 
 thought of its vitiating our jurisdiction." 
 
 " It does more than that, on your principles," replied Alban, 
 following up his advantage. " For, observe, while you have 
 neglected to occupy, the Roman Catholic Church (I take your 
 own point of view) has extended its jurisdiction, in form, over the 
 whole of the United States. It has established its sees, in the 
 old recognized manner, so as to cover every square mile of the 
 territory of the Republic. Consequently, by your own doctrine, 
 she is in possession, and unless you can prove that she requires 
 sinful terms of communion, you are in schism, cut off from the 
 true Church, and from eternal salvation. You can't mistake her 
 claim — it is patent to all the world. Her style is unequivocal, 
 royal, and supreme. Those who reject her jurisdiction, do so, 
 therefore, at their own peril." 
 
 Mr. Soapstone sighed. 
 
 " If I may be candid," concluded Alban, " I will tell you 
 what I think of these High Church claims, unsupported as they 
 
376 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 are by facts, repudiated by the majority of your own members, 
 and ridiculed by all the rest of the world. Without having the 
 antiquity or the immense numbers, or any thing to be likened to 
 the curious civilization of the Chinese, you remind me of their 
 pig-tail arrogance, when they talk about the ' Celestial Empire,' 
 and term all other nations, though far more civilized than them- 
 selves, ' outside barbarians.' You High Church Episcopalians, 
 prating about ' The Church,' and ridiculing ' Dissenters,' are the 
 Chinamen of the West." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 377 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 At the first blush every body had deserted our young friend. But 
 by degrees his old admirers gathered round him, heard his reasons, 
 and at least in part, espoused his cause. The standard of religious 
 liberty was raised. Two parties were formed in college; — the 
 Protestants, and " Atherton's friends." The dispute ran so high 
 that one-half the senior class would not speak to the other. Every 
 man felt bound to take a side. Atherton — the quiet, philosophical, 
 regular Atherton, the favorite of the tutors — was become a dis- 
 turber of the peace of the University. 
 
 Alban's enemies — for the rancor of religious prejudice made 
 them such — were not content to assail his principles and decry 
 his talents ; they attacked his private character. They had, indeed, 
 no handle for this except some incautious admissions of his own, 
 dropped in pure frankness and humility, when defending the doc- 
 trine of penitence. 'Twas said that Atherton had been guilty 
 of card-playing, drinking to intoxication, and other immoralities, 
 in New York ; that, in consequence, he had " lost his religion," 
 and was given up to this delusion — " to believe a lie." Others 
 said that he did not really believe in Popery any more than they 
 did. But what excited a greater, because vague horror, was that, 
 a Catholic priest coming into town for a few days, Atherton was 
 seen in his company, and (it was even rumored) received a visit 
 from him at his rooms. The popular idea of a Catholic priest, at 
 that time, was of a fiend in human shape, who knew too much 
 of his religion to believe it, but exercised a fearful tyranny over 
 the minds of some poor ignorant people for the sake of gain ; who 
 abused the confidence of the confessional to corrupt innocent women, 
 and committed the greatest crimes every day without compunc- 
 tion. Regarding young Atherton as the voluntary associate of 
 such a monster, even grave elderly folks turned away their heads, 
 
 32* 
 
378 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 or stared in wonder, as they passed him in the streets, and shy 
 maidens hurried by him with downcast eyes and pale cheeks, 
 instinctively gathering their garments closer to their shrinking 
 forms. 
 
 Alban would not have minded these things if he had not 
 feared a more tangible infliction in the shape of a college censure. 
 Perhaps it might be suspension, or the loss of his oration, or even 
 of his degree. He heard that there was talk of sending him away, 
 or making him lose a year, and the privilege of graduating with 
 his class. Besides the mortification, this would have been a serious 
 injury to him at the outset of life. Indeed, any academical censure 
 at that period of his course must be a wound to the pride and 
 feelings of his friends and family, and consequently a misfortune 
 to him. Still he trusted that by circumspection in his conduct 
 he should avoid it. He was more regular at chapel than almost 
 any Senior, nor was there any change in that calm attention which 
 he had always given to the chapter at prayers. During the long 
 extempore prayer, he stood, as had always been his custom, with 
 folded arms and eyes downcast. Some asserted that his lips 
 were always moving, as if he were praying by himself, and that 
 he carried for this purpose a string of beads under his cloak, but 
 this was a mere calumny. Alban had adopted few of the devo- 
 tional practices so much esteemed by Catholics, inasmuch as he 
 knew not of them. His prayers were mostly mental. In chapel 
 he used to meditate on the acts, and if his lips ever moved, it 
 was unconsciously. This purely spiritual worship grew upon him 
 the more because he was entirely cut off from the service of the 
 Church. Father Smith's place had not yet been supplied, and 
 the priest who had left his own district to visit the flock at New 
 Haven, only said mass on a few week-days, at an hour when 
 Atherton could not attend without being absent from chapel. 
 
 Matters were in this state when a grave complication oc- 
 curred. One day the post brought him a note, in a feminine 
 hand, without a signature, requesting him, in somewhat mysteri- 
 ous terms, to meet the writer on the road to East Rock, during 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 379 
 
 the afternoon study hours. It concluded with the expression, that 
 if Mr. Atherton was a sincere Catholic, he would not fail to come, 
 as, according to his doctrine, the salvation of a soul was at stake. 
 Alban was extremely perplexed. He did not like to take no 
 notice of the communication, and it might be only a hoax, or any 
 way, might get him into a scrape. However, on the very after- 
 noon appointed, a visit from the Divinity Professor saved him 
 from the necessity of deciding. 
 
 He M'as thinking over this interview in the evening, and won- 
 dering how so mild and genial a man as the Professor could be 
 so bitter against a religion of whose doctrines he was entirely 
 ignorant, when a tap at his door aroused him. It was a 
 little black girl with another note from his unknown correspond- 
 ent. She reproached him for not meeting her at the time ap- 
 pointed. 
 
 " I must, if possible, see you this evening," pursued the note, 
 "and shall wait on the Green for that purpose till my messenger 
 returns. If you fail to come, (but surely you will not,) I shall lose 
 that good opinion of you which I have hitherto preserved, in spite 
 of all the nonsense that people talk," 
 
 Henry Atherton had gone to a Wednesday evening lecture 
 with Mary Ellsworth, (for it was Lent,) and Alban, after a single 
 question to the sooty little messenger, threw on his cloak, put out 
 the study lamp, and followed her. The paschal moon (then a few 
 days old) shed a pale illumination over the white Doric pile af the 
 State House, and it was thither that the black girl directed her 
 way. When Atherton arrived at the foot of the lofty steps, he 
 perceived a dark female figure between the columns. She drew 
 behind a column as he ascended towards her, but when he stood 
 by her in the portico, addressed him in a firm, pleasant voice, quite 
 free from nervous trepidation. 
 
 " Mr. Atherton, I am Miss Hartshorn," said the lady. 
 
 " I remember you, Miss Hartshorn." 
 
 "Mr. Atherton," said Miss Hartshorn," I won't detain you by 
 apologies for the step I have taken, since I owe none to you. 
 
380 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 There is a theological student boarding at our house whom you 
 know." 
 
 " Walker. He is licensed and gone somewhere to preach as a 
 candidate, — is he not ?" 
 
 " He went away, and came back sick with inflammation of 
 the lungs. He has been lying at our house a fortnight. Pa thinks 
 he will not live through it, and Mr. Walker himself expects to die. 
 He wants to see you, Mr. Atherton, but they won't let him. Mr. 
 Walker has prevailed on me to tell you about it. I suppose it is 
 wrong, but I am not a Christian, and I mean to take my chance 
 of getting him a little peace of mind while he lives, at any rate. 
 He has been out of his head, and they have allowed no one to see 
 him but Professor , and one or two of Mr. Walker's most par- 
 ticular friends," 
 
 " Is he out of his head still ?" 
 
 " Pa says not." 
 
 " Dr. Hartshorn has been his physician, I suppose." 
 
 *' Pa and Dr. Reynolds both. Dr. Reynolds was for letting 
 Mr. Walker see you, but pa and the ministers would not consent to 
 it. Mr. Walker says he must die a Catholic, and wants you to 
 get a priest for him, and all sorts of things. I think he is more dis- 
 tracted by what he has on his mind, than delirious from the fever ; 
 and always has been." 
 
 " Walker used to call on me frequently to dispute. I thought 
 him very far from such a change." 
 
 " He was always talking against you, Mr. Atherton — forever ! 
 You see it was because he was disturbed byw^hat you said. They 
 say that his mind is weakened by disease, (for he was a man of 
 strong mind, Mr. Atherton,) and perhaps it is, but the horror he 
 has of dying is awful. I promised him that I would see you my- 
 self, and I did not know any better M^ay than this. He gritted his 
 teeth like a madman when I told him to-night that I had not 
 succeeded in obtaining an interview with you. * In twenty-four 
 hours,' said he, ' I shall be one of the damned. Have you no pity 
 on me, Miss Hartshorn?' — You see that I could not refuse him, 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 381 
 
 but how you will manage to see him, Mr. Atherton, I cannot 
 tell." 
 
 Walker was the same theological student whose mind had 
 been so exercised in regard to the celibacy of priests. Alban was 
 surprised that he had not even heard of his illness. Miss Harts- 
 horn observed that " they had kept very still about it." She did 
 not believe that Mr. Atherton would be suffered to have an inter- 
 view with the dying man, and as for a priest, her father, who was 
 a deacon in the Congregational Church, and the two ministers who 
 daily attended at Mr. Walker s bedside, would as soon think of 
 admitting " the old gentleman himself ;" by which Miss Harts- 
 horn meant to signify a personage whom many people dislike to 
 name. 
 
 " Shall you see Mr. Walker to-night so as to give him a mes- 
 sage ?" asked Alban, after a little thought. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I see him every night. His room is next to mine. 
 I used to have to keep it locked pretty strictly when Mr. Walker 
 was well, poor fellow ! But I don't mind now, except on account 
 of his watchers. They are theologues too. Very well-behaved 
 young men. I have nothing to say against them. But I can go 
 in when I like, to speak to Mr. Walker, and offer him his drink." 
 
 " Well, tell him that you have seen me, and that I am going 
 to send for a priest. I shall send an express this very night. Can 
 you let me know, Miss Hartshorn, if any change occurs ?" 
 
 " Hetty here," pointing to the little black girl, " shall bring 
 you word. I will run that risk. She is safe, but if any body 
 should see her going to your room — why she lives with us, you 
 understand." 
 
 " Exactly. Let her come in the evening, if possible. I shall 
 go openly to your father's and ask to see Mr. Walker. Good-night, 
 Miss Hartshorn. May God reward you for this." 
 
 " I might have been afraid if it had been any one else," said 
 Miss Hartshorn, descending the white steps with him, " but Mr. 
 Walker told me that I might rely on Mr. Atherton's treating me 
 with as much respect alone as before a hundred witnesses. I hope 
 
382 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 that I am not a bad girl, and that you won't think me one, Mr. 
 Atherton, although I don't pretend to be a Christian." 
 
 Miss Hartshorn meant that she had never experienced a 
 change of heart, not that she was either a Mahometan or an 
 infidel. 
 
 " I would trust you further. Miss Hartshorn," said Alban, 
 " than some bright professors I know." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 383 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 If the affair at which our story is arrived concerned such a thing 
 as that Mr. De Groot's tenants were going to ruin him by refusing 
 his rents ; if the hero's hfe were in danger from an African despot 
 or Spanish brigand ; if the matter were the abduction of a lovely 
 heiress, or the fall of a princely house, we might hope to interest 
 our readers. Yet a greater thing was at stake than the perpetua- 
 tion of the Howards, or the rights of the Bourbons, or the liberty 
 of the French, or the credit of the Rothschilds, or the nationahty 
 of Poland. The burning of the Industrial Exhibition, or the 
 destruction of the Vatican Gallery with all its masterpieces — the 
 Apollo, the Laocoon, the Stanze of Raphael, the ceiling of the 
 Sistine ; or the oblivion of a science — say chemistry or astronomy ; 
 or any other like or worse misfortune that the civilized world 
 would feel as a universal calamity, or all together, could not 
 make an unit wherefrom, by infinite multiples, one could express 
 that catastrophe which now hung in the delicate balance of Provi- 
 dence, and depended, under the Supreme, upon the clearness of 
 our hero's judgment, and on the energy of his will. 
 
 A week had passed, and the paschal moon was past the full. 
 The white State House on the green — modelled from the Temple 
 of Theseus — shone like an earthly Luna, reflecting the beams of 
 the just risen satellite, A youth, involved in a cloak, paced to and 
 fro under the portico. By and by a little girl appeared at the foot 
 of the vast white steps, and began to ascend them. When she 
 got to the top she gave a billet to the young man in the cloak. 
 "While he read it she turned her face to the moon, and the face 
 was black almost as the hood that surrounded it. When the 
 young man had read the billet, he also looked up to the sky. 
 
 " Tell your mistress," he said at last — 
 
 " Miss 'Liza ?" demanded the little negress. 
 
384 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 " Miss Eliza — that I will come at eleven to-night." 
 
 The child of Afric sped her way home. Dr. Hartshorn's 
 house stood in a garden ; it was an old double house, with mighty 
 elms before it, for Dr. Hartshorn was an old and respected inhabit- 
 ant, an established physician, although as his family consisted of 
 Mrs. Hartshorn and their daughter Eliza, he was willing to take 
 a theological student as a boarder : for Dr. Hartshorn had been a 
 deacon of the Congregationalist Church for thirty years, and was 
 a veiy shining Christian, which your deacon sometimes is not. 
 Little Hetty, (Dr. Hartshorn kept one female " help," a stout lad 
 to do the chores, and Hetty,) — little Hetty went round to the 
 kitchen door and admitted herself silently into the house. Ike — 
 the lad that did the chores — was carrying in an armful of hickory 
 from the well-piled wood-house to replenish the " sittin'-room" fire, 
 for " them ministers" were there, as he gruffly informed the little 
 negress. Hannah — the female help — was ironing, and made 
 Hetty shut the outside door after Ike. 
 
 The house was planned in this wise. In front, on one side of 
 the hall was the best, or drawing-room, and on the other, the com- 
 mon sitting-room, where the family took their meals. Back of 
 the sitting-room was " the bedroom ;" back of the best parlor was 
 the kitchen, which extended across the hall, so that the only way 
 out on that side of the house was through it. The doctor's office 
 was a sort of offset or wing, opening into the bedroom internally 
 and having a direct exterior door, as well as separate front gate, 
 so that professional calls needed not to disturb the house. 
 
 Above stairs there were the usual five bedrooms, to wit : two 
 over the kitchen — one of which was small, corresponding to the 
 width of the hall — and one over each of the other rooms. Thus, 
 over the drawing-room, was the best or spare chamber. Back of 
 it was the chamber of the female servants, Hannah and Hetty ; 
 for although Hannah was white, she condescended to share her 
 sleeping apartment with such a " httle nigger" as Hetty. But 
 Hetty, of course, had a separate cot. Hannah would as soon have 
 shared her bed with Ike, and Hannah was a girl of the starchest 
 
"ALBAN. 
 
 385 
 
 virtue. Opposite the best chamber was the door of the sick-room ; 
 and Miss Hartshorn's apartment, as she has ah'eady told us, was 
 the one back of that ; while the little room at the end of the 
 chamber-entry — situate, of course, between Miss Hartshorn's and 
 Plannah's — was occupied alternately during- the night by the sick 
 man's watchers, who thus were enabled to relieve one another — a 
 matter of some moment, as it was considered desirable not to 
 summon a greater number of persons to Walker's bedside than 
 absolute necessity required. A sort of low piazza (painted red) 
 ran along the back of the house ; and at the corner, where the 
 office wing projected from the main building, it was easy for an 
 active man to climb, by the aid of a window-shutter and the 
 lightning-rod, which there descended, and so to get upon the 
 "shed," or roof of the piazza ; whence again, it was easy, by the 
 windows, (at least if one had a friend within,) to enter either 
 Hannah's room or the little chamber which the watchers occu- 
 pied ; or, finally, Miss Hartshorn's apartment. 
 
 The ministers were assembled in Dr. Hartshorn's sitting-room, 
 and conversed on the perplexing affair of their sick brother. There 
 was a difference of opinion between them, in regard to the course 
 proper to be pursued. 
 
 " For my part," said a dark, diffident-looking, but meditative 
 man, who spoke in a rich voice, and very quietly, " I am disposed 
 to concede to Brother Walker in the matter of his wish to see 
 young Atherton. I do not see that principle is involved in deny- 
 ing such a request, nor do I apprehend the evil consequences from 
 granting it, which the rest of the brethren seem to forebode." 
 
 " I think on the contrary," said a massive, practical-looking 
 man, somewhat advanced in life, "that there is jealousy enough, 
 and bitter theological hatred enough, entertained in reference to 
 the. New Haven Seminary, without letting it go abroad that one 
 of our licentiates has died a Papist, and that we have made our- 
 selves, at least, accessories after the fact. It will be laid to the 
 door of the New Haven divinity, depend upon it, Brother F." 
 
 " I think the admission of Atherton is inconsistent with our 
 
 33 
 
386 
 
 A LB AN , 
 
 position and his," said a very calm, still-voiced personage, who 
 seemed to be a dignitary of no slight mark, as both the others 
 directed their observations rather to him. " The only middle course 
 that occurs to me, is what I have already suggested — for I only 
 suggest — namely, that we request one of the Episcopal clergymen 
 in New Haven to visit Mr. Walker. Their Church uses a form 
 of absolution, and it is possible that they may thereby quiet the 
 conscience of this unhappy young man." 
 
 I would prefer to call in a Horaan Catholic priest at once," 
 said a young clergyman who had not spoken before. " If there is 
 any thing in a human absolution that can benefit the soul in the 
 presence of God" — he spoke in a hoarse and hollow voice — " let 
 us have it from an authentic source. None of this double-shuffle 
 in religion — this miserable trumpery of the form, without even 
 the profession of the power, which real Popery claims. Away 
 with it, I say !" 
 
 This speaker was thin, narrow-shouldered, long-necked, (which 
 his white neckcloth exaggerated) and sallow in complexion. His 
 forehead was high and broad, and his dark, saturnine eye was 
 piercing. Near him sat, in the corner of the sofa, a minister 
 (evidently such) of. about the same apparent age, (say thirty-one 
 or two,) but a strong contrast in other respects — light-haired, blue- 
 eyed, softly florid, and graceful in figure. He was now appealed 
 to by the mild dignitary, and spoke with great gentleness — almost 
 too great for a man, and in a voice almost femininely sweet. 
 
 " As a stranger I feel diffident in expressing, and indeed in 
 forming an opinion. Are the brethren satisfied, may I ask, that 
 this dying brother is now in the possession of his faculties ?" 
 
 " Perfectly," said his dark-eyed neighbor, in his hollo west , 
 tone. 
 
 " It is, therefore, a case of wilful departure from God, and 
 turning to a refuge of lies — at least so far as poor human eyes can 
 judge ; for it may be — we should trust so— but a permitted temp- 
 tation of Satan, meant to cloud, for a time, our brother's evidence, 
 but from which he may yet emerge triumphant. In either point 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 387 
 
 of view ought we not to wait on the Lord for him in prayer, and 
 leave the rest to God ?" 
 
 This advice was Hke oil on the waters. The colloquy was 
 turned into a prayer-meeting. One after another, (all kneeling,) 
 at the request of the most forward, poured out a long and earnest 
 supplication in behalf of the dying Walker. The deep monotone 
 of their voices, changing in pitch from time to time, rolled on for 
 nearly an hour. Eliza Hartshorn., who was working in the parlor 
 opposite and keeping her mother company, thought they would 
 never get through. In fact, the perplexity of the ministers was 
 great and real. Humanity pled strongly with some of them in 
 the dying man's behalf, but theological prejudice, the fear of stul- 
 tifying themselves, and awe of the opinion of their world restrained 
 the impulse. 
 
 At ten o'clock Mrs. Hartshorn laid aside her knitting, read her 
 chapter, and prepared to retire. She recommended to her daugh- 
 ter to follow her example, but Miss Hartshorn said that she should 
 certainly sit up till the ministers w^ere gone. Finally Dr. Harts- 
 horn and Dr. Reynolds came in together from the office of the 
 former, visited the patient, and, after a short consultation on the 
 stairs, joined the clerical conclave. 
 
 " Well, doctor ?" 
 
 "Mr. Walker, gentlemen, draws near his end." 
 
 " Will he last out the night, doctor ?" 
 
 " He maij do so." 
 
 " But you do not expect it." 
 
 " It is our opinion that Mr. Walker will not live two hours." 
 
 "Is he aware of the close proximity of death ?" 
 
 " We have thought it best that one of you gentlemen should 
 communicate it to him. It is the duty of the priest rather than 
 of the physician," said Dr. Reynolds. 
 
 After some consultation the dark-eyed, hollow-voiced , 
 
 and the mild Professor F , who had been Walker's immediate 
 
 pastor before the latter became a licentiate, were deputed- to this 
 office. The took leave, pleading the hour and his age. Dr. 
 
388 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 Reynolds also went off with the air of a man who felt himself no 
 longer needed. 
 
 Walker was not greatly changed, except in color and expres- 
 sion. A sort of green pallor overspread his features as he sat, 
 supported by numerous pillows, in a position almost erect, on ac- 
 count of his impeded respiration. Ouly one of his watchers was 
 in the room ; the other had already retired, and was asleep in the 
 little bedroom at the back end of the chamber entry. A study- 
 lamp with a shade, stood on Walker's table, and the watcher sat 
 by it in a rocking-chair. On the table were books and vials, 
 glasses for medicine, and a decanter of wine. It had been neces- 
 sary for some time to support the patient's strength by stimulants. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Wiley?" said the Professor, addressing 
 the watcher in his softest voice. 
 
 " How do you do, brother Wiley ?" said the other minister in 
 a deep tone. 
 
 Mr. Wiley placed chairs for them by the bedside. Professor 
 F , took Walker's hand kindly and felt his pulse. It was im- 
 perceptible, as the Professor gently intimated. 
 
 " What does that imply ?" said Walker. " Death ?" 
 
 " We cannot hope that you will continue long with us, 
 Walker, unless God should choose to make a change." 
 
 " What do the doctors say? How long have I to live ? Tell 
 me the truth," said the dying man, " as you hope for God's 
 mercy." 
 
 " We have no desire to conceal the truth from you, brother 
 Walker," said the other minister, more gently than he was wont. 
 " The doctors say that you are sinking. They fear that you will 
 not live many hours." 
 
 " How many ?" asked Walker, gasping slightly. 
 
 "Perhaps not two hours more," said the minister firmly. 
 " You are quite pulseless, and there is effusion in the chest, which 
 increases. These are fatal symptoms, brother Walker. We tell 
 you in kindness, that you may use the time you have left to make 
 your peace with God, if so be that you have not made it already." 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 389 
 
 " For the love of God," said Walker, beginning to breathe 
 hard and quick, " send for Alban Atherton. I must see a priest 
 before I die. For God's sake, Professor F., send for a priest to 
 absolve me before I die. I shall go to hell. Oh, my God I I 
 would go to purgatory willingly for a million of years — but ever- 
 lasting perdition I These men have no mercy. God forgive you." 
 
 He seemed strangling ; but Mr. Wiley calmly brought a 
 draught from the table ; the patient coughed and raised a quan- 
 tity of frothy and sanguineous mucus ; then drank, and became 
 quiet, though his eyes glared wildly from one to the other of his 
 persecutors. 
 
 " There is no priest to be had, brother Walker," continued 
 the same minister ; for Professor F., pushing back his chair, seemed 
 to abandon the case as beyond human reach : " and besides, the 
 hope you place in that source is but a refuge of lies — a reliance 
 on which is the true cause that threatens your perdition. Who 
 can forgive sins but God only ? Go directly to him. Not that it 
 would be improper to unburden your mind to one of us, if you 
 have any load of special guilt upon it. ' Confess your sins one to 
 another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed.' Not 
 a word there about a priest." 
 
 " AYe have been over this ground so often with brother Wal- 
 ker, that I think it is useless to recur to it now," interposed Pro- 
 fessor F. 
 
 " 1 wished once more to direct brother Walker's mind away 
 from priests and human absolutions, to the Latnb of God who 
 taketh away the sins of the world," said the hollow-voiced minis- 
 ter solemnly. 
 
 "How am I to apply His blood to my soul ?" asked Walker. 
 
 " By faith," responded the minister, " appropriating him as 
 your Saviour, and renouncing all dependence on your own righ- 
 teousness." 
 
 " Will you pray ?" said Walker, addressing the Professor, " and 
 then leave me ? I wish to be alone." 
 
 The ministers and Mr. Wiley knelt, and Professor F. began to 
 
 33* 
 
390 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 pray. He was not very fluent, but commenced, apparently from 
 habit, by addressing Almighty God " who by thy apostle hast 
 said, ' If any be sick among you, let him call for the elders of the 
 Church, and let them pray over him' — " 
 
 " ' Anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord,' — why 
 don't you go on M'ith the text ?" interrupted Walker. 
 
 This disconcerted Professor F., who soon brought the prayer 
 to a conclusion, and his hollow-voiced ministerial brother sighed 
 deeply as they rose from their knees. 
 
 People moved through the passages, and on the stairs. Some 
 were females, from their lighter tread and rustling garments. By 
 and by the house became quiet. Mr. Wiley was to call the fam- 
 ily if any change, occurred, and Hannah, before going to bed, 
 stopped at the door to let him know that there was hot water in 
 case it were needed. Dr. Hartshorn came in again before retiring. 
 As he quitted the sick-room he tried the door communicating with 
 his daughter's to ascertain if it was locked on the other side, 
 which it was. But Miss Hartshorn was still in the parlor, and 
 her father looked in upon her. 
 
 " Come, Eliza, it is time you were in bed. It is already con- 
 siderably past eleven." 
 
 *' I cannot bear to go to bed, pa, when any person is dying in 
 the house." 
 
 " Nonsense, child. I desire that you will go up stairs, at all 
 events, immediately. I shall not retire as long as any one is 
 stirring below. Come." 
 
 So Miss Hartshorn took her candle and slowly went up the 
 stairs. Her father tried the outer doors, and withdrew the key 
 from the lock. He did not go into his chamber till his daughter's 
 figure was no longer visible from below, and even then he left the 
 door ajar, so that no one could descend the stairs without his 
 knowing it. 
 
 Miss Hartshorn did not repair directly to her room ; she went 
 to the sick-room and tapped. Mr. Wiley came to the door. She 
 asked a question, and Mr. Wiley came out — nay, he gently closed 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 391 
 
 the door all but a crevice — while he answered her. They whis- 
 pered awhile, Miss Hartshorn, who was an engaging girl of five- 
 and-twenty, looking very modest, but much interested. 
 
 " Don't stand there in the entry with your candle, Eliza," said 
 her father's voice from belov/. 
 
 " No, sir," cried Miss Hartshorn, and with a saucy air, by 
 signs, invited Mr. Wiley into the opposite or spare chamber, to 
 finish what he had to say. Without much hesitation the young 
 man complied, and the candle no longer shining in the entry, her 
 father returned to his room. 
 
 Meanwhile Alban was kneeling by Walker's bedside. 
 
 " I am dying, Atherton. I want a priest. Confession — abso- 
 lution I I am a great sinner." 
 
 " I expected a priest to-night, but he has not arrived. To- 
 morrow he will certainly be here." 
 
 " To-morrow I I have not two hours to live," said Walker 
 feebly, and struggling for breath. Weak as he was, he suppressed 
 the inclination to cough, but the blood flowed from his hps. " 'No 
 -hope for me I" 
 
 " Say not so, my dear Walker ; God does not require impossibil- 
 ities. An act of perfect contrition, with the desire of the sacra- 
 ment which you have, is sufficient to blot out your sins in a 
 moment. I have never confessed. I am preparing to do so when 
 Father 0"K.yan comes. But if I were to die to-night, I trust I 
 should be saved. The doctrine of the Church is, that perfect 
 contrition — which is genuine sorrow for sin from the love of God, 
 whom sin offends — suffices without the sacrament, if we desire 
 the sacrament and purpose to receive it when we have opportuni- 
 ty, as you and I both do." 
 
 " But who can give me perfect contrition ! Alas, my sorrow 
 for sin proceeds almost wholly from fear of hell. I think of 
 naught else, day and night, but those eternal flames. I have 
 sinned so grievously. Let me whisper in your ear." 
 
 Alban turned pale as he listened to Walker's whispers." 
 
 " There is no hope for me I you feel it ?" 
 
392 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 " You have sinned grievously — " 
 
 " Oh, that is only one — the greatest — " 
 
 " But the blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin. It matters 
 not how guilty we are ; one drop of that precious blood is sufficient 
 to make us whiter than snow." 
 
 " But how is it to be applied to my soul ?" It was the same 
 question which he had put to the ministers. 
 
 " The sacraments apply the blood of Christ to the soul, if 
 they are received with suitable dispositions," replied Alban ; "but 
 there is no minister of the sacraments here, unless of baptism. 
 Are 5'ou sure that you have been baptized ?" 
 
 Walker had been baptized in infancy by his father, who was a 
 Congregationalist minister of the old school, and was accustomed 
 to use trine affusion wdth great particularity. Walker had seen 
 his father baptize often. 
 
 " There cannot be a doubt that you have been baptized," said 
 Alban. " Perhaps I must teach you a little. Life is the direct 
 gift of God, Walker, yet it comes to us by the ministry of our 
 parents, by the sacrament, if one may say so, of natural genera- 
 tion. It is God who sustains us, who heals us ; but it is by the 
 natural sacraments of food and medicine. Nor can it be other- 
 wise in the spiritual world. There is a ministry and a sacrament 
 of spiritual birth, healing, sustenance. God seems to do nothing 
 without a form, which united to a certain appointed matter, con- 
 veys to us his manifold benefits. You have not feared, my dear 
 Walker, to profane the innocence and the life of grace which God 
 gave you in baptism, and now you need another sacrament of 
 Divine institution to heal your wounded soul, to renew within 
 you the justice which you have lost. Christ's blood has purchased 
 for you the right to such a renewal — to such a medicine. Christ's 
 word has provided it for you in the sacrament of penance ; but a 
 minister to whom He has said ' Whose sins you shall forgive they 
 are forgiven,' is wanting to apply it." 
 
 " Ah, you plunge me in despair," said Walker, whose eyes 
 were fixed on Alban' s lips. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 393 
 
 " Man doth 7iot live bij bread alone, but by 6very ivord that 
 proceedetJi out of the mouth of God'' answered Alban, solemnly 
 and tenderly. " The compassion of our Creator and Redeemer is 
 infinite. You must have perfect contrition, certainly, and perfect 
 contrition is very difficult to elicit ; it is impossible without spe- 
 cial grace, as the Church teaches. I know of but one certain way 
 to obtain it — to interest the Saints in our behalf, God will grant 
 to their prayers what He justly withholds from ours. St. James 
 assures us of it. The sacred heart of Jesus, and that of His 
 blessed Mother, are the refuge of sinners. Fly to them, dear 
 \Yalker, in these straits. No one, however stained with sin, was 
 ever lost who had recourse, with perfect confidence, to Jesus and 
 Mary. All the Saints say that. For in every exigency God 
 devises means to bring His banished back. Weak, alone, cut off 
 from the ministrations of the visible Church, your faith. Walker, 
 places you in the fellowship of the invisible andtriumphant Church. 
 From their bright thrones they watch you, expecting that cry 
 which claims their aid. It is not in vain for us that they reign 
 with Christ — believe it firmly." 
 
 Walker's eyes filled with tears. He was prepared to believe 
 all. A great scene opened upon him with the clearness of death- 
 bed vision — a great and holy society, partly visible, partly unseen, 
 but travailing in charity for him ; the Lamb of God, the Fount 
 of all that love, its bond the Divine Humanity. If he had been 
 left without the ordinary means which God, as' Alban cited from 
 Holy Writ, " devises to bring His banished back," it was only that 
 that charity might reveal itself by overflowing its appointed 
 channels, which is nothing but charity when it restrains itself 
 within them. 
 
 Mr. Wiley, having whispered as long as he thought decency 
 permitted with Miss Hartshorn, in the spare chamber, returned 
 into the passage ; but behold the sick-room door was shut. Mr. 
 Wiley tried the handle in silence, but the key had been turned on 
 the inside. 
 
 " Grood gracious, Miss Hartshorn !" 
 
394 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 " Really ! what can have happened ?" 
 
 " May I pass through your room, Miss Hartshorn ?" 
 
 " Oh, sir, through my room, indeed I" 
 
 " Your door is locked, too, Miss Hartshorn" — after trying it, in 
 spite of her reclamations. — " What is to be done, indeed I" The 
 cold sweat stood on Mr. Wiley's forehead. "Can he have got 
 up ?" — listening at the door. " Some one is talking to him," he 
 said, with great agitation. 
 
 Miss Hartshorn's quick ear caught her father stirring. She 
 blew out the light with great presence of mind, and whispered 
 her companion to be still. In fine, the doctor came groping up 
 stairs. Miss Hartshorn drew Mr. Wiley, confounded at the dilem- 
 ma, into the spare room again. The bright moon shone in at the 
 window of the entry, but the closed shutters excluded it from the 
 spare room. The doctor came to the door of the sick chamber 
 and listened ; he heard a low voice as in prayer. The rigid 
 countenance of the Congregational deacon, supposing that he 
 heard Mr. Wiley himself, smoothed in the moonlight into an 
 expression of contented piety. With noiseless steps he returned 
 to his own sanctum below. 
 
 It must not be supposed that Mr. Wiley abused the opportu- 
 nity of the situation by any reckless act of gallantry towards Miss 
 Hartshorn. It is true that she kept herself as far as possible from 
 him ; but he was also too conscience-stricken, and too full of ap- 
 prehension in regard to the fault which he had already committed 
 in deserting his charge. With slow, agonizingly-muffled steps he 
 again approached the fatal door. 
 
 They could both faintly hear the Litany of the departing. 
 
 " Lord have mercy ; Christ have mercy ; Lord have mercy. 
 " Holy Mary, pray for him. 
 
 " All you holy Angels and Archangels, pray for him. 
 
 " Holy Abel, pray for him. 
 
 " Whole Choir of the Just, pray for him. 
 
 " Holy Abraham, pray for him. 
 
 " Holy John Baptist, pray for him. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 395 
 
 " Holy Joseph, pray for him. 
 
 " All ye holy Patriarchs and Prophets, pray for him." 
 
 Soon the strain altered. 
 
 "Be merciful, Spare him, 0 Lord. 
 
 " Be merciful, Deliver him, 0 Lord. 
 
 "Be merciful, Receive him, 0 Lord 
 
 " From thy anger, 
 
 " From the perils of death, 
 
 " From an evil death, 
 
 " From the pains of hell, 
 
 " From every evil, 
 
 " From the power of the devil. 
 
 Deliver him, 0 Lord. 
 
 " By thy nativit}^, 
 
 " By thy cross and passion, 
 
 "By thy death and bmial, 
 
 "By thy glorious resurrection, 
 
 " By thy wonderful ascension, 
 
 "By the grace of the Holy Ghost, 
 
 " In the day of judgment. 
 
 Deliver him, 0 Lord. 
 " Sinners, we beseech Thee hear us. 
 
 " That Thou mayest spare him, we beseech Thee hear us. 
 " Lord have mercy ; Christ have mercy ; Lord have mercy." 
 
 " Is, it a Catholic priest who is with him ?" whispered Air. 
 Wiley, in a tone of awe. 
 
 " I don't know. Listen." 
 
 But all was a low confused murmur of question and faint 
 reply, till the same clear, soft voice was heard reciting, deliber- 
 ately, the Acts of Faith and Hope, and of Divine Love, and the 
 Act of Contrition ; and something that might be supposed to be 
 an Amen followed each. Miss Hartshorn knelt all the while at 
 the door, and was weeping. Twice again the low accents re- 
 peated the Act of Contrition, which, if indeed it be assented to 
 with all the heart, this sinner's salvation is secure. 
 
 " 0 holy and compassionate Virgin, Mother of Mercy and 
 
396 
 
 ALB AN, 
 
 Refuge of sinners, suffer not this soul to perish for lack of thy all- 
 powerful intercession, which in its last hour turns to thee the eye 
 of hope. By the sword of suffering that pierced thy heart 
 heneath the cross, be his advocate with thy Almighty Son, his 
 E.edeemer. 
 
 " 0 Jesus, who hast shed every drop of thy blood for him, melt 
 his heart by one glance of thine infinite charity ; remember him, 
 Lord, in thy kingdom ; say to him as Thou didst to the thief who 
 confessed to thee on the cross, ' This day thou shalt be with me in 
 Paradise.' From all eternity Thou hast foreseen this hour. Be- 
 hold he is the child of time, and he has abused thy gifts, but his 
 sole hope, 0 Saviour of men, is in thy mercy. Shed abroad in his 
 heart a ray of that perfect charity which effaces in a moment the 
 multitude of sins, for this gift also is thine ; or else, 0. Lord, all- 
 powerful, preserve him yet a little while for the sacrament of thy 
 reconciliation, which he so fervently desires." 
 
 These prayers were interrupted by Walker's coughing. The 
 fit w^as severe, and was succeeded by panting moans as of one 
 struggling for breath. Wiley could not refrain any longer from 
 tapping on the door, and Alban came presently and opened it. 
 W^iley went in with a cowed and guilty look. Walker was now 
 suffering fearfully, 
 
 " Air 1 Air I Air I" he articulated ; his countenance was of a 
 darker lividity, and his lips bubbled with bloody foam, which 
 Wiley wiped away with a handkerchief. A draught which the 
 latter offered he put away with his hand. His strength was so 
 great that he raised himself entirely from the pillows and sat un- 
 supported save by Wiley's arm. 
 
 "Give me — Air I" 
 
 Wiley motioned to Miss Hartshorn who stood within the 
 threshold. She understood him and ran down for her father. In 
 a moment Dr. Hartshorn came up, with his dressing-robe thrown 
 round him. After a glance at the bed, not even noticing Alban, 
 he took a vial from the table and administered to the sick man a 
 spoonful of liquid. A smell of ether was diffused through the 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 397 
 
 apartment. Walker ceased to cry for air and fell back slightly- 
 panting on the pillow. His eyes sought Atherton, who had knelt 
 again by the bedside. Having never seen death, Alban was not 
 alarmed. 
 
 " Do you believe in God," he said in a low voice, " and in all 
 that He has revealed to His Church ; the Trinity of Persons in the 
 Unity of the Godhead, the Incarnation of His Son Jesus Christ 
 of the Ever-virgin, His death for our sins, His resurrection for our 
 justification, the perpetuation of His sacrifice and the presence of 
 His Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity in the adorable Sacrament 
 of the Altar, the Remission of Sins by the power of the Keys which 
 He has left to His Church, and in general all that is believed and 
 taught as of faith by the Holy, Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman 
 Church, out of which there is no possibility of salvation ?" 
 
 " I believe all," said Walker, with a faint eagerness. 
 
 " You hope in the infinite goodness of God, and in His gra- 
 cious promises to you, though a sinner, for salvation through the 
 blood of Christ, that is, the infinite merits of his sacred pas- 
 sion ?" 
 
 " It is all my hope." 
 
 *' It grieves you to the heart to have ever offended by thought, 
 word, or deed, this God and Saviour ?" 
 " To the heart." 
 
 " You desire to be reconciled to the Church by penance and 
 absolution, were it possible ?" continued Alban, in a trembling 
 voice, 
 
 " God knows that I desire it — I ask not to live one moment 
 % longer than may suffice for that." 
 
 " Yet once more," pursued Alban, hurriedly ; " you are willing, 
 however, to die whenever it pleases God, and you accept your 
 death in the spirit of penance, humbly offering it to God in union 
 with the death of His beloved Son ?" 
 
 Walker raised his eyes to heaven, but answered not with his 
 lips. He seemed so collected and so calm, that no one but the 
 physician could believe that the end was so near. Dr. Hartshorn 
 
 34 
 
398 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 had stared at Alban wildly at first, and then fixed his gaze upon 
 the sick. Mrs. Hartshorn had come up from the room in the garb 
 of haste, and stood with her daughter at the bed's foot. Little 
 Hetty had also somehow glided in, and stood with her black arms 
 crossed on her breast, in her coarse chemise and petticoat. 
 
 Alban began to murmur prayers, to invoke the sweet names 
 of Jesus and Mary. He took a crucifix from his bosom and 
 offered it to Walker's lips. 
 
 " Behold Avith faith Him whom your sins have pierced, but 
 who has washed them out in His heart's blood." 
 
 The dying man looked at the image of Him who was " lifted 
 up like the serpent in the wilderness," with an expression of un- 
 utterable tenderness and compunction. His eyes wandered round 
 as if he saw something in the room. He made an attempt to 
 speak, but could only articulate faintly the words " Jesus ! Mary I" 
 
 There was a slam of the outer gate, followed quickly by a 
 firm, loud knock at the street door. Little Hetty disappeared at 
 a sign from her mistress, for Dr. Hartshorn was wholly absorbed. 
 The eyes of Walker were glazed ; his jaw had fallen ; he lay 
 motionless. Mrs. Hartshorn was about to draw away the pillows 
 from under the corpse, but her husband prevented her. Little 
 Hetty came running in again, and whispered to Miss Eliza, who 
 in turn whispered Atherton. The latter started up and went out. 
 He returned in a minute, bringing in a gray-haired man in a long 
 overcoat, and wrapped up as from night travel. The stranger 
 approached the bedside, (even Dr. Hartshorn giving way before his 
 air of quiet authority,) and uttered without delay some words in 
 a voice almost inaudible, making a rapid sign in the air with one 
 hand. • The dying drew one soft breath, that just raised the linen 
 over the breast. All waited in silence for another, but it came 
 not, and at length it became manifest that all was over. 
 
A L B A N . 
 
 399 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WalkePc's funeral, agreeably to the custom of the countiy, took 
 place on the second day after his decease. His father and only 
 sister had arrived but the day before ; they had been sent for at 
 an early period of his danger, but their journey was from far and 
 by winter roads. They were plunged in the deepest grief, for he 
 was their hope and stay, and the trying circumstances of his last 
 illness, considered in a religious point of view, could not be kept 
 from their knowledge. The father, a respectable Congregational- 
 ist minister in Western New York, was profoundly humiliated by 
 his son's death-bed apostasy : the daughter (now a sole surviving 
 child) seemed stunned. A grave and stern sympathy pervaded 
 New Haven ; Alban Atherton's name was hardly mentioned 
 without some indignant sentence which on other lips would have 
 been an execration ; the Episcopalians alone secretly exulted in 
 the blow inflicted on the pride and bigotry of the " standing order." 
 
 Early in the morning (it was Good Friday, but the college 
 routine was not interrupted for that) a young student visited the 
 house where the dead lay. He was shown by little Hetty into 
 the best parlor, where a white-haired but hale-looking man, cleri- 
 cally attired, and a pale girl in black, already were. Mr. Walker, 
 senior, was placid in mien, but his mouth had that stern compres- 
 sion of the thin lips over the jaw, which is so common in New 
 England. He spoke not, but his look said to the student, "What 
 do you want with me ?" 
 
 " My errand," said the young man, after a brief but earnest 
 expression of sympathy with the affliction of those whom he ad- 
 dressed, " regards the performance of the last rites of religion at 
 our friend's burial." 
 
 " The Reverend Doctor , is to conduct them," said the 
 
 senior Walker quickly. 
 
400 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 " At the house, pa," said Miss Walker. " The Reverend Mr. 
 is to officiate at the grave." 
 
 " I have no wish," said the young man, " to propose any thing 
 that can conflict with these arrangements, which have been 
 adopted in accordance with the feehngs of survivors. The sole 
 request which I would prefer in the name of the Catholic priest 
 now here, is that on the way from the house to the grave the re- 
 mains of your son, sir, may be taken to the Catholic chapel. The 
 object, I need scarcely say, is to pay them those rites of respect 
 vi^hichare due toone who died in our holy faith." 
 
 Mr. Walker started as if stung. Miss Walker stared at the - 
 speaker, as if she for the first time understood who he was, and was 
 petrified at the presumption of his request — indeed, at the audacity 
 of his coming. The father only answered quietly, 
 
 " My son, I hope, died a Christian. I want no mummeries over 
 his body." 
 
 There was something so definitive, so absolute in the tone in 
 which this was uttered, that the youth felt it would be vain to urge 
 any thing further. Yet he turned to the daughter. Women are 
 more accessible, more open to conviction than men. 
 
 " Let me claim your intercession. Miss Walker," said Alban. 
 
 " You cannot have it, sir," answered Miss Walker. " Why do 
 you come here to add to our affliction by such proposals?" Her 
 frame, which was slight, trembled with passion. 
 
 Alban rose. 
 
 " I have a message to deliver to you. Miss Walker, which 
 your brother, a little before he died, requested me to impart to you 
 alone." 
 
 Miss Walker's pale face changed to crimson. Her father, 
 gazing sternly out of the window, evidently listened not. In a 
 minute the daughter rose, pale again, paler than before, and 
 beckoned Alban to follow her. She preceded him up stairs to the 
 room which had been her brother's. The door was locked, but 
 the key was outside, and she turned it. The room was cold, but 
 cheerful with the sun. The bedstead had been stripped of its 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 401 
 
 furniture ; the books, toilet, and table were arranged with the for- 
 mal precision of a vacant chamber ; but supported on three chairs 
 was the open coffin with its stiff and white tenant. There were 
 no flowers, as in the half-heathen Germany ; no candles burning, 
 as in Catholic lands ; the dead lay coldly, but not unimpressively, 
 alone. 
 
 " Here," said Miss Walker, seeming to lean on her brother's 
 coffin for support, " we shall not be interrupted, and this cold pres- 
 ence is propriety." 
 
 Miss Walker's features were not beautiful ; she M^as too dark 
 and pale ; but she had a fine brow and large, dark, piercing eyes, 
 full of melancholy. Her figure, in deep mourning, was remarkable 
 only for its extreme fragility. Her attitudes and movements were 
 somewhat rigid and ungraceful. She bent on Alban those mourn- 
 ful eyes with an expression of fear, expectation, and distressful 
 curiosity, mingled with something of womanly embarrassment, per- 
 haps of maiden shame. 
 
 " Your brother fell into a gi'icA^ous sin, not unknoMTi to you," 
 said Alban, " and he crowned the sin, as you also know, by a great 
 injustice, and added a falsehood, which came little short of perjury, 
 to shield himself from the consequences ; finally, when driven to 
 desperation, procured the commission of what even human laws 
 punish as a crime, and which certainly is a great one in the sight 
 of God. A great part of this is irreparable ; but the person whom 
 he has injured is known to you ; it may be in your power to save 
 her from further degradation and eternal ruin. He implores you 
 to do it, even if his reputation should be thereby endangered. Do 
 not be so overwhelmed — Miss Walker. God has pardoned your 
 brother, we trust, and that is the important thing. Perhaps but 
 for this fall he had not been saved. It is only a divine restraint 
 upon us that prevents any of us from rushing into wickedness." 
 
 " I never knew his sin till it was too late to do more than 
 conceal it as best I could." 
 
 " If concealment had not been unjust to another," said Alban. 
 
 " She deserved her fate," said the sister of Walker, looking 
 
 34* 
 
402 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 up. " Not that I excuse my brother ; but he was a man. A 
 woman Avho forgets what is due to her sex, Mr. Atherton, must 
 and ought to bear the penalty." 
 
 " Would lie say so now, who has met, face to face, the justice 
 of God ?" said Alban, glancing down at those features locked in 
 the tranquillity which knows no earthly comparison. 
 
 Miss Walker bowed herself over the calm, white face, from 
 which Alban had lifted the light fall of muslin that covered it, 
 and burst into sobs. Their violence racked her delicate frame. 
 Some low words escaped her in which nothing but " Brother," 
 was distinguishable. 
 
 " And now I ma'y say," continued Alban, "that we are not 
 anxious to claim your brother as a convert for the sake of any 
 credit that would hence redound to our religion. He fled to the 
 Church as an ark of safety from the wrath of God. The Divine 
 mercy inspired him with such dispositions, so far as we can judge, 
 that the priest, whose word and sign in the last unconscious mo-, 
 ment of existence swept away the airy barrier which yet separated 
 him from the visible communion of God's Elect, entertains no 
 doubt of his salvation, and is ready to attest the fact of his recep- 
 tion into the Church by granting his mortal remains the last 
 honors of the flesh which is to rise in Christ's image. For the 
 repose of his soul, masses shall be ofiered. W hatever measure of 
 just retribution his spirit suffers, the merits of the Divine sacrifice 
 are applicable to expiate and relieve. Body and soul he belongs 
 to Christ — not to Satan. That is what we wish to say, Miss 
 Walker, — what we dare to say — let the cruel, harsh-judging, un- 
 forgiving world talk of him as it will." 
 
 Now the sister's tears fell fast, but in silence. Although the 
 quick transitions and delicate links of reasoning, than which ada- 
 mant were more easily shivered, baffled a female attention in most 
 that Alban would say on such subjects, the main drift was intelli- 
 gible to a woman through her heart. A certain apprehension of 
 punishment is inseparable from the knowledge of guilt in ourselves 
 or those near to us. Hence Alban had touched the right string 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 403 
 
 when he pointed out to Miss Walker that the Church extended 
 over her brother in death, the arm of courageous love and the segis 
 of the name of Christ. She wsis softened enough to reason with 
 the young student whom at first she had regarded but with indig- 
 nation and horror, 
 
 " I cannot imagine," said she, gently replacing the muslin 
 over the face of the dead, " how an absolution which seems to 
 have been pronounced when my brother was unconscious, and 
 actually breathing his last, should affect his state. You attach a 
 value to forms, jNIr. Atherton, which appears very strange." 
 
 " Because behind the veil of the form we see something that 
 you do not — Jesus Christ gliding into the chamber and saying to 
 the^eparting, ' Thy sins be forgiven thee.' But I must not tarry 
 longer." The young man bowed for a moment over the dead, 
 and turned away. " It is not good for you to remain here long," 
 he said, allowing her to pass out before him. When they reached 
 the bottom of the stairs, he extended his hand without alluding to 
 the business which had occasioned his visit. 
 
 ".I will get pa to consent to your proposal about — " said she, 
 avoiding the conclusion of the sentence. "•And in regard to the 
 other matter — it rests between us, I hope, Mr. AlHerton? We 
 may never meet again, sir, but you may be assured that my bro- 
 ther's dying request is something that I shall consider sacred." 
 
 The funeral was in the afternoon. A crowd of students and 
 citizens of New Haven, with many ladies, filled every room within 
 the house. Without were collected a great number of Irish servants 
 and laborers, mingled with the more ordinary class of town-people. 
 At one time, from the excited feeling between the Catholic and 
 Protestant portions of the crowd outside, an excitement fanned by 
 various reports, there were symptoms of a battle, but the arrival 
 of the ministers produced a calm by diverting the attention of the 
 multitude. 
 
 The exercises consisted of an address to those assembled, and 
 a prayer. Both were made in the hall at the foot of the stairs, 
 and were listened to, in breathless silence, by the men who filled 
 
404 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 the lower portion of the house ; with tears and some audible 
 sobbing by the females in the chambers. The address of Profes- 
 sor was cautious and painful. He spoke of the lessons to 
 
 be drawn from the death of one so young — " in the opening bud 
 of manhood and usefulness, and so recently full of health and 
 strength." He applied to the surviving friends the ordinary topics 
 of instruction and consolation ; but he said very little of the de- 
 parted, which, considering that it was almost a clerical brother, 
 seemed a significant omission, and struck a chill into the breasts 
 
 of his auditors. The Rev. Mr. 's prayer was more fluent, 
 
 and his hollow tones reverberated with an awe-impressing effect ; 
 but he, also, much more slightly and vaguely alluded to the 
 deceased than was his wont. He made amends by praying fer- 
 vently that all present might be preserved from false dependences, 
 from every refuge of lies, from all the cunning devices of Satan, 
 even when he disguised himself as an angel of light, (here every 
 eye was directed, or at least, every thought, to the form of Ather- 
 ton, who stood in the doorway among the bearers,) and that every 
 stronghold of his, whether pagan or papistic, might speedily be 
 overturned by the po^\'er of the Word of God, and so on, which 
 was listened to eagerly, and found in every listener a ready inter- 
 preter. 
 
 The procession was formed. The pall-bearers took their 
 places. There was only one carriage, occupied by the mourners ; 
 the citizens followed on foot ; the students walked on before the 
 hearse. It proceeded by an unusual road, which many, indeed,, 
 did not understand, until a pause occurred before the low building 
 with a cross on the gable. Those whose duty it was to bear the 
 coffin, when taken from the hearse, here refused to act ; but six 
 Irish laborers, decently clad in black, came forward and supplied 
 their places. However, curiosity carried most of those present 
 into the chapel, and it became filled. Unfamiliar, and some of 
 them apprehensive, the crowd gazed upon the black hangings, 
 which had not been removed since the morning service, (it was 
 Good Friday,) and the candles burning by day. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 405 
 
 The bod)^ of Walker passed a threshold, which living it had 
 never crossed ; and psalms were recited in the ear of the dead, 
 which living it had never heard ; holy water was sprinkled on 
 the inanimate flesh, which living had never used that salutary 
 aspersion ; lights burned and incense waved around that body, 
 which living had never rendered like honors to the glorious Body 
 of the Lord. Such was the Church's acknowledgment of peni- 
 tence and faith, though testified at the final hour. Nor did she 
 avoid his name, which once before she had uttered, when she 
 bore him in baptism. She breathed it now in prayer, commend- 
 ing his spirit to the mercy of Him Who created it. 
 
 " Requiem eternam dona ei, Domine. 
 " Et lux perpetua luceat ei. 
 " Requiescat in pace. 
 
 " Amen." 
 
406 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " A EOY like this cannot be permitted to triumph over us all." 
 — " The spirit of insubordiaation appears already. Nothing else 
 was talked of in commons to-night, and those who were opposed to 
 Atherton's views sympathized with his victory over the faculty." — 
 
 " The weakest thing was brother 's speech at the grave — 
 
 why should he speak at all?" — " The students dispersed smiling 
 * and laughing. But I wonder that more decided measures were 
 not taken to prevent that significant demonstration at the Cath- 
 olic chapel." — " It was a mistake all round. Atherton, who 
 (between us) is the very deuce among the women, persuaded 
 Walker's sister, and she made the old man consent. But Master 
 Alban has laid himself open to discipline in that visit to Walker. I 
 suppose you knov/ that he entered Dr. Hartshorn's house near upon 
 midnight, by Miss Hartshorn's chamber window." — " Shocking I 
 scandalous I and he a professor ! Isn't it a misdemeanor, a tres- 
 pass, or something of that sort ? Dr. Hartshorn should bring 
 him before a justice of the peace." — " His daughter's share in it 
 prevents his doing that. But there is nothing to prevent an in- 
 vestigation before the faculty." — " That '11 be rich. Atherton 
 will be expelled — don't you think ?" — " I am sorry for him," 
 with a look of mysterious knowledge, *' but he has brought this 
 thing upon himself" 
 
 Thus a pair of tutors gossiped as they returned from their 
 evening walk. 
 
 These subordinates but echoed a determination of the superior 
 members of the college government. The proceedings of the fac- 
 ulty of Yale College are always marked by promptitude. The 
 morning of the day following Walker's funeral, Alban was sum- 
 moned before them ; few witnesses were required, for the culprit 
 admitted most of the facts alleged against him. 
 
AL BAN . 
 
 407 
 
 A majority of the younger members of the faculty, aud one 
 or two of the older professors whose natures were more despotic 
 and their religious antipathies more violent, w^ere in favor of ex- 
 pulsion, or at least dismission. But the venerable President, the 
 amiable and gifted Professor F., and others, opposed so extreme a 
 measure. This body is one of a remarkable sagacity, which has ever 
 tempered its instinctive jealousy as a government. There was 
 danger, as the acute and practical S. pointed out, in carrying Ath- 
 erton's punishment beyond what was necessary to save themselves 
 from contempt ; it was wiser to fall short of the severity desired 
 by the public feeling than to awaken sympathy for the sufferer by 
 the semblance of vindictiveness. These temperate counsels pre- 
 vailed, and Alban Atherton, more humiliated by his trial than 
 aggrieved by a sentence which virtually acquitted him of every 
 thing not openly acknowledged by himself, was rusticated for three 
 months — being the entire remainder of his college course. 
 
 The President's room was directly under Atherton's — " Awful 
 handy for you I" said St. Clair, who tried to keep up his cousin's 
 courage under these painful circumstances by a fire of constrained 
 jests. All Saturday afternoon he heard the voices of those who 
 were sitting there and deciding upon his fate ; at six o'clock he 
 went in to hear his sentence from the lips of the President, as well 
 as to receive the " admonition" which was a formal part of the 
 punishment. 
 
 The day which he had thus spent had been fixed for his first 
 confession, and as soon as he could get away, he hurried to the 
 Catholic chapel. He found it full of servant-girls and laborers 
 waiting their turn, and crowding, not to say pushing, each other 
 round the door of the sacristy in order to secure it. It might be 
 nearly half-past seven when Atherton came in, and he remained 
 more than three hours kneeling at one of the back benches, trying 
 to recall the matter he had previously prepared, and to excite him- 
 self to contrition. In spite of his efforts at recollection, his mind 
 wandered — now to the sentence which, in all its mild wording and 
 severe sense, rung in his ears, now to the mortifying details of his 
 
408 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 trial, in whicli he might have said so much that he did not say, (in 
 reply to attacks,) and omitted so much (that was indiscreet) which 
 he had said ; then to Walker's death and funeral, his interview 
 with the father and sister, and the probable effect of all upon his 
 own parents, the De Groota, and all his near or distant friends. 
 
 At about eleven o'clock the chapel was at last cleared, and he 
 entered the sacristy with a beating heart. The old priest rose from 
 the confessional and met him. 
 
 " My dear sir, you must not think of coming to confession to- 
 night. If I had had a suspicion of your being here I would have 
 come out of the sacristy to tell you so. It is impossible, my dear 
 young friend, that after what you have passed through to-day you 
 can be sufficiently recollected to make a first confession. God will 
 take the will for the deed. Return to your room and sleep upon 
 it. To-morrow you will hear mass quietly, and in the afternoon, 
 or Monday morning, whichever you prefer, I will see you here, and 
 we can take it leisurely." 
 
 " On Monday morning, Father O'Ryan, I must quit New Haven. 
 I am rusticated." 
 
 ''Have they gone so far? — Well," giving Atherton's hand a 
 warm pressure — " thank God I thank God I you begin to suffer a 
 little for the faith. What a favor to you, my dear friend I Now 
 do7iH trouble yourself about this confession. Let me see. You go 
 on Monday morning. Perhaps you will like to make a beginning 
 to-night, and I dare say you can finish to-morrow." 
 
 *' I think I will not attempt to do any thing to-night, if I 
 can have an hour to-morrow all in a lump," said Atherton. 
 
 " Then I will hurry to my hotel and take a bite before twelve 
 o'clock," said the priest, "for I have two masses to-morrow, and 
 to-day, of course, I have had but one meal. As that was ten hours 
 ago, and I have been in this dreadful confessional ever since, I feel 
 rather used up." 
 
 " My dear Father O'Ryan I and you talked of hearing my con- 
 fession !" 
 
 " Why, to tell the truth," said the missionaiy with a gruff 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 409 
 
 cheerfulness, " I hardly knew how I should stand it if I didn't get 
 something to eat before midnight. Not but that I've done it in 
 my day, but this has been a hard week. In vigiliis, in jejuniis 
 often comes to my mind, Mr. Atherton. We stagger under a trifle 
 of fasting for twenty-four hours — what would we think of the 
 watchings and fastings of St. Paul ?" 
 
 So on Sunday Alban came in the afternoon to the chapel, but 
 found it closed. Not a soul knew why. He went round to the 
 hotel. The missionary was gone, having been called away to a place 
 thirty miles off to visit a person at the point of death. He had left 
 a pencilled note for Atherton, which thus concluded. 
 
 " Thank God, my dear friend, for this fresh disappointment, it 
 being His will to try you a little longer. To be perfectly resigned 
 to the will of the Almighty is better than to receive absolution 
 with ordinary good dispositions. Be humble enough to say from 
 the heart Jiat voluntas tua, and grace itself can do no m^ore for 
 you." 
 
 With faint steps the young convert approached his boarding- 
 house at the hour of the evening meal. He was fasting, although 
 it was the Clueen of Festivals — the first Easter he had ever ob- 
 served. 
 
 Looking forward to confession, and feeling pretty sure that 
 under the circumstances Father O'Ryan would give him absolu- 
 tion at once, he had entertained the innocent desire of making his 
 first communion on that sacred day. The disappointment of both 
 these expectations coming upon his academical disgrace, — con- 
 spired, with the exhaustion of his bodily powers and the moral re- 
 action after the somewhat exalted state through which he had 
 passed, to produce an extreme depression. His very faith ap- 
 peared to have left him. The sublime Hope on which his soul 
 had fed, identified itself with the illusions of the imagination. 
 Could his eyes have been opened he would have perceived a dark 
 and formless Being walking by his side, triumphing that his power 
 was not yet at an end, and that one more temptation was permit- 
 ted him to which those of the world and the flesh were weak. 
 
 85 
 
410 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 Mrs. Hart met him in the hall with some letters which had 
 arrived on Saturday, for Alban had lately taken a fancy to have 
 his letters left at his boarding-house. By such a batch coming to 
 hand at once, he divined a crisis, such as indeed he had reason 
 to expect. As in duty bound he opened one from his father 
 first. 
 
 " IS'EW YoKK, April 17, 1835. 
 
 *' Dear Son, — Your mother and myself have been astonished 
 at the communication just received from you. What you propose 
 is an act of perfect lunacy. I can with difficulty realize that 
 you are serious in it. I omit all reply to your long argument. I 
 am astonished that the college faculty should not have informed 
 me, when they knew that you were diverting your mind from your 
 studies to these frivolous questions, which the whole world settled 
 hundreds of years before you were born. You mentioned to me, 
 before leaving home last vacation, that your mind was occupied 
 in this manner, and I thought I then signified my wish with suffi- 
 cient clearness, to the effi^ct that you would postpone such matters 
 until you have completed your college course. Indeed, it would 
 be far better never to take into consideration any subject which 
 has no practical bearings. 
 
 " The recent rise in (which has very much surprised the 
 
 rich 'bears') has realized the expectations which I had confidently 
 formed, and I anticipate a still further improvement. Thinking 
 you may be short, I inclose you a check for fifty dollars, which 
 please acknowledge. 
 
 " The proposed change of rehgion would be decidedly injurious 
 to you in a quarter to which I need only allude. I speak from per- 
 sonal knowledge when I say that the opinion entertained of your 
 sound judgment and liberal views, is the ground of the approba- 
 tion wdiich has been given by her parents to the preferences of a 
 certain young lady. 
 
 " Yr. aff. father, 
 
 " Sl. Atherton." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 411 
 
 The next letter was from his mother. 
 
 "Grey Street, April 16, ThAimday. 
 
 " My Dear Alban, — Your letter has plunged me into the 
 deepest grief. Words, my beloved son, cannot express the feelings 
 with which I have again and again perused it. Surely it is a 
 transient bewilderment. You confess that you were for a time 
 skeptical, then (singular and incomprehensible) almost a Jew I 
 These notions will also pass off if you give them time. 
 
 " What you say in condemnation of the religion of your 
 sainted grandfather, your aunt Elizabeth, your cousin Rachel, 
 (who is going on a mission,) — not to say of your own mother — is 
 dreadful I But you have not looked upon it in that light. When 
 you do, you will repent, I am sure, of such thoughts as you seem 
 to have had. It would break my heart, Alban, if I thought that 
 you could really be given up to this awful delusion. 
 
 " Your father (although he has promised me to write 3^ou tem- 
 perately) is very angry about your letter. He says that if you 
 turn Papist or Jew (for he cannot make out which it is you mean) 
 he will never see you again. 
 
 " Before you were born it was my prayer, day and night, that 
 (whatever else you were) you might be one of Grod's true chil- 
 dren ; and indeed I had hoped that my prayer was answered. 
 Oh, Alban, I would rather have followed you to your grave than, 
 see you forsake the truth, and lose your soul I 
 
 "Put away the books which have perverted your mind, my 
 dearest son ; give up your proud reliance on your own talents, (ah, 
 that is the great point,) and study your Bible with prayer to God 
 for guidance — He will not fail to direct you. 
 
 " I have no heart to add more at present. If you will not 
 take the counsels of those who are older and wiser than you, I 
 foresee your ruin for this world and the next, and for your parents 
 nothing but shame and grief, where they have hitherto felt so 
 proud and happy. 
 
 *' Your affectionate mother, 
 
 " Grace Atherton. 
 
412 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 " P. S. I have just heard, from a rehable source, that Miss De 
 G., who has no doubt influenced you more than you are aware, is 
 herself not too well satisfied with the step so hastily taken in op- 
 position to the known wishes of her parents. Oh, Alban, will 
 you not be warned ?" 
 
 These letters touched our hero deeply. Could any thing be so 
 certain as the evil of outraging- these kind affections — the prime 
 religion of nature and basis of piety ? — A man's foes shall be they 
 of his own household. He that loveth father or mother mxyre 
 than me is not icorthy of me. — " How true the prophecy ! How 
 precise the warning I" thought Alban, as he broke the rich seal 
 of a third letter. 
 
 " Fifth Avenue, Fer. 6 in Parasceve. 
 
 " Dear Atherton : Addressing a new-blown votary of the 
 Christianity of the Middle Ages, I can do no less than adopt an 
 ecclesiastical date. Your father tells me you are going to make a 
 fool of yourself as Mary has done, but with infinitely less excuse. 
 
 "Speculate as you will, Atherton. Protestantism is a shallow 
 thing, no doubt, but do not think that because there are truths 
 which it cannot measure or fathom, its opposite must necessarily 
 be truth without alloy. It is but a few months since you hesita- 
 tated between Judaism and Episcopacy, and but a few more since 
 you were a fervent Puritan. Now you regard these past states as 
 blindness. "VYait a few more months and you will deem the same 
 of your present stage of development. I do not mean (as some 
 vulgar people would) that you have gained nothing, but that you 
 have something yet to gain. You are young, and although you 
 have a wonderful head for your years, no genius can compensate 
 altogether for the want of that grandest and most fruitful experi- 
 ence whose domain is the inner world of reflection, — which time 
 and self-study alone can give. 
 
 " I do not wish to appeal to any feeling or interest which you 
 would regard as beneath the dignity of such a question. At the 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 413 
 
 same time I think it right to tell you that since she has looked 
 upon you as a convert, Mary's interest in you has sensibly dimin- 
 ished. Her imagination is no longer excited about you, and that 
 is a fatal incident to the love of a devotee. Mary thinks more of 
 the cloister than of wedlock already, and if you were actually to 
 join the Roman Church at this premature stage of your friend- 
 ship, I greatly fear that she might never arrive at that passion- 
 point where maiden resolutions melt like snow before the fire. 
 
 " Win and wed my daughter first — then profess her faith. 
 The world will then appreciate your change, which now will be 
 assigned to an interested motive. 
 
 " Let me hear that you have chosen the wise course of post- 
 poning an irrevocable step, at least until you can take it with 
 dignity. 
 
 " Truly yours, 
 
 " E. De Groot. 
 
 " Alban Atherton, Esquire." 
 
 " How sage and how confident he seems I"' thought Alban. 
 " And Mary ! It would be strange if she ceased to love me, be- 
 cause I had become actually a Catholic. And yet it would not 
 be strange, for it is not like the ways of the Highest to bestow a 
 rich earthly reward on those who leave all for His sake. I see 
 how it will be. Flower of chastity I My bosom is not pure 
 enough on which thou shouldest repose I He whose ' name is as 
 oil poured forth,' has attracted thy virgin steps." 
 
 A sudden faintness overcame Atherton ; the room swam 
 around him ; he looked about for help, but Mrs. Hart was gone ; 
 he rose and staggered to the sofa, on which he had just time to 
 throw himself ere a darkness swept the room from his sight. 
 
 He lay motionless, but not unconscious, till on that black 
 depth, as in a mirror, a bright scene became gradually distinct. 
 
 It was the interior of a beautiful chapel, the morning sun 
 shining in at the high east window. A pure yet brilliant altar of 
 white marble was crowned with a constellation of starry lights. 
 
 35* 
 
414 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 A meek prelate in a rich robe stood before it ; the sides of the 
 chapel were lined with black-robed nuns, each in her oaken stall, 
 the snowy wimple covering her breast, the snowy hand across 
 her temples. At the rail knelt two young females in pure white, 
 one of whom was habited as a bride. 
 
 Alban could hear no words ; but the brief and beautiful cere- 
 mony of taking the white veil took place in dumb show in the 
 small, brilliant chapel. He knew what it was, although he had 
 never seen it. When the novice turned from the altar with the 
 plain veil of religion upon her head, in place of the rich bridal 
 lace Avhich had previously shrouded her, Atherton saw her features 
 of incomparable loveliness: — they were those of Mary De Groot, 
 and the bright vision gradually dissolved again till only her youth- 
 ful form, still advancing towards him, remained visible. It ap- 
 proached till it seemed that he could have touched her, and then 
 vanished. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 415 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The place to which Alban was rusticated, was a retired country 
 village in the interior of Connecticut. Early on Monday morning 
 he took stage for Hartford, the semi-capital of the little State, not 
 content with one metropolis. From New Haven to Hartford was 
 a day's journey in those times, and in the early spring, a tedious 
 one. The heavy and well-balanced vehicle went swinging and 
 swaying through the mud, crawling up the hills, tearing down 
 the declivities with a rocking and sweeping Avhirl that for the mo- 
 ment stirred the blood and half took away the breath, then crept 
 on as before. 
 
 Atherton was too busy with his own brooding thoughts to heed 
 much his fellow-travellers, or their conversation, which was slight 
 and desultory. At noon they stopped for dinner, after which 
 several new passengers were taken in ; the stage received its 
 compliment of nine inside, and two with the driver. The new 
 company were more talkative. The recent events at New Ha- 
 ven were discussed, and Alban heard his own name freely men- 
 tioned. 
 
 " This young gentleman is a Yale student, I believe," said 
 one of the old passengers. 
 
 " Are you acquainted with the young man Atherton ?" asked 
 a new passenger. 
 
 " I have some acquaintance with him," said Alban, in the dry 
 New England manner. 
 
 " Is he so talented as they say he is ?" inquired the new pas- 
 senger. " I heard that it puzzled the Doctors of Divinity to 
 answer his objections." 
 
 *' There is generally exaggeration in these reports," replied 
 Atherton. 
 
 " Is it true that he let himself down the chimney into a young 
 
416 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 lady's cham'ber and hid himself under the bed till she had re- 
 tired ?■" 
 
 " No, not under the bed, but in the closet," said a morning 
 passenger, with an air of information. 
 
 " What a bad, impudent fellow he must be I" said a lady on 
 the back seat. 
 
 " I never heard those circumstances mentioned," said Alban. 
 
 " Oh, I assure you they are quite true," said the morning pas- 
 senger. " I w'as told by a friend of Miss Ilornheart herself — 
 
 was not that the name ? Miss Hornheart was dreadfully shocked, 
 as you may suppose, ladies," (turning to the fair occupants of the 
 back seat.) 
 
 " How old is Atherton ?" inquired one of the ladies, addressing 
 Alban. 
 
 " I should say he was something past twenty, ma'am." 
 
 " Young scapegrace I" ejaculated the afternoon passenger. 
 
 " He has been dreadfully dissipated without any one's ever 
 suspecting it," said the morning passenger. 
 
 "Sly boots," interposed the afternoon passenger, with a wink 
 at the eldest of the ladies. 
 
 " And worse than dissipated — a very dangerous, young man 
 in a family." 
 
 " Oh, really !" exclaimed the two elder ladies. 
 
 " Dear me I" softly breathed the youngest, with a blush. 
 
 " I think you rather calumniate Atherton, sir," said Alban, 
 coloring. " I belong to the same class in college, and I certainly 
 never heard any thing insinuated against his moral character." 
 
 " Oh I" cried the morning passenger, contemptuously, "I dare 
 say you never heard any thing against him, young gentleman. 
 Nobody had heard, till this came out. Sly boots I as you were 
 saying, sir," (to the afternoon passenger.) 
 
 The afternoon passenger w^as a tall, large-framed, and well- 
 fleshed man, in a suit of rusty black, wdth a narrow white cravat ; 
 quite evidently the minister of some Episcopal congregation in a 
 rural district. He sat on the middle seat with his great, heavy 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 417 
 
 arm over the strap, and exchanged many little courtesies with the 
 ladies behind him. 
 
 " I should like to have a talk with this Popish classmate of 
 yours," said he, addressing Alban. " He and I would agree on 
 many points. For instance, the Roman Catholic Church has al- 
 ways set its face against modern science. I like that," turning to 
 the rest of the company; "modern science is little better than 
 dealing with the devil, after all. These great discoveries I gifts 
 of Satan all. Steam, Chemistry, Galvanism, and last but not 
 least, Animal Magnetism I" 
 
 " Do you rank Animal Magnetism with acknowledged scien- 
 tific facts?" asked Alban. 
 
 " There is a girl here in Hartford at the present time," replied 
 the clergyman, with a keen look at the young student, " a girl in 
 the clairvoyant state, who can see through blankets, and tell you 
 what is passing hundreds of miles off" 
 
 " 'Tis true as the Gospel," said a gentleman in the corner of 
 the front seat, who had not before spoken. " She sees all the in- 
 terior organs in any one's body, (that wishes it, of course,) and 
 describes all their conditions, so that a physician by her aid can 
 prescribe as exactly for any disease as if he could take you to 
 pieces like a watch. I have witnessed this myself." 
 
 " For my part I should object to being seen through in that 
 fashion," exclaimed one of the ladies. 
 
 " And I too," said the second lady, who had a slight cough, 
 *' though I should like to know if I have tubercles." 
 
 The young lady only blushed. 
 
 " The first time that the Mesmerist made this clairvoyant 
 girl see the inside of a human body — with the heart beating, the 
 blood rushing through the great arteries, the lymph circulating, 
 and so on — she was terribly frightened," said the stranger who 
 had last spoken. " Now she is used to it, and thinks nothing of 
 examining any body that the operator requires." 
 
 " But where is the evidence that her seeing these things is 
 not all pretence ?" asked Alban, skeptically. 
 
418 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 " Of course you must take her testimony as part proof," said 
 the stranger, "but if you have sufficient evidence of her preter- 
 natural sight in many incontestable instances, you cannot refuse 
 to beheve." 
 
 " I will tell you what happened to myself," said the Episcopal 
 clergyman. 
 
 All expressed a desire to hear the clergyman's story. 
 
 " I visited this clairvoyante with a determination to test the 
 genuineness of her pretensions. She was not in the mesmeric 
 state when I arrived at the house, but the operator, a medical 
 man, called her in, and she consented, not without some difficulty, 
 to be mesmerized in my presence. It seemed that she had been 
 under this physician's care for a nervous disease, for which he had 
 been induced to try mesmerism as a remedy. I dare say you are 
 all familiar, gentlemen, with the process of mesmerizing — the 
 thumbing, the passes, the flourishes, and all that. In about fifteen 
 minutes the effect Avas produced. In the earlier period of the ex- 
 periments on this girl it had taken sometimes two or three hours 
 to accomplish a like result. She seemed to be in a natural sleep, 
 paying no attention to any thing I said, although she readily an- 
 swered the questions of the mesmerizer. Well, not to be tedious, 
 after showing some of the common tricks of mesmerism, he placed 
 the girl, at my request, in raiiport with myself." Here the nar- 
 rator pulled out his watch. " You observe, ladies and gentlemen, 
 that mine is what is called a hunter's watch, with the outside case 
 entirely closed, so that it is necessary to touch a spring (thus) and 
 make the face-side fly open in order to tell the hour. I had taken 
 the precaution before entering the house to set the hands about 
 six hours and a half in advance. The girl's eyes were at this time 
 closely bandaged, with a strong silk handkerchief over some six or 
 seven thicknesses of common linen roller. I stood behind her and 
 asked, ' What is this I have in my hand, Eliza ?' ' It is a watch,' 
 she replied. ' And what time is it by my watch ?' She hesitated 
 before answering, somewhat impatiently, I thought, ' How can I 
 tell?' — ' Nay,' said I, ' if you can see through a blanket, and all 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 419 
 
 those bandages, and the back of your head, you can surely see 
 through a plain silver case. Is it harder to see the inside of a 
 M^atch than the inside of a body ?' ' The case dazzles my eyes,' 
 she answered, putting her hand before them. All this while 
 I held the watch directly at the back of her head, and in such a 
 position that the doctor — the Mesmerizer — could not see it. I 
 touched the spring. ' Can you tell me now what time it is.' — 
 
 * Yes,' she answered, removing her hand from her bandaged eyes, 
 
 * it wants a — quarter to ten.' I glanced at the doctor, whose face 
 wore an expression of slight disappointment, for the real time was 
 about a quarter past three, p.m. ; but I relieved him by showing 
 the hands of my watch, which indicated just sixteen minutes to 
 ten. The minute hand was a mere line past the sixteen. ' Does 
 it want just a quarter ?' I asked. * Well,' she replied, pettishly, ' it 
 luill, in less than a minute.' For my part, ladies and gentlemen," 
 concluded the clergyman, " I was thunderstruck." 
 
 " And was that all ?" inquired Alban. 
 
 " Oh, by no means. I tried her with a short sentence, which 
 I had previously written on a slip of paper and inclosed in a brown 
 paper envelope. She read it with facility, altering only a word." 
 The clergyman paused. " I tried her with some other experi- 
 ments in which she failed partially or entirely, and the Mesmer- 
 izer remarked that all the circumstances on which the perfection 
 of the clairvoyant state depended were not known, and it was 
 probable that these mistakes, which perpetually occurred amid 
 things alike wonderful and inexplicable, were due to some violated 
 condition, or decline, or oscillation of the mesmeric extasy, as he 
 termed it. In conclusion, however, after, at my request, he had 
 renewed the passes, and placed me once more in the most intimate 
 rapjoort with the girl that he was able, I asked her some questions 
 relative to a room which I had privately prepared in my own 
 house, before setting out for Hartford. The distance is about fifty 
 miles, and no one, I am certain, was in the secret of these ar- 
 rangements but myself Her answers I cannot divulge," said the 
 clergyman, with a dark shade passing suddenly over his counte- 
 
420 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 nance, " but they satisfied me of the existence of a power beyond 
 my comprehension, and previously, beyond my behef. Suffice it, 
 that she not only described the most secret arrang-ements which I 
 alone had made in my own parsonage, but revealed to me also 
 circumstances which were occurring in my absence, of which other- 
 wise I should have had no knowledge whatever." 
 
 " In time we shall arrive at more wonderful things," observed 
 the stranger in the corner seat. " Or rather, all miracles will be 
 explained by some very simple principle. A few passes, you ob- 
 serve, sir, effected that extraordinary phenomenon which you "wit- 
 nessed in the mesmerized girl. By and by we shall learn to cure 
 diseases with a touch. In fact, it is not more wonderful than that 
 they should now be cured by some simple herbs." 
 
 " And what do you think of it, young gentleman ?" said the 
 clergyman, addressing Atherton. 
 
 " Why, sir, it appears on your own showing, that you have had 
 dealings with Satan," rephed Alban, gravely. 
 
 " Pshaw I" said the stranger in the corner seat, " there is no 
 such person as Satan." 
 
 The evening lights already sparkled in the windows when the 
 stage rattled into Hartford. At the tea-table of the hotel the con- 
 versation was renewed upon Mesmerism, demoniacal possessions, 
 and the forbidden arts. The stranger believed in magic, which he 
 maintained was only the consummation of science. Matter, in 
 itself nothing, was meant to be subject to the human will as a 
 slave to a master. He thought that the world was on the eve 
 of great discoveries, before which the barriers which separated us 
 from the unseen would fall. His conversation breathed an intense 
 desire to penetrate the profoundest secrets of nature and of time, 
 and Alban, as he listened, could with difficulty withstand the con- 
 tagious influence of these daring aspirations. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 421 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 In the northeast part of Connecticut, among the hills where the 
 Yantic takes its rise, extends a bleak, almost woodless table-land, 
 of some miles in length by about one and a half in breadth. It 
 is not destitute of farm-houses, and a great road passes through 
 the middle of it, which, for one reach of about a mile, expands 
 into a wide common, where the housen (this old Saxon plural is 
 still used in New England) are more frequent, and form the strag- 
 gling village of Carmel. 
 
 At either extremity of this common rises a steepled meeting- 
 house ; for the old Congregationalists have split in Carmel, and 
 the new school have raised, a rival house of worship, at the dis- 
 tance of a mile from their neighbors. On the road-side, nearly 
 equidistant from the two meeting-houses, stands an old, white, 
 pillared mansion, with fine old button-balls planted in a long 
 line before it, and a garden in the rear ; meadows and orchards 
 on either side. The house formerly belonged to a great family in 
 the State, and one to which our hero was nearly allied ; but it 
 had passed out of the name, and at this time was the parsonage, 
 or rather the residence of the old school minister. This gentle- 
 man eked out his pastoral income by pupils, and was willing to 
 receive, now and then, a rusticated student from his alma "tnater. 
 
 The stage-coach drew up, by a gray sunset, before the Rev. 
 Dr. Cone's. The driver took off Alban's trunk, and set it down 
 for him in the long piazza. The Rev. Dr. Cone himself came 
 out to greet the new-comer. He was a man past the middle age, 
 of a grave and dignified aspect. 
 
 " President ," said Alban, offering a letter, " assured me 
 
 that this would procure me the pleasure of pursuing my studies 
 for a few months, under your roof, Dr. Cone." 
 
 *' I understand," said Dr. Cone, balancing the letter vacantly 
 
 36 
 
422 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 in one hand. " Walk in, Mr. Atherton" — glancing at the name 
 written in the corner. " You have come to a queer place, but 
 you are welcome, sir." 
 
 A hall of small dimensions, with a square balustraded stair- 
 case, opened on one side into a spacious parlor, sparely but hand- 
 somely furnished. The chairs were high-backed, solid, and heavy ; 
 a large wood-fire burned on the ample hearth. The room con- 
 tained a piano, at which a little girl was sitting. She turned her 
 head as the door opened, and Alban saw a sparkling brunette, 
 with the wildest black eyes, and a shower of jetty ringlets falling 
 on bare, shght shoulders. 
 
 " Ah I" said Alban's future host, and withdrew from the room 
 which he had half entered. " Perhaps you had better walk into 
 my study," said he, addressing Alban, and with the word went to 
 an opposite door. 
 
 The study was lined with rude book-shelves, but well laden. 
 Here, too, was a wood-fire, but burning in an old Franklin. A 
 school-desk ran along the front windows, with a bench. But 
 there was no one in the study, and the doctor, pointing Atherton 
 to a seat by the Franklin, assumed what was evidently his own 
 study chair. 
 
 " With your permission, doctor, I will lay aside my cloak," 
 said Atherton, for the room was very warm. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly, sir," said the doctor, abstractedly. 
 
 Atherton threw off both his cloak and overcoat, and Dr. Cone 
 regarded him curiously, glancing from him to the letter of intro- 
 duction, Avhich was still unopened. 
 
 " Perhaps I have mistaken — the nature of the affair," said the 
 doctor, slowly breaking the seal of the letter, and looking at the 
 young man with surprise. " I was under the impression — " 
 
 Here Alban was startled by his host's apparently chucking the 
 open, but unread letter of the President into the fire. It was in 
 flames in an instant. The doctor made a sort of effort to recover 
 it, but it was consumed before he could seize it. He drew from the 
 Franklin only a bit of blackened cinder, that quickly fell into ashes. 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 423 
 
 " Hem ! disagreeable these things are," said Dr. Cone, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " Surely, then," thought Alban, " you might have been more 
 careful." 
 
 The doctor looked so embarrassed at the destruction of the 
 letter that our hero felt the position of culprit, in vv'hich he had 
 entered the house, entirely reversed. While he was reflecting 
 how far he was bound, or even authorized, to supply the informa- 
 tion which the burned epistle had doubtless contained, the door 
 of an inner apartment opened, and a plump, well-looking dame 
 of forty entered the study. She stared slightly at Alban, and 
 looked at the doctor, 
 
 " This is Mr. Atherton, my dear, (Mrs. Cone, Mr. Atherton,) 
 from Yale College, who has come to pursue his studies, (did you 
 not say so, sir ?) for a few months, at Carmel." 
 
 " Mr. Atherton ?" said Mrs. Cone, courteously. " It is not 
 the son of Mr. Samuel Atherton, of New York, surely ! Indeed I 
 What, Alban Atherton I I am very glad to see you, sir. Why I 
 have known your mother ever since I can remember. Mr. Ath- 
 erton is a grandson of General Atherton of Yanmouth, my dear. 
 Little Alban I Why I have had you in my arms a thousand 
 times 1" 
 
 Mrs. Cone poured out a flood of questions relative to his 
 parents. She had heard of his being at college, and distinguishing 
 himself greatly. A mother could hardly have greeted him with 
 more warmth. 
 
 " And what is it brings you to Carmel, Alban ? You have 
 not been rusticated, I take for granted," said Mrs. Cone, laughing. 
 
 " Unfortunately, I have," replied Alban, with a slight blush. 
 
 " Why, what have you been doing to merit such a sentence ?" 
 demanded Mrs. Cone, with some surprise. 
 
 " The President wrote a letter to Dr. Cone, informing him of 
 my ofience," answered Atherton, with embarrassment. 
 
 " Where is it, husband ?" said Mrs. Cone, imperiously. 
 
 " It is burned," replied her husband, meekly. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 " Burned !" exclaimed the lady. 
 
 Her husband glanced significantly at the young man. 
 
 " How provoking," she added in a low tone, and with a sud- 
 den change of countenance. " I am really wearied at these 
 annoying occurrences. I shall quit this house soon, that is cer- 
 tain I" 
 
 In uttering these ejaculatory sentences, which considerably 
 mystified Alban, the lady seemed to have forgotten her curiosity 
 in regard to the cause of his rustication. She abruptly asked 
 how long he would stay with them, and where his trunk was ; 
 then saying that she must give directions to get a room ready 
 for him, quitted the study, with a disturbed air. 
 
 In a few minutes she called to him from the hall. He found 
 a couple of healthy-looking Irish lasses carrying his trunk up stairs, 
 at her bidding. 
 
 " I fear it is too hesivj for them to carry," said Alban, observ- 
 ing that the girls panted under the weight. 
 
 " Oh, never fear," said one, " this" — pointing significantly at 
 the other — "is a strong girl." 
 
 " There's them in the house 'od take it up a dale asier," 
 replied her companion, as they rested on the landing, " if they 
 could but turn a hand to any thing useful." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Bridget," said Mrs. Cone. 
 
 They got the trunk at last into a comfortable chamber, and 
 Mrs. Cone dismissed her handmaidens. When they were gonje 
 she turned to Alban with an air of authority. 
 
 " Now, Alban — I must call you Alban, for you seem quite like 
 my own child — I knew your aunt Betsey so well, and your 
 mother, too, at Yanmouth, when I was a girl — and a wild thing 
 as ever breathed — and you a delicate little boy — how you have 
 grown I I am very proud of your college distinctions, your prizes, 
 and being President of the Brothers' Society — they say that you 
 are the best writer of your class — but what is the cause of your 
 having been rusticated ?" 
 
 According to the best of my knowledge and belief, Mrs. 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 425 
 
 Cone, the real cause why I have been sent here is that I have 
 become a Roman CathoHc." 
 " A what ?" 
 
 " A Roman Cathohc," said Alban, smihng at Mrs. Cone's 
 blank consternation. 
 
 " I have a great mind to box your ears," said Mrs. Cone. 
 " Why what do you mean ? Your grandfather's grandson a 
 Roman Cathohc I Don't talk such nonsense to me, Alban I 
 What have you been doing at New Haven that they sent you 
 here ? Come, I love you for your aunt Betsey's sake, and your 
 mother's, too. Tell me the truth." 
 
 It was with difficulty that Alban could make Mrs. Cone com- 
 prehend the truth, no part of which he concealed from her. In 
 the course of his narration, the conviction, however, gradually 
 dawned upon her mind that the young man was, at least, not 
 sporting with her credulity. She was ready to overwhelm him 
 with arguments, but luckily the bell rang for tea. 
 
 " Hurry down to tea," said Mrs. Cone, leaving him, " and let 
 me charge you not to breathe a syllable of this to my husband, 
 nor to any one else in the house. I have my reasons, which per- 
 haps will appear in due season." 
 
426 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The tea-table was set (it is the New England fashion in country 
 districts) in an ample and well-kept kitchen. On the side of the 
 table opposite Alban sat three hearty boys, from twelve to fifteen 
 years of age, Dr. Cone's private pupils; next to himself was a lady to 
 whom he was introduced by Mrs. Cone as her sister. Her name 
 was Fay, and the party was completed by the black-eyed little 
 girl of whom Alban had caught a glimpse at the piano, and Avhom 
 Mrs Cone named, " my niece. Miss Rosamond Fay." Mrs. Fay 
 was pale, and of an extremely delicate appearance ; she coughed 
 frequently and with singular violence ; but when Alban turned 
 to offer her some civility, he perceived that her features were emi- 
 nently beautiful. Her eyes were the brightest and most finely 
 set he had almost ever seen. Her voice, too, was soft and plain- 
 tive as a dove's. 
 
 The two Irish lasses, one of them blooming and luxuriantly 
 made, the other darker, plainer, and a trifle stouter, remained in 
 the background during the meal. It passed nearly in silence. 
 Dr. Cone indeed attempted to put a courteous question or two to 
 his new-arrived guest, when one of the boys opposite, as Alban 
 thought, commenced kicking violently under the solid mahogany 
 table. To his great surprise, neither Dr. Cone nor his wife took 
 any notice of this indecorum, although the latter frequently re- 
 proved one or other of the lads for some trivial impropriety. 
 
 " Sit up, William I Charles I" in atone of grave remonstrance, 
 " is that the way in which a young gentleman should help him- 
 self? Certainly, use a spoon for your honey." — Here there was 
 another kick under the table, so violent that Alban wondered the 
 tea-things did not rattle, and Mrs. Cone became silent, while the 
 boys grinned, and little Rosamond Fay but half suppressed a 
 laugh. 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 427 
 
 Immediately after tea, family prayers were attended in the 
 same apartment. Dr. Cone read a chapter from the Epistle to 
 the Romans, accompanying it with a short exposition. Then 
 Rosamond Fay, at a sign from her mother, went into the next 
 room, where, on the doctor's giving out the evening hymn, she 
 played a well-known tune on the piano, and the whole family 
 joined in singing it M'ith a very sweet effect. Alban took notice 
 that the prettier of the two Irish girls, whom Mrs. Cone called 
 Harriet, sung with a clear voice, but her less attractive companion, 
 whose name was Bridget, did not sing, and sat with folded arms 
 and downcast eyes. Harriet had rich, pouting lips, ripe and invi- 
 ting as cherries ; Bridget's mouth was of a different character quite ; 
 it possessed a chaste sweetness not unfamihar to Alban, and which 
 diffused a charm over her plain physiognomy. As soon as the 
 hymn was finished, the family threw themselves on their knees, 
 and the young Rosamond gliding in from the parlor, knelt by her 
 mother's side. Alban, on the contrary, unwilling any longer to 
 join, even in appearance, in Protestant worship, took the opportu- 
 nity of the noise this general change of position occasioned, to 
 escape into the room which the young girl had quitted. Seating 
 himself by the parlor fire, he could listen to Dr. Cone's prayer. 
 
 Suddenly, in the midst of it, while the good minister was 
 praying, as our hero thought, with unusual earnestness for pro- 
 tection during the night, particularly from the malice of demons 
 and the assaults of evil spirits, there was a scream in the kitchen, 
 followed by a crash of porcelain and a heavy fall. Alban sprang 
 to the open door ; the tea-things were half off the table ; some 
 broken cups and plates strewed the floor, and Mrs. Cone was en- 
 deavoring to save others which were just on the point of faUing. 
 Dr. Cone concluded his prayer rather abruptly, and the family 
 sprang to their feet with a variety of exclamations. 
 
 " I told you that you had come to a strange house, Mr. Ather- 
 ton," said Dr. Cone, passing his hand over his forehead, and 
 drawing a deep sigh. 
 
 " Oh, look what they have done in the parlor I" cried little 
 
428 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 Rosamond Fay, and Alban, turning, beheld, to his astonishment, 
 all the heavy chairs in the room behind him piled one on another, 
 nearly to the ceiling, the stool of the piano being perched on top 
 of all. 
 
 " Who are they V Alban innocently demanded of the child. 
 "The Spirits 1" 
 
 " My daughter !" said Mrs. Fay, reprovingly. 
 
 For the little witch clapped her hands with glee. 
 
 It seemed, indeed, that the devil was really in the house. The 
 tea-table was again lifted up at one end, sending some half-dozen 
 more cups and plates upon the floor with a crash ; the pretty Har- 
 riet, while picking them up, screamed, and cried out that some 
 one pinched her ; Bridget fell on her knees and began to call upon 
 the Virgin and Saints for help, and in the midst of all, a noise 
 like some heavy body rolling down stairs was heard in the front 
 entry or hall, the door leading from which into the parlor was 
 suddenly burst open with violence, and Alban's trunk hurled into 
 the room as if from a battering-ram. The hasp of the lock 
 snapped with the violence of the concussion, the lid flew open, and 
 with another turn the entire contents of the trunk, consisting of 
 books and clothes, were scattered over the carpet. 
 
 Alban flew out of the room, and up the stairs, but in a few 
 minutes returned with an aspect of blank astonishment. He 
 had found the outer door of the hall bolted on the inside, and 
 every thing in the story above quiet and orderly as a sepul- 
 chre. 
 
 The loud and deafening raps now recommenced below, and 
 from several quarters at once, on the table, on the floor, the walls, 
 the doors. Some were feebler than others, and they were repeated 
 at longer or shorter intervals, and the family listened in silence ; 
 Dr. Cone and the females were pale, and even the children began 
 to look frightened. The youngest boy sobbed, and having seize 
 Alban's hand, held it with a convulsive force. Little Rosamon 
 alone, although excited to the last degree, and clinging to he 
 mother for protection, showed more curiosity than fear. And 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 429 
 
 at once she approached Alban and the little hoy who still grasped 
 his hand, and whom our hero had taken upon his knee. 
 
 "What is the matter with your clothes, Eddy ?" she said. She 
 touched the little fellow, but instantly drew back screaming, and 
 ran away, covering her eyes with both hands. 
 
 The boy's garments were cut in strips from head to foot. 
 
430 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 It was midnight, Albaii and Dr. Cone kept a sort of vigil over 
 the kitchen fire. 
 
 " It is a month since we began to be persecuted in this way," 
 said the Doctor. " At first I fancied that the boys were at the 
 bottom of it. Then I suspected the servants of compUcity, and 
 that men were concealed in the house. Very soon, however, 
 things came to such a pass as to preclude every hypothesis of nat- 
 ural, human agency. You have seen nothing yet I My books have 
 been flung into the fire before my eyes by invisible hands, and 
 with difficulty saved. A good deal of property has been destroyed, 
 particularly clothing, as you saw that little boy's jacket and trow- 
 sers to-night cut into ribbons. Mrs. Fay and Mrs. Cone have had 
 their bonnets secreted, (usually it was discovered, just as they 
 were going to meeting,) and when found, it was behind some 
 heavy furniture, crushed, and completely ruined." 
 
 " Human agency might have done this," observed Alban, 
 
 " True, and the suspicions of the ladies fell upon Bridget, our 
 Catholic girl. They thought she might have done it to prevent 
 their going to church." 
 
 " Why not as well suspect Harriet — or is she a Protestant V* 
 asked Alban. 
 
 " She is, and has been one of the greatest sufferers all along. 
 Her clothes are spirited away, and found, half-destroyed, in some 
 out-of-the-way place. And the girl has been pinched (the ladies 
 say) black and blue." 
 
 " Pinching the maids I It is the old trick attributed to the 
 fairies," observed Alban. " What is Harriet's character I" 
 
 " She is such as you see her : a pretty girl I" said the Doctor 
 grimly. " She would have left us if I had not promised to make 
 good her losses, Of course it would be very disagreeable to engage 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 431 
 
 new servants under these circumstances, and difficult too. Bridget 
 was frantic for going, at first, but her priest, whom, at my in- 
 stance, she went some thirty miles to consult, advised her to stay. 
 She was the first to say they were spirits, and then we all laughed 
 at her superstition." 
 
 " And suspicion fell upon ^er," said Alban, with a grave smile. 
 " It is the only thing like a motive, that I have discovered yet, sir, 
 in the acts of petty mischief which you relate, or which I have wit- 
 nessed." 
 
 " At times," observed the doctor, looking round apprehensively, 
 and lowering his voice, " I doubt there may be a motive, even for 
 what looks like mere wantonness." 
 
 " And that is, sir ?" 
 
 " The desire to communicate with the living," whispered the 
 doctor. 
 
 Rap, rap, rap ; rap, rap ; rap, rap :— the whole kitchen re- 
 sounded I Even Alban turned pale. The cold sweat stood on Dr. 
 Cone's forehead. 
 
 " The petty, but irritating injuries inflicted seem to proceed, if 
 I may venture to say it," proceeded the doctor, still lowering his 
 voice, " from impatience that we cannot or will not understand 
 them." 
 
 Rap, rap ; rap, rap. 
 
 " Do you hear ? It is an answer." 
 
 '* Have you ever communicated with them in this way be- 
 fore ?" asked Alban, rather solemnly, and giving the minister a 
 piercing glance. 
 
 " Occasionally at night, after the family have retired," re- 
 plied his host trembling. " I sometimes fear that I have done 
 wrong." 
 
 There was a crash, simultaneous with the last word. Both 
 looked round startled. A pane of glass had been broken. Yet the 
 outside shutters were all fast closed. 
 
 " It is written," said Alban in a firm tone — " 'tis but last 
 night that a peculiar conversation led me to examine the passage 
 
432 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 — ' Neither let there be found among you any one that consulteth 
 soothsayers, or observeth dreams and omens, neither let there be 
 any wizard, nor charmer, or that consulteth pythonic spirits, or 
 that seeketh the truth from the dead.'' " 
 
 There was a faint scream — faint and peculiar : Alban had 
 never heard aught like it. 
 
 " Had you never a dream to which you could not refuse cre- 
 dence ?" asked his companion, unheedful of this strange sound. 
 " Knew you never a dream exactly fulfilled ?" 
 
 " I must answer both questions in the affirmative," replied 
 Alban with emotion, " but one of those dreams, I had reason to 
 suppose, came from above, and the other I yet dqubt." 
 
 Both were now extremely startled to observe all at once, that 
 chairs had been placed on either side of them, so as to form 
 with those which themselves occupied, a complete semicircle 
 around the ample fireplace. Alban's blood froze in his veins at 
 the sight (if one could say so) of this awful session of viewless 
 beings, prepared to participate in their midnight colloquy, 
 
 " They w^ish to converse with us," said the minister, with a 
 sudden energy, and pressing Alban's arm. " Let us gratify them. 
 I have thought of a way, if you have no objection. It is by call- 
 ing out the letters of the alphabet. When they rap at a letter, 
 you shall write it down, and so we can spell out word by word 
 into a regular sentence." 
 
 An intense curiosity, despite his fears and scruples, overcame 
 Atherton. The host, with wild eyes, extended to him some tablets 
 and a pencil, which he hesitatingly received. 
 
 " I have no doubt but they can inform us respecting the 
 future world and its employments" — (rap, rap, rap, on the floor 
 at their feet) — " the state of the soul after death — (rap, rap.) — 
 *' Do you hear." 
 
 A heavy step was heard on the kitchen stairs, some one slowly 
 descending. After a minute of expectation they w^ere interrupted 
 by the entrance of the girl Bridget, with a shawl thrown over her 
 half-bare shoulders, and a large ruffled cap, as if she had hastily 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 433 
 
 risen from bed. She looked frightened, and her great, black beads 
 were clasped in her hands. 
 
 " What do you want ?" asked her master, roughly. " Have 
 you no more sense of decency than to come down in that garb 
 at this hour of the night, while there are young gentlemen in the 
 house ?" 
 
 " Och, indeed, sir, and I big a thousand pardons for comin' 
 down, but surely I dramed them spirits was a murthering this 
 young gentleman, and it was on my mind, sir, to ask you to step 
 to his room (bein' I couldn't) and see if all was right." 
 
 A sharp reproof evidently hovered on her master's lips, but 
 Atherton interposed. 
 
 " Thank you, Bridget. You see I am safe. The Blessed Virgin, 
 will protect me, you know." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, and that's true, if you have light and grace to 
 ask her. But maybe you'd condescend to put these beads round 
 your neck for to-night. They are the beads of St. Bridget that I 
 brought from ould Ireland, and there's a hundred days' indulgence 
 for every one that slips through your fingers. No harm 'd come 
 near you, sir, with it round your neck, and I am safe with the scap- 
 ular, sir, let alone that I said the third part of the rosary before I 
 laid me down." 
 
 *' Thank you, Bridget — thank you kindly. Keep your rosary, 
 and pray for me." — He kissed the small metal crucifix attached to 
 the bead-string, and returned it to her, with a smile peculiar to 
 Atherton. 
 
 The girl retired, not without offering the beads once more. 
 
 " You are a humorist, I perceive, Mr. Atherton," observed Dr. 
 Cone, when the girl had disappeared. *' I question, however," he 
 added, somewhat gravely, " whether it is right to countenance 
 such superstitions, even in jest." 
 
 " You had better put that question to the spirits, doctor," 
 replied Alban, rising. " And, by. the by, if you will excuse me, 
 sir, 1 will retire." 
 
 The kitchen was now quiet, duiet was the hall and his 
 
 37 
 
434 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 own chamber. But as he was entering the last, the door of Mrs. 
 Fay's room, which was just opposite, opened with some fracas, and 
 Mrs. Fay appeared with a candle in her hand. She attempted 
 to shut the door instantly that she saw Atherton, but some obsta- 
 cle prevented its closing, and while she quickly stooped down to 
 remove it, he caught almost involuntarily a glimpse of the interior 
 of the chamber. 
 
 The fair occupant had been writing ; for a table, with an 
 additional candle, some writing implements, and an unfinished 
 letter upon it, was drawn close to the fire. The bed was directly 
 over against the door, and little Rosamond, who had apparently 
 just started up, was hiding herself again under the bed-clothes. 
 The object which had prevented the door from closing was an 
 inkstand, and Alban perceived large and numerous stains of ink 
 on the tasteful white wrapper of the beautiful Mrs. Fay. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 435 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The season advanced, and even the dreary table-land of Carmel 
 assumed somewhat of the smiling aspect of early summer. The 
 great button-balls, lining the road before Dr. Cone's house, were 
 covered with delicate green leaves, and spread a checkered shade 
 on the old front piazza. The orchards were white and pink with 
 apple blossoms ; the garden was gay with those of the cherry 
 trees and hardy plums. The cool air that blew from the hills 
 over the plain, carried their fragrance on its wings. Still the 
 indoor fires glowed night and morning, and only slumbered in 
 white embers during the warmer hours of mid-day. 
 
 The singular visitation by which the old mansion-house was 
 haunted had not ceased. Sometimes, indeed, perfect quiet would 
 reign for a week, so far as any supernatural disturbance was con- 
 cerned ; then the mysterious agency would break forth in mani- 
 festations of greater violence than ever. As time went on the 
 character of these singular phenomena changed. A great deal 
 of petty mischief continued to be done, nearly exhausting the 
 patience of every one except quiet Dr. Cone, and the ever elastic 
 Rosamond Fay. It was wonderful how patient Dr. Cone was, 
 although he suffered considerably in his property, and something 
 more in the reputation of his family. They kept it secret as 
 much as they could, but events so marvellous could not be pre- 
 vented from transpiring. Hundreds of persons came to see the 
 operation of the " spirits," and although the family resisted such 
 applications wherever they could, and both Dr. and Mrs. Cone 
 assured their visitors that the stories which they had heard were 
 exaggerated, and that some natural method would probably yet be 
 discovered to account for what at present seemed inexphcable, the 
 idea gained ground that it was the work of the devil. 
 
 But within the family itself a system of communication with 
 
436 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 these unseen agents of mischief, was now quite established. It 
 was ascertained, for example, that a request to them, couched in 
 civil terms, would procure at least the temporary cessation of any 
 peculiarly vexatious demonstration. The method of interpreting 
 the rappitigs, sug-gested by Dr. Cone to Alban, the former did not 
 venture publicly to adopt, for nearly all the adult members of the 
 family were of the opinion that it would be criminal to hold such 
 an intercourse with beings who could only belong to the infernal 
 hosts. 
 
 " They can only be ' spirits in prison,' " observed Alban ; " for 
 angels and good spirits, if permitted at all to hold communication 
 with the living, would not be restricted to such imperfect methods. 
 These attempts to hold parley by inarticulate noises and acts of 
 mischief, prove restraint. These beings might and would do 
 more if they were permitted, or if they dared." 
 
 " Good beings would not do mischief at all," said Mrs. Cone. 
 
 The justice of our hero's reasoning was soon made apparent 
 by a freer communication suddenly taking place. Books were 
 found lying open with paper marks adhering to significant passa- 
 ges. The Bible was much used in this manner. A large family 
 copy which lay on a reading stand, would fly open spontaneously 
 in the midst of a conversation, and at some wonderfully apt text 
 would be found a narrow slip of paper, sticking as fast as if it had 
 been glued, yet apparently by mere atmospheric pressure. Some- 
 times the texts selected were expressive of pious and appropriate 
 sentiments, such as the hope of the resurrection, the reality of a 
 future state of rewards and punishments, and so on ; at others 
 the passages marked were among those which, particularly as 
 found in the common Protestant translation, are by no means suit- 
 able for indiscriminate perusal, and which caused the females to 
 retire from the book with a blush. 
 
 The communion season of Dr. Cone's Church was now ap- 
 proaching. They had it once in two months, and some of the 
 family remembered that the last occasion had been marked by 
 peculiar outrages, bearing more the impress of malignity than any 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 437 
 
 which had occurred before or since. In all instances of this kind 
 it was remarked that one or two individuals were the special ob- 
 jects of attack. The pi-etty Harriet, and Eddy, the youngest of 
 Dr. Cone's pupils, have been already mentioned ; but there was a 
 boy employed by the minister about his stable, the son of one of 
 his poorer neighbors, who could not enter the house without some 
 strange missile being hurled at him, and he averred (but Mrs- 
 Cone declared it was only his imagination) that he felt himself 
 dragged towards the well, whenever he accidentally approached 
 it, as if some one were endeavoring to throw him in. He was 
 certain that when sent to fetch wood he was frequently hurt by 
 the fall of large fagots ; and once a tall wood-pile suddenly pre- 
 cipitated itself upon him as he was filling a basket for the Frank- 
 lin. It was a miracle that he was not killed, and the lad made 
 it an excuse for fetching no more. It was a half-simple lad, was 
 Jake, and some of the stories which he told of his persecutions 
 were too marvellous for belief. Harriet said that Jake pulled 
 down the woodpile upon himself, and that for her part she was 
 more afraid of him than of the spirits. Like many beings of that 
 unhappy class, Jake's animal propensities were more fully devel- 
 oped than his mental powers, and if ugliness could provoke the 
 malice of demons, his ungainly slimness and satyr-like counte- 
 nance would account for their hostility. 
 
 The sacrament Sunday at Carmel happened to synchronize 
 with a festival of the Church, on w^hich Episcopalians also usually 
 celebrate the rite of communion, and Mrs. Fay being a pious mem- 
 ber of that denomination, proposed to go down to Yantic Falls 
 to receive on this occasion, because there was an Episcopal 
 church there. The distance was not more than ten miles ; Dr. 
 Cone lent his gig, and Alban had offered to drive. All that week 
 the disturbance in the house was nearly unremitting. The 
 knockings were incessant, day and night ; the furniture was 
 thrown about remorselessly, panes of glass were broken daily, 
 clothes and books were burned ; a bed was found in a blaze at 
 noonday, and the flames with difliculty were extinguished ; Har- 
 
 37* 
 
438 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 riet was wounded in the cheek by a pitcher, and a new dress 
 which she had purchased at Yantic was missing from her chest, 
 and not to be found on the strictest search. But what was more 
 alarming, Eddy was taken with fits of screaming every evening. 
 Dr. Cone punished him in vain. Mrs. Fay's dehcate health suf- 
 fered from the incessant nervous agitation which all this produced, 
 besides that she had her private troubles which she concealed as 
 much as she could. Little Rosamond told Alban that her mother 
 was visited by the spirits every night. It was singular that the 
 most earnest and polite requests for a cessation of the infliction, 
 had no longer any effect. Mrs. Cone would sometimes fly into a 
 passion and abuse the unseen mischief-workers, but that only 
 procured an increase of annoyance. 
 
 *' I would leave the house, Mr. Atherton, were it in my pow- 
 er," said Mrs. Fay, on Saturday afternoon. 
 
 They were walking in the piazza, arm in arm, for Alban had 
 become a favorite with the invalid. As they passed the parlor 
 window there was a crash ; a dark object shot swiftly by, and 
 fell upon the grass of the court-yard. The window pane showed 
 only a round hole as large as a grape-shot ; the dark object was 
 a common poker. The force necessary to effect a passage through 
 the glass without producing a larger fracture, was at least equal to 
 that of a well-charged rifle. There was no one in the parlor. 
 
 " If I could only get a peaceful night before going to com- 
 munion to-morrow," said Mrs. Fay, in a sweet, but despairing 
 tone. 
 
 " You have never tried the experiment of asking them to 
 desist," observed Alban. 
 
 " Never yet, but I really think I must try it. Lately it has 
 not succeeded so well." 
 
 " I object to it on principle," responded Alban. "The favors 
 of the devil, or of spirits malicious and lost to goodness, are more 
 to be dreaded than their hostility, which after all is controlled by 
 a higher power. They can do nothing but what is permitted 
 them, as they have repeatedly confessed." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 439 
 
 " Yet if I could gain a tranquil evening and an undisturbed 
 night before communion," urged Mrs. Fay. " Really I feel that 
 I must. If that boy's screams should be renewed to-night, I think 
 I shall go distracted. Besides, Mr. Atherton, they knock upon 
 my head-board at night." 
 
 " Do they really ?" 
 
 " I have fancied it was Rosamond, you know, and then, as if 
 they read my thoughts, it would occur when her little arms and 
 limbs were fast imprisoned in mine — oh I it is beyond endurance. 
 And such temptations as are suggested to my mind in order to 
 escape. You are never troubled in your own room, Mr. Atherton ?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Is it because you are so good, or because you are so bad ? I 
 have thought at times that if I would do some wicked thing they 
 would let me alone." 
 
 " If you will be patient under it till to-morrow," said Alban, 
 " as we ride down to Yantic, I will explain to you a w^ay by 
 which I think you may be exempt from future annoyance." 
 
 " You have several times spoken to me in that mysterious man- 
 ner, Mr. Atherton. You talk as if you had a charm, such as that 
 poor, superstitious Bridget believes in." 
 
 " Yet Bridget is never assailed as the others have been. Nei- 
 ther her person or property have been injured." 
 
 " Well, do you suppose that it is because she crosses herself 
 and mutters her prayers, whenever any strange thing happens ? 
 For my part," said the beautiful Mrs. Fay, " I believe the secret 
 is that she is not so pretty as Harriet. You laugh, but these 
 beings certainly have the strangest caprices. Now, there is my 
 Rosamond. "Why should they not cut her clothes into ribbons 
 as well as Eddy's ? To be sure it would be shocking to treat a 
 little girl so." 
 
 " You think that Rosa is spared for the same reason that Harriet 
 is persecuted ? I believe, my dear Mrs. Fay, that we shall be 
 entirely foiled in endeavoring to penetrate the motives of beings 
 who are in a state so different from ours — beings devoid of hope, 
 
440 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 freed from concupiscence and passion, yet possessed of power, will, 
 and understanding. I have perplexed myself much to arrive by 
 analysis at what must be their condition, but humanity winds 
 itself too closely round me. How know you that the spirit within 
 you — the familiar tenant of your own clay — is not endued with 
 a latent malice exceeding that of any of these disembodied ones 
 whose presence we have been made so strangely to feel ? They 
 were our companions but a few days since, if we may believe 
 them. The sweet chains of flesh and blood bind us still, and if 
 they enslave, restrain us. A moment — I think of it often with 
 a shudder — may convert a polished youth or a modest-seeming 
 woman into a malicious and obscene demon." 
 
 Mrs. Fay coughed — her violent cough. She applied her 
 handkerchief to her mouth, and took it away again dabbled with 
 blood. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed," said she, sweetly smiling on him. 
 " This is a common occurrence. But I must go in. I fear that 
 your conversation has induced me to remain out longer than was 
 prudent." 
 
 It M^as evident, however, to Alban, that she was considerably 
 agitated. He supported her into the parlor, and persuaded her to 
 recline on the old-fashioned chintz sofa. 
 
 " Don't call any one," said Mrs. Fay. I shall be better 
 directly." 
 
 A very singular rap commenced, apparently over the invalid's 
 head. None of the sounds which Alban had heard in the house 
 were any thing like it. At the same instant the great Family 
 Bible on the stand slowly opened. Mrs. Fay in a low voice im- 
 plored him to ascertain for her the passage marked. Atherton 
 had always refrained from gratifying his curiosity in this way. 
 
 " Of what use is it?" said he, earnestly. 
 
 She sprang up and went to the book. He was extremely sur- 
 prised to see her tear away the mark with violence. She closed 
 the Bible, and returning to the sofa with an air of desolation, 
 clasped her hands. The rapping continued. Suddenly the door 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 441 
 
 of a closet flew open, and a large blue junk bottle danced out, and 
 went dancing and tumbling round the room. It was fearfully 
 ludicrous. Presently out flew another. 
 
 " Oh, heavens I" exclaimed the unhappy invalid in a tone of 
 misery, " I can bear it no longer. I ask a truce till to-morrow 
 night. Let me pass this night in quiet. Whoever you are, I beg 
 it as a favor." 
 
 The bottles rolled over on the carpet and were quiet ; the rap- 
 ping ceased ; and a bit of white paper came floating down as if 
 from the ceiling, falling into Mrs. Fay's lap. She took it, glanced 
 at it, and passed it to Atherton. It was inscribed, in a singular 
 but legible hand, with the following words : 
 
 " You shall not be disturbed 
 
 * This incident was related to the writer by the estimable and 
 intelligent lady to whom it occurred. "I was about to receive the Sacra- 
 ment on the following day," she observed, "and I was extremely desirous of 
 passing a tranquil night, particularly as not a single night had passed with- 
 out some disturbance. So I said something to that effect, and feeling war- 
 ranted by the occasion, although I entertained scruples as to the lawfulness 
 of holding communication with these beings, ventured to request that for 
 this night they would leave us unmolested. The words had hardly escaped 
 my lips before a paper fell at my feet on which was written — You shall not 
 he disturbed." 
 
442 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The house was filled with the peculiar bustle, prophetic of a reli- 
 g'ious quiet, that belongs to a New England Saturday night. Jake 
 brought in armful after armful of wood from the pile, to fill the 
 boxes for Sunday, and flung it in without a word. Biddy strained the 
 contents of her foamy milk-pail into the pans, and ranged the latter 
 on the pantry shelf without one being overset. Hatty finished 
 mopping the painted floors, set the tea-table, and relieved the 
 mighty oven of its hot and fragrant loaves, of the vast pan of 
 baked beans, and the flat cakes of gingerbread, without once 
 complaining of beixig pinched, or pouting her pretty lips in despite, 
 because her table was lifted some inches from the floor, or a beauti- 
 ful crusty loaf was sent spinning into a distant corner. The family 
 partook of the evening meal and attended evening prayers with 
 the feelings of ship passengers in a calm after boisterous weather, 
 or just arrived in port, and who can scarce believe the absence 
 of that restless and dizzy m.otion to which they have become ac- 
 customed. 
 
 The boy whose screams had lately alarmed them, as the hour 
 of his seizure approached, became drowsy, and falling asleep at 
 prayers, was carried up to bed. Whether it was the sudden 
 withdrawal of excitement, or some other cause, the whole family 
 seemed to drop off much earlier than usual, nor did they fail to 
 sleep so soundly as to make the next morning's breakfast consider- 
 ably later than was usual even on Sunday. Jake brought round 
 Dr. Cone's smart-looking chaise, (this was Madam's innocent 
 vanity,) with the shining-coated bay horse and well-appointed 
 harness. Alban was not displeased to drive a lovely and elegant 
 lady into Yantic, on one of the finest Sundays in June, himself 
 attired in his sprucest gear. 
 
 Mrs. Fay had a lovely spring bonnet, trimmed with lilac. It 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 443 
 
 was a New York hat, ordered as a pattern by the most fashiona- 
 ble milliner in Yantic, of whom Mrs. Fay had taken it at no 
 extravagant price, about a week previous, with fear and trem- 
 bling in regard to its probable fate. Well might she tremble, for 
 she had had one bonnet hidden in a drain, and another (but that 
 was only a straw) ruthlessly crammed behind a sofa. And if the 
 beautiful invalid — who, to those around her, seemed on the verge 
 of the grave — had an apparent weakness, it was her love of 
 elegant costume. But perhaps that was a part of the facile pro- 
 priety, the fine perception of the becoming in conduct, which 
 eminently distinguished her. Rosamond was always most suita- 
 bly dressed. Being only turned of twelve, she wore shortish 
 frocks and pantalets. This bright Sunday morn the little girl 
 was arrayed in a cherry-colored silk, neatly made, with a 
 shadowy Leghorn crowning her jetty ringlets and dark-bright 
 countenance. Mrs. Fay very properly placed her daughter be- 
 twixt herself and Alban, and the trio were a snug fit for the gig. 
 
 And now, lest the reader should imagine some romantic 
 mystery in the domestic relations of Mrs. Fay, inasmuch as we 
 describe her certainly not as a widow, yet living it would seem 
 apart from her husband, of whom we have hitherto made no 
 mention, we will observe that she was the wife of an officer in 
 the XJ. S. Navy, and that Lieutenant Fay was absent on a cruise. 
 There was undoubtedly a reason why his name was so much 
 avoided in the family of his wife's sister, that Alban, for instance, 
 during a stay of seven weeks, did not remember to have heard it, 
 except that once or twice Rosamond had, as if inadvertently, 
 spoken of "papa." But our hero was aware that Mrs. Fay cor- 
 responded regularly with her husband, and the brightest glow he 
 had seen on her pale cheek was on a day when he brought her 
 from the Carmel P. 0. a thick letter, stamped, in red ink, " U. S. 
 Ship Pacific." 
 
 For one thing, Atherton knew that the pay of a lieutenant 
 was moderate, and he guessed that Mrs. Fay had very little 
 money to spare. He had inferred from occasional expressions 
 
444 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 which she had let fall in regard to her prolonged stay in a house 
 where she suffered such terrihle agitations, that considerations of 
 economy made it necessary. But as they were drawn along 
 swiftly and silently over the smooth turnpike, Mrs. Fay seemed 
 to him to have shaken off an incubus. She had never con- 
 versed with him, or prattled to her daughter, so naturally and 
 gayly. 
 
 "Sister," — so Mrs. Fay termed Mrs. Cone — "sister would 
 have been glad to prevent your being my beau this morning, Mr. 
 Atherton," with a smile. 
 
 " I cannot comprehend why," returned Alban, very sincerely. 
 " Certainly I am a more suitable one than Jake, in every respect, 
 I flatter myself," and he also smiled. 
 
 " Sister talked to me quite seriously about your being.a hand- 
 some and agreeable young man, and my husband being away, 
 and so on, till I was half persuaded that I was going to do some- 
 thing very improper ; and then I thought that it was too ridicu- 
 lous. Why, I remember you when you were a baby, as I told 
 sister, and am almost old enough to be your mother. And finally, 
 I could not abide the thought of such a gallant as Jake." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, I would never go to Yantic if Jake was to 
 drive the chaise — would you?''' cried Rosamond. 
 
 " I feel quite flattered, Miss Rosa, that you prefer me to Jake," 
 said Alban, gravely. 
 
 Rosa blushed and was silent. 
 
 " You are a great favorite with Rosa," said her mother. 
 
 " Oh, mother I how can you say so — right to Mr. Atherton's 
 face I He is not a favorite of mine any more than William Rus- 
 sel, or Eddy Edwards is. I like Mr. Atherton, mamma, because 
 he is so polite to you — you know I always told you so." 
 
 " And because aunt Cone told you that you must not, on any 
 account, fall in love with him," said her mother, archly. 
 
 " Oh, fie, mamma I Mij mother tells tales out of school, Mr. 
 Atherton, don't she ? But she will never let me do it." 
 
 " Aunt Cone seems to think me a dangerous character," said 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 445 
 
 Alban ; " but really, her precautions do not strike me as the most 
 judicious." 
 
 " I asked sister," observed Mrs. Fay, still smiling, " if there 
 was any thing against your moral character, and she was obliged 
 to confess that, so far as she knew, it was unimpeached. She 
 said, indeed, that you had been ' rusticated,' but declined telling 
 me what had been your offence." 
 
 " I am capable of committing very bad actions," replied Al- 
 ban, evasively. " You would be shocked if you knew to what 
 sins I am sometimes tempted — and which perhaps I sliould com- 
 mit, if Providence did not mercifully put it out of my power." 
 
 "The hfe of a Christian," piously observed Mrs. Fay, "is a 
 continual conflict with the corruption of his own heart." 
 
 " If one could be sure that one was really combating," an- 
 swered the young man. " Mrs. Cone, now, tells me that sae is 
 sure she loves Christ — she is sure she has passed from death loito 
 life. Nothing can convince her that religion (her own religion, of 
 course) is not a reality. Do you suppose, Mrs. Fay, that she hts 
 any conflicts, or is ever worsted in them ? or how is it that she 
 does not feel what a great saint once said, that no man knows 
 ivhctlier he is ivorthij of love or hatred V 
 
 " I do not like the Presbyterians — they are so self-righteous," 
 said Mrs. Fay, " although 1 beheve that there are good Christians 
 in all denominations." 
 
 Alban smiled. 
 
 "I was brought up in the Episcopal Church," continued Mrs. 
 Fay, "and so was Fanny; but she married a Presbyterian min- 
 ister, and of course she joined that Church. Now that is what I 
 would not do, Mr. Atherton — leave my Church ! My husband 
 never interferes with my religion. To be sure he is not a religious 
 man." 
 
 It was natural for Alban to inquire under what form of faith 
 Lieutenant Fay was nominally ranked, and he was greatly sur- 
 prised when Mrs. Fay, after a glance at Rosamond, replied that 
 her husband was a Roman Catholic. 
 
 38 
 
446 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 " He fell in love with me at a ball, when I was only seven- 
 teen," she said, with a beautiful smile. " My friends opposed it 
 on the ground of his being in the navy and a Catholic. But I 
 was captivated by his careless, manly manner, his ardor, and his 
 handsome uniform, I suppose, and about two years after we were 
 married. Rosamond was born before I was twenty, and her father 
 never saw her till she was three years old. That was the hardest 
 absence I ever had to bear, although our next — our little boy" — 
 Mrs. Fay dashed away a tear — " my husband never saw. Then 
 he was ordered to the West Indies, and I went to Pensacola to be 
 near him, and there my other little girl was born. She was a 
 delicate child from the first, and as her little brother had been car- 
 ried oiT in teething, I resolved not to wean her as long as I could 
 help it, and that is the way I lost my own health. And after all, 
 she took the scarlet fever in that fatal year, and died of it. Her 
 father was absent too, but, by that time, I was used to bear such 
 tilings alone ; nor have I seen him since ; you see I have had my 
 yorrows, Mr. Atherton." 
 
 " Dear mamma," exclaimed Rosamond, drying her eyes, 
 "papa will be made a commodore one of these days, and then 
 he will take us to sea in his ship, and we shall have better times." 
 
 " Now that I have been so communicative, Mr. Atherton," re- 
 sumed Mrs. Fay, after they had driven on in silence for some time, 
 " I hope that you will tell me what is that charm you spoke of yes- 
 terday by which I can be free from the persecution of these spirits 
 (if such they are) while we stay at my sister's. I assure you that 
 I shall be glad to have recourse to any thing reasonable, for apart 
 from the agitation which I suffer from their attacks, I really can- 
 not afford to lose so many valuable articles from my wardrobe. 
 We are too poor, ain't we, Rosamond ?" 
 
 They were now entering the beautiful town of Upper Yantic, 
 and the bells were already tolling for service. Alban did not 
 reply to Mrs. Fay's question, while they were driving past some 
 of the old Atherton homesteads, which he had visited thirteen 
 years before, with his aunt Elizabeth and cousin Rachel. But 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 447 
 
 when they emerged into the open road again, and saw the white 
 spires of the Falls gleaming in the leafy distance, he said, 
 
 " Did it never strike you, Mrs. Fay, what a curious religion is 
 depicted in the New Testament ? I mean about demoniacal pos- 
 sessions, and the power given by Christ to His ministers to cast 
 out devils. He seems to give it as a perpetual sign : ' In my 
 name shall tliey c.a^t out devils' — ' they shall lay hands on the 
 sick, and they shall recover.'' This power certainly must exist 
 still in those to whom it was given, if our religion be divine." 
 
 "But miracles have ceased," said Mrs. Fay. 
 
 *' Is that in the Bible ?" 
 
 " No, I believe not." 
 
 " Since the devils are come back," said Alban, " it is time to 
 have recourse to the power which formerly expelled them. I am 
 not at all surprised, myself, that the Kingdom of Darkness should 
 be making a bold push in New England, to regain a portion of 
 its old dominion over the bodies of men. Unless it be driven 
 back by the old spiritual arms of the Apostles, we must look to 
 see demoniacal possession soon re-established. These Presbyterians, 
 certainly, can do nothing in this line ; but the ministers of your 
 Church pretend to derive their orders from the Apostles. Why 
 dont you get your pastor here in Yantic to visit Carmel, Mrs. Fay, 
 and compel the man-hating demons to return to their abyss ?" 
 
 Shortly after, the easy-going gig glided into the rural street of 
 Yantic — a sunlit road, an umbrageous common, a wild hill-side, 
 villa-like mansions. The organ was playing when they reached 
 the church door. It ceases even Mobile Alban is carefully hand- 
 ing out Mrs. Fay and half lifting down the dark- eyed Rosa ; and 
 as they enter, they see the congregation already standing, and the 
 white-robed minister is saying the Dearly beloved brethren. There 
 were two ministers in the desk, in one of whom Alban was sur- 
 prised to recognize his friend, Mr. Soapstone, and in the other, his 
 mesmeric acquaintance of the stage-coach. 
 
448 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 As soon as the service was over, Alban went up the chancel to 
 speak to Mr. Soapstone. A careless group of the male communi- 
 cants, standing at the rail, were eating the remainder of the con- 
 secrated bread, and draining the huge chalice, passing the latter 
 from hand 1o hand. The whole floor along the rail was white 
 with crumbs, and Alban blessed God that he could be morally cer- 
 tain it was nothing but bread and wine. Poor Mr. Soapstone, who 
 thought differently, looked daggers at his irreverent communi- 
 cants, or glanced down in despair at the Body of the Lord, as he 
 considered it, trampled under foot, and left to communicate mice 
 upon the chancel carpet. In that glance of mingled wrath and 
 horror the future convert to Rome might already be discerned in 
 the zealous Anglican minister. Mr. Soapstone gave our hero a 
 cordial shake of the hand, and introduced him to " the rector of 
 the parish," the Rev. Dr. Patristic. 
 
 " Mr. Atherton and I have met before," said the latter, with a 
 jovial glance, " and I can't say that even his name is a surprise. 
 By the by, Mr. Atherton, you came in, I noticed, with an old 
 friend of mine, Mrs. Fay, (lovely woman.) I knew, of course, 
 that you were staying at Dr. Cone's. Well, you must both come 
 and take pot-luck with us. I will speak to Mrs. Fay as soon as 
 I have changed my cassock for a coat." 
 
 So saying, the rector hastily withdrew into a sort of dark closet 
 or passage under the pulpit, whither Mr. Soapstone had already 
 retired, and whence both speedily emerged in their ordinary garb. 
 Alban waited at the rail to say, in reply to Dr. Patristic's invit' 
 tion, that he meant to take Mrs. Fay to his uncle's. 
 
 " What, old Deacon Atherton's on the plain I Is the boy mad 
 You'll get a fine dressing if you show yourself there. And wit" 
 Mrs. Fay of all persons I Why, your uncle is the bluest and bit 
 
AL BAN . 
 
 449 
 
 terest Puritan in all Yantic. And besides, you will get nothing to 
 eat but cold dough-nuts and gingerbread, for they never cook any 
 thing on Sunday. No, no ; come to the rectory. We have got a 
 prime quarter of lamb and mint sauce, and I rather think Mrs. 
 Patristic has a batter pudding in preparation, which you will find 
 vastly more agreeable than the rod which is in pickle for you at 
 your uncle's." 
 
 The rectory truly seemed the abode of creature-comfort. Mrs. 
 Patristic, a fresh-colored and plump dame, preluded the dinner by 
 an egg beaten up with wine for her husband and Mr. Soapstone, 
 the latter of whom really required something, having made a step 
 in advance since the preceding Christmas by receiving the com- 
 munion fasting. Alban, too, played a very good knife and fork, 
 for although so dreamy and so gentle in manner, the boy was no 
 milksop, and here the host encouraged him both by precept and ex- 
 ample. The ample frame of the rector of Yantic required a large 
 pasture. The sociability of the party was aided by some choice 
 wine, (which your sound churchman never finds amiss,) and it 
 was soon very difficult for Mrs. Fay and our hero to reahze the 
 scenes they had lately witnessed otherwise than as an ugly dream. 
 Certainly there was nothing ghostly about Dr. Patristic. His 
 commanding, yet seductive eye spoke of the world of sense, and 
 his rich masculine voice had nothing in it of the hollow^ness of the 
 tomb. A goodly number of "olive plants" surrounded his table, 
 from a fine girl of eighteen, his eldest, to a rosy-cheeked boy 
 of five, his youngest born. Of course the doctor made himself 
 agreeable to Mrs. Fay, and Alban divided his attention pretty 
 equally between the fresh-looking Mrs. Patristic and her no less 
 blooming daughter. The latter had a cheek soft and rich as a 
 peach, and while Atherton chatted with her, Mrs. Fay's beauti- 
 ful gray eye often roved to them from her imposing and fluent 
 host. 
 
 Alban had promised Mrs. Fay to bring forward the subject of 
 the spirits, but for some time he found no opportunity. At length 
 the conversation turned on Mr. Soapstone's asceticism. Dr. and 
 
 38* 
 
450 
 
 A L B A N . 
 
 Mrs. Patristic both considered that the young clergyman carried 
 the mortification of the flesh to a frightful extent. 
 
 " What think you of tasting no food till sunset, Mrs. Fay ? 
 Nothing else deserves the name of fasting, according to Mr. 
 Soapstone. He says it was the mode of the Jews and primitive 
 Christians." 
 
 "He is more strict than the Roman Catholics," replied the 
 lady. " Lieutenant Fay once kept Lent when we were at Pensa- 
 cola, but we always dined at noon." 
 
 " No Romanist ever fasts," observed Mr. Soapstone, austerely. 
 " As you say, even in Lent they are allowed a full meal at twelve 
 o'clock. Then there is the collation in the evening, and ' custom 
 has introduced,' a cup of tea or coffee in the morning, with a bit 
 of bread. This is not fasting, unless it be fasting to take three 
 meals a day." 
 
 "If it be true that ' this kind can come forth by nothing but 
 by prayer and fasting,' Mrs. Fay," said Alban, " Mr. Soapstone is 
 just the person to rid us of our persecutions at Carmel." 
 
 " What persecutions ?" demanded the rector. 
 
 Dr. Patristic's countenance sobered into an expression of pro- 
 found interest, as he listened to the account which Mrs. Fay and 
 Alban now proceeded to give of the disturbances in Dr. Cone's 
 house. 
 
 " We have talked over similar matters before," said he, with 
 a significant glance at Atherton. " Dr. Cone has always been a 
 believer in Mesmerism. I remember that several years ago he 
 was full of certain revelations delivered by a clairvoyant boy." 
 
 " It is not the first time, then, that the doctor has meddled 
 with forbidden knowledge," observed Alban. 
 
 " I have heard strange reports about noises being heard at 
 Carmel," said the rector, " but I took for granted that it was the 
 silly exaggeration of some old women. Mrs. Fay and you have 
 astonished me. How very strange is that incident of the billet 
 being thrown down I And that horrible junk bottle dancing out 
 of the closet !" 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 451 
 
 A thrill of horror ran round the table, but Rosamond Fay 
 laughed. 
 
 " It is the greatest amusement of this child," said Atherton, 
 "to run and pick up the things that are thrown about the house." 
 
 " I must pay you a visit at Carmel," said the rector, " and see 
 for myself. No human hand could do what you describe as being 
 done." 
 
 The rector's curiosity was excited to such a degree that he re- 
 solved to visit Carmel that very evening after the second service. 
 To the scandal of the Puritans at Yantic, and even of his own 
 flock, who marvelled at such style in a minister. Dr. Patristic kept a 
 pair of fine bays and a sort of curricle which he was accustomed to 
 drive on Sunday evenings, really to exercise the horses, but osten- 
 sibly to hold service in a neighboring village. Mrs. Fay and Ath- 
 erton readily agreed to stay for an early tea, and start at the same 
 time with their host. Mr. Soapstone was to accompany his eccle- 
 siastical superior, to try the eflect of an exorcism. Alban never 
 ceased to impress upon Mrs. Fay that if any minister of her 
 Church could lay the evil spirits at Carmel, Mr. Soapstone, being 
 full of faith, an ascetic, and a sort of confessor, would certainly 
 be able. For we must not omit to mention that Mr. Soapstone 
 had been finally driven from New Haven in consequence of the 
 unpopularity of his views, the strong anti-popery feehng excited 
 in the community by the death of Walker having required a vic- 
 tim more important than our Alban. The whole thing, indeed, 
 was now traced up to his Christmas-eve sermon, the evergreen 
 cross, and candles on the communion table. 
 
 Dr. Patristic, not being an ascetic, but a husband and father, 
 I insisted on Mrs. Fay taking a seat in the curricle, an arrangement 
 which Atherton was at first minded to resist as an impudent inva- 
 sion of his rights, but a gentle whisper from the lady herself pro- 
 cured his acquiescence. The gig received the two young men and 
 1 Rosamond. A red, red sunset soon faded over the hills, and the 
 ij nearly perfect orb of the already risen moon brightened the stern- 
 I featured landscape. Over the moon-lit road, now rising to surmount 
 
452 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 a hill, now sinking into a valley, the chaise chased the curricle, 
 the single horse the pair, and the former lost no ground, though 
 flecked with foam from the ardent rivalry. 
 " And what news from New Haven ?" 
 
 " Not much. Your cousin Henry is engaged, they say, to Miss 
 Ellsworth." 
 
 " Is that all ?" 
 
 " Miss De Groot passed through on her way to enter a con- 
 vent." 
 ''Ah !" 
 
 " You knew of it, I suppose ?" 
 I am not surprised." 
 
 *' An immense grief to her family, it was understood. Some 
 said that she had quitted them clandestinely, but the Everetts 
 told me that was entirely false." 
 
 " Of course — it is too absurd." 
 
 " She was travelling with a couple of nuns, and the mob of 
 New Haven with a lot of students came near attacking the hotel." 
 " Miscreants I" 
 
 " The notion was that these terrible nuns were carrying off 
 this young girl, and that once they got her into a convent, she 
 would never be allowed to come out." 
 
 " And so they Avanted to rescue her, even against her will ? It 
 was rather a generous idea, after all." 
 
 " The New England people, Atherton, hate Popery in every 
 shape. The more amiable in appearance, the more they suspect 
 it." 
 
 " It is a spiritual system, and they are carnal." 
 
 "The common impression is exactly the reverse." 
 
 " Yes, because by spirituality is understood vagueness. A 
 positive spiritual power is offensive to those who judge after the 
 flesh. It is not simply incredible to the Protestant mind, it is 
 hateful, that the Church should cast out devils, work miracles, 
 forgive sins, impart the Holy Ghost, and possess the gift of truth. 
 Yet all these are what Christ does. Protestantism knows Christ 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 453 
 
 only as a lovely abstraction, and shrinks like a scared fiend from 
 his bodily presence." 
 
 " And yet," said Mr. Soapstone, " they are never tired of 
 telling" you that it is the indisposition of the carnal heart to the 
 truths of the gospel, which makes you turn from pure evan- 
 geHcal Christianity and justification by faith alone, to a system of 
 forms and works." 
 
 " ' Every spirit that confesseth not that Jesus Christ is come 
 hi the flesh is not of God, and this is antichrist.' This is the 
 Protestant translation ; the Vulgate says, ' that dis.solveth Jesus,' 
 which means nearly the same. To separate the human and 
 divine in our Lord, either in His person or His religion, is antichris- 
 tian. But how very strange, Soapstone, that people should fancy 
 it to be a mortification of the carnal heart to pick out a religion 
 for one's self from the Bible instead of receiving it from the 
 Church. Why, the Protestant principle, in this respect, is the 
 most flattering to spiritual pride that it is possible to conceive." 
 
 Mr. Soapstone gravely assented to all these propositions, for 
 fancying himself quite pure from all stain of Protestantism, no 
 one more ready than he to send Protestantism to Coventry. Al- 
 ban was irritated by this conceit, which indeed renders your high 
 Anglican the most impracticable animal in existence. As our 
 hero became silent, the Anglican minister began to talk about his 
 present superior. 
 
 " I came to Yantic," said he, " supposing that Dr. Patristic was 
 a true Catholic-minded man. But he has only a smattering of 
 the Fathers, and no idea at all of the Church. Yet he thinks he 
 knows every thing. In regard to the sacrament, he adopts the 
 Non-juring hypothesis of an Eucharistic body distinct from the 
 natural, and that the consecrated bread itself is the only Body of 
 Christ we ever receive." 
 
 " And what do you think of it ?" inquired Alban. 
 
 " I believe with the Greek Church and the whole body of the 
 Fathers, that after consecration M'hat was bread before is the real 
 Body of Christ, and the cup His real Blood. From Justin Martyr 
 
454 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 and Ignatius down, there is but one voice on this subject in all 
 Christian antiquity, although the word Transubstantiation did not 
 come into use till a comparatively modern period." 
 
 " I suppose then," said Alban, " that when Dr. Patristic to-day 
 after service gave you a double handful of the communion-bread 
 to consume, this was the reason you knelt down in the chancel to 
 eat it, instead of standing as he and the rest did. It looked rather 
 funny, but you believed it was the real body of Christ ?" 
 
 " Assuredly." 
 
 " And the contents of that huge chalice which one or two 
 nervous girls, I noticed, came near spilling when they took it into 
 their hands for communion, you believed to be the real Blood of 
 Christ ?" 
 
 " Certainly, Atherton." 
 
 " To-day being a great feast, nearly all the devout members of 
 your Church must have received communion — say half a miUion 
 of persons in all, (a large estimate perhaps,) — how many of these, 
 do you suppose, believe as you do about it ?" 
 
 " Perhaps two or three individuals — perhaps not one," replied 
 Mr. Soapstone, heroically. 
 
 " And the rest had as little idea what they were receiving as 
 the mice who took what was left on the floor this morning. If 
 the Ark of God smote the Philistines with plagues, and slew the 
 men of Bethshemesh for prying into it, I wonder greatly at the im- 
 punity of your people in eating without discerning the Body of the 
 Lord. Does God, year after year, permit the commission of such 
 horrible wholesale sacrilege ?" 
 
 " True," groaned Mr. Soapstone. " It is very distressing, es- 
 pecially when we remember what the Fathers say even in the 
 second century, of the care used by the primitive Christians to 
 prevent a particle of the sacred Body falling to the earth, or a 
 drop of the precious Blood being spilt. I am quite with you there." 
 
 " But how can you remain in your present communion with 
 such feelings ?" 
 
 " With a view of calling it back from its errors," replied Mr. 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 455 
 
 Soapstone. " Our Church does not claim infallibility. If falli- 
 ble, she may be in error. If in error, she ought to be set right. 
 Before Henry the Eighth's time, the Church of England held 
 Transubstantiation. I believe as she believed then." 
 
 " What nonsense I" exclaimed Alban. " The essence of a 
 Church is in the profession and inculcation of truth. Where 
 there is not identity of doctrine, the identity of a Church van- 
 ishes. You are no more the same Church which existed in En- 
 gland before Henry the Eighth, than a changelhig is the same 
 child with that ivhose cradle, name, and inheritance it usurps'"' 
 
 After some desultory conversation on this point, which the 
 Anglican minister would by no means concede, to A] ban's sur- 
 prise, his companion fell back upon some of the popular objections 
 to Transubstantiation itself, urging them not against the tenet in- 
 deed, but against the practice of communion in one kind. 
 
 " To reason in this way," said Alban, " is to fall below the 
 region of pure, unclouded ideas into the mist of the senses, and 
 to betray as gross an ignorance of spiritual laws as the clown 
 does of natural, who, because his ponds are not emptied by night, 
 refuses to believe the revolution of the globe on its axis. Come 
 now, with this pretended philosophy, and analyze for me the 
 germ. Explain how it is, that in a speck of albumen, so minute 
 that it needs a microscope to discover it, are contained all the mani- 
 fold characteristics of the class, the order, the genus, the species, and 
 the variety, to which the future individual belongs — all the trans- 
 missible peculiarities of both his parents, bodily and mental — the 
 red hair of one, the club-foot of another, the insanity or genius of 
 a grandparent. And how does that same speck of albumen (the 
 flesh of the first Adam) communicate the spiritual effects of the 
 fall, and cause the new being to be infected with concupiscence, 
 devoid of justice and sanctity, and an alien from God ? These 
 questions solved, I will explain the rationale of concomitance, and 
 the life-giving virtue of communion." 
 
 The young Rosamond, nestling in her corner of the gig, with 
 her slender limbs crossed, to take up as little room as possible, 
 
456 A L B A N . 
 
 listened with an attention which verified the proverb about the 
 ears possessed by " Uttle pitchers." But ten miles of good road 
 are soon got over by willing steeds. At a trifle past nine the cur- 
 ricle and gig stopped almost at the same moment at Dr. Cone's 
 gate. Mrs. Cone came out into the piazza to reprove her sister 
 for choosing to return by moonlight with her young beau, but her 
 thoughts were driven into another channel when she saw Dr. Pa- 
 tristic, with a half fatherly, half courtierly air, conducting Mrs. 
 Fay up the gravelled walk to the house. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 457 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The first sounds which saluted the ears of the visitors on entering, 
 and indeed before entering, were the shrieks of the child Eddy, 
 who had been going on terribly, said Mrs. Cone, ever since sun- 
 down. The quiet of the Sabbath had not been disturbed till 
 that hour, when just as the sun dropped below the rim of hills, 
 stifled cries were heard proceeding from the chambers. After a 
 brief search, following the sounds, Eddy had been found in the 
 closet of Mrs. Fay's room, perched (goodness knows how he ever 
 got there I) on a shelf so high" that a grown woman could barely 
 reach it by the aid of a chair. The lower part of the closet was 
 a press, with hooks for ladies' dresses. It was with difficulty that 
 Dr. Cone and the eldest pupil had succeeded in dislodging the poor 
 little fellow from his dangerous position, for he resisted with 
 screams every attempt, until it was discovered at last that a cord 
 was noosed round his neck, and attached to one of the hooks 
 before mentioned, as if with the design of hanging him. This 
 was the most horridly malicious purpose yet betrayed by the 
 invisible persecutors of the family. Ever since, or for more than 
 an hour, the boy had lain on the floor of the room into which he 
 had been conveyed, uttering incessant screams, but apparently 
 unconscious of what was going on. The village doctor had been 
 sent for, and had administered a powerful medicine, which hitherto 
 • had produced no effect, Such was the account given by Mrs. Cone 
 to her visitors, and confirmed by their own observation, as they 
 stood by the child himself in his dim chamber. The two elder 
 pupils and. the two Irish girls were watching by him. 
 
 " It's a divil he has," observed Bridget, pausing in her beads. 
 " If yer riverince could but spake a word to cast him out." 
 
 " Nay, it's but fits, the doctor says," returned Harriet, " and 
 what could his reverence do for fits ?" 
 
 89 
 
458 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 *' This is demoniacal possession," said Dr. Patristic, preparing 
 to retreat from the room. 
 
 Some low raps on the dusky walls quickened considerably the 
 rector's flight. In the cheerfully lighted parlor, the nature of the 
 visitation was further discussed. Dr. Patristic betrayed a good 
 deal of timidity, particularly when Rosamond Fay, who was visi- 
 bly dehghted at the rector's fears, finding that the spirits were 
 slower than usual in their demonstrations, slyly pushed over one 
 of the heavy chairs when no one was looking. 
 
 " Rosamond," said her mother, after reproving the child for this 
 feat, and checking the untimely mirth which followed its success, 
 " Rosamond is the only person in the house who has never shown 
 fear on these occasions. The only instance, I remember, which 
 at first looked like it, was when Eddy's clothes were cut to 
 pieces on the night that you arrived, Mr. Atherton. She screamed 
 then, but I afterwards found it was from another cause. Rosa 
 is sensitively modest." 
 
 The young girl grew red, and at the final word hid her face 
 in her mother's lap. Mrs. Fay merely stroked the black-ringleted 
 head with a quiet motion of the hand which could scarcely be 
 called a caress. 
 
 " I wish Mr. Soapstone would begin his exorcism," said Alban. 
 " I have great faith in that." 
 
 " If Dr. Cone has no objections, I think we might do something 
 in this case," said the young clergyman, modestly. 
 
 Dr. Cone observed with patient courtesy that several of the 
 neighboring brethren had given him the benefit of their prayers. 
 If these gentlemen thought that those of a minister of their 
 Church would prove more efficacious, they were welcome to try. 
 The truth was that the good doctor, as well as the family in 
 general, would have been glad of relief from any source. He had 
 felt compelled to write to the friends of the afflicted boy to take him 
 home, and justly apprehended, with the continuance of the inflic- 
 tion, the loss of all his pupils, not to speak of the injuries he 
 received in his property, reputation, and comfort. In former times 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 459 
 
 the whole world believed in demoniac agency, but now-a-days few 
 people would be found to credit any thing of the sort, so that the 
 least imputation to w^hich he was liable was that of being easily 
 imposed upon. 
 
 There then arose a brief contest of professional courtesy be- 
 tween the rector and his assistant, which should officiate on this 
 trying occasion. But Dr. Patristic was resolved not to meddle 
 more than he could help with spirits of darkness, and the younger 
 clergyman, not without some appearance of uneasiness, yet over- 
 coming natural fears by an undaunted spirit and a faith in his 
 own vocation, left the room to assume his cassock and bands, sur- 
 plice and stole, from a bundle which he had brought in the curricle 
 box. He reappeared a figure calculated to awe even spirits. In 
 one hand he bore his prayer-book, and in the other a large vial, 
 from which he presently poured a colorless liquid into a bowl 
 placed by Mrs. Cone, at his request, on the table. 
 
 " What is that ?" demanded Dr. Patristic, aghast. 
 
 " Some water from the font, which I saved after the baptism 
 this evening," returned the assistant. " It has been solemnly 
 blessed in the administration of the sacrament, and I deemed it 
 could not but possess some power to quell the evil spirits whom 
 baptism has ever been held to dispossess." 
 
 " It is Protestant holy-water," said Alban. 
 
 " Really, brother S.," returned the rector," I doubt if our Church 
 ever contemplated, much more authorized, such an application of 
 the water of the font." 
 
 " She authorizes us to bless it, and does not prescribe what 
 shall be done with it afterwards," rephed the young clergyman. 
 " And in the reign of Charles I. I find that holy, or blessed water 
 was used in the Church of England by Laud, Andrews, and some 
 others. So I am not without precedent." 
 
 Mr. Soapstone, therefore, proceeded. First, he opened the 
 great Bible and read with much solemnity a chapter from the 
 gospel containing the promise of our Saviour that his disciples 
 should cast out devils in his name. The scene was deeply 
 
460 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 impressive, and even awe-inspiring, but less so, perhaps, when the 
 young minister, closing the book, invited those present to join him 
 in the Litany. When, however, those petitions were recited which 
 pray that " Satan may be finally beaten down under our feet," 
 and " that those evils which the craft or subtlety of the devil or 
 man worketh against us, may be brought to naught," the voice of 
 the reader became earnest, and most present were sensible of an 
 emotion of awe. All were kneeling except Alban and Rosamond 
 Fay. The latter had begun to laugh when Harriet, who was sent 
 for on the score of her being an Episcopalian, responded some- 
 what louder than her wont ; and in order to conceal her merri- 
 ment, the little girl was forced to retreat behind the sofa, where 
 she remained curled up on the floor till the prayers were con- 
 cluded. 
 
 It was a favorable sign that the knocking, which was usually 
 troublesome at prayer-time, ceased entirely during the litany. As 
 the prayer-book did not contain any collect expressing the precise 
 intention of the present devotions, the young clergyman offered 
 one of his own compos'ition, brief and pointed, appealing to the 
 promise made to the ministers of Christ, and imploring its fulfil- 
 ment in the deliverance of this family, and particularly of the 
 most suflering member thereof, from the malicious persecutions of 
 Satan. Mr. Soapstone used not many vain repetitions. Rising 
 from his knees, he sprinkled the font-water round the room, and 
 upon the persons present, except Alban, who, with a grave ges- 
 ture, declined any share in the aspersion, and the youthful Rosa- 
 mond, who, apprehensive perhaps for her cherry-silk frock, when 
 she saw her turn coming, sprang to her feet and took refuge be- * 
 hind our hero. 
 
 " It is quiet now," said Mrs. Fay to the latter, in a half-whis- 
 per, when Mr. Soapstone had left the room to say a prayer and 
 sprinkle some of the consecrated element over the little sufferer 
 up stairs. 
 
 " Perhaps it is going to succeed," replied Alban, in the same 
 tone of voice. " We shall see presently." 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 461 
 
 The minister returned, and all being indeed hushed, even to 
 Eddy's shrieks, concluded with an appropriate collect and the ben- 
 ediction. Scarcely was the latter uttered, when the great Bible 
 from which he had read the lesson, flew open. The passage 
 marked was in the Acts, the xixth chapter and 15th verse. All 
 crowded to read it, but ere it could be finished by Dr. Patristic, 
 whether it was that he leaned too heavily on the stand, or from 
 a supernatural cause, one end flew up ; the Bible, the candles, 
 the holy-water, bowl and all, went rolling off in all directions. 
 One of the candles blazing up on the carpet, caught Mr. Soap- 
 stone's long surplice, and in a trice the minister was enveloped 
 in flames. Every body fled from him, the women loudly scream- 
 ing, and but for Atherton's presence of mind in throwing him 
 rather irreverently down and rolling him in the rug, Mr. Soap- 
 stone might have paid for his temerity with his life. A scene of 
 confusion and clamor followed such as had never occurred before. 
 The raps were deafening, several windows were broken, various 
 objects were thrown with violence. As one of the candles had 
 been extinguished in falling and the other had been intentionally 
 put out by Mrs. Cone, when the conflagration of the surplice was 
 arrested, the room remained in darkness except for the moonlight 
 shining in at a side window. There was much wild running 
 hither and thither from purposeless alarm, so that the scene was 
 hke an incantation of witches. The pretty Harriet, uttering loud 
 exclamations, did not perceive that her gown was becoming slowly 
 inflated, till it suddenly flew over her head. Shrieking, she at- 
 tempted to fly from the room, but unable to see where she was 
 going, ran against Dr. Patristic, who lost his balance and tumbled 
 over a chair, dragging the girl with him in his fall. All the 
 Episcopalians, in fact, were ridiculously prostrate ; Mrs. Fay lying 
 on the sofi terrified rather than hurt. Rosamond sat on the 
 edge of it, bending almost double with suppressed laughter, and 
 over all rose Eddy's piercing screams. 
 
 A loud knock was heard at the front door, and all other sounds 
 suddenly ceased. 
 
462 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 All listened. The knocking was repeated. It was in vain 
 that Mrs. Cone, coming in with a light, commanded now the boys, 
 now Harriet, to go to the door and see who was there. Such ter- 
 ror had been struck into every heart that no one dared stir, till, 
 on the knock being heard a third time, very quick and impatient, 
 Alban. who with Rosamond, had been inquiring into her mother's 
 situation, seeing that no one else would, himself went to the door. 
 
 " Sir," said the stranger, " your horses have run away with 
 your carriage." 
 
 " My horses !" exclaimed Dr. Patristic. " Give me my hat I 
 Soapstone, the horses have run away — let's after them at once !" 
 
 And the rector of Yantic, forgetting his fears and recent dis- 
 comfiture, rushed from the house, followed, with an inferior degree 
 of impetuosity, by his less interested assistant. 
 
 " Won't you walk in, sir," said Dr. Cone, now advancing and 
 courteously addressing the stranger, who still remained on the 
 threshold. 
 
 " Nay, my good sir," replied he, " I have myself met with a 
 misfortune. The runaway equipage came violently in contact 
 with the light wagon in which I was just passing your house, and 
 we find that a bolt has been broken, which must be repaired be- 
 fore we can proceed. The young man who is with me has gone 
 on to your neighbor, the blacksmith's ; but I do not like, at this 
 hour, to trespass so long as I may be obliged to wait." 
 
 A renewal of the invitation, and cordial assurances that it 
 would be no intrusion, overcame the stranger's scruples. 
 
 He entei ed with a frank air, and took a seat near the stand 
 which had been overset, but which was now on its legs again, and 
 the candles replaced on it. His appearance was rather prepos- 
 sessing. He wore a black frock-coat and black neckcloth, not- 
 withstanding the warmth of the weather, and had a red ribbon 
 round tVie neck, probably serving" to suspend a locket, or other 
 memorial, in the pocket of his waistcoat. His thick black hair 
 was closely cut, and the razor had not spared a single vestige of 
 whisker or beard, to break the outhne of a dark but regular 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 463 
 
 physiognomy. A piercing eye and a calm gravity about the 
 mouth gave him a commanding aspect, although the facial mus- 
 cles were quite free from the wooden sternness of New England, 
 and it seemed as if it would take little to relax his features into a 
 smile. 
 
 This further appeared when he entered into the usual topics 
 of conversation, courteously started by his hosts, such as the 
 weather and the roads, and met their characteristic inquiries as to 
 his destination and motive for travelling so late on Sunday even- 
 ing. The stranger evaded this inquisition with good humor. 
 
 " You are bound to Yantic, I suppose, sir ?" said Dr. Cone. 
 
 " They say it is a wise man who knows whither he is bound till 
 he arrives at the journey's end," replied the traveller, laughing. 
 " Pray, sir, to return your question, what place is this ?" 
 
 " It is called Carmel," said Dr. Cone. 
 
 " Carmel I" said the traveller, thoughtfully." "A name of 
 many associations. Was it not at Carmel that the prophet Eiias 
 defied the worshippers of Baal to a trial?" 
 
 " The prophet Elijah," observed Dr. Cone. 
 
 " Ah, yes, Elijah or Elias, I believe it* is the same," said the 
 stranger, with simplicity. 
 
 It might be that twenty minutes thus elapsed ere the two 
 Episcopal clergymen returned, having abandoned the pursuit of 
 the fugitive horses in person ; but the rector had engaged a 
 countryman to follow and bring them back. And while Dr. and 
 Mrs. Cone were yet offering a hospitality for the night — which 
 their guests perforce accepted — the young man of whom the 
 belated traveller had spoken, returned with the blacksmith him- 
 self, to say that it would be impossible to repair the accident of 
 the wagon before morning. 
 
 " I must have daylight to do it, sir," said the son of Vulcan. 
 " And, any way, I could not get you started before midnight. It's 
 well on towards eleven, and my fire is out." 
 
 " Good reasons, my friend," interrupted the stranger. *' But 
 is there a public house in this Carmel ?" 
 
464 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 Dr. and Mrs. Cone consulted each other apart, and then cordially- 
 offered the stranger a bed. In retired places in America, a passing 
 traveller is always welcome, particularly if he be intelligent and 
 gentlemanlike ; and in this instance, the hosts might be conscious 
 that they were partly responsible for the stranger's mishap ; while 
 the fact that his arrival had been marked by a complete cessation 
 of the frightful disturbance in their house, coupled perhaps with a 
 fear that it might recommence at his departure, animated their 
 hospitality still further, and made them press the offer with a 
 warmth to which the traveller, not without surprise, at length 
 yielded. The broken wagon Avas drawn to the smithy, the stran- 
 ger's horse received into the doctor's stable, his valise brought into 
 the house, his travelling companion was accommodated by the smith 
 himself, and Mrs. Cone, bustling and cheerful, got out fresh bed- 
 linen, and caused supper to be prepared for her unexpected guests. 
 
 " Alban," she whispered to our hero, "you must put up with 
 the sofa for to-night, and resign your room to Dr. Patristic and 
 Mr. Soapstone, (I wish they were both in Guinea I) for the strange 
 gentleman must have the little room, (the prophet's chamber.) 
 I suppose he will be contested, as he doesn't seem difficult." 
 
 The traveller had resumed his seat and was fallen into a pro- 
 found revcry, from which he at length emerged only to take a 
 book from his pocket and settle himself quietly to read, saying, 
 " May I ask the favor, madam, to be shown to the apartment you 
 intend for me, a few minutes before supper ;" — and forthwith he 
 became completely absorbed in his book. Supper in due time 
 was ready, the stranger was shown to his room, and Rosamond 
 Fay, whose bright eyes had scarcely been taken off from him since 
 he entered, immediately whispered, turning to her mother and 
 Alban, " I wonder why he wears that red ribbon round his neck." 
 
 When the stranger returned the red ribbon had disappeared ; 
 whether he had taken it off or merely concealed it, could only be 
 matter of speculation. The first thing on his re-entrance, the 
 great Bible, now replaced on the stand, flew open, and he started. 
 Rosamond ran to read the passage aloud. 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 46S 
 
 "Oh, mamma I it is marked with a red cross. — Be not forget- 
 ful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained 
 angels imatvares.'' 
 
 " What is the meaning of that ?" asked the traveller, ap- 
 proaching- the book with a frown. 
 
 Rap, rap, rap I Rap, rap. 
 
 "What is that?" — And he started again. "Is the house 
 haunted ?" 
 
 *' By demons," said Alban. 
 
 " Come in to supper, sir," said Dr. Cone, " and we will tell 
 you all about it." 
 
 And the stranger slowly made the sign of the cross from the 
 forehead to the breast. 
 
466 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Nothing had been said but a brief grace by Dr. Patristic, when 
 a Hght-colored, ghttering object fell heavily upon the table before 
 Mrs. Fay. It was a portrait-cameo, which she had worn that 
 morningf to Yantic, but had taken off with the hat and sha^d on 
 her return. The fact was that it was a portrait of Lieutenant 
 Fay, and she never wore it at Carmel from a feeling of delicacy 
 towards her sister and brother-in-law, to whom her husband was 
 odious, in the same way as she avoided mentioning his name be- 
 fore them. Faintly blushing, Mrs. Fay took the ornament from 
 the table, and attached it in the usual manner of a brooch to the 
 neck-ribbon of her dress. 
 
 " Whence came it ?" demanded the stranger, casting his eyes 
 up to the ceiling. 
 
 " Twenty minutes or half an hour ago, sir, I locked it up in 
 my trunk, hi my own room," replied Mrs. Fay, quietly. *' These 
 things are of hourly occurrence in this house, sir." 
 
 The stranger, who left his plate untouched, again demanded 
 an explanation, which could only be afforded by narrating more 
 instances of the same kind. Piece by piece — some of the family 
 rather exaggerating, others perhaps falling short of the truth — 
 the whole history of the visitation came out. When Alban de- 
 scribed (for the rest shunned that point) Mr. Soapstone's attempted 
 exorcism, the stranger smiled. 
 
 " Still," observed he, " the principal object seems to have been 
 gained, or why do I not hear the cries of the lad you speak of?" 
 
 A shriek, up stairs, from Eddy, causing a general start and 
 shudder, answered the question almost ere it had escaped the lips 
 of the questioner. 
 
 " Have you or any of your family," demanded the traveller, 
 addressing Dr. Cone, " ever sought intercourse with spirits, by 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 467 
 
 consulting fortune-tellers, or pytlionists, (that is, persons having 
 familiar spirits,) or pretenders to the second sight, or clairvoyants, 
 or by using any charms or divinations yourselves ?" ' 
 
 Dr. Patristic and Dr. Cone both looked guilty, and the latter 
 confessed to having had to do Math clairvoyants, but maintained, 
 with some warmth, that theirs was but a natural state in which 
 the latent faculties of the soul were extraordinarily developed. 
 Dr. Patristic shook his head at this, while the stranger replied, 
 
 "So the professors of magic have ever reasoned. Every thing 
 real is natural in one sense, but there is a lawful order in the ac- 
 quisition of knowledge, as well as in other things. Our natural 
 senses, reason, and divine revelation, are the only legitimate 
 sources of knowledge. If, in attempting to pass these limits, you 
 find yourself in the power of demons, you have only yourself to 
 blame." 
 
 Supper done, the ladies retired ; but before the gentlemen, 
 could follow their example, first Mrs. Cone and then Atherton 
 were summoned by Rosamond to her mother's room, and presently 
 Alban called the whole family to witness the singular exhibition 
 there presented. 
 
 Mrs. Fay's table was covered with a white sheet, arranged in 
 a peculiar style, and upon it were set a pair of lighted candles, an. 
 open book, and a bowl of water. A number of figures, in male 
 and female attire, knelt around in various attitudes of devotion — 
 one kneeling at the table itself, being arrayed in the half-burned 
 surplice, bands, and stole of Mr. Soapstone. The efiect was 
 startling, and it was difficult to believe they were not real person- 
 ages till Rosamond, venturing, as usual, to approach, pushed one 
 of them over, with a laugh, and it was seen that they were 
 figures dressed up with, the aid of garments belonging to the 
 family. 
 
 " Did you ever see any thing so curious in your life?" said Dr. 
 Patristic, taking up a figure dressed in a silk gown of Mrs. Fay's, 
 fitting more perfectly, too, than it ever did on the fragile form of 
 its owner. 
 
468 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 But Harriet, in her good-humored Irish way, going- to undress 
 this life-size doll before everybody, excited some merriment, min- 
 gled with blushing reproofs from the ladies, by showing that it 
 was aiTayed as scrupulously in all respects as one of themselves ; 
 and yet the inside of all these figures consisted of a few pieces of 
 household linen, and old carpet, and, wonderful to relate — as 
 showing the inconceivable quickness with which this display had 
 been got up — in the very centre of the carefully dressed one, rep- 
 resenting Mrs. Fay, was found a sort of crumb-cloth or drugget, 
 which had been spread under the table during supper. With one 
 rude shake they tumbled to pieces. 
 
 The mixed wonder, amusement, and strange surmises occasioned 
 by this singular representation were put to an end by a new and 
 startling incident. Bridget came to the door and said — " Please, 
 ma'am, send some of the gentlemen here, for sure Eddy has 
 stripped himself as naked as the day he was born, and is a-running 
 about the house." 
 
 The screams of the demoniac boy, though only occasional, for 
 his strength seemed somewhat exhausted, impeded sleep. Few in 
 the house but listened awe-struck on their beds. Dark and malig- 
 nant was that spirit from the deep, who, the first perhaps for 
 ages, had burst the restraint imposed upon his accursed race, and 
 dared openly to manifest his ancient lust and power of torment. 
 So at least deemed most of those who heard him. 
 
 Alban had volunteered to sit up with Eddy, who could not 
 safely be left alone for an instant, and INIr. Soapstone charitably 
 insisted on sharing his watch. Dr. Patristic was at first con- 
 siderably nervous about sleeping alone in the adjacent room, until 
 Dr. Cone, after visiting the child for the last time before retiring, 
 went in to confer with the rector of Yantic, and these two wor- 
 thies were soon in deep conversation on the mysteries of the 
 spiritual world. Atherton and the young Episcopal clergyman in- 
 sensibly fell to whispering on the same topic. 
 
 " My greatest difficulty in ascribing these things to diabolical 
 agency," said Mr. Soapstone, " is the absence of apparent motive. 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 469 
 
 Satan, why should he play such tricks ? They are unworthy the 
 prince of darkness." 
 
 " Well, I think there are several clear marks of his presence," 
 returned the clear-headed student : — " a power above human ; 
 malice in its use ; a restraint upon its exercise ; and a general 
 tendency of the whole in the long run to glorify the Eternal Ruler 
 by whom it is permitted." 
 
 " Yet seems it not strange even to you, Atherton, that these 
 infernal powers are permitted to defy and insult our religion in any 
 form, to mock it by sacrilegious representations?" 
 
 " Not stranger than that heretics are permitted to travesty the 
 priesthood, the sacrifice, and the Sacrament of the Lord's Body, in 
 their profane and perverted rites. Is it not enough," said Alban, 
 warmly, " that you impose your trumpery notions upon men, but 
 you expect the very devils to revere the cheat I Earth, no doubt, 
 has some respect for solemn shams : Hell has none I" 
 
 Eddy half rose up and grinned horribly. He was but half- 
 clothed, for except by tying him it was found impossible to prevent 
 his stripping off his garments. While the family w^ere at supper 
 he had made one desperate attempt to get into the stranger's 
 apartment, but Bridget had fortunately locked the door. Bridget 
 had shown the stranger to his room, and after he had left it might 
 have been seen to kneel outside the door and pray. 
 
 The young men were about to resume their conversation, when 
 the demoniac again showed signs of trouble ; a step was heard in 
 the passage ; Eddy made one bound into the furthest corner of the 
 apartment, and the strange traveller entered. 
 
 He was not habited as before. A coarse, dark-brown woollen 
 robe, with a long scapular hanging down before and behind, 
 flowed to his feet, uncon fined even about the waist by cord or 
 belt. The red ribbon was again around his neck. Slightly bow- 
 ing to the young men, he said, with quiet authority, " I want to 
 see this boy," and immediately approached the possessed. To the 
 astonishment of all, Eddy broke forth in a torrent of curses and 
 abuse. It was not loud, rather muttered like the rolling growl of 
 
 40 
 
470 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 some incensed animal, but such abominable oatbs and impreca- 
 tions, such a filthy stream of obscenity and blasphemy never 
 issued from human lips. 
 
 " hninu7idissime spiritus,tace I"" said the stranger, laying his 
 hand firmly on the boy's crouching head. " In nomine Jesu 
 Nazareni adjuro te'' 
 
 The boy spat in his face and was silent. Eddy had naturally 
 a sweet countenance. It was now upturned to the stranger's with 
 an expression of revolting- malignity. 
 
 " What is thy name ?" demanded the latter sternly. 
 
 " Elias Walker," said the boy, between his teeth. 
 
 Albaii started. 
 
 " Speak truth in the name of God." 
 
 " Edward Fay—" 
 
 " Remember — in nomine — " 
 
 " Legio .'" shouted the boy at the very top of his voice. 
 " Is there a cause wherefore thou art come, and what cause ? 
 I?i nomine — " 
 
 " Ask him'' in the same tone, and pointing to Atherton : — 
 "him and yonder woman." — The boy used the coarsest of appel- 
 latives, and pointed with his index finger in the direction of Mrs. 
 Fay's apartment. 
 
 " Speak truth," returned the stranger, *' as thou fearest Him 
 who is so near us both." 
 
 The boy faintly clutched at the red ribbon which was just 
 visible at the stranger's throat, and sank on the fl.oor as if sense- 
 less. 
 
 The stranger slowly turned to the appalled witnesses of this 
 scene, and fastened upon Alban his dark, penetrating eyes. 
 
 You are a Catholic, young sir ? That good girl Bridget told 
 me you wanted to see a priest. Please step into my room for a 
 few minutes. This gentleman will not fear being left alone with 
 the child." 
 
 The " prophet's chamber," in truth, had in it little more than 
 the Sunamitess gave Ehseus: — a "little bed, a table, a stool, and 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 471 
 
 a candlestick." The stranger's large valise, to economize space, 
 had been put beneath the table. On the bed lay a fine Roman 
 surplice and purple stole, which the monk, (as he evidently was,) 
 without asking Alban any further questions, immediately put on. 
 Having thus done, he seated himself in the solitary chair which 
 the little apartment afforded, and laying his hand authoritatively 
 on the table at his side, said, " Kneel there." 
 
 For a moment the haughty blood rushed to Alban's face, at 
 being thus ordered, but in a moment the emotion had passed, and 
 the youth humbly knelt, while the monk, having murmured, " The 
 Lord be in thy heart and on thy lips," — with a rapid motion of 
 benediction, added, in the same tone of abrupt command as before, 
 
 " Say the confiteor''' 
 
 Alban ob(3yed in a tremulous voice. The moment he reached 
 the mea cidjm, the stranger demanded, shortly, " When were you 
 last at confession ?" 
 
 " Never," replied Atherton. 
 
 " Never ?" said the priest, slightly turning round, for he was 
 leaning with his elbow on the table, and his hand over his eyes. 
 
 " I am only a convert, and have never had an opportunity of 
 being received into the Church." 
 
 The Carmelite was silent for a minute, and then said in a 
 kind, softened voice, 
 
 " You -have been baptized?" 
 
 " In infancy, by a Congregationalist minister." 
 
 " Accuse yourself, my son, with candor, but without scrupulos- 
 ity, of those things in your past life by which you are conscious 
 of having offended God." 
 
 Alban continued on his knees nearly two hours. Unexpect- 
 edly as this confession had come upon him he was abundantly pre- 
 pared for it. If he faltered, the priest, without appearing anxious 
 that he should proceed, assisted his memory by a quiet, skilful 
 question. His tears wet* the little table. At length his voice died 
 away in the conclusion of the conjiteor, and he covered his face 
 with both hands. 
 
472 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 "My dear son," said the moiilf, "you have made a confession 
 marked, to all appearance, by those qualities which are requisite 
 in a good confession — sincerity and integrity. The humility you 
 have displayed cannot but call down upon you the benediction of 
 the Almighty, who has said in words familiar to your ears, / 
 divell tvith the man that is of a contrite and humble spirit, and 
 to ivhom shall I have respect but to him that is poor and litth 
 and of a contrite spirit, and that trembleth at my ivords ? You 
 have had your evils — enough to teach you that in yourself you are 
 no better than others, but with the proof they have afforded you 
 of your own frailty, you ought to be thankful that you have 
 been kept, perhaps by Providence as much as by grace, from 
 that 'foul and lavish act of sin' which, as the poet says, inflicts such 
 deep and lasting wounds on the soul. In regard to what is more re- 
 cent — those violent inward temptations of which you speak — think 
 not too much of them. The motions of concupiscence being nat- 
 ural we cannot feel horror at them ; it is sufficient that we refuse 
 to yield, and wish to be freed from them, if it were possible. De- 
 spise the movements of your rebellious flesh, which is not and can- 
 not be subject to the law of God, or regard them only to deepen 
 your humility. Neither be over-scrupulous in regard to inter- 
 course with certain persons. You may easily thus ensnare your 
 conscience. Preserve a right intention in all things, and go for- 
 ward with a sweet and holy courage. Lift the eyes of your heart 
 above this sphere of vile temptations, and fix them on the perfec- 
 tions of your God. Meditate, my son, on the tender love of the 
 Holy Trinity for the race of men : the Father s goodness in crea- 
 ting you, that of the Son in redeeming you, and of the Holy Ghost 
 in effecting your sanctification. Consider Jesus Christ expiring on 
 the Cross for you, or lingering in the Blessed Sacrament to be your 
 food and victim. E-emember that this life must be to you as it 
 was to Him, one of unceasing conflict, humiliation, and suffering, 
 in order that the life to come may be one of happiness, triumph, 
 and rest. Avoid, of course, all consent to sin, and especially every 
 outward act, which of itself proves the consent of the will ; but 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 473 
 
 these apart, be courageous, calm, serene, hopeful, manly. Yes ; let 
 your piety be manly. You pray a great deal, it seems. It is well ; 
 it is necessary. But remember that one act of unfeigned humility 
 is a prayer more efficacious than if you recited the whole Breviary 
 from beginning to end. Use every means of grace, and confide 
 in nothing but God." 
 
 Alban felt a deep surprise at the hghtness of the penance 
 which his strange confessor imposed for the sins of his whole life, 
 it being only to read the eighth chapter of the Third Book of the 
 Imitation of Christ, and add the Veni Creator to his devotions ; 
 both every day for a week. It was true that he had accused 
 himself of what were doubtless mortal, though interior transgres- 
 sions, but the shame and compunction which he evidently suffered 
 in thus laying bare the secrets of his heart, were so great, that 
 what with his innocence in the exterior point of view, it v/as a 
 case for binding up the wound, and pouring on the oil of consola- 
 tion. The priest had questioned him in regard to his baptism. 
 Alban had never doubted its validity. 
 
 " It may seem strange," observed the monk, " that so great a 
 gift as regeneration, which is the gate to eternal life, should be 
 suspended on the right performance of an external act of this 
 kind. But it is not more strange than that the gift of existence, 
 which in one sense is greater, (for unless we existed, we could not 
 be regenerate,) should be suspended on the coincidence of outward 
 circumstances far less solemn. It is necessary to a valid baptism 
 that the matter and form, that is, the water and the words, be 
 morally united, so that w^hile the baptizer is pronouncing the latter, 
 he may be fairly considered to wash the baptized. The sect- 
 ministers generally have no idea of matter and form in a sacra- 
 ment, or of the necessity of uniting them, and as they generally 
 sprinkle, often while the infant's head is covered with a cap, it 
 may easily happen that only a few drops of water, too minute to 
 Jiotv upon the surface, may touch the child. Now that would 
 not be baptism. I have seen even an Episcopal minister first 
 pronounce the child's name, pour his hollow hand full of water 
 
 40* 
 
474 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 upon its head, and then say, I baptize thee, Sj-c : that would not 
 be baptism either. In short, as the shp-shod notions of these sects 
 do not permit them to prescribe, as the Church does, such a man- 
 ner of administering the sacrament as to preclude the possibility 
 of these defects, we cannot safely assume the validity of their 
 baptisms, and they must be repeated as doubtful, unless we have 
 positive proof to the contrary." 
 
 " The two ladies in this house were present at my baptism," 
 said Alban. 
 
 *' By all means, then, we must question them before proceeding 
 further," said the monk. 
 
 As soon as Alban, confessed but not absolved, had risen from 
 his knees, the monk said to him with a smile, 
 
 " What meant the evil spirit by referring me to you and the 
 beautiful lady ? You know not ? The enigma may be solved 
 one day. At present we must try the effect of an exorcism, for 
 which I have a competent general authority. We shall need 
 holy water — real holy water. Will you get me a little salt and a 
 capacious bowl." 
 
 Alban departed on this errand. The back stair descended 
 from a room occupied by the older boys, both of whom were asleep. 
 Breathless quiet reigned throughout the house. Just at the land- 
 ing of the stair was a low door opening into a garret-room where 
 the servant girls slept. As Alban passed it, he heard the raps, 
 not loud but decided. These raps upon doors had been of fre- 
 quent occurrence, and were always understood as implying an 
 invitation to enter, or if it was a closet, to open it. He disre- 
 garded the hint and went down stairs. Returning in about ten 
 minutes with a salt-cellar and large bowl, he perceived the smell 
 of fire in passing the same door, and the raps were repeated. 
 Having carried in the articles to the priest, he returned hastily 
 and knocked at the girls' room. There was no answer, and the 
 smell of fire being now strong, he opened the door. A dim lamp 
 burning on the floor discovered a slight smokiness in the air, yet 
 the two Irish girls slept profoundly on separate cots. Since Eddy 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 475 
 
 had ceased to scream, slumber had sealed all eyes and steeped all 
 senses but those of the monk and Alban. The latter passed on 
 between the beds of the girls to a door in the side of the apart- 
 ment. This was the room of Mrs. Fay. A red flame illumined 
 it, proceeding from the bed. Breathless he approached, lifted the 
 muslin valance of the white-curtained bed, and lo, on tVie carpet 
 a little pile of kindliugs all in a light blaze, which already darted 
 its snake-like tongues along the hempen sacking towards the hght 
 valance and curtains. Above, two soft faces lay still and close 
 together on the dusky white of the pillows. He touched Rosa- 
 mond ; she wakened her mother. 
 
 " Your bed is in flames — nay, be not alarmed." 
 
 Rosamond's limbs gleamed for a moment in the red light, as 
 she sprang out ; her mother ghded from the bed hke a spirit. 
 Alban threw on water — what the pitchers contained — then fling- 
 ing the curtains within the bed, out of reach of the flames for the 
 moment, proceeded to uncord the bedstead. Meanwhile — more 
 thoughtful of their modesty than their safety, or that of the 
 house — the mother and daughter robed themselves, with palpita- 
 ting hearts. It seemed an age that passed ; the valance was in 
 flames before the bed's head was uncorded. Alban stepped boldly 
 on the bed, which sank through upon the soaking carpet, drew 
 the curtains quite out of reach of the flames, which now encircled 
 him, and completed the work of uncording. The fire beneath 
 was smothered, the light valance went out like paper, and dark- 
 ness descended upon the room. 
 
 " Is it Rosamond ? Ah, Mrs. Fay !" — The voice trembled. — 
 " I was trying to find the door and w^ent the wrong way. I will 
 find it now and fetch a light." 
 
 He brought the lamp from the girls' room. Mrs. Fay took it 
 :o light her candle. Her hand trembled, but her face was calm. 
 She was already dressed. At least a snowy wrapper hid all. 
 
 Rosamond, my love, thank Mr. Aiherton," — half reproach- 
 fully, for the httle girl was shrinking behind. 
 
 Rosa, whose ringlets were in wild disorder, and her frock half 
 
476 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 hooked, at her mother's word, sprang forward, threw her arms 
 round his neck, and kissed him. Even a httle girl's warm, quick 
 kiss seemed to embarrass Atherton. He was retiring, with a 
 downcast glance, when Mrs. Fay detained him. 
 
 " Mr. Atherton, one moment pardon me. You were speaking 
 of your baptism the other day. I was then just going to tell you 
 of a dispute, which arose at the time, about its vahdity, hut sister 
 made me a sign to hold my tongue. Your family, you know, was 
 of great importance in Yanmouth ; and as there were several 
 Episcopalians like ourselves present at your christening, we de- 
 scribed the way it was done to our clergyman, who said it was no 
 baptism. He was a terribly high churchman, to be sure, and 
 afterwards turned Roman Catholic. After what you have done 
 for Rosa and me, I cannot keep from you a fact which you may 
 regard as important. When it occurred,! was just of Rosa's age." 
 
 He passed out between the cots of the sleeping maids, and 
 having deposited their lamp where he found it, without a glance 
 to the right or the left, rejoined the monk in the "prophet's 
 chamber." The Carmelite hstened, with his piercing eyes wide 
 open, to Alban's relation. 
 
 " What was the maiden name of these ladies ? And yours is 
 Atherton ? Is it so indeed ? Strange are the ways of Provi- 
 dence. I was that Episcopal clergyman, Mr. Atherton — now, 
 by the mercy of God, a poor Carmelite. Well, we will examine 
 into the matter more closely in the morning ; but let us now re- 
 turn to this demoniac." 
 
 Eddy was still lying in the corner of the chamber where he 
 had fallen. Soapstone had thrown some clothes over him, and 
 had afterwards fallen asleep himself in his chair. He became 
 roused from his doze to behold the grave Carmelite, with book in 
 hand, and holding the end of his stole over the prostrate child, 
 reciting rapidly the prayers prescribed in the ritual for the exor- 
 cising of persons possessed by the devil. Alban held a light and 
 a vessel of holy water, from which, at intervals, the exorcist 
 sprinkled. 
 
ALBAN . 
 
 477 
 
 111 the midst of the third exorcism, at the words et ignis arch- 
 bit ante ipsum, the boy threw off the clothes and arose. It seemed 
 that he was going to make a dash at the holy water, but he stop- 
 ped short, gazing at Atherton with a horrible look of fear. Thrice 
 the boy shrieked — an unearthly shriek, a cry of anguish unutter- 
 able, sinking into a deep, hollow, vanishing moan — and fell lan- 
 guidly. The priest caught him. They all together raised and 
 laid him on the bed. 
 
478 
 
 AL BAN . 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Day has dawned. Minute crimson clouds — the avant gardes of 
 the sun — floated in a sky clear as a bell. The glittering plume 
 of the morning star trembled, to speak poetically, in the rosy 
 East. Dewy were the plains ; misty and dark blue the hills. 
 The cock, as the old epopee would not fail to notice, crowed in the 
 farm-yard ; the horse already cropped the June meadow with 
 crunchirig teeth and snuffling nostril ; the fresh-breathed maids 
 came forth with their milk-pails from the brown farm-houses. 
 
 In Catholic countries the Angelus bell would invite to prayer 
 and the tapers kindle on the altar for early mass, whither the 
 laborer would repair to sanctify the day by assisting at the morn- 
 ing oblation. The Church loves early hours. Protestants delight 
 in the sentimental witchery of evening, in the exquisite languor 
 of sunset, the unreal charm of moon and stars throughout the 
 year. They enjoy " night services," with bright gas-light, and 
 crowds like a theatre, and a fervent preacher, soothing and exci- 
 ting at the same time an exhausted nervous system. The religion 
 which begins and ends in feeling is necessarily so ; but a rehgion 
 of practice cannot thus arrange itself, because the evening being 
 followed, not by action but repose, whatever impression could be 
 made at this unseasonable hour, would pass away without fruit. 
 Compline, which is the last sweet and brief office of the day in 
 the Roman Church, and never varies in more than a few words, 
 a hallelujah in the Paschal time, a doxology on the feasts of the 
 Lord — Compl'hie is supposed to conclude ere the last fading of 
 the vesper twilight. In practice it is said much earlier. Catholic 
 priests almost universally rise early, and are engaged in the duties 
 of their calling, personal and public, for hours ere Protestant min- 
 isters quit their conjugal beds. The moral influence of this early 
 activity, in the long run, is iacalculable. His heart is not easily 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 479 
 
 made impure by the foul illusions of a bloated sensuality, who 
 rises before light to meditate and pray. That first victory over 
 sloth fortifies the will ; the cool breath of morn assuages the fever 
 of concupiscence ; and the matin worshipper feels upon his soul a 
 cooler breath, from the Eternal Mount, imparting to it an ada- 
 mantine temper, against which the edge of temptation is quickly 
 turned. 
 
 The wagon-bolt was replaced by sunrise, and the monk's com- 
 panion waited for him at the gate. In the little chamber a pair 
 of candles stood lighted on the table, whereon a narrow white 
 cloth was spread. The priest took from a sort of wallet of silk, 
 having a red ribbon attached, a square piece of linen, which he 
 spread, and a silver case resembling a locket. He opens the 
 latter ; he adores, kneehng ; he lifts the sacred victim of salva- 
 tion. Alban. and the girl Bridget are kneeling, and he communi- 
 cates the latter. He adores again ; he closes the pix, replaces it, 
 with the corporal and purificatory, in the bursa, and passes the 
 ribbon round his neck. 
 
 It was a question whether Dr. and Mrs. Cone would permit 
 their house to be blessed, and holy- water to be sprinkled through 
 the rooms as a defence against the future incursions and return of 
 the demons ; if, indeed, the quiet which had continued since the 
 exorcism of Eddy, intimated their effectual expulsion. Father 
 Xavier, (such was his name in religion,) refused to do any thing 
 wi'thout the express permission of his hosts. The fear of being 
 burned in their beds overcame the repugnance which they natu- 
 rally felt to avail themselves of his assistance. At their formal 
 request, he passed from room to room, reciting the appointed 
 prayers, and sprinkling the element which the Church blesses with 
 the expressed intention that " whatever in the houses or abodes 
 of the faithful this leave shall sjyrinkle, may he free from all 
 impurity, be delivered from harm ; tJuit no pestilent spirit may 
 reside there, nor corrupting air : that all the snares of the latent 
 enemy may depart ; and if there is any thing ivhich is hostile 
 either to the safety or the quiet of the inhabitants, by the asper- 
 
480 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 sion of this water, it may flee away : that the salubrity which 
 is sought by the invocation of Thy holy name, may be defended 
 from all assaults'' 
 
 They came upon Dr. Patristic snoring in bed in spite of the 
 sunhght streaming betwixt the half-open shutters, and hallowed 
 the room without disturbing his slumbers. 
 
 The astonishment and displeasure of Mrs. Cone were great when 
 her departing guest declined to break his fast. He had not tasted 
 their salt ; he had not even pressed the couch provided for him. 
 He assured her that he was accustomed to vigils ; and as for 
 taking food ere his departure, he regretted to decline the hospitable 
 offer, but decline it he must, since his first duty at Yantic would 
 be to say mass for the small colony of Irish laborers and servant 
 girls, whom the factories had collected around the Falls of the old 
 Indian river. 
 
 Good Mrs. Cone was further astonished and afflicted to find 
 that Alban was going to accompany the priest. The questions in 
 regard to his baptism next came up and made her dart a reproving 
 glance at the blushing Mrs. Fay. 
 
 *' Nay," said the grave Carmelite, " I myself remember some- 
 thing. Have you quite forgotten an old friend, Mrs. Cone ? Time 
 has altered us both, but I can retrace the laughing Fanny Cleveland 
 in my sedate hostess." 
 
 " Mr. Hewley I" cried Mrs. Cone, blushing as vividly as her 
 sister. 
 
 " And how about this young man's baptism ?" said the monk. 
 
 Mrs. Cone brought out a new feature of the case. Old Mrs. 
 Atherton, Alban's grandmother, had been annoyed at the talk, 
 and had got his uncle, the bishop, to make all right, as she 
 deemed, in private. Mrs. Cone herself, then an Episcopalian, had 
 been godmother, and her brother, a clergyman and the bishop's 
 chaplain, had been godfather, when Dr. Grey baptized his great- 
 nephew in the old Yanmouth church on a week-day Festival, and 
 in the old marble font taken with the bell from the Spaniards. 
 This was just after Mr. Hewley resigned the parish, and when 
 
A L 13 A N . 
 
 481 
 
 the child was about eighteen months old. Mr. Cleveland read the 
 Church service, and the Bishop baptized the child after the second 
 lesson, although, except old Mrs. Atherton, the two clergymen, and 
 the narrator, not a soul was present. The Rev. Mr. Cleveland 
 was since dead. 
 
 " I don't care if they read the whole prayer-book," said the 
 monk, " or if the church was empty or crowded. All I want 
 to know is how the bishop performed the simple act of baptism." 
 
 " Oh, sir, he did not use the conditional form, 1 remember, 
 because the bishop considered all Presbyterian baptism invalid." 
 
 " That was a heresy. But did Bishop Grey use much 
 water ?" 
 
 " The hand brimming full," said Mrs. Cone, affecting to pour 
 from her hollow hand as from a cup. " The quantity of water 
 made Master Alby cry lustily. When I took him back from the 
 bishop, his fine light hair was wet enough to drip, and it ran all 
 into his neck. 1 shall not soon forget it. For he was a year old 
 at least." 
 
 So far is highly satisfactory," said Father Xavier, glancing 
 at Alban. " One point more remains, and it is one of great 
 delicacy as well as importance. At what moment did the bishop 
 pour all this quantity of water, or did he pour it thrice ?" 
 
 " Only once, I am sure, or I should have noticed it," responded 
 Mrs. Cone. " He poured it, I presume, while he was pi-onoun- 
 cing the words. The child cried so that I thought of nothing else 
 at the time but that flood of water which the bishop scooped 
 out of the old font. No doubt Bishop Grey did every thing as 
 it ought to be done, sir. A bishop, sir ! of course I" 
 
 "The truth is," said Father Xavier, as Alban and he drove 
 away from Dr. Cone's gate, " evidence is worth little after so much 
 time has lapsed, unless the witness had her attention called par- 
 ticularly to the point." 
 
 " And am I still to remain suspended thus between heaven 
 and earth, not knowing whether I am a Christian or not ?" asked 
 Alban, with a painful smile. 
 
 41 
 
482 
 
 AL B AN 
 
 " Through no fault of Holy Church, my son. It would sim- 
 plify the matter very much if we could say that all baptisms out 
 of the Church are invalid. But the Church never seeks simpli- 
 city at the expense of truth. Sometimes an adherence to truth 
 may involve her in perplexities which others do not feel ; but she 
 is patient, and in the end order is developed under her unerring 
 hand out of the most intricate seeming confusion." 
 
 "To be baptized three times is very repugnant to my feel- 
 ings," said Atherton. 
 
 Father Xavier would say no more until they should again be 
 alone. The missionary (for although merely on a visit to his 
 native country, the monk was discharging the duties of an ordi- 
 nary priest of the mission) heard a number of confessions at 
 Yantic, said mass, and baptized some children. At length Alban 
 was alone with him in the humble room overlooking the Falls, 
 where the temporary altar had been erected. The young convert 
 again knelt, and added some brief words to his previous confession. 
 
 " Think not of these things," said the priest, who in the con- 
 fessional seemed another person. " Without grace it is impossible 
 not to fall. Satan throws these seeming opportunities and sugges- 
 tions in your way to tempt you partly, and partly to make you 
 despair of God's goodness. If you had really had the opportunity 
 of committing the sin which you say was suggested to you, probably 
 in your present state of mind, you would have repelled it with 
 horror, or at least with decision. The real impossibility made it 
 seem to you as if you consented. It was an illusion of the devil, 
 who is always ready to afflict us in that way if God permits. 
 You have made a good and sincere confession, I am very sure, 
 and the Church cannot mean that you should make it fruitlessly. 
 She cannot withhold from you the grace of which she is the dis- 
 penser. I really think it probable that you have been baptized, 
 and I shall therefore absolve you, on the invariable condition of so 
 far as you need and I am able. You must write to your right- 
 reverend uncle, and if his answer be satisfactory, you will need 
 only to have the ceremonies supplied, and you can go to commu- 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 483 
 
 nion at once. But whatever his answer may be, you will never 
 be obliged to repeat this confession. Remember that. For if" you 
 have been baptized, the absolution you are about to receive will 
 be good, and if you have not been baptized, no absolution what- 
 ever will be necessary. Does this meet your wishes, my dear son ? 
 It is just the ordinary case of receiving absolution, but deferring 
 communion. Bow your head, then, and renew your contrition 
 for all the sins of your life." 
 
 In a moment it was over, and the sins of Alban's youth had 
 passed away, we may believe, like darkness at the entrance of a 
 bright light, and his star-like soul, formed to know and love its 
 Creator, shone once more in the sight of the angels, brighter than 
 Hesperus, or Lucifer, with the glorious beams of sanctifying grace. 
 Hell had failed with all its arts. 
 
484 
 
 A L r> A N . 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 In July Alban visited New Haven by special permission, to attend 
 the final examinations of his class. He was almost forgotten. The 
 class feeling was already dissolving. College had sunk into its 
 true place, and men had their eye on the world. There was talk 
 of keeping up old friendships, but it was mere talk. The Popery 
 excitement had died a natural death. The President received 
 Atherton kindly, and informed him that he would be allowed to 
 deliver his oration. This great honor, so long anticipated and the 
 cause of so many heart-burnings, seemed now a very small affair. 
 Alban loved his alma mater, and that iron New England of which 
 it was the intellectual representative, but he had taken the dimen- 
 sions of them both. In all this ancestral land of his, and in its 
 university, not one thinker was to be found who dared maintain 
 that the human will was truly self-determinant, or who deemed 
 that grace had any other office than to compel the affections. 
 
 " Oh glorious liberty of the sons of God I" he exclaimed, as 
 he walked under the endless arbors of the grove-like Academe, 
 " you are here unknown I" 
 
 The rustication was now at an end, and Alban might have 
 gone where he pleased ; but he returned to Carmel to write his 
 oration. His mother, whose health was delicate, was spending 
 the summer with their relatives at Yantic, and he wished to be at 
 least in her vicinity ; for it was not pleasant either for Alban or 
 the Athertons, to associate much, his apostasy from the New En- 
 gland, or rather from the family faith, rendered him so odious. He 
 frequently drove down to the Falls with Mrs. Cone or Rosamond 
 Fay, and once they penetrated as far as Yanmouth, where Alban 
 paid a visit to the " castle," which had been sold, modernized, and 
 new furnished. But the stone-bound, iron-gray hills, and broad, 
 breeze-ruffled waters were unchanged, and the white, massive 
 
ALLAN . 
 
 485 
 
 brick pillars, black, many-sloped roof, and slirubberied terraces 
 of the old Atherton house, still commanded the town and bay and 
 fort-crowned heights. 
 
 At length the seniors' six weeks were over, and from the open 
 window of his chamber Alban watched for the last time the sun 
 set upon the table-land of Carmel. The fiery orb sank behind the 
 low blue ridge-line of the remote hills as beneath the rim of ocean. 
 
 It grew dark : the sounds of evening began to be heard ; the 
 katydid and the cricket made a concert ; the fire-flies sparkled on 
 the dusky green ; a bat flew back and forth under the leafy but- 
 ton-balls. 
 
 The student's revery was broken by the entrance of a maid 
 to perform certain neat duties about his room. It was the pretty 
 Harriet. Alban spoke to her in a kind tone, slightly tinctured 
 with gayety. She laughed, and busied herself with filling his 
 pitcher, and setting in order his wash-stand. He turned again 
 to the embrowned landscape and faded sky. Presently the girl 
 sobbed. The young man took no notice till just as she was about 
 to leave the room, when he called her to him. 
 
 " Harriet," said he, " of all the people in this house who have 
 seen the wonderful works of God in it, you are the only one who 
 has been led to faith. They laugh at you and call you a fool ; 
 they say other things harder yet for a young woman to bear. I 
 have never spoken to you much. Now I am going away. What 
 will you do when you leave this house ? Will you go straight 
 forward and do your duty ? It will be a hard struggle for your 
 pride — to ' turn,' as they say." 
 
 " I will never die what I am," said Harriet, weeping. 
 
 " Ah, Hatty ! if you live what you are, it may not be in your 
 choice what you will die." 
 
 " I know it, sir." 
 
 " Is it so hard to give up your little world ? In your rank of 
 life, Hatty, a pretty face and person expose to great temptations : 
 how will you resist them when your conscience all the while tells 
 you that you have turned your back on grace and Heaven ? Are 
 
 41* 
 
486 
 
 ALB AN . 
 
 you not afraid that God will punish you by letting you be drawn 
 into sin and shame by those very persons whose opinion yon fear ?" 
 
 " Oh, sir," cried the girl, with a toss of the head, "I have no 
 fear of that. I am above that, I hope." 
 
 " None of us is above any kind of wickedness, Hatty — if God 
 lets us fall." 
 
 The girl applied the corner of her apron to her eyes and cried 
 again. The youth glanced at her as she stood near, but indistinct, 
 in the dusky chamber, and then he looked away again into the 
 sparkling summer night, the warm breath whereof came in at the 
 casement. Hatty was doubtless just as attractive to the senses as 
 if she had been a lady — perhaps more so. The bat which had 
 been flitting under the trees flew suddenly in at the open window. 
 
 " So flies the evil one into the heart," thought Alban, looking 
 round again. " Go, Hatty," he added aloud, and in a composed 
 manner. " You will be as good a girl, I hope, when next we 
 meet, as I believe you are now. Only remember as my last 
 words, that it is safer to fear our weakness than to rely upon our 
 strength." 
 
 Hatty departed from him ; the youth knelt at his chair, and 
 the swift-circling bat flew out like a winged shadow. 
 
 "How degrading," exclaimed the young man, rising, " to feel 
 these coarse external temptations I A ruby lip and springing 
 waist — can they allure him whose cleansed vision beholds the 
 dread realities of faith ? And yet it is well for me to have some- 
 thing positive and tangible to conquer. Haply a victory here, 
 though inglorious, may arm me for the subtle conflict which is all 
 fought witliiri. Those infinite suggestions of forbidden pleasure in 
 the sweetest guise, and seemingly so pure, — shall they never end ? 
 How hopeless, then, to struggle, since I cannot hope always to 
 stand I" — The winged shadow flew in once more, unseen. — "Yet 
 let me fall fighting. 0 Michael, Prince of the heavenly hosts, 
 come to my assistance." — Again the bat darkened the casement 
 as it flew out. 
 
 There was a light tap at the door ; he sung out " Come in," 
 
ALB AN. 
 
 487 
 
 and little Rosamond Fay entered. Rosamond was clad in deep 
 black. Albau sighed, kissed her forehead, and taking her hand, 
 led her down into the piazza. 
 
 Something supernatural lingered to the last about the old house 
 in Carmel. They say that strange noises are heard in it yet, 
 particularly at night, and in certain chambers. The night that 
 Alban slept there last, a certain wild inarticulate cry began soon 
 after the family had retired, and never ceased till he was gone. 
 
 In a few days, our hero arrived with his mother in New 
 Haven, where his father was already installed at the Tontine. 
 The beautiful little city was full of strangers. The graduating 
 class gave a ball. The Phi Beta gave a dinner. Commencement 
 day came, all music and orations, a church full of black coats 
 and gay bonnets, degrees tied with blue ribbons, youths wearing 
 mysterious society badges, and more valedictories said than were 
 pronounced from the carpeted platform, where sat and listened, 
 with unwearied gravity, the elders of New England. 
 
 It is not often that a commencement oration attracts much 
 attention, except for the fifteen minutes which it may occupy in 
 delivery. Atherton's was one of the exceptions which now and 
 then strike between wind and water, and hold such an audience 
 as he had, profoundly interested from first to last. The subject — 
 " The Necessity of Patience" — had already excited curiosity, 
 augmented by the whispers floating about in relation to the singu- 
 lar opinions of the author. A nearly beardless youth, loosely and 
 scholastically attired in black summer cloth, with the golden sym- 
 bols of the <$>. B. K. and X. A. 0. glittering on his watch-guard, 
 and the badge of the Brothers' on his breast, stood in the circle — 
 the triple, chaired corona — of gray-beards, bald intellectualities, 
 and reverend white cravats. Two things struck people in Ather- 
 ton's oration, its life-like reality and the absence of ornament in 
 the style. The matter was important and oi iginal ; the manner 
 simplicity itself, showing that he had studied only to make his 
 meaning perspicuous. And yet the peroration was highly rhe- 
 torical. It was almost impassioned, aS the words of a human being 
 
488 
 
 ALBAN. 
 
 speaking from a deep personal experience and sustained by an in- 
 vincible faith. 
 
 The conferring of degrees was an imposing ceremony, particu- 
 larly when the President put on his hat. Any thing symbolic is 
 so rare in New England that it never fails to impress. The only 
 want which our hero felt at the time arose from the absence of the 
 De Groots, Mary, it was understood, was in a convent — but 
 whether as a boarder or a postulant no one exactly knew, and 
 her parents were at the Virginia Springs. 
 
 Henry Atherton was to be married the day after commence- 
 ment, and Alban was to be one of the grooms-men, but such was 
 the hurry of all parties that he could learn little about the ar- 
 rangements except the necessary particulars of time and place. 
 
 The day before commencement, going from the hotel to the 
 colleges on an errand connected with his graduation, our hero had 
 walked behind a party of some distinction, attended by Professor 
 
 S . Alban hated to pass people, and accommodated himself 
 
 to their leisurely pace. In advance with the Professor walked a 
 large, middle-aged matronly lady, with an imposing gait, and who 
 talked a good deal. Behind them, an officer in the undress uni- 
 form of the army, gallanted a young lady of an exquisite figure, in 
 rose-colored muslin and a white bonnet, managing with much 
 grace a rose-and- white parasol. She was like a bouquet in motion 
 under the mighty elms. The bronzed profile of her companion 
 was often turned to her, and she answered the movement by a 
 corresponding one, but that provoking crape bonnet hid her fea- 
 tures. 
 
 When Alban had finished his business at the colleges, he 
 strayed into the Trumbull Gallery, to take another last look at 
 the pictures which he had once admired, and the same party were 
 
 there. But Professor S had quitted them, and the officer 
 
 was sitting by the matronly lady, while the graceful wearer of 
 the rose dress sauntered round the room by herself, with a cata- 
 logue. Atherton observed her. She stopped longest before the 
 very pictures which interested him ; and at the portrait of Wash- 
 
ALBAN. 
 
 489 
 
 ington, bent down twice to read the names of the donors. Still he 
 could not catch a glimpse of her face, until, upon her friends calling 
 her to come away, she turned back at the door of the inner room, 
 and gave him a perfect view of her features. They were the 
 sweetest mixture of fairness and bloom he had ever beheld — deep 
 violet eyes, golden brown hair, with a fall of ringlets about the 
 white throat ; a nose, mouth, and chin indicative of character, 
 vivacity, tenderness, and purity. She caught the student's ad- 
 miring glance, blushed, and hastily joined her friends. 
 
 In leaving the church with his father and mother, after the 
 exercises were over on commencement day, he again saw this 
 party, somewhat in advance. The gentleman and older lady 
 looked back on this occasion — and at him, he thought — as if they 
 meant to stop and speak ; but after some hesitation, they pro- 
 ceeded without doing so. Their way was the same, and at last 
 they all entered the Tontine, at the ladies' door. Alban hoped, 
 with reason, to see the beautiful face again a-t tea. 
 
 He was not disappointed, for the ladies and their naval com- 
 panion came to the tea-table and sat opposite them. The young 
 lady, unbonneted, was lovelier still, for her head was perfectly 
 classic, and the light summer evening toilet showed a neck and 
 shoulders not less finely formed, and of dazzling whiteness. The 
 purity and even bloom of her complexion yielded, as it were, to 
 a visible blush the moment that her eye rested on Alban; nor 
 did she quite recover from the suffusion while the brief sunset 
 repast lasted. After tea, while his father and mother, worn out 
 with the excitement and fatigue of the day, retired to their own 
 room, he went into the general parlor of the Tontine. The same 
 party were there, grouped in a window that looked upon the 
 green. The officer immediately advanced towards him. 
 
 "Mr. Atherton, I believe?" — Of course, any body who had 
 been at commencement knew his name. — " There is a young 
 lady here who says she has a right to be acquainted with you, 
 Mr. Atherton." 
 
 Alban went forward, wondering and not a little fluttered, not- 
 
490 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 withstanding his being now so used to ladies. She extended her 
 hand with maidenly frankness and a look of afiectionate archness, 
 quite irresistible. 
 
 " You have forgotten your cousin Jane, Alban?" 
 
 " Jane I Is it possible that you are Jane I" 
 
 He embraced her, and she drew back confused, whereupon 
 the elder lady, who was her aunt, observed with a smile that Jane 
 and her cousin had been brought up like brother and sister. He 
 found that Jane was to be one of the bridemaids on the morrow. 
 
 " We shall stand up together," said Alban, " I owe Hal a 
 turn for not telling me of this, nor even that you were here." 
 
 We arrived but yesterday," said Jane, " and it has been such 
 a busy day." 
 
 Moreover Jane had promised to accompany Henry and his 
 bride on their wedding-tour, (Niagara, of course,) and the grooms- 
 men were to be of the party. It is a custom yet in the States, 
 and often makes one wedding the fruitful parent of several others. 
 
 We intend not to enter into the details of this interesting ex- 
 cursion ; the transitions from the shady steamboat deck, on the 
 noble river, to the flying rail-car that pierces the beautiful valleys ; 
 the walks from lock to lock in the deep cuttings of the great canal, 
 still used for travel ; rocking on the seat of an American stage, 
 hanging over waterfalls, gazing at mountains and lakes by moon- 
 light, drinking Spa waters from bubbling fountains before break- 
 fast, rolling nine-pins, satisfying keen young appetites at plentiful 
 tables, dancing in the evening saloons at the Springs. We may 
 suppose that Jane had heard, from time to time, of Alban's college 
 distinctions, and that she was not insensible to the romance of 
 their meeting. She had listened to his beautiful oration with 
 pride ; she was making her first summer journey as a young lady 
 in his company, and although young, " Alban was a graduate, 
 and a graduate was a Man." 
 
 But at an early period of the tour, Jane became aware that a 
 great change had taken place in her cousin. The day on which 
 they were steaming up the Highlands was the first of the discov- 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 491 
 
 ery. The immense boat — not three hundred feet long indeed, 
 like those which now ply on the same river, but able to accom- 
 modate some eight hundred passengers — was moving with scarcely 
 a perceptible jar in its huge frame at a speed of nearly eighteen 
 miles an hour, against the broad stream, shut in like a lake by 
 green hills, under a sky of motionless cumuli and deep blue. 
 They sat on the promenade deck, with perhaps a hundred others, 
 all forming little circles apart, keeping carefully beneath the 
 awning, and the ladies protecting their complexions by thick green, 
 veils, Some read novels ; some studied the map of the river ; in 
 which the chief thing that seemed interesting, after somie historic 
 sites, were the old seats of the Livingstons, Van Rensselaers, Van 
 Brughs, and De Groots. Overlooking a beautiful sweep of the 
 river, from a lawn-like opening in an extensive park or wood 
 which ran for miles along the water's edge, a noble, bluish-gray 
 mansion with a tower and wings, attracted general attention. 
 
 " The De Groot Manor I" said Mrs. Henry Atherton. 
 
 ""What a beautiful situation I" exclaimed Jane. I like it 
 best of all we have seen." 
 
 " Your friend Mary's father, cousin Alban," said Mrs. Atherton. 
 
 " Who is your friend Mary ?" asked Jane. 
 
 " The daughter of the Mr. De Groot who owns the fine 
 mansion you see, and who, as well as his daughter, is a gresit 
 friend of mine," said Alban. 
 
 " A young lady ?" inquired Jane, 
 
 " When I saw her last she called herself sixteen." 
 
 " Oh I a little girl I" said Jane. 
 
 " Her father is not merely very rich," continued Alban, " but 
 an elegant scholar, a collector of rare books and pictures, and 
 a man of very peculiar and subtle powers of mind." 
 
 " What remarkable friends you seem to have," observed Jane. 
 " Mr. Clinton — of whom you were telling me this morning, Mr. 
 Seixas, and this Mr. De Groot. Is he of some strange out-of-the- 
 way religion too ?" 
 
 " He is professedly a Unitarian, really, a Pantheist." 
 
492 
 
 AL B AN . 
 
 " At least you won't apologize for his views." 
 
 " Yes," returned Alban, smiling. " The Unitarians have 
 their good points. They recognize the importance of careful 
 moral culture, and reap the fruit in great moral excellence. No 
 Protestants are more famous for truth, justice, amiability, and 
 active benevolence. And those whom I have known pushed their 
 ideas of decorum to prudery." 
 
 " Was your friend Mary a little prude ?" said Jane, smiling. 
 *' I think that is so odious in such young girls." 
 
 " What do you say, INIrs. Henry ?" said Alban, turning to 
 Mary Ellsworth. " Was Miss De Groot a little prude or not ?" 
 
 *' I have seen her box a gentleman's ears for a pretty slight 
 cause," cried St. Clair, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 " Oh I was she that sort I" cried Jane, with some disgust. 
 
 " I think," said Alban, " we may say that she had a delicacy 
 of conscience on those points where your sex is supposed to be 
 bound to a greater strictness than ours." And he still appealed 
 to Mrs. Henry Atherton. 
 
 " Mary was propriety itself : I never thought her prudish," 
 said I\Irs. Atherton, with a slight bride-like blush. 
 
 "Well, I understand Unitarians," said Jane, "and Jews: but 
 how an intelligent, shrewd man, as you describe Mr. Clinton, Al- 
 ban, can be a sincere Roman Catholic, passes my comprehension." 
 
 " The only way to account for it is by the power of divine 
 grace," said Alban. 
 
 " I hope we shan't get into any religious discussions," hiterposed 
 Henry Atherton, rather severely. 
 
 " Nothing was further from my intention," said Alban. " Only 
 Jane's remark made me feel queer." 
 
 Mavy Ellsworth, (as for convenience we shall still call her, 
 for there was another jNIary Atherton of the party,) leaned over 
 towards Jane and whispered to her audibly to ask Alban what he 
 thought of the Church of Rome's prohibition of the marriage of 
 cousins. Jane blushed. 
 
 " Is it prohibited ?" 
 
ALB AN . 
 
 493 
 
 " Don't you know that ? You and Jane are within the pro- 
 hibited decrrees, cousin Alban,— are you not ?" 
 
 " Certainly, we are second cousins. AVe could not marry with- 
 out a dispensation." 
 
 " You see, Jane, you will have to get the Pope's leave." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Alban. " Every bishop, and I believe, every 
 parish priest in this country, can dispense in that degree." 
 
 " Where do you find in the Bible, Alb, that cousins must not 
 marry ?" asked Henry Atherton. *'This appears to me one of those 
 traditions and commandments of men which the Church of Rome is 
 famous for imposing on men's consciences. It was a great instru- 
 ment of her tyranny in those middle ages that you so much admire, 
 as well as a rich source of emolument through the dispensations 
 you speak of. First she forbade what God's Word permitted, and 
 then she took money to let you do it." 
 
 "Yes, Alban, you can explain everything," cried St. Clair, 
 " pray give us an explanation of this. Jane looks for it anx- 
 iously." 
 
 " Since you appeal to me, I will answer," said Alban, quietly. 
 " The Primitive Church forbade the marriage of cousins long before 
 you suppose the Papacy to have arisen, and the Greek Church forbids 
 it still, understanding the terms brother and sister in Scripture to 
 include cousins. The example of the Patriarchs, which I know you 
 will quote, proves nothing, for Abraham married his niece — his 
 sister, as she is called in the Bible. The Church is a chaste and 
 tender mother. It is true that she has drawn the bonds of con- 
 sanguinity closer than under the old carnal dispensation. Her 
 heart is more sensitive to the slightest claim of nature ; she takes 
 a wider circle of kindred into the nearness of blood affection ; she 
 is more jealous of that purity which refuses to mix the two kinds 
 of love. Do you blame her for it ?" 
 
 " Very fine, Alb, but it proves too much. If it is a question 
 of Christian delicacy, no dispensation ought ever to be allowed. 
 Why should the Church dispense with the slightest obhgation of 
 purity ?" asked Henry, coldly. 
 
 4a 
 
494 
 
 ALB AN. 
 
 " "Why, indeed I" exclaimed Jane, in an indignant under tone. 
 
 *' Still you misunderstand her. , I am bound by the law of 
 purity to regard Jane as a sister, notwithstanding my knowledge 
 that the Church may for good reasons remove the barrier between 
 us and permit us to forget our common blood." 
 
 " Well, if that is not impertinence, I don't know what is," 
 cried Mrs. Henry. " If I were you, Jane, I would remember it." 
 
 " Jane understands me better than you do," replied Alban, 
 *' and I am convinced that she is not offendiid because I say that 
 no sister could be dearer to me than she is." 
 
 " I understand perfectly," said Jane. 
 
 *' You all talk of Jane," exclaimed Mary Atherton, Henry's 
 sister, who was older than her brother. " But no one seems to 
 think that my feelings are outraged. Jane is only a second cousin 
 after all, and as Alban says so pointedly (encouraging Jane) ' Any 
 priest may dispense.' But I am a first cousin. No help for me 
 short of the Pope I As Jane says" — mimicking her — " I under- 
 stand perfectly." 
 
 This sally made every one laugh, and brought the conversation 
 back to safe ground. Alban promised that if Mary Atherton 
 would give him any encouragement he would write to Rome for a 
 » dispensation at once. 
 
 " No, no !" she replied. " I shall take care how I expose my- 
 self to the charge of wanting delicacy towards my near relations. 
 Henceforward, Alban, I regard you simply as a brother." 
 
 Henry Atherton told Jane afterwards that Alban was very 
 eccentric. He had been nearly or quite an infidel, then almost a 
 Jew, and now he talked as if he were going to turn Papist. They 
 all hoped he would get over these crotchets as he grew older, 
 and he (Henry) hoped a great deal from his affection for Jane 
 herself 
 
 From that time the subject was avoided, but Jane found it 
 hard that wherever there was a Catholic church, however mean, 
 Alban would go to it when they rested on the Sundays. This 
 happened first at Babylon, and she knew not how to bear it to sit 
 
ALB AN, 
 
 495 
 
 by herself in the square pew in the old meeting-house, where she 
 and Aiban in the old times occupied opposite corners, and thought 
 more of each other than of long prayer or pleasant hymn, or even 
 stirring sermon. And to think that he had gone and strayed away 
 to that great brick structure outside the village, where crowds of 
 common Germans in blouses or petticoats of blue, according to 
 their sex, and of the low Irish, filled the whole space and even 
 knelt outside upon the steps of the portico ; and she did not care 
 at all that the building realized a wish of Aunt Fanny's, being 
 dedicated D. 0. M. under the invocation of the Prhice of the 
 Apostles. 
 
 Nor must we omit that they had some narrow escapes on this 
 tour — Jane and Alban. One was at Niagara, where they two 
 went under the Fall, and Jane slipped on the stones amid the 
 spray, wind-gusts, and darkness, and the water-snakes that crawled 
 up from the boihng caldron below. The detention caused by 
 this saved their lives, for on coming out again they found that a 
 piece of rock had fallen directly upon their path, strewing it with 
 fragments, any one of which was sufficient to have killed them 
 both. Jane fancied that Alban's " guardian angel" had pushed 
 her down, and Alban wondered, if he had been killed, what would 
 have become of his soul. After that, a boiler burst on the St. 
 Lawrence, a minute after they had passed it, and when Jane 
 had been desirous of staying in its dangerous vicinity to look at the 
 machinery, but Alban, who since the Niagara business was ner- 
 vous either for himself, or her, or both, would not let her. In 
 that case his guardian angel must have inspired him, they both 
 agreed : for several persons were scalded to death by the acci- 
 dent. 
 
 Another incident was their visiting the cathedral in Montreal, 
 and Alban's kneeling before the altar where burned the solitary 
 lamp. His friends thought it " too absurd," " quite a display," 
 and Jane too was ashamed ; but when Alban rejoined her, he 
 looked so strangely calm and sweet, that she loved him with all 
 her heart in spite of his singularities. 
 
496 
 
 ALBAN . 
 
 And so our party sailed up Lake Champlain, while the flying 
 mists now hid, now revealed, the wild mountains of Essex. They 
 landed at the picturesque and historic Ti. Then their keel, steam 
 impelled, cut swiftly the transparent waters of St. Sacrament, 
 blue as the Rhone at Ferney — a sacred lake. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 Those who may feel curious to follow the adventures of our hero after his 
 reunion with Jane, are referred to the sequel of Alban, which will shortly 
 appear.