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THE LAND 
 
 WITHOUT 
 
 THE SABBATH 
 
 A GRANDMOTHER'S TALE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OP 
 
 'EDWARD AND MIRIAM," " STORIES ON THR LORD'S PRAYER," 
 &C. &C. 
 
 NU^$iy\rf *§ 
 
 2>e^ <£ J ' 
 
 " Our holy and our beautiful house, where our fathers praised 
 thee, is burnt up with fire ; and all our pleasant things are laid 
 waste."— Isaiah, lxiv. 11. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 HENRY PERKINS, 
 
 134 Chestnut Street. 
 1841. 
 
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1841, by 
 
 HENRY PERKINS, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District 
 
 of Pennsylvania. 
 
PRE FAC E. 
 
 The scenes painted in this little volume are 
 sad, and it has been no pleasant task to collect 
 them ; yet it has been done under the firm con- 
 viction that insidious principles are best counter- 
 acted by facts. A picture of the practical effects 
 of such, vividly impressed upon the mind of 
 childhood, it is believed, will often prove a better 
 safeguard in after life than the best train of argu- 
 ment. May this work do its humble share, 
 amidst the thousand influences which are moving 
 to form the minds of those who will take our 
 places on the earth, according to the principles 
 of Divine Truth. 
 
 6* 
 
THE LAND WITHOUT THE SABBATH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I wish my little Claude and Henri could see 
 the cottage in which their grandmother passed 
 her childish days. 
 
 Nothing in our village resembles it. 
 
 Not so neat as this pretty frame-house which 
 their father's industry has reared, with its green 
 verandah in front, Venetian shutters and white 
 paling. Neither was it like the log cabin which 
 Claude recollects, dull looking without but clean 
 and comfortable within, and which I thought 
 even pretty when I used to stand on the hill 
 opposite of a calm, still evening, and watch its 
 graceful wreath of smoke stealing up from 
 among the lofty sugar maples. Particularly if 
 2 
 
6 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 I could see my own curly-headed boy at the 
 door making acorn cups or playing with his 
 tame squirrel. 
 
 No wonder that I thought it lovely, for to me 
 it was full of tranquillity and happiness ; and 
 when my little boys shall have read their grand- 
 mother's tale they will no longer be surprised 
 that she loved the lonely forest better than the 
 dwellings of man. 
 
 But my father's cottage. — It was a low, one 
 storied building, rudely plaistered without, full 
 of strange angles and gables, whose vine-covered 
 windows lighted our pleasant sleeping rooms ; 
 that is my brother's and mine, for our father's 
 was below. A beautiful ring-dove for years 
 made its nest in the moss grown eaves, and a 
 tame magpie in a tall wicker cage chattered in 
 my window. A rustic bench on one side of the 
 door was the resting place of my father and our 
 dear old Cure, Father Paul, where they used to 
 talk away the long summer twilights. A grassy 
 hillock which nourished the roots of an old 
 white rose tree whose spreading branches nearly 
 covered the front of the cottage, hiding the wea- 
 ther stained broken plaister, and filling the air 
 
THE SABBATH. 
 
 with its perfume in the bloom of the year, was 
 my favourite seat when I could be drawn from 
 the sports of the village children, which was 
 not often, for I was a lively little girl. Not so 
 my brother Henri, who was two years older, 
 and from early childhood had shown the sweetest 
 thoughtfulness. Well can I remember how he 
 would remain motionless for hours, with his head 
 thrown back on the hillock, his grassy pillow, 
 his eyes fixed on the ever blue sky of our 
 sunny clime, listening to the low melancholy 
 wail of the ring dove, until his little heart would 
 heave with sighs which I was too thoughtless 
 to understand. 
 
 But my father's cottage. — I shall have nearly 
 finished my picture of the outside when I 
 describe the two lofty chesnut trees which 
 intermingled their branches over our lowly 
 roof, giving the early fragrance of their blos- 
 soms in the spring, our pleasantest autumn 
 sports when they opened their prickly hulls, 
 and a useful store for winter food. The ches- 
 nut gathering was even more joyous to the boys 
 of our village than the vintage, though none 
 could climb so high or so nimbly as my brother 
 
8 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 Claude. He was older than Henri, but al- 
 though they loved each other dearly, they 
 seldom played together. Claude's delight was 
 in active sports, but Henri better loved to linger 
 by the little stream which, winding round the 
 village, lost itself in the dark thickets of the 
 forest. He always knew where the earliest 
 violets and auriculas were to be found, and his 
 step was so gentle that he could even surprise 
 the young partridges. But I am wandering 
 again. 
 
 Well, behind the house, sheltering the spar- 
 row's pole, was the elm tree which this near our 
 door so much resembles, that your father spared 
 it for the love I bore the tree under which so 
 many of my childish hours were sported away. 
 I remember a pet squirrel had his nest for many 
 a year in the hollow of that tree, and sore com- 
 plaints were made of his superior skill in gather- 
 ing nuts ; but there was great sorrow when the 
 poor fellow was found cold and stiff in his nest 
 after a severer night than had been known for 
 many years in that part of France. An old 
 ivy climbed over the back of the house, and long 
 before the arrival of that sad time when we were 
 
THE SABBATH. 9 
 
 forced away from our pleasant village, had 
 reached the very top of the chimney, from 
 whence its long lofcse branches waved in the 
 wind. A rude shed covered the kitchen door, 
 under which was kept my brother's fishing rods, 
 their clumsy wooden shoes worn in rainy 
 weather, and the large wicker baskets used in 
 the vintage. 
 
 Our house, though the largest in the village, 
 was very humble, with low ceilings, little square 
 windows half covered by the ivy and rose bush, 
 and very plainly furnished ; but never did the 
 sun rise on a happier abode, though a God of 
 mercy has blessed many a home in this sinful 
 world with the sweetness of family love. My 
 mother died when I was an infant, and my father 
 then removed from another part of France to 
 live in this quiet village, where an aunt at her 
 death had left him our sweet cottage and a 
 small piece of ground, enough for our simple 
 wants. He brought with him my nurse, Ja- 
 quiline, who became his faithful housekeeper, 
 and afterwards my only earthly friend during 
 much of that sad period you have coaxed me to 
 tell you about before I die. 
 2* 
 
10 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 My father was a Protestant and the only one 
 in the village. He was the son of a Protestant 
 minister, and descended •from those persons 
 called Huegonots, who some centuries before 
 were so cruelly murdered by their Catholic 
 brethren ; but although I often shuddered at the 
 tales of what a mistaken religion might do, I 
 lived to see that Atheism — or a denial of the 
 existence of a God, could be far more treach- 
 erous and cruel. 
 
 Henri always loved the stories of his martyrs 
 and ancestors, and only when they were related 
 would I see his cheek redden and his eye 
 sparkle like my brother Claude's. But not from 
 a spirit of revenge ; oh, no, he was too gentle 
 for that ; but he used to ask me if I did not 
 think the martyr's crown would be the most 
 glorious of all that the Saviour would bestow 
 upon his faithful ones. The chapters he loved 
 best in his great grandfather's Bible were those 
 that told of our blessed Saviour's crucifixion 
 and the death of Stephen. He would pore 
 over these, or the histories of the Huegonots 
 and Albigenses, at his little chamber window, un- 
 til long after I should have failed to trace a letter. 
 
THE SABBATH. 11 
 
 Now Claude's fiery spirit would often have 
 led him to revenge these sins of other days 
 upon his guiltless little playmates in the village, 
 but our father always made us understand that 
 these crimes belonged to the ignorance of past 
 ages and a mistaken view of the character of 
 God, in which the people were only the tools 
 of ambitious or superstitious rulers. Indeed, 
 we would have been most wicked not to have 
 loved our simple-hearted neighbours who shared 
 so kindly all our joys and sorrows, scarcely 
 seeming to know there was any difference be- 
 tween Protestant and Catholic. I am sure they 
 came almost as readily to my father with their 
 little disputes and perplexities, and listened to 
 him as respectfully as to Father Paul ; and 
 when he would, as I have often seen him, open 
 our great Bible and read to them the commands 
 of our Redeemer on forgiveness of injuries, or 
 his words of comfort to the mourner, they 
 would cross themselves fervently and leave our 
 humble roof, peace and resignation pouring 
 their sweets into their troubled hearts. Then 
 would my father exclaim, " behold, my chil- 
 dren, the proof, that though there be.many names, 
 
12 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 there is one Spirit and one God, the Father of 
 all!" 
 
 A French village has little likeness to those 
 of either England or America. Its cottages look 
 prettily in a picture, but too often they are 
 defaced by age or slovenliness, and our village, 
 I fear, too much resembled the rest; at least, I 
 remember Jaquiline's complaints of the thought- 
 lessness of our neighbours ; for she was so neat 
 that her well scoured chairs and bright copper 
 pans ranged against the chimney, were a lesson 
 on cleanliness to the whole village. The good 
 dames wondered a little at their beauty, but 
 never dreamed of imitating her, contented with 
 the lightest labours of their house or garden, and 
 dearly loving an evening dance on the green. 
 All the females of our village, and I with the 
 rest, were notable lace weavers. Every sunny 
 afternoon the women and children might be 
 seen seated at their doors, each with a lace 
 cushion on their knees, twisting their bobbins 
 with busy fingers and chatting together in good 
 natured friendliness, while their husbands turned 
 their spades indolently in their little wheat fields 
 
THE SABBATH. 13 
 
 and gardens, trained their vines, or angled in the 
 quiet stream. 
 
 My brothers and myself were the only chil- 
 dren in the village who knew how to read or 
 write, and this was the condition of the peasan- 
 try throughout the land, making it more easy 
 as I have heard my father say, for bad men to 
 deceive and persuade them to wicked deeds. 
 No one laboured to grow wealthy or read to be 
 wise; to laugh, dance and be merry to-day, to 
 sleep and rise for the same purpose to-morrow, 
 seemed all they lived for. I remember well my 
 father's long conversation with the Cure, sitting 
 under the shade of our rose tree ; and how the 
 old man would shake his head and pointing 
 where their light steps were tripping the green 
 to the sound of the violin, would reply, " Nay, 
 Nay, let them be ignorant and happy ; it is better 
 than being wicked and wise." 
 
 Father Paul was the idol of the villagers, and 
 well did he deserve their love. He counseled 
 and instructed them in their duties as far as 
 his limited knowledge of the Bible would allow, 
 reproved the erring, comforted the mourner, and 
 rejoiced with the happy. "My children!" 
 
14 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 was his usual address ; and when he came 
 among 1 us to taste our brown bread and new 
 milk at the may pole, the vintage feast or the 
 nut gathering, happy little ones were we, and 
 thrice happy those whose heads he affectionately 
 patted. He had not much learning, read little 
 perhaps except his prayer-book and the lives of a 
 few saints, but he knew deeply the sinfulness 
 of his own heart; and so true was his humility, 
 so gently did he walk among his flock, their 
 friend, their monitor, their guide, that even the 
 careless respected religion for the sake of their 
 gray-haired pastor. Such was the Cure of St. 
 Marie-la-bonne. 
 
THE SABBATH. 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Almost every village in France boasts of its 
 Chateau or Castle, in olden time the residence 
 of the family who owned the surrounding land 
 and were called the lords of the peasantry. In 
 the early days there was a very strong love 
 subsisting between these landlords and tenants, 
 differing from any form of affection which my 
 children can know. The Compte or Baron, as 
 he was called, protected his peasantry, settled 
 their disputes, improved their farms, worshipped 
 at the same altar and lived among them as a kind 
 master in the midst of humble friends. In 
 return the peasant defended him in war, and 
 higher than all earthly beings he loved and 
 revered the family at the Chateau. 
 
 But a change gradually passed over the land, 
 and finally it became the custom for the nobility 
 to reside at Paris, visiting their estates only 
 occasionally ; at last the poor peasant learned 
 to dread the appearance of those whom his an- 
 
16 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 cestors so highly reverenced, since to supply 
 their extravagancies of living they had too gene- 
 rally become the oppressors and pillagers of 
 their humble tenants. The noble forests through 
 which in former days the Baron at the head of 
 his villagers and servants pursued the wild boar, 
 were now prostrated that some Parisian vice or 
 folly might be indulged in. The rents were 
 increased on the estate while the cottages and 
 farms fell into ruin about their occupants ; and 
 worst of all to their simple and affectionate 
 natures, infants were born, but none from the 
 desolate Chateau came to give the happy parents 
 joy; old people sunk into their graves, and no 
 kindly word from the master they would fain 
 have loved cheered their dying moments. 
 
 These were the sharp-toothed instruments 
 which divided forever the three fold cord that 
 once bound together the peasantry and the 
 nobles of France. 
 
 Again, the Baron of former days paid the 
 same respect to the religion of the land as his 
 humble followers, but a sad change had taken 
 place here also. It was now the fashion for the 
 nobility and gentry to speak of religion as some- 
 
THE SABBATH. 17 
 
 thing only necessary to keep the poor in order, 
 and in consequence of this, sin poured over the 
 land like a flood, when the bulwarks which 
 stay its progress, have been removed. The 
 laws of the Almighty were broken without the 
 slightest shame, the services of religion were 
 neglected, and even its ministers forgot the God 
 whom they had sworn to serve. 
 
 At first these great changes were only to be 
 observed in the cities which were chiefly oc- 
 cupied by the wealthy or those who ministered 
 to their enjoyment and copied their manners 
 and opinions ; but in the visits which the nobi- 
 lity occasionally made to their estates they car- 
 ried with them the poison of their sinful ex- 
 ample. 
 
 Remember, my children, you can never be 
 simply harmless : your influence upon those 
 around you, even as children, must be positively 
 good or positively evil ; our Creator has so 
 formed us that there is no middle way. 
 
 When these persons gave themselves up to a 
 
 life, of sinful pleasure, and then, to get rid of the 
 
 accusings of conscience decided that there was 
 
 no God, or such a One as took no heed of hu- 
 
 3 
 
18 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 man actions, they probably thought that if they 
 were wrong none but themselves would suffer ; 
 but the heart of man before it is changed by 
 divine grace, let him be lofty or lowly, is as 
 alive to the corruption of sinful example as bin- 
 der to the spark. Reverencing the footsteps of 
 his earthly master, the poor ignorant peasant 
 willingly knelt with him at the Altar of his God, 
 or sought religious instruction from the same 
 sacred guide ; but still more quickly his corrupt 
 nature caught at the examples of scoffing an^J. 
 sin ; with no Bible to teach him better in his 
 soberer moments, he only laughed the louder 
 and danced the more carelessly. 
 
 In the succeeding pages you will read how 
 these poor victims became the avengers in those 
 who first opened the flood gates of evil on their 
 country. But perhaps my little boys have been 
 wondering whether we had a Chateau and a 
 Baron. The Compte d'Anjou was the lord of 
 our village, and being a man as bad as any I have 
 described, that he always lived at Paris was per- 
 haps the reason why it so long remained inno- 
 cent and happy. Next to the Cure my father 
 was most revered, and unitedly their holy lives- 
 
THE SABBATH. 19 
 
 and pious admonitions daily strengthened the 
 villagers in their duty. 
 
 The Chateau was a large white stone build- 
 ing, not very pretty, which was one reason it 
 was said that the Compte did not bring his gay 
 friends to visit it. Another, perhaps, was that 
 in it resided his excellent wife and sweet daugh- 
 ter, the Mademoiselle Julie, whom he had neg- 
 lected for many years. A man does not like to 
 see those whom he has treated ill. This poor 
 lady was never seen to smile in all those sad 
 years, and even the caresses of her affectionate 
 daughter could not give her peace. My father 
 used to shake his head and wish that he might 
 be allowed to bring her to the fountain of com- 
 fort, laying his hand on the Bible ; but when 
 Father Paul would talk to her of the rest of 
 heaven and the duty of submission she would 
 only smile bitterly and turn away. He was not 
 allowed to see the Comptesse often, though he 
 went every day to instruct Mademoiselle in 
 her religious duties, her mother teaching her 
 every thing else. 
 
 Indeed, it was not much the young ladies of 
 those times learned beside needlework, in the 
 
20 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 country at least. Mademoiselle could play on the 
 guitar and spinnet very sweetly, and embroider 
 so beautifully you might almost think you could 
 gather her roses and violets from the satin ; so 
 the housekeeper told Jacquiline, but as I found 
 afterwards, she could do little more beside read- 
 ing and writing. 
 
 I was quite a large girl before I ever saw the 
 Comptesse or Mademoiselle; for the grounds 
 around the Chateau were very extensive, al- 
 most including a large forest, and a high wall 
 with a ditch in front made in the warlike days 
 of France, over which there had formerly been 
 a drawbridge, hid its walks and carriage roads 
 from our view ; and the ladies never left the 
 castle grounds even to come to mass, the Cure 
 attending for that purpose at the Chateau. We 
 might have loved this lady very dearly had she 
 come among us with her sweet young daughter 
 in the manner of her ancestors, but she took no 
 interest in the village. Thinking only of her 
 own sorrows, she neither relieved the poor, in- 
 structed the ignorant, nor sympathised with the 
 unhappy ; consequently she tasted none of those 
 joys which the benevolent know. 
 
THE SABBATH. 21 
 
 Well, in this quiet happiness we lived many 
 years ; my brothers and myself getting from 
 my father what education he could bestow while 
 he carefully guarded us from the evil which was 
 fast spreading over the land, pouring into our 
 young minds the knowledge and precepts of the 
 Bible. 
 
 Each day was begun and ended with reading 
 in that sacred book, and on Sunday it was our 
 study. We never attended the village church 
 nor shared in the diversions with which, accord- 
 ing to the customs of the country, they closed 
 that holy day ; but gathering us around him, my 
 father and eldest brother.would read to us from 
 the Bible and other books of devotion and in- 
 struction. The time which the villagers chose 
 for amusement, when the weather permitted, 
 was generally spent by us in a retired valley, 
 where the sounds of their mirth could not dis- 
 turb our quiet thoughts ; and there from the 
 beautiful works of creation around, from the 
 humble lily of the valley as from the loftiest of 
 the forest trees, my father would read us sweet 
 lessons of the goodness and wisdom of our 
 heavenly Parent. 
 
 8* 
 
22 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 Our village was so humble, and though not 
 many leagues from Paris, so secluded from the 
 great roads, that except in the disposal of our 
 lace and the abundance of the harvest season, 
 we had little intercourse with the great town 
 near us. This was quite agreeable to my father 
 as Claude and Henri grew up, for the country 
 was fast becoming unsettled. The peasant and 
 mechanic neglected the daily toil that was ne- 
 cessary for the support of their families to pro- 
 pose plans at the village inns for the improve- 
 ment of government. Bold, bad men, taking 
 advantage of their ignorance, poured vicious 
 counsel into their ears against their king and his 
 ministers ; the priests, forgetting their Redeem- 
 er's words of peace, assisted them ; thus the 
 whole land was fast filling with infidelity and 
 rebellion. 
 
 It was long before Father Paul would notice 
 these gathering symptoms of approaching trou- 
 ble. He thought so benevolently of his fellow- 
 beings, and our own village was so peaceful 
 and happy, that he loved to believe every por- 
 tion of his country equally blessed. But a 
 short visit to Paris on some duty for the Comp- 
 
THE SABBATH. 23 
 
 lesse undeceived him. I was then about four- 
 teen, and in that year began my experience of 
 sorrow. The Compte d'Anjou had been in some 
 trouble from the enemies his vices or political 
 opinions had made him, and the Cure was des- 
 patched to him with letters from his neglected 
 wife. During his stay he witnessed such scenes, 
 and heard such wicked and rebellious speeches, 
 as filled his excellent heart with horror. I well 
 remember how after that time his look changed 
 from its usual gentle placidity to troubled 
 thoughtfulness. My father and he were often 
 absorbed in long conversations to which none 
 but Claude was admitted, then a high spirited 
 youth of nineteen, but these only seemed to 
 make them more sad. 
 
 Henri's gentle piety and love of study having 
 made my father determine about this time to 
 educate him for a minister of the gospel, his 
 new pursuits occupied all his thoughts, so that 
 he did not seem to perceive the mournful 
 changes about him. 
 
 The general attention among the working 
 classes to disputing and politics having lessened 
 the industry of the people, as a natural conse- 
 
24 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 qnence poverty and suffering were increased, 
 which it was the will of Providence should be 
 rendered still more intense by an event which 
 no forethought of man could have prevented. 
 It was now the close of summer and an abundant 
 harvest of grain had ripened around us ; but a 
 tremendous hurricane, such as the country had 
 never before experienced, passed over it, 
 destroying in its terrific career, fields and vine- 
 yards ; prostrating to the earth in a few hours 
 those fruits of the poor man's toil to which he 
 had looked as the certain means of supporting 
 his family through the approaching winter. 
 The feelings of the people of France now rose 
 to despair. Their cheerful contentment had 
 long since disappeared, and they now permitted 
 their hearts to be filled with gloomy thoughts 
 of revenge on those whom they called their 
 oppressors. These, as I have told you before, 
 were the nobles of the country, too many of 
 whom regarded and treated the humble mechanic 
 and peasant as little better than the brutes of 
 the field. 
 
 Slowly, but at length our little village began 
 to catch the general feeling of discontent. Our 
 
THE SABBATH. 25 
 
 crops had suffered in the terrible hurricane, and 
 the employment of the lace-weavers was almost 
 gone, whilst not expecting poverty, few had 
 any other dependance than the yearly supply 
 which their lands afforded them. That was 
 indeed a mournful autumn, though the Cure and 
 my father laboured incessantly by exhortation, 
 counsel and example, to keep up their confi- 
 dence in the care of Providence, and rouse their 
 desponding spirits to cheerful industry. 
 
 I felt these things only as a thoughtless young 
 girl would be likely to notice them, for Jacqui- 
 line had ever discouraged my wish to talk with 
 my father or Claude on what I saw so deeply 
 interested them. I regretted that poor old 
 Antoine had become so dejected since the 
 destruction of his cottage, which no kind master 
 was near to repair, that we seldom heard his 
 violin on the green at sunset ; and I felt sorry 
 when I looked at the melancholy faces of the 
 good dames as they sat listlessly at their cot- 
 tages, no longer merrily busy over their lace 
 cushions. Even the children were affected by 
 the general sadness, sporting less gaily than 
 
26 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 before ; and I have often since been reminded 
 of the silent gloom of that period by the deep 
 stillness which precedes the thunder storm that 
 is to lay the loftiest children of the forest 
 low. 
 
THE SABBATH. 27 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 We had heard little of the inhabitants of the 
 Chateau during the summer. One old domestic,, 
 named Jaques, a sort of house steward, perform- 
 ed all the business necessary to be done without 
 the walls, the purchases being generally made 
 at the nearest market town. Jacquiline was 
 acquainted with the housekeeper, but all inter- 
 course with the village was so strictly forbidden 
 by its gloomy mistress that she seldom saw her, 
 and we could only amuse ourselves with conjec- 
 tures on the appearances and pursuits of its 
 inhabitants. 
 
 We were busily engaged one afternoon in the 
 old kitchen, spinning flax for our household 
 linen, of which it is the boast of Frenchwomen 
 to possess a large store. Henri, having deserted 
 his books for a little amusement, was seated in 
 the door, twisting a new cage for the magpie, of 
 green osiers, when he suddenly started to his 
 feet, with the exclamation that Madam Boullie, 
 
28 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 the housekeeper, was coming along the little 
 winding path leading from the Cure's. Jacqui- 
 line, all in a bustle at the honor of this visit, 
 hastened to smooth down her snowy apron and 
 dust the ever neat chairs, whilst I was sent to 
 prepare a glass of home made wine for her 
 refreshment. 
 
 It was evident from her hurried manner that 
 the poor old lady was bursting with some im- 
 portant and sorrowful news. She had been sent 
 to the Cure to desire his presence at the Chateau, 
 but being absent she had called to leave the 
 message with Jacquiline. 
 
 " Forty years," she continued, " have I lived 
 at the Chateau, and such doings as I shall wit- 
 ness I never expected to see there !" 
 
 Jacquiline exclaimed in surprise. 
 
 " Ah ! good Jacquiline, you may well wonder 
 to see me shed tears, but when he comes to the 
 Chateau nobody knows what will become of my 
 lady and Mam'selle !" 
 
 " He!" exclaimed Henri; " the Compte?" 
 
 To us children there had ever been but one 
 terrible he in the world, and that was the 
 Compte d'Anjou, such tales of his vindictive 
 
THE SABBATH. 29 
 
 anger and oppression, such unprovoked cruelty 
 to his lady had been whispered to us. 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" continued Madam Boullie, 
 " there's my lady in fits weeping over poor 
 Mademoiselle, and Jaques, poor man, half beside 
 himself, tearing down the old tapestry, clearing 
 out the wine cellars, scolding the maids, whom 
 nobody but me ever scolded before ; turning the 
 whole house topsy turvy, and all because my 
 lord, the Compte, has sent word that he is 
 coming directly to the Chateau, to stay, the saints 
 above knows how long, and with nobody can 
 tell how many strange gentlemen and servants." 
 
 We were all mute from grief and astonish- 
 ment, while the old lady went on. 
 
 " And besides this, his messenger says that all 
 Paris is fighting and abusing his Majesty the 
 King, who is a great deal too good for them ; 
 and threatening to murder such men as my Lord, 
 the Compte ; and that's the reason he's coming 
 down here to trouble my lady and his sweet 
 young daughter, whom he hates just because he 
 wanted a son. And this man laughed at us too, 
 showing his ill manners, because we did not 
 know, shut up as we are, that the people all 
 over the land are talking about liberty, and 
 4 
 
30 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 oppression, and rights of man — nonsense that 
 nobody ever heard of before. This morning as 
 he passed the Chapel the wicked wretch laughed 
 at that too, saying my Lord the Compte would 
 use it for his dog-kennel, and make his chief 
 huntsman the priest. I am sure I had a glad 
 heart when I saw his face turned towards Paris, 
 and I humbly hope," crossing herself, " that the 
 holy saints will keep him and his wicked lord 
 there forever." 
 
 We all agreed in this prayer of poor Madam 
 Boullie's, but grief and respect kept us silent. 
 The good lady would not taste my wine, and 
 after relieving her heart by a long conversation 
 with Jacquiline, who accompanied her toward 
 the Chateau, we saw her no more. 
 
 When my father appeared he had a news- 
 paper in his hand, for which he had been some 
 time in the habit going weekly to the post 
 town, and after reading it himself, carefully to 
 put away. The news we had to tell him only 
 increased the pain and anxiety that marked his 
 countenance. 
 
 After our simple supper of milk and fruits, he 
 seated himself on the bench at the door, my 
 brothers on either side, myself at his feet, while 
 
THE SABBATH. 31 
 
 Jacqniline placed herself near with her knitting, 
 and he solemnly addressed us. 
 
 He said that out of regard for our tender years, 
 and from the general peacefulness of our village, 
 he had been unwilling to distress us with bad 
 news sooner than could be avoided ; but the 
 time he believed had come for us to know all, 
 and prepare ourselves by trust in God, and firm 
 adherence to the religion of our forefathers, to 
 do our duty to our country, and bear the mis- 
 fortunes that he feared were fast approaching. 
 
 He then explained to us that long and expen- 
 sive wars which the common people had to sup- 
 port by taxes, from which the clergy and nobility 
 were exempt, had enraged them against their 
 rulers. That vice and irreligion prevailing 
 throughout the land, in their rage the people 
 were doing the most wicked and unjust actions ; 
 taking up arms against their Lords, and even in 
 some instances killing, and destroying the pro- 
 perty of their peaceful neighbours, who refused 
 to join them in their deeds of violence. Thus 
 far, he said, our simple villagers had taken but 
 little interest in the matter, and he had hoped 
 we might continue undisturbed ; but the appear- 
 ance of the Compte would undoubtedly make a 
 
32 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 change, bringing with him as he certainly would 
 a band of riotous bad men, who would mix with 
 the villagers, filling the heads of the weak and 
 ignorant with absurd and wicked plans, and 
 pouring the poison of vice over our peaceful 
 hamlet. 
 
 We shuddered at the mournful picture my 
 father drew. 
 
 Compte d'Anjou, he told us, had awakened 
 the wrath of the people by first professing to be 
 their friend, and when possessed of their confi- 
 dence, turning to what was called the Royal 
 party, although he was distrusted by both ; and 
 it was to escape the just indignation of the 
 Parisians that he was hastening to the Chateau. 
 
 " Your duty, my sons, is to hold no inter- 
 course with the strangers, except what polite- 
 ness makes necessary. Listen to no revilings 
 of your king, no denials of your God. For you, 
 Henri, I do not fear — your spirit is peaceful and 
 calm ; but Claude, my son, remember that need- 
 less words may draw the vengeance of this cruel 
 man on your family. When danger approaches 
 show the courage of a man, but in times like 
 these, let me see you have the wisdom of the 
 serpent, with the harmlessness of the dove ; 
 
TIIK SABBATH. 33 
 
 and whatever may happen to me, my noble 
 sons, remember I commit to your care your 
 sister, your faithful nurse, and the venerable 
 Cure. 
 
 Our excellent father's address was evidently 
 received with a different spirit by my two bro- 
 thers. For some time after he had retired, and 
 when the shades of night were fast gathering 
 around us, I observed Claude with hasty steps 
 patrolling under the chestnut trees, and apparent- 
 ly practising some military movements. Henri, 
 on the contrary, was still sitting where my 
 father had left him, his beautiful dark eye fixed 
 on the evening sky, and when I came to remind 
 him that it was time to retire, 1 heard him mur- 
 mur, " be faithful unto death and I will give 
 thee a crown of life !" 
 
 It was towards the evening of the next day 
 that the unusual sounds of horses hoofs loudly 
 tramping over the grass grown road, which 
 passed through the village to the Chateau, told 
 our trembling hearts that these dreaded strangers 
 had arrived. Jacquiline allowed me to peep 
 through the curtains as they passed. There were 
 about fifty persons, generally in soldiers' dress, 
 4* 
 
34 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 or at least carrying pistols or short swords, and 
 in the midst, mounted on a noble black horse, 
 rode the long dreaded Compte d'Anjou. Having 
 hitherto seen few countenances that did not speak 
 kindness, the dark and gloomy face of the 
 Compte chilled me with terror, forcing me to 
 remember those acts of cruelty of which I had 
 heard. I watched the tossing of his dark plume 
 until the windings of the road hid them from my 
 view, and I turned away in wonder that all faces 
 were not so mild and venerable as my father's 
 or the Cure. 
 
 Every thing within and without the village 
 now bespoke a change. Instead of Jaques 1 
 weekly visit to the market town with his quiet 
 ass, from whence he was always seen returning 
 about evening, walking by the side of Cadet, 
 and supporting bis well laden panniers, the poor 
 old man was now constantly hurrying up and 
 down the village, extorting by threats of his 
 Lord, or promises of future payment, much of 
 the little provision the hurricane had left us. 
 Bands of ill-looking men loitered about talking 
 with the peasants over their palings or chatting 
 with, and flattering their wives and daughters ; 
 
THE SABBATH. 35 
 
 sometimes they might be seen drinking with 
 them, and then first appeared the vice of intoxi- 
 cation in our little village ; or they played with 
 them at draughts and cards for the few pence the 
 poor fellows possessed. 
 
 At the Chateau things were no better. The 
 poor Comptesse and her daughter were forced 
 to live in a small uncomfortable apartment in one 
 of the turrets, attended only by one domestic ; 
 the Compte, as we were afterwards told, refusing 
 to see Mam'selle Julie, though her mother so 
 much dreaded his wicked companions, that I 
 believe she was well satisfied to hide her from 
 their view. 
 
 Poor Father Paul visited them as often as he 
 dared, for the Compte forbade his performing 
 any of the services of religion there, which he 
 called priest craft and mummery, so that it was 
 only when absent on hunting excursions that he 
 could see the heart broken lady and her child. 
 All these troubles fell on the good Cure like the 
 frost on the leaves of the forest. Many a long 
 night he spent with bare knees on the earthen 
 floor, crying for mercy on his poor bewildered 
 flock, among whom the pitiless wolves had 
 entered ; and all day he went unceasingly from 
 
36 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 house to house, counselling, advising, and re- 
 proving. 
 
 At last the brutal strangers, hating him 
 because he warned his flock to beware of their 
 evil example, called him a knave and fool, mock- 
 ing at his venerable locks and tearful eyes ; but 
 then the indignation of the villagers broke forth, 
 and they spurned the insulters from their doors. 
 They were willing to share in their gaming and 
 revelry, they could listen with deep interest 
 when these men talked of the wrongs and 
 oppressions which they and their ancestors had 
 borne at the hands of the Comptes of Anjou, and 
 did not shudder much when they hinted at dark 
 plans of revenge ; but when these strangers, 
 whose condescension had so charmed them, 
 ridiculed their holy religion and meek gray- 
 haired pastor, their indignant feelings broke forth 
 and they turned from them in scorn. 
 
 From that time, happily, there was little inter- 
 course between the strangers and the village. 
 Their dark and haughty master at their head, 
 amused himself with hunting day after day ; 
 treading down the wheat fields and vineyards of 
 his vassals in ruthless scorn, only answering the 
 good Cure's petitions and remonstrances with 
 
THE SABBATH. 37 
 
 insult and derision ; whilst the villagers closed 
 their houses and went abroad no more than was 
 necessary ; hiding their fears and wrongs under 
 the shelter of their humble roofs. 
 
38 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It happened, one cold morning in the pre- 
 ceding winter, that my brother Claude, in cross- 
 ing the forest which rose behind the Chateau, 
 discovered a young stag, which, having been 
 wounded by the shot of some wandering sports- 
 man, had crawled to this secluded spot to 
 die. Claude was tender hearted as brave, so he 
 carried the poor little moaning thing home to 
 our cottage and committed it to my care. 
 Father Paul taught us how to dress its wounds, 
 Jacquiline prepared dainty salads for it, and all 
 in the family loved to cherish the poor timid 
 stranger. 
 
 In a few weeks he recovered and repaid our 
 care by every demonstration of affection.. He 
 delighted to follow me round the house or gar- 
 den, rubbing his graceful head just crowned 
 with budding antlers against my hand, or stoop- 
 ing to lick the salt I loved to carry him. Bijou, 
 
THE SABBATH. 39 
 
 as we called him, was the pet of the villagers 
 also, whose houses he visited with the utmost 
 freedom, sleeping often under the old walnut 
 tree which shaded the little chapel, or on the 
 earthen floor of Father Paul's cottage ; though 
 he never thoroughly lost his love for his forest 
 home, as he would sometimes return thither for 
 a week at a time. 
 
 We got accustomed to these little absences, 
 and I often amused myself by imagining Bijou's 
 greetings from his friends, on his return to sa- 
 vage life, and always caressed him the more 
 when affection for us led his truant steps back 
 to the cottage. 
 
 It was on the third Sunday after the arrival 
 of the gloomy Compte, just as the villagers 
 were repairing in their holiday suits to the 
 chapel, that the winding of horns was heard ; 
 and a long train of gentlemen and servants 
 mounted for a hunting party, rode rapidly from 
 beneath the low gate of the chateau, and took 
 their way through the village. 
 
 We were assembled, as usual, in our little 
 parlour, where my father was preparing to in- 
 
40 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 struct us in the sacred Scriptures, when the 
 whole party rode past the house ; the yelping 
 of the hounds, the cries of their leaders, and 
 occasionally the loud voice of the horn, forming 
 a strong contrast with our own peaceful employ- 
 ments. I shuddered, and drew my stool closer 
 to my father, for I remembered that Bijou had 
 returned to the forest two days before. 
 
 The morning wore on in peace, except when 
 the deep baying of the hounds was borne to us 
 on the still air, telling that they had started 
 some trembling inmate of the forest from its 
 hiding-place, and were hunting its tired limbs 
 from covert to covert of the deep wood. - 
 
 At length these sounds approached the village. 
 Nearer and nearer were heard the winding horn 
 and yells of dogs ;— soon the tramplings of 
 hoofs rose on the ear, and forward they came, 
 men, dogs, and horses, all in pursuit of one 
 poor, trembling, worn-out stag, which, in the 
 strong instinct of nature to preserve its little re- 
 mains of life, dashed forward through thicket 
 and stream, over fields, orchards, and vineyards, 
 until, reaching the shelter of the village, it 
 
THE SABBATH. 41 
 
 sprang into the open door of the chapel, and 
 bounding over the kneeling villagers, sought 
 safety at the altar.* 
 
 It was my poor Bijou. 
 
 Fast on his traces poured the bellowing 
 hounds, headed by the Compte himself. The 
 foremost gentlemen having thrown themselves 
 from their horses, stood with their leader within 
 the sacred walls, and each holding back a yell- 
 ing hound that panted and struggled to reach its 
 trembling prey, and their eyes, turned to the 
 Compte, waited but a movement from his lips 
 to desecrate the house, as they already had the 
 day of God. The villagers having risen from 
 their knees, stood gazing on the unwonted 
 scene in indignant astonishment, while the vene- 
 rable Cure, clad in his flowing linen robe, 
 turned his majestic countenance to the intru- 
 ders. 
 
 With one movement of his finger toward the 
 
 * The reader will here perceive a likeness to the scene 
 in " The Wild Huntsman," translated by Sir W. Scott. 
 It was unintentional, and as it could not be altered with- 
 out remoulding the chapter, it was judged better to leave 
 it with this acknowledgment. 
 5 
 
42 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 prey, their lord was about cheering his eager 
 pack to the altar, when the clear voice of the 
 Cure, in sterner accents than had ever been 
 heard from his lips, rang throughout the hum- 
 ble building. 
 
 " Compte of Anjou ! thou faithless to God 
 and man ! tempt not His anger by shedding the 
 blood of innocence on his sacred altar ! Begone ! 
 call hence thy vile bands, and leave thy people 
 in peace to pray for mercy on thy miserable 
 soul!" 
 
 There was a moment of silence — in another, 
 loud and angry murmurs rose among the stran- 
 gers, whilst the villagers gathered around their 
 pastor ; but at this instant my poor Bijou sprang 
 through the open window of the sacristy; the 
 hounds, with horrid cries, darted in pursuit, 
 and the huntsmen followed, cheering them for- 
 ward. 
 
 . True to his grateful feelings, Bijou sought his 
 home ; — another bound, and he would have been 
 within the enclosure. Henri sprang to the 
 door, but, alas ! a well-aimed shot had done its 
 murderous work, and I received the dying "stag 
 into my bosom ! Clinging to its poor bleeding 
 
THE SABBATH, 43 
 
 haunches were two enormous hounds, and others 
 were fast encircling us. With a heavy spade 
 my gallant brother struck down the nearest dog, 
 and kept the others at bay until assistance 
 should appear. In another instant we were 
 surrounded by the huntsmen, and the eyes of 
 the terrible Compte were fixed upon us. 
 
 " Insolent peasant," he exclaimed, furious 
 with anger, " why have you dared to stop the 
 sports of the Compte of Anjou ! Know you 
 not that I can have you whipped in yonder 
 castle-yard until your mangled flesh shall feed 
 my hounds !" 
 
 Henri stood erect ;— his dark eyes flashed 
 even brighter than Claude's, and touching his 
 peasant's cap respectfully to his lord, he re- 
 plied-— 
 
 "In protecting a poor trembling creature that 
 loved me, I did but obey the feelings which my 
 Creator has placed here !" putting his hand on 
 his heart — *' for your lashes, noble Compte, the 
 time has passed when men may so speak to 
 their vassals — I fear them not !" 
 
 The Compte raised his whip, but glancing 
 
44 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 his eye round on his assembled train, the indig- 
 nant feeling which sparkled there taught him 
 that, nobleman as he was, he must still respect 
 the feelings of men. Turning slowly round 
 he walked away in sullen silence, and the at- 
 tendants following left us to watch the dying 
 eyes of poor Bijou. My warm tears mingled 
 with those that trickled down the face of my 
 pretty plaything, and when stretching out his 
 limbs, his life passed away in a gentle sigh, a 
 guilty wish for revenge against his cruel mur- 
 derers rose in my heart. 
 
 In a few broken words we described the 
 scene to my father and Claude, who happily 
 were both absent at the moment. A meek sigh 
 soon told that our parent had learned a lesson 
 of submission from his Redeemer, but Claude's 
 honest anger was not so soon repressed. 
 
 " You spoke and acted nobly, brother," he 
 exclaimed; "would that I had been by your 
 side : — the tyrant should have known what feel- 
 ings are glowing in the hearts of Frenchmen !" 
 
 " I am better contented as it is, Claude," 
 said my father, mildly. " Henri's conduct and 
 
THE SAB HATH. 45 
 
 words were worthy of a boy of Christian cou- 
 rage, the courage to resist oppression and suc- 
 cour the weak, and thus by teaching this poor 
 misguided man a noble lesson, he has taken the 
 best, the only revenge. Let us pray." 
 
 Can my little boys imagine— have they ever 
 experienced those feelings of mingled sorrow 
 and anger with which I listened to my dear 
 father's prayer for that bad man who had given 
 my heart the deepest grief it had ever known ? 
 Have they ever felt how hard it is truly to for- 
 give, and wish to those who have done us 
 wrong a pardoned conscience and a renewed 
 heart ? Then may they ever, at such moments, 
 enjoy the sweet feelings of peace which stole 
 over me, when every desire for revenge sub- 
 dued by the powerful workings of God's good 
 Spirit, I gave a sobbing amen to my father's 
 petitions of gentleness and love. 
 
 No, not even when I buried my pretty pet in 
 the garden, and hung over the spot the last 
 wreath of autumn violets I had entwined to gar- 
 nish his graceful antlers, did a wish of bitter- 
 ness rise within my heart. But I thought of 
 5* • 
 
46 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 Mademoiselle Julie, shut up in her lonely tur- 
 ret, where she might not hear the harsh tones 
 of her father's voice, and I wished that she had 
 been born the daughter of my parent, and could 
 enjoy, as I did, all the sweetness of a humble 
 home of peace and love. 
 
THE SABBATH. 47 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 That my children may better understand the 
 scenes of the last chapter, it will be necessary 
 for me to explain a little more the peculiar feel- 
 ings of the people at that time. 
 
 I have told you that the peasantry, being 
 ignorant and unaccustomed to thinking or judg- 
 ing for themselves in matters of religion or 
 government, had for centuries left these subjects 
 entirely to the nobility and clergy, contented to 
 fight for the king when he should deem it neces- 
 sary, and worship their God at such times and 
 in such manner as their spiritual guides told 
 them was right. Few could read the Scriptures, 
 did they possess them, and fewer still knew of 
 that holy Book except by name. 
 
 In the meanwhile a class of learned men had 
 risen up in the great cities, philosophers, as 
 they loved to call themselves, who were quite 
 too wise to be guided by any rules but those 
 
48 - THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 which their own hearts furnished, (alas ! they 
 knew not until temptation was spread before 
 them how vile and hard those hearts could be- 
 come,) and derided the humble Christian who 
 walked in holy fear. To them the services of 
 religion and its faithful ministers were objects 
 of ridicule, and if their hearts acknowledged 
 any Deity, like the ancient heathen it was one 
 of their own imagination. 
 
 Yet these persons pretended, nay, many ac- 
 tually felt great compassion for their ignorant 
 and oppressed countrymen, and determined to 
 enlighten them. Had they broken the mental 
 chains which enslaved them, and at the same 
 moment placed in their hands the sacred Word 
 which teaches us " to love our enemies," " as 
 much as lieth in us to live peaceably with all 
 men," and " to do unto others as we would 
 they should do unto us," they might have 
 turned the infuriated peasant into the lamb-like 
 child of God, and my beautiful country might 
 now be rich in " the peaceable fruits of righte- 
 ousness." 
 
 These poor infatuated men began to talk of 
 establishing a new order of things upon the 
 
THE SABBATH. 49 
 
 earth, which was quite to abolish the pure pre- 
 cepts of our Redeemer ; (alas, many of them 
 knew little of those precepts beyond the name 
 of the book in which they were contained !) 
 and this new era was to be called the reign of 
 reason; under it man was to act from his innate 
 goodness, the fear or the love of God being 
 quite banished from his mind. Your grand- 
 mother lived to witness that reign in all its 
 horrors, and it is to warn you, my children, of 
 the consequences of such dreadful errors, that 
 I have determined, at the expense of many a sad 
 tear and mournful recollection, to describe a few 
 of the horrible scenes which my own eyes beheld 
 during the boasted reign of reason. 
 
 Now many of the Compte's friends and at- 
 tendant's were men of this character, and there- 
 fore they applauded the reply of my noble 
 brother, such a one as perhaps never before 
 vassal had dared to utter before a descendant of 
 the haughty house of Anjou ; whilst their enmity 
 to what appeared to be uttered on the authority 
 of God made them resent the reproof of Father 
 Paul as intolerable insolence. I now proceed 
 with my tale. 
 
50 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 It was not to be supposed that either the Cure 
 or my brother would escape the vengeance of 
 such a man as the Compte. To prepare us 
 therefore for the worst, and accustom us to look 
 at poverty and misfortune, niy father used to 
 read to us daily the accounts which he received 
 of the discontents and disorders of the peasantry, 
 with the terrible acts of violence they were 
 eommiting in all parts of France, marking as 
 their victims the lords of their estates, and even 
 their own peaceful neighbours who dared to 
 express pity for their sufferings. The insur- 
 rection was all around us, the Compte stood 
 wavering between the people and the Royalists, 
 and it wanted but one word from this bad man 
 to throw the fire-brands of discord into our very 
 hamlet. 
 
 They came at length, though not from his 
 hand. News arrived that the peasants of a 
 village but a few Leagues from us, excited by a 
 band of ferocious men from Paris, armed with 
 pikes and goaded on by approaching famine, had 
 broken open and pillaged the Chateau of their 
 lord, a man distinguished for the mildness of his 
 character, and after pitilessly murdering the 
 
THE SABBATH. 51 
 
 few servants who dared to make any opposition, 
 had set fire to it, and were now on their way to 
 the Chateau d'Anjou. Resistance to such a 
 mob was hopeless, particularly as the Compte 
 had few real friends among his followers. Aban- 
 doning therefore his wife and innocent daugh- 
 ter to the fury of an armed peasantry, he escaped 
 in disguise, his Parisian friends dispersing as 
 they best could. 
 
 I do not wish to pain your young minds with 
 the particulars of that night's work of terrors. 
 
 The morning sun rose brightly on snow 
 covered hills and lovely forests whitened by the 
 early frosts of winter ; the works of God shone 
 in beauty and perfection, but alas, where the 
 white walls of the venerable castle had received 
 his setting beams stood a smouldering mass of 
 ruins. Its lofty turrets raised themselves on 
 high, but they were roofless, and a cloud of dull 
 lurid looking flame occasionally flashed up as 
 the devouring element within found new food 
 for its appetite. Of that noble building that had 
 long formed our boast, little was left but four 
 blackened walls. Its noble terraces were pros- 
 trated, its lofty walls which had long provoked 
 
52 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 our curiosity by so effectually concealing- what 
 was beyond, were in many places levelled with 
 the ground, and we beheld with aching hearts 
 those mysterious and sacred garden walks 
 trampled and destroyed by the feet of strangers. 
 
 And she whom these walls had so long pro- 
 tected — the youthful heiress of the estate — 
 where was she? Alas, we knew not! 
 
 In the silence of night the ruffians had ap- 
 peared. I heard their dreadful shouts for ven- 
 geance, but I would not tremble, for Claude's 
 eye was upon me, Claude who always had said 
 he should despise a coward. Our cottage roof 
 often blazed from the burning brands which 
 the wind carried thither, but assisted by Jacqui- 
 line, I drew water from the well and supplied 
 my brothers with the means of extinguishing it 
 until long after the dawning of morning showed 
 us the desolation of the scene. My father and 
 the Cure had been absent all the night, we knew 
 not where, but Claude and Henri, prudent as 
 brave, busied themselves in preserving the pro- 
 perty which my father had committed to their 
 care, and mingled not in the mob of the village. 
 
 Disappointed in not finding the Compte, the 
 
THE SABBATH. 53 
 
 chief object of their search, the brigands con- 
 tented themselves with beating and driving off 
 poor old Jaques, the only person left, pillaging 
 the castle and then setting it in flames. 
 
 By noon they had departed for another scene 
 of plunder, leaving a part of their number as a 
 guard. 
 
 A mournful picture did our once happy vil- 
 lage present, when we could find time to con- 
 template it. The inhabitants, few and unarmed, 
 dared not resist the strangers who had established 
 themselves among us, and who, intoxicated by 
 the wine which was quaffed in the castle yard 
 as freely as water, entered wherever they could, 
 and behaved to young and old with insolence. 
 
 The young girls were generally secreted in 
 hiding places to avoid their bold looks, and most 
 of the inhabitants fastening their doors, beheld 
 through the latticed casements their little gar- 
 dens and vineyards as ruthlessly trodden down 
 and destroyed by those, who boasted they had 
 come to deliver them from oppression, as ever 
 they had been under the haughty Compte of 
 Anjou. 
 
 This state of things continued about a week. 
 
54 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 At the end of that time, misled by some false 
 information about the Compte, all departed but 
 one or two drunken wretches, who acted as 
 guard, and prevented the villagers from rescuing 
 any of the property. 
 
 We would have questioned my father about 
 his absence on the night of the fire, but giving 
 us to understand that he would explain it when 
 it was safe to do so, we were silent, consider- 
 ing it in some way connected with the safety of 
 the Comptesse and her daughter. Nor were we 
 mistaken. 
 
 On the first alarm, my father and the Cure, 
 anticipating the Compte's desertion of his family, 
 arranged their plans, and accordingly as soon as 
 the gloom of evening made it safe, hastened to 
 the castle. Horses had been prepared for them 
 within the wood at a secret outlet. My father 
 took charge of the unfortunate lady and the 
 Cure of Mademoiselle, both in the disguise of 
 peasants, and they proceeded in opposite direc- 
 tions as fast as their horses would travel. The 
 lady found shelter with an aunt, not far distant 
 from our village, and the Cure obtained a hiding 
 
THE SABBATH. 55 
 
 place for the poor young lady in a convent, her 
 name and rank being carefully concealed. 
 
 Since our villagers, though not defenders of 
 their lord, had still done nothing for the cause of 
 the people, as the burning and plundering was 
 called, we were looked upon by the excited 
 towns and villages around us with a suspicious 
 eye. Men armed with pikes and bludgeons 
 w r ere constantly loitering about, on pretence of 
 searching for the Compte, but in truth that they 
 might entrap our simple people in some offen- 
 sive words which would furnish them with an 
 excuse for burning our houses as they had 
 already destroyed the Chateau. 
 
 Thus our days and nights were spent in 
 watchfulness and fear, while to all was added 
 the horror of approaching starvation. Availing 
 themselves of the advantages which burning 
 barns and store-houses afforded, the villagers 
 about us had relieved themselves from the fear 
 of immediate want by taking freely from the 
 abundance of the nobles whose property they 
 were destroying, but it is to the honor of the 
 inhabitants of St. Marie la bonne, that they suf- 
 fered hunger to approach within their very doors 
 
56 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 and still refused to touch what could never 
 honestly be theirs. 
 
 None in the village were rich. My father 
 was perhaps the farthest removed from poverty 
 among them, it therefore became our duty and 
 sweetest pleasure to share our store with our 
 suffering neighbours ; and in these benevolent 
 acts my dear brother Henri distinguished him- 
 self both by self-denial and generous efforts. It 
 suited his gentle nature to "go about doing 
 good," and during that sorrowful period he 
 gained for himself the well deserved appellation 
 of Henri le bon. 
 
THE SABBATH. 57 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 As soon afier the burning of the Chateau as 
 circumstances rendered safe, poor old Jaques 
 crawled back to the village, that he might at 
 least die near the ruins of what had to him been 
 the most glorious spot on the earth — the Castle 
 d'Anjou. He had been born in it, his father and 
 grandfather having been stewards successively 
 in the days of its magnificence ; he had lived for 
 the service of its family, and now, that family 
 fugitives and that sacred mansion a heap of 
 ruins, why should an old grey headed man like 
 him desire to live. 
 
 We wept as he said this, for he looked 
 broken hearted. Fearing to endanger the safety 
 of any of the villagers by accepting their offers 
 of concealment, the old man found shelter in a 
 half ruined shed between the village and a 
 lonely spot, which had been used as a burial 
 place for the family at the Chateau. 
 
 It was winter, though not a severe one, and 
 6* 
 
58 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 poor Jaques dared not trust himself with a fire, 
 lest its smoke, winding among the leafless 
 branches, should betray the place of his retreat. 
 We conveyed blankets and other comforts to 
 him in the darkness of the night, and would 
 gladly have brought him to our house, but he 
 resisted all our entreaties and we were forced to 
 leave him to the shelter he had chosen. When 
 the village was sufficiently clear of strangers to 
 allow of my doing it with safety, I used to bend 
 my steps thither every morning with his provi- 
 sion ; but it grieved me to find that his strength 
 wasted so rapidly that in a short time his totter- 
 ing steps would scarcely carry him to the door. 
 Yet his appetite seemed good, for let me take 
 him ever so much, there remained none the next 
 day. 
 
 I went one morning as usual. A slight snow 
 having fallen the preceding night, I was terrified 
 at perceiving on the lonely path, the tracks, as I 
 feared, of a horseman. My first thought was to 
 retreat, but another, presenting before my mind's 
 eye the figure of poor old Jaques dying, and per- 
 haps alone, bade me quicken my steps forward; 
 breathing a prayer therefore to my heavenly 
 Parent to protect me in the discharge of my 
 
THE SABBATH. 59 
 
 duty, I hastened on. The hoof marks continued 
 to be distinctly printed upon the snow and the 
 way became more lonely, but when I turned 
 round and saw the roofs of the cottages and the 
 glittering spire of the Chapel, pleasant thoughts 
 of home and safety inspired my heart, and with 
 a few bounds I gained the door of the shed. 
 
 It stood partly open, but no blood stained the 
 pure snow around as my excited imagination 
 had pictured. I pushed it open — what a scene 
 of tenderness and woe was presented. Stretched 
 on his miserable bed, pale and corpse-like, 
 Jaques lay sleeping, and close beside, as if to 
 shelter his dying master with his warm shaggy 
 coat, lay his poor old Ass ! 
 
 In the outrages of that dreadful night, the very 
 insignificance of old Cadet proved his safety. 
 Too slow for flight, the dispersed family had 
 chosen more noble animals, too contemptible to 
 gratify revenge by his death, he had been allow- 
 ed to pass unnoticed from the castle gates. Since 
 that time he had wandered about the village, 
 sharing the scanty provender with our own 
 animals, but attaching himself to no one. It was 
 well known how fondly he and Jaques had 
 loved each other, and we used to say, " poor 
 
00 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 Cadet, it would break thy master's heart to see 
 thy lean sides !"— and after the return of Jaques 
 the condition of his poor old ass had been daily 
 regretted. By some means Cadet had traced 
 his master's retreat, and I thought had come to 
 die with him. 
 
 It was with some difficulty I succeeded in 
 arousing Jaques, for the stupor of death was 
 gathering upon him. 
 
 " See, Manon," said the old man, pointing to 
 his faithful servant, " see, Manon, something 
 yet loves me and will be sorry when I die." 
 
 " Good Jaques," I exclaimed, " you must 
 not talk of dying ! Jacquiline hopes you relished 
 the soup I brought you yesterday. It should 
 have been better, but our barley is quite gone," 
 — my eyes filling with tears at the recollection 
 of how many more of our necessaries were quite 
 gone, which we knew not how to replace. 
 
 He shook his head sadly and pointing to the 
 unconsumed provisions of yesterday, said, 
 
 " God bless you, my child ! one favour more 
 
 1 must beg — hasten for Father Paul — be quick — 
 tell him to come directly — now — I cannot die 
 till it is told !" 
 
 I lost no time in executing his wish, for his 
 
THE SABBATH. Gl 
 
 eye was strangely glazed, and its look was 
 deadly ; in a short time Father Paul was with 
 him. 
 
 Evening had nearly set in when the Cure ap- 
 peared leading poor old Cadet by his broken 
 halter ; we needed nothing more to tell us that 
 all was over. My father and he conversed long 
 together, and though I wondered much what it 
 was that Jaques could not die without communi- 
 cating to the Cure, I did not venture to name it, 
 being convinced of my father's superior wisdom 
 in locking all secrets unnecessary for us to know 
 in the silence of his own bosom. 
 
 The remains of poor Jaques were interred by 
 night in the village church ; so secretly were we 
 obliged to perform even the last acts of kindness 
 to any one who had served the hated house of 
 Anjou ; many a time afterwards I saw the poor 
 old ass turning into the village from the narrow 
 path which led to the hut where his master had 
 died, evidently returning from an unsuccessful 
 search for him whom he had loved and served so 
 long. 
 
 It was about a week after the burial of Jaques 
 that my father took me to his room and holding 
 my trembling hand in his, thus addressed me. 
 
62 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 " My clear Manon, you are scarcely passed 
 the age of childhood, yet in the perilous circum- 
 stances by which we are surrounded I have ob- 
 served you act with so much prudence and 
 courage as to warrant my trusting you with an 
 important secret, the betrayal of which, either 
 by fear or foolishness, will certainly cause the 
 destruction of a fellow being, and too probably 
 that of your parent and Father Paul beside." 
 
 "Listen to me, Manon. You remember ob- 
 serving that although poor old Jaques received 
 his food regularly his strength wasted away 
 in a manner we could not understand, seeming 
 as if sustenance refused its accustomed nourish- 
 ment to his feeble frame, and how we concluded 
 that grief was wearing him to the grave. We 
 were all mistaken. The faithful old man — 
 listen, my daughter, and learn a painful lesson of 
 self devotion — the faithful old man sought that 
 hut that he might succor one whom he had been 
 taught to believe it his duty to die for ; he sub- 
 sisted on the very smallest portion of what little 
 we could spare him nightly, leaving the re- 
 mainder to one who was concealed near him !" 
 
 " The Comptesse, father !" I exclaimed. 
 
 " No, my daughter, not the Comptesse; she 
 
THE SABBATH. 63 
 
 is still, we hope, in comparative safety : — to one 
 whom we should pity far more — it was to the 
 Compte of Anjou ! The faithful creature literally 
 starved his feeble frame to death, that the last 
 of the family he had been taught to revere and 
 serve beyond all other earthly service might be 
 preserved, and the morsel which our slender 
 means allowed him was taken from his own 
 famishing lips to sustain his lord ! Jaques died 
 of hunger !" 
 
 My children will readily believe that my tears 
 flowed fast at my father's words. 
 
 " He revealed this, with the place of his 
 master's retreat, only when dying ; committing 
 him to Father Paul's care with many prayers." 
 
 "And has the Cure seen him — has he been 
 alone with him?" I exclaimed, shuddering. 
 
 " Yes, my child, and without fear. Driven 
 from the cheerful day and the abodes of men, 
 hunted like a wild beast, enduring hunger and 
 confinement, — all these have done what pros- 
 perity failed to accomplish, and in manner at 
 least the Compte is a changed man. He has 
 even permitted Father Paul to speak to him of 
 his sins and to point in his present condition to 
 the judgments of heaven. He did not profess 
 
64 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 sorrow for the past, it is true, but he was silent 
 and thoughtful. He suffers much in his present 
 hiding place from cold and hunger, but it is still 
 unsafe for him to venture abroad. The Cure,, 
 who since the death of Jaques has nightly 
 carried him provision, is most unfortunately 
 summoned to a distance on important business, 
 and Manon, my daughter, after long delibe- 
 ration, we have determined to place the dan- 
 gerous, but noble task of sustaining his life, in 
 your hands !" 
 
 I had been brought up in perfect submission 
 to my father ; I mean by that not only doing 
 his will, but doing it cheerfully and without 
 question ; it was some minutes therefore before 
 I could speak, and then I only sobbed out the 
 name of Bijou. 
 
 " It is true, my child, this man in his cruel 
 sport murdered your favourite, it is also true that 
 he would have punished your brother unjustly ; 
 nay, had power been allowed him, doubtless he 
 would have dragged down ruin upon your 
 family. What of that ! Is it not written, * if 
 thine enemy hunger, feed him ! — if he thirst, 
 give 'him drink !' Here, Manon, is a positive 
 command which we dare not disobey, and such 
 
THE SABBATH. 65 
 
 an opportunity, my daughter, for cultivating the 
 christian graces of love and forgiveness as may 
 never again occur. You cannot risk your own 
 life to save this man's and see him thus depend- 
 ant upon the efforts of a weak child, without the 
 love of benevolence taking the place of that 
 shuddering horror which you now feel, and 
 which I blame myself for suffering to grow in 
 your bosom." 
 
 He then proceeded to inform me, that as here- 
 tofore the questions and suspicions of the mob 
 had been chiefly aimed at the men of the village, 
 the Cure and himself had thought it best for the 
 safety of the family, that my brothers should 
 remain in ignorance of what he had just com- 
 municated. 
 
 Finding himself searched for with more vigi- 
 lance every where than at the Chateau, the 
 Compte had chosen the place of his concealment 
 among the tombs of his ancestors. One mauso- 
 leum, recently constructed, was untenanted, and 
 the key of it happened to be in Jaques posses- 
 sion. Here he had been for nearly three weeks, 
 subsisting on the little which Jaques and the 
 Cure had nightly brought him ; this supply it was 
 
66 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 my father's command I should continue to him 
 whilst he remained. 
 
 I had heartily forgiven the Compte as it 
 seemed to me ; I wished him to become abetter 
 and therefore a happier man, but I had never 
 imagined the possibility of my seeing him again, 
 least of all in that lonely situation; and such were 
 my feelings of horror, had it not been the com- 
 mand of my parent I confess I could not have 
 attempted it. 
 
 I had none of the foolish fears which a wrong 
 education gives so many children of the resting 
 places of the dead ; neither did the hour of mid- 
 night give me any particular alarm, knowing that 
 the Almighty arm guarded me as safely then as 
 at noonday ; the path too, winding through a 
 lonely valley where in summer I often wander- 
 ed searching for flowers, or in the autumn for 
 hazlenuts with the village children — I was per- 
 fectly familiar with it ; but meeting the angry 
 eyes of this terrible Compte of Anjou ! 
 
 Poor child ! little did I know what changes 
 fear and hunger can work. 
 
 On the first night of my mission I set out, my 
 heart sinking with terror from thoughts like 
 
THE SABBATH. 67 
 
 these. Crossing a broken part of the wall and 
 proceeding to a white marble tomb which had 
 been described to me, I gave the appointed 
 signal. A light instantly flashed through the 
 apertures at the side of the tomb, the door turned 
 slowly back on its hinges, and a face appeared — 
 the Compte's indeed, but how changed ! — pale, 
 ghastly, and thin, his black locks matted, his 
 eyes, no longer sparkling with haughty pride, 
 seemed eagerly asking the food he expected of 
 me. 
 
 " Bless you, my good girl !" he said in a 
 hollow voice — the door closed and I slowly 
 returned home. Where were all my long 
 cherished feelings of horror for the Compte 
 d'Anjou ?~ gone ! I now saw in him nothing but 
 a poor, suffering, fellow being, who looked to 
 me for sustenance, and I longed for the stars of 
 another midnight to arise, that I might again 
 enjoy the luxury of doing good. Such delights 
 hath God prepared for those who do His 
 
 will. 
 
 My labours ceased at the end of eight days. 
 
 The Compte escaped, I know not how for my 
 
 father never named him to me, an intelligent 
 
 look bein£ all that we ever ventured. Soon 
 
68 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 after the Cure returned with a wagon load of 
 grain and other necessaries, which he had been 
 able to collect for us in the surrounding country, 
 and thus were we mercifully delivered when at 
 the brink of despair. 
 
THE SABBATH. G9 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Thus far I have confined my story to the 
 events of our village, which, sad as they were, 
 gave a picture of perfect happiness compared 
 with those which desolated many other parts of 
 my beautiful country. But I wish to exhibit to 
 your view a land where religion was systemat- 
 ically destroyed ; where reason alone and the na- 
 tural goodness of man's heart were to be the only 
 restraints upon his actions. In mercy perhaps 
 to the rest of the world, God allowed that land 
 to overturn His altars and revel in infidelity that 
 other nations might worship in fear and holy 
 awe. Properly to fulfil my purpose, it will be 
 necessary for me now to lead your attention to 
 more public events. 
 
 I have already described to you the ignorance 
 of the peasantry, the haughty contempt of the 
 nobility, and the irreligion of the educated class, 
 or men of letters. You remember, too, the de- 
 termination of these last to enlighten the minds 
 7 * 
 
70 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 of their countrymen, and at the same moment 
 destroy the prejudices of religion, as these phi- 
 losophers chose to call our most holy faith. 
 
 For centuries previous to this period the kings 
 of France had been devoted to war and splen- 
 dor, which the nobles, sharing the glory without 
 the expense, loved to encourage. The crown 
 had. long descended to those who consulted only 
 the gratification of their own extravagant wishes; 
 the people submitting, it is true, but only be- 
 cause they dared not murmur. Unlike his pre- 
 decessors, it was the misfortune of our present 
 King, Louis XVI., to combine a real love for his 
 people and a sincere desire for their welfare in 
 preference to his own, with a weakness and 
 irresolution of character which exposed him to 
 undeserved contempt. Awake to a knowledge 
 of the injustice which for so many centuries had 
 oppressed them and for the first time permitted 
 to murmur, on his luckless head they poured all 
 the reproaches which his ancestors should have 
 borne. 
 
 The grandeur and long wars of former sove- 
 reigns had brought the common people, who, as 
 I before told you, alone bore the expense, to the 
 brink of ruin ; and though Louis tried many 
 
THE SABBATH. 71 
 
 measures to improve their condition, yet, as in 
 the case of a person ill of a mortal disease, the 
 remedies must be violent if we would preserve 
 life, the very severity of those measures only 
 served to exasperate the people against one 
 whom they knew to be too amiable to punish. 
 
 In the meanwhile, two parties were pouring 
 the poison of their opinions into the minds of 
 the unhappy people by means of newspapers 
 and journals, sent all over the country to those 
 who could read, public speeches made daily 
 wherever a crowd of the discontented could be 
 gathered, and more powerfully still by secret 
 societies formed in each town or village all over 
 France. The first of these parties, and by far 
 the better of the two, were the philosophers — 
 or infidels, who wanted only a moderate degree 
 of liberty. The second was the Jacobin Club, 
 equally infidel, but violent and uneducated ; it 
 panted for, it knew not what, and at last deluged 
 the land with the blood of its best and bravest. 
 
 Unfortunately the troops, which in a country 
 governed as France, are always the guardians of 
 the King, joined with these parties, and although 
 they were assembled round his dwelling as usual, 
 it was rather to imprison than protect him. 
 
72 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 Whilst the agitations which afflicted our own 
 little village in the way I have attempted to de- 
 scribe were carried to far greater excess in most 
 other parts of the country, by the rich and poor 
 waging war against each other, in which the 
 peasantry were too often successful, burning, 
 plundering, and murdering, Paris, the capital, 
 was particularly liable to disturbance. All classes 
 were in a tumult ; all business was suspended, 
 which of course only added to the general dis- 
 content, and in a short time poverty and distress 
 reigned throughout that vast population. 
 
 In the meanwhile the King and Queen poured 
 out their now limited means to buy bread for 
 their famishing people, who, as they were re- 
 ceiving it, cursed the hand that gave it. 
 
 But the frantic cry for " bread ! bread !" con- 
 tinuing, the city at length broke into an open 
 tumult, and the alarm bells gave notice that it 
 was in a state of insurrection. The mob com- 
 mitted various acts of horror in Paris and then 
 directed their march to Versailles, the residence 
 of the royal family, shouting loud cries for ven- 
 geance on the King and Queen ; and as if to 
 show how the loveliest objects may become the 
 most loathsome when deserted by the purifying 
 
THE SABBATH. 73 
 
 power of divine grace, the leaders and instiga- 
 tors of this most horrid mob were females !— - 
 mothers, sisters, and daughters ! 
 
 In the darkness and confusion of night they 
 entered the palace, and still crying for vengeance, 
 they sought the apartment of the Queen : — she 
 had escaped, but they murdered some of her 
 faithful attendants. 
 
 Driven from the palace they encamped out- 
 side its walls, and continued through the next 
 day to encourage each other by frantic cries, de- 
 manding to see the Queen with the most insult- 
 ing epithets. At their call the noble Maria 
 Antoinette appeared in the balcony leading by 
 the hand one of her children. " Send back the 
 child !" they cried, doubtless intending her mur- 
 der when deprived of its protection. Turning 
 to the door she thrust her child within, closed 
 it, and stood before them with her calm, noble 
 countenance, and arms folded upon her bosom, 
 contemplating the thousands of harsh and angry 
 countenances which were turned toward her. 
 A gun was presented, but some friendly hand 
 struck it down, and so changed were the feel- 
 ings of the mob by her noble courage that a cry 
 rose from them of " Long live the Queen !" 
 
74 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 Another shout then arose " to Paris !" and to 
 Paris the obedient monarch went, attended as 
 monarch never was before. The coaches con- 
 taining the wretched family, now the puppets of 
 a mob, were placed in the centre of this vast 
 body of drunken and infuriated wretches, who 
 howled forth hideous songs of triumph. The 
 foremost bore on their pikes the bleeding heads 
 of the faithful servants whom they had murder- 
 ed in the palace, while the rest of their guard 
 were dragged onward, fainting and weary. — 
 Women, carrying long poplar branches, rode on 
 the cannon ; the pikes and muskets of the mob 
 were dressed with oaken boughs in token of 
 triumph, and under these terrifying circum- 
 stances the royal family entered the capital, and 
 after enduring the brutal mockery of congratu- 
 lation from the authorities of the city upon such 
 an escort, they were permitted to repose them- 
 selves in the palace of the Tuilleries. The 
 troops as usual guarded the entrance, making 
 the unfortunate monarch as much a prisoner as 
 if enclosed by less splendid walls. 
 
 These scenes took place in the same autumn 
 which brought the Compte to our village. Father 
 Paul being then at Paris, witnessed these insults 
 
THE SABBATH. 75 
 
 offered to the monarch he loved without daring, 
 by word or look, to show the indignation and 
 horror they excited within him. Long after their 
 occurrence tears would flow down his venera- 
 ble cheeks when he described to us the gentle 
 dignity of the King and Queen, and the screams 
 of terror which burst from their innocent chil- 
 dren, as they saw the heads all ghastly in 
 death, which these brutes in human shape bore 
 past the carriage windows. 
 
 « And these," he exclaimed, " are the fruits 
 of infidelity ! — they would wash from the earth 
 all trace of the Redeemer's footsteps, all remem- 
 brance of his gracious words of love and peace, 
 but by a sea of blood poured out by those who 
 proclaim the perfection of man's nature, and 
 talk of the reign of reason and brotherly love !" 
 
 Their King a prisoner, their troops corrupted 
 and ready to support their actions however 
 bold, and the power to make or annul laws com- 
 pletely in the hands of a people unused to self- 
 government, the following acts of the mob were 
 like the swellings and sinkings of succeeding 
 waves, foaming out their own shame and destruc- 
 tion. To have been born of a noble family, 
 
76 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 however distinguished for public and private 
 virtues, became a sufficient reason for undergo- 
 ing all the lawless license of a mob. 
 
 Insulted without redress, and too often mur- 
 dered for imaginary offences, their houses broken 
 open and pillaged both by the mob and the con- 
 stituted authorities without the slightest justifi- 
 cation, the nobility and gentry now fast quitted 
 a country which no longer afforded them pro- 
 tection, and escaping in disguise, thousands 
 voluntarily sought poverty and exile in distant 
 lands. Every emigration left the poor King 
 more defenceless in the hands of his enemies, 
 from whom he and his family received daily in- 
 sults, borne with the composure of Christian 
 forgiveness. 
 
 Even when the few friends who still rallied 
 round him would have resented his indignities, 
 he entreated them to put up their weapons, that 
 the blood of a subject, however guilty, might not 
 be shed on his account. Finding themselves 
 useless to him, and unable to bear the indignant 
 grief of seeing their monarch exposed to insults 
 which they dared not punish, these at last, com- 
 plying with his repeated wish that they would 
 
THE SABBATH. 77 
 
 care for their own safety, tore themselves from 
 him, and awaited in other lands for better times. 
 Alas! to most those better times never ap- 
 peared. 
 
78 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 We return to the village. Spring came to us 
 at last, ever beautiful in her verdant loveliness, 
 but to our starving people never so charming as 
 now, for she brought us the promise of future 
 plenty. Our trodden vineyards began to put 
 forth the signs of blossom and leaf, the tender 
 grain sprouted in our wheat fields, the sun shone 
 kindly upon us, and in spite of our misery hope 
 entered into our desponding hearts, making us 
 strong to labour. 
 
 Every hand was now busy in mending the 
 broken enclosures, draining fields, repairing bro- 
 ken ditches or training again the trampled vines, 
 all telling sad tales of that night's work of desola- 
 tion ; yet, though our condition was in no res- 
 pect more secure, we could even smile upon 
 each other again, for so does labour lighten the 
 heart of its burden. 
 
 It was really gladdening to my youthful spi- 
 
THE SABBATH. 79 
 
 rit to see the pinched countenances of the good- 
 natured dames once more sparkling with some- 
 thing that looked like their former mirth ; but 
 their laugh was neither so loud nor so hearty 
 as it had been, for many weary months must pass 
 over before we could even hope to secure our 
 golden harvest, and then it needed but some 
 trifling pretext, for our restless neighbours to 
 snatch it untasted from our lips. 
 
 Still the seasons wore on in something of 
 calmness, for although the country at large con- 
 tinued unquiet, the destruction of the Chateau 
 and the dispersion of the family happily left our 
 insignificant village in peace. The habits of 
 the people too kept them really ignorant of much 
 that could only have disturbed their minds. 
 The distraction of the times having broken up 
 the iace manufactures, we were obliged to live 
 solely on the products of our little farms, and 
 experience had taught us that the abundance 
 which we had formerly disposed of in the 
 neighbouring towns must this year be stored up 
 for our own use ; consequently, unless disturbed 
 by the visits of other rustics we had little inter- 
 
80 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 course with the rest of the world, the humility 
 of our village proving its best protection. 
 
 Not but what the wise gentlemen at the Ca- 
 pital would fain have enlightened us also, but 
 there being none in the village who could read, 
 beside our family and the Cure, the newspapers 
 and proclamations which they sent us so indus- 
 triously were harmless, only serving the village 
 girls for papillottes. 
 
 The grass had quite covered the spot where 
 poor old Jaques was buried, and had even sprouted 
 in some of the ruined clefts of the Chateau walls, 
 for the end of summer w r as fast approaching, 
 when my father warned us to prepare for an- 
 other inmate. 
 
 " You will know her," he said, " as Jean- 
 nette Le Blanc. She comes to us from a dis- 
 tant village, and asks a home until better times 
 restore her to her friends. I need not bid my 
 family respect her sorrow, nor avoid distressing 
 her by needless questions or allusions to the 
 past, since the politeness of benevolence is the 
 Christian's duty. As it will suit her purposes 
 best to share in the labours of the farm, you, 
 Jacquiline, will give her what instruction is 
 
THE SABBATH. 81 
 
 necessary, and my daughter will share her bed 
 with the stranger." 
 
 Our father's wishes were ever the law of his 
 little household, and his manner in giving this 
 warning seemed to forbid further inquiry. In- 
 deed, since the commencement of our troubles 
 he had constantly warned us against the indul- 
 gence of curiosity. 
 
 " Be content, my children," he would say, 
 " to be ignorant. With your principles, false- 
 hood, I should hope, was impossible ; how easy 
 and safe will it be then if interrogated on dan- 
 gerous matters, to reply, I do not know !" 
 
 Accordingly, though all felt there was some- 
 thing mysterious about this stranger, not a word 
 from us intimated it. 
 
 Early on the morning of the succeeding day 
 she arrived, riding on a mule and accompanied 
 by a peasant similarly mounted ; a tall dignified 
 looking woman, even in her peasant's garb. 
 Her dress was that of the better class of our 
 females yet coarse enough in its texture ; her 
 head dress was worn rather lower than usual, 
 beneath which, and crossing plainly over her 
 noble forehead, appeared hair of raven black- 
 8* 
 
82 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 ness. Her eyes large and dark to me wore an 
 expression different from those of any other 
 woman I had ever before seen. When those 
 eyes were upon me I never could address her 
 by the familiar name of Jeannette. Her com- 
 plexion, though dark, had not the weather 
 stained appearance of most peasants, and when 
 she spoke — ah ! in vain were all disguises !-- 
 those gently modulated tones were never formed 
 among the villagers of France ! 
 
 Such were my thoughts as I led our guest up 
 the narrow staircase to my little bed room. 
 
 Jeannette, as my father insisted upon our 
 calling her, though she did not always seem to 
 recognize it as her name, soon became quite at 
 home among us. She knew little of cottage 
 work, but considering the smallness and deli- 
 cacy of her hands which she took great pains to 
 expose and coarsen, she succeeded pretty well. 
 She was silent and sad, frequently gazing from 
 our little window at the Chateau, her eyes 
 streaming with tears. I tried to take no notice 
 of these expressions of grief, but with the true 
 vivacity of a French girl I longed to throw my- 
 self at her feet, assuring her that although the 
 
THE SABBATH. 83 
 
 whole world might join in persecution, there 
 was still one family that loved and revered the 
 unfortunate Comptesse of Anjou ! 
 
 Are you surprised, my children ? Alas ! the 
 history of those times abounds with too many 
 changes of this kind ; in which the proud and the 
 lofty were obliged to assume the garb and 
 servile labours of the lowliest, glad to preserve 
 their lives even on those hard terms. 
 
 Whether my brothers and Jacquiline had 
 come to the same conclusion about our inmate, 
 I know not ; our father's wishes and native 
 delicacy forbidding any discussion of the sub- 
 ject, or appearance of a desire to know more of 
 our guest than what she chose to reveal. It 
 seemed to be understood among the villagers 
 also that we wished no questions asked, and 
 though probably the conjectures of all centred 
 upon the same person, the utmost silence was 
 preserved on this dangerous subject. 
 
 Father Paul came to see us as usual and often 
 had long conversations with Jeaimette, during 
 which, in the pauses of the hum of our spinning 
 wheels, though to do Jacquiline justice those 
 pauses were neither long nor frequent, we could 
 
84 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 sometimes hear the sobs of the poor lady, but 
 we usually saw her no more for the rest of that 
 day. 
 
 Our visitor never attended the chapel, nor I 
 believe did she receive Father Paul as her con- 
 fessor, and at first she spent the time given to 
 religious worship both on the week day and 
 Sabbath, in her little bedroom. I generally 
 found her seated on the little box which con- 
 tained her clothes, her hands clasped in mute 
 despair, gazing on the scorched walls of the tur- 
 ret. Now, within the recess of this little vine- 
 covered window lay my Bible, that rare book 
 in France, to prince, priest, and peasant, with 
 some others of instruction and devotion, both 
 Catholic and Protestant, and I longed to point 
 to the comforts within their pages for a sorrow- 
 ful heart. 
 
 Henri gave up his studies that summer, for 
 my father could no longer afford to employ men 
 on our little farm ; so he and Claude labored 
 diligently to secure plentiful crops, assisting our 
 less provident neighbours ; for my father prophe- 
 sied new disturbances when the pinchings of 
 winter should heighten the discontent of the 
 poor and the idle. 
 
THE SABBATH. 85 
 
 Our days were outwardly tranquil; for while 
 our brothers toiled in the field, Jacquiline and 
 myself spun, wove, or prepared our meals, and 
 kept the cottage neat, while Jeannette assisted 
 a little in all that she might gain some house- 
 hold knowledge ; but was most successful in 
 knitting gloves and mittens which we hoped to 
 dispose of in spite of the troubles, and thus have 
 a little store, as Jacquiline said, for a rainy day. 
 My father seldom went from home without 
 leaving one of my brothers with us, for we were 
 constantly liable to the visits of strange men 
 who would enter the cottage and seat themselves 
 without ceremony, asking the most impertinent 
 questions. 
 
 How often in those days of fear have I gone 
 about singing when my heart was sinking with 
 terror ; or addressed a familiar remark to our 
 guest, that the intruders might feel no suspicion 
 of her rank ; and fortunately the years she had 
 passed in seclusion had so tended to obliterate 
 all but her name from the remembrance of our 
 people that none could have recognised her, par- 
 ticularly through her disguise. 
 
 And thus in anxiety and fear wore on another 
 sad autumn and winter. 
 
86 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Our guest had been with us about two months, 
 and the awe I could not help feeling at first had 
 in some degree worn off in the familiarity I was 
 forced to adopt toward her ; the village had been 
 undisturbed by visiters for more than two weeks, 
 and we were breathing freely again, when the 
 Comptesse said to me one afternoon — 
 
 " Come, good Manon, walk with me a little 
 way, for I am weary of this confinement. Let 
 ns seek for some violets in the. valley, and you 
 can show me the hut where poor Jaques died." 
 
 With my father's consent, we proceeded along 
 the winding path to the valley. It was a mild 
 afternoon in October ; the woods were as still 
 as the Sabbath, for our children had quite de- 
 serted them since the death of Jaques, and the 
 filberts ripened and fell undisturbed by the busy 
 fingers which used to search their fruitful boughs. 
 Nothing disturbed our lonely thoughts but the 
 starting of some timid hare or squirrel, and in 
 
THE SABBATH. 87 
 
 silence we reached the old hut. The lady gazed 
 round it for a few moments, then deeply sigh- 
 ing, plunged farther into the wood toward the 
 mausoleum which had been the hiding-place of 
 her husband. 
 
 I did not accompany her farther than the 
 broken entrance, but I could hear her sobs, and 
 my own tears flowed in sympathy. I was be- 
 ginning to feel impatient lest we should be un- 
 pleasantly interrupted, when the sound of ap- 
 proaching footsteps startled me, and I gave the 
 appointed signal with a trembling heart;— -a 
 minute after, the feeble cough of Father Paul 
 announced a friend. 
 
 " Daughter," said he, in a reproving tone, as 
 the lady advanced hastily to meet him, " why 
 these ever-falling tears ? Shall you receive good 
 at the hand of your God, and shall you not re- 
 ceive evil also ?" 
 
 " Father," she replied, " I know nothing of 
 the existence of the Being in whose name you 
 reprove me — nothing of the state to which you 
 point me, when I shall slumber with the inha- 
 bitants of yonder tomb. To me this world is 
 but a twisted maze of good and evil. My lot 
 has been woven only of the dark threads, when 
 
88 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 they break I hope for nothing, know of nothing ! 
 Can you wonder, then, that my tears flow ?" 
 
 " Can I wonder, say, that your mind remains 
 in this gloomy darkness, when you refuse to ask 
 the interposition of the holy saints in your be- 
 half ! Have you not even refused to repeat an 
 Ave Maria I — and if you will not seek the aid 
 of the holy Virgin, once a woman like yourself, 
 and therefore able to feel a woman's sorrows, 
 how can you hope for light on your darkened 
 mind?" 
 
 " When a living friend cannot aid me, though 
 faithful and affectionate as yourself, good father," 
 she replied, meekly, " I cannot address suppli- 
 cations to a mortal long since mouldered to 
 ashes ! Father, it is too late now for such coun- 
 sels ; you must lead me to a higher source if 
 you would give me comfort." 
 
 "Manon," said the Cure, quickly, "your 
 father wishes for you — proceed without us." 
 
 I hastened my steps, and was soon at the cot- 
 tage. For the first time the lady remained be- 
 low that evening at family worship. After we 
 had sung our simple hymn, my father read those 
 words of our" Saviour which fall so sweetly on 
 a mourner's ear, beginning, " Let not your 
 
THE SABBATH. 89 
 
 hearts be troubled ; ye believe in God, believe 
 also in me !" 
 
 Remembering the afternoon's conversation, I 
 ventured to steal a glance from time to time to- 
 ward our visiter. At first she sat gazing vacantly 
 on the floor, her arms folded, and her head 
 drooping almost upon her bosom ; but as my 
 father proceeded with his clear, fervent tones, 
 she gradually raised her head, and fixed her elo- 
 quent eyes upon him. Not a word seemed lost 
 by her, and when he closed with " let us pray," 
 she rose — hesitated — and in another moment 
 the descendant of kings was kneeling amidst her 
 humble vassals, pleading for mercy from the 
 Kino- of king's. 
 
 As the Cure afterwards informed us, it was 
 the first time in many years she had knelt in 
 prayer, and that night witnessed the commence- 
 ment of a peace such as had never before filled 
 her bosom, even that of a penitent child no 
 longer in rebellion against its Father. 
 
 I have said that my little Bible lay in the win- 
 dow of our room. The next day she handed it 
 me with the request that I would find the pas- 
 sage my father had read the preceding evening 
 9 
 
90 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 — " for I am ashamed to tell you, Manon," she 
 said, " this is the first Bible I have ever seen." 
 
 After this I fancied I could discern a change 
 in her very look. She wept at times, but not so 
 passionately. Her eyes lost that depth of gloomy 
 sorrow which made them so remarkable, and 
 gradually a sweet pensiveness came over her 
 manner, like that of my father or the Cure. Of 
 all our family, Henri most enjoyed the society 
 of the lady, for there was a greater delicacy of 
 thought and expression about him than the 
 others. In the winter nights he delighted to 
 read aloud to her of the faith and patience of the 
 martyrs, or the beautiful songs of David, until 
 his own gentle face caught their expression of . 
 triumphant hope. No longer did our guest shun 
 the hour of family devotion, or the instruction 
 of the Sabbath. " Father," she said one even- 
 ing to the Cure, " I have found that higher 
 source of consolation here," laying her hand on 
 the Bible. 
 
 " My child," he replied, " the Spirit is the 
 Lord's, and all the rills of comfort are his also. 
 A wandering sheep has returned to the fold of 
 the good Shepherd, and I am happy." 
 
THE SABBATH. 91 
 
 But great changes were working at the Capi- 
 tal which our guest sighed or sometimes smiled 
 over. The estates of the banished or exiled 
 nobility were sold for the benefit of the public 
 funds. The possessions of the Compte of An- 
 jou had been thus unjustly taken, and nothing 
 now remained of his once princely fortune but 
 the ruins of the old Chateau. The poor lady 
 used to say, "Teach me to spin, good Jacqui- 
 line, that I may know how to earn my bread. 
 Alas ! if I be driven from my present shelter, 
 what shall I do ?" 
 
 The public debt being still heavy it was next 
 proposed to seize the property of the Church ; 
 thus stripping not only the toiling Cure of his 
 daily bread, but breaking up the religious asy- 
 lums of the country and taking from them what 
 the spoilers had never given. This was opening 
 new scenes of distress over the land, offering 
 new temptations for outrage, and well did the 
 idle and bad reap their harvest from it, though 
 the blood of thousands was poured out in the 
 vain attempt to defend their possessions. Our 
 good old Cure had nothing which could tempt 
 the avarice of the informer, for his own hands 
 cultivated the little spot of ground which sup- 
 
92 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 plied his daily wants, and in accordance with a 
 sincere vow of poverty which he had made in 
 early life, a little pallet bed stretched on the floor, 
 a crucifix, and a few necessaries formed the fur- 
 niture of his cottage. Yet this unjust law 
 brought a grief to his bosom which it could never 
 have felt for selfish sorrows. 
 
 I have told you that on the night of the fire at 
 the Chateau my father conveyed the Comptesse 
 to the house of an aunt, where she obtained a 
 temporary shelter. The same spirit which had 
 filled our village with terror soon roused the 
 peasantry here also, and again at midnight the 
 unfortunate lady was forced to escape. Her 
 venerable relative was able to reach the sea shore 
 in safety and from thence passed over to Eng- 
 land, but the uncertain fate of her husband and 
 child detained the Comptesse near them. In 
 various disguises and hiding places she had wan- 
 dered until the hope of greater security had 
 brought her to our cottage. 
 
 More happy than her mother, Mademoiselle 
 had until the present enjoyed the security of a 
 convent. But the new law, by directing the fury 
 of the mob against the religious asylums, made 
 their retreat no longer secure, and before my 
 
THE SABBATH. 93 
 
 father and the Cure had decided how she might 
 be secreted, news arrived that the whole com- 
 munity in which she resided were seeking safety 
 by flight. 
 
 The first information we had of new trouble 
 hanging over us was from observing the secret 
 consultations of the Cure, my father, and the 
 lady. The former soon left us for a few days 
 and returned ; shortly after Jacquiline an- 
 nounced that Francois the miller had got a new 
 maiden. 
 
94 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The miller was a good old soul, and so deaf 
 he could scarcely hear the clacking of his own 
 mill ; but not so the miller's wife. She was 
 kind hearted and discreet, but had such a reputa- 
 tion for scolding that none who knew her ven- 
 tured to undergo her displeasure. In many 
 respects the mill was a safe retreat for poor 
 Mademoiselle, since it was some distance from 
 the village, and secluded from the visits of all 
 but our own people, who might be relied on 
 with safety. Beside, the deafness of Francois, 
 and the well known temper of his wife, made 
 questioning them a difficult matter. 
 
 The poor lady slept little that night ; I knew 
 it by her startling sighs. Before we had risen 
 next morning, she said significantly, " Manon, 
 you are affectionate as well as prudent. Is there 
 no errand to the mill to-day ? Have you no 
 curiosity to see the miller's new maiden ? She 
 
THE SABBATH. 95 
 
 should be about your height now," — she said, 
 her eyes filling with tears. " My good Manon, 
 will you not endeavour to see her ; observe her 
 appearance and dress exactly ; and tell me 
 whether she looks the peasant as she should 
 do ?" 
 
 With ray father's permission I took old Cadet 
 by the halter, and following the course of the 
 stream, after an hour and a half's walk I came 
 to the mill. Only Francois was there, and 
 whilst he was lading Cadet with the grist I took 
 the privilege of an old favourite and entered the 
 house. 
 
 A young girl, taller and more slender than 
 myself, was feeding poultry near the door. As 
 soon as I appeared the miller's wife's sharp 
 tongue was to be heard reproving her most 
 roundly. I observed that the maiden's dress 
 was similar to my own, except that the material 
 was coarser and more worn, the better I presume 
 to keep up the disguise ; she had on the coarse 
 stockings and wooden shoes worn by the hum- 
 blest class of peasants, and like her mother's, her 
 fair skin was dyed a tawny brown by the juice 
 of the walnut. 
 
 She turned hastily, but I had time to drop a . 
 
98 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 note from her mother at her feet, as I passed 
 into the house, whilst Dame Dubois, in her 
 shrillest tone, reproved the awkwardness of 
 Amee, as she called her. 
 
 My object thus gained, I proceeded home as 
 rapidly as poor old Cadet's stumbling feet would 
 permit, where the Comptesse impatiently await- 
 ed me. 
 
 " You have seen her, my good girl, I know 
 you have — your eyes say so ! Oh, tell me, is 
 she well — is she contented ?" she would have 
 said, but tears choked her. 
 
 I described her daughter's appearance as well 
 as I was able, and promised not only to carry on 
 an intercourse between the unfortunate mother 
 and child, but if possible to manage an interview 
 for them. A thousand times did she thank me, 
 saying, " when your father is no more, Manon, 
 if the providence of God allows it, we will 
 retire to some quiet corner of France, and there 
 in safe and contented poverty I will be a mother 
 to Manon and Amee." 
 
 " Suffer me rather, dear lady," I said, kissing 
 her hand respectfully, "to be your faithful 
 attendant ; to toil for you ; nay, even as Jaques 
 did, to die for you !" 
 
THE SABBATH. 97 
 
 Our intercourse with the mill was now as 
 frequent as circumstances would allow, though 
 Amee and myself did no more than exchange 
 glances and drop notes in passing. I observed 
 with sorrow that to prevent suspicion she was 
 often obliged to perform services which even I 
 should have thought hard, and her poor hands 
 were frequently bleeding from the frost. Still 
 she kept up a cheerful temper, said little, and 
 never replied to Dame Dubois' reproofs, who it 
 was very evident spoke more from habit and the 
 desire to deceive me, than anger. 
 
 In the meanwhile the National Assembly had 
 enacted a new law against the church, which 
 produced even more disastrous consequences 
 than that by which they had robbed it of its pro- 
 perty. Grown bold by meeting no opposition, 
 they now demanded of every priest to take what 
 was called the oath of the Constitution, which 
 they could not do without violating another made 
 to the Pope at their consecration as Catholic 
 Priests. I have told you, that of the multitudes 
 of Clergy in France, few comparatively had been 
 faithful in instructing their flocks, and in the late 
 disturbance many had justified the murderer and 
 pillager. Yet, forgetful as they had been, of 
 
98 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 their sacred duties, and irreligious as had been 
 the lives of too many, few were sufficiently un- 
 principled to take an oath against the government 
 of the church they had sworn to defend. These, 
 therefore, were pronounced by the Assembly 
 incapable of performing any of the offices of 
 religion ; their churches were closed, and them- 
 selves doomed to poverty and persecution; in 
 the public estimation they were held as enemies 
 to the welfare of their country, and when the 
 lawlessness of the mob had risen to its height, 
 these unfortunate men were slaughtered in 
 hundreds. 
 
 So few of the priests accepted the Constitution- 
 al oath, and consequently were able to perform 
 divine service, that the churches throughout the 
 land were generally closed ; the dead were com- 
 mitted to the earth without a prayer that it 
 might be blessed to the living ; infants were 
 unbaptized, and the voice of religious warning 
 was silenced. 
 
 The wishes of the infidels were now realized : 
 did the land become better or happier ? We 
 shall see. 
 
 Father Paul, with his brethren of the same 
 department, was summoned to take the oath. 
 
THE SABBATH. 99 
 
 My father attended him and described the scene 
 to us. The Hall, decorated with tri-coloured 
 flags, was crowded with spectators, all wearing 
 the National cockade and shouting " Vive la 
 Constitution!' 1 '' The Cure was then nearly 
 eighty years of age, yet his form was unbent by 
 weakness; his snowy hair floated over his 
 shoulders, and his face beamed with majestic 
 goodness. His fame as a faithful parish priest 
 was far extended, and many of his brethren, 
 undetermined in opinion, waited for the example 
 of the Cure of St. Marie la Bonne. The jostling 
 crowd drew back as he passed, and with erect 
 form and uncovered head he stood before the 
 tribunal. The question was proposed to him : 
 
 " I have served my God," he said, " these 
 fifty years, and now you ask me to dishonour 
 Him ! For fifty years have I taught my little 
 flock to reverence the meanest engagement, and 
 now you ask me to violate one made under the 
 most awful circumstances — my priestly vows ! 
 Will I take an oath I dare not keep !— tell your 
 worthless employers— never /" 
 
 Deep emotion held the Assembly motionless 
 for a few minutes, and unmolested the old man 
 passed down the Hall. It was a bold speech, 
 
100 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 and few besides the Cure could have uttered it 
 and preserved their personal safety ; yet in spite 
 of the scoffs of infidels true piety will be reve- 
 renced even by the impious and profane. 
 
 But he was a silenced minister, and the woe 
 worn looks of his flock were truly mournful. 
 No more the chapel bell summoned the village 
 to its Altar. No more, in the solemnities of 
 the confessional, could he reprove the erring, 
 strengthen the wavering, or comfort the mourner. 
 Many of his conscientious brethren went into 
 exile, but our affectionate friend would not desert 
 his flock. 
 
 " I may not pray with them," he said, " but 
 the laws of tyrants cannot prevent my praying 
 for them." 
 
 But not long did he linger among us. The 
 crimes and the- woes of his country had been 
 long preying on his strength and spirits, but the 
 necessity for action had prevented him from 
 yielding to its effects : now, exiled from the 
 Altar he loved — denied the privilege of minister- 
 ing to the spiritual wants of his people — what 
 more was there for him to do ? He drooped 
 from day to day, and before a third unhallowed 
 Sabbath had passed over the village, its pastor 
 
THE SABBATH. 101 
 
 was no more ! He was found kneeling before 
 the crucifix as if in prayer ! 
 
 We had no physician to give a learned name 
 to his disease, but according to the simple ideas 
 of the villagers he had died of a broken heart ! 
 
 10 
 
102 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 I am afraid my merry hearted boys will call 
 their grandmother's tale a sad one. Alas ! it is 
 too true that the terrors of a civil contest extin- 
 guished for many a year all the light-hearted 
 happiness of my people, and changed them from 
 a gay and thoughtless race to a most sanguinary 
 mob. Few, but melancholy scenes marked the 
 years of my girlhood ; for how could I smile 
 when the victims of outlaw were weeping 
 around me ? How could my sleep be tranquil 
 when the sky over my head was often reddening 
 with the blaze of some poor peasant's cottage, 
 and I knew not but in a few hours my own 
 home might be in ashes 1 Such is the situation 
 of those who hold their life or property at the 
 will of a mob. But I must hasten forward in 
 my narrative. 
 
 Oar village was now fast losing its quiet cha- 
 racter as the lawless mass, becoming more and 
 more restless and wild with excited wishes, and 
 
THE SABBATH. 103 
 
 strengthened by new accessions from various 
 parts of France, moved toward Paris, the heart 
 of this vast body, from whence and toward 
 which proceeded the great and small streams 
 of rebellion and infidelity, which poisoned the 
 land. Humble as we were we could not help 
 receiving a portion of the moving mass, and as 
 resistance would have been vain we were forced 
 to adopt a civil demeanour even towards those 
 whose hands we knew were reeking with the 
 blood of our countrymen. 
 
 You will easily understand that these circum- 
 stances made the situation of the Comptesse and 
 the maiden at the mill very unsafe, and the rather 
 since death had deprived them of their best ad- 
 visor. The sacred office of the Cure had ena- 
 bled him to go about on secret service for them 
 unmolested; but my father, who had long con- 
 fined himself to the business of his farm, could 
 not so easily become a traveller without exciting 
 suspicion. Yet our affairs were daily becoming 
 more critical. Claude and Henri were abun- 
 dantly willing to undertake any services, but the 
 first was too fiery and imprudent, and the latter 
 too inexperienced. It seemed very necessary 
 
104 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 that both mother and daughter should seek a 
 new asylum but where should they find it. 
 
 While we were still in this anxious situation, 
 a band of these wanderers one day entered the 
 village and proceeded directly to the ruins of the 
 Chateau. They were evidently in pursuit of 
 some one, and we trembled for our guest. Con- 
 cealment was vain, as the houses of the villagers 
 would all be searched if any suspicion were ex- 
 cited, but Claude was despatched by the nearest 
 route to the mill. We could hear their shouts 
 and halloos to each other, and our hearts died 
 within us at the frantic sound, but my father 
 called us together and begged the protection of 
 the Almighty in this our hour of peril. 
 
 The evening was closing in when the stran- 
 gers, desisting from their search, dispersed them- 
 selves over the village to seek food and shelter. 
 Three of them, with a man who appeared to be 
 their leader, entered our cottage, and abruptly 
 addressed my father. 
 
 " Well, friend, you seem quite at your ease 
 here while honest men are doing your work in 
 ridding the world of these vile Aristocrats. At 
 least I hope you will give us a supper and night's 
 lodging for our trouble." 
 
THE SABBATH. 105 
 
 " The best our house affords is at your ser- 
 vice ;" said my father mildly, " be seated. 
 Jeannette will you prepare our supper ?" 
 
 With admirable composure our guest proceed- 
 ed to arrange the table, whilst the man went on. 
 
 "A pretty good job you made of that old 
 building, neighbour — why there is not a shed 
 left to shelter a dog! Did you help at that 
 night's work ?" 
 
 " 1 was absent from home at that time/' said 
 my father. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! kept out of the way did you !" 
 
 My* father only called to me to put on plenty 
 of viands. 
 
 " Well, friend, do you say Vive le Roy, or 
 Vive la Constitution." 
 
 " I thought the cry was, i long live the King 
 and the Constitution,' since his Majesty has 
 accepted it. But I am a quiet man and know 
 little of these matters. My friends, supper is 
 ready." 
 
 The strangers had fine appetites, and little was 
 said until supper was despatched. Jacquiline 
 and myself had waited on them, but it was ne- 
 cessary that the Comptesse should remain in the 
 room that there might appear no cause for con- 
 10* 
 
106 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 straint or fear. Alas ! how often did we forget 
 our own terrors in remembering the helpless 
 situation of poor Mademoiselle. 
 
 At the close of supper the leader of the band 
 drew from his greasy pocket a tumbled Journal, 
 and commenced reading it aloud to my father, 
 calling for more wine and becoming evidently 
 intoxicated. In the course of his reading we 
 found it rumoured that the Compte d'Anjou had 
 succeeded in escaping to the frontier, where he 
 had joined the army of the nobility which was 
 forming there, but it was supposed that his wife 
 and daughter were secreted near Paris, and this 
 supposition had brought these fierce wretches on 
 their bloody errand. 
 
 " Come, friend," exclaimed the leader when 
 he had finished his paragraph, " what think you 
 of joining us in our search for the family of this 
 traitor ? I know one in Paris who will pay you 
 handsomely for your work." 
 
 " During the many years which the Comp- 
 tesse resided at the Chateau I never saw her," 
 replied my father, " and I should think it impos- 
 sible for any one in the village to know her per- 
 son with certainty." 
 
 "But how is this, Sir, I am afraid you are 
 
THE SA.BBATH. 107 
 
 not a hearty friend to the good cause ! — Do you 
 not hate this wife of Anjou?" 
 
 " The Comptesse gave us little cause to love 
 or hate her whilst she was among us," — I heard 
 a deep sigh steal from the bosom of the lady 
 who was wiping some drinking cups beside me, 
 — " and this book," he continued, laying his 
 hand on the Bible, " teaches me to hate no 
 one." 
 
 " That book ! what is it! — something that the 
 National Assembly knows nothing of then !" 
 
 My father pointed silently to the title. 
 
 " The Bible ! phew !" with a long whistle— 
 "then you're a Protestant I suppose." At this 
 moment another band of fierce looking men 
 entered, informing their leader that the villagers 
 seemed a dull spiritless set who either knew or 
 would tell nothing ; they had heard there was 
 a strange girl at the mill, and were proceeding 
 thither, but wanted a guide. A faint cry of hor- 
 ror proceeded from the lady, but the agitation of 
 the moment having caused her to cut a deep 
 wound in her hand with a knife she was wiping, 
 all passed off well ; — particularly as Claude 
 volunteered to conduct them to the mill. 
 
 It was nearly midnight before the party re- 
 
108 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 turned, and then they were so brutalized by in- 
 toxication that little could be got from them, 
 except that " the miller and the miller's wife 
 were the best people in France, and the girl no 
 more d'Anjou's daughter than she was theirs ; 
 she had drank their health in a glass of wine." 
 
 It seemed that Dame Dubois had laid her 
 plans well. Loud and long they were obliged 
 to storm at the mill, for the family were appa- 
 rently in the deepest slumber. Finally the old 
 woman's shrill tones were heard at the window 
 demanding their business, and scolding so briskly 
 at being disturbed that no one could be heard but 
 herself. Then deaf Francois unbarred the door, 
 and so happily did the old man's infirmity aid 
 the good cause, that all roaring and threats were 
 misunderstood until his helpmate came to his 
 assistance, and then followed such another tor- 
 rent of scolding that stout hearted as they were, 
 they were fain to sooth her into silence by flat- 
 tery. 
 
 Restored to her good humour, the Dame now 
 insisted upon offering them refreshments, shriek- 
 ing often to her sleeping housemaid to come 
 to her assistance. Amee who had been privately 
 instructed, was long in dressing, and by the 
 
THE SABBATH. 109 
 
 time she appeared so much wine had been con- 
 sumed that their senses were easily deceived ; so 
 after suffering a friendly box on the ear from the 
 Dame for her delay, and drinking a glass of 
 wine with the strangers, she was allowed to 
 creep back to her little bed. 
 
 Several of these men passed the night in our 
 cottage, but Claude stretched himself before our 
 bed-room door, and their loud snoring soon gave 
 us additional assurance of safety. 
 
 To our great relief, they dispersed the next 
 morning, and the destruction that so soon after 
 fell upon us, was mercifully delayed. 
 
110 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 So soon as tranquillity was restored to the 
 village by the departure of the banditti, I took 
 Cadet by the halter and repaired to the mill with 
 some wheat for grinding. I was afraid to carry 
 a note lest I should meet some wanderer from 
 the party which had just quitted us, and as there 
 were generally some of the villagers at the mill, 
 I could not hope to speak to Amee without 
 observation; but the affection of a mother 
 devised a plan for conveying comfort to the 
 bosom of her affrighted child. She gathered a 
 bunch of joinquils,* the emblem of hope with 
 our village girls, and placed them in my bosom 
 for Amee. 
 
 As I had supposed, there was no opportunity 
 for anything more than an intelligent glance 
 between us as I dropped the flowers at her feet. 
 She gathered them hastily and left the room. 
 On seeking old Cadet to depart I found him 
 
 * Memoirs of Mad, De Laroche Jacquelin, 
 
THE SABBATH. Ill 
 
 dressed with a garland of strawberry blossoms 
 and crocuses, which her weeping mother was 
 able to translate into the language of comfort. 
 
 It was very evident from recent events, that 
 our village had excited suspicion, and therefore 
 our poor lady and her daughter must seek 
 another asylum, but yet not together. Whither 
 should they direct their wandering steps ? 
 Their relations and friends were either concealed 
 like themselves in obscurity, or exiles from 
 their country. And since servant and vassal 
 were daily betraying their masters to prison 
 whom could they trust ? Yet an asylum must 
 be found. The unfortunate mother and daugh- 
 ter ventured one parting interview in the acacia 
 thicket near the mill, and the next morning 
 Claude and Jeannette had disappeared, only my 
 father knew whither. 
 
 I shall not pretend to describe the listless sus- 
 pense in which the days rolled over after their 
 departure, nor how anxiously we watched my 
 father's countenance for news of the fugitives. 
 But that venerable countenance ever expressed 
 the tranquil confidence of a christian. "Why 
 should we be anxious for this life ?" he would 
 say. " Is our peace made with God ;— can we 
 
112 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 claim his mercy as redeemed children ! — then 
 welcome the stroke of death, since it releases us 
 at once from the woes of sin, and gives us an 
 inheritance with the saints in light." 
 
 It was on the fifth day after the departure of 
 the fugitives that our village was again disturbed 
 by the shoutings of a band of outlaws conducted 
 by the man who had led the previous party. 
 Passing rapidly through the hamlet, with terrific 
 shouts they surrounded our house and grounds ; 
 some seized and bound the inmates, while 
 others dispersed themselves over the apartment 
 in search of the Comptesse. 
 
 1 dare not, even at this remote time, my chil- 
 dren, describe to you with minuteness the scene 
 that followed. From their angry menaces and 
 reproaches we learned that the peasant, who 
 many months before had conducted the Comp- 
 tesse to our dwelling, either in fear or treachery, 
 had betrayed us. 
 
 My father neither confessed nor denied any- 
 thing they charged him with ; nor would he ac- 
 count for the absence of Jeannette farther than by 
 saying she had returned to her friends. Henri's 
 answers, from his romantic character and high 
 veneration for his lady, were full of lofty indig- 
 
THE SABBATH. 113 
 
 nation ; and true to the enthusiasm with which 
 he had always regarded the fate of his favour- 
 ites, the early martyrs, he seemed almost to 
 court ihe death they threatened. 
 
 Their fates were soon decided. I heard the 
 musket shots which told that I was an orphan, 
 and sunk insensible. 
 
 When I was permitted to return to my recol- 
 lection I found myself, with Jacquiline, in a 
 ruined outhouse on the skirts of the village. A 
 dull red flame was bursting from the roof of our 
 cottage, and the terrific yells of the murderers 
 filled the air. 1 fixed my eyes in wild eager- 
 ness on Jacquiline, hoping that one word from 
 her would tell me I was not so utterly wretched ; 
 — but her tears were my only answer. 
 
 How long it was before I could weep ! How 
 my brain burned with agony, and when tears 
 did fall, how blessed was the relief! Then fol- 
 lowed thoughts of comfort. My father was 
 taken from me, but he had left me an inheritance 
 richer than the estates of Anjou !— I knew that 
 death was not an " eternal sleep," as my coun- 
 trymen, whose crimes had made them wish it 
 so, afterward proclaimed it ; I knew he was but 
 as one who had arrived at a pleasant home, 
 11 
 
114 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 where I should one day join him; — and for 
 Henri, — dear, dear Henri ! was it not written 
 "thy brother shall rise again!" It was true, 
 and the blessed thought filled me with triumph. 
 The precepts of philosophy may reconcile man 
 to death, but the Christian religion can alone 
 make it joyous. 
 
 The poor villagers suffered deeply for the pas- 
 sive part they had taken in the concealment of their 
 lady, as the dry roofs of many of their cottages 
 took fire from the flying brands, and the nearest 
 were reduced to ashes. It wanted little but this 
 to bring them to despair, and amidst the stun- 
 ning effects of my own deep grief, I still vividly 
 remember their mournful cries, as they pointed 
 to the smouldering ruins of their once happy 
 homes. 
 
 Jacquiline's character made her admirably 
 calculated to be my friend at this moment of 
 desolation. Unlike most Frenchwomen, her 
 sensibilities were not quick, but she had an 
 abundance of quiet good sense which knew 
 exactly how to act with prudence at the right 
 moment. She was a most notable housekeeper, 
 and a firm believer in the excellence of her 
 master's judgment. Happily these two points 
 
THE SABBATH. 115 
 
 of character tended to her preservation at that 
 terrible moment. Devoted to the neatness of 
 her house, and the care of her master's property 
 it was a matter of indifference to her whether 
 the people cried, " Vive le Roy" or " Vive 
 la Republique," for indeed she scarcely knew 
 the difference. My father's will had been her 
 law, and her total ignorance of his plans had 
 saved her from sharing his fate. 
 
 Incapable, from grief and inexperience of 
 forming any plans for myself, I turned to Jac- 
 quiline as to a mother, and in two days from 
 that terrible one Amee and myself, by her good 
 management, were riding on either side of her 
 to Paris ! 
 
 It was a bold thought to carry the daughter 
 of the exiled Compte into the midst of his 
 enemies ; but Jacquiline rightly judged that 
 amidst the millions of people inhabiting that vast 
 city, three poor strangers might more readily 
 dwell unmolested than in a small village. Be- 
 side, she had a brother residing in one of the 
 obscure streets of Paris, a man of quiet disposi- 
 tion like herself, who had managed thus far to 
 live in tranquillity when all around was excite- 
 
116 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 ment ;— with him she proposed that we should 
 take refuge. 
 
 " But Amee !" I exclaimed when she un- 
 folded her plans to me. 
 
 " Be quiet, poor child !" she said — " it is all 
 settled — she accomnanies us." 
 
THE SABBATH, 117 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A journey to Paris would, under any other 
 circumstances, have been full of interest to two 
 young girls secluded as Amee and myself had 
 been, but recent suffering had so benumbed 
 the powers of my mind that I rode on almost 
 indifferent to passing events, and I believe my 
 companion felt little less than myself. I now 
 remember what I scarcely observed then, that 
 the road presented all the appearances of a dis- 
 ordered country. Occasionally we met with 
 the ruins of burned Chateaux or villages ; the 
 lands lay uncultivated ; dams breaking through 
 their barriers from neglect had turned fine 
 meadows into stagnant ponds. In some places 
 the harvest fields of the preceding year had been 
 burned, and the scorched stubble could be seen 
 among the tender green of the young grain. 
 Every where families were conveying their 
 goods in the little donkey carts of the country, 
 11* 
 
118 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 or on mules, and men were standing in groups 
 talking with fierce gesticulations. 
 
 We travelled in a little cart of our own which 
 had escaped the destruction, and Jacquiline was 
 our only earthly guide and protector. Through 
 her prudence we were mercifully preserved from 
 insult or injury, and on the morning of the 
 second day we reached the barriers of Paris. 
 
 Jacquiline having observed some of the horses' 
 heads decked with the tri-coloured cockade, 
 worn by those who favoured the revolution, had 
 taken the precaution to purchase one for old 
 Cadet, pinning gaudy breast knots of the same 
 upon Amee and myself, while a cockade even 
 larger than Cadet's ornamented her own head 
 dress, and this trifle gave us safety. We rattled 
 over the broad paving stones, and through rows 
 of palaces as they seemed to me, while the 
 crowds of human beings pressing along on either 
 side of us, the jostling with carts and carriages 
 of every description, was terrifying to us poor 
 homeless orphans, and forgetting that the circum- 
 stances of our different families had ever forbid- 
 den such intimacy, we clung together in helpless 
 affright. 
 
THE -SABBATH. 119 
 
 The street in which stood our new home was 
 very narrow, with tall houses lining it, inhabited 
 chiefly by persons occupying apartments, but 
 all communicating by one general entrance. 
 At the door of a little glover's shop our vehicle 
 stopped. We were left a long time sitting in 
 the wagon, nor do I yet know what arguments 
 Jacquiline made use of to induce her brother 
 to receive us, but at length we were intro- 
 duced into a comfortless back room, and from 
 thence up several nights of stairs to a little attic, 
 which, unfurnished as it was, became cheerful 
 in our eyes from contrast with the apartment 
 which first received us, for the bright sun could 
 here throw his beams, unchecked by neighbour- 
 ing walls. 
 
 Jacquiline was not a woman of many words, 
 but when we were fairly established in our 
 little room, the good creature gave way to a flow 
 of conversation such as I had never heard from 
 her before. A thousand times we embraced her ; 
 we clung to her in the helplessness of our orphan 
 state, and with streaming eyes begged bless- 
 ings upon her. Amee's sweet face brightened 
 with cheerful hope, and she entered readily into 
 
120 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 all Jacquiline's plans. Saving in her habits, and 
 simple in her wants, the good woman had long 
 ago sewed fifty louts d'or, the price of many 
 years' labour, in the hem of her striped petticoat, 
 and this she showed us as the promise of future 
 support. She would furnish our little room, in 
 which was a sleeping closet for herself; and 
 her brother would give us employment at sew- 
 ing gloves. He had no family, kept no com- 
 pany, thought very little of any thing but get- 
 ting rich, and she had no doubt we should be 
 perfectly safe. Necessary comforts were pro- 
 cured for us in the course of the day, and that 
 night Amee and myself sobbed ourselves to sleep 
 in each other's arms. 
 
 Nothing scarcely could have been more dull 
 than the whole course of our residence in Paris, 
 more entirely wanting in all those gay excite- 
 ments, those affectionate endearments, which 
 childhood and youth languish for. From the 
 earliest sunlight which streamed through our 
 uncurtained windows, until a late hour at night, 
 we toiled with trembling fingers for our avarici- 
 ous landlord, who seemed to exact more labour 
 in proportion to the danger of secreting us. The 
 
TUB SABBATH, 121 
 
 very small pittance he allowed just sufficed to 
 furnish us with the coarsest food, and humblest 
 clothing ; but in our quiet attic we could hear 
 far off the trampings of the furious mob, the 
 rolling of cannon, and the shouts of lawless 
 victory, undisturbed by the fears of personal 
 safety ; and the trials through which both had 
 passed had long since quenched every girlish 
 desire for change or amusement. 
 
 But with what sweet patience did the lovely 
 Amee endure all this, and when at length I 
 learned to weep less violently over the recollec- 
 tion of my murdered father and brother, how 
 did her gentle consolations soothe my griefs, and 
 her courageous example fortify my young spirit. 
 Our common misfortunes caused us to forget all 
 the distinctions of rank, while we clung to Jac- 
 quiline as to a parent, and trusted implicitly to 
 her discretion. 
 
 We never dared allude to our dear village or 
 the events of our childhood in speech, lest our 
 conversation should be overheard by our neigh- 
 bours in the next attic ; but we often relieved the 
 bursting fulness of our hearts by signs and writ- 
 ing, particularly on Sunday, when released from 
 
122 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 labour, Amee loved to read the counsels and in- 
 structions which my beloved father had so di- 
 ligently impressed upon my mind, now occur- 
 ing to me as sacred commands, sealed by his 
 blood ; and not unfrequently the good Cure's 
 name would appear, as we mutually imparted 
 the instructions of these sainted ones. 
 
 We had been in Paris six weary weeks, and 
 had yet received no intelligence of the Comp- 
 tesse or Claude, when old M. Dubois in a sud- 
 den fit of gratitude for some particularly neat 
 work executed by Amee's slender fingers, pro- 
 posed to his sister that we should visit the 
 Champ de Mars, where a public celebration 
 was to be held. A body of laws, supposed to 
 be suitable to the present condition of France, 
 had been formed by the Assembly, and accepted 
 by the King a year previous to this. To give 
 this acceptance greater importance it was pro- 
 posed that it should be performed amidst the 
 representatives of France, with suitable solemni- 
 ties ; and the nation was now about to celebrate 
 the Anniversary of this important event. 
 
 Timid as we were, and indisposed from re- 
 cent grief for sights of mere amusement, Jac- 
 
THE SABBATH. 123 
 
 quiline yet did not think it prudent for us both 
 to decline her brother's rare civilities, and I, as 
 least in danger of discovery, proceeded with M. 
 Dubois and her to the Champ de Mars. 
 
 The bands of representatives, amounting to 
 several thousands, with appropriate banners, 
 moved through the various streets, and at length 
 reached the square where an immense crowd of 
 persons were assembled. A fantastic Altar had 
 been erected in the centre ; around this were 
 pitched pikes, surmounted by floating banners, 
 loaded with emblems of feelings which, existed 
 nowhere but in the excited imaginations of their 
 enthusiastic contrivers. The brilliant dresses 
 of the troops, the glistening of sabres, the rich 
 strains of music poured at once from more than 
 a thousand instruments, made it a scene of rare 
 gaiety and splendour, particularly when a July 
 sun suddenly poured its streaming rays upon us, 
 and yet the poor King was sad and dispirited. 
 He mounted the Altar while a few voices shouted 
 vive le Roi, alas ! his people saw him no more 
 until he appeared on the scaffold which French- 
 men had raised for him ! 
 
 It was at the moment when the firing of can- 
 
124 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 non announced the closing of the spectacle, and 
 when all was frantic joy, men congratulating 
 and embracing each other, women shouting forth 
 their pleasure with tears and laughter, that I felt 
 a hand placed upon my shoulder. I looked up, 
 and with an unheeded scream of joyful surprise 
 beheld my brother Claude. Protection, safety, 
 and happiness for an instant seemed to be mine ; 
 but alas ! these were not the times for indulging 
 the gentler emotions of the heart ; a hasty em- 
 brace, a whispered farewell, and Claude was 
 gone, unperceived even by Jacquiline ; but he 
 left a paper in my grasp which I easily concealed 
 in my jacket until safe with my friends in our 
 garret, I ventured to draw it forth. 
 
 It was written in the most guarded manner, 
 yet we gathered from it that Jeannette had been 
 conveyed to a place of present safety with a re- 
 lative of the Cure's in a distant town. Poor 
 Claude did not reach his desolate home until 
 long after our departure ; for he had taken a 
 circuitous route lest Jeannette might be traced 
 through him ; and a torn journal which he picked 
 up in the road informed him of the fate of his 
 father and brother, 
 
THE SABBATH. 125 
 
 " Three nights," said he, "I spent npon the 
 beloved graves ; but in the darkness and danger 
 my father's God watched over me, and filled my 
 heart with sweeter thoughts than those of re- 
 venge." 
 
 Some faithful person, the deaf miller we 
 supposed, informed him of our flight, and as it 
 had ever been my father's advice that Jacqui- 
 line should seek her brother's protection in an 
 event like that which had occurred, he suspected 
 our retreat and hastened to Paris. Here he had 
 hovered about us, yet afraid to approach lest he 
 should bring upon us the ruin which threatened 
 himself, until the celebration of the Champ de 
 Mars gave the coveted opportunity. He would 
 fain linger near to us or Jeannette, he said, 
 but dared not. An army was marching to 
 the frontiers of France, composed of the exiled 
 nobles, and foreign powers who wished to res- 
 cue the King from his dangerous situation; 
 this, on the morrow, he would set out to join, 
 hoping in a few months to bring us freedom 
 from the reign of irreligion and anarchy. 
 
 I confess that Claude's resolution did not 
 inspire me with the same pleasure it gave to 
 12 
 
126 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 Amee. Perhaps the difference was caused by 
 our education. Amee was the descendant of 
 princes and heroes ; she loved to think over the 
 warlike deeds of her ancestry ; but mine, who 
 were bloodless martyrs, knew far better how to 
 endure than conquer. 
 
 And now all hope of change, or restoration to 
 the pure air and simple pleasures of village life, 
 jwere over, and we contemplated the imprison- 
 ing roofs and tall chimnies of Paris with dismay. 
 But it was not to occupy you with the uninte- 
 resting memoirs of two lonely girls that I sat 
 down to write this narrative, but to warn my 
 grandchildren, while I have still the power, of 
 allowing vice or irreligion to overspread the 
 land; and I hasten now to more public events. 
 
THE SABBATH. 127 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 It was true, as Claude had stated, that a vic- 
 torious army, composed of exiles and foreigners, 
 were marching towards Paris ; and the friends 
 of true liberty in France, with the long oppress- 
 ed peasant, if conquered, had equal reason to 
 dread the re-establishment of those unjust laws 
 which had crushed them so long. It was true 
 also, that their timid King in secret feared to 
 grant them that reasonable share of liberty, to 
 which every man who breathes the common air 
 has a right from his Creator ; and therefore his 
 subjects too hastily condemned him as their 
 enemy ; as one who, whatever his words might 
 be, could not help wishing the success of that 
 army which threatened their liberties. When, 
 therefore, the Duke of Brunswick, commander 
 of that army, most unwisely threatened to burn 
 the towns and villages, to put the inhabitants to 
 the sword where the slightest resistance should 
 be made, and to Paris itself almost total exter- 
 
128 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 urination should the King suffer any wrong, the 
 whole populace rose in frantic rage to pour ou 
 the meek head of Louis the full measure of their 
 wrath. 
 
 A slight insurrection had taken place previous 
 to our arrival in Paris, in which the King had 
 calmly submitted to the bitterest indignities from 
 the lower orders of the people, which are more 
 degraded and turbulent there than in almost any 
 other European city. Unopposed by the guards 
 who affected to defend the palace, they had burst 
 open the gates with sledge-hammers, and made 
 their way unchecked through halls, once sacred 
 to their former oppressors, the long line of the 
 Bourbons, into the presence of the King, with 
 horrid shouts and yells of triumph, with glisten- 
 ing pikes and frightful emblems of violence and 
 death. The gentle-hearted Prince opened the 
 door of his apartment to them with his own 
 hands, and had nearly been pierced through by 
 a bayonet in doing so. The Queen, the princi- 
 pal object of their hatred, was eagerly sought 
 for, and several pikes were thrust at the King's 
 sister in mistake, when some one cried out that 
 it was Madam Elizabeth; "Why," exclaimed 
 
THE SABBATH. 129 
 
 the excellent woman, " did you undeceive them ! 
 it might have saved my sister's life." 
 
 It would seem, as is too often the case in 
 times of lawless disorder, that hone knew ex- 
 actly why they had come together, except to 
 insult those who were too weak to resist. One 
 threw an old red cap at the king ; it was a fa- 
 vourite badge with the lower orders 5 he quietly 
 drew it on. Another thrust a bottle of wine 
 into his hand, commanding him to drink to the 
 nation. All the whims of the mob having been 
 complied with by the royal family, it thought 
 fit to withdraw. Alas ! it is to be feared this 
 was only a trial of their strength, and its suc- 
 cess did but encourage them to worse measures. 
 
 The ill-judged threats of the Duke of Bruns- 
 wick, only serving to excite the anger of the dis- 
 affected all over France, thousands crowded to 
 Paris under the name of federates, the most 
 distinguished of which were those from the city 
 of Marseilles. For some time we observed the 
 city to become more and more disturbed. Bands 
 of armed men singing the most exciting words, 
 which they dignified by the name of a hymn 
 in praise of liberty, paraded the streets day and 
 night, insulting the Swiss guards, corrupting the 
 12* 
 
130 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 fidelity of the national troops, and committing 
 outrages upon all who ventured to be moderate. 
 Their loud shouts rose even to the walls of our 
 little attic, and I often shuddered as I fancied 
 them the voices of my father's murderers. 
 
 At length, on the morning of the 10th of Au- 
 gust, we were awakened from our slumbers by 
 the melancholy tolling of bells from the steeples. 
 M. Dubois soon after rushed into our little apart- 
 ment, declaring that none who wished for safety 
 must cross the threshold, for the city was in a 
 state of insurrection. Throughout that terrible 
 day we heard the tramping of hasty feet, the 
 noise of cannon, the shouts of the mob, but so 
 distant, for happily we were in a very obscure 
 part of that vast city, that it seemed only like 
 the far-off roarings of the ocean. M. Dubois' 
 charge was an unnecessary one to us, We 
 clung weeping to our faithful old friend, or knelt 
 in prayer to the God of the orphan, through the 
 whole of the tedious hours, but to us they wore 
 over in safety. 
 
 Our landlord carefully bolted and barred his 
 shop, retired to the little den behind; and when 
 his panic had subsided, employed himself in 
 cutting out gloves as composedly as if there 
 
THE SABBATH. 131 
 
 were no higher interests on earth than increas- 
 ing his petty gains, — no noble lives in peril. 
 
 The whole force of the mob was directed 
 against the palace of the Tuilleries, where the 
 royal family resided. The Swiss guards has- 
 tened to its defence, and a few hundreds of the 
 nobility and gentlemen rallied around the King 
 at this terrible moment ; but, alas ! they were 
 only the aged too feeble for flight, or the youth 
 too helpless for defence. The insurgents press- 
 ed forward ; the troops about the castle awaited 
 them firmly, but the good-hearted King could 
 not bear that the blood of Frenchmen should flow 
 on his account ; so after hours of indetermina- 
 tion and useless council, he hastened to throw 
 himself and his terrified family upon the protec- 
 tion of the National Assembly, a body composed 
 of his enemies too wicked to protect him, or 
 friends too feeble to protect themselves. 
 
 On foot, unguarded, pressed upon every side 
 by the most degraded beings, the royal family 
 took their way to the hall of the National As- 
 sembly, exposed to the taunts and abuse of the 
 worthless ; the little children weeping and ter- 
 rified, sometimes dragging their wearied feet 
 after their parents, sometimes quite separated 
 
132 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 from them by the vile mob ; pikes and bayonets 
 were thrust at the meek sufferers, but they were 
 calmly put aside, and thus they entered the hall. 
 
 The unhappy family had a little closet or en- 
 closure, a few feet square, coldly granted to them 
 by their protectors, and here they remained hun- 
 gry, thirsty, and weary for fourteen hours. The 
 young Dauphin, overcome with fatigue, dropped 
 asleep in his mother's arms; but his noble sister, 
 just old enough to comprehend something of the 
 sorrows and indignities of her parents, sat be- 
 side her mother bathed in tears. 
 
 Shortly after the departure of the King, the 
 mob succeeded in entering the palace, and a ter- 
 rible scene of slaughter and outrage followed. 
 The ladies who waited upon the Queen were 
 spared at the moment the sword was glittering 
 over their heads. All of the King's friends who 
 did not succeed in hiding themselves, were mur- 
 dered. The private apartments were pillaged, 
 the magnificent furniture was dashed to pieces, 
 and at last fire was applied to whatever could be 
 consumed, whilst the hideous monsters who 
 had produced this horrible scene danced round 
 it in fiendish intoxication. 
 
 The royal family was sought for all over the 
 
THE SABBATH. 133 
 
 streets of Paris, and the houses of their friends were 
 entered and searched without the smallest cere- 
 mony, death being the certain fate of those who 
 made the least resistance. The few Swiss who 
 escaped by deeds of valour, were carried to 
 prison to expire there by even more terrible 
 treachery. 
 
 This is a horrible chapter, and it is painful to 
 turn the eye of youth toward such enormities ; 
 but the heart of man is ever the same, and simi- 
 lar scenes may be acted wherever long oppres- 
 sion is succeeded by irreligion and lawless 
 liberty. 
 
134 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Whilst these and worse scenes of horror 
 were taking place, Araee and myself were quiet- 
 ly pursuing our employment in the garret of M. 
 Dubois. We should probably have been igno- 
 rant of much that was passing in the mighty city, 
 for Jacquiline was always silent on what she 
 heard or saw abroad, and we never ventured 
 into the street, but that the adjoining attic was 
 taken about this time by a shoemaker and his 
 wife, who were violent revolutionists. The 
 man attended a nightly club where discontent 
 and ignorance constantly poured forth their re- 
 bellious complaints ; from whence he generally 
 returned angry and noisy, to repeat to his wife 
 the ferocious threats of his companions and 
 leaders. We were generally startled by his loud 
 voice from our peaceful slumbers earned by hard 
 toil, describing minutely the horrors of each day, 
 or pouring out threats on Monsieur and Madam 
 Veto, as they bitterly nicknamed the I£ing and 
 
THE SABBATH. 135 
 
 Queen. We would then pray fervently to our 
 Heavenly Parent for protection, and clasping each 
 other tightly, in our consciousness of utter weak- 
 ness, would silently weep ourselves into a sleep, 
 broken perhaps by visions of violence and blood. 
 
 We had now been some months in our con- 
 cealment. Occasionally I had ventured abroad 
 with Jacquiline to the baker's for a roll, or to de- 
 liver a pacqnet of gloves for M. Dubois, when 
 my confinement would become intolerable ; but 
 poor Amee feared to show herself in the crowd. 
 At length the effects of constant toil and want 
 of exercise began to change her appearance. 
 She grew thin and emaciated, her step was 
 languid, and her eye lost its brightness. 
 
 " O my dear Manon," she would say, "if I 
 could have but one ramble in the free green 
 woods ; one dance upon the open sward with the 
 sweet cool air blowing around me ; — but these 
 roofs and chimneys, these high walls, — they 
 choke me, — I cannot breathe here." 
 
 Our food too was scanty and coarse ; for the 
 immense number of strangers crowded into 
 Paris at this time, the neglected state of agri- 
 culture since the farmers had turned politicians, 
 joined to the artificial scarcity caused by the ter- 
 
136 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 rors of our expected siege, raised the price of 
 bread until it was almost impossible to purchase 
 it. The little roll, coarse, black, and except to 
 a keen appetite, utterly untempting, which Jac- 
 quiline laid upon our table every morning, grew 
 perceptibly smaller, and we were fain to satisfy 
 our hunger at dinner time with a little salad or a 
 few chesnuts, with occasionally the rarity of an 
 omelette ; supper was a thing not to thought of. 
 Frantic cries of " bread," "bread," often rose 
 from the street beneath, for it was quite a usual 
 thing for the mob during this reign of reason to 
 surround the bakeries at any particular time of 
 scarcity, and on the report or supposition that 
 their piasters had accumulated a quantity of flour 
 for private speculation, madly scatter the whole 
 store into the Seine, while the unfortunate vic- 
 tims themselves not unfrequently suffered a vio- 
 lent death. 
 
 It was so evident that Amee was sinking 
 under this mode of life, that Jacquiline deter- 
 mined at all risks she should leave her garret for 
 a short time every day. Born a peasant, I had 
 n& hew character to support. The wooden 
 ■:sh9es and clumsy trudge of that class of people 
 were natural to me, and I had all the twanging 
 
THE SABBATH. 137 
 
 patois of a country village in my speech. But 
 to poor Amee all this must be assumed ; and 
 though she was unwearied in practising all the 
 defeats of speech or gait which were necessary 
 to complete her disguise, her native elegance 
 could no more be subdued than her taper fingers 
 or slender foot could be changed. 
 
 " I shall bring ruin upon you all!" she would 
 often exclaim in tears, discouraged by her vain 
 efforts. " I shall certainly bring ruin upon you 
 ma bonne— upon you too my kind sister. O, 
 why has man stamped with his hatred whatever 
 is elegant and graceful." 
 
 Being nearly sixteen she was growing quite 
 tall too, and with all the advantages which the 
 custom of wearing short petticoats allowed, it 
 was impossible to make her present wardrobe 
 fit for the street. But a stuff gown of Jacqui- 
 line's was quickly altered to suit, a new short 
 gown was purchased from our hoarded loiiis d'or, 
 and Amee herself manufactured a tasteful cap, 
 which yet gave her the appearance of being 
 several years older than she was. Clumsy 
 leather shoes, chosen purposely to impede tier 
 gait and give her an awkward movement, blue 
 knit stockings with red clocks, a handkerchief 
 13 
 
138 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 thrown over her head, and a deeper tinge of the 
 walnut dye, completed Amee's costume. Our 
 fear would have led us to select the twilight of 
 morning for the walk, but it was more necessary 
 in those times to avoid suspicion than open 
 danger ; so with a throbbing heart poor Amee 
 emerged from her hiding place at midday, fol- 
 lowing Jacquiline's strides with a bundle of work 
 in her hand. 
 
 My little boys will imagine how I spent the 
 first hour of my companions' absence, for they 
 remember their own terrors and suspense last 
 year when news was brought to us that a 
 prowling wolf had been seen in the forest, 
 through which their little sister had gone to 
 school ; and like their joy when her careless 
 laugh was heard as she sprung from behind a 
 sumach hedge where she had hidden in her 
 mirth and happy ignorance, was mine when I 
 heard Jacquiline's heavy tread on the stairs. 
 
 From that time the walks were continued, 
 and Amee's health and spirits rapidly improved. 
 She had a lively courageous spirit, which was 
 rather pleased to struggle with difficulties for the 
 delight of overcoming them ; and the hope of 
 meeting the Comptesse in these daily walks 
 
THE SABBATH. 139 
 
 never left her. " Beside," she would say, " it 
 prepares me for the future, Man oil. Jacquiline 
 cannot remain with us always, and even M. 
 Dubois' stock of gloves which seem to our weary 
 fingers inexhaustible, as he crawls up stairs 
 every morning with a package for mademoiselles, 
 or, as the new term is, the citoyennes, each a 
 little larger than the last, even these will cease 
 in time — -and then whither shall we turn ? Is 
 it not wisdom to prepare the mind for every 
 event. Ah, my dear M anon, I have such charm- 
 ing plans in my little head, all coming from 
 these walks which you grieve over. When we 
 are grown up women our louis cVor will help 
 us to open a little store for the sale of flowers. 
 I can make them very prettily, and you, my 
 Manon, shall do nothing but wander in the green 
 woods and gather my models for me — will not 
 that bring back your smiles again. Or you shall 
 turn violet girl and live amidst fresh air and per- 
 fume. Any thing rather than this hot garret, 
 this monotonous toil." 
 
 And thus with sweet hopes for the future 
 would the dear young lady beguile the present, 
 and gild our prison with sunny smiles. 
 
140 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Our noisy neighbour, the shoemaker, who 
 with thousands of others was supported by the 
 Mayor and Police of Paris for acting as an 
 informer or searcher out of suspicious charac- 
 ters for imprisonment, kept us informed of 
 much that was taking place in the great city ; but 
 it w T as not until some time after all this terror and 
 confusion had subsided, and men began calmly 
 to review the events of those times, that I 
 acquired a clear knowledge of all the indignities 
 practised upon the meek king from the time of 
 the destruction of the Tuilleries until his 
 death. 
 
 You have been told how his nobility, who 
 should have protected him from the consequences 
 of hatred which themselves had roused, had 
 sought for their own safety in flight. Some, 
 dispersed in other lands, calmly awaited the con- 
 vulsions of their country ; others, more nobly 
 but not wisely, united their small means, and 
 
THE SABBATH. 141 
 
 forming an army headed by one of his brothers, 
 joined the Austrians and Prussians, then invad- 
 ing France, and poured their first revenge on 
 those parts which least deserved it. Although 
 Louis, as head of the French nation, had pub- 
 lished declarations of war against these powers, 
 no one gave him credit for sincerity. The gene- 
 ral impression which the experience of former 
 reigns had produced, was that kings must be 
 tyrants by a sort of necessity of their station ; for 
 the laws of France had fashioned their monarchs 
 into such, at least to the lower classes ; it was 
 therefore judged that whatever his words might 
 be, Louis could not but wish success to the 
 arms of those who were to restore to him the 
 privileges of his family. 
 
 The very sacredness of his person as King, 
 which according to the absurd regulations of 
 European governments, was kept up by forms 
 of restriction and reserve from the society of 
 other human beings except those in whose 
 veins the blood of kings and princes wandered, 
 prevented the good and kind of the kingdom, a 
 still numerous class, from knowing how like his 
 thoughts and feelings were to their own. And 
 it was not until reverses of fortune, poverty, im- 
 13* 
 
142 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 prisonment, and outrage, by throwing the meek 
 Prince among them, gave opportunities for 
 knowing him better, that they really loved or 
 pitied the victim which it was then too late to 
 save. 
 
 But my remarks precede my narrative. 
 
 On the evening of the fatal 10th of August, 
 and within the hearing of the royal family, it 
 was decided in the National Assembly that the 
 King was dethroned by the will of the people — 
 they had long acted without the slightest refer- 
 ence to the will of God ; — but although reduced 
 to the rank of an ordinary citizen, as an enemy 
 to the country he must be detained a prisoner. 
 They were accordingly removed to a few con- 
 tracted apartments, and except when night 
 brought its friendly slumbers, were never free 
 from the intolerable presence of a guard, who 
 reported to his masters their every action and 
 word. As these were often chosen from the 
 lowest of the people, every insult which brutal 
 malice could devise was offered to the noble 
 prisoners. The ordinary civilities of life were 
 thrown aside; brutal scrawls deformed the walls 
 of their apartments ; the heads of their slaughter- 
 ed friends were carried by their windows with 
 
THE SABBATH. 143 
 
 songs of triumph. If they sought the air within 
 the narrow enclosure they were allowed to 
 traverse, the guards puffed filthy tobacco smoke 
 into the faces of the ladies, or insulted their ears 
 with low abuse. But all this was born with a 
 gentle dignity that has spread a lustre round the 
 names of Louis and Mario Antoinette, scarcely 
 less than that which gilds the memories of the 
 holy martyrs. 
 
 They passed the weary months of captivity 
 in the quiet pleasures of domestic love. The 
 Dauphin, a gentle little creature of five years 
 old, was instructed by his father while the ladies 
 worked, and the evenings were spent in reading. 
 They separated early, and always with tears 
 and embraces, as those who might not be allow r - 
 ed to see each other again. At last the rigor of 
 their jailors deprived them of all sharp utensils. 
 Their clothing fell into rags, which they were 
 no longer able to repair ; the King's neglected 
 beard added to their appearance of distress ; 
 while the poor Queen was too happy to accept 
 the clothing which the charity of an English lady 
 sent to her. 
 
 But while these indignities were patiently 
 endured within the walls of the Temple, with- 
 
144 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 out all was anarchy. The moderate people of 
 the country, the philosophers, the friends of the 
 reign of reason, had no longer bonds with which 
 to restrain the furious mass that their own hands 
 had roused and moulded. Religion, the author- 
 ity of God, was acknowledged no longer, and 
 unfortunately it was found that no man's reason 
 agreed with that of his neighbour. The soldier 
 was taught by those who would corrupt him, 
 that his reason made him independent of the 
 orders of his general ; the reason of the civil 
 authorities of Paris placed them above the 
 Assembly, which had been chosen for the 
 government and welfare of the whole country ; 
 and the reason of the secret clubs which existed 
 in every part of France, taught them by threats 
 and slaughter to triumph over the whole. 
 
 How this reign of reason acted in private on 
 families, on parent and child, on master and 
 servant, I had no opportunity for observing ; but 
 I know that long before its close, our patriotic 
 shoemaker and his wife had separated in quarrels 
 and disgust, each to seek a new partner accord- 
 ing to the dictates of reason. 
 
 But the sufferings of our meek hearted King 
 were approaching an end. The Jacobin party 
 
THE SABBATH. 145 
 
 having completely triumphed over their former 
 teachers, the infidel philosophers, he was indict- 
 ed at the bar of the House like a common 
 prisoner. I have not room here for an account 
 of that trial which I hope you will seek for in 
 larger works, and weep over as I have often 
 done, receiving beneficial impressions of patient 
 rectitude from one, who gave nobler lessons to 
 man at the close of his life, than he perhaps 
 would have done had it rolled on in the prosper- 
 ous course of his ancestors. A great man has 
 said, that:?." the good, like chamomile, give out 
 most perfume when trodden on." 
 
 His counsel plead nobly for him, but of what 
 use were arguments when his judges had settled 
 his fate before he was brought to trial : he was 
 sentenced to death as the secret enemy of his 
 country, to which he had been the first of his 
 line to offer freedom. 
 
 His execution took place in twenty-four hours 
 after sentence had been passed upon him. Our 
 tears flowed freely as our neighbour described 
 the scene to his wife, but we were forced to 
 stifle our sobs lest they should provoke his 
 attention. From his account it would appear 
 that the good King could not take his leave of 
 
146 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 earth and earth's familiar objects, without visible 
 emotion. It would seem too that he scarcely 
 believed his subjects would really shed his 
 blood. He pressed forward to the front of the 
 scaffold and would have addressed the spectators, 
 but the loud beating of drums drowned his voice. 
 He submitted to the instrument of death. " Son 
 of St. Louis, ascend to heaven !" cried the attend- 
 ing clergyman, and the meekest head that ever 
 wore a crown rolled from the bleeding trunk. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! and this was done by French- 
 men—by my countrymen ! Yes, they were 
 Frenchmen, it is true ; but they were only a 
 part of that unlicensed mob which exists all over 
 the world ; held in order in most places by the 
 beneficial laws and presence of wiser and better 
 men, but ready for the same acts of violence 
 when that restraint is withdrawn, 
 
THE SABBATH. 147 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The second winter of our abode in Paris 
 wore on, and still we heard nothing of Claude 
 or the Comptesse. The invading armies had 
 been unsuccessful. The emigrant nobility having 
 thus sacrificed all the means which the Revolution 
 at home had left them, were forced to wander 
 into other countries, and there earn a scanty 
 livelihood either by the military profession, or 
 by some of the accomplishments acquired in 
 their days of prosperity. If such was the fate 
 of the leaders, where were those who, like 
 Claude, were too humble for encouragement in 
 foreign lands* 
 
 I think the silent sufferings of that winter are 
 more deeply impressed upon my memory than 
 those of any other period. It was not that we 
 were molested in our retreat, nor were any 
 acts of violence committed in our presence ; but 
 we could hope no longer. We had ever looked 
 
148 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 to the success of these armies as the means 
 which would restore us to all that we had been 
 deprived of; to Amee, rank, wealth, and a 
 mother's embrace, to me, a brother and pro- 
 tector. But the dream was over and our fate 
 seemed fixed. 
 
 With our dangerous neighbour always ready 
 to earn a few livres by denouncing, as the act 
 of the informer was called, we dared not trust 
 ourselves in conversation, lest some allusion, 
 some word might trace our dangerous connec- 
 tion with the house of Anjou. Neither dared 
 we fully express to each other the sickening 
 fears that filled our young hearts. Amee's 
 walks were still continued, and she still searched 
 for the dear features of a mother from whom she 
 had been separated so long, but it was ever 
 with disappointment ; and sometimes a burst of 
 gushing tears on her return, would tell the bit- 
 ter sorrow that filled her heart. Our intolera- 
 ble confinement and scanty food had been borne 
 at first with cheerfulness, because like inex- 
 perienced children as we were, we believed that 
 relief would arrive speedily from some quar- 
 ter ; but month after month, year after year 
 
THE SABBATH. 149 
 
 passed over, and we were still immured 
 in the little garret ; still the morning sun 
 rose to see us at our joyless labour, and 
 when he descended we stretched ourselves 
 upon our humble beds, glad to lose in slumber 
 the painful thoughts that oppressed us. 
 
 What should we have been there without our 
 mutual love, and firm confidence in God, sus- 
 tained to us through prayer and the constant 
 reading of the Holy Scriptures ! O, that all 
 the sufferers of those times had known as we 
 did, the way to those sacred rills of comforts ! 
 
 I shall best carry on my narrative of the 
 course of events in France if I continue here 
 the story of the Comptesse after she had left 
 Marie la Bonne, as she related them to us 
 herself, when we were at last restored to each 
 other. 
 
 The relative of the Cur6 with whom she 
 took refuge was a timid man, and the lady soon 
 perceived that her asylum was very insecure, 
 particularly when some change in the army 
 brought a detachment of troops into her neigh- 
 bourhood. Whilst considering where to seek 
 another hiding place, Claude found means to see 
 14 
 
150 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 her, on his way to the frontier, and acquainted 
 her with the terrible events which had taken 
 place at the village, with his visit to Paris, 
 
 and our safety. The Comptesse saw plainly 
 that Mam'selle Julie was safest when separated 
 from her, and though suffering all a mother's 
 grief at the resolution, she determined to keep 
 as distant as possible from the hiding place 
 of her daughter, sure that she might confide in 
 Jacquiline's prudence, until more peaceful times 
 should unite them, and these she believed were 
 not far distant. 
 
 But where should she hide her own poor 
 head '.—Claude refused to leave her until she 
 should be in safety, and anxiety for him made 
 her decide quickly. 
 
 * The earliest years of her life had been spent 
 in a very pleasant district in France called La 
 Vendee where her father had a small estate for 
 hunting. Now the early devotion felt by the 
 peasant for his lord, which I have described to 
 you in the commencement of this tale, from 
 some circumstances continued to exist in La 
 Vendee long after it ceased, or had grown cool, 
 in all other parts of the country. All the inter- 
 
THE SABBATH. 151 
 
 esting features of this attachment were preserved 
 at this time in La Vendee in particular beauty. 
 The nobility and gentry being generally too 
 poor for the extravagancies of Paris, resided on 
 their estates, and cultivated the affections of 
 their simple people by their own virtue and 
 kindness, while these amply repaid them by the 
 most devoted service. Consequently, the flames 
 of discord which were ravaging, all other parts 
 of France, had not yet reached this little dis- 
 trict. La Vendee was still in a state of pro- 
 found peace. There the Sabbath was still 
 observed, the priest still worshipped at the 
 Altar, for men had not learned to blaspheme 
 there in the name of Reason and Philosophy. 
 
 The lady might have claimed an asylum at 
 some of the Chateaux, though her father's 
 estate there had passed by inheritance to a dis^ 
 tant branch of the family, and had quite gone 
 to decay, but she felt safest among the humble. 
 
 " I saw," she observed, " that the tide of 
 hatred and warfare was turning against the rich 
 and noble ; that henceforth, if I would pre- 
 serve life, it must be by bearing the name and 
 degree of a labourer ; and I felt that it was wisest 
 
152 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 to gain the appearance and habits of one. Jean- 
 nette Le Blanc, a soldier's wife, as my pass- 
 port declared me to be, must continue in the 
 class to which she pretended to belong." 
 
 They were not many days ride from La 
 Vendee, and happily the roads in that direction 
 were "But little disturbed, so without much diffi- 
 culty she reached the home of her infant days. 
 She sought immediately the cottage of her 
 nurse where she had used to be regaled on 
 strawberries and cream or hazle-nuts. It stood 
 on the borders of a little wood which surrounded 
 the Chateau, and its utter loneliness seemed to 
 promise shelter and rest to the poor fugitive. 
 
 The only inhabitants of the cottage were Pierre, 
 the husband of her nurse, and his granddaughter. 
 Her nurse had died a few years previous and 
 the lady's foster sister, the mother of Laurette, 
 quite recently. 
 
 The old man had been gardener at the 
 Chateau, and still remembered his little nursling. 
 His simplicity led him to believe the poor lady's 
 story, although her stained complexion and 
 humble dress made her appear as any thing 
 rather the wife of the Compte of Anjou, and 
 
THE SABBATH. 153 
 
 with many tears and blessings he made her 
 welcome to the shelter of his roof. Indeed 
 the only difficulty had been in making him 
 comprehend the necessity for concealing 
 herself in a place so lowly. Pierre had 
 heard little of the disturbances, and compre- 
 hended their causes still less. It seemed utterly 
 impossible to him that a vassal should feel any 
 thing less than profound obedience for his lord, 
 and that attachment which would lead him to 
 yield up life in his defence. The lady felt 
 reluctant to dispel this delusive feeling from the 
 old man's mind, so she merely commanded 
 him in the mildest manner to allow her to make 
 her own arrangements. With sighs and 
 exclamations of wonder which were never 
 exhausted, the old man submitted ; and after 
 seeing her settled in much the same situation 
 as she had held at our farm, Claude departed. 
 
 Our good lady described her life there as 
 being delightfully tranquil for months. 
 
 " Thanks to your little Bible, Manon," said 
 she, "I had learned to confide the future" to 
 Him, who whether in life or death does all 
 
 14* 
 
154 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 things well. I looked at my situation, so full of 
 perils, in a composed spirit, for I had no desire 
 but to be led by Him who, as I had been 
 taught, cared even for the sparrows that built 
 in careless security under our cottage eaves. I 
 had learned to labour ; and no one who has 
 not tried it can imagine how the employment of 
 the hand, with that energy which is necessary 
 to procure the daily bread, lightens the burdens 
 of the heart. Even my sweet Julie I had 
 given in perfect confidence to her Heavenly 
 Father ; and in that tranquil cottage, surrounded 
 by the ever silent woods, I enjoyed a peace 
 which I had never known in the castles of my 
 ancestors." 
 
 Laurette, the granddaughter of Pierre, was a 
 beautiful girl of fifteen, and as good as she was 
 pretty. The death of her mother, which had 
 thrown so much household care upon her, had 
 made her far before her years in knowledge 
 and industry. She managed her grandfather's 
 little family, took care of the bees and poultry, 
 spun the linen, as if she had been twenty. Be- 
 sides she earned a few livres every week by 
 doing up linen, and plaiting the caps of the dames 
 
THE SABBATH. 155 
 
 in the nearest hamlet, an art which she learned 
 from her mother who excelled in it. 
 
 The Comptesse soon learned to iron and 
 plait as neatly as Laurette, and the assistance of 
 her labours made the family more comfortable. 
 It would have been the most natural thing in the 
 world for Pierre and Laurette to tell their friends, 
 who came to visit them for business or pleasure, 
 all of the lady's history and misfortunes, for 
 they were sure that every peasant in the vicinity 
 would rather die than betray her; but as she 
 deemed it imprudent, and had laid her com- 
 mands upon them, she was known only as 
 Jeannette Le Blanc, whom Pierre's wife had 
 loved very much, and whom the uncertain fate 
 of her husband, a soldier, had driven among 
 them. 
 
 "It was so soothing to my poor heart," said 
 the lady, " to be again among a people preserv- 
 ing the habits and feelings of Frenchmen ; for 
 in the events of the last ' few years I had ceased 
 to recognise my country. There was the 
 same touching, respectful attachment to the 
 Seigneur, the same simple piety and obliging 
 cheerfulness of character among all classes, to 
 
156 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 which I had been accustomed. It was so like 
 the days of our own village, Manon, to hear the 
 chapel bell tolling for vespers or the solemnities 
 of the Sabbath, to receive the good old Cure to 
 our fireside, to share our grapes and milk with 
 him and receive his blessing ; or to see the light- 
 hearted Laurette dressing at evening, when her 
 labour was over, in her neat jacket, linen white 
 as snow, and tasteful head-dress, for the village 
 dance, which old Pierre still loved to contem- 
 plate, sitting under the great linden tree." 
 
 Then the hunts of the gentry, which the 
 peasants from the whole district attended ; the 
 good humoured sports and frolics of all classes, 
 without pride on the one hand, as without pre- 
 sumption on the other. — Alas ! that this one 
 asylum for old fashioned habits and opinions 
 could not remain, unspoiled by war or rapine." 
 
THE SABBATH. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 But our lady's tranquillity was not permitted 
 to endure, in such a tumultuous period. Whilst 
 the faithful Vendeans were still mourning in 
 silent indignation for their King, an order was 
 received, called the conscript law, commanding 
 each village to furnish a certain number of men 
 for replenishing the exhausted armies of the re- 
 public. 
 
 Brave as the Vendeans were, they had al- 
 ready silently submitted to much injustice from 
 those whom they could not hope to conquer; 
 but to fight in support of measures and opinions 
 which they detested, and for the protection of 
 men whose hands were red with the blood of 
 their King and countrymen, was asking too 
 much of man's spirit, at least as it was found in 
 the wild thickets of La Vendee. Over the 
 whole country, village after village, hamlet after 
 hamlet refused in turn to obey the cruel law, 
 
158 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 and the district was declared in a state of rebel- 
 lion. 
 
 But the hardy peasant found it easy to defend 
 himself in the peculiar country in which he had 
 been reared. Its thickets and ditches, its forests 
 and bewildering paths, which misled and con- 
 founded his enemies, were safety and defence 
 to him ; he therefore continued long to exult in 
 his freedom, and to set the conscrijH law at de- 
 fiance. 
 
 But whether taken up at the call of self-de- 
 fence or of unjust man, war is full of evils. Family 
 union is destroyed by it ; industry and quiet 
 pleasures are thought of no more, while men 
 are filled with the excitement of battle, con- 
 quest, and pursuit. The peaceable fruits of 
 righteousness cannot grow where the tempest 
 of excited passions is raging. 
 
 La Vendee was no longer a quiet resting- 
 place ; yet even there the poor lady was in less 
 danger than in other districts ; for as there was 
 no one in the family to engage actively in the 
 warfare, and they were at quite a distance from 
 the hamlet, she had reason to hope that even if 
 the Vendeans failed at last to defend their coun- 
 
THE SABBATH. 159 
 
 try, vengeance would not spend itself on a spot 
 so humble. 
 
 The warlike spirit seemed more active every- 
 where than in their neighbourhood. Laurette 
 still laughed and sung ; Pierre still dug a little 
 in the warm sunshine, around his salad beds, or 
 watched his bee-hives. The services of reli- 
 gion still continued, though the attendants were 
 very often confined to the women and old men ; 
 the younger being frequently drawn away by 
 the patriotism of their neighbours to distant 
 skirmishes. Yet still the Veandeans continued 
 successful, and the injury done to the country 
 was comparatively slight. 
 
 About a year had passed over in this way, 
 when old Pierre fell ill of a fever. The circum- 
 stances of the family, like those of their neigh- 
 bours, were far less comfortable than they had 
 been ; for although the peasant never totally 
 neglected his home and family for war, and the 
 women did all they could at out-of-door labour 
 to assist their husbands and brothers, it was im- 
 possible but that in the marchings and tumults 
 of a disordered country, fields and vineyards 
 should be trampled and destroyed, cottages 
 
160 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 should be burned, flocks and herds slain. 
 No more Hvres were earned by washing and 
 plaiting, for the villagers had none to spare ; 
 and the good lady had begun to fear that she 
 should become a burden to her kind protectors. 
 The contest too had drawn near to their little 
 hamlet, and their prospects were dreary. 
 
 The skill of the Comptesse made her at once 
 physician and nurse to the old man, but his 
 fever was very severe. The friends who visited 
 them brought daily intelligence of the approach 
 of a part of the revolutionary army, rendered 
 furious by ill success, which had already com- 
 mitted the most shocking cruelties on men and 
 animals; and the little hamlet was full of alarm. 
 As poor old Pierre's fever approached its crisis 
 he had become delirious, and terrifying as the 
 news from the army might be, the lady and 
 Laurette had no choice but to watch beside his 
 sick bed. 
 
 Laurette, indeed, who had scarcely ever seen 
 sickness, and loved her poor old grandfather 
 dearly, was nearly distracted by grief, and quite 
 indifferent to any other fear than that of parting 
 from him. She watched him incessantly, gath- 
 
tup: sabbath. 161 
 
 ered with the greatest care the herbs used by 
 the lady for his recovery, and bathed his burn- 
 ing hands with her tears. 
 
 It was now certain that the "Blues," as the 
 republican army was called by the peasants 
 from the colour of its uniform, were approach- 
 ing. Spies had given notice to the hamlet, and 
 the women busied themselves in conveying their 
 grain and other provision to recesses in the rocks 
 where fire could not attack it, while all who 
 could, found shelter for themselves and their 
 little ones in the woods and thickets. The in- 
 habitants of Pierre's cottage were left alone by 
 the bed-side of the sick. 
 
 As had been feared, a band of the desolating 
 army passed through the hamlet, but there was 
 little to plunder, and the victorious peasants 
 were behind ; so contenting themselves by firing 
 a few cottages, which a drenching rain soon ex- 
 tinguished, they hastened onward. 
 
 As the Comptesse had hoped, Pierre's little 
 habitation escaped their notice altogether, and 
 the inmates were too much engaged in atten- 
 tions to the poor old man, whose fever was now 
 at its height, to have their fears disturbed as they 
 15 
 
162 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 would otherwise have been. It seemed pretty 
 certain that his fate for life or death would be 
 decided in a few hours, and they sat watching 
 every change of his countenance throughout the 
 day, with the deepest anxiety. The lady's skill 
 led her to anticipate his recovery, but Laurette 
 could not be persuaded that her poor old grand- 
 father would be restored to her. She had all 
 the superstitions of her country; and so many 
 omens of death had been given, according to 
 her fancies, by owls, rats, dogs, and all the 
 other sagacious creatures which ignorance has 
 singled out, that reasoning with, or consoling 
 her, were equally vain. Unaffected by the 
 clouds of smoke, which rising over the tree- 
 tops told of the presence of the long-dreaded 
 " Blues," she watched and wept by the sick 
 bed. The lady talked of submission to God; 
 and she prayed incessantly to the saints and the 
 Holy Virgin for his life, but still she was un- 
 comforted. 
 
 It was towards evening when the old man 
 roused a little, and seemed to recognise them. 
 This was the moment the lady had been wait- 
 ing for with so much anxiety, and both leaned 
 
THE SABBATH. 103 
 
 over his bed. He murmured the name of Fa- 
 ther Clement, the Cure, andLaurette was bound- 
 ing to the door to go in search of him. 
 
 " Laurette," exclaimed the Comptesse, " you 
 must not venture abroad to-night ! the woods 
 and paths are full of danger !" 
 
 " But my good grandfather, — he will die 
 without having seen the priest, and then think 
 of all that his poor soul will suffer !" 
 
 " My dear Laurette, your grandfather is not 
 dying — beside, he could scarcely understand 
 what the good father would say to him if he 
 were here ; — the villagers too are all dispersed, 
 and even if the way were perfectly safe, you 
 know not where to find the Cure." 
 
 " O, yes !" she exclaimed, "I know he is 
 in the hazle glen of the Bois-La roche, for there 
 the old folks and children were to hide, and 
 surely Father Clement would be near the most 
 helpless." 
 
 " Laurette, my good girl," replied the lady, 
 " you are too young to understand the'' dangers 
 you would encounter by going out alone in the 
 dusk of evening through our woods. Our spies 
 tell us that the Blues have departed since noon; 
 
164. THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 yet there may still be straggling parties wan- 
 dering about, and even here we are scarcely 
 safe. Yet I trust this feeble old man may be 
 our protection should they attack us. Sit down 
 and watch beside your grandfather, Laurette, 
 whilst I prepare him a little nourishment." 
 
 The lady was occupied in the little kitchen 
 about half an hour, and when she again entered 
 the cottage she was startled to find the sick man 
 quite alone. It had now become dark, but the 
 torch which she carried in her hand, made from 
 the knot of a pine tree, threw its red light over 
 his face, and she was delighted to observe that 
 his feeble eyes as they turned toward the torch, 
 seemed to know her. 
 
 "How are you, father," she said, approach- 
 ing the bed, " and where is Laurette." 
 
 The old man murmured something, scarcely 
 intelligible between age and weakness, about the 
 Cure, and the Comptesse immediately under- 
 stood the whole matter. It was evident that the 
 poor girl's fears for the spiritual safety of her 
 grandfather had induced her to disobey the lady, 
 and to set out through darkness and tempest, 
 through peril from wolves, which much infested 
 
THE SABBATH. 1G5 
 
 the country, and from wandering soldiers, more 
 fearful in their rage than beasts of prey, to seek 
 the spot where the Cure had secreted himself, 
 or was guarding the helpless. 
 
 I cannot describe to you the sufferings of the 
 lady during that long night. After Pierre had 
 taken some nourishment he fell asleep, but it 
 was so like the slumber of death, that the lady 
 often placed her hand upon his heart to be cer- 
 tain that it beat. Except the pattering of the 
 rain and the scraping of the boughs oA'er the 
 roof of the cottage as the wind swayed them 
 backward and forward, not a sound was to be 
 heard, until the owls in a distant ruin added 
 their doleful notes, 
 
 " Again, Manon," said the lady, " your little 
 Bible was my support. When, after peering 
 out of the casement for the poor imprudent 
 Laurette, although I trembled to show a wo- 
 man's form to some wandering soldier, I would 
 become terrified at the deep darkness and lone- 
 liness of my situation, and would return to the 
 hardly less lonely couch of Pierre, or would 
 count the loud beatings of my heart, almost suf- 
 focated by terror, which, when my head rested 
 15* 
 
166 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 on the sick man's pillow, I often mistook for the 
 hasty footsteps of Laurette, I would crouch 
 down by the little torch and read its words of 
 comfort, the terrors of excited imagination would 
 leave me, and even the darkness become less 
 obscure." 
 
 Thus the night passed slowly and gave no 
 news of the imprudent wanderer. 
 
 At first the Comptesse hoped she had been 
 detained at thehazle glen by the Cure, or the villa- 
 gers, but the early morning had nearly passed 
 over when she heard the tramping of feet. 
 Fearing the approach of a party of soldiers, she 
 placed herself near the casement where she 
 could not be seen ; almost immediately a party 
 of peasants belonging to their own hamlet issued 
 from the opposite grove, bearing a litter formed 
 of branches. Giving a hasty glance toward the 
 still sleeping old man, the lady directed them to 
 the outhouse, and when they laid down their 
 burden it showed the body of the young pretty 
 Laurette, covered with wounds, drenched with 
 rain and blood, her soft dark eyes glazing in 
 death. She fixed a look of agony upon the 
 lady, and died with the tale of horror untold, 
 upon her lips." 
 
THE SABBATH. I 07 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 I cannot bear to wound your happy young 
 hearts, my dear boys, with these mournful sto- 
 ries ; yet it is quite proper that you should be 
 made to see some of the horrid features of 
 anarchy and irreligion ; that when you take your 
 places in society as men, and the guardians of 
 your country, you may learn, from early impres- 
 sions to dread their slightest approach. 
 
 It was easy to imagine Laurette's story, al- 
 though her dying lips had failed to give it utter- 
 ance. She had been found about an hour before 
 in a damp thicket, half-way between her home 
 and the Bois-Laroche nearly insensible. When 
 the mourning peasants had bound up her gaping 
 wounds with strips torn from their own linen, 
 and poured some wine between her lips, she 
 revived sufficiently to murmur, " the Blues!" 
 "home!" They saw that she was dying, so 
 hastily constructing a litter they bore her upon 
 their shoulders as gently as possible, and she 
 
168 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 expired as I have told you at the threshhold of 
 her own cottage. 
 
 The men withdrew, pouring horrible threats 
 of vengeance upon the Republican Array, which 
 every where marked its progress or retreat by 
 such fiendlike outrages, and at last excited the 
 once virtuous and humane peasants of La Ven- 
 dee to similar acts. The Comptesse gently 
 stretched out the stiffening limbs of poor Lau- 
 rette, and then taking her pretty young face 
 upon her lap, bedewed it with a mother's tears. 
 
 " I thought," she said, " of my own poor 
 child, and I earnestly prayed to God that He 
 would not allow the terrors and grief of the 
 present moment to take away my confidence in 
 Him." 
 
 As the lady had predicted Pierre recovered ; 
 but his mind was extremely feeble, and fearing 
 that a sudden shock should deprive him of 
 his faculties altogether, the Comptesse care- 
 fully guarded the story of Laurette's fate from 
 him ; - — - — he supposed her on a visit to distant 
 friends. But one day during her temporary ab- 
 sence, he received a visit from an old friend, 
 scarcely less removed from childishness than 
 himself. Finding out Pierre's ignorance of the 
 
THE SABBATH. 169 
 
 fate of his grandchild, and delighted to have a 
 new horror to relate, the old man told the tale 
 to the invalid with terrible fidelity. When the 
 lady entered old Claude was lingering over and 
 repeating the story with great pleasure to Pierre, 
 who was leaning forward from his arm chair 
 with his eyes staring on the narrator, every 
 feature rigid as marble ! 
 
 Rubbing with the hand and applications of 
 wild mustard restored the circulation to his body 
 but his mind was gone forever ! Pierre lived, 
 but he was a stupid idiot ! — 
 
 The war of the Vendeans continued for nearly 
 a year after this time, until the surrounding coun- 
 tries were well nigh desolated: though fortu- 
 nately for the lady the warfare was carried on 
 chiefly in the neighbouring districts, and La 
 Vendee itself suffered far less than the others. 
 But I will spare you its horrible details ; enough 
 that these men, who claimed to be the liberators 
 of the world from the prejudices of religion, and 
 the friends of the human race, caused helpless 
 
170 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 women and children to be roasted alive; bound 
 them in bundles and cast them into the Loire 
 where it was too shallow to drown them, calling 
 it Revolutionary Baptism, then plunged their 
 swords into those hapless wretches who swam 
 to the shore ; orphan children were mowed 
 down in hundreds like grass before the scythe 
 by their muskets, and horrors, such as the civil- 
 ized world never before witnessed, were the'eon- 
 sequences of the reign of reason ! 
 
 The tide of war continuing to roll away from 
 her, the Comptesse still concealed herself in the 
 cottage of Pierre. 
 
 "I knew not whither to turn, she said. My pre- 
 sence was not necessary to Pierre ; he was happy 
 if allowed to braid straw for a bonnet for poor 
 Laurette, whom he seemed to be constantly ex- 
 pecting ; but if La Vendee was a scene of danger, 
 so was the whole of France to one of noble 
 blood. Yet my heart sickened to know the 
 fate of my child. Our separation had been ex- 
 tended far beyond my remotest expectations, 
 and I felt as if I could endure it no longer. 
 Claude did not return; nay, the ill success of 
 the army seemed to decide that it was useless to 
 expect him, and how was I to travel. I was 
 
THE SABBATH. 171 
 
 secure in my disguise, which had now become 
 quite natural to me, and I still possessed the 
 passport of Jeannette Le Blanc, but I could not 
 traverse the whole distance between La Vendee 
 and Paris quite alone." 
 
 Circumstances, however, occurred which at 
 last gave her the opportunity she desired. 
 
 During an attack of the Republican Army, in 
 which the hamlet in the neighbourhood was a 
 second time fired, Pierre's cottage was visited 
 by some of the fierce soldiers, who were preparing 
 to wreak their vengeance on its inhabitants, when 
 a person in the dress of an officer appeared at 
 the door. The lady instantly threw herself at 
 his feet, relating in passionate words of entreaty 
 the horrible injuries which had made poor old 
 Pierre a grinning idiot. The young man's 
 heart was touched, and interposing his authority, 
 the cottage and its inmates were spared. 
 
 But the vengeance of the Vendeans was at 
 hand, and in turn they were victors. The old 
 Chateau, near which the cottage stood, had been 
 fortified by a party of the Republicans, but the 
 peasants fired it with their own hands. 
 
 Whilst the fire was raging a man covered with 
 dust and cinders, the blood streaming from a 
 
172 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 recent wound in his temple, reeled with violence 
 against the door of the cottage, which was but 
 feebly barred. It burst open, "Save me!" he 
 cried, and the Comptesse recognised the young 
 officer who had so recently saved their lives. 
 Quick as thought she thrust him under the 
 settle on which Pierre always sat, and covered 
 him with a heap of straw from which the old 
 man was busily selecting the longest and fairest 
 for Laurette's bonnet. 
 
 A party of peasants soon followed, but they 
 respected Pierre's sorrows too much to disturb 
 him by a search, and the wounded man escaped. 
 
 When it could be done with safety, the 
 Comptesse dressed his wound, and concealed 
 him for many weeks in a loft over the kitchen 
 until he was strong enough to travel. The 
 young man was grateful, and without disclosing 
 her real situation she ventured to confide to him 
 her desires to seek out an only child, whom 
 changes in the circumstances of the friends with 
 whom she had left her, had carried her to Paris. 
 The stranger was a Parisian, the son of a baker 
 there, and eagerly offered to be her guide if she 
 could contrive means for his leaving La Vendee. 
 His detachment of the regiment was dispersed, 
 
THE SABBATH. 173 
 
 and being too feeble for further service, he was 
 sure of being permitted to return home. By- 
 assuming the dress of a peasant his departure 
 was made easy. Pierre was committed to the 
 care of some of the villagers, and in an ox cart 
 they left La Vendee. 
 
 As soon as they were out of the disturbed dis- 
 tricts the young man's uniform became their 
 protection, and with some delays, but little rea 
 danger, they arrived at the barriers of Paris. 
 
 16 
 
174 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Nearly two years had passed over us since 
 the point at which I took, up the Lady's story, 
 and we still toiled on in the little garret of M. 
 Dubois. But what changes had not these years 
 made in the condition of Paris. 
 
 The guillotine, that instrument seemingly in- 
 vented for this period alone, did its work daily 
 upon hundreds of victims. All who had been 
 distinguished in France for excellence, talent, or 
 noble birth, had perished under its fatal stroke, 
 or were languishing in crowded prisons, wait- 
 ing for the only Freedom they might hope for 
 t — Death. 
 
 We heard the rumbling of the wheels which 
 were conveying the victims to the place of exe- 
 cution daily ; and so exactly did we learn to 
 measure the time by our dread of their arrival, 
 that the patient smile always faded from Amee's 
 pretty lip, and a sad silence filled our apartment 
 
THE SABBATH. 175 
 
 as the hour approached, until we were at last 
 forced to hide ourselves in Jacquiline's closet, 
 or wrap our heads in the bed clothing, that we 
 might not hear the fatal sound. 
 
 Our noble Queen, with the other members of 
 the royal family, had been closely imprisoned 
 and treated with great rigour since the King's 
 execution, but for some time she had the satis- 
 faction of being with her children. As the 
 period of her trial approached this was considered 
 too great an indulgence. The latter part of her 
 confinement was spent in the worst prison's worst 
 room, entirely separated from her family and in 
 the most disgraceful destitution ; her only dress 
 was an old black gown ; her stockings were in 
 holes, and she was destitute 'of shoes of any 
 kind. Her bed ragged and miserable, breathing 
 the most unwholesome smells, her only attend- 
 ant a spy and a murderer, thus did she languish 
 whose whole previous life had been spent in a 
 luxury which could not even conceive of poverty. 
 Weeping and want wasted the loveliness which 
 had once made her an idol, and early sorrow 
 turned her beautiful hair quite gray ; but nothing 
 could take from her the comforts which Religion 
 
176 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 gives ; and happier than her murderers when in 
 turn they met the stroke of the guillotine, she 
 looked in hope from the sorrows of this life to 
 the bliss of a better world. She too was at last 
 dragged to the place of execution, and like those 
 of her gentle hearted husband, her last hours 
 were spent in prayer for her enemies. 
 
 These two years have very properly been 
 called the Reign of Terror, for Reason seemed 
 to have been as completely lost as Religion. 
 The Philosophers, and Enlighteners of their 
 nation, as they had loved to style themselves, 
 were daily slaughtered by the guillotine ; or, 
 hunted like wild beasts, they perished by their 
 own hands in prisons, garrets, ditches or road- 
 sides, to escape the fury of the men whom they 
 had instructed in the doctrines of liberty ; and 
 found when too late that the laws of God can 
 alone bind society together in happy security. 
 
 The prisons were overflowing with suspected 
 persons, and our neighbour the shoemaker had 
 long since grown rich by his employment. He 
 had formerly been only violent and noisy, but his 
 vile occupation and consequent familiarity with 
 scenes of distress, had rendered him both harsh 
 
THE SABBATH. 177 
 
 and cruel. His voice had grown to resemble 
 the growl of a dog, and even his wife became 
 glad to hide herself from his presence. Perhaps 
 it was these qualities which made the Authori- 
 ties choose him for the guardian of the young 
 Dauphin when it was determined to educate him 
 as a sans-culotte, the lowest grade in Paris. 
 He was a gentle hearted little boy whose young 
 eyes had learned to weep in sympathy with his 
 father's tears, and could ill bear the sufferings 
 inflicted upon him. 
 
 Old M. Dubois was present at the Conven- 
 tion when the wretch received his charge " to 
 get rid of the whelp .'" and even he, who never 
 got angry at any thing which did not interfere 
 with his own gains, a soil on the kid or a long 
 stitch in a glove, described to us indignantly 
 how the monster grinned when this was said. , 
 
 He was got rid of, and speedily too, I believe ; 
 for confinement under bolts and bars, in a filthy 
 room by day and night, his solitude only broken 
 by cruel faces that came to mock his infant 
 tears ; his bed, unmade for six months, covered 
 with vermin ; a whole year without changing 
 his linen or stockings; his windows never 
 16* 
 
178 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 opened to admit the pure air of heaven ; without 
 employment for his hands or books for his 
 mind ; the dull wearisome day succeeded by 
 the night whose terrible imaginings no cheerful 
 taper banished ; — ah, my dear boys, wonder at 
 the horrors which were crowded into that poor 
 child's last days, and whilst you pity him, thank 
 God for the blue vault above you, the breezy 
 forest around, and a home of freedom ! 
 
 Before he was eight years old, I think, he 
 rested in a quiet grave. 
 
 In the progress of my tale you have seen that 
 Religion had been, even in name, almost totally 
 neglected. The Rulers had proceeded as if 
 there were no God in Heaven, and the people 
 had obediently imitated them. But the office of 
 Priest still continued ; the Churches which the 
 piety of former ages had reared, still stood open 
 to invite a wandering footstep to their Altars, 
 and here and there a faithful Cur© performed 
 the duties of his station. But even this show 
 of piety became irksome to men whose consci- 
 ences dreaded its truth, and at last the Nation 
 devoted itself, with processions and hymns, to 
 a fantastic Deity called the goddess of Reason, 
 
THE SABHATH. 179 
 
 who was represented by a beautiful opera 
 dancer. 
 
 The sacred vessels and rich treasures of the 
 Churches were torn from them by the mob ; all 
 that their ancestors had venerated was trampled 
 under foot ; and the busts of men who had dis- 
 tinguished themselves only by their vices took 
 the places of Saints and Martyrs ; the Churches 
 themselves were converted into Temples of the 
 new Deity, and the grave yards bore this inscrip- 
 tion, "death is an eternal sleep ;" by a formal 
 decree every tenth day became sacred to this 
 new worship ; and the holy day of God appointed 
 by Himself amid the thunders of Sinai, — ap- 
 proved by human legislators for its benevolent 
 interval of rest to labouring man and his patient 
 beast, — honoured by accumulated ages, — it 
 passed away, — it was set aside from a great 
 Nation by the will of a few hundred uneducated 
 fanatics of liberty, as they chose to call the wild 
 passion which swayed them ; and France, beau- 
 tiful France, rich in the bounties of its Maker, 
 glorious in the perfections which His hand had 
 stamped upon her, was a Land without the Sab- 
 bath! 
 
180 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 " The services of religion were now univer- 
 sally abandoned. Baptisms ceased ; the burial 
 service was heard no longer ; the sick received 
 no communion, the dying no consolation. In- 
 fancy entered the world without a blessing; age 
 quitted it without a hope." 
 
THE SABBATH. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 It may well be supposed by my dear child- 
 ren, that all this folly and irreligion made little 
 difference to us poor lonely girls. We had our 
 Bible still and our books of devotion; we knew 
 that our Heavenly Parent looked upon the lowly 
 heart wherever it raised its offering, so the 
 decrees of the Convention or the fashions of our 
 neighbours made little difference to us. In 
 patient hope we still toiled on, 
 
 Poor Amee's daily walks had been but little 
 interrupted, except when tumults in the streets 
 rendered it dangerous, and it was very plain, 
 although she seldom mentioned it, that the hope 
 of one day meeting her beloved parent or Claude 
 in these rambles, was the strong desire which 
 gave them interest; 
 
 " I look so inquiringly in every one's eyes, 
 dear Manon," she would sometimes say, laugh- 
 ing through her tears, " that I fully expect to be 
 
182 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 arrested for a suspicious person. But if you 
 could only conceive how my heart throbs 
 almost to bursting when I discover a figure or 
 gait resembling hers ; how I hurry poor Jacqui- 
 line forward by every excuse to view the face, 
 and then how terrible is my disappointment, 
 you would pity me." 
 
 Pity her I am sure I did, and weep with her 
 too. Yet she still persevered in hoping, and 
 talked of the future so cheerfully, for the next 
 garret being empty now, we could allow our- 
 selves a little conversation occasionally, that my 
 own heart caught the feeling from hers. 
 
 At length, it was on one of the Decades, as 
 these new divisions of time were called, the 
 obsequies M. Dubois had closed his little shop 
 in honor of the day, and with his red peruke 
 neatly dressed, his best clothes brushed as clean 
 as hands could make them, was just setting out 
 to join one of the processions, when a young man 
 in the dress of the Revolutionary Army, accom- 
 panied by a tall, dark, weather-stained peasant 
 woman, inquired for Jacquiline. Had not the 
 dress of the young man given him assurance of 
 safety, such an occurrence would have filled M. 
 Dubois with alarm ; as it was he showed them 
 
THE SABBATH. 183 
 
 into the little back room, where Jacquiline was 
 engaged in some household duty. One glance 
 at her neat little figure through the glass door 
 convinced the female that she was right, and 
 dismissing her protector she entered the room 
 alone. 
 
 She pronounced Jacquiline's name and extend- 
 ed her hand, but so completely had four years 
 of incessant watchfulness and fear subdued 
 nature within the good creature, that although 
 perfectly recognising the Comptesse at the first 
 glance, neither word nor look betrayed her 
 feelings. M. Dubois just waited long enough 
 to see that the visitor was received, and politely 
 withdrew. Jacquiline quietly accompanied him 
 to the door, spoke of her guest, talked over the 
 probabilities of a shower, procured his umbrella, 
 gave a finishing brush to his hat with her apron, 
 watched him some paces down the street, then 
 barred the door strongly and hastened to the 
 lady. 
 
 She had fainted. 
 
 When life again coloured her lips and cheeks 
 she lay in the arms of her child ! ' 
 
 Jacquiline wisely judged that even a moment's 
 suspense should be avoided here ; and certain 
 
184 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 from Amee's disposition that though she might 
 dance in frenzied delight, she would neither faint 
 nor lose her power of acting reasonably, she 
 rushed to our room with the intelligence. Dear, 
 dear Amee ! my old eyes are running over now 
 at the recollection of her wild scream of joy, 
 fortunately a safe one, as she sprung to her feet 
 and darted to the door. A look from Jacquiline 
 directed her, she waited not for words, but 
 flew down stairs. According to Jacquiline's 
 directions I followed very deliberately. 
 
 " Mamma ! mamma ! my own dear mamma !" 
 were the whispered words which brought the 
 Comptesse to the consciousness of her happi- 
 ness. 
 
 The mother and child lay long silently locked 
 in each other's embrace, whilst Jacquiline and 
 myself knelt beside them in tears of joyful 
 thankfulness. When they at last roused them- 
 selves, our lady extended her arms ; thoughtless 
 of rank we threw ourselves into them and wept 
 together. When their tears had subsided, with 
 what astonishment the mother and child gazed 
 upon each other. Except in that hasty meeting 
 by night in the acacia thicket, they had never 
 seen each other in their peasant's garb. How 
 
THE SABBATH. 185 
 
 different then did each appear from the form 
 which memory had presented. In the mother's 
 mind Amee only dwelt as a graceful young girl 
 of twelve or thirteen, habited in the delicate dress 
 proper to her station, her flowing dark hair 
 shading a sweet but childish countenance. Now 
 a tall young woman stands before her, dressed 
 in a woollen petticoat and jacket of the form of 
 Jacquiline's, but with limbs so elegant, and 
 movements so light, that she gives grace to the 
 dress. Her hair is braided under a handkerchief 
 worn something in the form of a turban, which 
 adds greater maturity and dignity to her appear- 
 ance. The circumstances in which her charac- 
 ter had been formed, in those important years 
 when the girl passes into the woman, had tended 
 very much to foster certain points of her charac- 
 ter which showed themselves in the spirited 
 determination of her eyes, and the firmness of 
 her lip. She looked like one whose courage 
 was prepared for any circumstances, but whose 
 sweetness would yield under no trial, and over 
 all a little mirthfulness played which made her 
 face charming. And such she was, my fair 
 Amee ! such she is still, my excellent lady, the 
 
 Comptesse De F , the beloved and admired 
 
 17 
 
186 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 even in old age, by her children's children. May 
 a thousand blessings be upon her ! 
 
 M. Dubois most obligingly remaining abroad 
 most of the day, we spent it in mutual commu- 
 nications in our garret, Jacquiline watching at 
 the door lest we should be interrupted by 
 listeners. It was then we first wept over the 
 story of poor Laurette, and then we most 
 devotedly, upon bended knees, returned thanks to 
 our Heavenly Parent for the watchfulness which 
 had guarded us in such incessant dangers, for 
 more than four years. 
 
 The lady had found no difficulty in procuring 
 an asylum with the grateful parents of Lapres, 
 the young man she had saved ; but the baker 
 Was a violent Revolutionist, one of the Commit- 
 tee of his Section, that is, a man whose duty it 
 was to arrest all suspicious persons in. his 
 district; her home therefore was neither safe nor 
 pleasant. Jacquiline indulged the hope that 
 she might in time be able to persuade her brother 
 into receiving another inmate, or at least a lodger 
 for the next garret ; in this hope, and with the 
 promise of meeting when prudence would again 
 permit, the mother and child tore themselves 
 apart. Jacquiline accompanied the Coinptesse 
 
THE SABBATH. 187 
 
 to her home, that her well known face and 
 figure might give her protection in our neigh- 
 bourhood, whilst Amee and myself remained to 
 wonder, weep, and laugh over the events of 
 the day. 
 
188 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 I believe M. Dubois had no suspicion of the 
 rank of the Comptesse, or that she was any- 
 thing more than what she seemed, the mother 
 of Araee and a former neighbour of Jacqui- 
 line. Perhaps, had his business been suffi- 
 ciently extensive, Jacquiline's hopes of another 
 assistant might have been realized. But trade 
 of all kinds was extremely dull ; for though 
 people, particularly the Revolutionists, danced, 
 sung, went to theatres and concerts, gave 
 dinners and suppers as if the country had been 
 overflowing with happiness ; yet as elegance of 
 dress, or luxury of living, were marks of wealth, 
 and the possession of that a sure introduction to 
 the prison or guillotine, men and women affected 
 great indifference to appearances, and often 
 assumed the squalid dress of extreme poverty 
 to please their masters, the sans-culottes. 
 
 The lady continued therefore to live with the 
 baker in fear and distrust, which prevented her 
 
THE SABBATH, 189 
 
 visiting us so frequently as she might have clone ; 
 but at last the moment appointed for delivering 
 the country from this curse which it had brought 
 upon itself, arrived, and the gladness which filled 
 the land entered our lonely garret too. 
 
 The terrible party which had governed France 
 for two years, like wolves at a carnage, had gradu- 
 ally thinned their number by slaughtering each 
 other, until the supreme power rested in the 
 hands of three individuals whose names will 
 always be infamous in history, Danton, Marat, 
 and Robespierre. I need not shock you with 
 the particulars of the fate of these wretched men, 
 for it is not necessary to my story. They per- 
 ished at last by deaths of violence, one by the 
 hand of a deluded female who sought thus to 
 avenge her lover's death and the wrongs of her 
 country ; the others by the guillotine which for 
 two years had done its work at their bidding 
 upon so many thousands, amidst the terrible 
 curses of the land they had afflicted. 
 
 "With the last of these, Robespierre, the 
 instrument of death rested ; the executioner's 
 work was done ; the prison gates were opened ; 
 wives and husbands, parents and children, 
 brother and sister, friend and friend, met in 
 17* 
 
190 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 frenzied embraces. The city was delirious 
 with joy, and even Jacquilinelost her prudence. 
 
 It was at this moment that the Comptesse 
 revealed her real name and rank to the baker. 
 Her story was striking and romantic ; the weak, 
 silly man was nattered by her confidence, he 
 was certainly grateful too for the services she 
 had rendered to his son ; beside, mercy was 
 the fashion of the day, and who that has ever 
 been in Paris knows not how fashion rules the 
 conduct of its inhabitants. He very graciously 
 pardoned her for the involuntary crime of being 
 descended from a race of kings and princes, and 
 promised her his protection. 
 
 But the grateful Arnold did more. He threw 
 himself at the feet of his Colonel, with whom 
 he was a great favorite ; he daily haunted the 
 National Tribunal to interest its members ; and 
 the Comptesse herself through him, obtained 
 an opportunity to plead her own cause before 
 the kind hearted Madam Tallien, wife to the 
 President of the Convention. Her husband, 
 the unfortunate Compte,had long since perished 
 in an engagement on the frontier, and the lady's 
 secluded life had happily prevented her from 
 offending against the prejudices of the people; 
 
THE SARBATH 191 
 
 so that there was the less difficulty in removing 
 her name from the list of the proscribed. Nay 
 more, government was her debtor for some 
 funds illegally claimed, which were restored ; 
 and at last, on the brightest day, as we thought 
 that ever dawned on Paris, our lady and most 
 beloved Mam'selle Julie were restored to free- 
 dom and comfort. 
 
 I am sure 1 shall gratify my dear boys by 
 pausing here for a moment, though at the close 
 of a long and perhaps tedious tale, to describe 
 our sensations in a situation so new. But M. 
 Dubois is present to me now as he looked when 
 the story was revealed to him. He was in our 
 garret, and the lady, freed from the disguise of 
 her lowly dress, stood before him in the dig- 
 nity of her rank ; the paper which secured her 
 freedom, with the seals and official marks which 
 gave it outward importance, in her trembling 
 hands, yet so deeply grateful for his involuntary 
 protection that words could not express her 
 feelings. He looked so confounded with the 
 dangers he had escaped, and so much gratified 
 by the well filled purse the lady placed within 
 his hand ; so divided between his natural respect 
 for rank, and his new revolutionary opinions, 
 
192 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 adopted to please his customers ; so much 
 pleased with the friends his faithful sister had 
 earned, and its consequent benefit to himself, but 
 so vexed with the use she had made of him in 
 her concealment, that his face formed one of 
 the most rueful yet amusing pictures possible. 
 
 Amee, in her merry w T it declared that his red 
 peruke stood up in agitation ; how that may 
 be I know not, but the jerkings of his eyebrows 
 did certainly communicate a ridiculous motion 
 to it behind. 
 
 He took leave of Amee, bright in tears and 
 smiles, with a profound reverence ; yet true to 
 his character, ventured to hope " that Mam'- 
 selle would not leave him until the half finished 
 package of gloves were embroidered, as she 
 knew it would make a great difference in his 
 poor business if they were spoiled by another 
 hand." 
 
 " I will not promise that, M. Dubois," said 
 Amee laughing, and gracefully extending her 
 hand, "but 1 will promise to purchase them as 
 they are, to finish at my leisure ; and farther, I 
 will promise never to wear a glove shaped by 
 another hand than M. Dubois' whilst he is able 
 
THE SABBATH. 193 
 
 to form one ;" and grateful tears filled her eyes 
 as she spoke. 
 
 The old man was moved and quickly with- 
 drew. A fiacre, an inferior kind of hack, but 
 the best that the prejudices of the times allowed 
 to people of wealth, conveyed us to the ready 
 furnished Hotel which the delicate kindness of 
 Madam Tallien had engaged for the Comptesse 
 in that quarter of Paris where resided the few of 
 her own rank which the Revolution had left. 
 Amee entered it in her peasants' garb. It was 
 her pleasure to do so for she loved all strong 
 emotions and contrasts ; it was difficult to tell 
 on that day whether her tears or smiles were 
 most numerous. Of one thing I am certain. 
 The deep gratitude of a pious heart was over- 
 flowing in rapid streams amidst all her trans- 
 ports. 
 
 When, at her mother's request, she laid aside 
 the jacket, petticoat, leather shoes and woollen 
 stockings, which had been her protection for so 
 many years, and assumed the elegant dress 
 proper to her rank and age, she kissed them 
 with deep* emotion, as they were deposited by 
 her own hands in a place of safe keeping. 
 
194 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 " Lie there," she exclaimed, " memorials of 
 Amee ! on this day of every year shall you be 
 worn by her, and it shall be sacred to Him, who 
 through your means, has so graciously and won- 
 derfully preserved me. As a deception I hated 
 you, as a remembrancer of His goodness I revere 
 you ! You shall be strewed with the freshest 
 violets from the dear woods of St. Marie la 
 Bonne!" 
 
 " Mamma! mamma !" she exclaimed, " take 
 me from these walls ! They are lofty and 
 gilded it is true, yet still they are walls such as 
 those of prisons and garrets ! Oh, take me 
 abroad under wide blue Heavens, let me breathe 
 the balmy air of the meadows, and let me tell 
 the winds again and again that I am/ree/" 
 
THE SABBATH. 195 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 The moderate wishes of wealth are not diffi- 
 cult to gratify. In a short time we were again 
 in the beloved village of St. Marie la Bonne. 
 We were weeping at the graves of my father and 
 Henri ; we were embracing deaf Francois and 
 his scolding wife. We gathered hazle-nuts and 
 violets in the glen where Jacques had died, and 
 dear Julie wiped away her mother's tears at the 
 dreary Mausoleum which had sheltered the 
 Compte. We strewed fresh flowers over the 
 simple grave of the Cure, and even poor Bijou's 
 resting place was not forgotten, though I fore- 
 bore to tell Mam'selle all that sad story. 
 
 But our dear village could no longer be a home 
 for us. The fires of the brigands had not more 
 marred and defaced the marble walls of the 
 Chateau, than the opinions and practices of the 
 Revolution had spoiled our once innocent neigh- 
 bours. Rapine, the power to wrest away what 
 the weak could not hold, had produced a grasp- 
 
196 THE LAND WITHOUT 
 
 ing, avaricious spirit among them. As it was 
 the fashion to talk of wrongs, these simple peo- 
 ple who had suffered none, at least in compari- 
 son, had learned to threaten and complain. A 
 vain struggle to rise a little higher than his 
 neighbour, to get a little more of the confiscated 
 lands, to go a little beyond the other in petty 
 frauds, filled the scheming heads of the villagers. 
 The young men were noisy, the girls bold and 
 vain. The Sabbath was no longer regarded nor 
 even wished for by the most ; but a noisy, con- 
 ceited Atheism, which doubted everything and 
 respected nothing, human or divine, had taken 
 the place of that deep reverence and contented 
 faith, which had once made them all so happy. 
 
 Even Jacquiline was glad to return to Paris. 
 
 Our next endeavour was to learn news of my 
 brother Claude, and here we were quite success- 
 ful ; for a letter was found at the Post Office, 
 addressed to the care of M. Dubois, written 
 about six months previous, which informed us 
 in a concealed way, that about a year before he 
 had sailed from Marseilles for a port near Paris ; 
 but being driven out to sea by a violent storm in 
 the Bay of Biscay, they were relieved when 
 nearly sinking by a vessel bound for New 
 
THE SABBATH. 197 
 
 York in North America. He had landed there 
 friendless and penniless, but employment was 
 easily obtained ; and finding that it would be 
 certain death to re-enter France after having 
 been in the service of the Aliens, he had been 
 engaged by a French gentleman there, who 
 promised him every assistance when it should 
 be safe for him to return. 
 
 A letter soon informed him of our release, and 
 conveyed liberal proofs of his lady's gratitude. 
 
 But I need linger no longer over this tale, for 
 I have shown you what I wished, a few pictures, 
 and faint ones too, of a land desolated by 
 anarchy and irreligion, holding its security at 
 the hand of a lawless Mob. The uneventful 
 life, even of a grandmother, can scarcely be of 
 further interest. We continued with our lady 
 until the marriage of Mam'selle carried them 
 both to the south of France. My own wedding 
 with your grandfather took place about the same 
 time, and in compliance with his wishes and 
 those of my brother Claude, we removed to 
 America, and faithful Jacquiline accompanied us. 
 
 Here, in the, wild forest I have lived, I have 
 been happy, and I have mourned. Here my 
 boys have been reared in freedom and comfort ; 
 18 
 
198 THE LAND WITHOUT THE SABBATH. 
 
 here my husband and brother sleeps ; and here 
 will I be buried. The forest is gradually pass- 
 ing away from around me, but I too shall have 
 gone before the axe of the woodman girdles the 
 last tree; and may my children's children guard 
 the spot where their ancestors slumber. 
 
 But France, my beautiful France ! How is 
 it you will say, grandmother, with that fated, 
 land ? 
 
 Why, my dears, even as it is with yonder 
 wheat field which the lightning burned. In 
 religion as in morals it presents strange con- 
 trasts. Every where may be viewed the black- 
 ened stubble, memorials of the past ; but the 
 tender green of a new vegetation is fast rising 
 above it, and many a sweet sprout of holiness 
 flourishes by the side of the scorched remnants 
 of infidelity. And since there stands a promise 
 which cannot fail, that " the knowledge of the 
 Lord shall cover the earth as the waters cover 
 the sea," doubt it not that a time is coming 
 when France shall so stand in the beauty of 
 holiness, that it will be a wonder, a thing to make 
 men gaze, when it is told that she was ever that 
 frightful object — 
 
 A LAND WITHOUT THE SABBATH.