of our own land? Her Protestantism. The speaker then meandered into a (Loud cheers.) Yes, England dates all wilderness of words, in the course of which her glory from the Protestant Reformation. he stumbled upon the fact, that even popish Protestantism gave her her Magna Charta. kings and people have seen the necessity (Hear.) Protestantism invented printing. of curbing the pretensions of their priestProtestantism discovered America. But, hood. Then, again, he reminded the audidear friends, what is the melancholy specta- ence that the papist was in all conceivecle presented to us at this time? While able cases the bondslave of his priest, and the deluded, degraded, debased, nations of could never exercise a will of his own. the Continent, who lie in Popish darkness, And, at last, Mr. Jonas Bull sat down, and who have not so much as heard of the amidst the loud and continued applause Bible - yes, dear friends, such is the wick- which, for quantity if not for quality, his edness of that accursed church of Rome, speech very well deserved. that no Papist ever hears of the Bible at all, while the men and women, thus kept in pitchy darkness, are wonderfully awaking from their superstitions, and scorning the impostures of those wretched priests; while the people who have no Bibles are casting off Popery every day, this England of our's-oh, dear friends, I hold my handkerchief to my weeping eyes while I say it, this highly favoured England, where the poorest and meanest is made familiar with the Scriptures from a child, this England, where the Bible is read and understood by all, seems likely seems ready to turn a favouring ear to the charming of the deceitful adder, and to bow down before the footstool of the Satanic Church of Rome. Think not, my dear friends, that, even on the besotted dupes of this wicked Church I would invoke the spirit of persecution. It is the glory of Protestantism, wherever it has held the power, to have kept inviolate the principle that there shall be no persecution for religion's sake. It is Popery, and Popery alone, that ever killed or imprisoned men for the sake of their religion; it was in the iron reign of Popery that the fires of Smithfield were kindled, and under which, if you go into any popish city abroad, you may from time to time behold the same dreadful spectacle now. For Popery never changes; she is semper eadem, that is, always the same. But we would not persecute ourselves. Though no nation or country which harbours Popery ever has risen or ever can rise to so much as the lowest grade in civilization; though, where Popery has dominion, neither life nor property are ever secure; though every member of that idolatrous Church is bound, and knows that he is bound, to commit any number of murders at the command of his priest; though treason and rebellion are part and parcel of the Romanist's creed, still we would never attack those misguided men, except, (as Elijah attacked the prophets of Baal) with the weapons of Scripture and of reason." Two more orators were to intervene, ere Mr. M'Quantigan, the greatest light of the evening, was to rise and shine upon the assembly. And the first of these lesser luminaries was Mr. Clitheroe, the M.P. for the cathedral city of Halminster. He commenced by referring to his recent parliamentary endeavours to detect the plot which, under a second Guy Fawkes, was now on foot for the destruction of the Houses. Jesuitical influence had triumphed in the cabinet, and had hindered the discovery, which, if vouchsafed a hearing, he could easily bring about, so that none should question it. Popery was prevailing everywhere. It was a startling fact that more than one of the thrones of Europe was at this time occupied by a papist. The woman who kept the keys of the Home Office, and swept out its rooms, was, if not a papist, a constant attendant at a Puseyite church. And, with the access to state-papers thus possessed by her, she, or the Jesuits, who retained her as their tool, might substitute such instructions as would spread the accursed religion throughout the land. But to this obvious danger the Government and Parliament were traitorously indifferent and apathetic. He (Mr. Clitheroe) trusted that the meeting before him was animated by a different spirit. He would tell them one thing more, as startling as it was true. Every single murder which had been perpetrated in London, during the past ten or a dozen years, had been the direct consequence of Popish or Puseyite instigation. It was so in the case of Rush. It was so in the recent case of Palmer. The government were well aware of this, but their slavish submission to the priestly power of Rome deterred them from giving publicity to the fact. (Shame.) Yes, but it was none the less true. Jesuits and Tractarians might deny this. Of course they would. It cost them little to deny a thing. They would deny that the sun shone in heaven. (Hear.) They did put Gallio, who cared for none of those things, in a dungeon for maintaining so much as that. (Hear, hear.) There was a day fixed early next year for a massacre of all the leading Protestants in the country. (Sensation.) The Ministry were informed of what was coming; but such was their dastardly timidity, they chose rather to fall by popish daggers than to give offence to the priests, who directed them. And, having delivered himself of one or two more disclosures, the speaker sat down in his turn, very greatful for having received a hearing so different from any vouchsafed him in the House at Westminster. Next there got up the Rev. R. Mageddon. His forte was arithmetical rather than historical. And very much in contrast with Mr. Clitheroe, he begged no other question than that twelve hundred and sixty added to six hundred and six make up together eighteen hundred and sixty-six. If any Jesuit could refute that, Mr. Mageddon was prepared to admit himself in error. But if it were accepted as true, and he believed it would not be denied by any one there present (hear), then it was a proved and certain thing that the last grand triumph of Popery, preceding its final destruction, was close at hand. Yes; it was decreed that Rome should once again have the power. Let that inspire all with the determination to maintain the Protestantism of our beloved country. The end of the world was close at hand; let them walk in the good old ways of their forefathers, and preserve them for their latest posterity. And now Mr. M.Quantigan got up. A few minutes more of enforced silence must, you would have thought, have caused him to burst in pieces. For, at the very first outset, his speech developed itself into a shrieking rant, which was too much for many who had most eagerly awaited him. "The warm feelings of an Irishman,” his admirers were accustomed to say: "Has seen so much of the working of that fearful system in his own country, you see." But there was a serious division of opinion when this warmhearted Irishman began reading aloud certain extracts from Peter Dens, about the confessional. The noble Chairman suggest ed that Mr. M'Quantigan should be content with reading the Latin, at which suggestion there was much murmuring. Mr. M.Quantigan persevered, and, at the cost of about half his audience, read as much as he pleased. It is due to Mrs. Ferrier to say that she was amongst the departing portion of the audience. But her resolution to use that man, for averting the disgraceful marriage, was not by any means disturbed in her. We may as well narrate how the interrupted meeting ended. The more observant of the assembly had remarked, in a corner at the back of the platform, something which looked like a desk. It was, in fact, a square piano; and, as the persons in front of it shifted their position now and then, you might obtain glimpses of a very young woman seated before it. There was much conjecture as to the cause and meaning of her appearance that night. Some said that she was one of Mr. M'Quantigan's converts, brought there to testify to his success, as the bricks in the chimney bore witness to the regal descent of Mr. John Cade, alias Mortimer. Some affirmed that she was an escaped nun, and that her account of the horrific atroeities of convent life would form the last and most instructive portion of the evening's entertainment. But when all had spoken, the Chairman announced that it had been purposed to wind up proceedings by the singing of a song a Protestant song. Miss Whack, the daughter of a neighbouring schoolmaster, would lead and accompany on the piano; and perhaps the ladies and gentlemen would join in the chorus. Copies of the song (at a penny apiece) were distributed among such as demanded them. "The tune," it was stated at the head of each copy, "is a march, called the March of the Duke of Cambridge, who was a Protestant, every inch of him.' The words were given out- that is, of the first verse. Miss Whack thumped the jingling instrument, and screamed an accompaniment with her voice. There was much chorusing about " Pope and rope," and "priest and beast," and "mass and ass," and then the thing was really over. After all, should we not be thankful that so much insanity can evaporate in words? Mr. M Quantigan was himself impatient for the hour of eleven next day, as well as the lady who awaited his coming. For Mr. Gastrick, who had seen Mrs. Ferrier's note before the meeting, informed him that its writer was a widow living in a very good house, and enjoying a very fair income. Our Irish friend was quite prepared to fancy that love, and not theology, was the magnet which had drawn Mrs. Ferrier into his influence. And he came into her presence at the appointed time, attired in a way which he thought might deepen the impression already made on her. She, on her side, was preparing, as you may believe, the best and safest way of winning his confidence, and turning it to her one great purpose. She never suspected his identity with Bryan O'Cullamore, the cruel betrayer of poor Mrs. Roberts, and also the father of her daughter. Mr. Dowlas, in his important letter to her, had mentioned O'Cullamore's employment, nearly twenty years before, in the very capacity now assumed by M'Quantigan. But, not being the most important fact of the story, it had not much impressed Mrs. Ferrier, and was now scarcely remembered by her. In truth, it can be well believed that she knew not half the extent of Orange impudence. She could not have understood, in her ignorance of controversial hardihood, that any man convicted of so mean and infamous a crime could assume, though protected by never so many folds of alias, the position of a religious advocate! That Mrs. Dowlas never hit upon the identity may look more striking still. But something in her nature always blinded her to anything which would extenuate the faults of her neighbours. Mr. M Quantigan, as you remember, had no knowledge but that Eva was his daughter. Nor had he, at present, heard of the death and unexpected will of Mr. Griffyth. He found Mrs. Ferrier seated near a desk, in which a drawer was visibly open. She had, indeed, been looking up one or two letters which referred to the girl so much an object of her dread. Perhaps, considering all things, it was not so very absurd in Mr. M Quantigan to fancy that he had won a heart unknown to himself. He might be called a handsome man. He was really very little the worse for the twenty years which had passed over him since he obtained such fatal ascendancy over poor Susanna Roberts. He had reasons for thinking that an insolent swaggering tongue was not always an obstacle to female favour. Mrs. Ferrier was not a woman to admire him for that. But she thought only of the uses to be made of him. Scrupulous gentleness would have made him useless altogether. So Mrs. Ferrier went straight on her crooked way (as the gentleman himself might have said), and shut her eyes to the disgrace, never to open them until, dark and hideous, it encircled her as with a stream that flows between the living and the dead. Mr. M.Quantigan made what he considered a very elegant bow, and accepted her invitation to sit down. Then she began in a way well calculated by her beforehand. "I am so much obliged to you for calling upon me, Mr. M'Quantigan; I was afraid you might think me very presuming." "Not at all, ma'am. I'd be proud to go after you anywhere. I hope, ma'am, you were pleased with our meeting last night?" Very much pleased indeed, Mr. M'Quantigan. Especially pleased with the wonderful and forcible speech you gave us yourself. I was truly sorry I could not hear it all. The fact is I was taken with the toothache-I really believe it was the effect of your speech- well made up to me by the pleasure of what I did hear." "She is in love with me, there's no question about it," the sanguine Murphy thought within himself. "I must encourage her a little to come to the point." Then he went on aloud: "Oh, ma'am, ob, Mrs. Ferrier, it was a glorious meeting which we had! We shall light up such a fire in England as will never be quenched-never, until the popish priests and their damnable idols are utterly consumed and confounded. 1 go very shortly away from here, to arouse the same spirit elsewhere in the country." 'Well, Mr. M'Quantigan, I hope that wherever you go you'll meet with the success you deserve. I do very much wish I could aid you in any way. But do you not sometimes feel a little weary of this wandering life?" "It only wants a word or two more," thought Murphy again. "But she might be offended if I did it too soon." Then he said: "Mrs. Ferrier, it's not of doing good that the likes of me would ever be weary at all. But I'd be thankful to settle down with a home and a wife. But I never hope for such a blessing as that." "You should not say that Mr. M'Quantigan. Come now, don't be offended, though it's somewhat unusual, I'm aware, to talk as I am doing; but I happen to know that, at least in one quarter, your excellent qualities are fully admired, and, indeed, I may say you yourself are loved." Could any words have been plainer? M'Quantigan was within an ace of dropping on his knees, and saying something which would have brought the interview to a very strange conclusion. But something in the lady's air-something much more easy to detect than to define-kept him from taking her quite at her word, encouraging as that word was. Mr. M Quantigan thought a moment or two before he said anything. Why should this lady care to see Miss Roberts married? Why, doubtless, because she wished to guard against having a step-daughter thrust on her after her marriage. "Ah, Mr. M'Quantigan, you're like all say it would be an exceedingly good thing, men very vain, I see. Now I'll leave it if Miss Roberts were married very soon. to you to find out for yourself. And (of Now, what, M'Quantigan, do you say to course we are both aware that what I am now that?" going to say has nothing to do with what I was saying) and I very much wish, Mr. M-Quantigan, to ask after a certain young lady now in Wales - I mean, Miss Roberts." Miss Roberts!" The excellent Murphy was startled indeed. If Mrs. Ferrier knew how lately he had seen "Miss Roberts," she almost certainly knew the tie between them, and, therefore, the shameful history of his former life. Had she brought him into her house only to convict and denounce him? No, that was absurd. If she wished to marry him (and she had all but said so now), it hardly mattered whether his former career was known to her or not. "Yes, Mr. M Quantigan, I know all about you and Miss Roberts. I know that you and she are bound together by no common tie. Now, am I not right?" Right, Mrs Ferrier? to be sure, you're right altogether. But may I just ask how you know?" “Oh, I heard it from one of the family - from the young lady's aunt, in short. And I know that your claim is a rightful one, and that you have, in fact, received great encouragement." "He speaks very confidently," she was thinking all the while; " and I don't think he'd readily give her up. Let me get them to exchange some words, which can be shown to that obstinate Richard of mine; or (better still) let me contrive for him to catch them together, and I shall gain the day, after all." He was quick in replying to her latest remark. "Encouragement, did you say I'd got from her, Mrs. Ferrier? Well you see, as things were, she had no choice but to encourage me. To do anything else would have brought on an exposure, you see. She did the only wise thing she could, and it'll be better for both, I trust." "The worst that even I expected," poor Mrs. Ferrier exclaimed within herself. The wretched girl has parted with every shred of character, and this man talks quite coolly of it to me! Oh dear, oh dear; what depravity! But it's all the better for my purpose, and I really wish Richard had done But now, excuse me, Mr. M'Quantigan," she again addressed him. But I know and admire Miss Roberts; and have the highest respect for you. I should be truly glad.-well, now, I'll not be so rude as to be personal, — suppose we no worse." 66 Mrs. Ferrier was more calculating and less impulsive in her passion towards him, than her self-presumed husband-elect had thought her to be. He must let the plum fairly drop into his mouth, and refrain from plucking it, even with the gentlest twitch. Meantime, he might regulate his answers according to her manifest wish in each case. very soon - Eva Miss Roberts married married very soon, Mrs. Ferrier? Why, I say that I know it to be a very likely thing to happen, indeed.” "But it can hardly happen without you, Mr. M'Quantigan." "That's very right and very true, Mrs. Ferrier. It ought not, indeed. But it shall happen with me." "Well, now, Mr. M'Quantigan, just to put all manner of joking aside, and come to point the at once. As one, who led a very happy married life herself, while it lasted, I feel for all who are lonely in the world, and should like to make them happy, if I might: and allow me to tell you that I have a little money of my own." At this point he really rose from his chair, and knelt down and kissed her hand. "Blessed angel, that you are! I'll love you for ever and ever! "Poor man!" she only thought. "There's an honest warmth in his gratitude, that' shows how desperately he longs for the means of marrying her. He'll come to no good with her, but it will be his doing." Own There was one other thing. Did Miss Eva's Irish admirer know of her absconding and robbing her uncle and aunt? If not, he might now be in ignorance where she was. So she promptly asked him if he were just now in correspondence with Miss Roberts. "I hear from her almost every day," was his reply, dictated by the implied desire for an affirmative answer. 66 Well, then, Mr. M'Quantigan, as you do not appear offended at my meddling with your affairs, I should very much like to see her positive promise to be married on a certain day. I have so great a dislike to any uncertainty in these cases; — and and if you could really let me see that, he might win at once a promise of another then I would think what I could do with sort from the widow lady, who-somethe little money that I said I had." where or other had seen and loved himself. Mr. Murphy did not quite like the idea of adjourning his own good fortune until his daughter could be married, young and handsome though she were; so he proffered a compromise. "If you'll only believe my word, my dearest madame, I assure you that she shall never come to trouble you from the happy hour which makes us man and wife." -- He was stopping at a very good hotel; almost as much of his latter life had been spent in such abodes as in residences of a more private kind, and his up-and-down life had made him acquainted with every grade of modern hostels, from the houses in which princes occasionally lodged to the grimy beer-shops where burglaries were planned and arranged, and husbands fought their wives. "Oh, I wish her well, I am sure and under your protection I should be very glad to see her. I should feel myself safe, you In Mr. M'Quantigan's way home, he callknow; what am I saying? I mean, weed at the Post-office, and inquired for letshould get on better." "My sweetest lady, now only say what you'd have me do about her." “Well, I think,” said Mrs. Ferrier, who was getting rather fidgetty under the warmth of his Irish gratitude, "I think you really should tempt her to write to you something definite; not, perhaps, to fix a day, but just to say that-loving you as she must, she wishes to leave it all to you, and awaits your own intentions. Excuse me again, Mr. M'Quantigan, but I should like to be allowed to contribute to your happiness." Excuse me, you angel!" as he again took a kiss of her hand; "you shall just be contributing the whole and total sum-by my soul, you shall! Have you any Irish whiskey in the house?" "Irish whiskey?' Well, I don't know. Yes, I rather think my son had some when he was here; I'll inquire." There was some whiskey, not Irish, but Scotch, and Mrs. Ferrier, a little afraid of her new and warm-hearted friend, excused herself from keeping him company while he addressed himself to it. She had a pressing engagement, she said. And so she left him, happy in his foretaste of mastership in that same house. He had, indeed, some difficulty in believing that good fortune to be a real thing. Yet who could mistake what she had said? There was a singular inconsistency about her, it was true, and when she seemed most thoroughly to confide in him, in the very next moment she put on a look of coldest indifference. However, that might be the natural reaction of the violence her woman's nature had been doing itself. His own course was very clear. He must get a promise from his daughter (and she would most likely give it for the asking), not to intrude herself upon him in any wise. And, fortified with this assurance, ters. ·Deverington Hall, Bridgewater, very September 9, 1856. "DEAR MURPHY, It is too bad of you to grumble because I cannot at present send you any money. At least you know that I would not refuse you anything that I could possibly give you. But, really and truly, you ought to consider, that I have suffered and risked a great deal for your sake in time past and the least you can do is to leave me in peace, until my position becomes a more assured one; and then, dearest Murphy, you may feel assured that I shall be anxious to bring back as much of the good old times as it will be safe and prudent for us to do. And now for the prospect which, I think, is fairly open to ! me. I often think of what those horrid aunts who brought me up were always saying one to another - I don't think Emma understands her position; I don't think Emma is aware that she will have to gain a living by her own exertions.' "This was all their talk if I complained of getting up to practise the piano at six in the morning, while they lay in bed until noon. If the said Emma, now more than thirty, understands her present position; this it is I shall be the second Mrs. Campion before the next winter is followed by another. Events have played into my hands. Just before our leaving town, that precious Emily's flirtation with young Larking (such a stupid young fellow!) came to the ears of her papa, who straightway took |