He was to bring with him two wicker trussles, between which I intended the beloved picture to travel. I fully meant always to keep it with me. When all this was arranged, I came in and prepared to perform my part in the plot.

It was getting late. The light was waning, and a melancholy silence reigned in the house. There was nobody in the drawing-room, only the dogs sleeping in the arm-chairs. I thought my uncle was in the library, hard at work over his books, and Babelou in the kitchen. The moment seemed particularly favourable. I went upstairs with flushed cheeks and a beating heart, like a man engaged in a desperate adventure. The lumber-room was, as I said before, on the third story. Just as I arrived at the top of the stairs I met Dom Gérusac, with his reading-lamp in his hand, and his spectacles pushed back on his forehead. He looked quite grieved and dismayed.

"Poor Marion," he said, "is as ill as possible; the Abbé Lambert has just given her the last sacraments. She may die at any moment." My heart sank within me, more, I am ashamed to say, at the failure of my own plans than at the news about Marion. Her room was next to the one where the picture was, and the present state of things made it impossible to remove it without attracting notice from those who were assembled round her bed. My uncle, who was truly grieved about his old servant, took my arm to go downstairs. We found Babelou crying in the entrance-hall.

"Poor Marion," she said, wiping her eyes with her apron, "was too courageous. I am sure she was very ill yesterday, but she would rather have died in the kitchen than go to bed before the dinner was cooked. And yet she knew very well that she was dangerously ill. Whilst I was waiting at table, she told Gothou to send immediately for M. le Curé. It was for her that he came last night in all that pouring rain. To cheer her up this morning, I showed her the two gold pieces which M. le Marquis had given us. She then said she felt much better, but it did not last long, and now she is dying!"

We went into the drawing-room, and half an hour afterwards the Abbé Lambert came in and told us all was over. Marion's all but sudden death was one of those events which throw a bachelor's household into sad confusion. My poor uncle was quite distressed, and kept repeating, "She was a very faithful creature. During the twelve years she lived with me I never had occasion to find the least fault with her. I shall find it no easy matter to replace so good a servant."

I was occupied meanwhile in considering whether it would be possible to carry off Mdlle. de Malpeire before the next morning. Suddenly my uncle said, "I wonder who are the heirs of that poor woman? A year's wages were owing to her, and she had put by a little money, I think. If she has any relatives it must go to them. must make inquiries."

I

The Abbé shook his head; he was writing a memorandum for the Registrar. When he had finished it he handed over the paper to my uncle, who was sitting on the opposite side of the table. I saw Dom Gérusac start, and throw up his hands and eyes with a gesture of profound astonishment. Almost unconsciously I approached, and looking over his shoulder, glanced at the paper and read-"To-day, October 12, 18-, died at St. Pierre de Corbie, Madeleine Marie de Malpeire, widow of François Pinatel."

"Marion! Marion was Mdlle. de Malpeire!" I almost shrieked out the words. The Abbé Lambert and my uncle were both leaning

against the table with their hands clasped together; I think they were praying. Babelou was sobbing behind the door.

I went and sat down at the corner of the chimney with my head resting on my hands. I did not move or speak the whole evening, and at about twelve o'clock went to my room. Soon afterwards I heard some one under my windows, calling to me in a suppressed voice. It was my accomplice, who, tired of waiting in the alley, was come to remind me of our appointment.

"I say, Monsieur Frederic," he said, standing on tip-toe, "I am come to fetch the picture. Could not you hand it down to me through the window?"

"I have not got it and I don't want it," I angrily cried; "go along with you."

Fifteen years afterwards, after the death of Dom Gérusac, who had made me his executor and residuary legatee, I found Mdlle. de Malpeire in the same place where Babelou had put her. The mice had done some mischief to the painting, and the little finger which my poor dear uncle had found so much fault with had disappeared. I had it cleaned and repaired, and it now figures in a very respectable manner in my portrait-gallery.

"Ales Diei Nuntius."

HARK to that voice! Methinks I recognise
Accents familiar to these ears, condemned
So long to strain at half-guessed foreign sounds.
Say, dost thou come from those far-distant isles-
Far distant in sad verity to me,

Though many a magic vapour-steed each day
Achieves the journey over land and main ?
Art thou of Celtic or of Saxon race,

That thus the feelings of thy soul find vent
In language to my soul intelligible?

No; but the birds and beasts of all the climes,
Each several species to its idiom true,
Concordant thus hold converse as they may.
The robin, chirping on the grey tombstone

Where rest my father's bones, might chant its hymn
Here by the banks of this most fair Mayenne,
Nor need interpreter with robin here;
There is one dialect, but one, for all
The robins of the universe. And thou,

Thou, too, proud-crested bird, thy crow recals
That farm-yard monitor whose native chimes

Would chide my sloth on summer-morns of yore.
Nay, such it was that thrice reproachful smote
The tortured, wavering, noble heart of him
Who, rushing from the gaze of those meek Eyes,
Wept bitterly.

Nor deem the Muse profane,

If, 'mid her play, such solemn thoughts intrude.
Not without solemn purpose she contrasts
The peaceful uniformity of all

The races of God's creatures animate;

All save their lord and master, him for whom
The one sole Lord and Master made them. Men,
With but a mound of earth, a stream between them,
Differ, like worlds apart, in thought and speech.
Not so the lower tribes that live and move,
For list the cock-crow of this quaint French town
Re-echoes faithfully the chanticleer,

That flaps his wing and crows, perchance, this hour,
Before George Kielty's door in dear Killowen.

St. Louis and the Pragmatic Sanction.

THERE is a very unfortunate indifference on the part of many English Catholics to the historical arguments by which Protestants think to subvert the claims of Rome. They are so sure of the truth of their religion, that they cannot appreciate the weight which such arguments have in the eyes of those who are still outside the Church, though they have in some degree recognised its claims as the teacher of truth. They seem to forget that, in the struggle which all have to pass through who win their way to the City of God, the balance is often so evenly cast between the working of grace and the influence of lower motives, that a feather will turn the scale, and that in such cases poor human nature clings instinctively to any broken reed which seems to weaken the position of the Church.

It is for this reason, and not for their intrinsic value, that these historical arguments are of so much importance. Just as it is the duty of every Catholic to be able to give a reason of the faith that is in him, so we believe it to be also our duty, especially at the present time, to be ready with an intelligent explanation of the various facts, real or imaginary, which are commonly thrown in our teeth. The world is prone to judge of a belief by the ability of those who hold it to defend their position, and it must be admitted that what De Maistre calls the activité pérturbatrice des sectes too often gives them an advantage very much to be regretted over the unfortunate apathy of Catholics.

Among such arguments is the alleged independence of the Gallican Church in the middle ages. It is asserted that France never recognised Papal supremacy; that all the best of the French Kings, Charlemagne and St. Louis included, resisted the temporal jurisdiction of Rome. In

proof of this, our opponents bring forward a document which is generally known as the Pragmatic Sanction of St. Louis, and which professes to have been issued by him; and they thus pretend to adduce in support of their antiPapal position the authority of one who has been enrolled in the list of the Saints. "If," they say, "we find a man of such eminent sanctity resisting so decidedly, and almost fiercely, the greedy encroachments of Rome, is not this, of and by itself, a sufficient refutation of the Ultramontane theory?"

But unluckily for our Protestant and Gallican friends, this conclusion is based upon a premise altogether false. The Pragmatic Sanction was never issued by St. Louis at all, but is in all probability a forgery of nearly two centuries later. In the present article we propose to adduce a few of the principal arguments by which M. Gérin proves this is the case; if they do not appear convincing to our readers, we would refer them to the very able little book from which they are drawn, where every point is discussed at length, and the various objections are carefully considered and answered.*

The Pragmatic Sanction consists of six Articles, of which only the fifth can in any way be called a direct attack on Rome. The rest might have been issued by the Holy See itself; they denounce simony, confirm to the various Prelates their proper jurisdiction, and renew the privileges granted by former Kings to churches and monasteries. The Fifth Article, which forms the point d'appui of the attack, runs as follows: "As to the exactions and grievous burdens of money taxes which have been imposed, or shall be imposed, upon the Church of our realm by the Court of Rome (whereby our realm has been miserably impoverished), it is our will that they should in no wise be levied or collected, except only for a reasonable, pious, and most

We have not touched on the theory of Dumoulin, that there were two Pragmatic Sanctions issued by St. Louis, exactly identical in words, and bearing date 1228 and 1269 respectively. It is sufficiently disproved by the age of the King in 1228. He was then only thirteen years old, and the Sanction could not have proceeded from such a child, but would have been the work of his mother, Blanche of Castile. Her zealous devotion to Rome is utterly at variance with such a supposition.