cell, and resigned his faithful soul to God on the 16th of October, 1585. Having stated nothing in this sketch but what appeared to be confirmed by the concurrence of credible authorities, we feel it may be reasonably asked, Where is the probability that the archbishop was poisoned? Why poison him after having so long spared his life? Or why not publicly execute him? In reply to the latter, consider the peculiar circumstances of his capture in Ireland; and as to the former, the reader is referred to the assassination of the Catholic Percy a few months before in the same Tower. It was a period of terror in England: the league was then mustering in France; and the same policy that was hurrying the Queen of Scotland to the block, would naturally cut off the captive primate of Ireland. Catholic authorities mention the name of the poisoner, and the means by which he effected his purpose.

The primate's body was interred within the precincts of the Tower: and who even among those who laud the Irish Reformation, would not prefer that unknown and unhonoured resting-place to the proud monument erected to the apostate Myler Mac Grath for himself in the now ruined cathedral of Cashel,-selfish even in death ?*

MADELEINE, THE ROSIÈRE.

CHAPTER VI.

WHEN the Curé accompanied Madeleine home in la Comtesse de Guaie's carriage, he inquired more closely into all the circumstances of this painfully strange affair than he had chosen to do before the curious assembled in the church, in which group Mdlle Lagune stood pre-eminent; and while blaming Madeleine for entering into the strange mysterious oath to Alexis to conceal so criminal an act, he was forced, in selfaccusing justice, to admit that he had acted without sufficient reflection himself, in the agitation of the moment, in not only permitting her so hastily to break it, but urging her to do so in the public manner in which it had been done. But the regret was now tardy; the evil of it had commenced its work in all sorts of uncharitable surmises, which she felt by intuition. Pere Gallin tried by every spiritual means of consolation to calm and soothe the afflicted girl; and taking a fatherly leave of

* Several works, some of which are extant, are attributed to Primate Creagh : catalogue of them may be seen in Harris's Ware.

her, with a promise to call early on the morrow, he bade her adieu, as he placed her in the ever-loving arms of her adopted mother. Despite that motherly care, however, Madeleine's state was so wild and excited, that the doctor, whom Madame Bertrand called in, ordered her instantly to be put to bed, and kept as quiet as possible. Where, then, was her ever-loving, faithful Louise? No one thought of her: who reckons a sister's love in comparison with an affianced wife's? And yet it often is far deeper and more devoted. She lay at home on her solitary bed, her head buried in the pillow, lest her aunt should hear her sobs; for Mdlle Lagune's grief was of that violent nature, that it only added to her niece's, it could not soothe it. She was in a passion with every one; and even accused Louise as the primary cause of all, in having, sixteen years before, saved the child's life, which had grown up to be her (Mdlle Lagune's) curse.

The affair, of course, so publicly spoken of, got into the hands of the police authorities; and an officer was sent off to arrest Alexis Valette on a charge of robbery. Something of this reached Madeleine's ears. To stay and condemn him, see him brought in a prisoner, was impossible; but one thing remained to be done, to escape; but how? Some one was constantly entering her room; then, too, the idea of a dark reprehensive look from Mons. Bertrand, made the cold tremor of fear creep through her veins. Escape, there was only that; but how accomplish it? Night was coming on; what a long, wretched day that one had been! Sunday, too, the Rosière fête-day; and as she thought over all the promised joy of that day, before Alexis's visit, her excitement became redoubled: she must fly all. Thus only could she find peace. Poor girl; she was sighing for that which had left her for many a long day to come. Once or twice Madame Bertrand entered her room and whispered to her; she did not speak, though awake: she could not bear kind words; they killed her. At last her resolution was taken; and when Madame Bertrand came to her bedside again, she threw her arms round her neck; she could not bear to go without her blessing; and craving that, she dropped more calm from her all-but mother's arms, and begged to be allowed to rest. Seeing her so tranquil, the other embraced and left her; telling her la bonne Jacqueline. should sleep in the room adjoining hers that night. She spoke many words of comfort, and then left her in seeming peace. Madeleine listened, however, to every sound: she heard Madame Bertrand retire; the bonne come to rest; then, in a few. moments afterwards, her heavy sleep; and finally all was quiet, and the time creeping on towards midnight.

When we are in great mental trouble, minor fears are forgotten. Madeleine, though usually timid as a fawn, arose, wrote a few hasty, affectionate lines to her "dear mother," as she called her; beseeching her to forgive, and not blame her too much; that she could not remain and meet Alexis a prisoner; concluding by saying that she would write to her kind mother and benefactress as soon as she had met with a situation. To Louise she also enclosed a few hasty lines, imploring her forgiveness for the unwilling sorrow she had occasioned her. She then dressed hastily, and before the church-clock tolled midnight, was on the high road and alone, journeying towards Paris. As she passed the outskirts of the village, the hour came booming through the air from the church-clock; it seemed to her as if the quiet, holy spot she had well-nigh profaned, where so often she had knelt in placid joy and adoration, was sending a loud-tongued messenger on her track to drive her forth. Still, with the last tone of it, she knelt down and prayed earnestly and fervently for guidance and support. "After all," she said, rising, "I have not been guilty, except of the temporary concealment, through fear ; perhaps my good angel may walk beside and lead me in my search, and some rich reward be mine, if I succeed." She thought not of the rewards of earth; then she was comforted, and higher hopes were hers; for the good counsels of the bon curé had not been cast away. Thus the girl journeyed on, whilst in fancy she saw a shadow with silver wings meekly folded, walking beside to cheer her; and she gently uttered a hymn to her guardian angel, which Louise had taught her when a little child. The morning broke clear and bright; still she journeyed onward with the small parcel in her hand, which contained a change of linen-all she had taken with her and about fifteen francs in her purse. Poor Madeleine! she thought this would last an age! She had never known the necessity of a day's pinching want, or the expense of even daily bread, when every loaf has to be paid for, thereby diminishing, by huge strides, the meagre purse. But she did not think of this; her thoughts were fixed on two things. One was, to increase, as quickly as possible, the distance between herself and Nogent; for she felt assured, in her ignorance of all law, that by her absence Alexis would be saved; who could convict, condemn him? The next fixed idea of her mind-one which had been long before this day fructifying in her heart-was to find her father! Something had, ever since she heard of his existence, been urging her to seek him; other duties, and perhaps joys, had banished it. Care brings many a beautiful bud to the rich flower's full bloom; so it

was with this; and now, strange to all, having seldom in her short life been even in the streets of Paris, she was hastening thither to seek one, with the slight clue she possessed, amidst so many thousands! She did not speak of luck' or 'fate' bringing it to pass. She thought of One only; and to Him she prayed as she walked onwards. A market-cart overtaking her, she begged a ride; her feet began to feel the length of road she had come. The man and his wife cheerfully gave her what she solicited; remarking, at the same time, "that it was early for a young girl to be alone on the road."

"I am going to Paris to join my father," she confidently said; for her heart felt assured, by its extraordinary lightness under her heavy affliction, that some happiness was in store for her; there could only be this now to solace her, the discovering a parent.

"And he lets you travel alone? a pretty girl like you?" asked a woman.

"He is only a workman," she added in all truth, as she had heard of him; "and I am going to seek a situation: I have been staying with some friends at Nogent."

The woman looked earnestly at her; for, despite her modest attire and little close peasant cap, Madeleine looked like one to be served, not to serve. Then the little hands were white as milk; altogether she seemed much unfitted for a servant. Little more passed; for she avoided, as well as she could, all questioning; when they arrived at the nearest point to the Quai St. Michel, which was still far away, she got out, and thanking her friends of an hour, stepped quickly away. After many inquiries, she found herself at last where she desired to be; but it was still very early; what could she do? She paused an instant and looked around. A quiet little shop stood near, from whence issued the refreshing odour of coffee; it was an early breakfast-house. She made a step towards it; beside it another door stood open: it was one of those houses which seldom close in France. "I will go there first," she whispered, stilling the cravings of hunger and fatigue," and sanctify this day, my first in search of a parent."

And she turned into the house of God, and knelt down in humility and resignation, to hear the first early Mass. When it was over she rose to depart; but her strength seemed insufficient to carry out her resolves. So she sank down again on her seat; and she may be surely forgiven-this poor wandering child-if nature sought refreshment in a deep, overpowering sleep. When she awoke, the day had sufficiently advanced for her to prosecute her search, by calling upon Mons, Lafon, where her father was last heard of, After

taking some refreshment in the quiet little shop before alluded to, she proceeded towards the wood-yard. There was something so timid, so gentle in her manner, that the master himself proceeded to make inquiries for her; and she finally ascertained that though he had not worked there for a long time, he had called about four months before this present period to inquire for employment, promising to return.

"And

Madeleine's heart bounded with joy, for he lived! can you not give me his address?" she inquired, anxiously.

"I cannot," was the reply; "but he said he lived near the Barrière Montmartre, where he had been working lately. If you inquire at the wood-yards in that neighbourhood, probably you may find him; but call here again, and should he return, I will ask his address."

Thanking the speaker, she turned away. Here was another trial for her, to discover the Barrière Montmartre; but the anxious spirit did not tire; and early in the afternoon she found herself in that quarter of Paris. But here in vain she inquired for Gilles Frémont; no one knew him at all the wood-yards; no such person was known. Disheartened, tired, she sat down on a large stone where they were building; and the tears began to fall from her eyes for the first time since her search. As she sat thus a mason employed about the building approached her. "Why are you crying, petite ?" he asked, kindly. "Can I do any thing for you?"

Madeleine looked up; her face was so pale and fair, that the man moved a step back in respectful attention.

"Thank you," she said gently, "for I am in much trouble; I have been vainly seeking some one all the morning.' "A lover?" he asked, half smiling.

tell

"No," she answered, blushing, "my father; can you me where I might be likely to hear of one Gilles Frémont, he could tell me about him:" she did not like saying he was her father.

66

Frémont, Frémont," he answered, "I think I have heard the name; but I am strange about here; this is my first job”— he pointed to the building," but go there, to that wayside house, Au bon Enfant," it is a place of resort for us workmen; the woman who keeps it is a good body: say I, Jacques the mason, sent you, and she will treat you kindly: I cannot leave my work, or I would go with you, pauvre petite fille; there, don't cry; I dare say you will find him. ~ Have you come far? And what is your name?"

My name is Madeleine," she answered," and I have come a long way in search of him."

"Pauvre petite," he said again, kindly; "go there, and if