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Peers ab betnisgste ba tigs pete tapm esos isieaeeceta ie ese tesesesesmeeas . ioe atte apegeteten esse eae SsTpHATy * Rio eeineree st -Peee ie 35 setreaset ere are : : Moti pprisegese lipases . : o eset pepe sae er ss trees nfesatotosserss: 32 ¥ . arses ray) aaa eosaes 2 es Gis Ret atehetatatebaresr ret ter ere Siattysitiegetresestinsteste ta eeees oy tiricseies $F feereeeseatis csetrsserees r ye v4 .. > are aee a 23 seers SSeS aps ops tts toes 5 ppeaietess 22555, persseesy es trat ites spa tegsfitsrsree: speeeR Hasty ptarecre The person charging this material is re- sponsible for its return to the library from which it was withdrawn on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. To renew call Telephone Center, 333-8400 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN RY i [f 1903 BBY a fi wos JUL 13 1993 L161—O-1096 y's f oh ha ih Ate y ay y lh | 4 ts ANLIN bh 4 hh. / A " ] Tie. 7 j ; i ‘ ' ; i i oh : t i i ’ te \ rr L ;. ry * < te * ’ i : n ' 1 F) i , i : " or, ‘ { ” ” > ‘ a j rear i ‘ ‘ */ Cs vie ee, j ‘ yy a ih , F i ita i ie? F S SQV OS Ses us SS a A A oo rT eT ui : i} i re Ad zai Hi 24 1 it SUH ahs i lit 7 { | * " MII ; LTH | f i i » i CHAPEL OF THE URSULINES—CECILE TAKING THE VEIL. ~ aes | : See Chapter IX. a oma ‘ " yap aur OMA T aeRO ‘ ‘§, LAU Wk a8, THE NUN OF ST. URSULA, PMurwiiwg of (He Comvemt, A Romance of Mount Benedict. BY HARRY HAZEL, Author of the ‘ Burglars, or the Mysteries of the League of Honor, ‘ The Belle of Boston,’ &c. _LDLBD PDO OOOO OOO BOSTON: | PUBLISHED BY F. GLEASON,:1 1-2 TREMONT ROW. 1845. Entered ncepraine to Aet of Gongress, in the Year 1845, by F. Gleason, in the Clerk‘s Office of the District Court of Massachus etts. mea’. Ye es Sie Aaa ROC Bbw ek ws Sade ele ’ rate 7 4 . hetsadeteD 9} 30 as ce jae th TAGs, Aaa Be me. Sy hag rod. ne. £48 oh ya aa tye POS ee) Be An ‘ , ny, . De} ti a = te, v UE Ca Sy ee “4 : ah. ie A im be & 4 La us ay i) fit vgehe ape ‘ied Obes eit nae in a PREFACE. ‘6*.4 Romance of Mount Benedict!’ Pshaw!’’ Methinks we hear the hyper- critical reader utter this sentence with a sneering emphasis. ‘‘ What is there relating to Mt. Benedict, of sufficient interest, to form a basis for a romance ?”’ he adds, enquiringly, as though the subject had been exhausted in the ‘ Maria Monk”’ and “ Six Months in a Convent” narratives, which issued so prolifically from the press some ten years ago. We are fully aware that it is generally supposed that the numerous works which have been written upon the Ursuline Convent, and the judicial investi- gations that were caused by its destruction, had made the whole subject familiar to every mind throughout New-England—indeed, that it was worn threadbare=- yet, at the same time, let these enquiries be made of those. who are most familiar with its details—‘* Why was the Convent destroyed? Who were the incendia- ries? What object had they in view ?” and the answers cannot be given, plain and simple as the questions are, without the conflicting testimony of thousands of others, whose evidence may be equally relied upon. And yet, these are the I¢ading questions. How much more enigmatical, then, must be its details. If, therefore, the history of the Convent, from its institution to its destruction is still as mysterious and impenetrable to the great mass of the people as ever, it is a good theme for the writer of fiction. As our title indicates, we propose to write a ‘‘ Romance of Mount Benedict ;’ but if, in the exercise of our imag- inative faculties, we should accidentally stumble upon some stubborn truths, those whom they touch most nearly must not put on the coat, however well it may fit them ; for we would not incur the displeasure of the least among man- kind—we would be friends with all. HARRY HAZEL. Cambridge, November, 1844. e atten rroddets satee soqtt, ‘aide qloine we ie wath Fast Y tad “aw wale sidtott ‘ % toad " si Saat siinaak x me 4) at “tea h Bigmaley wr. gaivooqe: niliher qocapdon eld? tadts tg ba ity 0 VSP ained! we: nwt Qf arazetel imo iol ve"te eager Bite Me nile a> Be oingeil ea adart Tort Soojgler auth dquodtan yy waite Silo ba beuani daidw eo" incetnen ‘foo rao i ati pret | Mage prting eet mains palgo% pvordart of ond said. be cuts Hexsaog ei ti tateen? oe vtaiteioibet silt bas, face > agilom ly Jdthnogs noitiiw 2 Gite et guess alodw edi, ebarn bed moifoutiesh asj eds Rmadhwowdi aw ecw 21 tod) basbai--basiga lwo AAnitionst 420ne ota Odw geod? "to ohne od doiio pie aie | Anfbacogs adj ove w OW S boevonsoh torte 601 saw, we (ible! g aatty od Jonnsy a aweus odt ban twee ti ods bad ta ehavatadd us 2aonsijest yuissifidos ‘ott Tho dsivw PME: eLOAIIRO 59 «lt oub-paeds Tavhak — aoqu boiler qaupo at: ge Bom ‘\elistel ti ok anus pooud) ooliehtrging eros aue woth ndsaaaitab atk of ngitasitsiai asi soft seovneD ot Yo yossid oats i vee abel pyent od} Yo anette tot ane 6: eldsstocagimibas s TOT et qorq: ow elooibai ohtit pro. al” sport eo rotire edi we ph This ih oairvaxe oft at Ai tud:'zisibonold iano oo hi Law serewrod |beo: epils oo) Sing dont fi of ee overgf tasol : salt pis prea ABAli WHA, Bk emo THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. A Romance of Mount Henedict. CHAPTER 1 Mounr Benepicr sy Sunset. THe prEJEcTeED Stuprent. INVECTIVE Sonmoaguy on Nunneries. THe Navutican StTrancer. SuRpRISING ‘DeveELopments. Romantic Narrative. THe YANKEE’s ADVENTURES ‘AMONG THE SUBJECTS OF THE SOLDAN. sit ir was at the close of a bright and beautiful day in the middle of June; the sun was sinking behind the western hills, and shedding its last glitter- ing gleams upon the tower and cross of Mount Benedict, and fringing with gold the soft snowy masses of vapor which curtained the horizon of the oc- eident. Twilight shades were fast clothing the groves and valleys with a sable garb. One by one, from the clear blue vault above, peered forth the ‘planets and stars with their serene rays, and Night’s holy-queen moved in majestic beauty through the skies, and increasing in silvery brightness each moment of her silent course. The robin and swailow had chanted their latest song, and the cuckoo and whippoorwill had began their evening sere- nade. Not a leaf moved on the stately elm, nor a zephyr ruffled the waters of the dark Mystic, whose surface reflected with perfect distinctness the starry canopy of heaven. It was an hour for recreation; the daily toil of the laborer was o’er, and instead of the din of labor, the hum of merry voites came forth from the gardens.and fields. It wasan hour too, for re- ‘flection—a fit time to behold Nature’s Majesty exchanging her brilliant gol- den attire of day, for her silvery-gemmed garb of night. _ At such a time and on such an evening as we have described, the singu- lar tale we are about to narrate commences by following a solitary individ- ' ual through a romantic grove of trees, bordering on the extreme north of the town of Cambridge, near the Colleges, and in close contiguity to what is now termed ‘ Professors’ Row.’ ‘The individual in ‘question was a young ‘man, apparently of twenty or twenty-one years of age, tall and gracefully formed, with a handsome countenance, though at this time a sad and pen- sive expression rested upon his features. He pursued his way slowly along the path, swinging a Niagara cane or crook carelessly in his hand, and mut- > 10 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. tering incoherently at the same time. Presently he emerged from the wood, crossed the road, and stood upon a gentle eminence which commands a view of the town of Charlestown, its adjacent fields, and its commanding hills. He gazed for a few moments at the surrounding scenery, turned his eye toward the heavens and in melancholy but earnest tones thus solili- uised : ‘Would that the absurd theory of astrology were true, and I were one of its learned votaries, J might then foretell my destiny in those twinkling orbs which have no parallel in brightness, save in the eyes of her at whose shrine I could fall down and worship. Oh, Cecile! Cecile! you know not of the adoration which is offered to thee! You know not of the hours of anguish, of the sleepless nights that I have passed, depreeating thy rash res- olution to enter the wal!s of yon Convent! Could not the tears and en treaties of thine only parent; the pure and ardent affection of him to whom you once pledged your love, have restrained thee from immuring thy beau- teous self in a living charnel-house ?. Oh! Cecile! had Jove’s dread thun- derbolt.but shattered to the earth that unholy temple of mockery, misery and mortality, ere thy light footsteps had crossed its abhorred threshold! Thou wert free, happy and merry! pure and lovely as the brightest living thing of earth! Thy mother loved thee with more than a parent’s tender- ness! ‘Thou, too, wert the pride of the village, and thy smiles had an angel- ic charm that made glad every heart within their magic influence! Could my mind but linger wholly upon those happy hours of childhood, when with me, thy chosen companion, we roamed these groves and yales to- gether, without the painful remembrance of that sad and dismal hour when you left a peaceful and happy home, and bade adieu to a bereaved parent, a disconsolate lover, thy dearest friends, and even this bright world, to be- come a Recluse! a Nun! then might I be happy, and contentment ever be my lot! May kind Heaven yet interpose and rescue thee from passing beyond thy novitiate in that mystic temple. Let not those who beguiled thee from all that the world holds dear, ever bestow upon thee the blasphe- mous appellation of ‘Spouse of Jesus Christ! Profane monsters! doth not the fear of an offended Deity, whose disciple thou professeth to be, cause thee to tremble? Forbear! withhold thy sacrilegious: mockeries from the itnocent maiden whom thou hast inveigled into those unsanctified and secret chambers, Cecile! awake! free thyself from the infatuated spells with which thou art bound, and abjurg the false dogmas and supersti- tions of papal power!’ A solemn peal of musical bells from the turret of the Ursuline Convent, . vibrated with startling distinctness upon the ear of the young man, and ar- rested the wild expressions to which he gave utterance. He descended from the eminence into the main road, when he descried an individual astride a fleet steed riding quickly up the ascent. The horsemanswas at- tired in a true sailor’s garb---blue jacket, white trowsers, checked shirt, tar- paulin hat and pumps; around his neck he wore a wide black ribbon, with aring of bone, slipped thiough the ends in lieu ofa knot. The moment he ~ saw the stranger he reined in his steed. His countenance denoted manli- ness, resolution and perseverance; but could his features at this moment have been closely scanned, a shadow of sadness and doubt might have been seen occasionally disturbing its natural complacency. He did not appear more than, twenty-three years of age, and were it not for his nautical habil- iments, he would have been accounted of a different rank from a jolly son of old Neptune. As soon as he had checked the anh Seg curvetting of his high-mettled Horse, he thus accosted the student: | ‘Halloo! ship ahoy! I’m out my reck’ning. These laod-marks haye so changed since I was last in these cruisings, that I. am at a loss on which point to steer ! / " 7 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. *'To what port are you bound?’ asked the other, imitating the nautical address of the stranger. . ‘'That’s pretty good for a land-shark! By your hull.and rigging 1 should know you was one o’ them college larks, so 1. can’t be far off the course. Is there a handfulof water about here that they used to cal] Fresh Pond ?’ ‘Yes!’ answered the student, ‘and it lies about one mile on the road south of this 2 ‘ Thank ye, my hearty! I see how it is---they have been cutting a new channel through here !’ ‘ This is, indeed, a thoroughfare somewhat new. You must have been absent from here along time?’ said the student, inquiringly, and with an emphasis that denoted that his curiosity in regard to the sailor was some- what excited. ‘Eleven years!’ he replied, dropping his head upon his breast. ‘Eleven years!’ reiterated the student. ‘A long time for one of your years.’ ‘True! replied the sailor, drawing a bandanna from his jacket pocket, and with it wiping away a tear which moistened his eye. ‘Are you famil- iar with these cruisings ?” _*Perfectly well! I know every crook and turn, and every house for two miles around.’ ‘Then, p’raps you can tell me of a family that reside or once resided in a little cottage, near the Fresh Water Pond by the name of——’. Here the sailor hesitated and wiped away the tears which coursed down his cheeks. ‘By the name of---Melville 2 ) ‘Melville? echoed the student, starting at hearing the name mentioned by the tar. ‘I know them intimately! You mean the widow Melville and her daughter- ; é ' Cecile ? interrupted the sailor. ‘ The same” ‘Then Heaven be praised!’ and leaping from his horse he grasped the delicate hand of the stranger. ‘I thark you, my good friend. They are well ?’ continued he, earnestly. ‘Mrs. Melville is well,’ replied the student. ‘And Cecile ?” ‘She’s not residing with her mother, now.’ ‘Not residing with her mother, now? Come---what mean you? Don’t keep me inthe fog! Has the old lady become poor and sent the pretty Ce- cilé outto work? ‘Phank Heaven, I have plenty of shotin the locker! They shall be made happy again if povertyisthe trouble. Oh, my dear mother and sister. ‘ Your mother and sister! exclaimed the student with surprise. ‘ What! do I behold John—my old schoolmate, John Melville 2 ‘No! not John Melville—but Jacx Melville! Give us your flipper my _hearty! You have made Jack as happy as ever a jolly tar was in meeting his sweetheart after a voyage of discovery around the world! But avasi there! who are you? I never set eyeson your hull afore” ‘What! not know your old playmate, Fred Gray!’ ; ‘Shiver my timbers! so it is!) Give us your small grappling iron, my hearty, once more! Why Fred, my boy, you have grown to be a gentleman, while you see I’m but a rough looking son of old Neptune! Lord bless ye, next to my mother and little Cecile 1 should have spoken for you! But, soe e of Cecile, what port is she now in? You said she was not at ome! ‘No, Jack ; would to Heaven that she were at home! You see that huge brick edifice upon the summit of yonder round hill ” 12 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. ‘What, that prisonish looking concern, with a caboose upon the top of it, and a jury-mast and a yard rigged aloft ?’ ‘You mean the cupola and cross, Jack ?” ‘Yes, Fred, cabooses or cross-trees, it’s all the same to me!’ ‘Well, Jack, she’s there!’ ' 4 Well, spose she is there ?’ questioned Melville with a suspicious em- phasis, and staring at the building. ‘It’s not a calaboose, or a house of cor- rection, or a state-prison is it: ? ‘No? ‘No? reiterated Jack, imitating his friend. ‘Come, speak out like aman Fred! Don’t keep me shivering 1 in the wind’s eye! Bear away at once, and no more luffing! What is it? ‘lv’s a—a—’ ‘Its a—a—,’ mocked Jack, impatiently. ‘ Well a—a—what ?” ‘It’s a Con—Convent?’ stammered Frederick Gray. ' ‘Shiver my timbers, if I didn’t half think so? said the seaman, the tears again starting from his eyes. ‘Excuse me, Fred, my pumps are at work again. Lor’ bless me, who’d think that a rough cruiser like me could feel as I do! She isn’t what they call a JVun is she ?” ‘No, Melville, she is now what they term a Novice, but I learn that they have persuaded her to consent to take the black veil.’ ‘And if she does, shiver my timbers if I don’t unveil the whole crew?” But how is this? How came she there? What catholic priest has been cruising in our soundings ?’ questioned Jack peremptorilf. ‘None that I am aware of, replied Gray, ‘but she has of bese become strangely infatuated with the Nunnery. You must know that it is common for some of our fashionable Protestants to send their daughters to the Con- vent-school to get an education, as though their own schools were of an in- ferior character. Your mother was persuaded to send Cecile, and soon af- ter, through the influence of the Abbess, and others connected with the Nunnery, “she was prevailed upon to try a life in the cloister. She is now in her novitiate, or probationary state, as itis termed, and if some counter influence is not exerted she will soon take the seis and thus in this monas tery, entomb herself forever!’ ‘Never!’ said Melville, with earnestness. ‘ Io ul burn’ the dieatded con- vent to the ground, if milder means*prove ineffecttial! Come with me! I must fiy to my mother. Lend me a hand Fred in this emergency, and you shall never want for a friend while Jack Melville is in & condition’ to carry a rag of sail !’ vide ‘With all my heart,’ replied Gray. I have more interest in this matter than you are aware of; and never will I relax my earnest efforts until your — sister is again under her mother’s protection. But tell me, Melville, as we proceed along g, your past history. We supposed you dead, for the barque in which you and your father sailed for France, was reported lost and that all on board perished.’ ; VB ‘Out of one hundred and fifteen men, women and children on bona that |-fated vessel, strange to relate J was the only person saved. Here Mel- » hesitated, and wiping again the tears from his eyes, resumed the reci- of of his narrative in language that did not comport with his previous style | of addxessing his friend, or with ‘the nautical garb which we wore,’ ‘ Al- though hwas but twelve years of age, all the circumstances attending that dreadful disaster are as fresh in my memory as if they had occured but yesterday, bit I cannot now enter into details. After a terriffic gale’ which lasted three days, the barque lost her spars and masts, filled with water and foundered, and not a single individual of that ship’s company, to my knowl- edge, ever again reached land but myself. My poor father, a few moment’s previous to the barque’ 8 going down, lashed me to a large ar-Chea and THE NUN OF ST..URSULA. 13 when she sank I went down with her, but again rose to. the surface, and found myself floating on the ocean with not an object within my gaze, but a few spars from the deck of the vessel. The storm had now abated, and the sun, which had been obscured for a week, broke through the. black clouds with dazzling brilliancy. I soon fell asleep. How long I slept 1 ‘know not. But when I awoke, I felt myself swinging to and fro in the air, and in the next moment was on the deck of a strange-looking craft, the like of which I had never seen before. I was surrounded, too, by strange looking men, with long beards and pale complexions; some of whom were richly dressed with tunics, decorated with silver and gold, and jewelled tur- bans with crescent-shaped plumes coyered their heads. Girdles were fas- tened around their waists, from which were suspended scimitars, pistols, &c. Others were dressed in plainer garbs but of the same costume. They gazed upou me for some time in mute astonishment. At length the cords were cut with which I was bound; but my limbs were so benumbed that I could not stand without assistance. One of the men took mein his arms and carried me into the cabin, when I heard the voices of those whom I had just left, saying in loud tones—‘ Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar! The ‘apart- ment into which Iwas carried was furnished in the znost luxurious. and gor- geous manner. ‘Two negro slaves were summoned, who, upon entering, bowed and raised their arms in a circular form above their heads... This, I afterwards learned, was the Mohammedan sign of devotion. They led me into an adjoining room, where they, with some difficulty, divested me of my saturated clothes, muttering impatiently during the perplexing pro- cess; I was then placed in a warm bath, which seemed impregnated with the most delicious aromas, and had such a soporific influence upon my sen- ses, that I suddenly fell into a state’of unconsciousness while immersed in the fragrant waters. When I was again restored to sensibility I found. my- self lying upon a soft couch. Beside me, upon an ottoman, sat a black-eyed little girl, of not more than eleven years of age, whose exceeding loveliness was wonderful to behold. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds, and her mouth _ and lips, and carmine-tinged cheek would have made the mos: stubborn an- chorite forswear his yows ; her soft and glossy black hair hung in three long braids over her shoulders, and on her brow rested a gold crescent, orna- mented with three brilliantly-jewelled stars. she blushed when she met my enraptured gaze, and drawing a yeil quickly over her sweet features she started up, and tinkling a nal silver bell which she lifted froim the table, disappeared from the apartment with a grace that I thought none but fairies and other imaginary beings possessed. The black slaves again appeared bearing upon their arms articles of wearing apparel; they lifted me from the soft couch, and in an incredible short space of time, I was metamorphosed, from a genuine Yankee boy, into an Oriental youth, ala Turque._ 'They then motioned me to sit down, but perceiving no chair in the room I declined by shaking my head, One of them immediately sat _ down, crossing his legs under him like a tailor upon his shop-board, and _ motioned me to Wo likewise, which I accordingly did with no little difficulty, _ my nether limbs being unaccustomed to such a singular posture. As soon as I had gained the required position, the little bell was again rung, the black slaves departed, and the young sylph-like beauty again appeared. She fixed her dazzling eyes upon me for a moment, anda smile of pleasure illu- mined her lovely face, while her soft transparent cheeks glowed with a deeper crimson than when I first beheld her. She spoke to me in the sweet- est tones that I had ever heard from mortal lips, but in a language which I did not understand. She then made signs so expressive thatd quick- __ly comprehended that she desired to know if I would partake. of, food, _ which I gladly assented to by nodding my head, for I had eaten nothing for _., Sometime—how long [knew not, The slaves were again summoned, bring- 14 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. ing me food, such as I had never seen before, on plates of silver and gold; also, two goblets, one filled with delicious wine, the other with cool sherbet. Burning with thirst I seized the goblet nearest to me and applied it to my parched lips, and should have swallowed it all at a draught, had not my fairy-like monitress ran towards me, and with her little delicate hands took it from me ere I had half finished it, at the same time shaking her head by way of caution, and smiling in the most bewitching manner at my intem- perance. She then gave me the goblet containing the sherbet, which | was allowed to imbibe more freely of: Having satisfied my thirst I looked around for a knife and fork, or spoon, to eat my food with, but perceiving neither I made signs to her that I wanted them; but she shook her head and finally seated herself beside me, and began to pick up the food with her fingers and placing it in her mouth, and beckoned me to do likewise, a custom al- gether new to me, but, nevertheless, a general practice among the subjects of the Soldan, into whose habits I was now being initiated. A filagree fruit basket, containing figs, all of which I should probably have eaten, bad not my monitress perceiving my intention, saved me the trouble and perchance a severe illness by eating at least half herself. After my agreeable repast, she motioned me to rise,and placing a turban upon my head and a similar covering upon her own, she took me by the hand, and with quite a conse-_ quential air led me to the quarter deck of the vessel and in a dignified man- ner presented me to the‘superior officer and his subordinates, who saluted me in the Mohammedan style; I answered by making a Yankee school-boy’s bow, at which they all laughed heartily. My monitress then instructed me, and I was soon enabled to perform the sign with as much accuracy and race as those who had just enjoyed a fit of merriment at my expense. The chief officer took me kindly by the hand, patted me on the head, talking rapidly at the same time, and in so pleasant a manner that I was assured my preservers felt not only a sympathy for my situation but that they were highly pleased with me. My pretty companion led me around the ship, telling me the name of each thing we saw in her own language, which F endeavored to pronounce after her. Days and weeks passed, and I soon ac- quired sufficient knowledge of the language, to make myself partially understood. 1 learned that I was on board the Turkish flag ship of war, be- longing to the squadron of the Dardanelles, and that Zillah—tor this was my pretty companion’s name—was a Grecian maiden and the adopted daughter of the Pasha Mehemet Effendi, or Lord Admiral of the fleet, whose ship I was then on board. 1 was treated with so much aftec- tion that ere long I was happy among these people whom Providence had cast me; and gradually my affliction for the loss of my father passed away ; yet thoughts of my dear mother and sister made my heart often yearn for home. But I knew that was then an impossibility; my spirit prompted me to bear up against these thoughts, and I resolved to make myself worthy of the esteem of my hospitable preservers. The vessel, after a long pas-. sage up the Meditterranean and the Dardanelles, arrivgd at Constantinople. The Pasha Effendi took me to his magnificent palace with the beautiful Zil- lah, where for two years I was treated with the utmost kindness and atten- tion, and a Jearned tutor was employed for the special purpose Of instruct- ing me in Oriental literature and in practical sciences, in which I made rap- id progress. My mornings were devoted to study, and my afternoons and evenings to pleasure—roaming with Zillah amid the flowery shrubbery of the palace gardens, or listening to her sweet voice while thrumming the tuneful'guitar or mandolin. ee Fer Thus two years passed pleasantly away when war was renewed against Greece. The Pasha informed me one morning that he had obtained from the Sultan a Midshipman’s commission for me, which | gladly accepted, but felt grieved at the thought of parting from Zillah, whom I was allowed THE NUN OF ST. URSULA.: 15 to call my sister, and for whom I felt more than a brother’s love. I was or- dered on board of the ship, which was in readiness to sail, and acquainted Zillah with my promotion. She ran to the Pasha, and upon her knees be- _ fore him begged permission to accompany us. But he positively declined taking her upon the daugerous expedition. She wept bitterly at our part- ing; but [ comforted her with assurances that I should soon return. The - fleet immediately sailed, and I entered upon my new vocation with somuch zeal and alacrity, that I won the confidence of my brother officers, and eli- cited much commendation from the Pasha. After a cruise of eighteen months, during which time we had several engagements, we were ordered, with nearly the whole naval power of the Ottoman Porte, to Navarino, where we were attacked by the fleets of the Allied Powers of England, Russia and Greece, and where it is well known that our force was nearly destroyed. In this desperate conflict I saved the life of the Pasha, by sev- ering the arm from an officer of a Russian Corvette, who with his men had boarded our ship, while aiming a pistol within a yard of his breast. Subse-' quently, through a plan of my own, I succeeded in disentangling our ship from the grappling irons of a steam-frigate, which had commenced pouring a bubbling fluid upon our deck, and carried her out of the action, enabling usto escape. These circumstances raised me highly in the estimation of the Turks, and abundantly was | afterwards rewarded. - My heart leaped with joy when we came in sight of the towers and min- arets of Constantinople; but great was the consternation of the people on learning the ill tidings of the disastrous battle of Navarino! I hastened to meet my Zillah, who flung her arms around my neck and kissed me_o’er and o’er again, in presence of my commander and others of the household. 1 verily believe that we were the only happy pair in all Constantinople on the arrival of oux*ship !” Melville and Gray had now reached the little lane which led to the co ‘tage where the former was born. Here they halted. ‘Ah! Frederick! said Melville, with tears in his eyes. ‘The sight this loved spot once more recalls to mind my happy boyhood days. Idare not suddenly reyeal myself to my dear mother... Let me be your guest to- night. Claim the hospitality of my mother fora friend of yours who hag just returned from,sea, and to-morrow morning I will send to the ship for my wardrobe, &c.. This rough garb I wear merely when it serves my purpose.’ . ‘With pleasure,’ replied Gray. ‘ Your romantic narrative breaks off at an interesting epoch It will give me exceeding pleasure to learn the sequel.’ ‘Not to night, Fred—not to night.’ \ THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. CHAPTER IL THe Ursunine Convent. Crcire anp THE ABBEsS. ALice BENTLEY, A Lover. or Frerpom. ARRIvAL OF FREDERICK. DEPARTURE OF CECILE. : Mount Benedict! What New-Englander has not heard of this pictur- esque eminence, upon whose summit, eleven years ago, towered the ma- jestic walls of the Monastery dedicated to St. Ursula ? Then the pride of the Catholics and the abomination of the Protestants! Behold now the crum- bling and blackened ruins of that once noble edifice, suffered to stund as a monument of intolerance, of desecration and disgrace upon the otherwise fair escutcheon of the good old Commonwealth of Massachusetts! It is a commanding eminence, and thousands and tens of thousands of Protestants are obliged to look daily upon this scene of desolation! On another height, not more prominent, and within the same view, towers the stately monu- ment of Bunker Hill! a monument erected to the memory of the gallant and brave who fell in the glorious cause of Liberty! Freeman, as you stand upon the pinnacle of this massive granite tower, turn your eyes toward the setting sun and contemplate the mouldering ruins which rise up and ob- struct your gaze as if in mockery of the sacred Temple of Liberty on which you now stand! Americans! how can you assimilate the monstrous- ly incongruous sentiments which involuntarily spring into the mind at the sight of these prominent objects ? These I thought to be the boasted scenes of civil and religious freedom! But they deserve no such boasting so long as that desecrated eminence is suffered to stand with its mouldering walls upon its summit, marring the beauty of one of the loveliest landscapes of. New England! The conflagration of the Ursuline Convent, by a band of inidnight incen- diaries, has become a matter of History, not only in our land but throughout all Christendom ; and in our state legislative halls itis annually made asub- ject of debate, arising out of the multiplicity of petitions yearly presented ‘for a compensation to those who suffered by its destruction. As the princi- ple has been conceded by the state authorities of guaranteeing to the people ample amends for all property destroyed by a lawless assemblage, would it not be expedient and just, would it not be a matter of policy, if not of right, to pay the claimants, and thus end a controversy which has aided the spread of popery in our land, for the last ten years, more than the combined spirit- ual efforts of all its bishops and priests during the century previous. But, as it is not within the legitimate province of a novelist to discuss matters belonging to our grave legislators, and as our tale commences prior to the deplorable calamity, we forbear commenting further upon it. , The Convent was a large three story brick structure, with a narrow pro- jecting front. The principal entrance was gained by a long flight of half- winding steps, leading to the front door, situated midway between the base and roof of the edifice. A cupola, with a gilt cross perched upon it, re- lieved the almost square appearance of the structure. Were sucha build- ing situated beside a river or streamlet, one would have supposed it a fac- tory, so nearly did its exterior resemble one of those useful establishments. But, situated upon the summit of a high and commanding hill, surrounded by a beautiful garden adorned in a tasteful manner, with labarynthine walks; THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 17 bowers entwined with flowering shrubbery; rare conservatories of plants from every clime; trees bearing choicest fruit; the whole bordered with a high wall, lined with a thick green hedge, extending the entire circumfer- ence of its circular base, broken only in front by a gate arched with a trel- liced woodbine, gave the imposing edifice a picturesque and fascinating ap- pearance. Such was the Ursuline Conyent prior to its destruction in 1834. Cecile Melville, the heroine of our tale, entered the Female Seminary, at- tached to the Ursuline Convent, at the age of fifteen, and her arrival there ‘was hailed with secret pleasure by the Abbess of the Nunnery, and Padre Francis, a Canadian monk, who was the spiritual confessor of the estab- lishment, for it was known to them that she was the only daughter of a widow lady, and that Cecile had a fortune, which latter consideration had reat weight in their minds. They had several private interviews particu- arly concerning Cecile, and it was resolved that every discreet means should be employed in order to influence her susceptible mind to regard their religion and institution with favor. In consequence she was treated with the utmost kindness, and every attention was studiously paid her that could render the place attractive and agreeable; the effect of which will hereafter be seen. One fine summer’s evening, one year antecedent to the incidents nar- rated in our first chapter, the pupils of the Convent Seminary were enjcy- ing their usual walk in the garden, attended by the Abbess, who attached herself particularly to Cecile Melville, and in the course of their winding promenade became separated from the rest of the company. They seated themselves within a little arbor, covered with green shrubbery, when the Abbess commenced a conversation with her pupil, in order to elicit her thoughts hasty, a life in the cloister. ; ‘The young ladies seem joyous to night,’-remarked the Abbess, as a sound of merriment reached their ears. ‘Tt is such a lovely evening, and in this beautiful place one cannot: well _feel otherwise,’ replied Cecile. oy ‘It gives me joy to hear you say so, my dear. Then you are pleased with _ our institution °’ ‘Qh yes,’ replied Cecile with animation. ‘1 advance so rapidly in my studies, and enjoy myself so much in a variety of ways, that I could live here always.’ _ \ _ ‘Indeed! said the Abbess. ‘It is exceedingly gratifying to hear you say so. ‘I believe our school has no equal in the country, yet some of our schol- ars frequently speak‘ightly of it.’ ) %* * a THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 27 CHAPTER V. s . MeEtvitie’s NARRATIVE, CONTINUED. VISIT TO THE PALACE OF THE Suttan. Manmoun’s Generosity. A Hero anp a Mussutmaun.— ZILLAH, THE Brive or MELvititeE. DEPARTURE FROM CONSTANTINO- PLE. THe Capture. ALGIERS. Zintan A Suave! THE Porsvrr. ARRIVAL IN Boston. After the first ebullition of excited feeling had subsided, and Mrs. Mel- ville was restored from the effects of so unexpected a surprise, Frederick Gray walked into the apartment, and was somewhat startled at beholding the graceful and noble officer, who greeted him warmly upon his entrance, arrayed in a rich and elegant Oriental costume. ‘My dear friend, Iam glad you have come to share our joy,’ said Melville grasping the hand of Gray. ‘lam happy to participate with you in your happiness,’ he replied.— ‘May you always be thus. ~The metamorphose of your person from a Yan- kee sailor to an officer of the Sublime Porte, reminds me of your past elev- en years’ history, a part of which you have already favored me with.’ ‘Ah? said Melvilie, sighing. ‘Would to Heaven that I could blot out from my memory many incidents contained in the sequel, I should then have less cause for regret.’ ‘My son,’ said Mrs. Melville, ‘however painful your history may be | would learn it all, even from the beginning.’ At this request, Melville repeated that portion of his history he had re- lated to Gray on their first interview. We accordingly resume the narra- ~ tive where it was broken off. On the morning subsequent to our arrival in the capitol of the proud Osmanlis, the Pasha was summoned to appear before Sultan Mahmoud. Zillah and myself were commanded to accompany him. The Pasha or- dered his yaraba, or Turkish coach, in which we were conveyed to the land- . ing place on the Bosphorus; from thence we embarked on board a magnif- icent caique, or barge, propelled by six oarsmen, whose exertions caused the graceful boat to glide over the waters with the swiftness of the wind. Inan incredible short space of time, we were under the terraced gardens of Beg- lierbey, the summer palace of the mighty Mahmoud, and after passing through a line’of the Sultan’s guards, we ascended into the halls of this most gorgeous specimen of Eastern architecture. Presently we were ush- ered into the presence of the monarch, who was reclining upon a pile of | soft pillows, smoking his magnificent amber-mouthed chibouk. Beside him stood half adozen white slaves ready to obey his commands, and near the huge bowl of his pipe stood two black chiboukjhes, who from time to time threw into the pipe a silver-ladle full of the richly scented weed. The Pa- sha approached him, and after the selam alekim, or Moslem salutation, I was presented to his Mighty Highness.’ ‘Mashallah? exclaimed the Sultan. ‘Is this the youth who saved thy life, Pasha ? . ‘ The Pasha crossed his hands and bowed reverently. 28 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. ‘And who performed such feats of valor at Navarino ” ‘The same!’ replied Mehemet Effendi. ‘Shekiur Allah! ejaculated Mahmoud. ‘Why he’s but a child! and he looks like a Christian! But he has the heart of a man, and the soul of a true Mussulmaun! He shall have promotion! Here, Seraskier!’ turning to an elderly Turk, “cause a Captain’s commission to be executed for the young Frank! Thus does the Sultan reward bravery’ The Pasha, in my*behalf, acknowledged the high honor he had conferred upon me, and in language, too eulogistic and hyperbolical for me to repeat, recounted all I had performed during the cruise. ‘ ‘Inshallah! He shall have gold too!’ exclaimed the Sultan. / ‘ Your Highness has done me too much honor already,’ said I, modestly. ‘Bosh! bosh!’ (nothing) replied he. ‘You have done us greater service than all the officers of the fleet.combined.’ A bag of gold was now brought in by the Seraskier, who laid it at my feet. ‘I'he Sultan then presented me with this badge of honor, which Inow wear upon my left breast. He then turned his eyes towards Zillah, who stood beside her father, with her features, excepting her) sparkling black eyes, concealed beneath the folds of a diamond bordered yashmac, or veil. ; . As if he had penetrated the hearts of Zillah and myself, and divined our most ardent wishes, he immediately asked me if any other gift from his royal hands would be acceptable to me, at the same time alternately glancing his eyes from her to me. ) ‘Your Imperial Highness,’ said I, ‘ would confer honor and happiness up- on me by granting permission that Zillah shall become my bride! ‘You have our consent, valorous Frank, and I judge from the complacen- cy of our faithful Mehemet Effendi, that his heart approves the union. Do I not speak aright, noble Pasha? . ‘Allah knows that the Mighty Sultan Mahmoud ever speaks wisdom and truth! replied the Pasha. ‘ But the valorous Frank was born in a Christian land. Let the youth but pronounce the Mussulmaun’s creed, and my daugh- ter is his!’ . bla Zillah’s eyes were turned imploringly upon me; but, my early religious impressions caused me to hesitate.’ © . . ‘1 require a little time to reflect upon the condition,’ said I. evi ‘Allah be with you,’ said the Sultan. ‘In ten days decide. Meanwhile examine well the creed of all True Believers ? ( We now took leave of the Turkish Sultan, and in a few moments our — brightly gilded caique, dazzling in the sunbeams, was darting over the blue waters of the Bosphorus like a meteor blazing athwart the blue expanse — above, On arriving at the pier, from whence we had embarked, we found the Pasha’s yaraba in waiting for us, attended by his slaves; and as we pas- sed threugh the streets of the great Oriental city, the air was rent with ac- _ clamations, which I supposed was in honor of the favorite Pasha of the Sultan, but afterwards learned with astonishment that thesé demonstrations of approbation were conferred upon his intended son-in-law; whose deeds I must confess were bruited among the Constantinopolitans marvellously exaggerated. Thus was I made a favorite of the Sultan and a hero of the populace on the same day; ‘and if, in addition to these, I could have had an unconditional promise of becoming the loved lord of the beautiful Zil- lah, my happiness would have been complete. But the idea of embracing Islamism, although I was quite ignorant of its principles or precepts, was. in some degree revolting to my feelings. Acting, however, upon the man- date of the Sultan, I commenced the task of making myself conversant with the creed of the ‘ True Believer,’ and although some points of their religion seemed rather incongruous and fancifully extravagart, yet the mor- al precepts it inculcated, and the conscientious zeal and good faith of its vo- THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 29 taries, made a favorable impression upon my mind. Besides, I had but a vague perception of the Christian’s creed; my early religious impressions having become indistinct and partially effaced from my memory. Zillah was my constant companion, and from her I Jearned my first lessons. It was not strange then, that at the expiration of the ‘ten days,’ I was a believ- er in Islamism; and in the mosque of the Sultan I repeated all that is re- quisite to become a Mussulmaun, viz: ¢ La illah, illa Mohammed Resoul Allah!—There is but one God and Ma- hometis the Prophet of God! é Great was the joy manifested on the occasion in the Pasha’s palace, and, indeed, the evett was a matter of congratulation throughout the city. Zil- lah became my affianced, but not until I had returned from a successful cruise against Greek pirates, did she become my bride! The joyous event was celebrated with all the pomp and splendor incident to the wedding of a Prince. One year afterwards the command of a frigate was given me, and Iwas ordered to the Meditteranean. Zillah accompanied me. We had been but a few weeks at sea, when we were attacked by a fleet of Al- gerine piratical vessels and captured. We were taken to Algiers and by command of the Dey, were heavily ironed and confined in separate cells in the castle. From one of the guards of. the prison I Jearned to my inex- pressible horror that my beloved Zillah had been sold at the slave mart to a Spanish captain! After a few weeks imprisonment I was summoned to appear before the Dey, when it was announced to me that-I had been ran- somed by the Turkish government, and that a vessel was then in the harbor ready to take me to Constantinople, Before we left, however, I ascertained that Zillah had been purchased by Don Cervanti Carrero, a merchant: of Lisbon, whose vessel had sailed for that port, and I proposed to‘the Turkish commander to go in pursuit of her. But his orders were peremptory and of course he was inexorable, and I reluctantly went on board the ship.— We had a quick passage and on our arrival in the harbor of Constantino- ple, my father-in-law, the Pasha, came alongside in his caique, to welcome our return. He had not heard of the fate of Zillah, and great was his sor- row when | informed him. He anticipated my wishes by requesting me to goin pursuit of her: accordingly he fitted out a fast sailing ship, gave me a crew of picked men, besides a large sum of money and a quantity of other valuables ; and in less than a week we took our departure for Spain. On arriving at Lisbon, I made enquiries respecting Don Manuel Carrero, and learned to my regret that he had, six weeks previously, sailed for Ha- vre. Thither we followed him, and at this port learned that his vessel had cleared for Liverpool, and from thence he was to proceed to the United States, but to what port it was impossible to ascertain. I sailed for New York but no Spanish vessel had recently arrived there, neither could I find his ship reported in any of the Shipping Lists of the principal ports., I at length resolved to sail for Boston, and there await until a reasonable time should elapse for Don Carrero’s arrival. I dropped anchor in Boston har- _ bor yesterday afternoon, arrived here last evening, and made myself known to my dear mother this morning. Thus ends my past history. Now, I hav: two great objects to accomplish—to rescue my sister Cecile from a living grave—and to free my beloved Zillah from Spanish slavery! These things accomplished I shall return to my adopted country, where wealth and distinction await me.” P x Your narrative is quite romantic as well as interesting, said Frederick ray. | ‘Wait for the sequel, my friend. The events n embryo I have a forebo- ding will be startling indeed" ‘What mean you, my son ?’ ejaculated Mrs. Melville, apprehensively. ‘Fear not, my dear mother,’ resumed Melville. ‘Cecile must be res- 30 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. tored to you—to be a comfort to you in your declining years, and be herself happy.’ ft RY ) . ‘But I am assured by the Abbess of the Convent that she is now perfect- . ly happy, and that she looks forward with pleasure to the day appointed : for her receiving the black vows,’ ' - | Her assurances are false, mother!’ exclaimed Melville. ‘ There never yet existed a happy Nun! . Yet there may have been those, who, after en-., during severe disappointments, perhaps reduced to extreme wretchedness, , that have found a refuge in the cloister comparatively happy! But for Ce- cile, whose life has been calm as an unclouded sky, to be immured in a dun- geon—not allowed to gaze upon the green fields, the bright heavens, and all of nature’s glorious works—not even permitted 10 see the loved faces of her friends—it is preposterous! No, mother! Cecile is not happy! She is under some strange infatuation! The spell shall be broken! And may I be the humble instrument, in the hands of God, to accomplish it!’ ‘ You speak the words of truth, Melville,’ said Gray. ‘1 will second you, . and I here promise to devote my undiyided efforts in behalf of Cecile, un- . til our object be attained, or her rescue is, past hope !’ ‘Thank you, Frederick. I shall need your assistance.’ ‘Do not, I intreat of you,’ said Mrs, Melville, ‘do any wrong!’ ‘Fear not, mother, Come to my room Fred—I must throw off my eas- tern costume and resume the garb in which you saw me yesterday. We can there talk. over matters, Mother, you must excuse us—we shall be With you again in a short time. . Have no idle apprehensions with regard to . our business—all will yet be well,’ ‘I have assurances that you will do no wrong; and I doubt not your good judgment will lend you discretion,’ said Mrs, Melville.’ Melville and Gray went into an adjoining room and held a consultation , of some two hours in length. The substance of which formed a eta conspiracy to free Cecile from the Nunnery, which our future pages wi fully disclose. THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 31 CHAPTER VI. Tie ‘CrEDULOUS IRISHMAN AND THE IxcrEepuLous Scorcuman. Mrrac- “"“grous PerroRMANCES OF THE Sarnts. TimeLy INTRUSION OF THE Sartor. A ‘pRar or THE CrayTuuR.’ THE SECRET SPRING AND THE SUBTERRANEAN PassaGE. Connected with the Convent was an extensive and beautiful. garden, which was under the supervision of an eccentric Scotchman, who had just arrived ‘ frathe Land o’ Cakes,’ and ‘bald John Barleycorn.’ He was ap- pointed to this important post, more on account of his being a mest excel- lent gardener, than for his skepticism in the infallibility of the Pope, or in the pardoning powder of Padre Francis. Mr. Archy McDougal—for this was his name—soon gained an intimacy with Mr, Phelim O’Toole, who styled himself ‘ Porter of Mount Benedict.’. Phelim was a truly devotional churchman, and ‘ barrin’ the takin’ a drap o’ the crathur now and thin,’ his habits were good; and never did the most zealous revivalist work harder than did Phelim, to make a convert of his companion Archy. Many were the hours they spent together under the shade of an elm-tree at the foot of the terraced garden, and many were the wonderful stories and mighty mir- acles of St. Patrick and other saints that Phelim related to Archy. ‘There was nothing too marvellous or miraculous for Phelim; he religiously be- lieved all he had ever heard, and in the benevolence of his heart he. deter- mined that Archy should have all the benefit resulting from them. But he ‘cast his pearls before swine.’ The Scotchman was obstinate. He would not believe and be converted by the Irishman’s endeavors, who, unlike many of his spiritual Padres, acted from the sincerity of his heart. One pleasant evening, after the toils of the day were concluded, Archy and Phelim were seated in their favorite spot conversing upon matters touching the Ursuline community, the substance of which we shall endeay- or to give in their cwn dialects. . ‘You wadna be sayin’, said the Scotchman, ‘that the gracefw’ bonnie las- sie, wi’ the dark blue ee an’ the braw curls, is to tak’ the black veil? _* Why not, Misthur McDougal, why not?’ replied Phelim. ‘Shure’s she’s a beautiful crathur to make a Nun out of—now isn’t she? Och, by the pow- _ers, Saint Pathrick himself, who was a divil ov a saint among We gals, niv- er seed the likes ov her. Good luck to Father Francis and the ould lady for their ‘cess in makin’ sich an iligant addition to the Sisthurs of the pen vent? ‘Alake! waefw’ day, replied Archy, ‘that she sees that beautiful crop o’ _braw curly hair shaven fra’ her crown!’ ‘Shure! Misthur McDougal, you wouldn’t have the pretty crathur be af- ther descendin’ into purgatory ¢ ? ‘ An’ wi’ she na suffer ’ mang the lean waefu’ lookin’ saunts 0’ the black veil, muckle the same as in pur gatory : ?’ ejaculated the Scotchman with an- imation. ‘ Don’t yeken she’ll not e’en get her parritch, an ha’ naethin’ but the old lady’s apple peclins to prie. She better gang awa to her minnie, who amaist cries her e’es out for her pretty bairn’s sake.’ 32 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. ‘Powers of Heaven! exclaimed Phelim; ‘defind me from hearing sich heresies in the garden of the saints, Misthur McDougal. Out wid ye, ye Scotch blackguard! If ye be not keerful what ye be afther spakin’ in yer outlandish blarney, youll shure be sarved as Saint Pathrick sarved the blacksmith, and bad ’cess to the likes ov ye, ye wicked clodhopper as ye are ! ‘Canna tell me how that was, Mister O’Toole ? asked Archy, entirely disregarding, the ungentlemanly epithets which the Irishman so lavishly bestowed upon him, ‘Jist listen a bit an’ Pll be afther tellin’ ye all aboot it, Misthur McDou- gal. Yesee as how Saint Pathrick, who could handle a shillalela better than any ither saint in the calendar—och! he was the boy for that, shure— sent his ould white horse to Doody, the blacksmith, to have him shod. Now Doody was an awful wicked erathur; he would sware an oath as big the bible enny day. While Doody, was druving the nails into the ould horse’s foot, who should be crapin’ along by the blacksmith’s door but Saint Path- rick himseli, who heard Doody sayin’ some wicked blarney to the horse. ‘Och! ye blackguard ! says the Saint to himself; ‘lve cotched ye ib yer wicked way, ye ould sinner. Ye’d be afther contaminating my innocent baste, would ye, ye spalpeen? I'll fix yer flint for ye directly?’ So the Saint crapt slily up to Doody’s window, in sich a manner that Doody didn’t git a glimpse ov him, but the ould horse did. So Saint Pathrick tips the horse a bit ov a wink, which the animal understhood jist as well as his masther. ‘I'he horse pricked up his ears, and every time the blacksmith swore he made a loud noise that frightened poor Doody almost out ov his siven sinses; but it only made Doody sware louder than iver. And afther he had driiy all but the last nail in his hinder foot, he cursed Saint Path- rick, whin the horse guv him sich a kick, that sint Doody with his hammer, nails and «ll, right thro’ the shop, and they have niver since bin heard of, and if ye don’t believe me ye can go an’ see the hole which Doody broke thro’ the wall to this very day.’ : *O haith! exclaimed the incredulous Scotchman. ‘Saint Patrick must ha’ been a inenseless loun himsel’ to treat a poor smithy so vera unkind; but it’s v a humboog! / mi ‘Och! ye Scotch bogtrotter! I tell ye it’s thrue ivery word of it. It’s thrue as the thruth oy Saint Pathricks druving all the sarpints, snakes and toads, and other sich kind o’ bastes, out ov swate Ireland, and not one ov the same iver dare step a foot within its bordhers to this day,’ replied Phe- lim. ‘Canna believe your big stories, mon, There’s nae raison in any one 0’ them.’ | 2; ‘Then [!) be afther tellin’ ye anither that ye’ll shurely believe,’ resumed Phelim. ‘1's more thruer than aither ov the others. Spaking.of Saint Pathrick ‘or no other saint could do the likes ov him, Il] tell you what St. Dennis di! wlio was fourteenth cousin to Saint Pathrick’s half sister on his mither’s «)/e, and he wura broth ov a boy for handlin’ a shillela too, that same Saint I was spakin’ aboot. One day whin he wur walkin’ by the side ov the river, some heretic soldiers capthured Saint Dennis and cut his _ head off, ac it rolled into. the wather, and this saint being a good swimmer —for he eouid bate Saint Pathrick swimmin’ ony day—jumped in afther it, and cotelii’ }::s own head atween his teeth, he swum across the river, and whin he reached the other side, he stuck his head upon his shoulders, and it ~ frozed on, (or it wur an. awful cold day one night in the middle of June! The soldic:s wur so stonished at beholdin’ the sight that they niver harmed a saint alter that,’ €Mar co‘scicnce, Mister O’Toole. I wadna tell sic unco stories for a’ the warld.’ THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 23 ‘Thruth, Misther McDougal, ivery word—there’s nothing unpossible for saints to do, ‘There was Saint Vincent—he was a divil oy a boy for doing up the miraculous—he performed a miracle that you’ll be surprised to hear, for it’s as jist as thrue as the thruest one Liver told. This saint was in the habit of doing so many miraculous things that the Church forbid him doing ony more miracles without consint. So one day whin he was walking by the Dublin cathedral, he saw a hod-carrier, mortar, bricks and all, fallin’ from one oy the high towers. Wishing to save the poor man’s life, and not having the Church’s consint to save him, he tould him to hold on a bit while he could run to the bishop to git a dispinsation. So Saint Dennis took to his heels and run—there was none ov the likes of Saint Dennis for running—and left the hod-carrier, mortar, bricks and all, suspinded atween heaven an airth: and it wur indeed a beautiful sight to see the man sittin’ astraddle tie air, with nothing at all a’tall to stand upon. Presently Saint Dennis cums runnin’ back, and he lowered down the hod carrier, mortar, bricks and all, jist as aisy as if they had been made of feathers!’ ‘Oh, mar conscience, Misther O’Toole, you’re one blellum,’ said Archy, indignantly. ‘And wad ye think me sic a fool as to believe yer miracles ; ye mak deevils out o’ the saunts, ’stead 0’ guid honest Christians,’ ¢ Bad luck to ye and all heretical unbelievers, say I, Misthur McDougal. You'll wake up one o’ these hot mornings, and be afther finding yourself roastin’ in purgatory, if ye doesn’t reform and believe in the saints and the holy miracles which they performed.’ ‘Na, mon,’ replied the Scotchman. ‘ Yer miraclous stories are a’ like the miracle o’ the Spanish image, who alwaysturned his head and nodded when the priest said a guid thing; but ance upon a time it wouldna move at a’, and the priest was unco mad and scolded. Then a voice was heard beneath the image, sayin’—‘ The string has broken an’ it’s nae fault o’ mine !’— An’ the people looked into the box on which the image was put, an’ be- hold a little bairn was found, who pu’d the string, when the priest spake loud, an’ turned the image’s head. ‘This is the way ye do yer miracles, Mr. O'Toole.’ ‘By all the saints an’ St. Pathrick into the bargain, Misthur McDougal, yer’e a lost man. The ould sarpint will have ye for belaveing not the thruth and tellin’ me yer vile slander. Och! ye blackguard, ye desarves drownin’ and hangin’ to, ye do yer Scotch blackguard.’ : ‘ Dinna ca’ me blackguard mair, Mr, O’Toole,’ said McDougal, angrily. ‘An wur it but blackguard that I said? Ye’re not only that, but ye’re the divil’s own son, ye are, ye clodhopper.’ : This was more than Caledonian flesh and blood could brook. Up jumped the insulted Scotchman, and gave the Irishman a blow aside of the head. ‘Och! by the powers! exclaimed Phelim, as he jumped up and: threw off his coat. ‘ That’s yer gameis it? T’ll pitch into ye, ye blackguard, like a streak ov litenin’ into a sand-bank ; . At this juncture a sailor leaped over the fence, and thrust himself between the belligerents. | ‘ Avast there, Sawney! exclaimed the sailor, who was none other, than our old friend Jack Melville, on a voyage of discovery. ‘Beforé you, stave in each other’s dead-lights, let’s know what it’s all about ?” , ‘Och, it’s aboot nothing at all, Mr, Jack Tar, an’ barrin’ the crack which = Scotch blackguard guv me on the sconce I could forgive him,’ replied helim. ‘ Ah, my hearties!’ said Jack ; ‘ give each other your grappling irons, and don’t be running afoul of each other like a pair of Dutch galliots ? ‘He spake unco words aboot me, but I e’en forgi’ the mon,’ said Archy, his belligerent spirit being somewhat quelled. 34 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. ‘Weil, Archy, let’s be afther makin’ friends,’ said Phelim. * Givevs us yer hand, Misthur McDougal. ‘There's my han’, Mr. O’Toole. Now dinna tell me no mair saunt hum- boogs. They’re warst than tales aboot ghaists.’ ‘Misthur Jack Tar,’ said the Irishman, turning to Melville, « who gave ye permission to enther these beautiful grounds ?’- ‘Beg pardon,’ said Jack. ‘It’s such a finely built and well- rigged estab- lishment, I thought (’d put in and enquire the captain’ Ss name,’ ‘By my soul, ‘that’s phoony. An’ it’s the capthin’s name «ye’d be ‘afther enquiring aboot? Misthur McDougal, d’ye hear that?’ said O’Toole, laug- ing heartily. ‘The eaptbin' och! the capthin’s a famale to be shure, Mis- thar Jack ‘Tar? ‘He spakes true, sailor mon,’ said the Scotchman. ‘An’ let me be afther tellin ye, that she’s no common tamale woman,’ re- sumed O’Toole. ‘It’s a saint she is!’ ing. Ensconcing themselves quickly behind an angle of the arch beyond the stairs, a figure closely muffled in cow] and cassock, moved slowly down the steps, mumbling aves and pater-nosters by the way. When he reached the last step, he halted for a moment, and looking cautiously about him, discov- éred to the viewof the intruders who had hidden behind the stairs, the fat, sleek-looking countenance and aldermanic figure of Padre Francis, of whom Melville had had a very tolerable description from the communicative « Mis- thur O'Toole’ at their second interview. He proceeded slowly along the passage—Melville and Gray skulking noiselessly in his rear—and as he ar- rived at its terminus and beheld the ponderous stone swung back, he started back with affright andamazement. At this moment he was suddenly. sei- zed—as he supposed by el demonio—and ere he could mutter half of an ave his mouth was muzzled, and his arms and nether limbs rendered useless by strong cords. [hn this condition he was conveyed by dint of great effort on the part of his tormentors through the hole into the ice-house, where he was divested of his sarcerdotal vestments, and ‘set to cool’ off the perspi- ration which suddenly started from his body on being seized and treated sO sacrilegiously by hands heated in Gehenna. ‘Now, Fred,’ whispered Melville, as they re-entered the passage, ‘as we have got the affrighted gentlemin’s robes, one of us may as well make a good use of them.’ *They will become you, Melville, much better than they will me, an- swered Grays ‘Besides, you are somewhat nearer the height of the ‘monk. P THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 47 ‘But I lack materially in breadth.’ ‘And I still more.’ / ‘Very well, Fred. If you will have it so assist me in puting them on.— I dare say I shall look like a half-starved six-footer, or the ‘ Living Skeleton’ in an Alderman’s gown. Whata heavy, clumsy affair this cassock is.— There my friend,’ continued Melville, after he was fully arrayed in the Pa- dre’s outward apparel. ‘How do I leok? Do | resemble even the shadow of the man cooling off in the ice-house ?” ‘Oh! it fits you marvellously well. You'll do admirably ; but you must keep your face closely concealed beneath the hood, for it would need a shade or two more of vermillion to approach near the complexion of the features of the monk,’ | ‘[t must be near the time. Let us see,’ said Mellville as he took out his watch and held it by one of the dimtapers. ‘Two minutes of eleven. We have no tine to loose.’ ‘True. How shall we manage.’ ‘You secrete yourself again beyond the stairs, and when you hear my signal, run to the entrance of this passage, and repeat it. My men will come to you. Conduct them directly through this arch into the chapel above.’ The bell of the convent again tolled, and the tread of many footsteps, as if persons assembling above, was distinctly heard. Melville mounted the spiral stairsand imitating the slow and cautious tread of the monk, he as- cended to the top. No door was visible but the same peculiar spring which he found below was quickly discovered. This he touched,and slowly a pannel opened, which, when closed he found to be a beautiful painting Which swung from the frame, and had no more the appearance of an - entrance than any of the framed pictures which hung around the walls’ of the apartment. He was now within the chapel of the Ursulines, and he be- held the assembled throng of Nuns habited in the costume peculiar to their order. As he entered, the choir accompanied by the organ was chanting forth the “ Cantate Domino,” while all knelt down, which circumstance en- abled him to conceal himself unperceived, behind the heavy drapery of a window near the secret opening. The chapel was constructed after the rules of no distinct order of archi- tecture, but seemed a commingling of several of the most modern styles. However, its high arched ceilings and dome of glass, its pannnelled walls and windows of stained glass, gave it a beautiful and imposing appearance. Around the walls were hung rich paintings by the old masters, representing the saints, and historical pieces of a variety of religious subjects. In tne centre of tiie chapel, stood a lofty pedestal bearing a beautiful represeniation of the patron saint of the Ursulines, set-in a heavy black frame of carved wood. ‘The whole’ was stirrounded by a wooden cross with a representation of the crucifixion sculptured upon it. From the centre of the dome was suspended, a heavy silken banner ornamented with golden cord, and tassels and fringe of bullion, and upon its folds on one side was embroidered arep- resentation of our saviour, and upon the other side the cross, with the letters I. H. S. above it, all of which was of the most artistical and elaborate work- manship. The Nuns were neatly all assembled. The Choir continued chanting, as ‘the Abbess, followed by a train of attendants, entered by the principal door, and with an air of dignity and stateliness, marched up to the altar, crossed herself, and knelt before it. At the same time her attendants and the whole congregation (with the exception of! our friend of the cowl and cassock,) prostrated iii ee and kissed the floor.’ ‘This act of devotion’ being ‘performed, al! was silent for a few moinents, when the Abbess resumed her march, and halted before the Picture of the Patroness’ Saink’ where the § 48 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. ‘ Rosary’ was performed, consisting of ten ‘Ave Marias’ and one ‘ Pater Nos- ter’—thereby honoring the Virgin Mary with ten times more reverence than was allowed to the Supreme Being,—concluding with the following ‘Hail! Mary,’ of which we give an English version : | ‘Hail, holy Queen, mother of mercy, our life our sweetness, and our hepe, to Thee do we supplicate, poor daughters of Eve; to Thee do we send up our sighs, whilst weeping andJamenting in this valley of tears. Turn then, O ‘most gracious advocate, Thine eyes of tnercy towards us; show us Jesus, the blessed fruit of Thy womb, QO clement, O pious, O sweet Virgin Mary. , During the performance of the ‘ Rosary’ and other preparatory rites, the Novice, whom, it will be recollected, we left in the Wardrobe with several of the sisterhood, was tastefully arrayed in a beautiful whiie satin dress, with jewels in her ears, and rings upon her,fingers.. Her brow was eneir- cled with a diadem of pearls, while her rich, raven tresses strayed. in luxue- rious profusion over her alabaster neck, and shoulders. . Indeed, she looked es if dressed, rather for the bride of some gay gallant of the world, than for a‘ Bride of the Church.’ She had partially recovered from the powerful soporific draught which had been administered to her, yet she was still un- conscious of what was passing around her. . With due credit to the sisters we would sav that on this occasion she was treated with kindness and affee- tion, and every means within their power was devised to restore to her mind the light of reason. But all without effect.. Not a single word fell from her lips, nor a sigh escaped from her heart—not a tear dimmed her eye, nor a single emotion was apparentin her placid countenance. She seemed more like a marble statue, suddenly transmuted into a living creaature, than likea being bora with the breath of Jife, and nurtured upon the earth! Being in- capable of walking, her arms were placed around the necks of two of the sisters, who, in this manner were enabled to convey her to the cnapel. ‘The Choir was brilliantly illuminated, which shew off the magnificent apparel of : Cecile to great advantage, and contrasted strangely with the sombre habili- ments of the Nuns. She was led directly to the Choir, where, with some difficulty, her attendants succeeded. in, getting her into a kneeling posture; soon as this was accomplished, she looked upward, and it seemed as if, sud- denly, a ray of light had burst, upon her, and with clasped hands she fixed her gaze upon the altar as though an inward prayer was being offered from her heart to the Throne of Heaven! There was something melancholy, yet . lovely and interesting in her appearance at the moment. Her large, expres- sive eyes, shaded by long, dark Jashes; her complexion, untinged by, a,sin- gle rose-like hue; and her sweet lips, whiter than her cheeks, gave to her countenance a peculiarly beautiful, but indescribable expression. .Her fig- ure, slender and fragile as, the reed, indicated clearly the effect of the rigo- orous penances. which she had been taught to practice during the last few weeks of her Novitiate!—She new. turned those lustrous orbs, and. gazed upon the scene prepared for her, and they contrasted wildly with the dim vision of the shadowy and spectre-like forms that were moving around her, chanting, in sepulchral tones, exclamations,of Praise! ‘ Ave Marias’ and ‘ Pater Nosters’ were now repeated, and a solemn, dirge- like hymn was sung by the whole assemblage...Suddenly, the room was darkened—the altar, which a moment before, blazed with lights, was invisi- ble. Meanwhile, Vespers and Chants were, continued. At length the light of a;dim taper broke through the utter darkness—and in a moment after- ~ward, some half dozen more. were lighted, which refle ted a wavering and uncertain, light upon the sallow faces.of the Nuns. oa Ps hier THE NUN. OF ST. URSULA. 49 Cecile was still kneeling at the altar—but how changed—the beautiful and gay attire was gone, and instead, a dark, gloomy robe enshrouded her an- gelicform, ‘The ornaments in her ears,—the rings upon her taper fingers, —the diadem of pearls which encircled her brow~all, all had disappeared during the moments of darkness. Who can describe the feelings of Melville—alias Padre Francis—upon witnessing this peculiar and imposing ceremony ; The prayers were solemn and impressive ; the chanting of the choristers, accompanied by the deep- toned organ, reverberated along the high-arched walls and fell mournfully- pleasing, upon his ear. But the desecrating of these services, as viewed by him, by performing monki=h and unmeaning rites upon this poor girl whom he supposed to be his sister, aroused him to a sense of the business which brought him in a clandestine manner to this place. The solemn ceremony was performed with the exception of repeating the * Vows,’ after the Abbess, which read as follows: ‘O, Holy mother, permit a worm of the dust to consecrate myself forever to thee, in presence of all the Saints and Martyrs and Nuns assembled ; and to renounce the temptations and, wickedness of the world forever; by ta- king upon myself the most holy vews. of poverty, chastity, and obedience, whieh, with thy grace and assistance I will fulfil. This the Abbess read, and enquired of Cecile if she were ready to take them. But her enquiry was unheeded. Not a word escaped the poor girl’s lips. Taking it for granted that silence in this case, as well as in others, was paramount to an assent, she motioned to. one of the sisters to repeat them . for her; and as it was customary to shear a lock from the head at the close of each simple sentence, Cecile’s hair was prepared tor the sacrifice.} The fatal scissors were in the hands of the Abbess—a_ cluster of beautiful curls was read! when suddenly; as.if by enchantment, a broad glare of light gleamed through the windows, and fell upon the dark figures there -assembled! The Convent Bell, pealed forth its sonorous sounds in rapid succession! The Abbess dropped her scissors, and began repeating her »‘ Aves.” The Nuns, struck with amazement and fear, performed several feats saltogther foreign to their vocation! All was confusion, tumult and dread ! Ne eu 8 noi * * * * * : Wy : tat 50 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. CHAPTER X. CECILE Rescuep. Tuer Incenpiraries. MELVILLE ENCOUNTERS SrIP- PERY Jor. THE LATTER Loses HIS Boory, Tar CoNnFLAGRATION. A Femate 1n Perit. Toe Darine Rescur. Surprising Cornci- DENCE. | The Nuns, wild with affright, had now disappeared from the Chapel, leav- ing Cecile, apparently undisturbed, kneeling before the altar. Melville in- stantly opened the mysterious pannel and gave a shrill whistle. He then approached the half-unconscious maiden. ¥ ‘Cecile,’ said he, mildly, ‘ 1 come to take you from this wretched place and restore you to your dear mother.’ The timid maiden turned her eyes upward and gave the stranger a look of confidence. * Who will take me to my dear mother ?’ asked she. ‘A friend, be assured. Fear not. This edifice will soon be a smoulder- ing heap of ruins. Come.’ | oo Saying this, Melville took the slender girl in his arms and bore her across the chapel, when he met Gray, who had just entered, followed by a dozen men. ‘To his friend’s arms he quickly assigned her. ‘Here, Frederick, take the poor girl to the carriage, and let two \of my men accoinpany youas anescort. There await my coming. I ‘am for the present needed here. Be expeditious. I will rejoin you shortly,’ The cause of the sudden affright of the Nuns'was the blazing bonfire upon the neighboring hill, which was the signal for the victors to assemble before the Convent. The bell, to add to the consternation of the Nuns, was rung by Melville, who accidentally came in contact with the rope, near the place where he had stood concealed. A motley crew of men, disguised ina variety of fantastic and demoniac shapes, now approached the Convent door, many of whom bore flaming torches in their hands which rendered their appearance still more hideous and infernal. The leader of the frightful crew now approached with a bold air the principal door of the edifice, and with aclub gave several distinct blows. .The Nuns had now assembled in the parlor, and the Abbess hoisted one of the Wink We aud with a trem- bling voice, demanded : ‘Why this untimely intrusion ” : ‘Madam! I have no time to parley. I give you and all who dwell with- in these walls five minutes safely to depart.’ The several doors were thrown open and the terrified inmates hurried» forth in’the wildest confusion. Some were screaming aloud—some were repeating ‘ Aves’ and ‘ Pater Nosters’—others were incoherently erying help! murder! fire! &c. A gang of pillagers now rushed into the Convent, and commenced ran- sacking the apartments; while Melville had summoned all his men, via the subterranean passage, and dispersed them throughout the building, to pre- vent the commission of any saerilege—himself and two others remaining in il | THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 51 the chapel. Soon he perceived two individuals, whom he recognized as the coveys he had encountered on the bridge, enter stealthily by the principal -door. He quickly withdrew, with his men, behind the altar, to watch their movements. ‘Vell, I’m blow’d,’ said ohe of the thieves, ‘if this hisn‘t achurch. I should know hit vos a church ’ad'I seen it in London, haltho’ I never seed the hin- side o’ one before in my life. » Now, iv we’could honly find some silver wases vot they cliristens the babies hin, hor some jewels vot belongs to the saints, vy ve might make hour héternal fortin.’ » Let’s first break open that small door with the image a top of it,’ said the companion of the cockney. ‘> This was no sooner said than done. ‘Oh my hies!’ exclaimed Slippery: Joe. *Vot a mine o’ vealth! See the ‘waluables! Let’s valk hinto ’em vithout any mercy! vhatsomever. Vy ve shall be has vealthy as Hali Baby, who vent into the cave ov the ’ighvay- inen, or Sinbad the Sailor, who vent hinter'the Walley o’ Diamonds! Oh, my hies, vot a beautiful lamp!) Vota nice pair o’ gold tumblers to drink vhiskey toddy out ov!» Ob crackey! ’ere’s a bright gold sun to melt hup hinter old gold for the market. Vot’s that I! vonder? Ho, that must be a hidol from Hegypt vot the Nuns vorships. Vell, 1 feels rich as 1 vant to be! Now let’s ewacuwate the premises ’fore the vicked ’uns sets fire to em!’ ©Yes, we must be off in a twinkling’ ¢QOh, vot’s this ?- ’Hre’s hanother key-’ole”’ Smash ’em in—don’t let’s wait for trifles.’ Vell | vont—there she goes, smash ‘Well what do you discover? Is there any thing very valuable? ¢Oh! my hies! vy, it’s a baby!’ | ‘A what ?’ : ‘A wery beautiful large vax baby—vot the Nuns’ad to play vith I ’spose. ] must ’ave it to carry ome vith me. Vota nice dressed little thing ’tis to be sure. Oh, von’t my little daughter Vilhemina be hawful pleased vith such a waluable and beautiful present from her dear papa.” ‘Come let’s be going—we have got enough” ~ @ | /* Vell, I’m off like a mason from a ’ot gridiron.’ ‘* Hold, villains !’ exclaimed Melville, rushing between them and the door, o ,* his men following. ‘Vy, you don’t say so?’ “Leave not this spot until I bid you!’ -*} vont to know—you can’t be a hearnest? Vy, hisn’t you one o’ the Con- went Burners ?’ enquired the cockney, somewhat slarmed at the formidable force which was presented to intercept him’! “*Sacrilegious robbers deliver up your plunder—quickly ! Remember— you are in my power!’ said Melville, sternly. -¢Vell now, if you his really in hearnest, vy I spose ve must give up hall hour waluable vealth ? ~ ‘Instantly !” -¢Vell, then, there they his. Pr’aps they’re honly vashed hafter hall,’ said Slippery Joe to his companion by way of consolation. ‘ I spose ve can take eur leave now ?” ‘Yes—begone.’ | A loud shout from without, and asudden illumination of the chapel, indi- ‘ eated that the incendiaries had now commenced their work of destruction, whieh: prevented the cockney and his companion from following up their profession’ in’ the other apartments, and they departed with empty pockets. ‘Melville ordered his men to gather the most valuabe articles, that could be 59 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. removed with safety, and convey them to the subterranean passage, This order was promptly obeyed; and ere the fire bad got well underweigh, more than half of the wealth in the Convent was removed to the place .des- ignated, and was thus saved from the conflagration, and the hands, of the pillagers, through the extreme vigilance of Melville and his men. The flames had now reached, the chapel, and Melville ordering his men to retire to the barge, rushed among the motley gathering in front, who were exulting, inevery possible manner, over the burning: pile... te) At this moment a shrill scream) was heard, above the din of unearthly shouts—again and again it was heard! Melville looked up and beheld a fe- male standing in the cupola, which the fire had not yet reached. A: wild cry of horror escaped him! He made his way through the throng—ascended the long flight of steps with a bound, and entered the burning edifice !— The fire was now beginning to wind its serpentine folds around the cupola, where yet stood the helpless girl uttering piercing shrieks, and lamentable cries, which contrasted mournfully with the exulting shouts that rent the air a moment before! The voices of the incendiaries were hushed in silence —a thrill of horror darted through every heart and suspended their fearful orgies as they gazed—a conscience-stricken crew—upon the dreadful sacri- fice which they had no power to avert ! Melville had reached the perilous pinnacle !, The female, fainted in his arms, and he bore her through the smoke and fire which encumbered his terrible path! The floors crackled beneath his feet—yet he bore her intrep- . idly on. Flames of hot smoke at times almost suffocated him—fire-brands fell arouad him and threatened destruction. With joy he reached.the chap- el—but great was his dismay when he saw a portion of the floor. fall with a crash but a few feet before him! To retreat was almost instant death—to press forward seemed impossible—but this was the only alternative!> He receded a few paces, and witha step and a bound he cleared the flaming breach, and thus, almost miraculously reached the entrance of the subterra- neap cavern in safety! | Manwhile the crowd without were gazing upon each other appalled and terror-stricken !,'They had witnessed Melville as he caught the fainting girl in his arms! but at the next moment a sheet of flame hid them from their view! All supposed them lost! Indeed there appeared no hope! When, sudden- ly from the rear of the building he came forward bearing his lovely burden joyfully along! | . ‘They’re saved! They’re saved!’ was the simultaneous shout of the whole multitude. - The awful spell which bound them in silence was now broken, and cries of exultation and merriment again rent the air! They deemed, Melville’s efforts in saving the poor girl almost a miracle; and it has ever been a mys- tery, with the great mass, how he escaped out of the rear of the. building, which was at the time a complete mass of flame! ; Startle not reader at what we are about to divulge, for we shall endeavor yet to explain all to your perfect satisfaction. Melville conveyed his beloy- ed wife--for she was indeed the lost Z1LLaH--into the carriage where Freder- ick Gray and the beauteous Cecile, were awaiting his coming. Still earry- ing his partially revived wife in his arms, he ordered the coachman to drive with all possible speéd to his mother’s cottage, where we shall in due time again meet them. . Thousand and tens of thousands of spectators had now assembled around © Mount Benedict, to behold the work of destruction! It was.an imposing and thrilling spectacle to behold the vast edifice encompassed in flame! but it was hideous and frightful to look upon.the fantastically disguised and de- \ THE NUN OF) ST) URSULA. _ (153 mon-like crew of incendiaries dancing and yelling around it! Fire-engines and their companies cawe to the mount, but the infuriated mob drove them off! ‘The conflagration illumined the country for many miles around, and even ata distance presented ascene of grandeur and sublimity! The first streaks of morn were visible ere the flames had died away and the multitude dispersed from the scene of desolation! Old Sol arose in unclouded splen- dor, and its earliest beams glimmered brightly upon a heap of smouldering ruins! | > | e 54 ' THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. CHAPTER X. Mepitations or A Moruer. A Suppen Surprise. ARRIVAL OF THE Carriace. More Wonpers. THE Lovery Grecian. Joy anp Hap- PINESS. Mrs. Melville was seated at the window of the cottage, meditating upon the singular events of her son’s long absence. The joy she felt on finding him still among the living of the earth, was only marred by the knowledge of his having abjured the religion of his fathers,and embraced Islamism ;— a system of religion founded by that Prince of impostors, Mahomet, and propagated throughout a portion of the globe by the seimetar of Arabia ; the yataghan of Turkey, and the well-tempered blade of Damascus; asys- tem of theology on which the Jew and Christian alike are taugit to view ‘ with the utmost abhorrence. Yet, from the conversation she had had with her son, she was rejoiced to know that the same God which the Christian worships was also the ‘ Allah’ of the devotional Moslem; and, notwithstand- ing they regarded Mahomet, as the Prophet of God, yet they denied not that Christ was also the Piophet of the Christian, deriving his power from the same Great Source ; that the Turk, whom he had ever been taught to look upon as something less than a semi-barbarian, is indeed, a being of hon- esty, of morality, of piety, and who is as little likely to violate his conscience as the Christian; a man, too, of benevolence and kindness, and whose hos- pitality is proverbial with those who have observed and scrutinized his char- acter. Thus did the fond mother reason within herself; thus did she strive to repress and conciliate those unhappy emotions which embittered her mind upon learning the startling intelligence that one of her own offspring—an only son—was not only an official subject of a great Oriental Monarchy, but a conscientious, Musselmaun! eet Her thoughts now turned to Cecile, and a deep sigh of anguish arose from her heart. The singular fatality which attended her children was a matter of wonder, as well as of the deepest regret! oft she had deprecated the hour when she gave assent to the importunities of professed spiritual guides, and Cecile’s own wishes, that her beloved daughtershould be torn from her while living! She reproached herself for doing wrong, and she would have given worlds could she have recalled the fatal promise! But the die was cast! Cecile’s stern decision to pass beyond her novitiate, had been borne to her, and on that night made sacred to the Catholics by the massacre of thousands of their religious opponents, she was to take the vows which would place her apart from the living, and yet not with the dead! There was something in the thought that caused her soul to shudder! She wrung her hands in anguish, and falling upon her knees offered up a fervent and heartfelt prayer to the Almighty,—asking for the Divine interposition tosave | her from being bereaved of a beloved child! and again to restore her to her bosom! " | The ¢ Amen’ had scarcely been uttered when the apartment became sud- = o THE; NUN, OF ST. URSULA. ; | 55 denly illuminated ; the air,rung with shouts and strange noises; the bells, for miles around, pealed loudly and rapidly! heavy wheels rumbled as they moved along the ground; and the quick heavy tread of thousands vi- brated, upon her ear! There was: a confusion and a. murmur without of strange import! She ran to the door and, behold! a blaze of light from be- yond an intervening hill, burst upon. her vision! She despatched a servant to learn the cause. He soun returned, almost breathless with agitation and excitement, ejaculating, 1: ‘ The Convent’s burning! .The Convent’s burning!” ©Oh Cecile! Cecile!’ exclaimed the agonized mother, and fainted upon the threshold of the door. Presently the trampling .of steeds was heard, and in a moment more a carriage, drawn by a pair of fleet horses, came rolling furiou$ly up the avenue, | and stopped before the cottage door.. Two gentlemen sprang from the ve- hicle in an instant, and assisted two females to alight, with whom they en- tered the cottage... Mrs. Melville, by the prompt exertions of her servant, had nearly revived. Lights were brought, and ina moment Cecile was in her mother’s arms. shan ‘Heaven be praised! You have escaped the dreadful calamity,’ were the first words of Mrs, Melville’ sy. ‘Oh! my dear mother, I have been rescued from a worse death than be- ing consumed with the Convent!’ exclaimed Cecile. ‘What mean you, my child ?” ‘I have escaped the dreadful snare, in which both body and soul were placed in fearful jeopardy! I have been shamefully insulted by one who styles himself a servant of God—a vicegerent of the kingdom of Heaven! I have passed through trials and privations! and in the last hours of SNe vitiate, a stupifying drug was clandestinely administered to me, which de- prived me of the light of reason! Oh! mother, thank this stranger, for he it was who rescued me from the accursed walls, which, thank Heav- en, have been visited this night with a signal vengeauce! And Frederick, oh! Frederick! dear Frederick! forgive me for my past folly! I have been deceived! blinded by the spells of superstitious men and women!’ ‘Forgive thee, Cecile ? Indeed I do,’ answered Gray; ‘although I have been deeply afflicted on thy account, yet I would suffer years of torment and wretchedness for this happy hour. May God forgive me my sins! and teach me still to love thee as I have for years past.’ Gray extended his arms, and Cecile rushed into them, overwhelmed with joy, her long, con- fused ringlets straying wildly over his breast. ‘Oh! Frederick,’ said she, ‘Iam now happy! I have been miserable! I am thine forever! Speak to the stranger, who stands looking upon the Grecian; thank him, I have not words to express my gratitude.’ ‘Friend Jack,’ said Gray, ‘ participate with me in my joy” ‘How’s this, Gray,’ you seem to take more interest in this young lady than I was advised of ‘True, Jack. Her mother’s consent I had before she contemplated enter- ing the Convent; her own I now have; and [ only await yours.’ ‘Melville instantly threw off his sailor disguise, and stood before them in the same costume in which he had once before appeared in the presence of his mother. ‘My husband! my husband !’ screamed Zillah, her dark eyes flashing with sudden joy, as she rushed into his arms. ‘Yes, dearest Zillah! Iam thy husband. Thank heaven, | have found thee at last! By what strange event came you in a nunnery 2” ‘I cannot tell thee now, my husband. Hereafter, you shall know all.’ 56° THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. ‘My dear mother, I present to you another daughter! is dear wife my beloved Zillah Mrs. Melville embraced Zillah warmly. In the meanwhile, Cecile was gazing with astonishment at the metamor- phose and singular behaviour of the stranger. ‘Sister Cecile, come to your brother’s arms,’ The maiden hesitated. ‘I am thy brother! John Melville? ‘Am I notdreaming? Are these things actual? Yes! I'see! You are my brother who was lost and is found,’ and she threw herself into his arms! ‘Qh joy! unexpected joy that this ‘night hath brought forth? ‘Cecile! embrace your sister! your brother’s wife ” The two lovely creatures entwined their arms around each. other’s neck, and kissed each other with all the fervor of a first affection. It was.abeau- tiful group to contemplate! From extreme anguish, all had been made happy ; all had attained their greatest earthly desires. Singular, too, were _ the occurrences which led to such'a combination of surprises. It was ata late hour when this Fappy family retired to rest. Before re- tiring, however, Zillah promised, on the following morning to relate, since her capture by the Algerine pirates, her wonderful adventures. \ THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 57. CHAPTER XI. ZiILLAH’s NARRATIVE. * After the vessel was captured, I was borne in the arms of an athletic Arab from the cabin of my husband’s ship to a six oared galley, in which I was conveyed to Algiers, although the distance to that port was many leagues. Knowing that the ship was taken without a blow being struck, I supposed, of course, that my husband was safe, although, like myself, a pris- oner of war! I was taken immediately to the Dey’s palace, wlio, question- ing me regarding the other prisoners, ascertained that I was a native of Greece ; and, although I endeavored to explain my connection with the Turks, he would not listen to me; and, instead of being treated as a pris- oner of war, he sent me directly to the slave market to be sold to the high- est bidder. 1 was purchased by a wealthy Algerine for a thousand piastres ; but before I was removed, a Spanish gentleman, passing through the slave market enquired of the slave merchant regarding me. He seemed to take a deep interest in my fate, and looked upon me with an eye of pity and ten- derness. On ascertaining that I had been sold to an Algerine, he waited until my owner came, and having accosted him, made proposals for pur- chasing me, but his price was so exorbitant, (charging five thousand pias- rey ae the Spaniard gave up in despair. I begged to be delivered into his hands, but the Algerine gave a deaf ear to my entreaties, he determin- ing to make me add at least four thousand piastres to his heapof gold. At length the Spaniard left me, and in the course of an hour returned. He spake to me in low tones, and, understanding that I was to be removed to my master’s house that evening, he resolved to make an attempt with his crew to rescue me—a stratagem which I freély assented to, and determined ‘ to assist in executing. The hour arrived.. It was dark. And my avari- cious master came to take me to his harem, bringing with him a couple of Negroes as a safeguard tor my person, We had proceeded but a few rods when I sawa dozen men standing near a coffee-house, whom I knew to be the Spaniards. I immediately told my master that I had left in the market a bocksha, or bundle, of rich apparel, and which also contained my jewels. ‘This was sufficient bait for bis avarice, and preferring rather to - trust me with the slaves than my supposed jewels, he himself hobbled back to the market for the treasure. ; In the meanwhile, my negro guard, not suspecting the intrigue, were carelessly looking around upon whatever attracted their attention. The moment I saw their eyes removed from me, I ran towards the Spaniards a » \ 58 ' THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. with all the fleetness my limbs possessed,—the negroes in full chase ; but T had got several rods in advance of them. The Captain and one of his officers hurried me through the coffee-house, while his men cut off the pur- suit at the door. We quickly arrived at the pier, and hurrying into the boat, we were soon gliding toward the ship, Another boat, containing the crew soon followed, and as all were now on board, the Captain ordered the anchor to be weigh- ed, andgthe sails unfurled, and we were soon leaving the port of Algiers un- der a heavy press of canvas. When morning dawned, it was nearly calm, and we moved slowly over the billows, A vessel astern hove in sight! The Captain, on looking through his glass, discovered it to be an Algerine Cutter, in full chase ; and to give speed to the vessel they had two boats out, well manned, and i in two hours would have overhauled us, had not the wind suddenly sprung up and blew so fresh that the Cutter took in her boats, and hoisted all her canvas. But.the ship was now gaining upon the chase, and before nightfall she was lost to us. Captain Carrero resolved to put into Lisbon, notwithstanding the officers of the Cutter probably knew whither he was ‘bound. This he accomplished, and without tarrying, sailed for Havre, at which port we soon arrived. Afterward, we visited Liverpool and then set sail for America. | We had been at sea but ten days when a violent gale of wind sprung up, and although the sails were closely reefed at the tine, yet its fury carried away all her canvas and spa It was now night, and the HF stes | was in¢reasing in violence. We were driving before the wind with fearful velocity, when a mountain billow roll- r ed over the stern of the ship, sweeping the decks of masts, spars and every moveable thing in its course. The Captain had, a moment before, gone. upon deck, and shared the dreadful fate of more than half the creW. © Morning at length dawned—the gale had subsided, and the ocean was placid as a sea of glass, and we had hopes of being soon fallen in with and taken from the mastless yessel—but our hopes vanished, when the dreadful word was pasxed along that a fearful breach was discovered, and that we were slowly sinking! The pumps were manned and every exertion was | made to keep the hull afloat. But all in vain—it,was beyond human effort. The water gained rapidly in the hold, and we gave ourselves up as lost— _ there was nota boat, nor plank, nor spar—all ‘had been swept from. the decks by the waves that swept over us, I sank upon my knees and, cried * ‘Allah! Father! save us!’ My prayer was heard—the joyous shout, ‘asail! a sail!’ burst from the crew; but she was bearing away from us. Signals were now made, and the men with almost super ‘human strength raised a heavy gun from the lower deck and discharged it. The report was heard— and great was our joy when in afew moments we beheld the distant vessel change her course and bear down directly for us, aided by a gentle breeze which had now sprung up. She lowered her boats—they came along- side, and we were all taken from the sinking ship and thus were saved from an. ocean grave, ‘The vessel proved to be an American merchautman, home- _. ward bound; and in eight days after we had been taken from the wreck the ship arrived safely in Boston harbor. In accordance with the captain’s_ wishes, I narrated to him my short but eventful history.. He sympathised — deeply with my afflictions, and when I told him that my husband was ana- tive of America, he seemed greatly surprised, and bade me be comfor ted, for he would use every means in his power to restore me to him, He fir proposed to take me to his residence in the country some thirty miles dis- ro = tant; but afterwards told me thatas he had a daughter at the Mount Bene- . dict Seminar y,in Charlestown, he would take me there and place me under THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 59 the protection of the principal of the Institution. Accordingly, on the day after our arrival, he took me in a carriage to the Seminary—presented me to the Abbess, who readily promised to do, all in her power for ny com- fort, seemed greatly pleased, and thanked the gentleman for placing me under her care. After introducing me to his daughter and, recommending me to her confidence, he took his departure. When evening came I was invited to the chapel, where religious services were to be performed. All of the worshippers, on entering, knelt down and crossed themselves, but instead of making a sign that | was unaccus- tomed to, I fell upon my knees, and performed the Moslem sign of rever ence! All eyes were turned upon me with astonishment, and 1 observed the Priest and Abbess looked angrily! I immediately retired to the further part of the chapel, near the door, where I remained.a silent and inactive spectator of their singular ceremonies. I noticed that all present were hab- ited in Jong plain black gowns, unbecoming hoods, and veils, either black or white, hanging over their shoulders; and I wondered that I did not perceive among them any of the young and more becomingly attired ladies, that I had met on our arrival in the morning. Soon as the services were concluded, the Abbess approached me with a reproving look, and accused me of committing an inexcusable offence in the presence of the holy saints! ; I answered that 1 intended no wrong, and begged she would pardon me if I had displeased her. This did not satisfy her, and she commenced cat- echising me :— - €You are a native of Greece?’ she enquired. I answered in the affirmative. : ‘Your countrywomen are neither infidels nor heathens ?” ‘T believe that the creed of the Greek Church is not essentially dissimilar to that of the Catholic Church,’ L answered. : aes I suppose you are member of the Greek Church ?” 6 0.” t ‘No? echoed the Abbess with surprise and indignation. ‘You must then be a horrid Jewess or an infidel ?’ ‘ Neither! ‘ What then do you profess?’ demanded she, impatiently. La illah, illa Mohammed Resoul Allah! said J. She started back as if in doubt. What is the Euglish of that?’ she en- quired. ; ‘There is but one God, and Mahomet is. the Prophet of God?’ She was thunderstruck!. Anger, amazement and horror were depicted upon her countenance! The other women screamed and ran from me as if [had been a fiendess, sent expressly from the infernal regions to torture them. . ‘May the saints defend us from this female monster ? dipping her hands in a font of water, crossing herself, and throwingysome of it insultingly into | my face!’ A Mahommedan uttering heresy in the chapel of the Blessed Virgin. Come not near me—stir not—profane not a single thing by your touch! You shall be taken care of! said she, and left the chapel in a paroxysm of rage. : 1 was now left completely alone to contemplate upon the singular treat- ment [had received from the Abbess. I could hardly persuade myself to believe that it was on account of my religion—yet 1 could divine no other cause. In the course of an hour.a rough Irishman, who styled himself the porter, appeared in the chapel. He told me to follow him. I obeyed, and my conductor led me up several flights of stairs into a narrow dark apart- 60 THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. ment, situated in the upper part of the building. Here I was ordered to re- main, and on no account to pass,the threshold, of the door; and in three weeks, I was given to understand, my protector, the captain, would call, and that I should then be released. I enquired of my keeper the cause of my being imprisoned. He replied by saying that it was to prevent my contaminating the Sisters of St. Ursula, and the consecrated apartments of the Convent. My three weeks imprisonment expired yesterday; during which time I have been made to subsist upon black unpalatable bread, and a nauseous liquid which the Irish porter brought to me each morning. My prison had no windows, and a flickering taper light only was allowed me. Thus have I passed the last twenty-one days—the most wretched of my existence— and I prayed to Allah to deliver me from this worse than Algerine punish- ment: : Last night I retired to my rude couch, and for the first time, since I had been imprisoned, fell into a sweet sleep; for in that sleep, my dear husband, I dreamed of thee and of thy safety ; of our happy home in the East ; of our loved friends and merry companions. But my pleasant reverie was soon disturbed by loud noises from without—the shouts of men, the rattling of vehicles and the ringing of bells! I now heard the crackling of flames, and my room was partially filled with smoke. My feeble light had expired and I was in utter darkness! The horrid thought that I was to be burnt alive almost overwhelmed me. ‘That my hostess had determined to sac- rifice me by a dreadful death, I did not doubt! I threw over me a few.arti- cles of wearing apparel, and found my way out of my narrow apartment, and endeavored to find the stairs, by which I could descend into the hall below. Groping about in the dark, I accidentally came in contact with a flight of steps, leading still upward, which I quickly ascended and came to a scuttle door, made of panes of glass, which was probably fastened upon the outside. I descended and having obtained a piece of board, again mounted the steps, broke through the door, and found myself in the cupola of the edifice! The sudden blaze of light at first almost blinded me! I looked beneath, and beheld a vast assemblage of riotous looking men, shouting and hallooing like madmen! Ialso suw that the rear of the buil- ding was enveloped in flames.and that I must soon inevitably perish! I could not divest myself of the idea, that the sacrifice of the building, was sulely on account of the alleged contamination of it by me, and that it was determined I should perish with it; and that the demoniacal-looking crew had thronged together to witness the awful sacrifice of one of their temples containing a devotee of Islamism! I screamed aloud to attract the atten- tion of the multitude, and, perchance, to excite sympathy in one Christian breast. But alas! my cries were either not heard, or they stubbornly determined to heed me not. All hope fled from me! 1 stretched forth my hand and prayed to Allah! Father! to receive my soul and bear it to our heavenly paradise! I was now almost suffocated with hot smoke, and I - could feel the scorching flames that threatened in a moment to encompass me and take away the vital spark! My brzin whirled! my senses were be- wildered ! and I fainted! % * * %* * % % * During my first moments of consciousness, I felt myself being borne in the arms of a strong man through a crowd of men who were exulting and shouting most vociferously, I was then placed in a carriage, and heard the THE NUNjOF ST. URSULA. 61 sound of kind voices,,but I was not aware, until 1 was brought here, that it was my dear husband who saved me. Mf * ~ % aE * % % During Zillah’s recital of, her enanetla adventures—her almost mirac- ulous escape a second time from the jaws of destruction—her auditors were so deeply affected, that she could not continue her narrative without mak- ing many pauses. ‘Wonderful! exclaimed Frederick Gray. ‘Your sufferings compared with hers, Melville, sink.into insignificance.’ ‘True! and I pray to Allah that our severest trials have ’ passed,’ replied Melville. ‘May kind Heaven, hereafter, lead me in the path of duty, and forever guard me from Papal influence, is the heartfelt prayer of Cecile.’ ‘My children! may Heaven bless you all! May your future days be days of happiness, and your eternal life be the life which God has promised to all who obey his commands? added Mrs. Melville. men |’ responded the happy group. 62) THE NUN OF ST, URSULAL/) “i 10) wv Laintiassiov haid Te Baus nee 1g ty tok eal CHAPTER XI. vant enh ConcLuUSION. One month had passed since the night of the destruction of the Convent, and the excitement regarding it had been daily increasing. The Catholics were incensed beyond measure, and a majority of the Protestants were strong in their denunciations of the rioters. Ecclesiastical and judicial in- vestigations were held—but they resulted in the punishment or injury of none. . Among the many who were supposed to be concerned in the Convent’s destruction, not a shadow of suspicion ever rested upon Jobn Melville or Frederick Gray, or upon the crew of the Turkish ship then lying at anchor in Boston harbor. In fact, their leader had taken such wise precauticns throughout all his proceedings, that detection would have been quite im- possible, The monk, whom it will be recollected was left in the ice-house, was released during the conflagration by order of Melville. But some of the mob, accidentally discovering him before he could make his escape, took him to the pump where they completely drenched him ;—from thence, they led him to the fire where he might have an opportunity of drying and ' warming himself. He, however, quickly disappeared, and has never been | seen since, in this community; nor is it known to what portion of the globe -he fled to. ; The [Irish Porter—Phelim O’Toole—and his quondam friend, Misthur Archy McDougal, were found beastly intoxicated at the foot of the garden, on the night of the conflagration. In the morning, when they awoke to consciousness, they were astonished at finding their ‘ occupation gone.’— Phelim awoke first, and endeavored to wake Archy. ‘Och! ye bogtrotter! open your daylights, and “behold the divil’s own work, while ye were asleep. A pretty watchman ye are to sleep so sound that ye could not hear the walls tumbling aboot your head. Wake up, I say,’ and he gave the Scotchman a slight kick with his foot which aroused him. fe) ‘Mar counscience ? exclaimed McDongal, rubbing his eyes. ‘Ye may well say that! Why did’nt ye kape a good Jookout,’ ‘I left ye here, mon, to do the watching.’ -* And did’nt I lave ye here, too ?’ ‘ You spakes the truth, mon,’ Phelim was soon after this discarded from the church, but he is still as firm @ THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. 63 a believer in: the saints and miracles, and. in the infallibility of the Pope as ever; and his friend Archy still remains an inflexible Scotch dissenter. On one point, however, they have always agreed, and that is, in the efficacy of a ‘little drap of the cray:bur now and thin.’ The cockney, who figures occasionally in our romance, practised his pe- culiar ‘ profession,’ for a year or two after the burning of the nunnery, with considerable success. But his ‘ Billingsgate edication’ didn’t save him—he wasarrested and tried on three indictments—arson, burglary and perjury— and was sentenced to the Charlestown State Prison for twenty years, where he is fed and clothed at the public expense, at the same time receiving con- stant instruction in the useful art of stone-cutting. A new order of Nuns, called the ‘ Sisters of Charity,’ has been establish- ed, we learn, since the breaking up ef the Ursulines. We know of no ob jection to these ‘ Sisters,’ for, instead of immuring themselves within walls of brick and mortar, they go about doing poor people some service. __ It has been proposed, by some of the more zealous Catholics of New- England, to found another monastery for the Ursuline order of Nuns, in this vicinity. But we trust that a project, so repugnant to the feelings of the great mass—the descendants of the Pilgrim fathers, who fled from the in- tolerance of Papal usurpation—will be forever abandoned. Go on and mul- tiply your churches—but have no secret auxiliaries—and both Protestants and Catholics may yet worship the same God in the same community with- out jealous rivalry—without wrangling—without rioting! The claims of the Catholics against our state for reparation of the losses ihey incurred by the destruction of the Charlestown Nuunery, seems to us, in all sober earnestness, to be founded in justice. And yet, these claims are retused by a few men, who, either do not understand the principles on which they are grounded, or bigotry and selfishness must be the predomi- nant qualities of their minds. A few words more and our story is complete. In a neighboring state, one fine September’s morning, a marriage cere- mony was performed—Frederick Gray and Cecile Melville, were united ‘in the holy bands of matrimony! ‘The only witnesses to the joyous event were John Melville and his Grecian bride, and Mrs. Melville. On the eve- ning of the followihg day, a splendid féte was given on board of the Turk- ish ship, lying in the harbor, and a gay concourse of the friends of the bride and bridegroom assembled to partake in the festivities, and to offer their congratulations. A magnificent and luxurious banquet was spread in the large cabin of the ship, which was richly and gaily decorated for the occasion. Great was the surprise of the guests, on being summoued to the - feast, to behold every thing prepared after the mode of the Orientals; even cushions were placed around instead of chairs; the servants were uniform- Ip apparelled in a neat Turkish costume, consisting of tunic, full trousers, and tasseled féz; and all seemed so oddly magnificent and sumptuous, that they were decidedly ata loss how to begin. However, Melville and his beautiful Zillah, set the example, and seated themselves upon the cushions, which the guests tolerabty well imitated. It was, indeed, an amusing scene, and its oddity added no little hilarity and zest tothe entertainment. After their feast, they were summoned to the deck of the ship, where a band of Turkish musicians were stationed playing Oriental airs. The dancing now commenced, and joy and merriment reigned supreme. It was ata late hour 64 _ ‘THE NUN OF ST. URSULA. when the guests bade adieu to their friends, and expressed their delight at the agreeable surprises, and general enjoyment, which the novel entertain- ment had afforded them. e venture here gravely to assert that this was the brat Piaaeccaee of an Oriental féte ever known to have been given in New England. . On the next day the ship weighed anchor and put tosea, with the happy group who assembled so surprisingly at the cottage on the night of the con- tion. In due time they arrived at Constantinople, where Melville and Zillah were received with great joy by Pasha Mehemet Effendi, and, indeed public demonstrations were made congratulatory of their return. Frederick Gray, his wife and mother, after two years’ residence in the Arent city of the Osmanlis, returned, via France and England, to the United . tates. Melville commissioned Gray to seek out the American captain, who rescued Zillah from the wreck of the Spanish ship, and present to him, in his name, a diamond broach, and a magnificent chibouk, for the interest he manifested in her behalf. Gray’s family are now residing with his mother at the beautiful cottage, and are greatly esteemed and beloved by a large circle of valuable acquaintances. They are now in anticipation of a visit from their eastern relatives during the next summer. THE END. ci a+ . “BRRATA,, ~ 39—Zith line frem the botiom—read Hinginemen Magenen. 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