ing appointed one of his physicians, and he hinted the
probability of his aunt's medical pre-eminence destroying the effect of
her personal attractions. "At least," said he, "the Doctor has never
intimated a wish for the alliance, though he speaks with admiration of
her fortitude and maternal affection for us children of her love and
care. And severely as you accuse me for want of gallantry to your sex, I
will not even allow a spinster of seventy to volunteer her hand, when
the honour is not passionately desired."

Dr. Beaumont now inquired what dreadful tale was connected with the
convent of St. Bernard, and he soon found his own predictions were
realized respecting the fate of those who seek security by the paths of
crooked policy and selfish cunning. Those dreary walls inclosed the
wretched heir of the Waverly family. Overwhelmed with horror at having
deprived his father of life, the unhappy man abjured a country whose
civil wars had given birth to such tremendous crimes. Long the victim of
despair, he at last sought a quietus to his ever-gnawing remorse, by
flying to the bosom of that church which barters salvation for pecuniary
mulcts, and represents penance and subserviency to its schemes of
worldly aggrandisement to be the wings which will waft the soul over the
gulph of purgatory, and securely lodge it in Abraham's bosom. Not
content with becoming a convert to the Romish church, the young Baronet
determined upon expiating his unintentional parricide, by taking the
cowl, and entering into its strictest order of monachism. Eustace and
his friends, when they travelled over the Alps, were lodged one night at
this convent, and in the midnight service De Vallance recognized the
well-remembered tones of his powerful voice. They afterwards saw him in
the garden labouring at his future grave, according to the prescribed
rules of his order. His hood was fallen off, and gave to view his face,
in which the deepest lines of sorrow were combined with the gloom of
sullen superstition. All intercourse was forbidden by that law which
chained his tongue to eternal silence, except when employed as the organ
of devotion. Eustace wept with true commiseration; the unhappy monk
threw on him a look, which showed he too well remembered England, drew
his cowl over his face, and with a groan of the deepest melancholy
solemnly returned to his cell.

Dr. Beaumont's remarks on this narrative were pious and affecting; but
there was a heavy g