th unusual satisfaction depicted on
his comely countenance.

"Well, boys, well," said he, when he came within hearing, "a holyday for
you! Ods fish,--and a holier day than my old house has known since its
former proprietor, Sir Hugo, of valorous memory, demolished the nunnery,
of which some remains yet stand on yonder eminence. Morton, my man
of might, the thing is done; the court is purified; the wicked one is
departed. Look here, and be as happy as I am at our release;" and he
threw me a note in Montreuil's writing:--

TO SIR WILLIAM DEVEREUX, KT.

MY HONOURED FRIEND,--In consequence of a dispute between your eldest
nephew, Count Morton Devereux, and myself, in which he desired me to
remember, not only that our former relationship of tutor and pupil was
at an end, but that friendship for his person was incompatible with the
respect due to his superior station, I can neither so far degrade the
dignity of letters, nor, above all, so meanly debase the sanctity of
my divine profession, as any longer to remain beneath your hospitable
roof,--a guest not only unwelcome to, but insulted by, your relation and
apparent heir. Suffer me to offer you my gratitude for the favours you
have hitherto bestowed on me, and to bid you farewell forever.

I have the honour to be,
With the most profound respect, etc.,
JULIAN MONTREUIL.

"Well, sir, what say you?" cried my uncle, stamping his cane firmly on
the ground, when I had finished reading the letter, and had transmitted
it to Aubrey.

"That the good Abbe has displayed his usual skill in composition. And my
mother? Is she imbued with our opinion of his priestship?"

"Not exactly, I fear. However, Heaven bless her, she is too soft to
say 'nay.' But those Jesuits are so smooth-tongued to women. 'Gad, they
threaten damnation with such an irresistible air, that they are as much
like William the Conqueror as Edward the Confessor. Ha! master Aubrey,
have you become amorous of the old Jacobite, that you sigh over his
crabbed writing, as if it were a _billet-doux_?"

"There seems a great deal of feeling in what he says, Sir," said Aubrey,
returning the letter to my uncle.

"Feeling!" cried the knight; "ay, the reverend gentry always have a
marvellously tender feeling for their own interest,--eh, Morton?"

"Right, dear sir," said I, wishing to change a subject which I knew
might hurt Aubrey; "but should we not join yon party of dames and
damsels? I see they are