"You must go the station," peremptorily spoke Mr. Castlerosse. “I don't care what I pay you."

"I

"It is not a question of payment, sir," civilly answered the man. have engaged myself to this lady and gentleman, and I would not do such a thing as go from my word. I take them to the church, wait for them, and from thence to the station, to catch the quarter to nine down train."

Mr. Castlerosse seemed beaten on all sides. He turned crustily from the unmanageable blacksmith, and, bending his steps towards the churchyard, paced about there amongst the gravestones. In his state of excitement he could not sit still, or remain away from the chief scene of action. A little before eight the doors were opened, and he entered and ensconced himself behind a pillar, where he could see and not be seen. There were no signs yet of Mr. Lyvett, but presently the wedding party came in.

The bride was first, looking lovely; that fact struck even the prejudiced mind of Mr. Castlerosse. Who on earth was conducting her? Mr. Castlerosse stared, rubbed his eyes, and stared again. To his horrible conviction, his unbounded indignation, it was- -his own favourite nephew! A medical student, graceless to the rest of the world, painstaking to Mr. Castlerosse, whom he had had thoughts of benevolently setting up in practice, the good-looking, careless, random Charley Castlerosse.

Scarcely had the clergyman begun the service when Mr. Castlerosse glided forward. "I forbid the marriage," he said. "I can show cause why it should not take place."

A shudder passed through the frame of Sophia May. She did not know who caused the interruption, or what plea was going to be urged. Her face assumed the paleness of the grave, and she bent it forward, and hid it on the altar rails; the bridegroom, however, turned round and confronted the intruder; whilst Charley Castlerosse never turned at all, for he had recognised the voice, and hoped to escape unseen, only wishing there was an open grave convenient, that he might drop into it.

The scene that ensued was one never yet witnessed in that quiet little church, but Mr. Castlerosse failed to show any legal grounds for delaying the marriage. "His father will be here directly," he screamed; "he'll be here with a strait-waistcoat; he's coming by the first train."

Frederick Lyvett took a high tone. He dared Mr. Castlerosse to show just or legal cause for his interruption, and he dared the clergyman to stop the ceremony. Mr. Balfour, with a sigh, opened his book again, and Mr. Castlerosse looked vainly out for Mr. Lyvett. There was time yet.

How was it that Mr. Lyvett had not come? On the previous evening, the family having retired to rest, for it was Mr. Lyvett's safe and good old custom to be up last in the house, as it had been his father's before him, he and his wife were preparing to follow them, when Mrs. Lyvett spoke.

"James, I do believe Frederick has not come in!"

"My dear, I told you that Fred went out yesterday for some days." "Oh, I understood you till to-night only. Where is he gone ?" "I did not ask him. He has taken his own course lately with little reference to me. Somewhere in the country. I expect Charley Castlerosse is with him, for Rowley saw them in a cab together. They are

gone on a spree, I suppose. I would rather Fred did go out of London for his sprees, just now, than stop in it," said Mr. Lyvett, significantly. He had put out the lights and taken up the bed-candlestick, when a tremendous peal at the hall-bell echoed through the house. "What can that be?" exclaimed Mrs. Lyvett.

"Some drunken fellows passing. I wish I was behind them." there followed a second peal, louder than the first.

But

"Don't go down," cried Mrs. Lyvett. "Look from the window." Mr. Lyvett opened it and leaned out.

"Who is that?"

"Is this J. Lyvett, Esquire's?" "Yes."

"Telegraphic despatch, sir."

"Who from ?"

"Don't know."

Mr. Lyvett went down, and returned with the despatch in his hand. He read it by the light of the bedroom candle, his wife looking over him. Sure such a message was never sent by telegraph before: but Mr. Castlerosse was not collected when he wrote it.

"Fred's down here:

going to be married to-morrow at eight o'clock to that serpent-crocodile. Take a special engine and come and stop it. The old affair revived. May, the porter.

“HENRY CASTLEROSSE."

Mr. Lyvett was in a cab the next morning betimes, and had nearly reached the railway station, prepared to demand a special train, when in putting his hand in his pocket to get the fare ready for the cabman, he discovered, to his consternation, that he had left his money-case at home. This was through being over-cautious. He had put it out on the drawers the previous night, lest he might forget to change it from one suit of clothes to the other in the hurry of dressing, and on the drawers it was still. He had to drive back, and this delayed him considerably above an hour. The clock was striking eight as he finally drove up to the station. He knew that the train must be then about going out.

"A first-class ticket for," he breathlessly exclaimed, throwing down a sovereign. "How much time have I?" he added, as he took up the change.

"None. It is starting now. You can't go by it. The express leaves at ten."

"I must go by it," he screamed, rushing up to the line of carriages. "Hi! stop! stop! Porter! stop!"

I

"Too late, sir," said the porter.

66

"Train's on the move."

Open a door, man! It's a business of life and death. Open a door, say. Here! all right; never be known.”

Something of a golden colour mysteriously found its way into the porter's hand, and a door, quite as mysteriously, flew open. It belonged to a third-class carriage, the last of the train. Mr. Lyvett scrambled into it.

The train steamed up to its destination; that is, Mr. Lyvett's destination; steamed well. It was only forty-one minutes past eight. He sprang from the carriage.

"This is a first-class ticket," cried the porter, eyeing him suspiciously. "And if I choose to pay for first-class and ride in third, what's that to you? How far is the church off ?"

"Half a mile."

"Which is the way to it?"

"Out at the back, down the steps, and straight along up the road." "Any carriage to be had?"

"No; Payne's fly was here, bringing folks to the train, but it's gone again."

Mr. Lyvett rushed madly down the steps. The road was before him, and he could see the church spire rising at a distance, but it looked more like a mile away than half a one. What could he do to get there? What a shame that no conveyance was in waiting! The knot might be being tied then, and he arrive just too late. As to running, that was beyond him: it was up-hill, and he was a fat man. He espied a horse fastened to the palings of a small house close to the egress a butcher's boy and his tray had just jumped off it; he was taking the station-master's wife, who lived there, some steak for their dinner. Without consideration, Mr. Lyvett unhooked the bridle, mounted himself on the horse, and urged him to a gallop. The dismayed boy, when he had recovered his astonishment, started in the wake, hallooing "Stop thief!" with all his stentorian lungs, which only made the horse fly the faster. About half way to the church the rider came upon Mr. Castlerosse, sitting philosophically upon a milestone by the roadside.

"Well ?" cried Mr. Lyvett, pulling up, as speedily as the pace he was going would allow.

"Well it is, I think," grunted Mr. Castlerosse.

come before?"

"Am I in time?"

"Why couldn't you

"No, you are not. They are married and gone. You couldn't expect to be."

"Are they really married?" gasped Mr. Lyvett, his arms dropping powerless with the news.

"They are. I stood in the church and saw it done. I strove to prevent it, but was not allowed. I was not his father."

Mr. Lyvett slowly descended from the horse. To encounter the panting and abusive butcher-boy, who protested the policeman was a coming up with the 'ancuffs. A short explanation and another golden piece settled the lad, and sent him riding off in wild glee.

"You say they are gone. Where?"

"In that train which I suppose you got out of," was poor Mr. Castlerosse's testy reply, as he pointed to the smoking carriages whirling along in the distance. "A more determined, obstinate, pig-headed man than your son has shown himself this day, I never saw. It will come home to him, as sure as his name's Fred Lyvett."

"As he has made his bed, so he must lie on it," returned Mr. Lyvett, striving to make light of his bitter grief.

But not in their worst anticipations could he or Mr. Castlerosse suspect how very hard that bed was to be.

And Fred and his bride steamed gaily off, rejoicing at having won their stolen march.

LIBERTY OF CONSCIENCE.*

On the 8th of September last (1856) a mandement was published by Monseigneur the Bishop of Ghent, which occasioned a memorable debate in the Belgian Chambers-one deputy, M. de Decker, significantly remarking, that, "on dirait qu'un souffle d'intolérance est passé sur la Belgique." The Bishop had attacked, with a degree of energy closely akin to violence, the University, and the Literary Society of Ghent. After citing the doctrines of three of the University professors, "doctrines manifestly false, wicked, blasphemous, and heretical," the episcopal censor went on to say: "You will not expect us to refute such blasphemies combined with so profound an ignorance. It is enough that we have pointed them out to you;"-and he then charged his clergy to warn their parishioners of the immense danger their children would incur if allowed to attend the University classes while three such professors-of philosophy, of history, and of jurisprudence-continued their lectures. Of the Literary Society, again, he complained, that it had now become notorious for its anti-religious and anti-social spirit; and that not only did it place at the disposal of its members library full of the most impious and most immoral books, but also gave periodical séances, of a pretended literary character, at which infidels boldly expounded the most mischievous doctrines.

M. Jules Simon, in the December following, delivered two lectures on the subject of Liberty of Conscience, before the Literary Society of Ghent; and the welcome accorded to them has led to their publication in the volume now before us-the lectures being here expanded, however, into four, and illustrated by copious documents in the form of an appendix. M. Simon is well known as the author of several popular works on no very popular themes-the History of the Alexandrian School, a treatise on Duty, and another on Natural Religion-the last of which has recently found an English translator. In his introduction to the present volume, the author remarks, that all who have been at the pains to read his books will feel sure of not meeting, in this instance, with any attack upon the Christian religion. "I am filled at once with respect and admiration for Christianity, a doctrine so simple, so profound; which teaches so clearly the unity of God and the immortality of the soul; of which the morality is so pure, so full of charity; while its influence over the loftiest intellects as well as the masses, has been for long ages past so imposing. I find in it, above all, one feature which fascinates me; and that is, its combination of the most learned metaphysics with the most perfect and most effective simplicity. Unquestionably the 'Timæus' of Plato and the 12th Book of Aristotle's Metaphysics are marvels; but not from them can you extract a creed that childhood may be taught to repeat. Hitherto the Christian religion alone it is which comprises in one the Summa of Saint Thomas, and a Catechism. Now when the attempt is made, as made it is at this time, to take from away us, in the name of this religion, the liberty of thinking, and to propagate

* La Liberté de Conscience, par Jules Simon. Paris: Hachette. 1857.

superstitions that are often immoral and nearly always absurd, cannot we resist these unhappy attempts without making war on the Gospel? Is it not just to distinguish between a religion of which the essence is love, and a party which breathes only hatred? This distinction, at any rate, is what I, for my part, endeavour to make. Those who please may tell me that I have chosen my enemy. I do not hide it. My enemy is, intolerance, and I attack it wherever I come across it; among Christians, if I find it there; and even, on occasion, among free-thinkers, for there are intolerant spirits too of our own party."

In his opening lecture, M. Simon takes a rapid historical review of intolerance in its earliest phases. He shows how Greece was the land of liberty in the ancient world; he traces the decline of Hellenic spirit and of Roman empire; he describes the rise and progress of Christianitythe first efforts of religious intolerance, the beginnings of persecution, the strife between civil and religious powers, each of them intolerant, and their reconciliation on the conversion of Constantine. He then glances at the doings of Julian the Apostate and the later emperors-and treats of the Crusades and wars of religion, the condemnation of Abelard, and the foundation of the Inquisition. He describes the intolerance that was rife subsequent to the middle ages, in spite of the progress of the arts and general enlightenment-the massacres of Merindol, and Amboise, and Vassy-the sufferings of a Louis Berquin, an Anne du Bourg, a Michael Servetus, a Giordano Bruno, and a Vanini. Then comes St. Bartholomew's-day, and the civil war of the League. Followed in due course by the revocation of the edict of Nantes, and those troublous times of bondage and bloodshed, those "long years of martyrdom," during which all the poets of France, all her historians, all her preachers, chanted the praises of Louis XIV., and Bossuet exclaimed, from the height of his consecrated pulpit, "Touched with so many wonders, let us pour forth the feelings of our hearts on the piety of Louis. Let us raise our acclamations to the very heavens, and say to this new Theodosius, this new Marcian, this new Constantine, what was said by them of old time, the six hundred and thirty Fathers at the Council of Chalcedon: You have established the true faith, you have exterminated the heretics; this is the great work of your reign, this its proper character. By your means, heresy is come to an end. God alone could have wrought this miracle. King of Heaven, preserve the king of the earth! such is the prayer of the churches, the prayer of the bishops."

The

Louis XIV. proposed to himself, as the lecturer elsewhere observes, the task of extirpating Protestantism, and spared no means, whether of stratagem or force, to gain his purpose. What there was of Protestantism to survive him in France, lived an abject life under his two successors. National Assembly legislated in favour of Protestants and Jews, but in what M. Simon accounts an unsatisfactory and ungenerous spirit. He is justly severe on the sham liberalism of the Convention, and the discordance between its theory and practice in respect of la liberté de consciencecommenting on the laws (in 1793) against the due exercise of clerical functions, and the prohibition even, sous les peines les plus terribles, of all external worship-insomuch that the intervention of ministers of religion in funeral ceremonies was forbidden; one curious decree, signed by Fouché, who had been an oratorian and was going to be minister of police, regulates the order of funeral processions, and seems to proscribe in the June-VOL. CX. NO. CCCCXXXVIII.

M