e is permanent which is
unfounded in justice.

GRIFFITH GAUNT; OR, JEALOUSY.

CHAPTER XV.

One day, at dinner, Father Francis let them know that he was ordered to
another part of the county, and should no longer be able to enjoy their
hospitality. "I am sorry for it," said Griffith, heartily; and Mrs.
Gaunt echoed him out of politeness; but, when husband and wife came to
talk it over in private, she let out all of a sudden, and for the first
time, that the spiritual coldness of her governor had been a great
misfortune to her all these years. "His mind," said she, "is set on
earthly things. Instead of helping the angels to raise my thoughts to
heaven and heavenly things, he drags me down to earth. O that man's soul
was born without wings!"

Griffith ventured to suggest that Francis was, nevertheless, an honest
man, and no mischief-maker.

Mrs. Gaunt soon disposed of this, "O, there are plenty of honest men in
the world," said she; "but in one's spiritual director one needs
something more than that, and I have pined for it like a thirsty soul in
the desert all these years. Poor good man, I love him dearly; but, thank
Heaven, he is going."

The next time Francis came, Mrs. Gaunt took an opportunity to inquire,
but in the most delicate way, who was to be his successor.

"Well," said he, "I fear you will have no one for the present: I mean no
one very fit to direct you in practical matters; but in all that tends
directly to the welfare of the soul you will have one young in years but
old in good works, and very much my superior in piety."

"I think you do yourself injustice, Father," said Mrs. Gaunt, sweetly.
She was always polite; and, to be always polite, you must be sometimes
insincere.

"No, my daughter," said Father Francis, quietly, "thank God, I know my
own defects, and they teach me a little humility. I discharge my
religious duties punctually, and find them wholesome and composing; but
I lack that holy unction, that spiritual imagination, by which more
favored Christians have fitted themselves to converse with angels. I
have too much body, I suppose and too little soul. I own to you that I
cannot look forward to the hour of death as a happy release from the
burden of the flesh. Life is pleasant to me; immortality tempts me not;
the pure in heart delight me; but in the sentimental part of religion I
feel myself dry and barren. I fear God, and desire to do his will; but I
cannot love him as the sai