mn liturgies still chanting
around you; to feel an atmosphere of devotion on every side, and to see
the sacred relics whose miracles have attested the true faith in ages
long past. Does it not stir thy heart, my child, to know that such
blessed privileges may be thine?"

I hung my head in silence, for in truth, I felt nothing of the
enthusiasm with which he sought to inspire me. The Pere quickly saw
what passed in my mind, and endeavored to depict the life of the
monastery as a delicious existence, embellished by all the graces of
literature, and adorned by the pleasures of intellectual converse.
Poetry, romance, scenery, all were pressed into the service of his
persuasions; but how weak were such arguments to one like me, the boy
whose only education had been what the streets of Paris afforded--whose
notions of eloquence were formed on the insane ravings of "The
Mountain," and whose idea of greatness were centred in mere notoriety.

My dreamy look of inattention showed him again that he had failed; and I
could see in the increased pallor of his face, the quivering motion of
his lip, the agitation the defeat was costing him.

"Alas! alas!" cried he, passionately, "the work of ruin is perfect; the
mind of youth is corrupted, and the fountain of virtue defiled at the
very source. Oh! Maurice, I had never thought this possible of thee, the
child of my heart!"

A burst of grief here overcame him; for some minutes he could not speak.
At last he arose from his seat, and wiping off the tears that covered
his cheeks, with his robe, spoke, but in a voice whose full round tones
contrasted strongly with his former weak accents.

"The life I have pictured seems to thee ignoble and unworthy, boy. So
did it not appear to Chrysostom, to Origen, and to Augustin, to the
blessed saints of our church, the eldest born of Christianity. Be it so.
Thine, mayhap is not the age, nor this the era in which to hope for
better things. Thy heart yearns for heroic actions--thy spirit is set
upon high ambitions--be it so. I say, never was the time more fitting
for thee. The enemy is up; his armies are in the field; thousands and
tens of thousands swell the ranks, already flushed with victory. Be a
soldier, then. Ay, Maurice, buckle on the sword--the battle-field is
before thee. Thou hast made choice to seek the enemy in the far-away
countries of heathen darkness, or here in our own native France, where
his camp is already spread. If danger be the