Mary Campbell was more disturbed than Rachel Goodman. In the first paroxysm of her distress, she said she wished she had been killed in the war, rather than live to see her only son married to a black Protestant. “Not a black Protestant, dear mother, only a dove-colored one,” rejoined Camillo, playfully. Then he kissed her, and reminded her of the story of the crucifix, and told her how noble and gentle, and good and sensible, his Alice was. As he talked, a vision rose before her of the little bedroom in the Quaker’s farm-house; she saw Rachel and Alice supporting the drooping-heads of poor homeless Catholics, while they offered drink to their feverish lips; and memory melted bigotry. She threw herself weeping into Camillo’s arms and said, “Truly they did treat us like disciples of Jesus. I once said to Alice, ‘May the Holy Virgin bless thee;’ and I now say, from my heart, May the Holy Virgin bless you both, my son.” And so Catholic and Quaker were married, according to the forms of both their churches. The Society of Friends mostly withdrew from companionship with Alice, though they greeted her kindly at their meetings. The Catholics shook their heads and complained that Camillo Campbell was already half a Quaker. Both prognosticated evil consequences from such a union. But the worst that happened was, Alice learned that there might be superstition in the cut of a garment, as well as in veneration for an image; and Camillo became convinced that hatred and violence were much greater sins than eating meat on Fridays. NOTE.--The course here described as generally pursued by Quakers during the Irish Rebellion, and the effect stated to be produced on the soldiers of both parties, are strictly true. THE RIVAL MECHANICIANS. “I am growing old; my sight is failing very fast,” said a famous watch-maker of Geneva, as he wiped his spectacles to examine several chronometers, which his two apprentices laid before him. “Well done! Very well done, my lads,” said he. “I hardly know which of you will best supply the place of old Antoine Breguet. Thirty years ago, (pardon an old man’s vanity,) I could have borne away the palm from a hundred like ye. But my sight is dim, and my hands tremble. I must retire from the place I have occupied in this busy world; and I confess I should like to give up my famous old stand to a worthy successor. Whichever of you produces the most perfect piece of mechanism before the end of two years shall be my partner and representative, if Rosabella and I both agree in the decision.” The grand-daughter, who was busily spinning flax, looked up bashfully, and met the glance of the two young men. The countenance of one flushed, and his eye sparkled; the other turned very pale, and there was a painfully deep intensity in his fixed gaze.