riding several miles on a tall, old, raw-boned, shuffling, stumbling, jumbling, broken-winded, and ill-saddled, iron-grey mare. Clara had never seen any other clergyman, except one or two who had occasionally been visiting the Hon. Philip Martindale during the shooting season. Of these gentlemen she knew nothing, except that whenever they met her, they stared very rudely at her. She formed her judgment of the English clergy from a very few and very so-so samples. Blending a respectable share of discrimination and reflection with an imaginative soul and a feeling heart, her religion was in the most comprehensive sense of the word purely Catholic. Outwardly her conformity was to the religion of her birth-place; and perhaps had she never been acquainted with any other mode, her devotion to that in which she had been educated would have been much stronger. But when she was instructed that religion was the medium by which virtue was impressed on the mind, and man made acceptable to his Maker, and when she was told that there was no salvation out of the pale of the Roman Catholic Church, and when she saw what real excellences and what solid virtues adorned the character of her maternal great uncle, then she thought it absolutely impossible that the religion of such a man could be otherwise than acceptable to his Maker; and thereupon, without the elaborateness of argument or the undetectable wiliness of sophistry, there entered irresistibly into her mind a spirit of liberality and pure Catholicism.