inherited from their fathers. As soon as Vincent was old enough, he was sent to tend sheep; little is known of his infancy, except that poor as he was, he always contrived to save a few pence to give to those still poorer. After a time, his father perceived that he was no ordinary child, and resolved to give him education enough to enable him to enter the Ministry. He was confirmed at a very early age, and immediately afterwards he was taken by his father to Acqs, and placed in a school belonging to the Cordelier Friars. He was then only twelve years old, but he was quite aware that his family had given up much in order to secure him a good education, and he devoted all his time and energies to study, knowing that he could only thus repay them. His diligence and earnest piety soon gained the love and admiration of the good monks, and after he had been for four years under their care, he was recommended by them to a gentleman of Acqs, as tutor to his sons. For several years he remained in this family, showing such gentle firmness, such patient activity, such skill and judgment, that he obtained the lasting affection and veneration of his pupils and their father. The latter saw plainly the zeal and talents that were hidden beneath the humility of the young tutor, and he urged him to enter the ministry without further delay. Vincent wished anxiously to do so, but before he could take Deacon's Orders he must go through a course of theological studies, and this involved greater expense; but his father's heart was set on having a son in the Priesthood, and it is said that he took the oxen from his plough, and sold them, to enable his son to complete his studies, first at Toulouse, and then at Saragossa, in Spain, where there was a celebrated University. He received Deacon's Orders in 1598, Priest's Orders two years afterwards. It is said that the first time he celebrated mass he refused to officiate in a church where there was a large congregation, and withdrew to a little chapel in a retired place,

He con

where only two or three people were present. tinued his studies at Toulouse till the death of his father reduced him to extreme poverty. He refused the portion which fell to his share of the small paternal inheritance, giving it up to his brothers and sisters, and accepted the mastership of a school, where the sons of the neighbouring gentry were educated. Here he again was distin guished for his virtues, his talents, and the admirable management of his pupils. The school was removed to Toulouse, so that Vincent could pursue the study of theology while directing it. He was now so well known, that he had offers of the highest ecclesiastical preferments in the diocese; but he refused them all, even, it is said, the Episcopate.

In 1604 some property was bequeathed to Vincent by a person whom he hardly knew. Business connected with this legacy took Vincent to Marseilles, and when there he was persuaded to accompany a friend of his to Narbonne; they went by sea. It was beautiful weather, and no danger was thought of, when suddenly three Turkish vessels appeared, and began an attack, the end of which was that Vincent and his companions were wounded, taken prisoners, and carried off to Barbary. There they were sold as slaves. Vincent was first bought by a fisherman, but as he had not strength for hard work, he was soon sold again to an old physician, who was kind to him, and even promised to make him his heir if he would turn Mahometan. After a year the old man died, and Vincent was bought by an Italian renegade, that is, one who has renounced the true faith to become Mahometan. Vincent had now to work as a slave under the burning African sun, and had hardly food enough to sustain life. But he bore all without a murmur. One of the wives of the renegade was struck with his patience and gentleness, and used to come and talk to him while he worked. One day she asked him to sing to her, and,

mindful of the captives of Judea, he repeated, 'By the waters of Babylon.' The woman could not listen to him without tears; and at night she told her husband that he must have done wrong in forsaking the Christian faith, of which the slave had told her wonderful things. By degrees she so won on the renegade, that he himself spoke to Vincent, and told him that as soon as an opportunity offered, they would all return together to France. This did not occur for ten months, but then they embarked, and reached France safely; they went to Avignon, where the penitent renegade renounced his errors, and was received again into the Church. Vincent never forgot his slavery; the recollection of it urged him to every exertion for the deliverance of Christian captives in Africa, as we shall see later in his history. After this he went to Rome, where he was kindly received by several of the Roman Cardinals; one of whom, Cardinal d'Ossat, sent him in 1608 on an important mission to Henry IV., then King of France.

He

At Paris he lodged in the Faubourg St. Germain, then little more than a village in the outskirts of the town, and there devoted himself to works of charity. And chiefly he attended to the patients of a hospital lately built. was found there one day by the Cardinal de Bérulle, administering both spiritual and bodily assistance to the sick people, who with one voice of praise told the Cardinal of the stranger who was come like a messenger from God to their aid. The next day Vincent was appointed almoner to Margaret of Valois, the divorced wife of Henry IV., then living a life of penitence for the sins which had stained her youth.

While Vincent was in the Faubourg St. Germain, he shared his house with an old friend, who, like himself, came out of the south of France. One day when Vincent was ill in bed, his friend went out, leaving by mistake a desk open, in which there was about £50. A pupil of the

physician who was attending Vincent came in, and found his patient fast asleep; but as he was going out of the room his eye was caught by the sight of the money on the desk; he yielded to the temptation, and carried it off. When the friend returned he found his money gone; immediately he got into a violent passion and awoke Vincent. 'I have been robbed, I have been robbed!' he repeated. 'Robbed?" said Vincent; 'and by whom?'

'How am I to know? by you, perhaps ; you must have either taken my money, or seen it taken; it is a very bad joke.'

'Truly,' said Vincent, 'I do not know what you mean.' 'The thing is clear,' replied the other; 'you alone were here.'

'Very true; but I assure you I am neither the thief nor his accomplice.' The angry man would not listen to these gentle words; he stormed and raved. Vincent, seeing it was useless to speak, turned away, saying calmly, Thou, O God, knowest the truth!' The trial was severe; the man told the story of his loss to every one in the neighbourhood, and made Vincent appear guilty of the robbery; he accused him openly of the grossest hypocrisy; and even went to the house of the Cardinal de Bérulle, where Vincent was, and in the presence of a numerous company he said aloud, M. Vincent is a thief!'

Vincent gently repeated, 'God knows the truth.' For six months this reproach rested upon him; at the end of that time the real thief was taken up at Bordeaux for another robbery, and put into prison; there at length his conscience awoke, he asked for a magistrate, and the very person he had robbed came to him. 'It was I who took your £50; the priest whom you accused was innocent.'

Astonished and ashamed, the magistrate wrote a penitent letter to Vincent, accusing himself, and imploring his forgiveness, which was most readily and kindly bestowed. (To be continued.)

THE DAISY CHAIN,

OR ASPIRATIONS. A FAMILY CHRONICLE.

(BY THE AUTHOR OF 'SCÈNES AND CHARACTERS.')

CHAPTER VI. continued.

THEY walked home in silence, and when Richard warned her that she was not keeping her dress out of the dirt, it sounded like a sarcasm on her projects, and with a slightly pettish manner, she raised the unfortunate skirt, its crape trimmings greatly bespattered with ruddy mud. Then recollecting how mamma would have shaken her head at that very thing, she regretted the temper she had betrayed, and in a 'larmoyante' voice, sighed, 'I wish I could pick my way better. Some people have the gift, you have hardly a splash, and I'm up to the ancles in mud.'

'It is only taking care,' said Richard; 'besides, your frock is so long and full. Can't you tuck it up, and pin it ?'

'My pins always come out,' said Ethel disconsolately, crumpling the black folds into one hand, while she hunted for a pin with the other.

'No wonder, if you stick them in that way,' said Richard. 'Oh, you'll tear that crape! Here, let me help you. Don't you see? make it go in and out, that way; give it something to pull against.'

Ethel laughed. "That's the third thing you have taught me-to thread a needle, tie a bow, and stick in a pin! I never could learn those things of any one else; they show, but don't explain the theory.'

They met Dr. May at the entrance of the town, very tired, and saying he had been a long tramp all over the place, and Mrs. Hoxton had been boring him with her fancies. As he took Richard's arm he gave the long heavy sigh that always fell so painfully on Ethel's ear.

'Dear, dear, dear Papa!' thought she, 'my work must also be to do all to comfort him.'