On one of these occasions, as the holy father issued from a small building, which served as a chapel for his flock, he encountered the stiff figure and stern features of a Scotch Presbyterian, whom the lady of La Tour, a protestant in faith, had received into her family, in the capacity of chaplain to her household.  It was on a Sabbath morning, and both had been engaged in the offices of religion with their respective congregations.  Each was passing on, in silence, when the Scot suddenly stopped, directly in the other’s path, and surveyed him with an expression of gloomy distrust.  An indignant glow flashed across the pale features of the priest, but instantly faded away, and he stood in an attitude of profound humility, as if waiting to learn the cause of so rude an interruption.  In spite of passion and prejudice, the bigoted sectary felt rebuked by the calm dignity of his countenance and manner; but he had gone too far to recede, without some explanation, and therefore sternly said,

“Our lady admits no stranger within these gates, and wo be to the wolf who climbs into the fold in sheep’s clothing!”

“The priest of God,” he replied, “is privileged by his holy office to administer reproof and consolation, wherever there is an ear to listen, and a heart to feel.”

“The priest of Satan,” muttered the other, in a low, wrathful tone, “the emissary of that wicked one, who sitteth on the seven hills, filled with all abominations.”

The priest turned from him with a look of mingled pity and scorn; but his reverend opponent caught his arm, and again strictly surveying him, exclaimed,

“It is not thou, whom my lady’s easy charity permits to come in hither, and lead poor deluded souls astray, with the false doctrines of thy false religion!  Speak, and explain from whence thou comest, and what are thy designs?”

“Thy wrath is vain and impotent,” said the priest, coolly withdrawing from his grasp; “but the precepts of my master enjoin humility, and I disdain not to answer thee, though rudely questioned.  Father Ambrose hath been called to a distant province, and, by his passport I come hither, to feed the flock which he hath left.”

Still dissatisfied, the chaplain was about to prosecute his interrogatories, but the singular rencontre had already collected a crowd around them, and the Catholics, with the vivacity of their country, and the zeal of their religion, began loudly to resent the insult offered the holy father.  Voices rose high in altercation; but as the worthy Scot was totally ignorant of their language, he remained, for some moments, at a loss to conjecture the cause of this sudden excitement.  But the menacing looks which were directed towards him, accompanied by gestures too plain to be misunderstood, at length convinced him, that he was personally interested, and he commenced a hasty retreat, when his progress was arrested by the iron grasp of a sturdy corporal,