Chapter VI · (continued 2)

“Well, I have seen him, pa,” said Daisy a few minutes later, as she and her father were driving away.

“Have you? Humph! then I suppose we may now go to Tiffany’s,” rejoined Mr. Goodman somewhat petulantly.

“And, pa, Flywheel Bob isn’t a bit like any other boy I have ever seen. Why, he is all doubled up; his bony fingers move quick, quick, ever so quick; his eyes keep always staring at his fingers, and”—here an expression of awe shadowed the child’s bright face a moment—“and really, pa, I thought he said ‘hiss-s-s’ when the steam-pipe hissed.”

“Humph!” ejaculated the manufacturer. Then, after a pause: “Well, now, my dear, let us talk about something else—about your earrings; which shall they be, pearls or diamonds?”

“Diamonds, pa, for they shine prettier.” Then clapping her hands: “Oh! wouldn’t it surprise Bob if I gave him a holiday? He is making pennies for me, isn’t he? You said so this morning. Well, pa, I have pennies enough, so Bob shall play awhile; he shall come to Long Branch.”

“My daughter, do not be silly,” said Mr. Goodman.

“Silly! Why, pa, if Rover likes surf-bathing, I’m sure Flywheel Bob’ll like it too.”

“He is too good a boy to idle away his time, my love.”

“Well, but, pa, I heard you say that bathing was so healthy; and Bob doesn’t look healthy.”

“Thank heavens! here we are at Tiffany’s,” muttered Mr. Goodman when presently the carriage came to a stop. But before his daughter descended he took her hand and said: “Daisy, you love me, do you not?”

“Love you, pa? Of course I do.” And to prove it the child pressed her lips to his cheek.

“Then, dearest, please not to speak any more about Flywheel Bob; otherwise your governess will think you are crazy, and so will everybody else who hears you.”

“Crazy!” cried Daisy, opening her eyes ever so wide. Then turning up her little, saucy nose: “Well, pa, I don’t care what Mam’selle thinks!”

“But you care about what I think?” said Mr. Goodman, still retaining her hand; for she seemed ready to fly away.

“Oh! indeed I do.”

“Then I request you not to mention Flywheel Bob any more.”

“Really?” And Daisy gazed earnestly in his face, while astonishment, anger, love, made her own sweet countenance for one moment a terrible battle-field. It was all she spoke; in another moment she and Rover were within the splendid marble store.

As soon as she was gone Mr. Goodman drew a long breath. Yet he could not bear to be without his daughter, even for ever so short a time; and now she was scarcely out of sight when he felt tempted to hobble after her. He worshipped Daisy. But who did not? She was the life of his home. Without her it would have been sombre indeed; Pg 207 for No. — Fifth Avenue was a very large mansion, and no other young person was in it besides herself. But Daisy made racket enough for six, despite her French governess, who would exclaim fifty times a day: “Mademoiselle Marguerite, vous vous comportez comme une bourgeoise.” If an organ-grinder passed under the window, the window was thrown open in a trice, and down poured a handful of coppers; and happy was the monkey who climbed up to that window-sill, for the child would stuff his red cap with sugar and raisins, and send him off grinning as he had never grinned before.

“O darling! do hurry back,” murmured Mr. Goodman, while he waited in the carriage, longing for her to reappear. At length she came, and the moment she was beside him again he gave her an embrace; then the rich man drove home, feeling very, very happy.

But not so Daisy. And this afternoon she stood a whole hour by the window, looking silently out. In vain the itinerant minstrel played his finest tunes; she seemed deaf to the music. Rover, too, looked moody and not once wagged his tail; nor when dinner-time came would he touch a mouthful of anything—which, however, did not surprise the governess, who observed: “Ma foi! l’animal ne fait que manger.” But when a whole week elapsed, and Daisy still remained pensive, her father said: “You need change of air, my love; so get your things ready. To-morrow we’ll be off for Long Branch.”

“So soon!” exclaimed Daisy. It was only the first of June.

“Why, my pet, don’t you long to throw my cane into the waves, to see Rover swim after it?” Then, as she made no response, “Daisy,” he

Without answering, Daisy looked down at the poodle, who turned his eyes up at her and faintly moved his tail.

“Yes, yes; I see you need a change,” continued Mr. Goodman. “So to-morrow we’ll be off for the seaside. There I know you will laugh and be happy.”

“Is Flywheel Bob happy?” murmured the child under her breath.

“A little louder, dear one, a little louder. I didn’t catch those last words.”

“You asked me, pa, not to speak of Flywheel Bob to you; so I only spoke about him to myself.”

“Well, I do declare!” exclaimed Mr. Goodman in a tone of utter amazement; then, after staring at her for nearly a minute, he rose up and passed into his private room, thinking what a very odd being Daisy was. “She is her poor, dear mother over again,” he muttered. “I never could quite understand Margaret, and now I cannot understand Daisy.”

Mr. Goodman had not been long in his study when a visitor was announced. The one who presently made his appearance was as unlike the benevolent and scrupulous gentleman who came here once to beg the manufacturer to become president of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals—as unlike him, we repeat, as a man could possibly be.

This man’s name was Fox; and verily there was something of his namesake about him. Explain it as we may, we do occasionally meet with human beings bearing a mysterious resemblance to some one of the lower animals; and if Mr. Fox could only have dwindled in size, Pg 208 then dropped on his hands and knees, we should have fired at him without a doubt, had we discovered him near our hen-roost of a moonlight night.

“Glad to see you, Mr. Fox,” said Mr. Goodman, motioning to him to be seated. “I sent for you to talk about important business.”

“At your service, sir,” replied the other, with a twinkle in his gray eye which pleased Daisy’s father; for it seemed to say, “I am ready for any kind of business.”

“Very good,” said Mr. Goodman; then, after tapping his fingers a moment on the table: “Now, Mr. Fox, I would like you to proceed at once to Albany. Can you go?”

Mr. Fox nodded.

“Very good. And when you are there, sir, I wish you to exert yourself to the utmost to prevent the passage of a bill known as ‘The Bill for the protection of factory children.’”

Here Mr. Fox blew his nose, which action caused his cunning eyes to sparkle more brightly. Then, having returned the handkerchief to his pocket, “Mr. Goodman,” he observed, “of course you are aware that it takes powder to shoot robins. Now, how much, sir, do you allow for this bird?”

Mr. Goodman smiled; then, after writing something on a slip of paper, held it up before him.

“Humph!” ejaculated Mr. Fox. “That sum may do—it may. But you must know, sir, that this legislature is not like the last one. This legislature”—here Mr. Fox himself smiled—“is affected with a rare complaint, which we gentlemen of the lobby facetiously call ‘Ten-Commandment fever’; and the weaker a man is with this complaint, the more it takes to operate on him.”

“Well, yes, I guess that’ll cure the worst case,” said Mr. Fox, grinning.

“Good!” exclaimed Daisy’s father. “Then, sir, let us dismiss the subject and talk about something else—about a bill introduced by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, of which society I am president. It relates to chasing foxes.”

“And this bill you don’t want killed?” said Mr. Fox.

“Precisely.”

“Well, sir, how much are you willing to spend for that purpose?”

Again Mr. Goodman held up a piece of paper.

“Why, my stars!” cried the lobby-member, after glancing at the figures—“my stars! isn’t it as important a bill as the other?”

“I won’t alter my figures,” replied Mr. Goodman.

“But remember, sir, you are president of the So—”

“I won’t alter my figures,” repeated Mr. Goodman, interrupting him.

“Then, sir, you cannot count on a law to prevent people running after foxes,” answered Mr. Fox dryly; but presently, shrugging his shoulders, “However, as much as can be accomplished with that small sum of money, I will accomplish.”

“I don’t doubt it,” observed Mr. Goodman; then, turning toward the table, “And now, sir, suppose we drink a glass of wine, after which you will proceed to Albany.”

Accordingly, to Albany Mr. Fox went, while Richard Goodman and his daughter took wing for Long Branch.

But, strange to relate, the change Pg 209 of air did not work the beneficial effects which her father had expected. There was evidently something the matter with Daisy. She had grown thoughtful beyond her years, and would ever and anon sit down on the beach, and, with Rover’s head resting on her lap, gaze out over the blue waters without opening her lips for perhaps a whole hour.

“What can ail my darling child?” Mr. Goodman often asked himself during these pensive moods. Then he consulted three physicians who happened to be taking a holiday at the Branch; one of whom recommended iron, another cod-liver oil, while the third doctor said: “Fresh milk, sir, fresh milk.”

While he was thus worried about Daisy, the torrid, sunstroke heat of summer flamed down upon the city, and more and more people followed his example and fled to Newport and the White Mountains, to Saratoga and Long Branch. But those who went away were as a drop in the ocean to those who remained behind. The toilers are ever legion. We see them not, yet they are always near, toiling, toiling; and our refinement, our luxury, our happiness, are too often the fruit of their misery. The deeper the miner delves in the mine, the higher towers the castle of Mammon. So in these sultry dog-days Flywheel Bob’s spider fingers were at work for Richard Goodman’s benefit, as deftly as in the depths of winter—no holiday for those poor fingers. Yet not even a sigh does Bob heave, and he cares less now for the blessed sunshine than he did in his baby days, when it painted a golden streak on the cellar floor. O foolish boy! why didst thou not go with thy mother? There was room enough in the pine box

But Bob, instead of dying, lived; and now behold him, in his eleventh year, in the heart of this big factory, the biggest in the metropolis, and the clatter and din of it are his very life. Oh! show him not a rose, Daisy dear. Keep far from his ears the song of the birds! Let him be, let him be where he is! And O wheels and cogwheels, and all ye other pieces of machinery! whatever name ye go by, keep on turning and rumbling and groaning; for Flywheel Bob believes with all his heart and soul that he is one with you, that ye are a portion of himself. Break not his mad illusion! ’Tis the only one he has ever enjoyed. And on the machinery went—on, on, on, all through June, July, August, earning never so much money before; and the millionaire to whom it belonged would have passed never so happy a summer (for his manager wrote him most cheering reports), if only Daisy had been well and cheerful.

It was the 1st of September when Mr. Goodman returned to New York—the 1st of September; a memorable day it was to be.

Hardly had he crossed the threshold of his city home when he received a message which caused him to go with all haste to the factory. What had happened? The machinery had broken down, come to a sudden dead pause; and the moment’s stillness which followed was not unlike the stillness of the death-chamber—just after the vital spark has fled, and when the mourners can hear their own hearts beating. Then came a piercing, agonizing cry; up, up from floor to floor it shrilled. And lo! Flywheel Bob had become a raving maniac, Pg 210 and far out in the street his voice could be heard: “Don’t let the machine stop! Don’t let the machine stop! Oh! don’t, oh! don’t. Keep me going! keep me going!” Immediately the other operatives crowded about him; a few laughed, many looked awe-stricken, while one stalwart fellow tried to prevent his arms from swinging round like the wheel which had been in motion near him so long. But this was not easy to do, and the mad boy continued to scream: “Keep me going, keep me going, keep me going!” until finally he sank down from utter exhaustion. Then they carried him away to his underground home, the same dusky chamber where he was born, and left him.

But ere long the place was thronged with curious people, drawn thither by his cries, and who made sport of his crazy talk; for Bob told them that he was a flywheel, and it was dangerous to approach him. Then they lit some bits of candle, and formed a ring about him, so as to give his arms full space to swing. And now, while his wild, impish figure went spinning round and hissing amid the circle of flickering lights, it was well-nigh impossible to believe that he was the same being who eleven years before had crept and crowed and toddled about in this very spot, a happy babe, with Pin and a sunbeam to play with.

It was verging towards evening when Mr. Goodman received the message alluded to above; and Daisy, after wondering a little what could have called her father away at this hour, determined to sally forth and enjoy a stroll in the avenue with Rover. Her governess had a headache and could not accompany her; but this did not matter, for the child was ten years old and not afraid to go by herself.

She was mistaken, however. Past the Square the poodle went, then down Broadway, and on, on, to Daisy’s astonishment and grief, who kept imploring him to stop; and once she caught his ear and tried to hold him back, but he broke loose, then proceeded at a brisker pace than before, so that it was necessary almost to run in order to keep up with him. By and by the child really grew alarmed; for she found herself no longer in Broadway, but in a much narrower street, where every other house had a hillock of rubbish in front of it, and where the stoops and sidewalks were crowded with sickly-looking children in miserable garments, and who made big eyes at her as she went by. The curs, too, yelped at Rover, as if he had no business to be among them; and one mangy beast tried to tear off his pretty blue ribbon. But, albeit no coward, Rover paused not to fight; steadily on he trotted, until at length he dived down a flight of rickety steps. Daisy had to follow, for she durst not leave him now; she seemed to Pg 211 be miles away from her beautiful home on Murray Hill, and there was no choice left, save to trust to her pet to guide her back when he felt inclined.

But it was not easy to penetrate into the cavern-like domicile whither the stairway led; for it was very full of people. The dog, however, managed to squeeze through them; and Daisy, who was clinging to his shaggy coat, presently found herself in an open space lit up by half a dozen tapers, and in the middle of the ring a boy was yelling and swinging his arms around with terrific velocity, and the boy looked very like Flywheel Bob.

“Hi! ho! Here’s a fairy, Bob—a fairy!” cried a voice, as Daisy emerged from the crowd and stood trembling before him. “It’s Cinderella,” shouted another. “Isn’t she a beauty!” exclaimed a third voice.

While they were passing these remarks upon the child, Rover was yelping and frisking about as she had never seen him do before; he seemed perfectly wild with delight. But the one whom the poodle recognized and loved knew him not.

“O Bob! Bob!” cried Daisy presently, stretching forth her hands in an imploring manner, “don’t kill my Rover! Don’t, don’t!”

There was indeed cause for alarm. The mad boy had suddenly ceased his frantic motions and clutched her pet by the throat, as if to choke him. Yet, although in dire peril of his life, Rover wagged his tail, and somebody shouted: “Bully dog! He’ll die game!”

“Come away, come away quick!” said a man, jerking Daisy back by the arm. Then three or four other men flew to the rescue of the poodle, and not without some difficulty unbent Bob’s fingers from their iron

Oh! it seemed like heaven to Daisy when she found herself once more in the open air. But what she had heard and witnessed in the horrible place which she had just quitted wrought too powerfully on her nerves, and now the child burst into hysterical sobs. While Daisy wept, somebody—she hardly knew whether it was a man or woman—fondled her and tried to soothe her, and at the same time slipped off her ring, earrings, and bracelets. The tender thief was in the very nick of time; for in less than five minutes, to Daisy’s unutterable joy, who should appear but her father, accompanied by a policeman and the superintendent of the factory. “O my daughter! my daughter! how came you here?” cried Mr. Goodman, starting when he discovered her. “Have you lost your senses too?”

“Oh! no, no, pa,” answered Daisy, springing into his arms. “Rover brought me here.”

Then after a brief silence, during which her father kissed the tears off her cheek: “And, pa,” she added, “I have seen Flywheel Bob, and do you know I think they have been doing something to him; for he acts so very strangely. Poor, poor Bob!”

While she was speaking the object of her commiseration was carried up the steps. Happily, he was tired out by his crazy capers and was now quite calm, nor uttered a word as they laid him on the sidewalk.

“Dear Bob, what is the matter? What have they done to you?” said Daisy, bending tenderly over him. Bob did not answer, but his eyes rolled about and gleamed brighter than her lost diamonds.

Pg 212 “Don’t disturb him, darling. He is going to the hospital, where he will soon be well again,” said Mr. Goodman.

“Well, pa, he sha’n’t go back to that horrid factory,” answered Daisy; “and, what’s more, now that he is ill, he sha’n’t go anywhere except to my house.”

“Darling, don’t be silly,” said Mr. Goodman, dropping his voice. “How could a little lady like you wish to have him in your house?”

“Why, pa, Bob is ill; look at the foam on his lips. Yes, I’m sure he is ill, and I wish to nurse him.”

“Well, my child, you cannot have him; therefore speak no more about it,” replied Mr. Goodman, who felt not a little annoyed at the turn things were taking.

“Then, pa, I’ll go to the hospital too, and nurse him there; upon my word I will.”

“No, you sha’n’t.”

“But I will. O father!” Here the child again burst into sobs, while the crowd looked on in wonder and admiration, and one man whispered: “What a game thing she is!”

Three days have gone by since Daisy’s noble triumph, and now, on a soft, luxurious couch in an elegant apartment, lies Flywheel Bob, while by the bedside watches his devoted little nurse. The boy’s reason has just returned, but he can hardly move or speak.

“O Bob! don’t die,” said Daisy, taking one of his cold, death-moistened hands in hers. “You sha’n’t work anymore. Don’t, don’t die!” The physician has told her that death is approaching.

“Where am I?” inquired Bob in a faint, scarce audible whisper, and turning his hollow, bewildered eyes on the child.

“You are here, Bob, in my home, and nobody shall put you out of it;

The boy did not seem to understand; at least, his eyes went roving strangely round the room, and he murmured the word “Pin.”

“What do you mean, dear Bob?” asked Daisy.

“Pin,” he repeated— “my lost Pin.”

Here the door of the chamber was pushed gently open and Rover thrust his head in. The dog had been thrice ordered out for whining and moaning, and Daisy was about to order him away a fourth time, when Bob looked in the direction of the door. Quick the poodle bounded forward, and as he bounded Flywheel Bob rose up in the bed, and cried in a voice which startled Daisy, it was so loud and thrilling: “O Pin! Pin! Pin!” In another moment his arms were twined round the creature’s neck; then he bowed down his head.

Bob spoke not again—Bob never spoke again and when Daisy at length discovered that he was dead, she wept as if her heart would break.

* * * * *

“Father, I think poor Bob would not have died, if you had let me have him sooner,” said Daisy the evening of the funeral.

“Alas! my child, I believe what you say is too true,” replied Mr. Goodman. “But his death has already caused me suffering enough; do let me try and forget it. I promise there shall be no more Flywheel Bobs in my factory.”

“Oh! yes, pa; give them plenty of holidays. Why, Rover, I think, is happier than many of those poor people.” Then, patting the dog’s head: “And, pa, I am going now to call Rover Pin; for I am sure that was his old name.”

Pg 213 “Perhaps it was, darling,” said Mr. Goodman, fondling with her ringlets. Then, with a smile, he added: “Daisy, do you know both Mr. Fox and my superintendent believe that I am gone mad!”

“Mad? Why, pa?”

“Because I have sworn to undo all I have done. Ay, I mean to try my best to be elected president of another society—the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children; and I will try to make them all happy.”

“Oh! yes, yes, as happy as Pin is,” said Daisy, laughing. “Why, pa, I only work two hours a day, and Mam’selle is always pleased with me.” Then, her cherub face growing serious again: “And now,” she added, “I must have a pretty tombstone placed on Bob’s grave, and I will pay for it all myself out of my own money.”

“Have you enough, darling?”

“Well, if I haven’t, pa, you’ll give me more money; for I wish to pay for it all, all myself.”

“So you shall, my love,” said Mr. Goodman, smiling. “But what kind of a monument is it to be?”

“A white marble cross, pa. Then I’ll often go and hang wreaths upon it—wreaths of beautiful flowers; for I never, never, never will forget Flywheel Bob.”

THE PONTIFICAL VESTMENTS OF EGYPT AND ISRAEL.

Much discussion has arisen among commentators and archæologists with regard to the sacred vestments of the Jewish high-priest and the Levites; and yet it does not appear to have hitherto occurred to them to refer to the only sources whence additional and authentic information respecting these vestments can be obtained—namely, the monuments of ancient Egypt.

Age after age have repeated attempts been made to remake the vestments of the Hebrew priesthood solely from the descriptions given in the Pentateuch; but hitherto the words of Moses have been subjected to the most discordant interpretations. In a book by the Abbé Ancessi, entitled Egypt and Moses,[46] the first part only of which has as yet appeared, we at last obtain a lucid idea of the Mosaical directions, the very vagueness of which testifies that the great Lawgiver is speaking of things already familiar to those whom he addresses. So much in this work is new, and so much is suggestive of what farther discoveries may bring to light, that we shall, with the kind permission of the learned author, make free use of it in the present notice.

At the very epoch to which chronologists are wont to refer the origin of the human race we find on the borders of the Nile an already powerful nation. Most of the peoples whose names were in after-times to be renowned in history were then tribes of mere barbarians, dwelling in the depths of forests, in caverns, or on the islets of the lakes, their weapons rude flint-headed axes and arrows, and their ornaments the teeth of the wild beasts they had slain in the chase, a few amber beads or rings Pg 214 of cardium, threaded on tendons dried in the sun.

At this time the nobles of Egypt inhabited sumptuous palaces, wore necklaces of gold adorned with brilliant enamels, and hung from their girdles laminæ of bronze, damascened in gold with marvellous delicacy.[47] Already during a long period had the Egyptians depicted their annals, their symbolism, and their daily life and surroundings on the massive pages of stone which fill the museums of two of the greatest capitals of modern Europe, and on the rolls of linen and papyrus which enfold their mummies in the depth of those Eternal Abodes[48] whose sleep of ages has been disturbed by our unsparing hands. The bold chisel of the Egyptian sculptors carved from the hardest rock these statues of strange aspect, these grave and tranquil countenances of the sovereigns contemporary with Abraham or Moses, which, after long centuries, passed in their own unchanging and conservative clime, we find amongst us, under our own changeful skies, and amid the noise and unrepose of our modern existence.

The deciphering of inscriptions has given an insight into the history of Egypt, and “there are,” as M. Ancessi observes, “kings of the middle ages who are less known to us than these Pharaos of every dynasty,” who, by way of relaxation from the long, funereal labors in the building of the Pyramids imposed upon each prince by the belief and traditions of his ancestors, would ravage Africa or Asia; then, returning from these

Thus we find in remote ages the fame of Egypt reaching to distant regions, besides exercising an immense influence on neighboring nations. It was what, later on, Athens became, and after Athens Rome—an object of wonder, interest, and envy for its power, its wealth, and splendor.

Such were the position and influence of Egypt when the family of shepherds which was one day to become the Hebrew nation wandered in the valley of the Jordan and on the plains of Palestine—that family to whom those pastures, streams, and mountain gorges were already peopled with precious memories, and who were farther bound to the land by the promises of God and their own most cherished hopes. Too feeble then to overcome the races of Amalec and Chanaan, it was needful that this tribe should be for a time withdrawn into a country in which they would forget their nomadic habits and become habituated to the settled life of civilized nations; in which, moreover, they would be disciplined and strengthened, and where their numbers would increase, until the time appointed should arrive when God would deliver into their hands the country so repeatedly promised to their race. This time being come, he had recourse, if one may say so, to a touching stratagem, and drew the sons of Jacob into the land of the Pharaos by placing Joseph on the steps of the throne.

During the gradual transformation of a wandering tribe into a Pg 215 settled people, another process, no less slow and difficult, was also preparing them for the future to which they were destined.

On the arrival of the patriarch Jacob in the fertile plains of the Delta the great and powerful of that day hastened to meet him with royal magnificence. These shepherds, accustomed only to the shelter of the tents which they carried away at will on their beasts of burden, found themselves face to face with palaces and temples of which the very ruins strike us with amazement.

And farther, what marvels were in store for the strangers in the various arts of civilization carried on in the cities of Mizraim, where painting and music flourished, where gravers and goldsmiths produced their excellent works, where unceasingly resounded the hammers of those who wrought in wood and stone, and the hum of a thousand looms, weaving those wondrous tissues[49] famous alike in the time of Solomon, of Ezechiel, and of Pliny—the “fine linen of Egypt.”

The sight of all this must have vividly struck the imagination of the strangers; nevertheless, the prejudices and antipathies of race which speedily declared themselves, doubtless on the occasion of changes on the throne, would have kept them aloof from sharing in the pursuits by which they were surrounded, had not their new masters forced them away from tending their flocks and herds in the land of Goshen, and scattered them in the cities, mingling them with the Egyptian people.

They now found themselves compelled

That which at first was only submitted to under coercion soon grew into the habits, tastes, and customs of the Israelites. They had entered upon a new phase of their existence, thence to issue, after a period of four hundred years, transformed into a people ripe for a constitution, laws, government, and national worship. A man alone was wanting to them, and this man God provided. When Moses arose amongst them, they were familiar with all the secrets of Egyptian art and manufacture. But it was not only by the formation of skilful craftsmen that the influence of this mighty nation made itself felt. It penetrated the whole of their daily life; and this indelible impression was not effaced when Israel had traversed a career of well-nigh twenty centuries. After the fall of Jerusalem and the dispersion of the Jewish people, it still attracted the attention of historians and thoughtful men.

It did not even occur to those not well acquainted with the customs of the Hebrews and of ancient Egypt, such as Tacitus, to separate the names of the two peoples, which were included by them in one and the same judgment, meriting in their eyes the same reproaches and together sharing the scanty praise which their new masters allowed at times to fall from their disdainful lips.

But there were others, more attentive and better informed, who Pg 216 entered more deeply into the study and comparison of the two races—to name only Tertullian, Origen, St. Jerome, and St. Augustine. Eusebius had been attracted by the problem, as is proved by the few almost parenthetical lines in his great work, The Preparation of the Gospel, where he says: “During their sojourn in Egypt the Israelites adopted so completely the habits and customs of the Egyptians that there was no longer any apparent difference in the manner of life of the two peoples.”[50]

Nearer to our own time the learned Kircher devoted long years to searching out those points of resemblance which could not at that time be studied by the light of original documents. The severest censors would be disarmed by the telling, though somewhat barbaric, form in which he has presented the true relationship existing between the Mosaic and Egyptian constitutions: “Hebræi tantam habent ad ritus, sacrificia, cæremonias, sacrasque disciplinas Ægyptiorum affinitatem, ut vel Ægyptios hebraïzantes, vel Hebræos ægyptizantes fuisse, mihi plane persuadeam.”[51]

Kircher is right. These men of Asiatic race, born at Memphis, Tanis, or Ramses, were practically Egyptians, and had forgotten their ancient habits, their pastoral life, and the land where the ashes of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were awaiting them. They had grown up and lived amongst a people whose tongue they had learned,[52] whose toils they shared, and whose [53] The children of Jacob could only be distinguished by the aquiline nose and slight beard from the brickmakers and masons of the country, as we see them frequently represented in the monuments of this epoch.

Moses, who was to become their lawgiver, was a learned and accomplished Egyptian in everything but the fact of race. Early separated from his family and countrymen, he had grown up at the court of Pharao, among the near attendants and favorites of the king, and was “instructed in all the wisdom of the Egyptians.”[54] He had beheld the statues of the gods borne in the long processions, and had entered the now silent temples of Memphis; he had looked upon the arks whereon were portrayed the divine symbols, hidden under the guarding wings of mysterious genii;[55] and he had been present when the king, who was also sovereign pontiff, removed on solemn occasions the seals of clay from this sombre abode where, veiled in mystery, dwelt the name and the glory of God.

Into this inner sanctuary, the Egyptian Holy of Holies, the pontiff alone entered, but Moses could behold him from afar, when he burnt the incense before the veiled ark, where, concealing itself from mortal sight, dwelt the invisible majesty of Ra, “Creator and lord of the world.”

Pg 217 Many a time must Moses have been present when the Pharao arrayed himself in the sacerdotal vestments—the long linen tunic and the bright, engirdling ephod. With his own hands he may have tied the cords of the sacred tiara upon the monarch’s head, and clasped on his shoulders the golden chains of the pectoral. With the colleges of the priests he had chanted the hymns and litanies it was customary to sing in procession around the sanctuaries during the octaves and on the vigils of great solemnities. He was familiar with the legislative and moral code of the Egyptians, and all the ancient traditions of their race. And after he had crossed the frontier and the Red Sea, all these things could not disappear from his remembrance; in fact, they were intended to live in the constitution, laws, and religious ceremonial of the Israelites, but purified and freed from the corrupt elements of Egyptian mythology.

To show this in detail is the object of M. Ancessi’s interesting work, in which, with minute care and research, he proceeds, in the first place, to consider the material portion of the worship—the sacerdotal garments, the ark, the altars, and the sacrifices—with the intention later of approaching the moral code, and, lastly, the literature of the two peoples.

The first of the sacerdotal garments described by Moses is the ephod. This vestment, conspicuous for its richness, was woven of threads of brilliant colors and adorned with precious stones set in gold. But it owed its peculiar excellence to the pectoral with the Urim and Thummim, that mysterious organ of the divine oracles which manifested God’s care over [56]

Tradition makes frequent mention of this marvellous vestment. After the ruin of the Temple, Oriental writers gave free scope to their imagination and to the influence of family reminiscences in their descriptions of the ephod. We must not, however, take these as guides by any means trustworthy, but endeavor to arrive at the exact meaning of the Mosaic description,[57] as this, though brief and obscure, suffices to enable us to recognize the representations of the vestment which come to us from those remote ages.

Referring to the Vulgate, we find as follows: “Facient autem superhumerale [ephod] de auro et hyacintho et purpura, coccoque bis tincto, et bysso retorta, opere polymito.”[58] And farther on: “Inciditque bracteas aureas, et extenuavit in fila, ut possint torqueri Pg 218 cum priorum colorum subtegmine.”[59]

This gives us the tissue of which the ephod was made—namely, a rich stuff of fine linen, composed of threads of blue, purple, and scarlet worked in with filaments of gold. So far there is no difficulty.[60] In the following verses Moses describes its form, and his words are: “Duo humeralia juncta erunt ei ad ejus duas extremitates et jungetur”—that is to say, literally: “Two joined shoulder-bands shall be fixed to the ephod at its two extremities, and thus it shall be fastened.”

Now, if we compare with this the drawings representing the gods or kings of Egypt in their richest apparel, our attention is at once attracted by a broad belt of precious material and brilliant colors which encircles the body from the waist upwards to a little below the arms, and is upheld by two narrow bands, one passing over each shoulder, and joined together at the top, their lower extremities being sewn to the vestment before and behind. These are clearly the two humeralia spoken of by Moses.

In the Egyptian paintings we notice that the buttons by which the bands are fastened together on the shoulders are precious stones in a gold setting, and fixed, not on the top, but a little lower down towards the front, and at the exact place where Moses directs two gems to be placed, each on a disc of gold.

We know from Josephus that in the vesture of the high-priest these two uncut stones joined the shoulder-bands [61] the parallel is therefore complete. Indeed, if we may believe Dom Calmet, a reminiscence of ancient Egypt is to be found even in the form of the hooks affixed to the two precious stones. These hooks, he tells us, had the form of an asp biting into the loop or eye of the opposite shoulder-band: “Dicunt Græci uncum illum exhibuisse formam aspidis admordentis oram hujus hiatus.”[62] The head of the asp is a favorite object in Egyptian decoration.[63] This detail, however, is not insisted on, but merely mentioned in passing, as we find no allusion to it in the Pentateuch, nor is it based upon a tradition of ascertained authority.

We read further: “And thou shalt take two onyx stones, and shalt grave on them the names of the children of Israel: six names on one stone, and the other six on the other, according to the order of their birth. With the work of an engraver and a jeweller thou shalt engrave them with the names of the children of Israel, set in gold and compassed about: and thou shalt put them on both sides of the ephod, a memorial of the children of Israel. And Aaron shall bear their names before the Lord upon both shoulders, for a remembrance.”[64]

Our European museums, and more so still that of Boulaq, near Cairo, possess a large number of Pg 219 gems of every form, engraven with mystic inscriptions or the names of the members of a noble family. The exact destination of many of these stones is often unknown, and it is probable that some of them have belonged to sacerdotal garments, or may have adorned the shoulder-bands we are considering. In any case, we know not only that the Egyptians engraved precious stones with marvellous skill, but also that they were in the habit of dedicating, as ex voto, gems bearing the names of a whole family, to render each of its members always present to the remembrance of the gods. Thus many of the stones now in the Louvre were offered by princely houses to the gods whose protection they sought to secure.[65]

Moses, by the command of God, adopted this idea in composing the vestments of Aaron, placing on the shoulders of the high-priest two precious stones, upon which were engraven the names of the twelve tribes of Israel; expressing under this graceful symbolism the office and character of the priesthood. He thus reminded his people that the priest is a mediator between God and men, and that he presents himself before JEHOVAH in the name and on behalf of this people, whose whole weight, so to speak, he seems to bear upon his shoulders.

“The ephod,” says Josephus, “is a cubit in width, and leaves the middle of the chest open.”[66] These words have been a great perplexity to the learned, but are easily explained when we look at the Egyptian vestment, which is not εσσήνης, (essenes), which signifies also λόγιον, oracle. This exactly filled up the space left bare by the ephod. It would be difficult to give a more accurate description of the Egyptian vestment. In the eighth verse of the twenty-eighth chapter of Exodus we read: “And the belt of the ephod, which passes over it, shall be of the same stuff.”

In the Egyptian paintings the lower edge of the ephod is encircled by a girdle usually made of the same material as the corselet itself. The resemblance in every particular between the Hebrew and the Egyptian ephod is, in fact, perfect.

We must now proceed more fully to consider the pectoral, the importance of which renders it worthy of very careful study.

“And thou shalt make the rational of judgment,”[67] the Lord God commands Moses, “with embroidered work of divers colors, according to the workmanship of the ephod, of gold, violet, and purple, and scarlet twice dyed, and fine twisted linen. It shall be four-square and doubled: it shall be the measure of a span both in length and breadth. And thou shalt set in it four rows of stones: in the first row shall be a sardius stone, a topaz, and an emerald; in the second a carbuncle, a sapphire, and a jasper; in the third a ligurius, an agate, and an amethyst; in the fourth a chrysolite, an onyx, and a beryl. They shall be set in gold by their rows. And they shall have the names of the children of Israel: with twelve names shall they be engraved, each stone with the name of one according to the twelve Pg 220 tribes.… And Aaron shall bear the names of the children of Israel in the rational of judgment upon his breast, when he shall enter into the sanctuary, a memorial before the Lord for ever.”

This passage has been compared by commentators with the following from Elian: “Among the Egyptians, from the remotest ages, the priests were also the judges; the senior being chief, and judge over all the rest. It was required of him that he should be the most just and upright of men. He wore suspended from his neck an image made of sapphire, and which was called TRUTH.”[68]

And Diodorus Siculus, respecting the same symbol, writes as follows: “The chief of the judges of Egypt wore round his neck, suspended from a chain of gold, a symbol made of precious stones, and called Truth. Until the judge had put on this image no discussion began.”[69]

In examining the Egyptian monuments we find that the personages who are represented wearing the vestment corresponding to that which, by Moses, is designated the ephod, usually also wear upon the breast a square ornament adorned with precious stones. It is placed between the shoulder-bands, and rests, as it were, on the upper edge of the ephod, its position exactly corresponding to that of the pectoral of Aaron.

The museums of Boulaq and the Louvre possess pectorals of rare beauty. That of Boulaq was sent to Paris, with the other jewels of Queen Aa Hotep, to the Exhibition of 1867. It is a chef-d’œuvre of ancient jewelry. The frame, which is almost square, encloses a mythological scene much in favor [70]

This pectoral, which belonged to the mother of Amosis, is worthy of particular notice, not only because of its admirable workmanship, but also because its date is known to us as being to a certainty anterior to Moses.

In the pectoral of Aaron the precious stones were attached to the rich stuff which formed the foundation by little rings of fine gold, instead of being held in place by small plates of gold, as they usually are in the Egyptian pectorals. There is, however, in the museum at Boulaq, a splendid necklace, the arrangement of which proves that if the idea of the pectoral is Egyptian, so also is the manner of its workmanship. This necklace is composed of a multiplicity of tiny objects, garlands, twisted knots, four-petalled flowers, lions, antelopes, hawks, vultures, and winged vipers, etc., all of which are arranged so as to lie in parallel curves on the breast of the wearer. Now, each one of these objects forms a piece apart, quite separate from the others, and is sewn to the stuff serving for a foundation by minute rings fastened behind each. It seems to have been by a similar arrangement that the precious stones were attached Pg 221 to, or, to speak in more exact accordance with the meaning of the Hebrew, embedded in, the pectoral of Aaron.

With regard to the word caphul—duplicatum: “it shall be square and doubled [or double]”—it is, with our present knowledge, impossible to say whether Moses intended to direct that the ornamentation of the back of the pectoral was not to be neglected, or that the stuff was to be doubled, so as the better to support the weight of the precious stones.

Some of these stones it is now difficult to identify; but we cannot leave this part of the subject without giving an abridged quotation from the ingenious work of M. de Charancey, Actes de la Société philologique, v. iii. No. 5: “De quelques Idées symboliques,” etc.

According to M. de Charancey, the twelve stones of the pectoral ought to be divided into two series,[71] the first of seven stones, answering, in accordance with Judaic symbolism, to the celestial spheres and the seven planets; while the second, of five stones, related to the terrestrial sphere, to the five regions of space, including the central point; the whole creation being gathered up, as it were, into this microcosm, resplendent with the wisdom and goodness of God in the oracles of the urim and thummim.

It is in any case certain that the church, in her liturgy, makes occasional allusion to this symbolism; “In diademate capitis Aaron magnificentia Domini sculpta erat.… In veste poderis quam habebat totus erat orbis terrarum et parentum magnalia in quatuor ordinibus lapidum sculpta erant” (Brev. Romanum).

The Egyptian pectorals, being usually made with a ground-work of metal, were simply suspended from a gold chain which passed round the neck; but the foundation of the Aaronic pectoral, being of woven material, needed a different kind of support to keep it stretched out and in place. We accordingly find exact directions given that to each of the two upper corners should be fastened a ring of pure gold, and to each ring a chain, the other end of which should be fixed to one of the gems on the shoulders. These gems are also directed to be placed, not on the top of the shoulders, but a little lower and towards the front, exactly as we see them in the sculptures and paintings of Egypt. To the lower corners of the pectoral rings were also attached, and again at the joining, in front, of the bands with the ephod, while a violet-colored fillet passed through the two on the right, and tied, and another similarly through the two on the left. The directions (Exod. xxviii. 13, 14, 23, 25) are so explicit as to give evidence that we have here some departure from the well-known arrangements with which the Israelites were familiar.

We must now consider the question of the urim and thummim, celebrated for its inextricable difficulties; but as no authoritative document has as yet given the solution of this problem, it is impossible Pg 222 to explain it with certainty. It would be useless to take up the reader’s time with all the opinions of the learned upon this subject, especially as they are for the most part as unsatisfactory as they are diverse. The hypothesis advanced by the Abbé Ancessi appears to rest upon the most reasonable foundation. We give it in his own words:

“Without entering into lengthy philological discussions, it is easy to show that the word urim must have originally signified light. This is the sense of aor, to sparkle, to shine; it is the sense of iara, which has a relationship with iara to see, and with the analogous root of the Indo-Germanic languages from which come ordo, orior, Iris, Jour, Giorno, etc., etc. In Egyptian we also find this radical in the name of Horus, the Shining One, the Morning Sun. With this root again is connected iara, the river, the sparkling, and in Hebrew nahar,[72] which has the same sense.

“Besides, the meaning of the word urim is scarcely contested, and it is generally admitted that its original signification is lights, or beams.

“The word thummim has been less easy to interpret.

“The Egyptian radical tum signifies to be shut up, veiled, hidden, dark, obscure. This meaning reappears in the triliterate form of the Semitic Tamam.[73]

“As from the radical aor the Egyptians had made the god of light, so from the radical tum they made the name of the hidden god, the god veiled in darkness and obscurity, who had not manifested himself in the bright vesture of creation—the god Tum, hidden in the silence and darkness of eternity, in opposition or contrast to Horus, the god of the morning of creation, shining in the sunbeams, and glittering in the bright gems of the midnight skies.

“Thus, according to the etymology of these words, we have in the urim the thummim the obscurities and shadows, which doubtless passed over the face of the pectoral.… The high-priest grouped the luminous signs according to a system which remained one of the mysteries of the tabernacle. This key alone could give the interpretation of the will of Jehovah, and this may explain the curious episode in the time of the Judges to which allusion has already been made, when we find one of the tribes of Israel hire a Levite to place the ephod and interpret its oracles.”

What rule was followed in interpreting the answers—whether it was formed by grouping all the luminous letters, or only that one which was brightest in the name of each tribe—we know not. We do not even know whether the foregoing explanation is the true one, although we may safely allow that it answers to all the requirements of the Scriptural texts, as well as to the indications of tradition. It is thus that Josephus explains the manner in which the oracles were given by the “rational of judgment,” and well-nigh the whole of Jewish and Christian tradition follows in his steps.

Some have found a difficulty in the thirtieth verse of Exodus xxviii.: “Thou shalt place on the pectoral of judgment the urim and the thummim,[74] which shall be upon the heart of Aaron when he shall come before the Eternal.” But this text opposes no serious difficulty, as it is evident that Moses here speaks of the twelve stones. Besides, he is merely returning upon his subject at the end of a description (as is so frequently the case in the Pentateuch), as if to give a short summary of what he had previously been saying.

We have now, as briefly as may be, to consider the remaining “ornaments Pg 223 of glory” exclusively appropriated to the high-priest. The tiara, which Moses calls Menizophet, is evidently too well known to those whom he is addressing to need description. We, however, have unfortunately no means of forming from this word any precise idea of its form, and are able only to indicate some of its adjuncts.

The Israelites were familiar with the symbols and rich ornaments which in Egypt characterized the head-dress of the deities and kings; each god and goddess wearing on the head a particular sign indicative of his or her attributes or functions, and consecrated by a long tradition. Among these symbols that of most frequent occurrence is the serpent Uræus, which encircles with its coils the heads of kings, raising broad, inflated chest over the middle of the forehead. The Uræus, by some capricious association, signified the only true and eternal king, of whom all earthly monarchs are but the image and representative incarnation. At the time the Hebrews were in Egypt the form of this serpent had been gradually modified into that of the fleur-de-lys, which we so often find carved on the brow of kings and sphinxes, springing from a fillet at the border of the head-attire. Instead of passing round the head, this fillet is only visible on the forehead, disappearing over the ears in the folds of a kind of veil.

Now, Moses is directed to place upon the forehead of Aaron a band of gold engraven with the name of the Most Holy.

He gives to the high-priest not only an ornament analogous to that worn by the Egyptian kings—that is to say, the chiefs of the priesthood and the representatives of the Deity—but he preserves also the same

No created thing could either represent or even symbolize JEHOVAH; nothing but the most holy name itself could remind them of the uncreated Essence, who, being pure spirit, has no form. Hence the great importance of the name of Jehovah—or, more exactly, YAHVEH—in the history of Israel. The name of Him who dwelt in the most holy place, whose glory shone above the mercy-seat—this name alone, with the ascription of sanctity, was engraven on the golden fillet on the brow of his high-priest.[75]

“And the band shall be always upon his forehead, that the Lord may be well pleased with him.”

This idea of the abiding of God on the head of the pontiff-kings was one very familiar to the Egyptians, and has been expressed by them in a variety of ways. For example, we find the “divine Horus” forming with his wings a graceful ornament on the head-attire of some of the statues of the Pharaos, or again spreading his wings upon them to communicate the divine life.

The sign of the God of Israel was placed on the forehead of the high-priest, as if to overshadow him with his majesty, and to give Pg 224 merit and value to his offerings; supplying what was lacking to the perfection of the sacrifice by enveloping him who offered it with his own glory.

Under the ephod was worn the long tunic, called in Hebrew Mehil, the most noticeable part of which is its fringe, composed of little bells of gold alternating with colored pomegranates. The description given by Moses (Exod. xxviii. 31, 34) is very simple: “And thou shalt make the tunic of the ephod all of violet; in the midst whereof above shall be a hole for the head, and a border round about it woven, as is wont to be made in the outmost part of garments, that it may not easily be broken. And beneath, at the feet of the same tunic, round about, thou shalt make as it were pomegranates, of violet, and purple, and scarlet twice-dyed, with little bells between: so that there shall be a golden bell and a pomegranate, and again a golden bell and a pomegranate.”

The Mehil was not only the counterpart of an Egyptian vestment worn by the Pharaos, and which we see represented with a broad hem round the neck, but we find upon it the same ornaments as those mentioned in Exodus—namely, acorns or tassels of colored threads alternating with pendants of gold.[76] There are in the Louvre some pomegranates of enamelled porcelain, furnished with a ring by which to hang, and which have evidently formed part of the border of a garment or a very large necklace. We find there blue, yellow, red, and white ones, of a shape that might have been run in the very mould of those which adorned the vestments of Aaron. Others, again, are made

It must not be forgotten that there was, in the ornamentation of the period we are considering, a singular admixture of Assyrian with Egyptian forms. Assyrian garments were also bordered with heavy fringes, the tassels of which sometimes take the form of pomegranates. Moses must have seen at the palace of the Pharaos, as ambassadors, as tributaries, or as captives, some of those Eastern princes whose majestic countenances and kingly garments long ages have preserved to us on the sculptured blocks of the palaces of Babylon and Ninive.

In a fragment of a Coptic translation of the Acts of the Council of Nicæa, which has lately been discovered by M. Revillout among the Oriental MSS. of the Museum of Turin, the fathers of the holy council give the following advice to a young man just entering into life: “My son, avoid a woman who loves gay clothing; for displays of rings and little bells[77] are but her signals of wantonness.”[78] The piety of the middle ages brought back these ornaments to their ancient and sacred uses. The memory of Aaron’s vestments gave the idea of fastening long borders of little bells to the edges of sacerdotal garments.[79]

Pg 225 Claude Quitton, librarian of Clairvaux, passing by the Château de Larrey in Burgundy, the 5th and 6th of September, 1744, saw there certain rich vestments, among others a chasuble, closed everywhere, save at the top to pass the head through, and having little bells (grelots) hanging all round its lower edge or border.

Thus through a long series of ages this custom of adorning vestments with bells has come, almost without a break, down to these latter centuries.

The other vestments of the high-priest were common also to the Levites, and, as well as the striking analogies between the Egyptian and Mosaic manner of offering sacrifice, may furnish matter for consideration at some future time. Meanwhile, we will close the present notice with the appropriate words of St. John Chrysostom: “Deus ad errantium salutem his se coli passus est quibus dœmonas gentiles colebant aliquantulum ilia in melius inflectens”—“God, for the salvation of the erring, suffered himself to be honored in those “Ne unquam postea Ægyptiorum aut eorum quæ apud Ægyptios fuerant experti cupiditate tangerentur.” It was not only fitting but also necessary that the worship of the Lord JEHOVAH should not in any point appear inferior to that of idols; for the unspiritually-minded nation of whom Moses was the leader was incapable of appreciating the greatness and majesty of God, except in some proportion to the splendor of his worship.

Pg 226

LETTERS OF A YOUNG IRISHWOMAN TO HER SISTER.

FROM THE FRENCH.

Orleans, Feb. 15, 1868.

Dear, sweet Kate, I have seen Sainte-Croix again, and now I write to you. The general installation has scarcely begun; great agitation and noise in all directions. Everybody is surprised to see me so soon settled down and quiet, but Marianne and Antoine are of a fairy-like agility. René is busy; Marcella still asleep, having watched till very late by her little Anna, who was rather feverish.

Thérèse and Madeleine will regularly attend catechism at Sainte-Croix during some weeks, unless their mother consents to their speedy departure. This good and amiable Berthe has promised the superior of —— to send her daughters to her for a year at the time of their First Communion; now she hesitates, and none of us, to say the truth, persuades her to send them—they are so gentle and sweet, so truly two in one.

This is but a sign of life, dear sister. Good-by for the present.

February 17.

My good paralytic showed much pleasure at seeing me again. It is arranged that Marcella and I are to go to her by turns, and Gertrude, who ardently desires some active occupation, claims her share of presents of poor. Not a minute is wasted here, dear Kate. We are keeping the twins, not wishing to place them under any external influence; and although Arthur has entered at the Jesuits’, the good abbé has consented to remain permanently the guest of Mme. de T——, as preceptor to these lovable children, whom he finds so attractive. Marcella is giving them lessons in Italian. How learned they are already! Every month, in accordance with Adrien’s decision, there are solemn examinations. The delicate little Anna studies with zeal, finding herself very ignorant by the side of the twins.

I have knelt again before Notre Dame des Miracles, and have done the honors of Recouvrance to our fair Roman. Did I tell you that Margaret is a little jealous? “Keep me at least a tiny little corner in your heart, which I see invaded from so many quarters.” Her happiness has undergone no alteration; she is expecting and wishing for me.…

Read Emilia Paula, a story of the Catacombs. Mgr. La Carrière, formerly Bishop of Guadaloupe, will preach the Lent, and Mgr. Dupanloup will speak in the réunions of the Christian Mothers. It is also said, though it is not very likely, that the great bishop will this year deliver the panegyric of Joan of Arc.

Marcella is in a state of enthusiasm. Her heart opens out in the warm atmosphere created for her by our friendship. Anna is well—still a little shy; the delicate temperament of the dear orphan having for so long kept her at a distance from anything like noisy play. Marguérite and Alix teach her her Pg 227 lessons. What pretty subjects for my brush!

We all communicated this morning, the anniversary of Mme. de T——’s marriage. O my God! what can the soul render to thee to whom thou givest thyself? Oh! how I pity those who know thee not, who never receive thee as their Guest, who never weep at thy feet like Magdalen, who return not to thee like the prodigal, who lean not upon thy heart like St. John. Oh! with the divine and fiery beams of thy bright dawn illuminate this earth, wherein the evil fights against the good.

Still more deaths, dear Kate. See what Isa writes to me: “My grandfather suffers continually more and more from fearful pain and extreme weakness. His patience and resignation are admirable. We pray together; I read him the Imitation; the Sick Man’s Day, by Ozanam, which Lizzy has translated for me, since your friendly kindness made me acquainted with Eugénie de Guérin; also a book most effectually consoling, and to which my grandfather listens with tears. We make Novenas. He has received the ‘Bread of the strong,’ and the help of Heaven cannot fail this manly soul, who has passed through life so nobly.” Jenny has lost her sister-in-law—another house disorganized and without its soul. The little nephew is given to the two sisters, who are going to bring him up and educate him; and Jenny, who had a horror of Latin, is going to learn it in order to lessen its difficulties to the pretty darling.

Mother St. André is in heaven. It makes my heart bleed to think of the grief of Mother St. Maurice. It is so cruel a sorrow to lose one’s mother, and such a mother—an

I am writing to Mother St. Maurice. How much I pray God that He may console her—he, the Comforter above all others, who alone touches our wounds without wounding us still more!

René is sending you a volume. The affection of all those who love you would fill many. May all good angels of holy affections protect you, dear Kate!

February 26, 1868.

Behold me with ashes on my brow—ashes placed there by the great bishop. “Memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris.” But, O my soul! it is but the envelope of flesh and clay which must return to dust. The immaterial being escapes the corruption of Pg 228 the grave; my soul, come from God, must ascend again to him.

Yesterday the dressed-up figures going about the streets were anything but attractive, but there were others elsewhere at which the angels would smile. M. l’Abbé Baunard, director of the catéchisme of Sainte-Croix, a few days ago organized a lottery, with the produce of which some little girls, disguised as scullions, gave yesterday an excellent dinner to the old people of the Little Sisters of the Poor. This feast of charity was a charming idea, bringing together under the eye and the blessing of God smiling and happy childhood with suffering and afflicted decrepitude—poverty and riches, two sisters in the great Catholic communion. And the twins were not there! Our good curé in Brittany requested as a favor that they might make their First Communion in his church. The good abbé is preparing them for it, and the ceremony is fixed for the 2d of July, the Feast of the Magnificat.

We are all in deep mourning for my Aunt de K——, and neither visit nor receive company this winter; thus we shall have more leisure for our different works. Adrien and Raoul were present at the funeral. My mother feels this death very much.

Bought a pamphlet by the great bishop. It is admirable—worthy of Bossuet. What a portrait of the Christian Frenchwoman! What vehement and sublime indignation against those who would make this noble type disappear from our France! What nobility of soul! Oh! if all fathers, if all mothers, heard these accents, which proceed from a more than paternal heart, how they would reflect upon themselves, and long to become vicaires of Sainte-Croix, M. Berthaud, in speaking of the horoscope of the impious against religion, say: “Prophecy for prophecy. I prefer to believe the words of the Count de Maistre, the noble genius who saw so deeply and so far into the events of the present time, and who said fifty years ago: ‘In a hundred years France will be wholly Christian, Germany will be Catholic, England will be Catholic; all the peoples of Europe will go into the basilica of St. Sophia at Constantinople to sing a Te Deum of thanksgiving.’” God grant it may be so! Lizzy announces to me the mourning of Isa, who is not well enough to write to me. “There is a yoke upon all the children of Adam.” These words of Holy Scripture often come into my mind as I see all around me darkened by mourning. Spes unica! Hope remains, and the love of God shows heaven open. Dear sister of my life, this letter, begun yesterday, is to contain yet a third funereal announcement: Nelly has been suddenly summoned from this world. I know how much you loved her. Thus this time of penitence opens for us. Dead!—Nelly, in her spring-time, her grace, her youth; dead, after a long and holy prayer, which had preceded a walk with Madame D——.

Imagine the distress of this poor mother, roused from her sleep by the cry: “Mother, I think I am dying!” Mme. D—— rushes, terrified, into Nelly’s room; her child embraces her with only these words: “Adieu—on high—heaven!…” and expires.

The whole town is in consternation. Pg 229 Margaret is inconsolable; all our friends are weeping. What a death! God has spared her all suffering. Let us pray for her, or rather for her unhappy mother; for I cannot believe that Nelly is not in heaven. Do you recollect that she used to be called the Angel in prayer?

René wishes me to stop here. Adieu, dear Kate.

March 5, 1868.

I have been rather ill, dear Kate, and to-day I am beginning to get up. The doctor forbids me emotion, but as soon might he forbid me to live. Marcella has nursed me like a sister. Anna is growing stronger. How pretty she was, playing with her doll near my bed, silently and gravely, without any demonstrative gayety, but often raising her beautiful eyes to look at me!

I have thus missed the two first Lenten sermons. René has never left me a moment. Dear, kind René! how thoughtful he is, even about the smallest details.

A letter from Isa: still in bed; weak, very weak, but wishing to live, that she may be a comfort to her much-tried family. “Aunt D—— finds no peace but when she is with me. Oh! I can truly say with St. Augustine that the Christian’s life is a cross and martyrdom!”

Hear what René was reading to me this morning: “Every Christian,” says Mgr. de Ségur, “receives in baptism the all-powerful lever of faith and love, capable of moving more than the world. Its fulcrum is heaven; it is Jesus Christ himself, the King of Heaven, whose love brings him down into the heart of each one of his faithful. The prospect of eternity keeps us from fainting. How everything there will change its aspect! Tears will

May God guard you, dear Kate, and may he guard our Ireland, her cradles and her tombs!

March 8, 1868.

Beautiful sunshine; your Georgina in the drawing-room; René at the piano, making the children sing a quartette. This harmony penetrates my heart. All these deaths had overwhelmed me; I have now recovered my balance of mind. Oh! it is undeniably sad to see so many sister-souls disappear; but they go to God. Each day brings us nearer to the eternal reunion; and your Georgina says, with Mme. Swetchine, that “life is fair and happy, and yet more and more happy, fair, and full of interest.”

Yesterday Monsignor preached at Saint-Euverte; I wished very much to go, but the wish was not reasonable. I must wait until Saturday for my ecstasy. Heard a strange bishop this evening. “I will give thee every good thing.” “The eye of man hath not seen, nor his ear heard, nor his heart conceived what God hath prepared for them that love him.” The preacher employed a profusion of words, thoughts, and images which interfered with his principal idea; and it was only with the greatest difficulty that one could keep hold of it under this overflow, this torrent, this avalanche of expressions, which, although rich and well chosen, were far too superabundant. Monsignor was there. How well he would have treated this fruitful subject! With what genius would he have depicted the immense suffering of man, who, being made for heaven, finds happiness nowhere upon earth, is never satisfied, whilst everything Pg 230 around him is at rest. “Without being Newton, every man is his brother, and, in proceeding along the paths of science, he can repeat that we are crushed beneath the weight of the things of which we are ignorant.”

Lamartine describes this when he says:

Dear, sweet Kate, all the lovable little singing party salutes you. God be with you!

March 11, 1868.

Dear Kate, again there are separations and adieux!

George and Amaury are entering La Trappe!—an unmistakable vocation, I assure you. Adrien and Gertrude are so far above nature since they have seen Pius IX. and suffered for him, that they gave their consent at once. Grandmother clasps her hands and utters the fiat of Job. Brothers and sisters wonder and admire. Happy family! All three chosen, all three marked with the seal of God! I should regret them, if I were their mother—so young, so handsome, rich in every gift of heart and understanding. O life of mothers!—Calvary and Thabor!

I knew nothing of it; they feared I should feel it too much. We all went to Communion this morning, and this evening they leave us.

What! have I not yet spoken to you about Benoni, who says my name so prettily, and who is growing superb? It is an unpardonable forgetfulness on my part. It was

Evening.—They are gone. Adrien accompanies them; and Gertrude, whom I have just been to see, said to me simply: “Dear Georgina, now I can say Nunc dimittis. Will you thank God with me?” I knelt down by her side, breathless with admiration. O this scene of the adieux! Those two noble heads bent down to receive their grandmother’s blessing; the assembled family; the emotion of all; the last pure kisses—all this may be felt, but cannot be described. I know, I understand, how the Christian cannot render too much to God, who has given him all; but my heart is struck by the contrast between La Trappe and the world. On the one side austerities, silence, anticipated death, manual labor, and forgetfulness of earth; on the other a great name, a large fortune, easy access to any position, renown, and glory. Oh! how well they have chosen.

How I love you, dear Kate! How I love Ireland! I speak of it to the children, and love to hear them say to me, as the multitudes of Ireland said to our great O’Connell: “Yes, we love it; we love Ireland!”

March 14, 1868.

Before going to rest, my beloved sister, I want to tell you that I was this morning at Saint-Euverte, and that I have heard the great bishop. Marcella was with me, especially happy, she said, because of the joy which she read in my looks. I sent back the horses, and we came home by the longest way, as the charming Picciola says, under a bright sun, which illuminated Pg 231 our bodily eyes, whilst the sunshine of the holy and noble words we had just heard illuminated the vision of our souls and opened out to us vistas of beauty. Dear sister of my life, sister unspeakably beloved, I found you on re-entering—a whole packet of letters, in which at first I saw only your dear handwriting. How truly it is yourself! I gave your beautiful pages to Gertrude: she will tell you herself what effect they have produced. Then Madame D—— with a photograph of the departed child—of Nelly dead! How well I recognized her! This image of death moved me with pity for the poor mother, but I felt nothing like fear. Why should death make me afraid? Would the exiled son returning to his father fear the rapid crossing which would restore him to his country, his affections, and his happiness? And where is our country, where are our affections and happiness to be found, except in heaven, in God, who alone can satisfy our desires? Mother St. Maurice only sends me a few words, but so kind and tender. Margaret writes me the sweetest things; she complains of my silence, and informs me that the little cradle she is adorning with so much care and love will soon receive its expected guest. Karl is coming to us; reasons of fitness and of affection have detained him, but his desire is more ardent than ever. Oh! to think of seeing him without Ellen. Kate, what is life?

I am going to sleep, but first I wish to ascertain whether Anna is free from fever. Marcella was uneasy this evening.

They are both asleep, beautiful enough to charm the angels. The little one’s breathing is calm and gentle. I prayed by her, placing

I salute yours, and embrace you, dearest Kate.

March 16, 1868.

“As on high, so also here below, to love and to be loved—this is happiness.” Oh! how truly he speaks, and how I realize it every day! Your tender affection, dearest Kate, that of René, and of all the kind hearts around me—this is heaven, or, at least, that which leads one thither.

Mid-Lent, and the Feast of St. Joseph—this sweet and great saint, so powerful in heaven. O most glorious patriarch, who didst behold, and bear in thy arms the Messias desired by thy fathers, foretold by thine ancestor David and all the prophets, how favored wert thou of the Lord! Marcella said to me: “I have a particular devotion for St. Joseph, and a boundless confidence in him; I have often thought that he must have known a multitude of things about our Lord which no one has ever known.” O St. Joseph! remember those who invoke you in exile. What an admirable existence! What a long poem from the day when the rod of the carpenter blossomed in the Temple to that when Joseph expires in the arms of Jesus and Mary, the two whom every Christian would wish to have by him when on his death-bed! Never did any man receive a mission more divine than was entrusted by the Almighty to St. Joseph. I love to picture him to myself, grave, recollected, seraphic, accompanying Mary, that sweet young flower whom the angels loved to contemplate, leading her over the mountains to Hebron, to the abode of Elizabeth, then to Bethlehem and the Crib, then into Egypt—a long Pg 232 and painful journey through the desert. Did those who met the Patriarch, the humble and holy Virgin, and her dear Treasure suppose that it was the Salvation of the world who was passing by?

Evening.—Karl is here, dear Kate, more grave and saintly than ever; his feet on earth, his heart in heaven! He gives us a week. Adrien arrived at the same time—two souls formed to understand one another. Letters from Ireland, where Karl’s departure is causing general regret. We spoke of Ellen—an inexhaustible subject. Karl was moved as he listened to me; there are so many memories of my childhood to which those of Ellen are united, making them doubly sweet.

Marcella, René, and Karl are wanting this letter to send to the post. Good-night, dear sister.

March 21, 1868.

Dear Kate, I send you my notes, freshly made; you will kindly return them to me, that I may send them off to Margaret. We are visiting the churches with Karl. Anna and all the dear little people salute Mme. Kate. God guard you from all harm, dear sister!

March 25, 1868.

Dearest Kate, what will you think of your Georgina getting the Conférences aux Femmes du Monde[81] into a religious house? But my Kate understands me; that is enough for me. O amica mea, gaudium meum et corona mea! The beautiful Saturday did not end at Saint-Euverte: splendid festival at Sainte-Croix, the fiftieth anniversary of the priesthood of the good curé. It was magnificent, and the music also—like the hymns of heaven. To-day the Annunciation,

O sweetest Virgin, what a most fair memory in your glory! Gabriel, one of the seven archangels continually at the feet of the Eternal, spreads his wings, and from the heights of the everlasting hills descends into the valleys of Judea. Celestial messenger, you doubtless cast a glance of pity on the abodes of opulence and the vanities of the world; or rather, you saw them not. Absorbed in your admiration at the mercy of the Almighty, you adored and gave thanks. And now a Virgin of Nazareth, in the tranquillity of prayer and love, is suddenly dazzled by an unknown light, and the archangel salutes her in the sublime words which will be repeated by Catholic hearts to all generations: “Ave, gratia plena!” O Mary! from this day forth you are our Mother, the Mother of our Salvation. O Handmaid of the Lord, humble and sweet Mother! obtain for my soul humility and love.

Hail to the spring, the swallows, the periwinkles, all the renewal of nature! How good is God, to have made our exile so fair! Oh! how I enjoy everything, dear Kate.

Presented Karl with the portrait of Ellen, painted from memory. His silent tears expressed his thanks. I have made him also sit for his likeness; it will be a precious remembrance of this true friend. Who knows whether we shall ever meet again in this world? Thus the days pass away, shared between regret and hope.

The good abbé is delighted with the progress of his pupils. Anna grows visibly stronger. I am reading Dante with René. Ah! dearest, how magnificent it is. Marcella Pg 233 speaks Greek and Latin, and wishes me to read Homer and Virgil in the original. Wish me good success, dear. A long walk; met a little beggar, whom Picciola fraternally embraced. What a pretty scene, and how I afterwards kissed my dear pet!

Love me always, dear Kate.

March 28, 1868.

Darling Kate, I send you my notes without adding anything, because we have Karl with us for only one more day. O these departures! Laus Deo always, nevertheless.

March 30, 1868.

Dear sister, Karl is gone! I am not sorry; I shall see him again, and he will then be nearer to God. How happy it is to feel that God is the bond of our souls! Yesterday, Sunday, his last in the life of the world, we went together to Sainte-Croix, where we heard a long sermon, a veritable encyclopædia: Godfrey de Bouillon at Jerusalem; Maria Theresa in Hungary, with the shout of the magnates in French and in Latin; the proud Sicambre listening to the Bishop Remy; St. Elizabeth on the throne, and then in penury; St. Thomas writing sublime pages before his crucifix; St. Francis of Assisi receiving the stigmata; St. Bernard; St. Catherine of Genoa; the Crusaders; Magdalen at the foot of the cross; Veronica wiping the face of our Saviour, etc., etc., appearing in it by turns. A day of unspeakable serenity. Karl sang the Lætatus for his adieu. Dearest sister, how happy Ellen must be!

You will see Karl. Tell me if you do not find him transfigured. We read, during his too short stay with us, the life of Mme. St. Notburg, by M. de Beauchesne—another

And so the month of St. Joseph is ended! O protector of temporal things! guard well all whom I love.

Marcella, my winning Marcella, is a poet; I ought to have told you this. I gave her a surprise: her most feeling lines have been printed in a newspaper, which I managed to put before her eyes. She blushed and grew pale—the first emotion of authorship. Poor heart! for so long severed from love, and which so soon lost that whereon it leaned. “O Madonna mia! how good God is,” she often repeats with ecstasy in admiring her beautiful little Anna, who grows wonderfully. I think this child was too much kept in a hot-house, when she had need of air, space, and movement. I can understand how her mother may well doat on her: she has a way of looking at you, kissing you, and of bending her forehead to be kissed, quite irresistible. Carissima, how I love her, and how fondly I love my Kate!

René is writing to you; everybody would like to do the same.

April 3, 1868.

Feast of the Compassion. Stabat Mater Dolorosa! Have I mentioned to you the new frescoes of Recouvrance, dear Kate?—the birth and espousals of the Blessed Virgin. The first does not impress me; but the second! The high-priest is admirable; his purple robe gleams like silk. Mary is not so beautiful as in Raphael’s pictures. I have undertaken a painting on ivory which I wish to send to the amiable Châtelaine in Brittany, whom I think you cannot have forgotten. I am making Pg 234 Anna sit for her portrait, she looks so sweet.

Mgr. de Ségur, author of the poem of St. Francis, has just written a tragic poem, St. Cecilia. What a fine subject, and how well the writer has been inspired! Isa must read it. You see whether my life is occupied or not. God, the poor, the family, friendship, study—my mind is full!

The language of Homer no longer appears to me so difficult as at first. But Latin—oh! this is charming, and I delight in it; in the first place, because I am still at rosa and rosarium. What a head Marcella has! She has learnt everything, and sings like Nilsson. If only you could hear her in La Juive! This is profane music; but we have pious also, and Marcella enjoys Hermann.

This note will be slipped into the envelope destined for Karl. Lizzy announces to me her visit. Good-night, carissima sorella.

April 5, 1868.

And so we are in Holy Week, my sister. I have here a blessed palm, sweet and gracious souvenir of the Saviour’s entry into Jerusalem. O King of Peace! bring peace to souls. Have pity upon us; assemble together at thy holy table both the prodigal sons and the faithful; grant peace to thy church! To all troubled hearts, to all those who suffer, to those who are oppressed and persecuted, give the hope of heaven—of that eternal dwelling where all tears will be wiped away, where all lips will drink of the stream of delights, and where every heart will receive the fulfilment of its desires. Why does Lent come to an end? I could listen for ever to the lovely chants of the Miserere, the Attende, the Stabat Mater, and the Parce Domine. Stabat Mater, sung alternately by the choir-boys, with their pure, melodious, aërial voices, and the men who fill the nave, and who, varying in their social position, fortune, and a thousand things besides, are one in the same faith, the same hope, and the same charity.

Dear Kate, I shall send you on the day of Alleluias my journal of the week. Thanks for having allowed me to come to you as usual during this Lent; to read you and talk to you is a part of my life.

A thousand kisses, my very dearest.

April 6, 1868.

My sweet sister, I have just come in with René from Mass. We communicated side by side, like the martyrs of the catacombs. As we came out, and while still under the deep impression of the presence of God, René proposed to me a sacrifice—that of not speaking to each other, at any rate without absolute necessity, during this week. My heart felt rather full—it will cost me so much; but how could I help consenting? Oh! but how love longs to speak to the object loved. I shall have to throw myself into a whirl of things, and absorb myself in them, that I may not find this privation quite insupportable.

7th.—Yesterday evening, at Sainte-Croix, Monsignor spoke for about twenty-five minutes. I was too far off to hear, but I was none the less happy. I am reading Mgr. de Ségur; his teaching is gentle and loving, even when he speaks of self-renunciation and sacrifice. Nothing is more comforting than his little work, Jesus Living in Us. I remarked this thought of Origen’s: “Thou art heaven, and thou wilt go to heaven!”—Confession. How Pg 235 well the good father was inspired! What wise directions! I came out strengthened and courageous; but alas! alas! poor, sorrowful me, on coming in I found a letter awaiting me—a letter from Margaret. Lizzy is greatly indisposed, and obliged to give up her journey. This made me shed tears, and, as René did not ask the cause of my pain, I repented for a moment that I had undertaken so hard a sacrifice. Dear Kate, it was very wrong, and your Georgina is always the same.

8th.—Letter from Sarah, full of joy; her sister Betsy is to be married on the 22d, and wishes for me to be at her wedding. Kind friend! God grant that she may be happy! Until this present time, with the exception of the terrible strokes of death which have fallen not far from her on the friends of her childhood, her life has been calm and happy, almost privileged. She has never left her mother.

Marcella, Lucy, and I are preparing an Easter-tree for all the darlings. I have been studying very much lately; Marcella mia assures me that I make wonderful progress.

Benoni does not expect to share in the festivity, but he must; and how joyfully he will clap his hands at the sight of the playthings hung there for him!

My paralytic told me yesterday that she would like to make her Easter Communion next Thursday—that is, to-morrow. Gertrude and I must rise with the dawn to make an escort for the gentle Jesus, the Comforter of the infirm and poor. Ah! dear Kate, how much I should dislike the life of a Chartreux. To see René and not be able to speak to him, when I feel such a want to pour out my thoughts to him, is a

9th.—What emotions! My poor and venerable paralytic has just died in my arms. I return to pass the night by her. Gertrude undertook to obtain René’s permission. She communicated this morning in ecstasy, and blessed us afterwards. As I observed something unusual about her, I begged Marianne to go several times. A long walk to the different sepulchres in the churches with our train of little angels, and without René, who avoids me, from which we returned home at six o’clock. I found a line from Marianne, entreating me to join her as soon as possible; so I hurried away with Gertrude. The dear sufferer had scarcely a breath of life left. “I was waiting for you that I might die.… Thanks!… May God reward you!” Dear Kate, I was ready to drop from fatigue, but I know not what exciting power sustains me.

10th.—O Christ Jesus! who saidst: “When I shall be lifted up from the earth, I will draw all unto me,” draw all hearts for ever unto thyself. René passed the night by the lowly couch with me, and we came home together, still without speaking. This evening, at Sainte-Croix, heard Mgr. Dupanloup. The force and authority of his language make a deep impression upon his hearers. “There is in Christianity everything which can naturally go to the heart of man.” How he speaks of the Crib and of Calvary; of the Mother whom we find with the Holy Child at Bethlehem, and again with him upon the cross! When the clock struck eight, he stopped. How eloquent he is! He quoted our Pg 236 Lord’s words, “He who shall say Lord, Lord, will not, for that reason only, enter into the kingdom of heaven, but he that shall do the will of my Father who is in heaven”; “The same shall be to me as a brother, a sister, a mother”; and this thought of Rousseau’s: “There is in Christianity something so divine, so intensely inimitable, that God alone could have been its author. If any man had been able to invent such a doctrine, he would be greater than any hero.”

Mgr. la Carrière preached an hour and a half. Remarked this passage: “Pilate washes his hands. Oh! there is blood upon those hands. Were the waters of the Deluge to pass over them, still would they keep the stain of blood!” This reminds me of Macbeth, where, looking on his murderous hands, he says:

11th.—Was present at the funeral of this saintly friend, whom God had given me through Hélène. Looked through Marcella’s manuscript books, in one of which she wrote a year ago: “Cymodoceus said: ‘When shall I find again my bed of roses, and the light of day, so dear to mortals?’ And all this harmonious page put in his mouth by Chateaubriand. And I, for my part, say: When shall I again find heaven, from whence I feel that I came? When shall I find the happiness of which I dream, and which I know too well there is no possibility of finding here below? When shall I find eternal beauty, eternal light, eternal life? But before that

St. Teresa used to say: “The soul ought to think that there is nothing in the world but God and herself.” René must have meditated on that.

12th.—Alleluia! dear Kate, Alleluia! No more penance, no more of this torturing silence which so resembles death; but now talking to each other without ceasing, songs, letters, walks—and always prayers.

What will you think of my week, carissima? Oh! I could not have borne it longer; I found René too holy for my unworthiness. Not a word, not a look. It was like the visible presence of my guardian angel. How delightful it is to hear his voice again!

Went to the Mass for the general communion of the men; no spectacle on earth can be more admirable or more touching. This scene was worth far more than a sermon—this multitude of men, so perfectly attentive and earnest, singing heartily the sweet hymns they all had sung on the day of their First Communion! And what joy to see in this Christian assembly those to whom I am bound by affection, and to feel myself united in the grand fraternity of the faith to all these happy guests at the Lord’s table!

The benediction was all that can be imagined of religious and magnificent. What singing, what alleluias, making one think of those of the angels! Why do such days Pg 237 ever end? O risen Saviour! grant that we may rise with thee.

Benoni was out of himself with joy. The meditative Anna jumped about in her delight. The festivity was perfect, and, to crown it, news arrived which I will send you as my adieu. Margaret is at the summit of happiness, the

has received the little stranger sent by Heaven. Let us bless God, dear Kate! Alleluia! Christ is risen! Happy they who live and die in his love! Alleluia!

April 16, 1868.

Thanks, dear sister! I have translated Mgr. Dupanloup at Saint-Euverte for Isa. Lizzy is better; they had been too much alarmed about her, but they are expecting us there. Lord William sends us the most pressing and affectionate appeals. Sarah also writes to me, gravely this time: “My sister’s marriage will separate her from us. Two sisters will henceforth be wanting to this family group; the one, and that the happiest, enkindled with love for the Best-Beloved of her soul, left the world for God and his poor, and, shortly afterwards, the poor for eternity; the other is going into Spain.”

Imagine Margaret’s joy! Dear, sweet friend, how, with her, I bless God! “No baptism without Georgina.” Oh! how I long to embrace the dear little creature, to whom I send my guardian angel a hundred times a day. I am so anxious he should live!

It is not Monsignor who will preach the panegyric. The great bishop waits until next year. It appears that various beatifications are about to be taken under consideration, amongst others those of Christopher Columbus and Joan of Arc. The first discovered a world, the second saved France by delivering it from a foreign yoke—living as a saint and dying as a martyr; the former, a marvellous genius, was tried and persecuted, like everything which is specially marked with the seal of God in this world. I have seen persons smile when any one spoke before them of the possibility of the canonization of Joan of Arc. What life, however, was more extraordinary and more miraculous? Would this shepherdess of sixteen years old, so humble, gentle, and pious, have quitted her hamlet and her family for the stormy life of camps, without the express will of God, manifested to her by the voices? Poor Joan! How Pg 238 often have I pictured her to myself, after the saving of the gentil dauphin who had trusted in her words, weeping because the king insisted on her remaining. From that moment her life was a preparation for martyrdom. She knew that shortly she should die.