I.

"My Lord!" exclaimed once a devout soul, "give me every day a little work to occupy my mind; a little suffering to sanctify my spirit; a little good to do to comfort my heart."

II.

If by our deeds we become saints, true it is, that by our deeds also we shall be condemned.

Yes, it is little by little that we press onward, either towards salvation or eternal ruin; and when at last [pg 016] we reach the gate of glory, or that of perdition, the cry escapes our lips, "Already!"

The first backward step is almost imperceptible; it was those tiny flakes of snow, seeming to melt as they touch the earth, but falling one upon another, that have formed that immense mass which seems ready to fall and crush us.

Ah! if I tried to trace back to what first led to that act of sin, the thought that produced the desire, the circumstance that gave rise to the thought, I should find something almost imperceptible; perhaps a word with a double entendre I had heard, and at which I had smiled; a useless explanation, sought out of mere curiosity; a hasty look, cast I knew not wherefore, and which conscience prompted me to check; a prayer neglected, because it wearied me; work left undone, while I indulged in some day-dream that flitted before my fancy....

A week later the same things occur, but this time more prolonged; the stifled voice of conscience is hushed.

Yet another week.... Alas! let us stop there; each can complete the sad story for himself, and it is easy to draw the practical conclusion.

III.

A young girl, in one of those moments when the heart seems to overflow with devotion, wrote thus in her journal: "If I dared, I would ask God why I am placed in the world; what have I to do? I know not; my days are idly spent, and I do not even regret them.... If I might but do some good to myself or another, if only for the short space of a minute in each day!." A few days later, when in a calmer mood she re-read these lines, she added, "Why, nothing is easier! I have but to give a cup of cold water to one of Christ's little ones."

Even less than that: a word of advice; something lent to another; a little vexation patiently borne; a prayer for a friend offered to God; the fault or thoughtlessness of another repaired without his knowledge—God will recompense it all a thousand-fold!

IV.

Alms given in secret; that is the charity which brings a blessing.

What sweet enjoyment to be able to shed a little happiness around us!

What an easy and agreeable task is that of trying to render others happy.

Father! if I try to please and imitate Thee thus, wilt Thou indeed bless me? Thanks! thanks! be unto Thee.

V.

Is it fair always to forget all the good or kindness shown to us by those with whom we live, for the sake of one little pain they may have caused us, and which, most likely, was quite unintentional on their part?

VI.

When you sometimes find in books advice or example that you think may be of service, you take care to copy and consult it as an oracle. Do as much for the good of your soul. Engrave in your memory, and even write down, the counsels and precepts that you hear or read; ... then, from time to time, study this little collection, which you will not prize the less that you have made it all yourself.

Books written by others in time become wearisome to us, but of those we [pg 020] write ourselves we never tire. And it will be yours, this collection of thoughts chosen because you liked them; counsels you have given yourself; moral receipts you have discovered, and of which, perhaps, you have proved the efficacy.

Happy soul! that each day reaps its harvest.

VII.

Do you wish to live at peace with all the world? Then practise the maxims of an influential man, who, when asked, after the Revolution, how he managed to escape the executioner's axe, replied, "I made myself of no reputation and kept silence."

Would you live peaceably with the members of your family, above all with those who exercise a certain control of you? Use the means employed by a pious woman, who had to live with one of a trying temper, and which [pg 021] she summed up in the following words:—

"I do everything to please her.

"I fulfil all my duties with a smiling face, never revealing the trouble it causes me.

"I bear patiently everything that displeases me.

"I consult her on many subjects of which, perhaps, I may be the better judge."

Would you be at peace with your conscience? Let your Guardian Angel find you at each moment of the day doing one of these four things which once formed the rule of a saintly life: (1.) praying; (2.) laboring; (3.) striving after holiness; (4.) practising patience.

Would you become holy? Try to add to the above actions the following virtues: method, faith, spiritual combat, perseverance.

Finally, if you would live in an [pg 022] atmosphere of benevolence, make it your study to be always rendering others service, and never hesitate to ask the same of them.

In offering help, you make a step towards gaining a friend; in asking it, you please by this mark of your confidence. The result of this will be a constant habit of mutual forbearance, and a fear to be disobliging in matters of greater importance.

VIII.

When teaching or working with others, never laugh or make fun of their awkwardness. If it is caused by stupidity, your laughter is uncharitable; if from ignorance, your mockery is, to say the least, unjust.

Teach the unskilful with gentleness; show him the right way to work; and God, Who sees all your efforts, will smile on your patience, and send you help in all your difficulties.

IX.

When the heart is heavy, and we suffer from depression or disappointment, how thankful we should be that we still have work and prayer left to comfort us. Occupation forcibly diverts the mind; prayer sweetly soothes the soul.

"Then," writes one who had been sorely tried, "I tell my griefs to God, as a child tells its troubles to its mother; and when I have told all I am comforted, and repeat with a lightened heart the prayer of S. Françoise de Chantal (who certainly suffered more than I), 'Thy will be done for ever and ever, O Lord, without if or but;' ... and then, for fear a murmur may arise in my heart, I return immediately to my work, and become absorbed in occupation."

X.

He who is never satisfied with anything, satisfies no one.

XI.

Are there many who try to be of some little help or comfort to the souls with whom they are brought in contact through life?

Poor souls, that, perhaps, have no longer strength or will to manifest the longing they experience, and who languish for want of help, without being aware that they are perishing. Oh, mingle sometimes with your earthly help the blessed Name of God; and if there remain one little spark of life in the soul, that Name will rekindle it, and carry comfort and resignation; even as air breathed into the mouth of any one apparently dead, rushes into the lungs, and revives the sufferer, if but one breath of life remains.

Souls! Souls! I yearn for Souls!—This is the cry of the Saviour; and for their sakes He died upon the Cross, and remains until eternity their Intercessor.

Souls! Souls! I must win Souls!—It is the cry of Satan; and to obtain them he scatters gold to tempt them, multiplies their pleasures and vanities, and gives the praise that only infatuates.

Souls! Souls! we long for Souls!—Let this be our aim, readers and writers of these our "Paillettes;" and for the sake of even one soul, let not fatigue, expense, or the criticism of the world, deter us....

XII.

How few there are who would thus dare to address God each night: "Lord, deal with me to-morrow as I have this day dealt with others; ... [pg 026] those to whom I was harsh, and from malice, or to show my own superiority, exposed their failings; others, to whom, from pride or dislike, I refused to speak,—one I have avoided, another I cannot like because she displeases me; I will not forgive,—to whom I will not show any kindness."...

And yet let us never forget that, sooner or later, God will do unto us even as we have done unto them.

XIII.

"Grant me, O Lord," said a humble soul, "that I may pass unnoticed through the world."

This should be the wish, or rather the aim, of all true devotion.

Small virtues require the praise of man to sustain them, just as little children require encouragement to walk or stand alone.

But true virtue goes quietly through [pg 027] the world, scattering good around, and performing noble deeds, without even the knowledge that what it does is heroic.

XIV.

S. Chantal one day was excusing herself to S. François de Sales for having spoken hastily to some one, on the plea that it was in the cause of justice. The Saint replied, "You have been more just than righteous; but we should be more righteous than just."

XV.

A devout woman once wrote thus: "In my own family I try to be as little in the way as possible, satisfied with everything, and never to believe for a moment that any one means unkindly towards me.

XVI.

Learning is not without its effect upon the soul; it either lends it wings to bear it up to God, or leaves behind it tiny sparks, which little by little consume the whole being.

If you would ascertain all the good or ill you have derived from all those hours devoted to historians, poets, novelists, or philosophers, put to yourself these questions: Since acquiring this knowledge, am I wiser? am I better? am I happier?

Wiser?—That is to say, more self-controlled, less the slave of my passions, less irritated by small vexations, braver in bearing misfortunes, more careful to live for eternity?

Better?—More forbearing towards [pg 029] others, more forgiving, less uncharitable, more reticent in opposing the faults of others, more solicitous for the happiness of those around me?

Happier?—That would mean more contented with my station in life, striving to derive all possible benefits from it, to beautify rather than to alter it?

Have I more faith in God, and more calmness and resignation in all the events of life?

If you cannot reply in the affirmative, then examine your heart thoroughly, and you will find there, stifling the good that God has implanted, these three tyrants that have obtained dominion over, you: (1.) Pride; (2.) Ambition; (3.) Self-conceit.

From them have sprung: dissatisfaction and contempt of your life and its surroundings, restlessness, a longing for power and dominion over others, malice, habitual discontent, and incessant murmurings. Have you any [pg 030] further doubts? Then inquire of those with whom you live.

Ah! if this be indeed the sad result, then, whatever may be your age, close, oh! close those books, and seek once more those two elements of happiness you ought never to have forsaken, and which, had you made them the companions of your study, would have kept you pure and good.

I refer to prayer and manual labor.

XVII.

Listen to the story of a simple shepherd, given in his own words: "I forget now who it was that once said to me, 'Jean Baptiste, you are very poor?'—True.—'If you fell ill, your wife and children would be destitute?'—True. And then I felt anxious and uneasy for the rest of the day."

XVIII.

The work of the Sower is given to each of us in this world, and we fall short of our duty when we let [pg 032] those with whom we are brought in contact leave us without having given them a kind thought or pious impression.

Nothing is so sad as the cry, "I am useless!" Happily none need ever be so.

A kind word, a gentle act, a modest demeanor, a loving smile, are as so many seeds that we can scatter every moment of our lives, and which will always spring up and bear fruit.

Happy are those who have many around them ... they are rich in opportunities, and may sow plenteously.

XIX.

Few positions in life are so full of importunities as that of the mother of a family, or mistress of a house. She may have a dozen interruptions while writing one letter, or settling an account. What holiness, [pg 033] what self-control, is needed to be always calm and unruffled amid these little vexations, and never to manifest the slightest impatience!

Leaving the work without apparent annoyance, replying with a smile upon the lips, awaiting patiently the end of a long conversation, and finally returning calmly to the yet unfinished work—all this is the sign of a recollected soul, and one that waits upon God.

Oh! what blessings are shed around them by such patient souls ... but, alas! how rarely they are to be met with!

XX.

There are times in one's life when all the world seems to turn against us. Our motives are misunderstood, our words misconstrued, a malicious smile or an unkind word reveals to us the unfriendly feelings of others. Our advances are repulsed, or [pg 034] met with icy coldness; a dry refusal arrests on our lips the offer of help....

Oh, how hard it all seems, and the more so that we cannot divine the cause!

Courage, patience, poor disconsolate one! God is making a furrow in your heart, where He will surely sow His grace.

It is rare when injustice, or slights patiently borne, do not leave the heart at the close of the day filled with marvellous joy and peace.

It is the seed God has sown, springing up and bearing fruit.

XXI.

That which costs little is of little worth. This thought should make us tremble. In our self-examination we may experience at times a certain satisfaction in noticing the [pg 035] little virtues we may possess, above all, those that render us pleasing in the eyes of others.

For instance, we may like to pray at a certain place, with certain sentiments, and we think ourselves devout; we are gentle, polite, and smiling towards one person in particular; patient with those we fear, or in whose good opinion we would stand; we are devoted, charitable, generous, because the heart experiences an unspeakable pleasure in spending and being spent for others; we suffer willingly at the hands of some one we love, and then say we are patient; we are silent, because we have no inclination to speak; shunning society because we fail to shine there, and then fancy that we love retirement.

Take these virtues that give you such self-satisfaction, one by one, and ask yourself at what sacrifice, labor, or cost, above all, with what care you [pg 036] have managed to acquire them.... Alas! you will find that all that patience, affability, generosity, and piety are but as naught, springing from a heart puffed up with pride. It costs nothing, and it is worthless.

As self-sacrifice, says De Maistre, is the basis and essence of virtue, so those virtues are the most meritorious that have cost the greatest effort to attain.

Do not look with so much pride on this collection of virtues, but rather bring yourself to account for your faults. Take just one, the first that comes, impatience, sloth, gossip, uncharitableness, sulkiness, whatever it may be, and attack it bravely.

It will take at least a month, calculating upon three victories every day, not indeed to eradicate it,—a fault is not so short-lived,—but to prevent its attaining dominion over you.

That one subdued, then take [pg 037] another. It is the work of a lifetime; and truly to our faults may we apply the saying, "Quand il n'y en a plus, il y en a encore."

"Happy should I think myself," said S. Francis de Sales, "if I could rid myself of my imperfections but one-quarter of an hour previous to my death."

XXII.

Before Holy Communion

Jesus

My child, it is not wisdom I require of thee, it sufficeth if thou lovest Me well.

Speak to Me as thou wouldst talk to thy mother if she were here, pressing thee to her heart.

Hast thou none for whom thou wouldst intercede? Tell Me the names [pg 038] of thy kindred and thy friends; and at the mention of each name add what thou wouldst have Me do for them. Ask much fervently; the generous hearts that forget themselves for others are very dear unto Me.

Tell Me of the poor thou wouldst succor, the sick thou hast seen suffering, the sinful thou wouldst reclaim, the estranged thou wouldst receive to thy heart again.

Pray fervently for all mankind.

Remind Me of My promise to hear all prayers that proceed from the heart; and the prayer offered for one who loves us, and is dear to us, is sure to be heartfelt and fervent.

Hast thou no favors to ask of Me? Give Me, if thou wilt, a list of all thy desires, all the wants of thy soul. Tell Me, simply, of all thy pride, sensuality, self-love, sloth; and ask for My [pg 039] help in thy struggles to overcome them.

Poor child! be not abashed; many that had the same faults to contend against are now saints in heaven.

They cried to Me for help, and by degrees they conquered.

Do not hesitate to ask for temporal blessings,—health, intellect, success. I can bestow them, and never fail to do so, where they tend to make the soul more holy. What wouldst thou this day, My child?... If thou didst but know how I long to bless thee!...

Hast thou no interests which occupy thy mind?

Tell Me of them all.... Of thy vocation. What dost thou think? What dost thou desire? Wouldst thou give pleasure to thy mother, thy family, those in authority over thee? what wouldst thou do for them?

And for Me hast thou no ardor? Dost thou not desire to do some good to the souls of those thou lovest, but who are forgetful of Me?

Tell Me of one in whom thou hast interest; the motive that actuates; the means thou wouldst employ.

Lay before Me thy failures, and I will teach thee the cause.

Whom wouldst thou have to help thee? The hearts of all are in My keeping, and I lead them gently wheresoever I will. Rest assured, all who are needful to thee, I will place around thee.

Oh! My child, tell Me of all thy weariness: who has grieved thee? treated thee with contempt? wounded thy self-love?

Tell Me all, and thou wilt end by saying, all is forgiven, all forgotten ... and I, surely I will bless thee!...

Art thou fearful of the future? Is [pg 041] there in thy heart that vague dread that thou canst not define, but which nevertheless torments thee?

Trust in My Providence.... I am present with thee, I know all, and I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.

Are there around thee those seemingly less devout than formerly, whose coldness or indifference have estranged thee from them without real cause?...

Pray for them. I can draw them back to thee if they are necessary to the sanctification of thy soul.

What are the joys of which thou hast to tell Me?

Let Me share thy pleasures; tell Me of all that has occurred since yesterday to comfort thee, please thee, to give thee joy!

That fear suddenly dispelled, that unexpected success, that token of [pg 042] affection, the trial that proved thee stronger than thou thoughtest....

My child, I sent it all; why not show some gratitude, and simply thank thy Lord?

Gratitude draws down a blessing, and the Great Benefactor likes His children to remind Him of His Goodness.

Hast thou no promises to make to Me? I can read thy heart; thou knowest it; thou mayst deceive man, but thou canst never deceive God. Be sincere.

Art thou resolved to avoid all occasions of sin? To renounce that which tempts thee; never again to open the book that excites thine imagination? Not to bestow thine affection on one who is not devout, and whose presence steals the peace from thy soul?

Wilt thou go now and be loving and forbearing towards one who has vexed thee?...

Good, My child!... Go, then, return to thy daily toil; be silent, humble, resigned, charitable; then return to Me with a heart yet more loving and devoted, and I shall have for thee fresh blessings.

XXIII.

"There will soon be none left," said S. Francis de Sales, "who will love poor sinners but God and myself."

Oh! why do we fail in love towards those poor sinful ones! Are they not very much to be pitied?

When they are prosperous, pray for them; but when misfortune comes (and trouble weighs heavily upon the wicked), death depriving them of the only beings they did not hate, afflicting them with a loathsome disease, delivering them up to scorn and misery—oh! then, when all this comes upon them, love them freely. It is by [pg 044] affection alone that we can reach the worst characters, and the souls that are steeped in sin.

How many have died impenitent, who, if only some one had cared for them and shown them love, might have become at last saints in heaven! Oh! the sins that are committed, oh! the souls we suffer to wander from God, and all because we are so wanting in love towards them.

XXIV.

Let us always be on our guard against Prejudice.

Some women have a way (of which they themselves are unconscious) of turning the cold shoulder to some one member of their family.

For what reason? They cannot say, simply because the cause is never very clearly defined and in this lies all the mischief.

Perhaps an air of indifference they may have fancied, and which arose merely from fatigue, or trouble that could not be confided to them.

A word misinterpreted, because heard at a time when they felt discontented, and their morbid imagination made everything appear in a false light.

Some scandal to which they ought never to have listened, or, at least, should have endeavored to fathom, going direct to the person concerned and seeking an explanation.

And behold the result: they in their turn become cold, reserved, and suspicious, misinterpreting the slightest gesture ... in a few days arises a coldness, from the feeling they are no longer beloved; then follow contempt and mistrust, finally, a hatred that gnaws and rends the very heart.

It all springs up imperceptibly, till [pg 046] at last the family life is one of bitterness and misery.

They console, or better still, excuse themselves, with the thought of their suffering, never considering how much pain they give to others, nor where the fault lies.

XXV.

Let it rest! Ah! how many hearts on the brink of anxiety and disquietude by this simple sentence have been made calm and happy!

Some proceeding has wounded us by its want of tact; let it rest; no one will think of it again.

A harsh or unjust sentence irritates us; let it rest; whoever may have given vent to it will be pleased to see it is forgotten.

A painful scandal is about to estrange us from an old friend; let it rest, and thus preserve our charity and peace of mind.

A suspicious look is on the point of cooling our affection; let it rest, and our look of trust will restore confidence....

Fancy! we who are so careful to remove the briers from our pathway for fear they should wound, yet take pleasure in collecting and piercing our hearts with the thorns that meet us in our daily intercourse with one another. How childish and unreasonable we are!

XXVI.

Of all the means placed by Providence within our reach, whereby we may lead souls to Him, there is one more blessed than all others,—intercessory prayer.

How often, in the presence of one deeply loved, but, alas! estranged from God, the heart of mother or wife [pg 048] has felt a sudden impulse to say an earnest word, propose an act of devotion, to paint in glowing colors the blessings of faith and the happiness of virtue ... and she has stopped, deterred by an irresistible fear of how the words may be received; and she says to herself, poor woman, "To-morrow I shall be braver."

Poor mother! poor wife! go and tell to your Heavenly Father all you would, but dare not, say to the loved one who gives you so much pain.

Lay that sin-sick soul before the Lord, as long ago they laid the paralytic man who could not, or perhaps would not, be led to Him.

Plead for him with the long-suffering Saviour, as you would plead with an earthly master, upon whom depended all his future welfare, and say [pg 049] to Him simply, "Lord, have patience with him yet a little longer."

Tell God of all your anxiety, your discouragements, the means employed for success.

Ask Him to teach you what to say and how to act. One sentence learned of God in prayer will do more for the conversion of a soul than all our poor human endeavors. That sentence will escape our lips involuntarily. We may not remember that we have said it, but it will sink deep into the heart, making a lasting impression, and silently fulfilling its mission.

You are, perhaps, surprised, after many years, to see such poor results. Ah! how little can you judge!...

Do you know what you have gained? In the first place, time—often a physical impossibility to sin, which [pg 050] you may attribute to chance, but which was, in reality, the work of Providence; and is it nothing, one sin the less, in the life of an immortal soul?... Then a vague uneasiness which will soon allow of no rest, a confidence which may enable you to sympathize, more liberty left you for the exercise of religious acts; you no longer see the contemptuous smile at your acts of devotion. Is all this nothing?

Ah! if, while on your knees praying for the one you would have reconciled to God, you could but see what is passing in his soul,—the wrestlings, the remorse he strives vainly to stifle; if you could see the work of the Holy Spirit in the heart, gently but firmly triumphing over the will, how earnestly, how incessantly, would you continue to pray!

Only have patience to wait—perseverance not to grow weary.

It is the want of patience that often [pg 051] makes us exacting towards those we desire to help.

More haste, less speed, is an old saying; the more we are exacting, the less likely are we to succeed.

Men like to act freely, and to have the credit of their actions.

It is because we have not learned to persevere that the work seems never to progress.

Courage, then! the ground may seem too dry for cultivation, but each prayer will be as a drop of water; the marble may be very hard, but each prayer is like the hammer's stroke that wears away its roughness.

XXVII.

The sweet peace of God bears the outward token of resignation.

When the Holy Spirit dwells within us everything seems bright.

Everything may not be exactly as [pg 052] we would wish it, but we accept all with a good grace.... For instance, some change in our household or mode of living upsets us. If God is with us, He will whisper, "Yield cheerfully thy will; in a little while all will be forgotten."

Some command or employment wounds our pride; if God is with us, He will say to us, "Be submissive, and I will come to thine aid."

We may dislike a certain neighborhood; the society there may be repulsive to us, and we are about to become morbid: God will tell us to continue gracious and smiling, for He will recompense the little annoyances we may experience. If you would discern in whom God's Spirit dwells, watch that person, and notice whether you ever hear him murmur.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

They say there is nothing which communicates itself so quickly amongst the members of a family as an expression of coldness or discontent on the face of one of its members. It is like the frost that chills us. This is not altogether true; there is something which is communicated with equal rapidity and greater force—I mean the smiling face, the beaming countenance, the happy heart.

XXX.

XXXI.

To Obtain Peace

Approach the Blessed Sacrament, O restless soul, in search of peace, and, humbly kneeling there, pour forth bravely, slowly, and with earnest desire, the following prayer:—

That others may be loved more than myself. Jesus grant this desire.

That others may be more highly esteemed.

That others may grow and increase in honor, and I decrease. Jesus, grant me to desire it.

That others may be employed, and I set aside. Jesus, grant me to desire this.

That others may attract the praise, and myself be forgotten.

That others may be preferred in all.

Grant me the utmost holiness of which I am capable, then let others be holier than myself. Jesus, grant me to desire it!

Oh, if God hearkens,—and hearken He surely will, if your prayer has been sincere,—what joy in your heart, what peace on your countenance, what sweetness will pervade your whole life!

More than half one's troubles arise from an exaggerated idea of one's own importance, and the efforts we make to increase our position in the world. Lacordaire says, that the sweetest thing on earth is to be forgotten by all, with the exception of those who love us. All else brings more trouble than joy; and as soon as we have completed our task here, and fulfilled our mission, the best thing for us to do is to disappear altogether.

Let us each cultivate carefully and joyously the portion of soil Providence has committed to our care. Let us never be hindered or distracted by [pg 064] ambitious thoughts, that we could do better, or a false zeal tempting us to forsake our daily task with the vain desire to surpass our neighbors.... Let this one thought occupy our minds. To do well what is given us to do, for this is all that God requires at our hands. It may be summed up in four words,—simply, zealously, cheerfully, completely.

Then if we are slighted, misunderstood, maligned, or persecuted, what does it matter? These injuries will pass away; but the peace and love of God will remain with us forever, the reward of our faith and patience. The love of God! Who can describe all the joy, strength, and consolation it reveals?

Never has human love, in its brightest dreams, been able to form any idea of all the sweetness the love of God [pg 065] imparts to the soul, and which is brought still nearer to us in the Blessed Sacrament.

I can well understand the words of a loving soul: "With heaven so near, and daily communion with our God, how can we ever repine!"

XXXII.

After Holy Communion

XXXIII.

"Mother," asked a child, "since nothing is ever lost, where do all our thoughts go?"

"To God," answered the mother gravely, "who remembers them forever."

"Forever!" said the child. He bent his head, and, drawing closer to his mother, murmured, "I am frightened!"

Which of us have not felt the same?

XXXIV.

One more solemn thought: How old are you? Nineteen. Have you reckoned the number of minutes that have elapsed since your birth? The number is startling: nine millions, three hundred and thirty-three thousand, two hundred.... Each of those minutes has flown to God; God has examined them and weighed them, and for them you must give account.

Each minute bears its own impress (as a coin bears the impress of the Sovereign), and only those marked with the image of God will avail you for eternity.

Is not this thought one to make you tremble?

"I never could understand," writes Guérin, "the feeling of security some have that their works must find favor with God—as if our duties were confined to the narrow limits of this little [pg 074] world. To be a good son, statesman, or brother, is not all that is required of us; God demands far more than this from those for whom He has destined a crown of glory hereafter."

XXXV.

One great characteristic of holiness is never to be exacting, never to complain.

Each complaint drags us down a degree in our upward course.

By complaining, I do not mean the simple imparting of our troubles to others.

Complaint savors always of a little bad temper, and a slightly vindictive spirit.

The saints were never exacting.

Contented with their lot, they never desired anything that was withheld from them.

"I have asked," said a holy soul, "for something I thought needful; they have forgotten to answer me, or perhaps would not bestow it. Why need I be disquieted? If it were really necessary, God would quickly provide means to obtain it." How few could enter into this feeling; and yet it is but the echo of Christ's own words, "Your Father in Heaven knoweth that ye have need of all these things."

XXXVI.

Joy in life is like oil in a lamp. When the oil gets low the wick is consumed, emitting a black vapor, and sending forth only a lurid glow, which does not give light.

A life without joy passes away unprofitably, shedding around it only gloom and sorrow.

If every morning in a simple prayer,—in those fifteen minutes' meditation (which only seem hard when we do [pg 076] not practise it),—we opened our hearts to God, as we open our windows to the sun and air, God would fill it with that calm, sweet joy which elevates the soul, prevents it feeling the weight of troubles, and makes it overflow with benevolence.

But joy does not mean levity, witty sayings, or repartee ... it is habitual serenity.

Through a clear atmosphere we can always see the sky; it seems so light and full of elasticity.

A serene sky is always pure ... clouds may pass across it, but they do not stain it.

So it is with the heart that early in the morning opens to receive God's Peace.

XXXVII.

"You are never out of temper," was once said to a woman well known to be much tried at home; "is [pg 077] it that you do not feel the injustice, the annoyances?"—"I feel them as much as you do," she replied; "but they do not hurt me."—"You have, then, some special balm?"—"Yes; for the vexations caused by people, I have affection; for those of circumstances, I have prayer; and over every wound that bleeds, I murmur the words, 'Thy Will be done.'"

XXXVIII.

XXXIX.

Who is anxious for a beloved one's eternal welfare?

We interest ourselves for their success, their prosperity; we ask God to keep them from harm and misfortune; we try to start them well in the world, to make them of reputation, to procure them pleasure.

To spare them trouble, we sacrifice our own ease and enjoyment....

Oh, that is all very beautiful, very right; but what should we do for the soul?

Do we pray to God that this soul may become humble, pure, devoted?

Do we take as much pains to procure him the little devotional book that will really help him, as we should to obtain a transient pleasure?

Do we help him, unseen, towards that act of charity, humiliation, or self-renunciation? Have we courage not to spare the soul the trial that we know will purify?

Does it seem too hard for you?

Ah! then you do not know what real love is. Does not God love us? Yet God lets us suffer; even sends the suffering.

Love is given us to help us onwards, nearer to God. The most blessed is that which draws us nearest to Him; [pg 082] and in proportion as it leads to God we realize its blessedness.

The essence of true love is not its tenderness, but its strength, power of endurance, its purity, its self-renunciation.

The mistake we make is when we seek to be beloved, instead of loving. What makes us cowardly is the fear of losing that love.

Never forget this: A selfish heart desires love for itself; a Christian heart delights to love—without return.

XL.

To learn never to waste our time is perhaps one of the most difficult virtues to acquire.

A well-spent day is a source of pleasure. To be constantly employed, and never asking, "What shall I do?" is the secret of much goodness and happiness.

Begin, then, with promptitude, act decisively, persevere; if interrupted, be amiable, and return to the work unruffled, finish it carefully—these will be the signs of a virtuous soul.

XLI.

Are you full of peace? Pray! Prayer will preserve it to you.

Are you tempted? Pray! Prayer will sustain you.

Have you fallen? Pray! Prayer will raise you.

Are you discouraged? Pray! Prayer will reassure and comfort you.

XLII.

The young are seldom forbearing, because they so little understand the frailties of poor human nature.

Oh! if you could only witness the terrible struggles passing in the heart [pg 084] of that friend whose vivacity annoys you, whose fickleness provokes you, whose faults sometimes even make you blush....

Oh! if you saw the tears that are shed in secret, the vexation felt against self (perhaps on your account), you would indeed pity them. Love them! make allowances for them! never let them feel that you know their failings.

To make any one believe himself good, is to help him almost in spite of self to become so.

Forbearance is even more than forgiveness; it is excusing, putting always the best construction upon everything; above all, never showing that some proceeding has wounded us; speaking of any one who has vexed us thus: "She did not think, else she would have acted differently; she never meant to pain me, she loves me too [pg 085] much; she was perhaps unable to do otherwise, and yet suffers at the thought of having displeased me."

For a wounded heart no balm is so efficacious as forbearance.

To forbear is to forget every night the little vexations of the past day; to say every morning: "To-day I shall be braver and calmer than yesterday." Forbearance even sometimes leads us to detect in ourselves a little want of good nature, condescension, and charity.

To forbear is not only freely to forgive, but to meet half-way, with extended hand, those who timidly ask for pardon.

XLIII.

My friend, do you know why the work you accomplish fails either to give pleasure to yourself or others?

It is because it is not cheerfully done, and therefore appears discolored.

A joyous heart amid our work imparts to duty a brilliancy that charms the eyes of others, while it prevents those feeling wounded who cannot perform it equally well.

Joy, with us, is like a lever, by which we lift the weights that without its help would crush us.

A workman once said: "If I were to leave off singing, I should be quite unequal to my business."

Then sing always; let your heart sing as in its earliest years.

The refrain of the heart, which perhaps never passes the lips, but which echoes in heaven, is this sentence:—

XLIV.

What regret we sometimes feel, after the death or departure of friends, at never having shown them the respect, the gratitude, we felt [pg 087] towards them, and how from the depths of our heart we are filled with tenderness and affection for them!

It may have been that at times we could not speak, because we thought too much of how to say it.

Another time we lost the opportunity, because we were always shirking it. Deep devotion is sometimes a little erratic; always afraid of doing too little, doing it badly or inopportunely. Oftener still the tokens of affection are checked, because we think we could show it in some better way; we put off till brighter days the dreams we cherished, the sweet yearning to open the heart to the loved ones, and let them see for once what a large place they fill there.

Alas! the days fly past, suddenly comes death, or, sadder still, separation without hope of return, leaving the bitter thought: "Others will show them better than I have done, how [pg 088] dear, how valued, they are." Ah! when we can be loving to-day, never let us say, "I will love to-morrow;" when we have the opportunity of being grateful, never put off, for one hour, the proof of our gratitude!

I.

II.

When I have sinned, wrote a pious soul, I feel chastisement will fall upon me, and as if I could hide myself from God's Eye. I shrink into myself, and then I pray, I pray, [pg 115] and the chastisement not being sent, I again expand.

Chastisement is like a stone threatening to crush me; Prayer is the hand that withholds it while I make atonement.

Oh! how can those live peacefully who never pray?

III.

Our Dead

They are not all there—our dead—buried in the churchyard, beneath the grave, o'ershadowed by a cross, and round which the roses bloom.

There are others which nothing can recall; they are things which belong to the heart alone, and there alas! have found a tomb.

Peace surrounds me to-day; and here in my lone chamber I will invoke them, my much-loved dead. Come!

The first that present themselves are the sweet years of childhood, so fresh, so guileless, so happy.

They were made up of loving caresses, bountiful rewards, and fearless confidence: the words, pain, danger, care, were unknown; they brought me simple pleasures, happy days without a thought for the morrow, and only required from me a little obedience.

Alas! they are dead ... and what numberless things have they carried with them! What a void they have left!

Candor, lightheartedness, simplicity, no longer find a place within!

Family ties, so true, so wide, so light, have all vanished!

The homely hearth, the simple reward earned by the day's industry, maternal chidings, forgiveness so ingenuously sought, so freely given, promises of amendment, so sincere, [pg 117] so joyously received.... Is this all gone forever? can I never recall them?

The vision that follows is that of my early piety, simple and full of faith, which was as some good angel o'ershadowing me with its snowy wings, and showing me God everywhere, in all, and with all.

The good God, Who each day provides my daily bread!

The God, Who spared my mother in sickness, and relieved her when she suffered—God, Who shielded me from harm when I did right!

The God, Who sees all, knows all, and is Omnipotent, Whom I loved with all my heart.

Alas! faithful, simple piety, thou art dead; in innocence alone couldst thou live!

Next comes the love of my earliest years. Love in childhood, love in youth, so full of true, simple joy, that initiated me in the sweet pleasure of [pg 118] devotion, that taught me self-denial in order to give pleasure, that destroyed all egotism, by showing me the happiness of living for others.

Love of my childhood, love of my youth, so pure, so holy, on which I always reckoned when they spoke to me of trouble, loneliness, depression ... thou also art dead.

An involuntary coolness, an unfounded suspicion never cleared, an ill-natured story ... all these have destroyed that child of Heaven. I knew it was tender, and I cherished it, but I could not believe it to be so frail.

I could make a long list of all the dead enshrined in my heart! Oh, you who are still young, upon whom God has lavished all the gifts that are lost to me,—candor, simplicity, innocence, love, devotion ... guard, oh, guard these treasures, and that they may never die, place them beneath the shelter of Prayer.

IV.

V.

The Lesson of a Daisy

I saw her from afar, poor child; she looked dreamy as she leaned against the window, and held in her hand a daisy, which she was questioning by gradually pulling it to pieces. What she wanted to ascertain I cannot tell; I only heard in a low murmur, falling from her pale lips, these words: "a little, a great deal, passionately, not [pg 133]at all," as each petal her fingers pulled away fell fluttering at her feet.

I could see her from a distance, and I felt touched.

Poor child, why do you tell a flower the thought that troubles you? have you no mother?

Why be anxious about the future? have you not God to prepare it for you, as tenderly as eighteen years ago your mother prepared your cradle?

Finally, when the daisy was all but gone, when her fingers stopped at the last petal, and her lips murmured the word little, she dropped her head upon her arms, discouraged, and, poor child, she wept!

Why weep, my child? is it because this word does not please you?

Let me, let me, in the name of the simple daisy you have just destroyed, give you the experience of my old age.

Oh! if you only knew what it costs to have much of anything!

A great deal of wit often results in spitefulness which makes us cruel and unjust, in jealousy that torments, in deception that sullies all our triumphs, and pride which is never satisfied.

A great deal of heart causes uneasiness which vexes, pain that rends asunder, grief that nearly kills ... sometimes even the judgment is deceived.

A great deal of attractiveness means often a consuming vanity, overwhelming deception, an insatiable desire to please, a fear of being unappreciated, a loss of peace, domestic life much neglected.

A great deal of wealth and success is the cause of luxury that enfeebles, loss of calm, quiet happiness, loss of love, leaving only the flattery that captivates.

No, no, my child, never long for [pg 135] a great deal in this life, unless it be for much forbearance, much goodness.

And if it should be God's Will to give you much of anything, then, oh, pray it may never be to your condemnation!

Is Passionately the word you long for? Passionately! oh, the harm that is done by that word! there is something in the thought of it that makes me shudder. Passionately means transport, frenzy, excess in everything.

The life that the word passionately describes must be a life full of risks and dangers; and if, by little short of a miracle, nothing outwardly wrong appears, the inner life must resemble a palace ravaged by fire, where the stranger sees nothing but cracked walls, blackened furniture, and drapery hanging in shreds.

My child, I would prefer for you the words not at all, as applied to fortune, external charms, and all that goes by the name of glory, success, and fascination in the world. I know it may seem a hard sentence, involving a continual self-denial, and exacting incessant hard labor to obtain the bare necessities of life for those we love.

But do not be afraid of it. God never leaves His creatures in absolute need. God may deprive a face of beauty, a character of amiability, a mind of brilliancy, but He will never take away a heart of love; with the faculty of loving, He adds the power of prayer, and the promise always to listen to and answer it.

As long as we can love and pray, life has charms for us.

Love produces devotion, and devotion brings happiness, even though we may not understand it.

In prayer we feel we are beloved; [pg 137] and the love of God, oh, if only you knew how it compensates for the indifference of our fellow-creatures!

There now only remains to us the last words of the daisy, a little! the loving fatherly answer God has given to your childish curiosity.

Accept it, and make it the motto of your life!

A little; moderation in wealth and fortune, a condition that promises the most peaceful life, free from anxiety for the future—doubtless requiring daily duties, but permitting many innocent enjoyments.

A little; moderation in our desires, contentment with what we possess, making the most of it, and repressing all vain dreams of a more brilliant position, a more extended reputation, a more famous name.

A little; the affection of a heart [pg 138] devoted to duty, and kindling joy in the family circle, composed of kindred to love, friends to cheer, poor to succor, hearts to strengthen, sufferings to alleviate.

A little; a taste for all that is beautiful,—books, works of art, music, not making us idly dream of fame, but simply providing enjoyment for the mind, all the more keen, as the daily toil renders the occasions rare.

Do you see, my child, how much may lie beneath those simple words, a little, that the daisy gave you, and that you seem so much to despise!

Never scorn anything that seems wanting in brilliancy, and remember to be really happy we must have—

VI.

Each day is like a furrow lying before us; our thoughts, desires, and actions are the seed that each minute we drop into it, without seeming to perceive it. The furrow finished, we commence upon another, then another, and again another; each day presents a fresh one, and so on to the end of life ... sowing, ever sowing. And all we have sown springs up, grows and bears fruit, almost unknown to us; even if by chance we cast a backward glance we fail to recognize our work.

Behind us angels and demons, like gleaners, gather together in sheaves all that belongs to them.

Every night their store is increased. They preserve it, and at the last day will present it to their Master.

Is there not a thought in this that should make us reflect?

VII.

"Learn of Me, for I Am Meek and Lowly of Heart"

This is a simple rule of life for me, requiring no more than I am able; but I feel it unites me to God, makes me more devout, more faithful to duty, more ready for death. Since I have made it my rule, it has been to me a source of consolation, enlightenment, and strength; and yet God alone knows how full of pain my life has been!

Dear friends, who, like myself, long to become holy, I commend this sentence to you in all its simplicity; listen, for it comes from the loving Heart of Jesus, it fell from His gentle Lips:—

"Learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly of heart."

VIII.

A Simple Prayer

O Jesu! in the midst of glory forget not the sadness upon earth!

Have mercy upon those to whom God has sent the bitter trial of separation from those they love!

Have mercy on that loneliness of heart, so full of sadness, so crushing, sometimes full of terror!

Have mercy upon those struggling against the difficulties of life, and faint with discouragement!

Have mercy on those whom fortune favors, whom the world fascinates, and who are free from care!

Have mercy on those to whom Thou hast given great tenderness of heart, great sensitiveness!

Have mercy on those who cease to love us, and never may they know the pain they cause!

Have mercy on those who have gradually withdrawn from Holy Communion and Prayer, and losing peace within, weep, yet dare not return to Thee!

Have mercy on all we love; make them holy even through suffering! if ever they estrange themselves from Thee, take, oh, take all my joys, and decoy them with the pleasures back again to Thee!

Have mercy on those who weep, those who pray, those who know not how to pray!

To all, O Jesus, grant Hope and Peace!

IX.

Simple Counsels for a Young Girl

Yes, very simple. Listen my child, and may they sink deep into your heart, as the dew sinks in the calyx of the flower.

These are my counsels:—

Distrust the love that comes too suddenly.

Distrust the pleasure that fascinates so keenly.

Distrust the words that trouble or charm.

Distrust the book that makes you dream.

Distrust the thought you cannot confide to your mother.

Treasure these counsels, and sometimes as you read them, ask yourself, "Why?" Guardian Angel of the child we are addressing, teach her the reason of these sentences that seem to her so exaggerated!

X.

A Recipe for Never Annoying Our Friends

This was made by one who had suffered much for many years from numberless little worries, [pg 158] occasioned by a relative, whose affection no doubt was sincere and devoted, but also too ardent, and wanting in discretion.

There must be moderation in all things, even in the love we manifest, the care we take to shield them from trouble.

This recipe consists of but four simple rules, very clear, very precise. Behold them:—

1. Always leave my friend something more to desire of me. If he asks me to go and see him three times, I go but twice. He will look forward to my coming a third time, and when I go, receive me the more cordially.

It is so sweet to feel we are needed, and so hard to be thought importunate.

2. Be useful to my friend as far as he permits, and no farther.

An over-anxious affection becomes tiresome, and a multiplicity of [pg 159] beautiful sentiments makes them almost insupportable.

Devotion to a friend does not consist in doing everything for him, but simply that which is agreeable and of service to him, and let it only be revealed to him by accident.

We all love freedom, and cling tenaciously to our little fancies; we do not like others to arrange what we have purposely left in disorder; we even resent their over-anxiety and care for us.

3. Be much occupied with my own affairs, and little, very little, with those of my friend.

This infallibly leads to a favorable result. To begin with, in occupying myself with my own affairs, I shall the more speedily accomplish them, while my friend is doing the same.

If he appeals to me for help, I will go through fire and water to serve him, but if not, then I do both myself and [pg 160] him the greater service by abstaining. If, however, I can serve him without his knowledge of it, and I can see his need, then I must be always ready to do it.

4. Leave my friend always at liberty to think and act for himself in matters of little importance. Why compel him to think and act with me? Am I the type of all that is beautiful and right? Is it not absurd to think that because another acts and thinks differently to myself, he must needs be wrong? No doubt I may not always say, "You are right," but I can at any rate let him think it.

Try this recipe of mine, and I can answer for it your friendship will be lasting.

XI.

Beneath the Eye of God, God Only

As you read these words, are you not conscious of an inward feeling of peace and quietness?

Beneath God's Eye! there is something in the thought like a sheltering rock, a refreshing dew, a gleam of light.

Ah! why always such seeking for some one to see me, to understand, appreciate, praise me?

The human eye I seek is like the scorching ray that destroys all the delicate colors in the most costly material. Every action that is done, only to be seen of others, loses its freshness in the sight of God, like the flower that passing through many hands is at last hardly presentable.

Oh, my soul! be as the desert flower that grows, blooms, and flourishes [pg 162] unseen, in obedience to God's Will, and cares not whether the passing bird perceives it, or the wind scatters the petals, scarcely formed.

On no account neglect the duty you owe to friendship, relatives, society, but remember each day to reserve some portion of it for yourself and God only.

Remember always to do some actions that can be known to none but God.

Ah! how sweet to have God as our only Witness.

It is the high degree of holiness.

The most exquisite happiness.

The assurance of an entry into heaven hereafter.

The mother that reserves all that is most costly for her child, the child that prepares in secret some surprise [pg 163] for its mother, do not experience a joy more pure, more elevating, than the servant of God, who lives always in God's Presence, Whom alone they would please, or the loving heart that enclosing alms to some destitute family writes upon the cover these words only, "In the name of the Good and Gracious God."

The following lines were found on some scraps of paper belonging to some stranger: ... They have just told me of a poor destitute woman; I gave them ten pence for her; it was my duty to set an example. And now, my God, for Thee, for Thy sake only, I mean to send her five shillings, which I shall deduct from my personal expenses.

... To-morrow Henry is coming to see me, that poor Henry I loved so [pg 164]dearly, but who has grown cold towards his old friend. He wished to grieve me, and little knows that I found it out. Help me, Lord, to remember I have forgiven him, and help me to receive him cordially.

Thou alone knowest all I have suffered.

... What a happy day was yesterday! happy with regard to heavenly things, for alas! my poor heart suffered.

Yesterday was a festival. The snow outside kept every one at home by their own firesides, and I was left lonely.... Ah, yes, my heart felt sad, but my spirit was peaceful; I tried to talk to God, just as if I could really see Him at my side, and gradually I felt comforted, and spent my evening with a sweet sense of God's Presence.... What I said, what I wrote, I know not; but the remembrance of [pg 165]yesterday remains to me as some sweet, refreshing perfume.

My Duty Towards God

Duty Towards My Neighbor

My Duty Towards Myself

SELF-SACRIFICE

Lord! take me and lead me whithersoever Thou willest! Is it Thy Will that my life be spent in the midst of such incessant toil and tumult that no time is left for those brief moments of leisure of which I sometimes dream?

Yes! yes! I wish it also!

Is it Thy Will that lonely and sorrowful I am left on earth, while those I loved have gone to dwell near Thee above?

Yes! yes! I wish it also!

Is it Thy Will that unknown by all, misunderstood even by those whose affection I prize, I am looked upon as useless, on account of my stupidity, want of manner, or bad health?

Yes! yes! I wish it also!

Thou art Ruler. O my God! only [pg 182] be Thyself the Guide, and abide with me forever!

MY MEMORY

My Memory! the mysterious book—reflection of that of eternity, in which at each moment are inscribed my thoughts, affections, and desires.

Into Thy Hands I commend it, Lord, that Thou alone mayst write there, Thou alone efface!

Leave there, Lord, the remembrance of my sins, but efface forever the pleasures that led to them—were I to catch but a glimpse of their enticing sweetness, I might again desire them. Leave there the sweet memories of childhood, when I loved Thee with such simplicity, and my father, my mother, my family, were my sole affections. Those days, when the slightest untruthfulness, or even the fear of having sinned, left me no peace till I had confessed it to my mother. Those [pg 183] days, when I always felt my Guardian Angel near me, helping me in my work, and soothing my little troubles!

Leave me the remembrance of my first sense of the Divine absolution, when my heart overflowing with secret joy, I cried, I am forgiven, I am forgiven!

And then the recollection of my first Communion! oh, recall it to me, Lord, with its preparation so fearful, yet so loving; its joy so calm, so holy, yet so sweet, that even now the thought of it fills mine eyes with tears!

Leave me the remembrance of Thy Benefits! each year of my life is crowned with blessings ... at ten ... fifteen ... eighteen ... twenty years ... oh! I can well recall all Thy goodness to me, my God! Yes, receive my memory, blot out all that can estrange me from Thee, and grant that nothing apart from Thee may again find a place there!

MY MIND

Oh! by what false lights have I been dazzled! They showed me prayer as wearisome; religious duties too absorbing; frequent Communion as useless; social duties as a heavy bondage; devotion the lot of weak minds and those without affection.... Oh, I knew well how false it was, and yet I let myself be half-convinced!

When have I ever been more zealous in labor than those days when I had fulfilled all my religious duties?

When more loving and devoted than on the days of my Communions?

When have I felt more free, more happy, than when having fulfilled all the duties of my social position?

Lord, receive my mind, and nourish it with Thy Truth!

Show me that apart from Thee, pleasures of the senses leave behind [pg 185] only remorse, disgust, weariness, and satiety.

Pleasures of the heart cause anxiety, bitterness, rendings, and fears.

Pleasures of the mind produce a void, vanity, jealousy, coldness, and humiliations! Teach me that all must pass away ... that nothing is true, nothing is good, nothing is eternal, but Thou, Thou only, O my God!

MY WILL

My deeds are the result of my will, and it is the will only that makes them of any value. Oh, then to begin with, I will learn submission! What I wish, may not always be good for me; what I am bidden must be right.

O Jesus! grant me the grace of obedience, and then let me be bidden many things: works of piety, works of charity, self-renunciation, brilliant [pg 186] deeds, deeds that are ignored in my family life, or wherever I may be, there are numberless calls for all of these; Lord, behold Thy servant! may I be always ready when Thou hast need of me!

ALL THAT I HAVE

My God, how richly hast Thou blessed me!

Treasures of love, I offer them to Thee!

I have relations, dear ones, Thou knowest how I love them.... Ah, if it be Thy Will to take them from this world, before me, though I say it weeping, still I say it, Thy Will be done!

I have friends.... If it be Thy Will they should forget me, think ill of me, leave me alone, with that loneliness of heart so bitter and so keen ... I yield them to Thee!

I have worldly goods that give me a certain degree of comfort, by affording me the means of helping others poorer than myself.... Should it be Thy Will to deprive me of them, little by little, till at last I have only the bare necessaries of life left ... I yield them to Thee!

I have limbs that Thou hast given me. If it be Thy Will that paralysis should fetter my arms, my eyes no longer see the light, my tongue be unable to articulate, my God, I yield them to Thee!

In exchange, grant me Thy Love, Thy Grace, and then ... nothing more, only Heaven!

O Jesus, abandoned by all in the garden of Gethsemane, in need then of comfort and strength:

Jesus, Thou Who knowest that at this moment there are some on earth [pg 188] who have no strength, no comfort, no support, oh! send to them some angel who will give them a little joy, a little peace! Oh, if only I might be that messenger! What must I suffer, Lord?

If an outward trouble or inward pain be needful to make of me but for one moment a consoling angel to some poor lonely heart, oh! however keen the pain, or bitter the trouble, I pray Thee, grant it to me, Jesus!

O Jesus, in search of lips to tell the love Thou bearest for Thy children; lips to tell the poor and lonely they are not despised, the sinful they are not cast away, the timid they are not unprotected. O Jesus! grant that my lips may speak words of strength, love, comfort, and pardon. Let each day seem to me wasted that passes without my having spoken of help and sympathy, without having made some one bless Thy Name, be it but a little child.

O Jesus! so patient towards those who wearied Thee with their importunity and ignorance! Jesus, so long-suffering in teaching, and awaiting the hour of grace! Jesus, grant that I may be patient to listen, to teach, though over and over again I may have to instruct the same thing. Grant me help, that I may always show a smiling face, even though the importunity of some be keenly felt! and if through physical weakness I manifest ennui or weariness, grant, O Jesus, that I may speedily make amends, with loving words, for the pain I have caused.

O Jesus! Who with infinite tact didst await, seated at the roadside, the opportunity for doing good, simply asking a small service of the poor Samaritan woman Thou wouldst save, and draw to Thee.

O Jesus! grant that I may feel and understand all the pain that timidity, [pg 190] shyness, or reserve keep buried within the recesses of the soul. Grant me the tact and discretion that draws near without paining, that asks without repulsing, without humiliating, and thus enable me to bring peace and comfort to the wounded heart.

O Jesus! seeking some one as faithful dispenser of Thy blessings, grant much to me, that I may have much to bestow on others. Grant that my hands may dispense Thine alms, that they may be as Thine, when Thou didst wash the feet of Thine Apostles, working for all, helping all; let me never forget that, like Thee, I am placed on this earth to minister, not to be ministered unto.

Grant that my lips may speak comforting words and give forth cheering smiles, that I may be as the well by the roadside, where the weary traveller stoops to drink, as the shade of the tree whose branches laden with fruit [pg 191] are extended over all that pass beneath.

O Jesus! to Whom all Thy children are so dear, and whatever they may be Thou carest for them, and rememberest they are the much-loved children of God! Oh! grant that in all my intercourse with others, I may only see, love, and care for their souls, that soul for whom, O God, Thou hast died, who like myself can call Thee Father, and with whom, near Thee, I hope to dwell, throughout the ages of Eternity.