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I thought they would possess an interest for the people of Northern Vermont, to whom the name of Barlow is familiar, and identified with much of the early his- tory of their locality. I supposed that this interest would be chiefly a local one : certainly nothing was farther from my thoughts, than the supposition that another edition of the little book would be called for. I was, therefore, surprised to hear of the wide circu- lation it soon attained, not only in the Western wilds of our own country — as well as in the older portions — but also abroad, and that the whole edition was exhausted, while there was still a demand for it. These circumstances, together with the discovery of additional matter, which it is thought may in- crease the interest of the Memoirs, have induced me to yield to urgent and friendly solicitations, and pre- pare the second edition now offered to the j)ublic. ■■>*> 4 PREFAfE TO THE SECOND EDITION. To convince such rcatlers as have doubted tlie real existence of our lamented young friends, and pro- nounced the whole narrative a fiction — even while reading it, as they confess, with lively emotion — the original manuscript letters can be produced. These are given precisely as they were written, with the ex- ception of slight verbal corrections or omissions, few- er in number than would seem possible in a series of familiar letters written by young persons, and, of course, without a thought of their future publication. It is not surprising to us, who knew these lovely sisters well, that their memorial, imperfectly as it is traced herein, should appear to strangers like a fancy sketch ; for, even now, when we recall their images, and dwell with fond delight upon all the circum- stances of their brief sojourn among us — many of the most interesting of which it is impossible to embody in a work like this — they seem more like beautiful creations of a poet's fancy, than creatures of smiles and tears, subject to joys and sorrows, to suffering and to death, in common with frail humanity, To the best of my ability I have given their simple rec- ord, and whether it shall be accepted as truth or not, " It shall be my pride, "Tliat T havo dared to tread this lioly ground, "Speaking no dream, but things oracular.'' COMriLER. Swanton, January, 18GG. ie real d pro- . vvliilo 1 — tho These he ex- s, fcw- ■ies of icl, of ;ation. lovely s it is fancy tiages, reum- of the iibody mtiful smiles 'r> •V ♦ * ♦ » ■♦- TO TUE YOUNG (\VTIIOLI(\S OP THE DIOCESE OF BURLINGTON, Vt.; My Dear Young Frikn-ds; Soon after the death of Debbie Barlow in April, I received a letter from our venerated Bisliop, request- ing mc to prepare and present to your perusal a little sketcli of the edifying lives of the three sisters, of whom slie was the oldest. I could not hesitate to comply, though I distrusted my own ability to per- form what was re(|uircd in a satisfactory manner. Feeling at once the need of more material than I could have access to here, I went to the Convent in Montreal, where I found it in greater abundance than I could have expected. The recollections of my so- journ at the delightful boarding-school retreat of the Congregation de Notre Dame at Villa Maria, (form- erly Monklands,) on Montreal Monntain— of the po- lite hospitality with which I was entertained — of my enjoyment in the society of the pious and intelligent sisters, and participation in the religious privilegctj PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. t of that favored abode, will be gratefully ehcrislie<l while I live. ]>y the aid of the copious subject-mat- ter there obtained — her letters written to her parents at various intervals, when she was absent Jroni home, and those with which 1 have been furnished from oth- er sources — my task has been a li^dit one in compar- ison with what I expected : the '..ampliation and arrangement of them having formed the chief part of the labor. I hope they may prove as interesting and edifying to you in the perusal as they have been to me in the preparation ; and humbly recommend- ing myself to your prayers, I remain your devoted friend, THK COMPILER. Burlington, June 11, 18G0. Iicrislicfl t'ct-nint- parontH n liojjio, rom otli- compar- ion and icf part erestinir A'c been nimend- dcvotcd [LER. INTRODUCTION. Some lime in the early part of February, 1853, a lady was passing the day with licr young and invalid daughter, in the village of St. Albans, Vermont ; and awaiting, in the parlor of a hotel, the arrival of some friends — whom they were ex- pecting — in the cars from the South. Soon after they entered the parlor, two young gir!.s, apparently but slightly separated as to age, (the younger one being a little the taller of the two,) entered also, having evidently but just arrived after a drive of considerable length in the cold morning air. Their interest- ing appearance and engaging manners attracted the attention of tlie mother and daughter, and led them into conjecturees as to who they could be, which were soon solved by the entrance of their well-known father, who immediately introduced the beautiful young fitrangers as his oldest daughter5'^ Debbie and Helen Barlow, then of Fairfield, a Tillage about eight miles to the East of St. Albans. He was on his way with them to Montreal, where he designed to place them in the boarding- scliool of the ladies of the (.'ongregation of Notre Dame, for their education. As the young invalid to wliom I have alluded had been a pupil in a convent, they were much interested to learn from her all they could of the general rules and routine, both as to studies and recreation in such institutions, and the elder one especially, addressc-d inquiries to her in relation to those mat- tors, that evinced a degree of intelligence, forethought and prudence, very remarkable in one so young. Her replies were far from encouraging, for she knew by experience that the firm, though perfectly rnild restraints which constantly encompass the convent pupil under all circumstances, are extremely irk- some at first, even to Tatholics who are subjected to them af- ter having been accustomed to the freedom from discipline in which our young people are generally indulged at home, and in our scliools. whether to their advantage or disadvantage, ^' 8 INTRUDUOTIUN. the consequences tliercof must testify. Slio closod licr re- marks, however, by assuring them that, tlmugh they vvouUl shrink from the system in tlio boginninfr, and probably bocpiito homesick for the first few weeks, yet tlicy would r)rni so strong an attachment to it, if they remained long enough to beconio habituated to its silent influence, us to frel more i)airirully still, upon their return homo, their release from the gentle and sal • utary onthrahnont, than they did the first exorcise of its re- straining, directing and controlling pc wer. Thoy have often asaured me since, that these remarks were useful in preparing them for a Ufe so now, and proved true in every respect ; only that they were less annoyed by their subjection to its discipline, and recognized more immediately its wholesome ell'eei iliaii thoy had expected. The lady, who met the sisters at the hotel when they were departing for Montreal, did not see them again until tho win- ter after their return. She had heard, however, a rumor to which she gave little heed, that thty had been removed from tho convent in consequence of an apprehension on the part of their parenta, that tho Catholic relip:ion was making' such fav- orable impressions on their yoiiug minds and heiirts, as to en- danger their Trotestantism. During tho winter succeeding their removal, and the death of her daughter, she passed som« time at St. Albans, where she received occasional visits from Pebbio Barlow, who was in tho habit of making excursions from Fairfield to St. Albans frequently. In the course of these visits she discovered that the reports touching tho interest cherished by her lovely youn^ friend, in the Catholic religion were true. Knowing tho bitter ' 'als that must boset the path of the young pilgrim in that direction, better than she did tho strength of a character fortified with every quality necessary to secure tho victory in such a conflict, she maintained a prayer- ful reserve on the subject, under the full assurance, that if the work was from God it would be perfected in Ilis own good time and way. This reserve, while It really grieved tho sensi- tive and aflectionate nature of tho beloved child, drew from hor sallies of playful wit upon some occasions, and serious re- monstrances upon others, that revealed not only the brilliancy of her genius, but tho depth and earnestness of her reasoning and convictions. INTRODUCTION. 9 Tlie character <>f Debbio Barlow was indeod one of rare strength and cxcolloncc. Endowed with an intuitive sense of the good and the beautiful, she was quick to appreciate, as she was eager to seek thoin in every mi'iject which was prenonted to hor notice, (however much popular prejudice might have sought to distort it,) and equally able to discern their oppo. sitcH, luvler whatever dirtguisna they might appear. Her very childhood surprised us with the calm deciaions and thoughtAil csliiimtes of an intellect so thoroughly well balanced as to be free fioin apathy on the one hand, and enthusiasm on the oth- er ; an exemption rarely enjoyed by women, even at matu* rity. It was her freedom from any tendency to these extremos which secured her from being jostled by tu") sharp oolliaions that she constantly encountered with worldly ma : :\a and pet- ty vanities, and enabled hor to exercise such a nowerfUi influ- ence over the minds of hor younger sistorp, vs to /entitle '.tT to the preeminence accorded her in these mumoirs. ]• ^'' • mode which I have chosen for the intrcd' "^tiOn of my subject, I am well aware that 1 have departed iro n the course usual to biogrrpliy. It may be thought that I hav«» presented it too abruptly, with too little formality. It wat, perhaps, to bo expected that I .should enter with my young friend into the homo of her childhood, and represent to my readers the bril- liant prospects which opened before her, as she stood in all the freshness of youth and beauty, and in the plenitude of her tal- ents and accomplishments, upon the threshold of life— the pride of her fond and indulgent parents — surroanded by the advantages of wealth and intimate connection with many dis- tinguished families of Vermont and New York, and beset with allurements which would have enticed a heart less pure, and aspirations less simple, tc a lasting union with the vanities of time and sense. It is indeed proper that I should here allude to these circumstances, in order to give due credit to the dis- crimination and firmness with which she weighed them all in the balance against Kternity; and, having so proved their emp- tiness, launched hor frail bark courageously upon a stormy flood, to encounter buffetings fron, the wild billows of opposi- tion and contempt, and to struggle against their power, until the peaceful haven, towards which all her desires and efforts were d irected, should be securely attained. "With the history Ill ; t ) i I 10 INTRODUCTION. of these struggles, from the moment when the first gentle influ- ences of Divine grace settled down into her fervent soul, and the first feint rays of Truth dawned upon her clear intellect, until their glorious and triumphant close, the heart of every Catholic, whether old or young, must be deeply interested. The design of elucidating these, for the edification and in- struction of my dear young Catholic friends, animates my heart, and inspires me with courage lovingly to undertake this labor, even while shrinking from it, depressed with the con- sciousness of my own incompetence to do justice to my exalted sense of the beauty and merit of my subject. Indeed I should hardly have dared the attempt, had it not happened that the lady who was her dearest friend and teacher at the convent, and with whom she corresponded at irregular intervals from the time she left the boarding-school, had, contrary to the usual practice of the religious orders, carefully presen-ed most of her letters and fragments of her writings while at school, which fell in her way, convinced that they were the productions of a remarkable mind and heart. These she very kindly offered to my inspection, that I might extract from their contents whatever I found that could aid me in the fulfilment of my undertaking, in the object of which she— in common with tho whole dev.oted community to which she belongs — entertains the deepest interest. She also promised to furnish me with any information in her power, which might serve to supply missing links in the chain of our little history. By avaiUng myself of her offer, and important assistance, also, (during a recent visit to Montreal,) in selecting, arranging and copying these copious extracts, I hope to enable our lam- ented young friend — though her fair form reposes in the Halls of Silence, and we shall listen no more on earth to the tones of a voice whose utterances were as music to our ears — to dis- course with us yet, eloquently and impressively, through the sentiments and the events which her own pen recorded, in her artless and admirable manner, thus : IS f •' Depositing upon the ailant shore Of memory, images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cauuot be destroyed. ■i!t. M W^^S fonberts. CHAPTEE I. On the ninth day of February, 1853, Debhie Bar- low first entered the Convent of the Congregation of Notre Dame, as a pupil in that excellent institution. She was then fifteen years of age, and her sister Hel- en, who accompanied her, was about thirteen. As the history of the first impressions upon her mind, as well as their subsequent development, will interest and edify my young readers, I must claim their at- tention and indulgence, if I enter more minutely into its details than would, at the first glance, seem neces- sary. When they passed through the largo gate which opens from Notre Dame Street into the en- closure of the Institution, " the Convent walls," to use her own expression, " looked so gray, so dark, so dismal !" that the sight of them made her heart sink with dread, and she entered beneath their shadow with such shrinking reluctance that, according to her own account of it, nothing could have sustained her under the parting with her father, but the conviction that it was her duty to make this sacrifice of her feel- ings to please him, after he had so kindly exerted himself to secure its valuable advantages for her edu- cation. When she had been there two days, she wrote the following letter to her mother : Mv Deau Mother — Here I am seated in a convent, (will you iau^rh at the idc.i?) ^^ rising to you. De- spite my averrtioi:.to t'lo /Icunair C.ht'iolic religion, 1 < - » .. » r 12 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. il and the various prayers we are obliged to attend up- on, I am very contented. To be sure I feel the same as regards the doctrines of this Church as I always have, and my dislike to worship as they do is the same as when I was at home ; but outward forms will not change the heart ; it is mockery for me to bow to the image of the Virgin Mary ; and even if I did that, it would be only because I was compelled to do so, and if the nuns know it they will certainly not oblige me to do it. I cannot turn my eyes in any direction without beholding some statue or painting. The prayers are mostly in French, and I do not understand them at all. The hymns are sung to the Mother of God, and indeed it seems to mc that they put their whole trust in her, but I suppose they do not. However, my belief is, that we are com- manded to worship one God only. But no more of this. The nuns are very kind, and no one can help loving them. The wishes of their pupils are all granted, as far, at least, as would be best for their in- terests I will close here, for I cannot write all the [particulars concerning the school : I will in my next. No one sees our letters except one of the nuns. Helen is perfectly contented, and sends love, dJC* t • • • A fortnight later, she wrote to her mother under date of March 1st : " . . . . I presume you have heard from father all about our journey from home here ; so, I will leave that and continue. We entered the convent on Wed- nesday — were received very kindly by the nuns whom you have no idea of at all : they are very pleasant, and seem to be very happy. There are many that I should think are quite young and accomplished; and, we should think, if we had them in the world, great additions to society. They are devoted to their re- ligion, beyond my power to express. They introduced us to some of the young ladies, who seemed very ami- able, and who did their best to show us the various rooms, and infornrj us of th»i rules- and requirements of the school : at evening th-^ whole school assembled S ■C-U kt THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 13 in the recreation room, which is largo, and divided into two parts, one for the vsmaller chiMren, and the other for the ohler girls. You may imagine the noise we made, for there were no less than one hundred and forty of us. There was a nun in each room to over- see the plays, and who seemed to enjoy it as well as we did ourselves. We did almost any thing we wish- ed. Some were seated in groups, talking on all sub- jects; others were promenading up and down the rooms — some were standing around the nun's chair (which was raised some height from the floor,) talking with her, and others were singing and dancing, jump- ing the rope, etc. Soon the folding doors opened, and the younger children came marching through, headed by one they had chosen for their leader, and who seemed to be the head one in all their plays. — • They were singing a Hiarch, and you may be sure they looked very pretty. At the command of their leader, (who was a noble looking child,) they march- ed round the rooms several times, and then returned — there were at least fifty of them. We spent the evening very pleasantly, and at eight o'clock the bell rung for us to go to prayers. We went to the chap- el, which is very pretty indeed ; it is adjoining the dining-room, and I should think it was purposely for evening or private devotions;* the altar is small, but beautiful ; it is gilded and decorated with statues, crucifix and silver candlesticks, with wax tapers, etc., etc. • The walls are also hung with very beautiful paintings of our Lord, the Virgin Mary and various Saints. After prayers, and an evening hymn to the Virgin, we retired for the night. Helen and myself have a room together, with separate beds " At six in the morning we rise and proceed to the chapel to hear Mass. It Is under the same roof with the convent, but not the one we go to for evening prayers; it is much larger, and has three altars. The paintings there are some of them very large and beautiful, and they have also a very fine orgau, which * It is the young ladies' chapel. — Comp. T ^ ■ .III 14 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. is playoJ by one of the nuns. After Mass we go to breakfast, and then to study until eleven ; then cate- chism until twelve — dinner and recreation until one, and study nntil three ; recreation from three to four, then study, and a lecture until six; then tea and rec- reation until eight. We enjoy ourselves now as we did when we first came ; indeed, every day I enjoy myself more and more " I will now tell you what studies I am pursuing. Monday I havu French and Arithmetic ; Tuesday, Rhetoric, Philosophy and Dictionary; Wednesday, French and Arithmetic. Thursday we do not study, but mend our clothes and embroider. I am going to commence embroidering a piano-stool Thursday, and Helen a piece to frame. Friday I recite in History, Geography, Botany and Parsing. Saturday is for writing compositions. Every month the literary so- cieties meet : they are the young ladies that write compositions on a given subject, and read them before priests, the nuns, and any persons they may see fit to invite to come in. Sister G has given me an in- vitation to write an address to St. Joseph's Society asking admission to it. You may know that I rather dislike to do it ; but I shall, for it must be of much benefit to the young ladies to be members of the Soci- ety. Every month the good and bad marks are read, and those that behave themselves well enough are put on the table of honor at the end of the year ; that is, they have their name put into a gilt frame and hung up in the parlor ; but I rather think it would be vain for me to aspire to that honor, though perseverance may do it Give my love to father. After he gets home from Washington you mu«t write me about the inauguration." Through some fault in the distributing offices, their letters were delayed in reaching home, and their mother wrote by a gentleman of Montreal, in great anxiety to know vvliy she did not hear from them. Debbie replied under date of March 11 : "I have no doubt that my letters left the convent, and that all that have come to the convent for me I have had. 1 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 15 we go to !ien eate- mtil one, i to four, and rec- )vv as we I enjoy )ursuing. Fuesday, dnesday, at study, going to day, and History, y is for 3rary so- lat write m before see fit to ne an in- Society I rather )f much he Soci- re read, are put that is, id hung be vain verance ^fter he le about 3s, their i their 1 great I them. I have tliat all lad. 1 think the trouble is somewhere else, for I have not the slightest idea tliat my letters have met with any impediment in the convent. The young ladies tell me that they never have had any trouble with theirs, and more than that, I have too high an opinion of the nuns to think they would stop a letter going home, and much less tell me that the letters went, when they did not. I am very contented, and you need not give yourself any uneasiness about us. T^he nuns are very kind, and are altogether different from what I thought they were : they seem very happy, and enjoy themselves quite as well as any one in the world could, and better, perhaps. Helen says that she is perfectly contented, and that you need not be in the least uneasy about her. I am getting along very well in my studies, and am very well pleased with my music teacher." On the twenty-fifth of the same month, she writes : " I was happy to hear that you had received my let- ters, which were probably detained in some office, for you might find in them much more then I could re- member to tell again. I am still happy in my home; there is nothing to prevent our being happy, for it is the pleasure of our dear " Tantes"* to see us enjoy ourselves ; yes, they seek our happiness as much as they do our improvement. I wish you could see the nuns ; you would be an ardent admirer of them if you only knew what lives they lead. / 7vill my plain- lify that we see but feiv with us that would give up all for the love of God, and live the life of a nun. The world occupies too much of their attention and love to forsake it ; but what does a nun do ? To be sure, she loves her home and friends, but she sacrifices all for (iod ; they will meet their reward in Heaven. You have no idea of them ! Their devotion to their religion, the gentle spirit they evince in every action, their love of [)rayer, and their perfect charity , are not to be witnessed in c very-day life, I assure you. Do * French for"" Aunts," hj which appellation the pupils of that Institution address the nuns. — Conipiltr. ^ 16 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. ii 1:1 not think I mn j?oing Into ecstacies about tlic nnns, and sliaHfollow in their footsteps at some fntiiie day, No; I am not so sober yet as that. I do not think I could do as they do. I only think they are Chridimis in every sense of the word^ and any one who knows them must form the same opinion in a very short time. You will excuse me for taking so much of my letter for my " Tantes ;" I only want you to see them, ancf I will assure you that your mind will change. I am getting along in Music very well, and I think I have an excellent teacher. My teacher in drawing would not allow me to proceed in monochromatic, un- til I had taken lessons in penciling; so I commenced, and she says I get along remarkably well, and shall do a large piece in monochromatic to take home in July. French I am not very fond of; but they talk it so much here that I cannot fail to learn it ; my teacher tells me that if I apply myself, I shall learn it easily enough. Helen's studies are Music, French, History, Philosophy, Grammar and Arithmetic. I think she is perfectly contented and will remain so. 1 have had letters from all my friends since I came here, and you may be sure I find it a great pleasure to have so many correspondents while in a convent. How did the inauguration pass oft'? If father has come home, write and tell me the events that occur- red ; give my love to father, and tell him I shall write to him soon. Every letter is seen by ma Tante but I do not care, as I do not write or receive N- anything, but what I am willing she should read. From a letter written to a young friend in Burling- ton to whom she was devotedly attached, (and who has kindly furnished me with many interesting letters from which to make extracts), I select the following, under date of the 28th of March " You know how I felt about coming into a convent, and may be surprised when I tell you that I am perfectly con- tented and would not leave it on any consideration whatever to attend school elsewhere. Although 1 sometimes sigh for the dear friends I left in Burling- ton, it is better for me to be here. Home too ! 1 of- •'•V. '"^ THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 17 :lie nuns, ture (lay. t think I Christians 3 knows ry short sh of my ee them, mge. I : think I drawing atic, un- menced, nd shall home in hey talk it ; my i learn it French, etic. I pain so. I came )leasure onvent. ler has occur- ,11 write Tan to receive tl urlin^- id wlio letters owing, I know nay be y con- eration nigh I iirling- 1 or- teii wish for the charms that surround the family fire- side alone ; though we may be happy elsewhere there is no place on earth to compare with it. We may visit places that are beautiful, that are grand, yet the heart will turn and cling fondly to home " be it ever so humble." This my L knpws. Do you remem- ber how often we used to stand on that beautiful green lawn beneath the branches of those old trees and watch the last rays of the setting sun reflecting their gorgeous colors upon the placid waters of our dear Champlain ? and do you remember how we used to cast our eyes up and down the shores in the direction of our homes? you'cannot have forgotten those mo- ments so happily si)ent, and I, though happy in my new home, yes, very happy, cannot forget them, but look back upon them with pleasure " During the first few months of her convent life, Debbie was, though perfectly polite in her deport- ment towards all, distant and reserved also, especial- ly with the nuns — declining to entor into conversa- tion with them, or to form familiar acquaintance with any of her young companions, who, while they ad- mireil the charms of hor ])crsoii and manners, and re- spected the abilities which rendered their gifted young rival conspicuous in the competition of the class- rooms, were more captivated with the winning gayety and artless frankness of her sister. I'ime wore rath- er heavily away with her for the first month ; though not at all home-sick, her spirit did not harmonize with anvthinar around hei-, and she souirht relief from its weariness by most diligent a[)pli cation to study, and intellectual exercises. She conijilained that so much attention was bestowed, as it seemed to her very un- necessarily, upon reliL "U, (the season being that of Lent,) and that f*he could not turn her eyes in any direction withcnit seeing some object which suggested thoughts of Eternity. To the weekly instructions in the class-room — given by the Sisters in explanation of the truths of Divine Revelation, and always con- ducted collo(|uially, that the pupils may offer such re- marks or ask such (juestions as tliey desire — she was. I I ■. 18 THE VoUNa CONVERTS. however, a deeply interested and intelligent listener, thoujrh she seldom ventured any remarks herself up- on the subjects under discussion. The solemn ser- vices of Lent, the moving meditations, the earnest exhortations to repentance and the soul-searching ex- aminations of conscience, which always form a part of the daily chapel exercises, of that penitential sea- son in a convent, were not lost upon hor. She was not willing to acknowledge her iirst favorable im- pressions even to herself, or to manifest them by yielding any outward tokens of respect to the rites which had awakened them, beyond tlie mere external conformity which Avas exacted from all the pupils, for Protestants as well as Catholics were required to at- tend services in chapel, though allowed to use their own books of devotion or Bibles during tha time, if they wished. In this conformity, as in the most at- tentive and strict compliance with all the regulations of the institution, she was so exemplary as to be re- garded, even within the first mouth after her entrance, as a pattern of excellence in those respects, both by the t^'achers and pupils. During Holy Week, she was more depressed than ever, as most of the scholars were .engaged in the absorbing duties of the season, out of study hours, to the great abridgment, if not entire cessation of their ordinary recreations. On Holy Thursday, Marc*h 24, when her young companions went to the chapel to offer their adorations to our Divine Redeemer before the Blessed Sacrament, on tho day upon which wo commemorate His institution of that sublime memo- rial of His dying love, she wandered about quite lone- ly, and at length seeing her favorite teacher, towards whom she was beginning to manifest some affection, (though she carefully abstained in the presence of her companions from showing any regard to one teacher more than another,) and in whose tender and faithful heart she quietly confided all her little trials and dif- ficulties, she complained to her of the oppressive sense of loneliness which was weighing upon her spir- its. The good Sister advised her to get a book from THE YOUNG C0NVF:RTS. 10 listener, Tself 11 p- cniu scr- ! earnost iliing cx- n a part itial sea- ►Slie was able iin- :liem by :he rites external ipils, for (d to at- se their time, if most at- ulations D be re- itrance, poth by ed than n the ours, to f their roll 24, apel to before ich we memo- e lone- owards 'ection, i of her :eacher aithfnl nd dif- ressive r spir- it from I the library for her amusement ; secinnf one lyinp^ on her table, she asked if she niirrht take that. The Sister smilingly assented, thinking, as it was the " Rule of Faith," that she would hardly find much in its contents wdiich would prove attractive or interest- ing to her young mind. Del)bie, however, took it away with her. It was one of the many remarkable circumstances by which the hand of (Jod guided this singularly favored, soul, that, in its peculiar state at that juncture, this book proved to be the best one which could have been selected for her. To her care- fulpcrusal of it, during the silence and quiet of that holy season, avc may safely ascribe the subsequent clearness and firmness of her conceptions of Catholic principles, both in theory and practise. The next day after this occurrence being Good Friday, the chapel was arrayed in its mourning dra- pery, in preparation for the solemn and affecting ser- vices of the day. Debbie begged permission to go with the sisters to see it before those services com- menced, which was accorded. She was deeply moved by the sorrowful aspect it presented. The young ladies took no breakfast, but a small piece of bread and a glass of water. The sister having forgotten to order butter for the Prot:stant pupils, did so as soon as she noticed the omission, but observed that Debbie refused to take any. She told the Sister she did not know what she sliould do with herself during- the long services in the chapel. " Did our Divine Re- deemer not die for you as well as for others ?" asked the sister. " Yes, ma Tante, I suppose He did.'' " Well, can vou not return thanks to Him for His infinite mercies exhibited in the groat sacrifice on Mount Calvary, and bow down in humble sorrow for your sins, which made that sacrifice necessary, medi- tating deeply upon those momentous subjects at this time, solemnly set apart for their commemoration, for this one day at least; after all that he has done and suffered for you ?" She was so impressed by the sug- gestions of the good Sister that she passed a great part of the day in the ladies' chapel, and in tears. t II I w 20 THE YOUNG CONVKRTH. Tliat slic mijnrlit not attract the attention of licr sister and her companions, slie wouM (fo out occasionally amonp^ them, and passinjr throu'^1 the various groups in dilierent rooms, that they might say, (if she was in- ([tiired for,) that she had just been there, return to her chosen place in an obscure corner of the cha])el, to reticct upon her sins and the gi*eat ex[)iation offered for them, and to mourn over tliem in deep contrition. Several of the young ladies saw her there at dilfer- eut times during the day, and told the teacher men- tioned above, that Debbie JJarlow was kneeling in the chapel and weeping sadly ; they were told not to speak of it, or appear to notice it. She always dated her conversion from that day. It was then she was jirst led by God's blessing upon a word " spoken in season," to see the " exceeding sinfulness," as she ex- pressed it, of her whole life thus far, and her need of the Divine grace. Fervently did she pray, as the hours of that mournful but blessed Good Friday wore on, that the same Holy Spirit which had now illuminated her soul w^tli a new light, and inspired it with new desires, would perfect the work He had thus begun, by " guiding it into all truth," anrl " abiding with her forever," to be her Comforter and her I'rotcctor in this life, and her exceeding great reward in eternity. Early in April she wrote the following letter to her mother — the date is not given : " My Dear MoTiiEFi: Your letter was received some days since, and I should have answered it ere this had I not been so slow at writing, for there has lain a letter in my drawer half finished for the last few dnys. I cannot imagine, mother, why*you should so often regret send- ing us here. I have told you repeatedly that 1 was ■very happy here, and that I could not be happier elsewhere. You are assured that the advantages for obtaining an excellent education are to be found here, and that the religious feelings of the young ladies are not intruded upon by the Catholics. I will tell you again that nothing has been said to me either by my teachers or my friends unless J asked them some questions in relation to their faith, which they of THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 21 icr sister asionnlly IS groups e was in- rn to her liajtol, to II offered ntrition . it difFer- er men- elinrr ill ;l not to yn dated slic was okeii ill ■i slie ex- need of le hours 'ore on, ruinated th new begun, ith her ctor in ernity. tter to Dear since, at been in my can hut t send- 1 was lappier ges for d liere, lies are ell you by my I some lev of course answered. Helen is in ecstacies to tliink yoii are coming so soon, but you know that 1 am not gen- erally 80 much excited by good news as she is, there- fore 1 try to make her think sometimes that you will not come, for she would be so much disappointed if you should not. I am in hopes to see you the first of May. but even if you do not come it will not bo long before we Pee you, for school closes the 15th of July Helen is well, and sends her love. Give my love to grandmother, to all of my friends, and to father and the little girls. Write soon and often to your affectionate daughter, Deiuhe." Soon after the foregoing letter was written, she discovered that one of her young friends, who was very pious and particularly attached to her (and who is now, as we may humbly hope, rejoicing with her in a better world, she having departed tliis life some months previously to Debbie), was making a novena, or nine days' prayer, to obtain, through the prayers of St. Joseph united with her own, some special spir- itual favor at the hands of God, and was convinced that the object of it was her own conversion. Hav- ing importuned the young lady in vain to reveal it, she made some light remarks bordering upon contempt in relation to such prayers, which wounded the feel- ings of her to whom they were addressed. A few days after, when they had entered the class-room in the morning, her thoughts reverting to the impropri- ety of those remarks and the grief they had caused her frieiid, she tore a lly leaf from her class-book, and wrote v.'ith a pencil ii{)on it, so hastily that it was al- most illegible, the following expressions : " My Dear Katie, you know that on Hunday last 1 guessed what the object of your novena to St. Joseph was, although I almost knew what it was before. And you cannot fail to remember how lightly I spoke of your prayors for the intercession of those^holy souls, who were' the chosen persf)ns of our Father hi Heaven to protect His only Son, our dear Saviour. Dear Kate, they must have hart your heart too much at the time to forget them so soon. Will you be surprised when I T^ 22 THE YOUNQ CONVERTS. iiii ') tell you that I meant very little what I said, ami will you he more surprised when 1 add that, at heart, 1 am already a Catholic ! Yes, Kate ! I trust your no- vena has reached the Heavenly Throne, and that its ohjcct has been attained on earth. There has lain on my heart a load — yes ! in my ^niyest hours you mi^ht have seen, if you cast a look on my face, a troubled expression, one of anxiety, and what caused it V The conviction that I oiif/ht to be a Catholic and would not. Jiast ni^dit I thought I could endure it no longer; my heart was willing, and 1 did seek for advise from one of the nuns. I have not read to con- vince myself, nor have I prayed until ({uite lately, but others have done the latter for me, which I will ever remember. 1 must some time be a Catholic! I can be nothing else. Kven if I read only my Bible, I mmt believe the truths of that Church Yes, Kate, believe mc, I am a Catholic, and pray for your affectionate Debbie." The same day she wrote the above, she asked the teacher whom she loved best, to give her a medal. The Sister told her she would give her one if she would promise to wear it, which she did. That med- al she never put aside ; it was laid with her fair and precious form in the grave. She often asked this Sis- ter for explanations of the doctrines and rites of the Catholic religion. Her questions were evaded under one pretext and another, as it was a violation of their rule for a teacher to speak of religion to a Protestant pupil. When she was determined not to be put off thus, they were answered as briefly as possible, and under protest as it were, on account of the rule, the Sister telling her she would rather she would not ask them, advising her also to meditate for herself upon the great truths of religion, and to pray fervently for light from Heaven to guide her soul. Her frequent expressions were, that she read only her Bible, but she found confirmation of some Catholic doctrine or practice upon every page of it, and that many passages which mean nothing to Protestants, were full of sig- i THE YOUN(; CONVERTS. 23 aiul will HEART, 1 your uo- tliat iU has lain )ur8 you y face, a it caused lolic and udurc it seek for d to con- itely, but will ever ' I can Bible, I , . Yes, for your n )CI :uiii£. sked the a medal. le if she [lat med- fair and this Sis- s of the 1 under of their otestant put off ible, and rule, the not ask If upon ntly for frequent ible, but trine or massages I of sig- nificance when jiliiccd in the light of the Catholic doliiiition of thcni. Ik'l'ore the close of the month of April she had won for her name a place ujjon the " Table of Honor," with those of thirteen others whose hioh merit for pro<jfross in their studies, and perfect decorum of de- jxntnuMit aluue, secured that distinction for them. Very few indeed are so successful as to attain it with- in their first year as jiupils ! The last of Aj)ril she was elected by the school as one of the two maids of honor to the May <^>ucen, which oflices were held du- rin«^ the remainder of the year. This election mark- ed not only her i)lace upon the " Table of Honor, as the candidates are chosen from its list, but also the high estimation in which she was held by her young compan''.as, the choice having been almost unani- mous, .^peaking of it in a letter to her mother a few days after, she says : " 1 wrote you yesterday by JJ , but it never entered my head to tell you that I have the great distinction of being one of the May Queen's maids of honor. Perhaps it was from hamil- itj/ that 1 deferred telling you until my teachers told me to, for you are well aware that 1 have a good share of that. ]>ut 1 must enter into the subject of my letter, for 1 have but a few minutes, as this must go to-night." That subject was in relation to the white dress necessary for the occasion, as they had not yet received their summer costumes. I'he letter she there alludes to is, I suppose, the following, written a few days previous to the date of that one : . . . . " Your letter containing dollars, was received some time since, and should have been answered before this; but time passes so swiftly that days and weeks slip by unheeded, and 1 forget that it is time I should answer my letters; and, besides, every hour in the day is adapted to some particular study or amuse- ment, and we hardly know how or where it goes. After your letter arrived, I purchased every thing we needed, with the exception of the things we have at home. You asked in your letter if the bonnets and mantillas would do for us ? Yes, they will, and Hel- 24 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. : ; !' ii en can wear lier dress. I would like you to brin^ our barege dresses and my black lace cape. I think of nothing else at j)resent. I was just called down and received a letter from you, saying that the ill- ness of father would prevent your coming to see us at present. I am sorry, but at the greatest it will bo about ten weeks before we go home. " I am sorry to hear that father is so unwell, but hope his sickness will pass off without any serious effects. How is grandmother now ? Tell her that T hope to sec her well enough to come down to our house often, while I am at home. Give my love to her and all my friends, and tell them that they need not expect me home from home-sickness ; for, as sum- mer advances, I find the convent pleasanter than in winter ; and as I was very happy through that sea- son, I am sure I shall be during the summer months. I am very well, and Helen is getting so sh*e looks like a very healthy girl." .... When they were preparing for the coronation of the May Queen, she went with the companion who had made the novena for her, to get a piece of carpet from the sanctuary of the young ladies' chapel, upon the altar of which the Blessed Sacrament was also kept. When she was within the sanctuary, and in front of the Tabernacle — never having been so near it before — an indescribable feeling of awe came over her, (just as she stooped to take up the carpet) and raising her heart towards it she breathed within her- self, with humble simplicity and sincerity, this aspi- ration : " My Divine Lord Jesus, if I'hou art, as the Catholics believe, really present in that Tabernacle, I adore Thee with all the powers of my soul !" After saying tnis in her own mind, the full assurance of the truth of that sublime mystery which was destined to bo from that time as an anchor to her soul, sure and firm, stole like a flood of light over her spirit, with such overhelming power, that she was lost to all sense of every thing around her, for the few moments which followed this her first act of adoration before our Lord in the Blessed Eucharist ; when her com- THE YOUN"' CONVERTS. 25 to bring I think ed tlown the ill- see us t will be well, but Y serious er that T 1 to our y love to hev neeil ', as sum- r than in that sea- uionths. )h*e looks ation of nion who of carpet el, upon as also and in so near anie over et) and lin her- lis aspi- t, as the nacle, I After ce of the tined to urc and it, witli X to all nomeuts I before or corn- 'I panions, having spoken to her several times, (in a whisper, of course, for none may speak aloud in that rresence,) touched her upon the shoulder, and, arous- ing her from the joyful contemplation, hurried her away to the scene of their preparations. This little incident was recorded in a small memorandum-book, which she carried about with her, and in which she noted down every event of each day. To her great chagrin she lost it, but it was afterwards found and preserved, by a singular and apparently accidental circumstance. The letter of which the following is a portion, was written on the 15th of May " Mr. B n called to see us last week. He said he had seen fa- ther a short time before, and told him he would come anil see us. He seemed to be somewliat surprised at my thinking so much of the convent, and had a good deal to say about the Catholics, etc. He saw, on en- tering the parlor, some paintings and images of the [Messed Virgin and saints, and after looking at them for sometime, he exclaimed, ' What superstition ! what Idolatry /' ' What is it ?' said I. ' Why this flum- mery worship of saints, images, etc. ; don't you think so ?' said he, addressing me. ' No,' said I, ' you are very much mistaken ; it is neither idolatry nor super- stition ; for, to begin with, they do not worship them — -it is only honor or reverence they give to them ; but this is not the first time I have heard that Cath- olics did this and Catholics did that, so I do not find it strange. All I know is, that they are very different from what I hmrd tho.y were.'* He said he thought we were kept pretty well by our looks, especially Helen. Cora and Sarah passed through Montreal about two weeks ago; they stopped to see us, but did not stay but a few minutes. How is Cora's brother ? She said she hardly thought he would be alive when she got home." Debbie lias been described to me by her teachers as possessing at that time, a rare combination of sprightliaess and serenity, which irriparted a peculiai* 26 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. I iMii ;i I I ; i i 1 li! ill charm to her character, and to her manners a " name- less grace." She differed in many respects from most girls of her age, and manifested none of that affection for some particular nun which they are apt to show by choosing favorites among them. One evening the young ladies were each naming her favorite nun, and expatiating upon the good qualities for which she admired that favorite, enumerating and reciting these in a sort of chant. Debbie remained a silent listener, when one of them exclaimed : " Well, Miss Barlow, you have said nothing ; who is your chosen favorite?" "I love them all!" she replied, in her tranquil manner, but with deep feeling. " Oh, what a cold, indifferent person you are!" they exclaimed; " we do not believe you really care for any one !" " Perhaps," she said, " if you could see my heart you would think quite differently." Her perfect habits in every respect as a pupil seemed to result from an in- nate sense of propriety, which governed all her move- ments. Every duty appeared to be performed with- out an effort. Her sweet and engaging modesty, her lovely conduct and easy politeness towards all, seem- ed to How spontaneously from her well regulated heart. These excellences cost her no effort, indeed, at the time, but they were the result of the exercise on her part of constant and thorough self-discipline. She realized and proved the truth of that maxim of the glorious Thomas a Kempis, that " a watch over the senses is the foundation of purity, the discipline of peace, and the mirror of devotion." Ii\ the regular routine of school life in a convent, while there are but few stirring events or varied in- cidents to busy the pen of the narrator or interest the general reader, there is still by no means any lack of interesting and even exciting variety to the pupils. Every week is enlivened by some affectionate device on the part of the teachers for their auiusement, with which they are often taken by surprise, as it were, to enhance the pleasure, and to promote the object for which they are expressly designed, by breaking the tranquil round that might otherwise become monoto- THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 27 a " name- from most t affection t to show /ening the orite nau, for which d reciting Dtl a silent ^Vell, Miss >ur chosen ed, in her ' Oh, what jxclaimed ; any one !" heart you ;t habits in rom an in- her move- •med with- Ddesty, her i all, seem- rejTiilated )rt, indeed, le exercise discipline. maxim of vatch over discipline a convent, varied in- nterest the ny lack of Dhe pupils. late device iient, with it were, to object for aking the le monoto- nous. Thus, to the pupils after the first irksomeness of its discipline and requirements is past, time glides imperceptibly and pleasantly away, while habits of perfect order in all their studies, occupations and re- creations, of inestimable value to them in after life, are as imperceptibly acquired and permanently fixed. In this manner did it pass with our young friend, when she had become habituated to that routine, and she always recurred to those months which were most free from any occurrences to mark the flight of days and weeks, as quite the happiest of her life. When the time for the annual examination and vacation was approaching, «he had become so much attached to her "convent home," that she began to be oppressed at times with the fear that she would not be permit- ted to return to it at the close of the vacation. She was determined, however, not to think of a lasting separation, which would be so full of grief for her as among the probabilities of her future. Under the pressure of these emotions she wrote the following, as an interchange with some of the dearest of her young friends and class-mates, who also offered correspond- ing written expressions of their sentiments and feel- ings, as the time for parting drew near : " >>ix months ! — I can hardly realize that so long a time has passed since I came to the convent ; it seems ratlier a few happy days, with little or nothing to ob- scure their brightness. For what are the troubles of onr school days? Nothing. They pass away with the evening sun, leaving behind no trace of sorrow upon the heart. And here in our peaceful home, where every thing breathes of naught but unity and love, can trouble mar the joys of our young hearts ? No ! — and now that I leave my second home for a few short weeks, I would fain express my admiration of its precepts, and my love and gratitude to my teach- ers. But what pen can portray the feelings of a tru- ly grateful heart ? Ah ! it would require one far more able than mine. F cotild almost throw it aside, and . exclaim, words can not express them ! Each day 1 have seen more to admire, more to love — each day li: '![ ^^11 28 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. found some new example of the devotedness of those under whose care we are placed, some new mark of their tender solicitude for our welfare. Here a word of advice, there of encouragement, each tending to smooth the little impediments we chanced to meet, and urging us onward in the path of duty, and at the same time filling the soul with the deepest gratitude to those whom we may justly deem our truest friends. And now as we are leaving, beloved companions, let the words of admonition we have here received be ev- er before us ; some are bidding a last farewell, but I have before me the briglit prospect of returning to the spot where so many happy hours have been spent, and the recollections of which memory will ever re- tain." When her parents came to attend the examination, her worst fears were well nigh confirmed and she saw with the deepest sorrow that she would probably be called to endure a final separation from all to which she had become so strongly attached. Her emotions upon leaving the convent were so painful that, three years later, when she was with her beloved teacher at St. Eustache, she entered upon the fly-leaf of the book in which she kept her diary there : '' I came to the convent, the first time, on the 9th of February, 1853, and left it the 15th of July, the same year. These two days were the most unhappy days of my life, bnt from different causes. The first, because I was unwilling to remain in the convent; the second, because I had to leave it.'V 'Iff ■*"V»i I- 29 iGSS of those cw mark of tiere a word , tending to ed to meet, r, and at the ^t gratitude uest friends, ipanions, let eived be ev- rewell, but I retm-ning to } been spent, will ever re- 3xamination, and she saw probably be all to which ler emotions 1 that, three ed teacher at f of the book came to the jruary, 1853, These two life,bnt from as unwilling lecause I had CHAPTEE II. When our young friend returned to her home, and was again among the friends of her childhood, they all expressed their entire satisfaction with her remark- able improvement, both in mind and person, during so short a space of time. I cannot better describe her personal appearance at that period, than by giving the words of Cardinal Wiseman, in his description of the youthful St. Agnes, whose name was after- wards given to our beloved Debbie in baptism. "In her countenance might be seen united the simplicity of childhood, with the intelligence of maturer age. There not merely dwelt in her eyes that dove-like in- nocence which the sacred poet describes (Cant. 1st, 14th), but often there beamed from them rather an intensity of pure afi'ection, as tnough they were look- ing beyond all surrounding objects, and rested upon One, unseen by all else, but to her really present, and exquisitely dear. Her forehead was the very seat of candor, open and bright with undisguised truthful- ness; a kindly smile played about the lips, and the fresh, youthful features varied their sensitive expres- sion with guileless earnestness, passing rapidly from one feeling to the other, as her warm and tender heart received it." Soon after she reached home, the depressing con- victiftn that she should return no more as a pupil to her " dear convent home," settled heavily upon her, causing sensations of " in'ixpressiblc regret." The alarm of her devoted parents — perfectly kind and in- dulgent in all other respects — was so great, upon dis- 30 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. "'I I'iii 1, 4 i !! m\ ,: i :•'! :^i 'I ,iii lU'llt l!\, covering the course which her tlionghts and inclina- tions were taking in religious matters, that they even forbade her keeping up any correspondence with her beloved friends and teachers. Her favorite one among these, (who was now removed to the Mission Convent at Yamachiche, where she remained until transferred from there to St. Eustache,) being wholly unconscious of the turn matters had taken, awaited for a long time the arrival of the promised letter from her dear child, when her fears being awakened lest ill health or some other accident occasioned her si- lence, she wrote to inquire the reason why she had failed to fulfill the promise made at parting. The following is an extract from Debbie's reply to that letter : "Fairfield, Sept. 18, 1853 You think I have forgotten you; no! I am not capable of forget- ting those I love, and, so long as I think of friends and kindred, so long will I remember ma Tante St. A ; but when this heart becomes cold and indiffer- ent , insensible to every earthly affection, when it ceases to think of friends, then will you be forgotten, and not till then ; but methinks that time is far dis- tant, far, far ! They call me cold-hearted, ungrate- ful ; but those who say this mistake my character and disposition, allow me to say ; for, far from being ei- ther, I never forget a kindness, and I am sorry to add that it is not in me naturally to forget an injury ; I can forgive, but it is hard to forget. Now, my dear Tante, I presume you will say I am very wicked, and that your pauvre enfant* is not much changed, that her head is still the same ; but I will leave this for something more interesting. My reasons for not re- turning were numerous. I wished to go, but mother wished me to remain at home ; she thought it was so far away, besides she thought ray health would suf- fer should I remain in a convent, and mamj other rea- torn. My parents and friends were much pleased with the improvement I made in my studies, etc., etc. * Poor child. "THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 31 ,11(1 inclina- : they even e with her eorite one ae Mission lined until ling wholly n, awaited letter from kened lest led her si- ly she had ^ing. The ply to that on think I } of forge t- of friends Tante 8t. md indijfer- , when it forgotten , is far dis- , ungrate- racter and being ei- )rry to add injury; I , my dear aivked, and nged, that e this for or not re- nt mother ; it was so would suf- otJier rea- eased with etc., etc. '¥ Two dear cousins of mine arc going to Montreal next week. I wish you were going to be there to teach them French — you had so much patience teaching your ''paavre enfant.'^ " Her YQ\)\y to the second letter of this friend was written under the fear that, if she expressed wiiat she felt, all correspondence between them would be for- bidden. It was so reserved and constrained, so unlike her real feelings in its tone, that when she afterwards happened to find the letter, while remaining for a year with her friend and teacher at St. Eustache, she destroyed it. Soon after she received the reply to it, she went to 8t. Albans to pass some days with a female relative from another place, to whom she was very fondly attached, and who was then stopping a few days in a hotel at St. Albans. While there, she wrote, under the sanction of the relative mentioned, (who fully reciprocated the affection of the beloved child, and who, though a Protestant, thought the op- position to her feelings had been carried too far, and would, if continued, defeat its own object by securing the dreaded result,) the letter, a portion of which I shall here give. It was dated "St. Albans, Dec. 23 : 1853:" and began \vitli apologies for the coolness of her last, and explanations of the reasons, man- ifesting in a most affecting manner the conflict be- tween her desire of rendering strict obedience to the reijuirements of those nearest and dearest to her and whose wishes she sincerely respected and the warm impulses which moved her to express the deep and abiding affection and confidence she entertained to- wards the friend who was, next to them, dearer to her than all others .while she knew that the injunc- tions requiring her to make so painful a sacrifice of her own feelings were the result of a total misappre- hension of the real truth on the part of those imposing them, and continued : '' I have searched earnestly and with an unprejudiced mind, as far as I had the oppor- tunity, the catechisms, records, and writintrs of the Church of Christ— you understand me, the "^Catholic-— and as I told you often, very often, I found much in it 32 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. *i i i to atlmiro. I have not clmngcd in tliat rrspcct. I came lionie with a mind very different from ^vhat it was previous to my going to the convent, and my friends soon discovered it. Kot that I ever expressed a wish to unite with tlie Church. No! I was not yet prepared to judge of the other sects of Christians, and I felt tliat I must look for a while upon their rea- 8onw(/8 in regard to the matter; and J have, I have read and conversed with many ; and have at last de- cided to he guided hy faith and wv own reason. I have heard the Catliolics ridiculed and assailed in every possihle manner, not hy my own relatives more than by others. It lias seemed tome that it would amount to more than tliree months taken together, that I have spent talking with ignorant, euperstitious, wilfully blind and intolerant I'rotestants. I cotild not avoid it. One would come in, 'Well, Debbie, I hear you are a Catholic,' and from that would run on until I have been compelled by my own conscience and better feel- ings to stand up in defence, as far as I was able, of a religion I respected, and in many things loved. I would not, and I will not, sit and hear a person igno- rant or not, so go on with rail-road speed against the clergy or the religious orders of females in the Catho- lic Church; that I cannot put vp with. At last I have refused to hear anything in reference to the matter, un- less they asked these questions in a civil, respectful manner. 1 have had controversies and conversations, etc., etc., until I am tired of the nanieof Church, and feel perfectly reckless 1 will defend the nuns, no matter where they arc, and if the inference they deduce from this is that I am going to become a Cath- olic, they are at liberty to do so. 1 have a relation whom I am stopping with now, and who is very kind and considerate for me. She has just given me a large beautiful gold cross. I shall value it very high- ly. At the hotel where I am nov/ stopping there is alovety woman boarding, who is a convert from Pro- testantism to Catholicism, bhe lost her only daughter last spring, and she hatl spent some time in the Con- vent of the &^acrcd Heart in New York. She wishes THE YOUNG CONVERTS. ds ospcct. r m Avliat it t, and mv expressed I was not JLristians, 1 their rea- B, I Lave at last de- n. I liave in e very- more than Id amount bat I have fully blind moid it. you are a il I have etter feel- ! able, of loved. I rson igno- ^•ainst the he Catho- st I have atter, un- I'cspectful ersations, iirch, and the nuns, nee they e a Cath- i relation -ery kind en me a ery high- !,' there is •cm Pro- :laughter the Con- le wishes me to give her love to you. She thinks mms nxa per- fect. She that was Jennie Hall (now Mrs. Lynn,) is failing very fast; she cannot live but a short time; she told me she would write to the convent, but she was not able. She is very happy, and seems to wel- come death almost." 4 9 34 CHAPTER III •^ «• m ;i 'iiiiiii I m I ; On the 4th of January, 18'jI, and soon after her return from 8t. Albans to Fairfield, Debbie wrote to the young Protestant friend, to whom her letter from the convent was addressed, the one from which I make the following extract ; " Beloved L : Yours wa=« just received, and as you request an immediate answer, I have stationed myself at my table to write to you. You know not how happy I was to hear from you again, and T will now tell you how I have written, and how many times. In September I received a letter written from Shel- burn : I answered it, and soon after went to Madrid and spent two weeks : as soon as I reached home, which was Saturday, I sat down and wrote to you, and a week from the next Sunday I received a letter from you saying that you had not heard from me since you were in-Shelburn, and you wished me to write immediately, and I did so, requesting an answer as soon as you received mine. I then waited three weeks, and, not hearing one word from you, I wrote again, which was about a week since. tJndoubtedly you will receive the last mentioned, but will know that it was written previous to the reception of yours. Y^es, indeed ! my dear L , you are forgiven, and I shall forget it all : I only hope it will strengthen our friendship, and the confidence we have reposed in each other may grow more and more perfect. This little interruption has not diminished my love for you: no ! far from it. I do not now feel as though any thing but death, nor even that, could make me love you less or forget you. My spirit cherishes the fond III). THE YOUNQ CONVERTS. 35 after her bie wrote ler letter )ni which ivcd, and stationed know not ind T will my times, om Shel- Madrid ed home, to you, i a letter from me d me to n answer ted three , I wrote oubtedly all know of yours, iven, and rengthen Bposed in This for vou : )ugh any me love the fond '•Ss M hope that anjrols watch our dail); intercourse with the world, and my soul delights to muse upon the good- ness of One who, in IJis infinite mercy, has provided a Home for the weary travellers of earth, the happi- ness of which no mind can conceive; and I believe firmly and Httadfaathj that we are guided by the angel visitors to earth, and that they are often messengers of those who have gone before us. This may be a picture of the imagination, but 1 believe it is so. Therefore, should Death call for a fri(Mid of mine, I should not think I had lost thoir love after that sepa- tion. You may think I have strange views upon the subject, and speak in rather a singular manner of death and cttrnihj ; but, to tell you plainly, my dear friend, I have not the fears of either which I once had. Formerly I could not endure the thought that I must leave this earthly home ; but I feel diflerent- ly now. I do not wish you to think I have been under the influence of Methodism or Presbyterianisra — that I have been to rerital preaching, or any thing of the kind. I am juj»t as far from any of those things as can be imagined. I do not say 1 am any better than I ever was; but I do know I am much happier and better contented with my lot, whatever it may be. I am sixteen to-day : venerable person ! am I not? "Sweet sixteen" that poets sing so much of; thy charms, thy joys are but too soon gone. " Pass- ing away,"' like ail of earth ! Childood has gone, and with it many of my most joyous and happy days. I would fain call them back. Alas ! they are gone, and the present is passing too swiftly away. But why repine while Hope, blessed messenger ! whispers of better times, and fills my soul with peace? Not long after the foregoing was written, Debbie and Helen visited friends in Higligate and Burlington, and after their return to Fairfield they attended school there together. April 23d, 1854, Debbie writes from Fairfield : " I am attending school, and enjoying myself very well. I often wish to see you, my true friend, and very often speak of you as such — 36 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. + I ill ao often, tliat T nm rtocnsod of tliinkiiifif of llttlo else but my convent lionic and its inmates A little in<jre than a nionth later we liavc the fol- lowing, in a letter to the same friend: "Fairlicld, Sunday cveninf^. May 5^8, 1851 It is a love- ly niglit — calm and serene as a summer evening. A cool, refreshing shower has added new beauties to na- ture, and only a slight breeze, which I can imagine is like the boating of angels' wings around us, dis- turbs the air. Vet, afar off 1 hear the murmuring of a rivulet, and the hum of children's voices in their youthful sports. It is truly an hour I love. Afar ! afar! methinks 1 hear the low chimes of convent bells, as they sound the hour at which we were wont to retire ; and imaginations which arc now vividly cherished by me bid my eyes gaze upon a scene of uncommon interest — a number of young girls ascend- ing steps which lead to a little chapel, unassuming in its appearance, but whose precincts arc hallowed be- yond description. They enter there, and every knee is bent, every head is bow'cd, and all pride, envy, ha- tred and jealousy are (or should be) buried A pale lamp burns steadily before the Blessed Sacra- ment of the Altar, shedding its rays upon the sacred walls, and reminding each soul which there presents itself of the bright light of failh which should reign in our hearts, J'raycrs from the lips of youth, blessed beyond the reach of a doubt by I'aith, ascend to the throne of the Most W\\A\ God. And the sweet Ves- per Hymn to the I)les??<.^d Ilother of Christ rises upon the evening silence, with oit-repeated i)etitions for her intercession. And th-j ;/low, measured steps of those children, as they leave this })lacc of prayer, show with what reverence they regai'd the sacred spot. Yes ! my dear ''j'antc, I often, vci-y often ^ let my imagina- tion rove to those scenes. Lo you, can you think I have forgotten them? They remain in my heart, sealed in the casket of memory, and I look back upon those days as some of the happiest of my life. "^Helen has been very sick with inflammation of t-hc stomach and bowels. She never was so ill in her y "^ THE VUUNU CONVEllTS. 87 ittlo else the fol- 'aiificld, a love- ing. A 38 to na- imagino us, (lis- iiiiig of in their Afar ! convent re wont vividly iccne of ascend- ming in ved bc- ry knee ivy, ha- . . . A I ►Sacra - sacred )resents d reign blessed to the ct Ves- 3s upon for her )f those )w with Yes! nagina- thiuk I '■ heart, k upon ;ion of \ in her life bofi>ro, and slio is now very misorablo. Tier strongih left her entirely — so much so that she had to bo taken the same care of that a child wouM. I have been conlined to the sick room so long, that 1 have written no letters t< any one. You will excuse my long silence, will you not ? I am not un- grateful ; no, I am not ! Accuse me of anything else, but not of that ! I lovo the nuns, and shall ever re- member their kindness to me. 'J'hey may think I liavc forgotten long ere this Sonic one has been in my room to-day to see Helen, and yon never heard so much fun as was made of me (after- wards) about a table in my room on which was a cross^ my two Cuti- Mc prayer bocks, my chaplet, a picture of ail Angel (.jJuaruian, ari iniago Ki'i the Blessed A'ir- gin, a picture of St. Joseph, and another of the Bles- sed Vir/in and Infant Jesus — all the pictures given mc in the convent, and two vases of ilowers that I liad gathered from the garden to ornament the table. My books were examined, etc., etc., comments made upon this and that, and I let them proceed. I told them these things put me in mind of the convent, and I loved to look at them. They thought I had better go up and unite with the ' Itomish Church.^ I told them I did not know but I should unite with the Catholic Church:' Again, from a letter dated Fairfield, June, 1854, I extract a portion: " Oh, ma Tantc ! it is a happy thought to think that 1 am cared for, prayed for, by you ! and now, in the silent loneliness of my own room, I look back upon the past, and recall your kind look, your approving glance, and wish I could once more behold them ! Here, alone by my couch, I ask Ciod to bless your life, to add new joys to your heart, quicken you by His Divine I'resence, and receive you in His eternal home at last, where, amid an angel band (and pure as they) I sometimes imagine I see you now. Would that I could think / should meet the good and the just there — should see their robes washed white in the blood of the Lamb, and stand among them ! Heaven seems to mo such a Home ! w 38 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. i :. f i M M prepared b/ Ilim, that I long sometimes to see its glo- ries ; but as 1 listen to my feelings a voice asks me, ' Arc you prepared to die V If I were prepared, I would go willingly Fairfield, June 25th, 1854 I think of you often and often, and shall be under obligations while life lasts, and perhaps in eternity I am assailed on all sides by those who think I am willing to become less ignorant than I form.erly was. I am ridiculed ; yes, more than that ! But my God knows I will not yield, with His help — His grace ! I am here, and must now conform to many things which I fain would not ; but I will satisfy them. I will peruse their blasphemous writ- ings, and if I can find any thing pure I will subtract it from the impure. I will give them their due. I will know the faith of all ; indeed I do know much now, and I find nothing congenial to my feelings but the One True Faith ! To-day I went to the Presbyterian Church, and when I had heard the sermon about half through, lo ! Popery must take a thump ! He said it was nothing but Paganism with another name ! — that the Catholics had no light from Heaven ! no lights of Revelation ! — that the heads of that . Church were among the most licentious of earth ! — and, finally, that on the very face of the Church were marked those words, (which St. John applied to Pagan Rome) — I will not repeat them ; read for yourself, ma Taute, the 17th chapter, 5th verse of Eevelations ! I listen- ed; I grew dizzy and blind ! but took my shawl and walked out of the church. I was obliged to sit in the porch until I grew composed, and then came home. Some one asked my mother why I came out of the church ? and she told them, ' Dehlie would not hear the Catholic Church talked about in that way,, and so she came home.' I suppose the whole town will be up in arms about it ! I do not know but they will moh me. ' Ha ! ha ! " This morning in St. Albans, (where I went to at- tend church,) at the administration of the Blessed Sa- crament, the rail around the chancel at the grand altar was filled with Americans, who have been con- THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 39 verted to the Catholic faith within the Last few years, and they all reside there, with the exception of a fam- ily from Philapelphia, and two or three from an ad- joining town." A very dear friend and convent companion of the sisters, who embraced the Catholic faith when quite young — previous to her acquaintance with them — and who afterwards came, at Debbie's request, to remain with her during her last sickness, has furnished me with a number of letters, of which the following bears the earliest date. It is addressed to the young lady at the Convent of the Sacred Heart, Albany, N. Y., where she completed her education. "Fairfield, Vt., Oct. 18th, 1854. Many, very many thanks, my much loved Carrie, for your long, kind letter of the 13th inst. You little know how precious it was to me, coming, as it did, from one with whom I had spent so many happy hours. I have read it, and dwelt upon each sentence ; praying that your wishes might be fulfilled, and my own desires with regard to that one subject might be answered. " Oh C ! I long to see you and converse upon the past. How often 1 wish we might again be unit- ed in that sacred place, and offer our prayers upon the same shrine once more. But, though separated, let us still invoke the same Protecting Power, and the same intercessions. I will never forget your kind ad- vice, C , and hope I never have for a moment yielded to doubt as regard ! onr holy faith. Though many are tho trials which every one must pass through, I thank God that He has sustained me thus far. His precious promises come up before me when my mind desponds, and raise my faltering spirit above the things T time. I rely upon His word for my hope. Anu, my dearest C , when I think of Je- sus and the Cross^ how can I refuse to live in tho Faith He established here, and calls upon me to •(■v - and profess ? No ! my friend, I trust this will never be my coui^e. \ " The news from the convent interested me very much. I think I shall write to them soon, feiill I do > i 40 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. f ' ...1 . 1 1 •• I' , 1; I' ' 1 'r 1 li ^ ! ; ! i I ill i! ii I i i '■■\ ■t 1 li V rot know. Give my love to all when yon write, and say whatever else you please about me. They doubt- less think that I am negligent and forgetful ; but, C , I am not ! E H. passed three weeks here last winter, and from her I hear occasionally from the convent. Helen corresponds with her. " You find your present home very pleasant, I should judge from your letter. I almost wish myself there with you. I imagine I should like it vcy much. Do write me some of the rules, regulations, &c. You say you meet some of our old friends sometimes. Give my love to Mary C. and Maria M. I have often thought of them since our parting, and can recall scenes in which they were actors, as vividly as if they were of yesterday. Though some of the memories of the past are shaded by sorrow, I can look back and dwell upon those scenes as the brightest spots in my existence And now, my dear C , when are you coming home ? When you do, you must come to see me ; re- member this. My constant desire is that we may meet again, and renew the friendship so happily be- gun. Adieu ! and believe me your very true friend, " Debbie." In Nov., 1854, the following was written to her *' best friend," at Yamachiche : " Your dear, kind letter, ma Tante, was received last night, and I would fain express to you my thanks for your kind- ness in writing to me again. My reasons for not an- swering your former one were, that I was forbidden that pleasure. I will be plain in speaking to you, my friend, (for I consider you as such) my trials I believe increase, for I am plain in telling them that I shall unite with the Church which I consider as right. I have been debarred the pleasure of going to Mass un- til the last two months, when I told them I would never step inside a Protestant Church, (excuse me, I mean meeting -lionse^) if they did not allow me to go ; but they would not let me, and I then sat, Sunday after Sunday, by my window and looked at the Cath- olic chapel, while the Blessed Sacrifice of the Mai^s THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 41 ite, and y cloubt- il ; but, eks here Vom tlie I should If there much. You letimes. ve often recall 1 if they Dries of ick and 3 in my coming tne ; re- 76 may pily be- friend, BIE." to her r dear, , and I r kind- lot an- rhidden ou,my believe I shall ^ht. I iss un- would ; me, I to go ; kinday Ca+h- 5 >^.ass was offered up. Finally they told me to go if I wish- ed to, and I went. After that the Catholics were ridiculed by my acquaintances more and more, and the next Sunday there was Mass they would not let me go. I then made this agreement : I told them if they would let me go to Mass once a fortnight, that is as o/ten as it is here, I would go to Protestant meetings the remainder of the time, until I joined the Churcl). This suited pretty well, and, with a good deal of ridicule, they allow me to go. Last Sunday the Bishop of Burlington and two priests, beside our priest that prea'^hes here, came to Fairfield and staid .4i'.til Tuesday noon. I went to Mass on Sunday i TTiing. Mr. McGowan, our priest, came and spoke to inc, and asked if I would like an introduction to the Bishop. I told him I would. He said, after Mass he would introduce me to him. Mother was with me, and she said so much against it after Mr. McGowan left, that I would not stay to see the Bishop, but I sent word to Father McGowan that he could deduce his own inference from my not going. I formed some acquaintance with him about a year ago, and he has heard something from a lady in this place about the opposition I met with. I have never conversed with him at all. Monday morning I went to two Masses and heaid a iormon. 1 was alone; our family did not go; to 1 *'~urid my waj to the vestry, and saw the BislM)p Fn's name is DeGocsbriand. He told me he saw the ."•' Istc/s of the Congregation a short time ago, and tluit 1: ' ^. spoke of me to him. He talked with mo some, and 1 like him very much. Tuesday 1 went to Mass and heard a sermon. My God hiows hoiv I en- joyed myself ! To-day there is no Catholic service, and I have been to a Protestant meeting. Ma Tante, it is a real penci nee, I assure you ! next Sunday I long for: then there is Mass again ! The whole town are g! '■ 'C me up as one blinded by errors, they say. Poor pcof'i tluy know not that within my heart, amid all my trials, there reigns a peace which the world can never give ! They know not that the Arm of the Al- miyhty sustains mc ! They know not that my prayers w 42 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. '1 r 1 \' III 1 . .'ill Li. _ are constantly offered up to the Throne of the Most High for tJm'r good ! When I tell them that my con- stant prayer is to have my faith increased, they tell me I can never find faith in the Catholic Church ! Oh ! then, where can 1 find it if not there ? No where! Oh give me faith^ faith which, like a rock afar off in the distant seas, though the waves and storms of life beat forever against it, shall still be immovable ! I do not wish to murmur ; no ! far from it, my trials will not compare with what others have suffered, and do suf- fer, for the s.: -.t: T am not right, perhaps, even to mention them. .'m not, may Heaven forgive me ! I have, perhaps, • the esteem of some by my ad- herence to Catholic principles ; if so I cannot help it. I trust that you always pray for me. Eemem- ber me always, for I would ever live in the mem- ory of those who led me to the truth. I often think of my convent home : it is still very dear to me, but I fear I shall never return to it as a school-girh I may visit it. Oh ! how I long for the tim'e to come when once more I shall behold its peaceful walls 1 and if I live I shall, for I mean to visit Montreal some time. Give my love to all, and tell them to pray for " Debbie." The following fragment, without date, but written during the same month of November, was enclosed in a letter to her Protestant friend at Burlington, as a strictly private communication : " My dear friend, I stih continue in my strong ad- herence to Catholic principles. You may think it strange, but, L , every day brings me some con- vlncin(j proof of the truth of that Faith. I am not pre- judiced. I read every thing on both sides ; I con- verse with all, and yet I am more and more convinc- ed that I am right. " I go to the Catholic Church once a fortnight, and the rest of the time to meeting, and every time I enter a Catholic Church I love it more, and its Di- vine ordinances ; and every time I hear a Protestant sermon, I dislike them more and more. I do not know, bat I suspect there is some " dangev of my be- I THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 43 the Most '' my con- !y tell me ^/ Oh! ere/ Oh ff in the life beat I do not will not do suf- even to :ive nie ! my ad- lot help ieinem- e mem- n think ne, but rl. I come walls I d some rav for 3IE." tvritten :)sed in 1, as a ig ad- ink it e con- oi pre- [ con- 1 vine- light, me I sDi- stant > not y be- ing a Catholic." Shall I lose your friendship ? By doing so shall I forfeit your respect ? I hope not; thongh I shall some of my friends, I know. But I love my God and Saviour heifer, far letter, than all the earth, or my friends. You may be surprised to hear this. You never knew me to speak thus, did you, my darling friend? T.ut it is even so, and if Ho calls me to imite with His Church, I must " Fairfield, Dec, 17, 1854. — Pardon me, I pray, my beloved Tante, for not answering your letter soon- er. I should have done so, but I have not been very well, and for some other reasons, perhaps too trifling io mention. I was pleased to hear from you, and I know your prayers are ever raised for me to the Throne of tlie Most High. The pure truths you speak in your letters, endear them much to me. To-day has prov- ed to me again, that my prayers should be strong and fervent. I have been to Mass, and oh ! how my soul longed to join the few who knelt and received the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ ! Oh ! the presence of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament ! — how glorious, how consoling the thought ! Who, ivho can doubt it, ma Tante, if they knew the happiness of one who believes in the Real Presence, how they w^ould sigh for that Faith ! Do you not think so ? My kind friend, you ask me if I wear the medal. Yes, I do ; and I forget not my Mother, if so I may call the Blessed Virgin. I presume I am sometimes heedless, and forget my duty, but I trust my God forgets me not. How thankful I should be that He has given me the grace to see the true ivay: I was reading to- night in my prayer-book, this passage : " Where much is given, much will be required." Then how much will Almighty God require of me ! I have been blessed ! oh, how much ; and my life ought to be spent better than I now spend it I still at- tend Mass when it is celebrated here, though some- times with trouble, for my friends oppose me as much as ever. I try to follow all the rules of the Catholic faith as well as I can, but here I have no friend to ad- vise me, none to consult with, and I have no reading- ii ■^if! 44 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. Ill :M M ! 'Ii! 11. - ( I i ' matter ; that is no hooh and papers. Protestants put plenty of their books into my hand, and I read tliem all. A short time since a lady visited our house, wlio is the wife of a I'resbyterian clergyman. In the course of the conversation, the ' Romish Church' was called up, and she remarked in this manner: 'Well, I believe if there is a bottomless pit in the future world, the Catliolic priests will go there!' 'Mrs. ' said I, ' it is not for you to judge where they will go.' From this a conversation commenced in which she told me that Catholics believed their priests infallihle ; that for money they could get their sins pardoned hy a priest ! That tlie Catholic Church had destroyed the second commandment of God^ and worshiped images ! ! and that they ga^'e more honor to the Blessed Virgin than to God! ! ! L»y rtic way, she considered 'the Mother of Christ as a very good sort of a woman, but no better than anj'^ other Christian !' These are her precise words, and I could not convince her that Catholics did not believe the first of her remarks! She knew letter than I did, of course ! I asked her if she ever read any Catholic be -ks. ' No, and she never wished to !' (Of course I thought her particularly well qualified to give reliable information on the subject after that ad- mission.) Among other things, she said that con- vents were horrid places, and nuns awful creatures ! I have told you this as an example of my daily confabs.'''' About two months after the date of this letter,her pa- rents decided to send her and her sister Helen to Fair- fax, a village a few miles from Faiffield, where there is a flourishing institution under the direction of the Baptist sect. They chose this place, both on account of its convenience of access for themselves, that they might see their daughters frequently, and doubtless because they also hoped that the close attention to study there required, and an entire separation from ill Catholic influences and associations, might divert the mind of Debbie from the contemplation of religious subjects. 8oon after they went there, she wrote the same friend at Yamachiche, to whom most of her letters to the convent are addressed : THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 45 tants put ead thorn oiise, wlio In the nrcli' was ' Well, ire world, -' said I, From told me that for a priest ! le second and that than to other of 10 better precise olics did 'w letter 'er read ihed to!' 2lijied to that ad- lat con- res ! I mifdhsy •,her pa- to Fair- re there I of the iccoiint at they 'ubtless tion to rom iJl ert tlie ligious 3te the of her "Fairfax, March, 1855 I thank you very much for the beautiful little picture you scut, and I assure you I sliuU treasure it with much care. It is decidedly lovely. The face of the Infant Jesus is so sweet, and that of our Holy Mother. Oh ! why is it that such pictures inspire us with greater love for the originals ? Do you know, ma Tante ? I know it is so. I must tell you how much my pictures are ad- mired. I look them over very often, and I am often ro(piested to show them. I explain the design as well as I can to them, and they frequently exclaim, ' How beautiful! how lovely!' I generally tell them truly that this is only the commencement^ only the first step, or one of the least of the beauties of Catholicity. I am here in Fairfax attending school. I did intend to go to Burlington, but ray parents preferred to have nie here, so here I am. No Catholic Churcli; no Catholics. The school is large, and a very good one, I should judge. Most of the people of this place hate the Catholics bitterly, and have venj strange ideas concerning them. Almost every one had heard be- fore I came here, that I was, in sentiment, a Roman Catholic. I said nothing, but the iirst morning that I went into the school I had about my neck my cross and medal. After I came away and reached my boarding-place, a young lady told me that she hoard it remarked by several that the eldest Miss Barlow was a Catholic. ' Is it so ?' said she. ' I believe ic ih,' said I, and no more was said. I suspect I am an ob- ject of pity among them all. My sentiments arc the same that they were when I left the convent. I find no Church as yet whose precepts and faith I lovie as I do the Catholic. I am sure that I have chance enough to find the true faith if it is to be found among the Protestant churches; but I find it not there. I still love the faith professed in my convent home. It is still dear to me, and it is not because I have constant intercourse with Catholics, or have their books to read. I sec but very little of edticatod, in- telligent Catholics. I have never seen any priest, with the exception of Father McGovvan twice, and the 1 .>.! 46 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. ,1 ■ i it 'f :if* Bishop of Burlington once. I have no books except those two you gave me, and one of them a young la- dy from Burlington has borrowed. You perceive I have not much to guide me; no, nothing but the Ifand of God alone. Oh ! I pray that I may not go astray from the path of right ! May my steps be guided in the only true and pure religion. Every one opposes me as much as ever. My father I care for most of all. He worships me, I know. Every one says he loves me better than any of liis other children. * * I am harrassed to death by people talking against the Church and against me ; but I do not care. I must believe what God has directed me to. It is a hard hill which I am striving to ascend, but I hope that I may not faint until the summit is gained. Sometimes I think a strong arm is thrown around me, and then iieiv strength is added to my weariness, and a hand seems pointing to the Cross and urging me on- ivard. And often times T almost imagine that a sweet voice whispers : ' Mij child I iv ill pray for thee P and my petition is, ' Sweet Mother, pray for thy feeble but trusting child.' With our Heavenly Father's care^ the love of Jesus., and the prayers of the Blessed Virgin, can I, oh, can I wander from the truth ? I have told you plainly my feelings, and if they change^ you shall know it. There is a young lady going from this place to the convent in Montreal in about three weeks, and there has one gone. Every one is won- derfully concerned about them." In her next, written during the same month, and from the same place, the following passages occur : " Let me tell you my friend, distinctly — I want you to understand me fully — I am a Catholic, firm and unyielding. I believe it is the only true Churchy and the only one with which I shall ever unite my- self. You ask me what I " intend to do ?" I am as* sailed by every one. In fact, I do not have one mo- ments peace any wliere. My parents are bitterly op- posed to the Catholics But Heaven help me I will he firm I shall be more a Catholic when I leave this school than ever before Thave THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 47 not tokl you much about the school, have I ? I will say a few words before I close my letter. It is a Protestant school, in every sense of the word, and wo are obliged to attend prayers and go to their church, etc. Last Sunday, I heard a sermon which was strong against * Jiomim'sts,^ as they term us. '^rho sum and amount of it was, that the Catholic Church taught salvation by tvorh, and 7iot by faith. I smiled at their ignorance, and gave it no further thought." The next letter was written from Fairfax in April, about two weeks before the close of the spring term of the school. She doubted whether she should re- turn for the next term, though Helen probably would. Her mother was contemplating a visit to her friends in the western country, and she might be needed at home during the absence of her mother. She speaks in the most moving: terms of her strong desire to visit Montreal after the return of her mother, but did not dare indulge the hope that her wish would be grant? ed, and adds : " I am really feeling bad enough these days : ev- erything looks dark. My friends all against me, and God alone my refuge ! Why, ma Tante ! look at that last sentence again ! T did not ynean to write it just so. I ought to be satisjied with a kind friend in Heav- en for my refuge. You understand me, do you not ? But I know that in becoming a Catholic I lose many who have been warm friends of mine. This I do not care for ; 1 gain far more than I lose. But I some- times feel very sad that my parents are so opposed. It seems hard I wish they would read, but no, they will not; but they wish me to, every Protestant work that I can find, and I read everytliing in the shape of argument, that I could get hold of against the Catholics, but my heart is just as much there as ever ; it can be wo ivhere else. ' Catholic I am. Catholic I must be !' These are the words I addressed to a Protestant lady in this j)lace, some time since. I am going to have some books soon. I had a letter from — a few weeks since. She is in Albanv, at o Caro. (t — the convent of the Sacred Heart. Slic seemed 48 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. t ,! It •' ti ;ii :|^-:.|l ;l to recall the associations connected with our bright (lays in Montreal, with much pleasure. I was rejoic ed to hear from ma Tante, in Montreal, that I had been received into the society of the Children of Mary at the convent. Oh, how often I wish to be there, if only for one hour, if not more ! I have yet to find a place I love so well. Kvery eveninj:^ my thoughts are with the dear inmates as they go to their beloved chapel, and before Him who is there present, ray soul bows down as in days gone by, and lingers to tell its sorrows and its trials to that dear Saviour." About a week later, she wrote to another lady of the congregation who wars deeply interested in her. The following is a portion of that letter : " Fairfax, April 20, 1855 Would that I could follow the example of our sweet Mother in all things ! and I promise you to imitate her virtues as far as I am able. I hope you will pray for me that I may succeed, in a measure, at loa:st! Jennie says you asked hor who selected my books? Who selects them? I can answer very easily — ProlfManU ! The purest works of Protestanb Divines of all sorts, a c given me to read, and T have read them carefully and candidly, I do not think it would hurt any of my Catholic friends to read what I have, for they are very harmless! I think I am nwre of a Catholic when I finish one of those books, than I was when I commenced ! I some- times think people do not care what I like or do not like. In this place it is no matter what is said to injure a Catholic's feelings. They are of no consequence. But, thank Heaven, I am a Catholic ; nor would I change my faith for all of theirs !"' About that time a distressing occurrence in that vicinity caused the deepest regret to the children of the Church, and gave its enemies an opportunity which, in accordance with their accustomed vigilance and malice, they did not by any means fail to improve to the utmost by spreading accounts of the circum- stance abroad, witii niultiplied exaggerations and triumphant sneers. After alluding brietly to the cir- cumstance, in a letter to Yauiachichc, and to the THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 49 grief aud reproach x'^'liicli the scandal had hrouglit u[)on her innocent spirit, she says " I liavc only to summon up all my courage to endure and face all such things. 1 arn often asked the question, ' Do you not wish you had never gone to a convent ? then you would never have been a Catholic' Oh, ma Tante ! I would not give np my belief in the Catholic religion if I could be assured of a long and perfectly happy life here by so doing! There is such peace to be found there ! Oh, heaven forbid that I should over retrace my steps and wander farther from the fold of the good Shepherd. Some call me an enthusiast ; others say I must have had very little stability of character to go from Protestantism to Catholicity. But why sliould I care ? If I am confident that our heavenly Father will strengthen me in my course, I am sure I ought to forget these little tilals, I am not striving now to please tJie world, but a higher object is mine, I trust." •»S»,1 1 p 50 CHAPTER IV. Under tlie same dato of lior last letter to Yauinolil- che, slie wrote to her friend in Burlington : " My own dear L e : Yours was received this afternoon, and this evening I have been writing to the convent, and thought 1 would write to you before I slept. We are fond,/'>'m friends yet, my dear L — but I fear we shall have something to render our af- fection less warm ; I hope and pray it may never bo the case, but our circumstances are going to be thrown in a widely different sphere. Now, L , do no^ ' o astonished, it is so ; 1 feel confident of it. My 1 can never change, and its warmest aspirations »,.ii ever be for you You must be aware of my undying love. The reason I have for saying this' is the fact of your speaking of the revival in Burling* ton. I wonder not that you sometimes wish for that peace which the world can never give ; all need it here, and I would fain see all those I love in posses- sion of it You Are aware that I am in sentiment a Catholic ; now, my dear friend, I am speaking soberly and in earnest] therefore, listen — with Catholics religion is not a mere opinion, but something higher — it is Faith. I am convinced that I can never make any other church my home, and I am resolved to become a member of the Catholic Church as soon as I can, let the consequences be what they may. If my friends do not consent, I must go without it. I am not striving to please the world, but a High and Holy One. In taking this step I know all will be against me, but I fear not. And, I^ , there are those who THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 51 uill dislike to have you with me after that; there are those who would f^Mfidly hreak our friend.sliip after I take sucli a decisive step. I refer to no one partic- ularly, but to your Protestant friends. But remem- ber, you have not a better frieiul in the world than the one who is at lieart &Jirm Catholic. Now you perceive my reason for connuencing my let- ter as 1 did. Your friends will fear my influence with you, and you will soon see what steps they will take. I keep nothing from you, my own dear friend, there- fore 1 could not withold my thoughts on this subject. Loving you as I do, I would not willingly say or do anything to injure your feelings, but I ought to tell you this, do you not think so ? Heaven forbid that our friendship should over grow cold ! I have joined a society in the convent called the Cuildrbn of Mary, ]\Iiss II of this place is attending school there, and is now at home on a visit — returns next Monday — I have been writing letters to send uy her to some of the nuns and scholars If you could hear all that is said against Catholics in my presence, you would pity poor Debbie ; I feel it as sensibly as any one could, I asf^ure you, and though I am not a professor of that Holy Religion, I would fain be. You see L how I feel, and you would not blame me if you only knew all." .... Contrary to Debbie's expectations, she returned to Fairfax at the close of the vacation, for the Summer term, and soon afterwards wrote the following letter : " Fairfax, May 20th, 1855. ) Saturday/ morning. \ My dear friend Carrie : Pardon me for not replying to your excellent letter sooner. I was not here when it arrived, and for that reason alone I have uot written long before this. I think as you do about excuses, and therefore will not fill my letter with them. Many thanks for your warm congratulations upon my reception into the lovely society of the Children of Mary. I can only say in return, that I am most happy to think they deemed it proper to admit me. f ■ •»■ t ! - 1 1 i ii. 52 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. Oh Carrie, you know not how many pleasant days I have had in consequence of it ! To know tliat I am one of our sweet Mother's chosen children is in- deed a happy thought. I only wish that I may be a true follower of her example while on earth. It is now the Month of Mary, and fast passing away. I am here among those who ever scorn the thought that she can pray for us, yet I have endeavored to lift my heart often to her, and implore her powerful in- tercession.* Oh ! who can doubt that Jesus, our dear Saviour, grants Mary many things which we poor mortals in this sinful world could not obtain without her aid ? Who can doubt that n.igeh hover around us here, guiding and guarding our wandering steps ? Who can deny the beautiful doctrine of the " Invoca- tion of Saints," and the faith in " Angel guardians i"' Beautiful indeed to the Catholic heart are these things, and the more they are scorned for their faith in them, the more fondly and devotedly do they cling to it. When I glance at the Protestant world I cannot find one thing to make their religion beautiful. They have parted with those pure and lovely doctrines which the Catholic holds most sacred : those forms which render the services of our Holy lieligion so sublime, so tenderly beautiful, and have taken in their stead the cold formalities of a protesting creed. They have exchanged the Catholic Faith for "rea- son" — " common sense" — and the mysteries of faith are to them absurd and faliie ideas. Oh, Heaven for- bid that I should ever wander from the Fold of our blessed Redeemer, that I should ever substitute my poor, frail, erring reason for Dioim Faith ! I am a Catholic, Carrie, a firm one, so far as I can be now, and the thought that I am even a believer in that ho- ly religion sometimes overpowers me. The thouglit that God has given me the grace to see the Truth, and the faith to believe it, sometimes impresses my heart so forcibly that I feel as if I must give my life to His service, as a small return for His infinite good- ness. How much, my dear Carrie, we have to bo THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 53 mt days V that' I en is in- iiay be a L. It is way. I thought :ored to ^er/id in- Duv dear we poor without around y steps ? Invoca- •dians ?" •e these }ir faith ey cling '. cannot , Tliey octrines ie forms gion so [ikeu in 7 ereed. )r "rca- of faitli ven fctr- of our ;ute my I am a be now, that ho- thouglit Truth, sses my my life te good- 3 to bo thankful for, who have been brought from the dark uncertainties of Protestantism to the hriffhi and living Church of Christ ; though you have had a greater joy than your poor friend Debbie, in having already en- tered the fold of the Good Shepherd, yet I trust that happiness is still in store for me, and that the waters of Baptism with their purifying influences are to be poured upon ray hoad, to render me the child of God. Oh, that the happiness I anticipate on that day may bo fnlly realized ! And then the day of first Commun- ion ! mcthinks one would like to live a life over, to receive the Bread of Life again for the first time. 'J'o my heait there is nothing so beautiful, so calcula- ted to awaken our shmiberinglove for Jesus, as the thought of His unbounded love for man — weak, sin- ful, erring man — in leaving him the Holy Eucha- rist ; in preparing a sacrament on which the hungry soul may feast ; in giving us that Bread which An- gels gladly stoop from their high home in heaven to adore. Real Presence of Christ in the Holy Com- munion! Oh, glorious thought, oh, precious belief! In His presence we can refresh our souls, and upon Ills breast pour out all our sorrows, all our griefs ! .... I have been home and passed a week, return- ing to Fairfax with regret. While at homo 1 visited the Catholic Church and burial place twice and even in that found some con- solation. I cannot tell you with what feelings I en- tered the burial place. It was just at evening, and the last rays of the sun were falling upon the scat- tered stones which mark the resting places of the de- jiarted ; when I opened the gate and entered, I felt that I was treading upon holy ground, and bending the knee upon the green sod that covered a mound upon which a large cross had been erected, I offered up a prayer that " the souls of the faithful departed might rest in peace." I stopped by the lowly graves, and read upon the marble tablets the request of many dying Christians, " Pray for the departed soul." I asked myself the question, " would a prayer be offer- ed for the repose of my soul if Death should call me ■ » ;, ( I! •I 54 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. away ?" A voice whispered, " Yes; there is a Church where prayer is offered daily for departed souls." Oh happy thought ! I felt in those moments that death was nothing but the door opening into a hap- pier world I received your beautiful medal ; accept many thanks, my dear friend, for it. Remem- ber me in your prayers to Heaven. I shall expect you to visit me sometime next Summer, as I suppose you will be in Burlington. I received a present from ma Tante the N a few days since — a book, the title, " Fabiola," ' Jar- dinal Wiseman. Do write me very soon if you can, for I am very lonely here. I have not attontlcd Catholic Church for four months. Is it not too bad/^ Helen sends a great deal of love to you ; sliu is here with me at school "Pray for me ever, and believe me ever tlu same, " DRnniE, lOnfant do Mai 13." The latter part of the next month she vvrotj the following to her friend in Burlington : *' Fairfax, June 27ti\, 1855. My own dear L : It is one of those lovely mornings we so often sec in June, and as I sit by my open window, I cannot but think of one who is now sad and sorrowing ; and is it strange, my beloved friend, that I should feel prompted to write to her ? Can you think who it is L ? Can you think of any one whom Debbie loves fondly and devotedly ? a kind friend, who has ever remained true, in joy and in sorrow ? I am sure you will know who it is. Your letter brought sad news to me, my friend, but in the death of those we love, there is that consola- tion offered to the wounded spirit which often soothes and lulls to rest its tumults. Heaven is far brighter than Earth : then why mourn the loss of friends when we have the full assurance that they are at rest? It is true, the grave looks dark to us, and there is rea- son in this. Earth's partings are sad, but, if we are faithful, we shall soon meet our lost ones in a world where the parting word is never spoken. Friends we THE YOUNG CONVEUTS. 55 part witli here are the gainers ; and while we weep over their remains we should remember that their portion is bliss. Oh my dear L ! death is not much if we are only prepared. It is only the passage from this sinful world to a better one, and if we are only ready when Our Father calls, our death-bed will be a happy one. Who would wish to remain forever in this ^Yorld of pain and trouble, when one of perfect happiness is prepared for us ? Who would choose the society of earth, when the blespocl company of saints and an- gels await us in Heaven ? I would not ; no, L dear, nor would you, if you stop to reflect. Then mourn not for her who has been called to her true liome; it is the will of Our Father in Heaven, ques- tion not His riirht. I wish I could see you, if only for a short time. This morning I have l)een thinking when I should go to Burlington. I expect to leave Fairfax in three weeks, and then I shall cither go to Montreal, or to ]>ristoi and Ijiirlingtoii. I may go to Burlington, even if I do go to Montreal.". ... The next letter to Yamachiche, which was preserv- ed, was written from P\iirfax. " July, 1855. ...» I think my parents are getting more resigned to my being a Catholic, though I do not know how long it will last. When I was at home, they told me that if I must be a Catholic, they supposed I must; but they thought I couM not be in my right mind. I think I shall persuade them to let me go to Montreal when the year closes, and then I hope to unite with the Church. Oh what a blessed sea- son that would bo for me. But I hop(' against fear ; and, therefore, will not anticipate too much now. I earnestly pray the day may soon arrive when I shall be within that one fold, whose Shepherd is Christ." She laid this letter aside when she had written thus far, to write one to her father, begging of him to permit her to accompany a very agreeable party of la- 'lies and gentlemen, who had politely invited her <o join them, and who were g'''ing the latter part of the 56 THE YOUNG CONVEUTS. mouth, from Fairfax, Sheldon, Highgate and Swauton, to Montreal. The two young ladies whom she men- tioned as having gone to the convent from Fairfax, were expected to return home with the party. After entreating to be permitted to go, she adds : " If I go I shall stay at the Mountain school most of the time. I have had a very polite invitation from the nuns to make them a visit, and as many of the young ladies who are now there, leave this fall, I would rather go now than later. And now, father, as far as some other matters are concerned, you know what I would like to do not because my friends are opposed to it, not that as far as worldly interests are concerned, I shall be any better off, neither is it because a proselyting influence has been thrown around me ; this is not so. It is because I think it is duty. But I will say no more ; I will leave you to choose as you think best. But one more word I will say; I shall be no worse than I now am. I shall be Debbie, still !" Her re- quest received an absolute refusal as to all its features, and she concludes the letter to her friend, which was laid aside until she should hear from her father, thus : "My parents will not consent to my going to Can- ada, as I wrote to you that I wished to. They had rather have me go any other way ; but I do not wish to go from home again, until I am p ^c to say, lam a Catholic. Yes ! I wish the world to know it. I have received some books from Jennie — one, the " Imita- tion of Christ," another, the "Trials of a Mind," by Dr. Ives, formerly Bishop of the Protestant Episco- pal Church, of North Carolina. I cannot find much more to write now, unless I make myself the subject. I am not sure it will prove a very interesting one, but will say a few words. You know I am the same in my determination to be a Catholic, and I feel that my Father in Heaven will support me in all my difficul- ties. Yes, His arm is mighty, and why need I fear ? I am sure the Mother of our Divine Redeemer will ever intercede for me, if I look to her with confidence. I know I am each day getting more courageous, and strength from on High is given me. I hope the day i* THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 57 will ere long arrive, when I can say that I am a Catholic ; then the world can assail me if it chooses, and 1 can fly to that Church, to Her sacraments, for consolation in my trials and afflictions. Sometimes I think I cannot wait ; but I am sure the day is not far distant when I shall be received into the bosom of that Church, whose teachings are purity itself." During the same week, in which the concluding part of the foregoing letter was written, she wrote the one which contains what follows, to a member of the Con- gregation, in Montreal. It was in reply to that con- veying the invitation alluded to in her letter, to her father : " My Dear Tante : You know not how often I have thought of my convent home, within the last few weeks and my heart has yearned to be with you there, but the sad thought that I could not, has prevented my writing. Do not think that Debbie has forgotten her kind and true friends. No, she has not The in- telligence I have to convey, in this letter, is what I dislike to write. I begin to think, ma Tante, that I am going to be denied the pleasure of ever seeing the convent again. I can obtain no consent from my pa- rents to return there, and what ean I do ? I thought I should make my first communion where I first learned to love the Catholic religion, but it seems to be or- dered otherwise. I think I have waited long enough, for the consent of my friends to my union with the Holy Catholic Church." .... After the close of tlie summer term of the school on the 26th of July, she went to visit friends in Burlington and Ferrisburgh She w^rote to her friend at Yamachiche : " Feurisburgii, Aua. 18, 1855, Tuesday Morning. .... You perceive I have left Fairfax, and am at this place, making my friends a short visit. I have been in Burlington for the past two weeks, and am to return there again, Thursday morning. I am not going to remain in Fairfax any longer, but shall be at home for some weeks, and I do not know where I shall go next. How I wish Montreal was my desti- nation ! You know I thought of going to Montreal i' &■■■ m '% p 58 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. ■1 t ' ,1 i , ■, 1 ;i ■i* ililll -.1 t; this summer; it was a trial, I assure you, to give it up, and I do not know now, when 1 shall go. 1 think I make some progress in getting the good will of my friends on the side of Catholic faith and principles ; and though they are still much opposed, yet I can see there is a change, and I do trust the light of that day is slowly but surely dawning, when they will willingly say, ' You are on the side of truth.'' .... I do not feel as ii the trials I have passed through are all for naught — no ! oh, no ! There are others within the circle of my dear friends who will yet follow in the way of Truth 1 Even look at my sisters. Their sympathies are all awakened for me, and the course my relatives have taken has made them feel as though * Debbie' was right, or she would have given up before this ! Two of my sisters, though quite young, one being fourteen and the other eleven, are really giving some uneasiness, because they are not willing to go to Protestant meeting, when there is Mass. Many times I have started for Mass, in the morning, and left them both weeping, because they were not allowed to go with me. I feel, sometimes, a responsibility resting upon me, which I need much Divine strength to assist me in being accountable for, in a right manner. I ^rust there is nothing that will prevent me from doing my duty, as far as I am able. Every day, almost, 1 find some new friends ; some who can feel what my true situation is. Last week, or rather two weeks ago, when on my way to Burlington, I got as far as St. Albans, and supposed I must remain all day at the hotel. Father was with me, and what was my astonishment, after having been there an hour, to have him come into the parlor, and introduce a gen- tleman to me, as Mr. Hoyt, in whom I recognized a person of whom I had heard, who was formerly a Protestant clergyman, but who had the happiness of becoming a Catholic, some years ago. He invited me to spend the day at his house, and I did so. I found his wife one of the most lovely ladies I ever met, and they have a beautiful family of children. They are true Catholics, and in them I feel as if I THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 59 1 had found true friends, and those near lionie. They have Decome Catliolics, after having been for years in the Protestant communion, and they hiow what aper- son has to pass through in changing their religious creeds Upon her return home, she found a letter awaiting ]icr from lier friend in Albany, to which the following is the reply. "Fairfiklt), Aug. 28tit, 1855. " My Dearest Carrie : I always intend to be as charitable as I can, therefore I will not reproach you for not writing before; I thought it must be more from want of time than any thing else, that you did not w'rite sooner. 1 fear you in turn will think me rather unmindful of your nice long letter, but my ex- cuse is a good one. I was in Burlington when your letter arrived and did not get it until now. It was very welcome, Carrie dear ; do try and write often. I find, my friend, that we do not forget each other yet, and I trust the same may always be said. I wish I might be with you this evening, Carrie, for I feel the need of a friendly hand, and some kind voice to cheer me onward. Not that I am in a de- sponding mood, no, far from it ; but then the sym- pathy of a kindred heart is sometimes cheering. Have you not often felt it so, my friend ? But I must not murmur. How much more has been given to me than to many of my surrounding friends. Yes ! a gift from on high — Faith — while 1 can look around and behold so many living in unbelief of the truth, as I once did myself, T can feel that I am too thankless to Almighty God for having guided me to the door of the Church of Christ, where I still stand, that my faith may be tried ere I enter its sacred Portals. Oh, ISaviour of all ! make me firm. I am almost at the close of my probation, I trust. How often I pray that I may be permitted soon to see that day, that happy day ! and hope bids me look forward confident- ly to it. I have much to contend with, but who would not bo willin": to suffer trials for the sake of nim who died upon a cross for us ? " Yesterday morning I was in St. Albans, and, the ■i. 60 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. « . $ clinrch being open I went in, uad there, before the Shrine of our Immaculate Mother^ I ])rayed lonfj^ and fervently that I might be strong. C)h Carrie ! yon know how prayer strengthens the soul ! As meat is to the body, so is heartfelt^ sincere prayer to the sonl. It strengthens it for every duty. You have the priv- ilege of attending Mass every morning, and what a . privilege } I did not once realize that I sliould ev- er esteem it such a blessed one. Pray for me always at the Holy Sacrifice : bo sure and remember me then " I never expect to return to the convent school, but every spot there is as sacred as ever to me, and at some future day I hope to vihit it. " I passed three weeks at Burlington, and saw your cousin. Mrs. T , several times ; was at her house twice, and in her I think I have found a true friend. I also visited at Mr. Hoyt's on my way to Burlington. *' I expect Kate Thomisson here in about a week to make me a visit. She is going to return to Mon- treal for another year. I suppose we shall have a fine time. How 1 wish you could be here also ! When do you intend to visit Vermont ? 1 think not this Summer from your letter " Write to me often, Carrie dear, and if you wish to unburden your joys and sorrows, you will find in me a true friend in whom you may coniide. *' And now, Carrie good bye. Pleasant dreams to you to-night. Remember me to your dear mother, of whom I have so often heard you speak. " Pray always for your friend, " Dkbbie, enfant de Marie^ {To the same.) " FAiHFiET.n, Oct. SOtii, 1855. " My much loved Carrie : It is evening : all is qui- et and silent, and I am in my own room alone, wan- dering in thought among many bright scenes of the past, in which some dear friends now absent from my Bight acted conspicuous parts. Ah, the joys tliat are past ! Would that I could recall them ! "I am sad to night, Carrie, oh how sad I feel I '0- ili m THE YOUNG CONVERTS. Gl lY.I ofore the \ou<r and •lie ! you 8 meat is the soul, the priv- :d what a liould ev- no always liber mo 3hool, but e, and at saw your ler house le friend, irlington. t a week to Mon- 11 have a )re also ! liink not 'ou wish ii find in dreams mother, lane. 5) ^855. His qui- le, wan- of the I'oni my |hat are I feel alone No bond of sympathy is there between my spirit and those around me, and 1 am longing for the hours, " To memory dear :" but she whispers — "They are fled." " You know, my friend, how long I have waited for the consent of my parents to my baptism. I have lingered until this time, but in vain. Can I consis- tently wait longer ? My desire to be united to the Catholic Church in her sacraments is too great to have my probation lengthened out still further. I must go ! It is wrong for me to put the matter off longer, I feel so, and I am willing to declare before the world that I am a Catholic. It is very hard to go againrt my parents' wishes, but God will be my support. I am ready, if my friends despise mo for the course I take, to look to something more certain for friendship, more lasting for happiness. " I wrote to Mrs. T this evening. I find her a true friend, Carrie, and I assure you I love her very much. "I received a letter from the convent a few days since, but it was quite a short one. No great change, I presume, at Maria Villa. How I wish I could be transported there to night ! Sweet spot ! How often my heart, sad and weary of this world's vexatious trials, returns to thee ! " But why should I be sad ? How much reason liave I to thank our Heavenly Father that He has brought me to the knowledge of His Truth ! " Jbo write to me, Carrie dear, often. Your letters are always welcome. I love them dearly — I love them long — not in coming but in compass. " Pray for me always .... " With warmest affection vours, "Debbie, Enfant de Marie.'''' Her next letter addressed to Yamachichc was dat- ed at Fairfield, Nov. 20, 1855. After expressing great surprise that " ma Tante" had not received any letters since August, as she had written regularly to her, she adds : " When your letter came to Fairfield, I 62 THE YOUNG CONVEUTS. was in St. All)an's. T wont thore to do some shop- ping, and remained two days. Wliile tiiere 1 made ar- rangements to be recived into the Church, and one week from next Saturday will, I hope, witness my baptism, and tlie next day I hope to make my first Communion. I liavc mentioned to my parents my in- tention, and they neither consented nor forbade. But, thanks be to God, it is not necessary that I should wait longer, and when I next write to you I hope to tell you the glad news. We have two excellent priests with ns now ; therefore I can find some one to advise and direct me. I wrote to ma Tante — at Montreal, last week, and I told her I should probably never write to the convent again, until I could tell them that I was a Catholic in every sense of the word. I was weary of writing that the day was yet to come. I longed to say it had been my happiness to be received as one of the children of God's Church on earth Pray for me that I may worthily receive the sacraments of our holy religion — that I may have afrm faith and a def:p love of Cod implant- ed in my heart ! I will write again as soon as 1 can tell yon the good news," " Fairfieid. Dec. 4Trr, 1855 — How can I com- mence this letter? How should I commence it? How, but in asking you to join with me in praise and thanksgiving to Almighty God. Yes, my first request of you must be, that you will say with me, ' 'Thanhs he to God V My desire has at length been gratified, and I have been received into the Church of Christ. What can I write to you ? My heart is so full of happiness that I cannot write. What an empty word Happiness has ever been to me. Now that I realize what it is to be truhj happy, I can look back upon the past and see that it has been almost a hlanh. The hour of my haptism ! Can 1 forget it? No ; it is now before me. The memory of it rushes full and fresh over my soul, even as I sit here and write. It is now past, but the inward feeling of my heart at the moment when those resreneratinf; waters descended upon my head, cannot pass away ! I must ever keep THE YOUNG CONVERTS. G3 in trraU'fal romeml)cranoc, tlioso sacre<l nionienti^. I Ttrav that thev niav evor be before nie to cause me to remember my ^reat obli<rations to my ^od ! lie lias been «o merciful to me, in briufj^iuir me to the fohl wherein alone Halvation can be found ; what must be my irifrratitude if I abuse those mercies — trample up- on those frTucQH ! I'ray earnestly for mc my kind friend, as I am sure you evor have, that 1 may resist the temptations of this world. Our Heavenly Father has bron/^ht one more wandering lamb within the sacred inciosnre of ITis Church, and unworthy as that one i?*, He has doijT^ued to notice her ; Yes, He heard rny request, He lias granted my petitions, and TeHcmrifr me from the imj)ending danger, has ' set my feet Uf>on a rock.' He has opened the door of His Church, and asked my soul to enter therein. He has brought me within the reach of His sacraments — has conferred upon me the title of Child of God! Oh blessed thought ! How can I repay ? In no way ! I can only otter my penitential prayers and tears, and what shall I say of the intercession of the Bless- ed Mother of our Iledecmer ? Oh, my sweet Mother ! my greatest advocate and refuge ! my guiding star ! would that I could thank thee more ! Take my offer- ing, which, it is true, is but little, and continue to guide and guard thy child. Would that all might learn to love thee — thou that art higher than any otlier created intelligence in the Heavenly Courts ! Would that all might acknowledge thee to be the Im- maculate Mother of God. Pray for me, and be my Mother Ktill ! Teach me the virtues which shone so conspicuously in thy life, and at last may I see thee in all thy glory above, where we will join in praising Him who saved thee from sin, and has rescued my soul from the consecjuence of sin, eternally and with- out ceajjing ! .... I have not yet made my first Com- munion. I preferred to wait until the Feast of the Immaculate Conception of our Holy ^lother, on the 8th of this month. I was baptized on Friday last, (the thirtieth of November,) at St. Albans ; I took the name of Mary Agnes in baptism. I have about the mm HI I G4 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. Ranic trials at liome as ever; pcrliaps T may say, more. But wliat are tliese V 1 can look upon them now vvitli little pain, and even consider it a happiness to Lear them. I request your prayers for the conversion of my dear friends at home. You are the first one to ■whom I have communicated the good news. You were my first Director, as it were and you were not forgotten in my prayers at the hour of my baptism." •iifii ]' 1 .1': ' i . .'i » 05 C. HATTER V. •<t) ' "FAiiu'iMLn, Di:c. 25, 1S55. " A * Merry Clirlstmas' to you, iny dearest Carrie, and a 'Haj)py New Year'! This is my ^reetino- tliis inornino-, and from the deptlis of my heart 1 wish you all joy ! " To me, my friend, tliis has been one of the happi- est days of my life. Tliis mornino-, for the second time, my soul has been nourished by the ' Food of Angels.' Your conjectures were right, dear Carrie. The last day of November another wanderer was re- ceived into the Church of Cod — even your poor friend. Yes, nnworthy though I am, the door has been opened, and I have been welcomed there. My baptism ! but, Carrie dear, I cannot speak of it now. You can imagine better than I can tell you, what were the feelings I experienced at that time, and I will not attempt to utter them. I made my first com- munion on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception of our Blessed Lady. Oh, that happy moment ! when Jesus came for the first time to take possessicm of my poor soul — when I first had the-happiness of knowing that He was present with mo. Oh, my dear friend ! what love, what condescension is this, that Almighty God should come into these poor habitations, the souls of men, and make His abode therein ! Yet who can doubt it, Avho can deny this beautiful article of our Faith ? Heal presence of Christ in the Holy Fu- charist ! Oh consoling thought ! that He is ever abiding here among the cliildren of men, ever present upon our altars, ready to listen to our petitions, or to our tales of sorrow, and to pour the balm of consola- t-. 66 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. I! tion into the broken heart. Ho is here to raise re- pentant, humbled spirits from the dust,' to soothe all their woe, and to strengthen them with the " Bread that Cometh down from Heaven." Oh, Carrie ! it is a great, a glorious thing to be a Catholic 1 but how great our condemnation will be, if, after receiving the gift of Faith from Almighty God, we abuse His love and His mercv ! I tremble when I think of it — for poor human nature, so prone to evil, so quick to err ! but with the grace of God we will liope to persevere. Let us pray for each other, dear- est Carrie. My conversion must, I am confident, strengthen our friendship, already so strong in the davs that are past I need not ask if you spent Christmas happily : you must have done so in your convent home. I re- ceived a letter from Mrs. T- a week ago. hho K])oke of you, and wished me to write to you, which I should have done if your kind letter had not arrived. And Mary C is married. (Uvo my love to her and to Maggie 8 , when you see her. And dear Maria Melvin ! — associated as she is with the remem- brance of our convent home, the intelligence I receiv- ed from you filled my heart with sadness. Still, Car- rie dear, if she longs to go, we shouM not mourn her loss. I will and do pray for her. I received a letter from Kate on Saturilay last. She was well, and all our convent friends. Have you lieard from Jennie S lately ? I do not kuuw what has become of her Believe me your true and devoted friend, (( DEumi'] Eafc^nt de Marie. It is greatly to be regretted that no letters from Debbie to her faithful friend at Yamachiche were ex- tant, or rather accessible, after the period of her bap- tism until the following March, when she and her sis- ter Helen were uttemling school at Burlington, from which pla^e she writes : " ThuKsday Jfornin//, Jrarch C)lh, 185G. — My dearest and best friend, 1 will not give you cause to comi)iaiu Uj'uin of mv ney-lect in writinu; to vou. 1 arrived in j:? '■3 ^1 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 67 Burlington Last Mi)nclay, and althongli I am quite busy arranging my studies, I could not think of let- ting this week pass, without sending one of my hast- ily written letters to Yamachichc. Oh, nia Taute ! my happiness is so great that I cannot wish to have it alone; I want others to share it with me! Ev- ery day brings me more to realize the goodness of ( Jod in bringing me into His Church. Every day I •find something more to admire, something more to love ; and my heart is too full, and must needs speak its sentiments very often. To you, my best friend, I can speak of tliis inward joy. But how few there are around me from whom I can expect sympathy. Je- sus has been the one to whom all my joys and griefs have been made knovvn; and though often uith tears I have a})pr()achcd Him, He has taken the load off my heart, and oh, such peace has taken its place ! — 'Tuesday Morning^ March llth. — I have not been well for a few days, and could not finish my letter as soon as I expected. This morning I intended to liave gone to Communion; but I arose with a severe head- ache, and I am obliged to walk some distance to church, so I deferred it until to-morrow. This is quite a disappointment for me, you may be sure ; but I have the anticipation of receiving it to-morrow, and that will make this day a happy one necessarily. I find often my sad hours become joyous ones, in look- ing forward to the hour when Jesus will become my (Jucst; and though His recei)tion is so cold from my poor heart, how can we have the source of all love so near our souls, and not feel its inlluence ? Oh, how hard tlie heart must be that mourns not its base in- gratitude towards Jesus, in the Blessed Sacrament ! How He comes to us is still a mystery to me, when He receives naught but coldness and neglect from us in return. But His sacred heart is so overflowing with love for us, that it must give us constant proofs of tliat love. Oh, ma Tante ! how I wish 1 might i?ee you now for a short time. H' J coidd only spend Holy Week with my dear convent friends ! Three years ago I was witli them all, and then I first learn- \'>> 68 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 1- '=ti,i eJ to love our holy faith. Why I am not with you now, I cannot tell. I suppose it is the will of God; but I trust I shall some time visit you all. My hope is strong, and I look forward to the time anxiously. You are still in Yamachiche, and are likely to remain, I presume, for some time Do you think Kate T will be a nun ? I have thought, from some of her letters, that she would. I am sure I would be liappy to sec her in the Novitiate. Perhaps you thinly this singular ; but I always thought Kato a person of very good mind, and I do not feel now as I once did, that the talented and gifted should bohiug to the world, and the ordinary ones to (Jod. Far from it; just the reverse. ^A'hen you hei.ir of one of your for- mer pupils becoming a novice, I am sure you are very happy, ma Tante. Is it not so ? 1 presume you admire their choice of life, and, indeed, so do 1. And now, good-bye : say an " Ave Maria" for Deb- bie, and go to the church on Good Friday, and thank our dear Redeemer for the gift of Faith He granted to your pauvre enfant^ three years ago, ou that day, praying that I may ever remember that it was ilis love and His mercy, that changed my heart ! Do this, I beg of you, for Debbie — enfant de Afariey " BuiiLiN<jTON, Vt., March 18. " My Dear Carrie : I have not forgotten you, though you may have inferred this from my long si- lence. I have been very busy, and am just iinding time to write to some of my friends. I ought in jus- tice to have expressed my thanks to you for your hist letter, immediately after its reception, it was so kind, so good : but I was jireparing to come to Burlington, and am only now sufliciently settled to write you a few lines. " I suppose you are €0 much engaged in your stud- ies — this being your last year — that you will find but little time to devote to vour corresnondents. I de- respi clare, Carrie, I do not envy you. Do you wish to know why ? You have only a few months more to re- main in the convent, and then vou will have to part J' with all the dear friends you have found there, and ■i THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 69 e leave that sacred spot to rniijn^le with the world. I do not envy you ! I know what it is to boar the chanoje : and you liave been so little among those who differ from you in your Faith, that when the time does come that you will be obliged to meet them in every place, and at all times, you will find it a trial more difficult to bear than you can imagine now. — The change will be so great ! But perhaps I am mis- taken. It may be that Carrie will remain for life where she is. Am I right ? Although I love you dearly, I could say truly 1 would be proud to see you giving yourself up wholly to God I am very glad you are going to write to Jennie. She often enquires for you, and I will give you her address. " I have not heard from Montreal since Lent com- menced. — Give my love to Mary, and any of my ac- quaintances you may chance to see. Pray often for yours, with much love, Debbie, enfant de Marie. " Burlington, April, 1856. "My DearTante St. A : I should have ans- wered your last letter long ago, but I was waiting for a short time, that I might have some good news to communicate to you, and surely I have not w^aited in vain. Helen is a Catholic! She is not yet baptis- ed, but will be very soon. She has been to confes- sion twice, and has written to father and mother to obtain their consent. 1 have not much hopes of her getting it, and 1 am dreading the result. I assure you. ] know there will be more trouble at home than ever, and, poor people ! they will think the plague has en- tered their family. I presume they will tliink " Deb- bie's inlluence" is terrible ; and, as there are three •more daughters, they will fear for them. I hope for nothing! 1 fear evervthiufr I But I am strong enough to bear it. It is coming hard for Helen as well as for myself. God is \\\y strength, and with His assistance, and the protection of the Blessed Virgin, my cross is a light one. I think my father will be here to-mor- row, for they must have received our letters yester- ■■JK- X 70 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. (lay, ami they will ba v^ry much astonished, I know. I will finish my letter to-morrow. Have been to Communion to-day. Oh ! I have so much to ask for, so much to be thankful for, in that sacred hour when the God of heaven and earth comes to dwell within my soul ! So many desires- to lay before the Sacred Heart of Jesus; so many infirmities to mourn over, so much grace to obtain ! It is a happy time, and each Communion a never-to-be-forgotten one ! I have had such excellent Directors since mj'' baptism, also, that confession is getting to be such a glorious privilege ! How often I wish Protestants could jjo to Confession just once ! Their horror of the sacrament of penance would be removed forever, I am sure. — Tuesday morn- ing — Helen has just come from the post-office with tliree letters ; one written last Saturday, when their indignation was at its height. Monday, that was yes- terday, they wrote the others, and are feeling much more resigned, and have given their consent, howev- er reluctant it wns. Helen will therefore be baptized on Thursday next, the Feast of the Ascension. I am sure you will congratulate me. I am sure, also, our prayers have been answered, and still trust tlie time is not far distant when all dear ones at home will be received into the Catholic Church." The letter which Helen wrote requesting the con- sent of her parents, and to which her sister alludes in the foregoing, I will now give : " J/y Lear ParenU — This lettrr will surprise you much ; but as you read it I have only one request to make : regard me with charity^ and believe that I would not wound your feelings for worlds, if it could be avoided ; but I have confidence in you .... I am a Catholic. I have not yet made a pub- lic profession of my faith, but my mind is at rest, and 1 desire to act immediately. The tie which bound me most strongly to Protestantism is broken : by this I mean you to understand, that I am free from my en- gagement with Mr. . It was his wish, that if I decided to embrace Catholicity, our engagement might be at an end; and yesterday evening 1 return- .». . •■• THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 71 ed Ills letters, and acquainted him vvitli my decision. It has leen a sacrifice^ l>iit not so nmcli liavo I suffered from it, as I do from the thought that this must c^ke you pain ! But life is short. I may be here a year, a (lay, an liour, and then comes Eternity ! You will say 1 have Leen inlluenced l)y some one. My decision was made without the hiowledge of a living peraon. — WJnj I have doubted the truth of Catholicity so Jong, is more than 1 can tell. I am ready to act under any circumstances, and 1 wish I might gain your consent; but I hardly dare hope for it. Think not to change nic, my Faith is too strong. If I meet with your disjjleasure, I can only look to Heaven for assistance, and bear the trial with all'the fortitude I possess. Be lenient towards mc — it is all T ask ; and if I have to go in opposition to your wishes — ■forgive. I shall expect to hear from you soon. Your affectionate daughter, Helen." When the reply to this letter was received, contain- ing the consent mentioned in that of our dear Debbie, the sisters lost no time in making preparations for Hel- en's baptism. The arrangements were just completed when their father arrived, he having been called to Burlington on some business, and he came to see them upon his first arrival. Afcer expressing his re- gret at the decision she felt herself bound to make, ho repeated his '* reluctant" consent, and went out to at- tend to the business upon which he came. In the course of an hour or two he returned, apparently much excited, and made some severe remarks, concluding by absolutelv forbiddiucf Helen to fulfdl the intention she had formed, by being baptized. The sisters were per- fectly astounded by this sudden turn in their affairs, but knew it was not iheir father's own sentiments he was uttering, so much as those of some person he had met, while he was out. When he first came and while he was ])erfectly calm, he had, although regretfully, confirmed the permission given in his letter, and Helen determined to act upon that permission in accordance with the arrangements she had previously made. I mention these circumstances thus minutely, because .*•:-■' 72 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. « *• 1 * f rIig has been severely censured for acting contrary to licr father,s injunctions at last. He felt the justice of her course himself, so entirely, that he never re- proached her for it; but when she returned homo, received her with the same kindness as if nothing un- pleasant had liaj)pened. Our poor Helen ! It would have seemed that her griefs upon another score were already sufficiently ])oignant, without this addition. But the hand of (jrod was in it all ! The trials which had darkened and wounded the gentle and sensitive heart of her sister, would have glided over lier sunny spirit like summer clouds, without even obscuring its brightness for a moment. Therefore, her cross was fashioned in a different mould. But thanks be to God, who gave her "the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ !" She bowed meekly, even joyously to the heavy burden, (none the less heavy for her loving reception of it,) and bore it with the same generous firmness that her lovely sister had manifested before her. Yet was the conflict a bitter one ; how bitter will appear in these lines written by her in one of Debbie's letters' to her friend, at Yamachiche on the day of her baptism : " Will you pray^ ma Tante, for one who loves you dearly, yet deems herself unworthy of your love. Passing through deep waters I falter, and am tempt- ed to turn back ! God alone knows what I have suf- fered since I left my convent home ! I trust He w'U give me grace to look beyond this miseiaulr. "t rid for hap])iness — that happiness which He alone* cari give. Will you pray for your HeleN !" On the second of May, the morning after Helen's baptism, Debbie wrote to her mother, in reply to a letter Helen had just received from her. "BuRTjNGTON, May 2d, 1856. " My Dear Mother : This morning I thought I would write you a few lines, and I am sure 1 hope thoy will be acceptable ones, Helen would write, but I thought, perliaps, I could spare her the pain of so doing, by writing for her. The subject of my let- ter is to be the answer to the one you wrote Helen I i THE YOUNG CONVEKTS. 73 concerning Mr. I will assure you of one thing !s you love. ;empt- 'C suf- ;e w^U '"'f rid lie can i6. [gilt I L hope write, liain ot" iiy let- Helen r to commence with, that she will not grow poor, nei- ther will her health fail, on account of the disengage- ment. I can tell you what I know of the affafr, and will trif not to use ^Jesuitical deception,'' in doing it. Last winter when Mr. visited Fairfield, Helen told him that she thought of hecoming a Catholic, and he informed her that if it should be so, their en- gagement would be broken. He tiien requested her to send his letters when she should so decide. If it had beennif/ case he would have taken them then ! After her decision to unite with the Church was made, she wrote to him, returned his letters, etc, as he had re- (juestad. I think the affair has been perfectly hon- orable on her side. She has only done what his creed declares every one bound to do, that is, act ac- cording to their own convictions; and that they are answerable for it also. It pretends to be a Protest- ant principle, ''judge for yourself, and act accordingly.'* She had as good a right to say to him, * Be a Catho- lic and I will marry you.' as he had to require her to give up her soul's salvation and remain a Protestant, and he would fulfill his promises. But he will remain where he ts', in perfect ignorance of the Catholic Faith, believing they ' worship images,' ' pay for the remission of their sins,' etc., and a thousand other iibominable falsehoods, and require her to join with him in his willful blindness, or give him up. ^ He hateti the name of Catholic P To be sure he does ; be- cause he 10111 do.no other way. H' his love for her was what it should be, he would look with charity up- on her faith, and have some respect for her opinions. / do not regret that she has become settled in her uiiud, for if she had married that gentleman, I should [sity her lot. H" she did not agree with him in his religious opinions she would be obliged to seem to, and her life would indeed be one of misery. I have no sympathy for him, except pity for his foolishness ! Helen is very contented; says she thinks she is quite as good now, as she was two years ago, and if he choobeb to think differently, all the i^ame to her. She I . • • • •, , ' 74 THE YOUNG CON VE UTS. m ■t ■ 'I says she loved the ideal not the real ; and I doubt not slie will live and very happily too, if he has chos- en to withdraw liis promises. Do not trouble your- self, mother, for fear it will have a bad inlhiencc up- on her usually joyous spirits. I do not think she will think less of those persons who continue to treat her the same as ever. Give my love to all at home, and let me hear from you soon. Your atfectionate Deb- bie." A few days later, Helen wrote to her mother : " BuRLiNOTox, May Gtii, 185G. " My Dear Mother : Yours was received this morninjT, Mother, 1 think you all do me injustice. I am ?i()t laboring under any ' excitement.' \\Uien I tell you that for a year 1 have thought and read up- on the subject a great deal, will you believe me then ? Will you tell me that I have not regarded yours or father's feelings, or C 's either, when I tell you that, times without number, I have wept, in the pri- vacy of my own a{)artment, tears of hittp.r anguish such as few weep, when none but the Eye of Al- mighty God, my Heavenly Father, was upon me. When I tell you that at times 1 have felt as if I could give up my soul's eternal salvation rather than my eartkh/ love, tv'ill you say that I have regarded no one's feelings ? Oh, mother, you cannot think so ! You at hast will be my friend / You ivill think that I have loved at least as truly as I have been loved. I do not wish — \ shall never wish to retrace the steps I have taken. I have acted too delihcrayiij to be mistak- en. I knoiv that I cannot change ! I am confident that God has been with me through all, that his Holy Spirit has guided me, and aright. 1 knew all that would be said. I knew all that would be done ; and I felt for a while as if i should sink beneath the load. But now, ever since i\\Q first drops of the baptismal waters fell upon my head, have I felt strengthened to bear ev- ery thing and any thing for Him who died for me, and has brought me to the true faith of His Holy Catholic Church. Mother ! think not that I shall change or regret the steps I have taken, for I shall not. I feel pe ^v to go soo. nie TUE YOUNG CONVERTS. 75 I me. if I ' than eil no k sol tliat ed. I teps I nistah- ^ifident 'Holy that and load- ivaters jar ev- ^e, and itlioUc \nqe or ifeel for yon, but I cannot see wherein I have done wron^, at least as regards you and fatlier. If you think I have acted a dishonorable part towards C s, I can only refer you to him, and he perhaps will do mo justice. I was baptized on Thursday, the first of May, in the presence of quite a number of Protes- tants and some Catholics. I do not regret it, nor ever shall ! Debbie wrote home a few days since. She would like to hear from you. Give my love to all. I remain, your affectionate daughter, " Hklev." Debbie writes soon after : "May 10th. Mv Dear Mother — Helen received yours of the 7th, and as she intends to write to E to-day, wished me to an- swer yours. I am in hopes to write to E my- self, this evening, and if I do not, say to her for mo that I hope she will not trouble herself too much about C s. I do not think his apparent want of feeling has raised him in Helen's estimation, and as for myself it makes but little difference what I think of it. Her letter to him was expressive of her true feelings towards him, and though she knew that ho wished to be nothing more than an acquaintance af- ter her profession of the Catholic faith, she told him she had the same sentiments of friendship for him as ever, and that she should continue to have. His reply was one which I should hardly have expected from a poison of any amount of feeling, and I think Helen will will trouble herself but very little hereafter about the matter. He addressed her, ' Miss Barlow,' thanked her for her ' oft'ered friendship,' as much as to decline receiving it. To make his indifference more mani- fest, he wrote on a half sheet of paper with a lead pencil ! I have given you the sum and amount of what I know about it. She has received her letters to him, and destroyed them. We shall be ready to go home in about two weeks. soon. Let us hear from you. niember me to all. In haste, " Drbrie Barloav." I have given this circumstantial account, written I will write you again Helen sends love. Ee- <*■ '■ i-. >• , m^: 76 THE YOUNG CONVEUTfci. it f . by themselves, of an affair which would not have been even alluded to in this work, but for the prross mis- representations that have been spread, and the ab- surd and unfounded reports that have prevailed in relation to it. The next letter we liave from Debbie to her friend at Yamachiche, was written at Fairfield, " June 8tii, 1856 A few moments I will be with you to- night in spirit, but it is denied me to be with you really. How I wish the privilege was mine to spend a short time in my convent home, but it seems im- possible. Everything works against me in that project. I may not see you this summer, but one thing is certain, I shall not be a great while longer waiting to visit Montreal, for 1 am determined to go there the first time 1 leave home for any length of time. How often 1 tcwA 1 could be with you once more ! This morning I approached Holy Commun- ion, and if I could be allowed to express the joy of my soul to you, ma Tante, you would think Debbie never had cause to regret that she became a Catho- lic ! To be sure, I s/jmetimes feel myself deprived of the presence of God, and sometimes^ 1 could be al- most discouraged at my coldness, my lukewarm pray- ers and devotions; but 1 know if I submit to His holy will and bear these interior trials with patience, that He will not forsake me. As little as I deserve the many mercies Jesus be^vtows upon me, I must not complain if I am often in darkness. I wish, ma Tan- te, that I could become a saint ! Is it wrong to speak so freely ? But oh, how much more than the dedre it requires ! To winh to go on in the way of perfection, is only a little part of the worli. The hill seems often times so long, and I fall so frequently, that I should almost give up, if I could not look be- side me and see Jenwi ready and willing to assist His •weary child. Sometimes I think thk life a long, time — 80 little progress in the spiritual life. Good reso- lutions — confessions — communions — and immediately after, perhaps, we offend Almighty God ! .... I may be saying too much ; it might be better if I ij! THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 77 k(f])t these tlilnj^s wltliin myself; still, T know you feel an interest in nie, and would like to know my feelinjT'', an<l how your ' ])auvre enfant' enjoys her Catholic life. 'Enjoys it?' Indeed I, do! What would life he, if God had not been so merciful, and enli^fhtened my poor soul ? What should I do with- out the sacrament of penance ? How could I exist note if the Hacrament of the Altar; the Bread of An- gels, were taken from me ? Oh, God ! Rather let me cean*; to be^ than ever be deprived > Faith: And do you remember where I first learned to love the trutfi* of Christ's Church ? Oh, my convent home ! (iood Friday ! and the passion of Jesus Christ ! When will ye be forgotten ? When shall I cease to think of the gifts bestowed upon me in Marifs Chap- el^ on the day that a God was crucified for man ; and when His sacred passion was, as it were, placed be- fore rny son I in its plainest light. Oh, passion of Jesus Christ ! who should be devoted to thee ? Sure- ly, it is / — but how cold I am, even at the sight of a crucifir. Oh, ma Tante, if I co ild only have my heart filled with the love of my Saviour ! And will you not often pray that it may be so ? I expect to pass this summer at home." .... Again, on the 24th of June, Debbie wrote to the same friend from Fairfield. After expressing her earnest desire to go V) Montreal to pass the next Christmas, if she could not be allowed to go before, and her fears that her parents would not consent, mentioning also their ap- prehensions that Helen would desire to enter a con- vent, she adds : " I presume they think there is no danger of me. I do not> think they need fear much, for I am sure I have a mission at home yet, and in fact 1 think converts as often find it their vocation to remain in the world as otherwise. I am satisfied to do what is riV/A/, any way, and if I am to remain where I ara, I am willing. If 1 am to go somewhere else, just as well satisfied. I only ask grace and as- sistance of Almighty God to do His blessed will, and then I can say, ' Will what Thou pleasest ?' Helen's conversion has aroused opposition anew, and I think ■IffI 78 THE YOUNG CONVKUTS. ■J -11*1 4 iill ■t'' ; my father is move picjudiccil tlian ever ar;alnst our Holy Faith. I soiiietiiiie.s tliiiik it' / were u bdler Catholic, it might chanjj^e his ideas houio. if tiio ex- ample were better, the ejfect niij^ht be {greater. But oh ! poor human nature — so liable to err, so weak, so frail. I fear, I trenihky when I think how many things I c?o, that may produce a wrong impression up- on the minds of those around me ! U^hat an example mine ouyht to be, and how far short it falls ! .... I Imve just returned from the church. We have had the privilege, for a few weeks past, of having the Blessed Sacrament with us, and every day I can go and lay all my wants before Uim, whoso home is in yonder humble dwelling, there to receive the graces which He daily distributes to His unworthy creatures. Oh ! when He condescends to come and make His abode with us, what more can we ask ? Oh, Blessed Sacrament ! what were the world without Thee ! ■what a weary waste, what an endless journey to Heaven it would be ! Ah, ma Tante, what a gift of faith was that when Jesus taught me to believe in His Ileal Presence in the Holy Eucharist ! Given it was, almost without asking, and why to me ? Oh, the goodness of God, the treasures of His Mercy !" .... During that month, Helen wrote to the same friend at Yamachiche : " Fairfeild, June 28th, 1850. My Dear Tante— It made me so happy to receive those few lines from you ; I did not expect them, and was very much sur- prised when they came. Dear Tante, do you remem- ber what you said to me a short time before I left the convent ? I never^ never could forget it, or the circum- stances that led you to say what you did. I do not blame you ; you believed as tliey told you, and I was too proud to explain, as long as you did not ask me for an explanation. Did I ever tell you that before I went to the convent, God called me to be a Catholic ? or rather He told me that I might find peace and truth in the bosom of the Catholic Church ; and that mother found one day in my room a book that I was reading, and forbade me to finish it. I laid the book •ii THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 79 aside, fori darod not disolicy ; l)iit T nover forpot the impression I had received. And when, some time after, she told me that T was to pro to tl»n convent, how 1 wept for j<ty, and how shiwiy tlio titne passed till L found myself withiu the convent walls. Did 1 ever tell yon all this ? I think not, and yet it is true. Oh ! how often 1 wished to tell you just how I felt, but I could not ; times without numher were the words upon my lips, and one moment mpre -would have sav- ed me untcdd ^rief ; but the time would puss on, the words were not said, and I would turn away more un- happy than before; and then at those times I would do something that would most offend my teachers. U'his is my nature. The last few weeks of my stay there I cared for nothino; — for no one. I was not lov- ed ; no one could understand me, not even yov., ma Tante, so I cast all feelings aside; only at night, when all else were asleep, would I give way to my feelings. Often would I get up from my bed (re- gardless of the r«/<?, I did not care for that^) and go into the chapel and kneel there till I dared stay no longer! then i would go buck and weep myself to sleep " I used to sit sometimes and watch the moon till I could see it no longer, and wish that I was anywhere but there, for I was not happy, 1 never went into the garden, but often wanted to go, for 1 thought that the night air would be so refreshing. I started to go once, but I gave it up for fear of discovery. You are surprised, I know, but this is true. I thought I would tell this to you, my well-beloved Tante, that you miijht know mv faults. You know all 1 conuiiitted ex- copt these (and some more that J did not commit at all !) Is it strange, dear Tante, that when I came home and saw one who loved me, who could read my heart like a hooh. and asked me to love him in return, is it strange that I loved him as fervently as I did? and I lived on in that love, forgetting that aught could shadow its brightness; but again, God in His mercy called me, and, dear Tante, I have given up my earth- ly treasure for a better one in Heaven ! I have now 7^ 80 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. '5' ili: -ill 'il^ K>l 'If ■:-t 1 •tt found abiding rest ; I care not for tlie love of tlie world, only as it will please God to bestow it upon me. I do tliank the Blessed Virgin that I am a Cath- olic. Our Holy Mother has interceded for me at the throne of Grace, I know ; and now 1 look to her to ob- tain the grace for me to love my Saviour more, and will you hel]) me too, my lest friend, to obtain such a favor. I am watching in patience through the dark hours. I am willinji: to lav at the low footstool of the Crucified my treasures, every one, and take His cross and bear it throuf;h the hours of darkness till the dawn of day, and then I will lay it down and go Lome to my rest. I thank yon, dear Tante' for that sweet picture. My saviour crucified : and my sins the cause of His sufferings ! ^Vhen will the time come when I shall sin no more ? Oh, my sweet Tante^ I wish I could go to Montreal ! but I cannot this sum- mer ; it does seem as if 1 could not wait, but would fty to you ! You know my antipathy to letter-writ- ing ; do l.et this be my excuse for this frightful look- ing letter. I have not practiced much since I left th.e dear convent. If You can have patience with me^ will you, sweet Xante, write again to your loving child, " Helen" Soon after this letter was written, we received our first visit from the beautiful sisters, in our secluded home. We met them in church at St. Albans, on. Sunday. They were accompanied by an interesting young friend and convent coni)anion, who was visiting them from Boston, (the" Jennie'' of Debbie's letters,) and the three were there, passing a few days at the pleasant home of another convent schoolmate, (Cora," mentioned by Debbie) just out of the village of St. Albans. As we were there with a single carriage, we made arrangements to send a double one to convey them and their young friends to our place in thft even- ina:. We have ever remembered that visit as one of the few green spots which have enlivened our soli- tary journey on the down-hill of life. The music of their clear, sweet voices united in singing the soul- stirring hymns of their ''dear, convent home ;" tho THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 81 clieorfal conversations," the innocent mirthfulness, the merry pranks of our sparkling and mischief-loving Helen,. which were fully entered into by her lovely conpanions, and enjoyed to the utmost by her more sedate and quiet sister,(who watched her with fond pride, and with more of a mother's then a sister's ten- derness;) the visits from some of the young sons of our dear friends, and from our neighbors ; the ram- bles in the woods, the rides on horseback, the drives, the evening pastimes, and above all the fervent, united prayers which closed each day all, r,U are before me now, and even while I am writing ff them, I pause to ask myself, is it indeed true that they who were the means of bringing to our solitudes the " angel hours" of that delightful dream, have passed away in the spring-time of their life, and the freshness of their bloom, to adorn the gardens of paradise, and to rejoice in the society of the saints and angels, unto whom their pure spirits were uuited even in this bleak world ! \. : \'f •J- ," CHAPTER VI. In July, 1856, 'to the great joy of onr dear Debbie, her parents at length consented to her making the long desired visit to Montreal, and even to her re- maining a year in Canada to pursue the study of French, if she could make satisfactory arrangements tc that end. She was engaged in her preparations for departure, and absorbed in the most joyful antici- pations of the pleasures which awaited her in her "convent home," until she set out on the first of Sep- tember, 1856, upon which day she began the Diary from which I shall give some extracts, as well as from her letters to her familv and friends during her ab- sence. It is a matter of deep regret that the sisters destroyed all the letters they had each received, pre- vious to their respective deaths. Had their corres- pondence with each other been preserved, it would doubtless have added materially to the interest of this biography. The first entry in the Diary is Septemler Ist^ 1850: *' Left Fairfield this morning for Montreal ; arrived in St. Albans, and spent the night at Mr. Hoyt's. Found all well, and in a state of excitement ; Willie was going to Canada^ too September 2d — At Rouse's P>;)int I found that some of my convent friends were on the cars. To-morrow ! to-morrow ! — September 3r? — Once more in the convent ! How can I say any- thing ? Three years have flown away since I left it. I say Jloum away, not swiftly, though, for time has passed slowly and heavily since I bade adieu to this loved spot. The days, weeks, months and years have brought with them many changes — some happy ones —-some sad. When I left I was without the Church Hi dii m lor THE YOUNG CONVERTS, S3 ab- )Uld this 850: rived oyt's. Villic use's were her ^d aiiy- eft it. has this have ones hurch of God, (hut desired it then.) Dark days were those, but my heart liad received impressions within those convent wall* never to be forgotten ! Jesus, in His great mercy did not forget me. He has fought the fitrht for His weak cliild, and in the excess of His love has placed her in the " Ark of Safety." All glory to His Holy Name ! He has also called one who is near and dear to me, and guided her footsteps into the path of salvation. But, again I am in my convent home ! Can it be ? Is it possible ? It is even so. Evervthing: looks the same. I have been to the nun's chapel. Is it, O, my God, a reality ? Shall I not wake and find it a dream ? I have closed my eyes, and dreaded to open them for fear. But I a'li right. Those are the same paintings, the same altars and statues, and even the same venerable old priest who said Mass for us every morning three years ago, is offering up the Adorable Sacrifice. And I have seen all my beloved teachers, among them ma Tante St. A. — she who had the greatest care for my salvation; she to whom 1 owe every thing. If to-day I possess faith — if to-day I am a Catholic, it is to her prayers that I owe it. If I am now a child of Mary, it was she who gave me my first knowledge of the devotion to that sweet Mother. If I was led to inquire for the truth, it was ma Tante who gave me the first book; and I have seen her again, my friend — mi/ more than friend, ten thonsand times more than that ! She loved my soul because Jesus Christ died to save it. Her re- ward is in Heaven. The day has passed in a contin- ual visit ! I have seen every one — been in every room. Not much is changed, nothing but myself. September 4th — Slept sweetly in my convent home last night ; no bad dreams to disturb me, and joyous, happy faces, this morning to meet my gaze. Happy child am I, once more to have returned ! The con- vent walls, which once looked so gray, so dark, so dismal, now the sight of them makes my heart leap to my mouth for joy. Happy days ! In after-life I will look back and call them blessed September 17th — Sunday Vespers — dear convent '-.^f 84 THE YOUNQ CONVERTS. . . •» ■i home ? TJiis brings back oibor days. Can it be I am here once more ? I have dreamed it many times^ but — awoke — and now it is reality ! lihe "Magnifi- cat" is as beautiful as ever, and the '* Ave Maris Stel- la" sounds strangely familiar, but a trifle siveeter, and is a trifle more touching to the soul, than three years ago September Sth — Feast of the Nativity of the Bless- ed Virgin ; joyous, happy feast I received Holy Com- munion in Mary's chapel this mornii.g. Here in this little chapel, the place dearest to me on earth, I am at last allowed to partake of that Sacred Banquet ■which Jesus has prepared for His children. I used to watch those who approached to receive His pre- cious Body and Blood, and wondered if the time would ever come, when I also shonld enjoy the same privilege ; and here, too, before the same Altar where I first felt that a God was realli/ present. Tlie time has come, and I can only say in my heart (for lips cannot speak their meaning), Thanks be to Thee, O, my God ! Thou hast remembered me when my soul was lost in darkness ; Tliou hast shown me the path wherein I should walk, and guided me in the way of salvation, Septcmler 10/!A — Bade adieu to the dear convent and all the loved ones there, and started this after- noon for the mission convent at St. Eustache with ma Tante St, A., who was now removed from Yama- chiche to Eustache, " St. Eustache, Sept. 12t:t, 1856 — Friday Even- ing. My dear Mother : I am just getting settled at St. Eustache ; have written a long letter to Helen, and must tell you how I am pleased witli the place, my prospects, etc. St. Eustache is a very pleasant village, aaout twenty miles from Montreal. It is not on the St. Lawrence, but on a branch of that river. The convent is pleasantly situated, the river passing just back of it, while the church and burial-place is on the right, and a very pretty yard in front. St. A. is with me, and two French nuns. Everything seems for my advantage now. The Sisters are very agree- THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 8^ ai^i'ce aLlc peisoiis; l)ut I must learn French liefore I can speak much with them. I find tlic scholars most, if not all, French, and I think I shall not fail to improve. AVe came to St. Eustache by carriage, and, being on- ly twenty miles, found it quite an agreeable drive. Before leaving Montreal, Bt. A's father came from Quebec to the city with his daughter, to place her at Villa Maria, and I wont with them to that place. St. A. went with us. Her sister is a lovely girl, and has been in the convent since I left. I had a nice visit with them, I assure you. St. A. remembers you well, and father also. As she is with me, I do not think I shall have any trouble in getting along. The school is not large — twenty boarders, and as many day scholars. How are all at home? Grand- mother, I snppose, is as usual. The girls I trust, are well, and father is, I presume, as much engaged in political affairs as ever. You must let me hear often from home. You see I have commenced well. I have vritten twice, and this is the third time in two /eeks. How is E — , and her little one ? Give my love to her — also to any of my friends who inquire. I am very well, and think I shall be, for this place is very healthy. Write soon Love to all the girls ; tell them to write to me ; and father, also " Debbie Barlow, Enfant de Marie^ We extract from the Diary. " September 21s/ — Went to confession this morning, and received Holy Communion ; a happy day of course, how cotdd it be otherwise ? Feast of our Lady of seven Dolors, one of my favorite days." " Convent of the Conoreoation, \ St. Eustache, Oct. 2c?, 1856. S " My own Dear Carrie : Why ask forgiveness of one who loves you so much that she never felt for one moment that she had any thing to forgiNO 'r* I knew that there must be some good reason for your not writing, and I should have written again, but I knew not where to direct a letter. " You may be sure I was very much astonished \ylmn your letter was brought to me ; and when I 8G THE YOUNG CONVERTS. iii: found who it was from, I could not refrain from ex- pressinf^ my delight. Its length did not disturb me, dear Carrie ; I would not have had it one line short- er. Every word of it was what I could have expect- ed from yon. I am not long in answering, you per- ceive, and I never shall be when you write. Remem- ber this, will you not, my friend ? " I suppose I am indebted to C — s for your letter. Indeed I am very thankful to him. Where was he going when you saw him — to St. Mary's ? And Jen- nie — you did not see her, I suppose. Hhe visited me, it is true ; but I fear she could riot enjoy her visit much at Fairfield. Have you heard from her ? " So, Carrie dear, you are going South to teach. I presume you will like it, and I wish you all manner of good success. There are worse things, my dear friend, than teaching ; and you will find this to be true, I am confident. I ^m well pleased with it my- self, so far at least ; and I am well. My health has not been so good since I left Montreal as it is now, and I think it will continue so. I expect to remain ft year, and then I presume they will want me at home again. " I came rather suddenly, you may be sure, and was delighted to see my convent home once more. I reached Montreal at night, and went to a public iiouse. In the morning, before breakfast, I went to the convent. The first person I saw was St. S — . She knew me immediatelT, even before I did her. The bell was ringing for Mass, and without waiting to see any one else, I threw down my things and hastened -to the chapel. I entered on the gallery — Mr. C — was saying Mass at the Altar of Our Lady of the Seven Dolors. The nun's confessor was there as usual, and my own dear St. A — knelt by the con- fessional. Every thing looked unchanged, and /, alone, was changed. My first thought was to return thanks to Almighty God for His great mercy to me, and the moments I spent there that mo*-ning will never be forgotten. When I left the chapel, ma Taute, N — 's room was my first thought : I went ami I iblic it to 8— . her. iting and TV- Lady here con- d /, jturii ■ me, will , nia went THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 87 alone, and Rt. M — and ma Tante stood with their hacks toward tlie door. I coidd only say : ma Tan- te N — / The^' knew my voice, and I assure you 1 could hardly keep l)ack the tears at that meetin<^ ! I was weak and sick, and almost worn out with trouble, and my happiness at gcttini^ back was too much for me. Search was made immediately for St. A — , and it seemed an hour before the was found. Need I speak of that meetinfj? You know that to her I owe every thing. Yes, indeed ! I was overjoyed. I first saw St. E — in one of the halls near the community. She laiew me before I came near her. She is the same as ever ; more lovely, if possible, for she has been very sick, and is rather pale and thin. I staid in Montreal a week — went to Maria Villa and staid three days. Many of the nuns inquired for you. The Sunday before I came to St Eustache I went up to St. Patrick's tofjo to Confession. Saw our excel- lent Father Connelly. He was much surprised to see me, of course, bur appeared really delighted. Mon- day morning I received Holy Communion in the dear little chapel. Of course I was happy. In the same place where, three years ago, I received my first impressions of the truth of Catholicity, I this day received the precious Body and Blood of my Saviour. How could I but feel that I would fain of- fer nivself entirelv to Him who offered Himself an entire oblation for mo upon the Cross. I know not, Carrie dear, that I can say anything of my happiness that mornino;. You can imamne better than I can express it to you. I came to St. Eustache, and now with dear St. A — I am spending some of the hapi)icst days of my life. She was in Montreal vesterdav, and I intend visitinj; there in about two weeks I received a letter from Helen this mornino:. Dear sister ! Her health is not good, and I have great fears for her. She is at home. I hope you will pray for us both. You speak of our trials, Carrie : they are nothing. Eveiy day I feel more and more that my sacrifice w 88 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. >'^ ,(il lii has been simply notliino-. I cannot flixl a thing I have done that is a worthy ol'teving to Ood. Every day some new favor from Him — every hour some new proof of His love : and, in comparing the benefits I receive from Him every moment of my life, with the little trials I have had, the latter sink into utter insignificance. No, Carrie ! speak not of what I have done or borne. Would to God I could do something in return for all the gifts I have received from Him. But no ! they are free gifta. I cannot repay for the least of them. What love ! what love He has had for us ! Infinite, indeed, it is ! Why is it that our hearts are so insensible of it ? Mondaij afternoon. — I should have sent this letter before, but I have found so little time to finish it : you will excuse me, I am sure. 8t. A — e has gone to her collation, and left me in charge of her juveniles. Dont you wish you could just step in and see how dig- nified I look ? I think you would be surprised. I should be delighted to see you here, but suppose I may not hope for the pleasure of seeing you at pres- ent — perhaps never ! Well, there is a world beyond this, and one to which I more often look for pleasure than to this You will not forget, will you, Carrie ? to pray for Debbie, Child of Mary. " St. Edstache, October 14tii, 1856. — My dear Father : I have now been something over a month in ray new situation, and, knowing you would be pleased to hear from me not only by others, but from myself, I thought I would write. I am very well pleased, so far, with my opportunities here. I am getting along finely with my French : in fact I hear but very little else spoken, except on the days I am in my English classes. I understand much more than when I came, and am getting to like the language much. St. Eustache is a plepsant little place, and very healthy ; at least I fi*./. it so. I am in good health myself, and hope to continue so. I suppose you will be so busy now as hardly to find time to ans- wer your political correspondents, much less me. Ev- THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 89 ly for dear (lonth be from well ppose ans- Ev- ory one lias a subject upon wliicli tlioy feel more in- terest tlum upon any otlier, and this boinfr yours par- ticularly, I am interested also Give n»y love to all ut home, and tell them to write often. And now I must close. I wish you a glorious victory, and "remain your aflectionate daughter, " Debbie Bahlow." " St. Eustaoiie, Oct. — "My dear ^Fother : Though I have written homo twice this week, I tlionght I would once more, and I am sure you, as usual, like to hear from me. I wrote to father a lew days since, and I presume he has received the letter long ere this reaches you. I am as well as ever, and contented al- so I was in Montreal yesterday, and on my return found Helen's letter with the sad intelligence of the dangtrous illness of our respected Bishop. I have written to Helen to-day. I am sure she will find that I write often enough, and I trust she will reply. I am happy to hear from her. that she is much better of her cough. I hope all will be well now, if she gets rid of that. How come on affairs in Fairfield ? 1 sup- pose as usual. I imagine the crowded soirees, par- ties, etc., you will be a})t to have the ensuing season 1 The elite^ only, of the town, invited, of course ! How is grandmother now ? The children, I suppose, are well and good. I >vill write to Charlotte and Lai>- ra in my next letter. They may expect it ; and An- na, she has not answered my letter ; she must. It is time she commenced writing letters. You speak of E — and her babe. Give her mv love, and tell her I would be pleased to hear from her. I often think of her, and this morning at my communion, she was not forgotten. Tell her this for me. Do yon hear from Madrid, aud how and what do you receive from there ? I suppose things are as usual. Changes though ! — how many changes there have been in three years ! I never saw anything like it ! Give my love to all. Let me hear often. Your true " Deijbie, Enfant de Marie. Diary. — Xov. Orii. — Went to confession this morn- ing, again, and received Holy Communion — every fT^ V ' 90 THE YOUNG CONVEUTS. iwm^ H '^: B Sunday, this favor from Ood ! T am tlio ono who sliould bo tluiiikful, bat I am not; 1 am ever f{>r^ot- tin<,^ Other thiii^'^s are tliouirbt of, but l/us is not. — Ha[)py souls are tbose who can live one day without showing iuirratitude to their dod ! — Nov. IUtii : lle- ceived a letter from liome. H(den lias been confirm- ed, and now, 1 truhit, will get along finely with evcry- thin<2: " St. EusTAniE, Nov. — Dear Motlier : Your letter and Helen's also, were received this afternoon, and I thought I would write you a few lines that you nn'oht get them Saturday. I am well, perfectly so. I do not thiidv I have felt so well in two years as I do now. I am getting along nicely with my Frencli, and hope to continue to. 1 tru.'^t Ilelen is getting better, from what you say, and the rest of the family are well. I shall look for my things soon, and will write again before long Give my love to father, and any of the friends who incjuire.*' .... " Nov. 22d. — My Dear Mother : The box came by express last night, safe and sound. Everything pleas- ed. Receive many, C'-ry many thanks. I have no need, whatever, of the balsams yon spoke of now, for my cough has left me entirely. I have had good scoldings from Sister , in the French language, and from St. A — in Engli.sh, and doses of this, that and the other thing, until I am perfectly free from all appearance of a cold. Indeed, it was not exceed- ingly bad any way, but they have made me put on flannels throughout — last month, some time — and have kept ointment on my chest, until I am sure I shall never never need any more. I am not troubled with my former headache.s .scarcely any ; and, in fact, my health is first-rate. I gdt along nicely at St. Eus- tache — fare well, and have no trouble whatever. — And so Mr. is married. I have nothing to say about it, any way. As for Helen, she has the great consolation of knowing she lias done something for God; and for her generosity she will have a re- ward surpassing anything this world can give. I am sure she knows, as every good Catholic should, that » THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 91 wliat w lost in this world for ( lod, is ijalncd a thou- saiid-foM in the next. 'J'lio crown wliich awaits lier, if i»he ifi faithful to ^race, tve nii^lit envy ! I can anly iniajrine what it will be, and my poor imagination is ju^t nothinLT in this case. And fto you have some additions to society in Fairfi<^?ld. I am hap{)y to hear it. If Helen's health permits, I trust she will enjoy it. I have written her to-day. and in the same letter 1 have to send yours. I want them to go to-nij^ht. 1 am as care- less aH you please about the style of my letters, of late, from tlie fact that I am generally in a hurry or write in class with my young juveniles around me, stu<ivin£r. 'J'here is one here a1)out Anna's aire who looks wonderfully like her; and tell Laura there is one who looks, not like Janet, but like Eliza Anne, And one I saw in Montreal, at the boarding-school, the exact image of Charlotte ; I assure you the exact hhrws* of her ! I have everything I want, and when I wan^norc you shall know it. We have had snow, and it is jjone a^ain. But winter is close at hand : we have fine weather most of the time. I have been in Montreal once since I came to ^t. Eustachc, and expect to go again when we have good roads. 8t. A — 's fiiftter is going to visit ns soon. I saw her and her father in Montreal. lie is a very pleasant gen- tleman I have no news to write, and of course my letters have to be short. Give my love to all. Truly your IJebijir, Enfant de Marie. — P. S, 1 hope Heien'n health will continue to improve. She must be very careful, and get rid of that cough." Extra/rt from Diary : " Nov. SOrri — St. Andrew's day, the anniversary of my ba[)tism. One year ago ! how tim<^; has flown since the joyful day of my bap- tism ! I am not aware where it has gone so swiftly ; each day some new beauty has been unfolded before me, and every hour I have had new reasons to otTer praise and thanksgiving to Almighty God. Another year of my Catholic life has commenced for mc ; and shall it l>e as productive of evil as the past one? Shall there be no more good resolutions, no more ef- ^% ^, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) h A / V ^ /., 'W^ .J "^ (A •^ 1.0 I.I 1.25 t us 12.0 |[| J£ U 11.6 V] .^ ^yy A y /^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 4#' % s 4> :\ \ 23 WEST MAIN ST9E£T WEBSTER, N.Y. 14560 (716) 873-4503 V '^ ^ t: 92 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. forts to subtlue evil inclinations, no more progress in virtue? Ah, the longer I live, the more I iind in poor I to fight against; the more I discover how lit- tle courage I have for the warfare, and how much, how very much is needed, But, v*^ith the help of God I will continue ; I will renew my feeble efforts nnd hope for the best. Have been to Communion and must commence with fresh cour- mornmg, 11 this age The following is an extract from a letter of Helen's, to the convent friend fit St. Eustache, so frequently addressed by her sister. The date does not appear, but it was during the fall that Debbie was there. . . . . " Though I may appear, I am not cold-hearted. You ask me whi/ I am not more confiding ? I can not tell why, only that it was never my habit to make my feelings known to any one if it could be avoided. I always dreaded it, and even now, be- cause I cannot bring myself to speak to my Confess- or of some interior troubles, I at times suffei^. great agony of mind Night after night, as 1 knelt in that dim-lighted chapel, I prayed earnestly that God would di.ect and strengthen me to do my duty. " But God, through ways they have not known, iWill lead His own 1" And years have passed, and I am only now as it were, a Catholic. What I have suffered none can ever know but those whose minds have been through just what mine has been. Away down amid the darkness of infidelity, my heart has roved ; and what was I . thinking of when I could give myself up to such darkness of mind ? The love of a human being ! .... This has been my greatest sin. Oh, my God, forgive me !" I will here give a part of another letter, written by Helen soon after the foregoing one, and to the same person. These letters were probably enclosed to Debbie, as no date appears upon them: "Dearest Tante — I have laid aside everything for a while that I TUE YOUNG CONVERTS. 93 may write to you. I have had so little time to write lately, that 1 would hardly have finished my letter to sister, when the mail would come and it would be too late to send one to you. I think I shall be obliged to go again to the Convent to learn to be more or- derly in my habits. Everything / have to do, always has to be done at the same time. Debbie knows how that is. I think she will smile if she sees this my honest confession. Dearest Tante S — , you could not make me happier than you did when you told me that you loved me so dearly. I have atways been too sensitive, but 1 could not help it. Yes, my dear Tante, you were compelled to appear indifferent to me, but what was the cause ? Not the jealousy of others entirely, but my own conduct would not allow you to leel the same towards me that you had done. Well, it is past. You have forgiven and still lovo your child No, my dearest Tante, I did not expect to be all love, all fervor : but I did expect to bo able to give up all tilings for Christ without a mur- mur In the hour of temptation I wrote to you ; it is over now ; I have yielded. I desire to do His will in all things — even more, to lay down my life for Him. Two days after receiving the sacra- ment of confirmation the first trial came, (you know what news I mean,) and but for the strength I then received, I fear I had been overwhelmed by the waves of sorrow that then Uowed in upon my heart; i'ar more stroilgiy than T had dreamed of, did it retain the remembrance of the past. Yet I regret it not. You knoiOy my own Tante, your child is sincere. 1 thank God that He has granted me this, that I may glorify Him by suffering. And now, dear and sweet Tante, write me soon (as I requested Debbie) a long good letter, as you generally do ; it makes me better. I like your way of telling me things, dear, dear Tante ! I have written in haste. Excuse the imperfections of this letter. Your affectionate and grateful child, " Helen." Extract from Debbie's journal : " Montkeal, Deo. Oni — Went i^ Communion this morning, in the little « *■ J^ •♦■ 'H:-"^- 94 THE YOUNG C0NVEUT8. chapel at the hoarding-school. This is one of. the great pleasures I have when I come to Montreal, and it should be, I am sure. Why that spot is dearer than others, I do not know ; it is the home of the hmrt for me, and must ever be. Time may pass with its many changes, but there will be none for me as re- gards that little Oratory of Mary, Dec. 8tii — Feast of the Immaculate Conception and the Anniversary of my First Communion. The weather not quite as fine as last year at this time. I have a slight remembrance of my joyous day in St. Albans, the 8th of December, 1855. Probably my memory will be good all nvj life on that subject. "Dec. 16tii — I received a letter, telling of the desire of one vervnear and dear to me, to be confirmed when the bishop visited Fairfield. Poor dear one ! her de- sire will some time be gratified. I must write a few lines to Anna also, who has come to the happy conclu- sion of becoming a Catholic. What glorious news ! What a happiness if the time does come when I shall see them within the ' xVrk of Safety !' God grant that it mav be so ! Hope on, hope ever my soul, for He is all goodness." .... " Convent of the Congregation N. D. } St. EusTAciiE, Dec.— , 1856. \ "My dear Mother : Your last letter I should.have answered in Helen's, but at that moment I had not time except to finish hers. I am most happy to hear that you are all well, and hope this may long con- tinue I went to Montreal week before last with St. A. Had ten minutes to dress in, you can im- agine the hurry ; got to Villa Maria in the evening, aroused the poor nuns from their devotions in the chap- el by a tremendous knockin^^at the entrance, and ring- ing of the bell. We were so muftied up in cloaks, hoods, etc., that no one knew us at first. Sister M — , who came to the door, scanned us from head to foot before admitting such stragglers^ and finaly recog* nizcd us, Ma Tante N — was there, and she thought it must be some one in the greatest distress imaginable. " While at the convent I had the plctvpure of meet- THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 95 ing many old friends among boarders, and some otli- er;^. The convent building narrowly escaped being destroyed by fire last week. My letter to Helen con- tains some of the details, though I have not heard much. How does Fairfield progress since thero are some new comers and some departures ? Just re- member me to all who may inquire. When I go home 1 suppose I shall find some new faces — some old ones gone. How is grandmother now ? I sup- pose about the same. You spoke of my going home in your last letter. There is no vacation at present, and I could not leave without breaking in upon the (hitics of the school. They expect me to stay until July, and I desire to. If I went liome before that time I should wish to return to finish the year, and I think, for only a few days, it would be foolish to go. I am doing well, and 1 had better go on. My love to all. I remain as ever, your affectionate daughter, " Debbie Barlow, Enfant de Marie.'"' i-. : The following note to her sister Laura, appears to have been enclosed in the same envelope with the foregoing letter : " My dear little Sister : Your note was received with the greatest happiness. I am glad you are commencing to write letters. You should^ continue. Write to me as often as you can. Your picture pleased you. I am glad of it. I think it very nice myself. I sent as pretty ones as I could find in Montreal at the time. So you think I am getting wild in the convent. Wild in my old age! Fie, Laura ! I am growing steady . I must be, for my station requires it. Teacher ! I imagine you would laugh to see me. Ma Tante St. A — says I cannot scold ; when she wants to have a hearty laugh she contrives some way to hear me scold my children. I dress them sometimes with dunce caps when Mr. (J — , the parish priest, is coming to hear the marks read, and let him do the lecturing. Good way. I must here close. Good bye ! *' Debbie, Enfant de Marie,^^ ■ tr ■ ;?;?.i 96 THE YOUNCf CONVERTS. "Convent of tiik Conoregatton, } St. Eustaciie, Dec, 1856. ^ " My own dear L — e : Again I am addressing you, and why ? I have written before and received no answers; but this afternoon ray old friends have one by one been in my mind, and among them not the least was L — . Again and again have I attempted to forget the past. It keeps coming this day and I find the tears falling thick and fast while I am busy with mv class. The Past, why mnst it haunt me so? God only knows how I sometimes strive to drive all memories from me ! They are too sad. No One un- derstands me ; and to whom is my heart so open as to one who was the dearest friend of earlier years? Oh L — can it be you have forgotten ? Else why this estrangement? Can you so sooii cease to thinlc of one who has been your warmest friend ? Are you mistaken in her ? Did she not prove to he what you once thought she was ; have you found others whose thoughts and feelings were more congenial with yours ? I ask you once more L — the cause of this change ; you must answer me. You are the last of my early friends; the others are gone and I begin to think truly " Friendship is a marvel among men !" I have lost more friends in the past few years than I would once have thought possible. So much to, teach me humility. If you go as the others have, I may say " ir> is the last." I form few strong attach- ments : but it is like taking my life to give up those who have once been dear to me. I am still the same, my dear friend, towards you, and love you as fondly as you will ever be loved by any one. My constant prayer is that you may be happy ; and, though I am far from you in the quiet of a con- vent, vou are often thou<i:ht of. I dread the thouijht that our friendship must end, after its long continu- ance. Will yon not write once more — and most as- suredly wherever you may be, you will be answered immediately. If I hear from you no more, I promise you will ever be remembered in my prayers And now good bye ! God bless you, L — , and preserve THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 97 , ) .6. ^ you, d no 3 one t. the ipted y^ and , busy le so ? A'e all le uri- )en as ^-ears? 3 why think vc yoii at you whose 1 with of this ve last bc<2;in men ! than I teach I may ttach- ) those ill the Ive yon My , and , a con- Ihought lontinu- jiost as- swercd Promise • • • • Ircserve you from all sorrow. May your life here be happy, and your soul eternally blest. Seek first of all the kingdom of Heaven, and every thing else shall bo added unto you. Yours truly and forever, " Mary Debbie, Enfant de Marie,'''' {To the same,) " Convent of the CoNGREaATiox, } St. Edstaciie, Dec. 25, 1856. \ " My Dear L e : " Your letter was received on Wednesday last, and I had just sent one to Burlington for you, which you will probably receive before you do this, and perhaps be surprised at the tone in which it is written. Do not think too much of it. I had not heard from you for so long a period, that I began to think you had departed from this life, or from your former line of con- duct. I am most happy to find you are still the same L — , and after long years have passed we will still be as warm and true friends as ever, even though we may have met and parted for the last time on earth. You say you are going to get interested in the pleasures of Chicago. Very well, enjoy yourself, but I entreat you sometimes to think of things more lastng and more important. These may be pleasing for a time and the senses be indulged as they desire, but like every thing on this earth they will pass away and leave the heart unsatisfied. Do not think I wish to preach you a sermon, but I do not love you with a merely human affection ; I love your soul. I do not wish to trouble you with my lectures, and would not have 3^ou think I practise half as much as I ought, that which I admire so much in others. But I cannot resist the strong desire I have of saying a few words to my L — occasionally. They may not be welcome, but forgive me if I err. I fear some- times for you. Your heart is gay, and your disposi- tion one that requires pleasure to make you happy, and for this reason I am often led to fear that you will forget things of much greater moment. You know^ as well as 1, that life is not long at the longest, and we know not the day nor the hour when we shall be 98 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. » . •> lii II. 'ill: ii' hi t J -..'I : called. How often we hear of a person being taken suddenly from the world without any warning, and why should we imagine we shall be more fortunate. Death comes, and then follows the judgment. Is this not enough to make us reflect upon the state of our souls ? It is not hard to think of these things, and I trust my dearest friend, you will not forget them entirely. If you knew how much depended up- on life here, you would not neglect to seek something ■which will render us happy hereafter. Do not smile at what I have written. Ask yourself the question, ' Is it not true ?' and do not pass it by unheeded. Be sure you are not forgotten, and I trust one day to see my little friend \s\\VLi I have so often prayed she might be. And so at last you are with your father in Chicago, I hope you will find a happy homo there, and that you health will be much improved. If you arc * growing steady in your old age,' St. A — says I am 'growing ferocious !' You see what a reputation I am getting. She says she will expect you when you have the great misfortune you speak of. She sends much love and this picture to you. She is all kind- ness to me and you may imagine I love her more and more every day. I am most happy to be with her, and enjoy myself just as well as ever. I hear from Helen often. Her health is not good, neither is Sister Anna's. Perhaps I wrote you that Mr. A was married the very day on which Helen was confirmed. E — , his sister has named her little daughter Helen, for my sister, and Amanda for that much loved Miss A of whom you have so often heard us SpCctiVt • • • • I now return to the diary: "January 1st, 1857. New Year's Day — A new year just commencing; one just past ; and all its joys and sorrows, pleasures and pains, all its changes are buried in the great tomb of the past ! How many hearts have been fill- ed with new joys in the course of the year which has just closed ? how many have been broken ? how many have seen the dearest hopes blasted, the fondest ,'., ""^V, ■i .»! THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 99 1 - » sends kind- re and li lier, from Sister was irmed. Helen, loved ard us 1857. 3ncing ; easures great een fiU- lich has ? how fondest anticipations disappointed ? how many have gained Heaven ? how many have lost it ? and now all is over ! Eighteen hundred and fifty-six will be heard of no more, except in calling up scenes of joy or sor- row, and in weeping over the irrevocable past. And where are its moments, hours, days and months ? Hard is this to answer; we can only know it has flown as others have, as others will. • Our object should be to employ the coming tim%as wo now wish we had the past. Another year is opening upon our poor earth. Would to God it might bring with it less sorrow, less sin; and my heart is whispering, * Do thy share, try and fulfill thy duties and there will be a little less.' Once more, here are good resolu- tions. How long will they last ? No matter, I can keep trying ; and if there is no good comes of them, I will not have to say I did not make an effort. A long year to look forward to ; I trust some one will pray for me that it may not be altogether lost." " Convent op tue Congregation, St Eustaciib' January 7tii, 1857 — My dear Mother: Your long letter contained much pleas'ng news. I have but a few moments more to write before sending my letter to Helen. I am happy to hear you are all so well, and enjoying yourselves so much. I wish you a happy New Year, and all at home. My birthday is past, and I enjoyed it very well here in St. Eustache. It be- ing Sunday, I attended church morning and even- ing. Helen will tell you of the feast the day be- fore. I am now nineteen ! Getting along wonder- fully in years ; I can hardly realize (time goes so swiftly,) that f am somewhat advanced in years. How- ever, it is so. The Misses B — you speak of, I think I have seen one of them once. I have heard them, very highly spoken of by Mrs. S , as well as their brother. Give my love to father ; tell him I wish him a very happy New Year, and the greatest blessings with it. Give my love also to all my friends. Tell E my letter was written some time ago, and I in- tended to t?en(l it, but forgot it. I shall write again soon and a longer letter, but it is growing dark and I /* .r;.ti'> 100 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. li ill S?! fnofft stop now. St. A — sends her best wishea for the jear. Yours affectionately, " DEnniE, Enfant de Maries Diary: " Sunday. Jan. llnr, 1857 Have •Umded church as usual ; there is little need of say- ing this. Since I am a Catholic^ I believe I generally go to church on Sundays — somewhat different from oH times, when I used to do as I chose about such matters. * A change came o'er the spirit of my dr«i^am,' or I might say, I awoke from my slumber 8,q.w<X now I am under blessed obedience, thank God. " " Convent op the Congregation, St. Eustachr, JA?r. 18ti[, 1857— My dear Mother : Your letters from home were received with true pleasure yesterday. I was sorry to hear that you had been suffering from one of your headaches, but I trust you are now much better. No other bad news was to be found in the five short notes, unless the loss of our State House, Xfj fire, be mentioned. I had not heard of it before yoar note arrived And now, for news at home. I suppose you are making some changes from what you say. I shall see when I get home. Of course, I am interested in them all. Father sent me word he had bought a new span of horses. It will give you all a great deal of pleasure, I am sure ; if 1 am not mistaken you will make good use of them. Anna wrote me that she and Helen were going to Fairfax, to spend a week at Mr. B — 's, of course. I vas most happy to hear that their coughs were so mnch better, and hope they will continue so. Have yon had .nuch company this winter ? I imagine Fair- field quite pleasant about these days. You have had ftf>me pleasant additions to your society, too. Some of yon asked how I spent Christmas. I send the let- ter I wrote to Helen at the time, and did not. send it for some reason now forgotten. I hope you all en- joyed yourselves. The girls wrote to me about their presents, and when I go to Montreal I will look for mine to them. I do not know how soon that will be. I may go in to attend a ceromony some time this month ; if not, then probably not until Holy We- k. cl nl »- , THE YOUNG CONVEllTS. 101 me will ifl ^g to re so Have Fair- e bad Some let- send it ill en- k tbeiv fok for Will be. tbis I find a great deal of pleasure in going to tbe city but I am troubled greatly witb Kleigb-sickness, wben I ride tbis winter Ma Tantc 8 — ia never any otber way tbcn pleasant. Tbcy laugb at us for be- ing always together Tbe other nun bere says we save bcr a great deal of trouble, for she needs never ask but one wbat she will have, or what she would like. Wbat one has tbe other must have ; what one likes the other likes also. I am very well. Give my love to father; tell him I am happy to bear of bis im- provemenU ; hope he is in good health. Let me bear soon and often. Your affectionate daughter, " Debbie, Enfant de Marie." This note to her sister Charlotte accompanied tho foregoing letter. " Convent of the Congregation — My dear little Charlotte : Your letter gave me tbe greatest pleasure. I wish you would write often. I heard from mother that you could write very well, before your letter arrived, and you must practice. I am glad your pic- tures pleased you ; and your New Year's present from father and mother. You could not have had a nicer one, in your sister Debbie's estimation. I cannot tell you much which will interest you. Only know you are often thought of by me every day, every day ; and when I see you next summer, I will tell you all about my school, my friends, and my adventures at St. Eustacbe. Ma Tante St. A — sends love. " Yours, truly, "Debbie, Enfant de Marie, "P. S. — I suppose you have fine drives tbis winter and high times. Do you grow as fast as ever ? If so you will be quite out of my remembrance. " " St. Eustaciie, Jan. 19th, 1857. " Beloved L : I lose no time in answering your welcome letter. I was perfectly delighted to hear you were so happy, so contented in your new home and I wish you may ever continue to be so. Y^'ou are with those you love most on earth, and you cannot be otherwise than happy. I know you will not forget those who love you and are far, far away. Your letter gave me pleasure in many ways. ; •. Ai 102 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. . * Your father is again for I think my L sons. I think of you married. This is good news, will be happier for many rea- often ; yes, every day. and would desire to see you, but this is fruitless at least for a long time. I can hardly realize that you are in the distant West, and I so far from you Why are we separated ? but is not this life and its changes — the separation of friends which is over tak- ing place here ? I am still happy in St. Eustache, as contented as possible. Nothing to trouble me much. My class numbers eighteen and I have no trouble whatever with them. I have letters from home every week and from Sister Catherine often I am hap- py to assure you that Helen's cough is better. I think Mr. A 's marraige will not affect her much. I know she does not regret the course she took. Na- ture is nature in every case, and she must sometimes have felt its power, but not to regret. For my own part, I think God has had His designs in this matter and destines her for something higher and better. . . Diary: "Feb. 8th, 1857. — This is a memorable day for me. Just four years ago this morning, I saw for the first time a convent. Many changes in many things since that time. A real God-send being sent to Montreal ! When shall I be able to appreciate, as I should, the privileges I received there ? Feb. 9tu — Four years ago, I entered as a scholar the convent at Montreal. How changed is every thing since then ! I look back and wonder at my sentiments. I think of my first night there, and my first visit to a Catholic chapel. How well I remember the hymns, sung to the Blessed Virgin, the statues and paintings, altars and crucifixes that horrified me so much. How contented I felt though, in spite of my attempts to look on the dark side of every thing. How calm were those first hours in my convent home. I knew not why my heart could not find any thing to dislike although it tried. Trouble only came when doubts rushed like torrents upon me ; doubts of my safety, the safety of my soul. What was I doing to gain ■r\ ■i THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 103 Heaven? Was I in darkncRs, or in li;,^ht? Alas! I found myself going on like one blind without a guide ! without a thought of the preeiiice, towards which I waB hastening. But these things have made that spot dearer than life to mo. There 1 found that precious treasure, without which time is long, life is all dreariness and eternity is misery without a hope of change " " St. Eustaciik, Feb. ITtii, 1857. " My Dear Mother : — I received your letter with the intelligence of your sickness ; I need not say that I am most happy to know that you are so far recover- ed. I hope you will continue as well as you are a > present. Our winter has been very severe We expect to go to Montreal in about two weeks, if the weather is not too bad — when we have more sl . vv to give us some sk^'ghing. Helen has, I suppose, re- turned from tuulaxjhus had a pleasant time \x doubted' , and Anna also. 1 am glad you find tho newcomers so pleasant, and hope they will remain iu Fairfield I suppose you know L J a has gone to Chicago. Her father is again married. She wrote me a few days ago ; is very well contented, and likes the city so far as she knows anything of it. She aent her love to you all. Your girls have left you — whom have you now, and how do you like them ? Grandmother is failing you say ; I suppose she does not leave her room. Has father returned ? I imagina he is gone as much is ever. Give my love to him. I should be most happy to receive the paper he spoke of — hope it will come. My love to E , and kiss her babe for me. Remember me to A S , and any one who may inquire I re- main, as ever, your affectionate daughter, " Debbik S. Barlow, Enfant de Marie^ *' Convent op tup Congregation, N. D., } St. Eustaciie, Feb. 2>ii, 1857. \ " My very dear Carrie : Your long and very wel- come letter has just been received and I cannot deny myself the pleasure of answering this very afternoon. I could not define the cause of your long silence but 104 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. i»- ■fit *:5?i'i I! a now I know. Truly my dear Caro, you are lonely, but 1)0 brave and I trust it will not last too long. You are at last in your Southern home. I regret exceedingly that you are deprived the pleasure of the consolations of our holy religion. I know this mnst be to you a real trial, one which you must feel sorely after having been so long in a convent. But knowing, as you do, that it is all for the best, I am sure you will be very patient and therefore your loneliness will be some- what mitigated. You did not tell me how long you had been in your present situation. I imagine you are not far from Washington. How is it ? • Now, my dear friend, I must not write you a sober letter ; no, I will not. You have enough to make you sad already. I must try to make you cheerful at least while you are reading my long letter, for such I intend to make it, even if I have to fill up with all kinds of nonsense. I think you will smile at my in- tention You and I are now in the same capacity, teachers^ in rather different places, however ; I am the favored one as regards pleasure — just now, at least — I must tell you how I am situated. First of all, I am with 8t. A e, and that would be enough, even in a wilderness — at St. Eustache, a village about twenty miles from Montreal. I will not attempt to give you an idea of the place, people, &c., for I do not see a great deal of either, preferring to remain in the house most of the time. We have not many pupils, I have but sixteen in English and seven in music. I am nicely situated you see. There are but two nuns here now, ma Tante the N and St. A e. They are both just as kind as they can be, and I as- sure you I could not find in the wide world any one who would feel for me what the latter does. So you perceive I am with pleasant persons. My time is spent as follows : Arise at half past five o'clock, go to Mass at six ; breakfast at half past six. At seven I go to the little chapel where we have the happiness of having- the Blessed Sacrament, and after a little u (J > ■,! THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 105 xTurSy /ored must with m d venty e you see a [louse have I am nuns •e. I as- ,y one o you lie iB 5k, go seven liness little visit, repair to the class. At eight o'clock, on days of English class, I commence hearing the recitations. At ten St. A e comes for the translations, and at eleven, lecture for a quarter of an hour. Dinner, vis- it to the Blessed Sacrament and recreation until one P. M. I then have my class again for half an hour, and from that time until four for my own studies. Half an hour lecture. I then give my French les- sons. Prayers at quarter past five, tea at six, and recreation until eight; visit again to the chapel, and to bed. You see how my time passes ; very much like our convent days in Montreal. I little thought one year agO I should be here now enjoying so many privileges, so many happy days. I have been to Montreal several times and intend to go again next week, will write you an account of my visit in my next letter. At New years, ' Mary L -n and a sister of St. A-n — e, came and spent a week with us. Yon may be sure we had gay times. Since that time I have been as grave as a Presbyterian deacon. St. A e accuses me of singing Methodist hymns, and I think she suspects I am going back to old habits. Now what do you think of these things ? But to re- turn — I was speaking of our visitors. Kev. Mr. Comte has called to see us twice lately — is just the same as ever-r-gave pictures to all the children, a conge, his blessing, «fec., He made me think of old times. These are all I have seen at St. Eustache whom you know I have not heard, from Sister Helen directly for some weeks. Heard from mother last week that Helen's health is greatly improved, and I think she is quite herself this winter. My second sister, Anna, is going to become a Catholic. Pray for her I beg of you for I fear she will l.ave her share of trouble. I am daily expecting to hear about it from Helen. I need not tell you how delighted I am at the thought of another sister a Catholic. I suppose you hear from Burlington sometimes, I have no news from Inhere now, my only correspondent having left for Chicago— Miss J s of vt^hom you :J •■•' ! , , • * ? t^.: 106 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. have heard me speak. From St. Albans I hear noth- ing. I had a le+ter from Jennie last week. Has she written to you ? I suppose Washington is gay enough just now. The inauguration of the new President so near at hand. You will probably hear accounts of the fes- tivities, Uncle and Aunt S are there And now I hope you will tell me how you get along teaching. Are you in a Catholic family ? Do you feel less lonely than you did ? I shall think of you very very often, my dear Carrie, and now, know- ing where you are, will write often. Lent is at hand, and in all the exercises of these holy days you will not be forgotten. No ; I will think and pray for you. You will write soon — will you not — and tell me about your health and all particulars of your present position. I hope to see you the coming sum- mer, if not in Canada, certainly in Vermont And now, my Carrie, good bye ! I love you as ever. I feel for you in your loneliness. I know what it is to be sad. I will pray for you as fervently as I am able. That is a poor promise for my prayers are unworthy ones, but offered for you they may be heard. I am happy to think you remember me after four years separation. May we still continue warm friends. Although far from each other, we can meet in spirit in the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Let that be our resort. Oh, blessed consolation ! Here are kisses for you, and a good night from your sincere and affectionate friend, "Debbie M. Barlow, Enfant de Marie^ " Convent of the Congregation, N. D., St. Eustache, March, 1st 1857. " My beloved L — e : I am not waiting so long as you did, my friend, to answer your letter, though you were not very tardy. Our correspondence seems to continue now as in other days, and it might still be said, " L — e J s and Debbie Barlow !" I trust it may ever be the same " You speak of the joyous times we have seen in old Vermont. I remember them well. Yes ! many hap- a d w^. *lt1 THE YOUNG CONVEUTS. 107 from V le. ng as hyou ms to till be tust it m old hap- py days I have seen there and many sad ones too. God alone knows what the latter have been. I am growing to be myself again, L — e, you will not regret to hear this will you ? " They say I am getting gay. If so, I am getting sick of the world. I have put my trust in its friend- ship and have learned by experience, young as I am, how false and deceitful it is, and J hope I shall profit by the lessen. I have sought happine|p in its pleas- ures, and have seen how shallow is t^ joy arising from them. I have given them up ; ha^ formed res- olutions against them. And now, what think you of this ? If you hear of my engaging in any of those things, you may be sure I am obliged to, on account of my position towards others, and not through my love for them I am now more peaceful and happy in my own mind than I have been for a long time, and I think the cause of this is the ^ood design I have in my heart. " I am hearing often from home now. I think they are more reconciled to things than they have been ; however, I do not know how long it may last. You know how it has been and I will say no niore. H«len is pretty well, and, I think, bears her trials very courageously Do you know that the father of those young B-r-s who graduated at Burling- ton, is now the Presbyterian minister at Fairfield. Of course Helen has called upon the young ladies. There are two of them. " I hear nothing from Burlington or Highgate. In fact my friends with whom I correspond are few. I will mention them. Your own dear self. Carrie G — d, of whom you have often heard me speak. 8he is now in Maryland teaching. Jennie S— ^e. My kind and much esteemed Father Reardon, and Sister Catherine who is now in London, C. W. These are all except my letters from home, you see some have dropped off." .... " March 8tii — My Dear Mother — Your letter and Helen's were received yesterday, and as usual, this afternoon, after Vespers, I have time to answer them^ >j| ■■!*,., mw V}V%: :M'' •■-i^.- 1. ti,' t: *■ m'i* iiii ill 108 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. I am glad to hear you are so much "better We are having beautiful weather, after a series of stormy days. I have had a cold, but have now recovered. Just a few days before Lent commenced, the nuns made me take a good dose of castor oil, and I find it has been a benefit to me ; I imagine they wish me to eat more than usual during the fast days. I am quite well now, and every thing goes on nicely. I went to Montreal last Aveek. I shall not go again until the snow goes o|^ for I was terribly sleigh-sick, both go- ing and coriiiig home. I had the pleasure of meet- ing Mr. S — of St. Albans, in the city. I had been out doing a little shopping for Ma Tante St. A — , and when returning, met him on the side-walk. He said he saw father a few days before. He knew me, and of course I knew him. Probably he has seen some of you since, and told you. I only stayed at Montreal one night ; had but very little time there, and felt most of that as I do after being on a boat. I am glad to hear you are enjoying yourselves this winter. Helen seems to be perfectly well. Of this I am not sorry to hear, and she seems to be enjoying •the winter finely. Is A — G — - yet married ? I sup- posed she vyas to have been, long ago Every thing goes on the game as ever at the missions. St. A — is just as good and kind as ever, and takes care of me well. Sister — is always pleasant, and says she shall learn to speak English, quarrelling' with me / She does not understand our language very well. It is some time since I heard from the younger mem- bers of our family, Anna, Laura and Charlotte. Tell them they must write to me." .... About the time this letter was written, we were favored with a visit from dear Helen. IJer presence was always like a sunbeam in our shadowed home j she was so brilliant and mirthful. How dearly we loved the graceful and almost pensive serenity of our contemplative Debbie, and the energetic, active ear- nestness of the practical Anna, will be known only when the secrets of all hearts are revealed ; but Hel- en, our sweet Helen, nestled into our home in the •ill I ^'TV'T.>t> THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 109 mem- Tell were esence lome ; ly we of our ;e ear- n only- it Hel- in the wilderness like a bird that was native there, filling the echoing forests with the melody of her angelic songs, and enlivening every scene with the gayety of her innocent heart. Dear to our hearts as are the memories of all these charming sisters, we still linger upon those connected with the " first flown" of the three, vsrith tender emotions gushing up from abysses, the depths of which these alone have the power to stir, while we exclaim, "Oh, iT^fcw was_ our beautiful, our lovely, and our best beloved one !" " St. Eustaciie, March 15 : My Dear Mother — My things came yesterday by express. Your taste was very good in selecting them, and all suited. Many, many thanks for all. I wrote you a few days since, and write now merely to acknowledge the reception of the box I hope you will excuse my haste. I received several newspapers with the box, and was right glad to get them." .... The following let- ter from Helen, to a very dear Aunt, was written about this time. " Fairfield, March 25tii, 1857 : My Dear Aunt — Pardon my long silence. I really cannot give any good reason for not writing before, only that I have felt so little inclined to write. AH my correspon- dents have been neglected in the *sarafe way, and they have good reason to complain. Why did you think, my dear Aunt, that I was not happy ? Surely / am. I think I can safely say that not a happier heart beats in human breast than mine ; it was not so once. I have known what it was to be unhappy. For long years I sighed for happiness, and could not find it. There was an aching void in my heart that even the knowledge that I was beloved by a human being like myself, could not fill ; and what will fill the human heart with pleasure like the knowledge of being be- loved ? But it was not human love 1 sighed for, but the love of my God ! I now have found the abiding rest for which I sighed so long, and I am happy, happy. Earth hardly satisfies my longing desires ; only in Heaven where faith is turned to sight, can I be fully satisfied. Oh ! what a blessed thing it is to i« '..- r ' .:" i*;-' i 110 TUB YOUNG CONVERTS. ;'■>■. know that our sins are washed away in the all-aton- inGf Blood of our Redeemer ! Oh that we were not bound down to earth by this load of flesh, but could soar far above it — and the sins that every day leave a stain upon our robe of baptismal innocence — and sing the praises of our Redeemer, where sin can no more cloud our visions of his brightness ! The heart can not but be impatient, yet it is better for us to re- main for a while, that God may be glorified in us, for we will conquer Satan, and God shall have the glory. Trials are sent to perfect us — are they not. Aunty ? Oh ! that more might be sent me, for this world gives me none, and I shall be detained long, very long, if no fire is sent to purify me here. Sometimes I am weary struggling against temptations, and then I know God is displeased with me ; therefore He deems me not worthy of those trials He sends to those He loves." .... " Convent op tfik Conqregatign, N. D., ) St. Eustache, March, 29th, 1857. ) " My Dear Carrie : I was glad to hear from your last that you once more enjoy some of the privileges you had so recently lost. I hope and pray that this may be of long continuance for, I am sure, to be de- prived of those things is one of the greatest trials we can meet. I could not fail to congratulate you on this, the first thing. " You speak of being in Washington at the Inaug- uration. So you can occasionally get out of your re- treat ? I am glad of this, for my imagination has pictured you in rather a lonely place. I was sorry you did not see more of Mrs. S , as I think you would have found her very pleasant, and I am sure she would have been very happy to have seen you. " You requested a few details of my visit to Mon- treal. I cannot say that I saw many persons of your acquaintance. I was very busy all the time — shop- ping almost every minute— and if you find that as disagreeable as I do, you will know how little I en- joyed it. I spent the first night at Maria Villa and I ^m THE YOUNG CONVERTS. Ill saw St. G 1 and St. G— former teachers who are there e the only ones of your They inquired par- ticularly how you were situated, and sent their love to you. I saw Miss K — . She is very well and per- fectly contented At the city I saw St. J — e and St. P — e your former teachers. How many changes in a few short years. I do not see one fa- miliar face among the boarders, none we knew except Mary L — n and I think you knew Louisa M — n. She is at Maria Villa. As I have said, I was in the streets most of the time. I saw Father Conolly, went to Confession to him. He is just as good and kind as ever. He was making great preparations for the Feast of St. Patrick when I saw him Ma Tante St. A — e has told you all the news of your for- mer companions in her letter. I find, notwithstand- ing the changes at the boarding school, that the con- vent is ever the same. I cried on leaving it the last time. It was like leaving a dear and cherished home ; I felt sad and down-hearted, and when I think I have to bid them good bye again, I have the same sentiments. No matter where I may be, I shall ever feel that there is no spot on earth so dear. And well I may feel this. My happiness is all the result of six months sojourn in Uie Convent of the Congregation, N. D. Why should I not love it ? I need not speak of this, my dear Carrie, to you who know how I cherish the memory of those days. I am still as hap- py as ever at St. Eustache " We are now in Passion Week. Remember me sometimes, Carrie, and be assured you will not be forgotten. I know you will grant this request, for I trust I am often thought of in your prayers, in fact you have promised to perform this act of charity for me. 5) • • • • We return to the Diary at St. Eustache : " April 9th, Holy Thursday : went to High Mass, and reeeived Holy Communion. At three o'clock we went to visit the Blessed Sacrament, and remained an hour. The Repository looks very weir. In the evening we went again at about six o'clock, to secure 112 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. I . r - t;» . . ••« good seats for the evening prayers. We were direct- ly in front of the Altar, and had arrived long enough before the time appointed to have a full half hour, quiet und undisturbed. The stillness, the silent few who- were paying their adorations to Jesus in His Sa- crament of Love — the dim light of the tapers, and the thought that He was there really, not in imagination, but truly present, listening to the petitions of His creatures, made me feel that all of this earth was lit- tle worth our love, and that the most we could do for Him was nothing in comparison with His great, unlim- ited love for us : and /, who should be, the whole day and every day, doing something in return for His graces, often forget Him ! At eleven o'clock, ma Tante St. A — awoke me, as I had requested, and we • went to the chapel to remain an hour, in commem- oration of our Saviour's agony in the garden — the first time I have ever passed that hour before the Blessed Sacrament," " April 10th, Good Friday ! A day which is ever dearer to me than any other of the year can be ! — one in which I love to spend hours in thinking of the past, in bringing to mind my first thoughts on entering a Catholic chapel on that day, four years ago. Why speah of it now ? Meditation is more suited to my feel- ings than words, at this time !" " Convent of the Congregation, > St. Eusstaciie, April 12, 1857. \ " My dear Father : Your letter was received yes- terday, and I need not say that it gave me the great- est imaginable pleasure. It was almost too good for Lent, but to have left it until to-day would have been too great a sacrifice. I was not strong enough for that, and it was read and re-read with as much de- light as if it had been one of the most joyous feasts of the year, instead of Holy Saturday. To-day I could not fail to answer it. Your letter was unex- pected, therefore it gave me a great surprise. Your account of your stay in Washington was very inter- esting. I noticed in particular what you said in re- gard to your visit at Judge Douglas's. I beard he THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 113 '^Bl .*i had manletl a young Catholic lady ; I am glad you found her so interesting. Is Uncle — still in Wash- ington ? I heard of him in Washington, and Aunt — with him, about the time of the Inauguration. I have heard of late a little of the public affairs at home, for the St. Albans Sfessengcr has arrived regularly for the last few weeks. I had the pleasure of reading the Inaugural Address of Mr. Buchanan, and a descrip- tion of the 4th of March at the Capitol, in a French paper published in Montreal. " You ask how I am, how I like, etc. My health is good ; I have never bpen better. The nuns hero are two excellent persons. St. A — you knew long ago, at least by reputation. I am sure I never could have found persons more kind than they are. We do not often go out to call, but we have visits from the first families of the parish ; and there is some very good society here, I assure you. I find tho French cxcecdinly pleasant people, and very polite — great talkers, and consequently good company ; much gayer than the Americans, but seem to have less stability. Upon the whole I like them extreme- ly well. But to return to my subject : Speaking of the nuns here, I find the situation pleasant in every re- spect, and if things continue the same after vacation, I would like to return in September, since you desire I should continue French, and I desire it myself also. At present I understand all of common conversation, and nearly all I read. St. A — says I am a little proud about speaking^ before her at least, for she speaks both language.- perfectly well. However, the other Sister here speaks nothing but French. Afternoon: I have returned from church, and think I shall have time, before Vespers, to finish my letter. To-day is the first time it has looked quite as though Spring had come We have had a strange winter ; so changeable : not so much more severe than others, but decidedly /r^fl^y Give my love to moth- er, and all at home. I hope to have the pleasure of hearing again from you. My father could not give me greater joy. And now, until I see you, remember 114 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. l>, ill that ray thoughts are often with you : not a day, no, perhaps not an hour, that my best wishes are not spo- ken, or, at least, mentally desired for your welfare. — If I cannot do any thing in return for your solicitude for me in one way, perhaps I can in another. Once more, good-bye Your affectionate child, " JDebbie S. Barlow, Enfant de Marie.'''' " CONOREQATION OP NoKTRE DaME, > St. Eustacue, April 14, 1857. \ "My dear Mother : Your letterhas just been receiv- ed, and I have only to say in reply to your questions : 77*^1^ gentleman and myself are no more than friends^ and there has never been any engagement existing. Xow I have told you this many times before, and tell you again, that this may end the matter ! I am not*- one of the persons who trouble themselves over and ahme much about such matters : this you must know. Whether I shall ever be engaged to any one is another question w^hich time will solve. If I never am, you may rest assured I shall live just as long, and be quite as well contented. You mwt know, in .seeing your daughters Catholics, that their chances are few, so far as the prospects of this world are con- cerned ; but do not imagine they are discouraged at this. Far from it ! When I became a member of the Catholic Church I did not lose, I gained. I lost nothing, not even if all the fondest pleasures of life were sacrificed : I gained what, this world can never give ! — what our holy religion alone can bestow ! — Yes, I gained, I repeat it, and in becoming one of the children of the Church of Christ, I counted every thing in this world as mere nothing, compared with the privileges I enjoy as a Catholic Christian ! So do not fear for me ! I am not sorry for anything I have done, or have had to do. You know the Catholic Church forbids marriage with Protestants, and I am most happy to think she does. Protestants abhor our * religion, and so we are equal. You seem to think that I am needed at home : I shall follow the will of God, which seems to demand I should spend a portion of my life there, at any rate. Do not give yourself fur- THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 115 ■i I 1* tliftr trouble. I am a reasonable person, and if I live and die an ^oid mai(V at Fairfield, 1 shall not care. I expect a long time will see me there." " CONOUEQATION OF NoTRE DaME, > St. Eustaciie, April 17, 1857. \ " My Dear Mother : I received you letter contain- ing the sad intelligence of grandmother's death. I could not feel otherwise than that it was better so, since she has) been so long failing, and her mind so much impaired. Still, let Death come when it will, and where it may, it is always sad. It gives to each one a time for reflection, and a new impulse to the soul to prepare and be always ready, for even if we reach an old age, still we must at last yield to Death and go : earth is not our abiding-place ! I hope father reached home in time for the funeral — did he ? At least aunts D — and L — reached home before her death. I am very glad of it, especially on your ac- count. I shall look for a letter soon, giving more of the particulars. Father wrote me while in Washing- ton, and I have answered his letter, which was receiv- ed on Holy Saturday. He will regret his absence, I am sure, at this time. However, if grandmother was unconscious, it could not have been a great consola- tion to have seen her. Who conducted the funeral services ? — that is, what clergyman ? And the friends — were there many present ? I presume you are tired enough. I hope you will not get sick. St. A sends her love, and condoles with you in your afflic- tion. Let me hear soon again." .... Diary : " April Wth. — This morning we had Mass, and all received Holy Communion. A happy day again. Yes ! a thrice happy day ! It seems as if the hour spent this morning was so short — passed so quickly ! Oh, my God ! and hast Thou been here in my heart once more ! Yes ! there is no room for doubt ! Faith, blessed faith, teaches us this : that He, our Creator, disdains not to come and feed our souls with that Heavenly bread ! Yes, He comes ! — were I not assured by the very words of His mouth, I should be tempted to think He could not have loved us so ! I'' i< . <■*'■» 116 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. But why speak ? lie come.'^ ! Oli my soul ! in sudi a moment as this what canst thou say ? Canst thou know that it is thy Jems^ and live ? Canst thou icei tliat He is so near, opening His treasures, purifying thee from the stains of sin, pouring His graces ujjon tliee, and remain indifferent ? Canst thou know tiiat He who came from heaven, lias been made man, has suffered and died upon the Cross for love of thee, and now crowns all by coming to take up His abode with thee ? — canst thou know all this, and not feel that there is no pleasure in the world but that which is found in His service ? Can my heart be cohl whcai I have Him who is all love for me as its guest ? Ah ! it is too often so ! Yes ! my God, how often do I ap- proach to receive Thee with little love, with perhaps a very faint desire of possessing Thee. But to-day is passed. I have had the happiness of receiving an- other visit from my Redeemer this morning; Oh, would that I might keep His graces, that I might live one day without willingly ofifending Him. Alas ! while I live, I am always in danger of being ungrate- ful towards my God." " May \d. — The anniversary of Helen's baptism. One year ago I stood beside her at the Altar, and saw the regenerating waters descend upon her. Oh ! what a joyous day — but all joy is mingled with sor- row ! A year has passed, and to-day I am far sepa- rated from that dear sister, but in spirit I have been with her. I offered my Communion yesterday for her, and she has often been with me in my actions since. I am sure she is not sad to-day, even though the sacrifice has been great which has been required from her; still the recompense will be much greater." About this time a rumor began to circulate in Ver- mont, that Debbie was intending to become a nnn, and had even taken some preliminary vow in that di- rection. Her parents were greatly distressed upon hearing this report, and caused Helen to write imme- diately, inquiring of her as to its truth. In reply to that letter, she says « fit T^^Tia-n*/^TTT, A/l St EusTACiiE, May IGtii, '57 — My dear Parents, k Si THE YOUNG CONVEHTS. 117 rl 1i I liavo just rccoivcil Ilolon's letter, Jatoi.! the 12th, juul atii sotncwliat siirprisotl to hear that you are nil in 80 much anxiety adout my becoming a nun ! When I left home, I gave my word that I would return ; iry intention is not otherwise at present. I have made that promise ; it will bo fulfilled perfectly. I shall bo at home, at the farthest, the last week in July ; I gave my word for it, and you may expect mo if I am living, and when there shall probably remain as long you will want mo. Every one seems to imagine that I am in great haste. I wish to assure you that Mr. , of whom you speak, (or rather Helen does in her letter,) expects nothing else than that I should return to Vermont, and desires nothing else ; there- fore, I imagine lehas been far from spreading any such reports as you have heard. 1 am very well and very contented, as usual. I hope you are all in good health at home. I received the money father sent, and thank him very much for it. 1 shall probably go to Montreal the last week of this month. I receive the St Albans 2lessenger regularly. It has just como with Helen's letter. I preceive she is much engaged in her sohool. Do not let her get sick, for when I go home, I shall want all in gO;>d trim. As I suppose, after a year's absence, the news will be plenty ; I shal 1 wish to hear all, and it requires some one who talks about as fast as Helen does, to tell them. My love to all. I hope to hear soon and often. Your affec- tionate child, "Debbie Barlow, Enfant de Maric.^^ Diary : •' Mav 17tii. I am very anxious to hear again from home, for I atn in constant dread that they may come for me. I begin to feel sad ♦■o think vaca- tions are near, and I must again leave the Convent of the Congregation. I shall soon wish to be back, af- ter my return ihome, and I imagine the long hours when I shall sigh for the happiness of convent life, the quiet of St. Eustache, and, more than all, the frequent visits to Montreal. It is said that ' home is where the heart is.' I know well, then, where mine is; and when 1 shall be far away, my thoughts will often wander 118 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. i . .¥* 'f ™" i^ il i i 1 1 ' ■ A.' "^ back to the Congregation of Notre Dame, and there find their resting-place. Splendor speaks in vain to an exile ; and pleasure, short-lived, deceitful pleasure, relieves but for an instant the pain of banishment. Amidst the noise and bustle of a busy v^'^orld, surround- ed by vanity and fading joys, his heart turns from this strange land, and finds its happiness but in thoughts of home! And thus shall I feel when once more I leave my convent home. I have already experienc- ed the pain of absence from that loved spot, and the second time will be worse than the first. But hope on, hope ever; there may be an end of it before very long ! God's will, not mine, be done, I leave all things in His hands and with the Blessed Virgin to assist me, all must be right." It may be proper to notice here, a feature, not the least singular among those which characterized her remarkable religious life that with all her yearning fondness and devoted attachment to her dear " con- vent home" and its holy inmates, she never felt that she was destined to be a member of that favored community. I was indeed very much surprised in the course of the first conversation I had with her, (some months after the death of her sister Helen,) upon a subject so sacred, that it should be approached by those in secular life with the greatest reverence, to find that while she felt assured of her vocation to consecrate her life at some future period to God, it was also clearly indicated to her as His will that, (whatever sacrifice it might cost her,) the oblation should bo laid upon the altar of the corporal works of mercy, in her own coun- try, and among her own people. Knowing nothing whatever of the Sisters of Mercy, their rule or the con- ditions of entrance into the Order, she still felt her- self drawn to that Institute, and desired to partake with them in those labors which'should entitle her to claim a share also in that gracious invitation of Him, whom alone she desired to serve in His poor, — " come ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepar- ed for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and yow gave me meat ; I was thirsty and --^u THE YOUNa CONVERTS. 119 i there vain to Icasurc, shment. irroimd- rom this houglits :e more perienc- and the ut hope ore very leave all irgin to not the ized her (( IX " con- felt that favored d in the ', (some upon a Dy those ind tliat rate her clearly crifice it pon the vn coun- nothing the con- 'elt her- partako e her to of Him, -" come prepar- For I rr,ty and you gave me drink ; I was a stranger and yon took me in ; naked and you clothed me ; I was sick, and you visited me ; I was in prison, and you came unto me." Although He did not premit her to realize her ardent desire in this world, we cannot doubt that He will be- stow the same reward upon her in another for her pious and sincere intentions, as if she had lived to fulfill them. The letter last presented to the reader did not prove at all satisfactory to her father, who still feared she entertained intentions which were far from her thoughts at that time. He, therefore, wrote to her himself, re- questing an explicit and decided answer to his ques- tions. She replied : " CONOREOATION OF NOTRE DaME, } St. Eustaciie, May 29, 1857. \ " My dear Parents : I have just received the answer to my letter, and am somewhat surprised that my reply to Helen's last was not a sufficient assurance against the reports that are circulating in Ver- mont I thought I was plain enough^ but as it seems to be necessary, I will write again. I cannot see why you should put so much dependence upon what you hear. I have never taken any vows^ and, more than that, never said I wouli\ to any living being. I have no other intention, at present, than that which I express- ed in my last letter. As for what future years may bring forth, I cannot say, nor any one else ; for the present, you may content yourselves, for I have come to no such decision as you have heard. But now, since you have so poor an opinion of my truth, and you seem to think that this defect has arisen in my character since I have embraced the Catholic faith. I wish to say a few words. I am very sorry that my good Father has this opinion of me, but I would much prefer him to cast the slur upon me than upon the Holy religion I profess ; but that he shall not have cause to complain of mo on this subject, I will rcreat what I have often said at home; that is, that no one need ever expect me to form any engagement, or dream that I will ever enter the married life ! This u a thing 120 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. , * long a.go settled, — a Jlxed determmation, which is just as strong now as ever My resohition yon have often heard. I suppose there is no need of fur- ther explanations. I have given you what I think to he a frank answer to your questions, and regard for your feelings has been my principle. Yes, it has al- ways been ; and what pahis me the most of anything in this world is, that ray father has such an opinion of me as to think I would afEict him willingly. If ho could know how I felt, when reading his letter — how many tears of sorrow I have shed over the thought that he believes me heartless, he would not repeat the assertion ! I think I have given him sufficient proofs that I respect his commands, that I love to do all that he can desire, when it does not go contrary to my first duty, which is to my God ! And he should know that on this earth, my affections are for my par- ents. I have none, I shall never have any one before them. I need not repeat these words — they are only too familiar to you now. I hope you will cease to be uneasy, and believe me to be happy and contented. Your affectionate child, " M. D. Barlow, Enfant de Marie.'''' " Congregation de Notre Dame, ) St, Eustache, June 2, 1857. \ " My Dear L e : .... Since I wrote you last I have been in Montreal. I must tell you about my visit. It was last week. I received a letter from Maria 7illa, the boarding-school of the sisters of the Congregation, to be there the 2Gth of May, for the coronation of their May Queen. The one who had been elected was the sister of my friend St. A — c. She is a lovely girl about seventeen years old : her place of residence is Quebec. Maria Villa is a mag- nificent place on the mountain of Mount Royal. Tlie boarding-school is one of the best in Canada. The young ladies number generally about one hundred. Every year they elect one for their Queen, and she is crowned with great ceremony. I will give you a brief description of that day. I arrived the evening pre- THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 121 just L you f fur- nk to •d for as al- 'thing Lon of If ho — liow LOUght sat the [ficient to do i-ary to should [ly par- before re only ic to bo tented. 1? arte. IB, ) ou hist out my froui of the or the ho had A— e. 1: her 3r It a mag- The 1. 111. The undred. 1 she is a brief mg pre- vious, and the next day was of course a grand holi- day. About one o'clock I went to assist the Queen elect to dress, and about two o'clock the ceremonies commenced. The hall opened for the occasion is said to be one of the finest on this continent. In one end large evergreen trees were raised, and a statue of the ever Blessed Virgin mounted on a very high pedest- al in the centre. The throne was then raised about five steps from the floor, and vases of flowers and or- naments of different kinds were placed beside the Queen's chair and those of her two first maids of hon- or. The people having arrived, the Bishop was an- nounced by a grand trio upon tha piano. It was the Bishop of Oregon who crowned her. After the mu- sic, a kind of Drama was enacted, which I am sure you would have thought beautiful. It seemed to be company of young girls who were lamenting the loss of their sovereign, and were consulting upon the choice of another, who should be one noted for her virtues, and beloved by all. In the midst of their conversation, two angels appeared to them, clothed in white, with their long hair loose down their backs, and wreaths of flowers on their heads. They came as Messengers from Heaven, to tell them who had been chosen by the celestial courts as their Queen. They spoke of her humility, her mildness, her piety, and of all her virtues, and the young maidens at length besought the two angels to bring her to them, that they might see and acknowledge her as their sovereign. They disappeared, and soon returned, leading iier, and followed by ten maids of honor. She looked lovely, dressed in white muslin, trimmed with satin ribbon and white French roses, a beau- tiful veil which reached to the floor — white slip- pers and gloves : and beside her angel conductors were two little uhildren about seven vears old, bear- ing upon a large silver plate her crown. The maids of honor were in blue, with white v^ils. After being [•resented to her subjects, she was led forward and knelt to receive the crown ; after which she ascended tlie throne, atteuiled by her maids, while the grand 'i /.-¥'' ''■' ^H 4 >i ' . «!■ ■■■■■,> " 1 .- > • 122 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. Coronation March, as.a trio, was played. Then fol- lowed '* An A-ddress to our Queen," by one of her first maids, and the address of the Queen spoken by her first maid of honor. Singling, and a few words by the Bishop, and the procession left the hall for the chapel, where we had Benediction, of the Blessed Sa- crament ; and, after the clergy liad left the Sanctua- ry, Miss B — s, the Queen, entered, and taking her crown from her head, placed it upon the Altar. *' I have given you this description, for I found the ceremony so beautiful, I thought you would be inter- ested to hear of it. Miss B — is a lovely person. She expects to go to Europe with her father very soon. • • • • " CONGUEOATION OF NoTRE DaMK, St. Eustaciie, June 7, 1857. " My Dear Mother : Yours was received yesterday morning. It gave me much pleasure to hear that you were all well. I hope Helen will not get sick with her cold. I imagine the weather in Vermont has been something like ours here. In fact we have had but one or two warm days, and at present it is quite cold. If warm weather does not come faster than this', I shall not feel it much I suppose you have plenty to do, as usual. I imagine 1 see you sometimes in the garden. St. A — has a fondness for (lowers equal to yours, and her pupils have been bringing any quantities to her all the Spring. When she has a moment's time she is sure to be weeding, or attending to her plants in some way. You have not sent me any word about your garden. I am not able to tell you yet exactly what time I shall be home, for the day of our examination is not yet fixed. I do not think the warm weather will affect me much — I am so well now, and there are only about six weeks before the close of school. At present we are pre- paring for our examinations, and of course all in a hurry. Tlic young ladies here are prejiaring two Dramas to be actcil, one in English and tlui other in French. 'V\\o- former I have tlie care of exercising, of course. It is not very long, and they learn it pret- tliat i>e a,<^ '^y\ ^Uq. \\t '.: ^^^^ THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 123 fol- first her 3 by • the IBa- ctua- r her cl the inter- erson. • very i tcrday ar that Bt sick ermont jQ have it it is faster upposo see you niJness e been When ceding, Du have am not e home, I. do \uch— I c weeks arc pve- all in a \x\^ two other in .vcisiutr, it pret- ty well for chiklren who arc only studying English. The French piece is very beautiful. When the pro- gramme is made out I will send you one. That will be before long. We have about forty children now — that is, ma Tante St. A — 's class — and Sister L — has about the same number. The Congregation has two hundred and four professed nuns, and they have so much to do that it is impossible to have three on this mission. The novices number over twenty, and not one-third of them are at the community — all on missions : and those wlio are making their first year's noviciate, numbering over thirty, are most of them in the suburbs of Montreal teaching the poor. Sister L — scolds a good deal to think she cannot get another to assist her ; but she does not efl'ect much by it. I have no more time to write. Give my love to father and the children. Your true Debbie, infant de Marie.'''' " CoxaREGATION DE NOTRE DaME, St. Etjstaciie, June 21st, 1857. " My Dear Carrie : I cannot give you a very good reason for remaining so long without answering your last letter ; one thing after another seemed to come in the way. I have passed a few days in Montreal, and we are preparing for examination,which of course takes up the time and attention of the teachers. I know you will excuse me this time as I am not sub- ject to the fault in question. " I went to Montreal to be present at the corona- tion of the May Queen at Maria Villa.'' .... " I leave Canada once more next month. Would tliat the day would never come, but hope cheers mo on. I go with a sad heart, but I trust all will yet 1)0 as I desire. " Helen writes often. She is not very well, but very happy. I do not think either of us will leave liomo next year. I find pleasure in the thought that she will be with me yet awhile. For when once se[)ar- ated, perhaps it will be our final parting here " As for myself, 1 had rather say nutliiug at pres- 124 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 1' . ■• cnt. Not that I am afraid to confide in you, but I do not know clearly what to say. I have had trouble enough lately getting my parents and friends quiet on the subject. They had come to the oonclusion that my intention was to become a religious, and of course considered it their duty to prevent me if pos- sible. 1 have given t.iem a little ease, but I fear not much . " But, my dear Carrie, why try to lighten the cross which our Divine Master has given us ? Has lie not — the Innocent One ! — borne it before us ? When I embraced the Catholic Faith I looked for trials and I have had but very few. Could I ask them to be less? Can I, who have received from God so many gifts, and above all that of Faith, deem these things hard ? Oh my friend ! could I who pro- fess to be one of His followers, one of those who love Him, see that Divine Saviour drink His bitter chalice alone ? Oh no. my Jesus ! if Thou thinkest mo worthy to suffer something for Thy Name's sake, I am satisfied. Only give me strength to suffer all with patience and joy. Oh my Carrie ! what a re- ligion we have ! what a holy consoling thought that we are not separated from the Catholic Church. . This is the month of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Do not forget me. Make some acts of Reparation for your poor Debbie, who has so much need of them, and I will not forget you either. The Month of Mary passed with all its lovely services, and I trust bles- sings have been laid up in Heaven for us. This life is very short, and what matters it if Eternity only be gained., I must close my letter here, for I have much to do. If you write before the 16th of next month direct to St. Eustache, otherwise to Fairfield. St. A — e sends love and would write if she had time. Write soon and pray for your devoted friend " DebbiEj Enfant do Marie 11 123 DUt I oublo quiet laslou nd of if pos- tal not c cross [as lie re us ? ked for 1 I ask jd from ,h, deem vho pro- vlio love c chalice kest me i sake, I luffer all hat a re- ght that Clmrcli. sus. I>o ation for icm, and of Mary rust bles- riiis life only be I have of next Fairficltl. had time. d Marie,'''' 1 n CIIArTER YII. At the close of the examinations at St. Eustache, in the latter part of July, 1857, Debbie went with her beloved " Tante" to Montreal, where they met the father of that lady, who had come to take the young sister (mentioned by Debbie in her letters, as a pupil of the institution, and who has since become a member of that holy Order,) home for the vacation. He urged Debbie with such cordial politeness to ac- company his daughter and himself to Quebec for a visit, that he succeeded in overruling the hesitation she felt at first, lest her parents might be unpleasant- ly disappointed by this further delay of her return home. She therefore wrote to them explaining the cause of that delay, and accepted the invitation. She felt herself bound to the kindred of one to whom she owed so much as a Catholic, by far stronger ties than those of ordinary friendship. Two weeks were passed most agreeably in the pleasant family of that friend, during which she received every^ attention from its whole circle that aifection and admiration could prompt. She always recurred with grateful pleasure to the recollections connected with that visit, and the consideration and regard with which she was treated by all. They, on their part, were charmed with their lovely guest, and have ever remembered her with sen- timents of affectionate esteem, bordering upon venera- tion, for the surpassing loveliness of character, person and manners. She was also very ranch admired in Quebec beyond that family circle, as well as in other parts of Canada where she was seen, and had not her 126 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. ;i. >• ■ irrevocable choice ns to her future state of life boon made known, she would not have lacked numerous opportunities for establishing herself, (in a worldly point of view,) in the most desirable position. About a month after her return from St. Eustache we received another visit from her and her sister Helen, whose health was beginning to exhibit symp- toms that awakened the most lively apprehensions in our hearts, as well as in that of her sister, on her ac- count. Indeed, among the most touching of our cherished memories of the sisters, are those of the so- licitude, (more maternal than sisterly,) which Debbie constantly manifested for her precious Helen, and the loving appreciation with which it was received, while the acceptance of it was always marked by some mis- chievous drollery or merry conceit on the part of the recipient that was all her own. Their natures, dis- tinctly marked by opposite attributes and wide diver- sities of temperament, seemed to be drawn into still closer union by those very contrasts. The isolated position in which they stood, bound so lovingly to- gether by the golden links of the Catholic faith, made the thought of their possible separation by death even more painful to their Catholic friends, to whom they were inexpressibly dear, than to themselves — so well had they learned at that early period of life, by the aid of peculiar trials, the difficult lesson of perfect conformity to the will of God, which is rarely ac- quired during the varied experiences of a long life. We had but just entered upon the enjoyment of their visit, when a distressing accident, which befell a member of our family interrupted the pleasure, and was the means of hastening their departure. They left us, however, with the promise of an early return to finish the visit. It would have been a sorrowful parting indeed for us, if we had known that the prom- ise was destined never to be fulfilled, and their pres- ence together, (in consequence of changes in our domestic arrangements, which brought a large acces- sion to the numbers of our household, for that year,) was never again to enliven our solitudes. THE YOUNfJ CONVERTS. 127 lerous orldly staclic sister symp- ions in her ac- of our the so- Debbie and the i, while me mis- t of the res, dis- le diver- nto still isolated ngly to- :h, made itli even om they -so well '.^ by the perfect trely ac- g life, ment of ;h befell lure, and They y return orrowful le prom- leir pres- s in our ge acccs- at year,) The following letter was written from our ])laco during that visit and addressed to her friend L — , who had come from Chicago to pass a few weeks in Ver- mont. " SwANTON, Sept. 29x11, 1857. *' My own dear L — c : T was much disappointed at not seeing you before I left Burlington, but was obliged to say to myself, ' I shall see her soon,' and come away with no greater consolation. We came directly to Mr.S 's of Swanton, where I am en- joying myself finely. I often think, however, of you, and feel as though I must see you soon. I am too much interested in the welfare of my early friend to forget each day to offer a fervent prayer to Heaven that she may be shielded from all the evils of this weary world. My thoughts often revert to our con- versation the night I passed with you, and I am so fearful that your heart will grow cold and indifferent to every joy sinco some have proved so fleeting. May I speak just as I wish to ? I know you will not feel angry. Let me tell my L — that she will find noth- ing in this world's joys to fill the heart. I know too well how short-lived are those things. I have known by experience. And I feel for you so much, my darling friend, that I can but speak. Perhaps you will think me foolish, but if you knew for one hour the happiness which one feels who trusts in God alone, you would see Debbie in a different light. I long so often to clasp you to my heart and make you partake of my heart's feelings " The trials which are sent us here are for our sanc- tification. We can improve them so well also. What a blessing they have been to me no one knows, and you can make them so to yourself. I am looking for your visit to Fairfield with the brightest expec- tations. You must come, will you not ? And then how long will we speak of days gone by, of the pres- ent, and even of the future. It must not seem like a blank to you or me. We have our missions to perform. Our patlis differ as yet, would to God they might one day be alike. ^. . m 128 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. ft f I; " Faiufield Wkdnesdav. I have just arrivod home and your letter just received. I kuew you liad good reasons for not comin;:^ and I did not feel hurt, but I longed for your face once more. I am hoping, however, that you will visit me soon. Though I can not expect you immediately, I may before your re- turn to Chicago. 1 intended to have my likeness taken for you before I left Burlington but had not the time. The next time 1 am in »St. Albans 1 will do so, and you must send mo yours very soon " I will pray for you often, and I know some re- quests must be granted. And now L — dear, good night! Pleasant dreams and a light heart to thee, ami believe me thy most devoted friend, "I3E1UUE, Child of Maryy The following extract from a letter, written by Debbie, to a young friend from the southern part of the State (then attending school in Burlington), whose recent conversion had fdled the hearts of Cath- olics with joy, will, I am sure, be interesting to our readers : "Fairfield, Oct. 17, 1857 — Sunday Evening. " My Dear Miss — My Sister Helen has teased me to-night until I have promised to write to you before I go to sleep. I had intended to do so myself, hut not being very well had given it up. Although our acquaintance has been so very short, still the interest is as great, which we feel for you and your sister, as though we had been friends for years. And why should it not be so ? Called as we have been, so similarly to the Catholic faith, alone as we are, the oldest of our families — we can not but feel drawn to sympathize with one another. I have long desired to meet and know both yourself and your estimable sis- ter whom I have heard spoken of so frequently. I have learned to look to my Catholic friends for pleas- ure, and may 1 not number you among them ? .... The heart yearns oftentimes for some one with whom something else can be spoken of beside the vanities of this world. To-day I heard a sermon which made me think of you as well as myself, It was on i^Si THE YOUN(i CONVEUTS. 121> ?) i^en, so re, tlie iiwn to ired to -lie sis- ly- I plcas- • • • • whom anities maiie ^as on ' TlianlcsiriviiiLT for tlio CJift of Faith.'' Truly we are among tlie number wlio liavo reason to be thankful to Almighty (;!o(l ! .... We can not speak half we feel ! Of our heart's sentiments we have to keep the greater share to ourselves ; for can we speak when the soul is moat absorbed in the one great theme — Je- ms our Beloved ? Still we can help each other in our bearing of His Cross, and the encouraging word of a friend in the trials of this life are like balm upon the wou]uled spirit. Tlie hand of Charity, given to assist ns in our journey through this vale of tears, is ever welcome. Then we will be friends — will we not ? Let our prayers be united for the conversion of those near and dear to us, and for owr perseverance. Give my love to your sister ; send my letter to her if you choose. I should be most happy to hear from her if she will favor me so much. Helen sends love She will write when she is able. Let us hear from you very soon. We should be so delighted ! Re- member ns in your fervent prayers " Fairfield, Oct, 25Tir, 1857. " My Dear Carrie : Your letter was received some days since ; I must say I had given up all hopes of hearing from you again, and I think now I must thank our friend C — s for the favor. I am very much obliged at any rate, and of course ready to reply, for should ' Auld Lang Syne' be forgotten ? No, all must live in the memory though time and distance may separate forever those who have been true friends. How short was our acquaintance ! and yet how strong and lasting? the tie which binds us Oh Car- rie dear ! you would find that four years have wrought a great change upon Debbie. I am sure yon would find me much the same in regard to some things, but how different in others. I would fain tell you all, that you might know what I have experienced, but why trouble another with those things ? I am as happy now as I can be, until some future day when all shall be given to God which this heart can give. I have, since I saw you Carrie, seen changes enough to make me look somewhere besides this world for M- su \.k -.. ..i^l 130 THE YOIJNC; CONVERTS. m ' consolation, and have found It Timo passod and 1 liad renounced tho-fVicndslii|) of tlic world, ub. jnrcd Protestantism, and entered tlie boHoni of tiio Catholic Church. From that moment to know (iod'H will with rcp^ard to my vocation became the subject of prayer with me. I waited patiently. Need 1 tell you, Carrie that my decision is fixed for the reli<iinii8 life. Yes ! it is so, and this has not been done in haste. I know well now where our Divine Master calls me, and rejoicinp^ to suffer yet more for His sake, 1 am submissive to His will "And now Carrie, let me speak of those who were near and dear to me. Many have left me, for the change in my religious principles has estranged them. Some have learned to forget Of this I am glad to know, for I now sec the Hand of Providence in all, and would not for worlds have it otherwise. 8ince my profession of our holy religion I have found my happiness consisted not in the possession of any one's affections, and now I see that Jesus alone can sat- isfy my souk If you knew how I long to fly from this world's pleasures and consecrate myself to the service of God ! But I must wait. Two years, at least, I am still to be here My sisters desire to be- come Catholics and T must wait awhile to see them settled. Anna is sixteen and when she it? a little older will take the all-important step. .... " I heard with joy of your intention to visit Keese- ville this winter, and you mr.st come and see-me. . . " I hear from St. A — qiiiio f equently. I enjoyed myself so much with her laF*^^ ^ car, and most probably it is the last I shall ever spend with her." .... "Fairfield, Nov. IOtii 1857. " My own dear L — e : I had waited long for a word from you when your welcome letter arrived. T am sorry you have been attacked with such a cold. We all know how to sympathize with you for every one of us have "had a siege, but are all dt)ing well now, except Helen, who does not seem to improve any, and as far as I can judge is failing. Her cough seems worse and her stomach is no Letter, which is THE yOUNU CONVERTS. 131 issod I, ab. f tl.o (lod's ll)J0Ct I toll no in lastcr } sake, D were Dr the them. I am idcncc Bivvise. 1 found of any ;an Kat- mi this service least, 1 to be- e them little iKeese- ne. . . fcvijoyed [•obably .857. for a 'Cd. 1 la cold, every [vr well Improve congh diich is luifavorablo. However lur spirits are always fj;ood, and I think she looks upon lior situation as a diin- ^erons one, still is always nay. I am more troubled I fear than she is, and this shows my attachment to earth. 1 am too loud <'f it yet though it has lost many of its charms for me *' llelen is the li«rlit of my life now, I do not know liow I could roniiiiu here withoutrhor. She is cheer- fuhicss itself and says to me sometimes, ' Debbie I shall roach hnmi' lirst, dont vou see I am hiirothed to DeathT and sho seems joyous at the thou<,dit. Oh what a sacrifice it is to me to see her sinkin<r and vhink there is no help for her But why speak of this loi.^ -? T must be cheerful or T shall make others sad, and this should not be. In fact I do not think I am sad, for I have too many thin<^s to be thankfnl for ; ] need not enumerate them here. Would to (jlod 1 mif,dit see the mercy of His Hand in scndinpj me those tjifts, and then I should see as I ought, how kind He is to send afUictions also. Heav- en can not be gained by a life of ease here below. Our Divine Lord leads His children by a different path, even the one He tried Himself, and truly it was one of suffering. He has made the cross light, hu- miliations joyous, contemj)t an honor, and finally He has made all trials so sweet when united with His sniferinrjs that sometimes I think I would not for world's exchange them for ease and comfort. There is a sacrcdness in sorrow, there is a deliciousness in tears, oh ! who shall rob us of them when they gain for us, (through the merits of the Precious Blood of Jesus,) bright gems for a heavenly crown ? " I am sure you think me very grave to-night, but what my heart feels I must write. I know you will not imagine I mean to intrude, but if you only knew L — , the consolations of Faith you would not be sur- prised. I do not say too much of our Holy lieligion. I cannot. Too much can never be said. Saints have made it their theme for ages, and yet all has not been said. But search for the IVuih., and you will f\\\CL it." .... 1.- , * ■ C'F 132 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. t * r .;, If Mil '■■[■ 81ic v/' Hos again to her yonng friend in Bmllng- ton : " Faireield, Nov. 13, 1857. " My very dear Friend : I need not assure you that your reply to my letter received a most hearty wel- come, from both my sister and myself ; firstly, from the fact of oiir regard for the writer ; and secondly, the very pleasing n«ws v/hich the letter contained — that of your sister's baptism. Yes ! I can rejoice with you over the entrance of a soul so dear to you into the fold of Jesus Christ I have joined with you all in thanksgiving for the gift of Faith, which has been bestowed upon her while yet so young. You may well say, it would be a happy thing could she die before sin had sullied her baptismal robe ! And yet, if so it could be, no occasion would she have had to prove her love for our dearest Lord Life is not so dark as we often feel it is, if we only spent it in working for Him who has done so much for us ! True there is always m in this poor world, and this almost tempts me to wish I had died in some happy hour when my soul was in a state of grace ; but then the thought comes to me, I must not be la- zy. Jesus desires us to work a while here, and, though poor laborers, we surely can not refuse the little we can do. However 1 think He favors those whom He calls to an early home. They seem to be pure souls, whom He can not bear to see remaining here to suffer. But to return to your sister J. ; give my love to her, and tell her that I shall expect a share in her prayers I, too, my dear friend, have Been a beloved sister received into our Holy Church. It was one of the happiest days of my life, and the hour when I saw her renounce the world and its vain joys, I could not but recall the same time in my own life, and live it over again Time passes away and I am little aware that nearly two years have elapsed since I made my profession of the Cath- olic Faith ! I am still finding new beauties, and so I suppose we always shall. In thanksgiving for the groat blessings we have received, what could we do THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 133 we ( \o toonincli? I am writing while Helen sleops, Slie has not been as well for the past few weeks. I ara somewhat discoiiraged about her. Her cough is very troublesome, and many of her symptoms are worse. Her spirits are always gay. Bhe sends love to you and your sister also." " Fairfield, Dec. 6th, 1857. " My own dear Carrie : A few lines to you to-day in reply to your kind letter which gave me so much pleasure. I have attended Mass and have just re- turned.^ I suppose you have also been present at the Adorable Sacrifice, and perhaps have received your Divine Lord this morning. I have not had that hap- piness myself, ard I trust I have been remembered by some one wuo has been so closely united to our sweet Saviou^ on this day. Last Monday was the anniversary of my baptism, and I had prepared, or tried to prepare my soul to celebrate that joyous feast. How swiftly two years have passed away ! I can scarcely realize it. Time does his work so quick- ly. I need not say that my happiness seems com- plete ; when I think of the long time I waited ere I was admitted into the Fold of .lesus Christ, and real- ize the delights which are experienced in frequent recourse to the holy Sacraments, I look back upon my past life as almost a blank. It is truly a consola- tion to look at the state from which God in His infi- nite mercy has called me, nnd meditating upon His love, try to return Him th-mks for His manifold ben- vixLOa • • • • " And now Carrie, hew are you going to pasa Christmas? Have you made any arrangement for the holidays ? We do not in Fairfield, (any one but Helen and I,) think much of this great Festival, and we ha^ ' ) make our own plans for celebrating this, and other festivals, without reference to others. Alas ! for the days of last year ! "You had heard of the death of dear Kfi'o Tnom- isscTi. So unexpected ! She was one of ny warmest friends, and I regret much that death hai robbed us so soon. Have you seen a notice of her f^eaih in any ■W, ^ t .V 134 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. • » of the papers ? There was an ohitiiary in the Tablet, and in the St. Louis Leader. 1 have not seen the Pilot, so do not know whether there was one in that or not. She will be remembered by many. Do you ever see any of our convent friends ? They are scat- tered far and wide ! .... " Home — Friday Evening. " My own dear L — e : I could not retire to-night without writing you a few lines in reply to your kind letter, I am happy to hear you intend to visit Fair- field soon, and I will most assuredly meet you in St. Albans, if it is in my power, if not I will send for you. I think of spending Christmas in St. Albans and I wish you could come the next day vidiich will be the 26th of this month I am delighted to think you are coming and then L — , I trust I shall have it in my power to convince you that I feel a deeper in- terest in you than ever, and that my love is as sincere, my friendship as truthful as before You will fine that * Debbie' is still the same. " I must say good night. To-morrow morning I must be up early to attend Church, and Sunday is my day for Holy Communion. I will not forget you, my own L — , when I kneel to receive that Heavenly Food, and my prayers shall arise to the Throne of the Most High for your welfare. Would you wish to be remembered there ?" .... {To the same.) " Madrid, N. Y., February 11, 1858. '•My own dear L — e : I am not inclined to wait one day before answering your letter just received. I am at Madrid still, you perceive, and am enjoying myself better than could be expected. I find my friends very cordial and kind Helen is much the same. My uncle and his partner have examined her lungs, and say there is but very little, if any hope of her ever being any better. She will probably lin- ger until another fall ; but it is beyond all reason to suppose she can recover I never saw^a per- son more resigned to death. If Cod so wills, she is THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 135 58. ) wait ived. ying L my much nil! oil hope y lin- 011 to pcr- iic is happier to die than live. If it was His will she should recover, it is lier's also. " I do not know how long we may stay. It is un- certain. I am going with my undo to-night to a wedding. You will think I am getting gay again : but not too much so I am more and more fatigued with the pleasures of this world. They grat- ify me not for one hour. Such conversation — so friv- olous, so vain ! so little of true worth can be derived from it. I am tired, heartily so, of parties, visits, calls, formalities, &c. To absent myself from such, and find true happiness in working for a nobler end than I have heretofore, is my highest ambition. I find more contentment in the quiet of ray own room, away from the distractions of the world, than amid its pay est scenes. One hour alone, in meditation upon a J vanity of all things temporal, and the reality of those which are eternal, is worth more to my soul — adds more to my eujoymant, than a thousand spent in seeking the false pleasuTCs of this life. *' Let us consider thc^se things, my friend ; let us remember that our souls are immortal ; we liave but one life to live, and then comes eternity. We know not the hour when it shall burst upon us in its awful reality. Then let us take active steps to prepare for that time. We cannot count upon to-morrow as ours. If we wo^e dying now, what would we wish to have done do; ii'g life ? Let us do now what we shall wish we hr. i do; e, when we come to leave this earth to app( ir bntcre God. .... " We ::ve thinking of going to St. Albans in the Sriing. i -'.iiy have told you this before." .... Helen's health continued to decline during the win- ter, though so gradually as hardly to be perceptible from week to week. In the early part of that winter, their friends had decided upon their accompanying Some acquaintances who were expecting to pass that sea^" n in Florida, and every preparation and arrange- mo';t ','^as made for their departure. Subsequent and unfori on occurrences compelled those acquaintances to relinquish the plan, and they also gave it up, much ''»-"^ :' *?; '^ fl 8>i n 136 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. to Helen's relief, for slio had regarded it with reluc- tance from the first. She seemed to feel quite sure that the disease which was upon her had already ad- vanced too far to be arrested by any change of clim- ate, and that she should be subjected to much fatigue and many discomforts, without realizing any perma- nent benefit, which was, perhaps, a just view of the matter. Our poor Debbie felt keenly the pangs of their approaching separation. She wrote but little during the winter — an occasional short note to her friend at St. Eustache, or to some other friend, inform- ing them of Helen's condition, from time to time. — In March, 1858, she writes to the former from Fair- field : " My heart w j' ^'in fly away from here, and be with those who seo , as it were kindred spirits. I am ill at ease with those who understand me not. But, hush ! I must not conplain. I should not raise this voice against what seems to be the will of my Divine Saviour ! and I did not intend to — Heaven forbid ! I only speak from the fullness of my heart, knowing to whom I am addressing myself. You know,' Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh ;' and so I write to ma Tante S . You compliment me in your last letter ; shall I tell you how ? You say yon ' feel certain that God loves me ;' so do I ! My crosses, though small, are sufficient to prove to me that my Heavenly Father remembers me. The ' back is fitted for its burthen,' you know and I am certain I shall have none too much. Since I have chosen Jesus for my guide, my love and my model, I cannot shrink from the cross which Jle presents — from the path He has trod Himself ; besides, is there so consoling a thought as that God " loveth whom He chasteneth ?" This is my consolation and it is sufficient. I have been to St Albans and seen our good Bishop — had a pleas- ant conversation with him which cheered me very much. His cheerfulness, his smile of approbation, and his blessings, are enough to encourage any one. Saw Sister C — , also, while at St. Albans — felt like a child. The past came up, and in one moment I lived it MR! ' I THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 137 [like a ved it all over again ! 1 saw at a glance the enjoyments of the few months I had spent at the convent ; I felt that I would give worlds to lose sight forever of the weary scenes of life, and, leaving all, be consecrated to the only Object worthy of love 1 These thoughts fill- ing my mind, and the warm welcome — the words of sympathy — which she gave me, were too much ! I went from the house, and entering the church, wept until my heart was relieved in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament ! It was Thursday evening, and some preparations were making for Benediction. The " Tmitum Ergo^, came over me with its usual calm influence, and soon my soul was soothed to j^eaceful- ness ! I no more looked upon the darkness and afflic- tion of my present hours ; but, forgetting all I could look to Heaven and return thanks for the blessings received — the great gift of Faith ! for which we 6au never be thankful enough. As the '•' Compar sit Laudatio''' died away, and the silence rendered the scene more impressive still, I felt the load removed, and after the Benediction was given, all was over ! The tears fell fast, but they were tears of joy rather than sorrow. Was it not enough to make me feel submission to the Divine will ! to make me come and and accept cheerfully the crosses and trials of this life ? Ah, yes ! one hour in the presence of Him we love — one Benediction, is sufficient to pay us for all our sufferings ! Oh ! ma Taute, I could speak of these things forever — conld you not ? The love of Jesus for man ! — Is it not a tale often told, but never tiresome ! filways new, and each time more beautiful ! (To the same :) " Fairfield, April, 1858. .... Passed Holy Week with Helen, at 8t. Albans, at Mr. Hoyt's : enjoyed it very much, though Helen .was aide to go out but very little. She went to Mass on Holy Thursday, but not until after the Credo was sung, when Mr. Hoyt went and brought her over to the church. She received Holy Communion on Easter Sunday. I went with her about half-past 7 o'clock in the morning ; in fact she was hardly able, but would go, and said, in so doing (( It IS my last Easter •y|;.*A-: • •■■■ w: j, :', A' • ■' !jfj[ 138 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. '; SB- i Communion, and prchaps, Debbie, the lad time «.v sliall yo togetJier /" Dear sister is fast going home^ and she is 80 lovely ! — every one speaks of it. She is the very same Helen as far as gayety is concerned, and so happy, so peaceful, so perfectly resigned to the will of God ! It has always been her favorite virtue, resignation ; she says, whatever she may have done, she has always endeavored, to say under all circum- stances,' God's will be done !' and truly she is not less ready now than ever to repeat it She is fad- ing gradually away, like some beautiful flower. From day to day I watch the change, and think ' truly she 18 too good for earth.' She suffers more- than many in consumption, but is always patient." .... I will now give extracts from some letters to her young friend at Burlington, who has been introduced in the preceding puges. " Fairfield, April 11, '58. My dear friend — : . . was very tliVjkful for your kindness in writing ; and hope to heui from you still oftener. Your letter brought welcome news. I want to know how you man- age to gain your father's good will as you do. It seems so singular that he should allow your sisters to be bap- tized. I do not understand it. But our Divine Lord sees fit so to have it ; and I cannot complain if He deals another wa}'^ .vith us. I congratulate you, and your good sisters, and begin to think your prayers are more fervent than mine, and tha£ I shall enjoy some of those blessed privileges when I am better myself. .... Our dear Helen is failing Truly she will gain in leaving this poor world ! I can hardly imagine she is to go so soon, but I must give her up. She has been my companion in joy and in sorrow. She has stood by me through the varied scenes of the past few years, and it is hard to think I must be separated from her,but God's will be done. He knows what is best and I cannot murmur. It will be but a few short days, and I trust we shall be united where partings are nev- er known ! My heart was sad this morning. I went to receive the Bread of Life, and she was not with me. Last Sunday we both went, and she remarked, ' this THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 139 is proliaMy tho last timo we shall pfo togctlior." Slio Kui J, she Iclt sensible that she was failing 8ho is happy, and T trust we shall be resigned. I will re- member you in my prayers, and the church inO , and in return you must pray for us here." .... " Fairfeld, April 24, 1858. — My own dearL — e : Yours has been received, and I hasten to reply. How shall I begin, and what shall I say ? God knows my intention is good, and that I desire nothing but your M'elfare. Then I will begin, and if anything escapes my pen which should not, pardon and forget. " I rejoice that you have concluded to live for Him who constitutes the true happiness of His creatures. I am rejoiced that you, too, my friend, have found that this world, its pleasures and allurements, can never satisfy our hearts. You too have concluded that God alone can render a soul truly happy. So it is. God alone should be our motto. And now that you have become convinced that religion is necessa- ry for us here and hereafter, seek to know the will of Him Who has already given you some light — Who has already turned His face to look upon your soul. Pray for guidance into the true path, ray dear friend, with the firm intention of following where Jesus shall lead, and you will not, I trust, go astray. Our Di- vine Saviour wishes us to appear before the world aa His followers I do not wish to say too much, but you know, L — , my interest in you, and I cannot help asking you to seek with diligent prayer, the way which Jesus Christ has ordained for His faith- ful children, and for all, if they would but see. I do not wish you to think I am going to sermonize; but it would be wrong for me to be silent on such a topic. '* Sunday afternoon. — My dear L — : I have just re- turned from Church, where I have had the happiness of approaching the most holy Sacrament of the Body and Blood, soul and Divinity, of our Lord Jesus Christ. Can a heart that has never approached this holy Table know what joy, what inward peace reigns in the soul, at this union with her Heavenly Spouse ? ■■•V' « 1.: *>■■ • * 140 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. ■ A- (J 1 t-^v' Can I make yon understand, my own tlear friend, tlie delights of that Bancjuet at which tlie Angels are for- bidden to feast y .... I can only assure you that earth has no happiness like it. All the moments of pleasure I have ever had — all the enjoyments of this world, have been nothing compared with the sweet peace, the hallowed joy, of once leaning upon the Sa- cred Heart of Jesus, and, after pouring out all the deep griefs and hidden sorrows of the soul, then to re- ceive Him in Holy Communion. This- is all I want to render life happy ; and, believe me, L — , it is enough. I did not forget you this morning ; I pray- ed long for you, and will continue to do so." .... [ Jb her Friend in Burlington.^ "Fairfield, May 2, 1858 — Sunday Evening. " My kind and loved Friend : While I write, you undoubtedly are present at the Evening Office of the Church, and I trust your thoughts turn to me once in a while, and you breathe a silent prayer for my perse- verance. While you, my dear friend, are thus en- gaged — while the sounds of earthly music are bring- ing to your soul sweet thoughts of the celestial choirs, /am joining you in spirit, though absent in the body. I have read my vespers, and am quietly seated in my room writing to you ; and, as I proceed, the happy emotions of my heart seem to wish utterance. I am thinking of you and me — of the mysterious love of of our God, in calling us to such an inheritance as He has I have been listening to some conversation with regard to the great excitement throughout our country, termed a '■religious awakening;'' and more than ever, it seems to me, I have returned thanks to our Heavenly Father for the gift of faith wdiich He has bestowed upon me. These Protestant ' Revivals' have brought very forcibly to my mind the unspeak- able blessings we have received in being rescued from such delusions, and admitted into the Church of Jesus Christ. And why us more than others ? This is a question I often ask. But we know not : we only know it was a grace given us of God's own free mer- THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 141 oy, and not from any merit of our own ; for wc hard- ly wished for the gift at first, but He drew us by Ilis h)ve, and gave it to us almost without our asking it The Month of Mary is just commencing. 1 suppose there are services in the church in Burling- ton. I had the happiness of being in St. iVlbans to commence the month, and received Holy Com- munion there yesterday morning As for my- self, I must be content with reading my meditations, and saying my prayers for this month pretty much alone. I suppose your sister S — is much more lone- ly in O — than we are here, and when I am tempted to complain, she rises up to condemn ?ne, and I am silent. Helen has been more comfortable for the past week. Perhaps it is nothing lasting — I dare not hope too much I thank you for your words of consolation, and should know from your letter that you truly sympathize with us Helen and An- na join in much love to you and your sisters." .... " Fairfield, June 20, 1858. " My own dear L — e : I received to-day the intel- ligence of your grandfather's death, and now know the reason of your long silence How is yo^ur grandmother? I am sure she must be vey much worn out — aud yo'T dear self — how are you ? Do you still intend to remain in Burlington until autumn V .... I shall soon expect you at Fairfield, and you must re- main a number of weeks when you do come. Helen wants to see you very much, and my mother also. Helen is failing , she has not left her bed for more than a fortnigjit, and for the past week has been a great sufferer " Oh how time changes ! how friends change ; and, in fact, how all things change but God ! Death and trouble, sorrow and pain, are recorded upon every page of the passing year, and one can hardly recog- nize in the things of this year any likeness to those of the last. But there is ()nc Who never alters — Who is ever the same — unchangeable. This is our consolation in this poor world, and what a precious one !....• ■f ,«.; 142 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. [To the same.] " Fairfield, July 18, 1858. " My own dear L — e : Yours was received last even- ing, and was a glad surprise to me. I almost felt that you were never going to write again, so long was your silence, but I have been happily disappointed I am so anxious for time to pass swiftly away until after Commencement, for I am sure you will como then. When I let you go again is another question. .... Since I wrote last, Helen has failed somewhat. Her appetite is very poor I thank you for your kind letter. I can truly say, my own L — , if God did not sustain us under afflictions, we should of- ten sink. I know is is the will of our Divine Lord, and my constant prayer has ever been, that my will might be conformed to His The spirit of sacrifice is my aim, and whatever helps me to attain it I know comes from the Hand of Jesus. To be united with Him upon the Cross is my only ambition. Though I love Him in Bethlehem, in Nazareth, in His tri- umphant march into Jerusalem ; though my admi- ration and love are awakened when meditating upon the miracles of His active life — and I love to linger S.H the Apostles did, to catch the Divine words that fell from His sacred lips — still, it is upon the heights of Calvary that I find Him the most beautiful — it is there 1 wish to stay the longest : and, my own L — , I must not profess this, and be unwilling to share with my Divine Master in the chalice of His Passion. " In the cross is the height of virtue ; in the cross is the perfection of sanctity," and there we must seek it. But how often we shrink from it ! The reproof of the beautiful writer, A-Kempis, seems often to bo very applicable to me. " All recommend patience, but few desire to suffer. Jesus has many companions of His table, but few of His abstinence." .... I hope you will let me know when to expect you, for I want to go to St. Albans for you myself. .... Re- rrif^Tiibor me to vour jrrandmother, and believe me ev- er the same." " Debbie, Enfant de Maric.^'' THE YOUNO CONVERTS. 143 ov I) A few Jays later slio wrote to her friend at St. Eu- stache : "Fairfield, July 20, 1858. .... " Since I wrote you last, Helen has failed considerably. She continues very cheerful all the time, and seems to have no fear of death. She re- ceives the sacraments every week, now that she is confined to her bed. Her stomach and bowels being equally diseased with her lungs, she has to sufter a great deal. Her constant cheerfnlness is a subject of surprise among our Protestant friends, and admira- tion to Catholics. In hours of severe pain she chang- es not her smile, and between moments of distress and anguish, she will converse and laugh with those around her. She receives visits from all who ever knew her : they often say to me on leaving, ' How can Helen be so happy ? she must have something to sustain her !' If they only knew ! J/' they only knew ! '^ro me it is a great consolation, you may be sure, this her peaceful frame of mind ; for when I am looking forward to my own loneliness, after her departure, I feel less sad to think that I shall have the memory of her submission to the will of our Divine Lord. (I had better say joy in it.) .... The conscionsness that I am doing the will of God is enough to make me content. I am sometimes lonely fpr St. Eus- tache, but I will not complain. I had a year there which I little deserved, and it will never be forgotten. The remembrance of the graces there received, and of the quiet happiness of my sojourn with you, will be among the bright thoughts of my future !" .... *' In a letter to the Compiler of these memoira, written August 1st, 1858, Debbie says: "Helen is now very feeble — does not sit up at all. I can see that she fails from day to day You probably hear from her other ways ; therefore I will leave the rest until you see her, which we were so happy to hear we might hope would be very soon. Helen and my- self have looked for you and Mary to visit us, and longed to see you both ; but we know also how little time you have to leave home, since your family is so III' ■J 144 THE YOUNG CONVERT*;. "» ^ r. ' f. . ■ '"*■ *l ,. y Iar;^c, ami of course liave iiiado all a/lowancea. 1 heard from father R — of Bisliop Young's visit lo the family of our Jaithfid Libbie in Ohio. I should not be sur{)rised if her friends should yet be united with her in the precious bonds of the Catholic faith. What a joy it would be for her, for us, for every Catholic lieart the world over — another glorious conquest of Faith ! ]>e sure, I have not forgotten to pray for them ; and for her, that she may be allowed to go to the Ursuline Convent in Cleveland, as she desires. It would be such a happiness for the dear chihl ! I must not write more to-night, for I have not the time. Poor Helen says, ' I shall probably never visit my friends again they must come and see me.' You lit- tle know how feeble she is. and how much attention she recpiires. She joins me in warmest love to you and Aunt L — , who is, I hope, improving in health. I have heard several times she was not well. l*re- .scnt our kindest regards to your good husband S — , Mary, and all your family. I remain, yours very atfectionately, Debbie Barlow, Enfant do Marie.'''' In fulfilment of the expectation mentioned in this letter, we went, (Mary and I,) soon after its receipt, to pass a long summer-day with them in Fairfield, start- ing very early in the morning. A short passage con- nected Helen's room with the parlor into which wo were conducted upon our entrance. Debbie met us with great joy. We stopped to make some inquiries about Helen before going to her, when to our surprise the door into that passage opened suddenly, and Helen was before us ! I shall never forget how like an angel she looked as she stood in that door-way ; her face all radiant with joy, and the folds of her long white muslin robe floating about her ! She had recognized our voices and could not wait for us to ask questions, but must see us at once. It was so like our own Helen ! Neither can I ever forget the emo- tions that swelled my heart almost to bursting, as I fol- ded her in a long embrace, and then with loving chid- ings, half playful, half assumed to hide the grief which THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 145 in this ipt, to stavt- e cou- li wo met us uiries urprise , and ike ail y ; licr r long e had us to so like ! cmo- ,s I fol- r chid- wUich mast bo suppressed, led her Lack to her Led. It was one of tlio few occasions upon which Debhio had known her to yield to tlic slronfr emotions of which v.'o knew her imi»nlsivo nature was so susceptible. After the momentary " April sliowcr" the old sun- shine ghmced back upon us, as with one of her merri- est laughs she said. " It made a lah;i of me to sec yoM, aunty, to think of all the past, and to know it is all past — will return no more forever ! But sweeter than memories of pleasant hours is the will of my God!" "Yes," clasping her thin white hands together, and smiling, wliile her uplifted eyes beamed with joy and love unutterable, " to know that I shall so soon see Him as Tie is, and with the blessed saints adore Ilim in Jlis glory' is wortli more than all the joys a thous- and worlds like this could give !" She would not let me leave lier that day. Even when she must rest a little while, her liand were clasped in mine. How reluctantly I left her at its close ! and how well did I forb')de that I should never see her face, or listen to that dear voice again; even while I flattered myself and her, that I might be able to go to her again be- fore her departure ! It seems to me as I recall it, that the face was never so radiantly beautiful, or the voice so softly sweet, as during those hours of my last in- terview with her ! A few weeks later Debbie wrote to St. Eustache : "Fairfield, Sept., 1858. " My Dear Tante S . . Letters from St. Eu- stache float like sunbeams across my path, shediling light where all seems dark around me ! They are al- ways so full of consolations and cheering with all the rest, that I love them more and more, each one that comes. Our Divine Lord always gives something to console, even when He is afflicting His children the most, and I sometimes think He has done so in my case, by sending me such friends as 1 have, I fear I am not thankful enough to (Jod for those great gifts. Since I wrote you last our dear Helen has continued to fail. One week ago Father R gave her Holy Comuiauion and Extreme Unctiun. She has been i lllplf w, , 146 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 4 m more comfortable since. 81ic was as calm through it as she has been through all. The day follosving, our good Bi.shop came to Fairfield to visit her. She seemed to enjoy his visit very much. He told me on leaving that he thought her ' dispositions the most remarkable he had ever known' — that he had never seen a person who had seemed, from the very first, so completely resigned to the will of God. And he is right. She has never said, ' I wish to live, or I wish to dte.^ She has always said it was a matter of per- fect indifference to hev, that she wits in the hands of God, and He would do v/ith her as He saw fit, and it would all he rtr/ht. I have never heard her say that she wished to be released from her sufferings, The nearest approach to anything of the kind that I have heard, was a few days ago. She had suffered much for want of breath. I w^as sitting near her, and she finally said ; ' Oh, Jww long do you think, Debbie, I shall carry about me, this poor hod'/ V I replied, ' Not long. I think, d-^^ar ?' She looked at me, and such an expression of delight passed over her countenance as I have seldom seen, while she exclaimed, ' IFonH I Ireathe easy, then ! and it will be a different air from this!' On the eve of the Assumption. I was leaving her room to go to my own, and as I went up to her bed to bid her good-night, she said to me, * We shall wake to a glorious festival to-morrow ; what if / should awake in a hcttGr world ?' I asked her if she would like to. ' If it were the will of God, I would not ohjed !'' was her reply. It is such a consolation to see her thus ! How can I ever be thankful enougli to Almighty God in her behalf I .... A life of thanksgiving would be nothing ! She has given away all her things ; that is, all she valued. She has spoken of her burial and all those matters, so as to relieve me she says ; she speaks of them as she would of any other occurrences which were expected to take place. Her calm exterior in parting with friends, surprises me Her whole demeanor is calm and cheerful, not cold. If she sees a friend shed tears, she says, ' Are you not more courageous than THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 147 uougli ife of given Ibe has as to I would ted to rien ds, calm shed than that ?' and so she h through all. I pray God she may continue so. Father R brings the Holy Communion to her every week What is gain for her, will be loss for us ! Helen is a lovely girl, (if she is my sister,) and too much so for earth. I complain not that Heaven has chosen her ! Anna is not yet baptized, and difficulties are abundant in the way. They seem to multiply around her." .... •' Fairfield, Sept. 20tii, 1858. " My own dear L — c : I follow the bent of my feelings to-night and answer your k'v.d letter received last evening. My Sunday duties are finished, unless it may be to say my evening prayers, and I am sure a pleasant conversation with you will not be out of place. I missed you much after you left, and have often thought your visit was quite too short. But I hope it is not the last. I wish I could know that you would not leave Vermont this winter " Helen is failing much more rapidly than when you were here, and, though she may live some time yet, still, Dr. Worcester says she is liable to drop away any time " She received the last Sacraments, that is : Ex- treme Unction, and Holy Communion as Viaticum, the day after you left here. Perfect resignation, and a calm, quiet joy, seems to possess her soul. She waits for death, and though willing to remain as long as God wills, still I sometimes imagine she longs to be released I had my likeness taken for you a few days ago in St. Albans. Persons who have seen it pronounce it very good You must return the compliment ajid send me yours Mr. and Mrs. K s, of Cleveland, passed a day with us before they left. I liked the latter very much indeed. They invited mo to pass a season with them ; but before T get ready to do that, I imagine I shall be preparing for another kind of life ; at least I trust I shall. Tlie time seems so long to me ere I go More and more, and the longer I live, the desire increases within me to consecrate myself to the service of CJod. Nothing ! I' jl:^- 9Wf, W -I ' l*M II^IXI >' '> 'If * . K 148 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. short of this can satisfy my heart. The workl can not do it, or the love of earthly beings Dteu Seul, Dim Seul /" .... " Sister St. A — e sent her love to you in her last letter. She says, if you go to Montreal, you must not fail to go to St. Eustache to see her. * You have been too faithful a friend to Debbie, not to have her love you,' she says." . , . . "Fairfield, Sat. Morn., Oct. 30, 1858. "My own dear L — e : This morning I write you a far different letter than ever before. Xow mv trial has come, but it is a happy one. Our dear Helen is no longer of this earth. She died yesterday p ang at a quarter before ten. Her departure was a glori- ous one, as we might have expected. Her sufferings were very great, and I stood bv her until the last. Heaven has sustained me thus far. The funeral will be at eleven o'clock Monday morning; and her body will be taken to St. Albans for interment. T have not time to tell you more. Ever your own "Deht-te." " St. Albans, Nov. 4tii, 1858— My Dear Tan e S— I have, this morning, to communicate to you the sad intelligence that our dear Helen is no more of this earth. She died last Friday morning, at a quarter before ten, and her funeral was attended at Fairfield, at eleven o'clock, on the Feast of All-Saints, (Nov 1st,) after which her remains were brought to St. Albans for interment. I am sure you will desire to know all the particulars of her death, and I will try to give them in full. On the Tluirsday evening previous to Thursday, the last day of her life, she commenced sink- ing rapidly. We called in a physician, and she asked him how much lono-er he thouolit she had to live? He told her but a short time, though probably for a day or two longer. From that moment her counten- ance assumed the most joyous expression I ever saw it wear, and so continued until death. She remainc;! pretty comfortable until Tuesday night, when about three o' clock in the night, or rather Wednesday morn- ing, we thought her going. The physician was in the ■RnBBseaaiBrannc THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 149 d can I Seuly 3r last ist not ^e been er love .858. •ite you my trial lelen is a ^:lovi- ifferings ■he last, oral will ler body J bavc ane S — ;:lic sad of this qnavtcv Fairfield, pov 1st,) ,. Albans know all to give levious to ced sink- ;lic asked to live? bly for a connteii- evcr saw remainc;! hen about lay moni- ,vas in the next roon.* I stepped and spoke to liim, asking if he thought there was any change ? After watching her breathing for a short time, he told me be thought there was. She then requested the family to be call- ed. Father and Mother, and the other three sisters were called from their beds, and we all stood around (what we supposed) her dying couch; she was sup- ported by pillows, and sitting up. The scene was beyond description. Father was bowed down by grief, and mother worse — but Helen! what shall I say of her ? A bright smile, a look almost of delight animated her features, as she addressed each one sep- arately. She called liaura and Charlotte, and embrac- ed them both; then taking Anna by one hand, and father by the other, she said to the former, ' You prom- ise me, don't you Annie ?' Then turning her eyes to- wards father, she spoke in this way : ' Father, I am almost home ; my work is almost done ; would that I had lived better ! But God is merciful ! These cliildren must all come to this hour ; thet/ must one day be where I am noiv, and I want them to have the same consolations that I have !' Not one could reply. She then continued : ' 1 have loved you all; I have disobeyed but in one thing ! Is it right, now, father !' He answered her : ' Yes, my child, it is all right !' She then bid them all good-bye, and turned to her pbysi- cian : ' Doctor, liave I much longer to stay ?' His re- ply was that he thought not. She then began to pray and I, kneeling by her side, could occasionally catch some words from her lips though her voice was very indistinct. It was evident her mind was in Heaven, for twice she exclaimed, ' Call me to Heaven ! call me to Heaven ! She spoke of nothing, only to ask, ' Arc '* Tho sisters wore deeply attached to this physician, who also entertained a most afiocionato regard for them. So strong was the interest they felt for his spiritual, welfare, ihat/at their joint and earnest request, the Compiler presented his name to a pious confraternit}^, formed for the sole purpose of praying for the conversion of those who have manifested an interest, at any time, in our holy religion. — Compiler. y- ' }\ :tl:i ' 'ii; !|^ 150 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. ,*• - *• ' ?* 'i 1 V h|,% - ■4 ' 't V ,.;' 1 ., ■' £^$^ :■ ftt »! 1: 1:1 * t you near me, Debbie ?' Finally, she seemed to be dis- turbed by the weeping around her. ' Why do you re. gret? You have reason to rejoice, father !' said she, Then wispering to me, she added : ' Send them away. Debbie, they are drawing me away from Heaven !' She continued in this way imtil day-break AVednesday morning when, instead of dying, she revived ; but from that time until Thursday noon, she never swallowed but once. Of course, her sufferings were very great, but patience was not wanting on her part. Father R — came in to see. her. He asked if there was anything more he could do for her. Her reply was, ' no, Fath- re R — , only to pray for me.' It was the last time he ever saw her. He said he thought her the happiest soul he had ever attended. She lingered along through the day and night, until Friday morning, at the early hour of half past three : then she began to sink as be- fore. Her physician, who never left the house, came into the room, and she asked him : ' Have I much longer to stay ?' He examined her pulse, and told her she had not The family were again call- ed, and some friends who were in the house. About this time, her vision seemed to be becoming imperfect, and she said to the Doctor, ' Is this room filled with ashes ? ' Why no, my child 1' She requested to be moved near the window that she might breath easier, and said ao-ain to the Doctor, ' Did vou ever see such air ?' ' Helen.' said he, ' you do ■> t sec perfectly ; there is nothing in the room.' She then turned to me : ' I shall not breathe such air as this in Heaven, shall T Debbie ?' Then she asked again : ' u}fmt I stay much longer, Doctor ?' Being answered ' No,' she said, ' Good bye, all. I have said all I have to say ; now stay by me, Debbie.' By this time her voice had become almost inaudible, but by being so near, I could distinguish parts of sentences. Her lips moved con- stantly, and the names of Jestis and Mary were re- peatedly uttered. She asked me to sa}^ ' We fly to thy Patronage.' I did so, and also the Litany of the Blessed Virgin. Shie responded, ' Pray for us,' until I was nearly through, her voice was too faint to be THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 151 le dls- ou re. d she, away. iveii !' mesday it from Uowed great, lerR — ly thing .,Fath- time lie appiest brougli le early k as 1)0- ;e, came I mucli md told [ain call- About iperfcct, led with ed to be [h easier, sec audi rfectly ; irned to iHcaven, \ist I stay 0,' sbe to say ; oice bad , I could ed con- Iwere re- fly to ly of the ills,' untd Lt to be heard ; but when the concluding prayer was finished, she sard ' Amen !' so that every person in the room heard her plainly. She held her crucifix as long as her hands were strong enough, and times without num- ber, pressed it lovingly to her lips. Being uncertain whether she could see or not, I held it before her a short time after she had dropi)ed it. She fixed her eyes again upon it for a moment, and sweetly whisper- ed, ' My crucified Lord !' These were the last words she uttered, while her mind remained clear. Soon the doctor perceived that an abscess had broken upon her lungs, and then her mind seemed to wander ; un- til nine o'clock, she continued to speak but very lit- tle. She seemed happy all the time, but partly un- conscious of her situation. At a quarter past nine she began to suffer the most terrible agony, and from that time ceased to speak, except a few times we heard mij name. At a quarter before ten, she breathed her last. Her physician thought she had been unconscious of her sufferings for half an hour. I stood by her side until all was over. Anna and Laura were in the room, but none of the other friends. After death, her countenance was perfectly lovely. The same smile lingered on those pale lips, and every one who beheld her pronounced her ' beautiful in death.' On the days while she lay in the house, more then six hundred people came to see her. The funeral was very large. Forty-six carriages, and a groat many on' foot,, follow- ed her remains from Fairfield to St. Albans, eight miles, notwithstanding the unfavorable weather and very bad rrads. She died as she had lived, and you know how that was. Would .that my last end might be like hers ! I am certian that you will not forget to pray for the repose of her soul lam now at Mr. Hoyt's passing a few days/' .... "And Helen was gone ! We could never have thought that she would die so young — she who was so blithe, so sparkling ; so original in all sportful fancies. Helen, to apply the expressions of a much admired modern writer to her, ' with her piquant face engaging prattle, and winning ways, was made to bo III 'I , "f • .■'I if,' 15 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. a p?t. Do you know this place ? No, you never saw it (perhaps). But you recognize the nature of these trees, this foliage ! .... Stones like these are not un- familiur to you; nor arc these dim garlands of ever- lasting flowers. Here is the place — green sod, and a white marble head-stone — Helen sleeps below ! She lived through an April day ; much loved was she, much loving. She often, in her brief life, shed tears ; she had frequent sorrows ; she smiled between, glad- dening w atever saw her !" — Her spirit was attuned to the harmony of Heaven. Her practice, erdire con- formity to the M-ill of her Maker ! Long shall we miss thee,. darling ! Rcquiescat m pace! 153 lii;..- CHAPTER VIII. '■ n „.,f - ■•< On the first of December 1(S58, Debbie wrote the following to her friend at St. Eustache : " Anna has been preparing for baptism and requir- ed all my leisure hours. She had the happiness of being received into the church yesterday morning, on the anniversary of my own baptism, so you perceive I have double cause for returning thanks to Almighty God. She obtained permission without difficulty, and now is within the Ark of Safety. I was her god- mother ; she was baptized Anna Maria. Any one whom I have anything to do with must take the name of Mary. She will probably make her first Communion on Christmas and be confirmed about that time, as we expect the Bishop then to spend a few days in Fairfield. She seems very happy, and de- sires your fervent prayers for her perseverance." .... Anna Barlow had at this time just entered her eighteenth year. She was not so tall as her elder sisters, but her form was very slight, and her carriage singularly easy and graceful. Her clear blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and feeling, and her com- plexion was so purely transparent as to reveal but too plainly, to an experienced eye, a constitutional tendency to the fatal disease which claimed its vic- tim so much sooner than could have been anticipated, that the conviction of its presence fell like a bewil- dering surprise upon us all. The remarkable energy and activity of her character and habits, probably aided in concealing to a later period than is usual in such caseSj the painful truth — always most unwilling- ,i 'i 154 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. K' --'•»:. ly aJmittcJ by fond hearts — that she was destined to an early grave. Daring tliat winter, Debbie made a visit of considerable length in Burlington. While there she wrote to her mother under date of Fcbrua* ry 1st 1859. In the course of the letter she speaks of being " troubled more or less with a pain in my side, from some cause or other. It troubled me be- fore I left home, and has more since I came away. I hope, however, it will leave me before long." Some months after Helen's death, Mr. Barlow bought a beautiful place at St. Albans, where his chief business had been located for more than a year previous, and his family began to make arrangements for their removal. In consequence of a very thorough course of repairs upon the place, and the time and at- tention requisite to provide and prepare the new fur- niture for so large a mansion, that removal did not take place, however, until past the mid-summer of 1859. The correspondence between Debbie and the young friend in Southern Vermont, (from her letters to whom I have previously given some extracts,) had been interrupted for some time by circumstances ou both sides unfavorable to its continuance. It was re- sumed in March, 1859. I extract a part of a letter from Debbie to that friend, on the 25th of March. " My Dear : I was somewhat surprised to receive a letter from you a few evenings since, and equally pleased. I had thought many times that I would write to you, but waited hoping to have some intelligence from you first. I am sorry now that I did not, but you will pardon me, I am sure. Yes ! our beloved Helen is no more of this earth ! .... Her death was that of a saint. It was more happy, more glorious, than I can tell you. Her sufferings were very great for sometime before her departure. .... From Monday imtil the morning she died, which was Friday, I never left her side. Of the sweet peace, the almost ecstatic joy, which beamed in her countenance for that length of time, I will say but little; icords are inadequate for the task. She could speak most of the time, and one might easily THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 155 to and I oine I es! have imagined that her soul was already experiencing a foretaste of Heaven, could they have heard all that passed from those loved lips. And what must have been going on in that heart ! I know, from the ex- pression of delight, of rapture, which occasionally overspread her face, when all was silent about, that she was holding communion with the blessed in Heaven. I cannot tell you all she said ; I cannot tell you here of the patient resignation with which she received her sufferings, nor of the longing desire, the constant anxiety, witli which she looked forward to the moment when she should ' sin no more !' No, I cannot tell you all now, but I hope to sec you soon, and then I can and will. Suffice to say, she died on Friday^ the day upon which she always wished to leave this weary world, full of hope, without one re- gret for all she left behind, without one sigh, one tear, or one look of sorrow, while others wept around her, hour after hour. She left not one stain upon lier Christian character, and never, to my knowledge, did she commit one act which brought a reproach up- on the holy faith she professed. She has died * the death of the just,' and well might our wish be that ours might be like unto it. The burial was on the Feast of All Saints, one of her favorite festivals. The month of November had just commenced, as you see, and that being the month in which so much is done for the souls in purgatory, what a lovely time to die ! Could she have chosen a better ? And now, for myself — Helen is gone ! I doubt her need of the prayers and suffrages of the faithful ; still the Church commands us to pray for the departed, but pray for me dear — . Our Divine Lord has bestowed so many graces upon me, that I fear lest I prove ungrateful ; He has given me sometimes a little share in His Cross, but not enough yet. There are others yet in store for me, and I regret it not. Pray that I may have courage and patience ! I am very happy this winter, and why should I not be ? Another, near and dear to me, has been received into our Holy Church ! Our Divine Saviour gives me too many •C- y^ '!!•'• 156 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. I ■ J 11 /J consolations. I know you rejoice with mc, and pray for the others. We are about leaving Fairfield. In May we expect to go to St. Albans to reside." .... To the same : " ApRiii '24t[i — . . . . Of course you know that Lent is over. Well, our church in Fair- field had to be decorated for Easter, and I have been very much engaged preparing wreaths and flowers for the Altar. We have had services every day through Holy Week, and of course I have not had many moments to spare. Thursday night I had the Imppincss of spending the hours from nine until twelve before the Blessed Sacrament, something which I do every year, if possible. I thought I Avas going to be disappointed this time, as we feared we could not have a Repository^ but we did, and I had that great privilege. I received Holy Communion on Holy Thursday. You were not forgotten. Easter has come, and we must rejoice, and we can do so togeth- er. The day is a very cloudy, dark one here, not svh as it seems to mc the feast of our Lord's Resur- rection ;.:.ould be, but the ' Alleluias' made it seem a little more bright. I love Easter ! There is some- thing which takes all sadness from my heart, in the appearance of everything on this day. I do not won- der at the simplicity of their faith, who see the sun dance on Easter Sunday morning. A year ago to- day Helen received Communion for the last time in church, and I with her. This makes me a little sad in spite of myself, but why should I be ? Her Easter this year is a far happier one, far more glorious, than earth can ever make it. She loved the glorious mys- teries of our Lord's life, and through Passion time she was ever looking forward to His ]\esurrection, and then still forward to His Ascension." .... Debbie was pleased with the choice of their future home, as the residence her father had purchased was that of her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Hoyt, (who remov- ed to Burlington to reside soon after the sale of their house,) where she and Helen had passed so many hap- py days together. Yet she experienced deep regrets upon leaving Fairfield, the home of her childhood. THE YOUN'(} CONVEllTH. 157 !tion, m-ets 100(1. She had many friends there to whom she was warm- ly attached, 'even among tlioso whose aifection for her and her sister had been chilled by their submis- sion to the Catholic faith. Her spirit, always too generous to stoop to emotions of ill-will, jealousy or envy, was, when broun;ht under the inlluence of that "^aith, too thoron<jjhly imbued with charity and hunnl- ity, to reciprocate the coldness she too often met from others, or to utter even to her most intimate friends any expressions which (if they heard them) could wound the feelings of those who so carelessly wound- ed her own. Beyond a gentle and kind allusion to her regret for such estrangements, she never went. Our spirited Helen, indeed, would sometimes toss her head and make some indignant or contemptuous re- mark, but the next moment she would take it all back, and condemn herself with severe humility for lier momentary departure from charity. How loving and how sweet were the approving smiles with which her elder sister rewarded those little conquests which she thus achieved over her impetuous nature, they who have seen them much together will vividly re- member, and will sympathize with the emotions wdiich fill my eyes with tears as I record these reminiscen- ces. Then there was the humble church of Fairfield, within whose sacred walls many of her fondest asso- ciations were gathered. There she had often knelt with the dear departed to partake of the Bread of Angels. There they had gone together to offer their liumble adorations before Jesus in His Sacrament of Love. And there, when that sister's faith was chang- ed to sight, and her hopes closed in full fruition, she had sought daily, for many months, the i^onsolations which could be fonnd only in communion with her Saviour, before His Holy Altar. Its pastor had also been the director and guide of her pure soul, as well as those of her sisters on their heavenward journey, since the day of their baptism. She no\v felt more than ever her need of those holv counsels, which had so aided in supporting her beloved Helen through the 'ilii •, mi' l. it r "' \ iiir:; lilii m 158 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. <>■ .„^v ■ .•'' ■■■:.\. ' ''! T'in '*■■■ M 'mam as " valley of the slm;]o\v of doatli," and from vvlilcli sho liad herself derived sustain intr aid to strenji,then her afflicted spirit, under the loneliness of the separation from that sister. The thought of hein^ deprived of these, as she must he in a great measure after their removal to St. Albans, was very painful to her. An- na's health was beginning to decline, and she felt that her own also was failing. That " pain in her side," mentioned in her letter to her mother in February, was, alas ! never to " leave" her, as she hoped. The final arrangements for removing were made, there- fore, under circumstances so unpromising, that it re- quired all the fortitufle of spirits habituated to con- formity with the will of God, to support them under the trial. In the early part of July, Debbie again visited Montreal, for the purposa of making a spiritual re- treat in her dear convent home, to decide the ques- tion as to her vocation to the life of a religious. 'J'he following letter was written during that visit to Can- ada : " Convent of the Congreqation, N. D., ) St. Eustaciik, Aug. IOtii. ) " My own dear L — e : I began a letter some days since at Montreal and intended to finish it but had not time, and here I am beginning another which will only be ready, I suppose, after some days. I have been in Canada nearly six weeks. I am to re- turn home in two or three days. Your letter came to me here, and I am ashamed to think I have not answered it yet, but my time has been so much taken up that I could not write as I wished. You pleased me very much by your accoui * of ae western mode of living, and I hope you wi^' ae with another like it when you can In return for your description, I will give ;ou one of ray stay in Canada. A poor one, I, am sure it v ill be, but you must let your imagination fill up the blanks. I arrived in Montreal the 1st of July, evo of the THE YOUN(i CONVERTS. 159 lays bad licli I le- }dto lias as I lie lie 01 J ^ ill the the Festival of the ViHitation of tlio Jilosscd Virgin to St. Elizabeth. This is tlie feast patromil of the Coii- gve<:^ation, N. 1). — the j^reatcst day in the year for tlioni. Their chapel was de(3orated beautifully, and the relitjious services of the dav were iiia<niilicent. In the eveninfi^ after Vespers I came to St. Eustache with one of the nun.^. St. A — e is here. Of course I was rejoiced to see her, and she seemed to be to see me. I remained here for three weeks, and then we went to Montreal tofjether for a visit. There I made a spiritual retreat. During five days I saw lit- tle of any one. While in retreat, you know, we give our time to prayer, fasting, spiritual reading and re- ceiving the Sacraments. This I did at this particu- lar time to know the Will of God concerning my fu- ture. After having consulted my own heart I feared to trust it. I knew my own desires, but 1 wished to know w'hether they proceeded from nature or from God. Therefore I consulted those whom the Church has appointed to decide such matters, and my decis- ion is final. My health is not good. I have a cough, and am feeble. Until I am better, I must of course remain where I am." .... After her return from Canada, and the removal of the family to St. Albans, the health of the two sisters declined so rapidly that it was judged best to take them to the sea-shore, to try the effect of sea-bathing. It proved beneficial to Anna, but Debbie could not breathe the air from the ocean with any comfort ; it produced the most distressing cough and hoarseness, with great aggravation of the pain in her side, which hastened her return home. Soon after she came back she visited me. I wa^ about to go to New York, and she requested me to see the Superior of the Sisters of Mercy, (with whom I became acquainted some years before,) and ascer- tain the conditions of entrance into the Order and Convent. Her earnest, yet half-abashed manner when she made the request, the glowing fervor with ^^ iiich she assured me that her desire to consecrate her young life to God, was not a mere sentiment or 1* ., 1 il'V » . '. IGO TlIK YOUNG CONVERTS. ^ R " it.-' '^' ^ 1 \^' {4 , K transient feeling, Lut the settled aim and sum of her aspirations, are before me now. It was early in Oc- tober. By a higher vocation was her desire consum- mated on the ninth of April following, when our sweet sister " fell asleep in Jesus !" When I was at New York, Mother Agnes was alarmingly ill, and 1 could not perform my errand. Before I saw Debbie agahi, she hnd been attach'^d with severe hemorrhage of the lungs, and when I told her of my non-fulfillment of her commission, she said serenely, " It is just as well so." She had mean- time, however, obtained the desired information from another source, but knew she could never avail her- self of it. While I was gone to New York she wrote to St, Eustache. "St. Albans, Qctorer 12, 1859." — [After speak- ing of their excursion to the sea-shore, its effects up- on them both, her own improvement after her return home, and that Anna had now returned much hene- fitted by sea-bathing, she adds :] " I ride about con- stantly, as they think exercise in the open air may relieve me. I think I may get better; but probabil- ities are against me. I say aga'nst me — I mean my recovery. Not that I fear death as a misfortune, far from it ! Though it will be a disappointment not to "be able to consecrate myself, body and soul to the ser- vice of God in this life, still His will be done ! * Wheth- er in life or in death, we are the Lord's.' It will be all the same " Our homo is elegant — furnished by the kind so- licitude of my father, with every comfort and luxury. But there is nothing in v orldly advantages and de- lights, that can satisfy tlic cravings of the immortal soul." .... She writes again to the same friend, October 20th, in cheerful submission to the decision which had now been made known to her by the hemorrhage of the lungs before alluded to, and from which she was just so far recovovod as to be able to write. She speaks of it a>s a painful surprise to her friends, but by no means unexpected by herself; that she hud THE YOUNG CONVERTS. IGl been confident for some time that ^er lungs were Jis- cascd, anil adds : " Anna is also quite sick just now — a severe cold at fir?t, followed by derangement of the stomach and bowels, and extreme debility. I in- sisted, laughingly, that she was sick to escape wait- ing upon me — she having been taken down the day after my sudden attack. I feel very lonely, without the privileges of attending Mass and visiting the Blessed Sacrament." .... " October 'IWi, — A year ago to-day Helen died ! The time seems so short that I can hardlv realize it. .... I have just come home from Mass which was offered for her to-day, and am seated in my room ajone. I have taken my pen that my reflections may not be too sad. I shall not be long behind her, I think, and the thought is not unpleasant. If I were only like her — so well prepared, I should see no rea- son for regret ; as it is, I have only to endeavor to put myself in readiness for that hour. Consumption gives time enough in which to prepare to die — anoth- er of God's mercies! My friends in Burlington are very kind to me." .... I select the following from a fragment of the last letter to her friend L — e, with which I am furnished : "As for myself I am getting to dislike writing, from the fact, that, on looking over my letters, I find so much of self, so much of my own aches and pains, that I am often ashamed to scud them. You know an invalid's letter is usually so. One is so apt to think of self, when there is every hour some proof of disease about them : and, if they do not complain, their ails form the subject of some of their conversa- tion. I need not say this to you, for I know you wish to hear just how I am, and would feel hurt if I did not toll you. " You feared I was ovor-alarmed about myself, when I last wiote. 1 did think there was serious difliculty about my lungs, and I was right. The day after I wrote I had a turn of raising blood. It re- duced'* mo a good deal, and since that I have been very weak. I have had returns of the same twice. j:l; ,\A !)• liN u ^ % ■ I 162 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. < ■ '/t It' I'* •m' \i:. ^,%: .5'- My cougli is very Bad — appetite poor — and I am los- ing flesh. Have chills and fever, with other symp- toms common in consumption " I am not one who can easily be deceived, and I look forward but to a short life. Shall I say with sorrow ? No ! it affects me little. I could wish to be better prepared; but a long life does not al- ways bring with it perseverance in virtue ; and often- times persons are more fit to die in the beginning of their Christian life, than after they have spent a long time in it. The will of our Divine Lord is dearer, al- so, to me, than anything in this poor world. I would wish to live only to consecrate myself, body and soul, to His service, and if I please Him better by suffer- ing and dying young, it is all the same. ' In life or in death we are the Lord's.' " I wish you were near me that I might see you sometimes. I go out still — ride ever}' pleasant day, and visit some. I can walk but little. I have prom- ised to visit Burlington soon, if I am able. Mr. and Mrs. Hoyt came to see me a few days sin«;e, and they made me promise I would go " Anna has been very sick with congestion of the lungs. She is just recovering, but is in a bad state. We are very fearful for her health. " Now I must bring my letter to a close. I hope you will pardon the style of it. I have to write with my paper on my knee, or any way that is easiest. — Write me soon and often Try and enjoy yourself, and look upon things in the best light pos- sible. You know, ' everv cloud has its silver lining.' " [To SL EusUiche] "St. Aliuns, Nov. 24Tir My own health continues about the same. Anna is worse than T am now. I am fearful she is not going to be any better either. We are very anxious about her, and our physician, also. She docs not leave her room, and having a very delicate constitution, the disease she has had has nearly proved fatal. We now fear quick consumption. The doctors say there must be a change soon or she will not be with us long. I have almost fii THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 163 forgotten my own troubles in my anxiety for tlie poor child. She is good and patient as you ever saw any one. I am not strong enough to do for her as I did for Helen; in fact, I am but just able to wait on myself. My heart, however, is very light : sickness does not make me sad. I should pity my- self if it did ! .... She was prevented from fin- ishing this letter for some days, and then adds : " Anna continues about the same. My Uncle Pierce* is now here. Ho thinks her case appears al- most hopeless. So continue our trials; I shall prob- ably live to see her die also. ' Only going a little before,' as our beloved Helen said, a few days before her death The real pain of sickness consists in our privations in Holy things. No Mass ! Com- munions but seldom. No visits to the Blessed Sacra- ment." About this time Mr. Hoyt's two oldest daughters came to St. Albans for a visit of a few days, a portion of which they passed in their for- mer home with Debbie's younger sisters. She expect- ed to accompany them when they returned to Burling- ton. Anna became suddenly worse and she could not go. She wrote bv them to Mrs. Hovt. " St Albans, Nov. 30Tir, 1859— My Dear Mrs. Hoyt — A — and M — are leaving for home to-day, and I intended, when they came, to have gone with then?; but it has been ordered otherwise. Probably you hoard from Mrs. Hunt of Anna's low condition. Since Sunday she has seemed to fail rapidl}', and we have now little or no grounds for hoping she will ever be any better. Her symptoms are all bad — not one in her favor. Her limbs are badly swollen, and, in fact her body seems to be most of the time. Monday after- noon we thought it safest and best for her to receive the last sacraments, as Father C was leaving for liis missions, and would be absent until Saturday. "We had been told by her physicians that, should we see certain symptoms, we might be alarmed and look far a speedy termination of all her troubles. They .t'.< <\ 1' A Physician. =. "t' 164 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. Jit •r G? .; I- <., i' I-. .s appearofl, for the first time, Monday morning. I sup- pose, if therft is no change, she can last but a short time. She is perfectly conscious of her situation, and as cheerful as ever our dear Helen was ; though she did not expect so soon to be called. When I tokl her the opinion which had been expressed with regard to her, the intelligence was received without a sign of emotion. She answered me thus : 'I did not expect it so soon; but it is all the same.' It is rather sud- den to us all, though her health has been poor for a good w^hile. ''It seems to our father and mother that they are losing their family as soon as the Catholic Church receives them, and the former often expresses himself to that effect. He cannot see these afiiictions in any other lio;ht. Anna had miserable health lono; aj^o Four years to-day, you may remember, I do not forget it certainly. I have reason to be cheerful this morn- ing even in a sad house. It is the anniversary of my baptism, and Anna's too. It is just a year since she was received into the Church. We are neither of us too down-hearted to-day, I assure you, though somewhat disappointed in our plans. We had inten- ded to spend the feast rather dilTerently. Do not for- get to pray for lis I would like to see you so much. A will tell you all. We were delighted to see the girls, and hope they have enjoyed them- selves. They have been here but little — I wish they had been more, for it seemed such a pleasure to Anna, She is able to see all her friends." .... " Her next letter to lier beloved friend at St. Ihi- stachc was written with a pencil. She was unable to hold a pen. "St. Albans, Jan. 4tii, 1800 — Wednesday Morn- TNC! You think strange, I am sure, that I have been so long without writing to you ; but I have not been able, and am not now. I was very weak when I received your last letter, and in a few days I went to Burlington. I remained three weeks at Mr. Hoyt's. I received every care and attention that could be given to any one, but continued to fail THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 165 every day. I came liome last week, and am now so feeble as hardly to leave my room at all. I have been trying every day to write you a few lines with a pencil, but could not; my strength was not sufficient. I will not write long to-day. As I am writing of myself, I will tell you just how I um, and it may make the bur- then of my letter. I do not suffer much from acute pain, but a great deal from impeded breath, severe coughing, and extreme weakness. They say my face docs not change much ; but my voice you would not know. I can hardly speak above a whisper. You see 1 am really wearing away, slowly, perhaps, but surely. I know your next question will be : 'iVnd how do you feel about it?' I enjoy myself well, my dear Tanto St. A, and sometimes I think I am happier than ever before. Of course, the thoughts of death brine: with 1 hem many, very many serious reilections, but my hope is still alive. I have the sacraments within my reach and all that the Church can give me, and what more can I ask? Though sometimes I wish for other things, I have no reason to comi)lain. Anna is in a room not far from me, and she, I think, is gradually losing her hold upon life. She seems drooping like a (lower, without any apparent suffering, and she says she hard- ly knows what is causing her to fail. "We enjoy ourselves, I can assure you, the little time they leave ns together. She is in tlie best of spirits all the time and has been through all her illness. She says she has been praying for six months for resignation to bear my departme, but now she thinks the prospect is that she shall die first. It is hard to tell. "I saw Sister C almost every day while I was in Burlington, and expect to see her here on Friday. I was able to go to the convent bttt twice, and when T did, it was so hard to leave that I had l»ettcr not have gone. ! ■ 'J! • i -j 1 ii] .', • ■!.■ .^ • • ill ! I II. " Wcfhicaday Evminrf, — T add a few lines this even- ing. Since writing the above, Father II — luis made ns quite a long call. It is my twenty-second birth- day. I shall hardly see another. Vou niu^^t pray 166 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. t ' .'t . hard for me, and request the mins to do the same." Again she writes to the same person : "Jan. IOtii, 1860 I ara thankful I can still write you myself, instead of having some one else to do it for me. You will excuse its being written with a pencil, I know, and be glad, with me, that the letter is mv own writinir- Your letter, with its kind messages and words of love, has been received and read with the greatest pleasure Continue, I beg of you, to pray for ray perseverance, and in asking for myself, of course I include Anna. We continue about the same as when I wrote you last, some days worse, and others again quite comfortable. Anna, I think will not last long; her strength fails rapidly. I never saw any one in better spirits. I spent an hour in her room last evening, and she told me how fast her strength was going, and how short a time she thought she would live, with such a cheerful coun- tenance, that I thought to myself, it was no matter how soon she died. I do not see so much of Anna as I could wish, for several reasons. One is, I can- not bear the high temperature at which her room has to be kept, and another, the Doctors say there is too much sympathy between us to make it as well for us to be together ; these, with other reasons, keep us a good deal separate. " You speak, my dear Tante, in your letter, of the benefit of sufferings when united with those of our Divine Lord. Truly this is one of my greatest con- solations, to know that not one })aiu or one sigh is lost or for£»;otten ! You know our Divine Saviour al- ways appeared more lovely to me in His Passion than elsewhere, and it would be strange now if I were not willing to suffer what He sends me through His love. It is sometimes hard. One is almost tempted to wish the pain and anguish away, but again, I find it all pleasant and easy. Last night I was awake nearly the whole night with my cough and fever ; but I en- joyed as I would enjoy rest. Those nights I often have, are the times when I look over the past, ex- amine the PRESENT, and look forward to the fitture / u •ii^i THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 167 ?5 'G. Sll ill •ly X- Iri thinking of tlie past the mercies of God formed a great part of my tlioiiglits last evening, and to-day the same thought is uppermost in my mind. I do not know that I have ever realized so fully as now, how great and how numerous those merciei? have been ! If I do not find that they have been too dread- fully misused and abused, this is all I fear ; but again, ' Ills mercy eiidureih forever P .... 'We received Holy communion together yesterday morning, Anna and myself. I never expect to go out again; I thought I should for a while but the doctor tells me he does not think I will live through the spring months. Tell Sister J that I shall hard- ly see her in May as I promised, if I were well, but that I hope and })ray that the Month devoted to our sweet Mother will not pass without seeing her con- secrated to her service forever. She must pray for me. Tell l;er to ask tlie Blessed Virgin to obtain for me all the graces I so much need now. Tell ma Tante, Sr. B , that the picture she shall surely have. I have loved it much for itself, and much for the giver's sake, and would rather she should have it than another. As for you. my dearest Tante, I do not know what to send you. Can you not mention something you would like yourself? I am not par- ticularly attached to anything I have that I know of. My crucifix, my books, my rosaries, are all I have that you would value. Any of them I will send you. Now my dear St. A — , I must close this letter ; may be it is the last I shall ever write to you, prehaps not; but if it should be, remember that the heart grows ivarmer and fonder as life wanes and tvears away ; that if ever I have felt a deep affection for you and for all at the Congregation, it is noiv, and I will cherish it always. Pray for me." .... It was indeed the last letter she ever wrote to that dearly beloved friend. Six days later she addressed a little note to the young friend and correspondent in the South part of the State, to whom she had not writ- ten for some months. It was her last effort of the kind, and the faltering, uneciual characters in her 1 I' 5 til:' ll<'. lii' 11 ilMl jl *• r ! r ' 1G8 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. "■ij<! I liandwiiting. (usually as correct, distinct and beauti- ful in its execution under all circumstances, as any I have ever seen,) give evidence of the difliculty with which it was performed. "St. Albans. Jan. 25tii, 1858. " Dear : You may be surprised to receive a letter from me, but I felt that on the strength of our former correspondence, I ought to let you know some facts which may surprise you very much, unless you luive already heard through some other source. Our dear Anna is just going with quick consumption. We look for her death at any time. She is confined to her bed, and has been to her room, for three months She is showing in her last days, what the Catholic religion can do, in preparing a soul for what awaits us all. I cannot add good news even here for my- self. You may be more surprised when I tell you, that /too am confined to my room with the same dis- ease, only that it seems to make slower progress than Anna's has. My cough has been bad since last May, and in October I had an attack of spitting blood, and another in November. I have not been down stairs since New Year's day. It is very hard for me to write, so you must excuse the style, and the short let- ter. I thought you would like to hear and I have managed to scribble a few lines. I am in the best of spirits, and am only waiting until our dear Lord comes to take me away. I*ray for us ! My love to your sisters. . . . ,, xYnna sends much love Your true friend, Debbie." Though Debbie did not sink very rapidly, yet were her sufferings much more severe than is usual in con- sumption. She had, during the remainder of her life, frequent paroxysms of agO)iizing distress. The same week that the foregoing letter was writ- ten, I saw the sisters together for the last time. Up- on entering Anna's room I expressed my agreeable surprise to find them both there ! ])ebbie said she was there by special invitation. " Yes," said Anna, I announced to her yesterday, that if she would be very good she should dine with me to-day ; so thi.i THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 169 stairs lie to rt let- have 3 best Lord )ve to IK 1) were . cou- )l' her writ- leca Up- ble le lid si lAiina, liild be thi;: mornin<j^ I sent my compliments, requesting the pleas- ure of her company at my house to dinner," Just at that moment their mother came in with a servant carrying the salver upon which was their dinner. Drawing the table to the side of Anna's bed, Debbio was drawn in her chair to it, while her mother arrang- ed the covers upon it, and the delicacies which sho had prepared with her own hands, hoping to tempt their appetites. The whole scene in that sick room, it may be readily imagined, was most affecting, but nothing went to my heart like the tender earnestness with which their mother urged them to partake of what she had taken so much pains to cook aud sea- son, as they " used to like it ;" and the expression of disappointed sadness, with which she watched their ineffectual efforts to gratify her by complying with her request. Anna inquired with affectionate interest after all her young friends whom I knew, and added. " Tell Mary "(who was absent at school), " that sho must write me one of her own cheerful funnv letters, such as she always has :"(they had been correspond- ents for some time, and the artless originality of Anna's letters had furnished us with much amusement,) '' she need not feel as if she must be gloomy and sad because I am soon going away 1" " She does not feel so on your account, by any means, my child," I rei)liod : " her grief, like that of all your friends, is selfish. Wc think of what wc are to lose, more than of what vou you will gain!" She spoke with earnest simplicity of her feeling as death was approaching; of the pleas- ure she anticipated on meeting her beloved sister, and seemed to have an impression that Helen would bo permitted to conduct her soul as it left this world, and to unfold before it the mysteries of another, as sho and Debbie had instructed her here, in those of the Kingdom of Christ upon earth. •' The sufferings of her last sickness were not very severe, except from daily increasing faintncss and difficulty of breatliing, when she was placed in any position that would seem to be easy. This increased t(> such a degree that for many days before her depart- "^9 '• II Ir.i 170 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. P;vg urc, it was impossible for her to breathe with any support whatever around her. She could not even permit a hand to be applied to uphold her weary head, but sat perfectly erect, unsupported by pillows or other appliances, until exhausted nature yielded. The only utterance like a complaint that ever passed her lips was the faint expressioli, ' I am so tired !' and then she would suiilo sweetly, and reprove in herself, what she called her ' impatience.' " On Friday afternoon previous to her death, Deb- bie was carried into her room for the last time. Their first eager questions of each other were to ascertain their mutual feelings, now that death was so near at hand. Having conversed together more than an hour, and assured themselves that all was peace in that respect, Debbie proposed that they should recite their beads together once again, which they did, with such a degree of fervor as befitted the time and the cir- cumstances, and with the serenity and recollection of spirits lingering upon the confines of time, perfectly prepared to pass them, at any moment, into eternity. It was one of th emost impressive scenes that was ever presented in a chamber of death, and overpow- ing, in its beautiful pathos, to all who witnessed it. — At the close of the holy exercise, they smilingly and lovingly kissed, and parted* As the affectionate * Good bye !' was exchanged, Debbie remarked, ' We shall meet again so soon, dearest, that we shall hard- ly know we have been separated at all !' and was car- ried back to her room. A cheerful, tearless parting between two angelic spirits, the tearful sighs of poor humanity floating unnoticed around them the while ! From Saturday morning, the tenth of March, at nine o'clock, when a change took place which she suppos- ed was the final one, until she ceased to breathe, twenty-four hours later, an expression of glowing rap- ture settled upon Anna's face, which never left it, and was the most perfect illustration of the idea con- veyed in the term * Seraphic,'' of anything I ever be- held. The last change, when it really came, was but momentary, but perfectly understood by her. Cast- THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 171 lile! pos- Itlie, ap- it, 3on- be- Ibut ast- ing a parting look of smiling love for a moment, up- on each person in the room, she bowed her head, and was gone ! Not the slightest struggle, not even the ([uiver of a muscle, betrayed the moment when that pure spirit took its (light ! "And Anna was with Helen 1 How wc longed to look ' beyond the veil,' and witness that meeting ! It seemed as if Debbie did sec it, for her spirit was too absorbed in its ji^ys to be shaded by one regret. — Though Anna's plans for this world were so arranged as to ojjcn every prospect of happiness to her future, which her young heart could desire, yet she accepted the call to another in the same spirit of joyous resig- nation with which her sisters received it; the only cloud that obscured its brightness for a moment be- ing the thought that the destiny of another would bo overshadowed by her early departure. " The funeral services were performed by the Pas- tor of St. Albans. Our Right Rev. Bishop went the day before to that place, intending to ofiiciate upon the occasion, but he was taken very ill the previous night, and was c(>nsef|uently unable to fulfill that iu' tention." i. If: 172 B» >• , 'Jr. • . [rv ■■} CHAPTEK IX. » , f • I ' ' Hi ■ The last weeks of Debbie's life were attended In' severe and constantly increasing suffering. She could not lie down at all, or even recline in her chair. Her head was bowed down, (as if to assimilate her entirely to her Divine Master in every circumstance of Plis Passion and Death, which had so long formed the dearest theme of all her meditations and devo- tions,) and drawn by contraction of the muscles to- wards the left side, until her face conld be seen only by kneeling very low at her right side, and looking np into it ! Ilcr voice was so entirely gone that her words were uttered in a faint whfeper. But those " Angel whisperings," will they ever be forgotten by those who listened to them ? Early in Holy week it was tliought that she was dying. At her request the fact was communicated to her beloved Tante, St. A — , now at Montreal. Many messages of love went with it, from her to that " best friend who," to use her own language, " loved my soul because Jesus Christ died to save it ; who cared for it, prayed for it, before I had learned to care for it myself or appre- ciate its value." She also sent loving messages to the whole community, requesting their prayers for the soul of their departing child, and expressing the joy it would have givejj her to see her dear Tante once again. The Mother Superior immediately tele- graphed to know if it would be any comfort to her to have St. A come to her ? A reply in the affirm- ative was despatched, and in less than an hour after its receipt, that Sister, accompanied by another, was on her way to St. Albans, to attend the last hours of her THE YOUNG CONVEUTS. 173 (lailin<T child ; a lilossing as nnoxpectod by DcLbie aa it was unprccedciitod, none of tlio Order liaving ever left the Convent before upon such an errand, their voca- tion bein<T sinij)ly to teacli. Debbie could not express lier f^ratitude i'or the favor. It was an iinspeakablo comfort to her to see her dear Tante, who was entire- ly overcome to find her child thus, sufferin<r so much more than she had expected ! She knelt by her side and wept bitterly, while, in faint whispers, such ex- pressions ast hcsc were breathed into her car : " Is it })Ossiblo my own eyes see once again in this workl, my sweet Tante St. A , *tii07i ange^ mon oiseau gris ?" (a name she had given her, in the happy days at St. Eustache, because her complexion was slightly freckled,) and many other terms of endearment, which I cannot now recall, by which it had been her custom to address her beloved friend. ThQ Sisters liad permission to stay two days, at tlio close of which, on Good Friday morning, they reluct- antly left her, under the strong impression that she would not live through that day. Soon after they left, a singular change, nnusual in consumption, took place. Dropsical symptoms super- vened (at the period when under ordinary circum- stances dissolution would have closed her sufferings), attended, of course, with distressing swelling of the limbs and body, and causing a partial diversion of the disease from the lungs, which arrested its progress there, without relieving the suffocating pressure upon them. She lingered thus, in those fearful pangs which usually belong only to the last hour, until her departure on the morning of Easter Monday, April ninth, at seven o'clock. I was so favored as to bo with her from the afternoon of Good Friday, until her dear form was prepared for its last resting place. Though her mind wavered slightly at intervals, yet she was at any time (save in one instance to be men- tioned hereafter) easily drawn to understand clearly to the very last, every circumstance of her own situa- My Augol! my Gray-bird! 174 THE YOUNG CONVEItTS. .'•vf! •; 1 tion and of every thing around lior. She frequently desired me to read the prayers tor the departing, the Litany of tlie Blessed Virgin, portions of psalms, and such other devotions from time to time, as her strength would permit her to join in — which she did in the midst of her agonies, with the most edn^ino' fervor. Not the least interesting part of a scene wliich, though harrowing as to its anguish, was still glorious in its triumphs, was the course her pure thoughts took, even in their wanderings. She was ever in some holy place, hcfore the altars she loved so well, pouring forth her fervent prayers; or in the company of the Reverend Clergy, or pious nuns, of- fering them fruits and refreshments ; sometimes she was busy in preparing clothing for the poor, minis- tering to their wants, and expressing the deepest love for them and sympathy in their sufferings. Her per- fect conformity to the will of God remained serenely firm to her last breath, and she repeatedly called up- on us to pray, not that she might have one pain less, not for the slightest diminution of her anguish, but, " 0, for a great deal more patience /" We could not conceive how more could be added to a patience al- ready so perfect! She was constantly kissing the crucifix, and breathing utterances of devoted love for her dying Redeemer ; calling uj^on us all to love Him for her, and to draw the love of all hearts to Him, to compensate for the imperfections of her love. She also told us again and again, to bo sure not to speak of her, when she was gone, as a glorified saint, or as rejoicing with the Just, " for," said she, " when you speak of me in that way, it is because you do not know my faults, my exceeding sinfulness, and if you allow yourselves to do it, you will forget to pray for me ! I want to entreat you to remember, that I shall need your prayers, and that if I am so happy as to gain a place in purgatory, it is all I can expect. !" She often said, " Now I know what a blessed thing it is to die a Catholic ! I never before realized it as 1 do now ! 0, why was /so favored as to be made""a child of the Church, when so many who seem so THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 175 he )a )U \or ill Ito ll" it ISO much more worthy, are left to perish outside of the One Fold whose Shepherd is our Great Redeemer !" It would fill pages, were I to record the sweet ex- pressions of gratitude, piety, and resignation, which were constantly falling from lier lips, and all with such childlike simplicity and entire absence, most ev- idently, of any motive save the glory of God, that no one could hear them unmoved. Her physician (whose attendance was most devoted and kind), though differing from her in religion, was often deeply affect- ed by the beauty of her character, and the spirit in which she endured her almost lu-rrecedented suffer- mgs, On the morning of Easter Sunday, before the gas- lights were extinguished in her room, and when the first rays of light began to appear, though they were still so faint that no one in the room had noticed them (her chair being so placed that she faced the East), she whispered to me, " It is the dawn of the day on the morning of the Resurrection !" then smi- ling sweetly she added, " The women were very early at the Sepulchre, but the men were not there, and the women were the Jirst to believe in His Resurrec- tion !" At seven o'clock that morning we thought she was going, the family were called in, and she took an affectionate leave of each one. She then re- quested me to say " We fly to thy patronage," etc., and the Litany : f the Blessed Virgin, which I did, feeling that it waj the last time that her pure spirit would be '.mic^d with ours in pious supplications this side of eternity. She joined with great fervor ; and although we united in prayers for her several times after that, when she \^as conscious that we were doing so, she was too much exhausted to join us outwardly. She hoped to depart on Easter Sunday, and we had repeatedly assured her that we thought she would be permitted to, but the hours p'assed on, an ' ;he was still lingering in the very embrace of death. Late in the evening she looked at me, while such a mournful shade flitted over her dear features as I can never forget, and sobbed in shuddering agony rather than p' 176 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. ■ » '. ■' . ■ I ■ • I • ' littered in words, " It seems as if our dear Lord loves to see me suffer with Him !" and at the same mo- ment the shade vanished, and a rapturous smile glow- ed upon her countenance, as she kissed the crucifix, ever in her hand, and breathed, *' Blessed forever be His holy will !" I exhorted her to offer every pain she endured, in union with the sufferings of her Re- deemer, to procure the conversion of those for whom she, and her sweet sisters, had been praying so long. She replied eagerly, *' I do all the time ; I am offer- ing them, and I am willing to suffer everything^ if I can only gain that treasure for them !" Her mother had remained with unflinching forti- tude and constancy by her side through all those weary days ! By night and by day had her gentle ministrations been exercised with untiring firmness, and while the cheerful patience, the resignation, and piety of her daughter, were matters of wonder to her, as to all who witnessed them, the calm endurance of that mother, under all the crushing sorrows of the scene, was a still greater surprise to me. I expressed it to her, and she said, " My daughters have prepared me for it ; they have fortified me by their counsels, and have obtained support for me by their prayers !" adding, that she was surprised at herself, when she thought how impossible it would once have been for her, even to have contemplated without entire dis- may, the scenes through which she was now passing so calmly, Debbie could not bear to have her out of her sight ; though she was fearful lest her health might suffer from such constant attendance, yet her presence was a comfort she needed so much, that she could not bring herself to dispense with it. The last night, however, she noticed that her mother was much exhausted, and insisted that she should go to licr own room and takf some rest, quieting her fears about leaving her, with tender assurances that she should be very comfortable, and would send for her if she was not. She then made her own arrange- ments as to the attendants who should remain in her room, two tender and faithful Catholic nurses, one of THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 177 whom had been with the sisters through tlie winter, and tlie other for some weeks ; while her father and myself remained just outside the door of her apart- ment, to be ready at any moment if needed. 8he made every effort to be quiet and contented, but ex- hausted nature wavered when the arm of the mother was withdrawn, and her mind became for the first time so comiilctely bewildered that we could not soothe or pacify her. The presence of her mother again seemed to compose her at once. Those who were present will each remember, I am sure, to their dying day, the expression of her countenance when her mother reappeared, and the loving epithets with which she addressed her ! I never saw any manifes- tations more touchino- and affectionate than those she constantly showed for her parents. She had often as- sured me when she was in health, that the only real and bitter trial of her life as a Catholic, had been, that her convictions of duty required her so to act as to give her parents pain. About twenty minutes before she ceased to breathe, she desired to be laid on the bed quickly, which was done. Just after she was there she was wrung with a sharp agony, and the crucitix slipped from her hand, at the same time that we thought she had breathed her last, but the next moment she gasped for breath, and threw out her right hand as if seeking for something. The Crucifix was placed in it, and her last effort was to clasp it to her heart, and I heard her utter the names, Jesus ! Mary ! Joseph ! with that last breath which followed the effort. There were six Catholics kneeling at the foot of her bed, and praying for her. For some minutes after she ceased to breathe, the silence was so deep in that apartment of death, that we dared not disturb it even with our sobbings — the indulgence of even the most sacred emotions of poor humanity seemed to us like irreverence in sueli a presence. At length the heart- stricken mother said gently and calmly, with uplifted eyes, " Another treasure (jone before f Her last words to mo were, ' Mother, you mnnt be submissive !' and »i»" w r <ii *ww*— m^i if:'' 178 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. r'-"*'' ■ • 1 '.' .i^^'-' ■'^, I will try to be ; but how can I live without my daugh- ters /" For the rest of us, we felt that we had accompa- nied a youthful saint to the Gates of Paradise, and that glimpses of that " promised land" had been re- vealed to us through the opened portals, as she pass- ed them to her rest ! May we ever remember those glimpses ! Four weeks and one day after Anna's de- parture, Debbie also withdrew to join the two sisters whose souls she had first led to consider the things which pertained to their salvation and peace, and tlie three now sleep side by side in the village cemetery. Requiem ajternam dona eis Domiiie ! Et lux perpetua luceat eis ! The Bishop of Burlington performed the funeral services at the church, and delivered a most affecting and appropriate discourse, embodying many of the details which I have endeavored, though with imper- fect success, to record. The Pastor of Fairfield officiated at the grave, and consigned the mortal remains of his spiritual child, "Ashes unto ashes, dust unto dust!" in the hope of a glorious resurrection. To him I am much indebt- ed for encouragement and aid in the prosecution of my task : speaking of which, in a letter to me, he says : " I need not assure you that it gave me the greatest satisfaction to know that you were writing a sketch of the edifying lives of my children (I love to call them such), for I was thf'r confidential friend*, besides being their confessor and guide, according to the little light which it has pleased God to give me. .... The dates of their baptism I suppose you have For the rest, I do not think the task will be a hard one to write their lives, with the assist- ance conveyed through the spirit which pervades tlieir simple and sincere writings ; the last one especially. Do not fear to say that her heart was the very sanc- tuary of purity and innocence ! Above all, write my testimony as to her love for our Divine Lord in II is adorable Sacrament. There was scarcely a dav that THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 179 e to end", f to mo. on task sist- lieir ally. tinc- my HiH that she did not spend an hour in onr lowly church, all alone, save the presence of the Saviour she loved so much, and the blessed Angels who continually minis- tor unto Him in His holy sanctuary. And the ediii- cation with which her presence inspired our young people, especially in her reception of the sacraments, will, I trust, never be forgotten. So full of faith, of recollection, was my poor child. I know her fervent prayers will be offered to our Divine Lord and His Blessed Mother, for your good intentions in writing those pious reflections upon her life, for I am certain it will be a source of mnch good for our young peo- ple. Not that poor Debbie dreamed that her virtues should thus be recorded. No ! for her it is sufficient that they are recorded by her loved Saviour Himself in the Book of Eternal Life. Besides her love to the Jilessed Sacrament her next pre-eminent virtue was charity towards others. T have never known her guil- ty, even once^ of injuring in the least the character of , lOther. Do not think I exaggerate. Who should know those sisters if I did not, who was their direct- or and correspondent ever since their baptism. May God bless your work, and may it be the fruitful means of leading many another pure soul to Heaven !'' When Debbie's dear friend " Carrie" entrusted me with the letters from which T have given copious ex- tracts, she wrote one to me, from which I quote the following passages : "I am delighted that you intend to publish a sec- ond edition of the " Young Converts," as the book is in great demand, and it is impossible to procure a copy. I very mucli regret that, at Debbie's earnest rc(|uest, T destroyed many of her most beautiful let- ters. It would seem that her ])en was guided by an Aijgel-hand. I send you those 1 preserved, and iieed not tell you how highly I prize the precious relics. Some of them are worn and soiled, i)ut the sentiments tra(K'il by Debbie's hand ar(> legible, and thereforo more than precious, 1 ran never he snfliciently grate- ful to our Heavenly Father for tlie blessing He con- ferred in givin'^ me Debbie as an intimate friend.— «,>' I' ! i I'" *< T V' » *!' ■ j^-- '1' 'i ■ !'■* .|m \k^> ■:■< ■ lip 180 THE YOUNG CONVEliTS. Wg stood together by her death-bed, dear Mrs. S--, and was there ever a scene more beautiful ? I re- garded it only as the transfer of an angel to her heavenly home !" .... Debbie's beloved " Tante," St. A , also writes to me, *' I forget if I told you what our sweet Debbie said the day she gave mo a Souvenir. ' My own Tante St. A , you have the first choice of every- thing I have ; you have been my best friend. Yes, indeed, so if there is anything that belongs to me which can please you, be sure you shall have it !' I answered I did not care for any thing in })artic- ular, but I would cherish any thing she liked the most. She smiled and said, ' Ma Tante, you should know that I am not attached to anything on eartli ; but Tvdiat I value most is my * Following of Christ,' for that dear little book has been a source of great consolation to me in my little trials. I know you would like to have a cross that belonged to your child; well, the one 1 value most is this,' giving me the rross you saw ; ' now ma Tante, if these things please you, you must take them, and any thing else you would like to have.' I told her I was satisfied with these souvenirs. I relate this, that you may know how far she carried her detachment of all earthly affections ; this vii-tue is admirable in one so young. " The dear child ! I have the picture of her virtues constantly before ray mind. You know she never had a secret from me : her heart was opened to me as a book, in which I could read all her life and character. I can truly say she was the most perfect young girl I ever knew ; and all her teachers here are of the same opinion. Therefore, you need not fear to say too much in praise of my sweet child." My task is almost done ! I sincerely wish it bet- ter done ! T have lingered lovinoflv over it — "With only such degree of sadness left, As might support longings of pure desire ; And strengthen love rejoicing secretly In the sublimp attrjintions of the grave." THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 181 [rs. S— , ? I VG- [ to her writes . Debbie ^ly own f every- 1. Yes, ■5 to mc sit!' I partic- ked the L sliould 1 eartli ; Christ,' )f great low you to your ving me 3 tlnngs ing else satisfied ou may of ail I one so ■ virtues iver had me as a aracter. g girl I he same sav tuo I have felt, while dwelling upon the singular histo- ry of these our precious sisters in tlie pSth, that it was indeed " good for me" to be so occupied ! I have realized the truth uttered by the wisest of men, that it is " better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting." I trust I shall carry with me through the grave, and into Eternitv, the treasures I have gathered in the prosecution of this work. May the perusal of these simple Memoirs pro- duce a corresponding effect upon the- minds of my yonng friends. Should any one among them, when sinking under opposition and contempt, or when tempted by ridicule tO be ashamed of their religion, and its practices, be encouraged by the examples' here recorded, to return to their first allegiance, and be awakened to renewed Zealand firmness in the' con- fession of the holy Catholic faith in the midst of its enemies, I should feel my humble efforts amply re- warded. It has inleed been a labor of love, as well as of blessed obedience, for me, and watered with abundant tears ! Truly happy shall I be, if I have been enabled so to perform the behest of our beloved and respected Bishop, as to claim the promise, that " they who sow in tears shall reap in joy;" and, "re- turning joyfully, bring my sheaves with me" t'o the Altars of the Lord of Hosts, in the abundant fruits produced by it among our young people, to the honor and glory of His Holy Name ! it bet-