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THE 
 
 YOUNG CONVERTS ; 
 
 OK 
 
 3IEM0IRS OF THE THREE SISTERS, 
 
 DEBBIE, HELEN AND A?fNA BAKLOW. 
 
 COJiriLKD BY 
 
 Mrs. Julia C. Smalley. 
 
 EDITED BT 
 
 Very Rev. Z. Druon, of St. Albans, Vt. 
 
 CLAREMONT, N. H.: 
 
 PRINTED By ?Hii CLA*REM<'^;V JjAVuF/^fTURINa CO. 
 
 1 M t) 8 . *•',',' 
 
 • »" • • 
 
 
 
 » » • • 
 
» 
 
 
 709552 
 
 \ 
 
 * ^ I 
 
 ■/ 
 
 * i • . • » 
 

 
 It is now nearly six years since I compiletl, and 
 offered to the young Catholics of the Diocese of Bur- 
 lington, these Memoirs of the three sisters. 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 
 
 
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 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- 
 

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 (716) 873-4503 
 

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 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 
 
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 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. 
 
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 - ■•< 
 
 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- 
 
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 '!!•'• 
 
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 
 
 
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 158 
 
 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 
 
 
 
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 '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 
 
 
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 TlIK YOUNG CONVERTS. 
 
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 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. 
 
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162 
 
 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 
 
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 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 
 
 
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 A Physician. 
 
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 164 
 
 THE YOUNG CONVERTS. 
 
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 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.— 
 
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 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-