put to very severe tests and trials by the malice of the envious and wicked. As her character and actions were too good to be called into question, her enemies raised up evil reports and prejudices about the religious doctrines of herself and her nuns; and the King of France and some of the highest church dignitaries instigated a long and cruel persecution, to make her renounce some of the opinions she held with regard to the meaning of Scripture. Many of her views were taken from the writings of Jansenius, a bishop of Ypres, in Flanders, whose followers were called Jansenists, in opposition to the Catholics who were followers of Ignatius de Loyola, and called Jesuits. Disputes between the Jansenists and Jesuits occupied the Catho lic priests of France for nearly a century; and the fact that the "Mother Angelique" and the nuns of Port Royal were inclined to be Jansenists, was the origin of a course of persecutions against them, and which, continuing for many years, ended at last in the entire overthrow of the community of Port Royal. "Mother Angelique," her sister, the "Mother Agnes," and many of her nuns, were even imprisoned, and treated with cruel indignity, because they could not be made to renounce doctrines which they conscientiously believed to be true; and so bitter became the enmity felt against all the members of Port Royal, that it ended at last in the entire destruction of even the abbey itself, its beautiful church, and all its surrounding buildings, which at one time formed a complete little town. Every stone was razed to the ground, and every vestige destroyed of the different edifices; so that, like Jerusalem of old, the plough passed over the ground where so much that was good and holy had taken place.

Nothing could be more beautiful or noble than the resignation shown by the "Mother Angelique," our good abbess," under all the persecutions she suffered. Her calmness never forsook her; and when she found herself, at the age of seventy, lying on her death-bed, the object of bitter hatred and misrepresentation, with the good schemes of her long life overthrown and destroyed, she still could trust in God, and believe that

all which He permitted was for good. Nothing could lessen her love of Christ, nor make her repent of anything that she had done in the endeavour to carry out His teachings and precepts. It is related of her that, when on her death-bed, tidings of fresh calamities and violence reached her when she heard that her good nuns were all dispersed, and that the monastery was filled with soldiers and officers of police, who were ransacking everything and walling up the doors-and when the rattling of arms and hammering of workmen disturbed the stillness of her chamber of death, one of her attendants, who could not restrain her indignation, exclaimed, "Surely these men, who are thus inhumanly walling up one's doors, are at the same time walling up the gates of heaven against themselves!"-the good abbess, raising her eyes, on which the shades of death were gathering, said, "My daughter, say not so. The ground and intention of their hearts are known to God alone, their Judge and our Judge. Let us rather join in prayer to the throne of mercy for them and for us." The nuns, however, seeing her thus insulted, and bereft of every human aid and comfort in her last moments, could no longer restrain their grief, but burst into tears and sobbed aloud, weeping bitterly. "My daughters," said the abbess, "I never placed any man in the stead of God; blessed, then, be His goodness! I have not now man, but God, to depend upon; His mercies never fail those who believe, and who place their reliance and trust in His name." When asked by some one how she could speak so calmly of death, she remarked "that death did not alarm her, since she came into the world only to prepare for it."

Many holy and beautiful sayings are recorded of this excellent woman, which, while they exhibit to us her earnest piety, may also serve as lessons to us for our guidance. She used to say "Neglect nothing. The most trivial action may be performed to ourselves, or performed to God." "Seek after Christian holiness as a miser hunts after gold: nothing is so small on which he does not gain some profit." "If Christian charity be in your hearts, your whole life may be one continued

exercise of it."

Many Catholics conceive it their duty to "fast often," and inflict on themselves many penances and austerities, thinking that by such practices they please God; but the "Mother Angelique" always thought it savoured rather of pride than humility to be fond of attempting such austerities. She often said that "Christian perfection in outward conduct consists not in extraordinary things, but in doing common things extraordinarily well"—a saying well deserving to be written in letters of gold. She often said, "There is no Christianity without humility. No person is truly humble who does not sincerely prefer the least person on earth to himself. Where there is real humility,

there will be the greatest care not to incommode others. Oh! if we did but love others, how easily the least thing the shutting of a door gently, the walking softly, speaking low, not making a noise, or the choice of a seat, so as to leave the most convenient to others— might become occasions of its exercise." She disliked the sort of spiritual pride which makes people of one sect of Christians imagine that they are better and holier and more useful than others; and said, "For my part, I see in Scripture no such distinctions. All Christians and servants of God are my fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, and I feel it a privilege and an honour to love and serve them all as opportu nity offers." The good abbess left behind her precepts of piety, and an example of goodness, which caused her memory to be long revered and honoured after the storm of persecution had passed away by which she suffered; and though two centuries have elapsed since her death, and the circumstances under which we, as English Protestants, are living, differ so much from those which called forth the wonderful powers of her mind and character, we may still find much that is capable of imitation in the life of this good Catholic, who in so remarkable a manner adhered through a long course of years to the good resolutions formed at the early age of seventeen; and who, having once devoted herself to God, never ceased to live and act as His faithful and humble servant; while the world has per

haps never seen a more perfect example of what a living faith in Christ may produce in good works and holiness of life, than that which was shown in the history of all the members of the community of Port Royal.

S. W.

"AUNT," said Sophy Braithwaite eagerly, "I do think spring is a great great deal nicer than autumn; don't you?".

Her brother Arthur laughed. "Why Sophy," cried he, "you're just as silly as that boy in the old story, who when it was winter, wished it were always winter, and when it was spring that it were always spring, and so on through all the seasons in their turn.'

"And what is that story intended to show?" inquired Miss Morrison.

Oh, that every season is good in its way, and that it is a great deal better for us that we cannot change them as we wish, for, as the boy's father says in his funny stiff way, 'every thing that is intended for our happiness would be lost if our rash vows were to be heard.' You don't talk quite in that way to us, do you,

aunt?"

Miss Morrison smiled. "No, not quite; and books for the young are not written in such fine language But the story is a good one nevertheless, and it illustrates a great truth. What makes you like spring better than autumn, Sophy dear?".

now.

"Oh aunt, because it was so wet when we were staying with you in the autumn, but now it is fine and dry, and we are able to enjoy ourselves by the sea. So I think autumn is much nicer."

"Ah, but the weather does not a bit depend upon the time of year," cried Arthur. "It is just as common to have wet springs, and fine autumns. Aunt," he continued eagerly, "what is the cause of the seasons? Why is it cold in winter and hot in summer? I do BO want to know."

"I don't care about that so much," said Sophy, "for I'm sure that must be so very difficult to understand. But I should like to know why, if the sun does really rise and set at all,-it should be sometimes day, and sometimes night."

"Do you understand the cause of day and night?" inquired Miss Morrison of her nephew.

"Yes, aunt, I think I do. It's because the earth goes round on its axis once in every twentyfour hours." Sophy looked blank; the explanation had evidently only mystified her, and Miss Morrison said, smiling, "your sister can't quite follow you, Arthur. Can't you make it, rather clearer to her?"

"Clearer!-how, aunt? Oh yes I think I could, by the bye, if I lighted a candle, and had an apple or orange or something, just to serve as an earth.

"An apple or orange! What do you mean?" cried Sophy, opening her eyes very wide.

66

"There

"You'll see presently," replied her aunt. are the lucifers, Arthur," she continued, on the mantel-piece; you can light this wax taper with them. And now fetch me that ball of yarn, it will make you a famous earth, particularly if I stick my knitting-needle through the centre of it so as to serve for an axis. There! the needle goes right through from end to end, you see, so that you can turn the ball round upon it if you like. It is ready for you now, dear."

And she delivered the ball into the impatient young lecturer's hands. 66 Now, Sophy," said he, "this ball you must understand to be the earth, and this knittingneedle which runs through it, is its axis."

"Axis! what do you mean? I never heard of the earth having such a thing as an axis," said Sophy.

Arthur was about to burst out into some impatient exclamation, but his aunt interrupted him by explaining that the axis of the earth has no real existence, but that the earth turns round in the same way as a wheel does upon the axtle-tree or long pole which passes through the middle of it, and that therefore it is customary to speak of the earth as having an axle-tree too, or, as we call it, an axis.

"Ah, I understand better now," said Sophy.