s sparkle; I am wet
With drenching dews, or stiff with crackling frost,
I wear an undressed goatskin on my neck,
And in my weak, lean arms I lift the Cross,
And strive and wrestle with Thee till I die.
O mercy, mercy, wash away my sin!"

A mournful spectacle. Devotion excited to madness, while mind, heart,
and conscience, all are dumb, and the poor weak body only bears the
heavy burdens which the tyrannous soul heaps upon it!

Devotion, then, needs _conscience_. Conscience tells a man that he must
act as well as pray. Devotion makes the great act of prayer. Conscience
works out into the actual of every-day life, the ideal of which devotion
has conceived. Will then devotion and conscience be sufficient for a
noble manhood? Devotion and conscience alone developed, have ofttimes,
in the days that are past, formed some stern old grand inquisitor,
torturing the life out of human sinews because he ought. The grand
inquisitor's devotion and conscience told him that he ought to advance
the holy faith by every engine in his power, and therefore, as he
considered that the rack, the thumbscrews, the rope, the fire and the
faggot were the best possible engines, he used the same to the utmost of
his ability; and thought, alas for humanity! that he was doing God
service.

The grand inquisitor had devotion, he had conscience, he probably
also had nerves of iron; but he could not possibly have had a
_heart_. Devotion, then, and conscience need a loving, human heart. Will
these three be sufficient? The picture grows fairer, we begin to feel
less pain when we turn away from the stern, dark portrait of the grand
inquisitor, which frowns so grimly in the picture gallery of history,
and look upon that fair and gentle upturned face, half shaded by the
veil that covers her head. That is a nun of the order of Saint Theresa.

The pale, emaciated countenance tells of many a vigil protracted through
the long hours of the night; those wild eyes once saw, or thought they
saw, the picture of the Virgin hanging in her cell smiling on her as she
prayed; yea, and have wept many a tear as she repeated her sins over to
her confessor, or as she stood by the bed-side of some poor sufferer,
while those gentle Christian hands smoothed the dying pillow. Rest in
peace, soul sainted and dear! The tears thou didst once shed, are wiped
away now forever; the sins thou didst once bewail, are all forgiven now,
for thou hast loved much!

But the day