ually. As soon as
the spiritual sun of these festival days of the Church was set, she
directed all her thoughts towards that which would rise on the
following day, and disposed all her prayers, good works, and sufferings
for the attainment of the special graces attached to the feast about to
commence, like a plant which absorbs the dew, and revels in the warmth
and light of the first rays of the sun. These changes did not, as will
readily be believed, always take place at the exact moment when the
sound of the Angelus announced the commencement of a festival, and
summoned the faithful to prayer; for this bell is often, either through
ignorance or negligence, rung at the wrong time; but they commenced at
the time when the feast really began.

If the Church commemorated a sorrowful mystery, she appeared
depressed, faint, and almost powerless; but the instant the celebration
of a joyful feast commenced, both body and soul revived to a new life,
as if refreshed by the dew of new graces, and she continued in this
calm, quiet, and happy state, quite released from every kind of
suffering, until the evening. These things took place in her soul quite
independently of her will; but as she had had from infancy the most
ardent desire of being obedient to Jesus and to his Church, God had
bestowed upon her those special graces which give a natural facility
for practising obedience. Every faculty of her soul was directed
towards the Church, in the same manner as a plant which, even if put
into a dark cellar, naturally turns its leaves upwards, and appears to
seek the light.

On Saturday, 8th of March 1823, after sunset, Sister Emmerich had,
with the greatest difficulty, portrayed the different events of the
scourging of our Lord, and the writer of these pages thought that her
mind was occupied in the contemplation of the 'crowning with thorns,' when
suddenly her countenance, which was preciously pale and haggard, like
that of a person on the point of death, became bright and serene and
she exclaimed in a coaxing tone, as if speaking to a child, 'O, that dear
little boy! Who is he?--Stay, I will ask him. His name is Joseph. He has
pushed his way through the crowd to come to me. Poor child, he is
laughing: he knows nothing at all of what is going on. How light his
clothing is! I fear he must be cold, the air is so sharp this morning.
Wait, my child; let me put something more over you.' After saying these
words in such a natural tone o