reatures, even on holy subjects, wearied me. It is true that
in these periods of loneliness I sometimes felt sad, and I used
often to console myself by repeating this line of a beautiful poem
Papa had taught me: "Time is thy barque, and not thy
dwelling-place."

Young as I was, these words restored my courage, and even now, in
spite of having outgrown many pious impressions of childhood, the
symbol of a ship always delights me and helps me to bear the exile
of this life. Does not the Wise Man tell us--"Life is like a ship
that passeth through the waves: when it is gone by, the trace
thereof cannot be found"?[13]

When my thoughts run on in this way, my soul loses itself as it
were in the infinite; I seem already to touch the Heavenly Shore
and to receive Our Lord's embrace. I fancy I can see Our Blessed
Lady coming to meet me, with my Father and Mother, my little
brothers and sisters; and I picture myself enjoying true family
joys for all eternity.

But before reaching Our Father's Home in Heaven, I had to go
through many partings on this earth. The year in which I was made
a Child of Mary, Our Lady took from me my sister Marie, the only
support of my soul,[14] my oracle and inseparable companion since
the departure of Pauline. As soon as I knew of her decision, I
made up my mind to take no further pleasure in anything here
below. I could not tell you how many tears I shed. But at this
time I was much given to crying, not only over big things, but
over trifling ones too. For instance: I was very anxious to
advance in virtue, but I went about it in a strange way. I was not
accustomed to wait on myself; Celine always arranged our room, and
I never did any household work. Sometimes, in order to please Our
Lord, I used to make my bed, or, if she were out in the evening,
to bring in her plants and seedlings. As I said before, it was
simply to please Our Lord that I did these things, and so I ought
not to have expected any thanks from creatures. But, alas! I did
expect them, and, if unfortunately Celine did not seem surprised
and grateful for my little services, I was not pleased, and tears
rose to my eyes.

Again, if by accident I offended anyone, instead of taking it in
the right way, I fretted till I made myself ill, thus making my
fault worse, instead of mending it; and when I began to realise my
foolishness, I would cry for having cried.

In fact, I made troubles out of everything. Now, things are quite
differen