. . . .

X

October 14, 1890.

MY DARLING SISTER,--I know quite well all you are suffering. I
know your anguish, and I share it. Oh! If I could but impart to
you the peace which Jesus has put into my soul amid my most bitter
tears. Be comforted--all passes away. Our life of yesterday is
spent; death too will come and go, and then we shall rejoice in
life, true life, for countless ages, for evermore. Meanwhile let
us make of our heart a garden of delights where Our sweet Saviour
may come and take His rest. Let us plant only lilies there, and
sing with St. John of the Cross:

"There I remained in deep oblivion, My head reposing upon Him I
love, Lost to myself and all! I cast my cares away And let them,
heedless, mid the lilies lie."[18]

XI

April 26, 1891.

MY DEAR LITTLE SISTER,--Three years ago our hearts had not yet
been bruised, and life was one glad smile. Then Jesus looked down
upon us, and all things were changed into an ocean of tears . . .
but likewise into an ocean of grace and of love. God has taken
from us him whom we loved so tenderly--was it not that we might be
able to say more truly than ever: "Our Father Who art in heaven"?
How consoling is this divine word, and what vast horizons it opens
before us!

My darling Celine, you who asked me so many questions when we were
little, I wonder how it was you never asked: "Why has God not made
me an Angel?" Well, I am going to tell you. Our Lord wishes to
have His Court here on earth, as He has in Heaven; He wishes for
angel-martyrs and angel-apostles; and if He has not made you an
Angel in Heaven, it is because He wishes you to be an Angel of
earth, so that you may be able to suffer for His Love.

Dearest sister, the shadows will soon disappear, the rays of the
Eternal Sun will thaw the hoar frost of winter. . . . A little
longer, and we shall be in our true country, and our childhood's
joys--those Sunday evenings, those outpourings of the heart--will
be given back to us for ever!

XII

August 15, 1892.

MY DEAR LITTLE SISTER,--To write to you to-day I am obliged to
steal a little time from Our Lord. He will forgive, because it is
of Him that we are going to speak together. The vast solitudes and
enchanting views which unfold themselves before you ought to
uplift your soul. I do not see those things, and I content myself
by saying with St. John of the Cross in his Spiritual Canticle:

In Christ I have the mountains, The quiet, wooded val