TER,--How fruitful for Heaven has been the year
that is gone! . . . Our dear Father has seen that which the eye of
man cannot see, he has heard the minstrelsy of the angels . . .
now his heart understands, and his soul enjoys "the things which
God hath prepared for those who love Him."[2] . . . Our turn will
come, and it is full sweet to think our sails are set towards the
Eternal Shore.

Do you not find, as I do, that our beloved Father's death has
drawn us nearer to Heaven? More than half of our loved ones
already enjoy the Vision of God, and the five who remain in exile
will follow soon. This thought of the shortness of life gives me
courage, and helps me to put up with the weariness of the journey.
What matters a little toil upon earth? We pass . . . "We have not
here a lasting city."[3]

Think of your Therese during this month consecrated to the Infant
Jesus, and beg of Him that she may always remain a very little
child. I will offer the same prayer for you, because I know your
desires, and that humility is your favourite virtue.

Which Therese will be the more fervent? . . . She who will be the
more humble, the more closely united to Jesus, and the more
faithful in making love the mainspring of every action. We must
not let slip one single occasion of sacrifice, everything has such
value in the religious life . . . Pick up a pin from a motive of
love, and you may thereby convert a soul. Jesus alone can make our
deeds of such worth, so let us love Him with every fibre of our
heart.

III

July 12, 1896.

MY DEAR LITTLE LEONIE,--I should have answered your letter last
Sunday if it had been given to me, but you know that, being the
youngest, I run the risk of not seeing letters for some
considerable time after my sisters, and occasionally not at all. I
only read yours on Friday, so forgive my delay.

You are right--Jesus is content with a tender look or a sigh of
love. For my part, I find it quite easy to practise perfection,
now that I realise it only means making Jesus captive through His
Heart. Look at a little child who has just vexed its mother,
either by giving way to temper or by disobedience. If it hides in
a corner and is sulky, or if it cries for fear of being punished,
its mother will certainly not forgive the fault. But should it run
to her with its little arms outstreteched, and say; "Kiss me,
Mother; I will not do it again!" what mother would not straightway
clasp her child lovingly to her