the young girl seemed firm though low:
her face wore a calm, peaceful look, subdued by the solemn occasion,
yet irrepressibly suggesting a joy unknown in the world, where joy is
seldom free from passion. The most interesting ceremony, however, was
yet to come. The slow chant shaped itself into the words of the psalm
_De Profundis_, the special prayer which in the Catholic Church is
reserved for the dead, and four professed nuns advanced toward their
new sister, who was now prostrate at the foot of the altar. Each held
the corner of a funeral pall, which they slowly; dropped over the
figure of Sister Maria Colomba, and, kneeling, held it over her until
the last verse of the psalm had been sung. This suggestive ceremony
closed the service. It is a forcible and picturesque type of the
complete severance of the nun's future life and interests from the
outside world, the death of her heart to all carnal affections, the
"dying daily" which Saint Paul calls the "life" of the Christian soul.
A long procession accompanied the newly-professed nun to the inner
rooms of the convent, and for this one day again she wore over the
black veil the bridal wreath, which to-morrow would be put away until
required for her last adornment in the coffin.

Ten years after our farewell to Sister Maria Colomba behind the
bars of the convent-parlor we saw her again, and, armed with a papal
permission, were shown by her over the whole convent. Those rare
occasions when a stranger is allowed to penetrate the "enclosure" are
always gala-days for the nuns. I remarked the blithe, youthful look
that shone on all their faces: Sister Maria Colomba herself, from a
pale, nervous girl, had expanded into a strong, hale, buxom woman. The
glow of health was on her cheek, the sparkle of innocent mirth shone
in her eye. There was one among the sisters who gleefully asked me to
guess at her age. She was a sweet, fresh-complexioned, matronly woman.
"Not more than fifty, good mother," was the answer.

She laughed and gently clapped her hands. "Add twenty years to that,"
she answered with an innocent burst of pride. Then she told how she
had entered the order while yet in her "teens," had held half the
offices of trust in the community, and had never missed any of the
most rigid fasts or absented herself once from the midnight office,
never having known so much as a day's ill-health. "Ah, a nun's life is
a healthy one, child, as well as a happy one," she said in con