CHAPTER X
THE INTERVIEW
The dreams of Agnes, on the night after her conversation with the monkand her singular momentary interview with the cavalier, were a strangemixture of images, indicating the peculiarities of her education andhabits of daily thought.
She dreamed that she was sitting alone in the moonlight, and heard someone rustling in the distant foliage of the orange groves, and fromthem came a young man dressed in white of a dazzling clearness likesunlight; large pearly wings fell from his shoulders and seemed toshimmer with a phosphoric radiance; his forehead was broad and grave,and above it floated a thin, tremulous tongue of flame; his eyes hadthat deep, mysterious gravity which is so well expressed in all theFlorentine paintings of celestial beings; and yet, singularly enough,this white-robed, glorified form seemed to have the features andlineaments of the mysterious cavalier of the evening before,--the samedeep, mournful dark eyes, only that in them the light of earthly pridehad given place to the calm, strong gravity of an assured peace,--thesame broad forehead,--the same delicately chiseled features, butelevated and etherealized, glowing with a kind of interior ecstasy.He seemed to move from the shadow of the orange trees with a backwardfloating of his lustrous garments, as if borne on a cloud just alongthe surface of the ground; and in his hand he held the lily spray, allradiant with a silvery, living light, just as the monk had suggestedto her a divine flower might be. Agnes seemed to herself to hold herbreath and marvel with a secret awe, and as often happens in dreams,she wondered to herself, "Was this stranger, then, indeed, not evenmortal, not even a king's brother, but an angel? How strange," she saidto herself, "that I should never have seen it in his eyes!" Nearerand nearer the vision drew, and touched her forehead with the lily,which seemed dewy and icy cool; and with the contact it seemed to herthat a delicious tranquillity, a calm ecstasy, possessed her soul, andthe words were impressed in her mind, as if spoken in her ear, "TheLord hath sealed thee for his own!"--and then, with the wild fantasyof dreams, she saw the cavalier in his wonted form and garments, justas he had kneeled to her the night before, and he said, "Oh, Agnes!Agnes! little lamb of Christ, love me and lead me!"--and in her sleepit seemed to her that her heart stirred and throbbed with a strange,new movement in answer to those sad, pleading eyes, and thereafter herdream became more troubled.
The sea was beginning now to brighten with the reflection of the comingdawn in the sky, and the flickering fire of Vesuvius was waxing sicklyand pale; and while all the high points of rocks were turning of a rosypurple, in the weird depths of the gorge were yet the unbroken shadowsand stillness of night. But at the earliest peep of dawn the monk hadrisen, and now, as he paced up and down the little garden, his morninghymn mingled with Agnes's dreams,--words strong with all the nerve ofthe old Latin, which, when they were written, had scarcely ceased to bethe spoken tongue of Italy.
"Splendor paternae gloriae, De luce lucem proferens, Lux lucis et fons luminis, Dies diem illuminans!
"Votis vocemus et Patrem, Patrem potentis gratiae, Patrem perennis gloriae: Culpam releget lubricam!
"Confirmet actus strenuos, Dentes retundat invidi, Casus secundet asperos, Donet gerendi gratiam!
"Christus nobis sit cibus, Potusque noster sit fides: Laeti bibamus sobriam Ebrietatem spiritus!
"Laetus dies hic transeat, Pudor sit ut diluculum, Fides velut meridies. Crepusculum mens nesciat!"[3]
[3] Splendor of the Father's glory, Bringing light with cheering ray, Light of light and fount of brightness, Day, illuminating day!
In our prayers we call thee Father, Father of eternal glory, Father of a mighty grace: Heal our errors, we implore thee!
Form our struggling, vague desires; Power of spiteful spirits break; Help us in life's straits, and give us Grace to suffer for thy sake!
Christ for us shall be our food; Faith in him our drink shall be; Hopeful, joyful, let us drink Soberness of ecstasy!
Joyful shall our day go by, Purity its dawning light, Faith its fervid noontide glow, And for us shall be no night!
The hymn in every word well expressed the character and habitual poseof mind of the singer, whose views of earthly matters were as differentfrom the views of ordinary working mortals as those of a bird, as heflits and perches and sings, must be from those of the four-footedox who plods. The "_sobriam ebrietatem spiritus_" was with him firstconstitutional, as a child of sunny skies, and then cultivated by everyemployment and duty of the religious and artistic career to which fromchildhood he had devoted himself. If perfect, unalloyed happiness hasever existed in this weary, work-day world of ours, it has been inthe bosoms of some of those old religious artists of the Middle Ages,whose thoughts grew and flowered in prayerful shadows, bursting intothousands of quaint and fanciful blossoms on the pages of missal andbreviary. In them the fine life of color, form, and symmetry, which isthe gift of the Italian, formed a rich stock on which to graft the truevine of religious faith, and rare and fervid were the blossoms.
For it must be remarked in justice of the Christian religion, that theItalian people never rose to the honors of originality in the beautifularts till inspired by Christianity. The Art of ancient Rome was asecond-hand copy of the original and airy Greek,--often clever, butnever vivid and self-originating. It is to the religious Art of theMiddle Ages, to the Umbrian and Florentine schools particularly, thatwe look for the peculiar and characteristic flowering of the Italianmind. When the old Greek Art revived again in modern Europe, though atfirst it seemed to add richness and grace to this peculiar development,it smothered and killed it at last, as some brilliant tropical parasiteexhausts the life of the tree it seems at first to adorn. Raphaeland Michel Angelo mark both the perfected splendor and the commenceddecline of original Italian Art; and just in proportion as their ideasgrew less Christian and more Greek did the peculiar vividness andintense flavor of Italian nationality pass away from them. They becameagain like the ancient Romans, gigantic imitators and clever copyists,instead of inspired kings and priests of a national development.
The tones of the monk's morning hymn awakened both Agnes and Elsie, andthe latter was on the alert instantly.
"Bless my soul!" she said, "brother Antonio has a marvelous power oflungs; he is at it the first thing in the morning. It always used to beso; when he was a boy, he would wake me up before daylight singing."
"He is happy, like the birds," said Agnes, "because he flies nearheaven."
"Like enough: he was always a pious boy; his prayers and his pencilwere ever uppermost: but he was a poor hand at work: he could draw youan olive-tree on paper; but set him to dress it, and any fool wouldhave done better."
The morning rites of devotion and the simple repast being over, Elsieprepared to go to her business. It had occurred to her that the visitof her brother was an admirable pretext for withdrawing Agnes from thescene of her daily traffic, and of course, as she fondly supposed,keeping her from the sight of the suspected admirer.
Neither Agnes nor the monk had disturbed her serenity by recountingthe adventure of the evening before. Agnes had been silent from thehabitual reserve which a difference of nature ever placed between herand her grandmother,--a difference which made confidence on her sidean utter impossibility. There are natures which ever must be silent toother natures, because there is no common language between them. In thesame house, at the same board, sharing the same pillow even, are thoseforever strangers and foreigners, whose whole stock of intercourse islimited to a few brief phrases on the commonest material wants of life,and who, as soon as they try to go farther, have no words that aremutually understood.
"Agnes," said her grandmother, "I shall not need you at the standto-d
ay. There is that new flax to be spun, and you may keep companywith your uncle. I'll warrant me, you'll be glad enough of that!"
"Certainly I shall," said Agnes, cheerfully. "Uncle's comings are myholidays."
"I will show you somewhat further on my Breviary," said the monk."Praised be God, many new ideas sprang up in my mind last night, andseemed to shoot forth in blossoms. Even my dreams have often been madefruitful in this divine work."
"Many a good thought comes in dreams," said Elsie; "but, for my part, Iwork too hard and sleep too sound to get much that way."
"Well, brother," said Elsie, after breakfast, "you must look well afterAgnes to-day; for there be plenty of wolves go round, hunting theselittle lambs."
"Have no fear, sister," said the monk, tranquilly; "the angels haveher in charge. If our eyes were only clear-sighted, we should see thatChrist's little ones are never alone."
"All that is fine talk, brother; but I never found that the angelsattended to any of my affairs, unless I looked after them pretty sharpmyself; and as for girls, the dear Lord knows they need a legion apieceto look after them. What with roystering fellows and smooth-tonguedgallants, and with silly, empty-headed hussies like that Giulietta, onehas much ado to keep the best of them straight. Agnes is one of thebest, too,--a well-brought up, pious, obedient girl, and industriousas a bee. Happy is the husband who gets her. I would I knew a man goodenough for her."
This conversation took place while Agnes was in the garden pickingoranges and lemons, and filling the basket which her grandmother was totake to the town. The silver ripple of a hymn that she was singing camethrough the open door; it was part of a sacred ballad in honor of SaintAgnes:--
"Bring me no pearls to bind my hair, No sparkling jewels bring to me! Dearer by far the blood-red rose That speaks of Him who died for me.
"Ah! vanish every earthly love, All earthly dreams forgotten be! My heart is gone beyond the stars, To live with Him who died for me."
"Hear you now, sister," said the monk, "how the Lord keeps the door ofthis maiden's heart? There is no fear of her; and I much doubt, sister,whether you would do well to interfere with the evident call this childhath to devote herself wholly to the Lord."
"Oh, you talk, brother Antonio, who never had a child in your life,and don't know how a mother's heart warms towards her children and herchildren's children! The saints, as I said, must be reasonable, andoughtn't to be putting vocations into the head of an old woman's onlystaff and stay; and if they oughtn't to, why, then, they won't. Agnesis a pious child, and loves her prayers and hymns; and so she will loveher husband, one of these days, as an honest woman should."
"But you know, sister, that the highest seats in Paradise are reservedfor the virgins who follow the Lamb."
"Maybe so," said Elsie, stiffly; "but the lower seats are good enoughfor Agnes and me. For my part, I would rather have a little comfort asI go along, and put up with less in Paradise (may our dear Lady bringus safely there!) say I."
So saying, Elsie raised the large, square basket of golden fruit toher head, and turned her stately figure towards the scene of her dailylabors.
The monk seated himself on the garden wall, with his portfolio by hisside, and seemed busily sketching and retouching some of his ideas.Agnes wound some silvery-white flax round her distaff, and seatedherself near him under an orange tree; and while her small fingerswere twisting the flax, her large, thoughtful eyes were wandering offon the deep blue sea, pondering over and over the strange events of theday before, and the dreams of the night.
"Dear child," said the monk, "have you thought more of what I said toyou?"
A deep blush suffused her cheek as she answered,--
"Yes, uncle; and I had a strange dream last night."
"A dream, my little heart? Come, then, and tell it to its uncle. Dreamsare the hushing of the bodily senses, that the eyes of the Spirit mayopen."
"Well, then," said Agnes, "I dreamed that I sat pondering as I did lastevening in the moonlight, and that an angel came forth from the trees"--
"Indeed!" said the monk, looking up with interest; "what form had he?"
"He was a young man, in dazzling white raiment, and his eyes were deepas eternity; and over his forehead was a silver flame, and he bore alily-stalk in his hand, which was like what you told of, with light initself."
"That must have been the holy Gabriel," said the monk, "the angel thatcame to our blessed Mother. Did he say aught?"
"Yes, he touched my forehead with the lily, and a sort of cool rest andpeace went all through me, and he said, 'The Lord hath sealed thee forhis own!'"
"Even so," said the monk, looking up, and crossing himself devoutly,"by this token I know that my prayers are answered."
"But, dear uncle," said Agnes, hesitating and blushing painfully,"there was one singular thing about my dream,--this holy angel had yeta strange likeness to the young man that came here last night, so thatI could not but marvel at it."
"It may be that the holy angel took on him in part this likenessto show how glorious a redeemed soul might become, that you mightbe encouraged to pray. The holy Saint Monica thus saw the blessedAugustine standing clothed in white among the angels while he was yeta worldling and unbeliever, and thereby received the grace to continueher prayers for thirty years, till she saw him a holy bishop. This is asure sign that this young man, whoever he may be, shall attain Paradisethrough your prayers. Tell me, dear little heart, is this the firstangel thou hast seen?"
"I never dreamed of them before. I have dreamed of our Lady, and SaintAgnes, and Saint Catharine of Siena, and sometimes it seemed that theysat a long time by my bed, and sometimes it seemed that they took mewith them away to some beautiful place where the air was full of music,and sometimes they filled my hands with such lovely flowers that when Iwaked I was ready to weep that they could no more be found. Why, dearuncle, do _you_ see angels often?"
"Not often, dear child, but sometimes a little glimpse. But you shouldsee the pictures of our holy Father Angelico, to whom the angelsappeared constantly; for so blessed was the life he lived, that it wasmore in heaven than on earth. He would never cumber his mind with thethings of this world, and would not paint for money, nor for princes'favor; nor would he take places of power and trust in the Church, orelse, so great was his piety, they had made a bishop of him; but hekept ever aloof and walked in the shade. He used to say, 'They thatwould do Christ's work must walk with Christ.' His pictures of angelsare indeed wonderful, and their robes are of all dazzling colors, likethe rainbow. It is most surely believed among us that he painted toshow forth what he saw in heavenly visions."
"Ah!" said Agnes, "how I wish I could see some of these things!"
"You may well say so, dear child. There is one picture of Paradisepainted on gold, and there you may see our Lord in the midst of theheavens crowning his blessed Mother, and all the saints and angelssurrounding; and the colors are so bright that they seem like thesunset clouds,--golden, and rosy, and purple, and amethystine, andgreen like the new, tender leaves of spring: for, you see, the angelsare the Lord's flowers and birds that shine and sing to gladden hisParadise, and there is nothing bright on earth that is comparable tothem,--so said the blessed Angelico, who saw them. And what seemsworthy of note about them is their marvelous lightness, that theyseem to float as naturally as the clouds do, and their garments havea divine grace of motion like vapor that curls and wavers in the sun.Their faces, too, are most wonderful; for they seem so full of purityand majesty, and withal humble, with an inexpressible sweetness; for,beyond all others it was given to the holy Angelico to paint theimmortal beauty of the soul."
"It must be a great blessing and favor for you, dear uncle, to see allthese things," said Agnes; "I am never tired of hearing you tell ofthem."
"There is one little picture," said the monk, "wherein he hath paintedthe death of our dear Lady; and surely no mortal could ever conceiveanything like her sweet dying face, so
faint and weak and tender thateach man sees his own mother dying there, yet so holy that one feelsthat it can be no other than the mother of our Lord; and around herstand the disciples mourning; but above is our blessed Lord himself,who receives the parting spirit, as a tender new-born babe, into hisbosom: for so the holy painters represented the death of saints, as ofa birth in which each soul became a little child of heaven."
"How great grace must come from such pictures!" said Agnes. "It seemsto me that the making of such holy things is one of the most blessed ofgood works. Dear uncle," she said, after a pause, "they say that thisdeep gorge is haunted by evil spirits, who often waylay and bewilderthe unwary, especially in the hours of darkness."
"I should not wonder in the least," said the monk; "for you must know,child, that our beautiful Italy was of old so completely given upand gone over to idolatry that even her very soil casts up fragmentsof temples and stones that have been polluted. Especially aroundthese shores there is scarcely a spot that hath not been violated inall times by vilenesses and impurities such as the Apostle saith itis a shame even to speak of. These very waters cast up marbles andfragments of colored mosaics from the halls which were polluted withdevil-worship and abominable revelings; so that, as the Gospel saiththat the evil spirits cast out by Christ walk through waste places, sodo they cling to these fragments of their old estate."
"Well, uncle, I have longed to consecrate the gorge to Christ by havinga shrine there, where I might keep a lamp burning."
"It is a most pious thought, child."
"And so, dear uncle, I thought that you would undertake the work. Thereis one Pietro hereabout who is a skillful worker in stone, and was aplayfellow of mine,--though of late grandmamma has forbidden me to talkwith him,--and I think he would execute it under your direction."
"Indeed, my little heart, it shall be done," said the monk, cheerfully;"and I will engage to paint a fair picture of our Lady to be within;and I think it would be a good thought to have a pinnacle on theoutside, where should stand a statue of Saint Michael with his sword.Saint Michael is a brave and wonderful angel, and all the devils andvile spirits are afraid of him. I will set about the devices to-day."And cheerily the good monk began to intone a verse of an old hymn,--
"Sub tutela Michaelis, Pax in terra, pax in coelis."[4]
[4] "'Neath Saint Michael's watch is given Peace on earth and peace in heaven."
In such talk and work the day passed to Agnes; but we will not say thatshe did not often fall into deep musings on the mysterious visitor ofthe night before. Often while the good monk was busy at his drawing,the distaff would droop over her knee and her large dark eyes becomeintently fixed on the ground, as if she were pondering some absorbingsubject.
Little could her literal, hard-working grandmother, or her artistic,simple-minded uncle, or the dreamy Mother Theresa, or her austereconfessor, know of the strange forcing process which they were alltogether uniting to carry on in the mind of this sensitive young girl.Absolutely secluded by her grandmother's watchful care from any actualknowledge and experience of real life, she had no practical tests bywhich to correct the dreams of that inner world in which she delightedto live and move, and which was peopled with martyrs, saints, andangels, whose deeds were possible or probable only in the most exaltedregions of devout poetry.
So she gave her heart at once and without reserve to an enthusiasticdesire for the salvation of the stranger, whom Heaven, she believed,had directed to seek her intercessions; and when the spindle droopedfrom her hand, and her eyes became fixed on vacancy, she found herselfwondering who he might really be, and longing to know yet a little moreof him.
Towards the latter part of the afternoon, a hasty messenger came tosummon her uncle to administer the last rites to a man who had justfallen from a building, and who, it was feared, might breathe his lastunshriven.
"Dear daughter, I must hasten and carry Christ to this poor sinner,"said the monk, hastily putting all his sketches and pencils into herlap. "Have a care of these till I return,--that is my good little one!"
Agnes carefully arranged the sketches and put them into the book, andthen, kneeling before the shrine, began prayers for the soul of thedying man.
She prayed long and fervently, and so absorbed did she become, that sheneither saw nor heard anything that passed around her.
It was therefore with a start of surprise, as she rose from prayer,that she saw the cavalier sitting on one end of the marble sarcophagus,with an air so composed and melancholy that he might have been takenfor one of the marble knights that sometimes are found on tombs.
"You are surprised to see me, dear Agnes," he said, with a calm, slowutterance, like a man who has assumed a position he means fully tojustify; "but I have watched day and night, ever since I saw you, tofind one moment to speak with you alone."
"My Lord," said Agnes, "I humbly wait your pleasure. Anything that apoor maiden may rightly do, I will endeavor, in all loving duty."
"Whom do you take me for, Agnes, that you speak thus?" said thecavalier, smiling sadly.
"Are you not the brother of our gracious King?" said Agnes.
"No, dear maiden; and if the kind promise you lately made me is foundedon this mistake, it may be retracted."
"No, my Lord," said Agnes, "though I now know not who you are, yet ifin any strait or need you seek such poor prayers as mine, God forbid Ishould refuse them!"
"I am, indeed, in strait and need, Agnes; the sun does not shineon a more desolate man than I am,--one more utterly alone in theworld; there is no one left to love me. Agnes, can you not love me alittle?--let it be ever so little, it shall content me."
It was the first time that words of this purport had ever beenaddressed to Agnes; but they were said so simply, so sadly, sotenderly, that they somehow seemed to her the most natural and properthings in the world to be said; and this poor handsome knight, wholooked so earnest and sorrowful,--how could she help answering, "Yes"?From her cradle she had always loved everybody and everything, and whyshould an exception be made in behalf of a very handsome, very strong,yet very gentle and submissive human being, who came and knocked sohumbly at the door of her heart? Neither Mary nor the saints had taughther to be hard-hearted.
"Yes, my Lord," she said, "you may believe that I will love and prayfor you; but now, you must leave me, and not come here any more,because grandmamma would not be willing that I should talk with you,and it would be wrong to disobey her, she is so very good to me."
"But, dear Agnes," began the cavalier, approaching her, "I have manythings to say to you,--I have much to tell you."
"But I know grandmamma would not be willing," said Agnes; "indeed youmust not come here any more."
"Well, then," said the stranger, "at least you will meet me at sometime,--tell me only where."
"I cannot,--indeed I cannot," said Agnes, distressed and embarrassed."Even now, if grandmamma knew you were here, she would be so angry."
"But how can you pray for me, when you know nothing of me?"
"The dear Lord knoweth you," said Agnes; "and when I speak of you, Hewill know what you need."
"Ah, dear child, how fervent is your faith! Alas for me! I have lostthe power of prayer! I have lost the believing heart my mother gaveme,--my dear mother who is now in heaven."
"Ah, how can that be?" said Agnes. "Who could lose faith in so dear aLord as ours, and so loving a mother?"
"Agnes, dear little lamb, you know nothing of the world; and I shouldbe most wicked to disturb your lovely peace of soul with any sinfuldoubts. Oh, Agnes, Agnes, I am most miserable, most unworthy!"
"Dear sir, should you not cleanse your soul by the holy sacrament ofconfession, and receive the living Christ within you? For he says,'Without me ye can do nothing.'"
"Oh, Agnes, sacrament and prayer are not for such as me! It is onlythrough your pure prayers I can hope for grace."
"Dear sir, I have an uncle, a most holy man, and gentle as a lamb. Heis of the convent San Ma
rco in Florence, where there is a most holyprophet risen up."
"Savonarola?" said the cavalier, with flashing eyes.
"Yes, that is he. You should hear my uncle talk of him, and how blessedhis preaching has been to many souls. Dear sir, come sometime to myuncle."
At this moment the sound of Elsie's voice was heard ascending the pathto the gorge outside, talking with Father Antonio, who was returning.
Both started, and Agnes looked alarmed.
"Fear nothing, sweet lamb," said the cavalier; "I am gone."
He kneeled and kissed the hand of Agnes, and disappeared at one boundover the parapet on the side opposite that which they were approaching.
Agnes hastily composed herself, struggling with that half-guiltyfeeling which is apt to weigh on a conscientious nature that hasbeen unwittingly drawn to act a part which would be disapproved bythose whose good opinion it habitually seeks. The interview had butthe more increased her curiosity to know the history of this handsomestranger. Who, then, could he be? What were his troubles? She wishedthe interview could have been long enough to satisfy her mind on thesepoints. From the richness of his dress, from his air and manner, fromthe poetry and the jewel that accompanied it, she felt satisfied that,if not what she supposed, he was at least nobly born, and had shone insome splendid sphere whose habits and ways were far beyond her simpleexperiences. She felt towards him somewhat of the awe which a person ofher condition in life naturally felt toward that brilliant aristocracywhich in those days assumed the state of princes, and the members ofwhich were supposed to look down on common mortals from as great aheight as the stars regard the humblest flowers of the field.
"How strange," she thought, "that he should think so much of me! Whatcan he see in me? And how can it be that a great lord, who speaksso gently and is so reverential to a poor girl, and asks prayers sohumbly, can be so wicked and unbelieving as he says he is? Dear God, itcannot be that he is an unbeliever; the great Enemy has been permittedto try him, to suggest doubts to him, as he has to holy saints beforenow. How beautifully he spoke about his mother!--tears glittered in hiseyes then,--ah, there must be grace there after all!"
"Well, my little heart," said Elsie, interrupting her reveries, "haveyou had a pleasant day?"
"Delightful, grandmamma," said Agnes, blushing deeply withconsciousness.
"Well," said Elsie, with satisfaction, "one thing I know,--I'vefrightened off that old hawk of a cavalier with his hooked nose. Ihaven't seen so much as the tip of his shoe-tie to-day. Yesterday hemade himself very busy around our stall; but I made him understand thatyou never would come there again till the coast was clear."
The monk was busily retouching the sketch of the Virgin of theAnnunciation. He looked up, and saw Agnes standing gazing towards thesetting sun, the pale olive of her cheek deepening into a crimsonflush. His head was too full of his own work to give much heed to theconversation that had passed, but, looking at the glowing face, he saidto himself,--
"Truly, sometimes she might pass for the rose of Sharon as well as thelily of the valley!"
The moon that evening rose an hour later than the night before, yetfound Agnes still on her knees before the sacred shrine, while Elsie,tired, grumbled at the draft on her sleeping-time.
"Enough is as good as a feast," she remarked between her teeth; stillshe had, after all, too much secret reverence for her grandchild'spiety openly to interrupt her. But in those days, as now, there werethe material and the spiritual, the souls who looked only on thingsthat could be seen, touched, and tasted, and souls who looked on thethings that were invisible.
Agnes was pouring out her soul in that kind of yearning, passionateprayer possible to intensely sympathetic people, in which theinterests and wants of another seem to annihilate for a time personalconsciousness, and make the whole of one's being seem to dissolvein an intense solicitude for something beyond one's self. In suchhours prayer ceases to be an act of the will, and resembles more someoverpowering influence which floods the soul from without, bearing allits faculties away on its resistless tide.
Brought up from infancy to feel herself in a constant circle ofinvisible spiritual agencies, Agnes received this wave of intensefeeling as an impulse inspired and breathed into her by some celestialspirit, that thus she should be made an interceding medium for a soulin some unknown strait or peril. For her faith taught her to believe inan infinite struggle of intercession in which all the Church Visibleand Invisible were together engaged, and which bound them in livingbonds of sympathy to an interceding Redeemer, so that there was no wantor woe of human life that had not somewhere its sympathetic heart, andits never-ceasing prayer before the throne of Eternal Love. Whatevermay be thought of the actual truth of this belief, it certainly was farmore consoling than that intense individualism of modern philosophy,which places every soul alone in its life-battle, scarce even giving ita God to lean upon.