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plain-Behold, how they are numbered among the children of God, and their lot is among the Saints.

At last they too must make confession, but not freely, secretly to God's priest, in the sweet and soul-soothing gloom of the confessional. But now, troubled with terrible fear-groaning for anguish of spirit-they are forced to say, in the open day of God's judgment:-Therefore we have erred from the way of truth... We wearied ourselves in the way of iniquity and destruction, and have walked through hard ways, but the way of the Lord we have not known. What hath pride profited us? or what advantage hath the boasting of riches brought us?

All those things are passed away like a shadow, and like a post that runneth on,

And as a ship, that passeth through the waves: whereof when it is gone by, the trace cannot be found, nor the path of its keel in the waters:

Or as when a bird flieth through the air, of the passage of which no mark can be found, but only the sound of the wings beating the light wind and parting the air by the force of her flight; she moved her wings and hath flown through, and there is no mark found afterwards of her way:

Or as when an arrow is shot at a mark, the divided air presently cometh together again, so that the passage thereof is not known:

So we also being born, forthwith ceased to be: and have been able to show no mark of virtue: but are consumed in our wickedness.

III.

The wise Solomon still goes on, as if he might say much more:-Such things as these the sinners said in hell.

Was there ever an errand more April-foolish than their whole life has been? It has passed in toil and moiling amid trumpery vanities, in which they tried to dull the voice of conscience, saying to themselves: Come, and let us enjoy the good things that are present.

Let us fill ourselves with costly wine, and ointments: and let not the flower of the time pass by us.

Let us crown ourselves with roses, before they be withered.

Let none of us go without his part in luxury: let us everywhere leave tokens of joy: for this is our portion, and this our lot.

7

Soon their April-fool's-day of life is over. For the hope of the wicked is as dust, which is blown away with the winds and as a thin froth which is dispersed by the storm: and as smoke that is scattered abroad by the wind: and as the remembrance of a guest of one day that passeth by.10

Even when the quick fiery passions of their youth are cooled by age and cease to fool them longer, evil friends still remain and tempting devils, and their own lifelessness for all that is good. And all these will not yet allow them to repent; but they shut the doors in the street of their heart, lest Christ should enter in; the voice of the past shall be low, so that remorse shall not be felt at the thought of past sin nor humble confession be made. They shall grow deaf to all but the crooning voice of sloth-Thou wilt sleep a little, thou wilt slumber a little, thou wilt fold thy hands a little to sleep.' Then, at the last,—all the foolish of heart are troubled.

11

They have slept their sleep: and all the men of riches have found nothing in their hands.12

For God hath said to them: Thou fool, this night do they require thy soul of thee.13

But in the clear day of eternity, in Easter brightness, the just shall live for evermore: and their reward is with the Lord, and the care of them even here—with the most High."

14

GUARDIAN OF VIRGINS AND FATHER, ST. JOSEPH.

[The feast of St. Joseph is celebrated on the 19th of March, that of his Patronage on the 3d Sunday after Easter, April 22, both included, this present year, for some or other of our readers, in the time of this number of the PILGRIM.]

MOT

OTHER MARY of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Superior-General of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Lyons, made known the following remarkable instance of the paternal protection of St. Joseph. It is likely to be interesting to many who from our pages have learned to honor and invoke "the Friend of the Sacred Heart."

10 Wisdom, ii. v.
13 St. Luke, xii. 20.

11

Proverbs, vi. 10. 14 Wisdom, v. 16.

12

Psalm, lxxv. 6.

Many years ago the youthful daughter of a respectable family in one of the provinces of France, felt that God called her to sacrifice home and friends and enter the religious life. The faith that bears fruit in works was a part of the family inheritance. Her parents gave up cheerfully to God the child of their prayers and the centre of their earthly hopes, rejoicing that she had been called to serve Him in the religious congregation of St. Joseph, to whom they were especially devout.

Being unable themselves to accompany her to the mother-house at Lyons, they recommended her particularly to the conductor of the diligence. He promised to take every care of her. But when, late in the evening, they reached Lyons, either through wilful carelessness or neglect, he thought no more of his charge. On alighting from the vehicle, she turned to inquire the way to her destination. What was her distress and terror to see him drive rapidly away, leaving her alone and bewildered in the streets of the vast city!

As she thus stood, looking in her embarrassment from one side to the other, a man of respectable appearance came to her and courteously inquired if she was looking for any place.

"Yes, sir," she replied, "I want to find the mother-house of the Sisters of St. Joseph."

"That is very far away," said he, "and besides, it is too late to go there. It will be more prudent to spend the night at a neighboring hotel to which I will conduct you, and where you will be well treated in every respect. Then to-morrow, as soon as you wish, you can go to the Sisters of St. Joseph."

The poor child in her provincial innocence felt not a shadow of suspicion, and readily followed her self-constituted guide. On arriving at the hotel she was shown to a room containing two beds; and overpowered by fatigue, she soon betook herself to sleep, having first recommended herself to St. Joseph.

A short time afterwards she heard some one enter the room, and became almost powerless with fright on seeing that it was her pretended protector. He threw himself on the bed near by. With feelings one can better imagine than describe, she called on St. Joseph, imploring him to deliver her from the danger she feared. After some moments of anguish and breathless suspense, she thought the stranger had fallen asleep. Rising in haste, she

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sprang towards the door, but her enemy reached it before her and forcibly prevented her egress. In vain did she implore him to let her leave the room; his only answer was to lock the door and put the key in his pocket.

Then, when her terror was at its height, she remembered the words her mother had addressed to her in parting.

"I leave you, my dear child, to St. Joseph; I confide you to his care. He will accompany you and guard you and will lead

you safe into his house."

Full of faith and confidence, the child fell on her knees and, with a flood of tears, reminded St. Joseph of her mother's promise. "You cannot abandon me," she repeated; "oh, I implore you, come to my help. I have left everything for your sake, my country, my home, my father and mother. Oh, after so many and such great sacrifices, do not abandon me in the frightful peril in which I find myself."

Scarcely was her prayer ended, ere she perceived that the stranger was really asleep. Rising from her knees, she uttered the name of St. Joseph and ran instinctively to the door, forgetting that it was locked and the key removed. Suddenly the door opened of itself and the young girl beheld, standing on the threshold, a venerable old man whose white hair flowed over his shoulders. He was clothed in a long mantle and held a lamp in his hand.

Imprudent child!" said he, "what are you doing here? Be quick; take your things and follow me."

There was no need to urge her, and when they had reached the end of the corridor, the old man stopped and said:

"Descend this staircase, go into the room below, where you will find the landlady of the hotel; tell her to give you another room, and to-morrow, very early, beg her to let some one take you to the convent of St. Joseph."

While her guide was still speaking, she heard her enemy running around the room from which she had escaped, and crying out "Where are you?" and she was astonished to find that the light carried by the old man, although very bright, was apparently invisible to her pursuer.

"Hasten your steps," said the old man, "and fear nothing."

Entering the room he had indicated she found the mistress of the house, to whom she related what had occurred.

"I was much surprised," was the woman's answer, "at seeing you in such company, for the young man does not bear a good reputation; but I could only pity you"-from which it would seem she had been partly the villain's accomplice. Leading her to another room, she added, "Here you will be safe. You will be near myself, and to-morrow I will send you to your destination."

The next day, before her departure, the young girl asked to see the old man who had protected and saved her, that she might express her gratitude to him. What was her surprise to hear that there was no man in the house, and that none had entered there except the one who had brought her there the preceding evening! In vain did she describe the appearance of her deliverer, which was indelibly engraven on her heart. No such person had ever been seen in the house.

Then she doubted not that her protector had been her glorious Father, St. Joseph himself, to whose care her mother had confided her.

On reaching the convent she related her adventure to the Superior, who could not but regard such a miraculous intervention as a certain proof of St. Joseph's loving care over the young girl. She was some time later admitted to the holy habit under the name of Sister St. Jerome, and, after a life of more than ordinary holiness, died the death of the saints at the mother-house in Lyons, January 7th, 1866. She left her superiors at liberty to reveal the above facts, which she had wished kept an inviolable secret during her life.

HASTY JUDGMENT.

S Miss Elizabeth at home?"

"IS

"She is not at home."

It was the third or fourth time I had asked the same question. To-day the servant must have been in bad humor, for she added, with a shrug of her shoulders and a toss of her head, "She's never at home, you might come twenty times, and not find her;" and as I descended the steps I heard her mutter, "A gadabout, that is what she is!"

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