from Paris, the Abbess of which had a particular friendship for me. Here my union with GOD, seemed to be deeper and more continual, becoming always simple, but at the same time more close and intimate.

ONE day I awaked suddenly at four o'clock in the morning, with a strong impression on my mind, that my father was dead; and though at the same time my soul was in a very great contentment, yet my love for him affected it with sorrow, and my body with weakness. Under the strokes and daily troubles which befel me, my will was so subservient to thime, oh my GOD, that it appeared absolutely united to it. There seemed indeed to be no will left in me but thine only. My own disappeared, and no desires, tendencies or inclinations were left, but to the one sole object of whatever was most pleasing to thee, be it what it would. If I had a will, it was in union with thine, as two well tuned lutes in concert: That which is not touched renders the same sound as that which is touched: It is but one and the same sound, one pure harmony. It is this union of the will which establishes in perfect peace. Yet though my own will was lost, as to its operations, I have found since, in the strange states I have been obliged to pass through, how much it had yet to cost me to have it totally lost, as to all its properties in all the circumstançes, and whole extent thereof, in order that the soul should retain no more any interest or desire of its own, of either time or eternity, but only the interest of GoD alone, in the manner that is known to himself, and not in our way of conceiving. How many souls are there

which think their own wills quite lost, while they are yet very far from it! They would find they still subsist, if they met with hard probations, Who is there who does not wish something for himself, either of interest, wealth, honour, pleasure, conveniency, liberty, &c.? And he who thinks his mind loose from all these objects, ber cause he possesses them, would soon perceive his attachment to them, were he stripped of those he is possessed of. If there are found in a whole age three persons so dead to every thing, as to be utterly resigned to providence without any exception, they may well pass for prodigies of grace.As I am not mistress of what I write, I follow not any order :-But it makes little matter.

IN the afternoon as I was with the Abbess, I told her I had strong presentiments of my father's death. Indeed I could hardly speak, I was so affected within, and enfeebled without. Presently came one to tell her that she was wanted in the parlour. It was a man that had rid post, and was come express, with an account from my husband that my father was ill. And as I afterwards found it held him only twelve hours, he therefore was by this time dead. The Abbess returning says, "Here is a letter from your "husband who writes that your father is taken

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violently ill." I said to her, "he is dead, I "cannot have a doubt about it." I sent away to Paris immediately, to hire a coach, to go the sooner. Mine waited for me at the Midway. I went off at nine o'clock at night. They said, I was going to destroy myself," for I had no acquaintance with me; as I had sent away my maid to Paris, to put every thing in order there; and being in a religious house, I had no mind to

keep

keep any footman with me there. The Abbess told me, "that since I thought my father was “dead, it would be rashness in me to expose "myself, and run the risque of my life in that "manner; that coaches could hardly pass the

way I was going, it being no beaten road." I answered, "That it was my indispensible duty "to go to assist my father, and that I ought not, 26 on a bare apprehension, to exempt myself from "it." I went then alone, abandoned to Providence, with people unknown. My weakness was so great, that I could hardly keep my seat in the coach, and yet I was often forced to alight, on account of dangerous spots in the road.

In this way I was obliged, about midnight, to cross a forest, notorious for murders and robberies. The most intrepid dreaded it; but my resignation left me scarce any room to think at all about it.-Oh what fears and uneasiness does a resigned soul. spare itself!-Thus all alone I arrived within five leagues of my own habitation, where, I found my confessor who had opposed me, with one of my relations waiting for me. The sweet consolation Ihad enjoyed, when alone, was now interrupted. My confessor, ignorant of my state, restrained me intirely. My grief was of such a nature that I could not shed a tear. And I was ashamed to hear a thing which I knew but too well, without giving any exterior mark of grief. The inward and profound peace I enjoyed dawned on my countenance, and the state I was in did not permit me to speak, or to do such things as are usually expected from persons of piety. I could do nothing but love and be

silent.

I FOUND

fa

I FOUND on my arrival at home, that my ther was already buried, on account of the excessive heat. It was ten o'clock at night. All wore the habit of mourning.-I had travelled thirty leagues in a day and a night. As I was very weak, not having taken any nourishment, I was instantly put to bed.

ABOUT two o'clock in the morning my husband got up, and having gone out of my chamber, he returned presently, crying out with all his might, "My daughter is dead."-She was my only daughter, as dearly beloved as truly lovely. She had so many graces both of body and mind conferred on her, that one must have been insensible not to have loved her. She had an extraordinary share of love to GOD. Often was she found in corners at prayer. As soon as she perceived me at prayer, she came and joined me, and if she discovered that I had been at it without her, she would weep bitterly and cry, "Ah mama you pray but I dont."-When we were alone and she saw my eyes closed-she'd whisper, "are you asleep," and then cry out, Ah no, you are praying to our dear Jesus, and dropping on her knees before me she would begin to pray too. She was several times whipt by her grandmother, because she said, "She "would never have any other husband but our "LORD," yet could she never make her say otherwise. She was innocent and modest as a little angel; very dutiful and endearing, and withal very beautiful. Her father doated on her, and to me she was very dear, much more for the qualities of her mind than those of her beautiful person. I looked upon her as my only consolation on earth: For she had as much affection

for

for me, as her brother had aversion and contempt. She died of an unseasonable bleeding: But what shall I say? she died by the hands of him who was pleased, for wise reasons of his own, to strip me of all.

..

THERE now remained to me only the son of my sorrow. He fell ill to the point of death, but was restored at the prayer of Mother GRAN-. GER, now my only consolation after GoD. Ino more wept for my child than for my father. I could only say, Thou, oh LORD, gave her to "me; it pleases thee to take her back again, "for she was thine." As for my father, his virtue was so gencrally known, that I must rather be silent, than enter upon the subject. His reliance on GoD, his faith and patience were wonderful. Both died in July 1672. From henceforth crosses were not spared me: And tho' I have had abundance of them hitherto, yet they were only the shadows of those which I have been since obliged to pass through, pursuant to a marriage contract, which I had newly entered into with our LORD JESUS CHRIST. In this spiritual marriage Iclaimed for my dowry only crosses, scourges, persecutions, ignominies, lowliness, and nothingness of self, which in his great goodness, and for wise ends, as I have seen, he has been pleased to grant and confer upon me.

ONE day being in great distress, on account of the redoubling of outward and inward crosses, I went into my closet to give vent to my grief. M. BERTOT, was brought into my mind, with this wish, Ob that he was sensible of what I suffer! Tho' he wrote but very seldom, and with great difficulty, yet he wrote me a letter

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