that their ancient ties have been dissolvedties which bound us to the world and to a false religion, and which we should never have had strength to break by our own efforts.

It was a glorious evening in the end of May when I arrived within view of my own village, from which I had been absent many weeks. I had quitted the public vehicle in which I had travelled, on the opposite bank of the Seine, and having crossed the river in a small boat, I proceeded on foot the short remainder of my journey. As soon as I left the boat I was in my own parish, I was in fact at home, and I was making my way along an embowered pathway towards the village, when I overtook a decent peasant in her best apparel going the same way. To my inquiry, How is it with you, neighbour Mourque? How are all our friends? she replied, Ah! Father Raffré, we have lost one of our fairest flowers, and I am now going to see the last duties paid to her blessed remains.

Our flowers, I repeated; not my lily, I trust; is it Aimée who is no more?

It is, sir, she replied: and when I last saw her at the chateau I thought the little angel

would never live to enjoy another fête; such as she, father, are not for this world-nay, her own very words, when she refused the crown and spoke of what she should be, proved to me how it would be, and others said the same. But the crown and the garland are to be placed on her coffin, sir; the

garland indeed, sir, is withered and shrunk, but the crown is not made of such things as can fade, they tell me ; but it will be a touching spectacle, and surely, sir, there will not be many absent from the church this evening who were at the lady's Feast of Flowers.

I could not speak, so the good woman proceeded without interruption.

She informed me of many things concerning the sickness and death of the poor child -and of the grief of the Baronne and of Madame Bulé, who both together, as she said, waited on the dear child day after day and night after night; and she told me how she had prayed whilst her senses had been continued to her, and how she had again and again called upon her Saviour, and spoken of her hope of being speedily taken to him who had died for her and how she had expressed her love for her instructress and the lady of the chateau, and her tender regard for her school fellows-but, added the peasant, with some emotion of manner and some expression of regret, it is a grief to me to think that the poor child was so insensible when the priest attempted to administer the last sacrament, that she knew nothing of what passed, she was as insensible to the holy anointing as the still-born babe; neither did she take the smallest cognizance of the holy cross which was held before her-the Lord have mercy

on her soul! I am thinking, father, could she have been a heretic. Was she not from England?

Ah! I said, was it so? 'tis true, she was from England.

The woman started at the manner in which I spoke, and looked anxiously at me, saying, Do you doubt, sir, do you doubt of her final happiness?

I interrupted her, Ah, would to God, I answered, that I were as blessed and happy as that dear child now is! On whom did she call in her dying hours, whom did she live only to please, to whom did she give all the glory, but unto the only true Saviour-he who is above all saints and angels, the God incarnate, he by whom alone the sinner can be saved.

The poor woman crossed herself as I spoke, and assented to my assertion.

Blessed little lamb! I exclaimed, and art thou gathered to the fold of the only true Shepherd? Sweet lily of the valley! and art thou removed to a more congenial soil; but who shall fill the place which thou hast left?

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At that instant the tower of the church broke upon my view as we turned an angle of the road, and a distant sound of choral harmony burst upon my ear. I was ashamed of it, but I could not help it; I burst into tears and wept like a child. I did not know till that moment how dear the orphan Aimée was to my heart. I roused myself, however, and walked on, and a few steps brought me into the entrance of the village street, and in full view of the western front of the church, the great door of which being open, I could distinguish the crowd within, and hear the soft melody of the human voice attuned with the full toned organ within in such a chant, so solemn, so touching, so sublime, as seemed to raise my mind above all earthly feelings, and make me (I was about to say almost, but I will say entirely) desire to be with my Aimée, absent from the body and present with my Lord. As I advanced I perceived that all the houses in the street were deserted, and the deep silence which reigned amid these dwellings enabled me to hear the requiem