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no visiting each other's rooms among the young men themselves at any time, save for charity's sake when one is ill. An iron bedstead, with a straw bed, a table, a chair, a crucifix, a vexing old clothes-press, whose drawers won't open except by herculean efforts, and when open have an equally stubborn fashion of refusing to be closed; a broom, a few books, paper, pen and ink, a pious picture or statue, and you have the full inventory of any of these rooms. As they need no more, they have no more: a rule of life that might make many a one of us far happier than we are, tortured by the care of a thousand and one things which consume our time, worry the mind, and are not of the slightest possible utility to ourselves, and the cause, it may be, of others' envy and discomfort. I am aware that, as you pass along the corridors, you think it is vacation time, or that every one is absent just now from their rooms, all is so silent. But wait a moment. Ah! the bell again. Presto! Every door flies open, and the corridor is alive with numbers of the young men going off to a class or to prayers. Now that they are gone, suppose you peep into one of the rooms again; that is, if some newcomer, not yet having learned the rule to the contrary, has left the key in his door. Ah! he was just writing as the bell rang; the pen is yet wet with ink. Pardon! I do not intend that you shall read what he has written, but you may see that he has actually left his paper not only with an unfinished sentence, but even at a half formed letter. That is obedience, my friend, to the voice of God, which I have already told you is recognized in the first stroke of that bell. I suppose you may read the inscription he has placed at the foot of his crucifix, since it is in plain sight. "I sat down under the shadow of my Well-Beloved, whom I desired, and his fruit was sweet to my palate." (Cant. ii. 3.) Yes, you are right. It is a good motto for one who has sacrificed every worldly enjoyment for the sake of that higher and purer joy, the love

of Jesus crucified. You are noticing, I perceive, that everything looks very neat and clean, that the bed is nicely made, and what there is, is in order. They have tidy housekeepers, you say. here. So they have, and a large number of them, too,-one to each room— the Seminarian himself.

I think you may "mount" another stairway now-when you find it—to the third story. I just wish you to step into that door on the right. It is the Chapel of St. Joseph; and if you happen to enter here, after night prayers you will see a few of the young men kneeling before the altar, over which is a charming little painting representing the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph holding the Child Jesus by the hand. They come to pay a short visit in spirit to the Holy Family before retiring to rest. "Beautiful thought!" I believe you. I see your eyes are a little dimmed by tears. What is the matter? "Oh! nothing; only I was thinking that by coming up a few more steps in this house, one has mounted a good many steps nearer heaven." Not ready to go? Oh! I understand, you wish to pay a little visit yourself to the Holy Family. Good. Now, along this corridor, around this corner, down that stairway which seems to lead nowhere,-take care of your head!-through those doors, and you are in a much larger chapel. All finished in polished oak, as you see, with a bright waxed floor. The seminarians sit in those stalls which run along the whole length of either side of the chapel. Here, on Sundays and feştivals, they come to celebrate the divine offices of the Church. I wish you could hear them responding to each other in the solemn Gregorian chant. Listen; they are singing, and only to and for the praise of God, for no strangers are admitted, so there is no chance for the applause of men. Possibly you may be sharp-eyed enough to note those mantling cheeks and detect the thrill of emotion in their voices as the swelling chorus fills the whole building with melody. Truly,

I wonder not that you are moved, for the song of praise rises amid the clouds of grateful incense from chaste lips, and from pure hearts given in the flower and spring-time of life to God alone. I can tell you, that whether their voices are singing the mournful cadence of the Kyrie, the exultant sentences of the Gloria, the imposing chant of the Credo, the awe-struck exclamations of the Sanctus, or the plaintive refrain of the Agnus Dei; or whether they respond in cheerful notes to the salutations of the sacrificing priest at the Altar, one other song their hearts are always singing here: "Lætatus sum in his quæ dicta sunt mihi, in domum Domini ibimus "-I was glad when they said unto me, we will go into the house of the Lord. A heavenly joy is filling their ardent souls, moved by the grace of the Holy Ghost, and is reflected from their countenances as the sunlight sparkles on the ripples of a quiet, shaded lake, when its waters are gently stirred by a passing zephyr wafted from the wings of God's unseen angel of the winds.

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Now you may go out into the garden. A charming esplanade directly behind the house you have visited. Well-kept gravelled walks stretch here and there through a glittering parterre of flowers of every hue and perfume. A pretty fountain sends its sparkling drops into the air in the centre of a basin stocked with gold-fish, which are very fond of being fed with breadcrumbs from the hand of saintly old Father C You do not know the Père C you say. Then you may envy me. I know him. Shall I tell you what he said to me one day? "Tenez, mon cher, on doit prier le Bon Dieu toujours selon le premier mot de l'office de None, 'Mirabilia,' et non pas selon le premier mot de Tierce, Legem pone.'" God bless his dear old white head! it makes my heart leap in my bosom to think of him. Where were you? Oh! yes, beside the fountain. On each side of the garden is an avenue of trees and in one corner a little maze, hiding a

pretty statue of the Blessed Virgin at whose feet that Almoner of the poor has placed a little charity-box, thinking doubtless, and not without reason, that here, hidden by the trees and close shrubbery, some one, you for instance, might like to do something with a holy secrecy which shall one day find its reward from the Heavenly Father of the poor, openly. So I will just turn my head while you put in a donation fitting for an American who has a suite of rooms at the Hôtel des Princes. I know you are loth to leave this pretty spot. I have had equal difficulty in dragging you away from the other places to which I directed your steps; but you have not seen all. Come along. Cross the garden. Here, behind the large chapel is a curious grotto all inlaid with shells, floor, walls and roof. This is the place where Bossuet, Fénelon and Mr. Tronson held some conferences about a theological subject which need not take up your time now. Turn up that winding walk to the left, and you see a little shrine dedicated to Our Lady, to which the young men go to celebrate the month of May; and it is a quiet little nook where one may drop in a moment and forget the world. The world is not worth remembering all the time, you know. As you pass to the middle of the garden again you notice a long archway, built under a high wall. Before you enter it please first notice that fine terra-cotta statue of the Virgin and Child near it, and take off your hat in passing, as all do here. This archway passes under a road, which is screened from view by high walls on either side, which also prevent the grounds you are in from being seen from the road. I have often thought about that high-walled road running through the middle of this place nearest to heaven. How many of us pass along our way of life, stony, toilsome, dry and dusty, like this road, and are often nearer heaven and heavenly company than we think; and how many others there are we know and love, whose road runs close beside,

if not at times directly through the Paradise of the Church of God on earth, and know it not. Oh! if they did but once suspect it, how quickly would they leap over the wall!

Now you are through the archway. Directly before you is a magnificent avenue of trees, all trimmed and clipped as it pleases this methodical people, and here is a fine place for a walk in recreation. The seminarians recreate themselves, as they do all other acts, as a duty and by rule. One hour and a quarter after dinner, ten minutes at half-past four, and an hour and a half after supper appears to suffice, although I am afraid it is rather a short allowance. Silence is the rule during the other twenty-one hours out of the twenty-four, and broken only by duty or necessity. How do you like it? Be assured it is profitable to those who are desirous of living near to God. Recollect what Thomas à Kempis says in his "Imitation of Christ:" " In silentio et quiete proficit anima devota" -In silence and quiet the devout soul makes great progress. You observe also that the reverend teachers of these young men are taking recreation with them. Yes; and in this as in every other duty of this life of prayer and of study they subject themselves to the same rule that they impose on others. Example, example, my friend, is the master teacher, and succeeds where words cannot. They have learned beforehand in their own school the lessons of chastity, obedience, poverty, patience, meekness, humility and charity, of silence, and every other Christian mortification of our wayward senses which they are called upon to teach here. They have a novitiate adjoining this house, called the "Solitude," and their motto is inscribed over the little portal in the stone wall which separates the two enclosures. This is it, "O beata Solitudo! O sola Beatitudo! There is a short sentence, my friend, which will serve as a subject of meditation for you, for a longer time than you imagine. Look at the Père M, the

reverend superior. What gentleness of soul beams from that kindly countenance! It makes one think of St. Philip Neri. Ah! and there is the Père P―, with a face like St. Vincent of Paul, and a body like nobody's but his own, all deformed as it is by rheumatism. I don't ask you to kiss the hem of his cassock for reverence sake, for that might wound his humility, and he might moreover knock you down with his crooked elbow, but if you could see what place the angels are getting ready for him up in heaven, I think you would wish to do so. And all the others, old or young-bowed with age or strong of arm and firm in step-you will find but little difference in them. They are all cast in about the same mould, of a shape which only a life, and a purpose of life such as theirs could form. You would like to know what that young man is about, would you, running from one knot of talkers and walkers to another, saluting them, and saying something to each? Listen; he is repeating the password of the house. The password? Even So. And is it secret? Yes, and a secret too. It is the secret of a holy life, the holy life to be led here, and not to be forgotten, where it is the most likely to be, in the dissipation of recreation. Lay it up to heart, for it will do you good. "Messieurs, Sursum corda!"

This building on your right as you come out of the archway is a ball-court. If you will step into the "cuisine," as a sort of wire cage is called, in which you can see without being in the way, and the irregular roof of which serves admirably to cause the ball to come down crooked, and "hard to take," you may see some good ball-playing; and if you know anything about the game, I am sure all will offer at once to vacate their places and give up the pleasure of playing to please you. Somehow, these seminarians are always seeking to please some one else. Fraternal charity, which prefers the happiness of others to its own, is cultivated here to such degree, that I tell you again you will not find a place

nearer heaven, where cnarity is made perfect and consummated in God.

Turn down now to the left for a few steps, and look to the right. An other beautiful avenue. The trees branching from the ground rise up and mingle together on all sides so as to form a complete arch. A building at the end. Yes; that is the place of all places in this lovely enclosure the most venerated by all who come to pass a part of their lives in dear old Issy. It is the chapel of Lorette. Walk up the avenue and examine it. It has a façade, as you see, of strict architectural taste. I know that you, being an American, would very soon scrape the weather-beaten stones, paint up the wood-work, and put a new and more elegant window in front, if you were in charge. Perhaps it might improve it, perhaps not. Standing as it does alone, out there in the midst of extensive grounds, it makes think you of the Holy House of Loretto in Italy, of which you know something, I suppose, and of which, indeed, the little chapel inside is an exact copy, and hence has obtained its name. Let me

say a word about it before you go in, for no one is expected to break the religious silence which the young levites here are taught should reign about the tabernacle where reposes the sacred and hidden presence of Jesus Christ in the Holy Eucharist. It is this chapel, especially dedicated to his own dear and blessed mother, 'that they have chosen for his dwelling-place among them, as her home at Nazareth was also his. It is what you might expect. The Mother and the Son go together. A childlike and tender devotion to her whom he chose for the human source of his incarnate life, through which we are elevated and born anew unto God, cannot be separated from the profound act of adora

mation of the world; and the priest, by the power of his own divine word, is its human source. You remember the saying of St. Augustine: "O venerable dignity of the priest, in whose hands, as in the womb of the Virgin, the Son of God is incarnate every day!"

Enter. On the wall to your left, just inside the outer door you see this inscription.

"Hic Verbum caro factum est, et habitavit in nobis."

On the wall directly opposite, this :

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"Here the Word was made flesh, and dwelt amongst us."

+"Stand in awe, ye who have come hither fret afar to admire the Lorettan house of the Mother of God. The whole is but narrow and strait: however, the whole Christian world is but narrow in which the God made man suffered straitness. Wherefore, adere with the angels the straitened word of the Eternal Father. He is silent here, but with an eloquent s lence. For the bosom of the Blessed Virgin Mother

tion which humanity, nay, all creation, is the seat of Wisdom. Hear the Hidden Word, and

must pay to him who is her Son, the first-born of all creatures. His mysterious incarnate presence is with us always in the Holy Eucharist, and will be, as he promised, unto the consum

listen attentively to what he wills of thee. Venera'e the house of the Son of Man, the school of Christ, te cradle of the Word."

"Be ye holy, all ye ministers of the altar. Let all things be pure and clean."

"What will I but that it burn ?"

"Here Mary, the spouse of the Father, conceived of the Holy Ghost."

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"Keep silence: for hither, while all things were in silence, the Almighty Word leapt down from heaven from his royal throne. Here the Eternal Word of the Eternal Father became silent, and adores God in tranquil silence."

"A great sign appeared on the earth, a lovely union, a wondrous mystery, Jesus living in Mary. Come, see, adore. Come to the temple of the Lord, to the cradle of the incarnate Word, to the sanctuary in which the Lord dwelleth. From which he goeth forth as a spouse from his bridal chamber. See, by the annunciation of the angel, a handmaiden made spouse of the Father, a virgin the Mother of God, a daughter of Adam the shrine of the Holy Ghost, Mary, the resting-place of the whole Trinity. Adore Jesus dwelling in his mother, as an emperor on his throne, as a priest in the temple, as a spouse in his chamber Here is the rest, here the glory, here the supreme praise of the Creator. Here will I dwell, because I have chosen her."

"O all ye of the family of God, draw near to the banquet. This house is full of bread."

"Here the divine wisdom mingleth her wine, spreadeth ber table, and maketh all things ready. They who drink shall not thirst any more. They

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Before you look at the real chapel for which this building was erected, iust step out of that door opposite to the one by which you entered. A little cemetery. Here repose, in simple, humble graves, the bodies of the deceased superiors and directors of the congregation of St. Sulpice, in whom. and whose seminary you have shown so much interest during this visit under the guidance of your humble servant. Here, in this little cemetery, beneath the shadow of the sacred chapel they have loved so well, in the very home, as it were, where so many holy souls have lived, and learned the lessons of perfection, and where, God grant, many more such may yet live and learn the same, they have laid themselves down to rest from their

who eat shall never hunger. They who feast shall live for ever. Drink, therefore, and be inebriated. Eat and be filled. Pour forth your souls with joy in the songs of thanksgiving and rejoicing. There is a sound as of one feasting."

"All ye who thirst, come ye to the waters. This place gushes with fountains.'

"Here is the fount of fountains, and heap of wheat, Christ; of which the angels partake, the Saints are replenished, and the whole universe is satiated. Here is the fruitful field and meeting of the waters, Mary; whence, as from a kind of ocean of divinity, flow out the streams of all graces."

"If thou art the good odor of Christ, draw near. This chamber of Mary is the altar of incense, the home of charity, whose door receiveth not enemies, but the victims of love. Hither, ye wayfarers, bring your vows, your hearts, and your affections."

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