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 world, their pure thoughts keep them company; forgotten of men, they are at home with God. There is about them the serene air of immortal things. They have the assurance that it is well with them whatever may lie beyond. The bonds love weaves about us are not chains, but freedom's livery. The most generous are the happiest, and the most fortunate are not those who receive or gain the greatest possessions, but those who with a loving heart make the greatest sacrifices. They are not confused or dominated by the problems and doubts of their time, but rise from out the riddles of existence into serene worlds where duty is plain. Passing by the unfathomable mysteries of human life, they do their work with hearts as glad as that of a child singing in its father's house.

In countless homes into which an unclean spirit could not enter and live, the mothers have received their exalted faith in the priceless worth of purity from the lips and hearts of nuns. In thousands of parishes the light of Catholic truth and love shines from the convent with a more pervasive and unremitting glow than from the pulpit; and as a gentleman is best known by his behavior to women, so a true priest is discovered by the reverence and consideration he shows to nuns. Bigotry itself, narrow and obdurate, ready almost to hate the good it is forced to recognize in those whose creed it abhors, cannot long withstand the test of contact with these simple, gentle and true-hearted women. How infinitely poorer, coarser, more frivolous and sensual life would be were it not for these pure souls!

O the wealth of love in a woman's heart!—the wife's unconquerable truth and loyalty, the mother's tenderness and affection; the bloom and warmth, the freshness and fragrance of a virgin's soul when the mystic voice first awakens it to conscious life! O the countless oratorios where hearts are bowed in the silent service of a boundless devotion, giving all and asking nothing; knowing only that God is, and that He is love! From the thousand books wherein I read that we can know nothing of the infinite mystery, that all is dark and cold and meaningless; that faith deceives, that hope deludes, that love betrays; that religion is but a dream of unhappy creatures who awake from the bosom of the infinite 35