Here I could proceed no further. These episodes in the lives of our holy ones fill me up to the throat, for my heart swells for their beauty. And I am a soft old fool. I can never read that office of St. Agatha or St. Agnes without blubbering; and St. Perpetua, with her little babe, kills me outright.
We had a great debate, however, the following evening about the subject-matter of the sermon. He wanted to preach on the Magnificat. I put down my foot there, and said, No!
"That poor Duff will be there; and you'll be like the victor rooster crowing over a fallen antagonist."
"But Duff and I are the best friends in the world."
"No matter. I suppose he has nerves and blood, like the rest of us. Try something else!"
"Well, what about the Ave Maria, or Tu gloria Jerusalem, tu lætitia Israel, etc.?"
"The very thing."
"Or, the place of the Blessed Virgin in Scripture?"
"You've hit the nail on the head. That's it!"
"Well, now," said he, taking out a note-book, "how long shall it be?"