Let us bless God together, dear Kate! Do you recollect Mgr. Dupanloup’s words: “One breathes, in this land of Ireland, I know not what perfume of virtue which one finds not elsewhere.”
August 31, 1868.
René is writing to you. We know that Anna is well, and we are enjoying the worldlinesses of Dublin. Fanny was touching under her veil. Your dear name, my beloved Kate, was mentioned, I know not how often. O kind Ireland! If I had to tell you all the graceful things that were said to me, I should fill my paper. How pleasant it is to be loved! Fanny did not weep on seeing me; she and her mother are unequalled in their serenity; consolation has been sent them from on high. A vision is spoken of. I did not like to ask any questions, but it is certain that
something extraordinary has occurred.
O dear Kate! how fair is life. I was saying so yesterday to René while we were looking at the stars; for the night was splendid. Do you know what he answered? “Heaven is fairer; earth is but its echo, its far-off image, its imperfect sketch; and it is death which opens heaven to us.” Words like these from the lips of René make me shudder. Oh! to die with him would be sweet, but not to live without him. Père Lacordaire said: “Death is man’s fairest moment. He finds assembled there all the virtues he has practised, all the strength and peace he has been storing up, all the memories, the cherished images and sweet regrets of life, together with the fair prospect of the sight of God. If we had a lively faith, we should be very strong to meet death.”
Fanny starts to-morrow for France, Switzerland, and Germany—a long journey; we remain at present, so as in some measure to fill up the void a little. Why are you not here to witness our reunion? Oh! how strong is the love of one’s country. I am inebriated with my native air; we sing our old ballads; we turn over with Adrien the history of the past. Ask of our good God that this may last a long time, dear Kate! Erin mavourneen! Erin go bragh!
September 6, 1868.
Mistress Annah is come, dear sister. I wept with all my heart on embracing her. Dear old mistress Annah! how wrinkled and thin she has become; always upright and stiff as an Englishwoman, and her memory enriched with Italian stories which will charm baby’s childhood. Margaret has chosen for the beautiful innocent the name of Emmanuel—a
blessed name, which well bespeaks the happiness of our friend. Lord William made royal largesses to the poor in the name of the new-born heir. Twelve orphans will be provided for at the expense of Emmanuel. Mistress Annah is longing to see and hear you. Margaret promises her this happiness for next spring. You may be sure that no fatigue will be imposed on the dear old lady. The pension given her by Lord William made her independent; but our belle Anglaise feared the isolation of old age for her devoted heart, and it will be a happiness to both to watch the growth of baby. A messenger has just arrived. Te Deum, dear Kate!—a little daughter is born to Lizzy. Everybody is delighted; they have sent for us; I am going with René.
7th September.—In an hour the baptism, so that Isa may be present; then she says farewell to her family, and we take her away. The angel fallen from heaven is to be called Isa. Marcella, Adrien, and Gertrude have joined us. Joy and grief meet at this moment. You will be astonished at the sudden departure of our Isa; but Lizzy wishes it thus, hoping that the poor mother will let herself be interested by the festivities and the visitors.