Evening.—I have just come in from a long walk, alone, on the sands. René is gone with his brother as far as Tours, whence he will not return before to-morrow; my mother had to write, and to pray; the good abbé had undertaken the charge of all the children; the grown-up people were variously occupied; I wanted to enliven my solitude, and have been to visit my poor people, and in the presence of immensity have lifted up my soul. It was the hour of twilight, which had therefore a double attraction. I love solitude in the evening; the soul, disposed by the calm of nature for meditation and prayer, rises without effort to God. I do not like to shorten these moments, and willingly prolong them until it is dark. There is always a certain solemnity which attaches to things that end. If we thought of it well, how much we should be impressed by the close of a day! How many souls there are who will not see another! How many sheep have this very day quitted the green pastures of the Good Shepherd! How many tears have the angels gathered up!
Tears of the mother shed over the coffin of her first-born, over a son who is fighting, over a youth who is going astray; tears of sorrow, of repentance, of holy joy, tears of all, alas! and for every cause. Is there a human eye that knows not tears? Oh! how many things one day contains. It may be a prodigal child brought back; an upright life sanctified by sacrifice, a martyrdom, a consecration to God. It may be an overflowing of evil and impiety, and, on the other hand, prayer poured out in floods before the altar. A great church-festival, a first communion, a far-distant island conquered to the Gospel, a battle gained over the enemies of the faith—these, these are a day! Oh! the history of a day would be long.… Whilst the glittering world, returned from its pleasures and festivities, slumbers beneath its gilded ceilings, the world of charity has already made the angels smile, the world of poverty has already suffered, the world of industry is at work, the apostolic world embarks on the vast ocean or sets foot on unknown shores, the world of science studies and sounds the deep abyss of learning, the world of prayer, the truly Catholic world, prays to God, sings his praises, writes, speaks, teaches, lives for God! Everything revives, and in this immense concert of humanity, wherein are heard so many discordant notes, to which so many voices are daily wanting, the Eternal Ear distinguishes the most imploring notes—the notes of supplication and repentance. Evening comes, and the day ends; a useless day for many of God’s creatures, a golden day for some. And the angels of night spread the shadows over cities and solitudes, while the angel of justice and the angel of mercy, two
white-winged seraphs, inscribe in the Book of Life the good and evil of this day; while, in the splendor of eternal light, the heavenly concert incessantly continues.… Oh! when shall we behold this day?… Pale dawns of this world, fleeting hours, days without beauty, you are but a point in a life, and this life has but one day; and this day, what is it “in the ocean of ages,” what is it in Eternity?
Hélène speaks to me of heaven: “Oh! day of deliverance, cloudless day, when I shall behold my God, when I shall drink of the torrent of eternal delights, and mingle my feeble voice with the harmonies of the heavenly Jerusalem, my soul sighs for thee!…”
Edward and Lucy return to us to-morrow, glad and happy; their mother is recovered. Good-night, my Kate!
TO BE CONTINUED.
[205] A “little dinner,” in which everything is usually on a small scale.
[206] “Learned and Studious Women.”
Bear me away, sweet thought,