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 A Suffering Soul. 
 
 ... 
 
 Miss ROSE' HOWE, 
 
 Author of " A Feast of the Rosary at the Tomb of St. Dominic, 
 etc., etc. \ 
 
 NOTRE DAME, INDIANA 
 
 AVE MARIA PRESS. 
 1882. 
 
RECORD 
 
 OF 
 
 A Suffering Soul. 
 
 by y 
 Miss ROSE HOWE, 
 
 Author of " A Feast of the Holy Rosary at the Tomb of St. Dominic, 
 
 etc., etc. 
 
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 NOTRE DAME, INDIANA 
 
 AVE MARIA PRESS. 
 1882. 
 

 Copyright : 
 Rev. D. E. Hudson, C. S. C. 
 
 1882. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 To the readers of The Ave Maria the name of Rose 
 Howe was for a long time a familiar one, and her descriptions 
 of Catholic customs in Catholic lands are still remembered by 
 them. Catholic in mind, heart and soul and education, as 
 she was, it need not be a matter of surprise that during 
 the long illness which terminated her life her mind dwelt 
 almost constantly upon the questions of eternity, comprised 
 in those "four last things," which should stand first in 
 the memory of every Christian. One fruit of this long 
 meditation was her suddenly beautiful death, amid psalms 
 of triumphant praise read aloud at her own request; another 
 was this Record of a Suffering Soul, which, when first 
 written, seemed like a prophecy, and now, that so long a 
 time has elapsed since her death, comes like a revelation. 
 
 In order not to deprive others of their repose, she never 
 permitted anyone to watch with her after midnight, and it 
 was during the latter part of a night of unusual suffering, 
 some eight months before her death, that this tale of the 
 other world was mentally sketched; the next day it was 
 committed to paper, and it was her legacy to her mother. 
 After having been read and admired in manuscript by priv- 
 ileged friends, it formed a part of a memorial volume 
 printed for private circulation, from which it was reprinted 
 in The "Ave Maria." 
 
 To most minds, Purgatory is a vague unreality, or at least 
 like distant mountains seen through the mists and vapors 
 
IV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of the intervening plains; but no one who has traveled leis- 
 urely through Catholic Germany — -where prayers for the 
 dead are offered up unceasingly, where purgatory chapels 
 are almost indispensable adjuncts of parish churches, and 
 representations of Purgatory are part of every wayside 
 shrine— can fail to be aroused from this un-Catholic apathy. 
 Perhaps if Catholic families in this country would adopt 
 the practice of having a picture of the suffering souls in 
 their bedroom oratories, prayers and Masses for the dead 
 would not be so unfortunately rare as they are among us. 
 
 With Rose Howe that place where souls are for a time 
 detained was a frequent theme of meditation; even of what 
 some writers style the vestibule of heaven, where she placed 
 her heroine Pearl, she always spoke w r ith horror. " After 
 my death," she was w r ont to say, " do not praise me, — pray 
 for me; do not keep me a prisoner in purgatory by recount- 
 ing my supposed virtues until you make everyone forget 
 to pray for me; — do not keep me waiting for the Presence 
 of God by your admiration." 
 
 Although she speaks in condemnation of social contro- 
 versy, let it not be supposed that she was a coward where 
 religious discussions were concerned. She was skilled in 
 that scriptural argument which was so effective in the days 
 when Americans universally respected " their Mother's 
 Bible"; and if she never consciously made a convert, she 
 won for the Church the respect, and consequently the po- 
 litical leniency of influential persons. 
 
 Where the author of the " Record of a Suffering Soul " 
 dwells on the nothingness of the world, she cannot be re- 
 garded as an inexperienced theorist; she testifies to that of 
 which she had ample knowledge, for during many years 
 
INTRODUCTION. V 
 
 she mingled freely, yet without reproach, in the gay enjoy- 
 ments of youth. That it is best for all young girls to engage 
 in the gayeties of society is, let us hope, the opinion of but 
 few. To contribute to the brilliancy of the great world 
 may be the duty of some; but that most lenient of saints, 
 St. Francis de Sales, bids such " use the things of the world 
 as though they used them not." Using the things of the 
 world as though we used them not, minding the things 
 that are above, praying earnestly for those who have gone 
 before us, are sure methods of shortening for ourselves the 
 term of our exile in that region of purifying suffering 
 whence there is no escape until the last farthing shall have 
 been paid. 
 
R 
 
 ECORD OF A BUFFERING OOUL. 
 
 I. 
 
 PHERE was a little twitching of the throat, a tremor 
 in the under-lip, and- Pearl lay motionless. Her baptis- 
 mal name was Margaret, which, in some far-away lan- 
 guage, signifies Pearl, so Pearl she was always called. 
 
 Like a pearl, pure and peaceful and white, she looked now, 
 with 'a rosary coiled about her wasted fingers, a crucifix with- 
 in the clasp of her nearly transparent hands, while the blessed 
 candles on the little altar beside her shed a sort of faint glory 
 upon the pearly-white brow, and the large grey eyes fixed, 
 but not yet expressionless, in death. Her features had not 
 yet lost that last gleam of eager delight, as at splendors first 
 seen and harmonies first heard, for Pearl's had been a happy 
 death, and she had passed away fortified by all the last holy 
 Sacraments of the Church. 
 
 Like a pearl in the quiet depths of storm-tossed waters she 
 lay, her mother prone upon the ground beside her, shaken to 
 the very foundations of her being by this wrenching asunder 
 of one portion of her life from its mainspring. Her father 
 paced up and down the room, one hand clenching his fore- 
 head, the other clutching at his breast. Sisters cried and 
 sobbed aloud; brothers stood in different attitudes of grief, 
 and groaned heavily, while tears forced their way down their 
 cheeks. 
 
 Only Pearl and the priest were calm. The grave-looking 
 priest, who had not once paused in his prayers; a moment 
 ago they were for the departing soul, now for the departed, 
 Firm and quiet he stood, amid this turmoil of grief and 
 suffering, the representative of the Rock of Peter, immovable 
 amid the storms of the world, 
 
8 RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 
 
 " Requiescat in pace" murmured the priest. Did she need 
 the prayer? " If not, it will be hers to give to one who does," 
 was the solace offered by weeping friends to the family, who 
 could not endure the idea that Pearl had still more to suffer, 
 for hers had been a long and weary illness, borne patiently, 
 and her life had been sweet and innocent. Requiescat in 
 face. Did she need the prayer? 
 
 She had not yet lost sight of father and mother, of brother 
 and sister, of priestly comforter, when she perceived bending 
 over her a glorious creature, in raiment dazzling as the sun, 
 and with wings tinted gorgeously, like the rainbow. On his 
 beautiful face was a yearning tenderness, deeper, stronger 
 than she had ever seen in her mother's eyes. The words, 
 " May all the chosen servants and blessed martyrs of God, who 
 in this world have suffered torments for Christ's sake, inter- 
 cede for her, that, being delivered from this body of corrup- 
 tion, she may be admitted into the kingdom of heaven, through 
 the assistance and merits of our Lord Jesus Christ, who liveth 
 and reigneth with the Father and the Holy Ghost, world 
 without end, Amen," were sounding in her ear, when there 
 came a chorus of joyous melody, a grand triumphal strain 
 from millions of instruments, and to its measure floated to- 
 wards her — yes, it was, it could be none other than the great 
 Mother of God, the Queen of Heaven, accompanied by, Pearl 
 knew him at a glance, the Prince of the House of David, 
 the Husband of Mary of whom was born Christ the Lord. 
 They smiled and said " Our daughter is coming home," and 
 then the Guardian Angel folded Pearl in His arms, and, borne 
 by his rainbow-colored wings, they soared upward to the Judg- 
 ment. Judgment,— awful word! To appear before Thee, 
 my injured God, my Judge! — and all alone. Dread thought! 
 But Pearl was not all alone. There were Joseph and Mary, 
 and the Angel, her very own; hers for years back, guiding 
 and cherishing her, lest, perhaps, she dash her foot against a 
 stone. He had ever beheld, without ceasing, the face of her 
 Father in Heaven, and now he smiled at her encouragingly : 
 
RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 9 
 
 and there was also with her the priest, standing beside her 
 corpse, who prayed with the authority given him by the 
 Tudge's own Bride, the Church, and he offered up for Pearl's 
 sins the anguished hearts around him, expiatory sacrifices' 
 conjointly with the Lamb that was slain. 
 
 No: she was not alone. Christ, our Lord Himself, in the 
 Holy Viaticum, was with her but a short time since, and now 
 she sees Him. She knows Him at once, for had she not on 
 earth many a time and oft seen Him through the eyes of the 
 nun of Paray-le-Monial! She recognizes His presence, the 
 same as in the tabernacle, as in the Holy Communion. Pearl 
 is filled with delight, even while she thrills "with fear. 
 
 But what outrageous presence is this that dares thrust him- 
 self into company so august? A hideous deformity, reeking 
 with filth! alike in form and impudence to him who when 
 on a certain day the sons of God came together to stand be- 
 fore the Lord, was also present among them. (Job, i, 16.) 
 .He carried a huge folio under his arm, which, with demoniac 
 laughter, he opened. But, lo! as he turned the leaves was 
 seen a crimson tissue pressed firmly over each page, and 
 athwart the columns flashed in letters of flame : " Blessed are 
 the'v whose iniquities are forgiven and whose sins are covered." 
 
 The fiend gave a howl of fury. " But I remember all," 
 he cried, in a hoarse voice ; " I dogged her steps from her 
 cradle to her grave. I heard her every word, I read every 
 glance of her eye." 
 
 Then he sneered at her prayers, so ardent in expression, so 
 full of distraction. He recounted long-forgotten actions, 
 secret sentiments, distorting them in the telling, so that they 
 were much uglier than the reality ; although like a caricature, 
 they were recognizable; oh, too recognizable! 
 
 " ' I give you my heart,' she used to say," screeched the 
 fiend, with mocking laughter ; " and to whom did she give 
 it ? to whom ? ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 Annihilation would have been welcome to Pearl. She 
 shivered and trembled with shame, and called upon the 
 
IO RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 
 
 rocks to cover her. But one arm of her angel was thrown 
 about her, one rainbow wing shielded her eyes from the hide- 
 ous being, while his right hand brandished a flaming sword. 
 
 "Foul fiend, avaunt!" he cried, in a tone of thunder. 
 "Who is like unto God?" And at this, the war-cry of 
 Michael, the great captain, the demon sank back into hell. 
 
 " She is our daughter," spoke, simultaneously, Mary and 
 Joseph, with voice and manner at once pleading and gently 
 authoritative. " A thousand times she has consecrated to us 
 her life and her death ; in danger and sorrow her heart clung 
 to us; in joy she sang to us: we have heard her call our 
 names by night and by day; she wore our medals, my scapu- 
 lar; she truly loved us. By Thine infancy in our arms, by 
 Thy peaceful childhood with us at Nazareth, by Thy passion 
 and death, which I shared, we beseech Thee be clement to 
 her." 
 
 It was now the angel's turn. He, also, had a book, the 
 book of Pearl's life; but its covers were ivory, its clasps opal, 
 its pages were inscribed with letters of gold and letters of 
 silver, while, on dusky background or soiled, were paragraphs 
 and columns written with ink, coal-black ink, but over all 
 floated a crimson film, which made the dusky-black inscribed 
 pages less ugly, and the silver and golden record more glo- 
 rious. The angel read every word faithfully, distinctly, for 
 his integrity belonged all to God; but a great love in his 
 heart had been put there by God Himself, expressly for 
 Pearl, and out of this love the angel drew the modulations 
 of his voice, his gestures, and the pleadings of his wonderful, 
 great angel-eyes. 
 
 Pearl had lived twenty-five years, and in twenty-five years 
 one thinks a great many and various kinds of thoughts, one 
 omits many possible good actions; among the idle words of 
 five-and-twenty years, which are here thoroughly sifted, how 
 many lack in charity, how many in faith, how many in obe- 
 dience, how many in submission to the Divine Will! How 
 many are tinged with blasphemy, nay, are blasphemous!—- 
 
RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL, II 
 
 for even a gentle child, a sweet young girl, where all around 
 is irreligion, may carelessly utter blasphemy, almost unnoted. 
 There were the sins of ignorance, and the sins forgotten, none 
 of them confessed or repented of, otherwise than collectively, 
 as, ** all the faults which I can not now remember," or in the 
 words of the royal psalmist, « From my hidden iniquities de- 
 liver me, O God ! " Then there were the effects of all this 
 upon others, with all the consequences; it was astonishing 
 how these could multiply one fault, how far they extended, 
 how long they lasted. 
 
 It seemed never-ending to Pearl, this black record, but 
 over it all was the crimson light of the Precious Blood, and 
 tidown the inky pages lay golden bars, the seal of the Sacra- 
 ment of Penance. The Judge smiled kindly upon her, and 
 Mary and Joseph beamed with unutterable tenderness. 
 
 Next came the silver-lettered pages; these told the tale of 
 her prayers, of her turnings to the Sacraments, of her good 
 works and penances. Alas! how inadequate to counterbal- 
 ance the other story. But for the weight of the Precious 
 Blood, resting upon them with sweet heaviness, the good of 
 her life could never have outweighed the good left undone, 
 together with the evil and all the consequences. The prayers, 
 how chary of them she had been! how cold and incomplete 
 they were! Of the good works, how mixed the motives! 
 how faulty the execution! and the penances, how few and 
 light! She had been a coward, there was no denying it, 
 where penance was the question. She had been willing that 
 Christ should carry the cross of her sins alone, and when His 
 messengers had cried to her, " Take up thy cross daily and 
 follow Him," how daintily she had touched it ! how had she 
 shrank back from the contact, as though the command was 
 not justice, simple justice, since not only had her sins made 
 the cross, but her salvation was its crown ! 
 
 Her heart beat high with hope as the angel turned to the 
 letters of gold, but she was to be once more abashed, for these 
 accounted for every good gift bestowed upon her from the 
 
12 RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 
 
 first dawn of her existence until her last breath. The course 
 of each grace was carefully traced out into all its various 
 ramifications and accumulations, and the consequences mi- 
 nutely noted. Not only that, but the point at which each 
 grace ceased to act for want of co-operation, was marked 
 with scrupulous exactness; and, moreover, the angel showed 
 clearly how each and all graces would have operated had 
 Pearl never failed to co-operate; and where she did not actu- 
 ally fail, had she responded fully and completely to every 
 grace bestowed? 
 
 Thus Pearl was made to understand not only what she 
 really was, but also what, but for the intervening grace of 
 God, she would have been, and what, with the Divine assist- 
 ance accorded to her, she might have been. It was a humili- 
 ating ordeal, and Pearl felt as if ground to powder; for the 
 record, although read gently, and in love, had yet been given 
 with a rigorous fidelity to truth, and the innermost chambers 
 of her heart thrown open to the light. But she could not 
 despair, for Mary and Joseph looked so kind, and Christ the 
 Saviour, as well as Judge, smiled benignantly upon her, as 
 He drew forth a tablet from the innermost recess of His 
 burning Heart. The tablet was glistening mother-of-pearl, 
 and as he opened it Pearl saw, with delight ineffable, her 
 own, yes, her very own name written in crimson and flame. 
 
 He spoke: "This child is Mine by many titles, but I 
 rejoice most in my rights over her through that free gift of 
 her entire self made to Me by one of those princes to whom 
 My Bride delegates the authority vested in her by Me. 
 Margaret yielded her will, with all her mind and heart and 
 strength, to that authority, ceding of herself to Me, to be 
 evermore the vassal of My Sacred Heart. Never did she 
 draw back, and if, at times, unmindful of the contract, through 
 that confusion wherewith the earth blurs the memory of man, 
 vet did she recur to it again and again, repeating often the 
 words of My Prelate, and daily little informal ratifications of 
 her own. Margaret, I condemn thee to no prison-house? go 
 whither thou listest," 
 
RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 13 
 
 Saying which, He bent His eyes sadly, yet fondly, upon 
 her. 
 
 Slowly and wearily Pearl raised her new-found pinions; 
 they were weak and heavy, apparently; she could not at once 
 recover from the shock and the strain of the thorough exam- 
 ination of her life, which she had just undergone. Forward 
 she bent, and for the first time she perceived that she stood 
 on the brink of a deep abyss, on the hither side of which lay 
 the Fields of Paradise, the Kingdom of Heaven. 
 
 She was a spirit now, unfettered by tenement of clay ; she 
 could float over at will, but at making the effort (the weak 
 effort of a young fledgling) she cast her eyes downward and 
 beheld — oh, shame ! oh, desolation ! her baptismal robe, given 
 to her in snowy whiteness, covered with spots like stains of 
 rust. 
 
 No, no: she would not cross that abyss in this rust-stained 
 garment; no, a thousand times no! Far, far away, and above, 
 Pearl saw the brilliant blaze of glory, radiating from the 
 circle of burning love which surrounds the Throne of God. 
 She could not distinguish each dazzling seraph, but she felt 
 herself within their line of vision, and, laden with shame, she 
 could not endure their presence; so, turning, with a cry of 
 anguish, she fled to hide herself, if possible, from the eye of 
 God. 
 
 II. 
 
 Pearl directed her flight she recked not whither, but floated 
 onward and onward in utter dreariness. At last she heard 
 her Angel's voice, and became conscious that he upheld her. 
 
 " Thou art but a light sufferer, Margaret : there is a prison- 
 house whence no debtor escapes till he has repaid the last 
 farthing ; there, in darkness and chains, the sufferers lie, long- 
 ing with passionate yearning to enter these fields of Paradise, 
 once seen, to embrace the Master, now worshipped with an 
 all-consuming love. Patient, submissive, hopeful, they look 
 
14 RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 
 
 to the day of their release, which they await in utter loneli- 
 ness and desolation of spirit." 
 
 "Ah," faltered Pearl, dissolving in tears; "'utter loneli- 
 ness and desolation of spirit ' ; they consume my heart." 
 
 A plaintive melody came from afar off, a sweet religious 
 chant. 
 
 " Hark ! " whispered Pearl, pausing in her flight, " what is 
 that?" 
 
 " Rachel bewailing her children," replied the angel. 
 
 They winged their way towards the sad, pleading voices. 
 Pearl was hushed and soothed, — the throbbings of her heart 
 stilled to peace. 
 
 " May they rest in peace. Pardon them, O Lord, for Thy 
 mercy sake, and let perpetual light shine upon them! Oh, 
 let the souls of Thy faithful departed rest in peace ! " 
 
 "Oh!" cried Pearl, "we are not forgotten; we are remem- 
 bered, we are remembered ! Oh, dear parents, dear brothers, 
 dear sisters, dear friends, how sweet are your voices to us poor 
 exiled souls, doubly exiled now, because fully conscious of 
 our exile; of your charity, do not cease to pray for us; wash 
 our spotted robes for us in your tears and in your heart-drops, 
 and we in turn will watch over you, we will warn you of 
 dangers, and when at last we owe the end of our dreary exile 
 to you, we will pray for you in heaven, we will watch over 
 you from the celestial choirs." 
 
 They had reached earth now, and Pearl directed their {light 
 to a mountain-peak she knew. A little pilgrimage church 
 had stood there for ages, and close by it was a holy well. In 
 former times, thousands had found grace and healing here, 
 but now it was almost forgotten. A few strangers and the 
 peasants of the neighborhood sought repose for the soul, 
 through penance and prayer, at this ancient mercy-seat, and 
 twice a week Jesus Christ descended upon the altar to listen 
 — to listen, graciously, to the petitions of those who visited 
 Him at this shrine. There was an atmosphere of peace and 
 calm, which had once rested Pearl wonderfully when in the 
 
RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 1 5 
 
 flesh, and she felt the holy influences still more, now that she 
 was cleansed from the guilt of sin. She gazed at the broad 
 valley, enclosed by its rugged mountain-walls, with their 
 castellated peaks of historic fame. A stream, blue and silver, 
 wound its foaming course through the fertile meadows and 
 the quaint old town and villages; and in the purple sky 
 beyond, the golden sun was sinking, to give place to the 
 silver stars. 
 
 Anon a hundred blessed bells stirred the Alpine air with 
 the glad tidings that once " The Word was made Flesh, and 
 dwelt amongst us." They rang out to the gray old castles, 
 they dashed their clangor against and through the dark pine 
 forests, half-way up the grim mountain side. They sang joy- 
 ously with their sister bells in the upland pastures, and their 
 refrain was ever Ave Maria, Ave Mai'ia, Dominus tecum ! 
 Even to the eye which had caught a glimpse of Paradise, the 
 scene was fair and the sound harmonious, for is not the earth 
 full of Thy glory, O Lord! It quieted Pearl, over whom 
 came a patient, weary longing to be united to Christ her 
 Lord, whom she had seen, whose voice she had heard, and 
 for whom her spirit seemed consuming with unutterable love. 
 
 The Angelus ceased; darkness stole gently over mountain 
 and vale, and the stars stepped out singly, then by twos and 
 threes, until the deep night-blue canopy was spangled with 
 twinkling silver. 
 
 "Let us go farther," said the restless soul; "let us mingle 
 with those whom we have loved, with those who love us. I 
 will see my earthly bridegroom." 
 
 The angel looked so sad and startled that Pearl perceived 
 it. 
 
 " I know," she continued, answering the angel's grieved 
 expression, "of formal betrothal there was none, for our 
 parents were not at all agreed, but were we not ' two souls 
 that had but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one'? 
 Poor Charles, how desolate he must be to know that I am 
 cold in death! How selfish of me not to have gone to him 
 before ! " 
 
l6 RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 
 
 The angel was silent; a great tear, such as immortals weep, 
 trickled slowly down his cheek; but Pearl, torn between 
 recollections of the past and longings for the future, saw 
 naught of it. 
 
 They floated far above earth, the sleeping earth, bearing 
 swiftly and silently through space its burden, mortal and 
 immortal. Ah, what sighs and groans, and demoniac cries; 
 what sounds of brawls and death-screams of the murdered; 
 what sobs of anguish soared up from the peaceful-looking 
 earth ! And there was peace on earth because of the crimson 
 veil wrapped over it, out of which voices, sonorous and silver- 
 clear, sang " Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace 
 to men of good-will," while, intermingling with the song of 
 of praise, was the suppliant chant, so sweet in Pearl's ear, 
 "Jesus Christ crucified, have mercy on us, and may the souls 
 of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in 
 peace." 
 
 They came to a great city, out of which arose a great 
 stench in Pearl's nostrils — it was the stench of sin ; it alone 
 would have destroyed the city but for a cleansing vapor, red 
 with the Blood of the Lamb. This purifying essence was 
 the prayer and penance of chaste and repentant souls; for 
 their sakes, angels guarded the temples of the Most High, 
 and Christ descended into the tabernacle. 
 
 The two spirits flew silently to where buildings were 
 thickest and tallest; entering an upper chamber of one, they 
 found it furnished like a dining-room, and garishly lighted. 
 Pompeian frescoes made the walls indecent, while little chub- 
 by, naked figures, shot arrows from bows, and cut various 
 antics on the ceiling; mortals call these little Loves. Pearl 
 recoiled, horror-stricken, at their true names. A party of 
 young men sat around the tables at one end of the room. 
 With them were two young women; one, vet in her teens, 
 was clad in boys' apparel ; she was quiet, apparently fright- 
 ened, yet with no thought of turning back from the path 
 she had entered. The other one was dressed in her own 
 
RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 17 
 
 garments, and was considerably older; she had a red, bloated 
 face, and assumed mannish postures. She was talking noisily, 
 keeping up a running lire of sarcasms and mockeries, which 
 seemed to please the young men mightily, for every moment 
 they burst into a chorus of tipsy laughter. 
 
 " Yes, you came near being caught once, you needn't deny 
 it," said this odious female to the young man at her left; 
 "a sweet time she'd have had! such a brilliant match for her! 
 You're a nice man, you are ! Benedict, the married man, 
 eh! " And the creature looked all around the company, who 
 proved their opinion that he, as a Benedict, would be very 
 laughable indeed. 
 
 Pearl had not yet recovered from the first shock of terror 
 at finding herself in such society ; her eye rested mechanically 
 on the object of the stupid jest. A maudlin smile of pleased 
 vanity distorted his features, as he replied: 
 
 "Ah, poor Pearl! She was a nice little thing; and how 
 she did love me ! They say she is dying of consumption 
 now, — brought on by a broken heart, I presume." * 
 
 Even in that circle of degraded -beings there were not 
 wanting those who felt a desire to slap him in the face, and 
 there was a silence of some seconds. In that silence a shrill 
 shriek was heard, — a shriek so weird, so wild, so uncanny, 
 that everyone shuddered; many instinctively looked behind, 
 and peered into corners. "What is that!" some exclaimed. 
 " It is the wind whistling around the street-corners," said 
 others. 
 
 * The original circumstances of this scene were witnessed, seven 
 years ago, in a Paris restaurant. It was a respectable place, and the 
 party, above described, a shameful intrusion, and source of great an- 
 noyance to others, but the persons composing it evidently knew how 
 to keep just within legal bounds, and so escape ejection. The girl over 
 whom the miserable creatures jested was named Marguerite, and Rose 
 suggested then, what if she were already dead, and where she could 
 hear her lover's speech, where she could see him — would not that be 
 the keenest guttering of all her purgatory? 
 
1 8 RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 
 
 It was Pearl; the anguish of that moment was so intense 
 that the voice of her soul pierced the barriers, and penetrated 
 even to mortal ears, for in the last speaker she recognized her 
 lover. Poor soul! 
 
 " I dreamed of him by night, I thought of him all the day, 
 my prayers were all for him. My heart beat high at the 
 sound of his coining footsteps, and I sighed when he left, and 
 was lonely for him in his absence. • Yes, I did love him ; I 
 loved him inordinately" she cried. "The vile creature! how 
 could I so waste my heart's treasure ! " she continued ; for now 
 she saw him vile indeed. She had hardly known him, he was 
 so bloated and covered with sores; he looked like a leper; the 
 whole company looked so, more or less. 
 
 " And I gave to that wretch the love that w r as given me 
 that I might yield 'it, of my own free-will, to Christ the Lord, 
 all fair, all lovely, the beginning and end of every perfection ! 
 How could I turn from Him to a mere thing of clay ! I can- 
 not say I did not know Him; I did. How many saints had 
 seen Him and described Him; Christian artists had portrayed 
 Him, and I had felt His presence in the Holy Sacrament of 
 the altar. I needed not to know Him in the fulness of the 
 Beatific Vision. I knew Him enough. I knew Him as the 
 most beautiful of the sons of men. I had seen His image in 
 churches, seated with a shabby crimson mantle thrown about 
 Him, which did not cover His body, torn and bleeding, 
 His hands tied abjectly together, a reed within them for a 
 sceptre, the blood streaming down His livid, distorted features, 
 from the thorny crown, pressed tightly down through His 
 matted, discolored hair ! And once I had seen a painting 
 which showed Him groping on .His hands and knees in the 
 dark, about the pillar of His flagellation, for His garments, — 
 after the soldiery, worn out with their own brutality, had 
 left Him alone in the night. And I knew that all this cruel 
 pain, this degradation, these humiliations, were all for love 
 of me, all to gain my love; ah, indeed, I knew Him well 
 enough ! " 
 
RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 1 9 
 
 With these words, Pearl turned to flee. " Look once 
 more," whispered the angel. Pearl obeyed. There they 
 sat, the lepers, laughing uproariously, but their laughter 
 sounded afar off, and had a strain of melancholy that pierced 
 the heart with pity. A red haze enveloped them, trans- 
 muting sight and sound. Lepers as they were, this crimson 
 veil vested them with a strange, pathetic beauty which must 
 endear them to the heart of the beholder. It fell over and 
 around them from above, it came down as a shower of red 
 rain from every pore, and from the Five gaping Wounds of 
 Christ Crucified, whom Pearl saw above. 
 
 " Good Lord, have mercy on those whom Thou hast re- 
 deemed with Thy Precious Blood !" cried she, sobbing and 
 wailing. 
 
 " How shrilly the wind does whistle to-night ! " said one of 
 the revellers. 
 
 " When I was a child," said another, " my nurse used to 
 tell me that was the voices of the souls in Purgatory." 
 
 Every one chilled with fear and they knew not what; 
 some of the voiina-er ones sighed for the lost innocence of 
 childhood. 
 
 The spirits fled from the hall. Pearl's capacity for suffer- 
 ing was simply beyond our ken. She forgot not one jot or 
 tittle of the smallest humiliation she had undergone since the 
 judgment, and now that the cobwebs of humanity had been 
 cleared from her intellect she took in everything so com- 
 pletely and fully that not one iota of cause for repentance 
 was lost to her; she comprehended everything in all its bear- 
 ings, until her whole soul was pierced through and through 
 with manifold sufferings. 
 
 "Rest! rest! find me rest!" moaned Pearl, in the ear of 
 her Guardian Angel, who folded her to his heart, and bore 
 her to a little old church. On the way, the plaintive chant 
 reached her ear, " May the souls of the faithful departed, 
 through the mercy of God, rest in peace." It brought re- 
 freshing tears to her eyes, which cooled her burning brow 
 and calmed her throbbing breast, 
 
20 RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 
 
 Legions of angels, at the doors and windows of the holy 
 edifice, fanned out the loathsome stench of crime, while 
 others perfumed the air from celestial censers; and Jesus 
 Christ, the lover of mankind, awaited in the tabernacle the 
 sin-laden penitent and the weary pilgrim. Pearl crouched 
 against the altar, and pillowed her head against the cold 
 marble. Silently she wept, wept and prayed through all 
 the dreary watches of the night, wept over sin, and prayed 
 for the conversion of sinners, prayed earnestly, ardently, for 
 she saw all sinners in the light of the Precious Blood, and all 
 sin she contemplated from the foot of the Cross. 
 
 Morning came, and the Masses began. How eagerly 
 Pearl assisted at every one ! The mementos for the dead 
 rang like canticles of joy in her heart, and her love for the 
 tender Mother Church whose affection for her children 
 reaches those beyond the grave grew tenfold every time 
 the priest, in sacerdotal functions, repeated, " Be mindful, 
 O Lord, of thy servants and handmaids, who have gone 
 before us with the sign of faith, and sleep in the sleep of 
 peace. To these, O Lord, and to all that rest in Christ, 
 grant, we beseech Thee, a place of refreshment, light, and 
 peace, through the same Christ our Lord. Amen." 
 
 Midday came, the last Holy Sacrifice was offered. Pearl's 
 soul was calm, unutterably calm, and large rust-stains on her 
 garment were faded almost white, while a shimmer of red 
 light played over the snowy threads between. A sad yearn- 
 ing to be united to Christ, in heaven, had possession of her 
 being, but a holy patience upheld her. 
 
 III. 
 
 It was evening; Pearl could remain quiet no longer, for 
 restlessness was a part of her present state of existence, — 
 a restlessness born of an all but irresistible impulse to re- 
 turn to the source of her life, and the resistance, actually 
 irresistible, to that powerful impulsion. She was attracted, 
 drawn to the bosom of God, but she could not, would not, 
 
RECORD OP A SUFFERING SOUL. 21 
 
 obey the attraction as long as there was one of the least 
 and lightest of those rust-spots on the snowy robe given 
 her at the baptismal font. 
 
 "Let us go forth," said she to her companion and guar- 
 dian ; " friendship is truer than love. I will go and see 
 Annie Blake. Poor Annie! she was inconsolable at my 
 death, I know, for we played together as children, we were 
 classmates at the convent, and in society we were confiden- 
 tial friends." 
 
 They found Annie in her room, dressing for a party. 
 The gas was lighted on both sides of the mirror; on the 
 dressing-case lay curling-stick, combs and brushes, flowers, 
 jewels, fan, and a dainty web yclept a handkerchief. On 
 the bed airily floated a light-pink silk dress, with gauze 
 overdress looped up with flowers, also a silver-grey silk 
 tissue trimmed with folds of turquoise satin, for Annie had 
 a friend visiting her, and the two were chatting gaily as 
 they decorated themselves. 
 
 "Will they go to the party with these seams and patches 
 on their faces?" asked Pearl, in amazement, of her guardian 
 angel. 
 
 "No one will see them," was the rejoinder; "you forget 
 that you now can see the impress of the soul upon the 
 body, from within; those are faults and foibles and venial 
 sins. You have seen crimes and' mortal sins, you know." 
 Pearl sighed. 
 
 " It does seem heartless for me to be going to a party, 
 and poor Pearl lying cold and stiff," said Annie, musingly ; 
 "but, then, my staying away would do her no good, after 
 all;" and, she added, under her breath, "dear Effie would 
 
 be so disappointed, for she has come to- A on purpose 
 
 to see metropolitan society ; it can't be helped " ; then aloud : 
 "Pearl and I used to have such jolly times." 
 
 At this last Pearl shivered; she looked upon those times 
 with poignant regret, not that she had committed formal 
 sin on those occasions, but now she considered time as so 
 much purchase-monev given her to buy the pearl of great 
 
22 RECORD OF A BUFFERING SOUL. 
 
 price; those portions of it she had spent on dross, which 
 had weakened her soul, and left her in debt, — a debt on 
 which she was now making the last payment, and, oh, how 
 heavy the payment was! 
 
 " What would you give to see Pearl now ? " asked Annie's 
 companion. "If she could only come here now!" 
 
 "Oh!" shrieked Annie, "don't speak of it: I should be 
 scared out of my wits!" 
 
 Pearl groaned. 
 
 "What was that?" whispered Annie, hoarsely, looking 
 about with a frightened air. 
 
 " The wind in the branches of the trees outside," replied 
 her friend. 
 
 "Dear me," cried Annie shuddering, "it sounded like a 
 groan; I am so afraid of ghosts!" 
 
 Poor Pearl! An old fashioned poet sang, long since, and 
 the burden of his song was threadbare when he sang 
 
 " Lean not on earth, 
 
 A broken reed at best, and oft a spear." 
 
 She felt it now; felt it as no living child of Eve could 
 feel it. " I will learn my bitter lesson to the end," she 
 sobbed; "we, too, will go to the party." 
 
 They went. Pearl heard her name on every lip; strangers 
 to her spoke kindly of her, remarking how sad it was for 
 one so young to die. Friends of her childhood sighed, and 
 observed that it was wicked to regret her or wish her back, 
 since she was so much better off. Oh, the bitter contrast 
 between this sentiment and the truth! It fell upon Pearl's 
 heart like a great lump of ice. 
 
 "Ah, may the Lord have mercy on her soul!" murmured 
 Catholic Mrs. Blake. Pearl could have fallen on her neck 
 and kissed her; sweeter were those words than the sweetest 
 song, pleasanter far than words of sympathy to the mourner, 
 for they were a prayer and an actual benefit; her heart was 
 soothed bv them, and some rust-sj^ots on her garment faded 
 a little. 
 
fcfeCORb OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 2% 
 
 11 What a barbarous doctrine ! " exclaimed a lady who over- 
 heard the prayer. "What pleasure can Romanists take, I 
 wonder, in fancying their dead friends suffering torments?" 
 
 "No, no, no," cried Pearl, "the doctrine is not barbarous* 
 but the denial of it is savage, depriving us, as it does, of the 
 help of prayer!" 
 
 But there was music and dancing, and her spirit voice 
 passed for the rustle of silk dresses. 
 
 " I never could love God if I believed Him capable of tor- 
 menting His dear children, just for revenge," remarked, cold- 
 bloodedly, a gentleman who prided himself upon his intellect 
 and philanthropy. 
 
 It struck a chill to the centre of living Mrs. Blake's heart, 
 and poor Pearl was frantic. 
 
 "Oh! oh!" she screamed, "God is glorious, God is lovely, 
 God is perfect ; let us flee from the sound of such blasphemy ! " 
 Her voice was all unheeded. 
 
 Once again the angel took Pearl in his arms, and, pressing 
 her to his heart, fled with her, — fled across mountains and 
 lakes, over rivers and seas. She gave no sign of life or con- 
 sciousness until again she heard the sweet chant swelling 
 upward, " O God, the Creator and Redeemer of all the faith- 
 ful, give to the souls of Thy servants departed the remission 
 of all their sins." She sighed, murmured some words that 
 only her angel heard, began to interest herself in the moonlit 
 sea beneath, bearing on its surging bosom gallant men-of-war 
 and graceful merchant vessels, steaming hither and thither, 
 with fairy-like rigging, in the service of man. They floated 
 over a rocky coast dotted with towns and villages, built in 
 glistening stone, with the tall and graceful palm-tree standing 
 sentinel over convent-tower and minaret, over citron planta- 
 tions, orange groves, and orchards of olive and fig, to an 
 inland lake, locked in by mountains. Here they descended, 
 and rested by a richly-carved but broken column lying amid 
 the ruins of an ancient city. A stench of corruption rose from 
 the Mussulman villages scattered along the shore, but it fell 
 
24 RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 
 
 back upon themselves; it could not penetrate the delicious fra- 
 grance of holiness, the aroma of divinity, for over these waters 
 the Son of God had walked; He had stilled its tempests; He 
 wandered along its coasts, preaching and teaching, and allevi- 
 ating human miseries, — it was the Sea of Galilee. 
 
 Pearl and the angel sat a long while in silence. Pearl had 
 received stinging proofs of the hollowness of human love, of 
 the shallowness of human friendship, and yonder was the 
 mountain whence Christ had told her to love Him above all, 
 and her neighbor for His sake. She thought, with unutter- 
 able sadness, over her own life as she had heard it at the 
 Judgment, contrasting it with the maxims delivered from 
 the mountain before her, nearly nineteen centuries agone. 
 The first faint streak of dawn touched the hallowed waters 
 with its silver ere either spoke, then Pearl asked : 
 
 " That delicious chant rising from earth, which thrills me 
 through and through, which soothes so wonderfully my ach- 
 ing heart, which calms my agitated soul, — the supplication of 
 the Church Militant for us, her poor suffering children, does 
 it penetrate the walls of the prison-house of which you once 
 spoke to me ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered the angel; "the dear souls within hear it 
 as the splashing of the waves of a summer sea on the golden 
 sands of its sunny shore; and as the restful sound reaches 
 them, they see, afar off, as on a horizon, a long misty line of 
 silver, such as even now whispers softly from the East of the 
 coming dawn. Every moment to some one soul the music 
 comes more defined; sweet words entwine themselves with 
 the half-plaintive, half-joyous melody, and the favored one 
 goes forth out of the darkness to the golden gate, which, ere 
 long, will open, that she may enter into eternal light." 
 
 The silver haze had spread over the eastern horizon, a mo- 
 ment more and the sun would peer above the distant hills, 
 and the angel said: 
 
 " There is Mass where your Saviour delivered the keys to 
 the Prince of the Apostles," 
 
RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 25 
 
 So they left Capharnaum, so often mentioned in sacred lore, 
 and entered the chapel of the Franciscans, in Tiberias, just as 
 the Father at the foot of the altar began, " I will go unto the 
 altar of God." A wonderful tranquillity stole over Pearl. 
 The altar-piece represented St. Peter receiving the Keys of 
 the Kingdom of Heaven from His Divine Master. Pearl's 
 soul dilated with gratitude as she recognized at the Memento 
 for the Departed, with new strength and understanding, how 
 to this act she owed the marvellous efficacy of those prayers 
 of the Church which had so often alleviated the sufferings of 
 her present existence. 
 
 Mass was over; and, with the restlessness of a soul in ban- 
 ishment, Pearl could remain in one place no longer. 
 
 "I will revisit my family at last," said she; "I could not 
 bear to go sooner, for I could not look upon my parents' an- 
 guish, my brothers' and my sisters' grief; but now the time 
 of mourning has gone by, they are accustomed to my ab- 
 sence, and all will be quiet as when I was among them." 
 
 A shade of surprise fell over the angel's face, but he said 
 nothing. Arrived at the gate of Pearl's home, they observed 
 a long line of carriages drawn up in front of the house. 
 " Why, what can this mean?" exclaimed Pearl. They passed 
 through the gate, up the smoothly shaven-lawn, and met 
 emerging from the wide-open portal a funeral train. First 
 came the priest and acolytes, next the rosewood casket, car- 
 ried by six young gentlemen of Pearl's acquaintance. All of 
 them had paid her soft compliments; with two or three of 
 them she had played in early childhood. She could read their 
 faces well; they were all profoundly bored. They probably 
 had not known the one who lay in the casket; it was evi- 
 dently a visitor, as her brothers and sisters were there, every- 
 one, and her parents, bowed and aged, were also living, and 
 followed close behind the pall-bearers. 
 
 How the years had told on all her dear ones since she left 
 them! they had been, visibly, years of care and sorrow. The 
 friends of the family were in full attendance. Pearl recog- 
 
26 RKcoRb Of A s^f^eri^c souL. 
 
 nized them all. Yes, the deceased was evidently a stranger^ 
 for while all were sobered by the solemn occasion, few looked 
 personally grieved; only her parents and her brothers and 
 her sisters wept bitterly. It must be that one of her brothers 
 had married, and this was his wife. Perhaps she was from 
 another city, and was, therefore, a stranger here; so Pearl 
 read the riddle; she was sure she had read it aright, for 
 Robert, her eldest brother, seemed to grieve more than the 
 others. 
 
 To the solemn notes of a funeral march, the mournful 
 coi'tege glic'ed slowly up the cathedral aisle; the casket was 
 laid upon the neat catafalque prepared for it, while mourners 
 and friends slipped into the pews. Requiem High Mass was 
 intoned. Pearl listened eagerly for the name of the deceased 
 in the Collect; it was like her own — Margaret. So Robert 
 had married a Margaret, but she was called Maggie, of 
 course, — -perhaps Madge. Doubtless they had told her of 
 their other sister Margaret, whom they had called Pearl. 
 What had this Margaret been like, Pearl wondered, and 
 where was she now? How had she stood the test of that 
 awful Judgment? Pearl shivered at the thought of it. 
 Where would they first meet? Not until their banishment 
 was over. 
 
 While Pearl thus speculated, a crimson shower was falling 
 over and around her, which brought her healing and peace, 
 with celestial perfume. How tranquillizing the atmosphere 
 of God's holy house! She yielded herself up to the sweet 
 influence, and, for a time, forgot all her trials, except her 
 exile. 
 
 Mass over, the rector ascended the pulpit and announced 
 the death of whom ? Pearl's own self! — Could it be possible? 
 Yes : it was not only her own name, but the dates of her birth 
 and of her decease, all exact. Was this, then, her own body 
 in the casket? 
 
 "How can it be?" cried Pearl; "I died years and years 
 ago!" 
 
RECOttD OF A SUFFEltlXG SOUL. 2^ 
 
 " You measured that which in your present existence cor- 
 responds to time," replied her angel, "by your own unutter- 
 able sadness, your own immeasurable woe." 
 
 And now a new trial awaited the unhappy soul. The 
 rector who had baptized Pearl gave a little sermon, befitting 
 the occasion, in such good taste that Pearl was pleased, indeed, 
 to have her funeral the occasion of such profitable instructions, 
 and then he proceeded to speak of Pearl. He spoke as a kind 
 old father mourning his departed daughter. His words were 
 few ; no fulsome flattery did he bestow. He described Pearl's 
 life as the world knew it, and every heart present assented to 
 each word. But, oh, how different was the record he gave 
 from the true one, Pearl knew so well! His every sentence 
 was a poniard in her heart, piercing it with the fear that his 
 eulogiums would lessen the number and weaken the fervor 
 of the prayers put up for her. 
 
 On the other side of the grave the knowledge of this dis- 
 course would have greatly elated her, foi then she had had 
 two foibles, — in some, they are monstrous faults, but in her 
 they had not amounted to more than foibles: one was, she 
 thought well of herself, and that was pride; the other was, 
 that she desired that others should think well of her, and that 
 was vanity. How different now! He spoke of her zeal in 
 defending her religion. Pearl burned with desire to contra- 
 dict his praise. Oh, that controversy! it had all been cross- 
 examined, and Pearl had been taught that controversy should 
 be learned, and left to theologians. Because she had been 
 misinstructed on that point, she had been, not commended, but 
 excused, for having engaged in it at all, and then its quality 
 had been rigorously inspected. True, she had generally en- 
 tered upon it with a pure intention, and had, lifting her heart 
 to God, invoked the aid of the Holy Spirit; but when she 
 had vanquished her adversary;, she had attributed the victory, 
 with some self-complacency, to her own ability, and that was 
 the spirit of pride creeping into her heart; meanwhile, she 
 had aroused a very lion of proud obstinacy in the heart of her 
 
28 RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUE. 
 
 antagonist. She had delighted to i-ecount these little intellec- 
 tual skirmishes to her friends, and that was vanity. Oh, her 
 controversies had been so profitless, so worse than profitless, 
 for where there is the spirit of pride the Holy Ghost cannot, 
 will not work, and unless he give the grace of conversion, 
 argument is worse than useless. It was torture to her to 
 hear those religious discussions commended. 
 
 But all things earthly have an end, even to suffering souls, 
 and at last the funeral train was once more in motion. Pearl 
 followed close upon her body, bearing it company to the 
 grave. Sympathizing friends had placed a cross and a wreath 
 upon the casket, the one of white rosebuds, the other of white 
 camelias, and some one had laid a pure white lily within 
 the wreath. Pearl sighed as she noted them; they filled 
 her with overwhelming sadness as she contrasted their daz- 
 zling whiteness with her rust-spotted baptismal robe. She 
 thought of the Blessed Virgin, of St. Joseph, of the Arch- 
 angel Gabriel, of St. Agnes, St. Stanislaus, St. Aloysius. 
 What a gross kind of purity hers seemed to her, after all! 
 She missed, in her life, that constant purity of intention and 
 singleheartedness in the service of God, conspicuous in the 
 lives of those to whom the Church adjudges the lily. 
 
 Arrived at the grave, the priest uttered a few more of those 
 prayers, so delicious in the ear of the exile-soul, because in- 
 vested with the authority of the Church, and then the casket 
 was placed in its box and lowered. The priest then threw a 
 shovelful of earth into the grave, and then half-a-dozen young 
 ladies, Pearl's companions, stepped forward with baskets in 
 their hands, out of which they flung white flowers over the 
 box until nothing of it could be seen; then the gentlemen 
 came forward, one by one, to throw each his shovelful of dust 
 over her earthly remains. Pearl had need of her fortitude 
 now, for she loved her body as one twin-sister loves the other, 
 and more. It was a pretty, well-made little body, and it had 
 been, comparatively, a passionless little body, and on the whole, 
 a docile little body, under the influence of the Sacraments 
 
RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 20, 
 
 from the beginning; through its sufferings she had won the 
 glory laid up for her across the deep abyss. Those little feet 
 had run willingly to prayer, and to the succor of the poor 
 and the needy; those little ringers had been nimble to per- 
 form her light duties in her father's house, and ready to help 
 where help was wanted, and now she saw that body laid 
 away to undergo the humiliating process of disintegration. 
 
 The melancholy group slowly turned and walked away. 
 
 "O, my friend, my companion, my sister," sobbed Pearl, 
 " how can I leave you all alone to the worms!" 
 
 Then the angel spoke, quoting the beautiful prophecy of 
 Job, " I know that my Redeemer liveth ; and in the last day 
 I shall rise out of the earth : and I shall be clothed again with 
 my skin, and in my flesh I shall see my God ; whom I myself 
 shall see, and my eyes shall behold, and not another: this my 
 hope is laid up in my bosom." — Job, xix, 25, 26, 27. 
 
 Pearl stilled her w r eeping, and followed her mourners. 
 She saw the carriages drive off and separate, she marked the 
 look of relief in her friends' countenances as they relaxed the 
 rigidity of their facial muscles and began to chat, while the 
 horses went off at a brisk trot. She saw her pall-bearers dis- 
 miss their carriages and walk ofF in a body, laughing and 
 jesting as they tugged at the crape on their elbows, to pull it 
 off, and tore the weeds from their hats, to rid themselves of 
 all marks of mourning as speedily as possible. 
 
 " How very little we are missed on earth, after all!" sighed 
 the wounded soul. 
 
 " It must be so," answered the angel, " otherwise life would 
 be too dreary; men could not perform their duties were their 
 melancholy proportioned to the causes ; that is a part of God's 
 merciful providence." 
 
 They overtook the Blakes' carriage, and, overhearing 
 Pearl's name, they entered. Poor Annie! if she danced the 
 night before, she had wept bitterly enough to-day. To do 
 her justice, she had gone to -the party to oblige her guest, and 
 she had been less gay than usual ; now her cheeks were flushed, 
 and her eyes red and overflowing, 
 
30 RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 
 
 " Do you know, mamma," said Annie, " what I was think- 
 ing when we threw those white flowers into Pearl's grave? 
 It came over me how very, very pure the life must be of 
 which lilies and white flowers are typical. Not that Pearl 
 wasn't the dearest girl in the world: in all our lives I never 
 heard her utter one sentence that would offend the most con- 
 scientious or the most refined, yet — yet — I have trailed my bap- 
 tismal robes so into the world's dust! It seemed to me like 
 going through a cloud of golden sand, with the sunshine shin- 
 ing through it; but as I stood there by Pearl's grave, looking 
 over into it, and throwing in those spotless white flowers, it 
 came over me how dreadfully that same sunlit golden sand 
 must spoil my baptismal gown, and the thought somehow 
 made me pray so fervently for poor, dear Pearl. Please, 
 mamma, if you outlive me, and friends out of kind feeling to 
 you bring flowers for me, beg them to bring colored flowers, 
 all kinds of colored flowers." 
 
 " I understand your feelings perfectly, my dear," replied 
 Mrs. Blake, " and doubtless Pearl would have made the same 
 request to-day, could she have done so; white flowers did not 
 seem misplaced for her." — ( u Oh, yes, they were!" ejaculated 
 Pearl, unheard of course,) — " but I have seen them where they 
 seemed the refinement of cruelty, reminding friends of certain 
 passages in the life of the departed which they would gladly 
 forget. I think it better taste to give white flowers to none 
 but infants. But here we are," she said, as the carriage 
 stopped in front of a church whose wide-open portal indicated 
 service. 
 
 People were hurrying in, and the organ was sounding a 
 solemn voluntary. It was Benediction, and Pearl and her 
 angel kept close to the Blakes, for they wept and prayed for 
 her from the beginning to the end, and their prayers gave Pearl 
 a consolation that was almost happiness. Benediction over, 
 the congregation, including the Blakes, departed; the doors' 
 were closed, but Pearl and the angel lingered long near the 
 tabernacle, and it was dusk when they re-entered Pearl's 
 father's house. 
 
RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 3 I 
 
 It was sad enough there ; the family were lounging on sofas 
 and arm-chairs in the library, weary with grief. One after 
 another tried to introduce some indifferent topic of conversa- 
 tion for the sake of the others, but every trial failed, and there 
 was a tristful silence, unbroken, save by now and then the 
 scarcely heeded sentences above mentioned. Pearl felt op- 
 pressed by the melancholy, and longed to cheer her parents, 
 her brothers, and her sisters; finally, unable longer to sustain 
 the dreariness, she went to her own room. 
 
 All was as she had left it, save the bed, which had been 
 carried away. A hair-net hung on the mirror-frame, her 
 gold cross and chain were curled up on the dressing-case, 
 where she herself had laid them. In the wardrobe hung her 
 few wrappers, and under the bureau were the last slipper^ 
 she had worn. Little enough of this world's goods had she 
 used for months back, poor Pearl! at least she did not have 
 to face society fooleries, and call them hers; that she was 
 spared. 
 
 She heard footsteps coming up the staircase: the door 
 opened, and two of her sisters entered, in trepidation; they 
 walked hurriedly to the table, snatched up something, and 
 walked swiftly out. Pearl followed. From the head of the 
 stairway she saw her sister Hester standing in the doorway, 
 leaning her head against the dark oaken frame. Her face was 
 pale with grief and watching, her eyes swollen with much 
 weeping, the pupils large and bright with the fever of pain; 
 a white wool shawl was wrapped about her, over her deep 
 mourning, as she stood there to catch the evening breeze on 
 her burning temples. At the sound of footsteps on the stair- 
 case, Hester turned her head and looked upward. Instantly 
 shriek followed shriek from the two on the stairs, and they 
 fell heavily a step or two; one of the brothers rushed up and 
 stayed the fall, but not their screaming. The household came 
 running to inquire what had happened; the two uttered no 
 articulate sound, but with "blanched, terror-stricken faces 
 shrieked, and pointed to Hester. Hester came forward. 
 
32 RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 
 
 "Do not be afraid," said she; "it is I, your sister," at which 
 they gasped in deeper terror. " 'Tis Hester, your living 
 sister." 
 
 "My children," exclaimed the mother, "if it were Pearl, 
 what harm would she do you ? " 
 
 "What harm, indeed!" cried Pearl, stabbed through by 
 every shriek. Alas, now I am truly dead! I have no place 
 on earth; my own family-circle has closed over me; ah me, 
 miserable, where shall I find a resting-place? I am dead! 
 dead! dead! 
 
 The sisters were sobbing hysterically now; they were car- 
 ried off to bed, and restoratives brought. An agonized wail 
 was heard, but in the confusion none asked whence it came. 
 
 "Farewell to my father's house," sobbed the poor spirit; 
 "even in the first flush of grief, my own would not have 
 me back amongst them ; already I am nothing to them but a 
 memory and — a ghost. Dead! dead! dead! this is death 
 indeed." 
 
 " Come," said the angel, soothingly, " come to the haven of 
 your childhood, come to the altar where you made your First 
 Holy Communion, where you received the Sacrament of 
 Confirmation; come to your convent home." 
 
 So saying, he carried the passive soul to a convent in a 
 wooded Valley. The nuns had just finished Matins, which 
 they were dispensed from saying at midnight, and were go- 
 ing to recreation. The two spirits joined their ranks. When 
 they were all gathered in the community-room, the Reverend 
 Mother, with a little gesture, called attention. 
 
 " I received a letter by this evening's mail," said she, " from 
 
 a friend of the N s, who wrote to announce the death of 
 
 our poor Pearl." The news was received with a universal 
 moan. "She had a very happy death, received the last Sac- 
 raments, was conscious to the end, and perfectly resigned. 
 The letter is a very pretty one. Sister Thecla here can 
 read it to you, if you wish to hear it read ; my eyes are too 
 old to read letters by this light," 
 
RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 33 
 
 All were eager to have it read. Many were the exclama- 
 tions of regret for their former pupil, and of sympathy for 
 the bereaved family; but better than all to Pearl, each nun 
 uttered an ejaculatory prayer for the repose of her soul. The 
 letter gave the details of her last hours, and ended with a re- 
 quest from Pearl's mother to be permitted to have a Requiem 
 Mass in their chapel for her child, as soon as the nuns could 
 find it convenient. 
 
 "I have spoken to Father Joseph about it," said the Rev- 
 erend Mother, " and it is to be to-morrow morning. I pre- 
 sume all of Pearl's teachers who are here will receive Holy 
 Communion for the repose of her soul." 
 
 "That we will!" exclaimed several. 
 
 " She was a dear little thing," continued the Reverend 
 Mother; "and she always remembered us with so much affec- 
 tion!" 
 
 Then the nuns who had known her talked about her among 
 themselves, and recounted anecdotes about her to those who 
 did not. They laughed merrily as they related some of her 
 naughty pranks when she^was a little girl under their care; 
 but their merriment was not heartless, and it comforted Pearl 
 to hear them. The recreation over, all went to the chapel. 
 Pearl and the angel knelt among the nuns, and heard, rejoic- 
 ing, the "Our Father" and "Hail Mary" said affectionately 
 by them for their departed pupil. 
 
 Pearl was almost happy now; the rust-stains on her robe 
 were few and faint, and the crimson light of the Precious 
 Blood played over it, cleansing and brightening it. She 
 yearned to look upon her only lover, Christ, her Lord, her 
 Saviour, and to hear again the sweet accents of His voice; 
 but here in the sanctuary she could feel His Divine Presence, 
 and she found it restful through the long watches of the night. 
 
 With the gray of morning came the nuns. They read 
 their Office; the Angelus rang, and soon after Mass began — 
 Black Mass — Pearl's Mass. The pupils were there, but they 
 were strangers to Pearl, and she knelt near her teachers. 
 
34 RCCORD OF A SUFFERING SOU!.. 
 
 Every heart in that chapel was praying for her, and her 
 tranquillity deepened into ecstasy; a glad exultation took 
 possession of her; the Precious Blood fell over her like rain, 
 and her garment, spotless now, shone like the sun. The last 
 Dona el requiem was sung, Mass was at an end, and a voice, 
 clear and sonorous, rang through the chapel, unheard by all 
 save Pearl and her angel: — " Come, My love, My dove, My 
 beautiful one. Winter is now past; spring is at hand." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yes, spring, everlasting spring! 
 
 What will be wanting to Pearl now? Father, mother, 
 brothers, sisters, friends, are awaiting her in her Heavenly 
 Home. On earth her active brain delighted in the wonders 
 of the natural kingdoms; now her intellect will find eternal 
 aliment in the marvellous secrets of the universe, in the omnis- 
 cience and infinite perfections of God. 
 
 On earth, her artistic nature had revelled in the beauties of 
 poetry, in the glories of nature: hereafter, she will exult in 
 the songs of the angels, the sublimities of all creation will be 
 spread out before her, and hers to enjoy will be that beauty 
 which it hath not entered into the heart of man to conceive. 
 
 On earth, music with her had been a passion : now, she will 
 live in the complete harmonies of angelic orchestras, and in a 
 melodious atmosphere of angels' voices. On earth Pearl had 
 been a singer; it had been one of the sorrows of her long ill- 
 ness that it deprived her of the power to sing; often at even- 
 fall had it seemed to her that it would be indemnification for 
 the weary day's suffering could she but sing some of her 
 quaint old ditties to her mother. How often, as she tossed 
 upon her bed of pain, would it have eased her could she have 
 sung in the plaintive strains she had learned in the land of 
 song: Deh, frega f>cr )ioi peccatori, adesso, e nell "ora del la 
 
RECORD OF A SUFFERING SOUL. 35 
 
 nostra morte ! But the loss of her voice had been one of the 
 premonitory symptoms of her long- illness, a loss to which she 
 had never become accustomed. Now she will have it again, 
 her own voice, deeper, stronger, fuller, clearer, higher, yet 
 still her very own; again she can swell, and run, and trill, 
 and warble at will. In the angelic choirs there will be mil- 
 lions and millions of voices, grander, more harmonious, more 
 full of melody than hers, but to her, her own will have a spe- 
 cial charm — that is, it will be her own, all her own; with it 
 she can warble high and clear in the Alleluia; she will hear 
 it, full and strong, in the Hozarma in excelsis / and when the 
 great Mother of God, the Queen of Heaven, passes by, she 
 will sing joyously, exultantly, as a soul inebriated with hap- 
 piness, 
 
 Ave Mar /a, Ave Maria, benedicta tu in mulieribus ! 
 
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