When I Had Eaten Well And Heartily, Brother Ambrose, A Hearty Conversible
Frenchman (For All Those Who Wait On Strangers Have The Liberty To
Speak), Led Me To A Little Room In That Part Of The Building Which Is Set
Apart For MM.
Les retraitants.
It was clean and whitewashed, and
furnished with strict necessaries, a crucifix, a bust of the late Pope,
the Imitation in French, a book of religious meditations, and the Life of
Elizabeth Seton, evangelist, it would appear, of North America and of New
England in particular. As far as my experience goes, there is a fair
field for some more evangelisation in these quarters; but think of Cotton
Mather! I should like to give him a reading of this little work in
heaven, where I hope he dwells; but perhaps he knows all that already,
and much more; and perhaps he and Mrs. Seton are the dearest friends, and
gladly unite their voices in the everlasting psalm. Over the table, to
conclude the inventory of the room, hung a set of regulations for MM. les
retraitants: what services they should attend, when they were to tell
their beads or meditate, and when they were to rise and go to rest. At
the foot was a notable N.B.: 'Le temps libre est employe a l'examen de
conscience, a la confession, a faire de bonnes resolutions, etc.' To
make good resolutions, indeed! You might talk as fruitfully of making
the hair grow on your head.
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