were all clothed by the small flock that pastured on the neighbouring hills; my aunts spun the wool; and the hemp of the field furnished us with linen. In the evenings, by the light of our lamp, which was fed with oil from our walnut trees, the young people of the neighbourhood came to help us to dress our flax, and we, in our turn, did the same for them. The harvest of the little farm sufficed for our subsistence. Our buckwheat cakes, moistened, smoking hot, with the good butter of Mont d’Or, were a delicious treat to us. I know not what dish we should have relished better than our turnips and chestnuts. When we sat, on a winter evening, round the fire, and saw these fine turnips roasting, and heard the water boiling in the vase where our chestnuts were cooking so sweet and nice, our mouths watered; and the grandmother, delighted with our childish pleasure, added, now and then, to the feast, a quince, whose delicious perfume, while roasting under the ashes, I still remember. Dear, kind old dame! She, with all her frugality and moderation, nevertheless made little gluttons of us boys. Ah! my friend, it is the women who begin it from our cradle, and go on fondling and humouring us to the grave. So, you see we had enough to satisfy all our wants, for, in our household, if there were little to expend, there was nothing lost, and trifling things united, made plenty. In the neighbouring forest, too, there was abundance of dead wood, of small value, and there my father was permitted to take his annual provision. Dear and honoured father! He ruled us all, in the fear of the Lord; and the crowning bliss of my life it has ever been to come before God and plead, ‘Thou wast my father’s God; be thou also my God.’” How much longer Victor would have indulged in these fond memories, cannot be told. He was interrupted by the entrance of some neighbours who came to take leave of Palissy and his sons, and when they had departed, the hour was late. The two friends bent the knee together in prayer at the throne of heavenly grace, and commended each other to the divine protection and favour. Victor then arose and departed; but, on the threshold, he paused, and looking fixedly on his friend, his eyes filled with tears, as he grasped his hand, and said, “Yes, God is a sweet consolation.” And, with these words, he turned away and was gone. How often, in after years, did this farewell recur to the mind of Bernard, with sweet and consolatory power! CHAPTER XIV. “And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus; and when I saw her I wondered with great admiration.”—REV. xvii. 6.