Several years ago he told me that he had no sensible devotion in prayer, and that God operated in him without feeling, but by sentiments and illuminations, which were diffused in the intellectual part of his soul, the inferior part having no share therein. These were for the most part perceptions and sensibilities of simple unity and heavenly emotions which he did not try to fathom: for his practice was to hold himself in humility and lowliness before God with the trustful reverence of a loving child. When writing to me he has often asked me to remind him when we met to tell me what God had given him in prayer. When I did so he would say, "These things are so impalpable, so pure, so intangible, that one cannot explain them when they have passed, only their effects remain in the soul." For several years before his decease there was left him little leisure for prayer, as business overwhelmed him, and one day when I asked him if he had any time for prayer, he said: "No, but I do what is the same." In such wise he held himself always united to God, saying that in this life work and labour are prayer. And most certainly his life was a continual prayer. Though, from what has been said, it is easy to believe that the delightful union of his soul with God in prayer was not his only enjoyment. Oh! indeed it was not, for however the will of God was presented to him he equally loved it. And in his last years he had, I believe, attained such purity in his love that all things were the same to him so long as he saw God's will in them. There was nothing in the world, as he used to say, that could give him any satisfaction out of God. Thus he lived, as was manifest to those who knew him, no more in himself but truly Jesus Christ lived in him. This universality in his love of the will of God was the more excellent and the purer by reason of the clear light which God diffused in his soul, and because of it his soul was neither subject to change nor to deception, and by it he perceived in himself the first movements of self-love which he faithfully suppressed the more perfectly to be united to God. He told me, that, sometimes in the depth of his greatest afflictions, he felt consolations beyond comparison more sweet than at ordinary times, for by means of this intimate union with God things most bitter became to him most sweet.