A friend of René’s gave Edith the comfort of embracing her son; our dear friend’s will is addressed to me. René is utterly opposed to the young girls being brought up with us, and we shall no doubt place them at the Sacred Heart. René is right: no one could ever take the place of Picciola in my heart. Margaret and Gertrude have been angels of consolation to me. How shall I ever repay their tenderness! Ah! it is good to be so loved. Let us always love each other in Jesus, dear Kate! OCTOBER 25. The orphans are come, very touching in their mourning garments. The good Mistress Annah has grown ten years older. Edith died the death of a saint! How painfully this word death sounds in my heart! My mother does not wish that Berthe should see _them_ here; the generous Adrien offers to accompany them, but Margaret solicits this privilege, with the secret intention, we believe, of paying the first year’s expenses. Kind Margaret! I should like to have kept these children, but in every point of view it is impossible. René fears that I may love them too much—and you also, dear Kate. Thus it is decided that they are to leave us on the 5th. I send you the _journal_ of the last days of Edith; Mistress Annah wished to give me this consolation, sweet and bitter at the same time. Dear old friend! what good care we are going to take of her. I should like to have her here. Karl will be made a priest on Christmas Eve; we shall therefore be in Paris towards the 10th of December. For how long? I do not yet know. My mother has changed very much since our _angel_ is no longer here. O Christ! O Saviour! O Sovereign Friend of our souls! take compassion on our sorrows. Johanna is here, by me, with my beautiful godson on her knees, smiling and playing with him in a thousand ways. Oh! how sweet was Picciola in this same place. Alix and Marguérite come every minute to talk to me, to amuse me. Margaret occupies herself in reading to me serious and absorbing things; but—I constantly see _her_, my little dove that is flown away. Marcella is at Naples; the letter of mourning reached her there. She does not know what her daughter’s life has cost us, nor will she ever know it. Ah my God! who would have believed that? Send me your good angel, dear, beloved sister! TO BE CONTINUED. PRESBYTERIAN INFIDELITY IN SCOTLAND.