I never knew how or when Sister Angela propounded her notable plan to Mother Superior, but I can make a good guess that it was that very afternoon. For she appeared at the table with very red cheeks and all the sisters were so very meek and silent, that I fancy they had got what Mrs. Thorpe would have called a wigging at "obedience." Mother Superior never mentioned the matter to us, and of course we never said anything to her. Not but she might have considered all fair in the cause of the church, and the saving of souls, but I think she naturally revolted at anything underhanded, and, besides, our community had too recently emerged from a heavy cloud of disgrace and danger to run any such risk as would have been incurred by the spiriting away of two English girls of good family at that time. Sunday passed as rapidly as last days always do. On Monday the carriage bespoken by Mrs. Thorpe came to the door. We bade a tearful farewell to our old friends and home, and parted from them forever. And in this place, I may as well say what I think about convent life. I am far from believing all the scandalous tales that are told, though one may learn from the writings of Roman Catholic authors, as well as from the history of Mother Angelique herself, what disorders have sometimes existed in them. But I do say the whole system is an unnatural and, therefore, an unhealthy one, and it is liable to great abuses. Here is one of them: A young girl just leaving school, knowing nothing of the world—especially if she be a French girl—is invited to make a retreat. What does that mean? It means confinement—voluntary, no doubt, in most cases, but still confinement—in a darkened room, with just light enough to see to read. It means absence of all ordinary occupation, shortened hours of rest, and long fasts. Some book like the "Meditations of St. Ignatius" is put into her hands, full of the grossest and most terrible material images of death and hell. They talk about the ranting of the Methodists, and I won't deny that the local preachers and exhorters go too far in this direction at times, but I never met with one who would dare to say as much as this famous saint, or as some Catechisms do. The decay of the body after death, with all attendant horrors, real or imaginary, is a favorite theme. "You will become that for which there is no name in any language!" says St. Ignatius. * Then come pictures of purgatory and hell, wrought up to the highest pitch, and then—the poor, tired, hysterical young creature is invited to pause and seriously consider her vocation in life. Is it any wonder that she decides for that vocation which is set before her as the one of certain safety? Is it any wonder either that the excitement over, she should too often find that she has made a horrible mistake? * Bossuet has the same phrase. I don't know who stole it.