would have rendered her this service, he found it so impossible to disengage the beloved image from her grasp, that he had to substitute another. A few minutes before six in the evening, she opened her eyes and looked at her dear Sisters, as if to take a last farewell of them, then closed them for ever to earth. At six o'clock, two faint sighs were heard,--so faint, that but for the breathless stillness of the room they must have been inaudible, but the hearing of affection is acute, and every heart present caught the feeble echo, and interpreted it correctly. Death had come at last, but death in a form so fair, that even angels might have envied it, if angels could die. In its flight to God, her pure soul seemed to have left a lingering ray of glory flitting round the calm, still features, which shone as if illumined with heaven's own light, and almost dazzled the beholders by their seraphic beauty. All the Sisters witnessed and attested the prodigy; tradition has faithfully handed it down even to our own day, and still, as each revolving year brings round the 30th of April, a solemn Te Deum resounds through the Ursuline Church at Quebec, as a thanksgiving to God for the exceptional privileges attending the blessed death of the Mother Mary of the Incarnation. To say that grief for her loss was universal, would be more than superfluous. Throughout the country, she had for many a year been known, consulted, prized, revered, beloved: now that the Mother was taken from amidst her children, no wonder that the children were lonely and that they mourned their desolation. It would be impossible to describe the feelings of the savages; as soon as the news of her death reached Sillery and Loretto, they came crowding round the monastery to pray for her whom they had loved so well and with so much reason. "Our Mother is dead !" It was all they said, and all they had to say. Sorrow like theirs was too deep for words, and to show that they felt it so, they followed up the pathetic exclamation by a gesture indicating that they would speak no more. The Sisters, overcome by their child-like grief, tried to administer to them the comfort of which they were themselves so much in need, and then both went their respective ways to await in prayers and tears the sad, solemn hour which was to hide from them for ever, the object of their reverence and love.