Her virtues were solid, because her humility, their foundation, was profound, and because her humility was profound, God exalted her to a degree of purity of soul, and a consequent height of union with Himself, rarely attained here below. During the whole of her life in France, she was accustomed, as we know, to wonderful supernatural communications, but from the time of her going to Canada, all such favours as could attract the eyes of men were withdrawn, the Almighty having then intimated His will that her perfection should henceforth consist in the practices of ordinary life. But although visible extraordinary favours were suspended, it was not so with the invisible work of Divine grace; that went on ever advancing towards its consummation. From the age of twenty, she had possessed the wondrous privilege of uninterrupted union with God. It was her habitual permanent condition; neither suffering of mind, nor infirmity of health, nor pressure of business, nor weight of care could divert her from it for a moment. Distractions might flit through, and even trouble her imagination, but they never reached the inner soul, which through all, maintained an uninterrupted view of the Divine presence. Her constant application to spiritual things never interfered with the perfect fulfilment of her external duties, while on the other hand, the most dissipating exterior occupations never for one instant disturbed her interior recollection. Never were the spirit of Martha and of Mary more admirably or more perfectly combined. If prayer is an elevation of the soul to God, it may be said without any exaggeration, that her whole life was spent in this heavenly exercise. At the time of actual prayer, she appeared like a seraph of love, her very aspect sufficing to excite devotion in the coldest heart. This was an opinion often expressed by the pupils, who delighted in observing her at prayer, and sometimes managed even to approach near enough to kiss her feet or her habit unperceived. It is not given to us to speak of the sublimity of her prayer, especially towards the end of life. As it became more and more simplified, it were perhaps best described as one unbroken sigh of love. "My God! my great God! my Life! my Love! my Glory! This," she wrote, "is my prayer; these words nourish my soul, not only at the time of actual prayer, but all through the day, from the moment of rising, to that of retiring to rest. Imperfect as I am, I feel habitually lost in my God, to whom I have been so many years united by indescribably intimate bonds. I see His amiability, His grandeur, His majesty, His power, without previous reasoning, or research. I can find no words to express what I would say to Him, yet the silence of simple faith is eloquent. But although my soul is ever absorbed in my God, it never loses sight of its own misery; the abyss of His greatness engulphs the abyss of its nothingness." Not satisfied with all the love of the angels and saints,