When she comes from the confessional, her ears are long filled as with a heavenly music, the honeyed words of her confessor ring for many days in her heart, she feels it lonesome to be separated from him, his image is constantly before her mind, and the _souvenir_ of his amiabilities is one of her most pleasant thoughts. There is nothing which she likes so much as to speak of his good qualities, his patience, his piety, his charity, she longs for the day when she will again go to confess, and pass a few hours by the side of that angelic man, in opening to him all the secrets of her heart, and in revealing all her _ennuis_. She tells him how she regrets that she cannot come oftener to see him, and receive the benefit of his charitable counsels; she does not even conceal from him how often, in her dreams, she feels too happy to be with him! More and more, every day, the gap between her and her husband widens; more and more, each day, she regrets that she has not the happiness to be the wife of such a holy man as her confessor! Oh! if it were possible...! But, then, she blushes or smiles, and sings a song. Then again, I ask it, Who is the true lord, ruler, and master in that house? For whom does that heart beat and live? Thus it is that that stupendous imposture, the dogma of auricular confession, does completely destroy all the links, the joys, the responsibilities, and divine privileges of the married life, and transforms it into a life of perpetual, though disguised, adultery. It becomes utterly impossible, in the church of Rome, that the husband should be _one_ with his wife, and that the wife should be _one_ with her husband: a "monstrous being" has been put between them both, called the confessor! Born in the darkest ages of the world, that being has received from hell his mission to destroy and contaminate the purest joys of the married life, to enslave the wife, to outrage the husband, and to damn the world! The more auricular confession is practised, the more the laws of public and private morality are trampled under feet. The husband wants his wife to be _his_--he does not, and could not, consent to share his authority over her with anybody: he wants to be the _only_ man who will have her confidence and her heart, as well as her respect and love. And so, the very moment that he anticipates the dark shadow of the confessor coming between him and the woman of his choice, he prefers silently to shrink from entering into the sacred bond; the holy joys of home and family lose their divine attractions; he prefers the cold life of an ignominious celibacy to the humiliation and opprobrium of the questionable privileges of an uncertain paternity.