Help me, Father Francis; tell me what I am to do." "Do not ask help from me," the young priest said, gravely; "ask it of that compassionate Father who is in Heaven.

Oh! my child, the way to that land of peace and rest is the way of the Cross--the only way.

There are more thorns than roses under our feet, but we must go on like steadfast soldiers to the end, bearing our cross, and keeping the battle-cry of the brave old Crusaders in our hearts, 'God wills it.' Your trouble has been heavy, my poor child, I don't doubt, but you cannot be exempt from the common lot.

I am sorry for you, Heaven knows, and I would make your life a happy one if I could, in spite of all the harsh things I may say.

It is because I would not have your whole life miserable that I talk to you like this.