ugh they escape the eye, are,
nevertheless, tough. Pliable and supple as they seem to be, you may
break through one, but underneath you find two; it is a double, nay
triple, net. Who can know its thickness?

I read once in an old story what is really touching, and very
significant. It was about a woman, a wandering princess, who, after
many sufferings, found for her asylum a deserted palace, in the midst
of a forest. She felt happy in reposing there, and remaining some
time: she went to and fro from one large empty room to another, without
meeting with any obstacle; she thought herself alone and free. All the
doors were open. Only at the hall-door, no one having passed through
since herself, the spider had woven his web in the sun, a thin, light,
and almost invisible network; a feeble obstacle which the princess, who
wishes at last to go out, thinks she can remove without any difficulty.
She raises the web; but there is another behind it, which she also
raises without trouble. The second concealed a third, that she must
also raise:--strange! there are four.--No, five! or rather six--and
more beyond. Alas! how will she get rid of so many? She is already
tired. No matter! she perseveres; by taking breath a little she may
continue. But the web continues too, and is ever renewed with a
malicious obstinacy. What is she to do? She is overcome with fatigue
and perspiration, her arms fall by her sides. At last, exhausted as
she is, she sits down on the ground, on that insurmountable
threshold:--she looks mournfully at the aerial obstacle fluttering in
the wind, lightly and triumphantly.--Poor princess! poor fly! now you
are caught! But why did you stay in that fairy dwelling, and give the
spider time to spin his web?

CHAPTER V.

ON CONVENTS--OMNIPOTENCE OF THE DIRECTOR.--CONDITION OF THE NUN FORLORN
AND WATCHED.--CONVENTS THAT ARE AT THE SAME TIME BRIDEWELLS AND
BEDLAMS.--INVEIGLING.--BARBAROUS DISCIPLINE.--STRUGGLE BETWEEN THE
SUPERIOR NUN AND THE DIRECTOR.--CHANGE OF DIRECTORS.--THE MAGISTRATE.

Fifteen years ago I occupied, in a very solitary part of the town, a
house, the garden of which was adjacent to that of a convent of women.
Though my windows overlooked the greatest part of their garden, I had
never seen my sad neighbours. In the month of May, on Rogation-day, I
heard numerous weak, very weak voices, chanting prayers, as the
procession passed through the convent garden. The singing was sa