in many things. There were left only some remains of passion,
which gave me some trouble to conquer. But as soon as I had by means
thereof, given any displeasure, even to the domestics, I begged their
pardon, in order to subdue my wrath and pride; for wrath is the
daughter of pride. A person truly humbled permits not anything to put
him in a rage. As it is pride which dies the last in the soul, so it is
passion which is last destroyed in the outward conduct. A soul
thoroughly dead to itself, finds nothing of rage left.

There are persons who, being very much filled with grace and with
peace, at their entrance of the resigned path of light and love, think
they are come thus far. But they are greatly mistaken, in this view of
their state. This they will readily discover, if they are heartily
willing to examine two things. First, if their nature is lively, warm
and violent, (I speak not of stupid tempers) they will find, from time
to time, that they make slips, in which trouble and emotion have some
share. Even then they are useful to humble and annihilate them. (But
when annihilation is perfected all passion is gone--it is incompatible
with this state.) They will find that there often arises in them
certain motions of anger, but the sweetness of grace holds them back.
They would easily transgress, if in any wise they gave way to these
motions. There are persons who think themselves very mild because
nothing thwarts them. It is not of such that I am speaking. Mildness
which has never been put to the proof, is often only counterfeit. Those
persons who, when unmolested, appear to be saints are no sooner
exercised by vexing occurrences than there starts up in them a strange
number of faults. They had thought them dead which only lay dormant
because nothing awakened them.

I followed my religious exercises. I shut myself up all day to read and
pray. I gave all I had to the poor taking even linen to their houses. I
taught them the catechism and when my parents dined out I made them eat
with me and served them with great respect. I read the works of St.
Francis de Sales and the life of Madam de Chantal. There I first
learned what mental prayer was, and I besought my confessor to teach me
that kind of prayer. As he did not, I used my own endeavors to practice
it, though without success, as I then thought, because I could not
exercise the imagination, I persuaded myself, that that prayer could
not be made without forming to one'