ave me when I was coming away.
No; here they are, and my Agnus Dei, too," she said, kissing them. "God
rest mother's soul, how glad she was when I got these from the holy
nuns!" And the tears streamed down her fair cheeks in floods.

"Hold your tongue, Bridget, again," said Paul, with emphasis. "Don't you
know that mother told us not to grieve, but pray for her soul? And
besides, in the 'Imitation of Christ,' which I read for you this morning
and last night, it is said that grief kills devotion, and excessive,
sorrow is a sin. You can serve mother, or rejoice her soul, by praying,
but not by crying, Bridget."

"O, how can I help it? 'Tis against me will, Paul," said she, wiping her
eyes.

"Always look attentively at that crucifix," said Paul, "and you need
never grieve for any thing except sin. This is what Father Doyle used to
say."

"O Paul, we have no father or mother now."

"Yes we have, Bridget--our Father in heaven, and the blessed virgin
mother of God, our mother also," said the young preacher.

"How well the priest did not call as he said he would."

"May be he could not help it; he had to go far into the country, and the
snow might stop him. You know he will find us out. The priest always
visits the poorhouse in Ireland."

While this conversation was going on between the members of this poor
orphan family, Paul acting the meritorious part of a comforter, (I say
acting, for his own noble soul was almost crushed with grief, which he
thought it better to disguise than to have his little charge rendered
quite stupid and almost dead from crying and sobbing;) while this was
the way Paul entertained his little charge, in another part of the
poorhouse, in a well-furnished room, were seated around a table
containing the "_reliquiae"_ or remnants of a good dinner, five persons,
engaged in earnest chat about the late importation of orphans.

"Really they are likely young 'uns, and no mistake," said Mr. Van
Stingey, wiping his mouth with the corner of the tablecloth.

"Dear me!" said a lady who formed one of the council. "Charles, if you
saw them, they are perfect beauties, you would say. The oldest boy is as
noble-looking a lad as ever you did see--Roman nose, raven hair,
delightfully-carved mouth, and lips, and eyes, and eyelashes quite
indescribable, so beautiful are they. The little girl is a perfect
Venus; while the two younger children, Patrick and Eugene, are as if
they came from the chisel of Powers, or