able to understand both the differences and the points of union of the two creeds.”
To others of my acquaintance, who ask where I am going, I reply promiscuously, Casa Tarpeia, Albano, Naples, every place where I am intending to go, without stating the exact time; and thus I hope, without exciting any attention, to pass through the trial of my faith in the Convent.
Sacre Cœur, Trinita di Monte, April 14th.—And now I am here, in this so-called Retraite, but which is considerably more like a battle than a quiet life devoted to serious reflection, exposed as I am, morning, noon, and night, to the fervent zeal and the torrent-like eloquence of Sister Geneviève, regarding my conversion to “the only true church,” whilst, in the mean time, my forenoons are occupied with the Exercises of Ignatius Loyola, which she allows me to go through. It would most assuredly be less difficult to pass through ordeals of fire and water, than a continued ordeal of talk. Hence I cut but a poor figure in this, and often grow impatient, especially in the evening, when Sœur Greneviève's fervor of conversation increases sometimes to an actual storm, and occasions a tumult in my brain, in comparison with which that of the Corso and the Carnival is nothing. The result of this is, that, hitherto, I have found myself every evening more and more Protestant, and have resolved, the following morning, to leave the convent—forever. In the morning, however, I find my courage again renewed, and think that I ought still to remain. And I do so, accordingly.
The second part of the trial—and that which pro-
