You were so good as to tell me to let you know if you could do anything for me. I have not forgotten your kindness. Some day when you are at leisure, and can find one without any trouble, will you send me the Litany of St. Anthony of Padua,[1] if it is to be had in a separate form, like those of St. Francis of Sales, and St. Jane Frances de Chantal.

We left Bruges with great regret, but we had spent six happy weeks there, and it was time to come home.[2] The Masses and prayers said for me on Monday, did not save me from the usual agonies I endure during a voyage, nor has the exhaustion entirely left me yet. It must be the Will of God that I should suffer much. How much we miss our parish church of St. Jacques! our house is as far from the Oratory,[3] as M. Vanhaecke’s is from St. Walburge’s[4] so that daily Mass is an impossibility for me. I feel the difference greatly at first returningp2home. In Oxford we were a mile from our poor little church! The Bells in Bruges going at intervals all day long, remind us of dear, beautiful Oxford, my birthplace I wonder whether you have ever been there. Fr Christie is as glad as I myself am, that I conquered my reluctance of going to Confession to a stranger; he and I have often lamented over it; his extreme kindness and gentleness makes it more difficult; and now, when in Bruges, I hope I may always come to you. I asked my Angel-Guardian to take me to the right person, and he certainly listened to the request; but I ought to have come to you long ago, two years ago; instead of waiting until the eleventh hour; for there is much I should like to have said to you, as you know England so well; but there was no opportunity, with that disagreeable Chaiseuse[5] fidgeting and watching me; she made my heart beat so violently, although I tried not to mind it. Two years ago (at the time of the arrival of your new Curé)[6] we went often to St. Walburge’s; we liked Benediction there, it was morep3like what we have in England, but we were not then staying at M. Vanhaecke's house,[7] we did not know him then; until just as we were leaving. Is it not good of him to allow us to stay at his house? He is all kindness to us, as is every one in Belgium, the Priests above all. I scarcely regret now that we were prevented from travelling in France, as it enabled us to remain in Bruges; we must hope to go to Valognes[8] next year, and Bruges also; but there will be our long winter to struggle through first; weeks of imprisonment, if not actual illness. I shall trust to you to help me through it with your prayers.

England is deeply interested in this inhuman war.[9] Some are violently Prussian, some intensely French. I am with the latter, but not with their new toy, the Republic, and grieved as I am for their reverses, I think they are as a nation the most ungrateful set of people under the sun, for whatever may be the sins of their poor, captive Emperor,[10] they might remember thatp4it was he who made their brilliant Paris what it is; and yet not one mark of sympathy for him in his overwhelming misfortunes! I am very glad the Empress and the prince are safe in England. They are at Hastings, and I suppose they hear Mass in my husband’s little church at St. Leonards.[11] A sad thing has happened in our Square. A Lady whom I only knew by sight, and who seemed to be in perfect health when we left home, was buried yesterday! I long to go and say a few kind words to her husband and children who must feel so desolate under this sudden blow, but it would be against the rules of London society to do anything so natural, and am therefore obliged to keep my sympathy to myself and be contented with praying for them and for her. I hope when you next visit England we may have the pleasure of seeing you here. We always consider it a great happiness and privilege to entertain Priests. I send a favourite little prayer of mine, which perhaps you have already.

Adieu dear Father, au revoir; pray for your English Child,