has defined certain maladies formerly misunderstood, it is permissible to suppose that this so-called frost-bite was nothing else than diabetic gangrene.  No illusion could be cherished, and the venerable old man, who had not, so to speak, passed a moment of his existence without thinking of death, needed to adapt himself to the idea less than any one else.  In order to have nothing more to do than to prepare for his last hour he hastened to settle a question which concerned his seminary:  he reduced definitely to eight the number of pensions which he had established in it in 1680.  This done, it remained for him now only to suffer and die.  The ulcer increased incessantly and the continual pains which he felt became atrocious when it was dressed.  His intolerable sufferings drew from him, nevertheless, not cries and complaints, but outpourings of love for God.  Like Saint Vincent de Paul, whom the tortures of his last malady could not compel to utter other words than these:  “Ah, my Saviour! my good Saviour!” Mgr. de Laval gave vent to these words only:  “O, my God! have pity on me!  O God of Mercy!” and this cry, the summary of his whole life:  “Let Thy holy will be done!” One of the last thoughts of the dying man was to express the sentiment of his whole life, humility.  Some one begged him to imitate the majority of the saints, who, on their death-bed, uttered a few pious words for the edification of their spiritual children.  “They were saints,” he replied, “and I am a sinner.”  A speech worthy of Saint Vincent de Paul, who, about to appear before God, replied to the person who requested his blessing, “It is not for me, unworthy wretch that I am, to bless you.”  The fervour with which he received the last sacraments aroused the admiration of all the witnesses of this supreme hour.  They almost expected to see this holy soul take flight for its celestial mansion.  As soon as the prayers for the dying had been pronounced, he asked to have the chaplets of the Holy Family recited, and during the recitation of this prayer he gave up his soul to his Creator.  It was then half-past seven in the morning, and the sixth day of the month consecrated to the Holy Virgin, whom he had so loved (May, 1708).

It was with a quiver of grief which was felt in all hearts throughout the colony that men learned the fatal news.  The banks of the great river repeated this great woe to the valleys; the sad certainty that the father of all had disappeared forever sowed desolation in the homes of the rich as well as in the thatched huts of the poor.  A cry of pain, a deep sob arose from the bosom of Canada which would not be consoled, because its incomparable bishop was no more!  Etienne de Citeaux said to his monks after the death of his holy predecessor:  “Alberic is dead to our eyes, but he is not so to the eyes of God, and dead though he appear to us, he lives for us in the presence of the Lord; for it is peculiar to the saints that when they go to God through death, they bear their friends with them in their hearts to preserve them there forever.”  This is our dearest desire; the friends of the venerable prelate were and still are to-day his own Canadians:  may he remain to the end of the ages our protector and intercessor with God!