On my tenth birthday, the Bishop came to the Abbess very early in the morning, and informed her that I was to take the White Veil that day, and immediately after the ceremony, I would leave for the Grey Nunnery in Montreal.  He desired her to make all the necessary preparation, and take her leave of me, as she would not see me again.  This was sad news for us both, for I felt that she was my only friend, and I knew that she felt for me, the most sincere affection.  She gave me much good advice in reference to my future conduct, and with tears exhorted me to be kind, cheerful, and obedient.  I was going to a new place, she said, and if I was a good girl, and sought to please my superiors, I would find some one to be kind to me.  She advised me to try and appear contented in whatever situation I might be placed, and above all other considerations, never disobey the least command.  “Obedience,” she again repeated, “is the rule in all convents, and it will be better for you to obey at once, and cheerfully, and willingly comply with every request, than to incur displeasure and perhaps punishment, by any appearance of reluctance or hesitation.  If there is any one thing that you dislike to do, be sure that you do not betray your feelings, for if you do, that will be the very thing they will require of you; and I assure you, if you once become the object of suspicion or dislike, your condition will be anything but agreeable.  You will be marked and watched, and required to do many unpleasant things, to say the least.  Therefore I hope you will perform all your duties with a cheerful and willing spirit.”  Bitterly did I grieve at the thought of being separated from the only being on earth who seemed to care for me.  In the anguish of the moment, I wished I might die.  St. Bridget reproved me, saying encouragingly that death was the coward’s refuge, sought only by those who had not the resolution to meet, endure, or overcome the trials of life.  She exhorted me to courage, perseverance and self denial, saying that if I fought life’s battle bravely, I would have my reward.

She changed all my clothes, and assisted me to put on a white dress and cape, and a white cap and veil.  She then gave me a card of good behavior, embraced me for the last time, and led me out to the Bishop, who was waiting to conduct me to the chapel where the ceremony was to be performed.

I there met ten other little girls, who, like myself, were compelled to take upon themselves vows they did not understand, and thus, by an apparently voluntary act, consign themselves to slavery for life.  They were all strangers to me, sent here, as I afterwards learned, from some nunnery in Ireland, where they had friends who were too solicitous for their welfare.  The priests do not wish the nuns to see friends from the world, and they will frame almost any plausible excuse to prevent it.  But when the friends become too urgent, as they sometimes do, and their inventive powers are taxed too severely, or if the task of furnishing