Excerpt from Limbo, or an Apology for Purgatory and Prayers for the Dead: Being the Sequel to "the State of the Blessed Dead," by Henry Alford, D.D., Dean of Canterbury

Church or companionship with the disorganised squadrons Of infidelity.

In the present religious crisis, we Teachers Of the Old Christian School Of thought have Simply to expound the truths Of revealed religion as defined by the infallible Roman Church in her Councils; we have to give a straightforward exposition Of her ancient doctrines we have in consequence no words to handy, no theories to invent, no novelties to propound, no new schools Of thought to inaugurate - all is fixed, all settled, all unchangeable. Hence do we embody the whole drift Of our argument in the pithy scriptural apothegm, He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.' In reference to the subject-matter on hand, we may men tion that it is recorded Of the charming St. Francis de Sales, whose fascinating piety could convert when the ponderous syllogisms of Cardinal de Perron could only confute the heretics, that he was wont to say, We too frequently forget our dear departed.' After the same fashion the great Father Bourdaloue wrote: Though in all ages Of the Church we prayed for the dead, to our days is it reserved to sanctify ourselves for the dead.' We, however, pilgrims Of the nine teenth century, have our own tale to tell. Having visited in former days the homesteads Of myriads Of saints and sages on the continent Of Europe; having lately travelled with SO many others, if not in pilgrim guise, with staff in hand and sandals on feet, at least, be it hoped, with the pilgrim's spirit; having journeyed on to the Sanctuary Of the Sacred Heart Of Jesus, in the beautiful little city Of Paray Le Monial -which on our arrival at midnight we found gloriously illumined with countless tapers and torches, and literally ecstatic with devotional delight, the bells clanging, banners flying, hymns chaunting, processions moving, and all the in habitants on the tiptoe Of medimval religious jubilee, while the moon and stars in cloudless majesty kept ward and watch over the incomparable scene - we entered, with feelings. Not to be expressed, the venerable church. On the morrow we visited the Old monastic home, and wended our way in solemn procession through the lovely picturesque garden Of the blessed Sister Margaret Mary. We listened to the pious traditions Of former days, and beheld the places where the Lord held converse with His favoured child; we joined the tuneful choruses Of the members Of the Church.

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