early childhood, and fixed her for life in an extraordinary devotion to God, and to all the things of God.  When such a change of heart and character comes to a young woman among ourselves, she usually seeks out some career of religion and charity to which she can devote her life.  She is found labouring among the poor and the sick and the children of the poor, or she goes abroad to foreign mission work.  In Teresa’s land and day a Religious House was the understood and universal refuge for any young woman who was in earnest about her duty to God and to her own soul.  In those Houses such young women secluded themselves from all society and gave themselves up to the care of the poor and the young.  In the more strict and enclosed

of those retreats the inmates never came out of doors at all, but wholly sequestered themselves up to a secret life of austerity and prayer.  This was the ideal life led in those Houses for religious women.  But Teresa soon found out the tremendous mistake she had made in leaving her father’s family-fireside for a so-called Religious House.  No sooner had she entered it than she was plunged headlong into those very same ‘pestilent amusements,’ the mere approach of which had made her flee to this supposed asylum.  Though she is composing her Autobiography under the sharp eyes of her confessors, and while she is writing with a submissiveness and, indeed, a servility that is her only weakness, Teresa at the same time is bold enough and honest enough to tell us her own experiences of monastic life in language of startling strength and outspokenness.  ‘A short-cut to hell.  If parents would take my advice, they would rather marry their daughters to the very poorest of men, or else keep them at home under their own eye.  If young women will be wicked at home, their wickedness will not long be hidden at home; but in monasteries, such as I speak of, their worst wickedness can be completely covered up from every human eye.  And all the time the poor

things are not to blame.  They only walk in the way that is shown them.  Many of them are to be much pitied, for they honestly wish to withdraw from the world, only to find themselves in ten times worse worlds of sensuality and all other devilry.  O my God! if I might I would fain speak of some of the occasions of sin from which Thou didst deliver me, and how I threw myself into them again.  And of the risks I ran of utterly shipwrecking my character and good name and from which Thou didst rescue me.  O Lord of my soul! how shall I be able to magnify Thy grace in those perilous years!  At the very time that I was offending Thee most, Thou didst prepare me by a most profound compunction to taste of the sweetness of Thy recoveries and consolations.  In truth, O my King, Thou didst administer to me the most spiritual and painful of chastisements: for Thou didst chastise my sins with great assurances of Thy love and of Thy great mercy.  It makes me feel beside myself when I call to mind Thy great grace and my great ingratitude.’

This leads us up to the conception and commencement of that great work to which Teresa dedicated the whole of her after life,—the reformation and extension of the Religious

Houses of Spain.  The root-and-branch reformation of Luther and his German and Swiss colleagues had not laid much hold on Spain; and the little hold it had laid on her native land had never reached to Teresa.  Had Luther and Teresa but met: had Melanchthon and Teresa but met: had the best books of the German and Swiss Reformation but come into Teresa’s hands: had she been somewhat less submissive, and somewhat less obedient, and somewhat less completely the slave of her ecclesiastical superiors; had she but once entered into that intellectual and spiritual liberty wherewith Christ makes His people free,—what a lasting blessing Teresa might have been made to her native land!  But, as it was, Teresa’s reformation, while it was the salvation of herself and of multitudes more who came under it, yet as a monastic experiment and a church movement, it ended in the strengthening and the perpetuation of that detestable system of intellectual and spiritual tyranny which has been the death of Spain from that day to this.  Teresa performed a splendid service inside the Church to which she belonged: but that service was wholly confined to the Religious Houses that she founded and reformed.  Teresa’s was intended to be a kind of counter-reformation

to the reformation of Luther and Melanchthon and Valdes and Valera.  And such was the talent and the faith and the energy she brought to bear on the work she undertook, that, had it been better directed, it might have been blessed to preserve her beloved native land at the head of modern Christendom.  But, while that was not to be, it is the immense talent, and the unceasing toil, and the splendid faith and self-surrender that Teresa brought to bear on her intramural reformation; and, all through that, on the working out of her own salvation,—it is all these things that go to make Teresa’s long life so memorable and so impressive, not only in her own age and land and church, but wherever greatness of mind, and nobleness of heart, and sanctity of life, and stateliness of character are heard of and are esteemed.

Teresa’s intellect, her sheer power of mind, is enough of itself to make her an intensely interesting study to all thinking men.  No one can open her books without confessing the spell of her powerful understanding.  Her books, before they were books, absolutely captivated and completely converted to her unpopular cause many of her most determined enemies.  Again and again and again we find her confessors

and her censors admitting that both her spiritual experiences and her reformation work were utterly distasteful and very stumbling to them till they had read her own written account, first of her life of prayer and then of her reformation work.  One after another of such men, and some of them the highest in learning and rank and godliness, on reading her autobiographic papers, came over to be her fearless defenders and fast friends.  There is nothing more delightful in all her delightful Autobiography, and in the fine ‘censures’ that have been preserved concerning it, than to read of the great and learned theologians, the responsible church leaders, and even the secret inquisitors who came under the charm of her character and the spell of her pen.  ‘She electrifies the will,’ confessed one of the best judges of good writing in her day.  And old Bishop Palafox’s tribute to Teresa is far too beautiful to be withheld.  ‘What I admire in her is the peace, the sweetness, and the consolation with which in her writings she draws us toward the best, so that we find ourselves captured rather than conquered, imprisoned rather than prisoners.  No one reads the saint’s writings who does not presently seek God, and no one through her

writings seeks God who does not remain in love with the saint.  I have not met with a single spiritual man who does not become a passionate admirer of Santa Teresa.  But her writings do not alone impart a rational, interior, and superior love, but a love at the same time practical, natural, and sensitive; and my own experience proves it to me that there exists no one who loves her but would, if the saint were still in this world, travel far to see and speak with her.’  I wish much I could add to that Peter of Alcantara’s marvellous analysis of Teresa’s experiences and