The events which were occurring before the Holy Face and at Lourdes, the current of Catholic piety so rapidly directed towards these two points from different parts of France, influenced Mr. Dupont in his views with regard to the situation of the Church. The precarious and alarming situation of Catholicity, subsequent to the war in Italy, constantly engaged his attention, and, by turns, excited his fears and hopes. It was the continual object of his prayers at the Nocturnal Adoration and before the Holy Face. But the dominant sentiment with him, was confidence in the future. The world appeared to him to be inundated with supernatural graces; and the trials, through which it pleased God that the Sovereign Pontiff, the Clergy and good Catholics should pass, seemed to him the forerunners of an unexpected and favorable conclusion. His whole correspondence abounds with these ideas. We shall transcribe a few passages which manifest his love of the Church, and the hopes he entertained of her triumph. He does not deceive himself as to the bitter hatred of Satan and his unhappy dupes; but he derives from its manifestation a motive for encouragement.

“Do not the multiplied efforts of Satan prove,’ he says, “with a force amounting to certainty, that the monster is roaring, because he comprehends that the Church is approaching one of her noblest triumphs?” “One thing comforts me under present circumstances. Evil is, without doubt, in the ascendency, and continues its upward course; but, at the same time, the source of divine mercy is not dried up, and of this we have proofs by the thousands. In my opinion, it is injurious to the power of God to doubt that He is able to overcome our obduracy, and render Himself the Master of our hearts. We are in His hands, and, whilst respecting our free will, He can grant a triumph to His Church, and bring to nought the efforts of hell.” “We may know there is consolation in store for our faith, when we calculate the vehemence of the demon’s attacks. Animals become infuriated only after having been provoked. Satan, on beholding the wonders of grace at the present day, may now say, as he did on the day of the Incarnation: Cur venisti ante tempus torquere me?“Why hast thou come before the time to torment me?”

The Sacred Heart of Jesus, and the Immaculate Conception of Mary, were as the two poles of his hope. Already in 1854, the promulgation of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception had gladdened his faith. In many passages in his letters, he expresses himself on this consoling event with pious enthusiasm. A few days before the definition, he wrote: “Behold the approach of the great event which is to confound the enemy of God and man, the old serpent, who will be overwhelmed with confusion, when the Church proclaims that the snares he laid under the feet of Mary have been of no avail. We must, therefore, hope that the triumph of Mary will result in the discouragement of Satan, and, among the children of the Church, in an increase of filial confidence, by the means of which we shall see prodigies of grace renew the face of the earth.” On first hearing of the definition, he cannot restrain the expression of his joy, and pours out his feelings to a friend: “I wished to write to you in order to rejoice with you over the great event which marks an era in the history of the Church. How good God has been to inspire Pius IX with the thought of pronouncing the definitive judgment, by his own authority alone! What an argument in favor of unity, in presence of the pell-mell of errors which form the camp opposed to light! Let us now refer to the beautiful idea of Dom Guéranger when speaking of the prediction of St. Leonard of Port-Maurice: ‘On the day of the promulgation of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception, the waves of God’s anger will flow back upon themselves.’ Mercy, then, will accomplish for us, miserable creatures, what justice formerly did to efface the crimes of the earth at the time of the deluge. Let us hope.”

The beatification of the venerable Margaret Mary Alacoque, and the extension of devotion to the Sacred Heart, were to his eyes important events which he regarded as pledges of salvation.

“The triumph of the Sacred Heart,” he writes, “introduces us into an era which, according to present appearances, will be very glorious for the Church and very profitable to souls. This last blow will sweep from the earth the defilements of Jansenism. All hail to the Sacred Heart! Hell is unchained, it is true; but is not that, of itself, a sign of future defeat? The marvels occurring in England are more than sufficient to exasperate a monster, who believed himself secure as in an impregnable fortress.” In speaking of the triumph of the Church, he frequently alludes to England. The conversions made in that country, with which he had relations, attracted his attention and excited the most sanguine hopes. “What is passing in England,” he says, “is magnificent: we are, it seems, on the eve of extraordinary events, which, humanly speaking, will sustain the Church and prepare for her a signal triumph over beastly modern heresy, which rejects faith and demands to behold with carnal eyes.”

He dwells with delight upon the grand figure of Pius IX. The promulgation of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception, the beatification of Margaret Mary Alacoque, the Vatican Council, and other memorable acts of this illustrious pontiff, seemed to him like so many rays of light successively added to the antique crown of glory encircling the papacy, and reflected in streams upon Christian society at large.

In speaking of the head of the Church, he always said: “Our Holy Father, our beloved Pius IX.” He added once: “Beloved by God and Christians, but hated by Satan and his miserable victims.”

In the tempests which toss the bark of the Church, he admires the tranquility and wisdom of this great pontiff: “It is certainly true,” he says, “that the pilot, Pius IX, is tranquil at the helm; he seems to sleep in the bark as the Divine Master: Novit dominus pios de tentatione eripere” Words of St. Peter, which he applies by a graceful and delicate allusion to the name of Pius IX, that cannot be translated into our language. The encyclical upon the Syllabus, (December 8, 1864,) made a great impression upon this fervent Christian, whose mind was so just and so enlightened in the things of God. He understood at once how wise and opportune in our modern times was this Pontifical act, and he discovered the germ of salvation it contained for civil society. He admired it the more sincerely, because the errors it designated had long been the objects of his abhorrence.

He never separated Rome in his thoughts from the Church and Pius IX. He cherished a devotion to the city of the popes; he had correspondents there; he accompanied in spirit those of his friends who went to pray at the tomb of the holy Apostles, a pilgrimage much less frequent and more difficult in those days than at the present time, and reserved for a favored few. “This journey,” he says, (March 24, 1862,) when speaking of a nobleman of his acquaintance, “will be of service to him; great consolations are granted to great sorrows. Now Rome, the home of faith, contains all that binds us closely to Him Who has said: ‘Blessed are they who mourn,’ and Who can alone pour balm into the wounded heart.” To an officer who returned from Rome in 1869, on the eve of the opening of the Council, he writes: “I have just read with intense interest the details you had the kindness to send me of your journey to Rome. Rome, whence light is about to flow in streams upon the world. Fiat! How happy one is to be a child of the Church!” The invasion of the holy city in 1871, caused “him deep affliction, and really tried his confidence; he writes in a sad strain, (December 24, 1871): “O Rome! alas! the object of our fears and sorrows! And yet we must either hope or faint in the way.” There are so many souls walking in the path of the counsels; they can obtain grace both for themselves and others.”

France, as well as Rome, is the object of the fears and hopes which, by turns, possess his heart. The shining virtues and the good works which illustrate France, encourage him to hope that his country will pass safely through the ordeal. “Consider,” he said, (November 16, 1845,) “all the religious institutions which are spread over France like so many nurseries, whence the plant will be disseminated to the rest of the world. Every wound of society is provided for, from the crib to the pallet of the decrepit poor. At Paris, the crib; at Sens, the Sisters of the Holy Childhood, who are increasing in numbers throughout France; at Saint-Servan, a work which will soon be propagated under the attractive name of Holy Old Age. Every Christian comprehends that he is an apostle. Rapid means of transportation are furnished him that he may make a stand against impiety, and whilst Satan forwards his boxes of books and his married missionaries, true Christians vie with each other in bearing the cross of Jesus Christ to the extremities of the earth.” The noble enthusiasm of the French youth, who enrolled themselves among the Pontifical Zouaves transported him with joy and admiration. He writes, (November 6, 1867): “The same breath which inspired St. Louis and his gallant cavaliers is, to-day, animating our Christian youth who fly to the aid of the Holy See.” And on the 25th of February, 1868: “The ardent, generous zeal which animates Christian souls at the sight of the dangers which menace the Pope, carries us back to the days of the Crusades.”

The disasters which overwhelmed France during the Prussian invasion deeply afflicted him, but did not destroy his confidence in the destiny of the eldest daughter of the Church. “Catholic France seems to arise from the tomb,” he writes in 1872. “We have just grounds for hope, since her first act after resuscitating, is to enter into prayer. What a grand sight is the concourse of people at Lourdes, and at other shrines! Let us then redouble our confidence. Satan resists because he knows well where the blow will wound him. The victory will be to the children of God.”

Without absenting himself from the Holy Face, he was acquainted with everything connected with the Church. He learned all through his extensive correspondence. There was not a sorrow, a joy, a fear, or a hope in any part of the Catholic world, which did not find its echo in his heart. He received letters from all quarters, requesting his advice, his prayers, light in doubt, or encouragement under trial; in one sense, he might say with the Apostle: Who is weak and I am not weak? Who is scandalized and I am not on fire? This grand Christian was thus identified with the soul of the Church and he lived of her life.

Thence also arose his lively interest in Catholic publishers and authors, who were expending their energies in the good cause. He sympathized in their feelings, kept himself informed as to the works of religious controversy which, from time to time, issued from the press; sometimes he read them, and either directly by letter or through his friends, he offered his congratulations to their authors. At one time Captain Marceau and himself made the resolution not to read a newspaper, partly through a spirit of mortification and sacrifice, and partly to avoid a loss of time. But he considered himself justifiable in not adhering to this determination, during the celebrated struggle of the French episcopacy to obtain the liberty of Christian education. His relations at the Conferences of St. Vincent de Paul with Mr. Léon Aubineau, one of the principal writers for the Universe, made him acquainted with that paper; he subscribed to it and was in entire sympathy with it. As this sheet solely advocated and upheld the interests of the Church as of paramount importance, and publicly professed the intention of defending only the truth, and of subordinating all human to religious questions, it answered in every respect his dearest desires. For the same reasons, he equally esteemed the Monde, and subscribed to it also. He likewise received some local papers and pious reviews. Mr. Dupont read from these only such articles as related to religion, or had reference to questions of doctrine, or to works which were interesting to his faith and piety, and which might, in some manner, be useful to the Church and to souls.

He was aware of the immense injury inflicted by impious journals upon contemporary society, particularly upon youth; he was bitterly afflicted. “What a frightful abyss,” he exclaims, “is opened under the feet of youth by a wicked press!” He relies upon the Catholic press to neutralize its effect, and attributes to its persevering efforts the absence of human respect among men of every rank, and the increase of the number of communicants at Easter in 1862. “Happily,” he says, “we learn that in the large cities throughout France, the number of men who have made their Easter communion, far exceeds that of preceding years.” He ascribed the increase to the courage and talent of Catholic editors. He was never  indifferent to the Pastorals of the Bishops. Immediately after reading them, he communicated his impressions in his correspondence to his friends. “What a magnificent page,” he says, “has been written by Monseigneur of Paris, to confound the enemies of our Lord!” He refers to a Pastoral in which Monseigneur Darboy, speaking eloquently of the divinity of Jesus Christ, answers the impious volume of Renan which had just appeared. “I would like to have a copy of it,” he says, “to lend to benighted souls who may need it”

He heartily applauded the publication and distribution of such new works, as were in accordance with his habitual train of thought, or which seemed to him suited to the necessities of the times. Many authors presented him with the first copies of their books, and awaited his opinion and observations. When a book pleased him, he was accustomed to read it carefully, note the errata, and send them to the writer, manifesting in his manner as much delicacy and humility as zeal. A historian once requested him to criticize one of his works. “He made but few corrections,” says the author; “I had abridged the most sacred names of our religion, and I found beside the initials J. C., N. S., the names Jesus Christy our Lord, written in full by this good Christian. I was impressed and edified, and I said to myself: “Behold a man of faith!” His just and delicate suggestion has since been of service to me.” Without being a theologian or a man of learning, Mr. Dupont had the gift of discerning in contemporary productions even a shadow of error. Whatever book of piety or religion fell into his hands, on merely glancing through it, he appreciated its beauties, or discovered its defects. He was guided by a kind of Catholic instinct which enabled him to detect the vulnerable point. “I am unfortunate,” he said one day to Monseigneur d’Outremont, “when I take up a book, if there is any portion of it objectionable, I am certain to open it at that page.”

When reading, he was accustomed to note down the thoughts which particularly impressed him: he used for this purpose a large sheet of paper left lying on his desk. As this sheet became filled with the passages thus selected, he attached another sheet to it, until at last he had made quite a collection. If a book was good and could benefit the reader, he did not wish it to be read carelessly. When sending a book of this kind to a man of the world, he once wrote: “Do not answer me until you have read the book, and do not devour it, as you would an ordinary book containing only wind. There is no question here of an omelet, but of a solid dish.”

He is without mercy for bad books which come in his way. Regarding those who had written them as instruments of Satan, he experienced a triumphant delight in destroying their impious works. One day, a number of volumes of Voltaire, Jean-Jaques Rousseau, and others of the same kind, were sent him. Instead of throwing them into the fire, the idea struck him to dig a hole in his garden, and, placing them within, to cover the whole with manure; above this he sowed potatoes. When they were sufficiently large, he ordered them to be dug up. They were remarkably fine; his garden had never yielded better. What should be done with them? His servants, the members of his household, were called upon to give their views. It was proposed to sell them in the market, to cook them, to send them to the Little Sisters of the Poor. Standing with his arms folded, Mr. Dupont listened in silence and with tranquility, to the different suggestions; suddenly he said: “Throw them to the hogs, they are fit for nothing else.” Then, laughing heartily, he turned to a friend, who was present at the scene and who related it to us, and added, in reference to their origin, “they come from Voltaire, from Jean-Jaques; of what good are such productions but to feed swine?”

On the contrary, when he met with a book of piety which he considered a useful work, he would order many copies, and distribute them. He extracted, as we have said, certain striking passages, either for his own benefit, or to communicate them to others. It was thus he composed a charming little volume under the title of Pensés sur l’Amour de Dieu, (Thoughts on the Love of God), and later, the one entitled Petit Jardin Céleste, Recueil de Pensées Spirituelles, (The Celestial Garden, Collection of Spiritual Thoughts). These “thoughts” he tells is were inspired by the Little Sisters of the Poor, and were intended for their use. They are simple and touching, and bear the impress of the spirit of God. They are evidently the fruit of prayer and meditation on the Scriptures. We extract a few: “O my God, when shall I be able to read the precept of loving Thee written on my heart by Thy hand? When will it be granted me, O my God, to love Thee without distraction, in the midst of the weariness and crosses of this life?—O my God, since Thou art pleased to call Thyself our Father, how sweet it would be to me to love Thee with filial tenderness and childlike simplicity!— To die in the habit of love, to die in an act of pure love,— what a happy death; but to die from love, would be the accomplishment of all my desires, if it be permitted to a miserable sinner to aspire so high.— The faithful soul is ‘the lily amid thorns.’  The lily thus situated leans neither to one side, nor the other; it remains upright, and unfolds its leaves, and opens its heart only towards heaven, to receive its dew and warmth, lest it should lose a portion of them by bending towards the earth.— The heart the most abandoned to God is the best guarded.— The heart which meditates upon the goodness of God, should either love Him, or cease to be a heart.— My God, Thou art all love; for Thy works breathe love; Thy commandments are love; our vocation is nothing but love. But how few comprehend the language of love! Sacred altar, when I consider thee, when I turn my eyes upon the spot where the tabernacle reposes, I am unable to resist the transports of joy which fill my soul. In contemplating thee, O throne of the Divine Lamb, my heart opens, dilates, liquifies in the fire of love. When wilt thou arrive, O happy moment, in which my adorable Savior will come to repose within it?— Knock at the Heart of Jesus by confidence and love; it will be opened to you, and abundant graces will, thence, flow upon you.”

Such was the devouring zeal which animated this pious layman in the presence of the adorable Face of our Lord. His writings breathe only love, and like his conversations and his prayers, had but one aim, pursued but one object: the glory of God by serving the Church, and saving souls.