conscience, which He has given us as a special organ for feeling our
way through the gloom of the world. That I found no peace in these
views I need not say. Many an hour have I spent in disconsolate
depression, thinking that my existence and that of others is
purposeless and unprofitable--perchance only a casual product of
creation, coming and going like dust from rolling wheels.

About four years ago I came into close companionship, for the first
time since my school-days, with Moritz Blankenburg, and found in him,
what I had never had till then in my life, a friend; but the warm zeal
of his love strove in vain to give me by persuasion and discussion
what I lacked--faith. But through Moritz I made acquaintance with the
Triglaf family and the social circle around it, and found in it people
who made me ashamed that, with the scanty light of my understanding, I
had undertaken to investigate things which such superior intellects
accepted as true and holy with childlike trust. I saw that the members
of this circle were, in their outward life, almost perfect models of
what I wished to be. That confidence and peace dwelt in them did not
surprise me, for I had never doubted that these were companions of
belief; but belief cannot be had for the asking, and I thought I must
wait submissively to see whether it would come to me. I soon felt at
home in that circle, and was conscious of a satisfaction that I had
not before experienced--a family life that included me, almost a home.

I was meanwhile brought into contact with certain events in which I
was not an active participant, and which, as other people's secrets, I
cannot communicate to you, but which stirred me deeply. Their
practical result was that the consciousness of the shallowness and
worthlessness of my aim in life became more vivid than ever. Through
the advice of others, and through my own impulse, I was brought to the