Beloved Teacher:

What precedes will tell you where I am. You told me the last time I
saw you, that if ever I redeemed myself, you would be glad to hear from
me. I believe you, and hence I write.

I can never commit to paper all that I have to say to you; words spoken
face to face can only tell what is in my heart; but neither the written
nor the spoken word can convey to you a tithe of the gratitude I feel
for all that you have done for me.

As I look back I can hardly understand how you ever bore with me as you
did, with me who abused you to such unbounded lengths. Nevertheless,
the more I fail to understand this, the more thankful I am to you.

I am sure you will care to know something of my career in the past ten
years, and I briefly relate the principal items of interest.

And first, let me say, I have entirely quit the use of liquor. From
the day when you left me in the car, limp as a whipped dog, to this
very hour, I have not tasted intoxicating drink. I mention this first,
because a breaking away from that habit was the first step toward a
better life. Had I not stopped there, short off, I know that all hope
of further reformation would have been vain. A drunkard has nothing,
absolutely nothing, on which to build a new life, so long as he
continues to be a slave to drink.

But with the abandonment of this vice, I began to change my other
habits, and by degrees I have gained a mastery over them. It has been
a long, hard fight, and I am well aware that there are battles yet to