much for a strong man with all the aids that philosophy can give him.
But when we see one in the first flush of youth, wholly innocent, yet
turning his footsteps to the great desert to get away from the scorn of
lovers and friends, and when we realize that this which he dreads must
continue to the last hour of his life, there is to my mind a ghastliness
about it as if it were seen in the light of the pit which is bottomless.
I have not recovered, and can never recover, from that experience. You
will infer, however, that I did not remain in just the condition of mind
which I have endeavored to describe. He whom I had blasphemed came to
me, and I was penitent. The teachings of good Father Michael at our
home, the doctrines of our Church, and the examples of the blessed
saints, were my salvation. Then I felt that I would dwell alone with
God. And there was something grand about that, and very noble. The
purest joy of life is possible in such an experience. Yet it is not
enough, especially in youth. But I think I should have continued in that
frame of mind had it not been for you and Ralph. How you two came to me
and besought my friendship I need not remind you. Neither need I say how
my pride yielded; and if there was anything to forgive I forgave it, and
felt the light of friendship, which had been withdrawn from my inner
world, come back with a joy that has increased as it has continued.

"Coming to this city of 'brotherly love,' I begin my life anew, and at
the very threshold a painful question meets me. No faces are averted, no
one suspects my social standing. A thrill of kindness is in every voice.
What can I do? Must I advertise myself as smitten with a plague? I dare
not tell you of the favors that society bestows upon me. It is but
little more than a month since I came to Philadelphia, and during that
short period I have in some strange way become popular. My sincere
effort politely to avoid society seems only to have resulted in
precipitating a shower of invitations upon me. Evidently the fact that I