"It is, indeed," he replied. "Would he had written his life as fairly!"

"Read it, father," said Nathalie.

"No, but I'll read you a detached passage here and there," he answered,
after a pause. "The rest you may read yourself some time, if you wish.
It is painful to me. Here's the beginning:--

"'_My Dear Charles Renton:--Adieu, and adieu. It is Christmas eve, and
I am going home. I am soon to exhale from my flesh, like the spirit
of a broken flower. Exultemus forever!_'

* * * * *

"It is very wild. His mind was in a fever-craze. Here is a passage that
seems to refer to his own experience of life:--

"'_Your friendship was dear to me. I give you true love. Stocks and
returns. You are rich, but I did not wish to be your bounty's pauper.
Could I beg? I had my work to do for the world, but oh! the world has
no place for souls that can only love and suffer. How many miles to
Babylon? Threescore and ten. Not so far--not near so far! Ask
starvelings--they know.

* * * * *

I wanted to do the world good, and the world has killed me, Charles._'"

* * * * *