At the time our narrative commences Louis was seriously meditating
his flight from home and the world to bury himself in some cloister
of religion. His studies of philosophy and history had convinced
him of the immortality of the soul and the vanity of all human
greatness. In his frequent meditations he became more and more
attracted towards the only lasting, imperishable Good which the soul
will one day find in its possession. "Made for God!" he would say to
himself, "my soul is borne with an impetuous impulse towards him; like
the dove sent from the ark, it floats over the vast waters, and seeks
in vain a resting place for its wearied wing; it must return again to
the ark."

The history of the great ones of the world produced a deep impression
on Louis' mind. Emblazoned on the annals of the past he read the
names of great men who played their part for a brief hour on the stage
of life. They grasped for a moment the gilded bubble of wealth, of
glory, and power; but scarcely had they raised the cup of joy to their
lips when it was dashed from them by some stroke of misfortune or
death. The pageant of pride, the tinsel of glory, were not more
lasting than the fantastic castles that are built in the luminous
clouds that hang around the sunset.

At college Louis was called on with his companions to write a thesis
on the downfall of Marius. Nothing more congenial to his convictions
or more encouraging to the deep resolution growing in his heart could
be selected. The picture he drew from the sad history of the
conqueror of the Cimbri was long remembered among his school companions.

Marius was seven times Consul of Rome; in the hapless day of his