dismayed!

"A pretty conversion I have made of it!" I exclaimed; "yet God is my
witness that my motives were pure. I have done nothing to merit an
attack like this. But patience! I am once more undeceived. I am
not called upon to do more."

In a few days I became less angry, and conceived that all this
bitterness might have resulted from some excitement which might pass
away. Probably he repents, yet scorns to confess he was in the
wrong. In such a state of mind, it might be generous of me to write
to him once more. It cost my self-love something, but I did it. To
humble one's self for a good purpose is not degrading, with whatever
degree of unjust contempt it may be returned.

I received a reply less violent, but not less insulting. The
implacable patient declared that he admired what he called my
evangelical moderation. "Now, therefore," he continued, "let us
resume our correspondence, but let us speak out. We do not like
each other, but we will write, each for his own amusement, setting
everything down which may come into our heads. You will tell me
your seraphic visions and revelations, and I will treat you with my
profane adventures; you again will run into ecstasies upon the
dignity of man, yea, and of woman; I into an ingenuous narrative of
my various profanations; I hoping to make a convert of you, and you
of me.

"Give me an answer should you approve these conditions."

I replied, "Yours is not a compact, but a jest. I was full of good-