to have welcomed me, had not a word of warmth or encouragement for me,
nothing but the coldest indifference, and even repulse.

It occurs to me here to offer an explanation of a failing of which I
have been accused in later years, and that is secrecy and reserve. The
real truth is, that nobody more than myself could desire self-
revelation; but owing to peculiar tendencies in me, and peculiarity of
education, I was always prone to say things in conversation which I
found produced blank silence in the majority of those who listened to
me, and immediate opportunity was taken by my hearers to turn to
something trivial. Hence it came to pass that only when tempted by
unmistakable sympathy could I be induced to express my real self on any
topic of importance.

It is a curious instance of the difficulty of diagnosing (to use a
doctor's word) any spiritual disease, if disease this shyness may be
called. People would ordinarily set it down to self-reliance, with no
healthy need of intercourse. It was nothing of the kind. It was an
excess of communicativeness, an eagerness to show what was most at my
heart, and to ascertain what was at the heart of those to whom I
talked, which made me incapable of mere fencing and trifling, and so
often caused me to retreat into myself when I found absolute absense of
response.

I am also reminded here of a dream which I had in these years of a
perfect friendship. I always felt that, talk with whom I would, I left
something unsaid which was precisely what I most wished to say. I
wanted a friend who would sacrifice himself to me utterly, and to whom
I might offer a similar sacrifice. I found companions for whom I
cared, and who professed to care for me; but I was thirsting for deeper