are aware were ever afflicting my mind at an increasingly rapid rate.  I have quite made up my mind not to accept the grade of sub-deacon at the next ordination.  This will not excite any notice, as owing to my age, I should be compelled to allow a certain interval to elapse between my different orders.  Nor, for the matter of that, is there any reason why I should care for what people think.  I must accustom myself to brave public opinion, so as to be ready for any sacrifice.  I suffer much at times.  This Holy Week, for instance, has been particularly painful for me, for every incident which bears me away from my ordinary life, revives all my anxious doubts.  I console myself by thinking of Jesus, so beautiful, so pure, so ideal in His suffering—­Jesus whom I hope to love always.  Even if I should ever abandon Him, that would give Him pleasure, for it would be a sacrifice made to my conscience, and God knows that it would be a costly one!  I think that you, at all events, would understand how costly it would be.  How little freedom of choice man has in the ordering of his destiny.  When no more than a child who acts from impulse and the sense of imitation, one is called upon to stake one’s whole existence; a higher power entangles you in indissoluble toils; this power pursues its work in silence, and before you have begun to know your own self, you are tied and bound, you know not how.  When you reach a certain age, you wake up and would like to move.  But it is impossible; your hands and arms are caught in inextricable folds.  It is God Himself who holds you fast, and remorseless opinion is looking on, ready to laugh if you signify that you are tired of the toys which amused you as a child.  It would be nothing if there was only public opinion to brave.  But the pity is that all the softest ties of your life are woven into the web that entangles you, and you must pluck out one-half of your heart if you would escape from it.  Many a time I have wished that man was born either completely free, or deprived of all freedom.  He would not be so much to be pitied if he was born like the plant family, fixed to the soil which is to give it nourishment.  With the dole of liberty allowed to him, he is strong enough to resist, but not strong enough to act; he has just what is required to make him unhappy.  ’My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?’ How is all this to be reconciled with the sway of a father?  There are mysteries in all this, and happy is he who fathoms them only in speculation.

“It is only because you are so true a friend that I tell you all this.  I have no need to ask you to keep it to yourself.  You will understand that I must be very circumspect with regard to my mother.  I would rather die than cause her a moment’s pain.  O God! shall I have the strength of mind to give my duty the preference over her?  I commend her to you; she is very pleased with your attentiveness to her.  This is the most real kindness you can do me.”