and when we realize that this which he dreads must continue to the last hour of his life, there is to my mind a ghastliness about it as if it were seen in the light of the pit which is bottomless.  I have not recovered, and can never recover, from that experience.  You will infer, however, that I did not remain in just the condition of mind which I have endeavored to describe.  He whom I had blasphemed came to me, and I was penitent.  The teachings of good Father Michael at our home, the doctrines of our Church, and the examples of the blessed saints, were my salvation.  Then I felt that I would dwell alone with God.  And there was something grand about that, and very noble.  The purest joy of life is possible in such an experience.  Yet it is not enough, especially in youth.  But I think I should have continued in that frame of mind had it not been for you and Ralph.  How you two came to me and besought my friendship I need not remind you.  Neither need I say how my pride yielded; and if there was anything to forgive I forgave it, and felt the light of friendship, which had been withdrawn from my inner world, come back with a joy that has increased as it has continued.

“Coming to this city of ‘brotherly love,’ I begin my life anew, and at the very threshold a painful question meets me.  No faces are averted, no one suspects my social standing.  A thrill of kindness is in every voice.  What can I do?  Must I advertise myself as smitten with a plague?  I dare not tell you of the favors that society bestows upon me.  It is but little more than a month since I came to Philadelphia, and during that short period I have in some strange way become popular.  My sincere effort politely to avoid society seems only to have resulted in precipitating a shower of invitations upon me.  Evidently the fact that I am tinged with African blood is wholly unsuspected.  You understand, I think, how I gained this place as teacher in the school.  It was through the interposition of Father Michael and certain powerful Protestant friends of his who are unknown to me.  It was not my own doing, and I do not feel that I am to blame.  But I will frankly tell you that it seems to me cowardly to go forward under false colors.  One thing I am resolved upon,—­I will never be ashamed of my dear mother.  Where I go she shall go, and she shall come here if she is inclined to do so.  As you have never seen her, I may say that she is regarded as dark for an octoroon, and with her presence no explanation will be necessary.  But ought I to wait for that?  She may not choose to come.  How can I best be an honest man?  It seems silly, and it would be ridiculous, to give out generally here as a matter for the public that I am the son of a negro woman.  Yet I think it must come to that in some way.  What shall I do?”