rtured at
night by the various painful feelings and conditions connected even with
convalescence from disease, my restrictions rose before me as a specially
heavy misfortune. My whole being rebelled against my sufferings, and--why
should I conceal it?--burning tears drenched my pillows after many a
happy day. At the time I was obliged to part from Nenny this often
happened. Goethe's "He who never mournful nights" I learned to understand
in the years when the beaker of life foams most impetuously for others.
But I had learned from my mother to bear my sorest griefs alone, and my
natural cheerfulness aided me to win the victory in the strife against
the powers of melancholy. I found it most easy to master every painful
emotion by recalling the many things for which I had cause to be
grateful, and sometimes an hour of the fiercest struggle and deepest
grief closed with the conviction that I was more blessed than many
thousands of my fellow-mortals, and still a "favourite of Fortune." The
same feeling steeled my patience and helped to keep hope green and
sustain my pleasure in existence when, long after, a return of the same
disease, accompanied with severe suffering, which I had been spared in
youth, snatched me from earnest, beloved, and, I may assume, successful
labour.

The younger generation may be told once more how effective a consolation
man possesses--no matter what troubles may oppress him--in gratitude. The
search for everything which might be worthy of thankfulness undoubtedly
leads to that connection with God which is religion.

When I went to Berlin in winter, harder work, many friends, and
especially my Polish fellow-student, Mieczyslaw helped me bear my burden
patiently.

He was well, free, highly gifted, keenly interested in science, and made
rapid progress. Though secure from all external cares, a worm was gnawing
at his heart which gave him no rest night or day--the misery of his
native land and his family, and the passionate longing to avenge it on
the oppressor of the nation. His father had sacrificed the larger portion
of his great fortune to the cause of Poland, and, succumbing to the most
cruel persecutions, urged his sons, in their turn, to sacrifice
everything for their native land. They were ready except one brother, who
wielded his sword in the service of the oppressor, and thus became to the
others a dreaded and despised enemy.

Mieczyslaw remained in Berlin raging against himself because, a