eches, her tenderness, her selfless view of
life, of herself, of everything in all the world save him.

At the Christmas-time of Katrine's last year in Paris, he received a
quaint illumination with the following note of explanation:

MY DEAR UNKNOWN FRIEND,--I have thought this out and printed it,
too. It is not very well done, but I have tried to make it sincere.
Of course I got the idea of making prayers for myself from R.L.S.

I am sending it to you with a heart full of hope that your
Christmas may be a merry one.

Affectionately,
KATRINE DULANY.

He read and reread the printed lines, and finally had them framed and
hung by his bedside, where they were the first thing upon which his eyes
rested in the morning:

"Grant me the ability to do some one thing well.

"Give me sympathy for the suffering of others which has been
brought to them by their own acts.

"Grant that I may have courage for the weak and the friendship of
those who demand the best of my nature.

"Remove all doubts from me that there will be ultimate peace and
happiness for every one.

"Let fear of the consequences of a right act be far from me. Let me
forget the words expediency, convention, and reward.

"Grant me largeness of judgment, and silence for all weakness,
especially that of woman.

"And give me, each day, my daily work, with rest at night under
some friendly stars."

* * * * *

Early in April, after the lonesomest winter of his life, he received the
following letter from his mother, who was still in Paris with Anne
Lennox:

MY DEAR, DEAR CHILD,--I have been going about a great deal, meeting
old friends and making some new ones, which accounts for my not
having written you last week. Anne's house is like a Union Station
for repose and solitude. She has people in to luncheon and dinner
and tea, and I suspect even for the _cafe au lait_ in the mornings.
I enjoy it, however. One is seldom bored, though frequently
exhausted. Why I am writing this dull introduction I cannot say,
for I have more important things to tell.

I have met Katrine Dulany.

Anne and I went to the Countess de Nemours' reception on Friday
night. We were all in a whirl of unfinished sentences when Miss
Dulany entered. I wish you might have seen her, as she came towar