And the kindly eyes of my brethren _did_ revive me, and the joy of meeting again _did_ scare away the inworn pain of servitude; but before long the feeling returned with redoubled force. Dishonouring marks of reverence awoke me from my short-lived dream. An aged man approached, well-known to me, and dear from boyish years. I extended my hand to him--he fain would kiss it, the aged man! Is it not sufficient, I exclaimed within myself, that _I_ should be a slave? Must I also be a tool to work the degradation of my fellow-men! O Rome, thou hast mixed poison in thy consecrated oil, to kill the dignity of man. I was regarded by all with timidity and reserve, as if I had all at once become a higher, a superhuman being! And how? By the fiat of the Pope? Oh, not a more exalted being; but a slave, who, by the practice of holy hypocritical pretence, was intended to deceive his fellow-citizens! So passed the first period, in dead stupefaction of soul, while I, adorned like a victim, was installed in the ceremonial service of the Romish Church. The thought of my father and my family, the prejudices of the Catholic world, which must believe, and for the most part _does_ believe, in the eternal duration of the Roman bondage (called a Church,) paralzyed my spirit and my character. And yet, amid my fetters, there survived still _somewhat_ to uphold me; a presentiment that my chains would break; a feeble ray of light illumining the dreary, and seemingly eternal darkness of my prison. But _when and how_ should they be broken? I was now to be occupied in the cure of souls, the pulpit and the school attracted me--through them will I labour, thought I, my position may perhaps improve. So I went to Grottkau, whither I was called in March 1841. MY OFFICE.