CHAPTER XXXV. "Worthy? No, no! Unworthy! most unworthy! But was Thomas worthy to tend the wandering sheep of Him, whom face to face he doubted? Was Peter worthy to preach the Gospel of Him, whom he had thrice indignantly denied? Was Paul worthy to become the Apostle of the Gentiles, teaching the doctrine of Him whose disciples he had persecuted and slaughtered? If the repentance of Peter and Paul availed to purify their hands and hearts, and sanctify them to the service of Christ, ah! God knows my contrition has been bitter and lasting enough to fit me for future usefulness. Eight months ago, when the desire to become a minister seized me so tenaciously, I wrestled with it, tried to crush it; arguing that the knowledge of my past life of sinfulness would prevent the world from trusting my professions. But those who even slightly understand my character, must know that I have always been too utterly indifferent to, too unfortunately contemptuous of public opinion, to stoop to any deception in order to conciliate it. Moreover, the world will realize that in a mere worldly point of view, I can possibly hope to gain nothing by this step. If I were poor, I might be accused of wanting the loaves and fishes of the profession; if unknown and ambitious, of seeking eminence and popularity. But when a man of my wealth and social position, after spending half of his life in luxurious ease and sinful indulgence, voluntarily subjects himself to the rigid abstemiousness and self-sacrificing requirements of a ministerial career, he can not be suspected of hypocrisy. After all, sir, I care not for the discussion, of nine days' gossip and wonder, the gibes and comments my course may occasion. I am hearkening to the counsel of my conscience; I am obeying the dictates of my heart. Feeling that my God accepts me, it matters little that men may reject me. My remorse, my repentance, has been inexpressibly bitter; but the darkness has passed away, and to-day, thank God! I can pray with all the fervor and faith of my boyhood, when I knew that I was at peace with my Maker. Oblivion of the past I do not expect, and perhaps should not desire. I shall always wear my melancholy memories of sin, as Musselmen wear their turban or pall--as a continual memento of death. Because I have proved so fully the inadequacy of earthly enjoyments to satisfy the demands of a soul; because I tried the alluring pleasures of sin, and was satiated, ah! utterly sickened, I turned with panting eagerness to the cool, quiet peace which reigns over the life of a true Christian pastor. I want neither fame nor popularity, but peace! peace I must have! I have hunted the world over and over; I have sought it everywhere else, and now, thank God! I feel that it is descending slowly, slowly, but surely, upon my lonely, long-tortured heart. Thank God! I have found peace after much strife and great weariness--"