upon himself,--for repressing natural impulses, not guiding them,
extirpating his passions, not subduing them, and aiming at an
insensibility that can be attained only by the sacrifice of every human
instinct, rather than that serene tranquillity of spirit in which every
passion is recognized as a power for good as well as for evil, and all
are subjected alike to the guidance of a discriminating and
conscientious self-control.

He is in a false position from his first step in life, and strays
farther and farther from the true course to the very end of it. His
hopes and aspirations are all directed to one object, trained to flow in
a dark and narrow channel, on which the sunbeams never play, and which
the pure breath of Nature never visits. His brothers and sisters have a
thousand things to talk about and think about which he has no part in.
If he joins in their games, it is still as the _abbatino_: the formal
small-clothes and narrow neckband and three-cornered hat that contrast
so strongly with their gay dresses are ever present to remind him and
them that they have different paths to travel, and have already entered
upon them. It is a dreary process that education of his, and one that
makes your heart ache to look upon. A rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed boy,
with boyish blood in his veins, running through them quick and warm, and
every now and then making them tingle with some boyish longing that will
out, although he is a priest in miniature and a Pope in prospective. I
never could look at it without thinking of the gardener, in the fulness
of his topiary pride, cutting trees and shrubs into towers and walls,
and every shape but that which Nature designed them for. Clip, clip, go
the long, scythe-like shears, and with every clip down comes a branch
with its thousand songs unsung, or a shoot with its half-blown promise
of spring. Cut away earnestly, patiently. You have your faith to help
you; and though your eyes are of the strongest and keenest, you have