The loss of his dearest friend was his first real sorrow, and for a long while his heart was utterly darkened; death seemed everywhere. As far back as he could remember, the young man, whose name we are not told, had made part of his life. He had grown up as a child with me, and we had been both school-fellows and playfellows. But he was not yet my friend as afterwards. Kindred studies appear to have brought the two together, and for a time, indeed, Augustine's influence drew his friend away into the adoption of certain false doctrines, and of superstitious fables. Augustine took a deep interest in all these questions, to the great grief of Monica, but she knew it was vain speaking to her son, and had to content herself with praying for him.

Then the young man fell sick of a fever, and for some days lay totally unconscious, till the priest insisted on baptising him in this condition, lest he should die a heathen. Thus it was done, and, to the surprise of all, the unconscious invalid regained his senses, and it seemed as if he was about to recover. Augustine had remained at his bedside throughout his illness, and as soon as he was able to listen, tried to cheer him by making him laugh, and even talked lightly of the baptism his friend had just received, but with a sternness which was quite new, the sick man shrank from him, and bade him cease from such speeches, if they were to remain friends. Filled with astonishment, Augustine obeyed, and feeling quite sure that in a few days the invalid would be well again, left the town on some business. He came back in a week to hear that the fever had returned, and that the man he loved so much had sank under it.

Augustine's account of his feelings at this time reminds us of the break up of another close friendship of the ancient world, the death of Horace's friend, Quintilius. Like the Roman poet, the man who was afterwards to become a great Christian was only conscious that for him life had come utterly to a standstill.

My native country, he tells us, was a torment to me, and my father's house a strange unhappiness: whatever I had shared with him, wanting him became a distracting torture. Mine eyes sought him everywhere, but he was not granted them, and I hated all places, for he was not in them. Well did one, Horace the poet, call his friend, Thou half of my soul, for I felt that my soul and his soul were one soul in two bodies.  Nothing soothed him; neither books nor music nor games. Augustine tried them all, and found them all ghastly. He could not stay at Thagaste, and went back to Carthage.

Here he got on a little better. He had still other friends, though they could never take the place of the one who was gone. But they were sorry for him and were kind to him, and drew him at times away from his grief to talk about books and poetry and the things that were happening around them. He began to write too, on all sorts of subjects, and this, more than anything else, healed his wound.

But his friend's death had not only caused him bitter sorrow, it was gradually working the great change of which there had been faint signs long before. The noise and lack of order among the students of Carthage disgusted and wearied him. What had seemed amusing while he made one of them, was hateful now that he himself was a teacher. He was quite helpless in gaining obedience to any rules, and at last he resolved to leave Carthage and go to Rome, where the young men were not allowed to be lawless.

As soon as Monica was told of her son's resolve she grievously bewailed it. Even on the seashore she clung to him and would not let him go, till he lied to her, saying that he had a friend on board the vessel with whom he had promised to stay till the wind blew fair, and the vessel could sail. Still she would not return to Thagaste, and with much difficulty—and no doubt after many more lies—Augustine persuaded her to sleep in an oratory near the spot where the ship was anchored.

In the morning when she looked out the vessel was gone, notwithstanding her prayers that the winds might be contrary.

After recovering from an illness which seized him on his arrival in Rome, Augustine took a house, and proceeded to look out for pupils who wished to learn rhetoric and the art of public speaking. He soon found, however, that though the students did not commit the particular offences which had driven him from Carthage, they had plenty of faults of their own. One of these was specially inconvenient to a man who had to earn his living, and that was their custom of avoiding the payment of fees due to their master by going in a body, after they had heard a certain number of lectures, to learn of some one else. Glad, therefore, was Augustine to hear that a teacher of rhetoric was wanted in Milan, and he at once applied to Symmachus, the Roman Prefect, to put him through an examination, and if he was found satisfactory, to give him the post.

The test was passed successfully, and Augustine started for Milan, where he was received with great kindness by Ambrose the bishop, himself a famous orator.

As soon as her son was settled in Milan, Monica hastened to join him, and was happy in listening to the sermons of Ambrose, and in sharing in his good works. She still watched anxiously over Augustine, but wisely kept silence on what she saw which made her sad. For ambition still reigned in his heart and ruled his will; he panted after honours and gains; those who do that are seldom satisfied. Two friends he made of whom he was very fond, and one of these, Alypius, was a native of Thagaste, and an old pupil of Augustine's, both there and at Carthage. Alypius loved learning, and had many good qualities; like his master he took a great interest in the doctrines of the heretics called the Manichees, and had a passion for the circus and for the cruel games of the amphitheatre.

It was while Alypius was living at Carthage that an unpleasant adventure befell him.

He was walking one day, about noon, in the market-place, thinking over a speech which he had learned by heart, to repeat to Augustine the next morning. For the young men practised in this way, so as to accustom themselves to public speaking, and in order the better to pretend, as the children do, that he really was pleading at a trial, he paced up and down before the place where the judge sat when hearing causes. He found that he did not remember his words as well as he had thought, and so intent was he in trying to recollect them, that he never noticed a young lawyer with a hatchet in his hand peep stealthily round the corner. The lawyer did not notice Alypius either, as at that moment he happened to be standing in shadow, and no one else was in the market-place; for the sun was fierce, and all were resting.

Silently the thief crept up to the leaden gratings which guarded the wares of the silversmiths, and began to cut through the bars. But the noise he made awoke the jewellers, and they called out to know who was there and what he was doing, which so frightened the thief, that he ran off as fast as he could, dropping the hatchet as he went. The sound of his flying footsteps caused Alypius to look up, and seeing something bright lying on the ground, he approached, and found it was a hatchet.

How came it there? he said to himself, and, lifting it, examined it curiously. While he was doing this, the silversmith's men, who had been sent to discover the reason of the noise, came out of the house, and beholding Alypius with the hatchet in his hand, concluded that he must be the thief, and seized him, crying to the people collected to learn the cause of the disturbance, that they had caught a dangerous robber. Alypius tried to give an explanation, but they would not listen, declaring that he might keep that for the judge.

They were hurrying their prisoner through the streets to the judge's dwelling, when they met with an architect, a man well known in the city, whose duty it was to see that the public buildings were in good order, and glad they were to encounter him, for they were aware that they themselves had long been suspected by him of thefts which had been committed in the market-place.

Perhaps he will believe us at last, they said triumphantly to each other, for we can tell him that we have caught this man redhanded, in the very act, but to their profound surprise, the architect stopped short in front of them:

Alypius! he exclaimed, what do you here, and why are these men holding you? for he knew Alypius well, having often been a fellow guest with him at the house of one of the rulers of Carthage, where they had enjoyed much talk.

I went to examine a hatchet which was lying on the ground in the market-place, answered Alypius, and these men seized me and accused me of trying to break into the shops—yes, and of having heretofore stolen much goods.

Now the architect lived in the same street as the lawyer, and had noted certain strange ways of his, and had long suspected him of being concerned in the robberies of the city. So, taking Alypius by the arm, he bade the rest of the men follow him, which, after much threatening and urging, they agreed to do. In this fashion they went to the dwelling of the lawyer. Here a boy was standing in readiness to show clients in to his master, and the architect, holding the hatchet before him, asked him if he knew whose it was.

It is ours, said the boy, and then the architect put further questions to him, which the boy answered, being aware that he was bound to speak the truth to a man so famous. Thus it was discovered that the thief had taken the boy with him on many of his robberies, and that he had helped to carry the stolen wares home, and to hide them till they could be got rid of. So the real thief was taken and Alypius set free, and he departed gladly, leaving his captors ashamed of their hastiness and their stupidity.

Nebridius, another old friend, followed Augustine to Milan, as well as Alypius, and sought wisdom also, but in spite of their example, their teacher could not give up the sins which were so dear to him, and grieved his mother so much. He wished often to deliver himself from their bondage, but he had been their slave too long for this to be easy, though little by little the study of the Bible, the prayers of his mother, the sermons of Bishop Ambrose, and the talks with his friends, did their work. Again and again his sin seemed hateful to him, and again and again he fell back into it. But at length a day came when he was laid bare to himself and was gnawed within. After a fierce struggle with himself in the garden behind his house, the victory was won. He had conquered the will  to sin and, in company with Alypius, sought his mother, and by his confession turned her mourning into joy.

At this time Augustine was about thirty-two years old, and had great fame as a teacher of rhetoric, but for some months he had been suffering from a pain in his chest, and speaking was difficult to him. It was therefore all the easier to carry out his intention of resigning his professorship and devoting his whole remaining life to the service of God. After bidding farewell to his pupils, who were much grieved to part with him, he retired into the country with Alypius, to prepare for baptism, which they both received at Easter, at the hands of Ambrose himself.

Monica's prayers were answered, and her vision of long ago fulfilled, for where she stood, Augustine stood also. Her life had no further cares, and she was ready to be done with it, when her call came. For a time she had her son with her, and rejoiced to watch him passing his days in writing two books intended to contradict the heresies to which beforetime he had inclined. In the evenings they talked together, and Augustine opened his heart to her, and told her of his desire to sail to Africa, and to preach to those whom he had once led astray.

It is well, my son; I will go with you, she said, and as soon as the books were finished, they set off to Ostia, the port of Rome.

It was a long and tiring journey over the Apennines, and Monica reached Ostia much exhausted. It was needful she should rest a few days before attempting a sea voyage, and they found rooms looking out on a garden, where the noise of the busy seaport did not come to their ears. Here they had many quiet talks, and Augustine learned more in those few hours of his mother's sufferings in his behalf, than during his whole life before. Suddenly, one evening, as they were sitting together, gazing over the sea, she began to shiver. Augustine drew her inside, and closed the lattice, but it was too late. A fever had seized upon her, and she became unconscious. When her senses came back to her she said to Augustine:

Where was I? and then added, Lay my body anywhere; do not disquiet yourself about that. Only remember me at the Lord's altar, wherever you may be.

The ship sailed without them, as on the ninth day Monica died. The grief of Augustine was terrible, for it was mixed with remorse for the years of agony he had caused her. But gradually happier and more peaceful thoughts took possession of him, as he resolved to live as she would have had him do. Then he crossed over to Africa where he was ordained priest, and finally made bishop of the town of Hippo. He spent his time in hard work and in writing many books, among which were his Confessions, from which this story is taken. Forty-three years after his baptism he died at Hippo, encouraging his people to the last to hold out against the Arian Vandals who were besieging the city.