“On the contrary,” I said, “I think that in the sense in which Lucretius intended that the lines should be taken, they contain a great deal of truth.  He had seen the basest and foullest crimes spring from that which he calls Relligio, and he had a full right to state that fact.  I am not aware that one blasphemes the Catholic and Apostolic Faith by saying that the devilries of the Spanish Inquisition were the direct offspring of that ‘religious sentiment’ which Mr. Windrush’s school-though they are at all events right in saying that its source is in man himself, and not in the ’regionibus Coeli’-are now glorifying, as something which enables man to save his own soul without the interference of ’The Deity’-indeed, whether ‘The Deity’ chooses or not.”

“Do leave these poor Emersonians alone for a few minutes, and tell me how you can reconcile what you have just said with your own dialogue.”

“Why not?”

“Is not Lucretius glorying in the notion that the gods do not trouble themselves with mortals, while you have been asserting that ‘The Deity’ troubles Himself even with the souls of heathens?”

“Certainly.  But that is quite a distinct matter from his dislike of what he calls Relligio.  In that dislike I can sympathise fully:  but on his method of escape Mr. Windrush will probably look with more complaisance than I do, who call it by the ugly name of Atheism.”

“Then I fear you would call me an Atheist, if you knew all.  So we had better say no more about it.”

“A most curious speech, certainly, to make to a parson, or soul-curer by profession!”

“Why, what on earth have you to do but to abhor and flee me?” asked he, with a laugh, though by no means a merry one.

“Would your having a headache be a reason for the medical man’s running away from you, or coming to visit you?”

“Ah, but this, you know, is my ‘fault,’ and my ‘crime,’ and my ‘sin.’  Eh?” and he laughed again.

“Would the doctor visit you the less, because it was your own fault that your head ached?”

“Ah, but suppose I professed openly no faith in his powers of curing, and had a great hankering after unaccredited Homoeopathies, like Mr. Windrush’s; would not that be a fair cause for interdiction from fire and water, sacraments and Christian burial?”

“Come, come, Templeton,” I said; “you shall not thus jest away serious thoughts with an old friend.  I know you are ill at ease.  Why not talk over the matter with me fairly and soberly?  How do you know till you have tried, whether I can help you or not?”

“Because I know that your arguments will have no force with me; they will demand of me or assume in me, certain faculties, sentiments, notions, experiences-call them what you like; I am beginning to suspect sometimes with Cabanis that they are ’a product of the small intestines’-which I never have had, and never could make myself have, and now don’t care whether I have them or not.”