I am of the opinion that the creed of the Church of the Galileans is not quite so precisely laid down as that of the Church of Saint Polycarp.  Yet I suspect, if one of the good people from each of those churches had met over the bed of a suffering fellow-creature, or for the promotion of any charitable object, they would have found they had more in common than all the special beliefs or want of beliefs that separated them would amount to.  There are always many who believe that the fruits of a tree afford a better test of its condition than a statement of the composts with which it is dressed,—­though the last has its meaning and importance, no doubt.

Between these two churches, then, our young Iris divides her affections.  But I doubt if she listens to the preacher at either with more devotion than she does to her little neighbor when he talks of these matters.

What does he believe?  In the first place, there is some deep-rooted disquiet lying at the bottom of his soul, which makes him very bitter against all kinds of usurpation over the right of private judgment.  Over this seems to lie a certain tenderness for humanity in general, bred out of life-long trial, I should say, but sharply streaked with fiery lines of wrath at various individual acts of wrong, especially if they come in an ecclesiastical shape, and recall to him the days when his mother’s great-grandmother was strangled on Witch Hill, with a text from the Old Testament for her halter.  With all this, he has a boundless belief in the future of this experimental hemisphere, and especially in the destiny of the free thought of its northeastern metropolis.

—­A man can see further, Sir,—­he said one day,—­from the top of Boston State-House, and see more that is worth seeing, than from all the pyramids and turrets and steeples in all the places in the world!  No smoke, Sir; no fog, Sir; and a clean sweep from the Outer Light and the sea beyond it to the New Hampshire mountains!  Yes, Sir,—­and there are great truths that are higher than mountains and broader than seas, that people are looking for from the tops of these hills of ours,—­such as the world never saw, though it might have seen them at Jerusalem, if its eyes had been open!—­Where do they have most crazy people?  Tell me that, Sir!

I answered, that I had heard it said there were more in New England than in most countries, perhaps more than in any part of the world.

Very good.  Sir,—­he answered.—­When have there been most people killed and wounded in the course of this century?

During the wars of the French Empire, no doubt,—­I said.

That’s it! that’s it!—­said the little gentleman;—­where the battle of intelligence is fought, there are most minds bruised and broken!  We’re battling for a faith here, Sir.

The divinity-student remarked, that it was rather late in the world’s history for men to be looking out for a new faith.