I found recorded some Revivalist Mission Services, which were then held in Cambridge with great success.  I at once concluded that he underwent some remarkable spiritual experience, some religious fright, some so-called conversion, the effects of which only gradually disappeared.  The contagion of a Revivalist meeting is a very mysterious thing.  Like a man going to a mesmerist, an individual may go, announcing his firm intention not to be influenced in the smallest degree by anything said or done.  Nay more, he may think himself, and have the reputation of being, a strong, unyielding character, and yet these are the very men who are often most hopelessly mesmerized, the very men whom the Revival most absolutely—­for the occasion—­enslaves.  And thus, knowing that one could form no prima facie judgments on the probabilities in such a matter, I came to the conclusion that he had fallen, in some degree, under the influence of these meetings.

But in revising this book, and carefully recalling my own and studying others’ impressions, I came to the conclusion that it was impossible that this should be the case.

1.  In the first place, he was more free than any man I ever saw from the influence of contagious emotions; he dissembled his own emotions, and contemned the public display of them in other people.

2.  He had, I remember, a strange repugnance, even abhorrence, to public meetings in the later days at Cambridge.  I can now recall that he would accompany people to the door, but never be induced to enter.  A passage which I will quote from one of his letters illustrates this.

“The presence of a large number of people has a strange, repulsive physical effect on me.  I feel crushed and overwhelmed, not stimulated and vivified, as is so often described.  I can’t listen to a concert comfortably if there is a great throng, unless the music is so good as to wrap one altogether away.  There is undoubtedly a force abroad among large masses of people, the force which forms the basis of the principle of public prayer, and I am conscious of it too, only it distresses me; moreover, the worst and most afflicting nightmare I have is the sensation of standing sightless and motionless, but with all the other senses alert and apprehensive, in the presence of a vast and hostile crowd.”

3.  He never showed the least sign of being influenced in the direction of spiritual or even religious life by this crisis.  He certainly spoke very little at all for some time to any one on any subject; he was distrait and absent-minded in society—­for the alteration was much observed from its suddenness—­but when he gradually began to converse as usual, he did not, as is so often the case in similar circumstances, do what is called “bearing witness to the truth.”  His attitude toward all enthusiastic forms of religion had been one, in old days, of good-natured, even amused tolerance.  He was now not so good-natured in his criticisms, and less sparing of them, though his religious-mindedness, his seriousness, was undoubtedly increased by the experience, whatever it was.