the naturalistic assertions he had made so glibly, asking myself again and again how it was that the religion to which I so vainly clung had no greater effect on my actions and on my will, had not prevented me from lapses into degradation.  And I hated myself for having argued upon a subject that was still sacred.  I believed in Christ, which is to say that I believed that in some inscrutable manner he existed, continued to dominate the world and had suffered on my account.

To whom should I go now for a confirmation of my wavering beliefs?  One of the results—­it will be remembered of religion as I was taught it was a pernicious shyness, and even though I had found a mentor and confessor, I might have hesitated to unburden myself.  This would be different from arguing with Ralph Hambleton.  In my predicament, as I was wandering through the yard, I came across a notice of an evening talk to students in Holder Chapel, by a clergyman named Phillips Brooks.  This was before the time, let me say in passing, when his sermons at Harvard were attended by crowds of undergraduates.  Well, I stood staring at the notice, debating whether I should go, trying to screw up my courage; for I recognized clearly that such a step, if it were to be of any value, must mean a distinct departure from my present mode of life; and I recall thinking with a certain revulsion that I should have to “turn good.”  My presence at the meeting would be known the next day to all my friends, for the idea of attending a religious gathering when one was not forced to do so by the authorities was unheard of in our set.  I should be classed with the despised “pious ones” who did such things regularly.  I shrank from the ridicule.  I had, however, heard of Mr. Brooks from Ned Symonds, who was by no means of the pious type, and whose parents attended Mr. Brooks’s church in Boston....  I left my decision in abeyance.  But when evening came I stole away from the club table, on the plea of an engagement, and made my way rapidly toward Holder Chapel.  I had almost reached it—­when I caught a glimpse of Symonds and of some others approaching,—­and I went on, to turn again.  By this time the meeting, which was in a room on the second floor, had already begun.  Palpitating, I climbed the steps; the door of the room was slightly ajar; I looked in; I recall a distinct sensation of surprise,—­the atmosphere of that meeting was so different from what I had expected.  Not a “pious” atmosphere at all!  I saw a very tall and heavy gentleman, dressed in black, who sat, wholly at ease, on the table!  One hand was in his pocket, one foot swung clear of the ground; and he was not preaching, but talking in an easy, conversational tone to some forty young men who sat intent on his words.  I was too excited to listen to what he was saying, I was making a vain attempt to classify him.  But I remember the thought, for it struck me with force,—­that if Christianity were so thoroughly discredited by evolution, as Ralph Hambleton and other agnostics would have one believe, why should this remarkably sane and able-looking person be standing up for it as though it were still an established and incontrovertible fact?