Having briefly stated my opinion, Fellowes said he saw that he and I were as little likely to agree as Harrington and he.  “However,” he continued, turning to his friend, “to go back to the point from which we digressed.  My new faith, at all events, makes me happy, which it is plain—­too plain—­that your want of all faith does not make you.”

“Whether it is your new faith,” said the other, “makes you happy, —­whether you were not as happy in your old faith—­whether there are not thousands of Christians who are as happy with their faith (they would say much happier, and I should say so too, if they not only say they believe it, but believe it and practise it.), I will not inquire; that my want of faith does not make me happy is a sad truth, which I do not think it worth while to deny; though I must confess that there have been many who have shared in my scepticism who have not shared in my misery.  It is just because they have not realized what they did not believe; even as there are thousands of soi-disant Christians who do not realize what they say they do believe; neither the one nor the other are the happier or the more sorrowful for their pretended tenets.  This is simply because they stand in no need of the admirable correctives supplied by your new theology; the present engrosses their solicitudes and affections; and the mere talk of the belief or the no-belief suffices to hush and tranquillize the heart in relation to those most momentous subjects, on which if man has not thought at all, he is a fool indeed.  In either case the ‘future’ and the ‘eternal’ seem so far removed that they seem to be an ’eternal futurity.’  Such parties look at that distant future much as children at the stars; it is a point, an invisible speck, in the firmament.  A sixpence held near the eye appears larger; and brought sufficiently close shuts out the universe altogether.  But let us also forget the future, and have a little talk of the past.”

They resumed their conversation on subjects indifferent as far as this journal is concerned, and I bade them good night.

—–­

July 5.  We were sitting in the library after breakfast.  The two college friends soon fell into chat, while I sat writing at my separate table, but ready to resume my capacity of reporter, should any polemical discussion take place.  I soon had plenty of employment.  After about an hour I heard Harrington say:—­

“But I shall be happy, I assure you, to fill the void whenever you will give me something solid wherewith to fill it.”

It was impossible that even a believer in the doctrine that no “creed” can be taught, and that an “external revelation” is an impossibility, could be insensible to the charm of making a proselyte.

“What is it,” said Fellowes, “that you want?”