ery night for ten days. During
these days I heard him attentively, as I might have listened to any
well-told lecture on any pseudo-science. But my intellect was
unconvinced, my conscience untouched, and Scott gave me up. I attended a
number of services by myself; I was lonely, poor, hopeless, living an
inward life. The subjective became real at times, the objective faded. I
had a little occasional work, and expected some money to reach me early
in the year. But I had no energy, I divided my time between the Free
Library and churches. And it drew on to Christmas.

It was a miserable time of rain, and Christmas Day found me hopeless of
a meal. But by chance I came across a man whom I had fed, and he
returned my hospitality by dining me for fifteen cents at the "What
Cheer House," a well-known poor restaurant in San Francisco. Then
followed some days of more than semi-starvation, and I grew rather
light-headed. The last day of the year dawned and I spent it foodless,
friendless, solitary. But after a long evening's aimless wandering about
the city I came back to California Street, and at ten o'clock went to
the Watch-Night Service in the room of the first preacher I had heard.

The hall was a big square one, capable of seating some three hundred
people. There was a raised platform at the end; a broad passage way all
round the room had seats on both sides of it, and made a small square of
seats in the centre. I sat down in the middle of this middle square, and
the room was soon nearly full. The service began with a hymn. I neither
sang nor rose, and I noticed numbers who did not. In peculiar isolation
of mind my heart warmed to these, and I was conscious of rising
hostility for the creatures of praise. There was one strong young fellow
about three places from me who remained seated. Glancing behind the
backs of those who were standing between us I caught his eye, which met
mine casually and perhaps lightened a little. He had a rather fine face,
intelligent, possibly at better times humorous. I was not so solitary.

A man singing on my left offered me a share of his hymn-book. I declined
courteously. The woman on my right asked me to share hers. That I
declined too. Some asked the young fellow to rise, but he refused
quietly. Yet I noticed some of those who had remained seated gave in to
solicitations or to the sound or to some memory, and rose. Yet many
still remained. They were all men, and most of them young.

After th