Miller's people were strong Methodists, and Tom had known little
of dogmas. This doctrine of predestination, including infant
damnation--some born to glory and others to the opposite--appalled
him. To my astonishment I learned that, going to Mr. McMillan after
the sermon to talk over the matter, Tom had blurted out at the finish,

"Mr. McMillan, if your idea were correct, your God would be a perfect
devil," and left the astonished minister to himself.

This formed the subject of our Sunday afternoon conferences for many a
week. Was that true or not, and what was to be the consequence of
Tom's declaration? Should we no longer be welcome guests of Mrs.
McMillan? We could have spared the minister, perhaps, but none of us
relished the idea of banishment from his wife's delightful reunions.
There was one point clear. Carlyle's struggles over these matters had
impressed us and we could follow him in his resolve: "If it be
incredible, in God's name let it be discredited." It was only the
truth that could make us free, and the truth, the whole truth, we
should pursue.

Once introduced, of course, the subject remained with us, and one
after the other the dogmas were voted down as the mistaken ideas of
men of a less enlightened age. I forget who first started us with a
second axiom. It was one we often dwelt upon: "A forgiving God would
be the noblest work of man." We accepted as proven that each stage of
civilization creates its own God, and that as man ascends and becomes
better his conception of the Unknown likewise improves. Thereafter we
all became less theological, but I am sure more truly religious. The
crisis passed. Happily we were not excluded from Mrs. McMillan's
society. It was a notable day, however, when we resolved to stand by
Miller's statement, even if it involved banishment and worse. We young
men were getting to be pretty wild boys about theology, although more
truly reverent about religion.

The first great loss to our circle came when John Phipps was killed by
a fall from a horse. This struck home to all of us, yet I remember I
could then say to myself: "John has, as it were, just gone home to
England where he was born. We are all to follow him soon and live
forever together." I had then no doubts. It was not a hope I was
pressing to my heart, but a certainty. Happy those who in their agony
have such a refuge. We should all take Plato's advice and never give
up everlasting hope, "alluring ourselves as wit