to
prepare himself for it, dragged down volumes of dusty divines, and got
up with much pains Paley's "watch" argument. There was some honesty,
even perhaps a very little love, in his mistaken endeavors; but he did
not recognize that while he himself was unforgiving, unloving, harsh,
and self-indulgent, all his arguments for Christianity were of necessity
null and void. He argued for the existence of a perfectly loving, good
God, all the while treating his son with injustice and tyranny. Of
course there could be only one result from a debate between the
two. Luke Raeburn with his honesty, his great abilities, his gift of
reasoning, above all his thorough earnestness, had the best of it.

To be beaten in argument was naturally the one thing which such a man as
Mr. Raeburn could not forgive. He might in time have learned to tolerate
a difference of opinion, he would beyond a doubt have forgiven almost
any of the failings that he could understand, would have paid his son's
college debts without a murmur, would have overlooked anything connected
with what he considered the necessary process of "sowing his wild oats."
But that the fellow should presume to think out the greatest problems in
the world, should set up his judgment against Paley's, and worst of
all should actually and palpably beat HIM in argument--this was an
unpardonable offense.

A stormy scene ensued. The father, in ungovernable fury, heaped upon the
son every abusive epithet he could think of. Luke Raeburn spoke not a
word; he was strong and self-controlled; moreover, he knew that he had
had the best of the argument. He was human, however, and his heart was
wrung by his father's bitterness. Standing there on that summer day,
in the study of the Scotch parsonage, the man's future was sealed. He
suffered there the loss of all things, but at the very time there sprung
up in him an enthusiasm for the cause of free thought, a passionate,
burning zeal for the opinions for which he suffered, which never left
him, but served as the great moving impulse of his whole subsequent
life.

"I tell you, you are not fit to be in a gentleman's house," thundered
the father. "A rank atheist, a lying infidel! It is against nature that
you should call a parsonage your home."

"It is not particularly home-like," said the son, bitterly. "I can leave
it when you please."

"Can!" exclaimed the father, in a fury, "you WILL leave it, sir, and
this very day too! I disown you from