ell as in faith; and your Horseherd is on the path of this salvation.
(_I believe that too._)"

With great respect,
Yours very faithfully,
Ignotus Agnosticus.

"

* * * * *

Whilst I received this and many other letters from many lands, no sign of
life reached me from my Horseherd. He must have received my letter, or it
would have been returned to me through the post. I regretted this, for I
had formed a liking for the man as he appeared in his letter, and he no
doubt would have had much to say in reply to my letter, which would have
placed his views in a clearer light. He was an honest fellow, and I
respect every conviction that is honest and sincere, even if it is
diametrically opposite to my own. Now, my unknown friend could have had no
thought of self in the matter. He knew that his name would not be
mentioned by me, and it would probably have been of little concern to him
if his name had become known. The worst feature of all discussions is the
intrusion of the personal element. If for instance in a criticism of a new
book we emphasise that which we think erroneous, for which every author
should be grateful, we feel at the same time, that while desiring to
render a service to the cause of truth, we may not only have hurt the book
or the writer, but may have done a positive injury. The writer then feels
himself impelled to defend his view not only with all the legitimate arts
of advocacy, but also with the illegitimate. This poor truth is the
greatest sufferer. As long as two paths are open, there is room for quiet
discussion with one's travelling companion as to which may be the right
and best path by which to reach the desired point. Both parties have the
same object in view, the truth. As soon however as one goes, or has gone
his own way, the controversy becomes personal and violent. There is no
thought of turning back. It is no longer said: "This is the wrong path,"
but "You are on the wrong path," and even if it were possible to turn
back, the controversy generally ends with, "I told you so." Poor Truth
stands by sorrowfully and rubs its eyes.

Now what was the Horseherd to me, and what is he now, even if he has been
brought to what he called a joyful end by his catarrh "verging upon a
perfect asthma." There was nothing personal between us. He knew me only by
that which I have thought and said; I knew of him on