ks to catch the divine afflatus at the
Theological Institution, which was supposed to be necessary to enable
me to rescue the perishing as a preacher of the gospel. Then at
the suggestion of the president, who quickly discovered my mental
deficiencies, I was matriculated as a student at another university
founded by the brethren of the same "Hard-shell Persuasion." I was but
a dreamer, in the middle of my teens, dazed by conflicting opinions,
but anxious to walk "_quo dews vocat_."

"Here I stood with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and the river meet,
Manhood and childhood sweet.

"I saw shadows sailing by,
As the dove, with startled eye,
Sees the falcon downward fly.

"To me, a child of many prayers,
Life had quicksands, and many snares,
Foes, and tempters came unawares.

"Oh, let me bear through wrong and ruth,
In my heart the dew of youth,
On my lips the smile of truth."

With this prayer of the poet upon our lips, many of us entered these
"classic halls," hoping to find there in communion with the good and
great of the past and the present, that mental and spiritual "manna"
from heaven which would inspire us to lead ourselves and others to the
sublime heights of heroic endeavor.

CHAPTER VII.

A DISENCHANTED COLLEGIAN-PREACHER.

Previous to my arrival at this ancient seat of learning, founded and
endowed for the perpetuation and propagation of the doctrines of our
denomination, I had never entertained the faintest shadow of doubt as
to the infallibility of our creed; but now all faith in it vanished
like the baseless fabric of a dream. Here at the fountain head of
wisdom, from which streams were supposed to flow for the healing of
the nations, my faith in the beliefs of my ancestors fled, nevermore
to return; here, where lived the great high priests of the sect, I had
expected to find the whole air roseate with divine love and grace, all
souls lifted to sublime heights on the breath of unceasing prayer and
praise.

The disenchantment was appalling; my brothers in Christ, the grave and
reverend professors, were cold as icebergs, evidently caring nothing
for the souls or bodies of their Christian or pagan students; the
preacher at the college church was an ecclesiastical icicle, who,
in his manner at least, continually cried: "_Procul, procul_, oh,
_Profani_!"

The prayer meetings were dead and formal, no enthusiasm; it was like
being in a spiritual refrigerator--with