My father wrote and published a defence of us, entitled _To Think or not to Think_, with two noble mottoes, one from Milton’s _Areopagitica_ and the other some lines from _In Memoriam_, which was read in those days by people who were not sentimental fools, and who, strange to say, got out of it something solid which was worth having. The days may return when something worth having will be got out of it again. To the question, “Will you explain the mode in which you conceive the sacred writers to have been influenced?” my father replied—“Rather a profound question, that. A profounder, I venture to say, never agitated the mind of a German metaphysician. If the query had been put to me, I should have taken the liberty to question the questioner thus: ‘Can you explain to me the growth of a tree? Can you explain how the will of man influences the material muscles?—In fact the universe is full of forces or influences. Can you trace whence it came and how it came? Can’st thou by searching find out God? Can’st thou find out the Almighty unto perfection?—it is high as heaven; what can’st thou do? deeper than hell; what can’st thou know?’” To the council’s inquiry whether we believed a statement because it was in the Bible or because it was true, my father replied partly with a quotation from the celebrated Platonist divine, John Smith, of Cambridge—“All that knowledge which is separate from an inward acquaintance with virtue and goodness is of a far different nature from that which ariseth out of a living sense of them which is the best discerner thereof, and by which alone we know the true perfection, sweetness, energy, and loveliness of them, and all that which is οὔτε ῥητόν, οὔτε yραπτόν, that which can no more be known by a naked demonstration than colours can be perceived of a blind man by any definition or description which he can hear of them.” This pamphlet was written in 1852, three years after I entered Cheshunt College, when my father declared to me that “a moderate Calvinism suited him best”. In 1852 he was forty-five years old. He had not hardened: he was alive, rejecting what was dead, laying hold of what was true to him, and living by it. Nor was the change hurried or ill-considered which took place in him between 1849 and 1852. What he became in 1852 he was substantially to the end of his days. The expulsion excited some notice in the world then, although, as I have said, the controversy was without much significance. The “views” of Dr. Harris and the rest of the council were already condemned. Here are some letters, not before printed, from Maurice and Kingsley on the case. The closing paragraph of Maurice’s letter is remarkable because in about a twelvemonth he himself was expelled from King’s College. “MY DEAR SIR, “I beg to thank you for your very able and interesting pamphlet. I know one of the expelled students, and have every reason to think highly of his earnestness and truthfulness.