I was one of the three in our hall who resisted all efforts at conversion. The next morning a group of convertees knelt and prayed for me, in front of my door ... that God might soften the hardness of my heart and show me the Light. For two weeks the flame of the revival burned. Some were of the opinion that from the school this time a fire would go forth and sweep the world.... There were prayer-meetings, prayer-meetings, prayer-meetings ... between classes, during study-periods, at every odd minute of time to be snatched. Though, my preceding summer, my chief pastime had been to argue against the Bible, all this praying and mental pressure was bound to have an influence on my imaginative nature.... Besides, the temptation toward hypocrisy was enormous. The school was honeycombed with holy spies who imputed it merit to report the laxity of others. And, once you professed open belief, everything immediately grew easy and smooth--even to the winning of scholarships there, and, on graduation, in the chief colleges of the land. So, suddenly, I took to testifying at prayer meetings, half believing I meant it, half because of the advantages being a professed Christian offered. And the leaders sang and rejoiced doubly in the Lord over the signal conversion of so hard and obdurate a sinner as I. * * * * * One day, as I was marching in line from the chapel, a queer thing took place.... One of the boys whom I could not identify hissed, "Go on, you hypocrite!" at me. * * * * * In a few weeks the pendulum swung as far to the other extreme. My hypocrisy made me sick of living in my own body with myself. I threw off the transient cloak of assumed belief. Once more I attacked the stupidity of belief in a six-day God, inventor of an impossible paradise, an equally impossible hell. * * * * * In the early spring I left school before the term was over, impatient, restless, at odds with the faculty ... Stanton termed it "under a cloud." I had my eyes set on another ideal. * * * * * Down in the mosquito-infested pine woods of New Jersey Stephen Barton had located. Barton was possessed with the dream of making the men and women of the world physically perfect--a harking back to the old Greeks with their worship of the perfection of bodily beauty and health. I had long been a reader of his magazines, a follower of his cult, and, now that I heard of his planning to build a city out in the open country, where people could congregate who wished to live according to his teachings, I enrolled myself ardently as one of his first followers and disciples....