LOSS AND GAIN:THE STORY OF A CONVERT. 

BYJOHN HENRY NEWMAN, OF THE ORATORY. 

ADHUC MODICUM ALIQUANTULUM, QUI VENTURUS EST, VENIET, ET NON TARDABIT. JUSTUS AUTEM MEUS EX FIDE VIVIT. 

Eighth Edition. 

LONDON: BURNS AND OATES. 1881. 

TO THE VERY REV. CHARLES W. RUSSELL, D. D. , PRESIDENT OF ST. PATRICK'S COLLEGE, MAYNOOTH, &c. &c. 

My dear Dr. Russell, --Now that at length I take the step of printing myname in the Title-Page of this Volume, I trust I shall not beencroaching on the kindness you have so long shown to me, if I ventureto follow it up by placing yours in the page which comes next, thusassociating myself with you, and recommending myself to my readers bythe association. 

Not that I am dreaming of bringing down upon you, in whole or part, thecriticisms, just or unjust, which lie against a literary attempt whichhas in some quarters been thought out of keeping with my antecedents andmy position; but the warm and sympathetic interest which you took inOxford matters thirty years ago, and the benefits which I derivedpersonally from that interest, are reasons why I am desirous ofprefixing your name to a Tale, which, whatever its faults, at least is amore intelligible and exact representation of the thoughts, sentiments, and aspirations, then and there prevailing, than was to be found in theanti-Catholic pamphlets, charges, sermons, reviews, and story-books ofthe day. 

These reasons, too, must be my apology, should I seem to be asking youracceptance of a Volume, which, over and above its intrinsic defects, is, in its very subject and style, hardly commensurate with the theologicalreputation and the ecclesiastical station of the person to whom it ispresented. 

 I am, my dear Dr. Russell, Your affectionate friend, JOHN H. NEWMAN. 

THE ORATORY, _Feb. 21, 1874_. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The following tale is not intended as a work of controversy in behalf ofthe Catholic Religion; but as a description of what is understood byfew, viz. The course of thought and state of mind, --or rather one suchcourse and state, --which issues in conviction of its Divine origin. 

Nor is it founded on fact, to use the common phrase. It is not thehistory of any individual mind among the recent converts to the CatholicChurch. The principal characters are imaginary; and the writer wishes todisclaim personal allusion in any. It is with this view that he hasfeigned ecclesiastical bodies and places, to avoid the chance, whichmight otherwise occur, of unintentionally suggesting to the reader realindividuals, who were far from his thoughts. 

At the same time, free use has been made of sayings and doings whichwere characteristic of the time and place in which the scene is laid. And, moreover, when, as in a tale, a general truth or fact is exhibitedin individual specimens of it, it is impossible that the idealrepresentation should not more or less coincide, in spite of theauthor's endeavour, or even without his recognition, with its existinginstances or champions. 

It must also be added, to prevent a farther misconception, that noproper representative is intended in this tale, of the religiousopinions which had lately so much influence in the University of Oxford. 

_Feb. 21, 1848. _

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SIXTH EDITION. 

A tale, directed against the Oxford converts to the Catholic Faith, wassent from England to the author of this Volume in the summer of 1847, when he was resident at Santa Croce in Rome. Its contents were aswantonly and preposterously fanciful, as they were injurious to thosewhose motives and actions it professed to represent; but a formalcriticism or grave notice of it seemed to him out of place. 

The suitable answer lay rather in the publication of a second tale;drawn up with a stricter regard to truth and probability, and with atleast some personal knowledge of Oxford, and some perception of thevarious aspects of the religious phenomenon, which the work in questionhandled so rudely and so unskilfully. 

Especially was he desirous of dissipating the fog of pomposity andsolemn pretence, which its writer had thrown around the personagesintroduced into it, by showing, as in a specimen, that those who weresmitten with love of the Catholic Church, were nevertheless as able towrite common-sense prose as other men. 

Under these circumstances "Loss and Gain" was given to the public. 

_Feb. 21, 1874. _

LOSS AND GAIN. 

Part I. 

CHAPTER I. 

Charles Reding was the only son of a clergyman, who was in possession ofa valuable benefice in a midland county. His father intended him fororders, and sent him at a proper age to a public school. He had longrevolved in his mind the respective advantages and disadvantages ofpublic and private education, and had decided in favour of the former. "Seclusion, " he said, "is no security for virtue. There is no tellingwhat is in a boy's heart: he may look as open and happy as usual, and beas kind and attentive, when there is a great deal wrong going on within. The heart is a secret with its Maker; no one on earth can hope to get atit or to touch it. I have a cure of souls; what do I really know of myparishioners? Nothing; their hearts are sealed books to me. And thisdear boy, he comes close to me; he throws his arms round me, but hissoul is as much out of my sight as if he were at the antipodes. I amnot accusing him of reserve, dear fellow: his very love and reverencefor me keep him in a sort of charmed solitude. I cannot expect to get atthe bottom of him. 

 'Each in his hidden sphere of bliss or woe, Our hermit spirits dwell. '

It is our lot here below. No one on earth can know Charles's secretthoughts. Did I guard him here at home ever so well, yet, in due time, it would be found that a serpent had crept into the heart of hisinnocence. Boys do not fully know what is good and what is evil; they dowrong things at first almost innocently. Novelty hides vice from them;there is no one to warn them or give them rules; and they become slavesof sin, while they are learning what sin is. They go to the University, and suddenly plunge into excesses, the greater in proportion to theirinexperience. And, besides all this, I am not equal to the task offorming so active and inquisitive a mind as his. He already asksquestions which I know not how to answer. So he shall go to a publicschool. There he will get discipline at least, even if he has more oftrial: at least he will gain habits of self-command, manliness, andcircumspection; he will learn to use his eyes, and will find materialsto use them upon; and thus will be gradually trained for the libertywhich, any how, he must have when he goes to college. "

This was the more necessary, because, with many high excellences, Charles was naturally timid and retiring, over-sensitive, and, thoughlively and cheerful, yet not without a tinge of melancholy in hischaracter, which sometimes degenerated into mawkishness. 

To Eton, then, he went; and there had the good fortune to fall into thehands of an excellent tutor, who, while he instructed him in the oldChurch-of-England principles of Mant and Doyley, gave his mind areligious impression, which secured him against the allurements of badcompany, whether at the school itself, or afterwards at Oxford. To thatcelebrated seat of learning he was in due time transferred, beingentered at St. Saviour's College; and he is in his sixth term frommatriculation, and his fourth of residence, at the time our story opens. 

At Oxford, it is needless to say, he had found a great number of hisschoolfellows, but, it so happened, had found very few friends amongthem. Some were too gay for him, and he had avoided them; others, withwhom he had been intimate at Eton, having high connections, had fairlycut him on coming into residence, or, being entered at other colleges, had lost sight of him. Almost everything depends at Oxford, in thematter of acquaintance, on proximity of rooms. You choose your friend, not so much by your tastes, as by your staircase. There is a story of aLondon tradesman who lost custom after beautifying his premises, becausehis entrance went up a step; and we all know how great is the differencebetween open and shut doors when we walk along a street of shops. In auniversity a youth's hours are portioned out to him. A regular man getsup and goes to chapel, breakfasts, gets up his lectures, goes tolecture, walks, dines; there is little to induce him to mount anystaircase but his own; and if he does so, ten to one he finds the friendfrom home whom he is seeking; not to say that freshmen, who naturallyhave common feelings and interests, as naturally are allotted astaircase in common. And thus it was that Charles Reding was broughtacross William Sheffield, who had come into residence the same term ashimself. 

The minds of young people are pliable and elastic, and easilyaccommodate themselves to any one they fall in with. They find groundsof attraction both where they agree with one another and where theydiffer; what is congenial to themselves creates sympathy; what iscorrelative, or supplemental, creates admiration and esteem. And what isthus begun is often continued in after-life by the force of habit andthe claims of memory. Thus, in the choice of friends, chance often doesfor us as much as the most careful selection could have effected. Whatwas the character and degree of that friendship which sprang up betweenthe freshmen Reding and Sheffield, we need not here minutely explain: itwill be enough to say, that what they had in common was freshmanship, good talents, and the back staircase; and that they differed inthis--that Sheffield had lived a good deal with people older thanhimself, had read much in a desultory way, and easily picked up opinionsand facts, especially on controversies of the day, without layinganything very much to heart; that he was ready, clear-sighted, unembarrassed, and somewhat forward: Charles, on the other hand, hadlittle knowledge as yet of principles or their bearings, but understoodmore deeply than Sheffield, and held more practically, what he had oncereceived; he was gentle and affectionate, and easily led by others, except when duty clearly interfered. It should be added, that he hadfallen in with various religious denominations in his father's parish, and had a general, though not a systematic, knowledge of their tenets. What they were besides, will be seen as our narrative advances. 

CHAPTER II. 

It was a little past one P. M. When Sheffield, passing Charles's door, saw it open. The college servant had just entered with the usualhalf-commons for luncheon, and was employed in making up the fire. Sheffield followed him in, and found Charles in his cap and gown, lounging on the arm of his easy-chair, and eating his bread and cheese. Sheffield asked him if he slept, as well as ate and drank, "accoutred ashe was. "

"I am just going for a turn into the meadow, " said Charles; "this is tome the best time of the year: _nunc formosissimus annus_; everything isbeautiful; the laburnums are out, and the may. There is a greatervariety of trees there than in any other place I know hereabouts; andthe planes are so touching just now, with their small multitudinousgreen hands half-opened; and there are two or three such fine darkwillows stretching over the Cherwell; I think some dryad inhabits them:and, as you wind along, just over your right shoulder is the Long Walk, with the Oxford buildings seen between the elms. They say there are donshere who recollect when the foliage was unbroken, nay, when you mightwalk under it in hard rain, and get no wet. I know I got drenched therethe other day. "

Sheffield laughed, and said that Charles must put on his beaver, andwalk with him a different way. He wanted a good walk; his head wasstupid from his lectures; that old Jennings prosed so awfully uponPaley, it made him quite ill. He had talked of the Apostles as neither"deceivers nor deceived, " of their "sensible miracles, " and of their"dying for their testimony, " till he did not know whether he himself wasan _ens physiologicum_ or a _totum metaphysicum_, when Jennings hadcruelly asked him to repeat Paley's argument; and because he had notgiven it in Jennings' words, friend Jennings had pursed up his lips, andgone through the whole again; so intent, in his wooden enthusiasm, onhis own analysis of it, that he did not hear the clock strike the hour;and, in spite of the men's shuffling their feet, blowing their noses, and looking at their watches, on he had gone for a good twenty minutespast the time; and would have been going on even then, he verilybelieved, but for an interposition only equalled by that of the geese atthe Capitol. For that, when he had got about half through hisrecapitulation, and was stopping at the end of a sentence to see theimpression he was making, that uncouth fellow, Lively, moved by whathappy inspiration he did not know, suddenly broke in, apropos ofnothing, nodding his head, and speaking in a clear cackle, with, "Pray, sir, what is your opinion of the infallibility of the Pope?" Upon whichevery one but Jennings did laugh out: but he, _au contraire_, began tolook very black; and no one can tell what would have happened, had henot cast his eyes by accident on his watch, on which he coloured, closedhis book, and _instanter_ sent the whole lecture out of the room. 

Charles laughed in his turn, but added, "Yet, I assure you, Sheffield, that Jennings, stiff and cold as he seems, is, I do believe, a very goodfellow at bottom. He has before now spoken to me with a good deal offeeling, and has gone out of his way to do me favours. I see poor bodiescoming to him for charity continually; and they say that his sermons atHoly Cross are excellent. "

Sheffield said he liked people to be natural, and hated that donnishmanner. What good could it do? and what did it mean?

"That is what I call bigotry, " answered Charles; "I am for taking everyone for what he is, and not for what he is not: one has this excellence, another that; no one is everything. Why should we not drop what we don'tlike, and admire what we like? This is the only way of getting throughlife, the only true wisdom, and surely our duty into the bargain. "

Sheffield thought this regular prose, and unreal. "We must, " he said, "have a standard of things, else one good thing is as good as another. But I can't stand here all day, " he continued, "when we ought to bewalking. " And he took off Charles's cap, and, placing his hat on himinstead, said, "Come, let us be going. "

"Then must I give up my meadow?" said Charles. 

"Of course you must, " answered Sheffield; "you must take a beaver walk. I want you to go as far as Oxley, a village some little way out, allthe vicars of which, sooner or later, are made bishops. Perhaps evenwalking there may do us some good. "

The friends set out, from hat to boot in the most approved Oxfordbandbox-cut of trimness and prettiness. Sheffield was turning into theHigh Street, when Reding stopped him: "It always annoys me, " he said, "to go down High Street in a beaver; one is sure to meet a proctor. "

"All those University dresses are great fudge, " answered Sheffield; "howare we the better for them? They are mere outside, and nothing else. Besides, our gown is so hideously ugly. "

"Well, I don't go along with your sweeping condemnation, " answeredCharles; "this is a great place, and should have a dress. I declare, when I first saw the procession of Heads at St. Mary's, it was quitemoving. First----"

"Of course the pokers, " interrupted Sheffield. 

"First the organ, and every one rising; then the Vice-Chancellor in red, and his bow to the preacher, who turns to the pulpit; then all the Headsin order; and lastly the Proctors. Meanwhile, you see the head of thepreacher slowly mounting up the steps; when he gets in, he shuts-to thedoor, looks at the organ-loft to catch the psalm, and the voices strikeup. "

Sheffield laughed, and then said, "Well, I confess I agree with you inyour instance. The preacher is, or is supposed to be, a person oftalent; he is about to hold forth; the divines, the students of a greatUniversity, are all there to listen. The pageant does but fitlyrepresent the great moral fact which is before us; I understand _this_. I don't call _this_ fudge; what I mean by fudge is, outside withoutinside. Now I must say, the sermon itself, and not the least of all theprayer before it--what do they call it?"

"The bidding prayer, " said Reding. 

"Well, both sermon and prayer are often arrant fudge. I don't often goto University sermons, but I have gone often enough not to go againwithout compulsion. The last preacher I heard was from the country. Oh, it was wonderful! He began at the pitch of his voice, 'Ye shall pray. 'What stuff! 'Ye shall _pray_;' because old Latimer or Jewell said, 'Yeshall praie, ' therefore we must not say, 'Let us pray. ' Presently hebrought out, " continued Sheffield, assuming a pompous and up-and-downtone, "'especially for that pure and apostolic branch of it_established_, '--here the man rose on his toes, '_established_ in thesedominions. ' Next came, 'for our Sovereign Lady Victoria, Queen, Defenderof the Faith, in all causes and over all persons, ecclesiastical as wellas civil, within these her dominions, _supreme_'--an awful pause, withan audible fall of the sermon-case on the cushion; as though nature didnot contain, as if the human mind could not sustain, a bigger thought. Then followed, 'the pious and munificent founder, ' in the same twang, 'of All Saints' and Leicester Colleges, ' But his _chef-d'oeuvre_ washis emphatic recognition of '_all_ the doctors, _both_ the proctors', asif the numerical antithesis had a graphic power, and threw thoseexcellent personages into a charming _tableau vivant_. "

Charles was amused at all this; but he said in answer, that he neverheard a sermon but it was his own fault if he did not gain good from it;and he quoted the words of his father, who, when he one day asked him ifso-and-so had not preached a very good sermon, "My dear Charles, " hisfather had said, "all sermons are good. " The words, simple as they were, had retained a hold on his memory. 

Meanwhile, they had proceeded down the forbidden High Street, and werecrossing the bridge, when, on the opposite side, they saw before them atall, upright man, whom Sheffield had no difficulty in recognizing as abachelor of Nun's Hall, and a bore at least of the second magnitude. Hewas in cap and gown, but went on his way, as if intending, in thatextraordinary guise, to take a country walk. He took the path which theywere going themselves, and they tried to keep behind him; but theywalked too briskly, and he too leisurely, to allow of that. It is verydifficult duly to delineate a bore in a narrative, for the very reasonthat he _is_ a bore. A tale must aim at condensation, but a bore acts insolution. It is only on the long-run that he is ascertained. Then, indeed, he is _felt_; he is oppressive; like the sirocco, which thenative detects at once, while a foreigner is often at fault. _Tenetocciditque. _ Did you hear him make but one speech, perhaps you would sayhe was a pleasant, well-informed man; but when he never comes to an end, or has one and the same prose every time you meet him, or keeps youstanding till you are fit to sink, or holds you fast when you wish tokeep an engagement, or hinders you listening to importantconversation, --then there is no mistake, the truth bursts on you, _apparent diræ facies_, you are in the clutches of a bore. You mayyield, or you may flee; you cannot conquer. Hence it is clear that abore cannot be represented in a story, or the story would be the bore asmuch as he. The reader, then, must believe this upright Mr. Bateman tobe what otherwise he might not discover, and thank us for ourconsideration in not proving as well as asserting it. 

Sheffield bowed to him courteously, and would have proceeded on his way;but Bateman, as became his nature, would not suffer it; he seized him. "Are you disposed, " he said, "to look into the pretty chapel we arerestoring on the common? It is quite a gem--in the purest style of thefourteenth century. It was in a most filthy condition, a mere cow-house;but we have made a subscription, and set it to rights. "

"We are bound for Oxley, " Sheffield answered; "you would be taking usout of our way. "

"Not a bit of it, " said Bateman; "it's not a stone's throw from theroad; you must not refuse me. I'm sure you'll like it. "

He proceeded to give the history of the chapel--all it had been, all itmight have been, all it was not, all it was to be. 

"It is to be a real specimen of a Catholic chapel, " he said; "we mean tomake the attempt of getting the Bishop to dedicate it to the RoyalMartyr--why should not we have our St. Charles as well as theRomanists?--and it will be quite sweet to hear the vesper-bell tollingover the sullen moor every evening, in all weathers, and amid all thechanges and chances of this mortal life. "

Sheffield asked what congregation they expected to collect at that hour. 

"That's a low view, " answered Bateman; "it does not signify at all. Inreal Catholic churches the number of the congregation is nothing to thepurpose; service is for those who come, not for those who stay away. "

"Well, " said Sheffield, "I understand what that means when a RomanCatholic says it; for a priest is supposed to offer sacrifice, which hecan do without a congregation as well as with one. And, again, Catholicchapels often stand over the bodies of martyrs, or on some place ofmiracle, as a record; but our service is 'Common Prayer, ' and how canyou have that without a congregation?"

Bateman replied that, even if members of the University did not drop in, which he expected, at least the bell would be a memento far and near. 

"Ah, I see, " retorted Sheffield, "the use will be the reverse of whatyou said just now; it is not for those that come, but for those who stayaway. The congregation is outside, not inside; it's an outside concern. I once saw a tall church-tower--so it appeared from the road; but on thesides you saw it was but a thin wall, made to look like a tower, inorder to give the church an imposing effect. Do run up such a bit of awall, and put the bell in it. "

"There's another reason, " answered Bateman, "for restoring the chapel, quite independent of the service. It has been a chapel from timeimmemorial, and was consecrated by our Catholic forefathers. "

Sheffield argued that this would be as good a reason for keeping up theMass as for keeping up the chapel. 

"We do keep up the Mass, " said Bateman; "we offer our Mass every Sunday, according to the rite of the English Cyprian, as honest Peter Heylincalls him; what would you have more?"

Whether Sheffield understood this or no, at least it was beyond Charles. Was the Common Prayer the English Mass, or the Communion-service, or theLitany, or the sermon, or any part of these? or were Bateman's wordsreally a confession that there were clergymen who actually said thePopish Mass once a week? Bateman's precise meaning, however, is lost toposterity; for they had by this time arrived at the door of the chapel. It had once been the chapel of an almshouse; a small farmhouse stoodnear; but, for population, it was plain no "church accommodation" waswanted. Before entering, Charles hung back, and whispered to his friendthat he did not know Bateman. An introduction, in consequence, tookplace. "Reding of St. Saviour's--Bateman of Nun's Hall;" after whichceremony, in place of holy water, they managed to enter the chapel incompany. 

It was as pretty a building as Bateman had led them to expect, and veryprettily done up. There was a stone altar in the best style, a credencetable, a piscina, what looked like a tabernacle, and a couple ofhandsome brass candlesticks. Charles asked the use of the piscina--hedid not know its name--and was told that there was always a piscina inthe old churches in England, and that there could be no properrestoration without it. Next he asked the meaning of the beautifullywrought closet or recess above the altar; and received for answer, that"our sister churches of the Roman obedience always had a tabernacle forreserving the consecrated bread. " Here Charles was brought to a stand:on which Sheffield asked the use of the niches; and was told by Batemanthat images of saints were forbidden by the canon, but that his friends, in all these matters, did what they could. Lastly, he asked the meaningof the candlesticks; and was told that, Catholicly-minded as theirBishop was, they had some fear lest he would object to altar lights inservice--at least at first: but it was plain that the _use_ of thecandlesticks was to hold candles. Having had their fill of gazing andadmiring, they turned to proceed on their walk, but could not get off aninvitation to breakfast, in a few days, at Bateman's lodgings in theTurl. 

CHAPTER III. 

Neither of the friends had what are called _views_ in religion; by whichexpression we do not here signify that neither had taken up a certainline of opinion, though this was the case also; but that neither ofthem--how could they at their age?--had placed his religion on anintellectual basis. It may be as well to state more distinctly what a"view" is, what it is to be "viewy, " and what is the state of those whohave no "views. " When, then; men for the first time look upon the worldof politics or religion, all that they find there meets their mind's eyeas a landscape addresses itself for the first time to a person who hasjust gained his bodily sight. One thing is as far off as another; thereis no perspective. The connection of fact with fact, truth with truth, the bearing of fact upon truth, and truth upon fact, what leads to what, what are points primary and what secondary, --all this they have yet tolearn. It is all a new science to them, and they do not even know theirignorance of it. Moreover, the world of to-day has no connection intheir minds with the world of yesterday; time is not a stream, butstands before them round and full, like the moon. They do not know whathappened ten years ago, much less the annals of a century; the past doesnot live to them in the present; they do not understand the worth ofcontested points; names have no associations for them, and personskindle no recollections. They hear of men, and things, and projects, andstruggles, and principles; but everything comes and goes like the wind, nothing makes an impression, nothing penetrates, nothing has its placein their minds. They locate nothing; they have no system. They hear andthey forget; or they just recollect what they have once heard, theycan't tell where. Thus they have no consistency in their arguments; thatis, they argue one way to-day, and not exactly the other way to-morrow, but indirectly the other way, at random. Their lines of argumentdiverge; nothing comes to a point; there is no one centre in which theirmind sits, on which their judgment of men and things proceeds. This isthe state of many men all through life; and miserable politicians orChurchmen they make, unless by good luck they are in safe hands, andruled by others, or are pledged to a course. Else they are at the mercyof the winds and waves; and, without being Radical, Whig, Tory, orConservative, High Church or Low Church, they do Whig acts, Tory acts, Catholic acts, and heretical acts, as the fit takes them, or as eventsor parties drive them. And sometimes, when their self-importance ishurt, they take refuge in the idea that all this is a proof that theyare unfettered, moderate, dispassionate, that they observe the mean, that they are "no party men;" when they are, in fact, the most helplessof slaves; for our strength in this world is, to be the subjects of thereason, and our liberty, to be captives of the truth. 

Now Charles Reding, a youth of twenty, could not be supposed to havemuch of a view in religion or politics; but no clever man allows himselfto judge of things simply at hap-hazard; he is obliged, from a sort ofself-respect, to have some rule or other, true or false; and Charles wasvery fond of the maxim, which he has already enunciated, that we mustmeasure people by what they are, and not by what they are not. He had agreat notion of loving every one--of looking kindly on every one; he waspierced with the sentiment which he had seen in a popular volume ofpoetry, that--

 "Christian souls, . .. Though worn and soil'd with sinful clay, Are yet, to eyes that see them true, All glistening with baptismal dew. "

He liked, as he walked along the road, and met labourer or horseman, gentleman or beggar, to say to himself, "He is a Christian. " And when hecame to Oxford, he came there with an enthusiasm so simple and warm asto be almost childish. He reverenced even the velvet of the Pro. ; nay, the cocked hat which preceded the Preacher had its claim on hisdeferential regard. Without being himself a poet, he was in the seasonof poetry, in the sweet spring-time, when the year is most beautiful, because it is new. Novelty was beauty to a heart so open and cheerful ashis; not only because it was novelty, and had its proper charm as such, but because when we first see things, we see them in a "gay confusion, "which is a principal element of the poetical. As time goes on, and wenumber and sort and measure things--as we gain views--we advance towardsphilosophy and truth, but we recede from poetry. 

When we ourselves were young, we once on a time walked on a hotsummer-day from Oxford to Newington--a dull road, as any one who hasgone it knows; yet it was new to us; and we protest to you, reader, believe it or not, laugh or not, as you will, to us it seemed on thatoccasion quite touchingly beautiful; and a soft melancholy came over us, of which the shadows fall even now, when we look back on that dusty, weary journey. And why? because every object which met us was unknownand full of mystery. A tree or two in the distance seemed the beginningof a great wood, or park, stretching endlessly; a hill implied a valebeyond, with that vale's history; the bye-lanes, with their greenhedges, wound and vanished, yet were not lost to the imagination. Suchwas our first journey; but when we had gone it several times, the mindrefused to act, the scene ceased to enchant, stern reality aloneremained; and we thought it one of the most tiresome, odious roads weever had occasion to traverse. 

But to return to our story. Such was Reding. But Sheffield, on the otherhand, without possessing any real view of things more than Charles, was, at this time, fonder of hunting for views, and more in danger of takingup false ones. That is, he was "viewy, " in a bad sense of the word. Hewas not satisfied intellectually with things as they are; he wascritical, impatient to reduce things to system, pushed principles toofar, was fond of argument, partly from pleasure in the exercise, partlybecause he was perplexed, though he did not lay anything very much toheart. 

They neither of them felt any special interest in the controversy goingon in the University and country about High and Low Church. Sheffieldhad a sort of contempt for it; and Reding felt it to be bad taste to beunusual or prominent in anything. An Eton acquaintance had asked him togo and hear one of the principal preachers of the Catholic party, andoffered to introduce him; but he had declined it. He did not like, hesaid, mixing himself up with party; he had come to Oxford to get hisdegree, and not to take up opinions; he thought his father would notrelish it; and, moreover, he felt some little repugnance to suchopinions and such people, under the notion that the authorities of theUniversity were opposed to the whole movement. He could not help lookingat its leaders as demagogues; and towards demagogues he felt anunmeasured aversion and contempt. He did not see why clergymen, howeverrespectable, should be collecting undergraduates about them; and heheard stories of their way of going on which did not please him. Moreover, he did not like the specimens of their followers whom he fellin with; they were forward, or they "talked strong, " as it was called;did ridiculous, extravagant acts; and sometimes neglected their collegeduties for things which did not concern them. He was unfortunate, certainly: for this is a very unfair account of the most exemplary menof that day, who doubtless are still, as clergymen or laymen, thestrength of the Anglican Church; but in all collections of men, thestraw and rubbish (as Lord Bacon says) float on the top, while gold andjewels sink and are hidden. Or, what is more apposite still, many men, or most men, are a compound of precious and worthless together, andtheir worthless swims, and their precious lies at the bottom. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Bateman was one of these composite characters: he had much good and muchcleverness in him; but he was absurd, and he afforded a subject ofconversation to the two friends as they proceeded on their walk. "I wishthere was less of fudge and humbug everywhere, " said Sheffield; "onemight shovel off cartloads from this place, and not miss it. "

"If you had your way, " answered Charles, "you would scrape off the roadstill there was nothing to walk on. We are forced to walk on what youcall humbug; we put it under our feet, but we use it. "

"I cannot think that; it's like doing evil that good may come. I seeshams everywhere. I go into St. Mary's, and I hear men spouting outcommonplaces in a deep or a shrill voice, or with slow, clear, quietemphasis and significant eyes--as that Bampton preacher not long ago, who assured us, apropos of the resurrection of the body, that 'allattempts to resuscitate the inanimate corpse by natural methods hadhitherto been experimentally abortive. ' I go into the place wheredegrees are given--the Convocation, I think--and there one hears a dealof unmeaning Latin for hours, graces, dispensations, and proctorswalking up and down for nothing; all in order to keep up a sort of ghostof things passed away for centuries, while the real work might be donein a quarter of an hour. I fall in with this Bateman, and he talks to meof rood-lofts without roods, and piscinæ without water, and nicheswithout images, and candlesticks without lights, and masses withoutPopery; till I feel, with Shakespeare, that 'all the world's a stage. 'Well, I go to Shaw, Turner, and Brown, very different men, pupils of Dr. Gloucester--you know whom I mean--and they tell us that we ought to putup crucifixes by the wayside, in order to excite religious feeling. "

"Well, I really think you are hard on all these people, " said Charles;"it is all very much like declamation; you would destroy externals ofevery kind. You are like the man in one of Miss Edgeworth's novels, whoshut his ears to the music that he might laugh at the dancers. "

"What is the music to which I close my ears?" asked Sheffield. 

"To the meaning of those various acts, " answered Charles; "the piousfeeling which accompanies the sight of the image is the music. "

"To those who have the pious feeling, certainly, " said Sheffield; "butto put up images in England in order to create the feeling is likedancing to create music. "

"I think you are hard upon England, " replied Charles; "we are areligious people. "

"Well, I will put it differently: do _you_ like music?"

"You ought to know, " said Charles, "whom I have frightened so often withmy fiddle. "

"Do you like dancing?"

"To tell the truth, " said Charles, "I don't. "

"Nor do I, " said Sheffield; "it makes me laugh to think what I havedone, when a boy, to escape dancing; there is something so absurd in it;and one had to be civil and to duck to young girls who were either primor pert. I have behaved quite rudely to them sometimes, and then havebeen annoyed at my ungentlemanlikeness, and not known how to get out ofthe scrape. "

"Well, I didn't know we were so like each other in anything, " saidCharles; "oh, the misery I have endured, in having to stand up to dance, and to walk about with a partner!--everybody looking at me, and I soawkward. It has been a torture to me days before and after. "

They had by this time come up to the foot of the rough rising groundwhich leads to the sort of table-land on the edge of which Oxley isplaced; and they stood still awhile to see some equestrians take thehurdles. They then mounted the hill, and looked back upon Oxford. 

"Perhaps you call those beautiful spires and towers a sham, " saidCharles, "because you see their tops and not their bottoms?"

"Whereabouts were we in our argument?" said the other, reminded thatthey had been wandering from it for the last ten minutes. "Oh, Irecollect; I know what I was at. I was saying that you liked music, butdidn't like dancing; music leads another person to dance, but not you;and dancing does not increase but diminishes the intensity of thepleasure you find in music. In like manner, it is a mere piece ofpedantry to make a religious nation, like the English, more religious byplacing images in the streets; this is not the English way, and onlyoffends us. If it were our way, it would come naturally without any onetelling us. As music incites to dancing, so religion would lead toimages; but as dancing does not improve music to those who do not likedancing, so ceremonies do not improve religion to those who do not likeceremonies. "

"Then do you mean, " said Charles, "that the English Romanists are shams, because they use crucifixes?"

"Stop there, " said Sheffield; "now you are getting upon a differentsubject. They believe that there is _virtue_ in images; that indeed isabsurd in them, but it makes them quite consistent in honouring them. They do not put up images as outward shows, merely to create feelings inthe minds of beholders, as Gloucester would do, but they in good, downright earnest worship images, as being more than they seem, as beingnot a mere outside show. They pay them a religious worship, as havingbeen handled by great saints years ago, as having been used inpestilences, as having wrought miracles, as having moved their eyes orbowed their heads; or, at least, as having been blessed by the priest, and been brought into connection with invisible grace. This issuperstitious, but it is real. "

Charles was not satisfied. "An image is a mode of teaching, " he said;"do you mean to say that a person is a sham merely because he mistakesthe particular mode of teaching best suited to his own country?"

"I did not say that Dr. Gloucester was a sham, " answered Sheffield; "butthat mode of teaching of his was among Protestants a sham and a humbug. "

"But this principle will carry you too far, and destroy itself, " saidCharles. "Don't you recollect what Thompson quoted the other day out ofAristotle, which he had lately begun in lecture with Vincent, and whichwe thought so acute--that habits are created by those very acts in whichthey manifest themselves when created? We learn to swim well by tryingto swim. Now Bateman, doubtless, wishes to _introduce_ piscinæ andtabernacles; and to wait, before beginning, _till_ they are received, islike not going into the water till you can swim. "

"Well, but what is Bateman the better when his piscinæ are universal?"asked Sheffield; "what does it _mean_? In the Romish Church it has ause, I know--I don't know what--but it comes into the Mass. But ifBateman makes piscinæ universal among us, what has he achieved but thereign of a universal humbug?"

"But, my dear Sheffield, " answered Reding, "consider how many thingsthere are which, in the course of time, have altered their originalmeaning, and yet have a meaning, though a changed one, still. Thejudge's wig is no sham, yet it has a history. The Queen, at hercoronation, is said to wear a Roman Catholic vestment, is that a sham?Does it not still typify and impress upon us the 'divinity that dothhedge a king, ' though it has lost the very meaning which the Church ofRome gave it? Or are you of the number of those, who, according to thewitticism, think majesty, when deprived of its externals, a jest?"

"Then you defend the introduction of unmeaning piscinæ andcandlesticks?"

"I think, " answered Charles, "that there's a great difference betweenreviving and retaining; it may be natural to retain, even while the usefails, unnatural to revive when it has failed; but this is a question ofdiscretion and judgment. "

"Then you give it against Bateman?" said Sheffield. 

A slight pause ensued; then Charles added, "But perhaps these menactually do wish to introduce the realities as well as the externals:perhaps they wish to use the piscina as well as to have it . .. Sheffield, " he continued abruptly, "why are not canonicals a sham, ifpiscinæ are shams?"

"Canonicals, " said Sheffield, as if thinking about them; "no, canonicalsare no sham; for preaching, I suppose, is the highest ordinance in ourChurch, and has the richest dress. The robes of a great preacher cost, Iknow, many pounds; for there was one near us who, on leaving, had apresent from the ladies of an entire set, and a dozen pair of workedslippers into the bargain. But it's all fitting, if preaching is thegreat office of the clergy. Next comes the Sacrament, and has thesurplice and hood. And hood, " he repeated, musing; "what's that for? no, it's the scarf. The hood is worn in the University pulpit; what is thescarf?--it belongs to chaplains, I believe, that is, to _persons_; Ican't make a view out of it. "

"My dear Sheffield, " said Charles, "you have cut your own throat. Hereyou have been trying to give a sense to the clerical dress, and cannot;are you then prepared to call it a sham? Answer me this singlequestion--Why does a clergyman wear a surplice when he reads prayers?Nay, I will put it more simply--Why can only a clergyman read prayers inchurch?--Why cannot I?"

Sheffield hesitated, and looked serious. "Do you know, " he said, "youhave just pitched on Jeremy Bentham's objection. In his 'Church ofEnglandism' he proposes, if I recollect rightly, that a parish-boyshould be taught to read the Liturgy; and he asks, Why send a person tothe University for three or four years at an enormous expense, why teachhim Latin and Greek, on purpose to read what any boy could be taught toread at a dame's school? What is the _virtue_ of a clergyman's reading?Something of this kind, Bentham says; and, " he added, slowly, "to tellthe truth, _I_ don't know how to answer him. "

Reding was surprised, and shocked, and puzzled too; he did not know whatto say; when the conversation was, perhaps fortunately, interrupted. 

CHAPTER V. 

Every year brings changes and reforms. We do not know what is the stateof Oxley Church now; it may have rood-loft, piscina, sedilia, all new;or it may be reformed backwards, the seats on principle turning from theCommunion-table, and the pulpit planted in the middle of the aisle; butat the time when these two young men walked through the churchyard, there was nothing very good or very bad to attract them within thebuilding; and they were passing on, when they observed, coming out ofthe church, what Sheffield called an elderly don, a fellow of a college, whom Charles knew. He was a man of family, and had some little propertyof his own, had been a contemporary of his father's at the University, and had from time to time been a guest at the parsonage. Charles had, inconsequence, known him from a boy; and now, since he came intoresidence, he had, as was natural, received many small attentions fromhim. Once, when he was late for his own hall, he had given him hisdinner in his rooms; he had taken him out on a fishing expeditiontowards Faringdon; and had promised him tickets for some ladies, lionesses of his, who were coming up to the Commemoration. He was ashrewd, easy-tempered, free-spoken man, of small desires and noambition; of no very keen sensibilities or romantic delicacies, and verylittle religious pretension; that is, though unexceptionable in hisdeportment, he hated the show of religion, and was impatient at thosewho affected it. He had known the University for thirty years, andformed a right estimate of most things in it. He had come out to Oxleyto take a funeral for a friend, and was now returning home. He hallooedto Charles, who, though feeling at first awkward on finding himself withtwo such different friends and in two such different relations, was, after a time, partially restored to himself by the unconcern of Mr. Malcolm; and the three walked home together. Yet, even to the last, hedid not quite know how and where to walk, and how to carry himself, particularly when they got near Oxford, and he fell in with variousparties who greeted him in passing. 

Charles, by way of remark, said they had been looking in at a prettylittle chapel on the common, which was now in the course of repair. Mr. Malcolm laughed. "So, Charles, " he said, "_you're_ bit with the newfashion. "

Charles coloured, and asked, "What fashion?" adding, that a friend, byaccident, had taken them in. 

"You ask what fashion, " said Mr. Malcolm; "why, the newest, latestfashion. This is a place of fashions; there have been many fashions inmy time. The greater part of the residents, that is, the boys, changeonce in three years; the fellows and tutors, perhaps, in half a dozen;and every generation has its own fashion. There is no principle ofstability in Oxford, except the Heads, and they are always the same, and always will be the same to the end of the chapter. What is in now, "he asked, "among you youngsters--drinking or cigars?"

Charles laughed modestly, and said he hoped drinking had gone outeverywhere. 

"Worse things may come in, " said Mr. Malcolm; "but there are fashionseverywhere. There was once a spouting club, perhaps it is in favourstill; before it was the music-room. Once geology was all the rage; nowit is theology; soon it will be architecture, or medieval antiquities, or editions and codices. Each wears out in its turn; all depends on oneor two active men; but the secretary takes a wife, or the professor getsa stall; and then the meetings are called irregularly, and nothing isdone in them, and so gradually the affair dwindles and dies. "

Sheffield asked whether the present movement had not spread too widelythrough the country for such a termination; he did not know much aboutit himself, but the papers were full of it, and it was the talk of everyneighbourhood; it was not confined to Oxford. 

"I don't know about the country, " said Mr. Malcolm, "that is a largequestion; but it has not the elements of stability here. These gentlemenwill take livings and marry, and that will be the end of the business. Iam not speaking against them; they are, I believe, very respectable men;but they are riding on the spring-tide of a fashion. "

Charles said it was a nuisance to see the party-spirit it introduced. Oxford ought to be a place of quiet and study; peace and the Musesalways went together; whereas there was talk, talk, in every quarter. Aman could not go about his duties in a natural way, and take every oneas he came, but was obliged to take part in questions, and to considerpoints which he might wish to put from him, and must sport an opinionwhen he really had none to give. 

Mr. Malcolm assented in a half-absent way, looking at the view beforehim, and seemingly enjoying it. "People call this county ugly, " said he, "and perhaps it is; but whether I am used to it or no, I always ampleased with it. The lights are always new; and thus the landscape, ifit deserves the name, is always presented in a new dress. I have knownShotover there take the most opposite hues, sometimes purple, sometimesa bright saffron or tawny orange. " Here he stopped: "Yes, you speak ofparty-spirit; very true, there's a good deal of it. .. . No, I don't thinkthere's much, " he continued, rousing; "certainly there is more divisionjust at this minute in Oxford, but there always is division, alwaysrivalry. The separate societies have their own interests and honour tomaintain, and quarrel, as the orders do in the Church of Rome. No, that's too grand a comparison; rather, Oxford is like an almshouse forclergymen's widows. Self-importance, jealousy, tittle-tattle are theorder of the day. It has always been so in my time. Two great ladies, Mrs. Vice-Chancellor and Mrs. Divinity-Professor, can't agree, and havefollowings respectively: or Vice-Chancellor himself, being a new broom, sweeps all the young Masters clean out of Convocation House, to theirgreat indignation: or Mr. Slaney, Dean of St. Peter's, does not scrupleto say in a stage-coach that Mr. Wood is no scholar; on which the saidWood calls him in return 'slanderous Slaney;' or the elderly Mr. Barge, late Senior Fellow of St. Michael's, thinks that his pretty bride hasnot been received with due honours; or Dr. Crotchet is for years keptout of his destined bishopric by a sinister influence; or Mr. ProfessorCarraway has been infamously shown up, in the _Edinburgh_, by an idlefellow whom he plucked in the schools; or (_majora movemus_) threecolleges interchange a mortal vow of opposition to a fourth; or theyoung working Masters conspire against the Heads. Now, however, we areimproving; if we must quarrel, let it be the rivalry of intellect andconscience, rather than of interest or temper; let us contend forthings, not for shadows. "

Sheffield was pleased at this, and ventured to say that the presentstate of things was more real, and therefore more healthy. Mr. Malcolmdid not seem to hear him, for he did not reply; and, as they were nowapproaching the bridge again, the conversation stopped. Sheffield lookedslily at Charles, as Mr. Malcolm proceeded with them up High Street; andboth of them had the triumph and the amusement of being convoyed safelypast a proctor, who was patrolling it, under the protection of aMaster. 

CHAPTER VI. 

The walk to Oxley had not been the first or the second occasion on whichCharles had, in one shape or other, encountered Sheffield's views aboutrealities and shams; and his preachments had begun to make an impressionon him; that is, he felt that there was truth in them at bottom, and atruth new to him. He was not a person to let a truth sleep in his mind;though it did not vegetate very quickly, it was sure ultimately to bepursued into its consequences, and to affect his existing opinions. Inthe instance before us, he saw Sheffield's principle was more or lessantagonistic to his own favourite maxim, that it was a duty to bepleased with every one. Contradictions could not both be real: when anaffirmative was true, a negative was false. All doctrines could not beequally sound: there was a right and a wrong. The theory of dogmatictruth, as opposed to latitudinarianism (he did not know their names ortheir history, or suspect what was going on within him), had in thecourse of these his first terms, gradually begun to energise in hismind. Let him but see the absurdities of the latitudinarian principle, when carried out, and he is likely to be still more opposed to it. 

Bateman, among his peculiarities, had a notion that bringing persons ofcontrary sentiments together was the likeliest way of making a partyagreeable, or at least useful. He had done his best to give hisbreakfast, to which our friends were invited, this element ofperfection; not, however, to his own satisfaction; for with all hisefforts, he had but picked up Mr. Freeborn, a young Evangelical Master, with whom Sheffield was acquainted; a sharp, but not very wise freshman, who, having been spoiled at home, and having plenty of money, professedto be _æsthetic_, and kept his college authorities in a perpetual fidgetlest he should some morning wake up a Papist; and a friend of his, anice, modest-looking youth, who, like a mouse, had keen darting eyes, and ate his bread and butter in absolute silence. 

They had hardly seated themselves, and Sheffield was pouring out coffee, and a plate of muffins was going round, and Bateman was engaged, saucepan in hand, in the operation of landing his eggs, now boiled, uponthe table, when our flighty youth, whose name was White, observed howbeautiful the Catholic custom was of making eggs the emblem of theEaster-festival. "It is truly Catholic, " said he; "for it is retained inparts of England, you have it in Russia, and in Rome itself, where anegg is served up on every plate through the Easter-week, after being, Ibelieve, blessed; and it is as expressive and significant as it isCatholic. "

"Beautiful indeed!" said their host; "so pretty, so sweet; I wonderwhether our Reformers thought of it, or the profound Hooker, --he wasfull of types--or Jewell. You recollect the staff Jewell gave Hooker:that was a type. It was like the sending of Elisha's staff by hisservant to the dead child. "

"Oh, my dear, dear Bateman, " cried Sheffield, "you are making HookerGehazi!"

"That's just the upshot of such trifling, " said Mr. Freeborn; "you neverknow where to find it; it proves anything, and disproves anything. "

"That is only till it's sanctioned, " said White; "When the CatholicChurch sanctions it, we're safe. "

"Yes, we're safe, " said Bateman; "it's safe when it's Catholic. "

"Yes, " continued White, "things change their nature altogether when theyare taken up by the Catholic Church: that's how we are allowed to doevil that good may come. "

"What's that?" said Bateman. 

"Why, " said White, "the Church makes evil good. "

"My dear White, " said Bateman gravely, "that's going too far; it isindeed. "

Mr. Freeborn suspended his breakfast operations, and sat back in hischair. 

"Why, " continued White, "is not idolatry wrong--yet image-worship isright?"

Mr. Freeborn was in a state of collapse. 

"That's a bad instance, White, " said Sheffield; "there _are_ people inthe world who are uncatholic enough to think image-worship is wrong, aswell as idolatry. "

"A mere Jesuitical distinction, " said Freeborn with emotion. 

"Well, " said White, who did not seem in great awe of the young M. A. , though some years, of course, his senior, "I will take a betterinstance: who does not know that baptism gives grace? yet there wereheathen baptismal rites, which, of course, were devilish. "

"I should not be disposed, Mr. White, to grant you so much as you wouldwish, " said Freeborn, "about the virtue of baptism. "

"Not about Christian baptism?" asked White. 

"It is easy, " answered Freeborn, "to mistake the sign for the thingsignified. "

"Not about Catholic baptism?" repeated White. 

"Catholic baptism is a mere deceit and delusion, " retorted Mr. Freeborn. 

"Oh, my dear Freeborn, " interposed Bateman, "now _you_ are going toofar; you are indeed. "

"Catholic, Catholic--I don't know what you mean, " said Freeborn. 

"I mean, " said White, "the baptism of the one Catholic Church of whichthe Creed speaks: it's quite intelligible. "

"But what do you mean by the Catholic Church?" asked Freeborn. 

"The Anglican, " answered Bateman. 

"The Roman, " answered White; both in the same breath. 

There was a general laugh. 

"There is nothing to laugh at, " said Bateman; "Anglican and Roman areone. "

"One! impossible, " cried Sheffield. 

"Much worse than impossible, " observed Mr. Freeborn. 

"I should make a distinction, " said Bateman: "I should say, they areone, except the corruptions of the Romish Church. "

"That is, they are one, except where they differ, " said Sheffield. 

"Precisely so, " said Bateman. 

"Rather, _I_ should say, " objected Mr. Freeborn, "two, except where theyagree. "

"That's just the issue, " said Sheffield; "Bateman says that the Churchesare one except when they are two; and Freeborn says that they are twoexcept when they are one. "

It was a relief at this moment that the cook's boy came in with a dishof hot sausages; but though a relief, it was not a diversion; theconversation proceeded. Two persons did not like it; Freeborn, who wassimply disgusted at the doctrine, and Reding, who thought it a bore; yetit was the bad luck of Freeborn forthwith to set Charles against him, aswell as the rest, and to remove the repugnance which he had to engage inthe dispute. Freeborn, in fact, thought theology itself a mistake, assubstituting, as he considered, worthless intellectual notions for thevital truths of religion; so he now went on to observe, putting down hisknife and fork, that it really was to him inconceivable, that realreligion should depend on metaphysical distinctions, or outwardobservances; that it was quite a different thing in Scripture; thatScripture said much of faith and holiness, but hardly a word aboutChurches and forms. He proceeded to say that it was the great and eviltendency of the human mind to interpose between itself and its Creatorsome self-invented mediator, and it did not matter at all whether thathuman device was a rite, or a creed, or a form of prayer, or good works, or communion with particular Churches--all were but "flattering unctionsto the soul, " if they were considered necessary; the only safe way ofusing them was to use them with the feeling that you might dispense withthem; that none of them went to the root of the matter, for that faith, that is, firm belief that God had forgiven you, was the one thingneedful; that where that one thing was present, everything else wassuperfluous; that where it was wanting, nothing else availed. Sostrongly did he hold this, that (he confessed he put it pointedly, butstill not untruly), where true faith was present, a person might beanything in profession; an Arminian, a Calvinist, an Episcopalian, aPresbyterian, a Swedenborgian--nay, a Unitarian--he would go further, looking at White, a Papist, yet be in a state of salvation. 

Freeborn came out rather more strongly than in his sober moments hewould have approved; but he was a little irritated, and wished to havehis turn of speaking. It was altogether a great testification. 

"Thank you for your liberality to the poor Papists, " said White; "itseems they are safe if they are hypocrites, professing to be Catholics, while they are Protestants in heart. "

"Unitarians, too, " said Sheffield, "are debtors to your liberality; itseems a man need not fear to believe too little, so that he feels a gooddeal. "

"Rather, " said White, "if he believes himself forgiven, he need notbelieve anything else. "

Reding put in his word; he said that in the Prayer Book, belief in theHoly Trinity was represented, not as an accident, but as "before allthings" necessary to salvation. 

"That's not a fair answer, Reding, " said Sheffield; "what Mr. Freebornobserved was, that there's no creed in the Bible; and you answer thatthere is a creed in the Prayer Book. "

"Then the Bible says one thing, and the Prayer Book another, " saidBateman. 

"No, " answered Freeborn; "The Prayer Book only _deduces_ from Scripture;the Athanasian Creed is a human invention; true, but human, and to bereceived, as one of the Articles expressly says, because 'founded onScripture. ' Creeds are useful in their place, so is the Church; butneither Creed nor Church is religion. "

"Then why do you make so much of your doctrine of 'faith only'?" saidBateman; "for that is not in Scripture, and is but a human deduction. "

"_My_ doctrine!" cried Freeborn; "why it's in the Articles; the Articlesexpressly say that we are justified by faith only. "

"The Articles are not Scripture any more than the Prayer Book, " saidSheffield. 

"Nor do the Articles say that the doctrine they propound is necessaryfor salvation, " added Bateman. 

All this was very unfair on Freeborn, though he had provoked it. Herewere four persons on him at once, and the silent fifth apparently asympathiser. Sheffield talked through malice; White from habit; Redingcame in because he could not help it; and Bateman spoke on principle; hehad a notion that he was improving Freeborn's views by this process ofbadgering. At least he did not improve his temper, which was suffering. Most of the party were undergraduates; he (Freeborn) was a Master; itwas too bad of Bateman. He finished in silence his sausage, which hadgot quite cold. The conversation flagged; there was a rise in toast andmuffins; coffee-cups were put aside, and tea flowed freely. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Freeborn did not like to be beaten; he began again. Religion, he said, was a matter of the heart; no one could interpret Scripture rightlywhose heart was not right. Till our eyes were enlightened, to disputeabout the sense of Scripture, to attempt to deduce from Scripture, wasbeating about the bush: it was like the blind disputing about colours. 

"If this is true, " said Bateman, "no one ought to argue about religionat all; but you were the first to do so, Freeborn. "

"Of course, " answered Freeborn, "those who have _found_ the truth arethe very persons to argue, for they have the gift. "

"And the very last persons to persuade, " said Sheffield; "for they havethe gift all to themselves. "

"Therefore true Christians should argue with each other, and with no oneelse, " said Bateman. 

"But those are the very persons who don't want it, " said Sheffield;"reasoning must be for the unconverted, not for the converted. It is themeans of seeking. "

Freeborn persisted that the reason of the unconverted was carnal, andthat such could not understand Scripture. 

"I have always thought, " said Reding, "that reason was a general gift, though faith is a special and personal one. If faith is really rational, all ought to see that it is rational; else, from the nature of the case, it is not rational. "

"But St. Paul says, " answered Freeborn, "that 'to the natural man thethings of the Spirit are foolishness. '"

"But how are we to arrive at truth at all, " said Reding, "except byreason? It is the appointed method for our guidance. Brutes go byinstinct, men by reason. "

They had fallen on a difficult subject; all were somewhat puzzled exceptWhite, who had not been attending, and was simply wearied; he nowinterposed. "It would be a dull world, " he said, "if men went by reason:they may think they do, but they don't. Really, they are led by theirfeelings, their affections, by the sense of the beautiful, and the good, and the holy. Religion is the beautiful; the clouds, sun, and sky, thefields and the woods, are religion. "

"This would make all religions true, " said Freeborn, "good and bad. "

"No, " answered White, "heathen rites are bloody and impure, notbeautiful; and Mahometanism is as cold and as dry as any Calvinisticmeeting. The Mahometans have no altars or priests, nothing but a pulpitand a preacher. "

"Like St. Mary's, " said Sheffield. 

"Very like, " said White; "we have no life or poetry in the Church ofEngland; the Catholic Church alone is beautiful. You would see what Imean if you went into a foreign cathedral, or even into one of theCatholic churches in our large towns. The celebrant, deacon, andsubdeacon, acolytes with lights, the incense, and the chanting--allcombine to one end, one act of worship. You feel it _is_ really aworshipping; every sense, eyes, ears, smell, are made to know thatworship is going on. The laity on the floor saying their beads, ormaking their acts; the choir singing out the _Kyrie_; and the priest andhis assistants bowing low, and saying the _Confiteor_ to each other. This is worship, and it is far above reason. "

This was spoken with all his heart; but it was quite out of keeping withthe conversation which had preceded it, and White's poetry was almost asdisagreeable to the party as Freeborn's prose. 

"White, you should turn Catholic out and out, " said Sheffield. 

"My dear good fellow, " said Bateman, "think what you are saying. Youcan't really have gone to a schismatical chapel. Oh, for shame!"

Freeborn observed, gravely, that if the two Churches _were_ one, as hadbeen maintained, he could not see, do what he would, why it was wrong togo to and fro from one to the other. 

"You forget, " said Bateman to White, "you have, or might have, all thisin your own Church, without the Romish corruptions. "

"As to the Romish corruptions, " answered White, "I know very littleabout them. "

Freeborn groaned audibly. 

"I know very little about them, " repeated White eagerly, "very little;but what is that to the purpose? We must take things as we find them. Idon't like what is bad in the Catholic Church, if there is bad, but whatis good. I do not go to it for what is bad, but for what is good. Youcan't deny that what I admire is very good and beautiful. Only you tryto introduce it into your own Church. You would give your ears, you knowyou would, to hear the _Dies iræ_. "

Here a general burst of laughter took place. White was an Irishman. Itwas a happy interruption; the party rose up from table, and a tap atthat minute, which sounded at the door, succeeded in severing the threadof the conversation. 

It was a printseller's man with a large book of plates. 

"Well timed, " said Bateman;--"put them down, Baker: or rather give themto me;--I can take the opinion of you men on a point I have much atheart. You know I wanted you, Freeborn, to go with me to see my chapel;Sheffield and Reding have looked into it. Well now, just see here. "

He opened the portfolio; it contained views of the Campo Santo at Pisa. The leaves were slowly turned over in silence, the spectators partlyadmiring, partly not knowing what to think, partly wondering at what wascoming. 

"What do you think my plan is?" he continued. "You twitted me, Sheffield, because my chapel would be useless. Now I mean to get acemetery attached to it; there is plenty of land; and then the chapelwill become a chantry. But now, what will you say if we have a copy ofthese splendid medieval monuments round the burial-place, both sculptureand painting? Now, Sheffield, Mr. Critic, what do you say to that?"

"A most admirable plan, " said Sheffield, "and quite removes myobjections. .. . A chantry! what is that? Don't they say Mass in it forthe dead?"

"Oh, no, no, no, " said Bateman, in fear of Freeborn; "we'll have none ofyour Popery. It will be a simple, guileless chapel, in which the ChurchService will be read. "

Meanwhile Sheffield was slowly turning over the plates. He stopped atone. "What will you do with that figure?" he said, pointing to aMadonna. 

"Oh, it will be best, most prudent, to leave it out; certainly, certainly. "

Sheffield soon began again: "But look here, my good fellow, what do youdo with these saints and angels? do see, why here's a complete legend;do you mean to have this? Here's a set of miracles, and a woman invokinga saint in heaven. "

Bateman looked cautiously at them, and did not answer. He would haveshut the book, but Sheffield wished to see some more. Meanwhile he said, "Oh yes, true, there _are_ some things; but I have an expedient for allthis; I mean to make it all allegorical. The Blessed Virgin shall be theChurch, and the saints shall be cardinal and other virtues; and as tothat saint's life, St. Ranieri's, it shall be a Catholic 'Pilgrim'sProgress. '"

"Good! then you must drop all these popes and bishops, copes andchalices, " said Sheffield; "and have their names written under the rest, that people mayn't take them for saints and angels. Perhaps you hadbetter have scrolls from their mouths, in old English. This St. Thomasis stout; make him say, 'I am Mr. Dreadnought, ' or 'I am Giant Despair;'and, since this beautiful saint bears a sort of dish, make her 'Mrs. Creature Comfort. ' But look here, " he continued, "a whole set of devils;are _these_ to be painted up?"

Bateman attempted forcibly to shut the book; Sheffield went on: "St. Anthony's temptations; what's this? Here's the fiend in the shape of acat on a wine-barrel. "

"Really, really, " said Bateman, disgusted, and getting possession of it, "you are quite offensive, quite. We will look at them when you are moreserious. "

Sheffield indeed was very provoking, and Bateman more good-humoured thanmany persons would have been in his place. Meanwhile Freeborn, who hadhad his gown in his hand the last two minutes, nodded to his host, andtook his departure by himself; and White and Willis soon followed incompany. 

"Really, " said Bateman to Sheffield, when they were gone, "you andWhite, each in his own way, are so very rash in your mode of speaking, and before other people, too. I wished to teach Freeborn a little goodCatholicism, and you have spoilt all. I hoped something would have comeout of this breakfast. But only think of White! it will all out. Freeborn will tell it to his set. It is very bad, very bad indeed. Andyou, my friend, are not much better; never serious. What _could_ youmean by saying that our Church is not one with the Romish? It was givingFreeborn such an advantage. "

Sheffield looked provokingly easy; and, leaning with his back againstthe mantelpiece, and his coat-tail almost playing with the spout of thekettle, replied, "You had a most awkward team to drive. " Then he added, looking sideways at him, with his head back, "And why had you, O mostcorrect of men, the audacity to say that the English Church and theRomish Church _were_ one?"

"It must be so, " answered Bateman; "there is but one Church--the Creedsays so; would you make two?"

"I don't speak of doctrine, " said Sheffield, "but of fact. I didn't meanto say that there _were_ two _Churches_; nor to deny that there was one_Church_. I but denied the fact, that what are evidently two bodies wereone body. "

Bateman thought awhile; and Charles employed himself in scraping downthe soot from the back of the chimney with the poker. He did not wish tospeak, but he was not sorry to listen to such an argument. 

"My good fellow, " said Bateman, in a tone of instruction, "you aremaking a distinction between a Church and a body which I don't quitecomprehend. You say that there are two bodies, and yet but one Church. If so, the Church is not a body, but something abstract, a mere name, ageneral idea; is _that_ your meaning? if so, you are an honestCalvinist. "

"You are another, " answered Sheffield; "for if you make two visibleChurches, English and Romish, to be one Church, that one Church must beinvisible, not visible. Thus, if I hold an abstract Church, you hold aninvisible one. "

"I do not see that, " said Bateman. 

"Prove the two Churches to be one, " said Sheffield, "and then I'll provesomething else. "

"Some paradox?" said Bateman. 

"Of course, " answered Sheffield, "a huge one; but yours, not mine. Provethe English and Romish Churches to be in any sense one, and I will proveby parallel arguments that in the same sense we and the Wesleyans areone. "

This was a fair challenge. Bateman, however, suddenly put on a demurelook, and was silent. "We are on sacred subjects, " he said at length ina subdued tone, "we are on very sacred subjects; we must be reverent, "and he drew a very long face. 

Sheffield laughed out, nor could Reding stand it. "What is it?" criedSheffield; "don't be hard on me? What have I done? Where did thesacredness begin? I eat my words. "

"Oh, he meant nothing, " said Charles, "indeed he did not; he's moreserious than he seems; do answer him; I am interested. "

"Really, I do wish to treat the subject gravely, " said Sheffield; "Iwill begin again. I am very sorry, indeed I am. Let me put the objectionmore reverently. "

Bateman relaxed: "My good Sheffield, " he said, "the thing is irreverent, not the manner. It is irreverent to liken your holy mother to theWesleyan schismatics. "

"I repent, I do indeed, " said Sheffield; "it was a wavering of faith; itwas very unseemly, I confess it. What can I say more? Look at me; won'tthis do? But now tell me, do tell me, _how_ are we one body with theRomanists, yet the Wesleyans not one body with us?"

Bateman looked at him, and was satisfied with the expression of hisface. "It's a strange question for you to ask, " he said; "I fancied youwere a sharper fellow. Don't you see that we have the apostolicalsuccession as well as the Romanists?"

"But Romanists say, " answered Sheffield, "that that is not enough forunity; that we ought to be in communion with the Pope. "

"That's their mistake, " answered Bateman. 

"That's just what the Wesleyans say of us, " retorted Sheffield, "when wewon't acknowledge _their_ succession; they say it's our mistake. "

"Their succession!" cried Bateman; "they have no succession. "

"Yes, they have, " said Sheffield; "they have a ministerial succession. "

"It isn't apostolical, " answered Bateman. 

"Yes, but it is evangelical, a succession of doctrine, " said Sheffield. 

"Doctrine! Evangelical!" cried Bateman; "whoever heard! that's notenough; doctrine is not enough without bishops. "

"And succession is not enough without the Pope, " answered Sheffield. 

"They act against the bishops, " said Bateman, not quite seeing whitherhe was going. 

"And we act against the Pope, " said Sheffield. 

"We say that the Pope isn't necessary, " said Bateman. 

"And they say that bishops are not necessary, " returned Sheffield. 

They were out of breath, and paused to see where they stood. PresentlyBateman said, "My good sir, this is a question of _fact_, not ofargumentative cleverness. The question is, whether it is not _true_ thatbishops are necessary to the notion of a Church, and whether it is not_false_ that Popes are necessary. "

"No, no, " cried Sheffield, "the question is this, whether obedience toour bishops is not necessary to make Wesleyans one body with us, andobedience to their Pope necessary to make us one body with theRomanists. You maintain the one, and deny the other; I maintain both. Maintain both, or deny both: I am consistent; you are inconsistent. "

Bateman was puzzled. 

"In a word, " Sheffield added, "succession is not unity, any more thandoctrine. "

"Not unity? What then is unity?" asked Bateman. 

"Oneness of polity, " answered Sheffield. 

Bateman thought awhile. "The idea is preposterous, " he said: "here wehave _possession_; here we are established since King Lucius's time, orsince St. Paul preached here; filling the island; one continuous Church;with the same territory, the same succession, the same hierarchy, thesame civil and political position, the same churches. Yes, " heproceeded, "we have the very same fabrics, the memorials of a thousandyears, doctrine stamped and perpetuated in stone; all the mysticalteaching of the old saints. What have the Methodists to do with Catholicrites? with altars, with sacrifice, with rood-lofts, with fonts, withniches?--they call it all superstition. "

"Don't be angry with me, Bateman, " said Sheffield, "and, before going, Iwill put forth a parable. Here's the Church of England, as like aProtestant Establishment as it can stare; bishops and people, all but afew like yourselves, call it Protestant; the living body calls itselfProtestant; the living body abjures Catholicism, flings off the name andthe thing, hates the Church of Rome, laughs at sacramental power, despises the Fathers, is jealous of priestcraft, is a Protestantreality, is a Catholic sham. This existing reality, which is alive andno mistake, you wish to top with a filagree-work of screens, dorsals, pastoral staffs, croziers, mitres, and the like. Now most excellentBateman, will you hear my parable? will you be offended at it?"

Silence gave consent, and Sheffield proceeded. 

"Why, once on a time a negro boy, when his master was away, stole intohis wardrobe, and determined to make himself fine at his master'sexpense. So he was presently seen in the streets, naked as usual, butstrutting up and down with a cocked hat on his head, and a pair of whitekid gloves on his hands. "

"Away with you! get out, you graceless, hopeless fellow!" said Bateman, discharging the sofa-bolster at his head. Meanwhile Sheffield ran to thedoor, and quickly found himself with Charles in the street below. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Sheffield and Charles may go their way; but we must follow White andWillis out of Bateman's lodgings. It was a Saint's day, and they had nolectures; they walked arm-in-arm along Broad Street, evidently veryintimate, and Willis found his voice: "I can't bear that Freeborn, " saidhe, "he's such a prig; and I like him the less because I am obliged toknow him. "

"You knew him in the country, I think?" said White. 

"In consequence, he has several times had me to his spiritualtea-parties, and has introduced me to old Mr. Grimes, a good, kind-hearted old _fogie_, but an awful evangelical, and his wife worse. Grimes is the old original religious tea-man, and Freeborn imitates him. They get together as many men as they can, perhaps twenty freshmen, bachelors, and masters, who sit in a circle, with cups and saucers intheir hands and hassocks at their knees. Some insufferable person ofCapel Hall or St. Mark's, who hardly speaks English, under pretence ofasking Mr. Grimes some divinity question, holds forth on original sin, or justification, or assurance, monopolizing the conversation. Thentea-things go, and a portion of Scripture comes instead; and old Grimesexpounds; very good it is, doubtless, though he is a layman. He's a goodold soul; but no one in the room can stand it; even Mrs. Grimes nodsover her knitting, and some of the dear brothers breathe very audibly. Mr. Grimes, however, hears nothing but himself. At length he stops; hishearers wake up, and the hassocks begin. Then we go; and Mr. Grimes andthe St. Mark's man call it a profitable evening. I can't make out whyany one goes twice; yet some men never miss. "

"They all go on faith, " said White: "faith in Mr. Grimes. "

"Faith in old Grimes, " said Willis; "an old half-pay lieutenant!"

"Here's a church open, " said White; "that's odd; let's go in. "

They entered; an old woman was dusting the pews as if for service. "Thatwill be all set right, " said Willis; "we must have no women, butsacristans and servers. "

"Then, you know, all these pews will go to the right about. Did you eversee a finer church for a function?"

"Where would you put the sacristy?" said Willis; "that closet is meantfor the vestry, but would never be large enough. "

"That depends on the number of altars the church admits, " answeredWhite; "each altar must have its own dresser and wardrobe in thesacristy. "

"One, " said Willis, counting, "where the pulpit stands, that'll be thehigh altar; one quite behind, that may be Our Lady's; two, one on eachside of the chancel--four already; to whom do you dedicate them?"

"The church is not wide enough for those side ones, " objected White. 

"Oh, but it is, " said Willis; "I have seen, abroad, altars with only onestep to them, and they need not be very broad. I think, too, this walladmits of an arch--look at the depth of the window; _that_ would be again of room. "

"No, " persisted White; "the chancel is too narrow;" and he began tomeasure the floor with his pocket-handkerchief. "What would you say isthe depth of an altar from the wall?" he asked. 

On looking up he saw some ladies in the church whom he and Willisknew--the pretty Miss Boltons--very Catholic girls, and really kind, charitable persons into the bargain. We cannot add, that they were muchwiser at that time than the two young gentlemen whom they nowencountered; and if any fair reader thinks our account of them areflection on Catholic-minded ladies generally, we beg distinctly tosay, that we by no means put them forth as a type of a class; that amongsuch persons were to be found, as we know well, the gentlest spirits andthe tenderest hearts; and that nothing short of severe fidelity tohistorical truth keeps us from adorning these two young persons inparticular with that prudence and good sense with which so many suchladies were endowed. These two sisters had open hands, if they had notwise heads; and their object in entering the church (which was not thechurch of their own parish) was to see the old woman, who was at once asubject and instrument of their bounty, and to say a word about herlittle grandchildren, in whom they were interested. As may be supposed, they did not know much of matters ecclesiastical, and they knew less ofthemselves; and the latter defect White could not supply, though he wasdoing, and had done, his best to remedy the former deficiency; and everymeeting did a little. 

The two parties left the church together, and the gentlemen saw theladies home. "We were imagining, Miss Bolton, " White said, walking at arespectful distance from her, "we were imagining St. James's a Catholicchurch, and trying to arrange things as they ought to be. "

"What was your first reform?" asked Miss Bolton. 

"I fear, " answered White, "it would fare hard with your _protégée_, theold lady who dusts out the pews. "

"Why, certainly, " said Miss Bolton, "because there would be no pews todust. "

"But not only in office, but in person, or rather in character, she mustmake her exit from the church, " said White. 

"Impossible, " said Miss Bolton; "are women, then, to remainProtestants?"

"Oh, no, " answered White, "the good lady will reappear, only in anothercharacter; she will be a widow. "

"And who will take her present place?"

"A sacristan, " answered White; "a sacristan in a cotta. Do you like theshort cotta or the long?" he continued, turning to the younger lady. 

"I?" answered Miss Charlotte; "I always forget, but I think you told usthe Roman was the short one; I'm for the short cotta. "

"You know, Charlotte, " said Miss Bolton, "that there's a great reformgoing on in England in ecclesiastical vestments. "

"I hate all reforms, " answered Charlotte, "from the Reformationdownwards. Besides, we have got some way in our cope; you have seen it, Mr. White? it's such a sweet pattern. "

"Have you determined what to do with it?" asked Willis. 

"Time enough to think of that, " said Charlotte; "it'll take four yearsto finish. "

"Four years!" cried White; "we shall be all real Catholics by then;England will be converted. "

"It will be done just in time for the Bishop, " said Charlotte. 

"Oh, it's not good enough for him!" said Miss Bolton; "but it may do inchurch for the _Asperges_. How different all things will be!" continuedshe; "I don't quite like, though, the idea of a cardinal in Oxford. Mustwe be so very Roman? I don't see why we might not be quite Catholicwithout the Pope. "

"Oh, you need not be afraid, " said White sagely; "things don't go soapace. Cardinals are not so cheap. "

"Cardinals have so much state and stiffness, " said Miss Bolton: "I hearthey never walk without two servants behind them; and they always leavethe room directly dancing begins. "

"Well, I think Oxford must be just cut out for cardinals, " said MissCharlotte; "can anything be duller than the President's parties? I canfancy Dr. Bone a cardinal, as he walks round the parks. "

"Oh, it's the genius of the Catholic Church, " said White; "you willunderstand it better in time. No one is his own master; even the Popecannot do as he will; he dines by himself, and speaks by precedent. "

"Of course he does, " said Charlotte, "for he is infallible. "

"Nay, if he makes mistakes in the functions, " continued White, "he isobliged to write them down and confess them, lest they should be drawninto precedents. "

"And he is obliged, during a function, to obey the master of ceremonies, against his own judgment, " said Willis. 

"Didn't you say the Pope confessed, Mr. White?" asked Miss Bolton; "ithas always puzzled me whether the Pope was obliged to confess likeanother man. "

"Oh, certainly, " answered White, "every one confesses. "

"Well, " said Charlotte, "I can't fancy Mr. Hurst of St. Peter's, whocomes here to sing glees, confessing, or some of the grave heads ofhouses, who bow so stiffly. "

"They will all have to confess, " said White. 

"All?" asked Miss Bolton; "you don't mean converts confess? I thought itwas only old Catholics. "

There was a little pause. 

"And what will the heads of houses be?" asked Miss Charlotte. 

"Abbots or superiors, " answered White; "they will bear crosses; and whenthey say Mass, there will be a lighted candle in addition. "

"What a good portly abbot the Vice-Chancellor will make!" said MissBolton. 

"Oh, no; he's too short for an abbot, " said her sister; "but you haveleft out the Chancellor himself: you seem to have provided for every oneelse; what will become of him?"

"The Chancellor is my difficulty, " said White gravely. 

"Make him a Knight-Templar, " said Willis. 

"The Duke's a queer hand, " said White, still thoughtfully: "there's noknowing what he'll come to. A Knight-Templar--yes; Malta is now Englishproperty; he might revive the order. "

The ladies both laughed. 

"But you have not completed your plan, Mr. White, " said Miss Bolton:"the heads of houses have got wives; how can they become monks?"

"Oh, the wives will go into convents, " said White: "Willis and I havebeen making inquiries in the High Street, and they are mostsatisfactory. Some of the houses there were once university-halls andinns, and will easily turn back into convents: all that will be wantedis grating to the windows. "

"Have you any notion what order they ought to join?" said MissCharlotte. 

"That depends on themselves, " said White: "no compulsion whatever mustbe put on them. _They_ are the judges. But it would be useful to havetwo convents--one of an active order, and one contemplative: Ursulinefor instance, and Carmelite of St. Theresa's reform. "

Hitherto their conversation had been on the verge of jest and earnest;now it took a more pensive tone. 

"The nuns of St. Theresa are very strict, I believe, Mr. White, " saidMiss Bolton. 

"Yes, " he made reply; "I have fears for the Mrs. Wardens and Mrs. Principals who at their age undertake it. "

They had got home, and White politely rang the bell. 

"Younger persons, " said he tenderly, "are too delicate for such asacrifice. "

Louisa was silent; presently she said, "And what will you be, Mr. White?"

"I know not, " he answered; "I have thought of the Cistercians; theynever speak. "

"Oh, the dear Cistercians!" she said; "St. Bernard wasn't it?--sweet, heavenly man, and so young! I have seen his picture: such eyes!"

White was a good-looking man. The nun and the monk looked at each othervery respectfully, and bowed; the other pair went through a similarceremony; then it was performed diagonally. The two ladies entered theirhome; the two gentlemen retired. 

We must follow the former upstairs. When they entered the drawing-roomthey found their mother sitting at the window in her bonnet and shawl, dipping into a chance volume in that unsettled state which implies thata person is occupied, if it may be so called, in waiting, more than inanything else. 

"My dear children, " she said as they entered, "where _have_ you been?the bells have stopped a good quarter of an hour: I fear we must give upgoing to church this morning. "

"Impossible, dear mamma, " answered Miss Bolton; "we went out punctuallyat half-past nine; we did not stop two minutes at your worsted-shop; andhere we are back again. "

"The only thing we did besides, " said Charlotte, "was to look in at St. James's, as the door was open, to say a word or two to poor old Wiggins. Mr. White was there, and his friend Mr. Willis; and they saw us home. "

"Oh, I understand, " answered Mrs. Bolton; "that is the way when younggentlemen and ladies get together: but at any rate we are late forchurch. "

"Oh, no, " said Charlotte, "let us set out directly, we shall get in bythe first lesson. "

"My dear child, how can you propose such a thing?" said her mother: "Iwould not do so for any consideration; it is so very disgraceful. Betternot go at all. "

"Oh, dearest mamma, " said the elder sister, "this certainly _is_ aprejudice. Why always come in at one time? there is something so formalin people coming in all at once, and waiting for each other. It issurely more reasonable to come in when you can: so many things mayhinder persons. "

"Well, my dear Louisa, " said her mother, "I like the old way. It used always to be said to us, Be in your seats before 'When thewicked man, ' and at latest before the 'Dearly Beloved. ' That's the goodold-fashioned way. And Mr. Jones and Mr. Pearson used always to sit atleast five minutes in the desk to give us some law, and used to lookround before beginning; and Mr. Jones used frequently to preach againstlate comers. I can't argue, but it seems to me reasonable that goodChristians should hear the whole service. They might as well go outbefore it's over. "

"Well, but, mamma, " said Charlotte, "so it _is_ abroad: they come in andgo out when they please. It's so devotional. "

"My dear girl, " said Mrs. Bolton, "I am too old to understand all this;it's beyond me. I suppose Mr. White has been saying all this to you. He's a good young man, very amiable and attentive. I have nothing to sayagainst him, except that he _is_ young, and he'll change his view ofthings when he gets older. "

"While we talk, time's going, " said Louisa; "is it quite impossible weshould still go to church?"

"My dear Louisa, I would not walk up the aisle for the world; positivelyI should sink into the earth: such a bad example! How can you dream ofsuch a thing?"

"Then I suppose nothing's to be done, " said Louisa, taking off herbonnet; "but really it is very sad to make worship so cold and formal athing. Twice as many people would go to church if they might be late. "

"Well, my dear, all things are changed now: in my younger days Catholicswere the formal people, and we were the devotional; now it's just thereverse. "

"But isn't it so, dear mamma?" said Charlotte, "isn't it something muchmore beautiful, this continued concourse, flowing and ebbing, changingyet full, than a way of praying which is as wooden as thereading-desk?--it's so free and natural. "

"Free and easy, _I_ think, " said her mother; "for shame, Charlotte! howcan you speak against the beautiful Church Service; you pain me. "

"I don't, " answered Charlotte; "it's a mere puritanical custom, which isno more part of our Church than the pews are. "

"Common Prayer is offered to all who can come, " said Louisa; "Churchshould be a privilege, not a mere duty. "

"Well, my dear love, this is more than I can follow. There was youngGeorge Ashton--he always left before the sermon; and when taxed with it, he said he could not bear an heretical preacher; a boy of eighteen!"

"But, dearest mamma, " said Charlotte, "what _is_ to be done when apreacher is heretical? what else can be done?--it's so distressing to aCatholic mind. "

"Catholic, Catholic!" cried Mrs. Bolton, rather vexed; "give me good oldGeorge the Third and the Protestant religion. Those were the times!Everything went on quietly then. We had no disputes or divisions; nodifferences in families. But now it is all otherwise. My head is turned, I declare; I hear so many strange, out-of-the-way things. "

The young ladies did not answer; one looked out of the window, the otherprepared to leave the room. 

"Well it's a disappointment to us all, " said their mother; "you firsthindered me going, then I have hindered you. But I suspect, dear Louisa, mine is the greater disappointment of the two. "

Louisa turned round from the window. 

"I value the Prayer Book as you cannot do, my love, " she continued; "forI have known what it is to one in deep affliction. May it be long, dearest girls, before you know it in a similar way; but if afflictioncomes on you, depend on it, all these new fancies and fashions willvanish from you like the wind, and the good old Prayer Book alone willstand you in any stead. "

They were both touched. 

"Come, my dears; I have spoken too seriously, " she added. "Go and takeyour things off, and come and let us have some quiet work beforeluncheon-time. "

CHAPTER IX. 

Some persons fidget at intellectual difficulties, and, successfully ornot, are ever trying to solve them. Charles was of a different cast oftemper; a new idea was not lost on him, but it did not distress him, ifit was obscure, or conflicted with his habitual view of things. He letit work its way and find its place, and shape itself within him, by theslow spontaneous action of the mind. Yet perplexity is not in itself apleasant state; and he would have hastened its removal, had he beenable. 

By means of conversations such as those which we have related (to whichmany others might be added, which we spare the reader's patience), andfrom the diversities of view which he met with in the University, he hadnow come, in the course of a year, to one or two conclusions, not verynovel, but very important:--first, that there are a great many opinionsin the world on the most momentous subjects; secondly, that all are notequally true; thirdly, that it is a duty to hold true opinions; and, fourthly, that it is uncommonly difficult to get hold of them. He hadbeen accustomed, as we have seen, to fix his mind on persons, not onopinions, and to determine to like what was good in every one; but hehad now come to perceive that, to say the least, it was not respectablein any great question to hold false opinions. It did not matter thatsuch false opinions were sincerely held, --he could not feel that respectfor a person who held what Sheffield called a sham, with which heregarded him who held a reality. White and Bateman were cases in point;they were very good fellows, but he could not endure their unreal way oftalking, though they did not feel it to be unreal themselves. In likemanner, if the Roman Catholic system was untrue, so far was plain(putting aside higher considerations), that a person who believed in thepower of saints, and prayed to them, was an actor in a great sham, lethim be as sincere as he would. He mistook words for things, and so farforth, he could not respect him more than he respected White or Bateman. And so of a Unitarian; if he believed the power of unaided human natureto be what it was not; if by birth man is fallen, and he thought himupright, he was holding an absurdity. He might redeem and cover thisblot by a thousand excellences, but a blot it would remain; just as weshould feel a handsome man disfigured by the loss of an eye or a hand. And so, again, if a professing Christian made the Almighty a being ofsimple benevolence, and He was, on the contrary, what the Church ofEngland teaches, a God who punishes for the sake of justice, such aperson was making an idol or unreality the object of his religion, and(apart from more serious thoughts about him) so far he could not respecthim. Thus the principle of dogmatism gradually became an essentialelement in Charles's religious views. 

Gradually, and imperceptibly to himself; for the thoughts which we havebeen tracing only came on him at spare times, and were taken up atintervals from the point at which they were laid down. His lectures andother duties of the place, his friends and recreations, were the stapleof the day; but there was this undercurrent ever in motion, and soundingin his mental ear as soon as other sounds were hushed. As he dressed inthe morning, as he sat under the beeches of his college-garden, when hestrolled into the meadow, when he went into the town to pay a bill ormake a call, when he threw himself on his sofa after shutting his oak atnight, thoughts cognate with those which have been described were busywithin him. 

Discussions, however, and inquiries, as far as Oxford could affordmatter for them, were for a while drawing to an end; for Trinity Sundaywas now past, and the Commemoration was close at hand. On the Sundaybefore it, the University sermon happened to be preached by adistinguished person, whom that solemnity brought up to Oxford; no lessa man than the Very Rev. Dr. Brownside, the new Dean of Nottingham, sometime Huntingdonian Professor of Divinity, and one of the acutest, if notsoundest academical thinkers of the day. He was a little, prim, smirking, be-spectacled man, bald in front, with curly black hairbehind, somewhat pompous in his manner, with a clear musical utterance, which enabled one to listen to him without effort. As a divine, heseemed never to have had any difficulty on any subject; he was so clearor so shallow, that he saw to the bottom of all his thoughts: or, sinceDr. Johnson tells us that "all shallows are clear, " we may perhapsdistinguish him by both epithets. Revelation to him, instead of beingthe abyss of God's counsels, with its dim outlines and broad shadows, was a flat, sunny plain, laid out with straight macadamised roads. Not, of course, that he denied the Divine incomprehensibility itself, withcertain heretics of old; but he maintained that in Revelation all thatwas mysterious had been left out, and nothing given us but what waspractical, and directly concerned us. It was, moreover, to him a marvel, that every one did not agree with him in taking this simple, naturalview, which he thought almost self-evident; and he attributed thephenomenon, which was by no means uncommon, to some want of clearness ofhead, or twist of mind, as the case might be. He was a popular preacher;that is, though he had few followers, he had numerous hearers; and onthis occasion the church was overflowing with the young men of theplace. 

He began his sermon by observing, that it was not a little remarkablethat there were so few good reasoners in the world, considering that thediscursive faculty was one of the characteristics of man's nature, ascontrasted with brute animals. It had indeed been said that brutesreasoned; but this was an analogical sense of the word "reason, " and aninstance of that very ambiguity of language, or confusion of thought, onwhich he was animadverting. In like manner, we say that the _reason_ whythe wind blows is, that there is a change of temperature in theatmosphere; and the _reason_ why the bells ring is, because the ringerspull them; but who would say that the wind _reasons_ or that bells_reason_? There was, he believed, no well-ascertained fact (an emphasison the word _fact_) of brutes reasoning. It had been said, indeed, thatthat sagacious animal, the dog, if, in tracking his master, he met threeways, after smelling the two, boldly pursued the third without any suchprevious investigation; which, if true, would be an instance of adisjunctive hypothetical syllogism. Also Dugald Stewart spoke of thecase of a monkey cracking nuts behind a door, which, not being a strictimitation of anything which he could have actually seen, implied anoperation of abstraction, by which the clever brute had first ascendedto the general notion of nut-crackers, which perhaps he had seen in aparticular instance, in silver or in steel, at his master's table, andthen descending, had embodied it, thus obtained, in the shape of anexpedient of his own devising. This was what had been said: however, hemight assume on the present occasion, that the faculty of reasoning wascharacteristic of the human species; and, this being the case, itcertainly was remarkable that so few persons reasoned well. 

After this introduction, he proceeded to attribute to this defect thenumber of religious differences in the world. He said that the mostcelebrated questions in religion were but verbal ones; that thedisputants did not know their own meaning, or that of their opponents;and that a spice of good logic would have put an end to dissensions, which had troubled the world for centuries, --would have prevented many abloody war, many a fierce anathema, many a savage execution, and many aponderous folio. He went on to imply that in fact there was no truth orfalsehood in the received dogmas in theology; that they were modes, neither good nor bad in themselves, but personal, national, or periodic, in which the intellect reasoned upon the great truths of religion; thatthe fault lay, not in holding them, but in insisting on them, which waslike insisting on a Hindoo dressing like a Fin, or a regiment ofdragoons using the boomarang. 

He proceeded to observe, that from what he had said, it was plain inwhat point of view the Anglican formularies were to be regarded; viz. They were _our_ mode of expressing everlasting truths, which might be aswell expressed in other ways, as any correct thinker would be able tosee. Nothing, then, was to be altered in them; they were to be retainedin their integrity; but it was ever to be borne in mind that they wereAnglican theology, not theology in the abstract; and that, though theAthanasian Creed was good for us, it did not follow that it was good forour neighbours; rather, that what seemed the very reverse might suitothers better, might be _their_ mode of expressing the same truths. 

He concluded with one word in favour of Nestorius, two for Abelard, three for Luther, "that great mind, " as he worded it, "who saw thatchurches, creeds, rites, persons, were nought in religion, and that theinward spirit, _faith_, " as he himself expressed it, "was all in all;"and with a hint that nothing would go well in the University till thisgreat principle was so far admitted, as to lead its members--not, indeed, to give up their own distinctive formularies, no--but toconsider the direct contradictories of them equally pleasing to thedivine Author of Christianity. 

Charles did not understand the full drift of the sermon; but heunderstood enough to make him feel that it was different from any sermonhe had heard in his life. He more than doubted, whether, if his goodfather had heard it, he would not have made it an exception to hisfavourite dictum. He came away marvelling with himself what the preachercould mean, and whether he had misunderstood him. Did he mean thatUnitarians were only bad reasoners, and might be as good Christians asorthodox believers? He could mean nothing else. But what if, after all, he was right? He indulged the thought awhile. "Then every one is whatSheffield calls a sham, more or less; and there was no reason for beingannoyed at any one. Then I was right originally in wishing to take everyone for what he was. Let me think; every one a sham . .. Shams arerespectable, or rather no one is respectable. We can't do without someoutward form of belief; one is not truer than another; that is, all areequally true. .. . _All_ are true. .. . That is the better way of taking it;none are shams, all are true. .. . All are _true_! impossible! one as trueas another! why then it is as true that our Lord is a mere man, as thatHe is God. He could not possibly mean this; what _did_ he mean?"

So Charles went on, painfully perplexed, yet out of this perplexity twoconvictions came upon him, the first of them painful too; that he couldnot take for gospel everything that was said, even by authorities of theplace and divines of name; and next, that his former amiable feeling oftaking every one for what he was, was a dangerous one, leading withlittle difficulty to a sufferance of every sort of belief, andlegitimately terminating in the sentiment expressed in Pope's UniversalPrayer, which his father had always held up to him as a pattern specimenof shallow philosophism:--

 "Father of all, in every age, In every clime adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord. "

CHAPTER X. 

Charles went up this term for his first examination, and this caused himto remain in Oxford some days after the undergraduate part of hiscollege had left for the Long Vacation. Thus he came across Mr. Vincent, one of the junior tutors, who was kind enough to ask him to dine inCommon-room on Sunday, and on several mornings made him take some turnswith him up and down the Fellows' walk in the college garden. 

A few years make a great difference in the standing of men at Oxford, and this made Mr. Vincent what is called a don in the eyes of personswho were very little younger than himself. Besides, Vincent looked mucholder than he really was; he was of a full habit, with a floridcomplexion and large blue eyes, and showed a deal of linen at his bosom, and full wristbands at his cuffs. Though a clever man, and a hard readerand worker, and a capital tutor, he was a good feeder as well; he ateand drank, he walked and rode, with as much heart as he lectured inAristotle, or crammed in Greek plays. What is stranger still, with allthis he was something of a valetudinarian. He had come off from schoolon a foundation fellowship, and had the reputation both at school andin the University of being a first-rate scholar. He was a strictdisciplinarian in his way, had the undergraduates under his thumb, andhaving some _bonhomie_ in his composition, was regarded by them withmingled feelings of fear and good will. They laughed at him, butcarefully obeyed him. Besides this he preached a good sermon, readprayers with unction, and in his conversation sometimes had even a touchof evangelical spirituality. The young men even declared they could tellhow much port he had taken in Common-room by the devoutness of hisresponses in evening-chapel; and it was on record that once, during theConfession, he had, in the heat of his contrition, shoved over the hugevelvet cushion in which his elbows were imbedded upon the heads of thegentlemen commoners who sat under him. 

He had just so much originality of mind as gave him an excuse for being"his own party" in religion, or what he himself called being "no partyman;" and just so little that he was ever mistaking shams for truths, and converting pompous nothings into oracles. He was oracular in hismanner, denounced parties and party-spirit, and thought to avoid the oneand the other by eschewing all persons, and holding all opinions. He hada great idea of the _via media_ being the truth; and to obtain it, thought it enough to flee from extremes, without having any verydefinite mean to flee to. He had not clearness of intellect enough topursue a truth to its limits, nor boldness enough to hold it in itssimplicity; but he was always saying things and unsaying them, balancinghis thoughts in impossible attitudes, and guarding his words byunintelligible limitations. As to the men and opinions of the day andplace, he would in the main have agreed with them, had he let himselfalone; but he was determined to have an intellect of his own, and thisput him to great shifts when he would distinguish himself from them. Hadhe been older than they, he would have talked of "young heads, " "hotheads, " and the like; but since they were grave and cool men, and outranhim by fourteen or fifteen years, he found nothing better than to shakehis head, mutter against party-spirit, refuse to read their books, lesthe should be obliged to agree with them, and make a boast of avoidingtheir society. At the present moment he was on the point of starting fora continental tour to recruit himself after the labours of an Oxfordyear; meanwhile he was keeping hall and chapel open for such men as werewaiting either for Responsions, or for their battel money; and he tooknotice of Reding as a clever, modest youth of whom something might bemade. Under this view of him, he had, among other civilities, asked himto breakfast a day or two before he went down. 

A tutor's breakfast is always a difficult affair both for host andguests; and Vincent piqued himself on the tact with which he managed it. The material part was easy enough; there were rolls, toast, muffins, eggs, cold lamb, strawberries, on the table; and in due season thecollege-servant brought in mutton-cutlets and broiled ham; and every oneate to his heart's, or rather his appetite's, content. It was a morearduous undertaking to provide the running accompaniment of thought, orat least of words, without which the breakfast would have been littlebetter than a pig-trough. The conversation or rather mono-polylogue, assome great performer calls it, ran in somewhat of the following strain:

"Mr. Bruton, " said Vincent, "what news from Staffordshire? Are thepotteries pretty quiet now? Our potteries grow in importance. You neednot look at the cup and saucer before you, Mr. Catley; those came fromDerbyshire. But you find English crockery everywhere on the Continent. Imyself found half a willow-pattern saucer in the crater of Vesuvius. Mr. Sikes, I think _you_ have _been_ in Italy?"

"No, sir, " said Sikes; "I was near going; my family set off a fortnightago, but I was kept here by these confounded smalls. "

"Your _Responsiones_, " answered the tutor in a tone of rebuke; "anunfortunate delay for you, for it is to be an unusually fine season, ifthe meteorologists of the sister University are right in theirpredictions. Who is in the Responsion schools, Mr. Sikes?"

"Butson of Leicester is the strict one, sir; he plucks one man in three. He plucked last week Patch of St. George's, and Patch has taken his oathhe'll shoot him; and Butson has walked about ever since with a bulldog. "

"These are reports, Mr. Sikes, which often flit about, but must not betrusted. Mr. Patch could not have given a better proof that hisrejection was deserved. "

A pause--during which poor Vincent hastily gobbled up two or threemouthfuls of bread and butter, the knives and forks meanwhile clinkingupon his guests' plates. 

"Sir, is it true, " began one of his guests at length, "that the oldPrincipal is going to be married?"

"These are matters, Mr. Atkins, " answered Vincent, "which we shouldalways inquire about at the fountain-head; _antiquam exquirite matrem_, or rather _patrem_; ha, ha! Take some more tea, Mr. Reding; it won'thurt your nerves. I am rather choice in my tea; this comes overlandthrough Russia; the sea-air destroys the flavour of our common tea. Talking of air, Mr. Tenby, I think you are a chemist. Have you paidattention to the recent experiments on the composition and resolution ofair? Not? I am surprised at it; they are well worth your most seriousconsideration. It is now pretty well ascertained that inhaling gases isthe cure for all kinds of diseases. People are beginning to talk of thegas-cure, as they did of the water-cure. The great foreign chemist, Professor Scaramouch, has the credit of the discovery. The effects areastounding, quite astounding; and there are several remarkablecoincidences. You know medicines are always unpleasant, and so thesegases are always fetid. The Professor cures by stenches, and has broughthis science to such perfection that he actually can classify them. Thereare six elementary stenches, and these spread into a variety ofsubdivisions? What do you say, Mr. Reding? Distinctive? Yes, there issomething very distinctive in smells. But what is most gratifying ofall, and is the great coincidence I spoke of, his ultimate resolution offetid gases assigns to them the very same precise number as is given toexisting complaints in the latest treatises on pathology. Each complainthas its gas. And, what is still more singular, an exhausted receiver isa specific for certain desperate disorders. For instance, it haseffected several cures of hydrophobia. Mr. Seaton, " he continued to afreshman, who, his breakfast finished, was sitting uncomfortably on hischair, looking down and playing with his knife--"Mr. Seaton, you arelooking at that picture"--it was almost behind Seaton's back--"I don'twonder at it; it was given me by my good old mother, who died many yearsago. It represents some beautiful Italian scenery. "

Vincent stood up, and his party after him, and all crowded round thepicture. 

"I prefer the green of England, " said Reding. 

"England has not that brilliant variety of colour, " said Tenby. 

"But there is something so soothing in green. "

"You know, of course, Mr. Reding, " said the tutor, "that there is plentyof green in Italy, and in winter even more than in England; only thereare other colours too. "

"But I can't help fancying, " said Charles, "that that mixture of colourstakes off from it the repose of English scenery. "

"The repose, for instance, " said Tenby, "of Binsey Common, or PortMeadow in winter. "

"Say in summer, " said Reding; "if you choose place, I will choose time. I think the University goes down just when Oxford begins to be mostbeautiful. The walks and meadows are so fragrant and bright now, the hayhalf carried, and the short new grass appearing. "

"Reding ought to live here all through the Long, " said Tenby: "does anyone live through the Vacation, sir, in Oxford?"

"Do you mean they die before the end of it, Mr. Tenby?" asked Vincent. "It can't be denied, " he continued, "that many, like Mr. Reding, thinkit a most pleasant time. _I_ am fond of Oxford; but it is not my_habitat_ out of term-time. "

"Well, I think I should like to make it so, " said Charles, "but, Isuppose, undergraduates are not allowed. "

Mr. Vincent answered with more than necessary gravity, "No;" it restedwith the Principal; but he conceived that he would not consent to it. Vincent added that certainly there _were_ parties who remained in Oxfordthrough the Long Vacation. It was said mysteriously. 

Charles answered that, if it was against college rules, there was nohelp for it; else, were he reading for his degree, he should likenothing better than to pass the Long Vacation in Oxford, if he mightjudge by the pleasantness of the last ten days. 

"That is a compliment, Mr. Reding, to your company, " said Vincent. 

At this moment the door opened, and in came the manciple with the dinnerpaper, which Mr. Vincent had formally to run his eye over. "Watkins, " hesaid, giving it back to him, "I almost think to-day is one of the Fastsof the Church. Go and look, Watkins, and bring me word. "

The astonished manciple, who had never been sent on such a commission inhis whole career before, hastened out of the room, to task his wits howbest to fulfil it. The question seemed to strike the company asforcibly, for there was a sudden silence, which was succeeded by ashuffling of feet and a leave-taking; as if, though they had securedtheir ham and mutton at breakfast, they did not like to risk theirdinner. Watkins returned sooner than could have been expected. He saidthat Mr. Vincent was right; to-day he had found was "the feast of theApostles. "

"The Vigil of St. Peter, you mean, Watkins, " said Mr. Vincent; "Ithought so. Then let us have a plain beefsteak and a saddle of mutton;no Portugal onions, Watkins, or currant-jelly; and some simple pudding, Charlotte pudding, Watkins--that will do. "

Watkins vanished. By this time, Charles found himself alone with thecollege authority; who began to speak to him in a more confidentialtone. 

"Mr. Reding, " said he, "I did not like to question you before theothers, but I conceive you had no particular _meaning_ in your praise ofOxford in the Long Vacation? In the mouths of some it would have beensuspicious. "

Charles was all surprise. 

"To tell the truth, Mr. Reding, as things stand, " he proceeded, "it isoften a mark of _party_, this residence in the Vacation; though, ofcourse, there is nothing in the _thing_ itself but what is perfectlynatural and right. "

Charles was all attention. 

"My good sir, " the tutor proceeded, "avoid parties; be sure to avoidparty. You are young in your career among us. I always feel anxiousabout young men of talent; there is the greatest danger of the talentof the University being absorbed in party. "

Reding expressed a hope that nothing he had done had given cause to histutor's remark. 

"No, " replied Mr. Vincent, "no;" yet with some slight hesitation; "no, Idon't know that it has. But I have thought some of your remarks andquestions at lecture were like a person pushing things _too far_, andwishing to form a _system_. "

Charles was so much taken aback by the charge, that the unexplainedmystery of the Long Vacation went out of his head. He said he was "verysorry, " and "obliged;" and tried to recollect what he could have said togive ground to Mr. Vincent's remark. Not being able at the moment torecollect, he went on. "I assure you, sir, I know so little of partiesin the place, that I hardly know their leaders. I have heard personsmentioned, but, if I tried, I think I should, in some cases, mismatchnames and opinions. "

"I believe it, " said Vincent; "but you are young; I am cautioning youagainst _tendencies_. You may suddenly find yourself absorbed before youknow where you are. "

Charles thought this a good opportunity of asking some questions indetail, about points which puzzled him. He asked whether Dr. Brownsidewas considered a safe divine to follow. 

"I hold, d'ye see, " answered Vincent, "that all errors are counterfeitsof truth. Clever men say true things, Mr. Reding, true in theirsubstance, but, " sinking his voice to a whisper, "they go _too far_. Itmight even be shown that all sects are in one sense but parts of theCatholic Church. I don't say true parts, that is a further question; butthey _embody_ great _principles_. The Quakers represent the principle ofsimplicity and evangelical poverty; they even have a dress of their own, like monks. The Independents represent the rights of the laity; theWesleyans cherish the devotional principle; the Irvingites, thesymbolical and mystical; the High Church party, the principle ofobedience; the Liberals are the guardians of reason. No party, then, Iconceive, is entirely right or entirely wrong. As to Dr. Brownside, there certainly have been various opinions entertained about hisdivinity; still, he is an able man, and I think you will gain _good_, gain _good_ from his teaching. But mind, I don't _recommend_ him; yet Irespect him, and I consider that he says many things very well worthyour attention. I would advise you, then, to accept the _good_ which hissermons offer, without committing yourself to the _bad_. That, dependupon it, Mr. Reding, is the golden though the obvious rule in thesematters. "

Charles said, in answer, that Mr. Vincent was overrating his powers;that he had to learn before he could judge; and that he wished very muchto know whether Vincent could recommend him any book, in which he mightsee at once _what_ the true Church-of-England doctrine was on a numberof points which perplexed him. 

Mr. Vincent replied, he must be on his guard against dissipating hismind with such reading, at a time when his University duties had adefinite claim upon him. He ought to avoid all controversies of theday, all authors of the day. He would advise him to read _no_ livingauthors. "Read dead authors alone, " he continued; "dead authors aresafe. Our great divines, " and he stood upright, "were models; 'therewere giants on the earth in those days, ' as King George the Third hadonce said of them to Dr. Johnson. They had that depth, and power, andgravity, and fulness, and erudition; and they were so racy, always racy, and what might be called English. They had that richness, too, such amine of thought, such a world of opinion, such activity of mind, suchinexhaustible resource, such diversity, too. Then they were so eloquent;the majestic Hooker, the imaginative Taylor, the brilliant Hall, thelearning of Barrow, the strong sense of South, the keen logic ofChillingworth, good, honest old Burnet, " etc. , etc. 

There did not seem much reason why he should stop at one moment morethan another; at length, however, he did stop. It was prose, but it waspleasant prose to Charles; he knew just enough about these writers tofeel interested in hearing them talked about, and to him Vincent seemedto be saying a good deal, when in fact he was saying very little. Whenhe stopped, Charles said he believed that there were persons in theUniversity who were promoting the study of these authors. 

Mr. Vincent looked grave. "It is true, " he said; "but, my young friend, I have already hinted to you that indifferent things are perverted tothe purposes of _party_. At this moment the names of some of ourgreatest divines are little better than a watchword by which theopinions of living individuals are signified. "

"Which opinions, I suppose, " Charles answered, "are not to be found inthose authors. "

"I'll not say that, " said Mr. Vincent. "I have the greatest respect forthe individuals in question, and I am not denying that they have donegood to our Church by drawing attention in this lax day to the oldChurch-of-England divinity. But it is one thing to agree with thesegentlemen; another, " laying his hand on Charles's shoulder, "another tobelong to their party. Do not make man your master; get good from all;think well of all persons, and you will be a wise man. "

Reding inquired, with some timidity, if this was not something like whatDr. Brownside had said in the University pulpit; but perhaps the latteradvocated a toleration of opinions in a different sense? Mr. Vincentanswered rather shortly, that he had not heard Dr. Brownside's sermon;but, for himself, he had been speaking only of persons in our owncommunion. 

"Our Church, " he said, "admitted of great liberty of thought within herpale. Even our greatest divines differed from each other in manyrespects; nay, Bishop Taylor differed from himself. It was a greatprinciple in the English Church. Her true children agree to differ. Intruth, " he continued, "there is that robust, masculine, nobleindependence in the English mind, which refuses to be tied down toartificial shapes, but is like, I will say, some great and beautifulproduction of nature, --a tree, which is rich in foliage and fantasticin limb, no sickly denizen of the hothouse, or helpless dependent ofthe garden wall, but in careless magnificence sheds its fruits upon thefree earth, for the bird of the air and the beast of the field, and allsorts of cattle, to eat thereof and rejoice. "

When Charles came away, he tried to think what he had gained by hisconversation with Mr. Vincent; not exactly what he had wanted, somepractical rules to guide his mind and keep him steady; but still someuseful hints. He had already been averse to parties, and offended atwhat he saw of individuals attached to them. Vincent had confirmed himin his resolution to keep aloof from them, and to attend to his dutiesin the place. He felt pleased to have had this talk with him; but whatcould he mean by suspecting a tendency in himself to push things toofar, and thereby to implicate himself in party? He was obliged to resignhimself to ignorance on the subject, and to be content with keeping awatch over himself in future. 

CHAPTER XI. 

No opportunity has occurred of informing the reader that, during thelast week or two, Charles had accidentally been a good deal thrownacross Willis, the _umbra_ of White at Bateman's breakfast-party. He hadliked his looks on that occasion, when he was dumb; he did not like himso much when he heard him talk; still he could not help being interestedin him, and not the least for this reason, that Willis seemed to havetaken a great fancy to himself. He certainly did court Charles, andseemed anxious to stand well with him. Charles, however, did not likehis mode of talking better than he did White's; and when he first sawhis rooms, there was much in them which shocked both his good sense andhis religious principles. A large ivory crucifix, in a glass case, was aconspicuous ornament between the windows; an engraving, representing theBlessed Trinity, as is usual in Catholic countries, hung over thefireplace, and a picture of the Madonna and St. Dominic was opposite toit. On the mantelpiece were a rosary, a thuribulum, and other tokens ofCatholicism, of which Charles did not know the uses; a missal, ritual, and some Catholic tracts, lay on the table; and, as he happened to comeon Willis unexpectedly, he found him sitting in a vestment more like acassock than a reading-gown, and engaged upon some portion of theBreviary. Virgil and Sophocles, Herodotus and Cicero seemed, as impurepagans, to have hid themselves in corners, or flitted away, before theawful presence of the Ancient Church. Charles had taken upon himself toprotest against some of these singularities, but without success. 

On the evening before his departure for the country he had occasion togo towards Folly Bridge to pay a bill, when he was startled, as hepassed what he had ever taken for a dissenting chapel, to see Williscome out of it. He hardly could believe he saw correctly; he knew, indeed, that Willis had been detained in Oxford, as he had been himself;but what had compelled him to a visit so extraordinary as that which hehad just made, Charles had no means of determining. 

"Willis!" he cried, as he stopped. 

Willis coloured, and tried to look easy. 

"Do come a few paces with me, " said Charles. "What in the world hastaken you there? Is it not a dissenting meeting?"

"Dissenting meeting!" cried Willis, surprised and offended in his turn:"what on earth could make you think I would go to a dissenting meeting?"

"Well, I beg your pardon, " said Charles; "I recollect now: it's theexhibition room. However, _once_ it _was_ a chapel: that's my mistake. Isn't it what is called 'the Old Methodist Chapel?' I never was there;they showed there the _Dio-astro-doxon_, so I think they called it. "Charles talked on, to cover his own mistake, for he was ashamed of thecharge he had made. 

Willis did not know whether he was in jest or earnest. "Reding, " hesaid, "don't go on; you offend me. "

"Well, what is it?" said Charles. 

"You know well enough, " answered Willis, "though you wish to annoy me. "

"I don't indeed. "

"It's the Catholic church, " said Willis. 

Reding was silent a moment; then he said, "Well, I don't think you havemended the matter; it _is_ a dissenting meeting, call it what you will, though not the kind of one I meant. "

"What can you mean?" asked Willis. 

"Rather, what mean _you_ by going to such places?" retorted Charles;"why, it is against your oath. "

"My oath! what oath?"

"There's not an oath now; but there was an oath till lately, " saidReding; "and we still make a very solemn engagement. Don't you recollectyour matriculation at the Vice-Chancellor's, and what oaths anddeclarations you made?"

"I don't know what I made: my tutor told me nothing about it. I signed abook or two. "

"You did more, " said Reding. "I was told most carefully. You solemnlyengaged to keep the statutes; and one statute is, not to go into anydissenting chapel or meeting whatever. "

"Catholics are not Dissenters, " said Willis. 

"Oh, don't speak so, " said Charles; "you know it's meant to includethem. The statute wishes us to keep from all places of worship whateverbut our own. "

"But it is an illegal declaration or vow, " said Willis, "and so notbinding. "

"Where did you find that get-off?" said Charles; "the priest put thatinto your head. "

"I don't know the priest; I never spoke a word to him, " answered Willis. 

"Well, any how, it's not your own answer, " said Reding; "and does nothelp you. I am no casuist; but if it is an illegal engagement you shouldnot continue to enjoy the benefit of it. "

"What benefit?"

"Your cap and gown; a university education; the chance of a scholarshipor fellowship. Give up these, and then plead, if you will, and lawfully, that you are quit of your engagement; but don't sail under falsecolours: don't take the benefit and break the stipulation. "

"You take it too seriously; there are half a hundred statutes _you_don't keep, any more than I. You are most inconsistent. "

"Well, if we don't keep them, " said Charles, "I suppose it is in pointswhere the authorities don't enforce them; for instance, they don't meanus to dress in brown, though the statutes order it. "

"But they _do_ mean to keep you from walking down High Street inbeaver, " answered Willis; "for the Proctors march up and down, and sendyou back, if they catch you. "

"But _this_ is a different matter, " said Reding, changing his ground;"this is a matter of religion. It can't be right to go to strange placesof worship or meetings. "

"Why, " said Willis, "if we are one Church with the Roman Catholics, Ican't make out for the life of me how it's wrong for us to go to them orthem to us. "

"I'm no divine, I don't understand what is meant by one Church, " saidCharles; "but I know well that there's not a bishop, not a clergyman, not a sober churchman in the land but would give it against you. It's asheer absurdity. "

"Don't talk in that way, " answered Willis, "please don't. I feel all myheart drawn to the Catholic worship; our own service is so cold. "

"That's just what every stiff Dissenter says, " answered Charles; "everypoor cottager, too, who knows no better, and goes after theMethodists--after her dear Mr. Spoutaway or the preaching cobbler. _She_says (I have heard them), 'Oh, sir, I suppose we ought to go where weget most good. Mr. So-and-so goes to my heart--he goes through me. '"

Willis laughed; "Well, not a bad reason, as times go, _I_ think, " saidhe: "poor souls, what better means of judging have they? how can youhope they will like 'the Scripture moveth us'? Really you are making toomuch of it. This is only the second time I have been there, and, I tellyou in earnest, I find my mind filled with awe and devotion there; as Ithink you would too. I really am better for it; I cannot pray in church;there's a bad smell there, and the pews hide everything; I can't seethrough a deal board. But here, when I went in, I found all still, andcalm, the space open, and, in the twilight, the Tabernacle just visible, pointed out by the lamp. "

Charles looked very uncomfortable. "Really, Willis, " he said, "I don'tknow what to say to you. Heaven forbid that I should speak against theRoman Catholics; I know nothing about them. But _this_ I know, that youare not a Roman Catholic, and have no business there. If they have suchsacred things among them as those you allude to, still these are notyours; you are an intruder. I know nothing about it; I don't like togive a judgment, I am sure. But it's a tampering with sacred things;running here and there, touching and tasting, taking up, putting down. Idon't like it, " he added, with vehemence; "it's taking liberties withGod. "

"Oh, my dear Reding, please don't speak so very severely, " said poorWillis; "now what have I done more than you would do yourself, were youin France or Italy? Do you mean to say you wouldn't enter the churchesabroad?"

"I will only decide about what is before me, " answered Reding; "when Igo abroad, then will be the time to think about your question. It isquite enough to know what we ought to do at the moment, and I am clearyou have been doing wrong. How did you find your way there?"

"White took me. "

"Then there is one man in the world more thoughtless than you: do manyof the gownsmen go there?"

"Not that I know of; one or two have gone from curiosity; there is nopractice of going, at least this is what I am told. "

"Well, " said Charles, "you must promise me you will not go again. Come, we won't part till you do. "

"That is too much, " said Willis, gently; then, disengaging his arm fromReding's, he suddenly darted away from him, saying, "Good-bye, good-bye;to our next merry meeting--_au revoir_. "

There was no help for it. Charles walked slowly home, saying to himself:"What if, after all, the Roman Catholic Church is the true Church? Iwish I knew what to believe; no one will tell me what to believe; I amso left to myself. " Then he thought: "I suppose I know quite enough forpractice--more than I _do_ practise; and I ought surely to be contentedand thankful. "

CHAPTER XII. 

Charles was an affectionate son, and the Long Vacation passed veryhappily at home. He was up early, and read steadily till luncheon, andthen he was at the service of his father, mother, and sisters for therest of the day. He loved the calm, quiet country; he loved themonotonous flow of time, when each day is like the other; and, after theexcitement of Oxford, the secluded parsonage was like a haven beyond thetossing of the waves. The whirl of opinions and perplexities which hadencircled him at Oxford now were like the distant sound of theocean--they reminded him of his present security. The undulatingmeadows, the green lanes, the open heath, the common with itswide-spreading dusky elms, the high timber which fringed the level pathfrom village to village, ever and anon broken and thrown into groups, orlosing itself in copses--even the gate, and the stile, and theturnpike-road had the charm, not of novelty, but of long familiar use;they had the poetry of many recollections. Nor was the dilapidated, deformed church, with its outside staircases, its unsightly galleries, its wide intruded windows, its uncouth pews, its low nunting table, itsforlorn vestry, and its damp earthy smell, without its pleasantassociations to the inner man; for there it was that for many a year, Sunday after Sunday, he had heard his dear father read and preach; therewere the old monuments, with Latin inscriptions and strange devices, theblack boards with white letters, the Resurgams and grinning skulls, thefire-buckets, the faded militia-colours, and, almost as much a fixture, the old clerk, with a Welsh wig over his ears, shouting the responsesout of place--which had arrested his imagination, and awed him when achild. And then there was his home itself; its well-known rooms, itspleasant routine, its order, and its comfort--an old and true friend, the dearer to him because he had made new ones. "Where I shall be intime to come I know not, " he said to himself; "I am but a boy; manythings which I have not a dream of, which my imagination cannot compass, may come on me before I die--if I live; but here at least, and now, I amhappy, and I will enjoy my happiness. Some say that school is thepleasantest time of one's life; this does not exclude college. I supposecare is what makes life so wearing. At present I have no care, noresponsibility; I suppose I shall feel a little when I go up for mydegree. Care is a terrible thing; I have had a little of it at times atschool. What a strange thing to fancy, I shall be one day twenty-five orthirty! How the weeks are flying by! the Vacation will soon be over. Oh, I am so happy, it quite makes me afraid. Yet I shall have strength formy day. "

Sometimes, however, his thoughts took a sadder turn, and he anticipatedthe future more vividly than he enjoyed the present. Mr. Malcolm hadcome to see them, after an absence from the parsonage for several years:his visit was a great pleasure to Mr. Reding, and not much less tohimself, to whom a green home and a family circle were agreeable sights, after his bachelor-life at college. He had been a great favourite withCharles and his sisters as children, though now his popularity with themfor the most part rested on the memory of the past. When he told themamusing stories, or allowed them to climb his knee and take off hisspectacles, he did all that was necessary to gain their childish hearts;more is necessary to conciliate the affection of young men and women;and thus it is not surprising that he lived in their minds principallyby prescription. He neither knew this, nor would have thought much aboutit if he had; for, like many persons of advancing years, he made himselfvery much his own centre, did not care to enter into the minds ofothers, did not consult for them, or find his happiness in them. He waskind and friendly to the young people, as he would be kind to acanary-bird or a lap-dog; it was a sort of external love; and, thoughthey got on capitally with him, they did not miss him when gone, norwould have been much troubled to know that he was never to come again. Charles drove him about the country, stamped his letters, secured himhis newspapers from the neighbouring town, and listened to his storiesabout Oxford and Oxford men. He really liked him, and wished to pleasehim; but, as to consulting him in any serious matter, or going to himfor comfort in affliction, he would as soon have thought of betaking himto Dan the pedlar, or old Isaac who played the Sunday bassoon. 

"How have your peaches been this year, Malcolm?" said Mr. Reding one dayafter dinner to his guest. 

"You ought to know that we have no peaches in Oxford, " answered Mr. Malcolm. 

"My memory plays me false, then: I had a vision of, at least, Octoberpeaches on one occasion, and fine ones too. "

"Ah, you mean at old Tom Spindle's, the jockey's, " answered Mr. Malcolm;"it's true, he had a bit of a brick wall, and was proud of it. Butpeaches come when there is no one in Oxford to eat them; so either thetree, or at least the fruit, is a great rarity there. Oxford wasn't soempty once; you have old mulberry-trees there in record of better days. "

"At that time, too, " said Charles, "I suppose, the more expensive fruitswere not cultivated. Mulberries are the witness, not only of a fullcollege, but of simple tastes. "

"Charles is secretly cutting at our hothouse here, " said Mr. Reding; "asif our first father did not prefer fruits and flowers to beef andmutton. "

"No, indeed, " said Charles, "I think peaches capital things; and as toflowers, I am even too fond of scents. "

"Charles has some theory, then, about scents, I'll be bound, " said hisfather; "I never knew a boy who so placed his likings and dislikings onfancies. He began to eat olives directly he read the OEdipus ofSophocles; and, I verily believe, will soon give up oranges from hisdislike to King William. "

"Every one does so, " said Charles: "who would not be in the fashion?There's Aunt Kitty, she calls a bonnet, 'a sweet' one year, which makesher 'a perfect fright' the next. "

"You're right, papa, in this instance, " said his mother; "I know he hassome good reason, though I never can recollect it, why he smells a rose, or distils lavender. What is it, my dear Mary?"

"'Relics ye are of Eden's bowers, '" said she. 

"Why, sir, that was precisely your own reason just now, " said Charles tohis father. 

"There's more than that, " said Mrs. Reding, "if I knew what it was. "

"He thinks the scent more intellectual than the other senses, " saidMary, smiling. 

"Such a boy for paradoxes!" said his mother. 

"Well, so it is in a certain way, " said Charles, "but I can't explain. Sounds and scents are more ethereal, less material; they have noshape--like the angels. "

Mr. Malcolm laughed. "Well, I grant it, Charles, " he said; "they arelength without breadth!"

"Did you ever hear the like?" said Mrs. Reding, laughing too; "don'tencourage him, Mr. Malcolm; you are worse than he. Angels length withoutbreadth!"

"They pass from place to place, they come, they go, " continued Mr. Malcolm. 

"They conjure up the past so vividly, " said Charles. 

"But sounds surely more than scents, " said Mr. Malcolm. 

"Pardon me; the reverse as _I_ think, " answered Charles. 

"That _is_ a paradox, Charles, " said Mr. Malcolm; "the smell ofroast-beef never went further than to remind a man of dinner; but soundsare pathetic and inspiring. "

"Well, sir, but think of this, " said Charles, "scents are complete inthemselves, yet do not consist of parts. Think how very distinct thesmell of a rose is from a pink, a pink from a sweet-pea, a sweet-peafrom a stock, a stock from lilac, lilac from lavender, lavender fromjasmine, jasmine from honeysuckle, honeysuckle from hawthorn, hawthornfrom hyacinth, hyacinth"----

"Spare us, " interrupted Mr. Malcolm; "you are going through the index ofLoudon!"

"And these are only the scents of flowers; how different flowers smellfrom fruits, fruits from spices, spices from roast-beef or pork-cutlets, and so on. Now, what I was coming to is this--these scents are perfectlydistinct from each other, and _sui generis_; they never can be confused;yet each is communicated to the apprehension in an instant. Sights takeup a great space, a tune is a succession of sounds; but scents are atonce specific and complete, yet indivisible. Who can halve a scent? theyneed neither time nor space; thus they are immaterial or spiritual. "

"Charles hasn't been to Oxford for nothing, " said his mother, laughingand looking at Mary; "this is what I call chopping logic!"

"Well done, Charles, " cried Mr. Malcolm; "and now, since you have suchclear notions of the power of smells, you ought, like the man in thestory, to be satisfied with smelling at your dinner, and grow fat uponit. It's a shame you sit down to table. "

"Well, sir, " answered Charles, "some people _do_ seem to thrive on snuffat least. "

"For shame, Charles!" said Mr. Malcolm; "you have seen me use thecommon-room snuff-box to keep myself awake after dinner; but nothingmore. I keep a box in my pocket merely as a bauble--it was a present. You should have lived when I was young. There was old Dr. Troughton ofNun's Hall, he carried his snuff loose in his pocket; and old Mrs. Vice-Principal Daffy used to lay a train along her arm, and fire it withher nose. Doctors of medicine took it as a preservative againstinfection, and doctors of divinity against drowsiness in church. "

"They take wine against infection now, " said Mr. Reding; "it's a muchsurer protective. "

"Wine?" cried Mr. Malcolm; "oh, they didn't take less wine then, as youand I know. On certain solemn occasions they made a point of gettingdrunk, the whole college, from the Vice-Principal or Sub-Warden down tothe scouts. Heads of houses were kept in order by their wives; but Iassure you the jolly god came _very_ near Mr. Vice-Chancellor himself. There was old Dr. Sturdy of St. Michael's, a great martinet in his time. One day the King passed through Oxford; Sturdy, a tall, upright, iron-faced man, had to meet him in procession at Magdalen Bridge, andwalked down with his pokers before him, gold and silver, vergers, cockedhats, and the rest. There wasn't one of them that wasn't in liquor. Think of the good old man's horror, Majesty in the distance, and his ownpeople swaying to and fro under his very nose, and promising to leavehim for the gutter before the march was ended. "

"No one can get tipsy with snuff, I grant, " said Mr. Reding; "but ifwine has done some men harm it has done others a deal of good. "

"Hair-powder is as bad as snuff, " said Mary, preferring the formersubject; "there's old Mr. Butler of Cooling, his wig is so large andfull of powder that when he nods his head I am sure to sneeze. "

"Ah, but all these are accidents, young lady, " said Mr. Malcolm, put outby this block to the conversation, and running off somewhat testily inanother direction; "accidents after all. Old people are always the same;so are young. Each age has its own fashion: if Mr. Butler wore no wig, still there would be something about him odd and strange to young eyes. Charles, don't you be an old bachelor. No one cares for old people. Marry, my dear boy; look out betimes for a virtuous young woman, whowill make you an attentive wife. "

Charles slightly coloured, and his sister laughed as if there was someunderstanding between them. 

Mr. Malcolm continued: "Don't wait till you want some one to buy flannelfor your rheumatism or gout; marry betimes. "

"You will let me take my degree first, sir?" said Charles. 

"Certainly, take your M. A. 's if you will; but don't become an oldFellow. Don't wait till forty; people make the strangest mistakes. "

"Dear Charles will make a kind and affectionate husband, I am sure, "said his mother, "when the time comes; and come it will, though not justyet. Yes, my dear boy, " she added, nodding at him, "you will not be ableto escape your destiny, when it comes. "

"Charles, you must know, " said Mr. Reding to his guest, "is romantic inhis notions just now. I believe it is that he thinks no one good enoughfor him. Oh, my dear Charlie, don't let me pain you, I meant nothingserious; but somehow he has not hit it off very well with some youngladies here, who expected more attention than he cared to give. "

"I am sure, " said Mary, "Charles is most attentive whenever there isoccasion, and always has his eyes about him to do a service; only he's abad hand at small-talk. "

"All will come in time, my dear, " said his mother; "a good son makes agood husband. "

"And a very loving papa, " said Mr. Malcolm. 

"Oh, spare me, sir, " said poor Charles; "how have I deserved this?"

"Well, " proceeded Mr. Malcolm, "and young ladies ought to marry betimestoo. "

"Come, Mary, _your_ turn is coming, " cried Charles; and taking hissister's hand, he threw up the sash, and escaped with her into thegarden. 

They crossed the lawn, and took refuge in a shrubbery. "How strange itis!" said Mary, as they strolled along the winding walk; "we used tolike Mr. Malcolm so, as children; but now--I like him _still_, but he isnot the same. "

"We are older, " said her brother; "different things take us now. "

"He used to be so kind, " continued she; "when he was coming, the day waslooked out for; and mamma said, 'Take care you be good when Mr. Malcolmcomes. ' And he was sure to bring a twelfth-cake, or a Noah's ark, orsomething of the sort. And then he romped with us, and let us make funof him. "

"Indeed it isn't he that is changed, " said Charles, "but we; we are inthe time of life to change; we have changed already, and shall changestill. "

"What a mercy it is, " said his sister, "that we are so happy amongourselves as a family! If we change, we shall change together, as applesof one stock; if one fails, the other does. Thus we are always the sameto each other. "

"It is a mercy, indeed, " said Charles; "we are so blest that I amsometimes quite frightened. "

His sister looked earnestly at him. He laughed a little to turn off theedge of his seriousness. "You would know what I mean, dear Mary, if youhad read Herodotus. A Greek tyrant feared his own excessive prosperity, and therefore made a sacrifice to fortune. I mean, he gave up somethingwhich he held most precious; he took a ring from his finger and cast itinto the sea, lest the Deity should afflict him, if he did not afflicthimself. "

"My dear Charles, " she answered, "if we do but enjoy God's giftsthankfully, and take care not to set our hearts on them or to abusethem, we need not fear for their continuance. "

"Well, " said Charles, "there's one text which has ever dwelt on my mind, 'Rejoice with trembling. ' I can't take full, unrestrained pleasure inanything. "

"Why not, if you look at it as God's gift?" asked Mary. 

"I don't defend it, " he replied; "it's my way; it may be a selfishprudence, for what I know; but I am sure that, did I give my heart toany creature, I should be withdrawing it from God. How easily could Iidolize these sweet walks, which we have known for so many years!"

They walked on in silence. "Well, " said Mary, "whatever we lose, nochange can affect us as a family. While we are we, we are to each otherwhat nothing external can be to us, whether as given or as taken away. "

Charles made no answer. 

"What has come to you, dear Charles?" she said, stopping and looking athim; then, gently removing his hair and smoothing his forehead, shesaid, "you are so sad to-day. "

"Dearest Mary, " he made answer, "nothing's the matter, indeed. I thinkit is Mr. Malcolm who has put me out. It's so stupid to talk of theprospects of a boy like me. Don't look so, I mean nothing; only itannoys me. "

Mary smiled. 

"What I mean is, " continued Charles, "that we can rely on nothing here, and are fools if we build on the future. "

"We can rely on each other, " she repeated. 

"Ah, dear Mary, don't say so; it frightens me. "

She looked round at him surprised, and almost frightened herself. 

"Dearest, " he continued, "I mean nothing; only everything is souncertain here below. "

"We are sure of each other, Charles. "

"Yes, Mary, " and he kissed her affectionately, "it is true, most true;"then he added, "all I meant was that it seems presumptuous to say so. David and Jonathan were parted; St. Paul and St. Barnabas. "

Tears stood in Mary's eyes. 

"Oh, what an ass I am, " he said, "for thus teasing you about nothing;no, I only mean that there is One _only_ who cannot die, who neverchanges, only One. It can't be wrong to remember this. Do you recollectCowper's beautiful lines? I know them without having learned them--theystruck me so much the first time I read them;" and he repeated them:--

 Thou art the source and centre of all minds, Their only point of rest, Eternal Word. From Thee departing, they are lost, and rove At random, without honour, hope, or peace. From Thee is all that soothes the life of man, His high endeavour and his glad success, His strength to suffer and his will to serve. But oh, Thou Sovereign Giver of all good, Thou art of all Thy gifts Thyself the crown; Give what Thou canst, without Thee we are poor, And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

October came at length, and with it Charles's thoughts were turned againto Oxford. One or two weeks passed by; then a few days; and it was timeto be packing. His father parted with him with even greater emotion thanwhen he first went to school. He would himself drive him in the phaetonto the neighbouring town, from which the omnibus ran to the railroad, though he had the gout flying about him; and when the moment for partingcame he could not get himself to give up his hand, as if he hadsomething to say which he could not recollect or master. 

"Well, Christmas will soon come, " he said; "we must part, it's no usedelaying it. Write to us soon, dear boy; and tell us all about yourselfand your matters. Tell us about your friends; they are nice young menapparently: but I have great confidence in your prudence; you have moreprudence than some of them. Your tutor seems a valuable man, from whatyou tell me, " he went on repeating what had passed between him andCharles many times before; "a sound, well-judging man, that Mr. Vincent. Sheffield is too clever; he is young; you have an older head. It's nogood my going on; I have said all this before; and you may be late forthe train. Well, God bless you, my dearest Charlie, and make you ablessing. May you be happier and better than your father! I have everbeen blest all my life long--wonderfully blest. Blessings have beenpoured on me from my youth, far above my deserts; may they be doubledupon you! Good-bye, my beloved Charles, good-bye!"

Charles had to pass a day or two at the house of a relative who lived alittle way out of London. While he was there a letter arrived for him, forwarded from home; it was from Willis, dated from London, andannounced that he had come to a very important decision, and should notreturn to Oxford. Charles was fairly in the world again, plunged intothe whirl of opinions: how sad a contrast to his tranquil home! Therewas no mistaking what the letter meant; and he set out at once with thechance of finding the writer at the house from which he dated it. It wasa lodging at the west-end of town; and he reached it about noon. 

He found Willis in company with a person apparently two or three yearsolder. Willis started on seeing him. 

"Who would have thought! what brings you here?" he said; "I thought youwere in the country. " Then to his companion, "This is the friend I wasspeaking to you about, Morley. A happy meeting; sit down, dear Reding; Ihave much to tell you. "

Charles sat down all suspense, looking at Willis with such keen anxietythat the latter was forced to cut the matter short. "Reding, I am aCatholic. "

Charles threw himself back in his chair, and turned pale. 

"My dear Reding, what is the matter with you? why don't you speak tome?"

Charles was still silent; at last, stooping forward, with his elbows onhis knees, and his head on his hands, he said, in a low voice, "OWillis, what have you done!"

"Done?" said Willis; "what _you_ should do, and half Oxford besides. OReding, I'm so happy!"

"Alas, alas!" said Charles; "but what is the good of my staying?--allgood attend you, Willis; good-bye!"

"No, my good Reding, you don't leave me so soon, having found me sounexpectedly; and you have had a long walk, I dare say; sit down, there's a good fellow; we shall have luncheon soon, and you must not gowithout taking your part in it. " He took Charles's hat from him, as hespoke; and Charles, in a mixture of feelings, let him have his way. 

"O Willis, so you have separated yourself from us for ever!" he said;"you have taken your course, we keep ours: our paths are different. "

"Not so, " said Willis; "you must follow me, and we shall be one still. "

Charles was half offended; "Really I must go, " he said, and he rose;"you must not talk in that manner. "

"Pray, forgive me, " answered Willis; "I won't do so again; but I couldnot help it; I am not in a common state, I'm so happy!"

A thought struck Reding. "Tell me, Willis, " he said, "your exactposition; in what sense are you a Catholic? What is to prevent yourreturning with me to Oxford?"

His companion interposed: "I am taking a liberty perhaps, " he said; "butMr. Willis has been regularly received into the Catholic Church. "

"I have not introduced you, " said Willis. "Reding, let me introduce Mr. Morley; Morley, Mr. Reding. Yes, Reding, I owe it to him that I am aCatholic. I have been on a tour with him abroad. We met with a goodpriest in France, who consented to receive my abjuration. "

"Well, I think he might profitably have examined into your state of minda little before he did so, " said Reding; "_you_ are not the person tobecome a Catholic, Willis. "

"What do you mean?"

"Because, " answered Reding, "you are more of a Dissenter than aCatholic. I beg your pardon, " he added, seeing Willis look up sharply, "let me be frank with you, pray do. You were attached to the Church ofRome, not as a child to a mother, but in a wayward roving way, as amatter of fancy or liking, or (excuse me) as a greedy boy to somethingnice; and you pursued your object by disobeying the authorities set overyou. "

It was as much as Willis could bear; he said, he thought he recollecteda text about "obeying God _rather_ than men. "

"I _see_ you have disobeyed men, " retorted Charles; "I _trust_ you havebeen obeying God. "

Willis thought him rude, and would not speak. 

Mr. Morley began: "If you knew the circumstances better, " he said, "youwould doubtless judge differently. I consider Mr. Willis to be just thevery person on whom it was incumbent to join the Church, and who willmake an excellent Catholic. You must blame, not the venerable priest whoreceived him, but me. The good man saw his devotion, his tears, hishumility, his earnest desire; but the state of his mind he learnedthrough me, who speak French better than Mr. Willis. However, he hadquite enough conversation with him in French and Latin. He could notreject a postulant for salvation; it was impossible. Had you been he, you would have done the same. "

"Well, sir, perhaps I have been unjust to him and you, " said Charles;"however, I cannot augur well of this. "

"You are judging, sir, " answered Mr. Morley, "let me say it, of thingsyou do not know. You do not know what the Catholic religion is, you donot know what its grace is, or the gift of faith. "

The speaker was a layman; he spoke with earnestness the more intense, because quiet. Charles felt himself reproved by his manner; his goodtaste suggested to him that he had been too vehement in the presence ofa stranger; yet he did not feel the less confidence in his cause. Hepaused before he answered; then he said briefly, that he was aware thathe did not know the Roman Catholic religion, but he knew Mr. Willis. Hecould not help giving his opinion that good would not come of it. 

"_I_ have ever been a Catholic, " said Mr. Morley; "so far I cannot judgeof members of the Church of England; but this I know, that the CatholicChurch is the only true Church. I may be wrong in many things; I cannotbe wrong in this. This too I know, that the Catholic faith is one, andthat no other Church has faith. The Church of England has no faith. You, my dear sir, have not faith. "

This was a home-thrust; the controversies of Oxford passed beforeReding's mind; but he instantly recovered himself. "You cannot expect, "said he, smiling, "that I, almost a boy, should be able to argue withyourself, or to defend my Church or to explain her faith. I am contentto hold that faith, to hold what she holds, without professing to be adivine. This is the doctrine which I have been taught at Oxford. I amunder teaching there, I am not yet taught. Excuse me, then, if I declinean argument with you. With Mr. Willis, it is natural that I shouldargue; we are equals, and understand each other; but I am notheologian. "

Here Willis cried out, "O my dear Reding, what I say is, 'Come and see. 'Don't stand at the door arguing; but enter the great home of the soul, enter and adore. "

"But, " said Reding, "surely God wills us to be guided by reason; I don'tmean that reason is everything, but it is at least something. Surely weought not to act without it, against it. "

"But is not doubt a dreadful state?" said Willis; "a most perilousstate? No state is safe but that of faith. Can it be safe to be withoutfaith? Now _have_ you faith in your Church? I know you well enough toknow you have not; where, then, are you?"

"Willis, you have misunderstood me most extraordinarily, " said Charles:"ten thousand thoughts pass through the mind, and if it is safe to notedown and bring against a man his stray words, I suppose there's nothinghe mayn't be accused of holding. You must be alluding to somehalf-sentence or other of mine, which I have forgotten, and which was noreal sample of my sentiments. Do you mean I have no worship? and doesnot worship presuppose faith? I have much to learn, I am conscious; butI wish to learn it from the Church under whose shadow my lot is cast, and with whom I am content. "

"He confesses, " said Willis, "that he has no faith; he confesses that heis in doubt. My dear Reding, can you sincerely plead that you are ininvincible ignorance after what has passed between us? now, suppose foran instant that Catholicism is true, is it not certain that you now havean opportunity of embracing it? and if you do not, are you in a state todie in?"

Reding was perplexed how to answer; that is, he could not with thenecessary quickness analyze and put into words the answer which hisreason suggested to Willis's rapid interrogatories. Mr. Morley had keptsilence, lest Charles should have two upon him at once; but when Willispaused, and Charles did not reply, he interposed. He said that all thecalls in Scripture were obeyed with promptitude by those who werecalled; and that our Lord would not suffer one man even to go and buryhis father. Reding answered, that in those cases the voice of Christ wasactually heard; He was on earth, in bodily presence; now, however, thevery question was, _which_ was the voice of Christ; and whether theChurch of Rome did or did not speak with the voice of Christ;--thatsurely we ought to act prudently; that Christ could not wish us to actotherwise; that, for himself, he had no doubt that he was in the placewhere Providence wished him to be; but, even if he had any doubtswhether Christ was calling him elsewhere (which he had not), but if hehad, he should certainly think that Christ called him in the way andmethod of careful examination, --that prudence was the divinely appointedmeans of coming at the truth. 

"Prudence!" cried Willis, "such prudence as St. Thomas's, I suppose, when he determined to see before believing. "

Charles hesitated to answer. 

"I see it, " continued Willis; and, starting up, he seized his arm;"come, my dear fellow, come with me directly; let us go to the goodpriest who lives two streets off. You shall be received this very day. On with your hat. " And, before Charles could show any resistance, he washalf out of the room. 

He could not help laughing, in spite of his vexation; he disengaged hisarm, and deliberately sat down. "Not so fast, " he said; "we are notquite this sort of person. "

Willis looked awkward for a moment; then he said, "Well, at least youmust go into a retreat; you must go forthwith. Morley, do you know whenMr. De Mowbray or Father Agostino gives his next retreat? Reding, it isjust what you want, just what all Oxford men want; I think you will notrefuse me. "

Charles looked up in his face, and smiled. "It is not my line, " he saidat length. "I am on my way to Oxford. I must go. I came here to be ofuse to you; I can be of none, so I must go. Would I _could_ be ofservice; but it is hopeless. Oh, it makes my heart ache!" And he went onbrushing his hat with his glove, as if on the point of rising, yet lothto rise. 

Morley now struck in: he spoke all along like a gentleman, and a man ofreal piety, but with a great ignorance of Protestants, or how they wereto be treated. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Reding, " he said, "if before you go, I say one word. Ifeel very much for the struggle which is going on in your mind; and I amsure it is not for such as me to speak harshly or unkindly to you. Thestruggle between conviction and motives of this world is often long; mayit have a happy termination in your case! Do not be offended if Isuggest to you that the dearest and closest ties, such as your connexionwith the Protestant Church involves, may be on the side of the world incertain cases. It is a sort of martyrdom to have to break such; but theywho do so have a martyr's reward. And, then, at a University you have somany inducements to fall in with the prevailing tone of thought;prospects, success in life, good opinion of friends--all these thingsare against you. They are likely to choke the good seed. Well, I couldhave wished that you had been able to follow the dictates of conscienceat once; but the conflict must continue its appointed time; we willhope that all will end well. "

"I can't persuade these good people, " thought Charles, as he closed thestreet-door after him, "that I am not in a state of conviction, andstruggling against it; how absurd! Here I come to reclaim a deserter, and I am seized even bodily, and against my will all but hurried into aprofession of faith. Do these things happen to people every day? or isthere some particular fate with me thus to be brought across religiouscontroversies which I am not up to? I a Roman Catholic! what a contrastall this with quiet Hartley!" naming his home. As he continued to thinkon what had passed he was still less satisfied with it or with himself. He had gone to lecture, and he had been lectured; and he had let out hissecret state of mind: no, not let out, he had nothing to let out. He hadindeed implied that he was inquiring after religious truth, but everyProtestant inquires; he would not be a Protestant if he did not. Ofcourse he was seeking the truth; it was his duty to do so; herecollected distinctly his tutor laying down, on one occasion, the dutyof private judgment. This was the very difference between Protestantsand Catholics; Catholics begin with faith, Protestants with inquiry; andhe ought to have said this to Willis. He was provoked he had not saidit; it would have simplified the question, and shown how far he was frombeing unsettled. Unsettled! it was most extravagant. He wished this hadbut struck him during the conversation, but it was a relief that itstruck him now; it reconciled him to his position. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The first day of Michaelmas term is, to an undergraduate's furniture, the brightest day of the year. Much as Charles regretted home, herejoiced to see old Oxford again. The porter had acknowledged him at thegate, and the scout had smiled and bowed, as he ran up the wornstaircase and found a blazing fire to welcome him. The coals crackledand split, and threw up a white flame in strong contrast with thenewly-blackened bars and hobs of the grate. A shining copper kettlehissed and groaned under the internal torment of water at boiling point. The chimney-glass had been cleaned, the carpet beaten, the curtainsfresh glazed. A tea-tray and tea commons were placed on the table;besides a battel paper, two or three cards from tradesmen who desiredhis patronage, and a note from a friend whose term had alreadycommenced. The porter came in with his luggage, and had just receivedhis too ample remuneration, when, through the closing door, in rushedSheffield in his travelling dress. 

"Well, old fellow, how are you?" he said, shaking both of Charles'shands, or rather arms, with all his might; "here we are all again; I amjust come like you. Where have you been all this time? Come, tell usall about yourself. Give me some tea, and let's have a good jolly chat. "Charles liked Sheffield, he liked Oxford, he was pleased to get back;yet he had some remains of home-sickness on him, and was not quite incue for Sheffield's good-natured boisterousness. Willis's matter, too, was still on his mind. "Have you heard the news?" said Sheffield; "Ihave been long enough in college to pick it up. The kitchen-man was fullof it as I passed along. Jack's a particular friend of mine, a goodhonest fellow, and has all the gossip of the place. I don't know what itmeans, but Oxford has just now a very bad inside. The report is, thatsome of the men have turned Romans; and they say that there arestrangers going about Oxford whom no one knows anything of. Jack, who isa bit of a divine himself, says he heard the Principal say that, forcertain, there were Jesuits at the bottom of it; and I don't know whathe means, but he declares he saw with his own eyes the Pope walking downHigh Street with the priest. I asked him how he knew it; he said he knewthe Pope by his slouching hat and his long beard; and the porter toldhim it was the Pope. The Dons have met several times; and several tutorsare to be discommoned, and their names stuck up against thebuttery-door. Meanwhile the Marshal, with two bulldogs, is keeping guardbefore the Catholic chapel; and, to complete it, that old drunken fellowTopham is reported, out of malice, when called in to cut the Warden ofSt. Mary's hair, to have made a clean white tonsure atop of him. "

"My dear Sheffield, how you run on!" said Reding. "Well, do you know, Ican tell you a piece of real news bearing on these reports, and not ofthe pleasantest. Did you know Willis of St. George's?"

"I think I once saw him at wine in your rooms; a modest, nice-lookingfellow, who never spoke a word. "

"Ah, I assure you, he has a tongue in his head when it suits him, "answered Charles: "yet I do think, " he added, musingly, "he's very muchchanged, and not for the better. "

"Well, what's the upshot?" asked Sheffield. 

"He has turned Catholic, " said Charles. 

"What a fool!" cried Sheffield. 

There was a pause. Charles felt awkward: then he said, "I can't say Iwas surprised; yet I should have been less surprised at White. "

"Oh, White won't turn Catholic, " said Sheffield; "he hasn't it in him. He's a coward. "

"Fools and cowards!" answered Charles: "thus you divide the world, Sheffield? Poor Willis!" he added; "one must respect a man who actsaccording to his conscience. "

"What can he know of conscience?" said Sheffield; "the idea of hisswallowing, of his own free-will, the heap of rubbish which everyCatholic has to believe! in cold blood tying a collar round his neck, and politely putting the chain into the hands of a priest!. .. And thenthe Confessional! 'Tis marvellous!" and he began to break the coals withthe poker. "It's very well, " he continued, "if a man is born a Catholic;I don't suppose they really believe what they are obliged to profess;but how an Englishman, a gentleman, a man here at Oxford, with all hisadvantages, can so eat dirt, scraping and picking up all the dead liesof the dark ages--it's a miracle!"

"Well, if there is anything that recommends Romanism to me, " saidCharles, "it is what you so much dislike: I'd give twopence, if someone, whom I could trust, would say to me, 'This is true; this is nottrue. ' We should be saved this eternal wrangling. Wouldn't you be gladif St. Paul could come to life? I've often said to myself, 'Oh, that Icould ask St. Paul this or that!'"

"But the Catholic Church isn't St. Paul quite, I guess, " said Sheffield. 

"Certainly not; but supposing you _did_ think it had the inspiration ofan Apostle, as the Roman Catholics do, what a comfort it would be toknow, beyond all doubt, what to believe about God, and how to worshipand please Him! I mean, _you_ said, 'I can't believe this or that;' nowyou ought to have said, 'I can't believe the Pope has _power_ to_decide_ this or that. ' If he had, you ought to believe it, whatever itis, and not to say, 'I can't believe. '"

Sheffield looked hard at him: "We shall have you a papist some of thesefine days, " said he. 

"Nonsense, " answered Charles; "you shouldn't say such things, even injest. "

"I don't jest; I am in earnest: you are plainly on the road. "

"Well, if I am, you have put me on it, " said Reding, wishing to get awayfrom the subject as quick as he could; "for you are ever talkingagainst shams, and laughing at King Charles and Laud, Bateman, White, rood-lofts, and piscinas. "

"Now you are a Puseyite, " said Sheffield in surprise. 

"You give me the name of a very good man, whom I hardly know by sight, "said Reding; "but I mean, that nobody knows what to believe, no one hasa definite faith, but the Catholics and the Puseyites; no one says, 'This is true, that is false; this comes from the Apostles, that doesnot. '"

"Then would you believe a Turk, " asked Sheffield, "who came to you withhis 'One Allah, and Mahomet his Prophet'?"

"I did not say a creed was everything, " answered Reding, "or that areligion could not be false which had a creed; but a religion can't betrue which has none. "

"Well, somehow that doesn't strike me, " said Sheffield. 

"Now there was Vincent at the end of term, after you had gone down, "continued Charles; "you know I stayed up for Littlego; and he was verycivil, very civil indeed. I had a talk with him about Oxford parties, and he pleased me very much at the time; but afterwards, the more Ithought of what he said, the less was I satisfied; that is, I had gotnothing definite from him. He did not say, 'This is true, that isfalse;' but 'Be true, be true, be good, be good, don't go too far, keepin the mean, have your eyes about you, eschew parties, follow ourdivines, all of them;'--all which was but putting salt on the bird'stail. I want some practical direction, not abstract truths. "

"Vincent is a humbug, " said Sheffield. 

"Dr. Pusey, on the other hand, " continued Charles, "is said always to bedecisive. He says, 'This is Apostolic, that's in the Fathers; St. Cyprian says this, St. Augustine denies that; this is safe, that'swrong; I bid you, I forbid you. ' I understand all this; but I don'tunderstand having duties put on me which are too much for me. I don'tunderstand, I dislike, having a will of my own, when I have not themeans to use it justly. In such a case, to tell me to act of myself, islike Pharaoh setting the Israelites to make bricks without straw. Setting me to inquire, to judge, to decide, forsooth! it's absurd; whohas taught me?"

"But the Puseyites are not always so distinct, " said Sheffield; "there'sSmith, he never speaks decidedly in difficult questions. I know a manwho was going to remain in Italy for some years, at a distance from anyEnglish chapel, --he could not help it, --and who came to ask him if hemight communicate in the Catholic churches; he could not get an answerfrom him; he would not say yes or no. "

"Then he won't have many followers, that's all, " said Charles. 

"But he has more than Dr. Pusey, " answered Sheffield. 

"Well, I can't understand it, " said Charles; "he ought not; perhaps theywon't stay. "

"The truth is, " said Sheffield, "I suspect he is more of a sceptic atbottom. "

"Well, I honour the man who builds up, " said Reding, "and I despise theman who breaks down. "

"I am inclined to think you have a wrong notion of building up andpulling down, " answered Sheffield; "Coventry, in his 'Dissertations, 'makes it quite clear that Christianity is not a religion of doctrines. "

"Who is Coventry?"

"Not know Coventry? he is one of the most original writers of the day;he's an American, and, I believe, a congregationalist. Oh, I assure you, you should read Coventry, although he is wrong on the question ofChurch-government: you are not well _au courant_ with the literature ofthe day unless you do. He is no party man; he is a correspondent of thefirst men of the day; he stopped with the Dean of Oxford when he was inEngland, who has published an English edition of his 'Dissertations, 'with a Preface; and he and Lord Newlights were said to be the two mostwitty men at the meeting of the British Association, two years ago. "

"I don't like Lord Newlights, " said Charles, "he seems to me to have noprinciple; that is, no fixed, definite religious principle. You don'tknow where to find him. This is what my father thinks; I have oftenheard him speak of him. "

"It's curious you should use the word _principle_, " said Sheffield; "forit is that which Coventry lays such stress on. He says that Christianityhas no creed; that this is the very point in which it is distinguishedfrom other religions; that you will search the New Testament in vain fora creed; but that Scripture is full of _principles_. The view is veryingenious, and seemed to me true, when I read the book. According tohim, then, Christianity is not a religion of doctrines or mysteries; andif you are looking for dogmatism in Scripture, it's a mistake. "

Charles was puzzled. "Certainly, " he said, "at first sight there _is_ nocreed in Scripture. --No creed in Scripture, " he said slowly, as ifthinking aloud; "no creed in Scripture, _therefore_ there is no creed. But the Athanasian Creed, " he added quickly, "is _that_ in Scripture? Iteither _is_ in Scripture, or it is _not_. Let me see, it either isthere, or it is not. .. . What was it that Freeborn said last term?. .. Tell me, Sheffield, would the Dean of Oxford say that the Creed was inScripture or not? perhaps you do not fairly explain Coventry's view;what is your impression?"

"Why, I will tell you frankly, my impression is, judging from hisPreface, that he would not scruple to say that it is not in Scripture, but a scholastic addition. "

"My dear fellow, " said Charles, "do you mean that he, a dignitary of theChurch, would say that the Athanasian Creed was a mistake, because itrepresented Christianity as a revelation of doctrines or mysteries to bereceived on faith?"

"Well, I may be wrong, " said Sheffield, "but so I understood him. "

"After all, " said Charles sadly, "it's not so much more than that otherDean, I forget his name, said at St. Mary's before the Vacation; it'spart of the same system. Oh, it was after you went down, or just at theend of term: you don't go to sermons; I'm inclined not to go either. Ican't enter upon the Dean's argument; it's not worth while. Well, " headded, standing up and stretching himself, "I am tired with the day, yetit has not been a fatiguing one either; but London is so bustling aplace. "

"You wish me to say good-night, " said Sheffield. Charles did not denythe charge; and the friends parted. 

CHAPTER XV. 

There could not have been a lecture more unfavourable for Charles'speace of mind than that in which he found himself this term placed; yet, so blind are we to the future, he hailed it with great satisfaction, asif it was to bring him an answer to the perplexities into whichSheffield, Bateman, Freeborn, White, Willis, Mr. Morley, Dr. Brownside, Mr. Vincent, and the general state of Oxford, had all, in one way orother, conspired to throw him. He had shown such abilities in the formerpart of the year, and was reading so diligently, that his tutors put himprematurely into the lecture upon the Articles. It was a capital lectureso far as this, that the tutor who gave it had got up his subjectcompletely. He knew the whole history of the Articles, how they grewinto their present shape, with what fortunes, what had been added, andwhen, and what omitted. With this, of course, was joined an explanationof the text, as deduced, as far as could be, from the historical accountthus given. Not only the British, but the foreign Reformers wereintroduced; and nothing was wanting, at least in the intention of thelecturer, for fortifying the young inquirer in the doctrine anddiscipline of the Church of England. 

It did not produce this effect on Reding. Whether he had expected toomuch, or whatever was the cause, so it was that he did but feel morevividly the sentiment of the old father in the comedy, after consultingthe lawyers, "_Incertior sum multo quam ante_. " He saw that theprofession of faith contained in the Articles was but a patchwork ofbits of orthodoxy, Lutheranism, Calvinism, and Zuinglism; and this tooon no principle; that it was but the work of accident, if there be sucha thing as accident; that it had come down in the particular shape inwhich the English Church now receives it, when it might have come downin any other shape; that it was but a toss-up that Anglicans at this daywere not Calvinists, or Presbyterians, or Lutherans, equally well asEpiscopalians. This historical fact did but clench the difficulty, orrather impossibility, of saying what the faith of the English Churchwas. On almost every point of dispute the authoritative standard ofdoctrine was vague or inconsistent, and there was an imposing weight ofexternal testimony in favour of opposite interpretations. He stoppedafter lecture once or twice, and asked information of Mr. Upton, thetutor, who was quite ready to give it; but nothing came of theseapplications as regards the object which led him to make them. 

One difficulty which Charles experienced was to know whether, accordingto the Articles, Divine truth was directly _given_ us, or whether we hadto _seek_ it for ourselves from Scripture. Several Articles led to thisquestion; and Mr. Upton, who was a High Churchman, answered him that thesaving doctrine neither was _given_ nor was to be _sought_, but that itwas _proposed_ by the Church, and _proved_ by the individual. Charlesdid not see this distinction between _seeking_ and _proving_; for howcan we _prove_ except by _seeking_ (in Scripture) for _reasons_? He putthe question in another form, and asked if the Christian Religionallowed of private judgment? This was no abstruse question, and a verypractical one. Had he asked a Wesleyan or Independent, he would have hadan unconditional answer in the affirmative; had he asked a Catholic, hewould have been told that we used our private judgment to find theChurch, and then in all matters of faith the Church superseded it; butfrom this Oxford divine he could not get a distinct answer. First he wastold that doubtless we _must_ use our judgment in the determination ofreligious doctrine; but next he was told that it was sin (as itundoubtedly is) to doubt the dogma of the Blessed Trinity. Yet, while hewas told that to doubt of that doctrine was a sin, he was told inanother conversation that our highest state here is one of doubt. Whatdid this mean? Surely certainty was simply necessary on _some_ points, as on the Object of worship; how could we worship what we doubted of?The two acts were contrasted by the Evangelist; when the disciples sawour Lord after the resurrection, "they worshipped Him, _but_ somedoubted;" yet, in spite of this, he was told that there was "impatience"in the very idea of desiring certainty. 

At another time he asked whether the anathemas of the Athanasian Creedapplied to all its clauses; for instance, whether it is necessary tosalvation to hold that there is "_unus æternus_" as the Latin has it; or"such as the Father, . .. Such the Holy Ghost;" or that the Holy Ghostis "by Himself God and Lord;" or that Christ is one "by the taking ofthe manhood into God?" He could get no answer. Mr. Upton said that hedid not like extreme questions; that he could not and did not wish toanswer them; that the Creed was written against heresies, which nolonger existed, as a sort of _protest_. Reding asked whether this meantthat the Creed did not contain a distinctive view of its own, whichalone was safe, but was merely a negation of error. The clauses, heobserved, were positive, not negative. He could get no answer fartherthan that the Creed taught that the doctrines of "the Trinity" and "theIncarnation" were "necessary to salvation, " it being apparently leftuncertain _what_ those doctrines consisted in. One day he asked howgrievous sins were to be forgiven which were committed after baptism, whether by faith, or not at all in this life. He was answered that theArticles said nothing on the subject; that the Romish doctrine of pardonand purgatory was false; and that it was well to avoid both curiousquestions and subtle answers. 

Another question turned up at another lecture, viz. Whether the RealPresence meant a Presence of Christ in the elements, or in the soul, i. E. In the faith of the recipient; in other words, whether the Presencewas really such, or a mere name. Mr. Upton pronounced it an openquestion. Another day Charles asked whether Christ was present in fact, or only in effect. Mr. Upton answered decidedly "in effect, " whichseemed to Reding to mean no real presence at all. 

He had had some difficulty in receiving the doctrine of eternalpunishment; it had seemed to him the hardest doctrine of Revelation. Then he said to himself, "But what is faith in its very notion but anacceptance of the word of God when reason seems to oppose it? How is itfaith at all if there is nothing to try it?" This thought fullysatisfied him. The only question was, _Is_ it part of the revealed word?"I can believe it, " he said, "if I know for certain that I _ought_ tobelieve it; but if I am not bound to believe it, I can't believe it. "Accordingly he put the question to Mr. Upton whether it was a doctrineof the Church of England; that is, whether it came under thesubscription to the Articles. He could obtain no answer. Yet if he did_not_ believe this doctrine, he felt the whole fabric of his faith shakeunder him. Close upon it came the doctrine of the Atonement. 

It is difficult to give instances of this kind, without producing theimpression on the reader's mind that Charles was forward and captious inhis inquiries. Certainly Mr. Upton had his own thoughts about him, buthe never thought his manner inconsistent with modesty and respecttowards himself. 

Charles naturally was full of the subject, and would have disclosed hisperplexities to Sheffield, had he not had a strong anticipation thatthis would have been making matters worse. He thought Bateman, however, might be of some service, and he disburdened himself to him in thecourse of a country walk. What was he to do? for on his entrance he hadbeen told that when he took his degree he should have to sign theArticles, not on faith as then, but on reason; yet they wereunintelligible; and how could he prove what he could not construe?

Bateman seemed unwilling to talk on the subject; at last he said, "Oh, my dear Reding, you really are in an excited state of mind; I don't liketo talk to you just now, for you will not see things in astraightforward way and take them naturally. What a bug-bear you areconjuring up! You are in an Article lecture in your second year; andhardly have you commenced, but you begin to fancy what you will, or willnot think at the end of your time. Don't ask about the Articles now;wait at least till you have seen the lecture through. "

"It really is not my way to be fussed or to fidget, " said Charles, "though I own I am not so quiet as I ought to be. I hear so manydifferent opinions in conversation; then I go to church, and onepreacher deals his blows at another; lastly, I betake myself to theArticles, and really I cannot make out what they would teach me. Forinstance, I cannot make out their doctrine about faith, about thesacraments, about predestination, about the Church, about theinspiration of Scripture. And their tone is so unlike the Prayer Book. Upton has brought this out in his lectures most clearly. "

"Now, my most respectable friend, " said Bateman, "do think for a momentwhat men have signed the Articles. Perhaps King Charles himself;certainly Laud, and all the great Bishops of his day, and of the nextgeneration. Think of the most orthodox Bull, the singularly learnedPearson, the eloquent Taylor, Montague, Barrow, Thorndike, good dearBishop Horne, and Jones of Nayland. Can't you do what they did?"

"The argument is a very strong one, " said Charles; "I have felt it: youmean, then, I must sign on faith. "

"Yes, certainly, if necessary, " said Bateman. 

"And how am I to sign as a Master, and when I am ordained?" askedCharles. 

"That's what I mean by fidgeting, " answered Bateman. "You are notcontent with your day; you are reaching forward to live years hence. "

Charles laughed. "It isn't quite that, " he said, "I was but testing youradvice; however, there's some truth in it. " And he changed the subject. 

They talked awhile on indifferent matters; but on a pause Charles'sthoughts fell back again to the Articles. "Tell me, Bateman, " he said, "as a mere matter of curiosity, how _you_ subscribed when you took yourdegree. "

"Oh, I had no difficulty at all, " said Bateman; "the examples of Bulland Pearson were enough for me. "

"Then you signed on faith. "

"Not exactly, but it was that thought which smoothed all difficulties. "

"Could you have signed without it?"

"How can you ask me the question? of course. "

"Well, do tell me, then, what was your _ground_?"

"Oh, I had many grounds. I can't recollect in a moment what happenedsome time ago. "

"Oh, then it was a matter of difficulty; indeed, you said so just now. "

"Not at all: my only difficulty was, not about myself, but how to statethe matter to other people. "

"What! some one suspected you?"

"No, no; you are quite mistaken. I mean, for instance, the Article saysthat we are justified by faith only; now the Protestant sense of thisstatement is point blank opposite to our standard divines: the questionwas, what I was to say when asked _my_ sense of it. "

"I understand, " said Charles; "now tell me how you solved the problem. "

"Well, I don't deny that the Protestant sense is heretical, " answeredBateman; "and so is the Protestant sense of many other things in theArticles; but then we need not take them in the Protestant sense. "

"Then in what sense?"

"Why, first, " said Bateman, "we need not take them in any sense at all. Don't smile; listen. Great authorities, such as Laud or Bramhall, seemto have considered that we only sign the Articles as articles of peace;not as really holding them, but as not opposing them. Therefore, when wesign the Articles, we only engage not to preach against them. "

Reding thought; then he said: "Tell me, Bateman, would not this view ofsubscription to the Articles let the Unitarians into the Church?"

Bateman allowed it would, but the Liturgy would still keep them out. Charles then went on to suggest that _they_ would take the Liturgy as aLiturgy of peace too. Bateman began again. 

"If you want some tangible principle, " he said, "for interpretingArticles and Liturgy, I can give you one. You know, " he continued, aftera short pause, "what it is _we_ hold? Why, we give the Articles aCatholic interpretation. "

Charles looked inquisitive. 

"It is plain, " continued Bateman, "that no document can be a deadletter; it must be the expression of some mind; and the question hereis, _whose_ is what may be called the voice which speaks the Articles. Now, if the Bishops, Heads of houses, and other dignitaries andauthorities were unanimous in their religious views, and one and allsaid that the Articles meant this and not that, they, as the imponents, would have a right to interpret them; and the Articles would mean whatthose great men said they meant. But they do not agree together; some ofthem are diametrically opposed to others. One clergyman deniesApostolical Succession, another affirms it; one denies the Lutheranjustification, another maintains it; one denies the inspiration ofScripture, a second holds Calvin to be a saint, a third considers thedoctrine of sacramental grace a superstition, a fourth takes part withNestorius against the Church, a fifth is a Sabellian. It is plain, then, that the Articles have no sense at all, if the collective voice ofBishops, Deans, Professors, and the like is to be taken. They cannotsupply what schoolmen call the _form_ of the Articles. But perhaps thewriters themselves of the Articles will supply it? No; for, first, wedon't know for certain who the writers were; and next, the Articles havegone through so many hands, and so many mendings, that some at least ofthe original authors would not like to be responsible for them. Well, let us go to the Convocations which ratified them: but they, too, wereof different sentiments; the seventeenth century did not hold thedoctrine of the sixteenth. Such is the state of the case. On the otherhand, _we_ say that if the Anglican Church be a part of the one ChurchCatholic, it must, from the necessity of the case, hold Catholicdoctrine. Therefore, the whole Catholic Creed, the acknowledged doctrineof the Fathers, of St. Ignatius, St. Cyprian, St. Augustin, St. Ambrose, is the _form_, is the one true sense and interpretation of the Articles. They may be ambiguous in themselves; they may have been worded withvarious intentions by the individuals concerned in their composition;but these are accidents; the Church knows nothing of individuals; sheinterprets herself. "

Reding took some time to think over this. "All this, " he said, "proceedson the fundamental principle that the Church of England is an integralpart of that visible body of which St. Ignatius, St. Cyprian, and therest were Bishops; according to the words of Scripture, 'one body, onefaith. '"

Bateman assented; Charles proceeded: "Then the Articles must not beconsidered primarily as teaching; they have no one sense in themselves;they are confessedly ambiguous: they are compiled from heterogeneoussources; but all this does not matter, for all must be interpreted bythe teaching of the Catholic Church. "

Bateman agreed in the main, except that Reding had stated the caserather too strongly. 

"But what if their letter _contradicts_ a doctrine of the Fathers? am Ito force the letter?"

"If such a case actually happened, the theory would not hold, " answeredBateman; "it would only be a gross quibble. You can in no case sign anArticle in a sense which its words will not bear. But, fortunately, orrather providentially, this is not the case; we have merely to explainambiguities, and harmonize discrepancies. The Catholic interpretationdoes no greater violence to the text than _any other_ rule ofinterpretation will be found to do. "

"Well, but I know nothing of the Fathers, " said Charles; "others too arein the same condition; how am I to learn practically to interpret theArticles?"

"By the Prayer Book; the Prayer Book is the voice of the Fathers. "

"How so?"

"Because the Prayer Book is confessedly ancient, while the Articles aremodern. "

Charles kept silence again. "It is very plausible, " he said; he thoughton. Presently he asked: "Is this a _received_ view?"

"_No_ view is received, " said Bateman; "the Articles themselves arereceived, but there is no authoritative interpretation of them at all. That's what I was saying just now; Bishops and Professors don't agreetogether. "

"Well, " said Charles, "is it a _tolerated_ view?"

"It has certainly been strongly opposed, " answered Bateman; "but it hasnever been condemned. "

"That is no answer, " said Charles, who saw by Bateman's manner how thetruth lay. "Does any one Bishop hold it? did any one Bishop ever holdit? has it ever been formally admitted as tenable by any one Bishop? isit a view got up to meet existing difficulties, or has it an historicalexistence?"

Bateman could give but one answer to these questions, as they weresuccessively put to him. 

"I thought so, " said Charles, when he had made his answer: "I know, ofcourse, whose view you are putting before me, though I never heard itdrawn out before. It is specious, certainly: I don't see but it mighthave done, had it been tolerably sanctioned; but you have no sanction toshow me. It is, as it stands, a mere theory struck out by individuals. Our Church _might_ have adopted this mode of interpreting the Articles;but from what you tell me, it certainly _has not_ done so. I am where Iwas. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

The thought came across Reding whether perhaps, after all, what iscalled Evangelical Religion was not the true Christianity: itsprofessors, he knew, were active and influential, and in past times hadbeen much persecuted. Freeborn had surprised and offended him atBateman's breakfast-party before the Vacation; yet Freeborn had aserious manner about him, and perhaps he had misunderstood him. Thethought, however, passed away as suddenly as it came, and perhaps wouldnot have occurred to him again, when an accident gave him some data fordetermining the question. 

One afternoon he was lounging in the Parks, gazing with surprise on oneof those extraordinary lights for which the neighbourhood of Oxford isat that season celebrated, and which, as the sun went down, wascolouring Marston, Elsfield, and their half-denuded groves with a palegold-and-brown hue, when he found himself overtaken and addressed by thesaid Freeborn _in propriâ personâ_. Freeborn liked a _tête-à-tête_ talkmuch better than a dispute in a party; he felt himself at more advantagein long leisurely speeches, and he was soon put out of breath when hehad to bolt-out or edge-in his words amid the ever-varying voices of abreakfast-table. He thought the present might be a good opportunity ofdoing good to a poor youth who did not know chalk from cheese, and who, by his means, might be, as he would word it, "savingly converted. " Sothey got into conversation, talked of Willis's step, which Freeborncalled awful; and, before Charles knew where he was, he found himselfasking Freeborn what he meant by "faith. "

"Faith, " said Freeborn, "is a Divine gift, and is the instrument of ourjustification in God's sight. We are all by nature displeasing to Him, till He justifies us freely for Christ's sake. Faith is like a hand, appropriating personally the merits of Christ, who is our justification. Now, what can we want more, or have more, than those merits? Faith, then, is everything, and does everything for us. You see, then, howimportant it is to have a right view about justification by faith only. If we are sound on this capital point, everything else may take itschance; we shall at once see the folly of contending about ceremonies, about forms of Church-government, about, I will even say, sacraments orcreeds. External things will, in that case, either be neglected, or willfind a subordinate place. "

Reding observed that of course Freeborn did not mean to say that goodworks were not necessary for obtaining God's favour; "but if they were, how was justification by faith only?"

Freeborn smiled, and said that he hoped Reding would have clearer viewsin a little time. It was a very simple matter. Faith not only justified, it regenerated also. It was the root of sanctification, as well as ofDivine acceptance. The same act, which was the means of bringing us intoGod's favour, secured our being meet for it. Thus good works weresecured, because faith would not be true faith unless it were such as tobe certain of bringing forth good works in due time. 

Reding thought this view simple and clear, though it unpleasantlyreminded him of Dr. Brownside. Freeborn added that it was a doctrinesuited to the poor, that it put all the gospel into a nutshell, that itdispensed with criticism, primitive ages, teachers--in short, withauthority in whatever form. It swept theology clean away. There was noneed to mention this last consequence to Charles; but he passed it by, wishing to try the system on its own merits. 

"You speak of _true_ faith, " he said, "as producing good works: you saythat no faith justifies _but_ true faith, and true faith produces goodworks. In other words, I suppose, faith, which is _certain to befruitful_, or _fruitful_ faith, justifies. This is very like saying thatfaith and works are the joint means of justification. "

"Oh, no, no, " cried Freeborn, "that is deplorable doctrine: it is quiteopposed to the gospel, it is anti-Christian. We are justified by faithonly, apart from good works. "

"I am in an Article lecture just now, " said Charles, "and Upton told usthat we must make a distinction of _this_ kind; for instance, the Dukeof Wellington is Chancellor of the University, but, though he is as muchChancellor as Duke, still he sits in the House of Lords as Duke, not asChancellor. Thus, although faith is as truly fruitful as it is faith, yet it does not justify as being fruitful, but as being faith. Is thiswhat you mean?"

"Not at all, " said Freeborn; "that was Melancthon's doctrine; heexplained away a cardinal truth into a mere matter of words; he madefaith a mere symbol, but this is a departure from the pure gospel: faithis the _instrument_, not a _symbol_ of justification. It is, in truth, amere _apprehension_, and nothing else: the seizing and clinging which abeggar might venture on when a king passed by. Faith is as poor as Jobin the ashes: it is like Job stripped of all pride and pomp and goodworks: it is covered with filthy rags: it is without anything good: itis, I repeat, a mere apprehension. Now you see what I mean. "

"I can't believe I understand you, " said Charles: "you say that to havefaith is to seize Christ's merits; and that we have them, if we will butseize them. But surely not every one who seizes them, gains them;because dissolute men, who never have a dream of thorough repentance orreal hatred of sin, would gladly seize and appropriate them, if theymight do so. They would like to get to heaven for nothing. Faith, then, must be some particular _kind_ of apprehension; _what_ kind? good workscannot be mistaken, but an 'apprehension' may. What, then, is a trueapprehension? what _is_ faith?"

"What need, my dear friend, " answered Freeborn, "of knowingmetaphysically what true faith is, if we have it and enjoy it? I do notknow what bread is, but I eat it; do I wait till a chemist analyzes it?No, I eat it, and I feel the good effects afterwards. And so let us becontent to know, not what faith _is_, but what it _does_, and enjoy ourblessedness in possessing it. "

"I really don't want to introduce metaphysics, " said Charles, "but Iwill adopt your own image. Suppose I suspected the bread before me tohave arsenic in it, or merely to be unwholesome, would it be wonderfulif I tried to ascertain how the fact stood?"

"Did you do so this morning at breakfast?" asked Freeborn. 

"I did not suspect my bread, " answered Charles. 

"Then why suspect faith?" asked Freeborn. 

"Because it is, so to say, a new substance, "--Freeborn sighed, --"becauseI am not used to it, nay, because I suspect it. I must say _suspect_ it;because, though I don't know much about the matter, I know perfectlywell, from what has taken place in my father's parish, what excessesthis doctrine may lead to, unless it is guarded. You say that it is adoctrine for the poor; now they are very likely to mistake one thing foranother; so indeed is every one. If, then, we are told, that we have butto apprehend Christ's merits, and need not trouble ourselves aboutanything else; that justification has taken place, and works willfollow; that all is done, and that salvation is complete, while we dobut continue to have faith; I think we ought to be pretty sure that we_have_ faith, real faith, a real apprehension, before we shut up ourbooks and make holiday. "

Freeborn was secretly annoyed that he had got into an argument, orpained, as he would express it, at the pride of Charles's natural man, or the blindness of his carnal reason; but there was no help for it, hemust give him an answer. 

"There are, I know, many kinds of faith, " he said; "and of course youmust be on your guard against mistaking false faith for true faith. Manypersons, as you most truly say, make this mistake; and most important isit, all important I should say, to go right. First, it is evident thatit is not mere belief in facts, in the being of a God, or in thehistorical event that Christ has come and gone. Nor is it the submissionof the reason to mysteries; nor, again, is it that sort of trust whichis required for exercising the gift of miracles. Nor is it knowledge andacceptance of the contents of the Bible. I say, it is not knowledge, itis not assent of the intellect, it is not historical faith, it is notdead faith: true justifying faith is none of these--it is seated in theheart and affections. " He paused, then added: "Now, I suppose, forpractical purposes, I have described pretty well what justifying faithis. "

Charles hesitated: "By describing what it is _not_, you mean, " said he;"justifying faith, then, is, I suppose, living faith. "

"Not so fast, " answered Freeborn. 

"Why, " said Charles, "if it's not dead faith, it's living faith. "

"It's neither dead faith nor living, " said Freeborn, "but faith, simplefaith, which justifies. Luther was displeased with Melancthon for sayingthat living and operative faith justified. I have studied the questionvery carefully. "

"Then do _you_ tell me, " said Charles, "what faith is, since I do notexplain it correctly. For instance, if you said (what you don't say), that faith was submission of the reason to mysteries, or acceptance ofScripture as an historical document, I should know perfectly well whatyou meant; _that_ is information: but when you say, that faith whichjustifies is an _apprehension_ of Christ, that it is _not_ living faith, or fruitful faith, or operative, but a something which in fact andactually is distinct from these, I confess I feel perplexed. "

Freeborn wished to be out of the argument. "Oh, " he said, "if you reallyonce experienced the power of faith--how it changes the heart, enlightens the eyes, gives a new spiritual taste, a new sense to thesoul; if you once knew what it was to be blind, and then to see, youwould not ask for definitions. Strangers need verbal descriptions; theheirs of the kingdom enjoy. Oh, if you could but be persuaded to put offhigh imaginations; to strip yourself of your proud self, and to_experience_ in yourself the wonderful change, you would live in praiseand thanksgiving, instead of argument and criticism. "

Charles was touched by his warmth; "But, " he said, "we ought to act byreason; and I don't see that I have more, or so much, reason to listento you, as to listen to the Roman Catholic, who tells me I cannotpossibly have that certainty of faith before believing, which onbelieving will be divinely given me. "

"Surely, " said Freeborn, with a grave face, "you would not compare thespiritual Christian, such as Luther, holding his cardinal doctrine aboutjustification, to any such formal, legal, superstitious devotee asPopery can make, with its carnal rites and quack remedies, which neverreally cleanse the soul or reconcile it to God?"

"I don't like you to talk so, " said Reding; "I know very little aboutthe real nature of Popery; but when I was a boy I was once, by chance, in a Roman Catholic chapel; and I really never saw such devotion in mylife--the people all on their knees, and most earnestly attentive towhat was going on. I did not understand what that was; but I am sure, had you been there, you never would have called their religion, be itright or wrong, an outward form or carnal ordinance. "

Freeborn said it deeply pained him to hear such sentiments, and to findthat Charles was so tainted with the errors of the day; and he began, not with much tact, to talk of the Papal Antichrist, and would have gotoff to prophecy, had Charles said a word to afford fuel for discussion. As he kept silence, Freeborn's zeal burnt out, and there was a break inthe conversation. 

After a time, Reding ventured to begin again. 

"If I understand you, " he said, "faith carries its own evidence with it. Just as I eat my bread at breakfast without hesitation about itswholesomeness, so, when I have really faith, I know it beyond mistake, and need not look out for tests of it?"

"Precisely so, " said Freeborn; "you begin to see what I mean; you grow. The soul is enlightened to see that it has real faith. "

"But how, " asked Charles, "are we to rescue those from their dangerousmistake, who think they have faith, while they have not? Is there no wayin which they can find out that they are under a delusion?"

"It is not wonderful, " said Freeborn, "though there be no way. There aremany self-deceivers in the world. Some men are self-righteous, trust intheir works, and think they are safe when they are in a state ofperdition; no formal rules _can_ be given by which their reason mightfor certain detect their mistake. And so of false faith. "

"Well, it does seem to me wonderful, " said Charles, "that there is nonatural and obvious warning provided against this delusion; wonderfulthat false faith should be so exactly like true faith that there isnothing to determine their differences from each other. Effects implycauses: if one apprehension of Christ leads to good works, and anotherdoes not, there must be something _in_ the one which is not _in_ theother. _What_ is a false apprehension of Christ wanting in, which a trueapprehension has? The word _apprehension_ is so vague; it conveys nodefinite idea to me, yet justification depends on it. Is a falseapprehension, for instance, wanting in repentance and amendment?"

"No, no, " said Freeborn; "true faith is complete without conversion;conversion follows; but faith is the root. "

"Is it the love of God which distinguishes true faith from false?"

"Love?" answered Freeborn; "you should read what Luther says in hiscelebrated comment on the Galatians. He calls such a doctrine'_pestilens figmentum_, ' '_diaboli portentum_;' and cries out againstthe Papists, '_Pereant sophistæ cum suâ maledictâ glossâ!_'"

"Then it differs from false faith in nothing. "

"Not so, " said Freeborn; "it differs from it in its fruits: 'By theirfruits ye shall know them. '"

"This is coming round to the same point again, " said Charles; "fruitscome after; but a man, it seems, is to take comfort in his justification_before_ fruits come, before he knows that his faith will produce them. "

"Good works are the _necessary_ fruits of faith, " said Freeborn; "sosays the Article. "

Charles made no answer, but said to himself, "My good friend herecertainly has not the clearest of heads;" then aloud, "Well, I despairof getting at the bottom of the subject. "

"Of course, " answered Freeborn, with an air of superiority, though in amild tone, "it is a very simple principle, '_Fides justificat ante etsine charitate_;' but it requires a Divine light to embrace it. "

They walked awhile in silence; then, as the day was now closing in, theyturned homewards, and parted company when they came to the Clarendon. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Freeborn was not the person to let go a young man like Charles withoutanother effort to gain him; and in a few days he invited him to take teaat his lodgings. Charles went at the appointed time, through the wet andcold of a dreary November evening, and found five or six men alreadyassembled. He had got into another world; faces, manners, speeches, allwere strange, and savoured neither of Eton, which was his own school, nor of Oxford itself. He was introduced, and found the awkwardness of anew acquaintance little relieved by the conversation which went on. Itwas a dropping fire of serious remarks; with pauses, relieved only byoccasional "ahems, " the sipping of tea, the sound of spoons fallingagainst the saucers, and the blind shifting of chairs as the flurriedservant-maid of the lodgings suddenly came upon them from behind, withthe kettle for the teapot, or toast for the table. There was no natureor elasticity in the party, but a great intention to be profitable. 

"Have you seen the last _Spiritual Journal_?" asked No. 1 of No. 2 in alow voice. 

No. 2 had just read it. 

"A very remarkable article that, " said No. 1, "upon the deathbed of thePope. "

"No one is beyond hope, " answered No. 2. 

"I have heard of it, but not seen it, " said No. 3. 

A pause. 

"What is it about?" asked Reding. 

"The late Pope Sixtus the Sixteenth, " said No. 3; "he seems to have dieda believer. "

A sensation. Charles looked as if he wished to know more. 

"The _Journal_ gives it on excellent authority, " said No. 2; "Mr. O'Niggins, the agent for the Roman Priest Conversion Branch TractSociety, was in Rome during his last illness. He solicited an audiencewith the Pope, which was granted to him. He at once began to address himon the necessity of a change of heart, belief in the one Hope ofsinners, and abandonment of all creature mediators. He announced to himthe glad tidings, and assured him there was pardon for all. He warnedhim against the figment of baptismal regeneration; and then, proceedingto apply the word, he urged him, though in the eleventh hour, to receivethe Bible, the whole Bible, and nothing but the Bible. The Pope listenedwith marked attention, and displayed considerable emotion. When it wasended, he answered Mr. O'Niggins that it was his fervent hope that theytwo would not die without finding themselves in one communion, orsomething of the sort. He declared moreover, what was astonishing, thathe put his sole trust in Christ, 'the source of all merit, ' as heexpressed it--a remarkable phrase. "

"In what language was the conversation carried on?" asked Reding. 

"It is not stated, " answered No. 2; "but I am pretty sure Mr. O'Nigginsis a good French scholar. "

"It does not seem to me, " said Charles, "that the Pope's admissions aregreater than those made continually by certain members of our ownChurch, who are nevertheless accused of Popery. "

"But they are extorted from such persons, " said Freeborn, "while thePope's were voluntary. "

"The one party go back into darkness, " said No. 3; "the Pope was comingforward into light. "

"One ought to interpret everything for the best in a real Papist, " saidFreeborn, "and everything for the worst in a Puseyite. That is bothcharity and common sense. "

"This was not all, " continued No. 2; "he called together the Cardinals, protested that he earnestly desired God's glory, said that inwardreligion was all in all, and forms were nothing without a contriteheart, and that he trusted soon to be in Paradise--which, you know, wasa denial of the doctrine of Purgatory. "

"A brand from the burning, I do hope, " said No. 3. 

"It has frequently been observed, " said No. 4, "nay it has struck memyself, that the way to convert Romanists is first to convert the Pope. "

"It is a sure way, at least, " said Charles timidly, afraid he was sayingtoo much; but his irony was not discovered. 

"Man cannot do it, " said Freeborn; "it's the power of faith. Faith canbe vouchsafed even to the greatest sinners. You see now, perhaps, " hesaid, turning to Charles, "better than you did, what I meant by faiththe other day. This poor old man could have no merit; he had passed along life in opposing the Cross. Do your difficulties continue?"

Charles had thought over their former conversation very carefullyseveral times, and he answered, "Why, I don't think they do to the sameextent. "

Freeborn looked pleased. 

"I mean, " he said, "that the idea hangs together better than I thoughtit did at first. "

Freeborn looked puzzled. 

Charles, slightly colouring, was obliged to proceed, amid the profoundsilence of the whole party. "You said, you know, that justifying faithwas without love or any other grace besides itself, and that no onecould at all tell what it was, except afterwards, from its fruits; thatthere was no test by which a person could examine himself, whether ornot he was deceiving himself when he thought he had faith, so that goodand bad might equally be taking to themselves the promises and theprivileges peculiar to the gospel. I thought this a hard doctrinecertainly at first; but, then, afterwards it struck me that faith isperhaps a result of a previous state of mind, a blessed result of ablessed state, and therefore may be considered the reward of previousobedience; whereas sham faith, or what merely looks like faith, is ajudicial punishment. "

In proportion as the drift of the former part of this speech wasuncertain, so was the conclusion very distinct. There was no mistake, and an audible emotion. 

"There is no such thing as previous merit, " said No. 1; "all is ofgrace. "

"Not merit, I know, " said Charles, "but"----

"We must not bring in the doctrine of _de condigno_ or _de congruo_, "said No. 2. 

"But surely, " said Charles, "it is a cruel thing to say to the unlearnedand the multitude, 'Believe, and you are at once saved; do not wait forfruits, rejoice at once, ' and neither to accompany this announcement byany clear description of what faith is, nor to secure them by previousreligious training against self-deception!"

"That is the very gloriousness of the doctrine, " said Freeborn, "that itis preached to the worst of mankind. It says, 'Come as you are; don'tattempt to make yourselves better. Believe that salvation is yours, andit is yours: good works follow after. '"

"On the contrary, " said Charles, continuing his argument, "when it issaid that justification follows upon baptism, we have an intelligiblesomething pointed out, which every one can ascertain. Baptism is anexternal unequivocal token; whereas that a man has this secret feelingcalled faith, no one but himself can be a witness, and he is not anunbiassed one. "

Reding had at length succeeded in throwing that dull tea-table into astate of great excitement. "My dear friend, " said Freeborn, "I had hopedbetter things; in a little while, I hope, you will see thingsdifferently. Baptism is an outward rite; what is there, can there be, spiritual, holy, or heavenly in baptism?"

"But you tell me faith too is not spiritual, " said Charles. 

"_I_ tell you!" cried Freeborn, "when?"

"Well, " said Charles, somewhat puzzled, "at least you do not think itholy. "

Freeborn was puzzled in his turn. 

"If it is holy, " continued Charles, "it has something good in it; it hassome worth; it is not filthy rags. All the good comes afterwards, yousaid. You said that its fruits were holy, but that it was nothing at allitself. "

There was a momentary silence, and some agitation of thought. 

"Oh, faith is certainly a holy feeling, " said No. 1. 

"No, it is spiritual, but not holy, " said No. 2; "it is a mere act, theapprehension of Christ's merits. "

"It is seated in the affections, " said No. 3; "faith is a feeling of theheart; it is trust, it is a belief that Christ is _my_ Saviour; all thisis distinct from holiness. Holiness introduces self-righteousness. Faithis peace and joy, but it is not holiness. Holiness comes after. "

"Nothing can cause holiness but what is holy; this is a sort of axiom, "said Charles; "if the fruits are holy, faith, which is the root, isholy. "

"You might as well say that the root of a rose is red, and of a lilywhite, " said No. 3. 

"Pardon me, Reding, " said Freeborn, "it is, as my friend says, an_apprehension_. An apprehension is a seizing; there is no more holinessin justifying faith, than in the hand's seizing a substance which comesin its way. This is Luther's great doctrine in his 'Commentary' on theGalatians. It is nothing in itself--it is a mere instrument; this iswhat he teaches, when he so vehemently resists the notion of justifyingfaith being accompanied by love. "

"I cannot assent to that doctrine, " said No. 1; "it may be true in acertain sense, but it throws stumbling-blocks in the way of seekers. Luther could not have meant what you say, I am convinced. Justifyingfaith is always accompanied by love. "

"That is what I thought, " said Charles. 

"That is the Romish doctrine all over, " said No. 2; "it is the doctrineof Bull and Taylor. "

"Luther calls it, '_venenum infernale_, '" said Freeborn. 

"It is just what the Puseyites preach at present, " said No. 3. 

"On the contrary, " said No. 1, "it is the doctrine of Melancthon. Lookhere, " he continued, taking his pocketbook out of his pocket, "I havegot his words down as Shuffleton quoted them in the Divinity-school theother day: '_Fides significat fiduciam; in fiducidâ_ inest _dilectio;ergo etiam dilectione sumus justi_. '"

Three of the party cried "Impossible!" The paper was handed round insolemn silence. 

"Calvin said the same, " said No. 1 triumphantly. 

"I think, " said No. 4, in a slow, smooth, sustained voice, whichcontrasted with the animation which had suddenly inspired theconversation, "that the con-tro-ver-sy, ahem, may be easily arranged. Itis a question of words between Luther and Melancthon. Luther says, ahem, 'faith is _without_ love, ' meaning, 'faith without love justifies. 'Melancthon, on the other hand, says, ahem, 'faith is _with_ love, 'meaning, 'faith justifies with love. ' Now both are true: for, ahem, faith-without-love _justifies_, yet faith justifies _not-without-love_. "

There was a pause, while both parties digested this explanation. 

"On the contrary, " he added, "it is the Romish doctrine thatfaith-with-love justifies. "

Freeborn expressed his dissent; he thought this the doctrine ofMelancthon which Luther condemned. 

"You mean, " said Charles, "that justification is given to faith _with_love, not to faith _and_ love. "

"You have expressed my meaning, " said No. 4. 

"And what is considered the difference between _with_ and _and_?" askedCharles. 

No. 4 replied without hesitation, "Faith is the _instrument_, love the_sine quâ non_. "

Nos. 2 and 3 interposed with a protest; they thought it "legal" tointroduce the phrase _sine quâ non_; it was introducing _conditions_. Justification was unconditional. 

"But is not faith a condition?" asked Charles. 

"Certainly not, " said Freeborn; "'condition' is a legal word. How cansalvation be free and full, if it is conditional?"

"There are no conditions, " said No. 3; "all must come from the heart. Webelieve with the heart, we love from the heart, we obey with the heart;not because we are obliged, but because we have a new nature. "

"Is there no obligation to obey?" said Charles, surprised. 

"No obligation to the regenerate, " answered No. 3; "they are aboveobligation; they are in a new state. "

"But surely Christians are under a law, " said Charles. 

"Certainly not, " said No. 2; "the law is done away in Christ. "

"Take care, " said No. 1; "that borders on Antinomianism. "

"Not at all, " said Freeborn; "an Antinomian actually holds that he maybreak the law: a spiritual believer only holds that he is not bound tokeep it. "

Now they got into a fresh discussion among themselves; and, as it seemedas interminable as it was uninteresting, Reding took an opportunity towish his host a good night, and to slip away. He never had much leaningtowards the evangelical doctrine; and Freeborn and his friends, who knewwhat they were holding a great deal better than the run of their party, satisfied him that he had not much to gain by inquiring into thatdoctrine farther. So they will vanish in consequence from our pages. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

When Charles got to his room he saw a letter from home lying on histable; and, to his alarm, it had a deep black edge. He tore it open. Alas, it announced the sudden death of his dear father! He had beenailing some weeks with the gout, which at length had attacked hisstomach, and carried him off in a few hours. 

O my poor dear Charles, I sympathize with you keenly all that longnight, and in that indescribable waking in the morning, and that drearyday of travel which followed it! By the afternoon you were at home. Opiercing change! it was but six or seven weeks before that you hadpassed the same objects the reverse way, with what different feelings, and oh, in what company, as you made for the railway omnibus! It was agrief not to be put into words; and to meet mother, sisters--and theDead!. .. 

The funeral is over by some days; Charles is to remain at home theremainder of the term, and does not return to Oxford till towards theend of January. The signs of grief have been put away; the house lookscheerful as before; the fire as bright, the mirrors as clear, thefurniture as orderly; the pictures are the same, and the ornaments onthe mantelpiece stand as they have stood, and the French clock tells thehour, as it has told it, for years past. The inmates of the parsonagewear, it is most true, the signs of a heavy bereavement; but theyconverse as usual, and on ordinary subjects; they pursue the sameemployments, they work, they read, they walk in the garden, they dine. There is no change except in the inward consciousness of an overwhelmingloss. _He_ is not there, not merely on this day or that, for so it wellmight be; he is not merely away, but, as they know well, he is gone andwill not return. That he is absent now is but a token and a memorial totheir minds that he will be absent always. But especially at dinner;Charles had to take a place which he had sometimes filled, but then asthe deputy, and in the presence of him whom now he succeeded. Hisfather, being not much more than a middle-aged man, had been accustomedto carve himself. And when at the meal of the day Charles looked up, hehad to encounter the troubled look of one, who, from her place at table, had before her eyes a still more vivid memento of their commonloss;--_aliquid desideraverunt oculi_. 

Mr. Reding had left his family well provided for; and this, though areal alleviation of their loss in the event, perhaps augmented the painof it at the moment. He had ever been a kind indulgent father. He was amost respectable clergyman of the old school; pious in his sentiments, agentleman in his feelings, exemplary in his social relations. He was noreader, and never had been in the way to gain theological knowledge; hesincerely believed all that was in the Prayer Book, but his sermons werevery rarely doctrinal. They were sensible, manly discourses on the moralduties. He administered Holy Communion at the three great festivals, sawhis Bishop once or twice a year, was on good terms with the countrygentlemen in his neighbourhood, was charitable to the poor, hospitablein his housekeeping, and was a staunch though not a violent supporter ofthe Tory interest in his county. He was incapable of anything harsh, orpetty, or low, or uncourteous; and died esteemed by the great housesabout him, and lamented by his parishioners. 

It was the first great grief poor Charles had ever had, and he felt itto be real. How did the small anxieties which had of late teased him, vanish before this tangible calamity! He then understood the differencebetween what was real and what was not. All the doubts, inquiries, surmises, views, which had of late haunted him on theological subjects, seemed like so many shams, which flitted before him in sun-bright hours, but had no root in his inward nature, and fell from him, like thehelpless December leaves, in the hour of his affliction. He felt now_where_ his heart and his life lay. His birth, his parentage, hiseducation, his home, were great realities; to these his being wasunited; out of these he grew. He felt he must be what Providence hadmade him. What is called the pursuit of truth, seemed an idle dream. Hehad great tangible duties to his father's memory, to his mother andsisters, to his position; he felt sick of all theories, as if they hadtaken him in; and he secretly resolved never more to have anything to dowith them. Let the world go on as it might, happen what would to others, his own place and his own path were clear. He would go back to Oxford, attend steadily to his books, put aside all distractions, avoidbye-paths, and do his best to acquit himself well in the schools. TheChurch of England as it was, its Articles, bishops, preachers, professors, had sufficed for much better persons than he was; they weregood enough for him. He could not do better than imitate the life anddeath of his beloved father; quiet years in the country at a distancefrom all excitements, a round of pious, useful works among the poor, thecare of a village school, and at length the death of the righteous. 

At the moment, and for some time to come, he had special duties towardshis mother; he wished, as far as might be, to supply to her the place ofhim she had lost. She had great trials before her still; if it was agrief to himself to leave Hartley, what would it be to her? Not manymonths would pass before she would have to quit a place ever dear, andnow sacred in her thoughts; there was in store for her the anguish ofdismantling the home of many years, and the toil and whirl of packing; awearied head and an aching heart at a time when she would have most needof self-possession and energy. 

Such were the thoughts which came upon him again and again in thosesorrowful weeks. A leaf had been turned over in his life; he could notbe what he had been. People come to man's estate at very differentages. Youngest sons in a family, like monks in a convent, may remainchildren till they have reached middle age; but the elder, should theirfather die prematurely, are suddenly ripened into manhood, when they arealmost boys. Charles had left Oxford a clever unformed youth; hereturned a man. 

Part II. 

CHAPTER I. 

About three miles from Oxford a thickly-wooded village lies on the sideof a steep, long hill or chine, looking over the Berkshire woods, andcommanding a view of the many-turreted city itself. Over its broadsummit once stretched a chestnut forest; and now it is covered with theroots of trees, or furze, or soft turf. The red sand which liesunderneath contrasts with the green, and adds to its brilliancy; itdrinks in, too, the rain greedily, so that the wide common is nearlyalways fit for walking; and the air, unlike the heavy atmosphere of theUniversity beneath it, is fresh and bracing. The gorse was still inbloom, in the latter end of the month of June, when Reding and Sheffieldtook up their abode in a small cottage at the upper end of thisvillage--so hid with trees and girt in with meadows that for thestranger it was hard to find--there to pass their third and last LongVacation before going into the schools. 

A year and a half had passed since Charles's great affliction, and thetime had not been unprofitably spent either by himself or his friend. Both had read very regularly, and Sheffield had gained the Latin verseinto the bargain. Charles had put all religious perplexities aside; thatis, he knew of course many more persons of all parties than he didbefore, and became better acquainted with their tenets and theircharacters, but he did not dwell upon anything which he met with, norattempt to determine the merits or solve the difficulties of this orthat question. He took things as they came; and, while he gave his mindto his books, he thankfully availed himself of the religious privilegeswhich the College system afforded him. Nearly a year still remainedbefore his examination; and, as Mrs. Reding had not as yet fullyarranged her plans, but was still, with her daughters, passing fromfriend to friend, he had listened to Sheffield's proposal to take atutor for the Vacation, and to find a site for their studies in theneighbourhood of Oxford. There was every prospect of their bothobtaining the highest honours which the schools award: they both weregood scholars, and clever men; they had read regularly, and had had theadvantage of able lectures. 

The side of the hill forms a large, sweeping hollow or theatre just onone side of the village of Horsley. The two extreme points may be half amile across; but the distance is increased to one who follows the pathwhich winds through the furze and fern along the ridge. Their tutor hadbeen unable to find lodgings in the village; and, while the two youngmen lived on one extremity of the sweep we have been describing, Mr. Carlton, who was not above three years older than they, had plantedhimself at a farmhouse upon the other. Besides, the farmhouse suitedhim better, as being nearer to a hamlet which he was serving during theVacation. 

"I don't think you like Carlton as well as I do, " said Reding toSheffield, as they lay on the green sward with some lighter classic intheir hands, waiting for dinner, and watching their friend as heapproached them from his lodgings. "He is to me so taking a man; soequable, so gentle, so considerate--he brings people together, and fillsthem with confidence in himself and friendly feeling towards each other, more than any person I know. "

"You are wrong, " said Sheffield, "if you think I don't value himextremely, and love him too; it's impossible not to love him. But he'snot the person quite to get influence over me. "

"He's too much of an Anglican for you, " said Reding. 

"Not at all, " said Sheffield, "except indirectly. My quarrel with himis, that he has many original thoughts, and holds many profound truthsin detail, but is quite unable to see how they lie to each other, andequally unable to draw consequences. He never sees a truth until hetouches it; he is ever groping and feeling, and, as in hide-and-seek, continually burns without discovering. I know there are ten thousandpersons who cannot see an inch before their nose, and who cancomfortably digest contradictions; but Carlton is really a clever man;he is no common thinker; this makes it so provoking. When I write anessay for him--I know I write obscurely, and often do not bring out thesequence of my ideas in due order, but, so it is--he is sure to cut outthe very thought or statement on which I especially pride myself, onwhich the whole argument rests, which binds every part together; and hecoolly tells me that it is extravagant or far-fetched--not seeing thatby leaving it out he has made nonsense of the rest. He is a man to roban arch of its keystone, and then quietly to build his house upon it. "

"Ah, your old failing again, " said Reding; "a craving after views. Now, what I like in Carlton, is that repose of his;--always saying enough, never too much; never boring you, never taxing you; always practical, never in the clouds. Save me from a viewy man; I could not live with himfor a week, present company always excepted. "

"Now, considering how hard I have read, and how little I have talkedthis year past, that is hard on me, " said Sheffield. "Did not I go to beone of old Thruston's sixteen pupils, last Long? He gave us capitalfeeds, smoked with us, and coached us in Ethics and Agamemnon. He knowshis books by heart, can repeat his plays backwards, and weighs out hisAristotle by grains and pennyweights; but, for generalizations, ideas, poetry, oh, it was desolation--it was a darkness which could be felt!"

"And you stayed there just six weeks out of four months, Sheffield, "answered Reding. 

Carlton had now joined them, and, after introductory greetings on bothsides, he too threw himself upon the turf. Sheffield said: "Reding and Iwere disputing just now whether Nicias was a party man. "

"Of course you first defined your terms, " said Carlton. 

"Well, " said Sheffield, "I mean by a party man, one who not only belongsto a party, but who has the _animus_ of party. Nicias did not make aparty, he found one made. He found himself at the head of it; he was nomore a party man than a prince who was born the head of his state. "

"I should agree with you, " said Carlton; "but still I should like toknow what a party is, and what a party man. "

"A party, " said Sheffield, "is merely an extra-constitutional orextra-legal body. "

"Party action, " said Charles, "is the exertion of influence instead oflaw. "

"But supposing, Reding, there is no law existing in the quarter whereinfluence exerts itself?" asked Carlton. 

Charles had to explain: "Certainly, " he said, "the State did notlegislate for all possible contingencies. "

"For instance, " continued Carlton, "a prime minister, I have understood, is not acknowledged in the Constitution; he exerts influence beyond thelaw, but not, in consequence, against any existing law; and it would beabsurd to talk of him as a party man. "

"Parliamentary parties, too, are recognised among us, " said Sheffield, "though extra-constitutional. We call them parties; but who would callthe Duke of Devonshire or Lord John Russell, in a bad sense, a partyman?"

"It seems to me, " said Carlton, "that the formation of a party ismerely a recurrence to the original mode of forming into society. Yourecollect Deioces; he formed a party. He gained influence; he laid thefoundation of social order. "

"Law certainly begins in influence, " said Reding, "for it presupposes alawgiver; afterwards it supersedes influence; from that time theexertion of influence is a sign of party. "

"Too broadly said, as you yourself just now allowed, " said Carlton: "youshould say that law _begins_ to supersede influence, and that _inproportion_ as it supersedes it, does the exertion of influence involveparty action. For instance, has not the Crown an immense personalinfluence? we talk of the Court _party_; yet it does not interfere withlaw, it is intended to conciliate the people to the law. "

"But it is recognized by law and constitution, " said Charles, "as wasthe Dictatorship. "

"Well, then, take the influence of the clergy, " answered Carlton; "wemake much of that influence as a principle supplemental to the law, andas a support to the law, yet not created or defined by the law. The lawdoes not recognize what some one calls truly a 'resident gentleman' inevery parish. Influence, then, instead of law is not necessarily theaction of party. "

"So again, national character is an influence distinct from the law, "said Sheffield, "according to the line, '_Quid leges sine moribus_?'"

"Law, " said Carlton, "is but gradually formed and extended. Well, then, so far as there is no law, there is the reign of influence; there isparty without of necessity _party_ action. This is the justification ofWhigs and Tories at the present day; to supply, as Aristotle says onanother subject, the defects of the law. Charles I. Exerted a regal, Walpole a ministerial influence; but influence, not law, was theoperating principle in both cases. The object or the means might bewrong, but the process could not be called party action. "

"You would justify, then, " said Charles, "the associations orconfraternities which existed, for instance, in Athens; not, that is, ifthey 'took the law into their own hands, ' as the phrase goes, but ifthere was no law to take, or if there was no constituted authority totake it of right. It was a recurrence to the precedent of Deioces. "

"Manzoni gives a striking instance of this in the beginning of his_Promessi Sposi_, " said Sheffield, "when he describes that protection, which law ought to give to the weak, as being in the sixteenth centurysought and found almost exclusively in factions or companies. I don'trecollect particulars, but he describes the clergy as busy in extendingtheir immunities, the nobility their privileges, the army theirexemptions, the trades and artisans their guilds. Even the lawyersformed a union, and medical men a corporation. "

"Thus constitutions are gradually moulded and perfected, " said Carlton, "by extra-constitutional bodies, either coming under the protection oflaw, or else being superseded by the law's providing for their objects. In the middle ages the Church was a vast extra-constitutional body. TheGerman and Anglo-Norman sovereigns sought to bring its operation_under_ the law; modern parliaments have superseded its operation _bylaw_. Then the State wished to gain the right of investitures; now theState marries, registers, manages the poor, exercises ecclesiasticaljurisdiction instead of the Church. "

"This will make ostracism parallel to the Reformation or theRevolution, " said Sheffield; "there is a battle of influence againstinfluence, and one gets rid of the other; law or constitution does notcome into question, but the will of the people or of the court ejects, whether the too-gifted individual, or the monarch, or the religion. Whatwas not under the law could not be dealt with, had no claim to be dealtwith, by the law. "

"A thought has sometimes struck me, " said Reding, "which falls in withwhat you have been saying. In the last half-century there has been agradual formation of the popular party in the State, which now tends tobe acknowledged as constitutional, or is already so acknowledged. Myfather never could endure newspapers--I mean the system of newspapers;he said it was a new power in the State. I am sure I am not defendingwhat he was thinking of, the many bad proceedings, the wretchedprinciples, the arrogance and tyranny of newspaper writers, but I amtrying the subject by the test of your theory. The great body of thepeople are very imperfectly represented in parliament; the Commons arenot their voice, but the voice of certain great interests. Consequentlythe press comes in--to do that which the constitution does not do--toform the people into a vast mutual-protection association. And this isdone by the same right that Deioces had to collect people about him; itdoes not interfere with the existing territory of the law, but buildswhere the constitution has not made provision. It _tends_, then, ultimately to be recognised by the constitution. "

"There is another remarkable phenomenon of a similar kind now in processof development, " said Carlton, "and that is, the influence of agitation. I really am not politician enough to talk of it as good or bad; one'snatural instinct is against it; but it may be necessary. However, agitation is getting to be recognised as the legitimate instrument bywhich the masses make their desires known, and secure the accomplishmentof them. Just as a bill passes in parliament, after certain readings, discussions, speeches, votings, and the like, so the process by which anact of the popular will becomes law is a long agitation, issuing inpetitions, previous to and concurrent with the parliamentary process. The first instance of this was about fifty or sixty years ago, when . .. Hallo!" he cried, "who is this cantering up to us?"

"I declare it is old Vincent, " said Sheffield. 

"He is to come to dine, " said Charles, "just in time. "

"How are you, Carlton?" cried Vincent. "How d'ye do, Mr. Sheffield? Mr. Reding, how d'ye do? acting up to your name, I suppose, for you wereever a reading man. For myself, " he continued, "I am just now an eatingman, and am come to dine with you, if you will let me. Have you a placefor my horse?"

There was a farmer near who could lend a stable; so the horse was ledoff by Charles; and the rider, without any delay--for the hour did notadmit it--entered the cottage to make his brief preparation for dinner. 

CHAPTER II. 

In a few minutes all met together at table in the small parlour, whichwas room of all work in the cottage. They had not the whole house, limited as were its resources; for it was also the habitation of agardener, who took his vegetables to the Oxford market, and whose wife(what is called) _did_ for his lodgers. 

Dinner was suited to the apartment, apartment to the dinner. Thebook-table had been hastily cleared for a cloth, not over white, and, inconsequence, the sole remaining table, which acted as sideboard, displayed a relay of plates and knives and forks, in the midst ofoctavos and duodecimos, bound and unbound, piled up and thrown about ingreat variety of shapes. The other ornaments of this side-table were anink-glass, some quires of large paper, a straw hat, a gold watch, aclothes-brush, some bottles of ginger-beer, a pair of gloves, a case ofcigars, a neck-handkerchief, a shoe-horn, a small slate, a largeclasp-knife, a hammer, and a handsome inlaid writing-desk. 

"I like these rides into the country, " said Vincent, as they beganeating, "the country loses its effect on me when I live in it, as youdo; but it is exquisite as a zest. Visit it, do not live in it, if youwould enjoy it. Country air is a stimulus; stimulants, Mr. Reding, should not be taken too often. You are of the country party. I am of noparty. I go here and there--like the bee--I taste of everything, Idepend on nothing. "

Sheffield said that this was rather belonging to all parties than tonone. 

"That is impossible, " answered Vincent; "I hold it to be altogetherimpossible. You can't belong to two parties; there's no fear of it; youmight as well attempt to be in two places at once. To be connected withboth is to be united with neither. Depend on it, my young friend, antagonist principles correct each other. It's a piece of philosophywhich one day you will thank me for, when you are older. "

"I have heard of an American illustration of this, " said Sheffield, "which certainly confirms what you say, sir. Professors in the UnitedStates are sometimes of two or three religions at once, according as weregard them historically, personally, or officially. In this way, perhaps, they hit the mean. "

Vincent, though he so often excited a smile in others, had no humourhimself, and never could make out the difference between irony andearnest. Accordingly he was brought to a stand. 

Charles came to his relief. "Before dinner, " he said, "we were sportingwhat you will consider a great paradox, I am afraid; that parties weregood things, or rather necessary things. "

"You don't do me justice, " answered Vincent, "if this is what you thinkI deny. I halve your words; parties are not good, but necessary; likesnails, I neither envy them their small houses, nor try to lodge in themmyself. "

"You mean, " said Carlton, "that parties do our dirty work; they are ourbeasts of burden; we could not get on without them, but we need notidentify ourselves with them; we may keep aloof. "

"That, " said Sheffield, "is something like those religious professorswho say that it is sinful to engage in worldly though necessaryoccupations; but that the reprobate undertake them, and work for theelect. "

"There will always be persons enough in the world who like to be partymen, without being told to be so, " said Vincent; "it's our business toturn them to account, to use them, but to keep aloof. I take it, allparties are partly right, only they go too far. I borrow from each, Ico-operate with each, as far as each is right, and no further. Thus Iget good from all, and I do good to all; for I countenance each, so faras it is true. "

"Mr. Carlton meant more than that, sir, " said Sheffield; "he meant thatthe existence of parties was not only necessary and useful, but evenright. "

"Mr. Carlton is not the man to make paradoxes, " said Vincent; "I suspecthe would not defend the extreme opinions, which, alas, exist among us atpresent, and are progressing every day. "

"I was speaking of political parties, " said Carlton, "but I am disposedto extend what I said to religious also. "

"But, my good Carlton, " said Vincent, "Scripture speaks againstreligious parties. "

"Certainly I don't wish to oppose Scripture, " said Carlton, "and I speakunder correction of Scripture; but I say this, that whenever andwherever a church does not decide religious points, so far does it leavethe decision to individuals; and, since you can't expect all people toagree together, you must have different opinions; and the expression ofthose different opinions, by the various persons who hold them, is whatis called a party. "

"Mr. Carlton has been great, sir, on the general subject before dinner, "said Sheffield, "and now he draws the corollary, that whenever there areparties in a church, a church may thank itself for them. They are thecertain effect of private judgment; and the more private judgment youhave, the more parties you will have. You are reduced, then, to thisalternative, no toleration or else party; and you must recognise party, unless you refuse toleration. "

"Sheffield words it more strongly than I should do, " said Carlton; "butreally I mean pretty much what he says. Take the case of the RomanCatholics; they have decided many points of theology, many they have notdecided; and wherever there is no ecclesiastical decision, there theyhave at once a party, or what they call a 'school;' and when theecclesiastical decision at length appears, then the party ceases. Thusyou have the Dominicans and Franciscans contending about the ImmaculateConception; they went on contending because authority did not at oncedecide the question. On the other hand, when Jesuits and Jansenistsdisputed on the question of grace, the Pope gave it in favour of theJesuits, and the controversy at once came to an end. "

"Surely, " said Vincent, "my good and worthy friend, the Rev. CharlesCarlton, Fellow of Leicester, and sometime Ireland Essayist, is notpreferring the Church of Rome to the Church of England?"

Carlton laughed; "You won't suspect me of that, I think, " he answered;"no; all I say is, that our Church, from its constitution, admits, approves of private judgment; and that private judgment, so far forth asit is admitted, necessarily involves parties; the slender privatejudgment allowed in the Church of Rome admitting occasional or localparties, and the ample private judgment allowed in our Churchrecognizing parties as an element of the Church. "

"Well, well, my good Carlton, " said Vincent, frowning and looking wise, yet without finding anything particular to say. 

"You mean, " said Sheffield, "if I understand you, that it is a piece ofmawkish hypocrisy to shake the head and throw up the eyes at Mr. This orthat for being the head of a religious party, while we return thanks forour pure and reformed Church; because purity, reformation, apostolicity, toleration, all these boasts and glories of the Church of England, establish party action and party spirit as a cognate blessing, for whichwe should be thankful also. Party is one of our greatest ornaments, Mr. Vincent. "

"A sentiment or argument does not lose in your hands, " said Carlton;"but what I meant was simply that party leaders are not dishonourable inthe Church, unless Lord John Russell or Sir Robert Peel hold adishonourable post in the State. "

"My young friend, " said Vincent, finishing his mutton, and pushing hisplate from him, "my two young friends--for Carlton is not much olderthan Mr. Sheffield--may you learn a little more judgment. When you havelived to my age" (viz. Two or three years beyond Carlton's) "you willlearn sobriety in all things. Mr. Reding, another glass of wine. Seethat poor child, how she totters under the gooseberry-pudding; up, Mr. Sheffield, and help her. The old woman cooks better than I had expected. How do you get your butcher's meat here, Carlton? I should have made theattempt to bring you a fine jack I saw in our kitchen, but I thought youwould have no means of cooking it. "

Dinner over, the party rose, and strolled out on the green. Anothersubject commenced. 

"Was not Mr. Willis of St. George's a friend of yours, Mr. Reding?"asked Vincent. 

Charles started; "I knew him a little . .. I have seen him severaltimes. "

"You know he left us, " continued Vincent, "and joined the Church ofRome. Well, it is credibly reported that he is returning. "

"A melancholy history, anyhow, " answered Charles; "most melancholy, ifthis is true. "

"Rather, " said Vincent, setting him right, as if he had simply made averbal mistake, "a most happy termination, you mean; the only thing thatwas left for him to do. You know he went abroad. Any one who isinclined to Romanize should go abroad; Carlton, we shall be sending yousoon. Here things are softened down; there you see the Church of Rome asit really is. I have been abroad, and should know it. Such heaps ofbeggars in the streets of Rome and Naples; so much squalidness andmisery; no cleanliness; an utter want of comfort; and such superstition;and such an absence of all true and evangelical seriousness. They pushand fight while Mass is going on; they jabber their prayers at railroadspeed; they worship the Virgin as a goddess; and they see miracles atthe corner of every street. Their images are awful, and their ignoranceprodigious. Well, Willis saw all this; and I have it on good authority, "he said mysteriously, "that he is thoroughly disgusted with the wholeaffair, and is coming back to us. "

"Is he in England now?" asked Reding. 

"He is said to be with his mother in Devonshire, who, perhaps you know, is a widow; and he has been too much for her. Poor silly fellow, whowould not take the advice of older heads! A friend once sent him to me;I could make nothing of him. I couldn't understand his arguments, nor hemine. It was no good; he would make trial himself, and he has caughtit. "

There was a short pause in the conversation; then Vincent added, "Butsuch perversions, Carlton, I suppose, thinks to be as necessary asparties in a pure Protestant Church. "

"I can't say you satisfy me, Carlton, " said Charles; "and I am happy tohave the sanction of Mr. Vincent. Did political party make men rebels, then would political party be indefensible; so is religious, if itleads to apostasy. "

"You know the Whigs _were_ accused in the last war, " said Sheffield, "ofsiding with Bonaparte; accidents of this kind don't affect general rulesor standing customs. "

"Well, independent of this, " answered Charles, "I cannot think religiousparties defensible on the considerations which justify political. Thereis, to my feelings, something despicable in heading a religious party. "

"Was Loyola despicable, " asked Sheffield, "or St. Dominic?"

"They had the sanction of their superiors, " said Charles. 

"You are hard on parties surely, Reding, " said Carlton; "a man mayindividually write, preach, and publish what he believes to be thetruth, without offence; why, then, does it begin to be wrong when hedoes so together with others?"

"Party tactics are a degradation of the truth, " said Charles. 

"We have heard, I believe, before now, " said Carlton, "of Athanasiusagainst the whole world, and the whole world against Athanasius. "

"Well, " answered Charles, "I will but say this, that a party man must bevery much above par or below it. "

"There, again, I don't agree, " said Carlton; "you are supposing theleader of a party to be conscious of what he is doing; and, beingconscious, he may be, as you say, either much above or below theaverage; but a man need not realise to himself that he is forming aparty. "

"That's more difficult to conceive, " said Vincent, "than any statementwhich has been hazarded this afternoon. "

"Not at all difficult, " answered Carlton: "do you mean that there isonly one way of gaining influence? surely there is such a thing asunconscious influence?"

"I'd as easily believe, " said Vincent, "that a beauty does not know hercharms. "

"That's narrow-minded, " retorted Carlton: "a man sits in his room andwrites, and does not know what people think of him. "

"I'd believe it less, " persisted Vincent: "beauty is a fact; influenceis an effect. Effects imply agents, agency, will and consciousness. "

"There are different modes of influence, " interposed Sheffield;"influence is often spontaneous and almost necessary. "

"Like the light on Moses' face, " said Carlton. 

"Bonaparte is said to have had an irresistible smile, " said Sheffield. 

"What is beauty itself, but a spontaneous influence?" added Carlton;"don't you recollect 'the lovely young Lavinia' in Thomson?"

"Well, gentlemen, " said Vincent, "when I am Chancellor I will give aprize essay on 'Moral Influence, its Kinds and Causes, ' and Mr. Sheffield shall get it; and as to Carlton, he shall be my PoetryProfessor when I am Convocation. "

You will say, good reader, that the party took a very short stroll onthe hill, when we tell you that they were now stooping their heads atthe lowly door of the cottage; but the terse _littera scripta_ abridgeswondrously the rambling _vox emissa_; and there might be other thingssaid in the course of the conversation which history has notcondescended to record. Anyhow, we are obliged now to usher them againinto the room where they had dined, and where they found tea ready laid, and the kettle speedily forthcoming. The bread and butter wereexcellent; and the party did justice to them, as if they had not latelydined. "I see you keep your tea in tin cases, " said Vincent; "I am forglass. Don't spare the tea, Mr. Reding; Oxford men do not commonly failon that head. Lord Bacon says the first and best juice of the grape, like the primary, purest, and best comment on Scripture, is not pressedand forced out, but consists of a natural exudation. This is the case inItaly at this day; and they call the juice '_lagrima_. ' So it is withtea, and with coffee too. Put in a large quantity, pour on the water, turn off the liquor; turn it off at once--don't let it stand; it becomespoisonous. I am a great patron of tea; the poet truly says, 'It cheers, but not inebriates. ' It has sometimes a singular effect upon my nerves;it makes me whistle--so people tell me; I am not conscious of it. Sometimes, too, it has a dyspeptic effect. I find it does not do to takeit too hot; we English drink our liquors too hot. It is not a Frenchfailing; no, indeed. In France, that is, in the country, you get nothingfor breakfast but acid wine and grapes; this is the other extreme, andhas before now affected me awfully. Yet acids, too, have a soothingsedative effect upon one; lemonade especially. But nothing suits me sowell as tea. Carlton, " he continued mysteriously, "do you know the lateDr. Baillie's preventive of the flatulency which tea produces? Mr. Sheffield, do you?" Both gave up. "Camomile flowers; a little camomile, not a great deal; some people chew rhubarb, but a little camomile in thetea is not perceptible. Don't make faces, Mr. Sheffield; a little, Isay; a little of everything is best--_ne quid nimis_. Avoid allextremes. So it is with sugar. Mr. Reding, you are putting too much intoyour tea. I lay down this rule: sugar should not be a substantiveingredient in tea, but an adjective; that is, tea has a naturalroughness; sugar is only intended to remove that roughness; it has anegative office; when it is more than this, it is too much. Well, Carlton, it is time for me to be seeing after my horse. I fear he hasnot had so pleasant an afternoon as I. I have enjoyed myself much inyour suburban villa. What a beautiful moon! but I have some very roughground to pass over. I daren't canter over the ruts with the gravel-pitsclose before me. Mr. Sheffield, do me the favour to show me the way tothe stable. Good-bye to you, Carlton; good night, Mr. Reding. "

When they were left to themselves Charles asked Carlton if he reallymeant to acquit of party spirit the present party leaders in Oxford. "You must not misunderstand me, " answered he; "I do not know much ofthem, but I know they are persons of great merit and high character, andI wish to think the best of them. They are most unfairly attacked, thatis certain; however, they are accused of wishing to make a display, ofaiming at influence and power, of loving agitation, and so on. I cannotdeny that some things they have done have an unpleasant appearance, andgive plausibility to the charge. I wish they had, at certain times, acted otherwise. Meanwhile, I do think it but fair to keep in view thatthe existence of parties is no fault of theirs. They are but claimingtheir birthright as Protestants. When the Church does not speak, otherswill speak instead; and learned men have the best right to speak. Again, when learned men speak, others will attend to them; and thus theformation of a party is rather the act of those who follow than of thosewho lead. "

CHAPTER III. 

Sheffield had some friends residing at Chalton, a neighbouring village, with a scholar of St. Michael's, who had a small cure with a house onit. One of them, indeed, was known to Reding also, being no other thanour friend White, who was going into the schools, and during the lastsix months had been trying to make up for the time he had wasted in thefirst years of his residence. Charles had lost sight of him, or nearlyso, since he first knew him; and at their time of life so considerablean interval could not elapse without changes in the character for goodor evil, or for both. Carlton and Charles, who were a good deal throwntogether by Sheffield's frequent engagements with the Chalton party, were just turning homewards in their walk one evening when they fell inwith White, who had been calling at Mr. Bolton's in Oxford, and wasreturning. They had not proceeded very far before they were joined bySheffield and Mr. Barry, the curate of Chalton; and thus the party wasswelled to five. 

"So you are going to lose Upton?" said Barry to Reding; "a capitaltutor; you can ill spare him. Who comes into his place?"

"We don't know, " answered Charles; "the Principal will call up one ofthe Junior Fellows from the country, I believe. "

"Oh, but you won't get a man like Upton, " said Carlton; "he knew hissubject so thoroughly. His lecture in the Agricola, I've heard your mensay, might have been published. It was a masterly, minute runningcomment on the text, quite exhausting it. "

"Yes, it was his forte, " said Charles; "yet he never loaded hislectures; everything he said had a meaning, and was wanted. "

"He has got a capital living, " said Barry; "a substantial modern house, and by the rail only an hour from London. "

"And _500l. _ a year, " said White; "Mr. Bolton went over the living, andtold me so. It's in my future neighbourhood; a very beautiful country, and a number of good families round about. "

"They say he's going to marry the Dean of Selsey's daughter, " saidBarry; "do you know the family? Miss Juliet, the thirteenth, a verypretty girl. "

"Yes, " said White, "I know them all; a most delightful family; Mrs. Bland is a charming woman, so very ladylike. It's my good luck to beunder the Dean's jurisdiction; I think I shall pull with him capitally. "

"He's a clever man, " said Barry; "his charges are always well written;he had a high name in his day at Cambridge. "

"Hasn't he been lately writing against your friends here, White?" saidSheffield. 

"_My_ friends!" said White; "whom can you mean? He has written againstparties and party leaders; and with reason, I think. Oh, yes; he alludedto poor Willis and some others. "

"It was more that that, " insisted Sheffield; "he charged against certainsayings and doings at St. Mary's. "

"Well, I for one cannot approve of all that is uttered from the pulpitthere, " said White; "I know for a fact that Willis refers with greatsatisfaction to what he heard there as inclining him to Romanism. "

"I wish preachers and hearers would all go over together at once, andthen we should have some quiet time for proper University studies, " saidBarry. 

"Take care what you are saying, Barry, " said Sheffield; "you meanpresent company excepted. You, White, I think, come under thedenomination of hearers?"

"I!" said White; "no such thing. I have been to hear him before now, asmost men have; but I think him often very injudicious, or worse. Thetendency of his preaching is to make one dissatisfied with one's ownChurch. "

"Well, " said Sheffield, "one's memory plays one tricks, or I should saythat a friend of mine had said ten times as strong things against ourChurch as any preacher in Oxford ever did. "

"You mean me, " said White, with earnestness; "you have misunderstood megrievously. I have ever been most faithful to the Church of England. Younever heard me say anything inconsistent with the warmest attachment toit. I have never, indeed, denied the claims of the Romish Church to be abranch of the Catholic Church, nor will I, --that's another thing quite;there are many things which we might borrow with great advantage fromthe Romanists. But I have ever loved, and hope I shall ever venerate, myown Mother, the Church of my baptism. "

Sheffield made an odd face, and no one spoke. White continued, attempting to preserve an unconcerned manner: "It is remarkable, " hesaid, "that Mr. Bolton--who, though a layman, and no divine, is asensible, practical, shrewd man--never liked that pulpit; he alwaysprophesied no good would come of it. "

The silence continuing, White presently fell upon Sheffield. "I defyyou, " he said, with an attempt to be jocular, "to prove what you havebeen hinting; it is a great shame. It's so easy to speak against men, tocall them injudicious, extravagant, and so on. You are the onlyperson--"

"Well, well, I know it, I know it, " said Sheffield; "we're onlycanonizing you, and I am the devil's advocate. "

Charles wanted to hear something about Willis; so he turned the currentof White's thoughts by coming up and asking him whether there was anytruth in the report he had heard from Vincent several weeks before; hadWhite heard from him lately? White knew very little about himdefinitely, and was not able to say whether the report was true or not. So far was certain, that he had returned from abroad and was living athome. Thus he had not committed himself to the Church of Rome, whetheras a theological student or as a novice; but he could not say more. Yes, he had heard one thing more; and the subject of a letter which he hadreceived from him corroborated it--that he was very strong on the pointthat Romanism and Anglicanism were two religions; that you could notamalgamate them; that you must be Roman or Anglican, but could not beAnglo-Roman or Anglo-Catholic. "This is what a friend told me. In hisletter to myself, " White continued, "I don't know quite what he meant, but he spoke a good deal of the necessity of faith in order to be aCatholic. He said no one should go over merely because he thought heshould like it better; that he had found out by experience that no onecould live on sentiment; that the whole system of worship in the RomishChurch was different from what it is in our own; nay, the very idea ofworship, the idea of prayers; that the doctrine of intention itself, viewed in all its parts, constituted a new religion. He did not speak ofhimself definitely, but he said generally that all this might be a greatdiscouragement to a convert, and throw him back. On the whole, the toneof his letter was like a person disappointed, and who might bereclaimed; at least, so I thought. "

"He is a wiser, even if he is a sadder man, " said Charles: "I did notknow he had so much in him. There is more reflection in all this than soexcitable a person, as he seemed to me, is capable of exercising. At thesame time there is nothing in all this to prove that he is sorry forwhat he has done. "

"I have granted this, " said White; "still the effect of the letter wasto keep people back from following him, by putting obstacles in theirway; and then we must couple this with the fact of his going home. "

Charles thought awhile. "Vincent's testimony, " he said, "is either aconfirmation or a mere exaggeration of what you have told me, accordingas it is independent or not. " Then he said to himself, "White, too, hasmore in him than I thought; he really has spoken about Willis verysensibly: what has come to him?"

The paths soon divided; and while the Chalton pair took the right hand, Carlton and his pupils turned to the left. Soon Carlton parted from thetwo friends, and they reached their cottage just in time to see thesetting sun. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A few days later, Carlton, Sheffield, and Reding were talking togetherafter dinner out of doors about White. 

"How he is altered, " said Charles, "since I first knew him!"

"Altered!" cried Sheffield; "he was a playful kitten once, and now he isone of the dullest old tabbies I ever came across. "

"Altered for the better, " said Charles; "he has now a steady sensibleway of talking; but he was not a very wise person two years ago; he isreading, too, really hard. "

"He has some reason, " said Sheffield, "for he is sadly behindhand; butthere is another cause of his steadiness which perhaps you know. "

"I! no indeed, " answered Charles. 

"I thought of course you knew it, " said Sheffield; "you don't mean tosay you have not heard that he is engaged to some Oxford girl?"

"Engaged!" cried Charles, "how absurd!"

"I don't see that at all, my dear Reding, " said Carlton. "It's not as ifhe could not afford it; he has a good living waiting for him; and, moreover, he is thus losing no time, which is a great thing in life. Much time is often lost. White will soon find himself settled in everysense of the word, in mind, in life, in occupation. "

Charles said that there was one thing which could not help surprisinghim, namely, that when White first came up he was so strong in hisadvocacy of clerical celibacy. Carlton and Sheffield laughed. "And doyou think, " said the former, "that a youth of eighteen can have anopinion on such a subject, or knows himself well enough to make aresolution in his own case? Do you really think it fair to hold a mancommitted to all the random opinions and extravagant sayings into whichhe was betrayed when he first left school?"

"He had read some ultra-book or other, " said Sheffield; "or had seensome beautiful nun sculptured on a chancel-screen, and was carried awayby romance--as others have been and are. "

"Don't you suppose, " said Carlton, "that those good fellows who now areso full of 'sacerdotal purity, ' 'angelical blessedness, ' and so on, willone and all be married by this time ten years?"

"I'll take a bet of it, " said Sheffield: "one will give in early, onelate, but there is a time destined for all. Pass some ten or twelveyears, as Carlton says, and we shall find A. B. On a curacy, the happyfather of ten children; C. D. Wearing on a long courtship till a livingfalls; E. F. In his honeymoon; G. H. Lately presented by Mrs. H. Withtwins; I. K. Full of joy, just accepted; L. M. May remain what Gibboncalls 'a column in the midst of ruins, ' and a very tottering columntoo. "

"Do you really think, " said Charles, "that people mean so little whatthey say?"

"You take matters too seriously, Reding, " answered Carlton; "who doesnot change his opinions between twenty and thirty? A young man enterslife with his father's or tutor's views; he changes them for his own. The more modest and diffident he is, the more faith he has, so much thelonger does he speak the words of others; but the force ofcircumstances, or the vigour of his mind, infallibly obliges him at lastto have a mind of his own; that is, if he is good for anything. "

"But I suspect, " said Reding, "that the last generation, whether offathers or tutors, had no very exalted ideas of clerical celibacy. "

"Accidents often clothe us with opinions which we wear for a time, " saidCarlton. 

"Well, I honour people who wear their family suit; I don't honour thoseat all who begin with foreign fashions and then abandon them. "

"A few years more of life, " said Carlton, smiling, "will make yourjudgment kinder. "

"I don't like talkers, " continued Charles; "I don't think I ever shall;I hope not. "

"I know better what's at the bottom of it, " said Sheffield; "but I can'tstay; I must go in and read; Reding is too fond of a gossip. "

"Who talks so much as you, Sheffield?" said Charles. 

"But I talk fast when I talk, " answered he, "and get through a greatdeal of work; then I give over: but you prose, and muse, and sigh, andprose again. " And so he left them. 

"What does he mean?" asked Carlton. 

Charles slightly coloured and laughed: "You are a man I say things to, Idon't to others, " he made answer; "as to Sheffield, he fancies he hasfound it out of himself. "

Carlton looked round at him sharply and curiously. 

"I am ashamed of myself, " said Charles, laughing and looking confused;"I have made you think that I have something important to tell, butreally I have nothing at all. "

"Well, out with it, " said Carlton. 

"Why, to tell the truth, --no, really, it is too absurd. I have made afool of myself. "

He turned away, then turned back, and resumed:

"Why, it was only this, that Sheffield fancies I have some sneakingkindness for . .. Celibacy myself. "

"Kindness for whom?" said Carlton. 

"Kindness for celibacy. "

There was a pause, and Carlton's face somewhat changed. 

"Oh, my dear good fellow, " he said kindly, "so you are one of them; butit will go off. "

"Perhaps it will, " said Charles: "oh, I am laying no stress upon it. Itwas Sheffield who made me mention it. "

A real difference of mind and view had evidently been struck upon by twofriends, very congenial and very fond of each other. There was a pausefor a few seconds. 

"You are so sensible a fellow, Reding, " said Carlton, "it surprises methat you should take up this notion. "

"It's no new notion taken up, " answered Charles; "you will smile, but Ihad it when a boy at school, and I have ever since fancied that I shouldnever marry. Not that the feeling has never intermitted, but it is thehabit of my mind. My general thoughts run in that one way, that I shallnever marry. If I did, I should dread Thalaba's punishment. "

Carlton put his hand on Reding's shoulder, and gently shook him to andfro; "Well, it surprises me, " he said; then, after a pause, "I have beenaccustomed to think both celibacy and marriage good in their way. In theChurch of Rome great good, I see, comes of celibacy; but depend on it, my dear Reding, you are making a great blunder if you are forintroducing celibacy into the Anglican Church. "

"There's nothing against it in Prayer Book or Articles, " said Charles. 

"Perhaps not; but the whole genius, structure, working of our Churchgoes the other way. For instance, we have no monasteries to relieve thepoor; and if we had, I suspect, as things are, a parson's wife would, inpractical substantial usefulness, be infinitely superior to all themonks that were ever shaven. I declare, I think the Bishop of Ipswich isalmost justified in giving out that none but married men have a chanceof preferment from him; nay, the Bishop of Abingdon, who makes a rule ofbestowing his best livings as marriage portions to the most virtuousyoung ladies in his diocese. " Carlton spoke with more energy than wasusual with him. 

Charles answered, that he was not looking to the expediency orfeasibility of the thing, but at what seemed to him best in itself, andwhat he could not help admiring. "I said nothing about the celibacy ofclergy, " he observed, "but of celibacy generally. "

"Celibacy has no place in our idea or our system of religion, depend onit, " said Carlton. "It is nothing to the purpose, whether there isanything in the Articles against it; it is not a question about formalenactments, but whether the genius of Anglicanism is not utterly atvariance with it. The experience of three hundred years is surelyabundant for our purpose; if we don't know what our religion is in thattime, what time will be long enough? there are forms of religion whichhave not lasted so long from first to last. Now enumerate the cases ofcelibacy for celibacy's sake in that period, and what will be the sumtotal of them? Some instances there are; but even Hammond, who diedunmarried, was going to marry, when his mother wished it. On the otherhand, if you look out for types of our Church can you find truer thanthe married excellence of Hooker the profound, Taylor the devotional, and Bull the polemical? The very first reformed primate is married; inPole and Parker, the two systems, Roman and Anglican, come into strongcontrast. "

"Well, it seems to me as much a yoke of bondage, " said Charles, "tocompel marriage as to compel celibacy, and that is what you are reallydriving at. You are telling me that any one is a black sheep who doesnot marry. "

"Not a very practical difficulty to you at this moment, " said Carlton;"no one is asking you to go about on Coelebs' mission just now, withAristotle in hand and the class-list in view. "

"Well, excuse me, " said Charles, "if I have said anything very foolish;you don't suppose I argue on such subjects with others. "

CHAPTER V. 

They had by this time strolled as far as Carlton's lodgings, where thebooks happened to be on which Charles was at that time more immediatelyemployed; and they took two or three turns under some fine beeches whichstood in front of the house before entering it. 

"Tell me, Reding, " said Carlton, "for really I don't understand, whatare your reasons for admiring what, in truth, is simply an unnaturalstate. "

"Don't let us talk more, my dear Carlton, " answered Reding; "I shall goon making a fool of myself. Let well alone, or bad alone, pray do. "

It was evident that there was some strong feeling irritating himinwardly; the manner and words were too serious for the occasion. Carlton, too, felt strongly upon what seemed at first sight a verysecondary question, or he would have let it alone, as Charles asked him. 

"No; as we are on the subject, let me get at your view, " said he. "Itwas said in the beginning, 'Increase and multiply;' therefore celibacyis unnatural. "

"Supernatural, " said Charles, smiling. 

"Is not that a word without an idea?" asked Carlton. "We are taught byButler that there is an analogy between nature and grace; else you mightparallel paganism to nature, and where paganism is contrary to nature, say that it is supernatural. The Wesleyan convulsions are preternatural;why not supernatural?"

"I really think that our divines, or at least some of them, are on myside here, " said Charles--"Jeremy Taylor, I believe. "

"You have not told me what you mean by supernatural, " said Carlton; "Iwant to get at what _you_ think, you know. "

"It seems to me, " said Charles, "that Christianity, being the perfectionof nature, is both like it and unlike it;--like it, where it is the sameor as much as nature; unlike it, where it is as much and more. I mean bysupernatural the perfection of nature. "

"Give me an instance, " said Carlton. 

"Why, consider, Carlton; our Lord says, 'Ye have heard that it has beensaid of old time, --but _I_ say unto you;' that contrast denotes the moreperfect way, or the gospel . .. He came not to destroy, but to fulfil thelaw . .. I can't recollect of a sudden; . .. Oh, for instance, _this_ is acase in point; He abolished a permission which had been given to theJews because of the hardness of their hearts. "

"Not quite in point, " said Carlton, "for the Jews, in their divorces, had fallen _below_ nature. 'Let no man put asunder, ' was the rule inParadise. "

"Still, surely the idea of an Apostle, unmarried, pure, in fast andnakedness, and at length a martyr, is a higher idea than that of one ofthe old Israelites sitting under his vine and fig-tree, full of temporalgoods, and surrounded by sons and grandsons. I am not derogating fromGideon or Caleb; I am adding to St. Paul. "

"St. Paul's is a very particular case, " said Carlton. 

"But he himself lays down the general maxim, that it is 'good' for a manto continue as he was. "

"There we come to a question of criticism, what 'good' means: I maythink it means 'expedient, ' and what he says about the 'presentdistress' confirms it. "

"Well, I won't go to criticism, " said Charles; "take the text, 'in sinhath my mother conceived me. ' Do not these words show that, over andabove the doctrine of original sin, there is (to say the least) greatrisk of marriage leading to sin in married people?"

"My dear Reding, " said Carlton, astonished, "you are running intoGnosticism. "

"Not knowingly or willingly, " answered Charles; "but understand what Imean. It's not a subject I can talk about; but it seems to me, withoutof course saying that married persons must sin (which would beGnosticism), that there is a danger of sin. But don't let me say more onthis point. "

"Well, " said Carlton, after thinking awhile, "_I_ have been accustomedto consider Christianity as the perfection of man as a whole, body, soul, and spirit. Don't misunderstand me. Pantheists say body andintellect, leaving out the moral principle; but I say spirit as well asmind. Spirit, or the principle of religious faith and obedience, shouldbe the master principle, the _hegemonicon_. To this both intellect andbody are subservient; but as this supremacy does not imply theill-usage, the bondage of the intellect, neither does it of the body;both should be well treated. "

"Well, I think, on the contrary, it does imply in one sense the bondageof intellect and body too. What is faith but the submission of theintellect? and as 'every high thought is brought into captivity, ' so arewe expressly told to bring the body into subjection too. They are bothwell treated, when they are treated so as to be made fit instruments ofthe sovereign principle. "

"That is what I call unnatural, " said Carlton. 

"And it is what I mean by supernatural, " answered Reding, getting alittle too earnest. 

"How is it supernatural, or adding to nature, to destroy a part of it?"asked Carlton. 

Charles was puzzled. It was a way, he said, _towards_ perfection; but hethought that perfection came after death, not here. Our nature could notbe perfect with a corruptible body; the body was treated now as a bodyof death. 

"Well, Reding, " answered Carlton, "you make Christianity a verydifferent religion from what our Church considers it, I really think;"and he paused awhile. 

"Look here, " he proceeded, "how can we rejoice in Christ, as having beenredeemed by Him, if we are in this sort of gloomy penitential state? Howmuch is said in St. Paul about peace, thanksgiving, assurance, comfort, and the like! Old things are passed away; the Jewish law is destroyed;pardon and peace are come; _that_ is the Gospel. "

"Don't you think, then, " said Charles, "that we should grieve for thesins into which we are daily betrayed, and for the more serious offenceswhich from time to time we may have committed?"

"Certainly; we do so in Morning and Evening Prayer, and in the CommunionService. "

"Well, but supposing a youth, as is so often the case, has neglectedreligion altogether, and has a whole load of sins, and very heinousones, all upon him, --do you think that, when he turns over a new leaf, and comes to Communion, he is, on saying the Confession (saying it withthat contrition with which such persons ought to say it), pardoned atonce, and has nothing more to fear about his past sins?"

"I should say, 'Yes, '" answered Carlton. 

"Really, " said Charles thoughtfully. 

"Of course, " said Carlton, "I suppose him truly sorry or penitent:whether he is so or not his future life will show. "

"Well, somehow, I cannot master this idea, " said Charles; "I think mostserious persons, even for a little sin, would go on fidgetingthemselves, and would not suppose they gained pardon directly they askedfor it. "

"Certainly, " answered Carlton; "but God pardons those who do not pardonthemselves. "

"That is, " said Charles, "who _don't_ at once feel peace, assurance, andcomfort; who _don't_ feel the perfect joy of the Gospel. "

"Such persons grieve, but rejoice too, " said Carlton. 

"But tell me, Carlton, " said Reding; "is, or is not, their not forgivingthemselves, their sorrow and trouble, pleasing to God?"

"Surely. "

"Thus a certain self-infliction for sin committed is pleasing to Him;and, if so, how does it matter whether it is inflicted on mind or body?"

"It is not properly a self-infliction, " answered Carlton;"self-infliction implies intention; grief at sin is somethingspontaneous. When you afflict yourself on purpose, then at once you passfrom pure Christianity. "

"Well, " said Charles, "I certainly fancied that fasting, abstinence, labours, celibacy, might be taken as a make-up for sin. It is not a veryfar-fetched idea. You recollect Dr. Johnson's standing in the rain inthe market-place at Lichfield when a man, as a penance for somedisobedience to his father when a boy?"

"But, my dear Reding, " said Carlton, "let me bring you back to what yousaid originally, and to my answer to you, which what you now say onlymakes more apposite. You began by saying that celibacy was a perfectionof nature, now you make it a penance; first it is good and glorious, next it is a medicine and punishment. "

"Perhaps our highest perfection here is penance, " said Charles; "but Idon't know; I don't profess to have clear ideas upon the subject. I havetalked more than I like. Let us at length give over. "

They did, in consequence, pass to other subjects connected withCharles's reading; then they entered the house, and set to uponPolybius; but it could not be denied that for the rest of the dayCarlton's manner was not quite his own, as if something had annoyed him. Next morning he was as usual. 

CHAPTER VI. 

It is impossible to stop the growth of the mind. Here was Charles withhis thoughts turned away from religious controversy for two years, yetwith his religious views progressing, unknown to himself, the wholetime. It could not have been otherwise, if he was to live a religiouslife at all. If he was to worship and obey his Creator, intellectualacts, conclusions, and judgments, must accompany that worship andobedience. He might not realize his own belief till questions had beenput to him; but then a single discussion with a friend, such as theabove with Carlton, would bring out what he really did hold to his ownapprehension--would ascertain for him the limits of each opinion as heheld it, and the inter-relations of opinion with opinion. He had not yetgiven names to these opinions, much less had they taken a theologicalform; nor could they, under his circumstances, be expressed intheological language; but here he was, a young man of twenty-two, professing in an hour's conversation with a friend, what really were theCatholic doctrines and usages of penance, purgatory, councils ofperfection, mortification of self, and clerical celibacy. No wonder thatall this annoyed Carlton, though he no more than Charles perceived thatall this Catholicism did in fact lie hid under his professions; but hefelt, in what Reding put out, the presence of something, as he expressedit, "very unlike the Church of England;" something new and unpleasant tohim, and withal something which had a body in it, which had a momentum, which could not be passed over as a vague, sudden sound or transitorycloud, but which had much behind it, which made itself felt, whichstruck heavily. 

And here we see what is meant when a person says that the Catholicsystem comes home to his mind, fulfils his ideas of religion, satisfieshis sympathies, and the like; and thereupon becomes a Catholic. Such aperson is often said to go by private judgment, to be choosing hisreligion by his own standard of what a religion ought to be. Now it neednot be denied that those who are external to the Church must begin withprivate judgment; they use it in order ultimately to supersede it; as aman out of doors uses a lamp in a dark night, and puts it out when hegets home. What would be thought of his bringing it into hisdrawing-room? what would the goodly company there assembled before agenial hearth and under glittering chandeliers, the bright ladies andthe well-dressed gentlemen, say to him if he came in with a great-coaton his back, a hat on his head, an umbrella under his arm, and a largestable-lantern in his hand? Yet what would be thought, on the otherhand, if he precipitated himself into the inhospitable night and the warof the elements in his ball-dress? "When the king came in to see theguests, he saw a man who had not on a wedding-garment;" he saw a man whodetermined to live in the Church as he had lived out of it, who wouldnot use his privileges, who would not exchange reason for faith, whowould not accommodate his thoughts and doings to the glorious scenewhich surrounded him, who was groping for the hidden treasure anddigging for the pearl of price in the high, lustrous, all-jewelledTemple of the Lord of Hosts; who shut his eyes and speculated, when hemight open them and see. There is no absurdity, then, or inconsistencyin a person first using his private judgment and then denouncing itsuse. Circumstances change duties. 

But still, after all, the person in question does not, strictlyspeaking, judge of the external system presented to him by his privateideas, but he brings in the dicta of that system to confirm and tojustify certain private judgments and personal feelings and habitsalready existing. Reding, for instance, felt a difficulty in determininghow and when the sins of a Christian are forgiven; he had a great notionthat celibacy was better than married life. He was not the first personin the Church of England who had had such thoughts; to numbers, doubtless, before him they had occurred; but these numbers had lookedabroad, and seen nothing around them to justify what they felt, andtheir feelings had, in consequence, either festered within them, orwithered away. But when a man, thus constituted within, falls under theshadow of Catholicism without, then the mighty Creed at once produces aninfluence upon him. He see that it justifies his thoughts, explains hisfeelings; he understands that it numbers, corrects, harmonizes, completes them; and he is led to ask what is the authority of thisforeign teaching; and then, when he finds it is what was once receivedin England from north to south, in England from the very time thatChristianity was introduced here; that, as far as historical records go, Christianity and Catholicism are synonymous; that it is still the faithof the largest section of the Christian world; and that the faith of hisown country is held nowhere but within her own limits and those of herown colonies; nay, further, that it is very difficult to say what faithshe has, or that she has any, --then he submits himself to the CatholicChurch, not by a process of criticism, but as a pupil to a teacher. 

In saying this, of course it is not denied, on the one hand, that theremay be persons who come to the Catholic Church on imperfect motives, orin a wrong way; who choose it by criticism, and who, unsubdued by itsmajesty and its grace, go on criticizing when they are in it; and who, if they persist and do not learn humility, may criticize themselves outof it again. Nor is it denied, on the other hand, that some who are notCatholics may possibly choose (for instance) Methodism, in the abovemoral way, viz. Because it confirms and justifies the inward feeling oftheir hearts. This is certainly possible in idea, though what there isvenerable, awful, superhuman, in the Wesleyan Conference to persuade oneto take it as a prophet, is a perplexing problem; yet, after all, thematter of fact we conceive to lie the other way, viz. That Wesleyansand other sectaries put themselves above their system, not below it; andthough they may in bodily position "sit under" their preacher, yet inthe position of their souls and spirits, minds and judgments, they areexalted high above him. 

But to return to the subject of our narrative. What a mystery is thesoul of man! Here was Charles, busy with Aristotle and Euripides, Thucydides and Lucretius, yet all the while growing towards the Church, "to the measure of the age of the fulness of Christ. " His mother hadsaid to him that he could not escape his destiny; it was true, though itwas to be fulfilled in a way which she, affectionate heart, could notcompass, did not dream of. He could not escape the destiny of being oneof the elect of God; he could not escape that destiny which the grace ofhis Redeemer had stamped on his soul in baptism, which his good angelhad seen written there, and had done his zealous part to keep inviolateand bright, which his own co-operation with the influences of Heaven hadconfirmed and secured. He could not escape the destiny, in due time, inGod's time--though it might be long, though angels might be anxious, though the Church might plead as if defrauded of her promised increaseof a stranger, yet a son; yet come it must, it was written in Heaven, and the slow wheels of time each hour brought it nearer--he could notultimately escape his destiny of becoming a Catholic. And even beforethat blessed hour, as an opening flower scatters sweets, so the strangeunknown odour, pleasing to some, odious to others, went abroad from himupon the winds, and made them marvel what could be near them, and makethem look curiously and anxiously at him, while he was unconscious ofhis own condition. Let us be patient with him, as his Maker is patient, and bear that he should do a work slowly which he will do well. 

Alas! while Charles had been growing in one direction, Sheffield hadbeen growing in another; and what that growth had been will appear froma conversation which took place between the two friends, and which shallbe related in the following chapter. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Carlton had opened the small church he was serving for Saints'-dayservices during the Long Vacation; and not being in the way to have anycongregation, and the church at Horsley being closed except on Sundays, he had asked his two pupils to help him in this matter, by walking overwith him on St. Matthew's day, which, as the season was fine, and thewalk far from a dull one, they were very glad to do. When church wasover Carlton had to attend a sick call which lay still farther fromHorsley, and the two young men walked back together. 

"I did not know that Carlton was so much of a party man, " saidSheffield; "did not his reading the Athanasian Creed strike you?"

"That's no mark of party, surely, " answered Charles. 

"To read it on days like these, I think, _is_ a mark of party; it'sgoing out of the way. "

Charles did not see how obeying in so plain a matter the clear directionof the Prayer Book could be a party act. 

"Direction!" said Sheffield, "as if the question were not, is thatdirection now binding? the sense, the understanding of the Church ofthis day determines its obligation. "

"The _prima facie_ view of the matter, " said Charles, "is, that they whodo but follow what the Prayer Book enjoins are of all people farthestfrom being a party. "

"Not at all, " said Sheffield; "rigid adherence to old customs surely maybe the badge of a party. Now consider; ten years ago, before the studyof Church-history was revived, neither Arianism nor Athanasianism werethought of at all, or, if thought of, they were considered as questionsof words, at least as held by most minds--one as good as the other. "

"I should say so, too, in one sense, " said Charles, "that is, I shouldhope that numbers of persons, for instance, the unlearned, who were inArian communities spoke Arian language, and yet did not mean it. I thinkI have heard that some ancient missionary of the Goths or Huns was anArian. "

"Well, I will speak more precisely, " said Sheffield: "an Oxford man, some ten years since, was going to publish a history of the NiceneCouncil, and the bookseller proposed to him to prefix an engraving ofSt. Athanasius, which he had found in some old volume. He was stronglydissuaded from doing so by a brother clergyman, not from any feeling ofhis own, but because 'Athanasius was a very unpopular name among us. '"

"One swallow does not make a spring, " said Charles. 

"This clergyman, " continued Sheffield, "was a friend of the mostHigh-Church writers of the day. "

"Of course, " said Reding, "there has always been a heterodox school inour Church--I know that well enough--but it never has been powerful. Your lax friend was one of them. "

"I believe not, indeed, " answered Sheffield; "he lived out ofcontroversy, was a literary, accomplished person, and a man of piety toboot. He did not express any feeling of his own; he did but witness to afact, that the name of Athanasius was unpopular. "

"So little was known about history, " said Charles, "this is notsurprising. St. Athanasius, you know, did not write the Creed calledafter him. It is possible to think him intemperate, without thinking theCreed wrong. "

"Well, then, again; there's Beatson, Divinity Professor; no one willcall him in any sense a party man; he was put in by the Tories, andnever has committed himself to any liberal theories in theology. Now, aman who attended his private lectures assures me that he told the men, 'D'ye see, ' said he, 'I take it, that the old Church-of-England mode ofhandling the Creed went out with Bull. After Locke wrote, the oldorthodox phraseology came into disrepute. '"

"Well, perhaps he meant, " said Charles, "that learning died away, whichwas the case. The old theological language is plainly a learnedlanguage; when fathers and schoolmen were not read, of course it wouldbe in abeyance; when they were read again, it has revived. "

"No, no, " answered Sheffield, "he said much more on another occasion. Speaking of Creeds, and the like, 'I hold, ' he said, 'that the majorityof the educated laity of our Church are Sabellians. '"

Charles was silent, and hardly knew what reply to make. Sheffield wenton: "I was present some years ago, when I was quite a boy, when a sortof tutor of mine was talking to one of the most learned and orthodoxdivines of the day, a man whose name has never been associated withparty, and the near relation and connexion of high dignitaries, about aplan of his own for writing a history of the Councils. This good andable man listened with politeness, applauded the project; then added, ina laughing way, 'You know you have chosen just the dullest subject inChurch-history. Now the Councils begin with the Nicene Creed, andembrace nearly all doctrinal subjects whatever. '"

"My dear Sheffield, " said Charles, "you have fallen in with a particularset or party of men yourself; very respectable, good men, I don't doubt, but no fair specimens of the whole Church. "

"I don't bring them as authorities, " answered Sheffield, "but aswitnesses. "

"Still, " said Charles, "I know perfectly well, that there was acontroversy at the end of the last century between Bishop Horsley andothers, in which he brought out distinctly one part at least of theAthanasian doctrine. "

"His controversy was not a defence of the Athanasian Creed, I knowwell, " said Sheffield; "for the subject came into Upton'sArticle-lecture; it was with Priestley; but, whatever it was, divineswould only think it all very fine, just as his 'Sermons on Prophecy. ' Itis another question whether they would recognize the worth either of theone or of the other. They receive the scholastic terms about theTrinity just as they receive the doctrine that the Pope is Antichrist. When Horsley says the latter, or something of the kind, good oldclergymen say, 'Certainly, certainly, oh yes, it's the oldChurch-of-England doctrine, ' thinking it right, indeed, to bemaintained, but not caring themselves to maintain it, or at mostprofessing it just when mentioned, but not really thinking about it fromone year's end to the other. And so with regard to the doctrine of theTrinity, they say, 'the great Horsley, ' 'the powerful Horsley;' theydon't indeed dispute his doctrine, but they don't care about it; theylook on him as a doughty champion, armed _cap-à-pie_, who has put downdissent, who has cut off the head of some impudent non-protectionist, orinsane chartist, or spouter in a vestry, who, under cover of theology, had run a tilt against tithes and church-rates. "

"I can't think so badly of our present divines, " said Charles; "I knowthat in this very place there are various orthodox writers, whom no onewould call party men. "

"Stop, " said Sheffield, "understand me, I was not speaking _against_them. I was but saying that these anti-Athanasian views were notunfrequent. I have been in the way of hearing a good deal on the subjectat my private tutor's, and have kept my eyes about me since I have beenhere. The Bishop of Derby was a friend of Sheen's, my private tutor, andgot his promotion when I was with the latter; and Sheen told me that hewrote to him on that occasion, 'What shall I read? I don't know anythingof theology. ' I rather think he was recommended, or proposed to readScott's Bible. "

"It's easy to bring instances, " said Charles, "when you have all yourown way; what you say is evidently all an _ex-parte_ statement. "

"Take again Shipton, who died lately, " continued Sheffield; "what a highposition he held in the Church; yet it is perfectly well known that hethought it a mistake to use the word 'Person' in the doctrine of theTrinity. What makes this stranger is, that he was so very severe onclergymen (Tractarians, for instance) who evade the sense of theArticles. Now he was a singularly honest, straightforward man; hedespised money; he cared nothing for public opinion; yet he was aSabellian. Would he have eaten the bread of the Church, as it is called, for a day, unless he had felt that his opinions were not inconsistentwith his profession as Dean of Bath, and Prebendary of Dorchester? Is itnot plain that he considered the practice of the Church to havemodified, to have re-interpreted its documents?"

"Why, " said Charles, "the practice of the Church cannot make blackwhite; or, if a sentence means yes, make it mean no. I won't deny thatwords are often vague and uncertain in their sense, and frequently needa comment, so that the teaching of the day has great influence indetermining their sense; but the question is, whether thecounter-teaching of every dean, every prebendary, every clergyman, everybishop in the whole Church, could make the Athanasian Creed Sabellian; Ithink not. "

"Certainly not, " answered Sheffield; "but the clergymen I speak ofsimply say that they are not bound to the details of the Creed, only tothe great outline that there is _a_ Trinity. "

"Great outline!" said Charles, "great stuff! an Unitarian would not denythat. He, of course, believes in Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; though hethinks the Son a creature, and the Spirit an influence. "

"Well, I don't deny, " said Sheffield, "that if Dean Shipton was a soundmember of the Church, Dr. Priestley might have been also. But my doubtis, whether, if the Tractarian school had not risen, Priestley might nothave been, had he lived to this time, I will not say a positively soundmember, but sound enough for preferment. "

"_If_ the Tractarian school had not risen! that is but saying if ourChurch was other than it is. What is that school but a birth, anoffspring of the Church? and if the Church had not given birth to oneparty of men for its defence, it would have given birth to another. "

"No, no, " said Sheffield, "I assure you the old school of doctrine wasall but run out when they began; and I declare I wish they had letthings alone. There was the doctrine of the Apostolical Succession; afew good old men were its sole remaining professors in the Church; and agreat ecclesiastical personage, on one occasion, quite scoffed at theirpersisting to hold it. He maintained the doctrine went out with thenon-jurors. 'You are so few, ' he said, 'that we can count you. '"

Charles was not pleased with the subject, on various accounts. He didnot like what seemed to him an attack of Sheffield's upon the Church ofEngland; and, besides, he began to feel uncomfortable misgivings anddoubts whether that attack was not well founded, to which he did notlike to be exposed. Accordingly he kept silence, and, after a shortinterval, attempted to change the subject; but Sheffield's hand was in, and he would not be balked; so he presently began again. "I have beenspeaking, " he said, "of the liberal section of our Church. There arefour parties in the Church. Of these the old Tory, or country party, which is out-and-out the largest, has no opinion at all, but merelytakes up the theology or no-theology of the day, and cannot properly besaid to 'hold' what the Creed calls 'the Catholic faith. ' It does notdeny it; it may not knowingly disbelieve it; but it gives no signs ofactually holding it, beyond the fact that it treats it with respect. Iwill venture to say, that not a country parson of them all, from year'send to year's end, makes once a year what Catholics call 'an act offaith' in that special and very distinctive mystery contained in theclauses of the Athanasian Creed. "

Then, seeing Charles looked rather hurt, he added, "I am not speaking ofany particular clergyman here or there, but of the great majority ofthem. After the Tory party comes the Liberal; which also dislikes theAthanasian Creed, as I have said. Thirdly, as to the Evangelical; I knowyou have one of the Nos. Of the 'Tracts for the Times' about objectivefaith. Now that tract seems to prove that the Evangelical party isimplicitly Sabellian, and is tending to avow that belief. This too hasbeen already the actual course of Evangelical doctrine both on theContinent and in America. The Protestants of Geneva, Holland, Ulster, and Boston have all, I believe, become Unitarians, or the like. Dr. AdamClarke too, the celebrated Wesleyan, held the distinguishing Sabelliantenet, as Doddridge is said to have done before him. All thisconsidered, I do think I have made out a good case for my originalassertion, that at this time of day it is a party thing to go out of theway to read the Athanasian Creed. "

"I don't agree with you at all, " said Charles; "you say a great dealmore than you have a warrant to do, and draw sweeping conclusions fromslender premisses. This, at least, is what it seems to me. I wish tooyou would not so speak of 'making out a case. ' It is as if these thingswere mere topics for disputation. And I don't like your taking the wrongside; you are rather fond of doing so. "

"Reding, " answered Sheffield, "I speak what I think, and ever will doso; I will be no party man. I don't attempt, like Vincent, to uniteopposites. He is of all parties, I am of none. I think I see pretty wellthe hollowness of all. "

"O my dear Sheffield, " cried Charles, in distress, "think what you aresaying; you don't mean what you say. You are speaking as if you thoughtthat belief in the Athanasian Creed was a mere party opinion. "

Sheffield first was silent; then he said, "Well, I beg your pardon, ifI have said anything to annoy you, or have expressed myselfintemperately. But surely one has no need to believe what so many peopleeither disbelieve or disregard. "

The subject then dropped; and presently Carlton overtook them on thefarmer's pony, which he had borrowed. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Reding had for near two years put aside his doubts about the Articles;but it was like putting off the payment of a bill--a respite, not adeliverance. The two conversations which we have been recording, bringing him to issue on most important subjects first with one, thenwith another, of two intimate friends, who were bound by the Articles aswell as he, uncomfortably reminded him of his debt to the University andChurch; and the nearer approach of his examination and degree inflictedon him the thought that the time was coming when he must be prepared todischarge it. 

One day, when he was strolling out with Carlton, toward the end of theVacation, he had been led to speak of the number of religious opinionsand parties in Oxford, which had so many bad effects, making so manytalk, so many criticise, and not a few perhaps doubt about truthaltogether. Then he said that, evil as it was in a place of education, yet he feared it was unavoidable, if Carlton's doctrine about partieswere correct; for if there was a place where differences of religiousopinions would show themselves, it would be in a university. 

"I am far from denying it, " said Carlton; "but all systems have theirdefects; no polity, no theology, no ritual is perfect. One only camedirectly and simply from Heaven, the Jewish; and even that was removedbecause of its unprofitableness. This is no derogation from theperfection of Divine Revelation, for it arises from the subject-matteron and through which it operates. " There was a pause; then Carlton wenton: "It is the fault of most young thinkers to be impatient, if they donot find perfection in everything; they are 'new brooms. '" Anotherpause; he went on again: "What form of religion is _less_ objectionablethan ours? You _see_ the inconveniences of your own system, for youexperience them; you have not felt, and cannot know, those of others. "

Charles was still silent, and went on plucking and chewing leaves fromthe shrubs and bushes through which their path winded. At length hesaid, "_I_ should not like to say it to any one but you, Carlton, but, do you know, I was very uncomfortable about the Articles, going on fortwo years since; I really could not understand them, and their historymakes matters worse. I put the subject from me altogether; but now thatmy examination and degree are coming on, I must take it up again. "

"You must have been put into the Article-lecture early, " said Carlton. 

"Well, perhaps I was not up to the subject, " answered Charles. 

"I didn't mean that, " said Carlton; "but as to the thing itself, my dearfellow, it happens every day, and especially to thoughtful people likeyourself. It should not annoy you. "

"But my fidget is, " said Charles, "lest my difficulties should return, and I should not be able to remove them. "

"You should take all these things calmly, " said Carlton; "all things, asI have said, have their difficulties. If you wait till everything is asit should be or might be conceivably, you will do nothing, and will loselife. The moral and social world is not an open country; it is alreadymarked and mapped out; it has its roads. You can't go across country; ifyou attempt a steeple-chase, you will break your neck for your pains. Forms of religion are facts; they have each their history. They existedbefore you were born, and will survive you. You must choose, you cannotmake. "

"I know, " said Reding, "I can't make a religion, nor can I perhaps findone better than my own. I don't want to do so; but this is not mydifficulty. Take your own image. I am jogging along my own old road, andlo, a high turnpike, fast locked; and my poor pony can't clear it. Idon't complain; but there's the fact, or at least may be. "

"The pony must, " answered Carlton; "or if not, there must be some wayabout; else what is the good of a road? In religion all roads have theirobstacles; one has a strong gate across it, another goes through a bog. Is no one to go on? Is religion to be at a deadlock? Is Christianity todie out? Where else will you go? Not surely to Methodism, orPlymouth-brotherism. As to the Romish Church, I suspect it has moredifficulties than we have. You _must_ sacrifice your private judgment. "

"All this is very good, " answered Charles; "but what is very expedientstill may be very impossible. The finest words about the necessity ofgetting home before nightfall will not enable my poor little pony totake the gate. "

"Certainly not, " said Carlton; "but if you had a command from abenevolent Prince, your own Sovereign and Benefactor, to go along theroad steadily till evening, and he would meet you at the end of yourjourney, you would be quite sure that he who had appointed the end hadalso assigned the means. And, in the difficulty in question, you oughtto look out for some mode of opening the gate, or some gap in the hedge, or some parallel cut, some way or other, which would enable you to turnthe difficulty. "

Charles said that somehow he did not like this mode of arguing; itseemed dangerous; he did not see whither it went, where it ended. Presently he said, abruptly, "Why do you think there are moredifficulties in the Church of Rome?"

"Clearly there are, " answered Carlton; "if the Articles are a crust, isnot Pope Pius's Creed a bone?"

"I don't know Pope Pius's Creed, " said Charles; "I know very littleabout the state of the case, certainly. What does it say?"

"Oh, it includes transubstantiation, purgatory, saint-worship, and therest, " said Carlton; "I suppose you could not quite subscribe these?"

"It depends, " answered Charles slowly, "on this--on what authority theycame to me. " He stopped, and then went on: "Of course I could, if theycame to me on the same authority as the doctrine of the Blessed Trinitycomes. Now, the Articles come on no authority; they are the views ofpersons in the 16th century; and, again, it is not clear how far theyare, or are not, modified by the unauthoritative views of the 19th. I amobliged, then, to exercise my own judgment; and I candidly declare toyou, that my judgment is unequal to so great a task. At least, this iswhat troubles me, whenever the subject rises in my mind; for I have putit from me. "

"Well, then, " said Carlton, "take them on _faith_. "

"You mean, I suppose, " said Charles, "that I must consider our Church_infallible_. "

Carlton felt the difficulty; he answered, "No, but you must act _as if_it were infallible, from a sense of duty. "

Charles smiled; then he looked grave; he stood still, and his eyes fell. "If I _am_ to make a Church infallible, " he said, "if I _must_ give upprivate judgment, if I _must_ act on faith, there _is_ a Church whichhas a greater claim on us all than the Church of England. "

"My dear Reding, " said Carlton, with some emotion, "where did you getthese notions?"

"I don't know, " answered Charles; "somebody has said that they were inthe air. I have talked to no one, except one or two arguments I had withdifferent persons in my first year. I have driven the subject from me;but when I once begin, you see it will out. "

They walked on awhile in silence. "Do you really mean to say, " askedCarlton at length, "that it is so difficult to understand and receivethe Articles? To me they are quite clear enough, and speak the languageof common sense. "

"Well, they seem to me, " said Reding, "sometimes inconsistent withthemselves, sometimes with the Prayer Book; so that I am suspicious ofthem; I don't know _what_ I am signing when I sign, yet I ought to sign_ex-animo_. A blind submission I could make; I cannot make a blinddeclaration. "

"Give me some instances, " said Carlton. 

"For example, " said Charles, "they distinctly receive the Lutherandoctrine of justification by faith only, which the Prayer Book virtuallyopposes in every one of its Offices. They refer to the Homilies asauthority, yet the Homilies speak of the books of the Apocrypha asinspired, which the Articles implicitly deny. The Articles aboutOrdination are in their spirit contrary to the Ordination Service. OneArticle on the Sacraments speaks the doctrine of Melancthon, anotherthat of Calvin. One Article speaks of the Church's authority incontroversies of faith, yet another makes Scripture the ultimate appeal. These are what occur to me at the moment. "

"Surely, many of these are but verbal difficulties, at the very firstglance, " said Carlton, "and all may be surmounted with a little care. "

"On the other hand, it has struck me, " continued Charles, "that theChurch of Rome is undeniably consistent in her formularies; this is thevery charge some of our writers make upon her, that she is sosystematic. It may be a hard, iron system, but it is consistent. "

Carlton did not wish to interrupt him, thinking it best to hear hiswhole difficulty; so Charles proceeded: "When a system is consistent, atleast it does not condemn itself. Consistency is not truth, but truth isconsistency. Now, I am not a fit judge whether or not a certain systemis true, but I may be quite a judge whether it is consistent withitself. When an oracle equivocates it carries with it its owncondemnation. I almost think there is something in Scripture on thissubject, comparing in this respect the pagan and the inspiredprophecies. And this has struck me, too, that St. Paul gives this veryaccount of a heretic, that he is 'condemned of himself, ' bearing his owncondemnation on his face. Moreover, I was once in the company ofFreeborn (I don't know if you are acquainted with him) and others of theEvangelical party, and they showed plainly, if they were to be trusted, that Luther and Melancthon did not agree together on the prime point ofjustification by faith; a circumstance which had not come into theArticle-lecture. Also I have read somewhere, or heard in some sermon, that the ancient heretics always were inconsistent, never could stateplainly their meaning, much less agree together; and thus, whether theywould or no, could not help giving to the simple a warning of their truecharacter, as if by their rattle. "

Charles stopped; presently he continued: "This too has struck me; thateither there is no prophet of the truth on earth, or the Church of Romeis that prophet. That there is a prophet still, or apostle, ormessenger, or teacher, or whatever he is to be called, seems evident byour believing in a visible Church. Now common sense tells us what amessenger from God must be; first, he must not contradict himself, as Ihave just been saying. Again, a prophet of God can allow of no rival, but denounces all who make a separate claim, as the prophets do inScripture. Now, it is impossible to say whether our Church acknowledgesor not Lutheranism in Germany, Calvinism in Switzerland, the Nestorianand Monophysite bodies in the East. Nor does it clearly tell us whatview it takes of the Church of Rome. The only place where it recognizesits existence is in the Homilies, and there it speaks of it asAntichrist. Nor has the Greek Church any intelligible position inAnglican doctrine. On the other hand, the Church of Rome has this _primafacie_ mark of a prophet, that, like a prophet in Scripture, it admitsno rival, and anathematizes all doctrine counter to its own. There'sanother thing: a prophet of God is of course at home with his message;he is not helpless and do-nothing in the midst of errors and in the warof opinions. He knows what has been given him to declare, how far itextends; he can act as an umpire; he is equal to emergencies. This againtells in favour of the Church of Rome. As age after age comes she isever on the alert, questions every new comer, sounds the note of alarm, hews down strange doctrine, claims and locates and perfects what is newand true. The Church of Rome inspires me with confidence; I feel I cantrust her. It is another thing whether she is true; I am not pretendingnow to decide that. But I do not feel the like trust in our own Church. I love her more than I trust her. She leaves me without faith. Now yousee the state of my mind. " He fetched a deep, sharp sigh, as if he hadgot a load off him. 

"Well, " said Carlton, when he had stopped, "this is all very prettytheory; whether it holds in matter of fact, is another question. We havebeen accustomed hitherto to think Chillingworth right, when he talks ofpopes against popes, councils against councils, and so on. Certainly youwill not be allowed by Protestant controversialists to assume thisperfect consistency in Romish doctrine. The truth is, you have read verylittle; and you judge of truth, not by facts, but by notions; I mean, you think it enough if a notion hangs together; though you disavow it, still, in matter of fact, consistency _is_ truth to you. Whether factsanswer to theories you cannot tell, and you don't inquire. Now I am notwell read in the subject, but I know enough to be sure that Romanistswill have more work to prove their consistency than you anticipate. Forinstance, they appeal to the Fathers, yet put the Pope above them; theymaintain the infallibility of the Church, and prove it by Scripture, andthen they prove Scripture by the Church. They think a General Councilinfallible, _when_, but not _before_, the Pope has ratified it;Bellarmine, I think, gives a list of General Councils which have erred. And I never have been able to make out the Romish doctrine ofIndulgences. "

Charles thought over this; then he said, "Perhaps the case is as yousay, that I ought to know the matter of fact more exactly beforeattempting to form a judgment on the subject; but, my dear Carlton, Iprotest to you, and you may think with what distress I say it, that ifthe Church of Rome is as ambiguous as our own Church, I shall be in theway to become a sceptic, on the very ground that I shall have nocompetent authority to tell me what to believe. The Ethiopian said, 'Howcan I know, unless some man do teach me?' and St. Paul says, 'Faithcometh by hearing. ' If no one claims my faith, how can I exercise it? Atleast I shall run the risk of becoming a Latitudinarian; for if I go byScripture only, certainly there is no creed given us in Scripture. "

"Our business, " said Carlton, "is to make the best of things, not theworst. Do keep this in mind; be on your guard against a strained andmorbid view of things. Be cheerful, be natural, and all will be easy. "

"You are always kind and considerate, " said Charles; "but, after all--Iwish I could make you see it--you have not a word to say by way ofmeeting my original difficulty of subscription. How am I to leap overthe wall? It's nothing to the purpose that other communions have theirwalls also. "

They now neared home, and concluded their walk in silence, each beingfully occupied with the thoughts which the conversation had suggested. 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Vacation passed away silently and happily. Day succeeded day inquiet routine employments, bringing insensible but sure accessions tothe stock of knowledge and to the intellectual proficiency of both ourstudents. Historians and orators were read for a last time, and laidaside; sciences were digested; commentaries were run through; andanalyses and abstracts completed. It was emphatically a silent toil. While others might be steaming from London to Bombay or the Havannah, and months in the retrospect might look like years, with Reding andSheffield the week had scarcely begun when it was found to be ending;and when October came, and they saw their Oxford friends again, at firstthey thought they had a good deal to say to them, but when they tried, they found it did but concern minute points of their own reading andpersonal matters; and they were reduced to silence with the wish tospeak. 

The season had changed, and reminded them that Horsley was a place forsummer sojourn, not a dwelling. There were heavy raw fogs hanging aboutthe hills, and storms of wind and rain. The grass no longer affordedthem a seat; and when they betook themselves indoors it was discoveredthat the doors and windows did not shut close, and that the chimneysmoked. Then came those fruits, the funeral feast of the year, mulberries and walnuts; the tasteless, juiceless walnut; the darkmulberry, juicy but severe, and mouldy withal, as gathered not from thetree, but from the damp earth. And thus that green spot itself weanedthem from the love of it. Charles looked around him, and rose to departas a _conviva satur_. "_Edisti satis, tempus abire_" seemed written uponall. The swallows had taken leave; the leaves were paling; the lightbroke late, and failed soon. The hopes of spring, the peace and calm ofsummer, had given place to the sad realities of autumn. He was hurryingto the world, who had been up on the mount; he had lived without jars, without distractions, without disappointments; and he was now to takethem as his portion. For he was but a child of Adam; Horsley had beenbut a respite; and he had vividly presented to his memory the sadreverse which came upon him two years before--what a happy summer--whata forlorn autumn! With these thoughts, he put up his books and papers, and turned his face towards St. Saviour's. 

Oxford, too, was not quite what it had been to him; the freshness of hisadmiration for it was over; he now saw defects where at first all wasexcellent and good; the romance of places and persons had passed away. And there were changes too: of his contemporaries some had already takentheir degrees and left; others were reading in the country; others hadgone off to other Colleges on Fellowships. A host of younger faces hadsprung up in hall and chapel, and he hardly knew their names. Roomswhich formerly had been his familiar lounge were now tenanted bystrangers, who claimed to have that right in them which, to hisimagination, could only attach to those who had possessed them when hehimself came into residence. The College seemed to have deteriorated;there was a rowing set, which had not been there before, a number ofboys, and a large proportion of snobs. 

But, what was a real trouble to Charles, it got clearer and clearer tohis apprehension that his intimacy with Sheffield was not quite what ithad been. They had, indeed, passed the Vacation together, and saw ofeach other more than ever: but their sympathies in each other were notas strong, they had not the same likings and dislikings; in short, theyhad not such congenial minds as they fancied when they were freshmen. There was not so much heart in their conversations, and they more easilyendured to miss each other's company. They were both reading forhonours--reading hard; but Sheffield's whole heart was in his work, andreligion was but a secondary matter to him. He had no doubts, difficulties, anxieties, sorrows, which much affected him. It was notthe certainty of faith which made a sunshine to his soul, and dried upthe mists of human weakness; rather, he had no perceptible need withinhim of that vision of the Unseen which is the Christian's life. He wasunblemished in his character, exemplary in his conduct; but he wascontent with what the perishable world gave him. Charles'scharacteristic, perhaps above anything else, was an habitual sense ofthe Divine Presence; a sense which, of course, did not insureuninterrupted conformity of thought and deed to itself, but still thereit was--the pillar of the cloud before him and guiding him. He felthimself to be God's creature, and responsible to Him--God's possession, not his own. He had a great wish to succeed in the schools; a thrillcame over him when he thought of it; but ambition was not his life; hecould have reconciled himself in a few minutes to failure. Thusdisposed, the only subjects on which the two friends freely talkedtogether were connected with their common studies. They read together, examined each other, used and corrected each other's papers, and solvedeach other's difficulties. Perhaps it scarcely came home to Sheffield, sharp as he was, that there was any flagging of their intimacy. Religious controversy had been the food of his active intellect when itwas novel; now it had lost its interest, and his books took its place. But it was far different with Charles; he had felt interest in religiousquestions for their own sake; and when he had deprived himself of thepursuit of them it had been a self-denial. Now, then, when they seemedforced on him again, Sheffield could not help him, where he most wantedthe assistance of a friend. 

A still more tangible trial was coming on him. The reader has to be toldthat there was at that time a system of espionage prosecuted by variouswell-meaning men, who thought it would be doing the University a serviceto point out such of its junior members as were what is called"papistically inclined. " They did not perceive the danger such a courseinvolved of disposing young men towards Catholicism, by attaching tothem the bad report of it, and of forcing them farther by inflicting onthem the inconsistencies of their position. Ideas which would have laindormant or dwindled away in their minds were thus fixed, defined, located within them; and the fear of the world's censure no longerserved to deter, when it had been actually incurred. When Charlesattended the tea-party at Freeborn's he was on his trial; he wasintroduced not only into a school, but into an inquisition; and since hedid not promise to be a subject for spiritual impression, he wasforthwith a subject for spiritual censure. He became a marked man in thecircles of Capel Hall and St. Mark's. His acquaintance with Willis; thequestions he had asked at the Article-lecture; stray remarks atwine-parties--were treasured up, and strengthened the case against him. One time, on coming into his rooms, he found Freeborn, who had enteredto pay him a call, prying into his books. A volume of sermons, of theschool of the day, borrowed of a friend for the sake of illustratingAristotle, lay on his table; and in his bookshelves one of the morephilosophical of the "Tracts for the Times" was stuck in between aHermann _De Metris_ and a Thucydides. Another day his bedroom door wasopen, and No. 2 of the tea-party saw one of Overbeck's sacred printspinned up against the wall. 

Facts like these were, in most cases, delated to the Head of the Houseto which a young man belonged; who, as a vigilant guardian of the purityof his undergraduates' Protestantism, received the information withthankfulness, and perhaps asked the informer to dinner. It cannot bedenied that in some cases this course of action succeeded in frighteningand sobering the parties towards whom it was directed. White was thusreclaimed to be a devoted son and useful minister of the Church ofEngland; but it was a kill-or-cure remedy, and not likely to answer withthe more noble or the more able minds. What effect it had upon Charles, or whether any, must be determined by the sequel; here it will sufficeto relate interviews which took place between him and the Principal andVice-Principal of his College in consequence of it. 

CHAPTER X. 

When Reding presented himself to the Vice-Principal, the Rev. JoshuaJennings, to ask for leave to reside in lodgings for the two termsprevious to his examination, he was met with a courteous but decidedrefusal. It took him altogether by surprise; he had considered therequest as a mere matter of form. He sat half a minute silent, and thenrose to take his departure. The colour came to his cheek; it was arepulse inflicted only on idle men who could not be trusted beyond theeye of the Dean of the College. 

The Vice-Principal seemed to expect him to ask the reason of hisproceeding; as Charles, in his confusion, did not seem likely to do so, he condescended to open the conversation. It was not meant as anyreflection, he said, on Mr. Reding's moral conduct; he had ever been awell-conducted young man, and had quite carried out the character withwhich he had come from school; but there were duties to be observedtowards the community, and its undergraduate portion must be protectedfrom the contagion of principles which were too rife at the moment. Charles was, if possible, still more surprised, and suggested that theremust be some misunderstanding if he had been represented to theVice-Principal as connected with any so-called party in the place. "Youdon't mean to deny that there _is_ a party, Mr. Reding, " answered theCollege authority, "by that form of expression?" He was a lean, paleperson, with a large hook-nose and spectacles; and seemed, though aliberal in creed, to be really a nursling of that early age whenAnabaptists fed the fires of Smithfield. From his years, practisedtalent, and position, he was well able to browbeat an unhappy juvenilewho incurred his displeasure; and, though he really was a kind-heartedman at bottom, he not unfrequently misused his power. Charles did notknow how to answer his question; and on his silence it was repeated. Atlength he said that really he was not in a condition to speak againstany one; and if he spoke of a so-called party, it was that he might notseem disrespectful to some who might be better men than himself. Mr. Vice was silent, but not from being satisfied. 

"What would _you_ call a party, Mr. Reding?" he said at length; "whatwould be your definition of it?"

Charles paused to think; at last he said: "Persons who band together ontheir own authority for the maintenance of views of their own. "

"And will you say that these gentlemen have not views of their own?"asked Mr. Jennings. 

Charles assented. 

"What is your view of the Thirty-nine Articles?" said the Vice-Principalabruptly. 

"_My_ view!" thought Charles; "what can he mean? my _view_ of theArticles! like my opinion of things in general. Does he mean my 'view'whether they are English or Latin, long or short, good or bad, expedientor not, Catholic or not, Calvinistic or Erastian?"

Meanwhile Jennings kept steadily regarding him, and Charles got more andmore confused. "I think, " he said, making a desperate snatch atauthoritative words, "I think that the Articles 'contain a godly andwholesome doctrine, and necessary for these times. '"

"_That_ is the Second Book of Homilies, Mr. Reding, not the Articles. Besides, I want your own opinion on the subject. " He proceeded, after apause: "What is justification?"

"Justification, " . .. Said Charles, repeating the word, and thinking;then, in the words of the Article, he went on: "We are accountedrighteous before God, but only for the merit of our Lord Jesus Christ, by faith, and not by our own works and deservings. "

"Right, " said Jennings; "but you have not answered my question. What_is_ justification?"

This was very hard, for it was one of Charles's puzzles whatjustification was in itself, for the Articles do not define it any morethan faith. He answered to this effect, that the Articles did not defineit. The Vice-Principal looked dissatisfied. 

"Can General Councils err?"

"Yes, " answered Charles. This was right. 

"What do Romanists say about them?"

"They think they err, too. " This was all wrong. 

"No, " said Jennings, "they think them infallible. "

Charles was silent; Jennings tried to force his decision upon him. 

At length Charles said that "Only some General Councils were admitted asinfallible by the Romanists, and he believed that Bellarmine gave a listof General Councils which had erred. "

Another pause, and a gathering cloud on Jennings' brow. 

He returned to his former subject. "In what sense do you understand theArticles, Mr. Reding?" he asked. That was more than Charles could tell;he wished very much to know the right sense of them; so he beat aboutfor the _received_ answer. 

"In the sense of Scripture, " he said. This was true, but nugatory. 

"Rather, " said Jennings, "you understand Scripture in the sense of theArticles. "

Charles assented for peace-sake. But his concession availed not; theVice-Principal pursued his advantage. 

"They must not interpret each other, Mr. Reding, else you revolve in acircle. Let me repeat my question. In what sense do you interpret theArticles?"

"I wish to take them, " Reding answered, "in the general and receivedsense of our Church, as all our divines and present Bishops take them. "

The Vice-Principal looked pleased. Charles could not help being candid, and said in a lower tone, as if words of course, "That is, on faith. "

This put all wrong again. Jennings would not allow this; it was a blind, Popish reliance; it was very well, when he first came to the University, before he had read the Articles, to take them on trust; but a young manwho had had the advantages of Mr. Reding, who had been three years atSt. Saviour's College, and had attended the Article-lectures, ought tohold the received view, not only as being received, but as his own, witha free intellectual assent. He went on to ask him by what texts heproved the Protestant doctrine of justification. Charles gave two orthree of the usual passages with such success, that the Vice-Principalwas secretly beginning to relent, when, unhappily, on asking a lastquestion as a matter of course, he received an answer which confirmedall his former surmises. 

"What is our Church's doctrine concerning the intercession of Saints?"

Charles said that he did not recollect that it had expressed any opinionon the subject. Jennings bade him think again; Charles thought in vain. 

"Well, what is your opinion of it, Mr. Reding?"

Charles, believing it to be an open point, thought he should be safe inimitating "our Church's" moderation. "There are different opinions onthe subject, " he said: "some persons think they intercede for us, others, that they do not. It is easy to go into extremes; perhaps betterto avoid such questions altogether; better to go by Scripture; the bookof Revelation speaks of the intercession of Saints, but does notexpressly say that they intercede for us, " &c. , &c. 

Jennings sat upright in his easy-chair, with indignation mounting intohis forehead. At length his face became like night. "_That_ is youropinion, Mr. Reding. "

Charles began to be frightened. 

"Please to take up that Prayer Book and turn to the 22nd Article. Nowbegin reading it. "

"The Romish doctrine, " said Charles, --"the Romish doctrine concerningpurgatory, pardon, worshipping and adoration as well of images as ofrelics, and also invocation of Saints"----

"Stop there, " said the Vice-Principal; "read those words again. "

"And also invocation of Saints. "

"Now, Mr. Reding. "

Charles was puzzled, thought he had made some blunder, could not findit, and was silent. 

"Well, Mr. Reding?"

Charles at length said that he thought Mr. Jennings had spoken about_intercession_. 

"So I did, " he made answer. 

"And this, " said Charles timidly, "speaks of _invocation_. "

Jennings gave a little start in his arm-chair, and slightly coloured. "Eh?" he said; "give me the book. " He slowly read the Article, and thencast a cautious eye over the page before and after. There was no helpfor it. He began again. 

"And so, Mr. Reding, you actually mean to shelter yourself by thatsubtle distinction between invocation and intercession; as if Papistsdid not invoke in order to gain the Saints' intercession, and as if theSaints were not supposed by them to intercede in answer to invocation?The terms are correlative. Intercession of Saints, instead of being anextreme only, as you consider, is a Romish abomination. I am ashamed ofyou, Mr. Reding; I am pained and hurt that a young man of your promise, of good ability, and excellent morals, should be guilty of so gross anevasion of the authoritative documents of our Church, such an outrageupon common sense, so indecent a violation of the terms on which alonehe was allowed to place his name on the books of this society. I couldnot have a clearer proof that your mind has been perverted--I fear Imust use a stronger term, debauched--by the sophistries and jesuistrieswhich unhappily have found entrance among us. Good morning, Mr. Reding. "

So it was a thing settled: Charles was to be sent home, --an endurablebanishment. 

Before he went down he paid a visit of form to the old Principal--aworthy man in his generation, who before now had been a good parishpriest, had instructed the ignorant and fed the poor; but now in the endof his days, falling on evil times, was permitted, for inscrutablepurposes, to give evidence of that evil puritanical leaven which was asecret element of his religion. He had been kind to Charles hitherto, which made his altered manner more distressing to him. 

"We had hoped, " he said, "Mr. Reding, that so good a young man as youonce were would have gained a place on some foundation, and been settledhere, and been a useful man in his generation, sir; and a column, abuttress of the Church of England, sir. Well, sir, here are my bestwishes for you, sir. When you come up for your Master's degree, sir--no, I think it is your Bachelor's--which is it, Mr. Reding, are you yet aBachelor? oh, I see your gown. "

Charles said he had not yet been into the schools. 

"Well, sir, when you come up to be examined, I should say--to beexamined--we will hope that in the interval, reflection, and study, andabsence perhaps from dangerous companions, will have brought you to asoberer state of mind, Mr. Reding. "

Charles was shocked at the language used about him. "Really, sir, " hesaid, "if you knew me better, you would feel that I am likely neither toreceive nor do harm by remaining here between this and Easter. "

"What! remain here, sir, with all the young men about?" asked Dr. Bluett, with astonishment, "with all the young men about you, sir?"

Charles really had not a word to say; he did not know himself in sonovel a position. "I cannot conceive, sir, " he said, at last, "why Ishould be unfit company for the gentlemen of the College. "

Dr. Bluett's jaw dropped, and his eyes assumed a hollow aspect. "Youwill corrupt their minds, sir, " he said, --"you will corrupt theirminds. " Then he added, in a sepulchral tone, which came from the verydepths of his inside: "You will introduce them, sir, to some subtleJesuit--to some subtle Jesuit, Mr. Reding. "

CHAPTER XI. 

Mrs. Reding was by this time settled in the neighbourhood of old friendsin Devonshire; and there Charles spent the winter and early spring withher and his three sisters, the eldest of whom was two years older thanhimself. 

"Come, shut your dull books, Charles, " said Caroline, the youngest, agirl of fourteen; "make way for the tea; I am sure you have read enough. You sometimes don't speak a word for an hour together; at least, youmight tell us what you are reading about. "

"My dear Carry, you would not be much the wiser if I did, " answeredCharles; "it is Greek history. "

"Oh, " said Caroline, "I know more than you think; I have read Goldsmith, and good part of Rollin, besides Pope's Homer. "

"Capital!" said Charles; "well, I am reading about Pelopidas--who washe?"

"Pelopidas!" answered Caroline, "I ought to know. Oh, I recollect, hehad an ivory shoulder. "

"Well said, Carry; but I have not yet a distinct idea of him either. Washe a statue, or flesh and blood, with this shoulder of his?"

"Oh, he was alive; somebody ate him, I think. "

"Well, was he a god or a man?" said Charles. 

"Oh, it's a mistake of mine, " said Caroline; "he was a goddess, theivory-footed--no, that was Thetis. "

"My dear Caroline, " said her mother, "do not talk so at random; thinkbefore you speak; you know better than this. "

"She has, ma'am, " said Charles, "what Mr. Jennings would call 'a veryinaccurate mind. '"

"I recollect perfectly now, " said Caroline, "he was a friend ofEpaminondas. "

"When did he live?" asked Charles. Caroline was silent. 

"Oh, Carry, " said Eliza, "don't you recollect the _memoria technica_?"

"I never could learn it, " said Caroline; "I hate it. "

"Nor can I, " said Mary; "give me good native numbers; they are sweet andkindly, like flowers in a bed; but I don't like your artificialflower-pots. "

"But surely, " said Charles, "a _memoria technica_ makes you recollect agreat many dates which you otherwise could not?"

"The crabbed names are more difficult even to pronounce than the numbersto learn, " said Caroline. 

"That's because you have very few dates to get up, " said Charles; "butcommon writing is a _memoria technica_. "

"That's beyond Caroline, " said Mary. 

"What are words but artificial signs for ideas?" said Charles; "they aremore musical, but as arbitrary. There is no more reason why the sound'hat' should mean the particular thing so called, which we put on ourheads, than why 'abul-distof' should stand for 1520. "

"Oh, my dear child, " said Mrs. Reding, "how you run on! Don't beparadoxical. "

"My dear mother, " said Charles, coming round to the fire, "I don't wantto be paradoxical; it's only a generalization. "

"Keep it, then, for the schools, my dear; I dare say it will do you goodthere, " continued Mrs. Reding, while she continued her hemming; "poorCaroline will be as much put to it in logic as in history. "

"I am in a dilemma, " said Charles, as he seated himself on a littlestool at his mother's feet; "for Carry calls me stupid if I am silent, and you call me paradoxical if I speak. "

"Good sense, " said his mother, "is the golden mean. "

"And what is common sense?" said Charles. 

"The silver mean, " said Eliza. 

"Well done, " said Charles; "it is small change for every hour. "

"Rather, " said Caroline, "it is the copper mean, for we want it, likealms for the poor, to give away. People are always asking _me_ for it. If I can't tell who Isaac's father was, Mary says, 'O Carry, where'syour common sense?' If I am going out of doors, Eliza runs up, 'Carry, 'she cries, 'you haven't common sense; your shawl's all pinned awry. ' Andwhen I ask mamma the shortest way across the fields to Dalton, she says, 'Use your common sense, my dear. '"

"No wonder you have so little of it, poor dear child, " said Charles; "nobank could stand such a run. "

"No such thing, " said Mary; "it flows into her bank ten times as fast asit comes out. She has plenty of it from us; and what she does with it noone can make out; she either hoards or she speculates. "

"'Like the great ocean, '" said Charles, "'which receives the rivers, yetis not full. '"

"That's somewhere in Scripture, " said Eliza. 

"In the 'Preacher, '" said Charles, and he continued the quotation; "'Allthings are full of labour, man cannot utter it; the eye is not satisfiedwith seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. '"

His mother sighed; "Take my cup, my love, " she said; "no more. "

"I know why Charles is so fond of the 'Preacher, '" said Mary; "it'sbecause he's tired of reading; 'much study is a weariness to the flesh. 'I wish we could help you, dear Charles. "

"My dear boy, I really think you read too much, " said his mother; "onlythink how many hours you have been at it to-day. You are always up oneor two hours before the sun; and I don't think you have had your walkto-day. "

"It's so dismal walking alone, my dear mother; and as to walking withyou and my sisters, it's pleasant enough, but no exercise. "

"But, Charlie, " said Mary, "that's absurd of you; these nice sunny days, which you could not expect at this season, are just the time for longwalks. Why don't you resolve to make straight for the plantations, orto mount Hart Hill, or go right through Dun Wood and back?"

"Because all woods are dun and dingy just now, Mary, and not green. It'squite melancholy to see them. "

"Just the finest time of the year, " said his mother; "it's universallyallowed; all painters say that the autumn is the season to see alandscape in. "

"All gold and russet, " said Mary. 

"It makes me melancholy, " said Charles. 

"What! the beautiful autumn make you melancholy?" asked his mother. 

"Oh, my dear mother, you mean to say that I am paradoxical again; Icannot help it. I like spring; but autumn saddens me. "

"Charles always says so, " said Mary; "he thinks nothing of the rich huesinto which the sober green changes; he likes the dull uniform ofsummer. "

"No, it is not that, " said Charles; "I never saw anything so gorgeous asMagdalen Water-walk, for instance, in October; it is quite wonderful, the variety of colours. I admire, and am astonished; but I cannot loveor like it. It is because I can't separate the look of things from whatit portends; that rich variety is but the token of disease and death. "

"Surely, " said Mary, "colours have their own intrinsic beauty; we maylike them for their own sake. "

"No, no, " said Charles, "we always go by association; else why notadmire raw beef, or a toad, or some other reptiles, which are asbeautiful and bright as tulips or cherries, yet revolting, because weconsider what they are, not how they look?"

"What next?" said his mother, looking up from her work; "my dearCharles, you are not serious in comparing cherries to raw beef or totoads?"

"No, my dear mother, " answered Charles, laughing, "no, I only say thatthey look like them, not are like them. "

"A toad look like a cherry, Charles!" persisted Mrs. Reding. 

"Oh, my dear mother, " he answered, "I can't explain; I really have saidnothing out of the way. Mary does not think I have. "

"But, " said Mary, "why not associate pleasant thoughts with autumn?"

"It is impossible, " said Charles; "it is the sick season and thedeathbed of Nature. I cannot look with pleasure on the decay of themother of all living. The many hues upon the landscape are but the spotsof dissolution. "

"This is a strained, unnatural view, Charles, " said Mary; "shakeyourself, and you will come to a better mind. Don't you like to see arich sunset? yet the sun is leaving you. "

Charles was for a moment posed; then he said, "Yes, but there was noautumn in Eden; suns rose and set in Paradise, but the leaves werealways green, and did not wither. There was a river to feed them. Autumnis the 'fall. '"

"So, my dearest Charles, " said Mrs. Reding, "you don't go out walkingthese fine days because there was no autumn in the garden of Eden?"

"Oh, " said Charles, laughing, "it is cruel to bring me so to book. WhatI meant was, that my reading was a direct obstacle to walking, and thatthe fine weather did not tempt me to remove it. "

"I am glad we have you here, my dear, " said his mother, "for we canforce you out now and then; at College I suspect you never walk at all. "

"It's only for a time, ma'am, " said Charles; "when my examination isover, I will take as long walks as I did with Edward Gandy that winterafter I left school. "

"Ah, how merry you were then, Charles!" said Mary; "so happy with thethoughts of Oxford before you!"

"Ah, my dear, " said Mrs. Reding, "you'll then walk too much, as you nowwalk too little. My good boy, you are so earnest about everything. "

"It's a shame to find fault with him for being diligent, " said Mary:"you like him to read for honours, I know, mamma; but if he is to getthem he must read a great deal. "

"True, my love, " answered Mrs. Reding; "Charles is a dear good fellow, Iknow. How glad we all shall be to have him ordained, and settled in acuracy!"

Charles sighed. "Come, Mary, " he said, "give us some music, now the urnhas gone away. Play me that beautiful air of Beethoven, the one I call'The Voice of the Dead. '"

"Oh, Charles, you do give such melancholy names to things!" cried Mary. 

"The other day, " said Eliza, "we had a most beautiful scent waftedacross the road as we were walking, and he called it 'the Ghost of thePast;' and he says that the sound of the Eolian harp is 'remorseful. '"

"Now, you'd think all that very pretty, " said Charles, "if you saw it ina book of poems; but you call it melancholy when I say it. "

"Oh, yes, " said Caroline, "because poets never mean what they say, andwould not be poetical unless they were melancholy. "

"Well, " said Mary, "I play to you, Charles, on this one condition, thatyou let me give you some morning a serious lecture on that melancholy ofyours, which, I assure you is growing on you. "

CHAPTER XII. 

Charles's perplexities rapidly took a definite form on his coming intoDevonshire. The very fact of his being at home, and not at Oxford wherehe ought to have been, brought them before his mind; and the nearprospect of his examination and degree justified the consideration ofthem. No addition indeed was made to their substance, as alreadydescribed; but they were no longer vague and indistinct, but thoroughlyapprehended by him; nor did he make up his mind that they wereinsurmountable, but he saw clearly what it was that had to besurmounted. The particular form of argument into which they happened tofall was determined by the circumstances in which he found himself atthe time, and was this, viz. How he could subscribe the Articles _exanimo_, without faith, more or less, in his Church as the imponent; andnext, how he could have faith in her, her history and present conditionbeing what they were. The fact of these difficulties was a great sourceof distress to him. It was aggravated by the circumstance that he had noone to talk to, or to sympathize with him under them. And it wascompleted by the necessity of carrying about with him a secret which hedared not tell to others, yet which he foreboded must be told one day. All this was the secret of that depression of spirits which his sistershad observed in him. 

He was one day sitting thoughtfully over the fire with a book in hishand, when Mary entered. "I wish you would teach _me_ the art of readingGreek in live coals, " she said. 

"Sermons in stones, and good in everything, " answered Charles. 

"You do well to liken yourself to the melancholy Jaques, " she replied. 

"Not so, " said he, "but to the good Duke Charles, who was banished tothe green forest. "

"A great grievance, " answered Mary, "we being the wild things with whomyou are forced to live. My dear Charles, " she continued, "I hope thetittle-tattle that drove you here does not still dwell on your mind. "

"Why, it is not very pleasant, Mary, after having been on the best termswith the whole College, and in particular with the Principal andJennings, at last to be sent down, as a rowing-man might be rusticatedfor tandem-driving. You have no notion how strong the old Principal was, and Jennings too. "

"Well, my dearest Charles, you must not brood over it, " said Mary, "as Ifear you are doing. "

"I don't see where it is to end, " said Charles; "the Principal expresslysaid that my prospects at the University were knocked up. I suppose theywould not give me a testimonial, if I wished to stand for a fellowshipanywhere. "

"Oh, it is a temporary mistake, " said Mary; "I dare say by this timethey know better. And it's one great gain to have you with us; we, atleast, ought to be obliged to them. "

"I have been so very careful, Mary, " said Charles; "I have never been tothe evening-parties, or to the sermons which are talked about in theUniversity. It's quite amazing to me what can have put it into theirheads. At the Article-lecture I now and then asked a question, but itwas really because I wished to understand and get up the differentsubjects. Jennings fell on me the moment I entered his room. I can callit nothing else; very civil at first in his manner, but there wassomething in his eye before he spoke which told me at once what wascoming. It's odd a man of such self-command as he should not better hidehis feelings; but I have always been able to see what Jennings wasthinking about. "

"Depend on it, " said his sister, "you will think nothing of it whateverthis time next year. It will be like a summer-cloud, come and gone. "

"And then it damps me, and interrupts me in my reading. I fall backthinking of it, and cannot give my mind to my books, or exert myself. Itis very hard. "

Mary sighed; "I wish I could help you, " she said; "but women can do solittle. Come, let me take the fretting, and you the reading; that'll bea fair division. "

"And then my dear mother too, " he continued; "what will she think of itwhen it comes to her ears? and come it must. "

"Nonsense, " said Mary, "don't make a mountain of a mole-hill. You willgo back, take your degree, and nobody will be the wiser. "

"No, it can't be so, " said Charles seriously. 

"What do you mean?" asked Mary. 

"These things don't clear off in that way, " said he; "it is nosummer-cloud; it may turn to rain, for what they know. "

Mary looked at him with some surprise. 

"I mean, " he said, "that I have no confidence that they will let me takemy degree, any more than let me reside there. "

"That is very absurd, " said she; "it's what I meant by brooding overthings, and making mountains of mole-hills. "

"My sweet Mary, " he said, affectionately taking her hand, "my only realconfidant and comfort, I would tell you something more, if you couldbear it. "

Mary was frightened, and her heart beat. "Charles, " she said, withdrawing her hand, "any pain is less than to see you thus. I see tooclearly that something is on your mind. "

Charles put his feet on the fender, and looked down. 

"I _can't_ tell you, " he said, at length, with vehemence; then, seeingby her face how much he was distressing her, he said, half-laughing, asif to turn the edge of his words, "My dear Mary, when people bearwitness against one, one can't help fearing that there is, perhaps, something to bear witness against. "

"Impossible, Charles! _you_ corrupt other people! _you_ falsify thePrayer Book and Articles! impossible!"

"Mary, which do you think would be the best judge whether my face wasdirty and my coat shabby, you or I? Well, then, perhaps Jennings, or atleast common report, knows more about me than I do myself. "

"You must not speak in this way, " said Mary, much hurt; "you really dopain me now. What can you mean?"

Charles covered his face with his hands, and at length said: "It's nogood; you can't assist me here; I only pain you. I ought not to havebegun the subject. "

There was a silence. 

"My dearest Charles, " said Mary tenderly, "come, I will bear anything, and not be annoyed. Anything better than to see you go on in this way. But really you frighten me. "

"Why, " he answered, "when a number of people tell me that Oxford is notmy place, not my position, perhaps they are right; perhaps it isn't. "

"But is that really all?" she said; "who wants you to lead an Oxfordlife? not we. "

"No, but Oxford implies taking a degree--taking orders. "

"Now, my dear Charles, speak out; don't drop hints; let me know;" andshe sat down with a look of great anxiety. 

"Well, " he said, making an effort; "yet I don't know where to begin; butmany things have happened to me, in various ways, to show me that I havenot a place, a position, a home, that I am not made for, that I am astranger in, the Church of England. "

There was a dreadful pause; Mary turned very pale; then, darting at aconclusion with precipitancy, she said quickly, "You mean to say, youare going to join the Church of Rome, Charles. "

"No, " he said, "it is not so. I mean no such thing; I mean just what Isay; I have told you the whole; I have kept nothing back. It is this, and no more--that I feel out of place. "

"Well, then, " she said, "you must tell me more; for, to my apprehension, you mean just what I have said, nothing short of it. "

"I can't go through things in order, " he said; "but wherever I go, whomever I talk with, I feel him to be another sort of person from whatI am. I can't convey it to you; you won't understand me; but the wordsof the Psalm, 'I am a stranger upon earth, ' describe what I always feel. No one thinks or feels like me. I hear sermons, I talk on religioussubjects with friends, and every one seems to bear witness against me. And now the College bears its witness, and sends me down. "

"Oh, Charles, " said Mary, "how changed you are!" and tears came into hereyes; "you used to be so cheerful, so happy. You took such pleasure inevery one, in everything. We used to laugh and say, 'All Charlie's geeseare swans. ' What has come over you?" She paused, and then continued:"Don't you recollect those lines in the 'Christian Year'? I can't repeatthem; we used to apply them to you; something about hope or love 'makingall things bright with her own magic smile. '"

Charles was touched when he was reminded of what he had been three yearsbefore; he said: "I suppose it is coming out of shadows intorealities. "

"There has been much to sadden you, " she added, sighing; "and now thesenasty books are too much for you. Why should you go up for honours?what's the good of it?"

There was a pause again. 

"I wish I could bring home to you, " said Charles, "the number ofintimations, as it were, which have been given me of my uncongeniality, as it may be called, with things as they are. What perhaps most affectedme, was a talk I had with Carlton, whom I have lately been reading with;for, if I could not agree with _him_, or rather, if _he_ bore witnessagainst me, who could be expected to say a word for me? I cannot bearthe pomp and pretence which I see everywhere. I am not speaking againstindividuals; they are very good persons, I know; but, really, if you sawOxford as it is! The Heads with such large incomes; they are indeed veryliberal of their money, and their wives are often simple, self-denyingpersons, as every one says, and do a great deal of good in the place;but I speak of the system. Here are ministers of Christ with largeincomes, living in finely furnished houses, with wives and families, andstately butlers and servants in livery, giving dinners all in the beststyle, condescending and gracious, waving their hands and mincing theirwords, as if they were the cream of the earth, but without anything tomake them clergymen but a black coat and a white tie. And then Bishopsor Deans come, with women tucked under their arm; and they can't enterchurch but a fine powdered man runs first with a cushion for them to siton, and a warm sheepskin to keep their feet from the stones. "

Mary laughed: "Well, my dear Charles, " she said, "I did not think youhad seen so much of Bishops, Deans, Professors, and Heads of houses atSt. Saviour's; you have kept good company. "

"I have my eyes about me, " said Charles, "and have had quiteopportunities enough; I can't go into particulars. "

"Well, you have been hard on them, I think, " said Mary; "when a poor oldman has the rheumatism, " and she sighed a little, "it is hard he mayn'thave his feet kept from the cold. "

"Ah, Mary, I can't bring it home to you! but you must, please, throwyourself into what I say, and not criticize my instances or my terms. What I mean is, that there is a worldly air about everything, as unlikeas possible the spirit of the Gospel. I don't impute to the donsambition or avarice; but still, what Heads of houses, Fellows, and allof them evidently put before them as an end is, to enjoy the world inthe first place, and to serve God in the second. Not that they don'tmake it their final object to get to heaven; but their immediate objectis to be comfortable, to marry, to have a fair income, station, andrespectability, a convenient house, a pleasant country, a sociableneighbourhood. There is nothing high about them. I declare I think thePuseyites are the only persons who have high views in the whole place; Ishould say, the only persons who profess them, for I don't know them tospeak about them. " He thought of White. 

"Well, you are talking of things I don't know about, " said Mary; "but Ican't think all the young clever men of the place are looking out forease and comfort; nor can I believe that in the Church of Rome money hasalways been put to the best of purposes. "

"I said nothing about the Church of Rome, " said Charles; "why do youbring in the Church of Rome? that's another thing altogether. What Imean is, that there is a worldly smell about Oxford which I can't abide. I am not using 'worldly' in its worse sense. People are religious andcharitable; but--I don't like to mention names--but I know various dons, and the notion of evangelical poverty, the danger of riches, the givingup all for Christ, all those ideas which are first principles inScripture, as I read it, don't seem to enter into their idea ofreligion. I declare, I think that is the reason why the Puseyites are sounpopular. "

"Well, I can't see, " said Mary, "why you must be disgusted with theworld, and with your place and duties in it, because there are worldlypeople in it. "

"But I was speaking of Carlton, " said Charles; "do you know, good fellowas he is--and I love, admire, and respect him exceedingly--he actuallylaid it down almost as an axiom, that a clergyman of the English Churchought to marry? He said that celibacy might be very well in othercommunions, but that a man made himself a fool, and was out of jointwith the age, who remained single in the Church of England. "

Poor Charles was so serious, and the proposition which he related was somonstrous, that Mary, in spite of her real distress, could not helplaughing out. "I really cannot help it, " she said; "well, it really wasa most extraordinary statement, I confess. But, my dear Charlie, youare not afraid that he will carry you off against your will, and marryyou to some fair lady before you know where you are?"

"Don't talk in that way, Mary, " said Charles; "I can't bear a joke justnow. I mean, Carlton is so sensible a man, and takes so just a view ofthings, that the conviction flashed on my mind, that the Church ofEngland really was what he implied it to be--a form of religion veryunlike that of the Apostles. "

This sobered Mary indeed. "Alas, " she said, "we have got upon verydifferent ground now; not what our Church thinks of you, but what youthink of our Church. " There was a pause. "I thought this was at thebottom, " she said; "I never could believe that a parcel of people, someof whom you cared nothing for, telling you that you were not in yourplace, would make you think so, unless you first felt it yourself. That's the real truth; and then you interpret what others say in yourown way. " Another uncomfortable pause. Then she continued: "I see how itwill be. When you take up a thing, Charles, I know well you don't lay itdown. No, you have made up your mind already. We shall see you a RomanCatholic. "

"Do _you_ then bear witness against me, Mary, as well as the rest?" saidhe sorrowfully. 

She saw her mistake. "No, " she answered; "all I say is, that it restswith yourself, not with others. _If_ you have made up your mind, there'sno help for it. It is not others who drive you, who bear witness againstyou. Dear Charles, don't mistake me, and don't deceive yourself. Youhave a strong _will_. "

At this moment Caroline entered the room. "I could not think where youwere, Mary, " she said; "here Perkins has been crying after you ever solong. It's something about dinner; I don't know what. We have huntedhigh and low, and never guessed you were helping Charles at his books. "Mary gave a deep sigh, and left the room. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Neither to brother nor to sister had the conversation been asatisfaction or relief. "I can go nowhere for sympathy, " thoughtCharles; "dear Mary does not understand me more than others. I can'tbring out what I mean and feel; and when I attempt to do so, mystatements and arguments seem absurd to myself. It has been a greateffort to tell her; and in one sense it is a gain, for it is a trialover. Else I have taken nothing by my move, and might as well have heldmy tongue. I have simply pained her without relieving myself. By-the-bye, she has gone off believing about twice as much as the fact. I was going to set her right when Carry came in. My only difficulty isabout taking orders; and she thinks I am going to be a Roman Catholic. How absurd! but women will run on so; give an inch, and they take anell. I know nothing of the Roman Catholics. The simple question is, whether I should go to the Bar or the Church. I declare, I think I havemade vastly too much of it myself. I ought to have begun this way withher, --I ought to have said, 'D'you know, I have serious thoughts ofreading law?' I've made a hash of it. "

Poor Mary, on the other hand, was in a confusion of thought and feelingas painful as it was new to her; though for a time household matters andnecessary duties towards her younger sisters occupied her mind in adifferent direction. She had been indeed taken at her word; little hadshe expected what would come on her when she engaged to "take thefretting, while he took the reading. " She had known what grief was, notso long ago; but not till now had she known anxiety. Charles's state ofmind was a matter of simple astonishment to her. At first it quitefrightened and shocked her; it was as if Charles had lost his identity, and had turned out some one else. It was like a great breach of trust. She had seen there was a good deal in the newspapers about the "Oxfordparty" and their doings; and at different places, where she had been onvisits, she had heard of churches being done up in the new fashion, andclergymen being accused, in consequence, of Popery--a charge which shehad laughed at. But now it was actually brought home to her door thatthere was something in it. Yet it was to her incomprehensible, and shehardly knew where she was. And that, of all persons in the world, herbrother, her own Charles, with whom she had been one heart and soul alltheir lives--one so cheerful, so religious, so good, so sensible, socautious, --that he should be the first specimen that crossed her path ofthe new opinions, --it bewildered her. 

And where _had_ he got his notions?--Notions! she could not call themnotions; he had nothing to say for himself. It was an infatuation; he, so clever, so sharp-sighted, could say nothing better in defence ofhimself than that Mrs. Bishop of Monmouth was too pretty, and that oldDr. Stock sat upon a cushion. Oh, sad, sad indeed! How was it he couldbe so insensible to the blessings he gained from his Church, and hadenjoyed all his life? What could he need? _She_ had no need at all:going to church was a pleasure to her. She liked to hear the Lessons andthe Collects, coming round year after year, and marking the seasons. Thehistorical books and prophets in summer; then the "stir-up" Collect justbefore Advent; the beautiful Collects in Advent itself, with the Lessonsfrom Isaiah reaching on through Epiphany; they were quite music to theear. Then the Psalms, varying with every Sunday; they were a perpetualsolace to her, ever old yet ever new. The occasional additions, too--theAthanasian Creed, the Benedictus, Deus misereatur, and Omnia opera, which her father had been used to read at certain great feasts; and thebeautiful Litany. What could he want more? where could he find so much?Well, it was a mystery to her; and she could only feel thankful that_she_ was not exposed to the temptations, whatever they were, which hadacted on the powerful mind of her brother. 

Then, she had anticipated how pleasant it would be when Charles was aclergyman, and she should hear him preach; when there would be one whomshe would have a right to ask questions and to consult whenever shewished. This prospect was at an end; she could no longer trust him: hehad given a shake to her confidence which it never could recover; it wasgone for ever. They were all of them women but he; he was their onlystay, now that her father had been taken away. What was now to become ofthem? To be abandoned by her own brother! oh, how terrible!

And how was she to break it to her mother? for broken it must be sooneror later. She could not deceive herself; she knew her brother wellenough to feel sure that, when he had really got hold of a thing, hewould not let it go again without convincing reasons; and what reasonsthere could be for letting it go she could not conceive, if there couldbe reasons for taking it up. The taking it up baffled all reason, allcalculation. Well, but how was her mother to be told of it? Was itbetter to let her suspect it first, and so break it to her, or to waittill the event happened? The problem was too difficult for the present, and she must leave it. 

This was her state for several days, till her fever of mind graduallysubsided into a state of which a dull anxiety was a latent but habitualelement, leaving her as usual at ordinary times, but every now and thenbetraying itself by sudden sharp sighs or wanderings of thought. Neitherbrother nor sister, loving each other really as much as ever, had quitethe same sweetness and evenness of temper as was natural to them;self-control became a duty, and the evening circle was duller thanbefore, without any one being able to say why. Charles was moreattentive to his mother; he no more brought his books into thedrawing-room, but gave himself to her company. He read to them, but hehad little to talk about; and Eliza and Caroline both wished his stupidexamination, past and over, that he might be restored to his naturalliveliness. 

As to Mrs. Reding, she did not observe more than that her son was a veryhard student, and grudged himself a walk or ride, let the day be ever sofine. She was a mild, quiet person, of keen feelings and precise habits;not very quick at observation; and, having lived all her life in thecountry, and till her late loss having scarcely known what trouble was, she was singularly unable to comprehend how things could go on in anyway but one. Charles had not told her the real cause of his spending thewinter at home, thinking it would be a needless vexation to her; muchless did he contemplate harassing her with the recital of his ownreligious difficulties, which were not appreciable by her, and issued inno definite result. To his sister he did attempt an explanation of hisformer conversation, with a view of softening the extreme misgivingswhich it had created in her mind. She received it thankfully, andprofessed to be relieved by it; but the blow was struck, the suspicionwas lodged deep in her mind--he was still Charles, dear to her as ever, but she never could rid herself of the anticipation which on thatoccasion she had expressed. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

One morning he was told that a gentleman had asked for him, and beenshown into the dining-room. Descending, he saw the tall slender figureof Bateman, now a clergyman, and lately appointed curate of aneighbouring parish. Charles had not seen him for a year and a half, andshook hands with him very warmly, complimenting him on his whiteneckcloth, which somehow, he said, altered him more than he could haveexpected. Bateman's manner certainly was altered; it might be theaccident of the day, but he did not seem quite at his ease; it might bethat he was in a strange house, and was likely soon to be precipitatedinto the company of ladies, to which he had never been used. If so, thetrial was on the point of beginning, for Charles said instantly that hemust come and see his mother, and of course meant to dine with them; thesky was clear, and there was an excellent footpath between Boughton andMelford. Bateman could not do this, but he would have the greatestpleasure in being introduced to Mrs. Reding; so he stumbled afterCharles into the drawing-room, and was soon conversing with her and theyoung ladies. 

"A charming prospect you have here, ma'am, " said Bateman, "when you areonce inside the house. It does not promise outside so extensive a view. "

"No, it is shut in with trees, " said Mrs. Reding; "and the brow of thehill changes its direction so much that at first I used to think theprospect ought to be from the opposite windows. "

"What is that high hill?" said Bateman. 

"It is Hart Hill, " said Charles; "there's a Roman camp atop of it. "

"We can see eight steeples from our windows, " said Mrs. Reding;--"ringthe bell for luncheon, my dear. "

"Ah, our ancestors, Mrs. Reding, " said Bateman, "thought more ofbuilding churches than we do; or rather than we have done, I should say, for now it is astonishing what efforts are made to add to ourecclesiastical structures. "

"Our ancestors did a good deal too, " said Mrs. Reding; "how manychurches, my dear, were built in London in Queen Anne's time? St. Martin's was one of them. "

"Fifty, " said Eliza. 

"Fifty were intended, " said Charles. 

"Yes, Mrs. Reding, " said Bateman; "but by ancestors I meant the holyBishops and other members of our Catholic Church previously to theReformation. For, though the Reformation was a great blessing" (a glanceat Charles), "yet we must not, in justice, forget what was done byEnglish Churchmen before it. "

"Ah, poor creatures, " said Mrs. Reding, "they did one good thing inbuilding churches; it has saved us much trouble. "

"Is there much church-restoration going on in these parts?" saidBateman, taken rather aback. 

"My mother has but lately come here, like yourself, " said Charles; "yes, there is some; Barton Church, you know, " appealing to Mary. 

"Have your walks extended so far as Barton?" said Mary to Bateman. 

"Not yet, Miss Reding, not yet, " answered he; "of course they aredestroying the pews. "

"They are to put in seats, " said Charles, "and of a very good pattern. "

"Pews are intolerable, " said Bateman; "yet the last generation ofincumbents contentedly bore them; it is wonderful!"

A not unnatural silence followed this speech. Charles broke it by askingif Bateman intended to do anything in the improvement line at Melford. 

Bateman looked modest. 

"Nothing of any consequence, " he said; "some few things were done; buthe had a rector of the old school, poor man, who was an enemy to thatsort of thing. "

It was with some malicious feeling, in consequence of his attack onclergymen of the past age, that Charles pressed his visitor to give anaccount of his own reforms. 

"Why, " said Bateman, "much discretion is necessary in these matters, oryou do as much harm as good; you get into hot water with churchwardensand vestries, as well as with old rectors, and again with the gentry ofthe place, and please no one. For this reason I have made no attempt tointroduce the surplice into the pulpit except on the great festivals, intending to familiarize my parishioners to it by little and little. However, I wear a scarf or stole, and have taken care that it should betwo inches broader than usual; and I always wear the cassock in myparish. I hope you approve of the cassock, Mrs. Reding?"

"It is a very cold dress, sir--that's my opinion--when made of silk orbombazeen; and very unbecoming too, when worn by itself. "

"Particularly behind, " said Charles; "it is quite unshapely. "

"Oh, I have remedied that, " said Bateman; "you have noticed, MissReding, I dare say, the Bishop's short cassock. It comes to the knees, and looks much like a continuation of a waistcoat, the straight-cut coatbeing worn as usual. Well, Miss Reding, I have adopted the same planwith the long cassock; I put my coat over it. "

Mary had difficulty to keep from smiling; Charles laughed out. "Impossible, Bateman, " he said; "you don't mean you wear your tailedFrench coat over your long straight cassock reaching to your ankles?"

"Certainly, " said Bateman gravely; "I thus consult for warmth andappearance too; and all my parishioners are sure to know me. I thinkthis a great point, Miss Reding: I hear the little boys as I pass say, 'That's the parson. '"

"I'll be bound they do, " said Charles. 

"Well, " said Mrs. Reding, surprised out of her propriety, "did one everhear the like!"

Bateman looked round at her, startled and frightened. 

"You were going to speak of your improvements in your church, " saidMary, wishing to divert his attention from her mother. 

"Ah, true, Miss Reding, true, " said Bateman, "thank you for remindingme; I have digressed to improvements in my own dress. I should haveliked to have pulled down the galleries and lowered the high pews; that, however, I could not do. So I have lowered the pulpit some six feet. Nowby doing so, first I give a pattern in my own person of the kind ofcondescension or lowliness to which I would persuade my people. But thisis not all; for the consequence of lowering the pulpit is, that no onein the galleries can see or hear me preach; and this is a bonus on thosewho are below. "

"It's a broad hint, certainly, " said Charles. 

"But it's a hint for those below also, " continued Bateman; "for no onecan see or hear me in the pews either, till the sides are lowered. "

"One thing only is wanting besides, " said Charles, smiling and lookingamiable, lest he should be saying too much; "since you are full tall, you must kneel when you preach, Bateman, else you will undo your ownalterations. "

Bateman looked pleased. "I have anticipated you, " he said; "I preachsitting. It is more comformable to antiquity and to reason to sit thanto stand. "

"With these precautions, " said Charles, "I really think you might haveventured on your surplice in the pulpit every Sunday. Are yourparishioners contented?"

"Oh, not at all, far from it, " cried Bateman; "but they can do nothing. The alteration is so simple. "

"Nothing besides?" asked Charles. 

"Nothing in the architectural way, " answered he; "but one thing more inthe way of observances. I have fortunately picked up a very fair copy ofJewell, black-letter; and I have placed it in church, securing it with achain to the wall, for any poor person who wishes to read it. Our churchis emphatically the 'poor man's church, ' Mrs. Reding. "

"Well, " said Charles to himself, "I'll back the old parsons against theyoung ones any day, if this is to be their cut. " Then aloud: "Come, youmust see our garden; take up your hat, and let's have a turn in it. There's a very nice terrace-walk at the upper end. "

Bateman accordingly, having been thus trotted out for the amusement ofthe ladies, was now led off again, and was soon in the aforesaidterrace-walk, pacing up and down in earnest conversation with Charles. 

"Reding, my good fellow, " said he, "what is the meaning of this reportconcerning you, which is everywhere about?"

"I have not heard it, " said Charles abruptly. 

"Why, it is this, " said Bateman; "I wish to approach the subject with asgreat delicacy as possible: don't tell me if you don't like it, or tellme just as much as you like; yet you will excuse an old friend. Theysay you are going to leave the Church of your baptism for the Church ofRome. "

"Is it widely spread?" asked Charles coolly. 

"Oh, yes; I heard it in London; have had a letter mentioning it fromOxford; and a friend of mine heard it given out as positive at avisitation dinner in Wales. "

"So, " thought Charles, "you are bringing _your_ witness against me aswell as the rest. "

"Well but, my good Reding, " said Bateman, "why are you silent? is ittrue--is it true?"

"What true? that I am a Roman Catholic? Oh, certainly; don't youunderstand, that's why I am reading so hard for the schools?" saidCharles. 

"Come, be serious for a moment, Reding, " said Bateman, "do be serious. Will you empower me to contradict the report, or to negative it to acertain point, or in any respect?"

"Oh, to be sure, " said Charles, "contradict it, by all means, contradictit entirely. "

"May I give it a plain, unqualified, unconditional, categorical, flatdenial?" asked Bateman. 

"Of course, of course. "

Bateman could not make him out, and had not a dream how he was teasinghim. "I don't know where to find you, " he said. They paced down the walkin silence. 

Bateman began again. "You see, " he said, "it would be such a wonderfulblindness, it would be so utterly inexcusable in a person like yourself, who had known _what_ the Church of England was; not a Dissenter, not anunlettered layman; but one who had been at Oxford, who had come acrossso many excellent men, who had seen what the Church of England could be, her grave beauty, her orderly and decent activity; who had seen churchesdecorated as they should be, with candlesticks, ciboriums, faldstools, lecterns, antependiums, piscinas, rood-lofts, and sedilia; who, in fact, had seen the Church Service _carried out_, and could desideratenothing;--tell me, my dear good Reding, " taking hold of his button-hole, "what is it you want--what is it? name it. "

"That you would take yourself off, " Charles would have said, had hespoken his mind; he merely said, however, that really he desideratednothing but to be believed when he said that he had no intention ofleaving his own Church. Bateman was incredulous, and thought him close. "Perhaps you are not aware, " he said, "how much is known of thecircumstances of your being sent down. The old Principal was full of thesubject. "

"What! I suppose he told people right and left, " said Reding. 

"Oh, yes, " answered Bateman; "a friend of mine knows him, and happeningto call on him soon after you went down, had the whole story from him. He spoke most kindly of you, and in the highest terms; said that it wasdeplorable how much your mind was warped by the prevalent opinions, andthat he should not be surprised if it turned out you were a Romanisteven while you were at St. Saviour's; anyhow, that you would be one daya Romanist for certain, for that you held that the saints reigning withChrist interceded for us in heaven. But what was stronger, when thereport got about, Sheffield said that he was not surprised at it, thathe always prophesied it. "

"I am much obliged to him, " said Charles. 

"However, you warrant me, " said Bateman, "to contradict it--so Iunderstand you--to contradict it peremptorily; that's enough for me. It's a great relief; it's very satisfactory. Well, I must be going. "

"I don't like to seem to drive you away, " said Charles, "but really youmust be going if you want to get home before nightfall. I hope you don'tfeel lonely or overworked where you are. If you are so at any time, don't scruple to drop in to dinner here; nay, we can take you in for anight, if you wish it. "

Bateman thanked him, and they proceeded to the hall-door together; whenthey were nearly parting, Bateman stopped and said, "Do you know, Ishould like to lend you some books to read. Let me send up to youBramhall's Works, Thorndike, Barrow on the Unity of the Church, andLeslie's Dialogues on Romanism. I could name others, but content myselfwith these at present. They perfectly settle the matter; you can't helpbeing convinced. I'll not say a word more; good-bye to you, good-bye. "

CHAPTER XV. 

Much as Charles loved and prized the company of his mother and sistershe was not sorry to have gentlemen's society, so he accepted withpleasure an invitation which Bateman sent him to dine with him atMelford. Also he wished to show Bateman, what no protestation couldeffect, how absurdly exaggerated were the reports which were circulatedabout him. And as the said Bateman, with all his want of common sense, was really a well-informed man, and well read in English divines, hethought he might incidentally hear something from him which he couldturn to account. When he got to Melford he found a Mr. Campbell had beenasked to meet him; a young Cambridge rector of a neighbouring parish, ofthe same religious sentiments on the whole as Bateman, and, though alittle positive, a man of clear head and vigorous mind. 

They had been going over the church; and the conversation at dinnerturned on the revival of Gothic architecture--an event which gaveunmixed satisfaction to all parties. The subject would have died out, almost as soon as it was started, for want of a difference upon it, hadnot Bateman happily gone on boldly to declare that, if he had his will, there should be no architecture in the English churches but Gothic, andno music but Gregorian. This was a good thesis, distinctly put, and gavescope for a very pretty quarrel. Reding said that all these adjuncts ofworship, whether music or architecture, were national; they were themode in which religious feeling showed itself in particular times andplaces. He did not mean to say that the outward expression of religionin a country might not be guided, but it could not be forced; that itwas as preposterous to make people worship in one's own way, as be merryin one's own way. "The Greeks, " he said, "cut the hair in grief, theRomans let it grow; the Orientals veiled their heads in worship, theGreeks uncovered them; Christians take off their hats in a church, Mahometans their shoes; a long veil is a sign of modesty in Europe, ofimmodesty in Asia. You may as well try to change the size of people, astheir forms of worship. Bateman, we must cut you down a foot, and thenyou shall begin your ecclesiastical reforms. "

"But surely, my worthy friend, " answered Bateman, "you don't mean to saythat there is no natural connexion between internal feeling and outwardexpression, so that one form is no better than another?"

"Far from it, " answered Charles; "but let those who confine their musicto Gregorians put up crucifixes in the highways. Each is therepresentative of a particular place or time. "

"That's what I say of our good friend's short coat and long cassock, "said Campbell; "it is a confusion of different times, ancient andmodern. "

"Or of different ideas, " said Charles, "the cassock Catholic, the coatProtestant. "

"The reverse, " said Bateman; "the cassock is old Hooker's Anglicanhabit: the coat comes from Catholic France. "

"Anyhow, it is what Mr. Reding calls a mixture of ideas, " said Campbell;"and that's the difficulty I find in uniting Gothic and Gregorians. "

"Oh, pardon me, " said Bateman, "they are one idea; they are botheminently Catholic. "

"You can't be more Catholic than Rome, I suppose, " said Campbell; "yetthere's no Gothic there. "

"Rome is a peculiar place, " said Bateman; "besides, my dear friend, ifwe do but consider that Rome has corrupted the pure apostolic doctrine, can we wonder that it should have a corrupt architecture?"

"Why, then, go to Rome for Gregorians?" said Campbell; "I suspect theyare called after Gregory I. Bishop of Rome, whom Protestants considerthe first specimen of Antichrist. "

"It's nothing to us what Protestants think, " answered Bateman. 

"Don't let us quarrel about terms, " said Campbell; "both you and I thinkthat Rome has corrupted the faith, whether she is Antichrist or not. Yousaid so yourself just now. "

"It is true, I did, " said Bateman; "but I make a little distinction. TheChurch of Rome has not _corrupted_ the faith, but has _admitted_corruptions among her people. "

"It won't do, " answered Campbell; "depend on it, we can't stand ourground in controversy unless we in our hearts think very severely of theChurch of Rome. "

"Why, what's Rome to us?" asked Bateman; "we come from the old BritishChurch; we don't meddle with Rome, and we wish Rome not to meddle withus, but she will. "

"Well, " said Campbell, "you but read a bit of the history of theReformation, and you will find that the doctrine that the Pope isAntichrist was the life of the movement. "

"With Ultra-Protestants, not with us, " answered Bateman. 

"Such Ultra-Protestants as the writers of the Homilies, " said Campbell;"but, I say again, I am not contending for names; I only mean, that asthat doctrine was the life of the Reformation, so a belief, which I haveand you too, that there is something bad, corrupt, perilous in theChurch of Rome--that there is a spirit of Antichrist living in her, energizing in her, and ruling her--is necessary to a man's being a goodAnglican. You must believe this, or you ought to go to Rome. "

"Impossible! my dear friend, " said Bateman; "all our doctrine has beenthat Rome and we are sister Churches. "

"I say, " said Campbell, "that without this strong repulsion you will notwithstand the great claims, the overcoming attractions, of the Church ofRome. She is our mother--oh, that word 'mother!'--a mighty mother! Sheopens her arms--oh, the fragrance of that bosom! She is full ofgifts--I feel it, I have long felt it. Why don't I rush into her arms?Because I feel that she is ruled by a spirit which is not she. But didthat distrust of her go from me, was that certainty which I have of hercorruption disproved, I should join her communion to-morrow. "

"This is not very edifying doctrine for Reding, " thought Bateman. "Oh, my good Campbell, " he said, "you are paradoxical to-day. "

"Not a bit of it, " answered Campbell; "our Reformers felt that the onlyway in which they could break the tie of allegiance which bound us toRome was the doctrine of her serious corruption. And so it is with ourdivines. If there is one doctrine in which they agree, it is that Romeis Antichrist, or an Antichrist. Depend upon it, that doctrine isnecessary for our position. "

"I don't quite understand that language, " said Reding; "I see it is usedin various publications. It implies that controversy is a game, and thatdisputants are not looking out for truth, but for arguments. "

"You must not mistake me, Mr. Reding, " answered Campbell; "all I meanis, that you have no leave to trifle with your conviction that Rome isantichristian, if you think so. For if it _is_ so, it is necessary to_say_ so. A poet says, 'Speak _gently_ of our sister's _fall_:' no, ifit is a fall, we must not speak gently of it. At first one says, 'Sogreat a Church! who am I, to speak against her?' Yes, you must, if yourview of her is true: 'Tell truth and shame the Devil. ' Recollect youdon't use your own words; you are sanctioned, protected by all ourdivines. You must, else you can give no sufficient reason for notjoining the Church of Rome. You must speak out, not what you _don't_think, but what you _do_ think, _if_ you do think it. "

"Here's a doctrine!" thought Charles; "why it's putting the controversyinto a nutshell. "

Bateman interposed. "My dear Campbell, " he said, "you are behind theday. We have given up all that abuse against Rome. "

"Then the party is not so clever as I give them credit for being, "answered Campbell; "be sure of this, --those who have given up theirprotests against Rome, either are looking towards her, or have no eyesto see. "

"All we say, " answered Bateman, "is, as I said before, that _we_ don'twish to interfere with Rome; _we_ don't anathematize Rome--Romeanathematizes _us_. "

"It won't do, " said Campbell; "those who resolve to remain in ourChurch, and are using sweet words of Romanism, will be forced back upontheir proper ground in spite of themselves, and will get no thanks fortheir pains. No man can serve two masters; either go to Rome, or condemnRome. For me, the Romish Church has a great deal in it which I can't getover; and thinking so, much as I admire it in parts, I can't helpspeaking, I can't help it. It would not be honest, and it would not beconsistent. "

"Well, he has ended better than he began, " thought Bateman; and hechimed in, "Oh yes, true, too true; it's painful to see it, but there'sa great deal in the Church of Rome which no man of plain sense, noreader of the Fathers, no Scripture student, no true member of theAnglo-Catholic Church can possibly stomach. " This put a corona on thediscussion; and the rest of the dinner passed off pleasantly indeed, butnot very intellectually. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

After dinner it occurred to them that the subject of Gregorians andGothic had been left in the lurch. "How in the world did we get off it?"asked Charles. 

"Well, at least, we have found it, " said Bateman; "and I really shouldlike to hear what you have to say upon it, Campbell. "

"Oh, really, Bateman, " answered he, "I am quite sick of the subject;every one seems to me to be going into extremes: what's the good ofarguing about it? you won't agree with me. "

"I don't see that at all, " answered Bateman; "people often think theydiffer, merely because they have not courage to talk to each other. "

"A good remark, " thought Charles; "what a pity that Bateman, with somuch sense, should have so little common sense!"

"Well, then, " said Campbell, "my quarrel with Gothic and Gregorians, when coupled together, is, that they are two ideas, not one. Havefigured music in Gothic churches, keep your Gregorian for basilicas. "

"My good Campbell, " said Bateman, "you seem oblivious that Gregorianchants and hymns have always accompanied Gothic aisles, Gothic copes, Gothic mitres, and Gothic chalices. "

"Our ancestors did what they could, " answered Campbell; "they were greatin architecture, small in music. They could not use what was not yetinvented. They sang Gregorians because they had not Palestrina. "

"A paradox, a paradox!" cried Bateman. 

"Surely there is a close connexion, " answered Campbell, "between therise and nature of the basilica and of Gregorian unison. Both existedbefore Christianity; both are of Pagan origin; both were afterwardsconsecrated to the service of the Church. "

"Pardon me, " interrupted Bateman, "Gregorians were Jewish, not Pagan. "

"Be it so, for argument sake, " said Campbell; "still, at least, theywere not of Christian origin. Next, both the old music and the oldarchitecture were inartificial and limited, as methods of exhibitingtheir respective arts. You can't have a large Grecian temple, you can'thave a long Gregorian _Gloria_. "

"Not a long one!" said Bateman; "why there's poor Willis used tocomplain how tedious the old Gregorian compositions were abroad. "

"I don't explain myself, " answered Campbell; "of course you may producethem to any length, but merely by addition, not by carrying on themelody. You can put two together, and then have one twice as long aseither. But I speak of a musical piece, which must of course be thenatural development of certain ideas, with one part depending onanother. In like manner, you might make an Ionic temple twice as long ortwice as wide as the Parthenon; but you would lose the beauty ofproportion by doing so. This, then, is what I meant to say of theprimitive architecture and the primitive music, that they soon come totheir limit; they soon are exhausted, and can do nothing more. If youattempt more, it's like taxing a musical instrument beyond its powers. "

"You but try, Bateman, " said Reding, "to make a bass play quadrilles, and you will see what is meant by taxing an instrument. "

"Well, I have heard Lindley play all sorts of quick tunes on his bass, "said Bateman, "and most wonderful it is. "

"Wonderful is the right word, " answered Reding; "it is very wonderful. You say, 'How _can_ he manage it?' and 'It's very wonderful for a bass;'but it is not pleasant in itself. In like manner, I have always felt adisgust when Mr. So-and-so comes forward to make his sweet flute bleatand bray like a hautbois; it's forcing the poor thing to do what it wasnever made for. "

"This is literally true as regards Gregorian music, " said Campbell;"instruments did not exist in primitive times which could execute anyother. But I am speaking under correction; Mr. Reding seems to know moreabout the subject than I do. "

"I have always understood, as you say, " answered Charles, "modern musicdid not come into existence till after the powers of the violin becameknown. Corelli himself, who wrote not two hundred years ago, hardlyventures on the shift. The piano, again, I have heard, has almost givenbirth to Beethoven. "

"Modern music, then, could not be in ancient times, for want of moderninstruments, " said Campbell; "and, in like manner, Gothic architecturecould not exist until vaulting was brought to perfection. Greatmechanical inventions have taken place, both in architecture and inmusic, since the age of basilicas and Gregorians; and each science hasgained by it. "

"It is curious enough, " said Reding, "one thing I have been accustomedto say, quite falls in with this view of yours. When people who are notmusicians have accused Handel and Beethoven of not being _simple_, Ihave always said, 'Is Gothic architecture _simple_?' A cathedralexpresses one idea, but it is indefinitely varied and elaborated in itsparts; so is a symphony or quartett of Beethoven. "

"Certainly, Bateman, you must tolerate Pagan architecture, or you mustin consistency exclude Pagan or Jewish Gregorians, " said Campbell; "youmust tolerate figured music, or reprobate tracery windows. "

"And which are you for, " asked Bateman, "Gothic with Handel, or Romanwith Gregorians?"

"For both in their place, " answered Campbell. "I exceedingly preferGothic architecture to classical. I think it the one true child anddevelopment of Christianity; but I won't, for that reason, discard thePagan style which has been sanctified by eighteen centuries, by theexclusive love of many Christian countries, and by the sanction of ahost of saints. I am for toleration. Give Gothic an ascendancy; berespectful towards classical. "

The conversation slackened. "Much as I like modern music, " saidCharles, "I can't quite go the length to which your doctrine would leadme. I cannot, indeed, help liking Mozart; but surely his music is notreligious. "

"I have not been speaking in defence of particular composers, " saidCampbell; "figured music may be right, yet Mozart or Beethoveninadmissible. In like manner, you don't suppose, because I tolerateRoman architecture, that therefore I like naked cupids to stand forcherubs, and sprawling women for the cardinal virtues. " He paused. "Besides, " he added, "as you were saying yourself just now, we mustconsult the genius of our country and the religious associations of ourpeople. "

"Well, " said Bateman, "I think the perfection of sacred music isGregorian set to harmonies; there you have the glorious old chants, andjust a little modern richness. "

"And I think it just the worst of all, " answered Campbell; "it is amixture of two things, each good in itself, and incongruous together. It's a mixture of the first and second courses at table. It's like thearchitecture of the façade at Milan, half Gothic, half Grecian. "

"It's what is always used, I believe, " said Charles. 

"Oh yes, we must not go against the age, " said Campbell; "it would beabsurd to do so. I only spoke of what was right and wrong on abstractprinciples; and, to tell the truth, I can't help liking the mixturemyself, though I can't defend it. "

Bateman rang for tea; his friends wished to return home soon; it wasthe month of January, and no season for after-dinner strolls. "Well, " hesaid, "Campbell, you are more lenient to the age than to me; you yieldto the age when it sets a figured bass to a Gregorian tone; but youlaugh at me for setting a coat upon a cassock. "

"It's no honour to be the author of a mongrel type, " said Campbell. 

"A mongrel type?" said Bateman; "rather it is a transition state. "

"What are you passing to?" asked Charles. 

"Talking of transitions, " said Campbell abruptly, "do you know that yourman Willis--I don't know his college, he turned Romanist--is living inmy parish, and I have hopes he is making a transition back again. "

"Have you seen him?" said Charles. 

"No; I have called, but was unfortunate; he was out. He still goes tomass, I find. "

"Why, where does he find a chapel?" asked Bateman. 

"At Seaton. A good seven miles from you, " said Charles. 

"Yes, " answered Campbell; "and he walks to and fro every Sunday. "

"That is not like a transition, except a physical one, " observed Reding. 

"A person must go somewhere, " answered Campbell; "I suppose he went tochurch up to the week he joined the Romanists. "

"Very awful, these defections, " said Bateman; "but very satisfactory, amelancholy satisfaction, " with a look at Charles, "that the victims ofdelusions should be at length recovered. "

"Yes, " said Campbell; "very sad indeed. I am afraid we must expect anumber more. "

"Well, I don't know how to think it, " said Charles; "the hold our Churchhas on the mind is so powerful; it is such a wrench to leave it, Icannot fancy any party-tie standing against it. Humanly speaking, thereis far, far more to keep them fast than to carry them away. "

"Yes, if they moved as a party, " said Campbell; "but that is not thecase. They don't move simply because others move, but, poor fellows, because they can't help it. --Bateman, will you let my chaise be broughtround?--How _can_ they help it?" continued he, standing up over thefire; "their Catholic principles lead them on, and there's nothing todrive them back. "

"Why should not their love for their own Church?" asked Bateman; "it isdeplorable, unpardonable. "

"They will keep going one after another, as they ripen, " said Campbell. 

"Did you hear the report--I did not think much of it myself, " saidReding, --"that Smith was moving?"

"Not impossible, " answered Campbell thoughtfully. 

"Impossible, quite impossible, " cried Bateman; "such a triumph to theenemy; I'll not believe it till I see it. "

"_Not_ impossible, " repeated Campbell, as he buttoned and fitted hisgreat-coat about him; "he has shifted his ground. " His carriage wasannounced. "Mr. Reding, I believe I can take you part of your way, ifyou will accept of a seat in my pony-chaise. " Charles accepted theoffer; and Bateman was soon deserted by his two guests. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Campbell put Charles down about half-way between Melford and his home. It was bright moonlight; and, after thanking his new friend for thelift, he bounded over the stile at the side of the road, and was at onceburied in the shade of the copse along which his path lay. Soon he camein sight of a tall wooden Cross, which, in better days, had been areligious emblem, but had served in latter times to mark the boundarybetween two contiguous parishes. The moon was behind him, and the sacredsymbol rose awfully in the pale sky, overhanging a pool, which was stillvenerated in the neighbourhood for its reported miraculous virtue. Charles, to his surprise, saw distinctly a man kneeling on the littlemound out of which the Cross grew; nay, heard him, for his shoulderswere bare, and he was using the discipline upon them, while he repeatedwhat appeared to be some form of devotion. Charles stopped, unwilling tointerrupt, yet not knowing how to pass; but the stranger had caught thesound of feet, and in a few seconds vanished from his view. He wasovercome with a sudden emotion, which he could not control. "O happytimes, " he cried, "when faith was one! O blessed penitent, whoever youare, who know what to believe, and how to gain pardon, and can beginwhere others end! Here am I, in my twenty-third year, uncertain abouteverything, because I have nothing to trust. " He drew near to the Cross, took off his hat, knelt down and kissed the wood, and prayed awhile thatwhatever might be the consequences, whatever the trial, whatever theloss, he might have grace to follow whithersoever God should call him. He then rose and turned to the cold well; he took some water in his palmand drank it. He felt as if he could have prayed to the Saint who ownedthat pool--St. Thomas the Martyr, he believed--to plead for him, and toaid him in his search after the true faith; but something whispered, "Itis wrong;" and he checked the wish. So, regaining his hat, he passedaway, and pursued his homeward path at a brisk pace. 

The family had retired for the night, and he went up without delay tohis bedroom. Passing through his study, he found a letter lying on histable, without post-mark, which had come for him in his absence. Hebroke the seal; it was an anonymous paper, and began as follows:--

 "_Questions for one whom it concerns. _

 1. What is meant by the One Church of which the Creed speaks?"

"This is too much for to-night, " thought Charles, "it is late already;"and he folded it up again and threw it on his dressing-table. "Somewell-meaning person, I dare say, who thinks he knows me. " He wound uphis watch, gave a yawn, and put on his slippers. "Who can there be inthis neighbourhood to write it?" He opened it again. "It's certainly aCatholic's writing, " he said. His mind glanced to the person whom he hadseen under the Cross; perhaps it glanced further. He sat down and beganreading _in extenso:_--

 "_Questions for one whom it concerns. _

 1. What is meant by the One Church of which the Creed speaks?

 2. Is it a generalization or a thing?

 3. Does it belong to past history or to the present time?

 4. Does not Scripture speak of it as a kingdom?

 5. And a kingdom which was to last to the end?

 6. What is a kingdom? and what is meant when Scripture calls the Church a kingdom?

 7. Is it a visible kingdom, or an invisible?

 8. Can a kingdom have two governments, and these acting in contrary directions?

 9. Is identity of institutions, opinions, or race, sufficient to make two nations one kingdom?

 10. Is the Episcopal form, the hierarchy, or the Apostles' Creed, sufficient to make the Churches of Rome and of England one?

 11. Where there are parts, does not unity require union, and a visible unity require a visible union?

 12. How can two religions be the same which have utterly distinct worships and ideas of worship?

 13. Can two religions be one, if the most sacred and peculiar act of worship in the one is called 'a blasphemous fable and dangerous deceit' in the other?

 14. Has not the One Church of Christ one faith?

 15. Can a Church be Christ's which has not one faith?

 16. Which is contradictory to itself in its documents?

 17. And in different centuries?

 18. And in its documents contrasted with its divines?

 19. And in its divines and members one with another?

 20. What is _the_ faith of the English Church?

 21. How many Councils does the English Church admit?

 22. Does the English Church consider the present Nestorian and Jacobite Churches under an anathema, or part of the visible Church?

 23. Is it necessary, or possible, to believe any one but a professed messenger from God?

 24. Is the English Church, does she claim to be, a messenger from God?

 25. Does she impart the truth, or bid us seek it?

 26. If she leaves us to seek it, do members of the English Church seek it with that earnestness which Scripture enjoins?

 27. Is a person safe who lives without faith, even though he seems to have hope and charity?"

Charles got very sleepy before he reached the "twenty-seventhly. " "Itwon't do, " he said; "I am only losing my time. They seem well put; butthey must stand over. " He put the paper from him, said his prayers, andwas soon fast asleep. 

Next morning, on waking, the subject of the letter came into his mind, and he lay for some time thinking over it. "Certainly, " he said, "I dowish very much to be settled either in the English Church or somewhereelse. I wish I knew _what_ Christianity was; I am ready to be at painsto seek it, and would accept it eagerly and thankfully, if found. Butit's a work of time; all the paper-arguments in the world are unequal togiving one a view in a moment. There must be a process; they may shortenit, as medicine shortens physical processes, but they can't supersedeits necessity. I recollect how all my religious doubts and theories wentto flight on my dear father's death. They weren't part of me, and couldnot sustain rough weather. Conviction is the eyesight of the mind, not aconclusion from premises; God works it, and His works are slow. At leastso it is with me. I can't believe on a sudden; if I attempt it, I shallbe using words for things, and be sure to repent it. Or if not, I shallgo right merely by hazard. I must move in what seems God's way; I canbut put myself on the road; a higher power must overtake me, and carryme forward. At present I have a direct duty upon me, which my dearfather left me, to take a good class. This is the path of duty. I won'tput off the inquiry, but I'll let it proceed in that path. God can blessmy reading to my spiritual illumination, as well as anything else. Saulsought his father's asses, and found a kingdom. All in good time. When Ihave taken my degree the subject will properly come on me. " He sighed. "My degree! those odious Articles! rather, when I have passed myexamination. Well, it's no good lying here;" and he jumped up, andsigned himself with the Cross. His eye caught the letter. "It's wellwritten--better than Willis could write; it's not Willis's. There'ssomething about that Willis I don't understand. I wonder how he and hismother get on together. I don't think he _has_ any sisters. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Campbell had been much pleased with Reding, and his interest in him wasnot lessened by a hint from Bateman that his allegiance to the EnglishChurch was in danger. He called on him in no long time, asked him todinner, and, when Charles had returned his invitation, and Campbell hadaccepted it, the beginning of an acquaintance was formed between therectory at Sutton and the family at Boughton which grew into an intimacyas time went on. Campbell was a gentleman, a travelled man, of clearhead and ardent mind, candid, well-read in English divinity, a devotedAnglican, and the incumbent of a living so well endowed as almost to bea dignity. Mary was pleased at the introduction, as bringing her brotherunder the influence of an intellect which he could not make light of;and, as Campbell had a carriage, it was natural that he should wish tosave Charles the loss of a day's reading and the trouble of a muddy walkto the rectory and back by coming over himself to Boughton. Accordinglyit so happened that he saw Charles twice at his mother's for once thathe saw him at Sutton. But whatever came of these visits, nothingoccurred which particularly bears upon the line of our narrative; solet them pass. 

One day Charles called upon Bateman, and, on entering the room, wassurprised to see him and Campbell at luncheon, and in conversation witha third person. There was a moment's surprise and hesitation on seeinghim before they rose and welcomed him as usual. When he looked at thestranger he felt a slight awkwardness himself, which he could notcontrol. It was Willis; and apparently submitted to the process ofreconversion. Charles was evidently _de trop_, but there was no help forit; so he shook hands with Willis, and accepted the pressing call ofBateman to seat himself at table, and to share their bread and cheese. 

Charles sat down opposite Willis, and for a while could not keep hiseyes from him. At first he had some difficulty in believing he hadbefore him the impetuous youth he had known two years and a half before. He had always been silent in general company; but in that he waschanged, as in everything else. Not that he talked more than wasnatural, but he talked freely and easily. The great change, however, wasin his appearance and manner. He had lost his bloom and youthfulness;his expression was sweeter indeed than before, and very placid, butthere was a thin line down his face on each side of his mouth; hischeeks were wanting in fulness, and he had the air of a man of thirty. When he entered into conversation, and became animated, his former selfreturned. 

"I suppose we may all admire this cream at this season, " said Charles, as he helped himself, "for we are none of us Devonshire men. "

"It's not peculiar to Devonshire, " answered Campbell; "that is, theyhave it abroad. At Rome there is a sort of cream or cheese very like it, and very common. "

"Will butter and cream keep in so warm a climate?" asked Charles; "Ifancied oil was the substitute. "

"Rome is not so warm as you fancy, " said Willis, "except during thesummer. "

"Oil? so it is, " said Campbell; "thus we read in Scripture of themultiplication of the oil and meal, which seems to answer to bread andbutter. The oil in Rome is excellent, so clear and pale; you can eat itas milk. "

"The taste, I suppose, is peculiar, " observed Charles. 

"Just at first, " answered Campbell; "but one soon gets used to it. Allsuch substances, milk, butter, cheese, oil, have a particular taste atfirst, which use alone gets over. The rich Guernsey butter is too muchfor strangers, while Russians relish whale-oil. Most of our tastes arein a measure artificial. "

"It is certainly so with vegetables, " said Willis; "when I was a boy Icould not eat beans, spinach, asparagus, parsnips, and I think someothers. "

"Therefore your hermit's fare is not only the most natural, but the onlynaturally palatable, I suppose, --a crust of bread and a draught from thestream, " replied Campbell. 

"Or the Clerk of Copmanhurst's dry peas, " said Charles. 

"The macaroni and grapes of the Neapolitans are as natural and morepalatable, " said Willis. 

"Rather they are a luxury, " said Bateman. 

"No, " answered Campbell, "not a luxury; a luxury is in its very idea asomething _recherché_. Thus Horace speaks of the '_peregrina lagois_. 'What nature yields _sponte suâ_ around you, however delicious, is noluxury. Wild ducks are no luxury in your old neighbourhood, amid yourOxford fens, Bateman; nor grapes at Naples. "

"Then the old women here are luxurious over their sixpenn'rth of tea, "said Bateman; "for it comes from China. "

Campbell was posed for an instant. Somehow neither he nor Bateman werequite at their ease, whether with themselves or with each other; itmight be Charles's sudden intrusion, or something which had happenedbefore it. Campbell answered at length that steamers and railroads weremaking strange changes; that time and place were vanishing, and pricewould soon be the only measure of luxury. 

"This seems the measure also of _grasso_ and _magro_ food in Italy, "said Willis; "for I think there are dispensations for butcher's meat inLent, in consequence of the dearness of bread and oil. "

"This seems to show that the age for abstinences and fastings is past, "observed Campbell; "for it's absurd to keep Lent on beef and mutton. "

"Oh, Campbell, what are you saying?" cried Bateman; "past! are we boundby their lax ways in Italy?"

"I do certainly think, " answered Campbell, "that fasting is unsuitableto this age, in England as well as in Rome. "

"Take care, my fine fellows, " thought Charles; "keep your ranks, or youwon't secure your prisoner. "

"What, not fast on Friday!" cried Bateman; "we always did so mostrigidly at Oxford. "

"It does you credit, " answered Campbell; "but I am of Cambridge. "

"But what do you say to Rubrics and the Calendar?" insisted Bateman. 

"They are not binding, " answered Campbell. 

"They _are_, binding, " said Bateman. 

A pause, as between the rounds of a boxing-match. Reding interposed:"Bateman, cut me, please, a bit of your capital bread--home-made, Isuppose?"

"A thousand pardons!" said Bateman:--"not binding?--Pass it to him, Willis, if you please. Yes, it comes from a farmer, next door. I'm gladyou like it. --I repeat, they _are_ binding, Campbell. "

"An odd sort of binding, when they have never bound, " answered Campbell;"they have existed two or three hundred years; when were they ever putin force?"

"But there they are, " said Bateman, "in the Prayer Book. "

"Yes, and there let them lie and never get out of it, " retortedCampbell; "there they will stay till the end of the story. "

"Oh, for shame!" cried Bateman; "you should aid your mother in adifficulty, and not be like the priest and the Levite. "

"My mother does not wish to be aided, " continued Campbell. 

"Oh, how you talk! What shall I do? What can be done?" cried poorBateman. 

"Done! nothing, " said Campbell; "is there no such thing as the desuetudeof a law? Does not a law cease to be binding when it is not enforced? Iappeal to Mr. Willis. "

Willis, thus addressed, answered that he was no moral theologian, but hehad attended some schools, and he believed it was the Catholic rule thatwhen a law had been promulgated, and was not observed by the majority, if the legislator knew the state of the case, and yet kept silence, hewas considered _ipso facto_ to revoke it. 

"What!" said Bateman to Campbell, "do you appeal to the Romish Church?"

"No, " answered Campbell; "I appeal to the whole Catholic Church, ofwhich the Church of Rome happens in this particular case to be theexponent. It is plain common sense, that, if a law is not enforced, atlength it ceases to be binding. Else it would be quite a tyranny; weshould not know where we were. The Church of Rome does but giveexpression to this common-sense view. "

"Well, then, " said Bateman, "I will appeal to the Church of Rome too. Rome is part of the Catholic Church as well as we: since, then, theRomish Church has ever kept up fastings the ordinance is not abolished;the 'greater part' of the Catholic Church has always observed it. "

"But it has not, " said Campbell; "it now dispenses with fasts, as youhave heard. "

Willis interposed to ask a question. "Do you mean then, " he said toBateman, "that the Church of England and the Church of Rome make oneChurch?"

"Most certainly, " answered Bateman. 

"Is it possible?" said Willis; "in what sense of the word _one_?"

"In every sense, " answered Bateman, "but that of intercommunion. "

"That is, I suppose, " said Willis, "they are one, except that they haveno intercourse with each other. "

Bateman assented. Willis continued: "No intercourse; that is, no socialdealings, no consulting or arranging, no ordering and obeying, no mutualsupport; in short, no visible union. "

Bateman still assented. "Well, that is my difficulty, " said Willis; "Ican't understand how two parts can make up one visible body if they arenot visibly united; unity implies _union_. "

"I don't see that at all, " said Bateman; "I don't see that at all. No, Willis, you must not expect I shall give that up to you; it is one ofour points. There is only one visible Church, and therefore the Englishand Romish Churches are both parts of it. "

Campbell saw clearly that Bateman had got into a difficulty, and he cameto the rescue in his own way. 

"We must distinguish, " he said, "the state of the case more exactly. Akingdom may be divided, it may be distracted by parties, by dissensions, yet be still a kingdom. That, I conceive, is the real condition of theChurch; in this way the Churches of England, Rome, and Greece are one. "

"I suppose you will grant, " said Willis, "that in proportion as arebellion is strong, so is the unity of the kingdom threatened; and if arebellion is successful, or if the parties in a civil war manage todivide the power and territory between them, then forthwith, instead ofone kingdom, we have two. Ten or fifteen years since, Belgium was partof the kingdom of the Netherlands: I suppose you would not call it partof that kingdom now? This seems the case of the Churches of Rome andEngland. "

"Still, a kingdom may be in a state of decay, " replied Campbell;"consider the case of the Turkish Empire at this moment. The Unionbetween its separate portions is so languid, that each separate Pashamay almost be termed a separate sovereign; still it is one kingdom. "

"The Church, then, at present, " said Willis, "is a kingdom tending todissolution?"

"Certainly it is, " answered Campbell. 

"And will ultimately fail?" asked Willis. 

"Certainly, " said Campbell; "when the end comes, according to our Lord'ssaying, 'When the Son of man cometh, shall He find faith on the earth?'just as in the case of the chosen people, the sceptre failed from Judahwhen the Shiloh came. "

"Surely the Church has failed already _before_ the end, " said Willis, "according to the view you take of failing. How _can_ any separation bemore complete than exists at present between Rome, Greece, andEngland?"

"They might excommunicate each other, " said Campbell. 

"Then you are willing, " said Willis, "to assign beforehand somethingdefinite, the occurrence of which will constitute a real separation. "

"Don't do so, " said Reding to Campbell; "it is dangerous; don't commityourself in a moral question; for then, if the thing specified didoccur, it would be difficult to see our way. "

"No, " said Willis; "you certainly _would_ be in a difficulty; but youwould find your way out, I know. In that case you would choose someother _ultimatum_ as your test of schism. There would be, " he added, speaking with some emotion, "'in the lowest depth a lower still. '"

The concluding words were out of keeping with the tone of theconversation hitherto, and fairly excited Bateman, who, for some time, had been an impatient listener. 

"That's a dangerous line, Campbell, " he said, "it is indeed; I can't goalong with you. It will never do to say that the Church is failing; no, it never fails. It is always strong, and pure, and perfect, as theProphets describe it. Look at its cathedrals, abbey-churches, and othersanctuaries, these fitly typify it. "

"My dear Bateman, " answered Campbell, "I am as willing as you tomaintain the fulfilment of the prophecies made to the Church, but wemust allow the _fact_ that the branches of the Church are _divided_, while we maintain the _doctrine_, that the Church should be one. "

"I don't see that at all, " answered Bateman; "no, we need not allow it. There's no such thing as Churches, there's but one Church everywhere, and it is _not_ divided. It is merely the outward forms, appearances, manifestations of the Church that are divided. The Church is one as muchas ever it was. "

"That will never do, " said Campbell; and he stood up before the fire ina state of discomfort. "Nature never intended you for acontroversialist, my good Bateman, " he added to himself. 

"It is as I thought, " said Willis; "Bateman, you are describing aninvisible Church. You hold the indefectibility of the invisible Church, not of the visible. "

"They are in a fix, " thought Charles, "but I will do my best to tow oldBateman out;" so he began: "No, " he said, "Bateman only means that oneChurch presents, in some particular point, a different appearance fromanother; but it does not follow that, in fact, they have not a visibleagreement too. All difference implies agreement; the English and RomanChurches agree visibly and differ visibly. Think of the different stylesof architecture, and you will see, Willis, what he means. A church is achurch all the world over, it is visibly one and the same, and yet howdifferent is church from church! Our churches are Gothic, the southernchurches are Palladian. How different is a basilica from York Cathedral!yet they visibly agree together. No one would mistake either for amosque or a Jewish temple. We may quarrel which is the better style;one likes the basilica, another calls it pagan. "

"That _I_ do, " said Bateman. 

"A little extreme, " said Campbell, "a little extreme, as usual. Thebasilica is beautiful in its place. There are two things which Gothiccannot show--the line or forest of round polished columns, and thegraceful dome, circling above one's head like the blue heaven itself. "

All parties were glad of this diversion from the religious dispute; sothey continued the lighter conversation which had succeeded it withconsiderable earnestness. 

"I fear I must confess, " said Willis, "that the churches at Rome do notaffect me like the Gothic; I reverence them, I feel awe in them, but Ilove, I feel a sensible pleasure at the sight of the Gothic arch. "

"There are other reasons for that in Rome, " said Campbell; "the churchesare so unfinished, so untidy. Rome is a city of ruins! the Christiantemples are built on ruins, and they themselves are generallydilapidated or decayed; thus they are ruins of ruins. " Campbell was onan easier subject than that of Anglo-Catholicism, and, no oneinterrupting him, he proceeded flowingly: "In Rome you have huge highbuttresses in the place of columns, and these not cased with marble, butof cold white plaster or paint. They impart an indescribable forlornlook to the churches. "

Willis said he often wondered what took so many foreigners, that is, Protestants, to Rome; it was so dreary, so melancholy a place; a numberof old, crumbling, shapeless brick masses, the ground unlevelled, thestraight causeways fenced by high monotonous walls, the points ofattraction straggling over broad solitudes, faded palaces, treesuniversally pollarded, streets ankle deep in filth or eyes-and-mouthdeep in a cloud of whirling dust and straws, the climate mostcapricious, the evening air most perilous. Naples was an earthlyparadise; but Rome was a city of faith. To seek the shrines that itcontained was a veritable penance, as was fitting. He understoodCatholics going there; he was perplexed at Protestants. 

"There is a spell about the _limina Apostolorum_, " said Charles; "St. Peter and St. Paul are not there for nothing. "

"There is a more tangible reason, " said Campbell; "it is a place wherepersons of all nations are to be found; no society is so varied as theRoman. You go to a ballroom; your host, whom you bow to in the firstapartment, is a Frenchman; as you advance your eye catches Massena'sgranddaughter in conversation with Mustapha Pasha; you soon findyourself seated between a Yankee _chargé d'affaires_ and a Russiancolonel; and an Englishman is playing the fool in front of you. "

Here Campbell looked at his watch, and then at Willis, whom he haddriven over to Melford to return Bateman's call. It was time for them tobe going, or they would be overtaken by the evening. Bateman, who hadremained in a state of great dissatisfaction since he last spoke, whichhad not been for a quarter of an hour past, did not find himself inspirits to try much to detain either them or Reding; so he was speedilyleft to himself. He drew his chair to the fire, and for a while feltnothing more than a heavy load of disgust. After a time, however, histhoughts began to draw themselves out into series, and took thefollowing form: "It's too bad, too bad, " he said; "Campbell is a veryclever man--far cleverer than I am; a well-read man, too; but he has notact, no tact. It is deplorable; Reding's coming was one misfortune;however, we might have got over that, we might have even turned it to anadvantage; but to use such arguments as he did! how could he hope toconvince him? he made us both a mere laughing-stock. .. . How did he throwoff? Oh, he said that the Rubrics were not binding. Who ever heard sucha thing--at least from an Anglo-Catholic? Why pretend to be a goodCatholic with such views? better call himself a Protestant or Erastianat once, and one would know where to find him. Such a bad impression itmust make on Willis; I saw it did; he could hardly keep from smiling:but Campbell has no tact at all. He goes on, on, his own way, bringingout his own thoughts, which are very clever, original certainly, butnever considering his company. And he's so positive, so knock-me-down;it is quite unpleasant, I don't know how to sit it sometimes. Oh, it isa cruel thing this--the effect must be wretched. Poor Willis! I declareI don't think we have moved him one inch, I really don't. I fancied atone time he was even laughing at _me_. .. . What was it he saidafterwards? there was something else, I know. I recollect; that theCatholic Church was in ruins, had broken to pieces. What a paradox!who'll believe that but he? I declare I am so vexed I don't know what tobe at. " He jumped up and began walking to and fro. "But all this isbecause the Bishops won't interfere; one can't say it, that's the worst, but they are at the bottom of the evil. They have but to put out theirlittle finger and enforce the Rubrics, and then the whole controversywould be at an end. .. . I knew there was something else, yes! He said weneed not fast! But Cambridge men are always peculiar, they always havesome whim or other; he ought to have been at Oxford, and we should havemade a man of him. He has many good points, but he runs theories, andrides hobbies, and drives consequences, to death. "

Here he was interrupted by his clerk, who told him that John Tims hadtaken his oath that his wife should not be churched before thecongregation, and was half-minded to take his infant to the Methodistsfor baptism; and his thoughts took a different direction. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The winter had been on the whole dry and pleasant, but in February andMarch the rains were so profuse, and the winds so high, that Bateman sawvery little of either Charles or Willis. He did not abandon his designson the latter, but it was an anxious question how best to conduct them. As to Campbell, he was resolved to exclude him from any participation inthem; but he hesitated about Reding. He had found him far lessdefinitely Roman than he expected, and he conjectured that, by makinghim his confidant and employing him against Willis, he really mightsucceed in giving him an Anglican direction. Accordingly, he told him ofhis anxiety to restore Willis to "the Church of his baptism;" and notdiscouraged by Charles's advice to let well alone, for he might succeedin drawing him from Rome without reclaiming him to Anglicanism, theweather having improved, he asked the two to dinner on one of the laterSundays in Lent. He determined to make a field-day of it; and, with thatview, he carefully got up some of the most popular works against theChurch of Rome. After much thought he determined to direct his attack onsome of the "practical evils, " as he considered them, of "Romanism;" asbeing more easy of proof than points of doctrine and history, in which, too, for what he knew, Willis might by this time be better read thanhimself. He considered, too, that, if Willis had been at all shaken inhis new faith when he was abroad, it was by the practicalexemplification which he had before his eyes of the issue of itspeculiar doctrines when freely carried out. Moreover, to tell the truth, our good friend had not a very clear apprehension how much doctrine heheld in common with the Church of Rome, or where he was to stop in theseveral details of Pope Pius's Creed; in consequence, it was evidentlysafer to confine his attack to matters of practice. 

"You see, Willis, " he said, as they sat down to table, "I have given youabstinence food, not knowing whether you avail yourself of thedispensation. We shall eat meat ourselves; but don't think we don't fastat proper times; I don't agree with Campbell at all; we don't fast, however, on Sunday. That is our rule, and, I take it, a primitive one. "

Willis answered that he did not know how the primitive usage lay, but hesupposed that both of them allowed that matters of discipline might bealtered by the proper authority. 

"Certainly, " answered Bateman, "so that everything is done consistentlywith the inspired text of Scripture;"--he stopped, itching, if he could, to bring in some great subject, but not seeing how. He saw he must rush_in medias res_; so he added, --"with which inspired text, I presume, what one sees in foreign churches is not very consistent. "

"What? I suppose you mean antependia, rere-dosses, stone altars, copes, and mitres, " said Willis innocently; "which certainly are not inScripture. "

"True, " said Bateman; "but these, though not in Scripture, are notinconsistent with Scripture. They are all very right; but the worship ofSaints, especially the Blessed Virgin, and of relics, the gabbling overprayers in an unknown tongue, Indulgences, and infrequent communions, Isuspect are directly unscriptural. "

"My dear Bateman, " said Willis, "you seem to live in an atmosphere ofcontroversy; so it was at Oxford; there was always argument going on inyour rooms. Religion is a thing to enjoy, not to quarrel about; give mea slice more of that leg of mutton. "

"Yes, Bateman, " said Reding, "you must let us enjoy our meat. Willisdeserves it, for I believe he has had a fair walk to-day. Have you notwalked a good part of the way to Seaton and back? a matter of fourteenmiles, and hilly ground; it can't be dry, too, in parts yet. "

"True, " said Bateman; "take a glass of wine, Willis; it's good Madeira;an aunt of mine sent it me. "

"He puts us to shame, " said Charles, "who have stepped into church fromour bedroom; he has trudged a pilgrimage to his. "

"I'm not saying a word against our dear friend Willis, " said Bateman;"it was merely a point on which I thought he would agree with me, thatthere were many corruptions of worship in foreign churches. "

At last, when his silence was observable, Willis said that he supposedthat persons who were not Catholics could not tell what were corruptionsand what not. Here the subject dropped again; for Willis did not seem inhumour--perhaps he was too tired--to continue it. So they ate and drank, with nothing but very commonplace remarks to season their meal withal, till the cloth was removed. The table was then shoved back a bit, andthe three young men got over the fire, which Bateman made burn brightly. Two of them at least had deserved some relaxation, and they were the twowho were to be opponent and respondent in the approaching argument--onehad had a long walk, the other had had two full services, a baptism, anda funeral. The armistice continued a good quarter of an hour, whichCharles and Willis spent in easy conversation; till Bateman, who hadbeen priming himself the while with his controversial points, foundhimself ready for the assault, and opened it in form. 

"Come, my dear Willis, " he said, "I can't let you off so; I am sure whatyou saw abroad scandalized you. "

This was almost rudely put. Willis said that, had he been a Protestant, he might have been easily shocked; but he had been a Catholic; and hedrew an almost imperceptible sigh. Besides, had he had a temptation tobe shocked, he should have recollected that he was in a Church which inall greater matters could not err. He had not come to the Church tocriticize, he said, but to learn. "I don't know, " he said, "what ismeant by saying that we ought to have faith, that faith is a grace, that faith is the means of our salvation, if there is nothing toexercise it. Faith goes against sight; well, then, unless there aresights which offend you, there is nothing for it to go against. "

Bateman called this a paradox; "If so, " he said, "why don't we becomeMahometans? we should have enough to believe then. "

"Why, just consider, " said Willis; "supposing your friend, an honourableman, is accused of theft, and appearances are against him, would you atonce admit the charge? It would be a fair trial of your faith in him;and if he were able in the event satisfactorily to rebut it, I don'tthink he would thank you, should you have waited for his explanationbefore you took his part, instead of knowing him too well to suspect it. If, then, I come to the Church with faith in her, whatever I see there, even if it surprises me, is but a trial of my faith. "

"That is true, " said Charles; "but there must be some ground for faith;we do not believe without reason; and the question is, whether what theChurch does, as in worship, is not a fair matter to form a judgmentupon, for or against. "

"A Catholic, " said Willis, "as I was when I was abroad, has alreadyfound his grounds, for he believes; but for one who has not--I mean aProtestant--I certainly consider it is very uncertain whether he willtake _the_ view of Catholic worship which he ought to take. It mayeasily happen that he will not understand it. "

"Yet persons have before now been converted by the sight of Catholicworship, " said Reding. 

"Certainly, " answered Willis: "God works in a thousand ways; there ismuch in Catholic worship to strike a Protestant, but there is much whichwill perplex him; for instance, what Bateman has alluded to, ourdevotion to the Blessed Virgin. "

"Surely, " said Bateman, "this is a plain matter; it is quite impossiblethat the worship paid by Roman Catholics to the Blessed Mary should notinterfere with the supreme adoration due to the Creator alone. "

"This is just an instance in point, " said Willis; "you see you arejudging _à priori_; you know nothing of the state of the case fromexperience, but you say, 'It must be; it can't be otherwise. ' This isthe way a Protestant judges, and comes to one conclusion; a Catholic, who acts, and does not speculate, feels the truth of the contrary. "

"Some things, " said Bateman, "are so like axioms, as to supersede trial. On the other hand, familiarity is very likely to hide from people thereal evil of certain practices. "

"How strange it is, " answered Willis, "that you don't perceive that thisis the very argument which various sects urge against you Anglicans! Forinstance, the Unitarian says that the doctrine of the Atonement _must_lead to our looking at the Father, not as a God of love, but ofvengeance only; and he calls the doctrine of eternal punishment immoral. And so, the Wesleyan or Baptist declares that it is an absurdity tosuppose any one can hold the doctrine of baptismal regeneration, andreally be spiritual; that the doctrine _must_ have a numbing effect onthe mind, and destroy its simple reliance on the atonement of Christ. Iwill take another instance: many a good Catholic, who never came acrossAnglicans, is as utterly unable to realize your position as you are torealize his. He cannot make out how you can be so illogical as not to goforward or backward; nay, he pronounces your professed state of mindimpossible; he does not believe in its existence. I may deplore yourstate; I may think you illogical and worse; but I know it is a statewhich does exist. As, then, I admit that a person can hold one CatholicChurch, yet without believing that the Roman Communion is it, so I putit to you, even as an _argumentum ad hominem_, whether you ought not tobelieve that we can honour our Blessed Lady as the first of creatures, without interfering with the honour due to God? At most, you ought tocall us only illogical, you ought not to deny that we do what we say wedo. "

"I make a distinction, " said Bateman; "it is quite possible, I fullygrant, for an educated Romanist to distinguish between the devotion paidby him to the Blessed Virgin, and the worship of God; I only say thatthe multitude will not distinguish. "

"I know you say so, " answered Willis; "and still, I repeat, not fromexperience, but on an _à priori_ ground. You say, not 'it is so, ' but'it _must_ be so. '"

There was a pause in the conversation, and then Bateman recommenced it. 

"You may give us some trouble, " said he, laughing, "but we are resolvedto have you back, my good Willis. Now consider, you are a lover oftruth: is that Church from heaven which tells untruths?"

Willis laughed too; "We must define the words _truth_ and _untruth_, " hesaid; "but, subject to that definition, I have no hesitation inenunciating the truism, that a Church is not from heaven which tellsuntruths. "

"Of course, you can't deny the proposition, " said Bateman; "well, then, is it not quite certain that in Rome itself there are relics which alllearned men now give up, and which yet are venerated as relics? Forinstance, Campbell tells me that the reputed heads of St. Peter and St. Paul, in some great Roman basilica, are certainly not the heads of theApostles, because the head of St. Paul was found with his body, afterthe fire at his church some years since. "

"I don't know about the particular instance, " answered Willis; "but youare opening a large question which cannot be settled in a few words. IfI must speak, I should say this: I should begin with the assumption thatthe existence of relics is not improbable; do you grant _that_?"

"I grant nothing, " said Bateman; "but go on. "

"Why you have plenty of heathen relics, which you admit. What isPompeii, and all that is found there, but one vast heathen relic? whyshould there not be Christian relics in Rome and elsewhere as well aspagan?"

"Of course, of course, " said Bateman. 

"Well, and relics may be identified. You have the tomb of the Scipios, with their names on them. Did you find ashes in one of them, I supposeyou would be pretty certain that they were the ashes of a Scipio. "

"To the point, " cried Bateman, "quicker. "

"St. Peter, " continued Willis, "speaks of David, 'whose sepulchre iswith you unto this day. ' Therefore it's nothing wonderful that areligious relic should be preserved eleven hundred years, and identifiedto be such, when a nation makes a point of preserving it. "

"This is beating about the bush, " cried Bateman impatiently; "get onquicker. "

"Let me go on my own way, " said Willis--"then there is nothingimprobable, considering Christians have always been very careful aboutthe memorials of sacred things--"

"You've not proved that, " said Bateman, fearing that some manoeuvre, he could not tell what, was in progress. 

"Well, " said Willis, "you don't doubt it, I suppose, at least from thefourth century, when St. Helena brought from the Holy Land the memorialsof our Lord's passion, and lodged them at Rome in the Basilica, whichwas thereupon called Santa Croce. As to the previous times ofpersecution, Christians, of course, had fewer opportunities of showing asimilar devotion, and historical records are less copious; yet, in spiteof this, its existence is as certain as any fact of history. Theycollected the bones of St. Polycarp, the immediate disciple of St. John, after he was burnt; as of St. Ignatius before him, after his exposure tothe beasts; and so in like manner the bones or blood of all the martyrs. No one doubts it; I never heard of any one who did. So the disciplestook up the Baptist's body--it would have been strange if they hadnot--and buried it 'in _the_ sepulchre, ' as the Evangelist says, speaking of it as known. Now, why should they not in like manner, andeven with greater reason, have rescued the bodies of St. Peter and St. Paul, if it were only for decent burial? Is it then wonderful, if thebodies were rescued, that they should be afterwards preserved?"

"But they can't be in two places at once, " said Bateman. 

"But hear me, " answered Willis; "I say then if there is a traditionthat in a certain place there is a relic of an apostle, there is atfirst sight a probability that it _is_ there; the presumption is in itsfavour. Can you deny it? Well, if the same relic is reported to be intwo places, then one or the other tradition is erroneous, and the _primâfacie_ force of both traditions is weakened; but I should not actuallydiscard either at once; each has its force still, though neither sogreat a force. Now, suppose there are circumstances which confirm theone, the other is weakened still further, and at length the probabilityof its truth may become evanescent; and when a fair interval has passed, and there is no change of evidence in its favour, then it is at lengthgiven up. But all this is a work of time; meanwhile, it is not a bitmore of an objection to the doctrine and practice of relic-venerationthat a body is said to lie in two places, than to profane history thatCharles I. Was reported by some authorities to be buried at Windsor, byothers at Westminster; which question was decided just before ourtimes. It is a question of evidence, and must be treated as such. "

"But if St. Paul's head was found under his own church, " said Bateman, "it's pretty clear it is not preserved at the other basilica. "

"True, " answered Willis; "but grave questions of this kind cannot bedecided in a moment. I don't know myself the circumstances of the case, and do but take your account of it. It has to be proved, then, Isuppose, that it _was_ St. Paul's head which was found with his body;for, since he was beheaded, it would not be attached to it. This is onequestion, and others would arise. It is not easy to settle a question ofhistory. Questions which seem settled revive. It is very well forsecular historians to give up a tradition or testimony at once, and fora generation to oh-oh it; but the Church cannot do so; she has areligious responsibility, and must move slowly. Take the _chance_ of itsturning out that the heads at St. John Lateran were, after all, those ofthe two Apostles, and that she had cast them aside. Questions, I say, revive. Did not Walpole make it highly probable that the two littleprinces had a place in the procession at King Richard's coronation, though a century before him two skeletons of boys were found in theTower at the very place where the children of Edward were said to havebeen murdered and buried by the Duke of Gloucester? I speak from memory, but the general fact which I am illustrating is undeniable. Ussher, Pearson, and Voss proved that St. Ignatius's shorter Epistles weregenuine; and now, after the lapse of two centuries, the question is atleast plausibly mooted again. "

There was another pause, while Bateman thought over his facts andarguments, but nothing was forthcoming at the moment. Willis continued:"You must consider also that reputed relics, such as you have mentioned, are generally in the custody of religious bodies, who are naturally veryjealous of attempts to prove them spurious, and, with a pardonable_esprit de corps_, defend them with all their might, and opposeobstacles in the way of an adverse decision; just as your own societydefends, most worthily, the fair fame of your foundress, Queen Boadicea. Were the case given against her by every tribunal in the land, yourvaliant and loyal Head would not abandon her; it would break hismagnanimous heart; he would die in her service as a good knight. Bothfrom religious duty, then, and from human feeling, it is a very arduousthing to get a received relic disowned. "

"Well, " said Bateman, "to my poor judgment it does seem a dishonesty tokeep up inscriptions, for instance, which every one knows not to betrue. "

"My dear Bateman, that is begging the question, " said Willis; "_every_body does _not_ know it; it is a point in course of settlement, but notsettled; you may say that _individuals_ have settled it, or it _may_ besettled, but it is not settled yet. Parallel cases happen frequently incivil matters, and no one speaks harshly of existing individuals orbodies in consequence. Till lately the Monument in London bore aninscription to the effect that London had been burned by us poorPapists. A hundred years ago, Pope, the poet, had called the 'column' 'atall bully' which 'lifts its head and lies, ' Yet the inscription was notremoved till a few years since--I believe when the Monument wasrepaired. That was an opportunity for erasing a calumny which, tillthen, had not been definitely pronounced to be such, and not pronouncedin deference to the _primâ facie_ authority of a statementcontemporaneous with the calamity which it recorded. There is never a_point_ of time at which you can say, 'The tradition is now disproved. 'When a received belief has been apparently exposed, the question liesdormant for the opportunity of fresh arguments; when none appear, thenat length an accident, such as the repair of a building, despatches it. "

"We have somehow got off the subject, " thought Bateman; and he satfidgeting about to find the thread of his argument. Reding put in anobjection; he said that no one knew or cared about the inscription onthe Monument, but religious veneration was paid to the two heads at St. John Lateran. 

"Right, " said Bateman, "that's just what I meant to say. "

"Well, " answered Willis, "as to the particular case--mind, I am takingyour account of it, for I don't profess to know how the matter lies. Butlet us consider the extent of the mistake. There is no doubt in theworld that at least they are the heads of martyrs; the only question isthis, and no more, whether they are the very heads of the two Apostles. From time immemorial they have been preserved upon or under the altar asthe heads of saints or martyrs; and it requires to know very little ofChristian antiquities to be perfectly certain that they really aresaintly relics, even though unknown. Hence the sole mistake is, thatCatholics have venerated, what ought to be venerated anyhow, under awrong name; perhaps have expected miracles (which they had a right toexpect), and have experienced them (as they might well experience them), because they _were_ the relics of saints, though they were in error asto what saints. This surely is no great matter. "

"You have made three assumptions, " said Bateman; "first, that none butthe relics of saints have been placed under altars; secondly, that theserelics were always there; thirdly--thirdly--I know there was athird--let me see--"

"Most true, " said Willis, interrupting him, "and I will help you to someothers. I have assumed that there are Christians in the world calledCatholics; again, that they think it right to venerate relics; but, mydear Bateman, these were the grounds, and not the point of our argument;and if they are to be questioned, it must be in a distinct dispute: butI really think we have had enough of disputation. "

"Yes, Bateman, " said Charles; "it is getting late. I must think ofreturning. Give us some tea, and let us begone. "

"Go home?" cried Bateman; "why, we have just done dinner, and donenothing else as yet; I had a great deal to say. "

However, he rang the bell for tea, and had the table cleared. 

CHAPTER XX. 

The conversation flagged; Bateman was again busy with his memory; and hewas getting impatient too; time was slipping away, and no blow struck;moreover, Willis was beginning to gape, and Charles seemed impatient tobe released. "These Romanists put things so plausibly, " he said tohimself, "but very unfairly, most unfairly; one ought to be up to theirdodges. I dare say, if the truth were known, Willis has had lessons; helooks so demure; I dare say he is keeping back a great deal, and playingupon my ignorance. Who knows? perhaps he's a concealed Jesuit. " It wasan awful thought, and suspended the course of his reflections someseconds. "I wonder what he does really think; it's so difficult to getat the bottom of them; they won't tell tales, and they are underobedience; one never knows when to believe them. I suspect he has beenwofully disappointed with Romanism; he looks so thin; but of course hewon't say so; it hurts a man's pride, and he likes to be consistent; hedoesn't like to be laughed at, and so he makes the best of things. Iwish I knew how to treat him; I was wrong in having Reding here; ofcourse Willis would not be confidential before a third person. He'slike the fox that lost his tail. It was bad tact in me; I see it now;what a thing it is to have tact! it requires very delicate tact. Thereare so many things I wished to say, about Indulgences, about their soseldom communicating; I think I must ask him about the Mass. " So, afterfidgeting a good deal within, while he was ostensibly employed in makingtea, he commenced his last assault. 

"Well, we shall have you back again among us by next Christmas, Willis, "he said; "I can't give you greater law; I am certain of it; it takestime, but slow and sure. What a joyful time it will be! I can't tellwhat keeps you; you are doing nothing; you are flung into a corner; youare wasting life. _What_ keeps you?"

Willis looked odd; then he simply answered, "Grace. "

Bateman was startled, but recovered himself; "Heaven forbid, " he said, "that I should treat these things lightly, or interfere with you unduly. I know, my dear friend, what a serious fellow you are; but do tell me, just tell me, how can you justify the Mass, as it is performed abroad;how can it be called a 'reasonable service, ' when all parties conspireto gabble it over as if it mattered not a jot who attended to it, oreven understood it? Speak, man, speak, " he added, gently shaking him bythe shoulder. 

"These are such difficult questions, " answered Willis; "must I speak?Such difficult questions, " he continued, rising into a more animatedmanner, and kindling as he went on; "I mean, people view them sodifferently: it is so difficult to convey to one person the idea ofanother. The idea of worship is different in the Catholic Church fromthe idea of it in your Church; for, in truth, the _religions_ aredifferent. Don't deceive yourself, my dear Bateman, " he said tenderly, "it is not that ours is your religion carried a little farther, --alittle too far, as you would say. No, they differ in kind, not indegree; ours is one religion, yours another. And when the time comes, and come it will, for you, alien as you are now, to submit yourself tothe gracious yoke of Christ, then, my dearest Bateman, it will be_faith_ which will enable you to bear the ways and usages of Catholics, which else might perhaps startle you. Else, the habits of years, theassociations in your mind of a certain outward behaviour with realinward acts of devotion, might embarrass you, when you had to conformyourself to other habits, and to create for yourself other associations. But this faith, of which I speak, the great gift of God, will enable youin that day to overcome yourself, and to submit, as your judgment, yourwill, your reason, your affections, so your tastes and likings, to therule and usage of the Church. Ah, that faith should be necessary in sucha matter, and that what is so natural and becoming under thecircumstances, should have need of an explanation! I declare, to me, " hesaid, and he clasped his hands on his knees, and looked forward as ifsoliloquizing, "to me nothing is so consoling, so piercing, sothrilling, so overcoming, as the Mass, said as it is among us. I couldattend Masses for ever, and not be tired. It is not a mere form ofwords, --it is a great action, the greatest action that can be on earth. It is, not the invocation merely, but, if I dare use the word, theevocation of the Eternal. He becomes present on the altar in flesh andblood, before whom angels bow and devils tremble. This is that awfulevent which is the scope, and is the interpretation, of every part ofthe solemnity. Words are necessary, but as means, not as ends; they arenot mere addresses to the throne of grace, they are instruments of whatis far higher, of consecration, of sacrifice. They hurry on as ifimpatient to fulfil their mission. Quickly they go, the whole is quick;for they are all parts of one integral action. Quickly they go; for theyare awful words of sacrifice, they are a work too great to delay upon;as when it was said in the beginning, 'What thou doest, do quickly. 'Quickly they pass; for the Lord Jesus goes with them, as He passed alongthe lake in the days of His flesh, quickly calling first one and thenanother. Quickly they pass; because as the lightning which shineth fromone part of the heaven unto the other, so is the coming of the Son ofMan. Quickly they pass; for they are as the words of Moses, when theLord came down in the cloud, calling on the Name of the Lord as Hepassed by, 'The Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, long-suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth. ' And as Moses on themountain, so we too 'make haste and bow our heads to the earth, andadore. ' So we, all around, each in his place, look out for the greatAdvent, 'waiting for the moving of the water. ' Each in his place, withhis own heart, with his own wants, with his own thoughts, with his ownintention, with his own prayers, separate but concordant, watching whatis going on, watching its progress, uniting in its consummation;--notpainfully and hopelessly following a hard form of prayer from beginningto end, but, like a concert of musical instruments, each different, butconcurring in a sweet harmony, we take our part with God's priest, supporting him, yet guided by him. There are little children there, andold men, and simple labourers, and students in seminaries, priestspreparing for Mass, priests making their thanksgiving; there areinnocent maidens, and there are penitent sinners; but out of these manyminds rises one eucharistic hymn, and the great Action is the measureand the scope of it. And oh, my dear Bateman, " he added, turning to him, "you ask me whether this is not a formal, unreasonable service--it iswonderful!" he cried, rising up, "quite wonderful. When will these dear, good people be enlightened? _O Sapientia, fortiter suaviterque disponensomnia, O Adonai, O Clavis David et Exspectatio gentium, veni adsalvandum nos, Domine Deus noster. _"

Now, at least, there was no mistaking Willis. Bateman stared, and wasalmost frightened at a burst of enthusiasm which he had been far fromexpecting. "Why, Willis, " he said, "it is not true, then, after all, what we heard, that you were somewhat dubious, shaky, in your adherenceto Romanism? I'm sure I beg your pardon; I would not for the world haveannoyed you, had I known the truth. "

Willis's face still glowed, and he looked as youthful and radiant as hehad been two years before. There was nothing ungentle in hisimpetuosity; a smile, almost a laugh, was on his face, as if he washalf ashamed of his own warmth; but this took nothing from its evidentsincerity. He seized Bateman's two hands, before the latter knew wherehe was, lifted him up out of his seat, and, raising his own mouth closeto his ear, said, in a low voice, "I would to God, that not only thou, but also all who hear me this day, were both in little and in much suchas I am, except these chains. " Then, reminding him it had grown late, and bidding him good-night, he left the room with Charles. 

Bateman remained a while with his back to the fire after the door hadclosed; presently he began to give expression to his thoughts. "Well, "he said, "he's a brick, a regular brick; he has almost affected memyself. What a way those fellows have with them! I declare his touch hasmade my heart beat; how catching enthusiasm is! Any one but I mightreally have been unsettled. He _is_ a real good fellow; what a pity wehave not got him! he's just the sort of man we want. He'd make asplendid Anglican; he'd convert half the Dissenters in the country. Well, we shall have them in time; we must not be impatient. But the ideaof his talking of converting _me_! 'in little and in much, ' as he wordedit! By-the-bye, what did he mean by 'except these chains'?" He satruminating on the difficulty; at first he was inclined to think that, after all, he might have some misgiving about his position; then hethought that perhaps he had a hair-shirt or a _catenella_ on him; andlastly, he came to the conclusion that he had just meant nothing at all, and did but finish the quotation he had begun. 

After passing some little time in this state, he looked towards thetea-tray; poured himself out another cup of tea; ate a bit of toast;took the coals off the fire; blew out one of the candles, and, taking upthe other, left the parlour and wound like an omnibus up the steeptwisting staircase to his bedroom. 

Meanwhile Willis and Charles were proceeding to their respective homes. For a while they had to pursue the same path, which they did in silence. Charles had been moved far more than Bateman, or rather touched, by theenthusiasm of his Catholic friend, though, from a difficulty in findinglanguage to express himself, and a fear of being carried off his legs, he had kept his feelings to himself. When they were about to part, Willis said to him, in a subdued tone, "You are soon going to Oxford, dearest Reding; oh, that you were one with us! You have it in you. Ihave thought of you at Mass many times. Our priest has said Mass foryou. Oh, my dear friend, quench not God's grace; listen to His call; youhave had what others have not. What you want is faith. I suspect youhave quite proof enough; enough to be converted on. But faith is a gift;pray for that great gift, without which you cannot come to the Church;without which, " and he paused, "you cannot walk aright when you are inthe Church. And now farewell! alas, our path divides; all is easy to himthat believeth. May God give you that gift of faith, as He has given me!Farewell again; who knows when I may see you next, and where? may it bein the courts of the true Jerusalem, the Queen of Saints, the HolyRoman Church, the Mother of us all!" He drew Charles to him and kissedhis cheek, and was gone before Charles had time to say a word. 

Yet Charles could not have spoken had he had ever so much opportunity. He set off at a brisk pace, cutting down with his stick the twigs andbrambles which the pale twilight discovered in his path. It seemed as ifthe kiss of his friend had conveyed into his own soul the enthusiasmwhich his words had betokened. He felt himself possessed, he knew nothow, by a high superhuman power, which seemed able to push throughmountains, and to walk the sea. With winter around him, he felt withinlike the spring-tide, when all is new and bright. He perceived that hehad found, what indeed he had never sought, because he had never knownwhat it was, but what he had ever wanted, --a soul sympathetic with hisown. He felt he was no longer alone in the world, though he was losingthat true congenial mind the very moment he had found him. Was this, heasked himself, the communion of Saints? Alas! how could it be, when hewas in one communion and Willis in another? "O mighty Mother!" burstfrom his lips; he quickened his pace almost to a trot, scaling the steepascents and diving into the hollows which lay between him and Boughton. "O mighty Mother!" he still said, half unconsciously; "O mighty Mother!I come, O mighty Mother! I come; but I am far from home. Spare me alittle; I come with what speed I may, but I am slow of foot, and not asothers, O mighty Mother!"

By the time he had walked two miles in this excitement, bodily andmental, he felt himself, as was not wonderful, considerably exhausted. He slackened his pace, and gradually came to himself, but still he wenton, as if mechanically, "O mighty Mother!" Suddenly he cried, "Hallo!where did I get these words? Willis did not use them. Well, I must be onmy guard against these wild ways. Any one can be an enthusiast;enthusiasm is not truth . .. O mighty Mother!. .. Alas, I know where myheart is! but I must go by reason . .. O mighty Mother!"

CHAPTER XXI. 

The time came at length for Charles to return to Oxford; but during thelast month scruples had arisen in his mind, whether, with his presentfeelings, he could consistently even present himself for hisexamination. No subscription was necessary for his entrance into theschools, but he felt that the honours of the class-list were onlyintended for those who were _bonâ fide_ adherents of the Church ofEngland. He laid his difficulty before Carlton, who in consequence didhis best to ascertain thoroughly his present state of mind. It seemedthat Charles had no _intention_, either now or at any future day, ofjoining the Church of Rome; that he felt he could not take such a stepat present without distinct sin; that it would simply be against hisconscience to do so; that he had no feeling whatever that God called himto do so; that he felt that nothing could justify so serious an act butthe conviction that he could not be saved in the Church to which hebelonged; that he had no such feeling; that he had no definite caseagainst his own Church sufficient for leaving it, nor any definite viewthat the Church of Rome was the One Church of Christ:--that still hecould not help suspecting that one day he should think otherwise; heconceived the day might come, nay would come, when he should have thatconviction which at present he had not, and which of course would be acall on him to act upon it, by leaving the Church of England for that ofRome; he could not tell distinctly why he so anticipated, except thatthere were so many things which he thought right in the Church of Rome, and so many which he thought wrong in the Church of England; and, because, too, the more he had an opportunity of hearing and seeing, thegreater cause he had to admire and revere the Roman Catholic system, andto be dissatisfied with his own. Carlton, after carefully consideringthe case, advised him to go in for his examination. He acted thus, onthe one hand, as vividly feeling the changes which take place in theminds of young men, and the difficulty of Reding foretelling his ownstate of opinions two years to come; and, on the other, from thereasonable anticipation that a contrary advice would have been the veryway to ripen his present doubts on the untenableness of Anglicanism intoconviction. 

Accordingly, his examination came off in due time; the schools werefull, he did well, and his class was considered to be secure. Sheffieldfollowed soon after, and did brilliantly. The list came out; Sheffieldwas in the first class, Charles in the second. There is always ofnecessity a good deal of accident in these matters; but in the presentcase reasons enough could be given to account for the unequal success ofthe two friends. Charles had lost some time by his father's death, andfamily matters consequent upon it; and his virtual rustication for thelast six months had been a considerable disadvantage to him. Moreover, though he had been a careful, persevering reader, he certainly had notrun the race for honours with the same devotion as Sheffield; nor hadhis religious difficulties, particularly his late indecision aboutpresenting himself at all, been without their serious influence upon hisattention and his energy. As success had not been the first desire ofhis soul, so failure was not his greatest misery. He would have muchpreferred success; but in a day or two he found he could well endure thewant of it. 

Now came the question about his degree, which could not be taken withoutsubscription to the Articles. Another consultation followed withCarlton. There was no need of his becoming a B. A. At the moment; nothingwould be gained by it; better that he should postpone the step. He hadbut to go down and say nothing about it; no one would be the wiser; andif, at the end of six months, as Carlton sanguinely anticipated, hefound himself in a more comfortable frame of mind, then let him come up, and set all right. 

What was he to do with himself at the moment? There was littledifficulty here either, what to propose. He had better be reading withsome clergyman in the country; thus he would at once be preparing fororders, and clearing his mind on the points which at present troubledhim; besides, he might thus have some opportunity for parochial duty, which would have a tranquillizing and sobering effect on his mind. As tothe books to which he should give his attention, of course the choicewould rest with the clergyman who was to guide him; but for himselfCarlton would not recommend the usual works in controversy with Rome, for which the Anglican Church was famous; rather those which are of apositive character, which treated subjects philosophically, historically, or doctrinally, and displayed the peculiar principles ofthat Church; Hooker's great work, for instance; or Bull's _Defensio_ and_Harmonia_, or Pearson's _Vindiciæ_, or Jackson on the Creed, a noblework; to which Laud on Tradition might be added, though its form wascontroversial. Such, too, were Bingham's Antiquities, Waterland on theUse of Antiquity, Wall on Infant Baptism, and Palmer on the Liturgy. Norought he to neglect practical and devotional authors, as Bishops Taylor, Wilson, and Horne. The most important point remained; whither was he tobetake himself? did he know of any clergyman in the country who would bewilling to receive him as a friend and a pupil? Charles thought ofCampbell, with whom he was on the best of terms; and Carlton knew enoughof him by reputation, to be perfectly sure that he could not be in saferhands. 

Charles, in consequence, made the proposal to him, and it was accepted. Nothing then remained for him but to pay a few bills, to pack up somebooks which he had left in a friend's room, and then to bid adieu, atleast for a time, to the cloisters and groves of the University. Hequitted in June, when everything was in that youthful and fragrantbeauty which he had admired so much in the beginning of his residencethree years before. 

Part III. 

CHAPTER I. 

But now we must look forward, not back. Once before we took leave topass over nearly two years in the life of the subject of this narrative, and now a second and a dreary and longer interval shall be consigned tooblivion, and the reader shall be set down in the autumn of the yearnext but one after that in which Charles took his class and did not takehis degree. 

At this time our interest is confined to Boughton and the Rectory atSutton. As to Melford, friend Bateman had accepted the incumbency of achurch in a manufacturing town with a district of 10, 000 souls, where hewas full of plans for the introduction of the surplice and giltcandlesticks among his people, and where, it is to be hoped, he willlearn wisdom. Willis also was gone, on a different errand: he had bidadieu to his mother and brother soon after Charles had gone into theschools, and now was Father Aloysius de Sanctâ Cruce in the PassionistConvent of Pennington. 

One evening, at the end of September, in the year aforesaid, Campbellhad called at Boughton, and was walking in the garden with Miss Reding. "Really, Mary, " he said to her, "I don't think it does any good to keephim. The best years of his life are going, and, humanly speaking, thereis not any chance of his changing his mind, at least till he has made atrial of the Church of Rome. It is quite possible that experience maydrive him back. "

"It is a dreadful dilemma, " she answered; "how can we even indirectlygive him permission to take so fatal a step?"

"He is a dear, good fellow, " he made reply; "he is a sterling fellow;all this long time that he has been with me he has made no difficulties;he has read thoroughly the books that I recommended and more, and donewhatever I told him. You know I have employed him in the parish; he hastaught the Catechism to the children, and been almoner. Poor fellow, hishealth is suffering now: he sees there's no end of it, and hope deferredmakes the heart sick. "

"It is so dreadful to give any countenance to what is so very wrong, "said Mary. 

"Why, what is to be done?" answered Campbell; "and we need notcountenance it; he can't be kept in leading-strings for ever, and therehas been a kind of bargain. He wanted to make a move at the end of thefirst year--I didn't think it worth while to fidget you about it--but Iquieted him. We compounded in this way: he removed his name from thecollege-boards, --there was not the slightest chance of his ever signingthe Articles, --and he consented to wait another year. Now the time'sup, and more, and he is getting impatient. So it's not we who shall begiving him countenance, it will only be his leaving us. "

"But it is so fearful, " insisted Mary; "and my poor mother--I declare Ithink it will be her death. "

"It will be a crushing blow, there's no doubt of that, " said Campbell;"what does she know of it at present?"

"I hardly can tell you, " answered she; "she has been informed of itindeed distinctly a year ago; but seeing Charles so often, and he inappearance just the same, I fear she does not realize it. She has neverspoken to me on the subject. I fancy she thinks it a scruple;troublesome, certainly, but of course temporary. "

"I must break it to her, Mary, " said Campbell. 

"Well, I think it _must_ be done, " she replied, heaving a sudden sigh;"and if so, it will be a real kindness in you to save me a task to whichI am quite unequal. But have a talk with Charles first. When it comes tothe point he may have a greater difficulty than he thinks beforehand. "

And so it was settled; and, full of care at the double commission withwhich he was charged, Campbell rode back to Sutton. 

Poor Charles was sitting at an open window, looking out upon theprospect, when Campbell entered the room. It was a beautiful landscape, with bold hills in the distance, and a rushing river beneath him. Campbell came up to him without his perceiving it; and, putting his handon his shoulder, asked his thoughts. 

Charles turned round, and smiled sadly. "I am like Moses seeing theland, " he said; "my dear Campbell, when shall the end be?"

"That, my good Charles, of course does not rest with me, " answeredCampbell. 

"Well, " said he, "the year is long run out; may I go my way?"

"You can't expect that I, or any of us, should even indirectlycountenance you in what, with all our love of you, we think a sin, " saidCampbell. 

"That is as much as to say, 'Act for yourself, '" answered Charles;"well, I am willing. "

Campbell did not at once reply; then he said, "I shall have to break itto your poor mother; Mary thinks it will be her death. "

Charles dropped his head on the window-sill, upon his hands. "No, " hesaid; "I trust that she, and all of us, will be supported. "

"So do I, fervently, " answered Campbell; "it will be a most terribleblow to your sisters. My dear fellow, should you not take all this intoaccount? Do seriously consider the actual misery you are causing forpossible good. "

"Do you think I have not considered it, Campbell? Is it nothing for onelike me to be breaking all these dear ties, and to be losing the esteemand sympathy of so many persons I love? Oh, it has been a most piercingthought; but I have exhausted it, I have drunk it out. I have gotfamiliar with the prospect now, and am fully reconciled. Yes, I give uphome, I give up all who have ever known me, loved me, valued me, wishedme well; I know well I am making myself a by-word and an outcast. "

"Oh, my dear Charles, " answered Campbell, "beware of a very subtletemptation which may come on you here. I have meant to warn you of itbefore. The greatness of the sacrifice stimulates you; you do it becauseit is so much to do. "

Charles smiled. "How little you know me!" he said; "if that were thecase, should I have waited patiently two years and more? Why did I notrush forward as others have done? _You_ will not deny that I have actedrationally, obediently. I have put the subject from me again and again, and it has returned. "

"I'll say nothing harsh or unkind of you, Charles, " said Campbell; "butit's a most unfortunate delusion. I wish I could make you take in theidea that there is the chance of its _being_ a delusion. "

"Ah, Campbell, how can you forget so?" answered Charles; "don't you knowthis is the very thing which has influenced me so much all along? Isaid, 'Perhaps I am in a dream. Oh, that I could pinch myself andawake!' You know what stress I laid on my change of feeling upon my dearfather's death; what I thought to be convictions before, vanished thenlike a cloud. I have said to myself, 'Perhaps these will vanish too. 'But no; 'the clouds return after the rain;' they come again and again, heavier than ever. It is a conviction rooted in me; it endures againstthe prospect of loss of mother and sisters. Here I sit wasting my days, when I might be useful in life. Why? Because this hinders me. Lately ithas increased on me tenfold. You will be shocked, but let me tell youin confidence, --lately I have been quite afraid to ride, or to bathe, orto do anything out of the way, lest something should happen, and I mightbe taken away with a great duty unaccomplished. No, by this time I haveproved that it is a real conviction. My belief in the Church of Rome ispart of myself; I cannot act against it without acting against God. "

"It is a most deplorable state of things certainly, " said Campbell, whohad begun to walk up and down the room; "that it is a delusion, I amconfident; perhaps you are to find it so, just when you have taken thestep. You will solemnly bind yourself to a foreign creed, and, as thewords part from your mouth, the mist will roll up from before your eyes, and the truth will show itself. How dreadful!"

"I have thought of that too, " said Charles, "and it has influenced me agreat deal. It has made me shrink back. But I now believe it to be likethose hideous forms which in fairy tales beset good knights, when theywould force their way into some enchanted palace. Recollect the words inThalaba, 'The talisman is _faith_. ' If I have good grounds forbelieving, to believe is a duty; God will take care of His own work. Ishall not be deserted in my utmost need. Faith ever begins with aventure, and is rewarded with sight. "

"Yes, my good Charles, " answered Campbell; "but the question is, whetheryour grounds _are_ good. What I mean is, that, _since_ they are _not_good, they will not avail you in the trial. You will then, too late, find they are not good, but delusive. "

"Campbell, " answered Charles, "I consider that all reason comes fromGod; our grounds must at best be imperfect; but if they appear to besufficient after prayer, diligent search, obedience, waiting, and, inshort, doing our part, they are His voice calling us on. He it is, inthat case, who makes them seem convincing to us. I am in His hands. Theonly question is, what would He have me to do? I cannot resist theconviction which is upon me. This last week it has possessed me in adifferent way than ever before. It is now so strong, that to wait longeris to resist God. Whether I join the Catholic Church is now simply aquestion of days. I wish, dear Campbell, to leave you in peace and love. Therefore, consent; let me go. "

"Let you go!" answered Campbell; "certainly, were it the Catholic Churchto which you are going, there would be no need to ask; but 'let you go, 'how can you expect it from us when we do not think so? Think of ourcase, Charles, as well as your own; throw yourself into our state offeeling. For myself, I cannot deny, I never have concealed from you myconvictions, that the Romish Church is antichristian. She has tenthousand gifts, she is in many respects superior to our own; but she hasa something in her which spoils all. I have no _confidence_ in her; and, that being the case, how can I 'let you go' to her? No: it's like aperson saying, 'Let me go and hang myself;' 'let me go sleep in afever-ward;' 'let me jump into that well;'--how can I 'let you go'?"

"Ah, " said Charles, "that's our dreadful difference; we can't getfarther than that. _I_ think the Church of Rome the Prophet of God;_you_, the tool of the devil. "

"I own, " said Campbell, "I do think that, if you take this step, youwill find yourself in the hands of a Circe, who will change you, make abrute of you. "

Charles slightly coloured. 

"I won't go on, " added Campbell; "I pain you; it's no good; perhaps I ammaking matters worse. "

Neither spoke for some time. At length Charles got up, came up toCampbell, took his hand, and kissed it. "You have been a kind, disinterested friend to me for two years, " he said; "you have given me alodging under your roof; and now we are soon to be united by closerties. God reward you; but 'let me go, for the day breaketh. '"

"It is hopeless!" cried Campbell; "let us part friends: I must break itto your mother. "

In ten days after this conversation Charles was ready for his journey;his room put to rights; his portmanteau strapped; and a gig at the door, which was to take him the first stage. He was to go round by Boughton;it had been arranged by Campbell and Mary that it would be best for himnot to see his mother (to whom Campbell had broken the matter at once)till he took leave of her. It would be needless pain to both of them toattempt an interview sooner. 

Charles leapt from the gig with a beating heart, and ran up to hismother's room. She was sitting by the fire at her work when he entered;she held out her hand coldly to him, and he sat down. Nothing was saidfor a little while; then, without leaving off her occupation, she said, "Well, Charles, and so you are leaving us. Where and how do you proposeto employ yourself when you have entered upon your new life?"

Charles answered that he had not yet turned his mind to theconsideration of anything but the great step on which everything elsedepended. 

There was another silence; then she said, "You won't find anywhere suchfriends as you have had at home, Charles. " Presently she continued, "Youhave had everything in your favour, Charles; you have been blessed withtalents, advantages of education, easy circumstances; many a deservingyoung man has to scramble on as he can. "

Charles answered that he was deeply sensible how much he owed intemporal matters to Providence, and that it was only at His bidding thathe was giving them up. 

"We all looked up to you, Charles; perhaps we made too much of you;well, God be with you; you have taken your line. "

Poor Charles said that no one could conceive what it cost him to give upwhat was so very dear to him, what was part of himself; there wasnothing on earth which he prized like his home. 

"Then why do you leave us?" she said quickly; "you must have your way;you do it, I suppose, because you like it. "

"Oh really, my dear mother, " cried he, "if you saw my heart! You know inScripture how people were obliged in the Apostles' times to give up allfor Christ. "

"We are heathens, then, " she replied; "thank you, Charles, I am obligedto you for this;" and she dashed away a tear from her eye. 

Charles was almost beside himself; he did not know what to say; he stoodup, and leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece, supporting his head on hishand. 

"Well, Charles, " she continued, still going on with her work, "perhapsthe day will come" . .. Her voice faltered; "your dear father" . .. Sheput down her work. 

"It is useless misery, " said Charles; "why should I stay? good-bye forthe present, my dearest mother. I leave you in good hands, not kinder, but better than mine; you lose me, you gain another. Farewell for thepresent; we will meet when you will, when you call; it will be a happymeeting. "

He threw himself on his knees, and laid his cheek on her lap; she couldno longer resist him; she hung over him, and began to smooth down hishair as she had done when he was a child. At length scalding tears beganto fall heavily upon his face and neck; he bore them for a while, thenstarted up, kissed her cheek impetuously, and rushed out of the room. Ina few seconds he had seen and had torn himself from his sisters, and wasin his gig again by the side of his phlegmatic driver, dancing slowly upand down on his way to Collumpton. 

CHAPTER II. 

The reader may ask whither Charles is going, and, though it would not bequite true to answer that he did not know better than the said readerhimself, yet he had most certainly very indistinct notions what wasbecoming of him even locally, and, like the Patriarch, "went out, notknowing whither he went. " He had never seen a Catholic priest, to knowhim, in his life; never, except once as a boy, been inside a Catholicchurch; he only knew one Catholic in the world, and where he was he didnot know. But he knew that the Passionists had a Convent in London; andit was not unnatural that, without knowing whether young Father Aloysiuswas there or not, he should direct his course to San Michaele. 

Yet, in kindness to Mary and all of them, he did not profess to beleaving direct for London; but he proposed to betake himself to Carlton, who still resided in Oxford, and to ask his advice what was to be doneunder his circumstances. It seemed, too, to be interposing what theywould consider a last chance of averting what to them was so dismal acalamity. 

To Oxford, then, he directed his course; and, having some accidentalbusiness at Bath, he stopped there for the night, intending to continuehis journey next morning. Among other jobs, he had to get a "Garden ofthe Soul, " and two or three similar books which might help him in thegreat preparation which awaited his arrival in London. He went into areligious publisher's in Danvers Street with that object, and whileengaged in a back part of the shop in looking over a pile of Catholicworks, which, to the religious public, had inferior attractions to theglittering volumes, Evangelical and Anglo-Catholic, which had possessionof the windows and principal table, he heard the shop-door open, and, onlooking round, saw a familiar face. It was that of a young clergyman, with a very pretty girl on his arm, whom her dress pronounced to be abride. Love was in their eyes, joy in their voice, and affluence intheir gait and bearing. Charles had a faintish feeling come over him;somewhat such as might beset a man on hearing a call for pork-chops whenhe was sea-sick. He retreated behind a pile of ledgers and otherstationery, but they could not save him from the low, dulcet tones whichfrom time to time passed from one to the other. 

"Have you got some of the last Oxford reprints of standard works?" saidthe bridegroom to the shopman. 

"Yes, sir; but which set did you mean? 'Selections from Old Divines, 'or, 'New Catholic Adaptations'?"

"Oh, not the Adaptations, " answered he, "they are extremely dangerous; Imean real Church-of-England divinity--Bull, Patrick, Hooker, and therest of them. "

The shopman went to look them out. 

"I think it was those Adaptations, dearest, " said the lady, "that theBishop warned us against. "

"Not the Bishop, Louisa; it was his daughter. "

"Oh, Miss Primrose, so it was, " said she; "and there was one book sherecommended, what was it?"

"Not a book, it was a speech, " said White; "Mr. O'Ballaway's at ExeterHall; but I think we should not quite like it. "

"No, no, Henry, it _was_ a book, dear; I can't recall the name. "

"You mean Dr. Crow's 'New Refutation of Popery, ' perhaps; but the_Bishop_ recommended _that_. "

The shopman returned. "Oh, what a sweet face!" she said, looking at thefrontispiece of a little book she got hold of; "do look, Henry; whomdoes it put you in mind of?"

"Why, it's meant for St. John the Baptist, " said Henry. 

"It's so like little Angelina Primrose, " said she, "the hair is justhers. I wonder it doesn't strike you. "

"It does--it does, " said he, smiling at her; "but it's getting late; youmust not be out much longer in the sharp air, and you have nothing foryour throat. I have chosen my books while you have been gazing on thatlittle St. John. "

"I can't think who it is so like, " continued she; "oh, I know; it'sAngelina's aunt, Lady Constance. "

"Come, Louisa, the horses too will suffer; we must return to ourfriends. "

"Oh, there's one book, I can't recollect it; tell me what it is, Henry. I shall be so sorry not to have got it. "

"Was it the new work on Gregorian Chants?" asked he. 

"Ah, it's true, I want it for the school-children, but it's not that. "

"Is it 'The Catholic Parsonage'?" he asked again; "or, 'Lays of theApostles'? or, 'The English Church older than the Roman'? or, 'Anglicanism of the Early Martyrs'? or, 'Confessions of a Pervert'? or, 'Eustace Beville'? or, 'Modified Celibacy'?"

"No, no, no, " said Louisa; "dear me, it is so stupid. "

"Well, now really, Louisa, " he insisted, "you must come another time; itwon't do, dearest; it won't do. "

"Oh, I recollect, " she said, "I recollect--'Abbeys and Abbots;' I wantto get some hints for improving the rectory-windows when we get home;and our church wants, you know, a porch for the poor people. The book isfull of designs. "

The book was found and added to the rest, which had been already takento the carriage. "Now, Louisa, " said White. "Well, dearest, there's onemore place we must call at, " she made answer; "tell John to drive toSharp's; we can go round by the nursery--it's only a few steps out ofthe way--I want to say a word to the man there about our greenhouse;there is no good gardener in our own neighbourhood. "

"What is the good, Louisa, now?" said her husband; "we shan't be at homethis month to come;" and then, with due resignation, he directed thecoachman to the nurseryman's whom Louisa named, as he put her into thecarriage, and then followed her. 

Charles breathed freely as they went out; a severe text of Scripturerose on his mind, but he repressed the uncharitable feeling, and turnedhimself to the anxious duties which lay before him. 

CHAPTER III. 

Nothing happened to Charles worth relating before his arrival atSteventon next day; when, the afternoon being fine, he left hisportmanteau to follow him by the omnibus, and put himself upon the road. If it required some courage to undertake by himself a long journey on anall-momentous errand, it did not lessen the difficulty that that journeytook in its way a place and a person so dear to him as Oxford andCarlton. 

He had passed through Bagley Wood, and the spires and towers of theUniversity came on his view, hallowed by how many tender associations, lost to him for two whole years, suddenly recovered--recovered to belost for ever! There lay old Oxford before him, with its hills as gentleand its meadows as green as ever. At the first view of that belovedplace he stood still with folded arms, unable to proceed. Each college, each church--he counted them by their pinnacles and turrets. The silverIsis, the grey willows, the far-stretching plains, the dark groves, thedistant range of Shotover, the pleasant village where he had lived withCarlton and Sheffield--wood, water, stone, all so calm, so bright, theymight have been his, but his they were not. Whatever he was to gain bybecoming a Catholic, this he had lost; whatever he was to gain higherand better, at least this and such as this he never could have again. Hecould not have another Oxford, he could not have the friends of hisboyhood and youth in the choice of his manhood. He mounted thewell-known gate on the left, and proceeded down into the plain. Therewas no one to greet him, to sympathize with him; there was no one tobelieve he needed sympathy; no one to believe he had given up anything;no one to take interest in him, to feel tender towards him, to defendhim. He had suffered much, but there was no one to believe that he hadsuffered. He would be thought to be inflicting merely, not undergoing, suffering. He might indeed say that he had suffered; but he would berudely told that every one follows his own will, and that if he hadgiven up Oxford, it was for a whim which he liked better than it. Butrather, there was no one to know him; he had been virtually three yearsaway; three years is a generation; Oxford had been his place once, buthis place knew him no more. He recollected with what awe and transporthe had at first come to the University, as to some sacred shrine; andhow from time to time hopes had come over him that some day or other heshould have gained a title to residence on one of its ancientfoundations. One night in particular came across his memory, how afriend and he had ascended to the top of one of its many towers with thepurpose of making observations on the stars; and how, while his friendwas busily engaged with the pointers, he, earthly-minded youth, hadbeen looking down into the deep, gas-lit, dark-shadowed quadrangles, and wondering if he should ever be Fellow of this or that College, whichhe singled out from the mass of academical buildings. All had passed asa dream, and he was a stranger where he had hoped to have had a home. 

He was drawing near Oxford; he saw along the road before him briskyouths pass, two and two, with elastic tread, finishing their modestdaily walk, and nearing the city. What had been a tandem a mile back, next crossed his field of view, shorn of its leader. Presently a statelycap and gown loomed in the distance; he had gained the road before theirowner crossed him; it was a college-tutor whom he had known a little. Charles expected to be recognized; but the resident passed by with thathalf-conscious, uncertain gaze which seemed to have some memory of aface which yet was strange. He had passed Folly Bridge; troops ofhorsemen overtook him, talking loud, while with easy jaunty pace theyturned into their respective stables. He crossed to Christ Church, andpenetrated to Peckwater. The evening was still bright, and the gas waslighting. Groups of young men were stationed here and there, the greaternumber in hats, a few in caps, one or two with gowns in addition; somewere hallooing up to their companions at the windows of the secondstory; scouts were carrying about _æger_ dinners; pastry-cook boys werebringing in desserts; shabby fellows with Blenheim puppies wereloitering under Canterbury Gate. Many stared, but no one knew him. Hehurried up Oriel Lane; suddenly a start and a low bow from a passer-by;who could it be? it was a superannuated shoeblack of his college, towhom he had sometimes given a stray shilling. He gained the High Street, and turned down towards the Angel. What was approaching? the vision of aproctor. Charles felt some instinctive quiverings; but it passed by him, and did no harm. Like Kehama, he had a charmed life. And now he hadreached his inn, where he found his portmanteau all ready for him. Hechose a bedroom, and, after fully inducting himself into it, turned histhoughts towards dinner. 

He wished to lose no time, but, if possible, to proceed to London thefollowing morning. It would be a great point if he could get to hisjourney's end so early in the week, that by Sunday, if he was thoughtworthy, he might offer up his praises for the mercies vouchsafed to himin the great and holy communion of the Universal Church. Accordingly hedetermined to make an attempt on Carlton that evening; and hoped, if hewent to his room between seven and eight, to find him returned fromCommon-Room. With this intention he sallied out at about the half-hour, gained Carlton's College, knocked at the gate, entered, passed on, upthe worn wooden steep staircase. The oak was closed; he descended, founda servant; "Mr. Carlton was giving a dinner in Common-Room; it wouldsoon be over. " Charles determined to wait for him. 

The servant lighted candles in the inner room, and Charles sat down atthe fire. For awhile he sat in reflection; then he looked about forsomething to occupy him. His eye caught an Oxford paper; it was but afew days old. "Let us see how the old place goes on, " he said tohimself, as he took it up. He glanced from one article to another, looking who were the University-preachers of the week, who had takendegrees, who were public examiners, etc. , etc. , when his eye wasarrested by the following paragraph:--

"DEFECTION FROM THE CHURCH. --We understand that another victim haslately been added to the list of those whom the venom of Tractarianprinciples has precipitated into the bosom of the Sorceress of Rome. Mr. Reding, of St. Saviour's, the son of a respectable clergyman of theEstablishment, deceased, after eating the bread of the Church all hislife, has at length avowed himself the subject and slave of an ItalianBishop. Disappointment in the schools is said to have been thedetermining cause of this infatuated act. It is reported that legalmeasures are in progress for directing the penalties of the Statute ofPræmunire against all the seceders; and a proposition is on foot forpetitioning her Majesty to assign the sum thereby realized by theGovernment to the erection of a 'Martyrs' Memorial' in the sisterUniversity. "

"So, " thought Charles, "the world, as usual, is beforehand with me;" andhe sat speculating about the origin of the report till he almost forgotthat he was waiting for Carlton. 

CHAPTER IV. 

While Charles was learning in Carlton's rooms the interest which theworld took in his position and acts, he was actually furnishing a topicof conversation to that portion of it who were Carlton's guests in theneighbouring Common-Room. Tea and coffee had made their appearance, themen had risen from table, and were crowding round the fire. 

"Who is that Mr. Reding spoken of in the _Gazette_ of last week?" said aprim little man, sipping his tea with his spoon, and rising on his toesas he spoke. 

"You need not go far for an answer, " said his neighbour, and, turning totheir host, added, "Carlton, who is Mr. Reding?"

"A very dear honest fellow, " answered Carlton: "I wish we were all of usas good. He read with me one Long Vacation, is a good scholar, and oughtto have gained his class. I have not heard of him for some time. "

"He has other friends in the room, " said another: "I think, " turning toa young Fellow of Leicester, "_you_, Sheffield, were at one timeintimate with Reding?"

"Yes, " answered Sheffield; "and Vincent, of course, knows him too; he'sa capital fellow; I know him exceedingly well; what the _Gazette_ saysabout him is shameful. I never met a man who cared less about success inthe schools; it was quite his _fault_. "

"That's about the truth, " said another; "I met Mr. Malcolm yesterday atdinner, and it seems he knows the family. He said that his religiousnotions carried Reding away, and spoiled his reading. "

The conversation was not general; it went on in detached groups, as theguests stood together. Nor was the subject a popular one; rather it waseither a painful or a disgusting subject to the whole party, two orthree curious and hard minds excepted, to whom opposition to Catholicismwas meat and drink. Besides, in such chance collections of men, no oneknew exactly his neighbour's opinion about it; and, as in this instance, there were often friends of the accused or calumniated present. And, moreover, there was a generous feeling, and a consciousness how muchseceders from the Anglican Church were giving up, which kept down anydisrespectful mention of them. 

"Are you to do much in the schools this term?" said one to another. 

"I don't know: we have two men going up, good scholars. "

"Who has come into Stretton's place?"

"Jackson, of King's. "

"Jackson? indeed; he's strong in science, I think. "

"Very. "

"Our men know their books well, but I should not say that science istheir line. "

"Leicester sends four. "

"It will be a large class-list, from what I hear. "

"Ah! indeed! the Michaelmas paper is always a good one. "

Meanwhile the conversation was in another quarter dwelling upon poorCharles. 

"No, depend upon it, there's more in what the _Gazette_ says than youthink. Disappointment is generally at the bottom of these changes. "

"Poor devils! they can't help it, " said another, in a low voice, to hisneighbour. 

"A good riddance, anyhow, " said the party addressed; "we shall have alittle peace at last. "

"Well, " said the first of the two, drawing himself up and speaking inthe air, "how any educated man should--" his voice was overpowered bythe grave enunciation of a small man behind them, who had hitherto keptsilence, and now spoke with positiveness. 

He addressed himself, between the two heads which had just been talkingin private, to the group beyond them. "It's all the effect ofrationalism, " he said; "the whole movement is rationalistic. At the endof three years all those persons who have now apostatized will beinfidels. "

No one responded; at length another of the party came up to Mr. Malcolm's acquaintance, and said, slowly, "I suppose you never heard ithinted that there is something wrong _here_ in Mr. Reding, " touching hisforehead significantly; "I have been told it's in the family. "

He was answered by a deep, powerful voice, belonging to a person whosat in the corner; it sounded like "the great bell of Bow, " as if itought to have closed the conversation. It said abruptly, "I respect himuncommonly; I have an extreme respect for him. He's an honest man; Iwish others were as honest. If they were, then, as the Puseyites arebecoming Catholics, so we should see old Brownside and his cliquebecoming Unitarians. But they mean to stick in. "

Most persons present felt the truth of his remark, and a silencefollowed it for a while. It was broken by a clear cackling voice: "Didyou ever hear, " said he, nodding his head, or rather his whole person, as he spoke, "did you ever, Sheffield, happen to hear that thisgentleman, your friend Mr. Reding, when he was quite a freshman, had aconversation with some _attaché_ of the Popish Chapel in this place, atthe very door of it, after the men were gone down?"

"Impossible, Fusby, " said Carlton, and laughed. 

"It's quite true, " returned Fusby; "I had it from the Under-Marshal, whowas passing at the moment. My eye has been on Mr. Reding for someyears. "

"So it seems, " said Sheffield, "for that must have been at least, let mesee, four or five years ago. "

"Oh, " continued Fusby, "there are two or three more yet to come; youwill see. "

"Why, Fusby, " said Vincent, overhearing and coming up, "you are like thethree old crones in the Bride of Lammermoor, who wished to have thestraiking of the Master of Ravenswood. "

Fusby nodded his person, but made no answer. 

"Not all three at once, I hope, " said Sheffield. 

"Oh, it's quite a concentration, a quintessence of Protestant feeling, "answered Vincent; "I consider _myself_ a good Protestant; but thepleasure you have in hunting these men is quite sensual, Fusby. "

The Common-Room man here entered, and whispered to Carlton that astranger was waiting for him in his rooms. 

"When do your men come up?" said Sheffield to Vincent. 

"Next Saturday, " answered Vincent. 

"They always come up late, " said Sheffield. 

"Yes, the House met last week. "

"St. Michael's has met too, " said Sheffield: "so have we. "

"We have a reason for meeting late: many of our men come from the Northand from Ireland. "

"That's no reason, with railroads. "

"I see they have begun our rail, " said Vincent; "I thought theUniversity had opposed it. "

"The Pope in his own states has given in, " said Sheffield, "so we maywell do the same. "

"Don't talk of the Pope, " said Vincent, "I'm sick of the Pope. "

"The Pope?" said Fusby, overhearing; "have you heard that his Holinessis coming to England?"

"Oh, oh, " cried Vincent, "come, I can't stand this. I must go; goodnight t'you, Carlton. Where's my gown?"

"I believe the Common-Room man has hung it up in the passage;--but youshould stop and protect me from Fusby. "

Neither did Vincent turn to the rescue, nor did Fusby profit by thehint; so poor Carlton, with the knowledge that he was wanted in hisrooms, had to stay a good half-hour _tête-à-tête_ with the latter, whilehe prosed to him _in extenso_ about Pope Sixtus XIV. , the Jesuits, suspected men in the University, Mede on the Apostasy, the CatholicRelief Bill, Dr. Pusey's Tract on Baptism, Justification, and theappointment of the Taylor Professors. 

At length, however, Carlton was released. He ran across the quadrangleand up his staircase; flung open his door, and made his way to his innerroom. A person was just rising to meet him; impossible! but it wasthough. "What? Reding!" he cried; "who would have thought! what apleasure! we were just-- . .. What brings you here?" he added, in analtered tone. Then gravely, "Reding, where are you?"

"Not yet a Catholic, " said Reding. 

There was a silence; the answer conveyed a good deal: it was a relief, but it was an intimation. "Sit down, my dear Reding; will you haveanything? have you dined? What a pleasure to see you, old fellow! Are wereally to lose you?" They were soon in conversation on the greatsubject. 

CHAPTER V. 

"If you have made up your mind, Reding, " said Carlton, "it's no goodtalking. May you be happy wherever you are! You must always be yourself;as a Romanist, you will still be Charles Reding. "

"I know I have a kind, sympathizing friend in you, Carlton. You havealways listened to me, never snubbed me except when I deserved it. Youknow more about me than any one else. Campbell is a dear, good fellow, and will soon be dearer to me still. It isn't generally known yet, buthe is to marry my sister. He has borne with me now for two years; neverbeen hard upon me; always been at my service when I wanted to talk withhim. But no one makes me open my heart as you do, Carlton; you sometimeshave differed from me, but you have always understood me. "

"Thank you for your kind words, " answered Carlton; "but to me it is aperfect mystery why you should leave us. I enter into your reasons: Icannot, for the life of me, see how you come to your conclusion. "

"To me, on the other hand, Carlton, it is like two and two make four;and you make two and two five, and are astonished that I won't agreewith you. "

"We must leave these things to a higher power, " said Carlton. "I hope wesha'n't be less friends, Reding, when you are in another communion. Weknow each other; these outward things cannot change us. "

Reding sighed; he saw clearly that his change of religion, whencompleted, would not fail to have an effect on Carlton's thoughts abouthim, as on those of others. It could not possibly be otherwise; he wassure himself to feel different about Carlton. 

After a while, Carlton said gently, "Is it quite impossible, Reding, that now at the eleventh hour we may retain you? what _are_ yourgrounds?"

"Don't let us argue, dear Carlton, " answered Reding; "I have done withargument. Or, if I must say something for manners' sake, I will but tellyou that I have fulfilled your request. You bade me read the Anglicandivines; I have given a great deal of time to them, and I am embracingthat creed which alone is the scope to which they converge in theirseparate teachings; the creed which upholds the divinity of traditionwith Laud, consent of Fathers with Beveridge, a visible Church withBramhall, dogma with Bull, the authority of the Pope with Thorndike, penance with Taylor, prayers for the dead with Ussher, celibacy, asceticism, ecclesiastical discipline with Bingham. I am going to aChurch, which in these, and a multitude of other points, is nearer theApostolic Church than any existing one; which is the continuation of theApostolic Church, if it has been continued at all. And _seeing_ it to be_like_ the Apostolic Church, I _believe_ it to be the _same_. Reason hasgone first, faith is to follow. "

He stopped, and Carlton did not reply; a silence ensued, and Charles atlength broke it. "I repeat, it's no use arguing; I have made up my mind, and been very slow about it. I have broken it to my mother, and bade herfarewell. All is determined; I cannot go back. "

"Is that a nice feeling?" said Carlton, half reproachfully. 

"Understand me, " answered Reding; "I have come to my resolution withgreat deliberation. It has remained on my mind as a mere intellectualconclusion for a year or two; surely now at length without blame I maychange it into a practical resolve. But none of us can answer that thosehabitual and ruling convictions, on which it is our duty to act, willremain before our consciousness every moment, when we come into thehurry of the world, and are assailed by inducements and motives ofvarious kinds. Therefore I say that the time of argument is past; I acton a conclusion already drawn. "

"But how do you know, " asked Carlton, "but what you have beenunconsciously biassed in arriving at it? one notion has possessed you, and you have not been able to shake it off. The ability to retain yourconvictions in the bustle of life is to my mind the very test, thenecessary test of their reality. "

"I do, I do retain them, " answered Reding; "they are always upon me. "

"Only at times, as you have yourself confessed, " objected Carlton:"surely you ought to have a very strong conviction indeed, to setagainst the mischief you are doing by a step of this kind. Consider howmany persons you are unsettling; what a triumph you are giving to theenemies of all religion; what encouragement to the notion that there isno such thing as truth; how you are weakening our Church. Well, all Isay is, that you should have very strong convictions to set against allthis. "

"Well, " said Charles, "I grant, I maintain, that the only motive whichis sufficient to justify such an act, is the conviction that one'ssalvation depends on it. Now, I speak sincerely, my dear Carlton, insaying that I don't think I shall be saved if I remain in the EnglishChurch. "

"Do you mean that there is no salvation in our Church?" said Carlton, rather coldly. 

"I am talking of myself; it's not my place to judge others. I only say, God calls _me_, and I must follow at the risk of my soul. "

"God '_calls_' you!" said Carlton; "what does that mean? I don't likeit; it's dissenting language. "

"You know it is Scripture language, " answered Reding. 

"Yes, but people don't in Scripture _say_ 'I'm called;' the calling wasan act from without, the act of others, not an inward feeling. "

"But, my dear Carlton, how _is_ a person to get at truth, now, whenthere can be no simple outward call?"

"That seems to me a pretty good intimation, " answered Carlton, "that weare to remain where Providence has placed us. "

"Now this is just one of the points on which I can't get at the bottomof the Church of England's doctrine, " Reding replied. "But it's so on somany other subjects! it's always so. Are members of the Church ofEngland to seek the truth, or have they it given them from the first? dothey seek it for themselves, or is it ready provided for them?"

Carlton thought a moment, and seemed doubtful what to answer; then hesaid that we must, of course, seek it. It was a part of our moralprobation to seek the truth. 

"Then don't talk to me about our position, " said Charles; "I hardlyexpected _you_ to make this answer; but it is what the majority ofChurch-of-England people say. They tell us to seek, they give us rulesfor seeking, they make us exert our private judgment; but directly wecome to any conclusion but theirs, they turn round and talk to us of our'providential position. ' But there's another thing. Tell me, supposingwe ought all to seek the truth, do you think that members of the EnglishChurch do seek it in that way which Scripture enjoins upon all seekers?Think how very seriously Scripture speaks of the arduousness of finding, the labour of seeking, the duty of thirsting after the truth? I don'tbelieve the bulk of the English clergy, the bulk of Oxford residents, Heads of houses, Fellows of Colleges (with all their good points, whichI am not the man to deny), have ever sought the truth. They have takenwhat they found, and have used no private judgment at all. Or if theyhave judged, it has been in the vaguest, most cursory way possible; orthey have looked into Scripture only to find proofs for what they werebound to subscribe, as undergraduates getting up the Articles. Then theysit over their wine, and talk about this or that friend who has'seceded, ' and condemn him, and" (glancing at the newspaper on thetable) "assign motives for his conduct. Yet, after all, which is themore likely to be right, --he who has given years, perhaps, to the searchof truth, who has habitually prayed for guidance, and has taken all themeans in his power to secure it, or they, 'the gentlemen of England whosit at home at ease'? No, no, they may talk of seeking the truth, ofprivate judgment, as a duty, but they have never sought, they have neverjudged; they are where they are, not because it is true, but becausethey find themselves there, because it is their 'providential position, 'and a pleasant one into the bargain. "

Reding had got somewhat excited; the paragraph in the newspaper hadannoyed him. But, without taking that into account, there was enough inthe circumstances in which he found himself to throw him out of hisordinary state of mind. He was in a crisis of peculiar trial, which aperson must have felt to understand. Few men go to battle in cold blood, or prepare without agitation for a surgical operation. Carlton, on theother hand, was a quiet, gentle person, who was not heard to use anexcited word once a year. 

The conversation came to a stand. At length Carlton said, "I hope, dearReding, you are not joining the Church of Rome merely because there areunreasonable, unfeeling persons in the Church of England. "

Charles felt that he was not showing to advantage, and that he wasgiving rise to the very surmises about the motives of his conversionwhich he was deprecating. 

"It is a sad thing, " he said, with something of self-reproach, "to spendour last minutes in wrangling. Forgive me, Carlton, if I have saidanything too strongly or earnestly. " Carlton thought he had; he thoughthim in an excited state; but it was no use telling him so; so he merelypressed his offered hand affectionately, and said nothing. 

Presently he said, dryly and abruptly, "Reding, do you know any RomanCatholics?"

"No, " answered Reding; "Willis indeed, but I hav'n't seen even him thesetwo years. It has been entirely the working of my own mind. "

Carlton did not answer at once; then he said, as dryly and abruptly asbefore, "I suspect, then, you will have much to bear with when you knowthem. "

"What do you mean?" asked Reding. 

"You will find them under-educated men, I suspect. "

"What do _you_ know of them?" said Reding. 

"I suspect it, " answered Carlton. 

"But what's that to the purpose?" asked Charles. 

"It's a thing you should think of. An English clergyman is a gentleman;you may have more to bear than you reckon for, when you find yourselfwith men of rude minds and vulgar manners. "

"My dear Carlton, a'n't you talking of what you know nothing at allabout?"

"Well, but you should think of it, you should contemplate it, " saidCarlton; "I judge from their letters and speeches which one reads in thepapers. "

Charles thought awhile; then he said, "Certainly, I don't like manythings which are done and said by Roman Catholics just now; but I don'tsee how all this can be more than a trial and a cross; I don't see howit affects the great question. "

"No, except that you may find yourself a fish out of water, " answeredCarlton; "you may find yourself in a position where you can act with noone, where you will be quite thrown away. "

"Well, " said Charles, "as to the fact, I know nothing about it; it maybe as you say, but I don't think much of your proof. In all communitiesthe worst is on the outside. What offends me in Catholic publicproceedings need be no measure, nay, I believe cannot be a measure, ofthe inward Catholic mind. I would not judge the Anglican Church byExeter Hall, nay, not by Episcopal Charges. We see the interior of ourown Church, the exterior of the Church of Rome. This is not a faircomparison. "

"But look at their books of devotion, " insisted Carlton; "they can'twrite English. "

Reding smiled at Carlton, and slowly shook his head to and fro, while hesaid, "They write English, I suppose, as classically as St. John writesGreek. "

Here again the conversation halted, and nothing was heard for a whilebut the simmering of the kettle. 

There was no good in disputing, as might be seen from the first; eachhad his own view, and that was the beginning and the end of the matter. Charles stood up. "Well, dearest Carlton, " he said, "we must part; itmust be going on for eleven. " He pulled out of his pocket a small"Christian Year. " "You have often seen me with this, " he continued, "accept it in memory of me. You will not see me, but here is a pledgethat I will not forget you, that I will ever remember you. " He stopped, much affected. "Oh, it is very hard to leave you all, to go tostrangers, " he went on; "I do not wish it, but I cannot help it; I amcalled, I am compelled. " He stopped again; the tears flowed down hischeeks. "All is well, " he said, recovering himself, "all is well; butit's hard at the time, and scarcely any one to feel for me; black looks, bitter words. .. . I am pleasing myself, following my own will . .. Well. .. . " and he began looking at his fingers and slowly rubbing hispalms one on another. "It must be, " he whispered to himself, "throughtribulation to the kingdom, sowing in tears, reaping in joy. .. . " Anotherpause, and a new train of thought came over him; "Oh, " he said, "I fearso very much, so very much, that all you who do not come forward will goback. You cannot stand where you are; for a time you will think you do, then you will oppose us, and still think you keep your ground while youuse the same words as before; but your belief, your opinions willdecline. You will hold less. And then, in time, it will strike you that, in differing with Protestants, you are contending only about words. Theycall us Rationalists; take care you don't fall into Liberalism. And now, my dearest Carlton, my one friend in Oxford who was patient and lovingtowards me, good-bye. May we meet not long hence in peace and joy. Icannot go to you; you must come to me. "

They embraced each other affectionately; and the next minute Charles wasrunning down the staircase. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Charles went to bed with a bad headache, and woke with a worse. Nothingremained but to order his bill and be off for London. Yet he could notgo without taking a last farewell of the place itself. He was up soonafter seven; and while the gownsmen were rising and in their respectivechapels, he had been round Magdalen Walk and Christ Church Meadow. Therewere few or none to see him wherever he went. The trees of the WaterWalk were variegated, as beseemed the time of year, with a thousandhues, arching over his head, and screening his side. He reachedAddison's Walk; there he had been for the first time with his father, when he was coming into residence, just six years before to a day. Hepursued it, and onwards still, till he came round in sight of thebeautiful tower, which at length rose close over his head. The morningwas frosty, and there was a mist; the leaves flitted about; all was inunison with the state of his feelings. He re-entered the monasticbuildings, meeting with nothing but scouts with boxes of cinders, andold women carrying off the remains of the kitchen. He crossed to theMeadow, and walked steadily down to the junction of the Cherwell withthe Isis; he then turned back. What thoughts came upon him! for the lasttime! There was no one to see him; he threw his arms round the willowsso dear to him, and kissed them; he tore off some of their black leavesand put them in his bosom. "I am like Undine, " he said, "killing with akiss. No one cares for me; scarce a person knows me. " He neared the LongWalk again. Suddenly, looking obliquely into it, he saw a cap and gown;he looked anxiously; it was Jennings: there was no mistake; and hisdirection was towards him. Charles always had felt kindly towards him, in spite of his sternness, but he would not meet him for the world; whatwas he to do? he stood behind a large elm, and let him pass; then he setoff again at a quick pace. When he had got some way, he ventured to turnhis head round; and he saw Jennings at the moment, by that sort offatality or sympathy which is so common, turning round towards him. Hehurried on, and soon found himself again at his inn. 

Strange as it may seem, though he had on the whole had as good successas Carlton in the "keen encounter of their wits" the night before, ithad left an unsatisfactory effect on his mind. The time for action wascome; argument was past, as he had himself said; and to recur toargument was only to confuse the clearness of his apprehension of thetruth. He began to question whether he really had evidence enough forthe step he was taking, and the temptation assailed him that he wasgiving up this world without gaining the next. Carlton evidently thoughthim excited; what if it were true? Perhaps his convictions were, afterall, a dream; what did they rest upon? He tried to recall his bestarguments, and could not. Was there, after all, any such thing as truth?Was not one thing as good as another? At all events, could he not haveserved God well in his generation, where he had been placed? Herecollected some lines in the Ethics of Aristotle, quoted by thephilosopher from an old poet, in which the poor outcast Philocteteslaments over his own stupid officiousness, as he calls it, which hadbeen the cause of his misfortunes. Was he not a busybody too? Why couldhe not let well alone? Better men than he had lived and died in theEnglish Church. And then what if, as Campbell had said, all hisso-called convictions were to vanish just as he entered the Roman pale, as they had done on his father's death? He began to envy Sheffield; allhad turned out well with him--a good class, a fellowship, merely orprincipally because he had taken things as they came, and not goneroaming after visions. He felt himself violently assaulted; but he wasnot deserted, not overpowered. His good sense, rather his good Angel, came to his aid; evidently he was in no way able to argue or judge atthat moment; the deliberate conclusions of years ought not to be setaside by the troubled thoughts of an hour. With an effort he put thewhole subject from him, and addressed himself to his journey. 

How he got to Steventon he hardly recollected; but gradually he came tohimself, and found himself in a first-class of the Great Western, proceeding rapidly towards London. He then looked about him toascertain who his fellow-travellers were. The farther compartment wasfull of passengers, who seemed to form one party, talking together withgreat volubility and glee. Of the three seats in his own part of thecarriage, one only, that opposite to him, was filled. On taking a surveyof the stranger, he saw a grave person passing or past the middle age;his face had that worn, or rather that unplacid appearance, which evenslight physical suffering, if habitual, gives to the features, and hiseyes were pale from study or other cause. Charles thought he had seenhis face before, but he could not recollect where or when. But what mostinterested him was his dress and appearance, which was such as is rarelyfound in a travelling-companion. It was of an unusual character, and, taken together with the small office-book he held in his hand, plainlyshowed Charles that he was opposite a Roman ecclesiastic. His heartbeat, and he felt tempted to start from his seat; then a sick feelingand a sinking came over him. He gradually grew calmer, and journeyed onsome time in silence, longing yet afraid to speak. At length, on thetrain stopping at the station, he addressed a few words to him inFrench. His companion looked surprised, smiled, and in a hesitating, saddish voice said that he was an Englishman. Charles made an awkwardapology, and there was silence again. Their eyes sometimes met, and thenmoved slowly off each other, as if a mutual reconnoitring was inprogress. At length it seemed to strike the stranger that he hadabruptly stopped the conversation; and, after apparently beating aboutfor an introductory topic, he said, "Perhaps I can read you, sir, betterthan you can me. You are an Oxford man by your appearance. "

Charles assented. 

"A bachelor?" He was of near Master's standing. His companion, who didnot seem in a humour for talking, proceeded to various questions aboutthe University, as if out of civility. What colleges sent Proctors thatyear? Were the Taylor Professors appointed? Were they members of theChurch of England? Did the new Bishop of Bury keep his Headship? &c. , &c. Some matter-of-fact conversation followed, which came to nothing. Charles had so much to ask; his thoughts were busy, and his mind full. Here was a Catholic priest ready for his necessities; yet theopportunity was likely to pass away, and nothing to come of it. Afterone or two fruitless efforts, he gave it up, and leant back in his seat. His fellow-traveller began, as quietly as he could, to say office. Timewent forward, the steam was let off and put on; the train stopped andproceeded, and the office was apparently finished; the book vanished ina side-pocket. 

After a time Charles suddenly said, "How came you to suppose I was ofOxford?"

"Not _entirely_ by your look and manner, for I saw you jump from theomnibus at Steventon; but with that assistance it was impossible tomistake. "

"I have heard others say the same, " said Charles; "yet I can't myselfmake out how an Oxford man should be known from another. "

"Not only Oxford men, but Cambridge men, are known by their appearance;soldiers, lawyers, beneficed clergymen; indeed every class has itsexternal indications to those who can read them. "

"I know persons, " said Charles, "who believe that handwriting is anindication of calling and character. "

"I do not doubt it, " replied the priest; "the gait is another; but it isnot all of us who can read so recondite a language. Yet a language itis, as really as hieroglyphics on an obelisk. "

"It is a fearful thought, " said Charles with a sigh, "that we, as itwere, exhale ourselves every breath we draw. "

The stranger assented; "A man's moral self, " he said, "is concentratedin each moment of his life; it lives in the tips of his fingers, and thespring of his insteps. A very little thing tries what a man is made of. "

"I think I must be speaking to a Catholic priest?" said Charles: whenhis question was answered in the affirmative, he went on hesitatingly toask if what they had been speaking of did not illustrate the importanceof faith? "One did not see at first sight, " he said, "how it wasrational to maintain that so much depended on holding this or thatdoctrine, or a little more or a little less, but it might be a test ofthe heart. "

His companion looked pleased; however, he observed, that "there was no'more or less' in faith; that either we believed the whole revealedmessage, or really we believed no part of it; that we ought to believewhat the Church proposed to us on the _word_ of the Church. "

"Yet surely the so-called Evangelical believes more than the Unitarian, and the High-Churchman than the Evangelical, " objected Charles. 

"The question, " said his fellow-traveller, "is, whether they submittheir reason implicitly to that which they have received as God's word. "

Charles assented. 

"Would you say, then, " he continued, "that the Unitarian really believesas God's word that which he professes to receive, when he passes overand gets rid of so much that is in that word?"

"Certainly not, " said Charles. 

"And why?"

"Because it is plain, " said Charles, "that his ultimate standard oftruth is not the Scripture, but, unconsciously to himself, some view ofthings in his mind which is to him the measure of Scripture. "

"Then he believes himself, if we may so speak, " said the priest, "andnot the external word of God. "

"Certainly. "

"Well, in like manner, " he continued, "do you think a person can havereal faith in that which he admits to be the word of God, who passes by, without attempting to understand, such passages as 'the Church thepillar and ground of the truth;' or, 'whosesoever sins ye forgive, theyare forgiven;' or, 'if any man is sick, let him call for the priests ofthe Church, and let them anoint him with oil'?"

"No, " said Charles; "but, in fact, _we_ do not profess to have faith inthe mere text of Scripture. You know, sir, " he added hesitatingly, "thatthe Anglican doctrine is to interpret Scripture by the Church; thereforewe have faith, like Catholics, not in Scripture simply, but in the wholeword committed to the Church, of which Scripture is a part. "

His companion smiled: "How many, " he asked, "so profess? But, waivingthis question, I understand what a Catholic means by saying that he goesby the voice of the Church; it means, practically, by the voice of thefirst priest he meets. Every priest is the voice of the Church. This isquite intelligible. In matters of doctrine, he has faith in the word ofany priest. But what, where, is that 'word' of the Church which thepersons you speak of believe in? and when do they exercise their belief?Is it not an undeniable fact, that, so far from all Anglican clergymenagreeing together in faith, what the first says, the second will unsay?so that an Anglican cannot, if he would, have faith in them, andnecessarily, though he would not, chooses between them. How, then, hasfaith a place in the religion of an Anglican?"

"Well, " said Charles, "I am sure I know a good many persons--and if youknew the Church of England as I do, you would not need me to tellyou--who, from knowledge of the Gospels, have an absolute conviction andan intimate sense of the reality of the sacred facts contained in them, which, whether you call it faith or not, is powerful enough to colourtheir whole being with its influence, and rules their heart and conductas well as their imagination. I can't believe that these persons areout of God's favour; yet, according to your account of the matter, theyhave not faith. "

"Do you think these persons believe and practise all that is broughthome to them as being in Scripture?" asked his companion. 

"Certainly they do, " answered Charles, "as far as man can judge. "

"Then perhaps they may be practising the virtue of faith; if there arepassages in it to which they are insensible, as about the sacraments, penance, and extreme unction, or about the See of Peter, I should incharity think that these passages had never been brought home or appliedto their minds and consciences--just as a Pope's Bull may be for a timeunknown in a distant part of the Church. They may be[1] in involuntaryignorance. Yet I fear that, taking the whole nation, there are few whoon this score can lay claim to faith. "

 [1] "Errantes invincibiliter circa aliquos articulos, et credentes alios, non sunt formaliter hæretici, sed habent fidem supernaturalem, quâ credunt veros articulos, atque adeo ex eâ possunt procedere actus perfectæ contritionis, quibus justificentur et salventur. "--_De Lugo de Fid. _, p. 169. 

Charles said this did not fully meet the difficulty; faith, in the caseof these persons, at least was not faith in the word of the Church. Hiscompanion would not allow this; he said they received the Scripture onthe testimony of the Church, that at least they were believing the wordof God, and the like. 

Presently Charles said, "It is to me a great mystery how the Englishpeople, as a whole, is ever to have faith again; is there evidenceenough for faith?"

His new friend looked surprised and not over-pleased; "Surely, " he said, "in matter of fact, a man may have more _evidence_ for believing theChurch to be the messenger of God, than he has for believing the fourGospels to be from God. If, then, he already believes the latter, whyshould he not believe the former?"

"But the belief in the Gospels is a traditional belief, " said Charles;"that makes all the difference. I cannot see how a nation like England, which has lost the faith, ever can recover it. Hence, in the matter ofconversion, Providence has generally visited simple and barbarousnations. "

"The converts of the Roman Empire were, I suppose, a considerableexception, " said the priest. 

"Still, it seems to me a great difficulty, " answered Charles; "I do notsee, when the dogmatic structure is once broken down, how it is ever tobe built up again. I fancy there is a passage somewhere in Carlyle's'French Revolution' on the subject, in which the author laments over themadness of men's destroying what they could not replace, what it wouldtake centuries and a strange combination of fortunate circumstances toreproduce, an external received creed. I am not denying, God forbid! theobjectivity of revelation, or saying that faith is a sort of happy andexpedient delusion; but, really, the evidence for revealed doctrine isso built up on probabilities that I do not see what is to introduce itinto a civilized community, where reason has been cultivated to theutmost, and argument is the test of truth. Many a man will say, 'Oh, that I had been educated a Catholic!' but he has not so been; and hefinds himself unable, though wishing, to believe, for he has notevidence enough to subdue his reason. What is to make him believe?"

His fellow-traveller had for some time shown signs of uneasiness; whenCharles stopped, he said, shortly, but quietly, "What is to make himbelieve! the _will_, his _will_. "

Charles hesitated; he proceeded; "If there is evidence enough to believeScripture, and we see that there is, I repeat, there is more than enoughto believe the Church. The evidence is not in fault; all it requires isto be brought home or applied to the mind; if belief does not thenfollow, the fault lies with the will. "

"Well, " said Charles, "I think there is a general feeling among educatedAnglicans, that the claims of the Roman Church do not rest on asufficiently intellectual basis; that the evidences, or notes, were wellenough for a rude age, not for this. This is what makes me despair ofthe growth of Catholicism. "

His companion looked round curiously at him, and then said, quietly, "Depend upon it, there is quite evidence enough for a _moral conviction_that the Catholic or Roman Church, and none other, is the voice of God. "

"Do you mean, " said Charles, with a beating heart, "that beforeconversion one can attain to a present abiding actual conviction of thistruth?"

"I do not know, " answered the other; "but, at least, he may havehabitual _moral certainty_; I mean, a conviction, and one only, steady, without rival conviction, or even reasonable doubt, present to him whenhe is most composed and in his hours of solitude, and flashing on himfrom time to time, as through clouds, when he is in the world;--aconviction to this effect, 'The Roman Catholic Church is the one onlyvoice of God, the one only way of salvation. '"

"Then you mean to say, " said Charles, while his heart beat faster, "thatsuch a person is under no duty to wait for clearer light. "

"He will not have, he cannot expect, clearer light before conversion. Certainty, in its highest sense, is the reward of those who, by an actof the will, and at the dictate of reason and prudence, embrace thetruth, when nature, like a coward, shrinks. You must make a venture;faith is a venture before a man is a Catholic; it is a gift after it. You approach the Church in the way of reason, you enter into it in thelight of the Spirit. "

Charles said that he feared there was a great temptation operating onmany well-informed and excellent men, to find fault with the evidencefor Catholicity, and to give over the search, on the excuse that therewere arguments on both sides. 

"It is not one set of men, " answered his companion; "it is the grievousdeficiency in Englishmen altogether. Englishmen have many gifts, faiththey have not. Other nations, inferior to them in many things, stillhave faith. Nothing will stand in place of it; not a sense of the beautyof Catholicism, or of its awfulness, or of its antiquity; not anappreciation of the sympathy which it shows towards sinners: not anadmiration of the Martyrs and early Fathers, and a delight in theirwritings. Individuals may display a touching gentleness, or aconscientiousness which demands our reverence; still, till they havefaith, they have not the foundation, and their superstructure will fall. They will not be blessed, they will effect nothing in religious matters, till they begin by an act of unreserved faith in the word of God, whatever it be; till they go out of themselves; till they cease to makesomething within them their standard, till they oblige their will toperfect what reason leaves sufficient, indeed, but incomplete. And whenthey shall recognize this defect in themselves, and try to remedy it, then they will recognize much more;--they will be on the road veryshortly to be Catholics. "

There was nothing in all this exactly new to Reding; but it was pleasantto hear it from the voice of another, and him a priest. Thus he hadsympathy and authority, and felt he was restored to himself. Theconversation stopped. After a while he disclosed to his new friend theplace for which he was bound, which, after what Charles had already beensaying, could be no great surprise to him. The latter knew the Superiorof San Michaele, and, taking out a card, wrote upon it a few words ofintroduction for him. By this time they had reached Paddington; andscarcely had the train stopped, when the priest took his smallcarpet-bag from under his seat, wrapped his cloak around him, steppedout of the carriage, and was walking out of sight at a brisk pace. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Reding naturally wished to take the important step he was meditating asquietly as he could; and had adopted what he considered satisfactorymeasures for this purpose. But such arrangements often turn out verydifferently from their promise; and so it was in his case. 

The Passionist House was in the eastern part of London; so farwell;--and as he knew in the neighbourhood a respectable publisher inthe religious line, with whom his father had dealt, he had written tohim to bespeak a room in his house for the few days which he trustedwould suffice for the process of his reception. What was to happen tohim after it, he left for the advice he might get from those in whosehands he found himself. It was now Wednesday; he hoped to have two daysto prepare himself for his confession, and then he proposed to presenthimself before those who were to receive it. His better plan would havebeen to have gone to the Religious House at once, where doubtless thegood fathers would have lodged him, secured him from intrusion, andgiven him the best advice how to proceed. But we must indulge him, if, doing so great a work, he likes to do it in his own way; nor must we behard on him, though it be not the best way. 

On arriving at his destination, he saw in the deportment of his hostgrounds for concluding that his coming was not only expected, butunderstood. Doubtless, then, the paragraph of the _Oxford Gazette_ hadbeen copied into the London papers; nor did it relieve his unpleasantsurprise to find, as he passed to his room, that the worthy bibliopolisthad a reading-room attached to his shop, which was far more perilous tohis privacy than a coffee-room would have been. He was not obliged, however, to mix with the various parties who seemed to frequent it; andhe determined as far as possible to confine himself to his apartment. The rest of the day he employed in writing letters to friends: hisconversation of the morning had tranquillized him; he went to bedpeaceful and happy, slept soundly, rose late, and, refreshed in mind andbody, turned his thoughts to the serious duties of the day. 

Breakfast over, he gave a considerable time to devotional exercises, andthen, opening his writing-desk, addressed himself to his work. Hardlyhad he got into it when his landlord made his appearance; and, with manyapologies for his intrusion, and a hope that he was not going to beimpertinent, proceeded to inquire if Mr. Reding was a Catholic. "Thequestion had been put to him, and he thought he might venture to solicitan answer from the person who could give the most authenticinformation. " Here was an interruption, vexatious in itself, andperplexing in the form in which it came upon him; it would be absurd toreply that he was on the point of _becoming_ a Catholic, so he shortlyanswered in the negative. Mr. Mumford then informed him that there weretwo friends of Mr. Reding's below, who wished very much to have a fewminutes' conversation with him. Charles could make no intelligibleobjection to the request; and in the course of a few minutes their knockwas heard at the room-door. 

On his answering it, two persons presented themselves, apparently bothstrangers to him. This, however, at the moment was a relief; for vaguefears and surmises had begun to flit across his mind as to the faceswhich were to make their appearance. The younger of the two, who hadround full cheeks, with a boyish air, and a shrill voice, advancedconfidently, and seemed to expect a recognition. It broke upon Charlesthat he had seen him before, but he could not tell where. "I ought toknow your face, " he said. 

"Yes, Mr. Reding, " answered the person addressed, "you may recollect meat College. "

"Ah, I remember perfectly, " said Reding; "Jack the kitchen-boy at St. Saviour's. "

"Yes, " said Jack; "I came when young Tom was promoted into Dennis'splace. "

Then he added, with a solemn shake of the head, "_I_ have got promotionnow. "

"So it seems, Jack, " answered Reding; "but what are you? Speak. "

"Ah, sir, " said Jack, "we must converse in a tone of befittingseriousness;" and he added, in a deep inarticulate voice, his lips notbeing suffered to meet together, "Sir, I stand next to an Angel now. "

"A what? Angel? Oh, I know, " cried Charles, "it's some sect; theSandemanians. "

"Sandemanians!" interrupted Jack; "we hold them in abhorrence; they arelevellers; they bring in disorder and every evil work. "

"I beg pardon, but I know it is some sect, though I don't recollectwhat. I've heard about it. Well, tell me, Jack, what are you?"

"I am, " answered Jack, as if he were confessing at the tribunal of aProprætor, "I am a member of the Holy Catholic Church. "

"That's right, Jack, " said Reding; "but it's not distinctive enough; soare we all; every one will say as much. "

"Hear me out, Mr. Reding, sir, " answered Jack, waving his hand; "hearme, but strike; I repeat, I am a member of the Holy Catholic Church, assembling in Huggermugger Lane. "

"Ah, " said Charles, "I see; that's what the 'gods' call you; now, whatdo men?"

"Men, " said Jack, not understanding, however, the allusion--"men call usChristians, professing the opinions of the late Rev. Edward Irving, B. D. "

"I understand perfectly now, " said Reding; "Irvingites--I recollect. "

"No, sir, " he said, "not Irvingites; we do not follow man; we followwherever the Spirit leads us; we have given up Tongue. But I ought tointroduce you to my friend, who is more than an Angel, " he proceededmodestly, "who has more than the tongue of men and angels, being nothingshort of an Apostle, sir. Mr. Reding, here's the Rev. AlexanderHighfly. Mr. Highfly, this is Mr. Reding. "

Mr. Highfly was a man of gentlemanlike appearance and manner; hislanguage was refined, and his conduct was delicate; so much so thatCharles at once changed his tone in speaking to him. He came to Mr. Reding, he said, from a sense of duty; and there was nothing in hisconversation to clash with that profession. He explained that he hadheard of Mr. Reding's being unsettled in his religious views, and hewould not lose the opportunity of attempting so valuable an accession tothe cause to which he had dedicated himself. 

"I see, " said Charles, smiling, "I am in the market. "

"It is the bargain of Glaucus with Diomede, " answered Mr. Highfly, "forwhich I am asking your co-operation. I am giving you the fellowship ofApostles. "

"It is, I recollect, one of the characteristics of your body, " saidCharles, "to have an order of Apostles, in addition to Bishops, Priests, and Deacons. "

"Rather, " said his visitor, "it is the special characteristic; for weacknowledge the orders of the Church of England. We are but completingthe Church system by restoring the Apostolic College. "

"What I should complain of, " said Charles, "were I at all inclined tolisten to your claims, would be the very different views which differentmembers of your body put forward. "

"You must recollect, sir, " answered Mr. Highfly, "that we are underDivine teaching, and that truth is but gradually communicated to theChurch. We do not pledge ourselves what we shall believe to-morrow byanything we say to-day. "

"Certainly, " answered Reding, "things have been said to me by yourteachers which I must suppose were only private opinions, though theyseemed to be more. "

"But I was saying, " said Mr. Highfly, "that at present we are restoringthe Gentile Apostolate. The Church of England has Bishops, Priests, andDeacons, but a Scriptural Church has more; it is plain it ought to haveApostles. In Scripture Apostles had the supreme authority, and the threeAnglican orders were but subordinate to them. "

"I am disposed to agree with you there, " said Charles. Mr. Highflylooked surprised and pleased. "We are restoring, " he said, "the Churchto a more Scriptural state; perhaps, then, we may reckon on yourco-operation in doing so? We do not ask you to secede from theEstablishment, but to acknowledge the Apostolic authority to which allought to submit. "

"But does it not strike you, Mr. Highfly, " answered Reding, "that there_is_ a body of Christians, and not an inconsiderable one, whichmaintains with you, and, what is more, has always preserved, that trueand higher Apostolic succession in the Church; a body, I mean, which, inaddition to Episcopacy, believes that there is a standing ordinanceabove Episcopacy, and gives it the name of the Apostolate?"

"On the contrary, " answered Mr. Highfly, "I consider that we arerestoring what has lain dormant ever since the time of St. Paul; nay, Iwill say it is an ordinance which never has been carried into effect atall, though it was in the Divine design from the first. You will observethat the Apostles were Jews; but there never has been a GentileApostolate. St. Paul indeed was Apostle of the Gentiles, but the designbegun in him has hitherto been frustrated. He went up to Jerusalemagainst the solemn warning of the Spirit; now we are raised up tocomplete that work of the Spirit, which was stopped by the inadvertenceof the first Apostle. "

Jack interposed: he should be very glad, he said, to know what religiouspersuasion it was, besides his own, which Mr. Reding considered to havepreserved the succession of Apostles as something distinct from Bishops. 

"It is quite plain whom I mean--The Catholics, " answered Charles. "ThePopedom is the true Apostolate, the Pope is the successor of theApostles, particularly of St. Peter. "

"We are very well inclined to the Roman Catholics, " answered Mr. Highfly, with some hesitation; "we have adopted a great part of theirritual; but we are not accustomed to consider that we resemble them inwhat is our characteristic and cardinal tenet. "

"Allow me to say it, Mr. Highfly, " said Reding, "it is a reason whyevery Irvingite--I mean every member of your denomination--should becomea Catholic. Your own religious sense has taught you that there ought tobe an Apostolate in the Church. You consider that the authority of theApostles was not temporary, but essential and fundamental. What thatauthority was, we see in St. Paul's conduct towards St. Timothy. Heplaced him in the see of Ephesus, he sent him a charge, and, in fact, hewas his overseer or Bishop. He had the care of all the Churches. Now, this is precisely the power which the Pope claims, and has ever claimed;and, moreover, he has claimed it, as being the _successor_, and the soleproper successor of the Apostles, though Bishops may be improperly suchalso. [2] And hence Catholics call him Vicar of Christ, Bishop ofBishops, and the like; and, I believe, consider that he, in apre-eminent sense, is the one pastor or ruler of the Church, the sourceof jurisdiction, the judge of controversies, and the centre of unity, ashaving the powers of the Apostles, and specially of St. Peter. "

 [2] "Successores sunt, sed ita ut potius Vicarii dicendi sint Apostolorum, quam successores; contra, Romanus Pontifex, quia verus Petri successor est, nonnisi per quendam abusum ejus vicarius diceretur. "--Zaccar. _Antifebr. _, p. 130. 

Mr. Highfly kept silence. 

"Don't you think, then, it would be well, " continued Charles, "that, before coming to convert me, you should first join the Catholic Church?at least, you would urge your doctrine upon me with more authority ifyou came as a member of it. And I will tell you frankly, that you wouldfind it easier to convert me to Catholicism than to your presentpersuasion. "

Jack looked at Mr. Highfly, as if hoping for some decisive reply to whatwas a new view to him; but Mr. Highfly took a different line. "Well, sir, " he said, "I do not see that any good will come by our continuingthe interview; but your last remark leads me to observe that_proselytism_ was not our object in coming here. We did not propose morethan to _inform_ you that a great work was going on, to direct yourattention to it, and to invite your co-operation. We do not controvert;we only wish to deliver our testimony, and there to leave the matter. Ibelieve, then, we need not take up your valuable time longer. " With thathe got up, and Jack with him, and, with many courteous bows and smiles, which were duly responded to by Reding, the two visitors took theirdeparture. 

"Well, I might have been worse off, " thought Reding; "really they aregentle, well-mannered creatures, after all. I might have been attackedby some of your furious Exeter-Hall beasts; but now to business. .. . What's that?" he added. Alas, it was a soft, distinct tap at the door;there was no mistake. "Who's there? come in!" he cried; upon which thedoor gently opened, and a young lady, not without attractions of personand dress, presented herself. Charles started up with vexation; butthere was no help for it, and he was obliged to hand her a chair, andthen to wait, all expectation, or rather all impatience, to be informedof her mission. For a while she did not speak, but sat, with her head onone side, looking at her parasol, the point of which she fixed on thecarpet, while she slowly described a circumference with the handle. Atlength she asked, without raising her eyes, whether it was true--and shespoke slowly and in what is called a spiritual tone--whether it wastrue, the information had been given her, that Mr. Reding, thegentleman she had the honour of addressing--whether it was true, that hewas in search of a religion more congenial to his feelings than that ofthe Church of England? "Mr. Reding could not give her any satisfactionon the subject of her inquiry;"--he answered shortly, and had somedifficulty in keeping from rudeness in his tone. The interrogation, shewent on to say, perhaps might seem impertinent; but she had a motive. Some dear sisters of hers were engaged in organizing a new religiousbody, and Mr. Reding's accession, counsel, assistance, would beparticularly valuable; the more so, because as yet they had not anygentleman of University education among them. 

"May I ask, " said Charles, "the name of the intended persuasion?"

"The name, " she answered, "is not fixed; indeed, this is one of thepoints on which we should covet the privilege of the advice of agentleman so well qualified as Mr. Reding to assist us in ourdeliberations. "

"And your tenets, ma'am?"

"Here, too, " she replied, "there is much still to be done; the tenetsare not fixed either, that is, they are but sketched; and we shall prizeyour suggestions much. Nay, you will of course have the opportunity, asyou would have the right, to nominate any doctrine to which you may beespecially inclined. "

Charles did not know how to answer to so liberal an offer. 

She continued: "Perhaps it is right, Mr. Reding, that I should tell yousomething more about myself personally. I was born in the communion ofthe Church of England; for a while I was a member of the New Connexion;and after that, " she added, still with drooping head and languidsing-song voice, "after that, I was a Plymouth brother. " It got tooabsurd; and Charles, who had for an instant been amused, now became fullof the one thought, how to get her out of the room. 

It was obviously left to her to keep up the conversation: so she saidpresently, "We are all for a pure religion. "

"From what you tell me, " said Charles, "I gather that every member ofyour new community is allowed to name one or two doctrines of his own. "

"We are all scriptural, " she made answer, "and therefore are all one; wemay differ, but we agree. Still it is so, as you say, Mr. Reding. I'mfor election and assurance; our dearest friend is for perfection; andanother sweet sister is for the second advent. But we desire to includeamong us all souls who are thirsting after the river of life, whatevertheir personal views. I believe you are partial to sacraments andceremonies?"

Charles tried to cut short the interview by denying that he had anyreligion to seek after, or any decision to make; but it was easier toend the conversation than the visit. He threw himself back in his chairin despair, and half closed his eyes. "Oh, those good Irvingites, " hethought, "blameless men, who came only to protest, and vanished at thefirst word of opposition; but now thrice has the church-clock struck thequarters since her entrance, and I don't see why she's not to stop hereas long as it goes on striking, since she has stopped so long. She hasnot in her the elements of progress and decay. She'll never die; what isto become of me?"

Nor was she doomed to find a natural death; for, when the case seemedhopeless, a noise was heard on the staircase, and, with scarcely theapology for a knock, a wild gawky man made his appearance, and at oncecried out, "I hope, sir, it's not a bargain yet; I hope it's not toolate; discharge this young woman, Mr. Reding, and let me teach you theold truth, which never has been repealed. "

There was no need of discharging her; for as kindly as she had unfoldedher leaves and flourished in the sun of Reding's forbearance, so did sheat once shrink and vanish--one could hardly tell how--before the roughaccents of the intruder; and Charles suddenly found himself in the handsof a new tormentor. "This is intolerable, " he said to himself; and, jumping up, he cried, "Sir, excuse me, I am particularly engaged thismorning, and I must beg to decline the favour of your visit. "

"What did you say, sir?" said the stranger; and, taking a note-book anda pencil from his pocket, he began to look up in Charles's face andwrite down his words, saying half aloud, as he wrote, "Declines thefavour of my visit. " Then he looked up again, keeping his pencil uponhis paper, and said, "Now, sir. "

Reding moved towards him, and, spreading his arms as one drives sheepand poultry in one direction, he repeated, looking towards the door, "Really, sir, I feel the honour of your call; but another day, sir, another day. It is too much, too much. "

"Too much?" said the intruder; "and I waiting below so long! That daintylady has been good part of an hour here, and now you can't give me fiveminutes, sir. "

"Why, sir, " answered Charles, "I am sure you are come on an errand asfruitless as hers; and I am sick of these religious discussions, andwant to be to myself, and to save you trouble. "

"Sick of religions discussions, " said the stranger to himself, as hewrote down the words in his note-book. Charles did not deign to noticehis act or to explain his own expression; he stood prepared to renew hisaction of motioning him to the door. His tormentor then said, "You maylike to know my name; it is Zerubbabel. "

Vexed as Reding was, he felt that he had no right to visit thetediousness of his former visitor upon his present; so he forced himselfto reply, "Zerubbabel; indeed; and is Zerubbabel your Christian name, sir, or your surname?"

"It is both at once, Mr. Reding, " answered Zerubbabel, "or rather, Ihave no Christian name, and Zerubbabel is my one Jewish designation. "

"You are come, then, to inquire whether I am likely to become a Jew. "

"Stranger things have happened, " answered his visitor; "for instance, Imyself was once a deacon in the Church of England. "

"Then you are not a Jew?" said Charles. 

"I am a Jew by choice, " he said; "after much prayer and study ofScripture, I have come to the conclusion that, as Judaism was the firstreligion, so it's to be the last. Christianity I consider an episode inthe history of revelation. "

"You are not likely to have many followers in such a belief, " saidCharles; "we are all for progress now, not for retrograding. "

"I differ from you, Mr. Reding, " said Zerubbabel; "see what theEstablishment is doing; it has sent a Bishop to Jerusalem. "

"That is rather with the view of making the Jews Christians than theChristians Jews, " said Reding. 

Zerubbabel wrote down: "Thinks Bishop of Jerusalem is to convert theJews;" then, "I differ from you, sir; on the contrary, I fancy theexcellent Bishop has in view to revive the distinction between Jew andGentile, which is one step towards the supremacy of the former; for ifthe Jews have a place at all in Christianity, as Jews, it must be thefirst place. "

Charles thought he had better let him have his talk out; so Zerubbabelproceeded: "The good Bishop in question knows well that the Jew is theelder brother of the Gentile, and it is his special mission to restore aJewish episcopate to the See of Jerusalem. The Jewish succession hasbeen suspended since the time of the Apostles. And now you see thereason of my calling on you, Mr. Reding. It is reported that you leantowards the Catholic Church; but I wish to suggest to you that you havemistaken the centre of unity. The See of James at Jerusalem is the truecentre, not the See of Peter at Rome. Peter's power is a usurpation onJames's. I consider the present Bishop of Jerusalem the true Pope. TheGentiles have been in power too long; it is now the Jews' turn. "

"You seem to allow, " said Charles, "that there ought to be a centre ofunity and a Pope. "

"Certainly, " said Zerubbabel, "and a ritual too, but it should be theJewish. I am collecting subscriptions for the rebuilding of the Templeon Mount Moriah; I hope too to negotiate a loan, and we shall haveTemple stock, yielding, I calculate, at least four per cent. "

"It has hitherto been thought a sin, " said Reding, "to attemptrebuilding the Temple. According to you, Julian the Apostate went thebetter way to work. "

"His motive was wrong, sir, " answered the other; "but his act was good. The way to convert the Jews is, first to accept their rites. This is oneof the greatest discoveries of this age. _We_ must make the first steptowards _them_. For myself, I have adopted all which the present stateof their religion renders possible. And I don't despair to see the daywhen bloody sacrifices will be offered on the Temple Mount as of old. "

Here he came to a pause; and Charles making no reply, he said, in abrisk, off-hand manner, "May I not hope you will give your name to thisreligious object, and adopt the old ritual? The Catholic is quite ofyesterday compared with it. " Charles answering in the negative, Zerubbabel wrote down in his book: "Refuses to take part in our scheme;"and disappeared from the room as suddenly as he entered it. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Charles's trials were not at an end; and we suspect the reader will givea shudder at the news, as having a very material share in theinfliction. Yet the reader's case has this great alleviation, that hetakes up this narrative in an idle hour, and Charles encountered thereality in a very busy and anxious one. So, however, it was: not anygreat time elapsed after the retreat of Zerubbabel, when his landlordagain appeared at the door. He assured Mr. Reding that it was no faultof his that the last two persons had called on him; that the lady hadslipped by him, and the gentleman had forced his way; but that he nowreally did wish to solicit an interview for a personage of greatliterary pretensions, who sometimes dealt with him, and who had comefrom the West End for the honour of an interview with Mr. Reding. Charles groaned, but only one reply was possible; the day was alreadywasted, and with a sort of dull resignation he gave permission for theintroduction of the stranger. 

It was a pale-faced man of about thirty-five, who, when he spoke, archedhis eyebrows, and had a peculiar smile. He began by expressing hisapprehension that Mr. Reding must have been wearied by impertinent andunnecessary visitors--visitors without intellect, who knew no betterthan to obtrude their fanaticism on persons who did but despise it. "Iknow more about the Universities, " he continued, "than to suppose thatany congeniality can exist between their members and the mass ofreligious sectarians. You have had very distinguished men among you, sir, at Oxford, of very various schools, yet all able men, anddistinguished in the pursuit of Truth, though they have arrived atcontradictory opinions. "

Not knowing what he was driving at, Reding remained in an attitude ofexpectation. 

"I belong, " he continued, "to a Society which is devoted to theextension among all classes of the pursuit of Truth. Any philosophicalmind, Mr. Reding, must have felt deep interest in your own party in theUniversity. Our Society, in fact, considers you to be distinguishedConfessors in that all-momentous occupation; and I have thought I couldnot pay yourself individually, whose name has lately honourably appearedin the papers, a better compliment than to get you elected a member ofour Truth Society. And here is your diploma, " he added, handing a sheetof paper to him. Charles glanced his eye over it; it was a paper, partengraving, part print, part manuscript. An emblem of truth was in thecentre, represented, not by a radiating sun or star, as might beexpected, but as the moon under total eclipse, surrounded, as by cherubfaces, by the heads of Socrates, Cicero, Julian, Abelard, Luther, Benjamin Franklin, and Lord Brougham. Then followed some sentences tothe effect that the London Branch Association of the British and ForeignTruth Society, having evidence of the zeal in the pursuit of Truth ofCharles Reding, Esq. , member of Oxford University, had unanimouslyelected him into their number, and had assigned him the dignified andresponsible office of associate and corresponding member. 

"I thank the Truth Society very much, " said Charles, when he got to theend of the paper, "for this mark of their good will; yet I regret tohave scruples about accepting it till some of the patrons are changed, whose heads are prefixed to the diploma. For instance, I do not like tobe under the shadow of the Emperor Julian. "

"You would respect his love of Truth, I presume, " said Mr. Batts. 

"Not much, I fear, " said Charles, "seeing it did not hinder him fromdeliberately embracing error. "

"No, not so, " answered Mr. Batts; "_he_ thought it Truth; and Julian, Iconceive, cannot be said to have deserted the Truth, because, in fact, he always was in pursuit of it. "

"I fear, " said Reding, "there is a very serious difference between yourprinciples and my own on this point. "

"Ah, my dear sir, a little attention to our principles will remove it, "said Mr. Batts: "let me beg your acceptance of this little pamphlet, inwhich you will find some fundamental truths stated, almost in the way ofaphorisms. I wish to direct your attention to page 8, where they aredrawn out. "

Charles turned to the page, and read as follows:--

 "_On the pursuit of Truth. _

 1. It is uncertain whether Truth exists. 

 2. It is certain that it cannot be found. 

 3. It is a folly to boast of possessing it. 

 4. Man's work and duty, as man, consist, not in possessing, but in seeking it. 

 5. His happiness and true dignity consist in the pursuit. 

 6. The pursuit of Truth is an end to be engaged in for its own sake. 

 7. As philosophy is the love, not the possession of wisdom, so religion is the love, not the possession of Truth. 

 8. As Catholicism begins with faith, so Protestantism ends with inquiry. 

 9. As there is disinterestedness in seeking, so is there selfishness in claiming to possess. 

 10. The martyr of Truth is he who dies professing that it is a shadow. 

 11. A life-long martyrdom is this, to be ever changing. 

 12. The fear of error is the bane of inquiry. "

Charles did not get further than these, but others followed of a similarcharacter. He returned the pamphlet to Mr. Batts. "I see enough, " hesaid, "of the opinions of the Truth Society to admire their ingenuityand originality, but, excuse me, not their good sense. It is impossibleI should subscribe to what is so plainly opposed to Christianity. "

Mr. Batts looked annoyed. "We have no wish to oppose Christianity, " hesaid; "we only wish Christianity not to oppose us. It is very hard thatwe may not go our own way, when we are quite willing that others shouldgo theirs. It seems imprudent, I conceive, in this age, to representChristianity as hostile to the progress of the mind, and to turn intoenemies of revelation those who do sincerely wish to 'live and letlive. '"

"But contradictions cannot be true, " said Charles: "if Christianity saysthat Truth can be found, it must be an error to state that it cannot befound. "

"I conceive it to be intolerant, " persisted Mr. Batts: "you will grant, I suppose, that Christianity has nothing to do with astronomy orgeology: why, then, should it be allowed to interfere with philosophy?"

It was useless proceeding in the discussion; Charles repressed theanswer which rose on his tongue of the essential connexion of philosophywith religion; a silence ensued of several minutes, and Mr. Batts atlength took the hint, for he rose with a disappointed air, and wishedhim good morning. 

It mattered little now whether he was left to himself or not, exceptthat conversation harassed and fretted him; for, as to turning his mindto the subjects which were to have been his occupation that morning, itwas by this time far too much wearied and dissipated to undertake them. On Mr. Batts' departure, then, he did not make the attempt, but satbefore the fire, dull and depressed, and in danger of relapsing into thetroubled thoughts from which his railroad companion had extricated him. When, then, at the end of half an hour, a new knock was heard at thedoor, he admitted the postulant with a calm indifference, as if fortunehad now done her worst, and he had nothing to fear. A middle-aged manmade his appearance, sleek and plump, who seemed to be in goodcircumstances, and to have profited by them. His glossy black dress, incontrast with the crimson colour of his face and throat, for he wore nocollars, and his staid and pompous bearing, added to his rapid deliverywhen he spoke, gave him much the look of a farm-yard turkey-cock in theeyes of any one who was less disgusted with seeing new faces than Redingwas at that moment. The new comer looked sharply at him as he entered. "Your most obedient, " he said abruptly; "you seem in low spirits, mydear sir; but sit down, Mr. Reding, and give me the opportunity ofoffering to you a little good advice. You may guess what I am by myappearance: I speak for myself; I will say no more; I can be of use toyou. Mr. Reding, " he continued, pulling his chair towards him, andputting out his hand as if he was going to paw him, "have not you made amistake in thinking it necessary to go to the Romish Church for a reliefof your religious difficulties?"

"You have not yet heard from me, sir, " answered Charles gravely, "that Ihave any difficulties at all. Excuse me if I am abrupt; I have had manypersons calling on me with your errand. It is very kind of you, but Idon't want advice; I was a fool to come here. "

"Well, my dear Mr. Reding, but listen to me, " answered his persecutor, spreading out the fingers of his right hand, and opening his eyes wide:"I am right, I believe, in apprehending that your reason for leaving theEstablishment is, that you cannot carry out the surplice in the pulpitand the candlesticks on the table. Now, don't you do more than you need. Pardon me, but you are like a person who should turn the Thames in uponhis house, when he merely wanted his door-steps scrubbed. Why become aconvert to Popery, when you can obtain your object in a cheaper andbetter way? Set up for yourself, my dear sir--set up for yourself; forma new denomination, sixpence will do it; and then you may have yoursurplice and candlesticks to your heart's content, without denying thegospel, or running into the horrible abominations of the Scarlet Woman. "And he sat upright in his chair, with his hands flat on his extendedknees, watching with a self-satisfied air the effect of his words uponReding. 

"I have had enough of this, " said poor Charles; "you, indeed, are butone of a number, sir, and would say you had nothing to do with the rest;but I cannot help regarding you as the fifth, or sixth, or seventhperson--I can't count them--who has been with me this morning, givingme, though with the best intentions, advice which has not been askedfor. I don't know you, sir; you have no introduction to me; you have noteven told me your name. It is not usual to discourse on such personalmatters with strangers. Let me, then, thank you first for your kindnessin coming, and next for the additional kindness of going. " And Charlesrose up. 

His visitor did not seem inclined to move, or to notice what he hadsaid. He stopped awhile, opened his handkerchief with much deliberation, and blew his nose; then he continued: "Kitchens is my name, sir; Dr. Kitchens; your state of mind, Mr. Reding, is not unknown to me; you areat present under the influence of the old Adam, and indeed in amelancholy way. I was not unprepared for it; and I have put into mypocket a little tract which I shall press upon you with all theChristian solicitude which brother can show towards brother. Here it is;I have the greatest confidence in it; perhaps you have heard the name;it is known as Kitchens's Spiritual Elixir. The Elixir has enlightenedmillions; and, I will take on me to say, will convert you in twenty-fourhours. Its operation is mild and pleasurable, and its effects aremarvellous, prodigious, though it does not consist of more than eightduodecimo pages. Here's a list of testimonies to some of the mostremarkable cases. I have known one hundred and two cases myself in whichit effected a saving change in six hours; seventy-nine in which itsoperations took place in as few as three; and twenty-seven whereconversion followed instantaneously after the perusal. At once, poorsinners, who five minutes before had been like the demoniac in thegospel, were seen sitting 'clothed, and in their right mind. ' Thus Ispeak within the mark, Mr. Reding, when I say I will warrant a change inyou in twenty-four hours. I have never known but one instance in whichit seemed to fail, and that was the case of a wretched old man who heldit in his hand a whole day in dead silence, without any apparenteffect; but here _exceptio probat regulam_, for on further inquiry wefound he could not read. So the tract was slowly administered to him byanother person; and before it was finished, I protest to you, Mr. Reding, he fell into a deep and healthy slumber, perspired profusely, and woke up at the end of twelve hours a new creature, perfectly new, bran new, and fit for heaven--whither he went in the course of the week. We are now making farther experiments on its operation, and we find thateven separate leaves of the tract have a proportionate effect. And, whatis more to your own purpose, it is quite a specific in the case ofPopery. It directly attacks the peccant matter, and all the trash aboutsacraments, saints, penance, purgatory, and good works is dislodged fromthe soul at once. "

Charles remained silent and grave, as one who was likely suddenly tobreak out into some strong act, rather than condescend to any fartherparleying. 

Dr. Kitchens proceeded: "Have you attended any of the lectures deliveredagainst the Mystic Babylon, or any of the public disputes which havebeen carried on in so many places? My dear friend, Mr. Macanoise, contested ten points with thirty Jesuits--a good half of the Jesuits inLondon--and beat them upon all. Or have you heard any of the luminariesof Exeter Hall? There is Mr. Gabb; he is a Boanerges, a perfect Niagara, for his torrent of words; such momentum in his delivery; it is as rapidas it's strong; it's enough to knock a man down. He can speak sevenhours running without fatigue; and last year he went through England, delivering through the length and breadth of the land, one, and oneonly, awful protest against the apocalyptic witch of Endor. He began atDevonport and ended at Berwick, and surpassed himself on every delivery. At Berwick, his last exhibition, the effect was perfectly tremendous; afriend of mine heard it; he assures me, incredible as it may appear, that it shattered some glass in a neighbouring house; and two priests ofBaal, who were with their day-school within a quarter of a mile of Mr. Gabb, were so damaged by the mere echo, that one forthwith took to hisbed and the other has walked on crutches ever since. " He stopped awhile;then he continued: "And what was it, do you think, Mr. Reding, which hadthis effect on them? Why, it was Mr. Gabb's notion about the sign of thebeast in the Revelation: he proved, Mr. Reding--it was the most originalhit in his speech--he proved that it was the sign of the cross, thematerial cross. "

The time at length was come; Reding could not bear more; and, as ithappened, his visitor's offence gave him the means, as well as a cause, for punishing him. "Oh, " he said suddenly, "then I suppose, Dr. Kitchens, you can't tolerate the cross?"

"Oh no; tolerate it!" answered Dr. Kitchens; "it is Antichrist. "

"You can't bear the sight of it, I suspect, Dr. Kitchens?"

"I can't endure it, sir; what true Protestant can?"

"Then look here, " said Charles, taking a small crucifix out of hiswriting-desk; and he held it before Dr. Kitchens' face. 

Dr. Kitchens at once started on his feet, and retreated. "What's that?"he said, and his face flushed up and then turned pale; "what's that?it's the thing itself!" and he made a snatch at it. "Take it away, Mr. Reding; it's an idol; I cannot endure it; take away the thing!"

"I declare, " said Reding to himself, "it really has power over him;" andhe still confronted Dr. Kitchens with it, while he kept it out of Dr. Kitchens' reach. 

"Take it away, Mr. Reding, I beseech you, " cried Kitchens, stillretreating, while Charles still pressed on him; "take it away, it's toomuch. Oh, oh! Spare me, spare me, Mr. Reding!--nehushtan--an idol!--oh, you young antichrist, you devil!--'tis He, 'tis He--torment!--spare me, Mr. Reding. " And the miserable man began to dance about, still eyeingthe sacred sign, and motioning it from him. 

Charles now had victory in his hands: there was, indeed, some difficultyin steering Kitchens to the door from the place where he had beensitting, but, that once effected, he opened it with violence, and, throwing himself on the staircase, he began to jump down two or threesteps at a time, with such forgetfulness of everything but his ownterror, that he came plump upon two persons who, in rivalry of eachother, were in the act of rushing up: and, while he drove one againstthe rail, he fairly rolled the other to the bottom. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Charles threw himself on his chair, burying the Crucifix in his bosom, quite worn out with his long trial and the sudden exertion in which ithad just now been issuing. When a noise was heard at his door, andknocks succeeded, he took no farther notice than to plant his feet onthe fender and bury his face in his hands. The summons at first wasapparently from one person only, but his delay in answering it gave timefor the arrival of another; and there was a brisk succession ofalternate knocks from the two, which Charles let take its course. Atlength one of the rival candidates for admission, bolder than the other, slowly opened the door; when the other, who had impetuously scrambledupstairs after his fall, rushed in before him, crying out, "One word forthe New Jerusalem!" "In charity, " said Reding, without changing hisattitude, "in charity, leave me alone. You mean it well, but I don'twant you, sir; I don't indeed. I've had Old Jerusalem here already, andJewish Apostles, and Gentile Apostles, and free inquiry, and fancyreligion, and Exeter Hall. What _have_ I done? why can't I die out inpeace? My dear sir, do go! I can't see you; I'm worn out. " And he roseup and advanced towards him. "Call again, dear sir, if you are bent ontalking with me; but, excuse me, I really have had enough of it for oneday. No fault of yours, my dear sir, that you have come the sixth orseventh. " And he opened the door for him. 

"A madman nearly threw me down as I was coming up, " said the personaddressed, in some agitation. 

"Ten thousand pardons for his rudeness, my dear sir--ten thousandpardons, but allow me;" and he bowed him out of the room. He then turnedround to the other stranger, who had stood by in silence: "And you too, sir . .. Is it possible!" His countenance changed to extreme surprise; itwas Mr. Malcolm. Charles's thoughts flowed in a new current, and histormentors were suddenly forgotten. 

The history of Mr. Malcolm's calling was simple. He had always been acollector of old books, and had often taken advantage of the stores ofCharles's landlord in adding to his library. Passing through London tothe Eastern Counties Rail, he happened to call in; and, as his friendthe bookseller was not behind his own reading-room in the diffusion ofgossip, he learned that Mr. Reding, who was on the point of secedingfrom the Establishment, was at that moment above stairs. He waited withimpatience through Dr. Kitchens' visit, and even then found himself, tohis no small annoyance, in danger of being outstripped by the goodSwedenborgian. 

"How d'ye do, Charles?" he said, at length, with not a little stiffnessin his manner, while Charles had no less awkwardness in receiving him;"you have been holding a levee this morning; I thought I should neverget to see you. Sit you down; let us both sit down, and let me at lasthave a word or two with you. "

In spite of the diversified trial Charles had sustained from strangersthat morning, there was no one perhaps whom he would have less desiredto see than Mr. Malcolm. He could not help associating him with hisfather, yet he felt no opening of heart towards him, nor respect for hisjudgment. His feeling was a mixture of prescriptive fear andfriendliness, attachment from old associations, and desire of standingwell with him, but neither confidence nor real love. He coloured up andfelt guilty, yet without a clear understanding why. 

"Well, Charles Reding, " he said, "I think we know each other well enoughfor you to have given me a hint of what was going on as regards you. "

Charles said he had written to him only the evening before. 

"Ah, when there was not time to answer your letter, " said Mr. Malcolm. 

Charles said he wished to spare so kind a friend . .. He bungled, andcould not finish his sentence. 

"A friend, who, of course, could give no advice, " said Mr. Malcolmdrily. Presently he said, "Were those people some of your new friendswho were calling on you? they have kept me in the shop thisthree-quarters of an hour; and the fellow who has just come down nearlythrew me over the baluster. "

"Oh no, sir, I know nothing of them; they were the most unwelcome ofintruders. "

"As some one else seems to be, " said Mr. Malcolm. 

Charles was very much hurt; the more so, because he had nothing to say;he kept silence. 

"Well, Charles, " said Mr. Malcolm, not looking at him, "I have known youfrom this high; more, from a child in arms. A frank, open boy you were;I don't know what has spoiled you. These Jesuits, perhaps. .. . It was notso in your father's lifetime. "

"My dear sir, " said Charles, "it pierces me to the heart to hear youtalk so. You have indeed always been most kind to me. If I have erred, it has been an error of judgment; and I am very sorry for it, and hopeyou will forgive it. I acted for the best; but I have been, as you mustfeel, in a most trying situation. My mother has known what I wascontemplating this year past. "

"Trying situation! fudge! What have you to do with situations? I couldhave told you a great deal about these Catholics; I know all about them. Error of judgment! don't tell me. I know how these things happen quitewell. I have seen such things before; only I thought you a more sensiblefellow. There was young Dalton of St. Cross; he goes abroad, and fallsin with a smooth priest, who persuades the silly fellow that theCatholic Church is the ancient and true Church of England, the onlyreligion for a gentleman; he is introduced to a Count this, and aMarchioness that, and returns a Catholic. There was another; what washis name? I forget it, of a Berkshire family. He is smitten with apretty face; nothing will serve but he must marry her; but she's aCatholic, and can't marry a heretic; so he, forsooth, gives up thefavour of his uncle and his prospects in the county, for his fairJuliet. There was another, --but it's useless going on. And, now I wonderwhat has taken you. "

All this was the best justification for Charles's not having spoken toMr. Malcolm on the subject. That gentleman had had his own experience ofthirty or forty years, and, like some great philosophers, he made thatpersonal experience of his the decisive test of the possible and thetrue. "I know them, " he continued--"I know them; a set of hypocrites andsharpers. I could tell you such stories of what I fell in with abroad. Those priests are not to be trusted. Did you ever know a priest?"

"No, " answered Charles. 

"Did you ever see a Popish chapel?"

"No. "

"Do you know anything of Catholic books, Catholic doctrine, Catholicmorality? I warrant it, not much. "

Charles looked very uncomfortable. 

"Then what makes you go to them?"

Charles did not know what to say. 

"Silly boy, " he went on, "you have not a word to say for yourself; it'sall idle fancy. You are going as a bird to the fowler. "

Reding began to rouse himself; he felt he ought to say something; hefelt that silence would tell against him. "Dear sir, " he answered, "there's nothing but may be turned against one if a person is so minded. Now, do think; had I known this or that priest, you would have said atonce, 'Ah, he came over you. ' If I had been familiar with Catholicchapels, 'I was allured by the singing or the incense. ' What can I havedone better than keep myself to myself, go by my best reason, consultthe friends whom I happened to find around me, as I have done, and waitin patience till I was sure of my convictions?"

"Ah, that's the way with you youngsters, " said Mr. Malcolm; "you allthink you are so right; you do think so admirably that older heads areworth nothing to the like of you. Well, " he went on, putting on hisgloves, "I see I am not in the way to persuade you. Poor dear Charlie, Igrieve for you; what would your poor father have said, had he lived tosee it? Poor Reding, he has been spared this. But perhaps it would nothave happened. I know what the upshot will be; you will come back--comeback you will, to a dead certainty. We shall see you back, foolish boy, after you have had your gallop over your ploughed field. Well, well;better than running wild. You must have your hobby; it might have been aworse; you might have run through your money. But perhaps you'll begiving it away, as it is, to some artful priest. It's grievous, grievous; your education thrown away, your prospects ruined, your poormother and sisters left to take care of themselves. And you don't say aword to me. " And he began musing. "A troublesome world: good-bye, Charles; you are high and mighty now, and are in full sail: you may cometo your father's friend some day in a different temper. Good-bye. "

There was no help for it; Charles's heart was full, but his head waswearied and confused, and his spirit sank; for all these reasons he hadnot a word to say, and seemed to Mr. Malcolm either stupid or close. Hecould but wring warmly Mr. Malcolm's reluctant hand, and accompany himdown to the street-door. 

CHAPTER X. 

"This will never do, " said Charles, as he closed the door, and ranupstairs; "here is a day wasted, worse than wasted, wasted partly onstrangers, partly on friends; and it's hard to say in which case a morethorough waste. I ought to have gone to the Convent at once. " Thethought flashed into his mind, and he stood over the fire dwelling onit. "Yes, " he said, "I will delay no longer. How does time go? I declareit's past four o'clock. " He then thought again: "I'll get over mydinner, and then at once betake myself to my good Passionists. "

To the coffee-house then he went, and, as it was some way off, it is notwonderful that it was near six before he arrived at the Convent. It wasa plain brick building; money had not been so abundant as to overflowupon the exterior, after the expense of the interior had been providedfor. And it was incomplete; a large church had been enclosed, but it wasscarcely more than a shell, --altars, indeed, had been set up, but, forthe rest, it had little more than good proportions, a broad sanctuary, aserviceable organ, and an effective choir. There was a range ofbuildings adjacent, capable of holding about half-a-dozen fathers; butthe size of the church required a larger establishment. By this time, doubtless, things are different, but we are looking back at the firstefforts of the English Congregation, when it had scarcely ceased tostruggle for life, and when friends and members were but beginning toflow in. 

It was indeed but ten years, at that time, since the severest of modernrules had been introduced into England. Two centuries after thememorable era when St. Philip and St. Ignatius, making light of thosebodily austerities of which they were personally so great masters, preached mortification of will and reason as more necessary for acivilized age, --in the lukewarm and self-indulgent eighteenth century, Father Paul of the Cross was divinely moved to found a Congregation insome respects more ascetic than the primitive hermits and the orders ofthe middle age. It was not fast, or silence, or poverty whichdistinguished it, though here too it is not wanting in strictness; butin the cell of its venerable founder, on the Celian Hill, hangs an irondiscipline or scourge, studded with nails, which is a memorial, not onlyof his own self-inflicted sufferings, but of those of his Italianfamily. The object of those sufferings was as remarkable as theirintensity; penance, indeed, is in one respect the end of allself-chastisement, but in the instance of the Passionists the use of thescourge was specially directed to the benefit of their neighbour. Theyapplied the pain to the benefit of the holy souls in Purgatory, or theyunderwent it to rouse a careless audience. On their missions, when theirwords seemed uttered in vain, they have been known suddenly to undotheir habit, and to scourge themselves with sharp knives or razors, crying out to the horrified people, that they would not show mercy totheir flesh till they whom they were addressing took pity on their ownperishing souls. Nor was it to their own countrymen alone that thisself-consuming charity extended; how it so happened does not appear;perhaps a certain memento close to their house was the earthly cause;but so it was, that for many years the heart of Father Paul was expandedtowards a northern nation, with which, humanly speaking, he had nothingto do. Over against St. John and St. Paul, the home of the Passionistson the Celian, rises the old church and monastery of San Gregorio, thewomb, as it may be called, of English Christianity. There had lived thatgreat Saint, who is named our Apostle, who was afterwards called to thechair of St. Peter; and thence went forth, in and after his pontificate, Augustine, Paulinus, Justus, and the other Saints by whom our barbarousancestors were converted. Their names, which are now written up upon thepillars of the portico, would almost seem to have issued forth, andcrossed over, and confronted the venerable Paul; for, strange to say, the thought of England came into his ordinary prayers; and in his lastyears, after a vision during Mass, as if he had been Augustine orMellitus, he talked of his "sons" in England. 

It was strange enough that even one Italian in the heart of Rome shouldat that time have ambitious thoughts of making novices or converts inthis country; but, after the venerable Founder's death, his specialinterest in our distant isle showed itself in another member of hisinstitute. On the Apennines, near Viterbo, there dwelt a shepherd-boy, in the first years of this century, whose mind had early been drawnheavenward; and, one day, as he prayed before an image of the Madonna, he felt a vivid intimation that he was destined to preach the Gospelunder the northern sky. There appeared no means by which a Roman peasantshould be turned into a missionary; nor did the prospect open, when thisyouth found himself, first a lay-brother, then a Father, in theCongregation of the Passion. Yet, though no external means appeared, theinward impression did not fade; on the contrary, it became moredefinite, and, in process of time, instead of the dim north, England wasengraven on his heart. And, strange to say, as years went on, withouthis seeking, for he was simply under obedience, our peasant foundhimself at length upon the very shore of the stormy northern sea, whenceCæsar of old looked out for a new world to conquer; yet that he shouldcross the strait was still as little likely as before. However, it wasas likely as that he should ever have got so near it; and he used to eyethe restless, godless waves, and wonder with himself whether the daywould ever come when he should be carried over them. And come it did, not however by any determination of his own, but by the same Providencewhich thirty years before had given him the anticipation of it. 

At the time of our narrative, Father Domenico de Matre Dei had becomefamiliar with England; he had had many anxieties here, first from wantof funds, then still more from want of men. Year passed after year, and, whether fear of the severity of the rule--though that was groundless, for it had been mitigated for England--or the claim of other religiousbodies was the cause, his community did not increase, and he was temptedto despond. But every work has its season; and now for some time pastthat difficulty had been gradually lessening; various zealous men, someof noble birth, others of extensive acquirements, had entered theCongregation; and our friend Willis, who at this time had received thepriesthood, was not the last of these accessions, though domiciled at adistance from London. And now the reader knows much more about thePassionists than did Reding at the time that he made his way to theirmonastery. 

The church door came first, and, as it was open, he entered it. Itapparently was filling for service. When he got inside, the person whoimmediately preceded him dipped his finger into a vessel of water whichstood at the entrance, and offered it to Charles. Charles, ignorant whatit meant, and awkward from his consciousness of it, did nothing butslink aside, and look for some place of refuge; but the whole space wasopen, and there seemed no corner to retreat into. Every one, however, seemed about his own business; no one minded him, and so far he felt athis ease. He stood near the door, and began to look about him. Aprofusion of candles was lighting at the High Altar, which stood in thecentre of a semicircular apse. There were side-altars--perhapshalf-a-dozen; most of them without lights, but, even here, solitaryworshippers might be seen. Over one was a large old Crucifix with alamp, and this had a succession of visitors. They came each for fiveminutes, said some prayers which were attached in a glazed frame to therail, and passed away. At another, which was in a chapel at the fartherend of one of the aisles, six long candles were burning, and over it wasan image. On looking attentively, Charles made out at last that it wasan image of Our Lady, and the Child held out a rosary. Here acongregation had already assembled, or rather was in the middle of someservice, to him unknown. It was rapid, alternate, and monotonous; and, as it seemed interminable, Reding turned his eyes elsewhere. They fellfirst on one, then on another confessional, round each of which was alittle crowd, kneeling, waiting every one his own turn for presentinghimself for the sacrament--the men on the one side, the women on theother. At the lower end of the church were about three ranges ofmoveable benches with backs and kneelers; the rest of the large spacewas open, and filled with chairs. The growing object of attention atpresent was the High Altar; and each person, as he entered, took achair, and, kneeling down behind it, began his prayers. At length thechurch got very full; rich and poor were mixed together--artisans, well-dressed youths, Irish labourers, mothers with two or threechildren--the only division being that of men from women. A set of boysand children, mixed with some old crones, had got possession of thealtar-rail, and were hugging it with restless motions, as if inexpectation. 

Though Reding had continued standing, no one would have noticed him; buthe saw the time was come for him to kneel, and accordingly he moved intoa corner seat on the bench nearest him. He had hardly done so, when aprocession with lights passed from the sacristy to the altar; somethingwent on which he did not understand, and then suddenly began what, bythe _Miserere_ and _Ora pro nobis_, he perceived to be a litany; a hymnfollowed. Reding thought he never had been present at worship before, soabsorbed was the attention, so intense was the devotion of thecongregation. What particularly struck him was, that whereas in theChurch of England the clergyman or the organ was everything and thepeople nothing, except so far as the clerk is their representative, hereit was just reversed. The priest hardly spoke, or at least audibly; butthe whole congregation was as though one vast instrument orPanharmonicon, moving all together, and, what was most remarkable, as ifself-moved. They did not seem to require any one to prompt or directthem, though in the Litany the choir took the alternate parts. The wordswere Latin, but every one seemed to understand them thoroughly, and tobe offering up his prayers to the Blessed Trinity, and the IncarnateSaviour, and the great Mother of God, and the glorified Saints, withhearts full in proportion to the energy of the sounds they uttered. There was a little boy near him, and a poor woman, singing at the pitchof their voices. There was no mistaking it; Reding said to himself, "This _is_ a popular religion. " He looked round at the building; it was, as we have said, very plain, and bore the marks of being unfinished;but the Living Temple which was manifested in it needed no curiouscarving or rich marble to complete it, "for the glory of God hadenlightened it, and the Lamb was the lamp thereof. " "How wonderful, "said Charles to himself, "that people call this worship formal andexternal; it seems to possess all classes, young and old, polished andvulgar, men and women indiscriminately; it is the working of one Spiritin all, making many one. "

While he was thus thinking, a change came over the worship. A priest, orat least an assistant, had mounted for a moment above the altar, andremoved a chalice or vessel which stood there; he could not seedistinctly. A cloud of incense was rising on high; the people suddenlyall bowed low; what could it mean? the truth flashed on him, fearfullyyet sweetly; it was the Blessed Sacrament--it was the Lord Incarnate whowas on the altar, who had come to visit and to bless His people. It wasthe Great Presence, which makes a Catholic Church different from everyother place in the world; which makes it, as no other place can be, holy. The Breviary offices were by this time not unknown to Reding; andas he threw himself on the pavement, in sudden self-abasement and joy, some words of those great Antiphons came into his mouth, from whichWillis had formerly quoted: "O Adonai, et Dux domûs Israel, qui Moysi inrubo apparuisti; O Emmanuel, Exspectatio Gentium et Salvator earum, veniad salvandum nos, Domine Deus noster. "

The function did not last very long after this; Reding, on looking up, found the congregation rapidly diminishing, and the lights in course ofextinction. He saw he must be quick in his motions. He made his way to alay-brother who was waiting till the doors could be closed, and beggedto be conducted to the Superior. The lay-brother feared he might be busyat the moment, but conducted him through the sacristy to a small neatroom, where, being left to himself, he had time to collect his thoughts. At length the Superior appeared; he was a man past the middle age, andhad a grave yet familiar manner. Charles's feelings were indescribable, but all pleasurable. His heart beat, not with fear or anxiety, but withthe thrill of delight with which he realized that he was beneath theshadow of a Catholic community, and face to face with one of itspriests. His trouble went in a moment, and he could have laughed forjoy. He could hardly keep his countenance, and almost feared to be takenfor a fool. He presented the card of his railroad companion. The goodFather smiled when he saw the name, nor did the few words which werewritten with pencil on the card diminish his satisfaction. Charles andhe soon came to an understanding; he found himself already known in thecommunity by means of Willis; and it was arranged that he should take uphis lodging with his new friends forthwith, and remain there as long asit suited him. He was to prepare for confession at once; and it washoped that on the following Sunday he might be received into Catholiccommunion. After that, he was, at a convenient interval, to presenthimself to the Bishop, from whom he would seek the sacrament ofconfirmation. Not much time was necessary for removing his luggage fromhis lodgings; and in the course of an hour from the time of hisinterview with the Father Superior, he was sitting by himself, with penand paper and his books, and with a cheerful fire, in a small cell ofhis new home. 

CHAPTER XI. 

A very few words will conduct us to the end of our history. It wasSunday morning about seven o'clock, and Charles had been admitted intothe communion of the Catholic Church about an hour since. He was stillkneeling in the church of the Passionists before the Tabernacle, in thepossession of a deep peace and serenity of mind, which he had notthought possible on earth. It was more like the stillness which almostsensibly affects the ears when a bell that has long been tolling stops, or when a vessel, after much tossing at sea, finds itself in harbour. Itwas such as to throw him back in memory on his earliest years, as if hewere really beginning life again. But there was more than the happinessof childhood in his heart; he seemed to feel a rock under his feet; itwas the _soliditas Cathedræ Petri_. He went on kneeling, as if he werealready in heaven, with the throne of God before him, and angels around;and as if to move were to lose his privilege. 

At length he felt a light hand on his shoulder, and a voice said, "Reding, I am going; let me just say farewell to you before I go. " Helooked around; it was Willis, or rather Father Aloysius, in his darkPassionist habit, with the white heart sewed in at his left breast. Willis carried him from the church into the sacristy. "What a joy, Reding!" he whispered, when the door closed upon them; "what a day ofjoy! St. Edward's day, a doubly blessed day henceforth. My Superior letme be present; but now I must go. You did not see me, but I was presentthrough the whole. "

"Oh, " said Charles, "what shall I say?--the face of God! As I knelt Iseemed to wish to say this, and this only, with the Patriarch, 'Now letme die, since I have seen Thy Face. '"

"You, dear Reding, " said Father Aloysius, "have keen fresh feelings;mine are blunted by familiarity. "

"No, Willis, " he made answer, "you have taken the better part betimes, while I have loitered. Too late have I known Thee, O Thou ancient Truth;too late have I found Thee, First and only Fair. "

"All is well, except as sin makes it ill, " said Father Aloysius; "if youhave to lament loss of time before conversion, I have to lament itafter. If you speak of delay, must not I of rashness? A good Godoverrules all things. But I must away. Do you recollect my last wordswhen we parted in Devonshire? I have thought of them often since; theywere too true then. I said, 'Our ways divide. ' They are different still, yet they are the same. Whether we shall meet again here below, whoknows? but there will be a meeting ere long before the Throne of God, and under the shadow of His Blessed Mother and all Saints. 'Deusmanifeste veniet, Deus noster, et non silebit. '"

Reding took Father Aloysius's hand and kissed it; as he sank on hisknees the young priest made the sign of blessing over him. Then hevanished through the door of the sacristy; and the new convert soughthis temporary cell, so happy in the Present, that he had no thoughtseither for the Past or the Future. 

THE END. 

PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. EDINBURGH AND LONDON

_CARDINAL NEWMAN'S WORKS. _

1. SERMONS. 

1-8. PAROCHIAL AND PLAIN SERMONS. (_Rivingtons. _)

9. SERMONS ON SUBJECTS OF THE DAY. (_Rivingtons. _)

10. UNIVERSITY SERMONS. (_Rivingtons. _)

11. SERMONS TO MIXED CONGREGATIONS. (_Burns & Oates. _)

12. OCCASIONAL SERMONS. (_Burns & Oates. _)

2. TREATISES. 

13. ON THE DOCTRINE OF JUSTIFICATION. (_Rivingtons. _)

14. ON THE DEVELOPMENT OF CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE. (_Pickering. _)

15. ON THE IDEA OF A UNIVERSITY. (_Pickering. _)

16. ON THE DOCTRINE OF ASSENT. (_Burns & Oates. _)

3. ESSAYS. 

17. TWO ESSAYS ON MIRACLES. 1. Of Scripture. 2. Of EcclesiasticalHistory. (_Pickering. _)

18. DISCUSSIONS AND ARGUMENTS. 1. How to accomplish it. 2. TheAntichrist of the Fathers. 3. Scripture and the Creed. 4. TamworthReading-Room. 5. Who's to blame? 6. An Argument for Christianity. (_Pickering. _)

19, 20. ESSAYS, CRITICAL AND HISTORICAL. TWO VOLUMES, WITH NOTES. 1. Poetry. 2. Rationalism. 3. Apostolical Tradition. 4. De la Mennais. 5. Palmer on Faith and Unity. 6. St. Ignatius. 7. Prospects of the AnglicanChurch. 8. The Anglo-American Church. 9. Countess of Huntingdon. 10. Catholicity of the Anglican Church. 11. The Antichrist of Protestants. 12. Milman's Christianity. 13. Reformation of the Eleventh Century. 14. Private Judgment. 15. Davison. 16. Keble. (_Pickering. _)

4. HISTORICAL. 

21-23. THREE VOLUMES. 1. The Turks. 2. Cicero. 3. Apollonius. 4. Primitive Christianity. 5. Church of the Fathers. 6. St. Chrysostom. 7. Theodoret. 8. St. Benedict. 9. Benedictine Schools. 10. Universities. 11. Northmen and Normans. 12. Medieval Oxford. 13. Convocation ofCanterbury. (_Pickering. _)

5. THEOLOGICAL. 

24. THE ARIANS OF THE FOURTH CENTURY. (_Pickering. _)

25, 26. ANNOTATED TRANSLATION OF ATHANASIUS. TWO VOLUMES. (_Pickering. _)

27. TRACTS. 1. Dissertatiunculæ. 2. On the Text of the Seven Epistles ofSt. Ignatius. 3. Doctrinal Causes of Arianism. 4. Apollinarianism. 5. St. Cyril's Formula. 6. Ordo de Tempore. 7. Douay Version of Scripture. (_Pickering. _)

6. POLEMICAL. 

28, 29. VIA MEDIA. TWO VOLUMES, WITH NOTES. 1st Vol. Prophetical Officeof the Church. 2d Vol. Occasional Letters and Tracts. (_Pickering. _)

30, 31. DIFFICULTIES OF ANGLICANS. TWO VOLUMES. 1st Vol. TwelveLectures. 2d Vol. Letters to Dr. Pusey concerning the Bl. Virgin, and tothe Duke of Norfolk in Defence of the Pope and Council. (_Burns & Oates, and Pickering. _)

32. PRESENT POSITION OF CATHOLICS IN ENGLAND. (_Burns & Oates. _)

33. APOLOGIA PRO VITÂ SUÂ. (_Longmans. _)

7. LITERARY. 

34. VERSES ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS. (_Burns & Oates. _)

35. LOSS AND GAIN. (_Burns & Oates, and Pickering. _)

36. CALLISTA. (_Burns & Oates. _)

It is scarcely necessary to say that the Author submits all that he haswritten to the judgment of the Church, whose gift and prerogative it isto determine what is true and what is false in religious teaching.