CORNELL 
 UN1V..\S1TY 
 
 L1B?^AS-X 
 
PR 5107.L8 1893 
 
 Loss and gain; the story of convert. 
 
 3 1924 013 529 577 
 
 DATE DUE 
 
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 a^iiti «5[ir"' 
 
 PRINTED IN U.S A 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
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 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
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 LOSS AND GAIN 
 THE STORY OF A CONVERT 
 
ABEBDBEN UNIVEBfelY PRESS. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN '" ' 
 
 ; 
 
 Ml' 
 
 THE STORY, OF A CONVERT 
 
 JOHN HENRY CARDINAL NEWMAN 
 
 OF THE ORATORY 
 
 ADHUC MODICUM ALIQUANTULUM 
 
 (JUI VENTURUS EST, VENIET, ET NON TARDABIT 
 
 JUSTUS AUTEM MEUS EX FIDE VIVIT 
 
 (Slebenth (Eiiition 
 
 
 
 LONDON •'^ V ^ 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST i6th STREET:. 
 
 111 '""/;(i(iiiii'*J^g' ' 
 
h^%'b^']'^ 
 
 , ,,1 ' ^. <' 
 
 4f . ' •'*^^- 
 
 
 \., 
 
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^lie step of printing my name in the Title- 
 page of this Volume, I trust I shall not be en- 
 croaching on the kindness you have so long 
 shown to me, if I venture to follow it up by 
 placing yours in the page which comes next, 
 thus associating myself with you, and re- 
 commending myself to my readers by the 
 association. 
 
 Not that I am dreaming of bringing down 
 upon you, in whole or part, the criticisms, just 
 or unjust, which lie against a literary attempt 
 which has in some quarters been thought out 
 of keeping with my antecedents and my posi- 
 tion ; but the warm and sympathetic interest 
 which you took in Oxford matters thirty years 
 ago, and the benefits which 1 derived personally 
 from that interest, are reasons why I am 
 
vi Dedication. 
 
 desirous of prefixing your name to a Tale, 
 which, whatever its faults, at least is a more 
 intelligible and exact representation of the 
 thoughts, sentiments, and aspirations, then 
 and there prevailing, thari was to be found in 
 the anti-Catholic pamphlets, charges, sermons, 
 reviews, and story-books of the day. 
 
 These reasons, too, must be my apology, 
 should I seem to be asking your acceptance of 
 a Volume, which, over and above its intrinsic 
 defects, is, in its very subject and style, hardly 
 commensurate with the theological reputation 
 and the ecclesiastical station of the person to 
 whom it is presented. 
 
 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 of the Catholic Religion, 
 but as a des crip tion of what is npHerstnnrl hy 
 few ^ viz.^ the c ourse of thought and state of. 
 mind-^br rather one such course_and state.— 
 which jasae&iiL .cpnviction of its Divine origin. 
 
 Nor is it founded on fact, to use the common 
 phrase. It is not the history of any individual 
 mind among the recent converts to the Catholic 
 Church. The principal characters are ima- 
 ginary ; and the writer wishes to disclaim 
 personal allusion in any. It is with this view 
 that he has feigned ecclesiastical bodies and 
 places, to avoid the chance, which might other- 
 wise occur, of unintentionally suggesting to 
 the reader real individuals, who were far from 
 his thoughts. 
 
 At the same time, free use has been made of 
 sayings and doings which were 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 exhibited in individual specimens 
 
vili Advertisement. 
 
 of it, it is impossible that the ideal representa- 
 l^ tion should not more or less coincide, in spite 
 of the author's endeavour, or even without 
 his recognition, with its existing instances or 
 champions. 
 
 It must also be added, to prevent a further 
 misconception, that no proper representative is 
 intended in this tale of the religious opinions 
 which had lately so much influence in the 
 University of Oxford. 
 
 Fel>. 2 1, 1848. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SIXTH 
 EDITION. 
 
 A TALE, directed against the Oxford converts to 
 the Catholic Faith, was sent from England to 
 the author 'of this Volume in the summer of 
 ^^47'.Fhen he was resident at Santa Croce in 
 Rome. Its contents were as wantonly and pre- 
 posterously fanciful, as they were injurious to 
 those whose motives and actions it professed to 
 represent ; but a formal criticism or grave 
 notice of it seemed to him out of place. 
 
 The suitable answer lay rather in the publica- 
 tion of a second tale ; drawn up with a stricter 
 regard to truth and probability, and with at least 
 some personal knowledge of Oxford, and some 
 perception of the various aspects of the religious 
 phenomenon, which the work in question handled 
 so rudely and so unskilfully. 
 
 Especially was he desirous of dissipating the 
 fog of pomposity and solemn pretence, which its 
 waiter had thrown around the personages intro-; 
 duced into it, by showing, as in a specimen, that 
 those who were smitten with love of the Catholic 
 
X Advertisement to the Sixth Edition. 
 
 Church, were nevertheless as able to write 
 common-sense prose as other men. 
 
 Under these circumstances "Loss and Gain" 
 was given to the public. ^ 
 
 Feb. 21, 1874. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 $art I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Charles Reding was the only son of a clergyman, , 
 who was in possession of a valuable benefice in a mid- 
 land county. His father intended him for orders and 
 sent him at a proper age to a public school. He had 
 long revolved in his mind the respective advantages 
 and disadvantages of public and private education, and 
 had decided in favour of the former. " Seclusion," he 
 said, " is no security for virtue. There is no telling 
 what is in a boy's heart ; he may look as open and 
 happy as usual, and be as 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 at it or to touch it. I have a cure of souls; 
 what do I really know of my parishioners ? Nothing; 
 their hearts are sealed books to me. And this dear boy, 
 he comes close to me ; he throws his arms round me, 
 but his soul is as much out of my sight as if he were at 
 
2 Loss and Gain. 
 
 the antipodes. I am not accusing him of reserve, dear 
 fellow ; his very love and| reverence for me keep him 
 in a sort of charmed solitude. I cannot expect to get 
 at the 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 secret thoughts. 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 his innocence. 
 Boys do not fully know what is good and what is evil ; 
 they do wrong things at first almost innocently. 
 Novelty hides vice from them ; there is no one to 
 warn them or give them rules ; and they become slaves 
 of sin, while they are learning what sin is. They go 
 to the university, and suddenly plunge into excesses, 
 the greater in proportion to their inexperience. And, 
 besides all this, I am not equal to the task of forming 
 so active and inquisitive a mind as his. He already 
 asks questions which I know not how to answer. So 
 he shall go to a public school. There he will get 
 discipline at least, even if he has more of trial ; at least 
 he will gain habits of self-command, manliness, and 
 circumspection ; he will learn to use his eyes, and will 
 find materials to use them upon ; and thus will be 
 gradually trained for the liberty which, 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, though lively and cheerful, > 
 
Loss and Gain. 3 
 
 yet not without a tinge of melancholy in his character, \ 
 which sometimea degenerated into mawkishness. | 
 
 To Eton, then, he went;' and there had the good 
 fortune to fall into the hands of an excellent tutor, 
 who, while he instructed him in the old Church-of- 
 England principles of' M ant and Doyley, gave his 
 mind a religious impression, which secured him 
 against the alluretnpnts of bad company, whether at 
 the school itself, or afterwards at Oxford. To that) 
 celebrated seat of learning he was in due time trans-,' 
 ferred, being entered at St. Saviour's College ; and he', 
 is in his sixth term from matriculation, and his fourth 
 of residence, 'at the time our story opens. -^ 
 
 At^)3dJard, it is needless to say he had found a great 
 number ofnis schoolfellows, but, it so happened, had 
 found very few friends among them. Some were too 
 gay for him, and he had avoided them ; others, with 
 whom he had been intimate at Eton, having high con- 
 nections, had fairly cut him on coming into residence, 
 or, being entered at other colleges, had lost sight of 
 him. .Almost everything depends at Oxford, in the 
 matter 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 a London tradesman 
 who lost custom after beautifying his premises, because 
 his entrance went up a step ; and we all know how great 
 is the difference between open and shut doors when we 
 walk along a street of shops. In a university a youth's 
 hours are portioned out to him. A regular man gets 
 up and goes to chapel, breakfasts, gets up his lectures, 
 goes to lecture, walks, dines ; there is Httle to induce 
 
4 Loss and Gain. 
 
 him to mount any staiScase but his own; and if he 
 does so, ten to one he, finds the friend from home 
 whom he is seeking ; not, to say that freshmen, who 
 naturally have common feelings and interests, as 
 naturally are allotted a staircase in common. And 
 thus it was that Charles Redmg was brought across 
 William' Sheffield, who had come into residence the 
 same term as himself. 
 
 The minds of young people are pliable and elastic, 
 and easily accommodate themselves to any one they fall 
 in with. They find grounds of attractions both where 
 they agree with one another and where they differ ; 
 what is congenial to themselves creates sympathy ; 
 what is correlative, or supplemental, creates admira-* 
 tion and esteem. And what is thus begun is often 
 continued in after-life by the force of habit and the 
 claims of memory. Thus, in the choice of friends, 
 chance often does for us as much as the most careful 
 selection could have effected. What was the char- 
 acter and degree of that friendship which sprang up 
 between the freshmen Reding and Sheffield, we need 
 not here minutely explain : it will be enough to say, 
 that what they had in common was freshmanship, 
 good talents, and the back staircase ; and that they 
 differed in this— that Sheffield had lived a good deal 
 with people older than himself, had read much in a 
 desultory way, and easily picked up opinions and 
 facts, especially on controversies of the day, without 
 laying anything very much to heart ; that he was 
 ready, clear-sighted, unembarrassed, and somewhat 
 forward : Charles, on the other hand, had little know- 
 
Loss and' Gain. 5 
 
 ledge as yet of principles or their bearings, but under- 
 stood more deeply than Sheffield, and ^iisld-xnare^ 
 practically^what he had opce received ; he was gentle 
 and affectionate, and easil}' led by others, except when 
 duty clearly interfered. It should be added, that he 
 had fallen 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 willlae seen as our narrative advances. 
 
CHAPTER It., 
 
 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 usual half-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 as he was ". 
 
 " I am just going for a turn into the meadow," 
 said Charles ; " this is to me the best time of the year : 
 nunc formosissimus annus; everything is beautiful ; the 
 laburnums are out, and the may. There is a greater 
 variety of trees there than in any other place I know 
 hereabouts ; and the planes are so touching just now, 
 with their small multitudinous green hands half-opened ; 
 and there are two or three such fine dark willows 
 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 dons here who recollect when the foliage was un- 
 broken, nay, when you might walk under it in hard 
 
Loss and Gain. 7 
 
 rain, and get no wet. I know I got drenched there 
 the other day." 
 
 Sheffield laughed, and said that Charles must put on 
 his beaver, and walk with' him a different way. He 
 wanted a good walk ; his head was stupid from his 
 lectures ; that old Jennings prosed so awfully upon 
 Paley, 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 
 was an ens physiologicum or a totum metaphysicmn, when 
 Jennings had cruelly asked him to repeat Paley's 
 argument ; and because he had not given it in Jennings' 
 words, friend Jennings had pursed up his lips, and 
 gone through the whole again ; so intent, in his wooden 
 enthusiasm, on his 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 minutes past the time ; and would have been 
 going on even then, he verily believed, but for an 
 interposition only equalled by that of the geese at the 
 Capitol. For that, when he had got about half through 
 his recapitulation, and was stopping at the end of a 
 sentence to see the impression he was making, that 
 uncouth fellow, Lively, moved by what happy inspi- 
 ration he did not know, suddenly broke in, apropos of 
 nothing, noddi ig his head, and speaking in a clear 
 cackle, with, " Pray, sir, what is your opinion of the 
 infallibility of the Pope ? " Upon which every one but 
 Jennings did laugh out : but he, au contraire, began to 
 
8 Loss and Gain. 
 
 look very black ;. and no one can tell what would have 
 happened, had he not cast his eyes by accident on his 
 watch, on which he coloured, closed his 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 good fellow at bottom. 
 He has before now spoken to me with a good deal of 
 feeling, and has gone out of his way^ to do me favours. 
 I see poor bodies coming to him for charity continually ; 
 and they say that his sermons at Holy . Cross are 
 excellent." 
 
 Sheffield said he liked people to be natural, and hated 
 that donnish manner. What good could it do? and 
 what did it mean ? 
 
 "That is what I call bigotry," answered Charles; "I 
 am for taking every one 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't like, and admire what we like? This is the 
 only way of getting through life, 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 be 
 walking." And he took off Charles's cap, and, placing 
 his hat on him instead, 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 
 
Loss and Gain. 9 
 
 Oxley, a village some little way out, all the vicars of 
 which, sooner or later, are made bishops. Perhaps 
 even walking there may do us some good." 
 
 The friends set out, from hat to boot in the most 
 approved Oxford bandbox-cut of trimness and pretti- 
 ness. Shefifield was turning into the High Street, when 
 Reding stopped him : " It always annoys me," he 
 said, "to go downjHigh Street in a beaver; one is 
 sure to meet a proctor ". 
 
 " All those University dresses are great fudge," 
 answered Sheffield ; " how are 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 con- 
 demnation," answered Charles ; " 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 quite 
 moving. 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 Heads in order ; 
 and lastly the Proctors. Meanwhile, you see the head 
 of the preacher slowly mounting up the steps ; when he 
 gets in, he shuts-to the door, looks at the organ-loft to 
 catch the psalm, and the voices strike up." 
 
 Sheffield laughed, and then said, " Well, I confess I 
 agree with you in your instance. The preacher is, or 
 is supposed to be, a person of talent : he is about to 
 hold forth ; the divines, the students of a great Univer- 
 sity, arc all there to listen. The pageant docs but fitly 
 
lo Loss and Gain. 
 
 represent the great moral fact which is before us ; I 
 understand this. I don't call this fudge ; what I mean 
 by fudge is, outside without inside. Now I must say, 
 the sermon itself, and not the least of all the prayer 
 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 go to University sermons, but I 
 have gone often enough not to go again without 
 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, 'Ye shall 
 praie,' therefore we must not say, ' Let us pray' 
 Presently he brought out," continued Sheffield, assum- 
 ing a pompous and up-and-down tone, " ' especially 
 for that pure and apostolic branch of it established' — 
 here the man rose on his toes, 'established in these 
 dominions'. Next came, 'for our Sovereign Lady 
 Victoria, Queen, Defender of the Faith, in all causes 
 and over all persons, ecclesiastical as well as civil, within 
 these her dominions, supreme ' — an awful pause, with an 
 audible fall of the sermon-case on the cushion ; as 
 though nature did not 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 ckef- 
 d'ceuvre was his emphatic recognition of '«//the doctors 
 both the proctors,' as if the numerical antithesis hada" 
 graphic power, and threw those excellent personages 
 into a charming tableau vivant." 
 
Loss and Gain. 1 1 
 
 Charles was amused at all this ; but he said in answer, 
 that he never heard 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 
 if so-and-so had not preached a very good sermon, " My 
 dear Charles," his father 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 were crossing the bridge, when, on 
 the opposite side they saw before them a tall, upright 
 man, whom Sheffield had no difficulty in recognising as 
 a bachelor of Nun's Hall, and a bore at least of the 
 second magnitude. He was in cap and gown, but went 
 on his way, as if intending, in that extraordinary guise, 
 to take a country walk. He took the path which they 
 were going themselves, and they tried to keep behind 
 him ; but they walked too briskly, and he too leisurely, 
 to allow of that. Jt is very difficult duly to delineate a 
 bore in^a narrative, for the very reason that he is a bore. 
 A tale must aim at condensation, but a bore acts in 
 solution. It is only on the long^iiri that he is ascer- 
 tamed. Then, indeed, he \sfdt ; he is oppressive ; like 
 the sirocco, which the native detects at once, while a 
 foreigner is often at fault. Tenet occiditque. Did you 
 hear him make but one speech, perhaps you would say 
 he 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 you standing till 
 you are fit to sink, or holds you fast when you wish to 
 keep an engagement, or hinders you listening to im- 
 
12 Loss and Gain. 
 
 portant conversation — then there is no mistake, the 
 truth bursts on you, apparent dira fades, you are in 
 the clutches of a bore. You may yield, or you may 
 flee ; you cannot conquer. Hence it is clear that a 
 bore cannot be represented in a story, or the ,stt3iy) 
 would be the bore as much as he. The reader^'then, 
 rnustTJeTieve~this upFigEt Mr. Bateman to be what 
 otTierwise he might not discover, and thank us for our 
 consideration in not proving as well as assertingjt. 
 
 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 
 are restoring on the common ? It is quite a gem — in 
 the purest style of the fourteenth century. It was in 
 a most filthy condition, a mere cow-houst ; but we 
 have made a subscription, and set it to rights." 
 
 "We are bound for Oxley," Sheffield answered; - 
 " you would be taking us out of our way." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said Bateman ; " it's not a stone's 
 throw from the road ; 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 it might 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 to make the attempt of getting the 
 Bishop to dedicate it to the Royal Martyr — why should 
 not we have our St. Charles as well as the Romanists ? 
 — and it will be quite sweet to hear the vesper-bell 
 tolling over the sullen moor every evening, in all 
 
Loss and Cain. 13 
 
 weathers, and amid all the changes 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. In real Catholic churches the 
 number of the congr^ation is nothing to the purpose ; 
 service is for those who come, not for those who stay 
 away." ■' 
 
 "Well," said Sheffield, "I understand what that 
 means when a Roman Catholic says it ; for a priest is 
 supposed to offer sacrifice, which he can do without a 
 congregation as well as with one. And, again, Catholic 
 chapels often stand over the bodies of martyrs, or on 
 sonie place of miracle, as a record ; but our service is 
 ' Common Prayer,' and how can you have that without 
 a congregation ? " 
 
 Bateman replied that, even if members of the Uni- 
 versity 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 what you said just now ; it is not for those 
 that come, but for those who stay away. The congre- 
 gation is outside, not inside ; it's an outside concern. 
 I once saw a tall church-tower — so it appeared from 
 the road ; but on the sides you saw it was but a thin 
 wall, made to look like a tower, in order to give the 
 church an imposing effect. Do run up such a bit of a 
 wall, and put the bell in it." 
 
 " There's another reason," answered Bateman, " for 
 restoring the chapel, quite independent of the service. 
 
14 Loss and Gain. 
 
 It has been a chapel from time immemorial, and was 
 consecrated by our Catholic forefathers." 
 
 Sheffield argued that this would be as good a reason 
 for keeping up the Mass 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 Heylin calls 
 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 the Litany, 
 or the sermon, or any part of these? or were Bateman's 
 words really a confession that there were clergymen 
 who actually said the Popish Mass once a week? Bate- 
 man's precise meaning, however, is lost to posterity ; 
 for they had by this time arrived at the door of the 
 chapel. It had once been the chapel of an almshouse ; 
 a small farm-house stood near ; but, for population, it 
 was plain no "church accommodation was wanted". 
 Before entering, Charles hung back, and whispered to 
 his friend that he did not know Bateman. An intro- 
 duction, in consequence, took place. " Reding of St. 
 Saviour's — Bateman of Nun's Hall ; " after which 
 ceremony, in place of holy water, they managdd to 
 enter the chapel in company. 
 
 It was as pretty a building as Bateman had led them 
 to expect, and very prettily done up. There was a 
 stone altar in the best style, a credence table, a piscina, 
 what looked like a tabernacle, and a couple of hand- 
 some brass candlesticks. Charles asked the use of the 
 piscina — he did not know its name — and was told that 
 
Loss and Gain. 15 
 
 ) 
 
 there was always a piscina in the old churches in 
 ■ England, and that there could be no proper restoration 
 without it. Next he asked the meaning of the beauti- 
 fully wrought closet or recess above the altar ; and 
 received for answer, that " our sister churches of the 
 Roman obedience always had a tabernacle for reserving 
 the consecrated bread>". Here Charles was brought to 
 a stand : on which Sheffield asked the use of the niches ; 
 and was told by JBateman that images of saints were 
 forbidden by the canon, but that his friends, in all 
 these matters, did what they could. Lastly, he asked 
 the meaning of the candlesticks ; and was told that, 
 Catholicly-minded as their Bishop was, they had some 
 fear lest he would object to altar lights in service — at 
 least at first ; but it was plain that the use of the 
 candlesticks was to hold candles. Having had their 
 fill of gazing and admiring, they turned to proceed 
 on their walk, but could not get off an invitation to 
 breakfast, in a few days, at Bateman's lodgings in the 
 Turl. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 kfiiTHER of the friends had what arc called views in 
 religion ; by which expression we do not here signify 
 that neither had taken up a certain line of opinion, 
 though this was the case also ; but that neither of 
 them — how could they at their age? — had placed his 
 religion on an intellectual 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 who have 
 no " views ". When, then, men for the first time look 
 upon the world of politics or religion, all that th^y find 
 there meets their mind's eye as a landscape addresses 
 itself for the first time to a person who has just gained 
 his bodily sight. _Onething_is as far off as another ; 
 there is no- Bers pective. The con nection of fact with 
 JactJjMith with truth s the b earing^ of fact upon truth , 
 a nd truth upon fact, what leads to what, what are 
 points__gnmary__andw^hat_secondaryj-^^ 
 have yet ^ learn. J t is all a new science to them, and 
 they do not even know their ignorance of it. Moreover, 
 the world of to-day has no connection in their minds 
 with the world of yesterday ; time is not a stream, but 
 .stands before them round and full, like the moon. 
 
Loss and Gain. 17 
 
 They do not know what happened ten years ago, much 
 less the annals of a century ; the past does not live to 
 them in the present ; they do not understand the worth 
 of contested points ; names have no associations for 
 them, and persons kindle no recollections. They hear 
 of men, and things, and projects, and struggles, and 
 principles; but everything comes and goes like the 
 wind, nothing makes an impression, nothing penetrates, 
 nothing has its place in their minds. They locate 
 nothing : they have no system. They hear and they 
 forget; or they just recollect what they have once 
 heard.'they can't tell where. Thus they have no con- 
 sistency in their arguments ; that is, they argue one 
 way to-day, and not exactly the other way to- 
 morrow, but indirectly the other way, at random. 
 Their lines o f argument diverp-e : no t hing comes to a 
 point ; tEere is n o one centre in which their minds 
 sits, on which their judgm ent of men and tn mgs pro- 
 ce eds. This is the state of many men all through life ; 
 and miserable politicians or Churchmen they make, 
 unless by good luck they are in safe hands, and ruled 
 by others, or are pledged to a course. Else they are 
 at the mercy of the winds and waves ; and, without 
 being Radical, Whig, Tory, or Conservative, High 
 Church or Low Church, they do Whig acts, Tory acts. 
 Catholic acts, and heretical acts, as the fit takes them, 
 or as events or parties drive them. And sometimes, 
 when their self-importance is hurt, they take refuge in 
 the idea that all this is a proof that they are unfet- 
 tered, moderate, dispassionate, that they observe the 
 
 mean, that they are " no party men " ; when they are, in 
 
 2 
 
1 8 Loss and Gain. 
 
 fact, the most helpless of slaves ; for our strength in 
 this world is, to be the subjects of the reason, and our 
 liberty, to be captives of the truth. 
 
 Now Charles Reding, a youth of twenty, could not 
 be supposed to have much of a view in religion or 
 politics ; but no clever man allows himself to judge of 
 things simply at haphazard ; he is obliged, from a sort 
 of self-respect, to have some rule or other, true or false; 
 and Charles was very fond of the maxim, which he has' 
 already enunciated, that we must measure people by 
 what they are, and not by what they are noti He had 
 a great notion of loving every one — of looking kindly 
 on every one ; he was pierced with the sentiment which 
 he had seen in a popular volume of poetry, 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 he came to 
 Oxford, he came there with an enthusiasm so simple 
 and warm as to be almost childish. He reverenced 
 even the velvet of the Pro. ; nay, the cocked hat which 
 preceded the Preacher had its claim on his deferential 
 regard. Without being himself a poet, he was in the 
 season of 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 as his ; not 
 only because it was novelty, and had its proper charm 
 as such, but because when we first see things, we see 
 
Loss and Gain. 19 
 
 them in a "gay confusion," which is a principal 
 elenient of the poetical. As time goes on, and we 
 number and sort and measure things — as we gain 
 views — we advance towards philosophy and truth; 
 but we recede from poetry. 
 
 When we ourselves were young, we once on a time 
 walked on a hot summer day from Oxford to Newing- 
 ton — a dull road, as any one who has gone 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 jt 
 seemed on that occasion 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 unknown and full of mystery. A tree or two 
 in the distance seemed the beginning of a great wood 
 or park, stretching endlessly; a hill implied a vale 
 beyond, with that vale's history ; the bye-lanes, with 
 their green hedges, wound and vanished, yet were not 
 lost to the imagination. Such was our first journey ; 
 but when we had gone it several times, the mind re- 
 fused to act, the scene ceased to enchant, stern reality 
 alone remained ; and we thought it one of the most 
 tiresome, odious roads we ever had occasion to traverse. 
 
 But to return to our story. Such was Reding. But 
 Sheffield, on the other hand, without possessing any 
 real view of things more than Charles, was, at this 
 time, fonder of hunting for views, and more in danger 
 of taking up false ones. That is, he was " viewy," in 
 a bad sense of the word. He was not satisfied intel- 
 lectually with things as they are; he was critical, 
 
20 Loss and Gain. 
 
 impatient to reduce things to system, pushed principles 
 too far, was fond of argument, partly from pleasure in 
 the exercise, partly because he was perplexed, though 
 he did not lay anything very much to heart. 
 
 They neither of them felt any special interest in the 
 controversy going on in the University and country 
 about High and Low Church. Sheffield had a sort of 
 contempt for it; and Reding felt it to be bad taste 
 to be unusual or prominent in anything. An Eton 
 acquaintance had asked him to go and hear one of the 
 principal preachers of the Catholic party, and offered 
 to introduce him ; but he had declined it. He did not 
 like, he said, mixing himself up with party ; he had 
 come to Oxford to get his degree, and not to take up 
 opinions; he thought his father would not relish it; 
 and, moreover, he felt some little repugnance to such 
 opinions and such people, under the notion that the 
 authorities of the University were opposed to the whole 
 movement. He could not help looking at its leaders 
 as demagogues ; and towards demagogues he felt an 
 unmeasured aversion and contempt. He did not see 
 why clergymen, however respectable, should be collect- 
 ing undergraduates about them ; and he heard stories 
 of their way of going on which did not please him. 
 Moreover, he did not like the specimens of their fol- 
 lowers whom he fell in with ; they were forward, or 
 they "talked strong," as it was called ; did ridiculous, 
 extravagant acts ; andsometimesneglectedtheir college 
 duties for things which did not concern them. He was 
 unfortunate, certainly : for this is a very unfair account 
 of the most exemplary men of that day, who doubtless 
 
Loss and Gain. 21 
 
 are still, as clergymen or laymen, the strength of the 
 Anglican Church ; but in all collections of men, the 
 straw and rubbish (as Lord Bacon says) float on the 
 top, while gold and jewels sink and are hidden. Or, 
 what is more apposite still, many men, or most men, 
 are a compound of precious and worthless together, 
 and their worthless swims, and their precious lies at 
 the bottom. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Bateman was one of these composite characters ; he 
 had much good and much cleverness in him ; but he 
 was absurd, and he afforded a subject of conversation 
 to the two friends as they proceeded on their walk. 
 " I wish there was less of fudge and humbug everj?- 
 where," said Sheffield ; ''one might shovel off cartloads 
 from this place, and not miss it." 
 
 " If you had your way," answered Charles, " you 
 would scrape off the roads till there was nothing to 
 walk on. We are forced to walk on what you call 
 humbug ; wc put it under our feet, but we use it." 
 
 " 1 cannot think that ; it's like doing evil that good 
 may come. I see shams everywhere. I go into St. 
 Mary's, and I hear men spouting out commonplaces 
 in a deep or a shrill voice, or with slow, clear, quiet 
 emphasis and significant eyes — as that Bampton 
 preacher not long ago, who assured us, apropos of the 
 resurrection of the body, that 'all attempts to resusci- 
 tate the inanimate corpse by natural methods had 
 hitherto been experimentally abortive '. I go into the 
 place where degrees are given— the Convocation, I 
 think — and there one hears a deal of unmeaning Latin 
 
Loss and Gain. 23 
 
 for hours, graces, dispensations, and proctors walking 
 up and down for nothing ; all in order to keep up a 
 sort of ghost of things passed away for centuries, while 
 the real work might be done in a quarter of an hour. 
 I fall in with this Bateman, and he talks to me of rood- 
 lofts without roods, 'and piscinae without water, and 
 niches without images, and candlesticks without lightr, 
 and masses withput Popery ; till I feel, with Shake- 
 speare, that ' all the world's a stage '. Well, I go to 
 Shaw, Turner, and Brown, very different men, pupils 
 of Dr. Gloucester — you know who I mean — and they 
 tell us that we ought to put up crucifixes by the way- 
 .side, 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 de- 
 clamation ; you would destroy externals of every kind. 
 You are like the man in one of Miss Edgeworth's 
 novels, who shut 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 pious feeling which accompanies the 
 sigh t of the image is the music." 
 
 "To those who have the pious feeling, certainly," 
 said Sheffield ; " but to put up images in England in 
 order to create the feeling is like dancing to create 
 music." 
 
 " I think you are hard upon England," replied 
 Charles ; " we are a religious people." 
 
 " Well. I will put it differently : do you like music ? " 
 
24 Loss and Gain, 
 
 " You ought to know," said Charles, " whom I have 
 frightened so often with my 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 have done, 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 prim or pert. I have behaved quite rudely 
 to them sometimes, and then have been annoyed 
 at my ungentlemanlikeness, and not known how to 
 get out of the scrape." 
 
 " Well, I didn't know we were so like each other 
 in anything," said Charles ; "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 so awkward. 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 ground which leads to the sort of table- 
 land on the edge of which Oxley is placed ; and they 
 stood still awhile to see some equestrians take the 
 hurdles. They then mounted the hill, and looked 
 back upon Oxford. 
 
 " Perhaps you call those beautiful spires and towers 
 a sham," said Charles, " because you see their tops 
 and not their bottoms ? " 
 
 " Whereabouts were we in our argument ? " said the 
 othef, reminded that they had been wandering from it 
 for the last ten minutes. " Oh, I recollect ; I know 
 what I was at. I was saying that you liked music, but 
 
Loss and Gain. 25 
 
 didn't like dancing ; music leads another person to 
 dance, but not you ; and dancing does not increase but 
 diminishes the intensity of the pleasure you find in 
 music. In like manner, it is a mere piece of pedantry 
 to make a religious nation, like the English, more re- 
 ligious by placing images in the streets ; this is not the 
 English way, and only offends us. If it were our way, 
 it would come naturally without any one telling us. 
 As music incites to dancing, so religion would lead to 
 images ; but as dancing does not improve music to those 
 who do not like dancing, so ceremonies do not improve 
 religion to those who do not like ceremonies." 
 
 " Then do you mean," said Charles, " that the Eng- 
 lish Romanists are shams, because they use crucifixes?' 
 
 " Stop there," said Sheffield ; " now you are getting 
 upon a different subject. They believe that there is 
 virtue in images ; that indeed is absurd in them, but 
 it makes them quite consistent in honouring them. 
 They do not put up images as outward shows, merely to 
 create feelings in the minds of beholders, as Gloucester 
 would do, but they in good, downright earnest worship 
 images, as being more than they seem, as being not a 
 mere outside show. They pay them a religious wor- 
 ship, as having been handled by great saints years ago, 
 as having been used in pestilences, as having wrought 
 miracles, as having moved their eyes or bowed their 
 heads ; or, at least, as having been blessed by the priest, 
 and been brought into connection with invisible grace. 
 This is superstitious, 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 
 
26 Loss and Gain. 
 
 is a sham merely because he mistakes the particular , 
 mode of teaching best suited to his own country ? " 
 
 " I did not say that Dr. Gloucester was a sham," 
 answered Sheffield ; " but that mode of teaching of 
 his was among Protestants a sham and a humbug." 
 
 " But this principle will carry you too far, and 
 destroy itself," said Charles. " Don't you recollect 
 what Thompson quoted the other day out of Aristotle, 
 which he had lately begun in lecture with Vincent, 
 and which we thought so acute — that habit s are created 
 by^th ose very acts in whi ch . they manifest^ themse lves 
 when created ? We learn to s wim wen by t ryiriEf to 
 s wim. Now, Bateman, doubtless, wishes to introduce 
 piscinae and tabernacles ; and to wait, before beginning, 
 till they are received, is like not going into the water 
 till you can swim." 
 
 " Well, but what is Bateman the better when his 
 ''piscinze are universal ? " asked Sheffield ; " what does it 
 mean ? In the Romish Church it has a use, I know — I 
 don't know what — but it comes into the Mass. But if 
 Bateipan makes piscjnse universal among us, what has 
 he acfiieved but the reign of a universal humbug ? " 
 
 " But, my dear Sheffield," answered Reding, " con- 
 sider how many things there are which, in the course 
 of time, have altered their original meaning, and yet 
 have a meaning, though a changed one, still. The 
 judge's wig is no sham, yet it has a history. The 
 Queen, at her coronation, is said to wear a Roman 
 Catholic vestment ; is that a sham ? Does it not still 
 typify and impress upon us the 'divinity that dothj 
 hedge a king,' though it has lost the very meaning| 
 
Loss and Gain. 27 
 
 which the Church of Rome gave it? Or are you of 
 the number of those, who, according to witticism, 
 think majesty, when deprived of its externals, a jest?" 
 
 " Then you defend the introduction of unmeaning 
 piscinae and candlesticks ? " 
 
 " I think," answered Charles, " that there's a great 
 difference between reviving and retaining ; it may be 
 natural to retain, even while the use fails, unnatural to 
 revive when it has failed ; but this is a question of dis- 
 cretion and judgment." 
 
 " Then you give it against Bateman ? " said Sheiifield. 
 
 A slight pause ensued ; then Charles added, " But 
 perhaps these men actually 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, i-P 
 piscinae are shams ? " 
 
 •' Canonicals," said Sheffield, as if thinking about 
 them ; " no, canonicals are no sham ; for preaching, I 
 suppose, is the highest ordinance in our Church, and 
 has the richest dress. The robes of a great preacher 
 cost, I know, many pounds ; for there was one near us 
 who, on leaving, had a present from the ladies of an 
 entire set, and a dozen pair of worked slippers into the 
 bargain. But it's all fitting, if preaching is the great 
 office of the clergy. Next comes the Sacrament, and 
 has the surplice 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 the 
 scarf? — it belongs to chaplains, I believe, that is, to 
 persons ; I can't make a view out of it." 
 
28 Z,oss and Gain. 
 
 " My dear Sheffield," said Charles, " you have cut 
 your own throat. Here you 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 single 
 question — 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 in 
 church ? — Why cannot I ? " 
 
 Sheffield hesitated, and looked serious. " Do you 
 know," he said, "you have just pitched on Jeremy 
 Bentham's objection. In his ' Church of Englandism ' 
 he proposes, if I recollect rightly, that a parish-boy 
 should be taught to read the Liturgy ; and he asks. 
 Why send a person to the University for three'or four 
 years at an enormous expense, why teach him Latin and 
 Greek, on purpose to read what any boy could be taught 
 to read at a dame's school ? What is the virtue of a 
 clergyman's reading ? Something of this kind, Ben- 
 tham says ; and," he added slowly, " to tell the truth, 
 /don't know how to answer him." 
 
 Reding was surprised, and shocked, and puzzled too; 
 he did not know what to say ; when the conversation 
 was, perhaps fortunately, interrupted. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Every year brings changes and reforms. We do not 
 know what is the state of Oxley Church now ; it may 
 have rood-loft, piscina, sedilia, all new : or it may Be 
 reformed backwards, the seats on principle turning 
 from the Communion-table, and the pulpit planted in 
 the middle of the aisle ; but at the time when these 
 two young men walked through the churchyard, there 
 was nothing very good or very bad to attract them 
 within the building ; and they were passing on, when 
 they observed, coming out of the church, what Sheffield 
 called an elderlydon,a fellow of a college, whom Charles 
 knew. He was a man of family, and had some little 
 property of 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, in conse- 
 quence, known him from a boy ; and now, since he 
 came into residence, he had, as was natural, received 
 many small attentions from him. Once, when he was 
 late for his own hall, he had given him his dinner in 
 his rooms ; he had taken him out on a fishing expedi- 
 tion towards Faringdon ; and had promised him tickets 
 for some ladies, lionesses of his, who were coming up to 
 
30 Loss and Gain. 
 
 the Commemoration. He was a shrewd, easy-tempered, 
 free-spoken man, of small desires and no ambition ; of 
 no very keen sensibilities or romantic delicacies, and 
 very little religious pretension ; that is, though unex- 
 ceptionable in his deportment, he hated the show of 
 religion, and was impatient at those who affected it. 
 He had known the University for thirty years, and 
 formed a right estimate of most things in it. He had 
 come out to Oxley to take a funeral for a friend, and 
 was now returning home. He hallooed to Charles, who, 
 though feeling at first awkward on finding himself with 
 two 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, he did not quite 
 know how and where to walk, and how to carry himself, 
 particularly when they got near Oxford, and he fell in 
 with various parties who greeted him in passing. 
 
 Charles, by way of remark, said they had been look- 
 ing in at a pretty little chapel on the common, which 
 was now in the course of repair. Mr. Malcolm laughed. 
 " So, Charles," he said, ''you're bit with the new fashion." 
 
 Charles coloured, and asked, " What fashion ? " add- 
 ing that a friend, by accident, had taken them in. 
 
 " You ask what fashion," said Mr. Malcolm ; " why, 
 the newest, latest fashion. This is a place of fashions ; 
 there have been many fashions in my time. The 
 greater part of the residents, that is, the boys, change 
 once in three years ; the fellows and tutors, perhaps, in 
 half a dozen ; and every generation has its own fashion. 
 'There is no principle of stability in Oxford, except the 
 
Loss and Gain. 31 
 
 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 drink - 
 inghad gone out everywhere. 
 
 " Worse things may come in," said Mr. Malcolm ; 
 " but there are fashions everywhere. There was once 
 a spouting-club, perhaps it is in favour still ; before it 
 was the music-room. Onc e geology w as all the rage ; 
 now it i s theologK -- soon it will be architecture, or 
 medieval antiquities, or editions and codices/ Each 
 wears out in its turn ; all depends on one or two active 
 men ; but the secretary takes a wife, or the professor 
 gets a stall ; and then the meetings are called irregu- 
 larly, and nothing is done in them, and so gradually 
 the affair dwindles and dies." 
 
 Sheffield asked whether the present movement had 
 not spread too widely through the country for such 
 a termination ; he did not know much about it him- 
 self, but the papers were full of it, and it was the 
 talk of every neighbourhood ; it was not confined to 
 Oxford. 
 
 " I don't know about the country," said Mr. Malcolm ; 
 " that is a large question ; but it has not the elements 
 of stability here. These gentlemen will take livings 
 and marry, and that will be the end of the business. 
 I am 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 
 
\ 
 
 32 Z^oss and. Gain. 
 
 it introduced. Oxford ought to be a place of quiet 
 and study; peace and the Muses always went together; 
 whereas there was talk, talk, in every quarter. A man 
 could not go about his duties in a natural way, and 
 take every one as he came, but was obliged to take 
 part in questions, and to consider points which he 
 might wish to put from him, and must sport an opinion 
 when he really had none to give. 
 
 Mr. Malcolm assented in a half-absent way, looking 
 at the view before him, 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 am 
 pleased with it. The lights are always new : and thus 
 the landscape, if it deserves the name, is always pre- 
 sented in a new dress. I have known Shotover there 
 take the most opposite hues, sometimes purple, some- 
 times a bright saffron or tawny orange." Here he 
 stopped : " Yes, you speak of party spirit ; very true, 
 there's a good deal of it. . . . No, I don't think there's 
 much," he continued, rousing ; " certainly there is more 
 division just at this minute in Oxford, but there always 
 is division, always rivalry, ^he separate societies have 
 their own interests and honour to maintain, and quarrel, 
 as the orders do in the Church of Rome. No, that's 
 too grand a comparison ; rather, Oxford is like an 
 almshouse for clergymen's widows, f Self-importance, 
 jealbusy, tittle-tattle are the order 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 have foUowings respectively : or Vice- 
 Chancellor himself, being a new broom, sweeps all the 
 
Loss and Gain. 33 
 
 young Masters clean out of Convocation House, to 
 their great indignation : or Mr. Slaney, Dean of St. 
 Peter's, does not scruple to say in a stage-coach that 
 Mr. Wood is no scholar ; on which the said Wood 
 calls him in return 'slanderous Slaney'; or the elderly 
 Mr. Barge, late Senior Fellow of St. Michael's, thinks 
 that his pretty bride has not been received with due 
 honours ; or Dr. Crotchet is for years kept out of his 
 destined bishopric by a sinister influence ; or Mr, 
 Professor Carraway has been infamously shown up, 
 in the Edinburgh, by an idle fellow whom he plucked 
 in the schools ; or (fiiajora movemus) three colleges 
 interchange a mortal vow of opposition to a fourth ; 
 or the young working Masters conspire against the 
 Heads. 'y.Now, however, we are inproving : if we must 
 quarrel, let it be th e rivalr y nf intpllf ^rf- firi'^ ^""'iriB^;*-", 
 rather than of interest or temper : let us contend for 
 things, not for shadows." V 
 
 Sheffield was pleased at this, and ventured to say 
 that the present state of things was more real, and 
 therefore more healthy. Mr. Malcolm did not seem to 
 hear him, for he did not reply ; and, as they were now 
 approaching the bridge again, the conversation stopped. 
 Sheffield looked slily at Charles, as Mr. Malcolm pro- 
 ceeded with them up High Street ; and both of them 
 had the triumph and the-ainusement of being convoyed 
 safely past a proctor, who was patrolling it, under the 
 protection of a Master. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The walk to Oxley had not been the first or the second 
 occasion on which Charles had, in one shape or other, 
 encountered Sheffield's views about realities and 
 shams ; and his preachments had begun to make an 
 impression on him ; that is, he felt that there was truth 
 in them at bottom, and a truth 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 ultimatel^_^ 
 ^.JaJjS pursued into it s consequence s, and to affect his 
 existing opinions. In the instance before us, he saw 
 Sheffield's principle was more or less antagonistic to his' 
 own favourite maxim, that it was a duty to be pleased 
 with every one. Contradictions could not both be real: 
 when an affirmative was true, a negative was false. All 
 doctrines could not be equally sound: there was a 
 right and a wrong. The theory of dogmatic truth, as 
 opposed to latitudinarianism (he did not know their 
 names or their history, or suspect what was going on 
 within him), had in the course of these his first terms, 
 gradually begun to energise in his mind. Let him but 
 see the absurdities of the latitudinarian principle, when 
 carried out, and he is likely to be still more opposed to it. 
 
Loss and Gain. 35 
 
 Bateman, among his peculiarities, had a notion that 
 bringing persons of contrary sentiments together was 
 the Hkehest way of making a party agreeable, or at 
 least useful. He had done his best to give his break- 
 fast, to which our friends were invited, this element 
 of perfection ; not, however, to his own satisfaction ; 
 for with all his efforts, 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, professed to be (esthetic, and 
 kept his college authorities in a perpetual fidget lest 
 he should some morning wake up a Papist ; and a 
 friend of his, a nice, 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 Batemen was engaged, saucepan in 
 hand, in the operation of landing his eggs, now boiled 
 upon the table, when our flighty youth, whose name 
 was White, observed how beautiful the Catholic custom 
 was of making eggs the emblem of the Easter-festival. 
 " It is truly Catholic," said he ; " for it is retained in 
 parts of England, you have it in Russia, and in Rome 
 itself, where an egg is served up on every plate through 
 the Easter-week, after being, I believe, blessed ; and it 
 is as expressive and significant as it is Catholic". 
 
 " Beautiful indeed ! " said their host ; " so pretty, so 
 sweet ; I wonder whether our Reformers thought of it, 
 or the profound Hooker, — he was full of types — or 
 
36 Loss and Gain. 
 
 Jewell. You recollect the staff Jewell gave Hooker : 
 that was a type. It was like the sending of Elisha's 
 staff by his servant to the dead child." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, dear Bateman," cried Sheffield, " you 
 are making Hooker Gehazi ! " 
 
 " That's just the upshot of such trifling," said Mr. 
 Freeborn ; "you never know where to find it ; it proves 
 anything, and disproves anything." 
 
 " That is only till it's sanctioned," said White ; 
 " when the Catholic Church 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 they are taken up by the Catholic 
 Church : that's how we are allowed to do evil 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 is indeed." 
 
 Mr. Freeborn suspended his breakfast operations, 
 and sat back in his chair. 
 
 " Why," continued White, " is not idolatry wrong — 
 yet image-worship is right ? " 
 
 Mr. Freeborn was in a state of collapse. 
 
 "That's a bad instance. White," said Sheffield; 
 " there are people in the world who are uncatholic 
 enough to think image-worship is wrong, as well as 
 idolatry." 
 
 " A mere Jesuitical distinction " said Freeborn with 
 emotion. 
 
, \Loss and Gain. 2)7 
 
 "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 better instance : who does 
 not know that baptism gives grace ? yet there were 
 heathen baptismal rites, which, of course, were 
 devilish." 
 
 " I should not be disposed, Mr. White, to grant 
 you so much as you would wish," said Freeborn, 
 " about the virtue of baptism." 
 
 " Not about Christian baptism ? " asked White. 
 
 "It is easy," answered Freeborn, "to mistake the 
 sign for the thing signified." 
 
 " Not about Catholic baptism ? " repeated White. 
 
 " Catholic baptism is a mere deceit and delusion," 
 retorted Mr. Freeborn. 
 
 "Oh, my dear Freeborn," interposed Bateman, 
 "novi you are going top far ; 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 which the 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 : 
 ' Anghcan and Roman are one." 
 
 " One ! impossible," cried Sheffield. 
 
38 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " Much worse than impossible," observed Mr 
 Freeborn. 
 
 "I should make a distinction," said Bateman : "I 
 should say, they are one, except the corruptions of 
 the Romish Church." 
 
 "That is, they are one, except where they differ," 
 said Sheffield. 
 
 " Precisely so," said Bateman. 
 
 " Rather / should say," objected Mr. Freeborn, 
 " two, except where they agree." 
 
 "That's just the issue," said Sheffield; "Bateman 
 says that the Churches are one except when they are 
 two ; and Freeborn says that they are two except 
 when they are one." 
 
 It was a relief at this moment that the cook's boy 
 came in with a dish of hot sausages ; but though a 
 relief, it was not a diversion ; the conversation pro- 
 ceeded. Two persons did not like it; Freeborn, 
 who was simply disgusted at the doctrine, and 
 Reding, who thought it a bore ; yet it was the bad 
 luck of Freeborn forthwith to set Charles against 
 him, as well as the rest, and to remove the repug- 
 nance which he had to engage in the dispute. 
 Freeborn, in fact, thought theology itself a mistake, 
 as substituting, as he considered, worthless intellec- 
 tual notions for the vital truths of religion ; so he now 
 went on to observe, putting down his knife and fork, 
 that it really was to him inconceivable, that real 
 religion should depend on metaphysical distinctions, 
 or outward observances ; that it was quite a diffisrent 
 thing in Scripture ; that Scripture said much of faith 
 
Loss and Gain. 39 
 
 and holiness, but hardly a word about Churches and 
 forms. He proceeded to say that it was the great 
 and evil tendency of the human mind to interpose 
 between itself and its Creator some self-invented 
 mediator, and it did not matter at all whether that 
 human device was a rite, or a creed, or a form of 
 prayer, or good works, or communion with particular 
 Churches — all were but "flattering unctions to the 
 soul," if they were considered necessary ; the only 
 safe way of using them was to use them with the 
 feeling that you might dispense with them ; that 
 none of them went to the root of the matter, for that 
 faith> J:hat is firm belief that God had forgiven you, 
 , ^s the one thing needful ; that where that one thing 
 was pr esent, everything else was superfluo us ; that 
 w here it was wanting, nothing else availed7'''^ o 
 strongly did he hold this, that (he confessed he put it 
 pointedly, but still not untruly), where true faith was 
 ptesent, a person might be anything in profession ; an 
 Arminian, a Calvinist, an Episcopalian, a Presby- 
 terian, 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 he would have approved ; but he was 
 a little irritated, and wished to have his turn of 
 speaking. It was altogether a great testification. 
 
 " Thank you for your liberality to the poor 
 Papists," said White : " it seems they are safe if 
 they are hypocrites, professing to be Catholics, 
 while they are Protestants in heart." 
 
40 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " Unitarians, too," said Sheffield, " are .debtors to 
 your liberality ; it seems a man need not fear to 
 believe too little, so that he feels a good deal." 
 
 " Rather," said White, " if he believes himself 
 forgiven, he need not believe anything else." 
 
 Reding put in his word ; he said that in the 
 Prayer Book, belief in the Holy Trinity was repre- 
 sented, not as an accident, but as " before all things " 
 necessary to salvation. 
 
 " That's not a fair answer. Reding," said Sheffield ; 
 "what Mr. Freeborn observed was, that there's no 
 creed in the Bible ; and you answer that there is a 
 creed in the Prayer Book." 
 
 "Then the Bible says one thing, and the Prayer 
 Book another," said Bateman. 
 
 " No," answered Freeborn ; " the Prayer Book only 
 deduces from Scripture ; the Athanasian Creed is a 
 human invention ; true, but human, and to be received, 
 as one of the Articles expressly says, because ' founded 
 on Scripture '. Creeds are useful in their place, so is 
 the Church ; but neither Creed nor Church is religion." 
 
 " Then why do you make so much of your doctrine 
 of ' faith only ' ? " said Bateman ; " for that is not in 
 Scripture, and is but a human deduction." 
 
 " My doctrine ! " cried Freeborn ; " why it's in the 
 Articles ; the Articles expressly say that we are 
 justified by faith only." 
 
 " The Articles are not Scripture any more than the 
 Prayer Book," said Sheffield. 
 
 " Nor do the Articles say that the doctrine they pro- 
 pound is necessary for salvation," added Bateman. 
 
Loss and Gain. 41 
 
 All this was very unfair on Freeborn, though he 
 had provoked it. Here were four persons on hin:i at 
 once, and the silent fifth apparently a sympathiser. 
 Sheffield talked through malice ; White from habit ; 
 Reding came in because he could not help it ; and 
 Bateman spoke on principle ; he had a notion that he 
 was improving Freeborn's views by this process of 
 badgering. At least he did not improve his temper, 
 which was suffering. Most of the party were under- 
 graduates ; he (Freeborn) was a Master ; it was too 
 bad of Bateman. He finished in silence his sausage, 
 which had got quite cold. The conversation flagged ; 
 there was a rise in toast and muffins ; coffee-cups 
 were put aside, and tea flowed freely. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Freeborn did not like to be beaten ; he began 
 again. Relig ion, he said, was a matter of the heart j_ 
 no one could interpret Scripture rightly whose heart 
 was ftot right. Till our eyes were enlightened, to 
 dispute about the sense of Scripture, to attempt to 
 deduce from Scripture, was beating about the bush : 
 it was like the blind disputing about colours. 
 
 " If this is true," said Bateman, " no one ought to 
 argue about religion at all ; but you were tlie first to 
 do so, Freeborn." 
 
 " Of course," answered Freeborn, " those who 
 ha.ve found ihe truth are the very persons to argue, 
 for they have the gift." 
 
 " And the very last persons to persuade," said 
 Sheffield ; " for they have the gift all to themselves." 
 
 " Therefore true Christians should argue with each 
 other, and with no one else," said Bateman. 
 
 " But those are the very persons who don't want it," 
 said Sheffield ; " reasoning must be for the uncon- 
 verted, not for the converted. It is the means of 
 seeking." 
 
 Freeborn persisted that the reason of the uncon- 
 verted was carnal, and that such could not understand 
 Scripture. 
 
Loss and Gain. 43 
 
 " 1 have always thought," said Reding, "thatjeason^ 
 was a genera lgif t, though faith is a special and personal 
 ^0"e- — Ii_£aith_ is really rational, all ought to see that 
 Jt is rational e else, from the nature nf thp f ^ag p, it is 
 _^ ratifla al." 
 
 " But St. Paul says," answered Freeborn, " that ' to 
 the natural man the things of the Spirit are foolish- 
 ness'." 
 
 " But how are we to arrive at truth at all," said 
 Reding, " except by reason ? It is the appointed 
 method for our guidance. Brutes go by instinct, men 
 by reason." 
 
 They had fallen on a difficult subject ; all were 
 somewhat puzzled except White, who had not been 
 attending, and was simply wearied ; he now inter- 
 posed. " 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 their feelings, their 
 
 affections, by the sense of the beautiful, and the ^ood. 
 and the holy. Religion is the beautiful ; the clouds, 
 sun, and sky, the fields and the woods, are religion." 
 
 "This would make all religions true," said Free- 
 born, "good and bad." 
 
 " No," answered White, " heathen rites are bloody 
 and impure, not beautiful ; and Mahometanism is as 
 cold and as dry as any Calvinistic meeting. The 
 Mahometans have no altars or priests, nothing but a 
 pulpit and a preacher." 
 
 " Like St. Mary's," said Sheffield. 
 
 " Very like," said White ; " we have no life or poetry 
 in the Church of England ; the Catholic Church alone 
 
44 Loss and Gain. 
 
 is beautiful. You would see what I mean if you went 
 
 into a foreign cathedral, or even into one of the 
 
 Catholic churches in our large towns. The celebrant, 
 
 deacon and subdeacon, acolytes with lights, the 
 
 incense, and the chanting — all combine to one end, 
 
 one act of worship. You feel it is really a worshipping ; 
 
 every sense, eyes, ears, smell, are made to know that 
 
 worship is going on. The laity on the floor saying 
 
 their beads, or making their acts ; the choir singing 
 
 1 out the Kyrie ; and the priest and his assistants 
 
 1 bowing low, and saying the Confiteor to each other. 
 
 \ This is worship, and it is far abover eason." 
 
 This was spoken with all his heart ; but it was quite 
 out of keeping with the conversation which had pre- 
 ceded it, and White's poetry was almost as disagree- 
 able 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. You can't really have gone to a 
 schismatical chapel. Oh, for shame 1 " 
 
 Freeborn observed, gravely, that if the two Churches 
 were one, as had been maintained, he could not see, 
 do what he could, why it was wrong to go to and fro 
 from one to the other. 
 
 " You forget," said Bateman to White, " you have 
 or might have, all this in your own Church, without 
 the Romish corruptions." 
 
 " As to the Romish corruptions," answered White, 
 " I know very little about them." 
 
 Freeborn groaned audibly. 
 
Loss and Gain. 45 
 
 "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. I don't like 
 what is bad in the Catholic Church, if there is bad, but 
 what is good. I do not go to it for what is bad, but 
 for what is good. You can't deny that what I admire 
 is very good and beautiful. Only you try to introduce 
 it into your own Church. You would give your ears, 
 you know you would, to hear the Dies ira" 
 
 Here a general burst of laughter took place. White 
 was an Irishman. It was a happy interruption ; the 
 party rose up from table, and a tap at that minute, 
 *hich sounded at the door, succeeded in severing the 
 thread of 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 them to me ; — I can take the 
 opinion of you men on a point I have much at heart. 
 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 partly admiring, partly 
 not knowing what to think, partly wondering at what 
 was coming. 
 
 " What do you think my plan is ? " he continued. 
 " You twitted me, Sheffield, because my chapel would 
 be useless. Now, I mean to get a cemetery attached to 
 it ; there is plenty of land ; and then the chapel will 
 
46 Loss and Gain. 
 
 become a chantry. But now, what will you say if we 
 have a copy of these splendid medieval monuments 
 round the burial-place, both sculpture and painting ? 
 Now, Sheffield, Mr. Critic, what do you say to that ? " 
 
 " A most admirable plan," said Sheffield, " and quite 
 removes my objections. ... A chantry, what is that ? 
 Don't they say Mass in it for the dead ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no," said Bateman, in fear of Freeborn, 
 " we'll have none of your Popery. It will be a simple 
 guileless chapel, in which the Church Service will be 
 read." 
 
 Meanwhile Sheffield was slowly turning over the 
 plates. He stopped at one. " What will you do with 
 that figure ? " he said, pointing to a Madonna. 
 
 " 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 you do 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 invoking a saint in heaven." 
 
 Bateman looked cautiously at them, and did not 
 answer. He would have shut the book, but Sheffield 
 wished to see some more. Meanwhile he said, " Oh 
 yes, true, there are some things ; but I have an ex- 
 pedient for all this; I mean to make it all allegorical. 
 The Blessed Virgin shall be the Church, and the saints 
 shall be cardinal and other virtues ; and as to that 
 saint's life, St. Ranieri's, it shall be a Catholic 'Pil- 
 grim's Progress '." 
 
 " Good I then you must drop all these popes and 
 
Loss and Gain. 47 
 
 bishops, copes and chalices," said Sheffield ; " and 
 have their names written under the rest, that people 
 mayn't take them for saints and angels. Perhaps you 
 had better have scrolls from their mouths, in old Eng- 
 lish. This St. Thomas is 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 a cat 
 on a wine-barrel." 
 
 " Really, really," said Bateman, disgu.sted and get- 
 ting possession of it, " you are quite offensive, quite. 
 We will look at them when you are more serious." 
 
 Sheffield indeed was very provoking, and Bateman 
 more good-humoured than many persons would have 
 been in his place. Meanwhile Freeborn, who had had 
 his gown in his hand the last two minutes, nodded to 
 his host, and took his departure by himself; and 
 White and Willis soon followed in company. 
 
 " Really," said Bateman to Sheffield, when they 
 were gone, " you and White, 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 
 good Catholicism, and you have spoilt all. I hoped 
 something would have come out 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 indefed. 
 And you, my friend, are, not much better; never 
 
48 Loss and Gain. 
 
 serious. What could you mean by saying that our 
 Church is not one with the Romish ? It was giving 
 .Freeborn such an advantage." 
 
 Sheffield looked provokingly easy; and, leaning 
 with his back against the mantelpiece, and his coat- 
 tails almost playing with the spout of the kettle, 
 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 most correct of 
 men, the audacity to say that the English Church 
 and the Romish Church were one?" 
 
 " It must be so," answered Bateman ; "there is but 
 one Church — the Creed says so; would youmaketwo?" 
 
 " I don't speak of doctrine," said Sheffield, " but of 
 fact. I didn't mean to 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 were one body.'' 
 
 Bateman thought awhile; and Charles employed 
 himself in scraping down the soot from the back of the 
 chimney with the poker. He did not wish to speak, 
 but he was not sorry to listen to such an argument. 
 
 " My good fellow," said Bateman, in a tone of in- 
 struction, "you are making a distinction between a 
 Church and a body which I don't quite comprehend. 
 You say that there are two bodies, and yet but one 
 Church. If so, the Church is not a body, but some- 
 thing abstract, a mere name, a general idea ; is that 
 your meaning ? if so, you are an honest Calvinist." 
 
 " You are another," answered Sheffield ; " for if you 
 make two visible Churches, English and Romish, to be 
 
Loss and Gain. 49 
 
 one Church, that one Church must be invisible, not 
 visible. Thus, if I hold an abstract Church, you hold 
 an invisible one." 
 
 " I do not see that," said Bateman. 
 
 " Prove the two Churches to be one," said Sheffield. 
 " and then I'll prove something else." 
 
 " Some paradox ?" said Bateman. 
 
 " Of course," answered Sheffield, " a huge one ; 
 but yours, not mine. Prove the English and Romish 
 Churches to be in any sense one, and I will prove by 
 parallel arguments that in the same sense we and the 
 Wesleyans are one." 
 
 This was a fair challenge. Bateman, however, sud- 
 denly put on a demure look, and was silent. " We 
 are on sacred subjects," he said at length in a 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?" cried Sheffield; "don't be hard on 
 me. What have 1 done ? Where did the sacredness 
 b^in ? I eat my words." 
 
 " Oh, he meant nothing," said Charles, " indeed he 
 did not ; he's more serious than he seems ; do answer 
 him ; I am interested." 
 
 " Really, I do wish to treat the subject gravely," said 
 Sheffield ; " I will begin again. I am very sorry, in- 
 deed I am. Let me put the objection more reverently." 
 
 Bateman relaxed : " My good Sheffield," he said, 
 " the thing is irreverent, not the manner. It is irre- 
 verent to liken your holy mother to the Wesleyan 
 schismatics." 
 
 4 
 
5© Loss and Gain. 
 
 " I repent, I do indeed," said Sheffield ; " it was a 
 wavering of faith ; it was very unseemly, I confess it. 
 What can I say more ? Look at me ; won't this do?' 
 But now tell me, do tell me, kow are we one body with 
 the Romanists,yet the Wesleyans not one body with us?" 
 
 Bateman looked at him, and was satisfied with the 
 expression of his face. " It's a strange question for 
 you to ask," he said ; " I fancied you were a sharper 
 fellow. Don't you see that we have the apostolical 
 succession as well as the Romanists ?" 
 
 " But Romanists say," answered Sheffield, " that 
 that is not enough for unity ; 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 we won't acknowledge their suc- 
 cession ; 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; "who 
 ever heard ! that's not enough ; 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 whither he was going. 
 
Loss and Gain. 51 
 
 " 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 ou1>,pf breath, and paused to see where 
 they stood. Presently Bateman said, " My good sir, 
 this is a question oi fact, not of argumentative clever- 
 ness. The question is, whether it is not true that 
 bishops 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 to our bishops is not necessary to 
 make Wesleyans one body with us, and obedience to 
 their Pope necessary to make us one body with the 
 Romanists. 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 than doctrine." 
 
 " Not unity ? What then is unity ?" asked Bateman- 
 
 " Oneness of polity," answered Sheffield. 
 
 Bateman thought awhile. "The idea is prepos- 
 terous," he said : " here we ha.ve possession ; here we are 
 established since King Lucius's time, or since St. Paul 
 preached here ; filling the island ; one continuous 
 Church ; with the same territory, the same succession, 
 the same hierarchy, the same civil and political position, 
 the same churches. Yes," he proceeded, " we have the 
 very same fabrics, the memorials of a thousand years, 
 
52 Loss and Gain. 
 
 doctrine stamped and perpetuated in stone ; all the 
 mystical teaching of the old saints. What have the 
 Methodists to do with Catholic rites? with altars, 
 with sacrifice, with rood-lofts, with fonts, with niches? 
 — they call it all superstition." 
 
 " Don't be angry with me, Bateman," said Sheffield, 
 " and, before going, I will put forth a parable. Here'a 
 the Church of England, as Hke a Protestant Establish-, 
 ment as it can stare ; bishops and people, all but a few 
 like yourselves, call it Protestant ; the living body 
 calls itself Protestant ; the living body abjures Catho- 
 licism, flings off the name and the thing, hates the 
 Church of Rome, laughs at sacramental power, despises 
 the Fathers, is jealous of priestcraft, is a Protestant 
 reality, is a Catholic sham. This existing reality, which 
 is alive and no mistake, you wish to top with a filagree- 
 work of screens, dorsals, pastoral staffs, croziers, mitres, 
 and the like. Now, most excellent Bateman, 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 into his wardrobe, and determined to 
 make himself fine at his master's expense. So he was 
 presently seen in the streets, naked as usual, but strut- 
 ting up and down with a cocked hat on his head, and 
 a pair of white kid 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 the door, and 
 quickly found himself with Charles in the street below. 
 
CHAPTER Vlll. 
 
 Sheffield and Charles may go their way, but we 
 must follow White and Willis out of Bateman's lodg- 
 ings. It was a Saint's day, and they had no lectures ; 
 they walked arm-in-arm along Broad Street, evidently 
 very intimate, and Willis found his voice: "I can't 
 bear that Freeborn," said he, " he's such a prig ; and I 
 like him the less because I am obliged to know him ". 
 
 " You knew him in the country, I think ? " said 
 White. 
 
 " In consequence, he has several times had me to 
 his spiritual tea-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 in their hands 
 and hassocks at their knees. Some insufferable per- 
 son of Capel Hall or St. Mark's, who hardly speaks 
 English, under pretence of asking Mr. Grimes some 
 divinity question, holds forth on original sin, or justi- 
 fication, or assurance, monopolizing the conversation. 
 
54 Loss and Gain. 
 
 Then tea-things go, and a portion of Scripture comes 
 instead ; and old Grimes expounds ; very good it is, 
 doubtless, though he is a layman. He's a good old 
 soul ; but no one in the room can stand it ; even Mrs. 
 Grimes nods over her knitting, and some of the dear 
 brothers breathe very audibly. Mr. Grimes, however, 
 hears nothing but himself. At length he stops ; his 
 hearers wake up, and the ha.ssocks begin. Then we 
 go ; and Mr. Grimes and the St. Mark's man call it a 
 profitable evening. I can't make out why any 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. "That will be all set right," said 
 Willis ; " we must have no women, but sacristans and 
 servers." 
 
 " Then, you know, all these pews will go to the right 
 about. Did you ever see a finer church for a function ? " 
 
 " Where would you put the sacristy ? " said Willis ; 
 " that closet is meant for the vestry, but would never 
 be large enough." 
 
 " That depends on the number of altars the church 
 admits," answered White ; " each altar must have its 
 own dresser and wardrobe in the sacristy." 
 
 "One," said Willis, counting, "where the pulpit 
 stands, that'll be the high altar ; one quite behind, that 
 
Loss and Gain. 55 
 
 may be Our Lady's ; two, one on each side of the chan- 
 cel—four aheady ; 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 one step to them, and they need not 
 be very broad. I think, too, this wall admits of an 
 arch — look at the depth of the window ; that would 
 be a gain of room." 
 
 " No," persisted White ; " the chancel is too nar- 
 row" and he began to measure the floor with his 
 pocket-handkerchief. " What would you say is the 
 depth of an altar from the wall ? " he asked. 
 
 On looking up he saw some ladies in the church 
 whom he and Willis knew — the pretty Miss Boltons 
 — very Catholic girls, and really kind, charitable per- 
 sons into the bargain. We cannot add that they were 
 much wiser at that time than the two young gentle- 
 men whom they now encountered ; and if any fair 
 reader thinks our account of them a reflection on 
 Catholic-minded ladies generally, we beg distinctly to 
 say that we by no means put them forth as a type of 
 a class ; that among such persons were to be found, 
 as we know well, the gentlest spirits and the tender- 
 est hearts ; and that nothing short of severe fidelity 
 to historical truth keeps us from, adorning these two 
 young persons in particular with that prudence and 
 good sense with which so many such ladies were en- 
 dowed. These two sisters had open hands, if they 
 had not wise heads ; and their object in entering the 
 church (which was not the church of their own parish) 
 
56 Loss and Gain. 
 
 was to see the old woman, who was at once a subject 
 and instrument of their bounty, and to say a word 
 about her little grandchildren, in whom they were in- 
 terested. As may be supposed, they did not know 
 much of matters ecclesiastical, and they knew less of 
 themselves ; and the latter defect White could not 
 supply, though he was doing, and had done, his best 
 to remedy the former deficiency ; and every meeting 
 did a little. 
 
 The two parties left the church together, and the 
 gentlemen saw the ladies home. " We were imagin- 
 ing. Miss Bolton," White said, walking at a respectful 
 distance from her, " we were imagining St. James's a 
 Catholic Church, 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 protegee, the old lady who dusts out the pews." 
 
 " Why, certainly," said Miss Bolton, "because there 
 would be no pews to dust." 
 
 " But not only in office, but in person, or rather in 
 character, she must make her exit from the church," 
 said White. 
 
 " Impossible," said Miss Bolton ; " are women, then, 
 to remain Protestants? " 
 
 " Oh, no," answered White, " the good lady will reap- 
 pear only in another character ; she will be a widow?" 
 
 " And who will take her present place ? " 
 
 "A sacristan," answered White : "a sacristan in a 
 cotta. Do you like the short cotta or the long ? " he 
 continued, turning to the younger lady. 
 
Loss and Gain. 57 
 
 ■' I ? " answered Miss Charlotte ; " I always forget, 
 but I think you told us the Roman was the short 
 one ; I'm for the short cotta." 
 
 "You know, Charlotte," said Miss Bolton, "that 
 there's a great reform going on in England in eccle- 
 siastical vestments." 
 
 " I hate all reforms," answered Charlotte, " from the 
 Reformation downwards. 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 years to 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 in church for ^& Asperges. 
 How different all things will be ! " continued she ; 
 " I don't quite like, though, the idea of a cardinal 
 in Oxford. Must we be so very Roman? I don't 
 see why we might not be quite Catholic without the 
 Pope." 
 
 " Oh, you need not be afraid," said White sagely ; 
 " things don't go so apace. Cardinals are not so cheap." 
 
 "Cardinals have so much state and stiffness," said 
 Miss Bolton: "I hear they never walk without two 
 servants behind them ; and they always leave the 
 room directly dancing begins." 
 
58 Loss and Gain. 
 
 "Well, I think Oxford must be just cut out for 
 cardinals," said Miss Charlotte; "can anything be 
 duller than the President's parties? I can fancy Dr. 
 Bone a cardinal, as he walks round the parks." 
 
 " Oh, it's the genius of the Catholic Church," said 
 White; "you will understand it better in time. No 
 one is his own master ; even the Pope cannot 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," con- 
 tinued White, " he is obliged to write them down and 
 confess them, lest they should be drawn into prece- 
 dents." 
 
 " 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; "it has always puzzled me 
 whether the Pope was obliged to confess like another 
 man." 
 
 " Oh, certainly," answered White, " every one con- 
 fesses." 
 
 " Well," said Charlotte, " I can't fancy Mr. Hurst 
 of St. Peter's, who comes here to sing glees, con- 
 fessing, or some of the grave heads of houses, who 
 bow so stiffly." 
 
 " They will all have to confess," said White. 
 
 " All?" asked Miss Bolton; "you don't mean con- 
 verts confess ? I thought it was only old Catholics." 
 
 There was a little pause. 
 
Loss and Gain. 59 
 
 "And what will the heads of houses be?" asked 
 Miss Charlotte. 
 
 " Abbots or superiors," answered White ; " they will 
 bear crosses ; and when they say Mass, there will be 
 a lighted candle in addition." 
 
 "What a good portily abbot the Vice-Chancellor 
 will make!" said Miss Bolton. 
 
 "Oh, no; he's too short for an aLbot," said her 
 sister; "but you have left ou; the Chancellor himself: 
 you seem to have provided for every one else ; 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 no knowing what he'll come 
 to. A Knight-Templar — yes; Malta is now English 
 property ; he might revive the order." 
 
 The ladies both laughed. 
 
 " But you have not completed yout- 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 have been making inquiries in the High 
 Street, and they are most satisfactory. Some of the 
 houses there were once university-halls and inns, and 
 will easily turn back into convents : all that will be 
 wanted is grating to the windows." 
 
 '' Have you any notion what order they ought to 
 join?" said' Miss Charlotte. 
 
 "That depends on themselves," said White: "no 
 
6o Loss and Gain. 
 
 compulsion whatever must be put on them. They are 
 the judges. But it would be useful to have two con- 
 vents — one of an active order, and one contemplative : 
 Ursuline for 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," said Miss Bolton. 
 
 " Yes," he made reply ; " I have fears for the Mrs. 
 Wardens and Mrs. Principals who at their age under- 
 take it." 
 
 They had got home, and White politely rang the 
 bell. 
 
 "Younger persons," said he tenderly, " are too 
 delicate for such a sacrifice." 
 
 Louisa was silent ; presently she said, " And what 
 (vitlyou be, Mr. White?" 
 
 " I know not," he answered ; " I have thought of 
 the Cistercians ; they never 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 other very respectfully, and 
 bowed ; the other pair went through a similar cere- 
 mony ; then it was performed diagonally. The two 
 ladies entered their home ; the two gentlemen retired. 
 
 We must follow the former upstairs. When they 
 entered the drawing-room they found their mother 
 sitting at the window in her bonnet and shawl, dipping 
 
I^oss and Gain. 6i 
 
 into a chance volume in that unsettled state which 
 implies that a person is occupied, if it may be so 
 called, in waiting, more than in anything 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 up 
 going to church this morning." 
 
 " Impossible, dear mamma,'' answered Miss Bolton : 
 " we went out punctually at half-past nine ; we did 
 not stop two minutes at your worsted-shop ; and here 
 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 young gentlemen and ladies get 
 together : but at any rate we are late for church." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Charlotte, " let us set out directly, 
 we shall get in by the first lesson." ^ • 
 
 " My dear child, how can you propose such a 
 thing ? " said her mother : " I would not do so for any 
 consideration ; it is so very disgraceful. Better not 
 go at all." 
 
 " Oh, dearest mamma," said the elder sister, " this 
 certainly is a prejudice. Why always come in at one 
 time ? there is something so formal in people coming 
 in all at once, and waiting for each other. It is surely 
 more reasonable to come in when you can ; so many 
 things may hinder persons.'' 
 
62 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " 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 the wicked man,' and at 
 latest before the ' Dearly Beloved '. That's the good 
 old-fashioned way. And Mr. Jones and Mr. Pearson 
 used always to sit at least five minutes in the desk to 
 give us some law, and used to look round before 
 beginning ; and Mr. Jones used frequently to preach 
 against late comers. I can't argue, but it seems to 
 me reasonable that good Christians should hear the 
 whole service. They might as well go out before it's 
 over." 
 
 "Well, but, mamma," said Charlbtte, "so it is 
 abroad ; they come in and go 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 say against him, except that he is young, 
 and he'll change his view of things when he gets 
 older." 
 
 " While we talk, time's going," said Louisa ; " is it 
 quite impossible we should still go to church ? " 
 
 " My dear Louisa, I would not walk up the aisle 
 for the world ; positively I should sink into the earth : 
 such a bad example ! How can you dream of such 
 a thing?" 
 
 " Then I suppose nothing's to be done," said Louisa, 
 taking off her bonnet ; " but really it is very sad to 
 make worship so cold and formal a thing. Twice as 
 
Loss and Gain. 63 
 
 many people would go to church if they might be 
 late." 
 
 " Well, my dear, all things are changed now : in 
 my younger days Catholics were the formal people, 
 and we were the devotional ; now it's just the reverse." 
 
 "But isn't it so, dear mamma?" said Charlotte, 
 "isn't it something much more beautiful, tliis con- 
 tinued concourse, flowing and ebbing, changing yet 
 full, than a way of praying which is as wooden as the 
 reading-desk ? — it's so free and natural." 
 
 "Free and easy, / think," said her mother; "for 
 shame, Charlotte ! how can you speak against the 
 beautiful Church Service ; you pain me." 
 
 " I don't," answered Charlotte ; " it's a mere puri- 
 tanical custom, which is no more part of our Church 
 than the pews are." 
 
 " Common Prayer is offered to all who can come," 
 said Louisa ; " church should be a privilege, not a 
 mere duty." 
 
 " Well, my dear love, this is more than I can follow. 
 There was young George 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 a preacher is heretical ? what else can 
 be done ? — it's so distressing to a Catholic mind." 
 
 "tatholic, Catholic!" cried Mrs. Bolton, rather 
 vexed ; " give me good old George the Third and the 
 Protestant religion. Those were the times ! Ever}'- 
 thing went on quietly then. We had no disputes or 
 
64 Loss and Gain. 
 
 divisions ; no differences 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 other prepared to leave the room. 
 
 " Well, it's a disappointment to us all," said their 
 mother ; " you first hindered 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 ; " for I 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 affliction 
 comes on you, depend on it, all these new fancies and 
 fashions will vanish from you like the wind, and the 
 good old Prayer Book alone will stand you in any 
 stead." 
 
 They were both touched. 
 
 " Come, my dears ; I have spoken too seriously," 
 she added. "Go and take your things off, and come 
 and let us have some quiet work before luncheon- 
 time.' 
 
CHAPTER rX. 
 
 Some persons fidget at intellectual difficulties, and, 
 successfully or not, are ever trying to solve them. 
 Charles was of a different cast of temper ; ^a new idea 
 was not lost on him, but it did not distress him, if it 
 was obscure, or conflicted with his habitual view of 
 things. He let it work its way and find its place, and 
 shape itself within him, bv the slow spontaneous 
 action of the mind. Y et perplexity is not in itself a 
 pleasant state ; and he would have hastened its re- 
 moval, had he been able. 
 
 By means of conversations such as those which we 
 have related (to which many others might be added, 
 which we spare the reader's patience), and from the 
 diversities of view which he met with in the University, 
 he had now come, in the course of a year, to one or 
 two conclusions, not very novel, but very important : — 
 first, that there are a great many opinions in the world 
 on the most momentous subjects ; secondly, that all 
 are not equally true ; thirdly, that it is a duty to hold 
 true opinions ; and, fourthly, that it is uncommonly 
 difficult to get hold of them. He had been accus- 
 tomed, as we have seen, to fix his mind on persons. 
 
66 Loss and Gain. 
 
 not on opinions, and to determine to like what was 
 good in every one ; but he had now come to perceive 
 that, to say the least, it was not respectable in any 
 great question to hold false opinions. It did not 
 matter that such false opinions were sincerely held — 
 he could not feel that respect for a person who held 
 what Sheffield called a sham, with which he regarded 
 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 of talking, though 
 they did not feel it to be unreal themselves. In like 
 manner, if the Roman Catholic system was untrue, so 
 far was plain (putting aside higher considerations), 
 that a person who believed in the power of saints, and 
 prayed to them, was an actor in a great sham, let him 
 be as sincere as he would. He mistook words for 
 things, and so far forth, 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 nature to be what it was not ; if by birth man 
 is fallen, and he thought him upright, he was holding 
 an absurdity. He might redeem and cover this blot 
 by a thousand excellences, but a blot it would remain ; 
 just as we should feel a handsome man disfigured by 
 the loss of an eye or a hand. And so, again, if a pro- 
 fessing Christian made the Almighty a being of simple 
 benevolence, and He was, on the contrary, what the 
 Church of England teaches, a God who punishes for 
 the sake of justice, such a person was making an idol 
 or unreality the object of his religion, and (apart from 
 more serious thoughts about him) so far he could 
 
Loss and Gain. 67 
 
 not respect him. Thus t he principle of dog matism 
 gradually became an essential element in C harles's 
 religious views. 
 
 Gradually, and imperceptibly to himself — for the 
 thoughts which we have been tracing only came on 
 him at spare times, and were taken up at intervals 
 from the point at which they were laid down — his 
 lectures and other duties of the place, his friends and 
 recreations, were the staple of the day, bu t there was 
 this unde r-current ever in moti on, and soundi ng in his 
 mental ear as soon as other sounds were hushed. As 
 
 he dressed in the morning, as he sat under the beeches 
 of his college-garden, when he strolled into the 
 meadow, when he went into the town to pay a bill or 
 make a call, when he threw himself on his sofa after 
 shutting his oak at night, thoughts cognate with those 
 which have been described were busy within him. 
 
 Discussions, however, and inquiries, as far as Oxford 
 could afford matter for them, were for a while drawing 
 to an end ; for Trinity Sunday was now past, and the 
 Commemoration was close at hand. On the Sunday 
 before it, the University sermon happened to be 
 preached by a distinguished person, whom that 
 solemnity brought up to Oxford ; no less a man than 
 the Very Rev. Dr. Brownside, the new Dean of 
 Nottingham, some time Huntingdonian Professor of 
 Divinity, and one of the acutest, if not soundest 
 academical thinkers of the day. He was a little, 
 prim, smirking be-spectacled man, bald in front, with 
 curly black hair behind, somewhat pompous in his 
 manner, with a clear musical utterance which enabled 
 
68 Loss and Gain. 
 
 one to listen to him without effort. As a divine, he 
 seemed never to have had any difficulty on any sub- 
 ject ; he was so clear or so shallow that he saw to the 
 bottom of all his thoughts : or, since Dr. Johnson tfells 
 us that " all shallows are clear," we may perhaps dis- 
 tinguish him by both epithets. Revelation to him, 
 instead of being the 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 incompre- 
 hensibility itself, with certain heretics of old ; but he 
 maintained that in Revelation all that was mysterious 
 had been left out, and nothing given us but what was 
 practical, and directly concerned us. It was, more- 
 over, to him a marvel, that everyone did not agree 
 with him in taking this simple, natural view, which 
 he thought almost self-evident ; and he attributed the 
 phenomenon, which was by no means uncommon, to 
 some want of clearness of head, 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 on this occasion the church was over- 
 flowing with the young men of the place. 
 
 He began his sermon by observing, that it was not a 
 little remarkable that there were so few good reasoners 
 in the world, considering that the discursive faculty was 
 one of the characteristics of man's nature, as contrasted 
 with brute animals. It had indeed been said that 
 brutes reasoned, but this was an analogical sense of the 
 word " reason," and an instance of that very ambiguity 
 of language, or confusion of thought, on which he was 
 
Loss and Gain. 69 
 
 animadverting. In like manner, we say that the reason 
 why the wind blows is, that there is a change of tem- 
 perature in the atmosphere, arjd the reason why the 
 bells ring is, because the ringers pull them ; but who 
 would say that the wind reasons or that bells reason ? 
 There was, he believed, no well-ascertained fact (an 
 emphasis on the ^or^faci) of brutes reasoning. It had 
 been said, indeed, that that sagacious animal, the dog, if, 
 in tracking his master, he met three ways, after smelling 
 the two, boldly pursued the third without any such pre- 
 vious investigation ; which, if true, would be an instance 
 of a disjunctive hypothetical syllogism. Also Dugald 
 Stewart spoke of the case of a monkey cracking nuts 
 behind a door, which, not being a strict imitation of any- 
 thing which he could have actually seen, implied an 
 operation of abstraction, by which the clever brute had 
 first ascended to the general notion of nut-crackers, 
 which perhaps he had seen in a particular instance, in 
 silver or in steel, at his master's table, and then descend- 
 ing, had embodied it, thus obtained, in the shape of an 
 expedient of his own devising. This was what had 
 been said : however, he might assume on the present 
 occasion, that the faculty of reasoning was character- 
 istic of the human species ; and, this being the case, 
 it certainly was remarkable that so few persons 
 reasoned well. 
 
 After this introduction, he proceeded to attribute to 
 this defect the number of religious differences in the 
 world. He said that the most celebrated questions in 
 religion were but verbal ones ; that the disputants did 
 not know their own meaning, or that of their opponents; 
 
JO Loss and Gain. 
 
 and that a spice of good logic would have put an end 
 to dissensions, which had troubled the world for cen- 
 turies — would have prevented many a bloody war, 
 many a fierce anathema, many a savage execution, and 
 many a ponderous folio. He went on to imply that 
 in fact there was no truth or falsehood 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 ; that the fault lay, not in holding 
 them, but in insisting on them, which was like insisting 
 on a Hindoo dressing like a Fin, or a regiment of 
 dragoons using the boomarang. 
 
 He proceeded to observe, that from what he had said, 
 it was plain in what point of view the Anglican formu- 
 laries were to be regarded ; viz., they were our mode of 
 expressing everlasting truths, which might be as well 
 expressed in other ways, as anycorrect thinkerwould be 
 able to see. Nothing, then, was to be altered in them ; 
 they were to be retained in their integrity ; but it was 
 ever to be borne in mind that they were Anglican 
 theology, not theology in the abstract ; and that, though 
 the Athanasian Creed was good for us, it did not follow 
 that it was good for our neighbours ; rather, that what 
 seemed the very reverse might suit others 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 that churches, creeds, rites, 
 persons, were nought in religion, and that the inward 
 spirit, faith," as he himself expressed it, " was all in 
 
Loss and Gain. yi 
 
 all " ; and with a hint that nothing would go well in 
 the University till this great principle was so far ad- 
 mitted, as to lead its members^not, indeed, to give up 
 their own distinctive formularies, no — but to consider 
 the direct contradictories of them equally pleasing to 
 the divine Author of Christianity. 
 
 Charles did not understand the full drift of the ser- 
 mon ; but he understood enough to make him feel that 
 it was different from any sermon he had heard in his 
 life. He more than doubted, whether, if his good father 
 had heard it, he would not have made it an exception 
 to his favourite dictum. He came away marvelling 
 with himself what the preacher could mean, and 
 whether he had misunderstood him. Did he mean 
 that Unitarians were only bad reasoners, and might 
 be as good Christians as orthodox believers? He 
 could mean nothing else. But what if, after all, he 
 was right ? He indulged the thought awhile. " Then 
 every one is what Sheffield calls a sham, more or less ; 
 and there was no reason for being annoyed at anyone. 
 Then I was right originally in wishing to take every 
 one for what he was. Let me think ; every one a 
 sham . . . shams are respectable, or rather no one is 
 respectable. We can't do without some outward form 
 of belief ; one is not truer than another ; that is, all 
 are equally true. . . . All are true. . . . That is the 
 better way of taking it ; none are shams, all are true. 
 . . . All are true ! impossible ! one as true as another ! 
 why then it is as true that our Lord is a mere man, as 
 that He is God . He could not possibly mean this ; 
 what did he mean ? " 
 
72 Loss and Gain. 
 
 So Charles went on, painfully perplexed, yet out of 
 this perplexity two convictions came upon him, the 
 first of them painful too ; that he could not take for 
 gospel everything that was said, even by authorities 
 of the place and divines of name ; and next, that his 
 former amiable feeling of taking every one for what 
 he was, was a dangerous one, leading with little 
 difficulty to a sufferance of every sort of belief, and 
 legitimately terminating in the sentiment expressed 
 in Pope's Universal Prayer, which his father had 
 always held up to him as a pattern specimen of 
 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 him to remain in Oxford some days 
 after the undergraduate part of his college 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 in Common-room on Sunday,andonseveral 
 mornings made him take some turns with 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 persons who were very little 
 younger than himself Besides, Vincent looked much 
 older than he really was ; he was of a full habit, with a 
 florid complexion 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 reader and worker, 
 and a capital tutor, he was a good feeder as well ; he 
 ate and drank, he walked and rode, with as much heart 
 as he lectured in Aristotle, or crammed in Greek plays. 
 What is stranger still, with all this he was something 
 of a valetudinarian. He had come off from school on a 
 foundation fellowship, and had the reputation both at 
 
74 Loss and Gain. 
 
 school and in the University of being a first-rate 
 scholar. He was a strict disciplinarian in his way, had 
 the undergraduates under his thumb, and having some 
 bonhomie in his composition, was regarded by them 
 with mingled feelings of fear and good will. They 
 laughed at him, but carefully obeyed him. Besides 
 this he preached a good sermon, read prayers with 
 unction, and in his conversation sometimes had even a 
 touch of evangelical spirituality. The young men even 
 declared they could tell how much port he had taken in 
 Common-room by the devoutness of his responses in 
 evening-chapel ; and it was on record that once, during 
 the Confession, he had, in the heat of his contrition, 
 shoved over the huge velvet cushion in which his 
 elbows were imbedded upon the heads of the gentlemen 
 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 party man " ; and 
 just so little that he was ever mistaking shams for 
 truths, and converting pompous nothings into oracles. 
 He was oracular in his manner, denounced parties and 
 party-spirit, and thought to avoid the one and the other 
 by eschewing all persons, and holding all opinions. He 
 had a great idea of the via media being the truth ; and 
 to obtain it, thought it enough to flee from extremes, 
 without having any very definite mean to flee to. He 
 had not clearness of intellect enough to purs ue a truth 
 to its limits, nor boldness enough to hold it in its_ 
 
 sim plicity ; but he was always sayingthmgsand 
 unsaying them, balancing his thoughts in impossible 
 
Loss and Gain. 75 
 
 attitudes, and guarding his words by unintelligible 
 limitations. As to the men and opinions of the day 
 and place, he would in the main have agreed with them, 
 had he let himself alone ; but he was determined to 
 have an intellect of his own, and this put him to great 
 shifts when he would distinguish himself from them. 
 Had he been older than they, he would have talked of 
 " young heads," " hot heads," and the like ; but since 
 they were grave and cool men, and outran him by 
 fourteen or fifteen years, he found nothing better than 
 to shake his head, mutter against party-spirit, refuse to 
 read their books, lest he should be obliged to agree 
 with them, and make a boast of avoiding their society. 
 At the present moment he was on the point of starting 
 for a continental tour to recruit himself afterthe labours 
 of an Oxford year ; meanwhile he was keeping hall 
 and chapel open for such men as were waiting either 
 for Responsions, or for their battel money ; and he took 
 notice of Reding as a clever, modest youth of whom 
 something might be made. Under this view of him, 
 he had, among other civilities, asked him to breakfast a 
 day or two before he went down. 
 
 A tutor's breakfast is always a difficult affair both for 
 host and guests ; 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 the 
 college-servant brought in mutton cutlets and broiled 
 ham ; and every one eat to his heart's, or rather his 
 appetite's, content. It was a more arduous undertaking 
 to provide the running accompaniment of thought, or 
 
76 Loss and Gain. 
 
 at least of words; without which the breakfast would 
 have been little better than a pig-trough. The conver- 
 sation or rather mono-polylogue, as some great per- 
 former calls it, ran in somewhat of the following strain : 
 
 " Mr. Bruton," said Vincent, " what news from Staf- 
 fordshire ? Are the potteries pretty quiet now ? Our 
 potteries grow in importance. You need not look at 
 the cup and saucer before you, Mr. Catley ; those came 
 from Derbyshire, But you find English crockery 
 everywhere on the Continent. I myself 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 fortnight ago, but I was kept here by 
 these confounded smalls.'' 
 
 " Your Responsiones" answered the tutor in a tone 
 of rebuke ; " an unfortunate delay for you, for it is to 
 be an unusually fine season, if the meteorologists of the 
 sister University are right in their predictions. 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 oath he'll shoot him ; 
 and Butson has walked about ever since with a bull- 
 dog." 
 
 " These are reports, Mr. Sikes, which often flit about, 
 but must not be trusted. Mr. Patch could not have 
 given a better proof that his rejection was deserved." 
 
 A pause — during which poor Vincent hastily gobbled 
 up two or three mouthfuls of bread and butter, the knives 
 and forks meanwhile clinking upon his guests' plates. 
 
Loss and Gain. 77 
 
 " Sir, is it true," began one of his guests at length, 
 " that the old Principal is going to be married ? " 
 
 " These are matters, Mr. Atkins," answered Vincent, 
 " which we should always inquire about at the fountain- 
 head; antiquum exquirite matrem,ot raXher patrem ; ha, 
 ha ! Take some more tea, Mr. Reding ; it won't hurt 
 your nerves. I am rather choice in my tea ; this comes 
 overland through Russia ; the sea-air destroys the 
 flavour of our common tea. Talking of air, Mr. Tenby, 
 I think you are a chemist. Have you paid attention to 
 the recent experiments on the composition and resolu- 
 tion of air? Not? I am surprised at it ; they are well 
 worth your most serious consideration. It is now pretty 
 well ascertained that inhaling gases is the cure for all 
 kinds of diseases. People are beginning to talk of the 
 gas-cure, as they did of the water-cure. The great 
 foreign chemist, Professor Scaramouch, has the credit 
 of the discovery. The effects are astounding, quite 
 astounding ; and there are several remarkable coinci- 
 dences. You know medicines are always unpleasant, 
 and so these gases are always fetid. The Professor 
 cures by stenches, and has brought his science to such 
 perfection that he actually can classify them. There 
 are six elementary stenches, and these spread into a 
 variety of subdivisions. What do you say, Mr. Reding? 
 Distinctive ? Yes, there is something very distinctive 
 in smells. But what is most gratifying of all, and is 
 the great coincidence I spoke of, his ultimate resolution 
 of fetid gases assigns to them the very same precise 
 number as is given to existing complaints in the latest 
 treatises on pathology. Each complaint has its gas. 
 
78 Loss and Gain. 
 
 And, what is still more singular, an exhausted receiver 
 is a specific for certain desperate disorders. For instance, 
 it has effected several cures of hydrophobia. Mr. 
 Seaton," he continued to a freshman, who, his breakfast 
 finished, was sitting uncomfortably on his chair, looking 
 down and playing with his knife — " Mr. Seaton, you 
 are looking at that picture " — it was almost behind 
 Seaton's back — " I don't wonder at it ; it was given 
 me by my good old mother, who died many years ago. 
 It represents some beautiful Italian scenery." 
 
 Vincent stood up, and his party after him, and all 
 crowded round the picture. 
 
 " 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 plenty of green in Italy, and in winter 
 even more than in England ; only there are other 
 colours too." 
 
 "But I can't help fancying," said Charles, "that 
 that mixture of colours takes off from it the repose of 
 English scenery.'' 
 
 " The repose, for instance," said Tenby, " of Binsey 
 Common, or Port Meadow 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 most beautiful. The 
 walks and meadows are so fragrant and bright now, the 
 hay half carried, and the short new grass appearing." 
 
 " Reding ought to live here all through the Long," 
 
Loss and Gain. "jfg 
 
 said Tenby ; " does any one live through the Vacation, 
 sir, in Oxford ? " 
 
 "Do you mean they die before the end of k, Mr. 
 Tenby ? " asked Vincent. " It can't be denied," he 
 continued, "that many, like Mr. Reding, think it a 
 most pleasant time. I am fond of Oxford ; but it is 
 not my habitat o\xt of term-time." 
 
 " Well, I think I should like to make it so," said 
 Charles, " but, I suppose, undegraduates are not 
 allowed." 
 
 Mr. Vincent answered with more than necessary 
 gravity, " No " ; it rested with the Principal ; but he 
 conceived that he would not consent to it. Vincent 
 added that certainly there were parties who remained 
 in Oxford through the Long Vacation. It was said 
 mysteriously. 
 
 Charles answered that, if it was against college rules, 
 there was no help for it ; else, were he reading for his 
 degree, he should like nothing better than to pass the 
 Long Vacation in Oxford, if he might judge by. the 
 pleasantness of the last ten days. 
 
 "That is a compliment, Mr. Reding, to your com- 
 pany," said Vincent. 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and in came the 
 manciple with the dinner paper, which Mr. Vincent 
 had formally to run his eye over. "Watkins," he 
 said, giving it back to him, " I almost think to-day is 
 one of the Fasts of the Church. Go and look, Watkins, 
 and bring me word." 
 
 The astonished manciple, who had never been sent on 
 such a commission in his whole career before, hastened 
 
8o Loss and Gain. 
 
 out of the room, to task his wits how best to fulfil it. 
 The question seemed to strike the company as forcibly, 
 for there was a sudden silence, which was succeeded by 
 a shuffling of feet and a leave-taking ; as if, though they 
 had secured their ham and mutton at breakfast, they 
 did not like to risk their dinner. Watkins returned 
 sooner than could have been expected. He said that 
 Mr. Vincent was right ; to-day he had found was "the 
 feast of the Apostles ". 
 
 " The Vigil of St. Peter, you mean, Watkins," said 
 Mr. Vincent ; " I thought 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 the college authority ; who began 
 to speak to him in a more confidential tone. 
 
 "Mr. Reding," said he, "I did not like to question 
 you before the others, but I conceive you had no parti- 
 cular meaning in your praise of Oxford in the Long 
 Vacation ? In the mouths of some it would have been 
 suspicious." 
 
 Charles was all surprise. 
 
 " To tell the truth, Mr. Reding, as things stand," he 
 proceeded, " it is often a mark oi party, this residence 
 in the Vacation ; though, of course, there is nothing in 
 the thing itself but what is perfectly natural and right." 
 
 Charles was all attention. 
 
 " My good sir," the tutor proceeded, " avoid parties ; 
 be sure to avoid party. You are young in your career 
 among us. I always feel anxious about young men of 
 
Loss and Gain. 8i 
 
 talent ; there is the greatest danger of the talent of 
 the University being absorbed in party." 
 
 Reding expressed a hope that nothing he had done 
 had given cause to his tutor's remark, 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Vincent, " no " ; yet with some 
 slight hesitation ; " no, I don't know that it has. But 
 I have thought some of your remarks and questions 
 at lecture were like a person pushing things too far, 
 and wishing to form a system':' 
 
 Charles was so much taken aback by the charge, 
 that the unexplained mystery of the Long Vacation 
 went out of his head. He said he was "very sorry," 
 and " obliged" ; and tried to recollect what he could 
 have said to give ground to Mr. Vincent's remark. 
 Not being able at the moment to recollect, he went 
 on. "I assure you, sir, I know so little of parties in 
 the place, that I hardly know their leaders. I have 
 heard persons mentioned, but, if I tried, I think I 
 should, in some cases, mismatch names and opinions." 
 
 " I believe it," said Vincent ; " but you are young ; 
 I am cautioning you against tendencies. You may 
 suddenly find yourself absorbed before you know 
 where you are." 
 
 Charles thought this a good opportunity of asking 
 some questions in detail, about points which puzzled 
 him. He asked whether Dr. Brownside was considered 
 a safe divine to follow. 
 
 " I hold, d'ye see," answered Vincent, " that all 
 errors are counterfeits of truth. Clever men say true 
 things, Mr. Reding, true in their substance, but," 
 sinking his voice to a whisper, " they go too far. It 
 
 6 
 
82 Loss and Gain. 
 
 might even be shown that all sects are in one sense 
 but parts of the Catholic Church. I don't say true 
 parts, that is a further question ; but they embody 
 great principles. The Quakers represent the principle 
 of simplicity and evangelical poverty ; they even have 
 a dress of their own, like monks. The Independents 
 represent the rights of the laity ; the Wesleyans cher- 
 ish the devotional principle ; the Irvingites, the sym- 
 bolical and mystical ; the High Church party, the 
 principle of obedience ; the Liberals are the guardians 
 of reason. No party, then, I conceive, is entirely right 
 or entirely wrong. As to Dr. Brownside, there cer- 
 tainly have been various opinions entertained about 
 his divinity ; still, he is an able man, and I think you 
 will gain good, gain ^w^ from his teaching. But mind, 
 I don't recommend him ; yet I respect him, and I con- 
 sider that he says many things very well worth your 
 attention. I would advise you, then, to accept the 
 ^W(3? which his sermons offer, without committing your- 
 self to the bad. That, depend upon it, Mr. Reding, is 
 the golden though the obvious rule in these matters." 
 
 Charles said, in answer, that Mr. Vincent was over- 
 rating his powers ; that he had to learn before he 
 could judge ; and that he wished very much to know 
 whether Vincent could recommend him any book, in 
 which he might see at once what the true Church-of- 
 England doctrine was on a number of points which 
 perplexed him. 
 
 Mr. Vincent replied, he must be on his guard against 
 dissipating his mind with such reading, at a time when 
 his University duties had a definite claim upon him. 
 
Loss and Gain. 83 
 
 He ought to avoid all controversies of the day, all 
 authors of the day. He would advise him to read no 
 living authors. "Read dead authors alone," he con- 
 tinued ; " dead authors are safe. Our great divines," and 
 he stood upright, "were models ; 'there were giants 
 on the earth in those days,' as King George the Third 
 had once said of them to Dr. Johnson. They had 
 that depth, and power, and gravity, and fulness, and 
 erudition ; and they were so racy, always racy, and 
 what might be called English. They had that rich- 
 ness, too, such a mine of thought, such a world of 
 opinion, such activity of mind, such inexhaustible 
 resource, such diversity, too. Then they were so elo- 
 quent ; the majestic Hooker, the imaginative Taylor, 
 the brilliant Hall, the learning of Barrow, the strong 
 sense of South, the keen logic of Chillingworth, good, 
 honest old Burnet," etc., etc. 
 
 There did not seem much reason why he should 
 stop at one moment more than another ; at length, 
 however, he did stop. It was prose, but it was plea- 
 sant prose to Charles ; he knew just enough about 
 these writers to feel interested in hearing them talked 
 about, and to him Vincent seemed to be saying a 
 good deal, when, in fact, he was saying very little. 
 When he stopped, Charles said he believed that there 
 were persons in the University 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 to the purposes 
 oi party. At this moment the names of some of our 
 
84 Loss and Gain. 
 
 greatest divines are little better than a watchword by 
 which the opinions of living individuals are signified." 
 
 "Which opinions, I suppose," Charles answered, 
 " are not to be found in those authors." 
 
 " I'll not say that," said Mr. Vincent. " I have the 
 greatest respect for the individuals in question, and I 
 am not denying that they have done good to our 
 Church by drawing attention in this lax day to the old 
 Church-of-England divinity. But it is one thing to 
 agree with these gentlemen ; another," laying his hand 
 on Charles's shoulder, " another to belong to their 
 party. Do not make man your master ; get good 
 from all ; think wellof all persons, and you will be a 
 wise man.'' 
 
 Reding inquired, with some timidity, if this was not 
 something like what Dr. Brownside had said in the 
 University pulpit ; but perhaps the latter advocated a 
 toleration of opinions in a different sense ? Mr. Vin- 
 cent answered rather shortly, that he had not heard 
 Dr. Brownside's sermon ; but, for himself, he had been 
 speaking only of persons in our own communion. 
 
 " Our Church," he said, " admitted of great liberty 
 of thought within her pale. Even our greatest divines 
 difi^ered from each other in many respects ; nay, Bishop 
 Taylor differed from himself. It was a great principle 
 in the English Church. Her true children agree to 
 differ. In truth," he continued, "there is that robust, 
 masculine, noble independence in the English mind, 
 which refuses to be tied down to artificial shapes, but is 
 like, I will say, some great and beautiful production of 
 nature — a tree, which is rich in foliage and fantastic in 
 
Loss and Gain, 85 
 
 limb, no sickly denizen of the hothouse, or helpless 
 dependent of the garden wall, but in careless magni- 
 ficence sheds its fruits upon the free earth, for the 
 bird of the air and the beast of the field, and all sorts 
 of cattle, to eat thereof and rejoice." 
 
 When Charles came away, he tried to think what 
 he had gained by his conversation with Mr. Vincent ; 
 not exactly what he had wanted, some practical rules 
 to guide his mind and keep him steady; but still 
 some useful hi nts. He had already been averse to 
 parties, and onended at what he saw of individuals 
 attached to them. Vincent had confirmed him in his 
 resolution to keep aloof from them, and to attend to 
 his duties in the place. He felt pleased to have had 
 this talk with him ; but what could he mean by sus- 
 pecting a tendency in himself to push things too far, 
 and thereby to implicate himself in party ? He was 
 obliged to resign himself to ignorance on the subject, 
 and to be content with keeping a watch over himself 
 in future. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 No opportunity has occurred of informing the reader 
 that, during the last week or two, Charles had acci- 
 dentally been a good deal thrown across Willis, the 
 umbra of White at Bateman's breakfast-party. He 
 had liked his looks on that occasion, when he was 
 dumb ; he did not like him so much when he heard 
 him talk ; still he could not help being interested in 
 him, and not the least for this reason, that Willis 
 seemed to have taken a great fancy to himself. He 
 certainly did court Charles, and seemed anxious to 
 stand well with him. Charles, however, did not like 
 his mode of talking better than he did White's ; and 
 when he first saw his rooms, there was much in them 
 which shocked both his good sense and his religious 
 principles. A large ivory crucifix, in a glass case, 
 was a conspicuous ornament between the windows ; 
 an engraving, representing the Blessed Trinity, as is 
 usual in Catholic countries, hung over the fire-place, 
 and a picture of the Madonna and St. Dominic was 
 opposite to it. On the mantelpiece were a rosary, a 
 thuribulum, and other tokens of Catholicism, of 
 which Charles did not know the uses ; a missal, 
 ritual, and some Catholic tracts, lay on the table; 
 
Loss and Gain. 87 
 
 and, as he happened to come on Willis unexpectedly, 
 he found him sitting in a vestment more like a cassock 
 than a reading-gown, and engaged upon some portion 
 of the Breviary. Virgil and Sophocles, Herodotus 
 and Cicero seemed, as impure pagans, to have hid 
 themselves in corners, or flitted away, before the 
 awful presence of the Ancient Church. Charles had 
 taken upon himself to protest against some of these 
 singularities, but without success. 
 
 On the evening before his departure for the country 
 he had occasion to go towards Folly Bridge to pay a 
 bill, when he was startled, as he passed what he had 
 ever taken for a dissenting chapel, to see Willis come 
 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 com- 
 pelled him to a visit so extraordinary as that which he 
 had 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 has taken 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 recol- 
 lect now; it's the exhibition 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 
 
88 Loss and Gain. 
 
 think they called it." Charles talked on, to cover his 
 own mistake, for he was ashamed of the charge he had 
 made. 
 
 Willis did not know whether he was in jest or 
 earnest. " Reding," he said, " don't go on ; you offend 
 me." 
 
 " Well, what is it ? " said Charles. 
 
 " You know well enough," answered Willis, " though 
 you wish to annoy rne." 
 
 " 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 have mended 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," said Reding; "and we still make a very 
 solemn engagement. Don't you recollect your matri- 
 culation at the Vice-Chancellor's, and what oaths and 
 declarations you made ? " 
 
 "I don't know what I made: my tutor told me 
 nothing about it. I signed a book or two." 
 
 " You did more," said Reding. " I was told most 
 carefully. You solemnly engaged to keep the statutes ; 
 and one statute is, not to go into any dissenting chapel 
 or meeting whatever " 
 
 " Catholics are not Dissenters," said Willis. 
 
Loss and Gain. 89 
 
 "Oh, don't speak so," said Charles ; "you know it's 
 meant to include them. The statute wishes us to keep 
 from all places of worship whatever but our own." 
 
 "But it is an illegal declaration our vow," said Willis, 
 " and so not binding." 
 
 " Where did you find that get-off ? " said Charles ; 
 "the priest put that into 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 not help you. I am no casuist ; 
 but if it is an illegal engagement you should not con- 
 tinue to enjoy the benefit of it." 
 
 " What benefit ? " 
 
 " Your cap and gown ; a university education ; the 
 chance of a scholarship or fellowship. Give up these, 
 and then plead, if you will, and lawfully, that you are 
 quit of your engagement ; but don't sail under false 
 colours : don't take the benefit and break the stipu- 
 lation." 
 
 " 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 points where the authorities don't 
 enforce them ; for instance, they don't mean us to dress 
 in brown, though the statutes order it." 
 
 " But they do mean to keep you from walking down 
 High Street in beaver," answered Willis; "for the 
 Proctors march up and down, and send you back, if 
 they catch you." 
 
90 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " '^vXthis is a different matter," said Reding, changing 
 his ground ; " this is a matter of religion. It can't be 
 right to go to strange places of worship or meetings." 
 
 " Why," said Willis, " if we are one Church with the 
 Roman Catholics, I can't make out for the life of me 
 how it's wrong for us to go to them or them to us." 
 
 " I'm no divine, I don't understand what is meant 
 by one Church," said Charles ; " but I know well that 
 there's not a bishop, not a clergyman, hot a sober 
 churchman in the land but would give it against you. 
 It's a sheer absurdity." 
 
 " Don't talk in that way," answered Willis, " please 
 don't. I feel all my heart drawn to the Catholic 
 worship ; our own service is so cold." 
 
 "That's just what every stiff Dissenter says," 
 answered Charles; "every poor cottager, too, who 
 knows no better, and goes after the Methodists- 
 after her dear Mr. Spoutaway or the preaching cob- 
 bler. She says (I have heard them), ' Oh, sir, I suppose 
 we ought to go where we get most good Mr. So-and- 
 so goes to my heart — he goes through me.' " 
 
 Willis laughed ; "Well, not a bad reason, as times 
 go, /think," said he : "poor souls, what better means 
 of judging have they ? how can you hope they will like 
 ' the Scripture moveth us ' ? Really you are making 
 too much of it. This is only the second time I have 
 been there, and, I tell you in earnest, I find my mind 
 filled with awe and devotion there ; as I think 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 see through a deal board. But 
 
Loss and Gain. 91 
 
 here, when I went in, I found all still, and calm, 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't know what to say to you. Heaven 
 forbid that I should speak against the Roman Catholics ; 
 I know nothing about them. But this I know, that 
 you are not a Roman Catholic, and have no business 
 there. If they have such sacred things among them as 
 those you allude to, still these are not yours ; you are 
 an intruder. I know nothing about it ; I don't like to 
 give a judgment, I am sure. But it's a tampering 
 with sacred things ; running here and there, touching 
 and tasting, taking up, putting down. I don't like it," 
 he added, with vehemence ; " it's taking liberties with 
 God." 
 
 " Oh, my dear Reding, please don't speak so very 
 severely," said poor Willis; "now what have I done 
 more than you would do yourself, were you in France 
 or Italy ? Do you mean to say you wouldn't enter 
 the churches abroad ? " 
 
 "I will only decide about what is before me," 
 answered Reding ; " when I go abroad, then will be 
 the time to think about your question. It is quite 
 enough to know what we ought to do at the moment, 
 and I am clear you have been doing wrong. How 
 did you find your way there ? " 
 
 " White took me." 
 
 " Then there is one man in the world more thought- 
 less than you : do many of the gownsmen go there ? " 
 
 " Not that I know of ; one or two have gone from 
 
92 Loss and Gain. 
 
 curiosity ; there is no practice 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, dis- 
 engaging his arm from Reding'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 ? I wish 
 I knew what to believe ; nn onf will jell me wha_t to 
 believe ; I am so left to myself." Then he thought : 
 " I suppose I know quite enough for practice — more 
 than I do practise ; and I ought surely to be contented 
 and thankful ". 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Charles was an affectionate son, and the Long 
 Vacation passed very liappily at home. He was up 
 early, and read steadily till luncheon, and then he was 
 at the service of his father, mother, and sisters for the 
 rest of the day. He loved the calm, quiet country : 
 he loved the monotonous flow of time, when each day 
 is Hke the other ; and, after the excitement of Oxford, 
 the .' ecluded parsonage was like a haven beyond the 
 tossing of the waves. The whirl of opinions and per- 
 plexities which had encircled him at Oxford now were 
 like the distant sound of the ocean — they reminded 
 him of his present security. The undulating meadows, 
 the green lanes, the open heath, the common with its 
 wide-spreading dusky elms, the high timber which 
 fringed the level path from village to village, ever and 
 anon broken and thrown into groups, or losing itself 
 in copses — even the gate, and the stile, and the turn- 
 pike road had the charm, not of novelty, but of long 
 familiar use ; they had the poetry of many recollec- 
 tions. Nor was the dilapidated, deformed church, 
 with its outside staircases, its unsightly galleries, its 
 wide intruded windows, its uncouth pews, its low 
 Hunting table, its forlorn vestry, and its damp earthy 
 
94 J-'OSs and Gain. 
 
 smell, without its pleasant associations 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 ; there were the old monuments, with Latin 
 inscriptions and strange devices, the black boards with 
 white letters, the Resurgams and grinning skulls, the 
 fire-buckets, the faded militia-colours, and, almost as 
 much a fixture, the old clerk, with a Welsh wig over 
 his ears, shouting the responses out of place — which 
 had arrested his imagination, and awed him when a 
 child. And then there was his home itself; its well- 
 known rooms, its pleasant 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 
 in time to come I know not," he said to himself ; " 1 
 am but a boy ; many things 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 am happy, and I will enjoy my happiness. 
 Some say that school is the pleasantest time of one's 
 life ; this does not exclude college. I suppose care is 
 what makes life so wearing. At present I have no 
 care, no responsibility ; I suppose I shall feel a little 
 when I go up for my degree. Care is a terrible 
 thing; I have had a little of it at times at school. 
 What a strange thing to fancy, I shall be one day 
 twenty-five or thirty ! 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 
 for my day." 
 
 Sometimes, however, his thoughts took a sadder 
 
Loss and Gain. 95 
 
 turn, and he anticipated the future more vividly than 
 he enjoyed the present. Mr. Malcolm had come 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 to himself, to whom a 
 green home and a family circle were agreeable sights, 
 after his bachelor-life at college. He had been a 
 great favourite with Charles and his sisters as children, 
 though now his popularity with them for the most 
 part rested on the memory of the past. When he 
 told them amusing stories, or allowed them to climb 
 his knee and take off his spectacles, 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 principally by prescription. He neithei 
 knew this, nor would have thought much about it if 
 he had , for, like many persons of advancing years, he 
 made himself very much his own centre, did not care 
 to enter into the minds of others, did not consult for 
 them, or find his happiness in them. He was kind 
 and friendly to the young people, as he would be kind 
 to a canary-bird or a lap-dog; it was a sort of external 
 love ; and, though they got on capitally with him, 
 they did not miss him when gone, nor would have 
 been much troubled to know that he was never to 
 come again. Charles drove him about the country, 
 stamped his letters, secured him his newspapers from 
 the neighbouring town, and listened to his stories about 
 Oxford and Oxford men. He really liked him, and 
 wished to please him ; but, as to consulting him in any 
 
96 Loss and Gain. 
 
 serious matter, or going to him for comfort in affliction, 
 he would as soon have thought of betaking him to Dan 
 the pedlar, or old Isaac who played the Sunday 
 bassoon. 
 
 " How have your peaches been this year, Malcolm ? " 
 said Mr. Reding one day after 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, October peaches 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. But peaches come 
 when there is no one in Oxford to eat them ; so either 
 the tree, or at least the fruit, is a great rarity there. 
 Oxford wasn't so empty once ; you have old mul- 
 berry-trees there in record of better days." 
 
 " At that time, too," said Charles, " I suppose, the 
 more expensive fruits were not cultivated. Mulberries 
 are the witness, not only of a full college, but of 
 simple tastes." 
 
 " Charles is secretly cutting at our hothouse here," 
 said Mr. Reding ; " as if our first father did not prefer 
 fruits and flowers to beef and mutton." 
 
 " No, indeed," said Charles, " I think peaches capital 
 things : and as to flowers, I am even too fond of scents." 
 
 " Charles has some theory, then, about scents, I'll 
 be bound," said his father ; " I never knew a boy who 
 so placed his likings an d disl ikings on fancies. He 
 began to eat olives directly he read the CEdipus of 
 
Loss and Gain. 97 
 
 Sophocles ; and, I verily believe, will soon give up 
 oranges from his dislike 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 makes her 'a 
 perfect fright ' the next." 
 
 " You're right, papa, in this instance," said his 
 mother ; " I know he has some 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 to his father. 
 
 "There's more than that," said Mrs. Reding, "if ] 
 knew what it was." 
 
 " He thinks the scent more intellectual than the 
 other senses," said Mary, 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 no shape — like the 
 angels." 
 
 Mr. Malcolm laughed. "Well, I grant it, Charles," 
 he said ; "they are length without breadth ! " 
 
 " Did you ever hear the like ? " said Mrs. Reding, 
 laughing too; "don't encourage him, Mr. Malcolm; 
 you are worse than he. Angels length without 
 breadth ! " 
 
 " They pass from place to place, they come, they 
 go," continued Mr. Malcolm. 
 
 " They conjure up the past so vividly," said Charles. 
 7 
 
98 Loss and Gain. 
 
 "But sounds surely more than scents," said Mr. 
 Malcolm. 
 
 " Pardon me ; the reverse as / think," answered 
 Charles. 
 
 " That is a paradox, Charles," said Mr. Malcolm ; 
 "the smell of roast-beef never went further than to 
 remind a man of dinner ; but sounds are pathetic and 
 inspiring." 
 
 " Well, sir, but think of this," said Charles ; " scents 
 are complete in themselves, yet do not consist of parts. 
 Think how very distinct the smell of a rose is from a 
 pink, a pink from a sweet-pea, a sweet-pea from a 
 stock, a stock from lilac, lilac from lavender, lavender 
 fiom jasmine, jasmine from honeysuckle, honeysuckle 
 from hawthorn, hawthorn from hyacinth, hyacinth " 
 
 "Spare us," interrupted Mr. Malcolm; "you are 
 going through the index of Loudon ! " 
 
 " And these are only the scents of flowers ; how 
 different flowers smell from 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 perfectly 
 distinct from each other, and sui generis ; they never 
 can.be confused; yet each is communicated to the 
 apprehension in an instant. Sights take up a great 
 space, a tune is a succession of sounds ; but scents are 
 at once specific and complete, yet indivisible. Who 
 can halve a scent ? they need neither time nor space ; 
 thus they are immaterial or spiritual." 
 
 " Charles hasn't been to Oxford for nothing," said 
 his mother, laughing and looking at Mary; "this is 
 what I call chopping logic ! " 
 
Loss and Gain. 99 
 
 "Well done, Charles," cried Mr. Malcolm; "and 
 now, since you have such clear notions of the power of 
 smells, you ought, like the man in the story, to bs 
 satisfied with smelling at your dinner, and grow fat 
 upon it. It's a shame you sit down to table." 
 
 " Well, sir," answered Charles, " some people do seem 
 to thrive on snuff at least." 
 
 "For shame, Charles!" said Mr. Malcolm; "you 
 have seen me use the common-room snuff-box to keep 
 myself awake after dinner ; but nothing more. 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 of Nun'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 with her 
 nose. Doctors of medicine took it as a preserva- 
 tive against infection, and doctors of divinity against 
 drowsiness in church." 
 
 "They take wine against infection now," said Mr. 
 Redjng; "it's a much surer protective." 
 
 " Wine ? " cried Mr. Malcolm ; " oh, they didn't take 
 less wine then, as you and I know. On certain solemn 
 occasions they made a point of getting drunk, the whole 
 college, from the Vice-Principal or Sub-Warden down 
 to the scouts. Heads of houses were kept in order by 
 their wives ; but I assure 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 pro- 
 cession at Magdalen Bridge, and walked down with his 
 
lOO Loss and Gain. 
 
 pokers before him, gold and silver, vergers, cocked hats, 
 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 own people swaying to and fro 
 under his very nose, and promising to leave him for 
 the gutter before the march was ended." 
 
 " No one can get tipsy with snuff, I grant," said Mr. 
 Reding ; " but if wine has done some men harm, it has 
 done others a deal of good." 
 
 " Hair-powder is as bad as snuff"," said Mary, pre- 
 ferring the former subject ; " there's old Mr. Butler of 
 Cooling, his wig is so large and full 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 out by this block to the conversation, 
 and running off somewhat testily in another 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 
 abouthimodd 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, who will make you an attentive wife." 
 
 Charles slightly coloured, and his sister laughed as 
 if there was some understanding between them. 
 
 Mr. Malcolm continued : " Don't wait till you want 
 some one to buy flannel for 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 
 
I^oss and Gain. lOi 
 
 become an old Fellow. 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 just yet. Yes, my 
 dear boy," she added, nodding at him, " you will not 
 be able to escape your destiny, when it comes." 
 
 " Charles, you must know," said Mr. Reding to his 
 guest, " is romantic in his notions just now. I believe 
 it is that he thinks no one good enough for him. Oh, 
 my dear Charlie, don't let me pain you, I meant 
 nothing serious ; but somehow he has not hit it off 
 very well with some young ladies here, who expected 
 more attention than he cared to give." 
 
 " I am sure," said Mary, " Charles is most attentive 
 whenever there is occasion, and always has his eyes 
 about him to do a service ; only he's a bad hand at 
 small-talk." 
 
 " All will come in time, my dear," said his mother ; 
 * a good son makes a good husband." 
 
 " And a very loving papa," said Mr. Malcolm. 
 
 " Oh, spare me, sir," said poor Charles ; " how have 
 I deserved this ? " 
 
 " Well," proceeded Mr. Malcom ; " and young ladies 
 ought to marry betimes too." 
 
 " Come, Mary, your turn is coming," cried Charles ; 
 and taking his sister's hand, he threw up the sash, and 
 escaped with her into the garden. 
 
 They crossed the lawn, and took refuge in a shrub- 
 bery. " How strange it is ! " said Mary, as they 
 strolled along the winding walk ; " we used to like 
 
I02 Loss and Gain. 
 
 Mr. Malcolm so, as children ; but now— I like him still, 
 but he is not 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 was looked out for ; and mamma 
 said, 'Take care you be good when Mr. Malcolm comes'. 
 And he was sure to bring a twelfth-cake, or a Noah's 
 ark, or something of the sort. And then he romped 
 with us, and let us make fun of him." 
 
 " Indeed it isn't he that is changed," said Charles, 
 " but we ; — we are in the time of life to change ; we 
 have changed already, and shall change still." 
 
 " What a mercy it is," said his sister, " that we are 
 so happy among ourselves as a family ! If we change, 
 we shall change together, as apples of one stock if 
 one fails, the other does. Thus we are always the 
 same to each other." 
 
 " It is a mercy, indeed," said Charles ; " we are so 
 blest that I am sometimes quite frightened." 
 
 His sister looked earnestly at him. He laughed a 
 little to turn off the edge of his seriousness. " You 
 would know what I mean, dear Mary, if you had read 
 Herodotus. A Greek tyrant feared his own excessive 
 prosperity, and therefore made a sacrifice to fortune. 
 I mean, he gave up something which he held most 
 precious ; he took a ring from his finger and cast 
 it into the sea, lest the Deity should afflict him, if 
 he did not afflict himself." 
 
 " My dear Charles," she answered, " if we do but 
 enjoy God's gifts thankfully, and take care not to set 
 
Loss and Gain. 103 
 
 our hearts on them or to abuse them, 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 in anything." 
 
 " 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 selfish prudence, for what I know ; but I am 
 sure that, did I give my heart to any creature, I should 
 be withdrawing it from God. How easily could I 
 idolise these sweet walks which we have known for so 
 many years I " 
 
 They walked on in silence. " Well," said Mary, 
 " whatever we lose, no change can affect us as a family; 
 While we are we, we are to each other what nothing ex- 
 ternal 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 at him ; then gently removing 
 his hair and smoothing his forehead, she said, you 
 are so sad to-day." 
 
 " Dearest Mary," he made answer, " nothing's the 
 matter, indeed. I think it is Mr. Malcolm who has put 
 me out. It is so stupid to talk of the prospects of a 
 boy like me. Don't look so, I mean nothing ; only it 
 annoys 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." 
 
I04 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " 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 so uncertain 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 
 onfy who cannot die, who never changes, only One. 
 It can't be wrong to remember this. Do you recollect 
 Cowper's beautiful lines ? I know them without hav- 
 ing learned them — they struck 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 again to Oxford. One or two 
 weeks passed by ; then a few days, and it was time 
 to be packing. His father parted with him with even 
 greater emotion than when he first went to school. He 
 would himself drive him in the phaeton to the neigh- 
 bouring town, from which the omnibus ran to the rail- 
 road, though he had the gout flying about him ;. and 
 when the moment for parting came he could not get 
 himself to give up his hand, as if he had something to 
 say which he could not recollect or master. 
 
 "Well, Christmas will soon come," he said; "wc 
 must part, it's no use delaying it. Write to us soon, 
 dear boy ; and tell us all about yourself and your 
 matters. Tell us about your friends ; they are nice 
 young men apparently : but I have great confidence in 
 your prudence ; you have more prudence than some of 
 them. Your tutor seems a valuable man, from what 
 you tell me," he went on, repeating what had passed 
 between him and Charles 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 no good my going on ; I have said all this before: 
 
lo6 Loss and Gain. 
 
 and you may be late for the train. Well, God bless 
 you, my dearest Charlie, and make you a blessing. 
 May you be happier and better than your father ! I 
 have ever been blest all my life long — wonderfully 
 blc.t. Blessings have been poured on me from my 
 youth, far above my deserts ; • may they be doubled 
 upon you 1 Good-bye, my beloved Charles, good-bye ! " 
 
 Charles had to pass a day or two at the house of a 
 relative who lived a little way out of London. While 
 he was there a letter arrived for him, forwarded from 
 home ; it was from Willis, dated from London, and 
 announced that he had come to a very important 
 decision, and should not return to Oxford. Charles 
 was fairly in the world again, plunged into the whirl of 
 opinions : how sad a contrast to his tranquil home ! 
 There was no mistaking what the letter meant; and 
 he set out at once with the chance of finding the 
 writer at the house from which he dated it. It was a 
 lodging at the west-end of the town ; and he reached 
 it about noon. 
 
 He found Willis in company with a person appa- 
 rently two or three years older. Willis started on 
 seeing him. 
 
 "Who would have thought! what brings you here?" 
 he said ; " I thought you were in the country." Then 
 to his companion, " This is the friend I was speaking 
 to you about, Morley. A happy meeting ; sit down, 
 dear Reding ; I have much to tell you." 
 
 Charles sat down, all suspense, looking at Willis 
 with such keen anxiety that the latter was forced to 
 cut the matter short. " Reding, I am a Catholic." 
 
L,oss and Gain. 107 
 
 Charles threw himself back in his chair, and turned 
 pale. 
 
 "My dear Reding, what is the matter with you? 
 why don't you speak to me ? " 
 
 Charles was still silent ; at last, stooping forward, 
 with his elbows on his knees, and his head on his 
 hands, he said, in a low voice, "Oh, Willis, what have 
 you done? " 
 
 "Done? "said Willis; "what you should do, and 
 half Oxford besides. Oh, Reding, I'm so happy!" 
 
 " Alas, alas ! " said Charles ; " but what is the good 
 of my staying? — all good attend you, Willis; good- 
 bye ! " 
 
 " No, my good Reding, you don't leave me so soon 
 having found me so unexpectedly ; 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 go without taking your part in it." He took 
 Charles's hat from him as he spoke ; and Charles, in a 
 mixture of feelings, let him have his way. 
 
 " Oh, 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 could not help it ; I am not in a common 
 state, I'm so happy ! " 
 
 A thought struck Reding. "Tell me, "Willis," he 
 
io8 Loss and Gain. 
 
 said, " your exact position ; in what sense are you a 
 Catholic ? What is to prevent your returning with me 
 to Oxford ? " 
 
 His companion interposed : " I am taking a liberty, 
 perhaps," he said ; " but Mr. 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 a Catholic. I 
 have been on a tour with him abroad. We met with 
 a good priest in France, who consented to receive my 
 abjuration." 
 
 " Well, I think he might profitably have examined 
 into your state of mind a little before he did so,'' said 
 Reding; "you are not the person to become a Catholic, 
 Willis." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Because," answered Reding, " you are more of a 
 Dissenter than a Catholic. 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 of Rome, not as a child to a mother, but 
 in a wayward, roving way, as a matter of fancy or 
 liking, or (excuse me) as a greedy boy to something 
 nice ; and you pursued your object by disobeying the 
 authorities set over you." " 
 
 It was as much as Willis could bear; he said he 
 thought he recollected a text about "obeying God 
 rather than men ". 
 
 " I see you have disobeyed men," retorted Charles ; 
 "I trust you have been obeying God." 
 
Loss and Gain. 109 
 
 Willis thought him rude, and would not speak. 
 
 Mr. Morley began : " If you knew the circumstances 
 better," he said, "you would doubtless judge dif- 
 ferently. I consider Mr. Willis to be just the very per- 
 son on whom it was incumbent to join the Church, and 
 who will make an excellent Catholic. You must 
 blame, not the venerable priest who received him, but 
 me. The good man saw his devotion^ his tears, his 
 humility', his earnest desire ; but the state of his mind 
 he learned through me, who speak French better than 
 Mr. Willis. However, he had .quite enough conversa- 
 tion with him in French and Latin. He could not 
 reject 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 things you do not know. You do not 
 know what the Catholic religion is ; you do not know 
 what its grace is, or the gift of faith." 
 
 The speaker was a layman ; he spoke with earnest- 
 ness the more intense because quiet. Charles felt 
 himself reproved by his manner ; his good taste sug- 
 gested to him that he had been too vehement in the 
 presence of a stranger ; yet he did not feel the less 
 confidence in his cause. He paused before he 
 answered ; then he said briefly, that he was aware 
 that he did not know the Roman Catholic religion, 
 but he knew Mr. Willis. He could not help giving 
 his opinion that good would not come of it. 
 
I lo Loss and Gain. 
 
 '' I have ever been a Catholic," said Mr. Morley ; 
 "so far I cannot judge of members of the Church of 
 England ; but this I know, that the Catholic Church 
 is the only true Church. I may be wrong in many 
 things ; I cannot be wrong in this. This too I know, 
 that the Catholic faith is one, and that no other 
 Church has faith. The Church of England has no 
 faith. You, my dear sir, have no faith." 
 
 This was a home-thrust ; the controversies of Ox- 
 ford passed before Reding's mind ; but he instantly 
 recovered himself " You cannot expect," said he, 
 smiling, " that I, almost a boy, should be able to argue 
 with yourself, or to defend my Church, or to explain 
 her faith. I am content to hold that faith, to hold 
 what she holds, without professing to be a divine. 
 This is the doctrine which I have been taught at Ox- 
 ford. I am under teaching there; I am not yet 
 taught. Excuse me, then, if I decline an argument 
 with you. With Mr. Willis, it is natural that I 
 should argue; we are equals, and understand each 
 other; but I am no theologian." 
 
 Here Willis cried out, '• Oh, 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't mean that reason is every- 
 thing, but it is at least something. Surely we ought 
 not to act without it, against it." 
 
 " But is not doubt a dreadful state ? " said Willis— 
 " a most perilous state ? No state is safe but that of 
 
Loss and Gaits, iii 
 
 faith. Can it be safe to be without faith? Now, 
 have you faith in your Church? I know you well 
 enough to know you have not ; where, then, are you ? " 
 
 " Willis, you have misunderstood me most extraor- 
 dinarily," said Charles : " ten thousand thoughts pass 
 through the mind, and if it is safe to note down and 
 bring against a man his stray words I suppose there's 
 nothing he mayn't be accused of holding. You must \ 
 be alluding to some half-sentence or other of mine, 
 which I have forgotten, and which was no real sample 
 of my sentiments. Do you mean I have no worship ? 
 and does not worship presuppose faith? I have 
 much to learn, I am conscious ; but I wish to learn it 
 from the Church under whose shadow my lot is cast, 
 and with whom I am content." 
 
 " He confesses,'' sai d Willis, " that he has no faith ; 
 he confesses that h e is in doubt. My dear Kedmg, can 
 you sincerely plead that you are in invincible ignor- 
 ance after what has passed between us ? Now, suppose 
 for an instant that Catholicism is true, is it not certain 
 that you now have an opportunity of embracing it ? 
 and if you do not, are you in a state to die in ? " 
 
 Reding was perplexed how to answer ; that is, he 
 could not with the necessary quickness analyse and 
 put into words the answer which his reason suggested 
 to Willis's rapid interrogatories. Mr. Morley had kept 
 silence, lest Charles should have two upon him at once-, 
 but when Willis paused, and Charles did not reply, he 
 interposed. He said that all the calls in Scripture were 
 obeyed with promptitude by those who were called ; 
 and that our Lord would not suffer one man even to go 
 
1 1 2 Loss and Gain. 
 
 and bury his father. Reding ansv/ered, that in those 
 cases the voice of Christ was actually heard ; He was 
 on earth, in bodily presence ; now, however, the very 
 question was, which was the voice of Christ; and 
 whether the Church of Rome did or did not speak with 
 the voice of Christ ; — that surely we ought to act pru- 
 dently ; that Christ could not wish us to act otherwise ; 
 that, for himself, he had no doubt that he was in the 
 place where Providence wished him to be ; but, even if 
 he had any doubts whether Christ was calling him else- 
 where (which he had not), but if he had, he should 
 certainly think that Christ called him in the way and 
 method of careful examination — that prudence was 
 the divinely appointed means 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 mc 
 directly ; let us go to the good priest who lives two 
 streets off. You shall be received this very day. On 
 with your hat." And before Charles could show any 
 resistance, he was half out of the room. 
 
 He could not help laughing, in spite of his vexa- 
 tion ; he disengaged his arm, and deliberately sat 
 down. "Not so fast," he said; "we are not quite 
 this sort of person." 
 
 Willis looked awkward for a moment ; then he 
 said, " Well, at least you must go into a retreat ; you 
 must go forthwith. Morley, do you know when Mr. de 
 
Loss and Gain. 1 1 3 
 
 Mowbray or Father Agostino gives his next retreat ? 
 Reding, it is just what you want, just what all 
 Oxford men want ; I think you will not refuse me." 
 
 Charles looked up in his face, and smiled. "It is 
 not niy line," he said, at length. " I am on my way to 
 Oxford. I must go. I came here to be of use to you ; 
 I can be of none, so I must go. Would I could be of 
 service ; but it is hopeless. . Oh, it makes my heart 
 ache 1 " And he went on brushing his hat with his 
 glove, as if on the point of rising, yet loth to rise. 
 
 Morley now struck in : he spoke all along like a 
 gentleman and a man of real piety, but with a great ig- 
 norance of Protestants or how they were to be treated. 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Reding," he said, " if before you go 
 I say one word. I feel very much for the struggle 
 which is going on in your mind ; and I am sure it is 
 not for such as me to speak harshly or unkindly to you. 
 The struggle between conviction and j potives of this 
 wor ld isoften long;_^ _may it have a happy termination 
 in your case ! Do not be offended if I suggest to you 
 that the dearest and closest ties, such as your connec- 
 tion with the Protestant Church involves, may be on 
 the side of the world in certain cases. It is a sort of 
 martyrdom to have to break such ; but they who do so 
 have a martyr's reward. And, then , at a univ ersity y, 
 you have so many inducem ents to fall in with the , 
 prevailing tone of thought ; prospects, success in life, 
 "good opinion ot friends — all these thmg ? are against^ 
 you. They are likely to choke th e good seed. Well, ^ 
 
 'T could have wisbRd thaty nn had hpen able tO follow 
 
 the di ctates of conscience at once : but the conflict 
 
 8 
 
114 J^oss and Gain. 
 
 must continue its a ppninfpH <-<""i^ ; ma y.j" hnpff ^'"''* 
 all will end well." 
 
 "I can't persuade these good people," thought Charles, 
 as he closed the street door after him, " that I am not 
 in a state of conviction, and struggling 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 a profession of faith. Do these things happen to 
 people every day ? or is there some particular fate with 
 me thus to be brought across religious controversies 
 which I am not up to ? la Roman Catholic ! What 
 a contrast all this with quiet Hartley ! " naming his 
 home. As he continued to think on vhat 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 his secret state of mind : no, not let out, he 
 had nothing to let out. He had indeed implie d that he 
 was inquiring aft er religious truth ; but every Protes- 
 tant inquires ; he would not be a Protestant if he did 
 not. Of course he was seeking the truth ; it was his 
 duty to do so ; he recollected distinctly his tutor laying 
 down on one occasion the duty of private judgment. 
 This was the very difference between Protestants and 
 Catholics. Catholic^ V-pprin w i>Vi faitii • Protestants 
 with inquiry.: a nd he ought to have said this to Willis. 
 He was provoked he had not said it ; it would have 
 simplified the question, and shown how far he was 
 from being unsettled. Unsettled ! — it was most ex- 
 travagant. He wished this had but struck him during 
 the conversation, but it was a relief that it struck him 
 now ; it reconciled him to his position. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The first day of Michaelmas term is, to an under- 
 graduate's furniture, the brightest day of the year. 
 Much as Charles regretted home, he rejoiced to see old 
 Oxford again. The porter had acknowledged him at 
 the gate, and the scout had smiled and bowed, as he 
 ran up the worn staircase and found a blazing fire to 
 welcome him. The coals crackled and split, and threw 
 up a white flame in strong contrast with the newly- 
 blackened bars and hobs of the grate. A shining 
 copper kettle hissed and groaned under the internal 
 torment of water at boiling point. The chimney-glass 
 had been cleaned, the carpet beaten, the curtains fresh 
 glazed. A tea-tray and tea-commons were placed , on 
 the table ; besides a battel paper, two or three cards 
 from tradesmen who desired his patronage^ and a note 
 from a friend whose term had already commenced. 
 The porter came in with his luggage,, and had just re- 
 ceived his too ample remuneration, when, through the 
 closing door, in rushed Sheffield in his travelling dress. 
 " Well, old fellow, how are you ? " he said, shaking 
 both of Charles's hands, or rather arms, with all his 
 might ; " here we are all again ; I am just come like 
 
Ii6 Loss and Gain. 
 
 you. Where have you been all this time ? Come, tell 
 us all 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 in 
 cue for Sheffield's good-natured boisterousness. Wil- 
 lis's matter, too, was still on his mind. "Have you heard 
 the news ? " said Sheffield ; " 1 have been long enough 
 in college to pick it up. The kitchen-man was full of 
 it as I passed along. Jack's a particular friend of 
 mine, a good honest fellow, and has all the gossip of 
 the place. I don't know what it means, but Oxford 
 has just now a very bad inside. The report is that 
 some of the men have turned Romans ; and they say 
 that there are strangers going about Oxford whom no 
 one knows anything of Jack, who is a bit of a divine 
 himself, says he heard the Principal say that, for certain, 
 there were Jesuits at the bottom of it; and I don't 
 know what he means, but he declares he saw with his 
 own eyes the Pope walking down High Street with 
 the priest. I asked him how he knew it. He said he 
 knew the Pope by his slouching hat and his long 
 beard ; and the porter told him it was the Pope. The 
 Dons have met several times ; and several tutors are 
 to be discommoned, and their names stuck up against 
 the buttery-door. Meanwhile the Marshal, with two 
 bull-dogs, is keeping guard before the Catholic chapel, 
 and, to complete it, that old drunken fellow Topham 
 is reported, out of malice, when called in to cut the 
 Warden of St. Mary's hair, to have made a clean white 
 tonsure atop of him." 
 
Loss and Gain. 1 1 7 
 
 " My dear Sheffield, how you run on ! " said Reding. 
 "Well, do you know, I can tell you a piece of real 
 news bearing on these reports, and not of the pleasant- 
 est. Did you know Willis of St. George's ? " 
 
 " I think I once saw him at wine in your rooms ; a 
 modest, nice-looking fellow, 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 
 thinjc," he added, musingly, " he's very much changed, 
 andnot 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 I was 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 acts according 
 to his conscience/^ 
 
 ''"What can he know of conscience ? " said Sheffield ; 
 " the idea of his swallowing, of his own free will, the 
 heap of rubbish which every Catholic has to believe ! 
 in cold blood tying a collar round his neck, and 
 politely putting the chain into the hands of a priest 1 
 . . . And then the Confessional ! 'Tis marvellous ! " 
 and he began to break the coals with the poker. " It's 
 very well," he continued, "if a man is born a Catholic ; 
 I don't suppose they really believe what they are 
 
1 1 8 Loss and Gain. 
 
 obliged to profess ; but how an Englishman, a gentle- 
 man, a man here at Oxford, with all his advantages, 
 can so eat dirt, scraping and picking up all the dead 
 lies of the dark ages — it's a miracle ! " 
 
 " Well, if there is anything that recommends Ro- 
 manism to me," said Charles, " it is what you so much 
 dislike : I'd give twopence, if some one, whom I could 
 trust, would say to me, ' This is true ; this is not true '. 
 We should be saved this eternal wrangling. Wouldn't 
 you be glad if St. Paul could come to life ? I've often 
 said to myself, ' Oh, that I could 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 of an Apostle, as the Roman Catholics 
 do, what a comfort it would be to know, beyond all 
 doubt, what to believe about God, and how to worship 
 and please Him! I va&2Xi,you said, ' I can't believe 
 this or that ' ; now you ought to have said, ' I can't 
 believe the Pope \^z.% power to decide this or that'. If 
 he had, you ought to believe it, whatever it is, and not 
 to say, ' I can't believe '." 
 
 Sheffield looked hard at him : " We shall have you 
 a papist some of these fine days," said he. 
 
 " Nonsense," answered Charles ; " you shouldn't 
 say such things, even in jest." 
 
 " 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 away from the subject as quick as he 
 
JLoss and Gain. 119 
 
 could ; " for you are ever talking against shams, and 
 laughing at King Charles and Laud, Bateman, White, 
 rood-lofts and piscinas." 
 
 " Now you are a Puseyite," said Sheffield in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " 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 has a 
 definite faith, but the Catholics and the Puseyites ; no 
 one says, ' This is true, that is false ; this comes from 
 the Apostles, that does not '." 
 
 " Then would you believe a Turk," asked Sheffield, 
 " who came to you with his ' One Allah, and Mahommet 
 his Prophet ' ? " 
 
 " I did not say a creed was everything," answered 
 Reding, '' or that a religion could not be false which 
 had a creed ; but a religion can't be true 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 very civil, 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 I thought of what he said, the less 
 was I satisfied ; that is, I had got nothing definite from 
 him. He did not say, ' This is true, that is false ' ; but 
 ' Be true, be true, be good, be good, don't go too far, 
 keep in the mean, have your eyes about you, eschew 
 parties, follow our divines, all of them ' ; — all which 
 
I20 Loss and Gain. 
 
 was but putting salt on the bird's tail. 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 be decisive. He says, ' This is 
 Apostolic, that's in the Fathers ; St. Cyprian says this, 
 St. Augustine denies that ; this is safe, that's wrong ; 
 I bid you, I forbid you '. I understand all this ; but 
 I don't understand having duties put on me which are 
 too much for me. I don't understand. I disli ke, havir 
 
 a will of m y own , when 1 have not the means t o use it 
 
 — - — ' _ - ■ •" I * "" I ■ I . 
 
 Jy^tly, In such" a case, to tell me to. act of myself, is 
 
 like Pharaoh setting the Israelites to make bricks with- 
 out straw. -Settinp- mp tn rngiiirp, tp 'v l^^^^r^ As^cXAQ:. 
 forsooth ! it's absurd : who has taught me ?J1, 
 
 "" But the Puseyites are not always so distinct," said 
 Sheffield ; "there's Smith, he never speaks decidedly 
 in difficult questions. I know a man who was going 
 to remain in Italy for some years, at a distance from 
 any English Chapel — he could not help it — and who 
 came to ask him if he might communicate in the 
 Catholic churches ; he could not get an answer from 
 him ; be 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 they won't stay." 
 
 " The truth is," said Sheffield, " I suspect he is 
 more of a sceptic at bottom." 
 
Loss and Gain. 121 
 
 "Well, I honour the man who builds up," said 
 Reding, " and I despise the man who breaks down." 
 
 " I am inclined to think you have a wrong notion 
 of building up and pulling down," answered Shef- 
 field ; " Coventry, in his ' Dissertctions,' 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 of Church-government : you are not well au 
 courant with the literature of the day unless you do. 
 He is no party man ; he is a correspondent of the first 
 men of the day; he stopped with the Dean of Oxford 
 when he was in England, who has published an Eng- 
 lish edition of his ' Dissertations,' with a Preface ; and 
 he and Lord Newlights were said to be the two most 
 witty 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 no principle ; that is, no fixed, 
 definite religious principle. You don't know where 
 to find him. This is what my father thinks ; I have 
 often heard him speak of him." 
 
 " It's curious you should use the word principle" 
 said Sheffield ; " for it is that which Coventry laiys 
 such stress on. He says that Christianity has no 
 creed ; that this is the very point in which it is dis- 
 tinguished from other religions ; that you will search 
 
122 Loss and Gain. 
 
 the New Testament in vain for a creed ; but that 
 Scripture is full oi principles. The view is very in- 
 genious, and seemed to me true, when I read the 
 book. According to him, then, Christianity is not a 
 religion of doctrines or mysteries ; and if you are 
 looking for dogmatism in Scripture, it's a mistake." 
 
 Charles was puzzled. " Certainly," he said, " at first 
 sight there is no creed in Scripture. — No creed in 
 Scripture," he said slowly, as if thinking aloud ; "no 
 creed in Scripture, therefore there is no creed. But 
 the Athanasian Creed," he added quickly, "is that 
 in Scripture ? It either is in Scripture or it is not. 
 Let me see, it either is there, or it is not. . . . What 
 was it that Freeborn said last term ? . . . Tell mc, 
 Sheffield, would the Dean of Oxford say that the 
 Creed was in Scripture or not ? perhaps you do not 
 fairly explain Coventry's view ; what is your impres- 
 sion ? " 
 
 " Why, I will tell you frankly, my impression is, 
 judging from his Preface, 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 the Church, would say that the 
 Athanasian Creed was a mistake, because it re- 
 presented Christianity as a revelation of doctrines or 
 mysteries to be received 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 other Dean, I forget his name, said at 
 
Loss and Gain. 123 
 
 St. Mary's before the Vacation ; it's part of the same 
 system. Oh, it was after you went down, or just at 
 the end of term : you don't go to sermons ; I'm in- 
 dined not to go either. I can't enter upon the Dean's 
 argument ; it's not worth while. Well," he added, 
 standing up and stretching himself, " I am tired with 
 the day, yet it has not been a fatiguing one either ; 
 but London is so bustling a place." 
 
 " You wish me to say good-night," said Sheffield, 
 Charles did not deny the charge j and the friends 
 parted. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 There could not have been a lecture more unfavour- 
 able for Charles's peace 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, 
 as if it was to bring an answer to the perplexities into 
 which Sheffield, Bateman, Freeborn, White, Willis, 
 Mr. Morley, Dr. Brownside, Mr. Vincent, and the 
 general state of Oxford, had all, in one way or other, 
 conspired to throw him. He had shown such abilities 
 in the former part of the year, and was reading so 
 diligently, that his tutors put him prematurely into 
 the lecture upon the Articles. It was a capital lecture 
 so far as this, that the tutor who gave it had got up his 
 subject completely. He knew the whole history of the 
 Articles, how they grew into their present shape, with 
 what fortunes, what had been added, and when, and 
 what omitted. With this, of course, was joined an 
 explanation of the text, as deduced, as far as could be, 
 from the historical account thus given. Not only the 
 British, but the foreign Reformers were introduced ; 
 and nothing was wanting, at least in the intention of 
 the lecturer, for fortifying the young inquirer in the 
 doctrine and discipline of the Church of England. 
 
Loss and Gain. 125 
 
 It did not produce this effect on Reding. Whether 
 he had expected too much, or whatever was the cause, so 
 it was that he did but feel more vividly the sentiment 
 of the old father in the comedy, after consulting the 
 lawyers, " Incertior sum multo quam ante ". He saw 
 that the profession of faith contained in the Articles 
 was but a patchwork of bits of orthodoxy, Lutheranism, 
 Calvinism, and Zuinglism ; and this too on no principle ; 
 that it was but the work of accident, if there be such a 
 thing as accident ; that it had come down in the par- 
 ticular shape in which the English Church now receives 
 it, when it might have come down in any other shape ; 
 that it was but a toss-up that Anglicans at this day were 
 not Calvinists, or Presbyterians, or Lutherans, equally 
 well as Episcopalians. This historical fact did but 
 clench the difficulty, or rather impossibility, of saying 
 what the faith of the English Church was. On almost, 
 every point of dispute the authoritative standard of 
 doctrine was vague or inconsistent, and there was an 
 imposing weight of external testimony in favour of 
 opposite interpretations. He stopped after lecture 
 once or twice, and asked information of Mr. Upton, 
 the tutor, who was quite ready to give it ; but nothing 
 came of these applications as regards the object which 
 led him to make them. 
 
 One difficulty which Charles experienced was to 
 know whether, according to the Articles, Divine truth 
 was directly given us, or whether we had to seek it for 
 ourselves from Scripture. Several Articles led to this 
 question ; and Mr. Upton, who was a High Churchman, 
 answered him that the saving doctrine neither -w&sgiveff 
 
126 Loss and Gain. 
 
 nor was to be sought, but that it was proposed by the 
 Church, and proved by the individual. Charles did not 
 see this distinction between seekmga.r\d proving ;iov how 
 can we prove except hy seekingiin Scripture) for reasons? 
 He put the question in another form, and asked if the 
 Christian Religion allowed of private judgment? This 
 was no abstruse question, and a very practical one. Had 
 he' asked a Wesleyan or Independent, he would have 
 had an unconditional answer in the affirmative ; had he 
 as ked a Catholic, he would have been to ld that we used 
 our private judgm ent to find the Church, and then in 
 ~al l matters of faith the Church supersed ed it; but from 
 this Oxford divine he could not get a distinct answer. 
 First he was told that doubtless we miist use our judg- 
 ment in the determination of .religious doctrine ; but 
 next he was told that it was sin (as it undoubtedly is) to 
 doubt the dogma of the Blessed Trinity. Yet, while 
 he was told that to doubt of that doctrine was a sin, 
 he was told in another conversation that our highest 
 state here is one of doubt. What did 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 saw our Lord after 
 the resurrection, "they worshipped Him, but some 
 doubted " ; 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 Creed applied to all its clauses ; for in- 
 stance, whether it is necessary to salvation to hold that 
 there is " umis ceternus " as the Latin has it ; or " such 
 
Loss and Gain. 127 
 
 as the Father, . . . such the Holy Ghost" ; or that the 
 Holy Ghost is " by Himself God and Lord " ; or that 
 Christ is one "by the taking of the manhood into God"? 
 He could get no answer. Mr. Upton said that he did 
 not like extreme questions ; that he could not and did 
 not wish to answer them ; that the Creed was written 
 against heresies, which no longer existed, as a sort of 
 protest. Reding asked whether this meant that the 
 Creed did not contain a distinctive view of its own, 
 which alone wassafe, but was merely a negation of error. 
 The clauses, he observed, were positive, not negative. 
 He could get no answer farther than that the Creed 
 taught that the doctrines of "the Trinity" and "the 
 Incarnation " were " necessary to salvation," it being 
 apparently left uncertain what those doctrines consisted 
 in. One day he asked how grievous sins were to be 
 forgiven which were committed after baptism, whether 
 by faith, or not at all in this life. He was answered 
 that the Articles said nothing on the subject ; that the 
 Romish doctrine of pardon and purgatory was false ; 
 and that it was well to avoid both curious questions 
 and subtle answers. 
 
 Another question turned up at another lecture, viz., 
 whether the Real Presence 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 Presence was 
 really such, or a mere name. Mr. Upton pronounced 
 it an open question. Another day Charles asked 
 . whether Christ was present in fact, or only in effect. 
 Mr. Upton ansv/ered decidedly "in effect," which 
 seemed to Reding to mean no real presence at all. 
 
128 Loss and Gain. 
 
 He had, had some difficulty in receiving the doc- 
 trine of eternal punishment ; it had seemed to him the 
 hardest doctrine of Revelation. Then he said to 
 himself, " But what is faith in its very notion but an 
 acceptance of the word of God when reason seems 
 to oppose it? How is it faith at all if there is 
 nothing to try it?" This thought fully satisfied 
 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 to believe it ; but if I am not 
 boiind to believe it, I can't believe it." Accordingly 
 he put the question to Mr. Upton whether it was a 
 doctrine of the Church of England ; that is, whether 
 it came under the subscription to the Articles. He 
 could obtain no answer. Yet if he did not believe 
 this doctrine, he felt the whole fabric of his faith shake 
 under him. Close upon it came the doctrine of the 
 Atonement. 
 
 It is difficult to give instances of this kind, without 
 producing the impression on the reader's mind that 
 Charles was forward and captious in his inquiries. 
 Certainly Mr. Upton had his own thoughts about him, 
 but he never thought his manner inconsistent with 
 modesty and respect towards himself 
 
 Charles naturally was full of the subject, and would 
 have disclosed his perplexities to Sheffield, had he not 
 had a strong anticipation that this would, have been 
 making matters worse. He thought Bateman, however, 
 might be of some service, and he disburdened himself- 
 to him in the course of a country walk. What was he 
 to do ? for on his entrance he had been told that when 
 
Loss and Gain. . 129 
 
 he took his degree he should have to sign the Articles, 
 not on faith as then, but on reason ; yet they were un- 
 intelligible ; 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 like to talk to 
 you just now, for you will not see things in a straight- 
 forward way and take them naturally. What a bug- 
 bear you are conjuring up! You are in an Article 
 lecture in your second year; and hardly have you 
 commenced but you begin to fancy what you will or 
 will not 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 many different opinions in 
 conversation ; then I go to church, and one preacher 
 deals his blows at another ; lastly, I betake myself to 
 the Articles, and really I cannot make out what they 
 would teach me. For instance, I cannot make out 
 their doctrine about faith, about the sacraments, about 
 predestination, about the Church, about the inspiration 
 of Scripture. And their tone is so unhke the Prayer 
 Book. Upton has brought this out in his lectures 
 most clearly." 
 
 " Now, my most respectable friend," said Bateman, 
 " do think for a moment what men have signed the 
 Articles. Perhaps King Charles himself; certainly 
 Laud, and all the great Bishops of his day, and of the 
 
 9 
 
130 Loss and Gain. 
 
 next generation. Think of the most orthodox Bull, 
 the singularly learned Pearson, the eloquent Taylor, 
 Montague, Barrow. Thorndike, good dear Bishop 
 Home, and Jones of Nayland. Can't you do what 
 they did ? " 
 
 " The argument is a very strong one," said Charles , 
 " I have felt it : you mean, 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 ? " asked Charles. 
 
 " That's what I mean by fidgeting," answered Bate- 
 man. You are not content with your day ; you are 
 reaching forward to five years hence." 
 
 Charles laughed. ' It isn't quite that,' he said, " I 
 was but testing your advice ; however, there's some 
 truth in it." And he changed the subject. 
 
 They talked awhile on indifferent matters ; but on 
 a pause Charles's thoughts fell back again to the 
 Articles. " Tell me, Bateman," he said, " as a mere 
 matter of curiosity, how you subscribed when you took 
 your degree." 
 
 " Oh, I had no difficulty at all," said Bateman ; " the 
 examples of Bull and 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 yowx ground? " 
 
 "Oh, I had many grounds. I can't recollect in a 
 moment what happened some time ago." 
 
Loss and Gain. 131 
 
 " 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 state the matter to other people." 
 
 " What ! some one suspected you ? " 
 
 "No, no; you are quite mistaken. I mean, for 
 instance, the Article says that we are justified by faith 
 only ; now the Protestant sense of this statement is 
 point blank opposite to our standard divines: the 
 question was, what I was to say when asked viy 
 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," answered Bateman ; " and so is the Pro- 
 testant sense of many other things in the Articles ; 
 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, seem to have 
 considered that we only sign the Articles as articles of 
 peace ; not as really holding them, but as not opposing 
 them. Therefore, when we sign the Articles, we only 
 engage not to preach against them." ' 
 
 Reding thought ; then he said : " Tell me, Bateman, 
 would not this view of subscription 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 
 
132 Loss and Gain. 
 
 that they would take the Liturgy as a Liturgy of peace 
 too. Bateman began again. 
 
 " If you want some tangible principle," he said, " for 
 interpreting Articles and Liturgy, I can give you one. 
 You know," he continued, after a short pause, " what 
 it is we hold ? Why, we give the Articles a Catholic 
 interpretation." 
 
 Charles looked inquisitive. 
 
 " It is plain," continued Bateman, "that no docu- 
 ment can be a dead letter ; it must be, the expression 
 of some mind ; and the question here is, whose is what 
 may be called the voice which' speaks the Articles, 
 Now, if the Bishops, Heads of houses, and other digni^ 
 taries and authorities were unanimous in their religious 
 views, and one and all said that the Articles meant this 
 and not that, they, as the imponents, would have a right 
 to interpret them ; and the Articles would mean what 
 those great men said they meant. But they do not agree 
 together ; some of them are diametrically opposed to 
 others. One clergyman denies Apostolical Succession, 
 another affirms it ; one denies the Lutheran justifica- 
 tion, another maintains it ; one denies the inspiration 
 of Scripture, a second holds Calvin to be a saint, a 
 third considers the doctrine of sacramental grace a 
 superstition, a fourth takes part with Nestorius against 
 
 ithe Church, a fifth is a Sabellian. It is plain, then, 
 that thie Articles have no sense at all, if the collective 
 voice of Bishops, Deans, Professors, and the like is to 
 be taken. They cannot supply what schoolmen call 
 the form of the Articles. But perhaps the writers 
 themselves of the Articles will supply it ? No ; for, 
 
Loss and Gain. 133 
 
 fitst, we don't know for certain who the writers were ; 
 and next, the Articles have gone through so many 
 hands, and so many mendings, that some at least of 
 the original authors would not like to be responsible 
 for them. Well, let us go to the Convocations which 
 ratified them : but they, too, were of different senti- 
 ments ; the seventeenth century did not hold the 
 doctrine of the sixteenth. Such is the state of the 
 case. On the other hand, we say that if the Anglican 
 Church be a part of the one Church Catholic, it must, 
 from the necessity of the case, hold Catholic doctrine. 
 Therefore, the whole Catholic Creed, the acknowledged 
 doctrine of the Fathers, of St. Ignatius, St. Cyprian, 
 St Augustin, St. Ambrose, is \kiQform, is the one true 
 sense and interpretation of the Articles. They may 
 be ambiguous in themselves ; they may have been 
 worded with various intentions by the individuals 
 concerned in their composition ; but these are 
 accidents ; the Church knows nothing of individuals ; 
 she interprets herself" 
 
 Reding took some time to think over this. " All 
 this," he said, " proceeds on the fundamental principle 
 that the Church of England is an integral part of that 
 visible body of which St. Ignatius, St. Cyprian, and 
 the rest were Bishops ; according to the words of 
 Scripture, ' one body, one faith '." 
 
 Bateman assented ; Charles proceeded : "Then the 
 Articles must not be considered primarily as teaching ; 
 they have no one sense in themselves ; they are con- 
 fessedly ambiguous : they are compiled from heteroge- 
 neous sources ; but all this does not matter, for all 
 
134 Loss and Gain. 
 
 must be interpreted by the teaching of the Catholic 
 Church." 
 
 Bateman agreed in the main, except that Reding 
 had stated the case rather too strongly. 
 
 " But what if their letter contradicts a doctrine of 
 the Fathers ? am I to force the letter ? " 
 
 " If such a case actually happened, the theory would 
 not hold," answered Bateman ; " it would only be a 
 gross quibble. You can in no case sign an Article in 
 a sense which its words will not bear. But, fortu- 
 nately, or rather providentially, this is not the case ; 
 we have merely to explain ambiguities and harmonize 
 discrepancies. The Catholic interpretation does no 
 greater violence to the text than any other rule of in- 
 terpretation will be found to do." 
 
 " Well, but I know nothing of the Fathers," said 
 Charles ; " others too are in the same condition ; how 
 am I to learn practically to interpret the Articles ? " 
 
 " 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 are modern.'' 
 
 Charles kept silence again. "It is very plausible," 
 he said ; he thought on. Presently he asked : " Is 
 this a received view ? " 
 
 "No view is received," said Bateman; "the Articles 
 themselves are received, but there is no authoritative 
 interpretation of them at all. That's what I was say- 
 ing just now ; Bishops and Professors don't agree 
 together." 
 
Loss and Gain. 135 
 
 " Well" said Charles, " is it a tolerated view ? " 
 
 " It has certainly been strongly opposed," answered 
 Bateman ; "but it has never been condemned." 
 
 ''That is no answer," said Charles, who saw by 
 Bateman's manner how the truth lay. " Does any 
 one Bishop hold it ? did any one Bishop ever hold it ? 
 has it ever been formally admitted as tenable by any 
 one Bishop ? is it a view got up to meet existing 
 difficulties, or has it an historical existence ? " 
 
 Bateman could give but one answer to these ques- 
 tions, as they were successively put to him. 
 
 " I thought so," said Charles, when he had made his 
 answer : " I know, of course, whose view you are put- 
 ting before me, though I never heard it drawn out 
 before. It is specious, certainly : I don't see but it 
 might have done, had it been tolerably sanctioned ; 
 but you have no sanction to show 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 I was." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The thought came across Reding whether perhaps, 
 after all, what is called Evangelical Religion was not 
 the true Christianity : its professors, he knew, were 
 active and influential, and in past times had been much 
 persecuted. Freeborn had surprised and offended him 
 at Bateman's breakfast-party before the Vacation ; yet 
 Freeborn had a serious manner about him, and perhaps 
 he had misunderstood him. The thought, however, 
 passed away as suddenly as it came, and perhaps 
 would not have occurred to him again, when an ac- 
 cident gave him some data for determining the question. 
 One afternoon he was lounging in the Parks, gazing 
 with surprise on one of those extraordinary lights for 
 which the neighbourhood of Oxford is at that season 
 celebrated, and which, as the sun went down, was 
 colouring Marston, Elsfield, and their half-denuded 
 groves with a pale gold-and-brown hue, when he found 
 himself overtaken and addressed by the said Freeborn 
 in propriA persona. Freeborn liked a tite-a-tete talk 
 much better than a dispute in a party ; he felt himself 
 at more advantage in long leisurely speeches, and he 
 was soon put out of breath when he had to bolt-out or 
 
Loss and Gain. 137 
 
 edge-in his words amid the ever-varying voices of a 
 breakfast table. He thought the present might be a 
 good opportunity of doing 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 ". 
 So they got into conversation, talked of Willis's step, 
 which Freeborn called awful ; and, before Charles knew 
 where he was, he found himself asking Freeborn what 
 he meant by "faith ". 
 
 " Faith," said Freeborn, " is a Divine gift, and is the 
 instrument of our justification 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, appro- 
 priating personally the merits of Christ, who is our justi- 
 fication. Now what can we want more, or haverhore, 
 than those merits ? Faith, then, is everything, and 
 does everything for us. You see, then, how important 
 it is to have a right view about justification by faith 
 only. If we are sound on this capital point, everything 
 else may take its chance ; we shall at once see the 
 folly of contending about ceremonies, about forms of 
 Church-government, about, I will even say, sacraments 
 or creeds. External things will, in that case, either 
 be neglected, or will find a subordinate place." 
 
 Reding observed that of course Freeborn did not 
 mean to say that good works 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 views in a little time. It was 
 a very simple matter. Faith not only justified, it 
 
138 Loss and Gain. 
 
 regenerated also. It was the root of sanctification, as 
 well as of Divine acceptance. The same act which was 
 the means of bringing us into God's favour secured our 
 being meet for it. Thus good works were secured, 
 because faith would not be true faith unless it were such 
 as to be certain of bringing forth good works in due 
 time. 
 
 Reding thought this view simple and clear, though 
 it unpleasantly reminded him of Dr. Brownside. Free- 
 born added that it was a doctrine suited to the poor, 
 that it put all the gospel into a nutshell, that it dis- 
 pensed with criticism, primitive ages, teachers — in 
 short, with authority in whatever form. It swept 
 theology clean away. There was no need 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 say that no faith justifies but true 
 faith, and true faith produces good works. In other 
 words, I suppose faith, which is certain to be fruitful, or 
 fruitful faith, justifies. This is very like saying that 
 faith and works are the joint means of justification." 
 
 " Oh, no, no," cried Freeborn, " that is deplorable 
 doctrine : it is quite opposed to the gospel, it is anti- 
 Christian. We are justified by faith only, apart from 
 good works." 
 
 " I am in an Article lecture just now," said Charles, 
 " and Upton told us that we must make a distinction of 
 this kind ; for instance, the Duke of Wellington is 
 Chancellor of the University, but, though he is as much 
 Chancellor as Duke, still he sits in the House of Lords 
 
Loss and Gain. 139 
 
 as Duke, not as Chancellor. Thus, although faith is as 
 truly fruitful as it is faith, yet it does not justify as being 
 fruitful, but as being faith. Is this what you mean ? " 
 
 " Not at all," said Freeborn ; " that was Melancthon's 
 doctrine ; he explained away a cardinal truth into a mere 
 matter of words ; he made faith a mere symbol, but this 
 is a departure from the pure gospel : faith is the instru- 
 ment not a symbol of justification. It is, in truth, a 
 mere apprehension, and nothing else : the seizing and 
 clinging which a beggar might venture on when a king 
 passed by. Faith is as poor as Job in the ashes : it is 
 like Job stripped of all pride and pomp and good works : 
 it is covered with filthy rags : it is without anything 
 good : it is, I repeat, a mere apprehension. Now you 
 see what I mean." 
 
 "I can't believe I understand you," said Charles: 
 " you say that to have faith is to seize Christ's merits ; 
 and that we have them, if we will but seize them. But 
 surely not every one who seizes them gains them ; 
 because dissolute men, who never have a dream of 
 thorough repentance or real hatred of sin, would gladly 
 seize and appropriate them, if they might do so. They 
 would like to get to heaven for nothing. Faith, then, 
 must be some particular kind of apprehension ; what 
 kind ? — good works cannot be mistaken, but an * appre- 
 hension ' may. What, then, is a true apprehension ? 
 what is faith ? " 
 
 " What need, my dear friend," answered Freeborn, 
 " of knowing metaphysically what true faith is, if we 
 have it and enjoy it ? I do not know what bread is, 
 but I eat it ; do I wait till a chemist analyses it ? No ; 
 
140 Loss and Gain. 
 
 I eat it, and I feel the good effects afterwards. And so 
 let us be content to know, not what faith is, but what it 
 does, and enjoy our blessedness in possessing it." 
 
 " I really don't want to introduce metaphysics," said 
 Charles, " but I will adopt your own image. Suppose 
 I suspected the bread before me to have arsenic in it, 
 or merely to be unwholesome, would it be wonderful if 
 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 " — Free- 
 born sighed — "because I 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 
 perfectly well, from what has taken place in my father's 
 parish, what excesses this doctrine may lead to, unless 
 it is guarded. You say that it is a doctrine for the 
 poor ; now they are very likely to mistake one thing 
 for another ; so indeed is every one. If, then, we are 
 told, that we have but to apprehend Christ's merits, and 
 need not trouble ourselves about any thing else ; that 
 justification has taken place, and works will follow ; 
 that all is done, and that salvation is complete, while 
 we do but 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 our books and make 
 holiday." 
 
 Freeborn was secretly annoyed that he had got into 
 an argument, or pained, as he would express it, at the 
 
Loss and Gain. 141 
 
 pride of Charles's natural man, or the blindness of his 
 carnal reason ; but there was no help for it, he must 
 give him an answer. 
 
 " There are, I know, many kinds of faith," he said ; 
 " and of course you must be on your guard against mis- 
 taking false faith for true faith. Many persons, as you 
 most truly say, make this mistake ; and most important 
 is it — all important I should say — to go right. First, it 
 is evident that it is not mere belief in facts, in the being 
 of a God, or in the historical event that Christ has come 
 and gone. Nor is it the submission of the reason to 
 mysteries ; nor, again, is it that sort of trust which is 
 required for exercising the gift of miracles. Nor is it 
 knowledge and acceptance of the contents of the Bible. 
 I say, it is not knowledge, it is not assent of the intellect, 
 it is not historical faith, it is not dead faith : true justi- 
 fying faith is none of these — it is seated in the heart and 
 affections." He paused, then added : " Now, I suppose, 
 for practical purposes, I have described pretty well 
 what justifying faith is." 
 
 Charles hesitated : " By describing what it is not 
 you mean," said he ; "justifying faith, then, is, I sup- 
 pose, 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, simple faith, which justifies. Luther was 
 displeased with Melancthon for saying that living and 
 operative faith justified. I have studied the question 
 very carefully." 
 
142 Loss and Gain. 
 
 "Then Aoyou tell me," said Charles, "what faith is, 
 since I do not explain it correctly For instance, if you 
 said (what you don't say), that faith was submission of 
 the reason to mysteries, or acceptance of Scripture as an 
 historical document, I should know perfectly well what 
 you meant; that is information : but when you say, that 
 faith which justifies is an apprehension of Christ, that it 
 is not living faith, or fruitful faith, or operative, but a 
 something which in fact and actually is distinct from 
 these, I confess I feel perplexed." 
 
 Freeborn wished to be out of the argument. '' Oh," 
 he said, " if you really once experienced the power of 
 faith — how it changes the heart, enlightens the eyes, 
 gives a new spiritual taste, a new sense to the soul ; if 
 you once knew what it was to be blind, and then to see, 
 you would notask for definitions. Strangers need verbal 
 descriptions , the heirs of the kingdom enjoy. Oh, il 
 you could but be persuaded to put off high imagina- 
 tions, to strip yourself of your proud self, and to ex- 
 perience in yourself the wonderful change, you would 
 live in praise and thanksgiving, instead of argument and 
 criticism." 
 
 Charles was touched by his warmth ; "But," he said, 
 " we ought to act by reason; and I don't see that I have 
 more, or so much, reason to listen to you, as to listen 
 to the Roman Catholic, who tells mc I cannot possibly 
 1 have that cei-taiiity of faith before believing, which on 
 believing will be divinely given me ". 
 
 "Surely," said Freeborn, with a grave face, 'you 
 would not compare the spiritual Christian, such as 
 Luther, holding his cardinal doctrine about justification, 
 
Loss and Gain. 143 
 
 to any such formal, legal, superstitious devotee as 
 Popery can make, with its carnal rites and quack 
 remedies, which never really cleanse the soul or recon- 
 cile it to God ? " 
 
 ' I don't like you to talk so," said Reding ; " I know 
 very little about the 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 my 
 life — the people all on their knees, and most earnestly 
 attentive to what 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 it right or 
 wrong, an outward lorm or carnal ordinance." 
 
 Freeborn said it deeply pained him to hear such sen- 
 timents, and to find that 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 
 got off 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 in the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 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 its wholesomeness, 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 resque those 
 
144 Z.OJJ and Gain. 
 
 from their dangerous mistake who think they have 
 faith, while they have not ? Is there no way in which 
 they can find out that they are under a delusion ? " 
 
 " It is not wonderful," said Freeborn, " though there 
 be no way. There are many self-deceivers in the world. 
 Some men are self-righteous, trust in their works, and 
 think they are safe when they are in a state of perdi- 
 tion ; no formal rules can be given by which their 
 reason might for certain detect their mistake. And 
 so of false faith.'' 
 
 " Well, it does seem to me wonderful," said Charles, 
 " that there is no natural and obvious warning provided 
 against this delusion ; wonderful that false faith should 
 be so exactly like true faith that there is nothing ta 
 determine their differences from each other. Effects 
 imply causes ; if one apprehension of Christ leads to 
 good works, and another does not, there must be some- 
 thing in the one which is not in the other. What is a 
 false apprehension of Christ wanting in which a true 
 apprehension has ? The word apprehension is so vague ; 
 it conveys no definite idea to me, yet justification 
 depends on it. Is a false apprehension, 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 his celebrated comment on the 
 Galatians. He calls such adoctrine 'pestilensfigmentuml 
 
Loss and Gain. 145 
 
 ' diaboli portentum '/ and cries out against the Papists, 
 ' Pereant sophistce cum suS. maledictS. glossa ! ' " 
 " Then it differs from false faith in nothing." 
 " Not so," said Freeborn ; " it differs from it in its 
 fruits : ' By their fruits ye shall know them '." 
 
 " This is coming round to the same point again," 
 said Charles ; " fruits come 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 ; " so says the Article." 
 
 Charles made no answer, but said to himself, " My 
 good friend here certainlyhas not the clearest of heads"; 
 then aloud, " Well, I despair of getting at the bottom 
 of the subject". 
 
 " Of course," answered Freeborn, with an air of 
 superiority, though in a mild tone, " it is a very simple 
 principle, ' Fides justificat ante et sine charitate' ; but 
 it requires a Divine light to embrace it." 
 
 They walked awhile in silence ; then, as the day was 
 now closing in, they turned homewards, and parted 
 company when they came to the Clarendon. 
 
 10 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Freeborn was not the person to let go a young man 
 like Charles without another effort to gain him ; and in 
 a few days he invited him to take tea at his lodgings. 
 Charles went at the appointed time, through the wet 
 and cold of a dreary November evening, and found five 
 or six men already assembled. He had got into another 
 world ; faces, manners, speeches, all were strange, and 
 savoured neither of Eton, which was his own school, 
 nor of Oxford itself. He was introduced, and found 
 the awkwardness of a new acquaintance little relieved 
 by the conversation which went on. It was a dropping 
 fire of serious remarks ; with pauses, relieved only by 
 occasional " ahems," the sipping of tea, the sound of 
 spoons falling against the saucers, and the blind shifting 
 of chairs as the flurried servant-maid of the lodgings 
 suddenly came upon them from behind, with the 
 kettle for the teapot, or toast for the table. There 
 was no nature or elasticity in the party, but a great in- 
 tention to be profitable. 
 
 " Have you seen the last Spiritual Journal? " asked 
 No. I of No. 2 in a low voice. 
 
 No. 2 had just read it. 
 
Loss and Gain. 147 
 
 , " A very remarkable article that," said No. i, "upon 
 -the death-bed of the Pope." 
 
 "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 died a believer." 
 
 A sensation. Charles looked as if he wished to 
 know more, 
 
 ■' The /(^a/'Ma/ gives it on excellent authority," said 
 No. 2 ; "Mr. O'Niggins, the agent for the Roman Priest 
 Conversion Branch Tract Society, was in Rome during 
 his last illness. He solicited an audience with the 
 Pope, which was granted to him. He at once began 
 to address him on the necessity of a change of heart, 
 belief in the one Hope of sinners, and abandonment t-f 
 all creature mediators. He announced to him the glad 
 tidings, and assured him there was pardon for all. He 
 ivarned him against the figment of baptismal regene- 
 ration ; and then, proceeding to apply the word, he 
 urged him, though in the eleventh hour, to receive the 
 Bible) the whole Bible, and nothing but the Bible. 
 The Pope listened with marked attention, and displayed 
 considerable emotion. When it was ended, he answered 
 Mr. O'Niggins that it was his fervent hope that they 
 two would not die without finding themselves in one 
 communion, or something of the sort. He declared, 
 moreover, what was astonishing, that he put his sole 
 trust in Christ, ' the source of all merit,' as he ex- 
 pressed it — a remarkable phrase. " 
 
148 Loss and Gain. 
 
 "In what language was the conversation carried 
 on ? " asked Reding. 
 
 " It is not stated," answered No. 2 ; " but I am pretty 
 sure Mr. O'Niggins is a good French scholar." 
 
 " It does not seem to me," said Charles, " that the 
 Pope's admissions are greater than those made con- 
 tinually by certain members of our own Church, who 
 are nevertheless accused of Popery." 
 
 "But they are extorted from such persons," said 
 Freeborn, "while the Pope's were voluntary." 
 
 " The one party go back into darkness," said No. 3 
 " the Pope was coming forward into light." 
 
 " One ought to interpret everything for the best in 
 a real Papist," said Freeborn, " and everything for the 
 worst in a Puseyite. That is both charity 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 inward religion was all in 
 all, and forms were nothing without a contrite heart, 
 and that he trusted soon to be in Paradise — which, 
 you know, was a 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 me myself, 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 saying too much ; but his irony was not 
 discovered. 
 
 " Man cannot do it," said Freeborn ; " it's the power 
 of faith. Faith can be vouchsafed even to the greatest 
 
Loss and Gain. 149 
 
 sinners. You see now, perhaps," he said, turning to 
 Charles, " better than you did; what I meant by faith 
 the other day. This poor old man could have no 
 merit ; he had passed a long life in opposing the Cross, 
 Do your difficulties continue ? " 
 
 Charles had thought over their former conversation 
 very carefully several times, and he answered, " Why 
 I don't think they do to the same extent ". 
 
 Freeborn looked pleased. 
 
 " I mean," he said, " that the idea hangs together 
 better than I thought it did at first," 
 
 Freeborn looked puzzled. 
 
 Charles, slightly colouring, was obliged to proceed, 
 amid the profound silence of the whole party. " You 
 said, you know, that justifying faith was without love 
 or any other grace besides itself, and that no one could 
 at all tell what it was, except afterwards, from its fruits ; 
 that there was no test by which a person could examine 
 himself, whether or not he was deceiving himself when 
 he thought he had faith, so that good and bad might 
 equally be taking to themselves the promises and the 
 privileges peculiar to the gospel. I thought this a hard 
 doctrine certainly at first; but, then, afterwards it struck 
 me that faith is perhaps a result of a previous state of 
 mind, a blessed result of a blessed state, and therefore 
 may be considered the reward of previous obedience; 
 whereas sham faith, or what merely looks like faith, is 
 a judicial punishment." 
 
 In proportion as the drift of the former part of this 
 speech was uncertain, so was the conclusion very dis- 
 tinct. There was no mistake, and an audible emotion. 
 
150 Loss and Gain, 
 
 " There is no such thing as previous merit," sai'd 
 No. I ; " all is of grace." 
 
 " 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 t6 iay 
 to the unlearned and the multitude, ' Believe, and yoii 
 are at once saved ; do not wait for fruits, rejoice at once,' 
 and neither to accompany this announcement by any 
 clear description of what faith is, nor to secure them by 
 previous religious training against self-deception ! " 
 
 " That is the very gloriousness of the doctrine," said 
 Freeborn, " that it is preached to the worst of mankind. 
 It says, ' Come as you are ; don't attempt to make 
 yourselves better. Believe that salvation is yours, and 
 it is yours : good works follow after.' " 
 
 " On the contrary," said Charles, continuing his argu- 
 ment, " when it is said that justification follows upon 
 baptism, we have an intelligible something pointed out, 
 which every one can ascertain. Baptism is an external 
 unequivocal token ; whereas that a man has this secret 
 feeling called faith, no one but himself can be a witness^ 
 and he is not an unbiassed one." 
 
 Reding had at length succeeded in throwing that dull 
 tea-table into a state of great excitement. " My dear 
 friend," said Freeborn, " I had hoped better things ; in 
 a little while, I hope, you will see things differently. 
 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. 
 
Loss and Gain. 151 
 
 ' / tell you ! " cried Freeborn, " when ? " 
 
 " Well," said Charles, somewhat puzzled, " at least 
 you do not think it holy." 
 
 Freeborn was puzzled in his turn. 
 
 " If it is holy," continued Charles, " it has something 
 good in it ; it has some worth ; it is not filthy rags. 
 All the good comes afterwards, you said. You said 
 that its fruits were holy, but that it was nothing at all 
 itself." 
 
 There was a momentary silence, and some agitation 
 of thought. 
 
 " Oh, faith is certainly a holy feeling," said No. i. 
 
 " No, it is spiritual, but not holy," said No. 2 ; "it 
 is a mere act, the apprehension of Christ's merits." 
 
 " It is seated in the affections," said No, 3 ; " faith is 
 a feeling of the heart ; it is trust, it is a belief that 
 Christ is my Saviour ; all this is distinct from holiness. 
 Holiness introduces self-righteousness. Faith is 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, is holy." 
 
 " You might as well say that the root of a rose is red 
 and of a lily white," 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 holiness in justifying faith, 
 than in the hand's seizing a substance which comes in 
 its way. This is Luther's great doctrine in his ' Com- 
 mentary ' on the Galatians. It is nothing in itself — it 
 is a mere instrument ; this is what he teaches when 
 
152 Loss and Gain. 
 
 he so vehemently resists the notion of justifying faith 
 being accompanied by love." 
 
 " I cannot assent to that doctrine," said No. I ; "it 
 may be true in a certain sense, but it throws stumbling- 
 blocks in the way of seekers. Luther could not have 
 meant what you say, I am convinced. Justifying faith 
 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 doctrine of Bull and Taylor." 
 
 " Luther calls it, ' venenum infernale' " said Free- 
 born. 
 
 "It is just what the Puseyites preach at present," 
 said No. 3. 
 
 " On the contrary," said No. i, " it is the doctrine 
 of Melancthon. Look here," he continued, taking his 
 pocketbook out of his pocket, " I have got his words 
 down as Shuffleton quoted them in the Divinity-school 
 the other day : ' Fides significat fiduciatn ; in fiducia 
 inest dilectio ; ergo etiam dilectione sumus justi' " 
 
 Three of the party cried " Impossible ! " The paper 
 was handed round in solemn silence, 
 " Calvin said the same," said No. i triumphantly. 
 " I think," said No. 4, in a slow, smooth sustained 
 voice, which contrasted with the animation which had 
 suddenly inspired the conversation, " that the con-tro- 
 ver-sy, ahem, may be easily arranged. It is a question 
 of words between Luther and Melancthon. Luthersays, 
 ahem, ' faith is without love,' meaning, ' faith without 
 love justifies'. Melancthon, on the other hand, says, 
 ahem, ' faith is tvith love,' meaning, ' faith justifies with 
 
Loss and Gain. 153 
 
 love '. Now both are true : for, ahem, faith-without- 
 \o\e 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 that faith-with-love justifies." 
 
 Freeborn expressed his dissent ; he thought this 
 the doctrine of Melancthon which Luther condemned. 
 
 " You mean," said Charles, " that justification is 
 given to faith with love, not to faith and lov^." 
 
 " You have expressed my meaning," said No. 4. 
 
 " And what is considered the difference between ivith 
 and and? " asked Charles. 
 
 No. 4 replied without hesitation, " Faith is the in-, 
 strtiinent, love the sine qua non." 
 
 Nos. 2 and 3 interposed with a protest ; they thought 
 it "legal " to introduce the phrase sine qua 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 can salvation be free and full if it 
 is conditional." 
 
 " There are no conditions," said No. 3 ; " all must 
 come from the heart. We believe 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 above obligation ; they are in a new state." 
 
154 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " 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. i ; " that borders on Antino- 
 mianism." 
 
 "Not at all," said Freeborn ; " an Antinomian actually 
 holds that he may break the law : a spiritual believer 
 only holds that he is not bound to keep it." 
 
 Now they got into a fresh discussion among them- 
 selves ; and, as it seemed as interminable as it was unin- 
 teresting, Reding took an opportunity to wish his host 
 a good-night, and to slip away. He never had much 
 leaning towards the evangelical doctrine ; and Freeborn 
 and his friends, who knew what 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 
 that doctrine farther. So they will vanish in con- 
 sequence from our pages. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 When Charles got to his room he saw a letter from 
 home lying on his table ; 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 been 
 ailing some weeks with the gout, which at length had 
 attacked his stomach and carried him off in a few 
 hours. 
 
 Oh, my poor dear Charles, I sympathise with you 
 keenly all that long night, and in that indescribable 
 waking in the morning, and that dreary day of travel 
 which followed it ! By the afternoon you were at home. 
 Oh, piercing change ! it was but six or seven weeks be- 
 fore that you had passed the same objects the reverse 
 way, with what different feelings, and oh, in what 
 company, as you made for the railway omnibus ! It 
 was a grief not to be put into words ; and to meet 
 mother, sisters — and the Dead ! . . . 
 
 The funeral is over by some days ; Charles is to 
 remain at home the remainder of the term, and does 
 not return to Oxford till towards the end of January. 
 The signs of grief have been put away ; the house 
 looks cheerful as before ; the fire as bright, the mirrors 
 
156 Loss and Gain. 
 
 as clear, the furniture as orderly ; the pictures are the 
 same, and the ornaments on the mantelpiece stand as 
 they have stood, and the French clock tells the hour, 
 as it has told it for years past. The inmates of the 
 parsonage wear, it is most true, the signs of a heavy 
 bereavement ; but they converse as usual, and on 
 ordinary subjects ; they pursue the same employments, 
 they work, they read, they walk in the garden, they 
 dine. There is no change except in the inward con- 
 sciousness of an overwhelming loss. He is not there, 
 not merely on this day or that, for so it well might be ; 
 he is not merely away, but, as they know well, he is 
 gone and will not return. That he is absent now is 
 but a token and a memorial to their minds that he will 
 be absent always. But especially at dinner ; Charles 
 had to take a place which he had sometimes filled, but 
 then as the deputy, and in the presence of him whom 
 now he succeeded. His father, being not much more 
 than a middle-aged man, had been accustomed to carve 
 himself. And when at the meal of the day Charles 
 looked up, he had to encounter the troubled look of 
 one, who, from her place at table, had before her eyes 
 a still more vivid memento of their common loss ; — 
 aliquid desideraverunt oculi. 
 
 Mr. Reding had left his family well provided for ; 
 and this, though a real alleviation of their loss in the 
 event, perhaps augmented the pain of it at the moment. 
 He had ever been a kind, indulgent father. He was a 
 most respectable clergyman of the old school ; pious in 
 his sentiments, a gentleman in his feelings, exemplary 
 in his social relations. He was no reader and never 
 
Loss and Gain. 157 
 
 had been in the way to gain theological knowledge ; he 
 sincerely believed all that was in the Prayer Book, but 
 his sermons were very rarely doctrinal. They were 
 sensible, manly discourses on the moral duties. He 
 administered Holy Communion at the three great fes- 
 tivals, saw his Bishop once or twice a year, was on good 
 terms with the country gentlemen in his neighbour- 
 hood, was charitable to the poor, hospitable in his 
 housekeeping, and was a staunch though not a violent 
 supporter of the Tory interest in his county. He was 
 incapable of anything harsh, or petty, or low, or un- 
 courteous ; and died esteemed by the great houses 
 about him, and lamented by his parishioners. 
 
 It was the first great grief poor Charles had ever 
 had., and he felt it to be real. How did the small 
 anxieties which had of late teased him vanish before 
 this tangible calamity! He then understood the differ- 
 ence between 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 the helpless December leaves, in the 
 hour of his affliction. He felt now where his heart and 
 his life lay. His birth, his parentage, his education, 
 his home, were great realities ; to these his being was 
 united ; out of these he grew. He felt he must be 
 what providence had made him. What is called the 
 pursuit of truth seemed an idle dream. He had great 
 tangible duties to his father's memory, to his mother 
 and sisters, to his position ; he felt sick of all theories 
 
158 J^oss and Gain. 
 
 as if they had taken him in, and he secretly resolved 
 never more to have anything to do with 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, avoid bye-paths, and 
 do his best to acquit himself well in the schools. The 
 Church of England as it was, its Articles, bishops, 
 preachers, professors, had sufficed for much better 
 persons than he was ; they were good enough for him. 
 He could not do better than imitate the life and death 
 of his beloved father ; quiet years in the country at a 
 distance from all excitements, a round of piou.s, useful 
 works among the poor, the care 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 towards his mother ; he wished, as far as 
 might be, to supply to her the place of him she had 
 lost. She had great trials before her still ; if it was a 
 grief to himself to leave Hartley, what would it be to 
 her? Not many months would pass before she would 
 have to quit a place ever dear, and now sacred in 
 her thoughts ; there was in store for her the anguish 
 of dismantling the home of many years, and the toil 
 and whirl of packing ; a wearied head and an aching 
 heart at a time when she would have most need of 
 self-possession and energy. 
 
 Such were the thoughts which came upon him again 
 and again in those sorrowful weeks. A leaf had been 
 turned over in his life ; he could not be what he had 
 been. People come to man's estate at very different 
 
Loss and Gain. 159 
 
 ages. Youngest sons in a family, like monks in a 
 convent, may remain children till they have reached 
 middle age ; but the elder, should their father die 
 prematurely, are suddenly ripened into manhood, 
 when they are almost boys. Charles had left Oxford 
 a clever unformed youth ; he returned a man. 
 
$art II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 About three miles from Oxford a thickly-wooded 
 village lies on the side of a steep, long hill or chine, 
 looking over the Berkshire woods, and commanding a 
 view of the many-turretted city itself. Over its broad 
 summit once stretched a chestnut forest ; and now it 
 is covered with the roots of trees, or furze, or soft turf 
 The red sand which lies underneath contrasts with the 
 green, and adds to its brilliancy ; it drinks in, too, the 
 rain greedily, so that the wide common is nearly al- 
 ways fit for walking ; and the air, unlike the heavy 
 atmosphere of the University beneath it, is fresh and 
 bracing. The gorse was still in bloom, in the latter 
 end of the month of June, when Reding and Sheffield 
 took up their abode in a small cottage at the upper 
 end of this village — so hid with trees and girt in with 
 meadows that for the stranger it was hard to find — 
 there to pass their third and last Long Vacation before 
 going into the schools. 
 
 A year and a half had passed since Charles's great 
 affliction, and the time had not been unprofitably spent 
 either by himself or his friend. Both had read very 
 
Loss and Gain. i6i 
 
 regularly, and Sheffield had gained the Latin verse into 
 the bargain. Charles had put all religious perplexities 
 aside ; that is, he knew of course many more persons 
 of all parties than he did before, and became better 
 acquainted with their tenets and their characters, but 
 he did not dwell upon anything which he met with, 
 nor attempt to determine the merits or solve the diffi- 
 culties of this or that question. He took things as 
 they came ; and, while he gave his mind to his books, 
 he thankfully availed himself of the religious privileges 
 which the College system afforded him. Nearly a year 
 still remained before his examination ; and, as Mrs. 
 Reding had not as yet fully arranged her plans, but 
 was still, with her daughters, passing from friend to 
 friend, he had listened to Sheffield's proposal to take 
 a tutor for the Vacation, and to find a site for their 
 studies in the neighbourhood of Oxford. There was 
 every prospect of their both obtaining the highest 
 honours which the schools award : they both were 
 good scholars and clever men ; they had read regularly, 
 and had had the advantage of able lectures. 
 
 The side of the hill forms a large, sweeping hollow 
 or theatre just on one side of the village of Horsley. 
 The two extreme points may be half a mile across ; but 
 the distance is increased to one who follows the path 
 which winds through the furze and fern along the 
 ridge. Their tutor had been unable to find lodgings 
 in the village ; and, while the two young men lived on 
 one extremity of the sweep we have been describing, 
 Mr. Carlton, who was not above three years older than 
 they, had planted himself at a farmhouse upon the 
 
 II 
 
1 62 Loss and Gain. 
 
 other. Besides, the farmhouse suited him better, as 
 being nearer to a hamlet which he was serving during 
 the Vacation. 
 
 "I don't think you like Carlton as well as I do," 
 said Reding to Sheffield, as they lay on the green 
 sward with some lighter classic in their hands, waiting 
 for dinner, and watching their friend as he approached 
 them from his lodgings. " He is to me so taking a 
 man ; so equable, so gentle, so considerate — he brings 
 people together, and fills them with confidence in him- 
 self and friendly feeling towards each other, more than 
 any person I know." 
 
 " You are wrong," said Sheffield, " if you think 1 
 don't value him extremely, and love him too ; it's 
 impossible not to love him. But he's not 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 him is, that he has many original thoughts, 
 and holds many profound truths in detail, but is quite 
 unable to see how they lie to each other, and equally 
 unable to draw consequences. He never sees a truth 
 until he touches it ; he is ever groping and feeling, 
 and, as in hide-and-seek, continually burns without 
 discovering. I know there are ten thousand persons 
 who cannot see an inch before their nose, and who can 
 comfortably digest contradictions ; but Carlton is really 
 a clever man ; he is no common thinker ; this makes it 
 so provoking. When I write an essay for him~I 
 know I write obscurely, and often do not bring out 
 
Loss and Gain. 163 
 
 the sequence of my ideas in due order, but, so it is — 
 he is sure to cut out the very thought or statement on 
 which I especially pride myself, on which the whole 
 argument rests, which binds every part together ; and 
 he coolly tells me that it is extravagant or far-fetched — 
 not seeing that by leaving it out he has made nonsense 
 of the rest. He is a man to rob an arch of its key- 
 stone, and then quietly to build his house upon it." 
 
 "Ah, your old failing again," said Reding; "a 
 craving after views. Now, wh^t 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 him for a week, present 
 company always excepted." 
 
 " Now, considering how hard I have read, and how 
 little I have talked this year past, that is hard on 
 me," said Sheffield. " Did not I go to be one of old 
 Thruston's sixteen pupils, last Long? He gave us 
 capital feeds, smoked with us, and coached us in Ethics 
 and Agamemnon. He knows his books by heart, can 
 repeat his plays backwards, and weighs out his Aris- 
 totle by grains and pennyweights ; but, for generalisa- 
 tions, 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 both sides, he too threw himself upon the 
 turf. Sheffield said : " Reding and I were disputing 
 just now whether Nicias was a party man ". 
 
164 Loss and Gain. 
 
 "Of course you first defined your terms," said 
 Carlton. 
 
 " Well," said Sheffield, " I mean by a party man 
 one who not only belongs to a party, but who has the 
 animus of party. Nicias did not make a party ; he 
 found one made. He found himself at the head of it ; 
 he was no more 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 to know what a party is, and what a 
 party man." 
 
 "A party," said Sheffield, "is merely an extra- 
 constitutional or extra-legal body." 
 
 " Party action," said Charles, " is the exertion of 
 influence instead of law." 
 
 " But supposing, Reding, there is no law existing 
 in the quarter where influence exerts itself?" asked 
 Carlton. 
 
 Charles had to explain : " Certainly," he said, " the 
 State did not legislate for all possible contingencies ". 
 
 "For instance," continued Carlton, "a prime mini- 
 ster, I have understood, is not acknowledged in the 
 Constitution ; he exerts influence beyond the law, but 
 not, in consequence, against any existing law ; and it 
 would be absurd 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 call the Duke 
 of Devonshire or Lord John Russell, in a bad sense, 
 a party man ? " 
 
 " It seems to me," said Carlton, " that the formation 
 
L.OSS and Gain. 165 
 
 of a party is merely a recurrence to the original niode 
 of forming into society. You recollect Deioces ; he 
 formed a party. He gained influence ; he laid the 
 foundation of social order." 
 
 " Law certainly begins in influence," said Reding, 
 " for it presupposes a lawgiver ; afterwards it super- 
 sedes influence ; from that time the exertion of in- 
 fluence is a sign of party." 
 
 "Too broadly said, as you yourself just now 
 allowed," said Carlton : " you should say that law 
 .begins to supersede influence, and that in proportion 
 as it supersedes it, does the exertion of influence in- 
 volve party action. For instance, has not the Crown 
 an immense personal influence? We talk of the 
 Coxxrt party ; yet it does not interfere with law, it is 
 intended to conciliate the people to the law." 
 
 •' But it is recognised by law and constitution," said 
 Charles," as was the Dictatorship." 
 
 ' " Well, then, take the influence of the clergy," 
 answered Carlton ; " we make much of that influence; 
 as a principle supplemental to the law, and as a sup- 
 port to the law, yet not created or defined by the law. 
 The law dpes not recognise what some one calls truly 
 a ' resident gentleman ' in every parish. Influence, 
 then, instead of law is not necessarily the action 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 
 
1 66 Loss and Gain. 
 
 is the reign of influence ; there is party without of 
 necessity party action. This is the justification of 
 Whigs and Tories at the present day ; to supply, as 
 Aristotle says on another subject, the defects of the 
 law. Charles I. exerted a regal, Walpole a ministerial 
 influence ; but influence, not law, was the operating 
 principle in both cases. The object or the means 
 might be wrong, but the process could not be called 
 party action." 
 
 "You would justify, then,", said Charles, "the asso- 
 ciations or confraternities which existed, for instance, 
 in Athens ; not, that is, if they ' took the law into 
 their own hands,' as the phrase goes, but if there was 
 no law to take, or if there was no constituted authority 
 to take it of right. It was a recurrence to the pre- 
 cedent 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 century 
 sought and found almost exclusively in factions or 
 companies. I don't recollect particulars ; but he 
 describes the clergy as busy in extending their im- 
 munities, the nobility their privileges, the army their 
 exemptions, the trades and artisans their guilds. 
 Even the lawyers formed 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 of law, or 
 else being superseded by the law's providing for their 
 
Loss and Gain. 167 
 
 objects. In the middle ages the Church was a vast 
 extra-constitutional body. The German and Anglo- 
 Norman sovereigns sought to bring its operation 
 under the law ; modern parliaments have superseded 
 its operation by law. Then the State wished to gain 
 the right of investitures , now the State marries, 
 registers, manages the poor, exercises ecclesiastical 
 jurisdiction, instead of the Church." 
 
 " This will make ostracism parallel to the Reforma- 
 tion or the Revolution," said Sheffield ; " there is a 
 battle of influence against influence, and one gets rid 
 of the other ; law or constitution does not come into 
 question but the will of the people or of the court 
 ejects, whether the too-gifted individual, or the mon- 
 arch, or the religion. What was not under the law 
 could not be dealt with, had no claim to be dealt 
 with, by the law." 
 
 " A thought has sometimes struck me," said Reding, 
 "which falls in with what you have been saying. In 
 the last half century there has been a gradual forma- 
 tion of the popular party in the State, which now 
 tends to be acknowledged as constitutional, or is 
 already so acknowledged. My father never could 
 endure newspapers — I mean the system of news- 
 papers ; he said it was a new power in the State. I 
 am sure I am not defending what he was thinking of, 
 the many bad proceedings, the wretched principles, 
 the arrogance and tyranny of newspaper writers, but 
 I am trying the subject by the test of your theory. 
 The great body of the people are very imperfectly 
 represented in parliament; the Commons are not 
 
1 68 Loss and Gain, 
 
 their voice, but the voice of certain great interests. 
 Consequently the press comes in — to do that which 
 the constitution does not do — to form the people into 
 a vast mutual-protection association, And this is 
 done by the same right that Deioces had to collect 
 people about him ; it does not interfere with the 
 existing territory of the law, but builds where 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 process of 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's natural instinct is against it ; but it may 
 be necessary. However, agitation is getting to be re- 
 cognised as the legitimate instrument by which the 
 masses make their desires known, and secure the ac- 
 complishment of them. Just as a bill passes in par- 
 liament, after certain readings, discussions, speeches, 
 votings, and the like, so the process by which an act 
 of the popular will becomes law is a long agitation, 
 issuing in petitions, 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 ? " 
 
 "Ideclare 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 were ever 
 
Z,oss and Gain. 169 
 
 a reading man. For myself," he continued, " I am 
 just now an eating man, and am come to dine with 
 you, if you will let me. Have you a place for my 
 horse ? " 
 
 There was a farmer near who could lend a stable ; 
 so the horse was led off by Charles ; and the rider, 
 without any delay — for the hour did not admit 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, which was room of all work in the cottage. 
 They had not the whole house, limited as were its 
 resources ; for it \\'as also the habitation of a gardener, 
 who took his vegetables to the Oxford market, and 
 whose wife (what is called) didiot his lodgers. 
 
 Dinner was suited to the apartment, apartment to 
 the dinner. The book-table had been hastily cleared 
 for a cloth, not over white, and, in consequence, the 
 sole remaining table, which acted as sideboard, dis- 
 played a relay of plates and knives and forks, in the 
 midst of octavos and duodecimos, bound and unbound, 
 piled up and thrown about in great variety of shapes. 
 The other ornaments of this side-table were an ink- 
 glass, some quires of large paper, a straw hat, a gold 
 watch, a clothes-brush, some bottles of ginger-beer, a 
 pair of gloves, a case of cigars, a neck-handkerchief, a 
 shoe-horn, a small slate, a large clasp-knife, a hammer, 
 and a handsome inlaid writing-desk. 
 
 " I like these rides into the country," said Vincent, 
 as they began eating ; " the country loses its effect on 
 me when I live in it, as you do ; but it is exquisite as 
 
Loss and Gam. 171 
 
 a zest. Visit it, do not live in it, if you would 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 no party. I go here and there — like 
 the bee — I taste of everything, I depend on nothing." 
 
 Sheffield said that this was rather belonging to all 
 parties than to none. 
 
 " That is impossible," answered Vincent ; " I hold 
 it to be altogether impossible. You can't belong to 
 two parties ; there's no fear of it ; you might as well 
 attempt to be in two places at once. To be connected 
 with both is to be united with neither. Depend on 
 it, my young friend, antagonist principles correct each 
 other. It's a piece of philosophy which 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 United States are some- 
 times of two or three religions at once, according as 
 we regard 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 humour himself, and never could make 
 out the difference between irony and earnest. Accord- 
 ingly he was brought to a stand. 
 
 Charles came to his relief. " Before dinner," he 
 said, " we were sporting what you will consider a great 
 paradox, I am afraid ; that parties were good things, 
 or rather necessary things." 
 
 "You don't do me justice," answered Vincent, "if 
 this is what you think I deny. I halve your words ; 
 
172 Loss and Gam. 
 
 parties are not good, but necessary ; like snails, I 
 neither envy them their small houses, nor try to lodge 
 in them myself." 
 
 " You mean," said Carlton, " that parties dp our 
 dirty work ; they are our beasts of burden ; we coulc^ 
 not get on without them, but we need not identify 
 ourselves with them ; we may keep aloof." 
 
 " That," said Sheffield, " is something like those 
 religious professors who say that it is sinful to engage 
 in worldly though necessary occupations ; but that the 
 reprobate undertake them, and work for the elect." 
 
 " There will always be persons enough in the world 
 who like tp be party men, without being told to be so," 
 said Vincent; "it's our business to turn them to account, 
 to use them, but to keep aloof. I take it, all parties 
 are partly right, only they go too far. I borrow from 
 each, I co-operate with each, as far as each is right, 
 and no further. Thus I get good from all, and I do 
 good to all ; for I countenance each, so far as it is true." 
 
 " Mr. Carlton meant more than that, sir," said 
 Sheffield ; " he meant that the existence of parties 
 was not only necessary and useful, but even right." 
 
 " Mr. Carlton is not the man to make paradoxes," 
 said Vincent ; " I suspect he would not defend the 
 extreme opinions, which, alas ! exist among us at pre-' 
 sent, and are progressing every day." 
 
 " I was speaking of political parties," said Carlton, 
 " but I am disposed to extend what I said to religious 
 also." 
 
 " But, my good Carlton," said Vincent, " Scripture 
 speaks against religious parties." 
 
Loss and Gain. 173 
 
 " Certainly I don't wish to oppose Scripture," said 
 Carlton, " and I speak under correction of Scripture ; 
 but I say this, that whenever and wherever a church 
 does not decide religious points, so far does it leave the 
 decision to individuals ; and since you can't expect all 
 people to agree together, you must have different 
 opinions ; and the expression of thosedifferentopinions, 
 by the various persons who hold them, is what is called 
 a party." 
 
 " Mr. Carlton has been great, sir, on the general sub- 
 ject before dinner," said Sheffield, "and now he draws 
 the corollary, that whenever there are parties in a 
 church, a church may thank itself for them. They 
 are the certain effect of private judgment ; and the 
 more private judgment you have, the more parties 
 you will have. You are reduced, then, to this alter- 
 native, no toleration or else party ; and you must re- 
 cognise party, unless you refuse toleration." 
 
 " Sheffield words it more strongly than I should do," 
 said Carlton ; " but really I mean pretty much what he 
 says. Take the case of the Roman Catholics ; they 
 have decided many points of theology, many they have 
 not decided ; and whenever there is no ecclesiastical 
 decision, there they have at once a party, or what they 
 call a ■ school ' ; and when the ecclesiastical decision 
 at length appears, then the party ceases. Thus you 
 have the Dominicans and F"ranciscans contending about 
 the Immaculate Conception ; they went on contending 
 because authority did not at once decide the question. 
 On the other hand, when Jesuits and Jansenists dis- 
 puted on the question of grace, the Pope gave it in 
 
174 -Loss and Gain. 
 
 favour of the Jesuits, and the controversy at once came 
 to an end." 
 
 " Surely," said Vincent, " my good and worthy 
 friend, the Rev. Charles Carlton, Fellow of Leicesteh, 
 and sometime Ireland Essayist, is not preferring 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 as it is admitted, necessarily involves parties; the 
 slender private judgment allowed in the Church of 
 Rome admitting occasional or local parties, and the 
 ample private judgment allowed in our Church recog- 
 nising parties as an element of the Church ". 
 
 " Well, well, my good Carlton," said Vincent; 
 frowning and looking wise, yet without finding any- 
 thing particular to say. 
 
 "You mean," said Sheffield, " if I understand you, 
 that it is a piece of mawkish hypocrisy to shake the 
 head and throw up the eyes at Mr. this or that for 
 being the head of a religious party, while we return 
 thanks for our 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 
 which we 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 in the Church, 
 
Loss and Gain. 175 
 
 unless Lord John Russell or Sir Robert Peel hold a 
 dishonourable post in the State." 
 
 " My young friend," said Vincent, finishing his 
 mutton, and pushing his plate from him, " my two 
 young friends — for Carlton is not much older than Mr. 
 Sheffield — may you learn a little more judgment. 
 When you have lived to my age" (viz., two or three 
 years beyond Carlton's) " you will learn sobriety in all 
 things. Mr. Reding, another glass of wine. See that 
 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 the attempt to bring you a fine jack I saw 
 in our kitchen, but 1 thought you would have no means 
 of cooking it." 
 
 Dinner over, the party rose, and strolled out on the 
 green. Another subject 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 several times." 
 
 "You know he left us," continued Vincent, "and 
 joined the Church of Rome. Well, it is credibly 
 reported that he is returning." 
 
 " A melancholy history, anyhow," answered Charles ; 
 '' most melancholy, if this is true." 
 
 " Rather," said Vincent, setting him right, as if he 
 had simply made a verbal mistake, " a most happy 
 termination, you mean ; the only thing that was left for 
 him to do. You know he went abroad. Any one who 
 
1 76 Loss, and Gain. 
 
 is inclined to Romanize should go abroad ; Carlton, we 
 shall be sending you soon. Here things are softened 
 down ; there you see the Church of Rome as it really 
 is. I have been abroad, and should know it. Such 
 heaps of beggars in the streets of Rome and Naples ; 
 so much squalidness and misery ; no cleanliness ; an 
 utter want of comfort ; and such superstition ; and such 
 an absence of all true and evangelical seriousness. 
 They push and fight while Mass is going on ; they 
 jabber their prayers at railroad speed ; they worship 
 the Virgin as a goddess ; and they see miracles at the 
 corner of every street. Their images are awful, and 
 their ignorance prodigious. Well, Willis saw all this; 
 and I have it on good authority," he said mysteriously 
 " that he is thoroughly disgusted with the whole affair, 
 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, who would not take 
 the advice of older heads ! A friend once sent him to 
 me ; I could make nothing of him. I couldn't under- 
 stand his arguments, nor he mine. It was no good ; 
 he would make trial himself, and he has caught it." 
 
 There was a short pause in the conversation ; then 
 Vincent added, " But such perversions, Carlton, I sup- 
 pose, thinks to be as necessary as parties in a pure 
 Protestant Church ". 
 
 " I can't say you satisfy me, Carlton," said Charles; 
 " and I am happy to have the sanction of Mr. Vincent. 
 Did political party make men rebels, then would poll- 
 
Loss and Gain. 177 
 
 tical party be indefensible ; so is religious, if it leads 
 to apostasy." 
 
 " You know the Whigs were accused in the last 
 war," said Sheffield, " of siding with Bonaparte ; acci- 
 dents of this kind don't affect general rules or standing 
 customs." 
 
 " Well, independent of this," answered Charles, " I 
 cannot think religious parties defensible on the con- 
 siderations which justify political. There is, 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 may individually write, preach, and 
 publish what he believes to be the truth, without 
 offence ; why, then, does it begin to be wrong when he 
 does so together with others ? " 
 
 " Party tactics are a degradation of the truth," said 
 Charles. 
 
 " We have heard, I believe, before now," said Carl- 
 ton, " of Athanasius against the whole world, and the 
 whole world against Athanasius." 
 
 " Well," answered Charles, " I will but say this, 
 that a party man must be very much above par or 
 below it." 
 
 " There, again, 1 don't agree," said Carlton ; " you 
 are supposing the leader of a party to be conscious of 
 what he is doing ; and, being conscious, he may be, as 
 
 12 
 
178 Loss and Gain. 
 
 you say, either much above or below the average ; but 
 a man need not realise to himself that he is forming a 
 party." 
 
 "That's more difificult to conceive," said Vincent, 
 "than any statement which has been hazarded this 
 afternoon." 
 
 " Not at all difficult," answered Carlton : " do you 
 mean that there is only one way of gaining influence? 
 Surely there is such a thing as unconscious influence?" 
 
 " I'd as easily beheve," said Vincent, " that a beauty 
 does not know her charms." 
 
 " That's narrow-minded," retorted Carlton : " a man 
 sits in his room and writes, and does not know what 
 people think of him." 
 
 '■ I'd believe it less," persisted Vincent : " beauty is 
 a fact ; influence is 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 in- 
 fluence?" added Carlton; "don't you recollect 'the 
 lovely young Lavinia ' in Thomson ? " 
 
 "Well, gentlemen," said Vincent, "when I am 
 Chancellor I will give a prize essay on ' Moral In- 
 fluence, its Kinds and Causes,' and Mr. Sheffield shall 
 get it ; and as to Carlton, he shall be my Poetry Pro- 
 fessor when I am Convocation." 
 
Loss and Gain. 179 
 
 You will say, good reader, that the party took a very 
 short stroll on the hill, when we tell you that they 
 were now stooping their heads at the lowly door of the 
 cottage ; but the terse littera scripta abridges won- 
 drously the rambling vox emissa ; and there might be 
 other things said in the course of the conversation 
 which history has not condescended to record. Any- 
 how, we are obliged now to usher them again into the 
 room where they had dined, and where they found tea 
 ready laid, and the kettle speedily forthcoming. The 
 bread and butter were excellent ; and the party did 
 justice to them, as if they had not lately dined. " I see 
 you keep your tea in tin cases," said Vincent ; " I am 
 for glass. Don't spare the tea, Mr. Reding ; Oxford 
 men do not commonly fail on that head. Lord Bacon 
 says the first and best juice of the grape, like the pri- 
 mary, purest, and best comment on Scripture, is not 
 pressed and forced out, but consists of a natural ex- 
 udation. This is the case in Italy at this day ; and 
 they call the juice 'lagrima'. So it is with tea, 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 becomes poisonous. I am a great patron 
 of tea ; the poet truly says, ' It cheers, but not ine- 
 briates '. 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 take it too hot ; we Eng- 
 lish drink our liquors too hot. It is not a French failing ; 
 no, indeed. In France, that is in the country, you get 
 nothing for breakfast but acid wine and grapes; this is 
 
i8o Loss and Gain. 
 
 the other extreme, and has before now affected, me 
 awfully. Yet acids, too, have a soothing, sedative effect 
 upon one ; lemonade especially. But nothing suits me 
 so well as tea. Carlton," he continued mysteriously, 
 " do you know the late Dr. 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 the tea is not perceptible. Don't 
 make faces, Mr. Sheffield; a little, I say; a little of 
 everything is best — ne quid nimis. Avoid all extremes. 
 So it is with sugar. Mr. Reding, you are putting too 
 much into your tea. I lay down this rule : sugar should 
 not be a substantive ingredient in tea, but an adjective; 
 that is, tea has a natural roughness ; sugar is only in- 
 tended to remove that roughness; it has a negative 
 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 has not had so pleasant an afternoon 
 as I. I have enjoyed myself much in your suburban 
 villa. What a beautiful moon 1 but I have some very 
 rough ground to pass over. 1 daren't canter over the 
 ruts with the gravel -pits close before me. Mr. Shef- 
 field, do me the favour to show me the way to the stable. 
 Good-bye to you, Carlton ; good-night, Mr. Reding." 
 When they were left to themselves Charles asked 
 Carlton if he really meant to acquit of party spirit the 
 present party leaders in Oxford. " You must not mis- 
 understand me," answered he ; "I do not know much 
 of them, but I know they are persons of great merit 
 and high character, and I wish to think the best of 
 
Loss and Gain. i8i 
 
 them. They are most unfairly attacked, that is cer- 
 tain ; however, they are accused of wishing to make a 
 display, of aiming at influence and power, of loving 
 agitation, and so on. I cannot deny that some things 
 they have done have an unpleasant appearance, and 
 give plausibility to the charge. I wish they had, at 
 certain times, acted otherwise. Meanwhile, I do think 
 it but fair to keep in view that the existence of parties 
 is no fault of theirs. They are but claiming their 
 birthright as Protestants. When the Church does 
 not speak, others will speak instead ; and learned men 
 have the best right to speak. Again, when learned 
 men speak, others will attend to them ; and thus the 
 formation of a party is rather the act of those who 
 follow than of those who 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 on it. One of them, 
 indeed, was known to Reding also, being no other than 
 our friend White, who was going into the schools, and 
 during the last six months had been trying to make up 
 for the time he had wasted in the first years of his resi- 
 dence. Charles had lost sight of him, or nearly so, 
 since he first knew him ; and at their time of life so 
 considerable an interval could not elapse without 
 changes in the character for good or evil, or for both. 
 Carlton and Charles, who were a good deal thrown 
 together by Sheffield's frequent engagements with the 
 Chalton party, were just turning homewards in their 
 walk one evening when they fell in with White, who 
 had been calling at Mr. Bolton's in Oxford, and was 
 returning. Theyhad not proceeded very far before they 
 were joined by Sheffield and Mr. Barry, the curate of 
 Chalton ; and thus the party was swelled to five. 
 
 " So you are going to lose Upton? " said Barry to 
 Reding ; " a capital tutor ; you can ill spare him. 
 Who comes into his place ? " 
 
Loss and Gain. 183 
 
 "We don't know," answered Charles ; "the Prin- 
 cipal will call up one of the Junior Fellows from the 
 country, I believe." 
 
 "Oh, but you won't get a man like Upton," said 
 Carlton ; " he knew his subject so thoroughly. His 
 lecture in the Agricola, I've heard your men say, 
 might have been published. It was a masterly, minute 
 running comment on the text, quite exhausting it." 
 
 "Yes, it was his forte," said Charles; "yet he 
 never loaded his lectures ; everything he said had a 
 meaning, and was wanted." 
 
 " He has got a capital living," said Barry ; " a sub- 
 stantial modern house, and by the rail only an hour 
 from London." 
 
 " And 500/. a year," said White ; "Mr. Bolton went 
 over the living, and told 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," said Barry ; " do you know the family ? 
 — Miss Juliet, the thirteenth, a very pretty 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 be under 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?" said Sheffield. 
 
184 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " My friends ! " said White ; " whom can you mean ? 
 He has written against parties and party leaders; and 
 with reason, I think. Oh, yes ; he alluded to poor 
 Willis and some others." 
 
 "It was more than that," insisted Sheffield; "he 
 charged against certain sayings and doings at St. 
 Mary's." 
 
 " Well, I for one cannot approve of all that is uttered 
 from the pulpit there," said White ; "I know for a 
 fact that Willis refers with great satisfaction to what 
 he'heard there as inclining him to Romanism." 
 
 " I wish preachers and hearers would all go over 
 together at once, and then we should have some quiet 
 time for proper University studies," said Barry. 
 
 " Take care what you are saying, Barry," said Shef- 
 field ; " you mean present company excepted. You, 
 White, I think, come under the denomination of 
 hearers ? " 
 
 " I ! " said White ; " no such thing. I have been to 
 hear him before now, as most men have ; but I think 
 him often very injudicious, or worse. The tendency of 
 his preaching is to make one dissatisfied with one's 
 own Church." 
 
 "Well," said Sheffield, "one's memory plays one 
 tricks, or I should say that a friend of mine had said 
 ten times as strong things against our Church as any 
 preacher in Oxford ever did." 
 
 " You mean me," said White, with earnestness ; 
 " you have misunderstood me grievously. I have ever 
 been most faithful to the Church of England. You 
 never heard me say anything inconsistent with the 
 
Loss and Gain. 185 
 
 warmest attachment to it. I have never, indeed, 
 denied the claims of the Romish Church to be a 
 branch of the Catholic Church, nor will I— that's 
 another thing quite ; there are many things which we 
 might borrow with great advar.tage from the Roman- 
 ists. But I have ever loved, and hope I shall ever 
 venerate, my own Mother, the Church of my baptism." 
 
 Sheffield made an odd face, and no one spoke. 
 White continued, attempting to preserve an uncon- 
 cerned manner : " It is remarkable," he said, " that Mr. 
 Bolton — who, though a layman, and no divine, is a 
 sensible, practical, shrewd man — never liked that pul- 
 pit ; he always prophesied no good would come of it.'' 
 
 The silence continuing, White presently fell upon 
 Sheffield. " I defy you," he said, with an attempt to 
 be jocular, " to prove what you have been hinting ; it 
 is a great shame. It's so easy to speak against men, 
 to call them injudicious, extravagant, and so on. 
 You are the only person " 
 
 " Well, well, I know it, I know it," said 'Sheffield ; 
 "we're only canonizing you, and I am the devil's 
 advocate." 
 
 Charles wanted to hear something about Willis ; so 
 he turned the current of White's thoughts by coming 
 up and asking him whether there was any truth in the 
 report he had heard from Vincent several weeks 
 before ; had White heard from him lately ? White 
 knew very little about him definitely, 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 at home. Thus he had not committed himself 
 
1 86 Loss and Gain. 
 
 to the Church of Rome, whether as 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 had received from him corroborated 
 it — that he was very strong on the point that Roman- 
 ism and Anglicanism were two religions ; that you 
 could not amalgamate them ; that you must be Roman 
 or Anglican, but could not be Anglo- Roman or Anglo- 
 Catholic. "This is what a friend told me. In his 
 letter 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 a Catholic. He said 
 no one should go over merely because he thought he 
 should like it better ; that he had found out by ex- 
 perience that no one could live on sentiment ; that 
 the whole system of worship in the Romish Church 
 was different from what it is in our own ; nay, the 
 very idea of worship, the idea of prayers ; that the 
 doctrine of intention itself, viewed in all its parts, con- 
 stituted a new religion. He did not speak of himself 
 definitely, but he said generally that all this might be 
 a great discouragement to a convert, and throw him 
 back. On the whole, the tone of his letter was like a 
 person disappointed, and who might be reclaimed ; 
 at least, so I thought." 
 
 " He is a wiser, even if he is a sadder man,'' said 
 Charles : " I did not know he had so much in him. 
 There is more reflection in all this than so excitable a 
 person, as he seemed to me, is capable of exercising. 
 At the same time there is nothing in all this to prove 
 that he is sorry for what he has done." 
 
Loss and Gain. 187 
 
 " I have granted this,'' said White ; " still the effect 
 of the letter was to keep people back from following 1 » I y)jN 
 him, by putting obstacles in their way ; and then we 
 must couple this with the fact of his going home." 
 
 Charles thought awhile. " Vincent's testimony," he 
 said, "is either a confirmation or a mere exaggeration 
 of what you have told me, according as it is indepen- 
 dent or not." Then he said to himself: "White, too, 
 has more in him than I thought ; he really has spoken 
 about Willis very sensibly : 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 the two 
 friends, and they reached their cottage just in time to 
 see the setting sun. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A FEW days later, Carlton, Sheffield, and Reding were 
 talking together after 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 is one of the dullest old 
 tabbies I ever came across." 
 
 "Altered for the better," said Charles; "he has 
 now a steady, sensible way of talking ; but he was 
 not a very wise person two years ago ; he is reading, 
 too, really hard." 
 
 " He has some reason," said Sheffield, " for he is 
 sadly behindhand ; but there is another cause of his 
 steadiness which perhaps you know." 
 
 " II no indeed," answered Charles. 
 
 " I thought of course you knew it," said Sheffield ; 
 " you don't mean to say 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 if he could not afford it ; he has 
 a good living waiting for him ; and, moreover, he is thus 
 
Loss and Gain. 189 
 
 losing no time, which is a great thing in life. Much 
 time is often lost. White will soon find himself settled 
 in every sense of the word — in mind, in life, in occupa- 
 tion." 
 
 Charles said that there was one thing which could not 
 help surprising him, namely, that when White first 
 came up he was so strong in his advocacy of clerical 
 celibacy. Carlton and Sheffield laughed. " And do you 
 think," said the former, " that a youth of eighteen can 
 have an opinion on such a subject, or knows himself 
 well enough to make a resolution in his own case ? Do 
 you really think it fair to hold a man committed to 
 all the random opinions and extravagant sayings into 
 which he was betrayed when he first left school ? " 
 
 " He had read some ultra-book or other," said 
 Sheffield ; " or had seen some beautiful nun sculptured 
 on a chancel-screen, and was carried away by romance 
 — as others have been and are." 
 
 " Don't you suppose," said Carlton, " that those good 
 fellows who now are so full of ' sacerdotal purity,' 
 ' angelical blessedness,' and so on, will one and all be 
 married by this time ten years ? " 
 
 " I'll take a bet 'of it," said Sheffield : " one will give 
 in early, one late, but there is a time destined for all. 
 Pass some ten or twelve years, as Carlton says, and we 
 shall find A. B. on a curacy, the happy father of ten 
 children ; C. D. wearing on a long courtship till a living 
 falls ; E. F. in his honeymoon ; G. H. lately presented 
 by Mrs. H. with twins ; I. K. full of joy, just accepted ; 
 L. M. may remain what Gibbon calls ' a column in the 
 midst of ruins,' and a very tottering column too." 
 
igo Loss and Gain. 
 
 " Do you really think," said Charles, " that people 
 mean so little what they say ? " 
 
 " You take matters too seriously, Reding," answered 
 Carlton ; " who does not change his opinions between 
 twenty and thirty ? A young man enters life 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 the longer does he speak the words of 
 others ; but the force of circumstances, or the vigour of 
 his mind, infallibly obliges him at last to have a mind 
 of his own ; that is, if he is good for anything." 
 
 " But I suspect," said Reding, " that the last genera- 
 tion, whether of fathers or tutors, had no very exalted 
 ideas of clerical celibacy." 
 
 " Accidents often clothe us with opinions which we 
 wear for a time,'' said Carlton. 
 
 " Well, I honour people who wear their family suit ; 
 I don't honour those at all who begin with foreign 
 fashions and then abandon them." 
 
 " A few more years of life," said Carlton, smiling, 
 "will make your judgment kinder." 
 
 " 1 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't stay ; 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 great deal 6f work ; then I give over ; 
 but you prose, and muse, and sigh, and prose again." 
 And so he left them. 
 
Loss and Gain. 191 
 
 " What does he mean ? " asked Carlton. 
 
 Charles slightly coloured and laughed : " You are 
 a man I say things to I don't to others," he made 
 answer; "as to Sheffield, he fancies he has found 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, but really I have 
 nothing at all." 
 
 "Well, out wfith it," said Carlton. 
 
 "Why, to tell the truth, — no, really, it is too absurd. 
 I have made a fool of myself." 
 
 He turned away, then turned back, and resumed : 
 
 " Why, it was only this, that Sheffield fancies I have 
 . some sneaking kindness 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 ; but it will go off." 
 
 " Perhaps it will," said Charles : " oh, I am laying 
 no stress upon it. It was Sheffield who made me 
 mention it." 
 
 A real difference of mind and view had evidently 
 been struck upon by two friends, very congenial and 
 very fond of each other. There was a pause for a few 
 seconds. 
 
 " You are so sensible a fellow, Reding," said Carlton, 
 " it surprises me that you should take up this notion." 
 
192 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " It's no new notion taken up," answered Charles ; 
 " you will smile, but I had it when a boy at school, and 
 I have ever since fancied that I should never marry. 
 Not that the feeling has never intermitted, but it is the 
 habit of my mind. My general thoughts run in that 
 one way, that I shall never marry. If I did, I should 
 dread Thalaba's punishment." 
 
 Carlton puc his hand on Reding's shoulder, and 
 gently shook him to and fro ; " Well, it surprises me," 
 he said ; then, after a pause, " I have been accustomed 
 to think both celibacy and marriage good in their way. 
 In the Church 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 for introducing celi- 
 bacy into the Anglican Church.'' 
 
 " There's nothing against it in Prayer Book or 
 Articles," said Charles. 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but the whole genius, structure, work- 
 ing of our Church goes the other waj'. For instance, 
 we have no monasteries to relieve the poor ; and if we 
 had, I suspect, as things are, a parson's wife would, in 
 practical substantial usefulness, be infinitely superior to 
 all the monks that were ever shaven. I declare, I 
 think the Bishop of Ipswich is almost justified in giving 
 out that none but married men have a chance of pre- 
 ferment from him ; nay, the Bishop of Abingdon, who 
 makes a rule of bestowing his best livings as mar- 
 riage portions to the most virtuous young ladies in 
 his diocese." Carlton spoke with more energy than 
 was usual with him. 
 
 Charles answered, that he was not looking to the ex- 
 
Loss and Gain. 193 
 
 pediency or feasibility of the thing, but at ^^ what- 
 seeme d to him best in itself, and what he could not 
 help admiring. " I said nothing about the celibacy of 
 clergy," he observed, " but of celibacy generally." 
 
 " Celibacy has no place in our idea or our system of 
 religion, depend on it," said Carlton. " It is nothing to 
 the purpose, whether there is anything in the Articles 
 against it ; it is not a question about formal enactments, 
 but whether the genius of Anglicanism is not utterly 
 at variance with it. The experience of th;'ee hundred 
 years is surely abundant for our purpose; if we don't 
 know what our religion is in that time, what time will 
 be long enough ? There are forms of religion which 
 have not lasted so long from first to last. Now enu- 
 merate the cases of celibacy for celibacy's sake in that 
 period, and what will be the sum total of them ? Some 
 instances there are ; but even Hammond, who died un- 
 married, was going to marry, when his mother wished 
 it. On the other hand, if you look out for types of 
 our Church, can you find truer than the married excel- 
 lence of Hooker the profound, Taylor the devotional, 
 and Bull the polemical? The very first reformed primate 
 is married ; in Pole and Parker, the two systems, 
 Roman and Anglican, come into strong contrast." 
 
 " Well, it seems to me as much a yoke of bondage," 
 said Charles, "to compel marriage as to compel celi- 
 bacy, and that is what you are really driving at. You 
 are telling me that any one is a black sheep who does 
 not marry." 
 
 "Not a very practical difficulty to you at this 
 moment," said Carlton ; " no one is asking you to go 
 
 13 
 
194 Loss and Gam. 
 
 about on Coelebs' mission just now, with Aristotle 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 the books happened to be on which 
 Charles was at that time more immediately employed ; 
 and they took two or three turns under some fine 
 beeches which stood in front of the house before enter- 
 ing it. 
 
 " Tell me, Reding," said Carlton, " for really I don't 
 understand, what are your reasons for admiring what, 
 in truth, is simply an unnatural state." 
 
 " Don't let us talk more, my dear Carlton," answered 
 Reding ; " I shall go on making a fool of myself. Let 
 well alone, or bad alone, pray do." 
 
 It was evident that there was some strong feeling 
 irritating him inwardly ; the manner and words were 
 too serious for the occasion. Carlton, too, felt strongly 
 upon what seemed at first sight a very secondary 
 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. "It was said in the beginnmg, ' In- 
 crease and multiply ' ; therefore celibacy is unnatural." 
 
 " Supernatural," said Charles, smiling. 
 
196 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " Is not that a word without an idea ? " asked Carl- 
 ton. " We are taught by Butler that there is an 
 analogy between nature and grace ; else you might 
 parallel paganism to nature, and, where paganism is 
 contrary to nature, say that it is supernatural. The 
 Wesleyan convulsions are preternatural ; why not su- 
 pernatural?" 
 
 " I really think that our divines, or at least some of 
 them, are on my side here," said Charles — "Jeremy 
 Taylor, I believe." 
 
 " You have not told me what you mean by super- 
 natural," said Carlton ; " I want to get at what yoii 
 think, you know." 
 
 " It seems to me," said Charles, " that Christianity, 
 
 being the perfec tion of nature, is both like it and un- 
 like it ; — like it, where it is the same or as much as 
 nature ; unlike it, where it is as much and more. I 
 mean by snpeniatiiral the perfection of nat ure." 
 
 " Give me an instance," said Carlton. 
 
 " Why, consider, Carlton ; our Lord says, ' Ye have 
 heard that it has been said of old time, — but / say 
 unto you ' : that contrast denotes the more perfect way, 
 or the gospel ... He came not to destroy, but to 
 fulfil the law. . . I can't recollect of a sudden . . . 
 oh, for instance, this is a case in point ; He abolished a 
 permission which had been given to the Jews 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 in Paradise." 
 
 "Still, surely the idea of an Apostle, unmarried, 
 
Loss and Gain. igy 
 
 pure, in fast and nakedness, and at length a martyr, is 
 a higher idea than that of one of the old Israelites 
 sitting under his vine and fig-tree, full of temporal 
 goods, and surrounded by sons and grandsons. 1 am 
 not derogating from Gideon 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 man to continue as he was." 
 
 "There we come to a question of criticism, what 
 ' good ' means : I may think it means ' expedient,' and 
 what he says about the ' present distress ' confirms it." 
 
 " Well, I won't go to criticism," said Charles ; " take 
 the text, ' In sin hath my mother conceived me '. Do 
 not these words show that, over and above the 
 doctrine of original sin, there is (to say the least) 
 great risk of marriage leading to sin in married 
 people ? " 
 
 "My dear Reding," said Carlton, astonished, "you 
 are running into Gnosticism." 
 
 " Not knowingly or willingly," answered Charles ; 
 " but understand what I mean. It's not a subject I 
 can talk about ; but it seems to me, without of course 
 saying that married persons must sin (which would 
 be Gnosticism), that there is a danger of sin. But 
 don't let me say more on this point." 
 
 "Well," said Carlton, after thinking awhile, " / 
 have been accustomed to consider Christianity as the 
 perfection of man as a whole, body, soul, and spirit. 
 Don't misunderstand me. Pantheists say body and 
 intellect, leaving out the moral principle ; but I say 
 
igS Loss and Gain. 
 
 spirit as well as mind. Spirit, or the principle of 
 religious faith and obedience, should be the master 
 principle, the hegemonicon. To this both intellect and 
 body are subservient ; but as this supremacy does not 
 imply the ill-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 bondage of intellect and body too. 
 What is faith but the submission of the in telle ct?, and 
 "aT^very high thought is brought iiTto captivity,' so 
 are we expressly told to bring the body into subjec- 
 tion too. They are both well treated, when they are 
 treated so as to be made fit instruments of the 
 sovereign principle." 
 
 ' That is what I call unnatural," said Carlton. 
 " And it is what I mean by supernatural," answered 
 Reding, getting a little 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 he thought that perfection came after 
 death, not here. Our nature could not be perfect 
 with a corruptible body ; the body was treated now 
 as a body of death. 
 
 "Well, Reding," answered Carlton, "you make 
 Christianity a very different 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 been redeemed by Him, if we are in 
 
Loss and Gain. 199 
 
 this sort of gloomy penitential state ? How much 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 the sins into which we are daily 
 betrayed, and for the more serious offences which 
 from time to time we may have committed ? " 
 
 "Certainly; we do so in Morning and Evening 
 Prayer, and in the Communion Service." 
 
 "Well, but supposing a youth, as is so often the 
 case, has neglected religion altogether, and has a 
 whole load of sins, and very heinous ones, 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 with that contrition with which 
 such persons ought to say it), pardoned at once, 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 most serious persons, even for a 
 little sin, would go on fidgeting themselves, and would 
 not suppose they gained pardon directly they asked 
 for it." 
 
 " Certainly," answered Carlton ; " but God pardons 
 those who do not pardon themselves." 
 
200 Loss and Gam. 
 
 "That is," said Charles, "who don't at once feel 
 peace, assurance, and comfort; 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 forgiving themselves, 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 Carl- 
 ton ; " self-infliction implies intention ; grief at sin is 
 something spontaneous. When you afflict yourself 
 on purpose, then at once you pass from pure Christi- 
 anity." 
 
 "Well," said Charles, "I certainly fancied that 
 fasting, abstinence, labours, celibacy, might be taken 
 as a make-up for sin. It is not a very far-fetched idea. 
 You recollect Dr. Johnson's standing in the rain in the 
 market-place at Lichfield when a man, as a penance 
 for some disobedience to his father when a boy ? " 
 
 " But, my dear Reding," said Carlton, " let me bring 
 you back to what you said originally, and to my 
 answer to you, which what you now say only makes 
 more apposite. You began by saying that celibacy 
 was a perfection of 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 I don't know; I don't profess to 
 
Loss and Gain. 201 
 
 have clear ideas upon the subject. I have talked 
 more than I like. Let us at length give over." 
 
 They did, in consequence, pass to other subjects 
 connected with Charles's reading ; then they entered 
 the house, and set to upon Polybius ; but it could not 
 be denied that for the rest of the day Carlton's manner 
 was not quite his own, as if something had annoyed 
 him. Next morning he was as usual. 
 
V 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It is impossible to stop the growth of the mind. Here 
 was Charles with his thoughts turned away from 
 religious controversy for two years, yet with his re- 
 ligious views progressing, unknown to himself, the 
 whole time. It could not have been otherwise, if he 
 was to live a religious life at all. If he was to worship 
 and obey his Creator, intellectual acts, conclusions, 
 and judgments must accompany that worship and 
 obedience. He might not realise his own belief till 
 questions had been put to him ; but then a single dis- 
 cussion with a friend, such as the above with Carlton, 
 would bring out what he really did hold to his own 
 apprehension — would ascertain for him the limits of 
 each opinion as he held it, and the inter-relations of 
 opinion with opinion. He had not yet given names 
 to these opinions, much less had they taken a theo- 
 logical form ; nor could they, under his circumstances, 
 be expressed in theological language ; but here he was, 
 a young man of twenty-two, professing, in an hour's 
 conversation with a friend, what really were the Catholic 
 doctrines and usages of penance, purgatory, councils of 
 perfection, mortification of self, and clerical celibacy. 
 
Loss and Gain. 203 
 
 No wonder that all this annoyed Carlton, though he no 
 more than Charles perceived that all this Catholicism 
 did in fact lie hid under his professions ; but he felt, in 
 what Reding put out, the presence of something, as he 
 expressed it, " very unlike the Church of England " ; 
 something new and unpleasant to him, and withal sqm&:_ 
 thing whic h had a body in it, whic h had a momentum, 
 which c ould not be passed over as a vague, sudden sound 
 or transrbory cloud, out wnich had much behind it. 
 
 which made itself felt, wh ich struck heavilyr" 
 
 And here we see what is meant when a person says 
 that the Catholic system comes home to his mind, fulfils 
 his ideas of religion, satisfies his sympathies, and the 
 like ; and thereupon becomes a Catholic. Such a person 
 is often said to go by private judgment, to be choosing 
 his religion by his own standard of what a religion 
 ought to be. Now it need not be denied that those who 
 are external to the Hhurch must begin with private 
 judgment ; they use it in order ultimately to s upersede 
 it ; as a man out of doors uses a lamp in a dark night, 
 and- puts it out when he gets home. What would be 
 thought of his bringing it into his drawing-room ? 
 what would the goodly company there assembled before 
 a genial hearth and under glittering chandeliers, the 
 bright ladies and the well-dressed gentlemen, say to 
 him if he came in with a great-coat on his back, a 
 hat on his head, an umbrella under his arm, and a 
 large stable-lantern in his hand ? Yet what would be 
 thought, on the other hand, if he precipitated himself 
 into the inhospitable night and the war of the elements 
 in his ball-dress ? " When the king came in to see the 
 
204 Loss and Gain. 
 
 guests, he saw a man who had not on a wedding- 
 garment ; " he saw a man who determined to live in 
 the Church as he had Hved out of it, who would not 
 use his privileges,. wdlQ- WOuld not exchange rea son for 
 faith, w ho would not accommodate nis thoughts and 
 doings to the glorious scene which surrounded him, 
 who was groping for the hidden treasure and digging 
 for the pearl of price in the high, lustrous, all-jewelled 
 Temple of the Lord of Hosts ; who shut his eyes and 
 speculated, when he might open them and see. There 
 is no absurdity, then, or inconsistency in a person first 
 using his private judgment and then denouncing its 
 use. Circumstances change duties. 
 
 But still, after all, the person in question does not, 
 strictly speaking, judge of the external system presented 
 to him by his private ideas, but he brings in the dicta 
 of that system to confirm and to justify certain private 
 judgments and personal feelings and habits already 
 existing. Reding, for instance, felt a difficulty in 
 determining how and when the sins of a Christian are 
 forgiven ; he had a great notion that celibacy was better 
 than married life. He was not the first person in the 
 Church of England who had had such thoughts ; to 
 numbers, doubtless, before him they had occurred ; but 
 these numbers had looked abroad, and seen nothing 
 around them to justify what they felt, and their feelings 
 had, in consequence, either festered within them or 
 withered away. But when a man, thus constituted 
 within, falls under the shadow of Catholicism without, 
 then the mighty Creed at once produces an influence 
 upon him. He sees that it justifies his thoughts, ex- 
 
Loss and Gain. 205 
 
 plains his feelings ; he understands that it numbers, 
 
 corrects, ha rmonises, completes them ; a nd he is led to 
 asic wnat is the authority of this foreign teaching ; and 
 then, when he finds it is what was once received in 
 England from north to south, in England from the very 
 time that Christianity was introduced here ; that, as 
 far as historical records go, Christianity and Catholicism 
 are synonymous ; that it is still the faith of the largest 
 section of the Christian world ; and that the faith of 
 his own country is held nowhere but within her own 
 limits and those of her own colonies ; nay, further, that 
 it is very difficult to say what faith she has, or that she 
 has any, — then he su bmits himself to th e Catholic 
 Church, 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 there may be persons who come to the 
 Catholic Church on imperfect motives, or in a wrong 
 way ; who choose it by criticism, and who, unsubdued 
 by its majesty and its grace, go on criticising when 
 they are in it ; and who, if they persist and do not 
 learn humility, may criticise themselves out of it again. 
 Nor is it denied, on the other hand, that some who 
 are not Catholics may possibl y choose ( for instance) 
 Method ism, in the above moral way, v iz ., because it 
 rr.mfirm<; anrl ju stifies the inward feeling of their hearis. 
 This is certainly possible in idea, though what there is 
 venerable, awful, superhuman, in the Wesleyan Con- 
 ference to persuade one to take it as a prophet, is a 
 perplexing problem ; yet, after all, the matter of fact 
 we conceive to lie the other way, viz., that Wesleyans 
 
2o6 Loss and Gain. 
 
 and other sectaries put themselves above their system, 
 not below it ; and though they may in bodily position 
 " sit under " their preacher, yet in the position of their 
 souls and spirits, minds and judgments, they are exalted 
 high above him. 
 
 But to return to the subject of our narrative. What 
 a mystery is the soul 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 had said to him that he could not escape his 
 destiny ; it was true, though it was to be fulfilled in a 
 way which she, affectionate heart, could not compass, 
 did not dream of. He could not escape the destiny of 
 being one of the elect of God ; he could not escape that 
 destiny which the grace of his Redeemer had stamped 
 on his soul in baptism, which his good angel had seen 
 written there, and had done his zealous part to keep 
 inviolate and bright, which his own co-operation with 
 the influences of Heaven had confirmed and secured. 
 He could not escape the destiny, in due time, in God's 
 time — though it might be long, though angels might 
 be anxious, though the Church might plead as if de- 
 frauded of her promised increase of 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 not ultimately escape his destiny of becoming 
 a Catholic. And even before that blessed hour, as an 
 opening flower scatters sweets, so the strange unknown 
 odour, pleasing to some, odious to others, went abroad 
 from him upon the winds, and made them marvel what 
 
Loss and Gain. 207 
 
 could be near them, and make them look curiously and 
 anxiously at him, while he was unconscious of his 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 direc- 
 tion, Sheffield had been growing in another ; and what 
 that growth had been will appear from a conversation 
 which took place between the two friends, and which 
 shall be related in the following chapter. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Carlton had opened the small church he was servinj^ 
 for Saints'-day services during the Long Vacation ; and 
 not being in the way to have any congregation, and 
 the church at Horsley being closed except on Sundays, 
 he had asked his two pupils to help him in this matter, 
 by walking over with him on St. Matthew's day, which, 
 as the season was fine, and the walk far from a dull 
 one, they were very glad to do. When church was 
 over Carlton had to attend a sick call which lay still 
 farther from Horsley, and the two young men walked 
 back together. 
 
 " I did not know that Carlton was so much of a party 
 man," said Sheffield ; "did not his reading the Athana- 
 sian 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's going out of the way." 
 
 Charles did not see how obeying in so plain a matter 
 the clear direction of the Prayer Book could be a party 
 act. 
 
 " Direction ! " said Sheffield, " as if the question were 
 not, is that direction now binding? the sense, the 
 
Loss and Gaiic. 209 
 
 understanding of the Church of this day determines its 
 obligation." 
 
 " Th^Si prima fade view of the matter," said Charles, 
 " is, that they who do but follow what the Prayer Book 
 enjoins are of all people farthest from being a party." 
 " Not at all," said Sheffield ; '•' rigid adherence to 
 old customs surely may be the badge of a party. Now 
 consider ; ten years ago, before the study of Church- 
 history was revived, neither Arianism nor Athana- 
 sianism were thought of at all, or, if thought of, they 
 were considered as questions of 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 should hope that numbers of persons, for in- 
 stance, the unlearned, who were in Arian communities 
 spoke Arian language, and yet did not mean it. I think 
 I have heard that some ancient missionary of the Goths 
 or Huns was an Arian." 
 
 " Well, I will speak more precisely," said Sheffield : 
 " an Oxford man, some ten years since, was going to 
 publish a history of the Nicene Council, and the book- 
 seller proposed to him to prefix an engraving of St. 
 Athanasius, which he had found in some old volume. 
 He was strongly dissuaded from doing so by a brother 
 clergyman, not from any feeling of his 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 most High-Church writers of the day." 
 
 " Of course," said Reding, " there has always been 
 a heterodox school in our Church — I know that well 
 
 14 
 
2IO Loss and Gain. 
 
 enough — but it never has been powerful. Your lax 
 friend was one of them." 
 
 " I believe not, indeed," answered Sheffield ; "he lived 
 out of controversy, was a literary, accomplished person, 
 and a man of piety to boot. He did not express any 
 feeling of his own ; he did but witness to a fact, that 
 the name of Athanasius wa3 unpopular." 
 
 " So little was known about history," said Charles, 
 "this is not surprising. St. Athanasius, you know, 
 did not write the Creed called after him. It is possible 
 to think him intemperate without thinking the Creed 
 wrong." 
 
 " Well, then, again ; there's Beatson, Divinity Pro- ' 
 fessor ; no one will call him in any sense a party man ;' 
 he was put in by the Tories, and never has committecf 
 himself to any liberal theories in theology. Now, a 
 man 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 of handling the Creed 
 went out with Bull. After Locke wrote, the old or- 
 thodox phraseology came into disrepute.' " 
 
 "Well, perhaps he meant," said Charles, "that 
 learning died away, which was the case. The old 
 theological language is plainly a learned language ; 
 when fathers and schoolmen were not read, of course 
 it would be 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 majority of the edu- 
 cated laity of our Church are Sabellians '." 
 
Loss and Gain. 211 
 
 Charles was silent, and hardly knew what reply to 
 make. Sheffield went on : " I was present some years 
 ago, when I was quite a boy, when a sort of tutor of 
 mine was talking to one of the most learned and ortho- 
 dox divines of the day, a man whose name has never 
 been associated with party, and the near relation and 
 connection of high dignitaries, about a plan of his own 
 for writing a history of the Councils. This good and 
 able man listened with politeness, applauded the 
 project, then added, in a laughing way, 'You know 
 you have chosen just the dullest subject in Church-his- 
 tory '. Now the Councils begin with the Nicene Creed, 
 and embrace nearly all doctrinal subjects whatever." 
 
 " My dear Sheffield," said Charles, " you have fallen 
 in with a particular set or party of men yourself; very 
 respectable, good men, I don't doubt, but no fair speci- 
 mens of the whole Church." 
 
 " I don't bring them as authorities," answered 
 Sheffield, " but as witnesses." 
 
 "Still," said Charles, "I know perfectly well that 
 there was a controversy at the end of the last century 
 between Bishop Horsley and others, in which he 
 brought out distinctly one part at least of the 
 Athanasian doctrine." 
 
 " His controversy was not adefence of the Athanasian 
 Creed, I know well," said Sheffield; "for the subject 
 came into Upton's Article-lecture ; it was with Priest- 
 ley ; but, whatever it was, divines would only think it 
 all very fine, just as his ' Sermons on Prophecy '. It is 
 another question whether they would recognise the 
 worth either of the one or of the other. They receive 
 
212 Loss and Gain. 
 
 the scholastic terms about the Trinity just as they receive 
 the doctrine that the Pope is Antichrist. When Horsley 
 says the latter, or something of the kind, good old 
 clergymen say, ' Certainly, certainly, oh yes, it's the 
 old Church-of-England doctrine,' thinking it right, 
 indeed, to be maintained, but not caring themselves to 
 maintain it, or at most professing it just when men- 
 tioned, but not really thinking about it from one year's 
 end to the other. And so with regard to the doctrine 
 of the Trinity, they say, ' the great Horsley,' ' the 
 powerful Horsley'; they don't indeed dispute his 
 doctrine, but they don't care about it ; they look on 
 him as a doughty champion, armed cap-h.-pie, who has 
 put down dissent, who has cut off the head of some im- 
 pudent non-protectionist, or insane 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 know that in this very place there are 
 various orthodox writers, whom no one would call party 
 men." 
 
 "Stop," said Sheffield, "understand me, I was not 
 speaking against them. I was but saying that these 
 anti-Athanasian views were not unfrequent. I have 
 been in the way of hearing a good deal on the subject 
 at my private tutor's, and have kept my eyes about me 
 since I have been here. The Bishop of Derby was a 
 friend of Sheen's, my private tutor, and got his pro- 
 motion when I was with the latter ; and Sheen told me 
 that he wrote to him on that occasion, ' What shall I 
 read ? I don't know anything of theology.' I rather 
 
Loss and Gain. 213 
 
 think he was recommended, or proposed to read 
 Scott's Bible." 
 
 " It's easy to bring instances," said Charles, " when 
 you have all your own way ; what you say is 
 evidently all an ex-parte statement." 
 
 " Take again, Shipton, who died lately," continued 
 Sheffield ; " what a high position he held in the 
 Church ; yet it is perfectly well known that he 
 thought it a mistake to use the word ' Person ' in the 
 doctrine of the Trinity. What makes this stranger is, 
 that he was so very severe on clergymen (Tractarians, 
 for instance) who evade the sense of the Articles. 
 Now he was a singularly honest, straightforward man ; 
 he despised money ; he cared nothing for public 
 opinion ; yet he was a Sabellian. 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 in- 
 consistent with his profession as Dean of Bath and 
 Prebendary of Dorchester? Is it not plain that he 
 considered the practice of the Church to have modified, 
 to have re-interpreted its documents ? " 
 
 " Why," said Charles, " the practice of the Church 
 cannot make black white ; or, if a sentence means yes, 
 make it mean no. I won't deny that words are often 
 vague and uncertain in their sense, and frequently 
 need a comment, so that the teaching of the day has 
 great influence in determining their sense ; but the 
 question is, whether the counter-teaching of every 
 dean, every prebendary, every clergyman, every 
 bishop in the whole Church, could make the Athana- 
 sian Creed Sabellian ; I think not." 
 
214 Zo^i' and Gain. 
 
 " Certainly not," answered Sheffield ; " but the 
 clergymen I speak of simply say that they are not 
 bound to the details of the Creed, only to the great 
 outline that there is a Trinity." 
 
 "Great outline!" said Charles, "great stuff! an 
 Unitarian would not deny that. He, of course, 
 believes in Father, Son, and Holy Spirit ; though he 
 thinks the Son a creature, and the Spirit an influence." 
 
 "Well, I don't deny," said Sheffield, "that if Dean 
 Shipton was a sound member of the Church, Dr. 
 Priestley might have been also. But my doubt is, 
 whether, if the Tractarian school had not risen, 
 Priestley might not have been, had he lived to this 
 time, I will not say a positively sound member, but 
 sound enough for preferment." 
 
 " 1/ the Tractarian school had not risen ; that is 
 but saying if our Church was other than it is. What 
 is that school but a birth, an offspring of the Church? 
 and if the Church had not given birth to one party 
 of men for its defence, it would have given birth 
 to another." 
 
 " No, no," said Sheffield, " I assure you the old 
 school of doctrine was all but run out when they 
 began ; and I declare I wish they had let things alone. 
 There was the doctrine of the Apostolical Succession ; 
 a few good old men were its sole remaining professors 
 in the Church ; and a great ecclesiastical personage, 
 on one occasion, quite scoffed at their persisting to 
 hold it. He maintained the doctrine went out with 
 the non-jurors. ' You are so few,' he said, ' that we 
 can count you.' " 
 
Loss and Gain. 215 
 
 Charles was not pleased with the subject, on various 
 accounts. He did not like what seemed to him an 
 attack of Sheffield's upon the Church of England ; and 
 besides, he began to feel uncomfortable misgivings and 
 doubts whether that attack was not well founded, to 
 which he did not like to be exposed. Accordingly he 
 kept silence, and, after a short interval, attempted to 
 change the subject ; but Sheffield's hand was in, and 
 he would not be balked ; so he presently began again. 
 "I have been speaking," he said, "of the liberal section 
 of our Church. There are four 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 merely 
 takes up the theology or no-theology of the day, and 
 cannot properly be said to 'hold' what the Creed calls 
 'the Catholic faith'. It does not deny it ; it may not 
 knowingly disbelieve it ; but it gives no signs of 
 actually holding it, beyond the fact that it treats it 
 with respect." I will venture to say, that not a country 
 parson of them all, from year's end to year's end, 
 makes once a year what Catholics call 'an act of 
 faith ' in that special and very distinctive mystery 
 contained in the clauses of the Athanasian Creed." 
 
 Then, seeing Charles looked rather hurt, he added, 
 " I am not speaking of any particular clergyman here 
 or there, but of the great majority of them. After the 
 Tory party comes the Liberal ; which also dislikes the 
 Athanasian Creed, as I have said. Thirdly, as to the 
 Evangelical ; I know you have one of the Nos. of the 
 'Tracts for the Times' about objective faith. Now 
 that tract seems to prove that the Evangelical party 
 
2i6 Loss and Gain. 
 
 is implicitly Sabellian, and is tending to avow that 
 belief. This too has been already the actual course 
 of Evangelical doctrine both on the Continent and in 
 America. The Protestants of Geneva, Holland, 
 Ulster, and Boston, have all, I believe, became Uni- 
 tarians, or the like. Dr. Adam Clarke too, the 
 celebrated Wesleyan, held the distinguishing Sabel- 
 lian tenet, as Dodridge is said to have done before 
 him. All this considered, I do think I have made 
 out a good case for my original assertion, that at this 
 time of day it is a party thing to go out of the way 
 to read the Athanasian Creed." 
 
 " I don't agree with you at all," said Charles ; "you 
 say a great deal more than you have a warrant to do, 
 and draw sweeping conclusions from slender premisses. 
 This, at least, is what it seems to me. I wish too you 
 would not so speak of ' making out a case '. It is as 
 if these things were mere topics for disputation. And 
 I don't like your taking the wrong side ; you are rather 
 fond of doing so." 
 
 " Reding," answered Sheffield, " I speak what I 
 think, and ever will do so ; I will be no party man. 
 I don't attempt, like Vincent, to unite opposites. He 
 is of all parties, I am of none. I think I see pretty 
 well the hollowness of all." 
 
 " O, my dear Sheffield," cried Charles, in distress, 
 " think what you are saying ; you don't mean what 
 you say. You are speaking as if you thought that 
 belief in the Athanasian Creed was a mere party- 
 opinion." 
 
 Sheffield first was silent ; then he said, " Well, I beg 
 
Loss and Gain. 217 
 
 your pardon if I have said anything to annoy you, or 
 have expressed myself intemperately. But surely one 
 has no need to believe virhat so many people either 
 disbelieve or disregard." 
 
 The subject then dropped ; and presently Carlton 
 overtook them on the farmer'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 a deliverance. The 
 two conversations which we have been recording, 
 bringing him to issue on most important subjects first 
 with one, then with another, of two intimate friends, 
 who were bound by the Articles as well as he, uncom- 
 fortably reminded him of his debt to the University 
 and Church ; and the nearer approach of his examina- 
 tion and degree inflicted on him the thought that 
 the time was coming when he must be prepared to 
 discharge it. 
 
 One day, when he was strolling out with Carlton, 
 towards the end of the Vacation, he had been led to 
 speak of the number of religious opinions and parties 
 in Oxford, which had so many bad effects, making so 
 many talk, so many criticise, and not a few perhaps 
 doubt about truth altogether. Then he said that, evil 
 as it was in a place of education, yet he feared it was 
 unavoidable, if Carlton's doctrine about parties were 
 correct ; for if there was a place where differences of 
 religious opinions would show themselves, it would be 
 in a university. 
 
Loss and Gain. 219 
 
 " I am far from denying it," said Carlton ; " but all 
 systems have their defects ; no polity, no theology, no 
 ritual is perfect. One only came directly and simply 
 from Heaven, the Jewish ; and even that was removed 
 because of its unprofitableness. This is no derogation 
 from the perfection of Divine Revelation, for it arises 
 from the subject-matter on and through which it oper- 
 ates." There was a pause ; then Carlton went on : 
 " It is the fault of most young thinkers to be impatient, 
 if they do not find perfection in everything ; they are 
 ' new brooms ' ". Another pause ; he went on again : 
 "What form of Religion is less objectionable than 
 ours ? You see the inconveniences of your own system, 
 for you experience them ; you have not felt, and can- 
 not know, those of others." 
 
 Charles was still silent, and went on plucking and 
 chewing leaves from the shrubs and bushes through 
 which their path winded. At length he said, "/ 
 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 for two years since ; I really could 
 not understand them, and their history makes matters 
 worse. I put the subject from me altogether ; but 
 now that my 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 dear fellow, it happens every day, and 
 
2 20 Loss and Gain. 
 
 especially to thoughtful people like yourself. It 
 should not annoy you." 
 
 "But my fidget is," said Charles, "lest my diffi- 
 culties should return, and I should not be able to 
 remove them." 
 
 " You should take all these things calmly," said 
 Carlton ; " all things, as I have said, have their diffi- 
 culties. If you wait till everything is as it should be 
 or might be conceivably, you will do nothing, and will 
 lose life. The moral and social world is not an open 
 country ; it is already marked and mapped out ; it 
 has its roads. You can't go across country ; if you 
 attempt a steeple-chase, you will break your neck for 
 your pains. Forms of religion are facts ; they have 
 each their history. They existed before you were 
 born, and will survive you. You must choose, you 
 cannot make." 
 
 " I know," said Reding,"! can't make a religion, 
 nor can I perhaps find one better than my own. I 
 don't want to do so ; but this is not my difficulty. 
 Take your own image. I am jogging along my own 
 old road, and lo, a high turnpike, fast locked ; and 
 my poor pony can't clear it. I don't complain ; but 
 there's the fact, or at least may be." 
 
 " The pony must,'' answered Carlton ; " or if not 
 there must be some way about ; else what is the good 
 of a road ? In religion all roads have their obstacles ; 
 one has a strong gate across it, another goes through 
 a bog. Is no one to go on ? Is religion to be at a 
 dead-lock? Is Christianity to die out? Where else 
 will you go ? Not surely to Methodism or Plymouth 
 
Loss and Gain. 221 
 
 brotherism. As to the Romish Church, I suspect it 
 has more difficulties than we have. You must sacrifice 
 your private judgment." 
 
 " All this is very good," answered Charles ; " but 
 what is very expedient still may be very impossible. 
 The finest words about the necessity of getting home 
 before nightfall will not enable my poor little pony to 
 take the gate." 
 
 "Certainly not," said Carlton ; "but if you had a 
 command from a benevolent Prince, your own Sove- 
 reign and Benefactor, to go along the road steadily till 
 evening, and he would meet you at the end of your 
 journey, you would be quite sure that he who had 
 appointed the end had also assigned the means. And, 
 in the difficulty in question, you ought to 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 turn the difficulty." 
 
 Charles said that somehow he did not like this mode 
 of arguing ; it seemed dangerous ; he did not see 
 whither it went, where it ended. Presently he said, 
 abruptly, "Why do you think there are more diffi- 
 culties in the Church of Rome ? " 
 
 " Clearly there are," answered Carlton ; " if the 
 Articles are a crust, is not Pope Pius's Creed a bone?" 
 
 " I don't know Pope Pius's Creed," said Charles ; 
 " I know very little about the state of the case, 
 certainly. What does it say ? " 
 
 ■ "Oh, it includes transubstantiation, purgatory, 
 saint-worship, and the rest," said Carlton ; " I 
 suppose you could not quite subscribe these?" 
 
I 
 
 222 I^oss and Gam. 
 
 " It depends," answered Charles slowly, "on this — 
 on what authority they came to me." He stopped, 
 and then went on : " Of course I could, if they came 
 to me on the same authority as the doctrine of the 
 Blessed Trinity comes. Now, the Articles come on no 
 authority ; they are the views of persons in the i6th 
 century ; and, again, it is not clear how far they are, 
 or are not, modified by the unauthoritative views of 
 the 19th. I am obliged, then, to exercise my own 
 judgment; and I candidly declare to you that my 
 judgm ent is unequal to so great a task. At least, 
 this is what troubles me, whenever the subject rises in 
 my mind ; for I have put it from me." 
 
 "Well, then," said Carlton, "take them ox\ 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 infal- 
 lible," he said.^if 1 must give up private ludgment, 
 if I must act on faith, there is a Church which has a 
 
 g reater claim on us all than the Church of England." 
 "" " My dear Reding," said Carlton, with some emotion, 
 " where did you get these notions ? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Charles •; '' so mebody has 
 said that t hey were in the air. I have talked to no one, 
 except one oFtwo arguments 1 had with ditterent per- 
 
 sons in my first year. I have driven the subject from 
 me ; but when I once begin, you see it will out." 
 
Loss and Gain. 223 
 
 They walked on awhile in silence. " Bo.yiou really 
 mean to say," asked Carlton at length, "th(a.t*^t is so 
 difficult to understand and receive the Articles ? To 
 me they are quite clear enough, and speak the language 
 of common sense." 
 
 "Well, they seem to me," said Reding, "sometimes 
 inconsistent with themselves, sometimes with the 
 Prayer Book ; so that I am suspicious of them ; 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 blind declaration." 
 
 " Give me some instances," said Carlton. 
 
 " For example," said Charles, " they distinctly 
 receive the Lutheran doctrine of justification by faith 
 only, which the Prayer Book virtually opposes in every 
 one of its Offices. They refer to the Homilies as 
 authority, yet the Homilies speak of the books of the 
 Apocrypha as inspired, which the Articles implicitly 
 deny. The Articles about Ordination are in their 
 spirit contrary to the Ordination Service. One 
 Article on the Sacraments speaks the doctrine of 
 Melancthon, another that of Calvin. One Article 
 speaks of the Church's authority in controversies 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 first glance," said Carlton, " and all may be 
 surmounted with a little care." 
 
 " On the othsfr hand, it has struck me," continued 
 
 Charles, " that" the Church of Rome is undeniably 
 
 consistent in her formularies : this is the very charge 
 
2 24 Loss and Gain. 
 
 some of our writers make upon her, that she is so 
 systematic. It may be a hard, iron system, but it is 
 consistent." 
 
 Carlton did not wish to interrupt him, thinking it 
 best to hear his whole difficulty ; so Charles proceeded : 
 " When a system is consistent, at least it does not 
 condemn itself. Consistency is not truth, b ut truth is 
 consistency. Now. I am not a fit judge whether or not 
 
 a certain system is t rue, but I may be quite a ju dge 
 whether it is consistent with itself. When an oracle 
 
 equivocatS^, it carries witn it its own condemnation. 
 I almost think there is something in Scripture on this 
 subject, comparing in this respect the pagan and the 
 inspired prophecies. And this has struck me, too, that 
 St. Paul gives this very account of a heretic, that he is 
 ' condemned of himself/ bearing his own condemnation 
 on his face. Moreover, I was once in the company of 
 Freeborn (I don't know if you are acquainted with him) 
 and others of the Evangelical party, and they showed 
 plainly, if they were to be trusted, that Luther and 
 Melancthon did not agree together on the prime point 
 of justification by faith, a circumstance which had not 
 come into the Article-lecture. Also I have read some- 
 where, or heard in some sermon, that the ancient 
 heretics always were inconsistent, never could state 
 plainly their meaning, much less agree together ; and 
 thus, whether they would or no, could not help giving 
 to the simple a warning of their true character, as if by 
 their rattle." 
 
 Charles stopped ; presently he continued : " This too 
 has struck me ; that either there is no prophet of the 
 
Loss and Gain. 225 
 
 truth on earth, or the Church of Rome is that prophet. 
 That there is a prophet still, or apostle, or messenger, 
 or teacher, or whatever he is to be called, seems evident 
 by our believing in a visible Church. Now, common 
 sense tells us what a messenger from God must be ; 
 first, he must not contradict himself, as I have 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 in Scripture. Now, it is impossible to 
 say whether our Church acknowledges or not Luther- 
 anism in Germany, Calvinism in Switzerland, the 
 Nestorian and Monophysite bodies in the East. Nor 
 does it clearly tell us what view it takes of the Church 
 of Rome. The only place where it recognises its 
 existence is in the Homilies, and there it speaks of it 
 as Antichrist. Nor has the Greek Church any intel- 
 ligible position in Anglican doctrine. On the other 
 hand, the Church of Rome has ^\s prima facie mark of 
 a prophet, that, like a prophet in Scripture, it admits 
 no rival, and anathematizes all doctrine counter to its 
 own. There's another 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 war 
 of opinions. He knows what has been given him to 
 declare, how far it extends ; he can act as an umpire ; 
 he is equal to emergencies. This again tells in favour 
 of the Church of Rome. As age after age comes she is 
 ever on the alert, questions every new comer, sounds 
 the note of alarm, hews down strange doctrine, claims 
 and locates and perfects what is new and true. Tfip 
 
 Church of Rome i nspires me with confidenc e; I feel I 
 
 — - ij- ■ 
 
226 Loss and Gain. 
 
 can t rust her. It is another thing whether she is true; 
 
 am not pretending now to decide that. But I do not 
 feel the like trust i n our own Church. I love her more 
 than I trust her. Sh e leaves me without faith. Now 
 you see the state of my mind." He fetched a deep, 
 sharp sigh, as ff he had got a load off him. : 
 
 " Well," said Carlton, when he had stopped, " this is 
 all very pretty theory ; whether it holds in matter of 
 fact is , another question. We have been accustomed 
 hitherto to think Chillingworth right, when he talks 
 of popes against popes, councils against councils, and so 
 on. Certainly you will not be allowed by Protestant 
 controversialists to assume this perfect consistency in 
 Romish doctrine. The truth is, you have read very 
 little ; and you judge of truth, not by facts, but by 
 notions; I mean, you ttimk it enough if a notion han gs 
 t ogetji^ ; though you disavow it, still, in matter of fact, 
 consistency is truth to you. Whether facts answer to 
 theories you cannot tell, and you don't inquire. Now 
 I am not well read in the subject, but I know enough 
 to be sure that Romanists will have more work to prove 
 their consistency than you anticipate. For instance, 
 they appeal to the Fathers, yet put the Pope above 
 them ; they maintain the infallibility of the Church, 
 and prove it by Scripture, and then they prove Scrip- 
 ture by the Church. They think a General Council in- 
 fallible 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 of indulgences." 
 Charles thought over this ; then he said : " Perhaps 
 
Loss and Gain. 227 
 
 the case is as you say, that I ought to know the matter 
 of fact more exactly before attempting to form a judg- 
 ment on the subject ; but, my dear Carlton, I protest 
 to you, and you may think with what distress I say it, 
 that if the Church of Rome is as ambiguous as our own 
 Church, I shall be in the way to become a sceptic, on 
 the very ground that I shall have no competent autho- 
 rity to tell me what to believe. The Ethiopian said, 
 'How can I know, unless some man do teach me?' 
 and St. Paul says, ' Faith cometh by hearing '. If no 
 one claims my faith, how can I exercise it ? At least 
 I shall run the risk of becoming a Latitudinarian ; 
 for if I go by Scripture only, certainly there is no 
 creed given us in Scripture." 
 
 " Our business," said Carlton, " is to make the best 
 of things, not the worst. Do keep this in mind ; be on 
 your guard against a strained and morbid view of 
 things. Be cheerful, be natural, and all will be easy." 
 
 " You are always kind and considerate," said Charles ; 
 " but, after all — I wish I could make you see it — you 
 have not a word to say by way of meeting my original 
 difficulty of subscription. How am I to leap over the 
 wall? It's nothing to the purpose that other com- 
 munions have their walls also." 
 
 They now neared home, and concluded their walk in 
 silence, each being fully occupied with the thoughts 
 which the conversation had suggested. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Vacation passed away silently and happily. Day 
 succeeded day in quiet routine employments, bringing 
 insensible but sure accessions to the stock of knowledge 
 and to the intellectual proficiency of both our students. 
 Historians and orators were read for a last time, and 
 laid aside ; sciences were digested, commentaries were 
 run through ; and analyses and abstracts completed. 
 It was emphatically a silent toil. While others might 
 be steaming from London to Bombay or the Hav.annah, 
 and months in the retrospect might look like years, 
 with Reding and Sheffield the week had scarcely begun 
 when it was found to be ending ; and when October 
 came, and they saw their Oxford friends again, at first 
 they thought they had a good deal td say to them, but 
 when they tried, they found it did but concern minute 
 points of their own reading and personal matters ; and 
 they were reduced to silence with the wish to speak. 
 
 The season had changed, and reminded them that 
 Horsley was a place for summer sojourn, not a dwelling. 
 There were heavy raw fogs hanging about the hills, and 
 storms of wind and rain. The grass no longer afforded 
 them a seat ; and when they betook themselves indoors 
 
Loss and Gain. 229 
 
 it was discovered that the doors and windows did not 
 shut close, and that the chimney smoked. Then came 
 those fruits, the funeral feast of the year, mulberries 
 and walnuts ; the tasteless, juiceless walnut ; the dark 
 mulberry, juicy but severe, and mouldy withal; as 
 gathered not from the tree, but from the damp earth. 
 And thus that green spot itself weaned them from the 
 love of it. Charles looked around him, and rose to 
 depart as a conviva satur. " Edisti satis, tempus abire " 
 seemed written upon all. The swallows had taken 
 leave ; the leaves were paling ; the light broke late, 
 and failed soon. The hopes of spring, the peace and 
 calm of summer, had given place to the sad realities 
 of autumn. He was hurrying to the world, who had 
 been up on the mount ; he had lived without jars, 
 without distractions, without disappointments ; and 
 he was now to take them as his portion. For he was 
 but a child of Adam ; Horsley had been but a respite ; 
 and he had vividly presented to his memory the sad 
 reverse which came upon him two years before — what 
 a happy summer — what a 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 his admiration for it was over ; he 
 now saw defects where at first all was excellent and 
 good ; the romance of places and persons had passed 
 away. And there were changes too : of his contem- 
 poraries some had already taken their degrees and 
 left ; others were reading in the country ; others had 
 gone off to other Colleges on Fellowships. A host of 
 
230 Loss and Gain. 
 
 younger faces had sprung up in hall and chapel, and 
 he hardly knew their names. Rooms which formerly 
 had been his familiar lounge were now tenanted by 
 strangers, who claimed to have that right in them 
 which, to his imagination, could only attach to those 
 who had possessed them when he himself came into re- 
 sidence. The College seemed to have deteriorated ; 
 there was a rowing set, which had not been there before, 
 a number of boys, and a large proportion of snobs. 
 
 But, what was a real trouble to Charles, it got clearer 
 and clearer to his apprehension that his intimacy with 
 Sheffield was not quite what it had been. They had, 
 indeed, passed the Vacation together, and saw of each 
 other more than ever ; but their sympathies in each 
 other were not as strong, they had not the same lik- 
 ings and dislikings ; in short, they had not such con- 
 genial minds as they fancied when they were freshmen. 
 There was not so much heart in their conversations, 
 and they more easily endured to miss each other's 
 company. They were both reading for honours — 
 reading hard ; but Sheffield's whole heart was in his 
 work, and religion was but a secondary matter to him. 
 He had no doubts, difficulties, anxieties, sorrows, which 
 much affected him. It was not the certainty of faith 
 which made a sunshine to his soul, and dried up the 
 mists of human weakness ; rather, he had no perceptible 
 need within him of that vision of the Unseen which is 
 the Christian's life. He was unblemished in his char- 
 acter, exemplary in his conduct ; but he was content 
 with what the perishable world gave him. Charles's 
 characteristic, perhaps above anything else, was an 
 
Loss and Gain. 231 
 
 Jiabitual sense of the Divine Presence j a sense which; 
 
 of course, did not insure uninterrupted conformity of 
 thought and deed to itself, but still there it was — the 
 pillar of the cloud before him and guiding him. He 
 felt himself to be God's creature, a nd responsible to 
 Him — God's possession, not his own. He had a great 
 wish to succeed in the schools ; a thrill came over him 
 when he thought of it ; but ambition was not his life ; 
 he could have reconciled himself in a few minutes to 
 failure. Thus disposed, the only subjects on which 
 the two friends freely talked together were connected 
 with their common studies. They read together, ex- 
 amined each other, used and corrected each other's 
 papers, and solved each other's difiSculties. Perhaps 
 it scarcely came home to Sheffield, sharp as he was, 
 that, there was any flagging of their intimacy. Re- 
 ligious controversy had been the food of his active in- 
 tellect when it was novel ; now it had lost its interest, 
 and his books took its place. But it was far different 
 with Charles ; he had felt interest 'ynr^w^^nws. Questions 
 for their own sake ; an d when he had deprived h imself 
 of the pursuit of them it had been a self-denial. Now, 
 "^ then, when they seemed forced on him again, Sheifield 
 could not help him, where he most wanted the assist- 
 ance of a friend. 
 
 A still more tangible trial was coming on him. The 
 reader has to be told that there was at that time a 
 system of espionage prosecuted by various well-mean- 
 ing men, who thought it would be doing the University 
 a service to point out such of its junior members as 
 were what is called " papistically inclined ". They did 
 
A 
 
 232 I^oss and Gam. 
 
 not perceive the clanger such a course involved of dis- 
 posing young rpen towards Catholicism, by attaching 
 to them the bad report of it, and of forcing them 
 farther by inflicting on them the inconsistencies of 
 their position. Ideas which would have l ain dormant 
 or dwindled away in the ir minds were thus fixed, de- 
 hned, loc ated within them ; a nd the fear of ^hp^Ylf^d's 
 censure no longer served to deter, when it had been 
 
 actuallyincurrgjjL. When Charles attended the tea- 
 party at Freeborn's he was on his trial ; he was intro- 
 duced not only into a school, but into an inquisition ; 
 and since he did not promise to be a subject for 
 spiritual impression, he was forthwith a subject for 
 spiritual censure. He became a marked man in the 
 circles of Capel Hall and St. Mark's. His acquaint- 
 ance with Willis ; the questions he had asked at the 
 Article-lecture ; stray remarks at wine-parties — were 
 treasured up, and strengthened the case against him. 
 One time, on coming into his rooms, he found Free- 
 born, who had entered to pay him a call, prying into 
 his books. A volume of sermons, of the school of the 
 day, borrowed of a friend for the sake of illustrating 
 Aristotle, lay on his table ; and in his book-shelves 
 , one of the more philosophical of the " Tracts for the 
 Times " was stuck in between a Hermann De Metris 
 and a Thucydides. Another day his bedroom door 
 was open, and No. 2 of the tea-party saw one of Over- 
 beck's sacred prints pinned up against the wall. 
 
 Facts like these were, in most cases, delated to the 
 Head of the House to which a young man belonged ; 
 who, as a vigilant guardian of the purity of his under- 
 
Loss and Gain. 233 
 
 graduates' Protestantism, received the information with 
 thankfulness, and perhaps asked the informer to dinner. 
 It cannot be denied that in some cases this course of 
 action succeeded in frightening and sobering the parties 
 towards whom it was directed. White was thus re- 
 claimed to be a devoted son and useful minister of the 
 Church of England ; but it was a kill-or-cure remedy, 
 and not likely to answer with the 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 suffice to relate interviews which took place 
 between him and the Principal and Vice-Principal of 
 his College in consequence of it. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 When Reding presented himself to the Vice-Principal, 
 the Rev. Joshua Jennings, to ask for leave to reside in 
 lodgings for the two terms previous to his examination, 
 he was met with a courteous but decided refusal. It 
 took him altogether by surprise ; he had considered the 
 request as a mere matter of form. He sat half a minute 
 silent, and then rose to take his departure. The colour 
 came to his cheek ; it was a repulse inflicted only on 
 idle men who could not be trusted beyond the eye of 
 the Dean of the College. 
 
 The Vice-Principal seemed to expect him to ask the 
 reason of his proceeding ; as Charles, in his confusion, 
 did not seem likely to do so, he condescended to open 
 the conversation. It was not meant as any reflection, 
 he said, on Mr. Reding's moral conduct ; he had ever 
 been a well-conducted young man, and had quite 
 carried out the character with which he had come from 
 school ; but there were duties to be observed towards 
 the community, and its undergraduate portion must be 
 protected from the contagion of principles which were 
 too rife at the moment. Charles was, if possible, still 
 more surprised, and suggested that there must be some 
 
Loss and Gain. 235 
 
 misunderstanding if he had been represented to the 
 Vice-Principal as connected with any so-called party in 
 the place. " You don't mean to deny that there is a 
 party, Mr. Reding," answered the College authority, 
 " by that form of expression ? " He was a lean, pale 
 person, with a large hook-nose and spectacles ; and 
 seemed, though a liberal in creed, to be really a 
 nursling of that early age when Anabaptists fed the 
 fires of Smithfield. From his years, practised talent, 
 and position, he was well able to browbeat an unhappy 
 juvenile who incurred his displeasure ; and, though he 
 really was a kind-hearted man at bottom, he not unfre- 
 quently misused his power. Charles did not know how 
 to answer his question ; and on his silence it was re- 
 peated. At length he said that really he was not in a 
 condition to speak against any one ; and if he spoke of 
 a so-called party, it was that he might not seem disre- 
 spectful 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 ; " what would be your definition of it ? " 
 
 Charles paused to think ; at last he said : " Persons 
 who band together on their 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-Principal abruptly. 
 
 " My view ! " thought Charles ; " what can he mean ? 
 my view of the Articles ! like my opinion of things in 
 
236 Loss and Gain. 
 
 general. Does he mean my ' view ' whether they are 
 English or Latin, long or short, good or bad, expedient 
 or not. Catholic or not, Calvinistic or Erastian ? " 
 
 Meanwhile Jennings kept steadily regarding him, 
 and Charles got more and more confused. " I think," 
 he said, making a desperate snatch at authoritative 
 words, " I think that the Articles ' contain a godly and 
 wholesome 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 a pause : " What is 
 justififfetion ? " 
 
 "Justification," . . . said Charles, repeating the word, 
 and thinking ; then, in the words of the Article, he 
 went on : " We are accounted righteous 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 what justification was in itself, for the Articles 
 do not define it any more than faith. He answered to 
 this effect, that the Articles did not define it. 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. 
 
Loss and Gain. 237 
 
 At length Charles said that " Only some General 
 Councils were admitted as infallible by the Romanists, 
 and he believed that Bellarmine gave a list of 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 the Articles, 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 about for 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 the Articles." 
 
 Charles assented for peace-sake. But his concession 
 availed not; the Vice-Principal pursued his advantage. 
 
 " They must not interpret each other, Mr. Reding, 
 else you revolve in a circle. Let me repeat my question. 
 In what sense do you interpret the Articles ? " 
 
 " I wish to take them," Reding answered, " in the 
 general and received sense 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 
 man who had had the advantages of Mr. Reding, who 
 
238 Loss and Gain. 
 
 had been three years at St. Saviour's College, and had 
 attended the Article-lectures, ought to hold the received 
 view, not only as being received, but as his own, with 
 a free intellectual assent. He went on to ask him by 
 what texts he proved the Protestant doctrine of justi- 
 fication. Charles gave two or three of the usual 
 passages with such success, that the Vice-Principal was 
 secretly beginning to relent, when, unhappily, on 
 asking a last question as a matter of course, he 
 received an answer which confirmed all 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 opinion on 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 in imitating "our Church's" moderation. 
 " There are different opinions on the subject," he said: 
 " Some persons think they intercede for us, others, that 
 they do not. It is easy to go into extremes ; perhaps 
 better to avoid such questions altogether; better to go 
 by Scripture ; the book of Revelation speaks of the 
 intercession of Saints, but does not expressly say that 
 they intercede for us," &c., &c. 
 
 Jennings sat upright in his easy-chair, with indigna- 
 tion mounting into his forehead. At length his face 
 became like night. " That is your opinion, Mr. 
 Reding." 
 
 Charles began to be frightened. 
 
Loss and Gain. 239 
 
 " Please to take up that Prayer Book and turn to 
 the 22nd Article. Now begin reading it." 
 
 " The Romish doctrine," said Charles, — "the Romish 
 doctrine concerning purgatory, pardon, worshipping, 
 and a(loration as well of images as of relics, 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 find it, 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 invo- 
 cation." 
 
 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 then cast a 
 cautious eye over the page before and after. There 
 was no help for it. He began again. 
 
 "And so, Mr. Reding, you actually mean to shelter 
 yourself by that subtle distinction between invocation 
 and intercession ; as if Papists did not invoke in order 
 to gain the Saints' intercession, and as if the Saints 
 were not supposed by them to intercede in answer to 
 invocation ? The terms are correlative. Intercession 
 of Saints, instead of being an extreme only, as you 
 consider, is a Romish abomination. I am ashamed of 
 
240 Loss and Gain. 
 
 you, 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 an evasion of the 
 authoritative documents of our Church,such an outrage 
 upon common sense, so indecent a violation of the 
 terms on which alone he was allowed to place his name 
 on the books of this society. I could not have a clearer 
 proof that your mind has been perverted — I fear I must 
 use a stronger term, debauched — by the sophistries and 
 jesuistries which unhappily have found entrance 
 among us. Good morning, Mr. Reding." 
 
 So it was a thing settled : Charles was to be sent 
 home — an endurable banishment. 
 
 Before he went down he paid a visit of form to the 
 old Principal— a worthy man in his generation, who 
 before now had been a good parish priest, had instructed 
 the ignorant and fed the poor ; but now in the end of 
 his days, falling on evil times, was permitted, for in- 
 scrutable purposes, to give evidence of that evil puri- 
 tanical leaven which was a secret element of his 
 religion. He had been kind to Charles hitherto, which 
 made hig altered manner more distressing to him. 
 
 "We had hoped," he said, " Mr. Reding, that so good 
 a young man as you once were would have gained a 
 place on some foundation, and been settled here, and 
 been a useful man in his generation, sir; and a column, 
 a buttress of the Church of England, sir. Well, sir, 
 here are my best wishes 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 a 
 Bachelor? oh, I see your gown." 
 
Loss and Gain. 241 
 
 Charles said he had not yet been into the schools. 
 
 "Well, sir, when you come up to be examined, I 
 should say — to be examined — we will hope that in the 
 interval, reflection, and study, and absence perhaps 
 from dangerous companions, will have brought you 
 to a soberer state of mind, Mr. Reding." 
 
 Charles was shocked at the language used about 
 him. " Really, sir," he said, " if you knew me better, 
 you would feel that I am likely neither to receive 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 so novel a position. "I cannot con- 
 ceive, sir," he said, at last, "why I should be unfit 
 company for the gentlemen of the College." 
 
 Dr. Bluett's jaw dropped, and his eyes assumed a 
 hollow aspect. "You will corrupt their n:;inds, sir/ 
 he said, — "you will corrupt their minds." Then he 
 added, in a sepulchral tone, which came from the very 
 depths of his inside: "You will introduce them, sir, 
 to some subtile Jesuit — to some subtile Jesuit, Mr. 
 Reding". 
 
 16 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Mrs. Reding was by this time settled in the neigh- 
 bourhood of old friends in Devonshire ; and there 
 Charles spent the winter and early spring with her 
 and his three sisters, the eldest of whom was two 
 years older than himself. 
 
 " Come, shut your dull books, Charles," said Caro- 
 line, the youngest, a girl of fourteen ; " make way for 
 the tea ; I am sure you have read enough. You some- 
 times don't speak a word for an hour together ; at least, 
 you might tell us what you are reading about." 
 
 " My dear Carry, you would not be much the wiser 
 if I did," answered Charles ; "it is Greek history," 
 
 " Oh," said Caroline, " I know more than you think; 
 I have read Goldsmith, and a good part of Rollin, 
 besides Pope's Homev." 
 
 " Capital ! " said Charles ; " well, I am reading about 
 Pelopidas — who was he ? " 
 
 " Pelopidas! -"answered Caroline; "I ought to know. 
 Oh, I recollect, he had an ivory shoulder." 
 
 " Well said, Carry ; but I have not yet a distinct 
 idea of him either. Was he a statue, or flesh and 
 blood, with this shoulder of his ? " 
 
Loss and Gain. 243 
 
 " Oh, he was alive ; somebody ate him, I think." 
 
 'i'. Well, was he a god or a man? " said Charles. 
 
 " Oh, it's a mistake of mine," said Caroline ; " he 
 was a goddess, the ivory-footed — no, that was Thetis." 
 
 " My dear Caroline," said her mother, " do not talk 
 so at random ; think before you speak ; you know 
 better than this." 
 
 " She has, ma'am," said Charles, " what Mr. Jennings 
 would call ' a very inaccurate mind '." 
 
 " I recollect perfectly now," said Caroline, " he was 
 a friend of Epaminondas." 
 
 " 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 and kindly, like flowers in a 
 bed ; but I don't like your artificial flower-pots." 
 
 " But surely," said Charles, " a memoria technica 
 makes you recollect a great many dates which you 
 otherwise could not ? " 
 
 " The crabbed names are more difficult even to pro- 
 nounce than the numbers to learn," said Caroline. 
 
 " That's because you have very few dates to get 
 up," said Charles; "but common writing is nmemoria 
 technica." 
 
 " That's beyond Caroline," said Mary. 
 
 " What are words but artificial signs for ideas ? " 
 said Charles ; " they are more musical, but as arbit- 
 rary. There is no more reason why the sound ' hat 
 
244 Loss and Gain. 
 
 should mean the particular thing so called, which we 
 put on our head, than why 'abul-distof ' should stand 
 for 1520." 
 
 " Oh, my dear child," said Mrs. Reding, "how you 
 run on ! Don't be paradoxical." 
 
 " My dear mother," said Charles, coming round to 
 the fire, " I don't want to be paradoxical ; it's only a 
 generalisation." 
 
 " Keep it, then, for the schools, my dear ; I dare say 
 it will do you good there," continued Mrs. Reding, 
 while she continued her hemming; " poor Caroline 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 little stool 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, like alms 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's 
 your 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 '. And when I 
 ask mamma the shortest way across the fields to Dal- 
 ton, she says, ' Use your common sense, my dear'." 
 
Loss and Gam. 245 
 
 " No wonder you have so little of it, poor dear 
 child," said Charles ; " no bank could stand such a 
 run." 
 
 "No such thing," said Mary; "it flows into her 
 bank ten times as fast as it comes out. She has 
 plenty of it from us ; and what she does with it no one 
 can make out ; she either hoards or she speculates." 
 
 " ' Like the great ocean,' " said Charles, " ' which 
 receives the rivers, yet is not full.'" 
 
 " That's somewhere in Scripture," said Eliza. 
 
 " In the ' Preacher,'" said Charles, and he continued 
 the quotation; '"All things are full of labour, man 
 cannot utter it ; the eye is not satisfied with 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's because 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 ; " only think how many hours you 
 have been at it to-day. You are always up one or 
 two hours before the sun ; and I don't think you have 
 had your walk to-day." 
 
 " It's so dismal walking alone, my dear mother; and 
 as to walking with you 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 long walks. Why 
 
246 Loss and Gain. 
 
 don't you resolve to make straight for the plantations 
 or to 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's quite melancholy to see 
 them." 
 
 " Just the finest time of the year," said his mother ; 
 " it's universally allowed ; all painters say that the 
 autumn is the season to see a landscape in." 
 
 " All gold and russet," said Mary. 
 
 " It makes me melancholy," said Charles. 
 
 "What! the beautiful autumn make you melan- 
 choly ? " asked his mother. 
 
 " Oh, my dear mother, you mean to say that I am 
 paradoxical again ; I cannot help it. I like spring ; 
 but autumn saddens me." 
 
 " Charles always says so," said Mary ; he thinks 
 nothing of the rich hues into which the sober green 
 changes ; he likes the dull uniform of summer." 
 
 " No, it is not that," said Charles ; I never saw any- 
 thing so gorgeous as Magdalen Water-walk, for in- 
 stance, in October; it is quite wonderful, the variety 
 of colours. I admire, and am astonished ; but I can- 
 not love or like it. It is because I can't separate the 
 look of things from what it portends ; that rich variety 
 is but the token of disease and death." 
 
 " Surely," said Mary, '" colours have their own in- 
 trinsic beauty; we may like them for their own 
 sake." 
 
 " No, no," said Charles, " we always go by associa- 
 tion ; else why not admire raw beef, or a toad, or some 
 
Loss and Gain. 247 
 
 other reptiles, which are as beautiful and bright as 
 tulips or cherries, yet revolting, because we consider 
 what they are, not how they look ? " 
 
 " What next ? " said his mother, looking up from 
 her work ; " my dear Charles, you are not serious in 
 comparing cherries to raw beef or to toads ? " 
 
 " No, my dear mother," answered Charles, laughing, 
 " no, I only say that they 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 ex- 
 plain ; I really have said nothing 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 the deathbed of Nature. I cannot look 
 with pleasure on the decay of the mother of all living. 
 The many hues upon the landscape are but the spots 
 of dissolution." 
 
 " This is a strained, unnatural view, Charles," said 
 Mary ; " shake yourself, and you will come to a better 
 mind. Don't you like to see a rich sunset ? yet the 
 sun is leaving you." 
 
 Charles was for a moment posed ; then he said, 
 " Yes, but there was no autumn in Eden ; suns rose 
 and set in Paradise, but the leaves were always green, 
 and did not wither. There was a river to feed them. 
 Autumn is the ' fall '." 
 
 "So, my dearest Charles," said Mrs. Reding, "you 
 
248 Loss and Gain. 
 
 don't go out walking these 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. What I meant was, that my reading 
 was a direct obstacle to walking, and that the fine 
 weather did not tempt me to remove it." 
 
 " I am glad we have you here, my dear," said his 
 mother, " for we can force 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 is over, I will take as long walks as I 
 did with Edward Gandy that winter after I left school." 
 
 " Ah, how merry you were then, Charles ! " said 
 Mary ; " so happy with the thoughts of Oxford before 
 you ! " 
 
 "Ah, m.y dear," said Mrs. Reding, "you'll then 
 ftralk too much, as you now walk too little. My good 
 boy, you are so earnest about everything." 
 
 " It's a shame to find fault with him for being dili- 
 gent,'' said Mary : " you like him to read for honours, 
 I know, mamma ; but if he is to get them he must read 
 a great deal." 
 
 " True, my love," answered Mrs. Reding ; " Charles 
 is a dear good fellow, I know. How glad we all shall 
 be to have him ordained, and settled in a curacy ! " 
 
 Charles sighed. "Come, Mary," he said, "give us 
 some music, now the urn has 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. 
 
Loss and Gain. 249 
 
 " The other day," said Eliza, " we had a most beauti- 
 ful scent wafted across the road as we were walking, 
 and he called it ' the Ghost of the Past ' ; 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 in a book of poems ; but you 
 call it melancholy when I say it." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Caroline, "because poets never 
 mean what they say, and would not be poetical unless 
 they were melancholy." 
 
 " Well," said Mary, " I play to you, Charles, on 
 this one condition, that you let me give you some 
 morning a serious lecture on that melancholy of 
 yours, which, I assure you, is growing on you." 
 
CHAPTER Xll. 
 
 Charles's perplexities rapidly took a definite form 
 on his coming into Devonshire. The very fact of his 
 being at home, and not at Oxford where he ought to 
 have been, brought them before his mind ; and the 
 near prospect of his examination and degree justified 
 the consideration of them. No addition indeed was 
 made to their substance, as already described; but 
 they were no longer vague and indistinct, but 
 thoroughly apprehended by him ; nor did he make 
 up his mind that they were insurmountable, but he 
 saw clearly what it was that had to be surmounted. 
 The particular form of argument into which they 
 happened to fall was determined by the circumstances 
 in which he found himself at the time, and was this, 
 viz., how he could subscribe the Articles ex animo, 
 without faith, more or less, in his Church as the im- 
 ponent ; and next, how he could have faith in her, 
 her history and present condition being what they 
 were. The fact of these difficulties was a great source 
 of distress to him. It was aggravated by the circum- 
 stance that he had no one to talk to, or to sympathise 
 with him under them. And it was completed by the 
 
Loss and Gain. 251 
 
 necessity of carrying about with him a secret which he 
 dared not tell to others, yet which he foreboded must 
 be told one day. All this was the secret of that de- 
 pression of spirits which his sisters had observed in him. 
 
 He was one day sitting thoughtfully over the fire 
 with a book in his hand, when Mary entered. " I 
 wish you would teach me the art of reading Greek in 
 live coals," she said. 
 
 " Sermons in stones, and good in everything," an- 
 swered Charles. 
 
 "You do well to liken yourself to the melancholy 
 Jacques," she repHed. 
 
 "Not so," said he, "but to the good Duke Charles, 
 who was banished to the green forest." 
 
 "A great grievance," answered Mary, "we being 
 the wild things with whom you are forced to live. My 
 dear Charles," she continued, "I hope the tittle-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 terms with the whole College, and 
 in particular with the Principal and Jennings, at last 
 to be sent down, as a rowing-man might be rusticated 
 for 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 I fear you are doing." 
 
 " I don't see where it is to end," said Charles ; " the 
 Principal expressly said that my prospects at the 
 University were knocked up. I suppose they would 
 not give me a testimonial, if I wished to stand for a 
 fellowship anywhere." 
 
252 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " Oh, it is a temporary mistake," said Mary ; " 1 
 dare say by this time they know better. And it's 
 one great gain to have you with us ; we, at least, 
 ought to be obliged to them." 
 
 " I have been so very careful, Mary," said Charles ; 
 " I have never been to the evening-parties, or to the 
 sermons which are talked about in the University. 
 It's quite amazing to me what can have put it into 
 their heuds. At the Article-lecture I now and then 
 asked a question, but it was really because I wished to 
 understand and get up the different subjects. Jen- 
 nings fell on me the moment I entered his room. I 
 can call it nothing else ; very civil at first in his 
 manner, but there was something in his eye before he 
 spoke which told me at once what was coming. It's 
 odd a man of such self-command as he should not 
 better hide his feelings ; but I have always been abk 
 to see what Jennings was thinking about." 
 
 "Depend on it,'' said his sister, "you will think 
 nothing of it whatever this 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 back thinking of it, and cannot give my 
 mind to my books, or exert myself. It is very hard." 
 
 Mary sighed ; " I wish I could help you," she said ; 
 " but women can do so little. Come, let me take the 
 fretting, and you the reading; that'll be a fair division." 
 
 "And then my dear mother too," he continued; 
 " what will she think of it when it comes to her ears ? 
 and come it must." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Mary, " don't make a mountain of 
 
Loss and Gain. 253 
 
 a mole-hill. You will go 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 no summer-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 take my degree, any more than let me 
 reside there." 
 
 " That is very absurd," said she ; " it's what I meant 
 by brooding over things, and making mountains of 
 mole-hills." 
 
 " My sweet Mary," he said, affectionately taking her 
 hand, " my only real confidant and comfort, I would 
 tell you something more, if you could bear 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 too clearly 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 vehe- 
 mence ; then, seeing by her face how much he was 
 distressing her, he said, half-laughing, as if to turn the 
 edge of his words, " My dear Mary, when people bear 
 witness against one, one can't help fearing that there 
 is, perhaps, something to bear witness against." 
 
 " Impossible, Charles \you corrupt other people \you 
 falsify the Prayer Book and Articles ! impossible 1 " 
 
 " Mary, which do you think would be the best judge 11 
 
254 Loss and Gain. 
 
 whether my face was dirty and my coat shabby, you or 
 I ? Well, then, perhaps Jennings, or at least common 
 report, knows more about me than I do myself." 
 
 " You must not speak in this way," said Mary, much 
 hurt ; " you really do pain me now. What can you 
 mean ? " 
 
 Charles covered his face with his hands, and at length 
 said : " It's no good ; you can't assist me here : I only 
 pain you. I ought not to have begun 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 not my 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 Oxford life ? not we.'' 
 
 " No, but Oxford implies taking a degree — taking 
 orders." 
 
 " Now, my dear Charles, speak out ; don't drop 
 hints ; let me know ; '' and she sat down with a look of 
 great anxiety. 
 
 " Well," he said, making an effort ; " yet I don't 
 know where to begin ; but many things have happened 
 to me, in various ways, to show me that I have not a 
 place, a position, a home, that I am not made for, that 
 I am a stranger in, the Church of England." 
 
 There was a dreadful pause ; Mary turned very pale ; 
 then, darting at a conclusion with precipitancy, she said 
 
Loss and Gain. 255 
 
 quickly, "You mean to say, you are going to join the 
 Church of Rome, Charles". 
 
 " No," he said, " it is not so. I mean no such thing ; 
 I mean just what I say ; 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 what I am. I can't convey 
 it to you ; you won't understand me ; but the words of 
 the Fsalm, ' I am a stranger upon eart h,' describe what 
 I always feel. _ No one thinks or feels like me. I hear 
 sermons, I talk on religious subjects 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 her eyes ; " you used to be so 
 cheerful, so happy. You took such pleasure in every 
 one, in everything. We used to laugh and say, ' All 
 Charlie's geese are swans '. What has come over you ? " 
 She paused, and then continued : " Don't you recollect 
 those lines in the ' Christian Year ' ? I can't repeat 
 them ; we used to apply them to you ; something 
 about hope or love ' making all things bright with her 
 own magic smile '." 
 
 Charles was touched when he was reminded of what 
 he had been three years before ; he said : " I sup£Ose„_ 
 it is cominP f out of-shadow s into realities ". _ 
 
256 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " There has been much to sadden you," she added, 
 sighing ; " and now these nasty 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 of intimations, as it were, which have been 
 given me of my uncongeniality, as it may be called, with 
 things as they are. What perhaps most affected me 
 was a talk I had with Carlton, whom I have lately been 
 reading with ; for, if I could not agree with Aim, or ' 
 rather, if ke bore witness against me, who could be ex- 
 pected to say a word for me ? I cannot bear the pomp 
 and pretence which I see everywhere. I am not speak- 
 ing against individuals ; they are very good persons, I 
 know ; but, really, if you saw Oxford as it is ! The' 
 Heads with such large incomes ; they are indeed very 
 liberal of their money, and their wives are often simple, 
 self-denying persons, 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 large incomes, living 
 in finely furnished houses, with wives and families, and 
 stately butlers and servants in livery, giving dinners all 
 in the best style, condescending and gracious, waving 
 their hands and mincing their words, as if they were 
 the cream of the earth, but without anything to make 
 them clergymen but a black coat and a white tie. And 
 then Bishops or Deans come, with women tucked undei 
 their arm ; and they can't enter church but a fine pow- 
 dered man runs first with a cushion for them to sit on, 
 and a warm sheepskin to keep their feet from the stones. 
 
Loss and Gain. 257 
 
 Mary laughed : " Well, my dear Charles," she said, 
 ' I did not think you had seen so much of Bishops, 
 Deans, Professors, and Heads of houses at St. 
 Saviour's ; you have kept good company ". 
 
 " I have my eyes about me," said Charles, " and 
 have had quite opportunities enough ; I can't go into 
 particulars." 
 
 " Well, you have been hard on them, I think," said 
 Mary ; " when a poor old man has the rheumatism," 
 and she sighed a little, " it is hard he mayn't have his 
 feet kept from the cold." 
 
 " Ah, Mary, I can't bring it home to you ! but you 
 must, please, throw yourself into what I say, and not 
 criticise my instances or my terms. What I mean is, 
 that there is a worldly air about everything, as unlike 
 as possible the spirit of the Gospel. I don't impute 
 to the dons ambition or avarice ; but still, what Heads 
 of houses, Fellows, and all of them evidently put be- 
 fore them as an end is, to enjoy the world in the first 
 place, and to serve God in the second. Not that they 
 don't make it their final object to get to heaven ; but 
 their immediate object is to be comfortable, to marry, 
 to have a fair income, station, and respectability, a 
 convenient house, a pleasant country, a sociable 
 neighbourhood. There is nothing high about them. 
 I declare I think the Puseyites are the only persons 
 who have high views in the whole place ; I should 
 say, the only persons who profess them, for I don't 
 know them to speak about them." He thought of 
 White. 
 
 " Well, you are talking of things I don't know 
 17 
 
258 Loss and Gain. 
 
 about," said Mary ; " but I can't think all the young 
 clever men of the place are looking out for ease and 
 comfort ; nor can I believe that in the Church of Rome 
 money has always been put to the best of purposes." 
 
 " I said nothing about the Church of Rome," said 
 Charles ; " why do you bring in the Church of Rome ? 
 that's another thing altogether. What I mean 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 and charitable ; but — I don't like 
 to mention names — but I know various dons, and the 
 notion of evangelical poverty, the danger of riches, the 
 giving up all for Christ — all those ideas which are first 
 principles in Scripture, as I read it, don't seem to enter 
 into their idea of religion. I declare, I think that is 
 the reason why the Puseyites are so unpopular.'' 
 
 " Well, I can't see," said Mary, "' why you must be 
 disgusted with the world, and with your place and 
 duties in it, because there are worldly people in it.'' 
 
 " But I was speaking of Carlton," said Charles ; "do 
 you know, good fellow as he is — and I love, admire, 
 and respect him exceedingly — he actually laid it down 
 almost as an axiom, that a clergyman of the English 
 Church ought to marry ? He said that celibacy might 
 be very well in other communions, but that a man 
 made himself a fool, and was out of joint with the age 
 who remained single in the Church of England." 
 
 Poor Charles was so serious, and the proposition 
 which he related was so monstrous, that Mary, in spite 
 of her real distress, could not help laughing out. " I 
 really cannot help it," she said ;. " well, it really was a 
 
Loss and Gain. 259 
 
 most extraordinary statement, I confess. But, my 
 dear Charlie, you are not afraid that he will carry you 
 off against your will, and marry you 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 just now. I mean, Carlton is so 
 sensible a man, and takes so just a view of things, that 
 the conviction flashed on my mind that the Church of 
 England really was what he implied it to be — a form 
 of religion very unlike that of the Apostles." 
 
 This sobered Mary indeed. " Alas," she said, " we 
 have got upon very different ground now ; not what 
 our Church thinks of you, but what you think of our 
 Church." There was a pause. " I thought this was at 
 the bottom," she said ; "I never could believe that a 
 parcel of oeoole. some of whom vou cared nothing fo r, 
 telling you that you were not in your place, would 
 make you think s o, unles_s_ you first felt it yourself. 
 That's the real truth ; and then you interpret what 
 others say in your own way." Another uncomfortable 
 pause. Then she continued : " I see how it will 
 be. When you take up a thing, Charles, I know 
 well you don't lay it down. No, you have made up 
 your mind already. We shall see you a Roman 
 Catholic." 
 
 " Do you then bear witness against me, Mary, as 
 well as the rest? " said he, sorrowfully. 
 
 She saw her mistake. " No," she answered ; " all I 
 say is, that it rests with yourself, not with others. If 
 vo u have made up your mind, there's no help for it. 
 It is not others who drive you, who bear witness 
 
26o Loss and Gain. 
 
 against you. Dear Charles, don't mistake me, and 
 don't deceive yourself. Y ou have a strong will." 
 
 At this moment Caroline entered the room. " I 
 could not think where you were, Mary," she said ; 
 " here Perkins has been crying after you ever so long. 
 It's something about dinner ; I don't know what. 
 We have hunted high 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 a satisfaction or relief, " I can go nowhere for 
 sympathy," thought Charles ; " dear Mary does not 
 understand me more than others. I can't bring out 
 what I mean and feel ; and when I attempt to do so, 
 my statements and arguments seem absurd to myself. 
 It has been a great effort to tell her ; and in one sense 
 it is a gain, for it is a trial over. Else I have taken 
 nothing by my move, and might as well have held my 
 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 is about 
 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 an ell. 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 have made vastly too much of it 
 myself. I ought to have begun this way with her, — I 
 ought to have said : ' D'you know, I have serious 
 thoughts of reading law ? ' I've made a hash of it." 
 
262 Loss and Gain. 
 
 Poor Mary, on the other hand, was in a confusion of 
 thought and feeling as painful as it was new to her ; 
 though for a time household matters and necessary 
 duties towards her younger sisters occupied her mind 
 in a different direction. She had been indeed taken at 
 her word ; little had she expected what would come on 
 her when she engaged to " take the fretting, while he 
 took the reading". She had known what grief was, 
 not so long ago ; but not till now had she known 
 anxiety. Charles's state of mind was a matter of simple 
 astonishment to her. At first it quite frightened and 
 shocked her ; it was as if Charles had lost his identity, 
 and hjxi_tu£ned out somejone else. It was like a great 
 breach of trust. She had seen there was a good deal 
 in the newspapers about the " Oxford party" and their 
 doings ; and at different places, where she had been on 
 visits, she had heard of churches being done up in the 
 new fashion, and clergymen being accused, in conse- 
 quence, of Popery — a charge which she had laughed at. 
 But now it was actually brought home to her door that 
 there was something in it. Yet it was to her incom- 
 prehensible, and she hardly knew where she was. And 
 that, of all persons in the world, her brother, her own 
 Charles, with whom she had been one heart and soul 
 all their lives — one so cheerful, so religious, so good, 
 so sensible, so cautious, — that he should be the first 
 specimen that crossed her path of the new opinions, — 
 it bewildered her. 
 
 And where had he got his notions ? — Notions I she 
 could not call them notions ; he had nothing to say for 
 himself. It was an infatuation ; he, so clever, so sharp- 
 
Loss and Gain. 263 
 
 sighted, could say nothing better in defence of himself 
 than that Mrs. Bishop of Monmouth was too pretty, 
 and that old Dr. Stock sat upon a cushion. Oh, sad, 
 sad indeed ! How was it he could be so insensible to 
 the blessings he gained from his Church, and had 
 enjoyed 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 and the Collects, coming 
 round year after year, and marking the seasons. The 
 historical books and prophets in summer ; then the 
 "stir-up" Collect just before Advent; the beautiful 
 Collects in Advent itself, with the Lessons from Isaiah 
 reaching on through Epiphany ; they were quite music 
 to the ear. Then the Psalms, varying with every Sun- 
 day ; they were a perpetual solace to her — ever old, yet 
 ever new. The occasional additions, too — the Atha- 
 nasian Creed, the Benedictus, Deus misereatur, and 
 Omnia opera, which her father had been used to read 
 at certain great feasts; and the beautiful 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 had acted on 
 the powerful mind of her brother. 
 
 Then, she had anticipated how pleasant it would be 
 when Charles was a clergyman, and she should hear 
 him preach ; when there would be one whom she would 
 have a right to ask questions and to consult whenever 
 she wished. This prospect was at an end ; she could 
 no longer trust him : he had given a shake to her con- 
 fidence which it never could recover ; it was gone for 
 
264 Loss and Gain. 
 
 ever. They were all of them women but he ; he was 
 their only stay, now that their father had been taken 
 away. What was now to become of them ? To be 
 abandoned by her own brother 1 oh, how terrible ! 
 
 And how was she to break it to her mother ? for 
 broken it must be sooner or later. She could not 
 deceive herself ; she knew her brother well enough to 
 
 feel sure that, when he had really got hold of_ g;thirur. 
 he wo uld not let it go again without convincin g 
 reasons ; and what reasons there could be for letting it 
 go she could not conceive, if there could be reasons for 
 taking it up. The taking it up baffled all reason, all 
 calculation. Well, but how was her mother to be told 
 of it ? Was it better to let her suspect it first, and so 
 break it to her, or to wait till 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 gradually subsided into a state of which a dull 
 anxiety was a latent but habitual element, leaving her 
 as usual at ordinary times, but every now and then 
 betraying itself by sudden sharp sighs or wanderings of 
 thought. Neither brother nor sister, loving each other 
 really as much as ever, had quite the same sweetness 
 and evenness of temper as was natural to them ; self- 
 control became a duty, and the evening circle was 
 duller than before, without any one being able to say 
 why. Charles was more attentive to his mother ; he 
 no more brought his books into the drawing-room, but 
 gave himself to her company. He read to them, but 
 he had little to talk about ; and Eliza and Caroline 
 
Loss and Gain. 265 
 
 both wished his stupid examination past and over, 
 that he might be restored to his natural liveliness. 
 As to Mrs. Reding, she did not observe more than 
 that her son was a very hard student, and grudged 
 himself a walk or ride, let the day be ever so fine. 
 She was a mild, quiet person, of keen feelings and 
 precise habits ; not very quick at observation ; and, 
 having lived all her Ufe in the country, and till her late 
 loss having scarcely known what trouble was, she was 
 singularly unable to comprehend how things could go 
 on in any way but one. Charles had not told her the 
 real cause of his spending the winter at home, thinking 
 it would be a needless vexation to her ; much less did 
 he contemplate harassing her with the recital of his 
 Qwn religious difficulties, which were not appreciable 
 by her, and issued in no definite result. To his sister 
 he did attempt an explanation of his former conversa- 
 tion, with a view of softening the extreme misgivings 
 which it had created in her mind. She received it 
 thankfully, and professed to be relieved by it ; but 
 the blow was struck, the suspicion was 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 that occasion she had expressed 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 One morning he was told that a gentleman had asked 
 for him, and been shown into the dining-room. De- 
 scending, he saw the tall slender figure of Bateman, 
 now a clergyman, and lately appointed curate of a 
 neighbouring parish. Charles had not seen him for a 
 year and a half, and shook hands with him very 
 warmly, complimenting him on his white neckcloth, 
 which somehow, he said, altered him more than he 
 could have expected. Bateman's manner certainly 
 was altered ; it might be the accident of the day, but 
 he did not seem quite at his ease ; it might be that 
 he was in a strange house, and was likely soon to be 
 precipitated into the company of ladies, to which he 
 had never been used. If so, the trial was on the point 
 of beginning, for Charles said instantly that he must 
 come and see his mother, and of course meant to dine 
 with them ; the sky was clear, and there was an 
 excellent footpath between Boughton and Melford. 
 Bateman could not do this, but he would have the 
 greatest pleasure in being introduced to Mrs. Reding ; 
 so he stumbled after Charles into the drawing-room, 
 and was soon conversing with her and the young ladies. 
 
Loss and Gain. 267 
 
 " A charming prospect you have here, ma'am," said 
 Bateman, " when you are once 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 the hill changes its direction so 
 much that at first I used to think the prospect 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 ; — " ring the bell for luncheon, my 
 dear." 
 
 " Ah, our ancestors, Mrs. Reding," said Bateman, 
 " thought more of building 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 our eccle- 
 siastical structures." 
 
 " Our ancestors did a good deal too,'' said Mrs. 
 Reding ; " how many churches, 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 ances- 
 tors I meant the holy Bishops and other members of 
 our Catholic Church previously to the Reformation. 
 For, though the Reformation was a great blessing " (a 
 glance at Charles), " yet we must not, in justice, forget 
 what was done by English Churchmen before it." 
 
 "Ah, poor creatures," said Mrs. Reding, "they did 
 
268 , Loss and Gain. 
 
 one good thing in building churches ; it has saved us 
 much trouble." 
 
 " Is there much church-restoration going on in these 
 parts ? " said Bateman, 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 are destroying 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 of incumbents contentedly bore them ; it is 
 wonderful ! " 
 
 A not unnatural silence followed this speech. 
 Charles broke it by asking if 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 ; but he had a rector of the old 
 school, poor man, who was an enemy to that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 It was with some malicious feeling, in consequence 
 of his attack on clergymen of the past age, that 
 Charles pressed his visitor to give an account of his 
 own reforms. 
 
 " Why," said Bateman, " much discretion is neces- 
 sary in these matters, or you do as much harm as good ; 
 you get into hot water with churchwardens and vestries, 
 
Loss and Gain. 269 
 
 as well as with old rectors, and again with the gentry 
 of the place, and please no one. For this reason I 
 have made no attempt to introduce the surplice into 
 the pulpit except on the great festivals, intending to 
 familiarise my parishioners to it by little and little. 
 However, I wear a scarf or stole, and have taken care 
 that it should be two inches broader than usual ; and 
 I always wear the cassock in my parish. I hope you 
 approve of the cassock, Mrs. Reding?" 
 
 " It is a very cold dress, sir — that's my opinion — 
 when made of silk or bombazeen ; and very unbecoming 
 too, when worn by itself." 
 
 "Particularly behind," said Charles; "it is quite un- 
 shapely." 
 
 " Oh, I have remedied that," said Bateman ; " you 
 have noticed, Miss Reding, 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 coat 
 being worn as usual. Well, Miss Reding, I have 
 adopted the same plan with 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 tailed French coat over your 
 long straight cassock reaching to your ankles ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Bateman, gravely ; " I thus consult 
 for warmth and appearance too ; and all myparishioners 
 are sure to know me. I think this 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. 
 
270 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Reding, surprised out of her pro- 
 priety, " did one ever hear the like ! " 
 
 Bateman looked round at her, startled and 
 frightened. 
 
 "You were going to speak of your improvements in 
 your church," said Mary, wishing to divert his attention 
 from her mother. 
 
 " Ah, true, Miss Reding, true," said Bateman, "thank 
 you for reminding me ; I have digressed to improve- 
 ments in my own dress. I should have liked 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. Now, by doing so, first I give a 
 pattern in my own person of the kind of condescension 
 or lowliness to which I would persuade my people. But 
 this is not all ; for the consequence of lowering the 
 pulpit is, that no one in the galleries can see or hear me 
 preach ; and this is a bonus on those who are below." 
 
 " It's a broad hint, certainly," said Charles. 
 
 "But it's a hint for those below also," continued 
 Bateman ; " for no one can see or hear me in the pews 
 either, till the sides are lowered." 
 
 " One thing only is wanting besides," said Charles, 
 smiling and looking amiable, lest he should be saying 
 too much ; " since you are full tall, you must kneel 
 when you preach, Bateman, else you will undo your 
 own alterations." 
 
 Bateman looked pleased. " I have anticipated you,'' 
 he said ; " I preach sitting. It is more conformable to 
 antiquity and to reason to sit than to stand." 
 
 "With these precautions," said Charles, "I really 
 
.Loss and Gain. 271 
 
 think you might have ventured on your surplice in 
 the pulpit every Sunday. Are your parishioners 
 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 in the way of observances. I 
 have fortunately picked up a very fair copy of Jewell, 
 black-letter ; and I have placed it in church, securing 
 it with a chain to the wall, for any poor person who 
 wishes to read it. Our church is emphatically the 
 ' poor man's church,' Mrs. Reding." 
 
 " Well," said Charles to himself, " I'll back the old 
 parsons against the young ones any day, if this is to 
 be their cut." Then aloud : " Come, you must 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 of the ladies, was now led off again, 
 and was soon in the aforesaid terrace-walk, pacing up 
 and down in earnest conversation with Charles. 
 
 " Reding, my good fellow," said he, " what is the 
 meaning of this report concerning you, which is every- 
 where about ? " 
 
 " 1 have not heard it," said Charles abruptly. 
 
 " Why, it is this," said Bateman ; " I wish to ap- 
 proach the subject with as great delicacy as possible : 
 don't tell me if you don't like it, or tell me just as 
 much as you like ; yet you will excuse an old friend. 
 
272 Loss and Gain. 
 
 They say you are going to leave the Chufch of your 
 .baptism for the Church of Rome." 
 
 " Is it widely spread ? " asked Charles coolly. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I heard it in London ; have had a letter 
 mentioning it from Oxford ; and a friend of mine 
 heard it given out as positive at a visitation dinner in 
 Wales." 
 
 "So," thought Charles, "you are bringing your 
 witness against me as well as the fest." 
 
 " Well but, my good Reding," said Bateman, " why 
 are you silent ? Is it true — is it true ? " 
 
 "What true? that I am a Roman Catholic? Oh, 
 certainly ; don't you understand, that's why I am 
 reading so hard for the schools ? " said Charles. 
 
 "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 a certain 
 point, or in any respect ? " 
 
 " Oh, to be sure," said Charles, "contradict it, by all 
 means, contradict it entirely." 
 
 " May I give it a plain, unqualified, unconditional, 
 categorical, flat denial ? " asked Bateman. 
 
 "Of course, of course." 
 
 Bateman could not make him out, and had not a 
 dream how he was teasing him. "I don't know where 
 to find you," he said. They paced down the walk in 
 silence. 
 
 Batenian began again. "You see," he said, "it 
 would be such a wonderful blindness, it would be so 
 utterly inexcusable in a person like yourself, who had 
 known zvhat the Church of England was ; not a Dis- 
 
Loss and Gain. 273 
 
 senter, not an unlettered layman ; but one who had 
 been at Oxford, who had come across so many excel- 
 lent men, who had seen what the Church of England 
 could be, her grave beauty, her orderly and decent 
 activity ; who had seen churches decorated as they 
 should be, with candlesticks, ciboriums, faldstools, 
 lecterns, antependiums, piscinas, roodlofts, and sedilia ; 
 who, in fact, had seen the Church Service carried out, 
 and could desiderate nothing; — 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 he spoken his mind ; he merely said, 
 however, that really he desiderated nothing but to be 
 believed when he said that he had no intention of 
 leaving his own Church. Bateman was incredulous, 
 and thought him close. " Perhaps you are not 
 aware," he said, "how much is known of the circum- 
 stances of your being sent down. The old Principal 
 was full of the subject." 
 
 " What ! I suppose he told people right and left," 
 said Reding. 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Bateman ; " a friend of mine 
 knows him, and happening to 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 was deplorable how much your mind was 
 warped by the prevalent opinions, and that he should 
 not be surprised if it turned out you were a Romanist 
 even while you were at St. Saviour's ; anyhow, that 
 you would be one day a Romanist for certain, for that 
 
 18 
 
274 Loss and Gain. 
 
 you held that the saints reigning with, Christ inter- 
 ceded for us in heaven. But what was stronger, when 
 the report got about, Sheffield said that he was not 
 surprised at it, that he always prophesied it." 
 
 " I am much obliged to him," said Charles. 
 
 "However, you warrant me," said Bateman, "to 
 contradict it — so I understand 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 you must be going if you want to 
 get home before nightfall. I hope you don't feel 
 lonely or over-worked 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 a night, if you wish it." 
 
 Bateman thanked him, and they proceeded to the 
 hall-door together; when they were nearly parting, 
 Bateman stopped and said, " Do you know, I should 
 like to lend you some books to read. Let me send 
 up to you Bramhall's Works, Thorndike, Barrow on 
 the Unity of the Church, and Leslie's Dialogues on 
 Romanism. I could name others, but content myself 
 with these at present. They perfectly settle the 
 matter ; you can't help being convinced. I'll not 
 say a word more ; good-bye to you, good-bye." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MUCPI as Charles loved and prized the company of 
 his mother and sisters, he was not sorry to have 
 gentlemen's society, so he accepted with pleasure an 
 invitation which Bateman sent him to dine with him 
 at Melford. Also he wished to show Bateman, what 
 no protestation could effect, how absurdly exaggerated 
 were the reports which were circulated about 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, he thought he might 
 incidentally hear something from him which he could 
 turn to account. When he got to Melford he found a 
 Mr. Campbell had been asked to meet him ; a young 
 Cambridge rector of a neighbouring parish, of the same 
 religious sentiments on the whole as Bateman, and 
 though a little positive, a man of clear head and 
 vigorous mind. 
 
 They had been going over the church ; and the con- 
 versation at dinner turned on the revival of Gothic 
 architecture — an event which gave unmixed satisfac- 
 tion to all parties. The subject would have died out, 
 almost as soon as it was started, for want of a dif- 
 ference upon it, had not Bateman happily gone on 
 boldly to declare that, if he had his will, there should 
 
276 Loss and Gain. 
 
 be 110 architecture in the English churches but Gothic, 
 and no music but Gregorian. This was a good thesis, 
 distinctly put, and gave scope for a very pretty 
 quarrel. Reding said that all these adjuncts of wor- 
 ship, whether music or architecture, were national ; 
 they were the mode in which religious feeling showed 
 itself in particular times and places. He did not 
 mean to say that the outward expression of religion 
 in a country might not be guided, but it could not be 
 forced ; that it was as preposterous to make people 
 worship in one's own way, as be merry in one's own 
 way. "The Greeks," he said, "cut the hair in grief, 
 the Romans let it grow ; the Orientals veiled their 
 heads in worship, the Greeks uncovered them ; Chris- 
 tians take off their hats in a church, Mahometans their 
 shoes ; a long veil is a sign of modesty in Europe, of 
 immodesty in Asia. You may as well try to change 
 the size of people as their forms of worship. Bateman, 
 we must cut you down a foot, and then you shall begin 
 your ecclesiastical reforryis." 
 
 " But surely, my worthy friend," answered Bateman, 
 '■ you don't mean to say that there is no natural con- 
 nexion between internal feeling and outward expres- 
 sion, so that one form is no better than another?" 
 
 " Far from it," answered Charles ; " but let those 
 who confine their music to Gregorians put up cruci- 
 fixes in the highways. Each is the representative 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 and modern." 
 
Loss and Gam. 277 
 
 " Or of different ideas," said Charles, " the cassock 
 Catholic, the coat Protestant." 
 
 " The reverse," said Bateman : "the cassock is old 
 Hooker's Anglican habit; 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 both eminently Catholic." 
 
 "You can't be more Catholic than Rome, I suppose," 
 said Campbell ; " yet there's no Gothic there." 
 
 " Rome is a peculiar place," said Bateman; "besides, 
 my dear friend, if we 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 'f " said 
 Campbell ; " I suspect they are called after Gregory I., 
 Bishop of Rome, whom Protestants consider the first 
 specimen of Antichrist." 
 
 " It's nothing to us what Protestants think," an- 
 swered Bateman. 
 
 " Don't let us quarrel about terms," said Campbell ; 
 "both you and I think that Rome has corrupted the 
 faith, whether she is Antichrist or not. You said so 
 yourself just now." 
 
 " It is true, I did," said Bateman ; " but I make a 
 little distinction. The Church of Rome has not cor- 
 rupted the faith, but has admitted corruptions among 
 her people." 
 
 " It won't do," answered Campbell ; " depend on it. 
 
278 Loss and Gain. 
 
 we can't stand our ground in controversy unless we 
 in our hearts think very severely of the Church of 
 Rome." 
 
 " Why, what's Rome to us?" asked Bateman ; "we 
 come from the old British Church ; we don't meddle 
 with Rome, and we wish Rome not to meddle with us, 
 but she will." 
 
 "Well," said Campbell, "you but read a bit of the 
 history of the Reformation, and you will find that the 
 doctrine that the Pope is Antichrist 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 as that 
 doctrine was the life of the Reformation, so a belief, 
 which I have and you too, that there is something bad, 
 corrupt, perilous in the Church of Rome — that the.e is 
 a spirit of Antichrist living in her, energising in her, 
 and ruling her— is necessary to a man's being a good 
 Anglican. You must believe this, or you ought to go 
 to Rome." 
 
 "Impossible! my dear friend," said Bateman; "all 
 our doctrine has been that Rome and we are sister 
 Churches." 
 
 " I say," said Campbell, " that without this strong 
 repulsion you will not withstand the great claims, the 
 overcoming attractions, of the Church of Rome. She 
 is our mother — oh, that word ' mother ' ! — a mighty 
 mother 1 She opens her arms— oh, the fragrance of 
 
Loss and Gain. 279 
 
 that bosom ! She is full of gifts — 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 
 did that distrust of her go from me, was that certainty 
 which I have of her corruption 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 Re- 
 formers felt that the only way in which they could 
 break the tie of allegiance which bound us to Rome 
 was the doctrine of her serious corruption. And so it 
 is with our divines. If there is one doctrine in which 
 they agree, it is that Rome is Antichrist, or an Anti- 
 christ. Depend upon it, that doctrine is necessary for 
 our position." 
 
 "I don't quite understand that language," said 
 Reding ; " I see it is used in various publications. It 
 implies that controversy is a game, and that disputants 
 are not looking out for truth, but for arguments." 
 
 " You must not mistake me, Mr. Reding," answered 
 Campbell ; "all I mean is, that you have no leave to 
 trifle with your conviction that Rome is antichristian, if 
 you think so. For if it is so, it is necessary to say so. 
 A poet says, ' Speak^^;z//>/of our sister's /«//': no, if it 
 is a fall, we must not speak gently of it. At first one 
 says, ' So great a Church ! who am I, to speak against 
 her ? ' Yes, you must, if your view of her is true : ' Tell 
 trutK and shame the devil '. Recollect you don't use 
 your own words ; you are sanctioned, protected by all 
 
28o Loss and Gain. 
 
 our divines. You must, else you can give no sufficient 
 reason for not joining the Church of Rome. You must 
 speak out, not what you doiit think, but what you do 
 think, if yo\x do think it." 
 
 " Here's a doctrine ! " thought Charles ; " why, it's 
 putting the controversy into a nutshell." 
 
 Bateman interposed. " My dear Campbell," he said, 
 " you are behind the day. 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 their protests against 
 Rome, either are looking towards her, or have no 
 eyes to see." 
 
 "All we say," answered Bateman, "is, as I said 
 before, that we don't wish to interfere with Rome ; we 
 don't anathematise Rome — Rome anathematises us'' 
 
 "It won't do," said Campbell; "those who resolve 
 to remain in our Church, and are using sweet words 
 of Romanism, will be forced back upon their proper 
 ground in spite of themselves, and will get no thanks 
 for their pains. No man can serve two masters ; 
 either go to Rome, or condemn Rome. For me, the 
 Romish Church has a great deal in it which I can't 
 get over ; and thinking so, much as I admire it in 
 parts, I can't help speaking, I can't help it. It would 
 not be honest and it would not be consistent." 
 
 " Well, he has ended better than he began," thought 
 Bateman ; and he chimed in, " Oh yes, true, too true ; 
 it's painful to see it, but there's a great deal in the 
 Church of Rome which no man of plain sense, no reader 
 
Loss and Gain. 281 
 
 of the Fathers, no Scripture student, no true member 
 of the Anglo-Catholic Church can possibly stomach ". 
 This put a corona on the discussion ; and the rest of 
 the dinner passed off pleasantly indeed, but not very 
 intellectually. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 After dinner it occurred to them that the subject of 
 Gregorians and Gothic 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 should like 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 of arguing about 
 it ? you won't agree with me." 
 
 " I don't see that at all," answered Bateman ; 
 " people often think they differ, merely because they 
 have not courage to talk to each other." 
 
 " A good remark," thought Charles ; " what a pity 
 that Bateman, with so much sense, should have so little 
 common sense 1 " 
 
 "Well, then," said Campbell, "my quarrel with 
 Gothic and Gregorians, when coupled together, is, that 
 they are two ideas, not one. Have figured music in 
 Gothic churches, keep your Gregorian for basilicas." 
 
 " My good Campbell," said Bateman, " you seem 
 oblivious that Gregorian chants and hymns have always 
 
Loss and Gain. 283 
 
 accompanied Gothic aisles, Gothic copes, Gothic mitres, 
 and Gothic chalices." 
 
 "Our ancestors did what they could," answered Camp- 
 bell ; " they were great in architecture, small in music. 
 They could not use what was not yet invented. They 
 sang Gregorians because they had not Palestrina." 
 
 " A paradox, a paradox ! " cried Bateman. 
 
 " Surely there is a close connexion," answered Camp- 
 bell, "between the rise and nature of the basilica and of 
 Gregorian unison. Both existed before Christianity ; 
 both are of Pagan origin ; both were afterwards conse- 
 crated 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, they were not of Christian origin. Next, both 
 the old music and the old architecture were inartifical 
 and limited, as methods of exhibiting their respective 
 arts. You can't have a large Grecian temple ; you 
 can't. have a long Gregorian Gloria." 
 
 " Not a long one ! " said Bateman ; " why, there's 
 poor Willis used to complain how tedious the old 
 Gregorian compositions were abroad." 
 
 " I don't explain myself," answered Campbell ; "of 
 course you may produce them to any length, but merely 
 by addition, not by carrying on the melody. You can 
 put two together, and then have one twice as long as 
 either. But I speak of a musical piece, which must of 
 course be the natural development of certain ideas, with 
 one part depending on another. In like manner, you 
 might make an Ionic temple twice as long or twice as 
 
284 Loss and Gain. 
 
 wide as the Parthenon ; but you would lose the beauty 
 of proportion by doing so. This, then, is what I meant 
 to say of the primitive architecture and the primitive 
 music, that they soon come to their limit ; they soon 
 are exhausted, and can do nothing more. If you 
 attempt more, it is like taxing a musical instrument 
 beyond its powers." 
 
 " You but try, Bateman," said I?.eding, " 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 wonder- 
 ful 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 
 a disgust when Mr. So-and-so comes forward to make 
 his sweet flute bleat and bray like a hautbois; it's forcing 
 the poor thing to do what it was never made for." 
 
 " This is literally true as regards Gregorian music,'' 
 said Campbell ; "instruments did not exist in primitive 
 times which could execute any other. But I am speak- 
 ing under correction ; Mr. Reding seems to know 
 more about the subject than I do." 
 
 " I have always understood, as you say," answered 
 Charles, " modern music did not come into existence 
 till after the powers of the violin became known. 
 Corelli himself, who wrote not two hundred years ago, 
 hardly ventures on the shift. The piano, again, I have 
 heard, has almost given birth to Beethoven." 
 
Loss and Gain. 285 
 
 " Modern music, then, could not be in ancient times, 
 for want of modern instruments," said Campbell ; 
 " and, in like manner, Gothic architecture could not 
 exist until vaulting was brought to perfection. Great 
 mechanical inventions have taken place, both in archi- 
 tecture and in music, since the age of basilicas and 
 Gregorians ; and each science has gained by it." 
 
 " It is curious enough," said Reding, " one thing I 
 have been accustomed to say, quite falls in with this 
 view of yours. When people who are not musicians 
 have accused Handel and Beethoven of not being 
 simple, I have always said, ' Is Gothic architecture 
 simple?' A cathedral expresses one idea, but it is 
 indefinitely varied and elaborated in its parts ; so is a 
 symphony or quartett of Beethoven." 
 
 "Certainly, Bateman, you must tolerate Pagan archi- 
 tecture, or you must in consistency exclude Pagan or 
 Jewish Gregorians," said Campbell ; ''you must tolerate 
 figured music, or reprobate tracery windows." 
 
 " And which are you for," asked Bateman, " Gothic 
 with Handel, or Roman with Gregorians? " 
 
 " For both in their place," answered Campbell. " I 
 exceedingly prefer Gothic architecture to classical. I 
 think it the one true child and development of Chris- 
 tianity ; but I won't, for that reason, discard the Pagan 
 style which has been sanctified by eighteen centuries, 
 by the exclusive love of many Christian countries, and 
 by the sanction of a host of saints. I am for tolera- 
 tion. Give Gothic an ascendancy ; be respectful to- 
 wards classical." 
 
 The conversation slackened. " Much as I like 
 
286 Loss and Gain. 
 
 modern music," said Cliarles, " I can't quite go the 
 length to which your doctrine would lead me. I can- 
 not, indeed, help liking Mozart ; but surely his music 
 is not religious." 
 
 " I have not been speaking in defence of particular 
 composers," said Campbell ; " figured music may be 
 right, yet Mozart or Beethoven inadmissible. In like 
 manner, you don't suppose, because I tolerate Roman 
 architecture, that therefore I like naked cupids to stand 
 for cherubs, and sprawling women for the cardinal 
 virtues." He paused. " Besides," he added, " as you 
 were saying yourself just now, we must consult the 
 genius of our country, and the religious associations 
 of our people." 
 
 " Well," said Bateman, " I think the perfection of 
 sacred music is Gregorian set to harmonies ; there 
 you have the glorious old chants, and just a little 
 modern richness." 
 
 " And I think it just the worst of all," answered 
 Campbell ; " it is a mixture 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 the 
 architecture of the fagade 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 be absurd to do so. I only 
 spoke of what was right and wrong on abstract prin- 
 ciples ; and, to tell the truth, I can't help liking the 
 mixture myself, though I can't defend it." 
 
 Bateman rang for tea ; his friends wished to return 
 
Loss and Gain. 287 
 
 home soon; it was the month of January, and 'no' 
 season for after-dinner strolls. " Well," he said, ; 
 " Campbell, you are more lenient to the age than to 
 me ; you yield to the age when it sets a figured bass 
 to a Gregorian tone ; but you laugh 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 your man Willis — I don't knbw 
 his college, he turned Romanist — is living in my 
 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 to mass, I find." 
 
 " Why, where does he find a chapel ? " asked Bate- 
 man. 
 
 " 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 Camp- 
 bell ; " I suppose he went to church up to the week 
 he joined the Romanists." 
 
 " Very awful, these defections," said Batcrnan ; " but 
 
288 Loss and Gain. 
 
 very satisfactory, a melancholy satisfaction." with a 
 look at Charles, " that the victinns of delusions should 
 be at length recovered." 
 
 "Yes," said Campbell; "very sad indeed, I am 
 afraid we must expect a number more." 
 
 " Well, I don't know how to think it," said Charles ; 
 " the hold our Church has on the mind is so powerful ; 
 it is such a wrench to leave it, I cannot fancy any 
 party tie standing against it. Humanly speaking, 
 there is 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 the case. They don't move simply 
 because others move, but, poor fellows, because they 
 can't help it. — Bateman, will you let my chaise be 
 brought round? — Kow can they help it?" continued 
 he, standing up over the fire ; "their Catholic principles 
 lead them on, and there's nothing to drive them back." 
 "Why should not their love for their own Church?" 
 asked Bateman. " It is deplorable, 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," said Reding — "that Smith was moving?" 
 
 " Not impossible," answered Campbell, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Impossible, quite impossible," cried Bateman ; 
 
 " such a triumph to the enemy ; I'll not believe it till 
 
 I see it." 
 
 "Noi impossible," repeated Campbell, as he buttoned 
 and fitted his greatcoat about him ; " he has shifted 
 his ground." His carriage was announced. " Mr. 
 
Loss and Gain. 289 
 
 Reding, I believe I can take you part of your way, if 
 you will accept of a seat in my pony-chaise." Charles 
 accepted the offer ; and Bateman was soon deserted by 
 his two guests. 
 
 IP 
 
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 the lift, he bounded 
 over the stile at the side of the road, and was at once 
 buried in the shade of the copse along which his path 
 lay. Soon he came in sight of a tall wooden Cross, 
 which, in better days, had been a religious emblem, 
 but had served in latter times to mark the boundary 
 between two contiguous parishes. The moon was be- 
 hind him, and the sacred symbol rose awfully in the 
 pale sky, overhanging a pool, which was still venerated 
 in the neighbourhood for its reported miraculous virtue. 
 Charles, to his surprise, saw distinctly a man kneeling 
 on the little mound out of which the Cross grew ; nay, 
 heard him, for his shoulders were bare, and he was 
 using the discipline upon them, while he repeated what 
 appeared to be some form of devotion. Charles stopped, 
 unwilling to interrupt, yet not knowing how to pass ; 
 but the stranger had caught the sound of feet, and in a 
 few seconds vanished from his view. He was overcome 
 with a sudden emotion, which he could not control. 
 " O happy times," he cried, " when faith was one ! O 
 
Loss and Gain. 291 
 
 blessed penitent, whoever you are, who know what to 
 believe, and how to gain pardon, and can begin where I 
 others end ! Here am I, in my twenty-third year, 
 uncertain about everything, because I have nothing to 
 trust." He drew near to the Cross, took off his hat, 
 knelt down and kissed the wood, an d prayed awhile 
 that whatever might be the consequences, whatever the 
 trial, whatever the loss, he mip-ht have ^race to fo llow 
 whithersoever God should call him. He then rose and 
 turned to the cold well ; he took some water in his 
 palm and drank it. He felt as if he could have prayed 
 to the Saint who owned that pool — St. Thomas the 
 Martyr, he believed — to plead for him, and to aid him 
 in his search after the true faith ; but something whis- 
 pered, " It is wrong " ; and he checked the wish. So, 
 regaining his hat, he passed away, and pursued his 
 homeward path at a brisk pace. 
 
 The family had retired for the night, and he went up 
 without delay to his bedroom. Passing through his 
 study, he found a letter lying on his table, without 
 post-mark, which had come for him in his absence. 
 He broke the seal ; it was an anonymous paper, and 
 began as follows : — 
 
 " Questions for one whom it concerns. 
 
 I. 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. " Some well-meaning 
 
292 Loss and Gain. 
 
 person, I dare say, who thinks he knows me." He 
 wound up his watch, gave a yawn, and put on his 
 slippers. " Who can there be in this neighbourhood to 
 write it ? " He opened it again. " It's certainly a 
 Catholic's writing," he said. His mind glanced to the 
 person whom he had seen under the Cross ; perhaps 
 it glanced further. He sat down and began reading 
 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 generalisation 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, suffi- 
 
 cient 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 
 
Loss and Gain. 293 
 
 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 ? " 
 
294 Loss and Gain. 
 
 Charles got very sleepy before he reached the 
 " twenty-seventhly ". " It won't do," he said ; " I am 
 only losing my time. They seem well put ; but they 
 must stand over." He put the paper from him, said 
 his prayers, and was 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 do wish very much 
 to be settled either in the English Church or somewhere 
 else. I wish I knew what Christianity was ; I am 
 ready to be at pains to seek it, and w ould accept it 
 eagerly and thanktully, it found. y<\\\ 't'f' a wnrV n£- 
 tigifi-; all th e paper-arguments m the world are unequal 
 to giving one a view in a m oment. There mustbe_a_ 
 proces s ; they maj^-shQrten it, as medici ne shortens 
 physical pi-ocesseSj_but_thej^_£aii^t^upersede its neces- 
 
 sit y . I recollect how all my religious doubts and 
 
 theories went to flight on my dear father's death. 
 They weren't part of me, and could not sustain rough 
 weather. Convictio n is the ey esig ht o f ^_ e mind, n gLa— 
 conclusion fr^n premises : (jod works it. and hLis works _ 
 
 ^jre slow:. A t least so it is with me. I can't believe on 
 
 a sudden ; if I attempt it, I shall be using words for 
 things, and be sure to repent it. Or if not, I shall go 
 right merely by hazard. ^ T m^st move in what see ms 
 God's way ; I can but put myself on the roa d : a hi^her^ 
 pow er must ove rtake me, and car ry me f orward. At 
 present I have a direct duty upon me, which my dear 
 father left me, to take a good class. This is the path of 
 duty. I won't put off the inquiry, but I'll let it pro- 
 ved in that path. God can bless my reading to my 
 
Loss and Gain. 295 
 
 spiritual illumination, as well as anything else. Saul 
 sought his father's asses, and found a kingdom. All in 
 good time. When I have taken my degree the subject 
 will properly come on me." He sighed. " My degree ! 
 those odious Articles ! rather, when I have passed my 
 examination. Well, it's no good lying here ;" and he 
 jumped up and signed himself with the Cross. His 
 eye caught the letter. " It's well written — better than 
 Willis could write ; it's not Willis's. There's something 
 about that Willis I don't understand. I wonder how he 
 and his mother 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 was not lessened by a hint from 
 Bateman that his allegiance to the English Church was 
 in danger. He called on him in no long time, asked 
 him to dinner, and, when Charles had returned his in- 
 vitation, and Campbell had accepted it, the beginning 
 of an acquaintance was formed between the rectory 
 at Sutton and the family at Boughton which grew into 
 an intimacy as time went on. Campbell was a gentle- 
 man, a travelled man, of clear head and ardent mind, 
 candid, well-read in English divinity, a devoted Angli- 
 can, and the incumbent of a living so well endowed as 
 almost to be a dignity. Mary was pleased at the intro- 
 duction, as bringing her brother under 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 to save Charles the loss of a day's reading and the 
 trouble of a muddy walk to the rectory and back by 
 coming over himself to Boughton. Accordingly it so 
 happened that he saw Charles twice at his mother's 
 for once that he saw him at Sutton. But whatever 
 came of these visits, nothing occurred which particularly 
 
Loss and Gain. 297 
 
 bears upon the line of our narrative; so let them 
 pass. 
 
 One day Charles called upon Bateman, and, on 
 entering the room, was surprised to see him and 
 Campbell at luncheon, and in conversation with a third 
 person. There was a moment's surprise and hesitation 
 on seeing him before they rose and welcomed him as 
 usual. When he looked at the stranger he felt a slight 
 awkwardness himself, which he could not control. It 
 was Willis ; and apparently submitted to the process 
 of reconversion. Charles was evidently de trap, but 
 there was no help for it ; so he shook hands with 
 Willis, and accepted the pressing call of Bateman to 
 seat himself at table, and to share their bread and 
 cheese. 
 
 Charles sat down opposite Willis, and for a while 
 could not keep his eyes from him. At first he had 
 some difficulty in believing he had before 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 was changed, as in everything else. 
 Not that he talked more than was natural, but he 
 talked freely and easily. The great change, however, 
 was in his appearance and manner. He had lost his 
 bloom and youthfulness; his expression was sweeter 
 indeed than before, and very placid, but there was a 
 thin line down his face on each side of his mouth ; his 
 cheeks were wanting in fulness, and he had the air of 
 a man of thirty. When he entered into conversation, 
 and became animated, his former self returned. 
 
 " I suppose we may all admire this cream at this 
 
298 Loss and Gain. 
 
 season," said Charles, as he helped himself, " for we 
 are none of us Devonshire men." 
 
 " It's not peculiar to Devonshire," answered Camp- 
 bell ; " that is, they have 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 ; " I fancied oil was the substitute." 
 
 " Rome is not so warm as you fancy," said Willis, 
 "except during the summer." 
 
 " Oil ? so it is," said Campbell ; " thus we read in 
 Scripture of the multiplication of the oil and meal, 
 which seems to answer to bread and butter. The oil 
 in Rome is excellent, so clear and pale ; you can eat 
 it as milk." 
 
 "The taste, I suppose, is peculiar," observed Charles. 
 
 "Just at first," answered Campbell ; "but one soon 
 gets used to it. All such substances, milk, butter, 
 cheese, oil, have a particular taste at first, which use 
 alone gets over. The rich Guernsey butter is too much 
 for strangers, while Russians relish whale-oil. Most 
 of our tastes are in a measure artificial." 
 
 " It is certainly so with vegetables," said Willis ; 
 "when I was a boy I could not eat beans, spinach, 
 asparagus, parsnips, and I think some others." 
 
 " Therefore your hermit's fare is not only the most 
 natural, but the only naturally palatable, I suppose — 
 a crust of bread and a draught from the stream," 
 replied Campbell. 
 
 " Or the Clerk of Copmanhurst's dry peas," said 
 Charles. 
 
Loss ahd Gain. 299 
 
 " The macaroni and grapes of the Neapolitans are as 
 natural, and more palatable," said Willis. 
 
 " Rather they are a luxury," said Bateman. 
 
 " No," answered Campbell, " not a luxury ; a luxury 
 is in its very idea a something rechercht. Thus Horace 
 speaks of the 'peregrina lagois'. What nature yields 
 spontesttd around you, however delicious, is no luxury. 
 Wild ducks are no luxury in your old neighbourhood, 
 amid your Oxford 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 were quite at their ease, whether 
 with themselves or with each other ; it might be 
 Charles's sudden intrusion, or something which had 
 happened before it. Campbell answered at length 
 that steamers and railroads were making strange 
 changes ; that time and place were vanishing, and 
 price would soon be the only measure of luxury. 
 
 " This seems the measure also oigrasso and magro 
 food in Italy," said Willis ; " for I think there are dis- 
 pensations for butcher's meat in Lent, 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 is 
 absurd to keep Lent on beef and mutton." 
 
 " Oh, Campbell, what are you saying?" cried Bate- 
 man ; " past I are we bound by their lax ways in 
 Italy?" 
 
 "I do certainly think," answered Campbell, "that 
 
300 Loss and Gain. 
 
 fasting is unsuitable to this age, in England as well as 
 in Rome." 
 
 "Take care, my fine fellows," thought Charles 
 " keep your ranks, or you won't secure your prisoner." 
 
 " What, not fast on Friday ! " cried Bateman ; " we 
 always did so most rigidly 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, I suppose ? " 
 
 "A thousand pardons!" said Bateman:— "not bind- 
 ing ? — Pass it to him, Willis, if you please. Yes, it 
 comes from a farmer, next door. I am glad you 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 put in 
 force ? " 
 
 " But there they are," said Bateman, "in the Prayer 
 Book." 
 
 " Yes, and there let them lie and never get out of 
 it," retorted Campbell ; " there they will stay till the 
 end of the story." 
 
 " Oh, for shame 1 " cried Bateman ; " you should aid 
 your mother in a difficulty, and not be like the priest 
 and the Levite." 
 
Loss and Gain. 301 
 
 " My mother does not wish to be aided," continued 
 Campbell. 
 
 " Oh, how you talk ! What shall I do ? What can 
 be done ? " cried poor Bateman. 
 
 " Done ! nothing," said Campbell ; " is there no 
 such thing as the desuetude of a law ? Does not a 
 law cease to be binding when it is not enforced ? I 
 appeal to Mr. Willis." 
 
 Willis, thus addressed, answered that he was no 
 moral theologian, but he had attended some schools, 
 and he believed it was the Catholic rule that when 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, he was 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, of which the Church of Rome happens 
 in this particular case to be the exponent. It is plain 
 common sense, that, if a law is not enforced, at length 
 it ceases to be binding. Else it would be quite a 
 tyranny ; we should not know where we were. The 
 Church of Rome does but give expression to this com- 
 mon-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, the Romish Church 
 has ever kept up fastings the ordinance is not abolished; 
 the ' greater part ' of the Catholic Church has always 
 observed it.'' 
 
302 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " But it has not," said Campbell ; " it now dispenses 
 with fasts, as you have heard." 
 
 Willis interposed to ask a question. " Do you mean 
 then," he said to Bateman, " that the Church of Eng- 
 land and the Church of Rome make one Church ? " 
 
 "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 have no intercourse with each 
 other." 
 
 Bateman assented. Willis continued : " No inter- 
 course ; that is, no social dealings, no consulting or 
 arranging, no ordering and obeying, no mutual sup- 
 port ; in short, no visible union." 
 
 Bateman still assented. "Well, that is my difficulty," 
 said Willis ; " I can't understand how two parts can 
 make up one visible body if they are not 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 of our points. 
 There is only one visible Church, and, therefore, the 
 English and Romish Churches are both parts of it." 
 
 Campbell saw clearly that Bateman had got into a 
 difficulty, and he came to the rescue in his own way 
 
 " We must distinguish," he said, " the state of the 
 case more exactly. A kingdom may be divided, it 
 may be distracted by parties, by dissensions, yet be 
 
Loss and Gain. 303 
 
 still a kingdom. That, I conceive, is the real condition 
 of the Church ; in this way the Churches of England, 
 Rome, and Greece are one." 
 
 " I suppose you will grant," said Willis, " that in 
 proportion as a rebellion is strong, so is the unity of 
 the kingdom threatened ; and if a rebellion is suc- 
 cessful, or if the parties in a civil war manage to divide 
 the power and territory between them, then forthwith, 
 instead of one kingdom, we have two. Ten or fifteen 
 years since, Belgium was part of the kingdom of the 
 Netherlands : I suppose you would not call it part of 
 that kingdom now ? This seems the case of the 
 .Churches of Rome and England." 
 
 " Still, a kingdom may be in a state of decay," 
 replied Campbell ; " consider the case of the Turkish 
 Empire at this moment. The Union between its 
 separate portions is so languid, that each separate 
 Pasha may almost be termed a separate sovereign ; 
 still it is one kingdom." 
 
 " The Church, then, at present," said Willis, " is a 
 kingdom tending to dissolution ? " 
 
 "Certainly it is," answered Campbell. 
 
 " And will ultimately fail ? ' asked Willis. 
 
 " Certainly," said Campbell ; " when the end comes, 
 according to our Lord's saying, ' 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 Judah when the Shiloh came." 
 
 " Surely the Church has failed already before the 
 end," said WllUs, " according to the view you take of 
 failing. How can any separation be more complete 
 
304 Loss and Gain. 
 
 than exists at present between Rome,' Greece, and 
 England?" 
 
 " They might excommunicate each other," said 
 Campbell. 
 
 " Then you are willing," said Willis, " to assign be- 
 forehand something definite, the occurrence of which 
 will constitute a real separation." 
 
 " Don't do so," said Reding to Campbell ; " it is 
 dangerous ; don't commit yourself in a moral question ; 
 for then, if the thing specified did occur, it would be 
 difficult to see our way." 
 
 " No," said Willis ; " you certainly would be in a 
 difficulty ; but you would find your way out, I know. 
 In that case you would choose some other 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 the conversation 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 go along 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 the 
 Prophets describe it. Look at its cathedrals, abbey- 
 churches, and other sanctuaries, these fitly typify it." 
 
 " My dear Bateman," answered Campbell, " I am as 
 willing as you to maintain the fulfilment of the pro- 
 phecies made to the Church, but we must allow the 
 fact that the branches of the Church are divided, while 
 
Loss and Gain. 305 
 
 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, ap- 
 pearances, manifestations of the Church that are 
 divided. The Church is one as much as ever it was." 
 
 " That will never do," said Campbell ; and he stood 
 up before the fire in a state of discomfort. " Nature 
 never intended you for a controversialist, my good 
 Bateman," he added to himself. 
 
 " It is as I thought," said Willis ; " Bateman, you 
 are describing an invisible 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 old Bateman out ; " so he began : 
 " No," he said, " Bateman only means that one Church 
 presents, in some particular point, a different appear- 
 ance from another; but it does not follow that, in 
 fact, they have not a visible agreement too. All differ- 
 ence implies agreement ; the English and Roman 
 Churches agree visibly and differ visibly. Think of 
 the different styles of architecture, and you will see, 
 Willis, what he means. A church is a church all the 
 world over, it is visibly one and the same, and yet how 
 differemt is church from church ! Our churches are 
 Gothic, the southern churches are Palladian. How 
 different is a basilica from York Cathedral ! yet they 
 visibly agree together. No one would mistake either 
 
 20 
 
o 
 
 06 Loss and Gain. 
 
 for a mosque or a Jewish temple. We may quarrel 
 which is the better style ; one likes the basilica 
 another calls it pagan." 
 
 " That / do," said Bateman. 
 
 ■' A little extreme," said Campbell, " a little extreme 
 as usual. The basilica is beautiful in its place. There 
 are two things which Gothic cannot show — the line or 
 forest of round polished columns, and the graceful 
 dome, circling above one's head like the blue heaven 
 itself." 
 
 All parties were glad of this diversion from the 
 religious dispute ; so they continued the lighter con- 
 versation which had succeeded it with considerable 
 earnestness. 
 
 " I fear I must confess," said Willis, " that the 
 churches at Rome do not affect me like the Gothic ; I 
 reverence them, I feel awe in them, but I love, I feel 
 a sensible pleasure at the sight of the Gothic arch." 
 
 " There are other reasons for that in Rome," said 
 Campbell ; "the churches are so unfinished, so untidy. 
 Rome is a city of ruins ! the Christian temples are 
 built on ruins, and they themselves are generally di- 
 lapidated or decayed ; thus they are ri'ins of ruins." 
 Campbell was on an easier subject than that of Anglo- 
 Catholicism, and, no one interrupting him. he proceeded 
 flowingly : " In Rome you have huge high buttresses 
 in the place of columns, and these not cased with 
 marble, but of cold white plaster or paint. They im- 
 part an indescribable forlorn look to the churches." 
 
 Willis said he often wondered what took so many 
 foreigners, that is, Protestants, to Rome; it was so 
 
Loss and Gain. 307 
 
 dreary, so melancholy a place ; a number of old crum- 
 bling, shapeless brick masses, the ground unlevelled, 
 the straight causeways fenced by high monotonous 
 walls, the points of attraction straggling over broad 
 solitudes, faded palaces, trees universally pollarded, 
 streets ankle deep in filth or eyes and mouth deep in 
 a cloud of whirling dust and straws, the climate most 
 capricious, the evening air most perilous. Naples was 
 an earthly paradise ; but Rome was a city of faith. 
 To seek the shrines that it contained was a veritable 
 penance, as was fitting. He understood Catholics 
 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 where persons of all nations are to be 
 found; no society is so varied as the Roman. You 
 go to a ballroom ; your host, whom you bow to in the 
 first apartment, is a Frenchman ; as you advance your 
 eye catches Massena's granddaughter in conversation 
 with Mustapha Pasha ; you soon find yourself seated 
 between a Yankee charge d'affaires and a Russian 
 colonel ; and an Englishman is playing the fool in 
 front of you." 
 
 Here Campbell looked at his watch, and then at 
 Willis, whom he had driven over to Melford to return 
 Bateman's call. It was time for them to be going, or 
 they would be overtaken by the evening. Bateman, 
 who had remained in a state of great dissatisfaction 
 since he last spoke, which had not been for a quarter 
 
3o8 Loss and Gain. 
 
 of an hour past, did not find himself in spirits to try 
 much to detain either them or Reding; so he was 
 speedily left to himself He drew his chair to the fire, 
 and for a while felt nothing more than a heavy load of 
 disgust. After a time, however, his thoughts began to 
 draw themselves out into series, and took the following 
 form : " It's too bad, too bad," he said ; " Campbell is 
 a very clever man — far cleverer than I am ; a well- 
 read man, too ; but he has no tact, 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 an advantage ; but to use such 
 arguments as he did ! how could he hope to convince 
 him ? he made us both a mere laughing-stock. . . . 
 How did he throw off? Oh, he said that the Rubrics 
 were not binding. Who ever heard such a thing — at 
 least from an Anglo-Catholic ? Why pretend to be a 
 good Catholic with such views? better call himself a 
 Protestant or Erastian at once, and one would know 
 where to find him. Such a bad impression it must 
 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, bringing out his own 
 thoughts, which are very clever, original certainly, but 
 never 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 is a cruel 
 thing this — the effect must be wretched. Poor Willis ! 
 I declare I don't think we have moved him one inch, 
 I really don't. I fancied at one time he was even 
 laughing at me. . . . What was it he said afterwards ? 
 
Loss and Gain. 309 
 
 there was something else, I know. I recollect ; that 
 the Catholic 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 to be at." 
 He jumped up and began walking to and fro. "But 
 all this is because 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 their 
 little finger and enforce the Rubrics, and then the 
 whole controversy would be at an end. . . , I knew 
 there was something else, yes ! He said we need not 
 fast ! But Cambridge men are always peculiar, they 
 always have some whim or other ; he ought to have 
 been at Oxford, and we should have made a man of 
 him. He has many good points, but he runs theories, 
 and rides hobbies, and drives consequences to death." 
 Here he was interrupted by his clerk, who told him 
 that John Tims had taken his oath that his wife should 
 not be churched before the congregation, and was half- 
 minded to take his infant to the Methodists for bap- 
 tism ; and his thoughts took a different direction. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The winter had been on the whole dry and pleasant, 
 but in February and March the rains were so profuse, 
 and the winds so high, that Bateman saw very little 
 of either Charles or Willis. He did not abandon his 
 designs on 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 in 
 them; but he hesitated about Reding. He had found 
 him far less definitely Roman than he expected, and 
 he conjectured that, by making him his confidant and 
 employing him against Willis, he really might succeed 
 in giving him an Anglican direction. Accordingly, 
 he told him of his anxiety to restore Willis to " the 
 Church of his baptism " ; and not discouraged by 
 Charles's advice to let well alone, for he might succeed 
 in drawing him from Rome without reclaiming him to 
 Anglicanism, the weather having improved, he asked 
 the two to dinner on one of the later Sundays in Lent. 
 He determined to make a field-day of it ; and, with 
 that view, he carefully got up some of the most 
 popular works against the Church of Rome. After 
 much thought he determined to direct his attack on 
 
Loss and Gain. 311 
 
 some of the "practical evils," as he considered them, 
 of " Romanism " ; as being 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 than 
 himself He considered, too, that, if Willis had been 
 at all shaken in his new faith when he was abroad, it 
 was by the practical exemplification which he had 
 before his eyes of the issue of its peculiar doctrines 
 when freely carried out. Moreover, to tell the truth, 
 our good friend had not a very clear apprehensior 
 how much doctrine he held in common with the 
 Church of Rome, or where he was to stop in the 
 several details of Pope Pius's Creed ; in consequence, 
 it was evidently safer to confine his attack to matters 
 of practice. 
 
 "You see, Willis," he said, as they sat down to 
 table, " I have given you abstinence food, not knowing 
 whether you avail yourself of the dispensation. We 
 shall eat meat ourselves ; but don't think we don't 
 fast at 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 he supposed that both of 
 them allowed that matters of discipline might be 
 altered by the proper authority. 
 
 "Certainly," answered Bateman, "so that every- 
 thing is done consistently with 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 
 
312 Loss and Gain. 
 
 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 Wilhs 
 innocently, " which certainly are not in Scripture." 
 
 " True," said Bateman ; " but these, though not in 
 Scripture, are not inconsistent with Scripture. They 
 are all very right ; but the worship of Saints, espe- 
 cially the Blessed Virgin, and of relics, the gabbling 
 over prayers in an unknown tongue. Indulgences, and 
 infrequent communions, I suspect are directly unscrip- 
 tural." 
 
 "My dear Bateman," said Willis, "you seem to live 
 in an atmosphere of controversy ; so it was at Oxford ; 
 there was always argument going on in your rooms. 
 Religion is a thing to enjoy, not to quarrel about ; 
 give me a slice more of that leg of mutton." 
 
 "Yes, Bateman," said Reding, "you must let us 
 enjoy our meat. Willis deserves it, for I believe he 
 has had a fair walk to-day. Have you not walked a 
 good part of the way to Seaton and back ? a matter 
 of fourteen miles, 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 from our 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 
 
Loss and Gain. 313 
 
 which 1 thought he would agree with me, that there 
 were many corruptions of worship in foreign churches." 
 
 At last, when his silence was observable, Willis said 
 that he supposed that persons who were not Catholics 
 could not tell what were corruptions and what not. 
 Here the subject dropped again ; for Willis did not 
 seem in humour — perhaps he was too tired — tocontinue 
 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, and the 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 
 two who were to be opponent and respondent in the 
 approaching argument — one had had a long walk, the 
 other had had two full services, a baptism, and a funeral. 
 The armistice continued a good quarter of an hour, 
 which Charles and Willis spent in easy conversation ; 
 till Bateman, who had been priming himself the while 
 with his controversial points, found himself 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 what you saw abroad scandalised 
 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 he drew an almost 
 imperceptible sigh. Besides had he had a temptation 
 to be shocked, he should have recollected that he was 
 in a Church which in all greater matters could not err. 
 He had not come to the Church to criticise, he said, but I 
 
314 Loss and Gain. 
 
 to learn. "I don't know," he said, "what is meant 
 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 to exercise it. Faith goes against sight ; 
 well, then, unless there are sights which offend you, 
 there is nothing for it to go against." 
 
 Bateman called this a paradox ; " If so," he said, 
 " why don't we become Mahometans ? we should have 
 enough to believe then." 
 
 " Why, just consider," said Willis ; " supposing your 
 friend, an honourable man, is accused of theft, and 
 appearances are against him, would you at once 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't think he would thank you, should 
 you have waited for his explanation before 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 b elieve without^ 
 _reaS2inj_and the question is, whether what the Churcli 
 does, as in worship, is not a fair matter to form a 
 judgment upon, for or against." 
 
 " A Catholic," said Willis, " as I was when I was 
 abroad, has already found his grounds, for he believes ; 
 but for one who has not — I mean a Protestant — I cer- 
 tainly consider it is very uncertain whether he will take 
 tlie view of Catholic worship which he ought to take. 
 It may easily happen that he will not understand it.' 
 
Loss and Gain. 315 
 
 "Yet persons have before now been converted by 
 the sight of Catholic worship," said Reding. 
 
 " Certainly," answered Willis : " God works in a 
 thousand ways ; there is much in Catholic worship to 
 strike a Protestant, but there is much which will per- 
 plex him ; for instance, what Bateman has alluded to, 
 our devotion to the Blessed Virgin." 
 
 " Surely," said Bateman, " this is a plain matter ; it 
 is quite impossible that the' worship paid by Roman 
 Catholics to the Blessed Mary should not interfere 
 with the supreme adoration due to the Creator 
 alone." 
 
 " This is just an instance in point," said Willis ; 
 " you see you are ludging a priori ; you know nothing 
 of the state of the case from experience, but you say, 
 ' It must be ; it can't be otherwise '. This is the 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 the real evil of 
 certain practices." 
 
 " How strange it is," answered Willis, " that you 
 don't perceive that this is the very argument which 
 various sects urge against you Anglicans ! For in- 
 stance, the Unitarian says that the doctrine of the 
 Atonement must lead to our looking at the Father, not 
 as a God of love, but of vengeance only ; and he calls 
 the doctrine of eternal punishment immoral. And so, 
 the Wesleyan or Baptist declares that it is an absurdity 
 
3i6 Loss and Gain. 
 
 to suppose any one can hold the doctrine of baptismal 
 regeneration, and really be spiritual ; that the doctrine 
 must have a numbing effect on the mind, and destroy 
 its simple reliance on the atonement of Christ. I will 
 take another instance : many a good Catholic, who 
 never came across Anglicans, is as utterly unable to 
 realise your position as you are to realise his. He 
 cannot make out how you can be so illogical as not to 
 go forward or backward ; nay, he pronounces your pro- 
 fessed state of mind impossible ; he does not believe in 
 its existence. I may deplore your state ; I may think 
 you illogical and worse ; but I know it is a state which 
 does exist. As, then, I admit that a person can hold 
 one Catholic Church, yet without believing that the 
 Roman Communion is it, so I put it to you, even as an 
 argumentum ad hominem, whether you ought not to 
 believe that we can honour our Blessed Lady as the 
 first of creatures, without interfering with the honour 
 due to God ? At most, you ought to call us only 
 illogical, you ought not to deny that we do what we 
 say we do." 
 
 "I make a distinction," said Batemen ; "it is quite 
 possible, I fully grant, for an educated Romanist to 
 distinguish between the devotion paid by him to the 
 Blessed Virgin, and the worship of God ; I only say 
 that the multitude will not distinguish.'' 
 
 "I know you say so," answered Willis ; "and-still, 
 I repeat, not from experience, but on an a 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. 
 
Loss and Gain. 317 
 
 " You may give us some trouble," said he, laughing, 
 " but we are resolved to have you back, my good Willis. 
 Now consider, you are a lover of truth : is that Church 
 from heaven which tells untruths?" 
 
 Willis laughed too ; " We must define the words 
 truth and untruth" he said ; " but, subject to that 
 definition, I have no hesitation in enunciating the 
 truism, that a Church is not from heaven which tells 
 untruths." 
 
 " 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 all learned men now 
 !|ive up, and which yet are venerated as relics ? For 
 instance, Campbell tells me that the reputed heads of 
 St. Peter and St. Paul, in some great Roman basilica, 
 are certainly not the heads of the Apostles, because 
 the head of St. Paul was found with his body, after the 
 fire at his church some years since." 
 
 " I don't know about the particular instance," an- 
 swered Willis ; "but you are opening a large questi 
 which cannot be settled in a few words. If 
 speak, I should say this : I should begin with the 
 assumption that the existence of relics is not impro- 
 bable; do you grant that?" 
 
 " I grant nothing," said Bateman ; " but go on." 
 ' Why, you have plenty of heathen relics, which you 
 admit. What is Pompeii, and all that is found there, 
 but one vast heathen relic ? why should there not be 
 Christian relics in Rome and elsewhere as well as 
 Pagan?" 
 " Of course, of course," said Bateman. 
 
 ce, an- 
 juestion \ 
 ' I must I 
 
3i8 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " 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 suppose you 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 is^ with you unto this day '. There- 
 fore it's nothing wonderful that a religious relic should 
 be preserved eleven hundred years, and identified to 
 be such, when a nation makes a point of preserving it." 
 
 " This is beating about the bush," cried Bateman 
 impatiently ; " get on quicker." 
 
 '' Let me go on my own way," said Willis — " then 
 there is nothing improbable, considering Christians 
 have always been very careful about the memorials of 
 sacred things " 
 
 " You've not proved that," said Bateman, fearing 
 that some manoeuvre, he could not tell wnat, was in 
 progress. 
 
 " Well," said Willis, " you don't doubt it, I suppose, 
 at least from the fourth century, when St. Helena 
 brought from the Holy Land the memorials of our 
 Lord's passion, and lodged them at Rome in the Basi- 
 lica, which was thereupon called Santa Croce. As to 
 the previous times of persecution. Christians, of course, 
 had fewer opportunities of showing a similar devotion, 
 and historical records are less copious ; yet, in spite of 
 this, its existence is as certain as any fact of history. 
 They collected the bones of St. Polycarp,the immediate 
 disciple of St. John, after he was burnt ; as of St. 
 Ignatius before him, after his exposure to the beasts ; 
 
Loss and Gain. 319 
 
 and so in like manner tiie bones or blood of all the 
 martyrs. No one doubts it ; I never heard of any one 
 who did. So the disciples took up the Baptist's body 
 — it would have been strange if they had not — and 
 buried it ' in the sepulchre,' as the Evangelist says, 
 speaking of it as known. Now, why should they not 
 in like manner, and even 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 the 
 bodies 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 tradition that in a certain place there is a 
 relic of an apostle, there is at first sight a probability 
 that it is there ; the presumption is in its favour. Can 
 you deny it ? Well, if the same relic is reported to be 
 in two places, then one or the other tradition is 
 erroneous, and the prima facie force of both traditions 
 is weakened ; but I should not actually discard either 
 at once ; each has its force still, though neither so 
 great a force. Now, suppose there are circumstances 
 which confirm the one, the other is weakened still 
 further, and at length the probability of its truth may 
 become evanescent ; and when a fair interval has 
 passed, and there is no change of evidence in its favour, i 
 then it is at length given up. But all this is a work of | 
 time; meanwhile, it is not a bit more of an objection to » 
 the doctrine and practice of relic-veneration that a 
 body is said to lie in two places, than to profane history 
 
320 Loss and Gain. 
 
 that Charles I. was reported by some authorities to be 
 buried at Windsor, by others at Westminster ; which 
 question was decided just before our times. 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 pre- 
 served at the other basilica." 
 
 "True," answered Willis ; " but grave questions of 
 this kind cannot be decided 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, I 
 suppose, 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 one question, and others 
 would arise. It is not easy to settle a question of 
 history. Questions which seem settled revive. It is 
 very well for secular historians to give up a tradition 
 or testimony at once, and for a generation to oh-ohit; 
 but the Church cannot do so ; she has a religious 
 responsibility, and must move slowly. Take the chance 
 of its turning out that the heads at St. John Lateran 
 were, after all, those of the two Apostles, and that she 
 had cast them aside. Questions, I say, revive. Did 
 notWalpole make it highly probable that the two little 
 princes had a place in the procession at King Richard's 
 coronation, though a century before him two skeletons 
 of boys were found in the Tower at the very place where 
 the children of Edward were said to have been murdered 
 and buried by the Duke of Gloucester? I speak from 
 memory, but the general fact which I am illustrating is 
 
Loss and Gain. 321 
 
 undeniable. Ussher, Pearson, and Voss proved that 
 St. Ignatius's shorter Epistles were genuine ; and now 
 after the lapse of two centuries, the question is at least 
 plausibly mooted again." 
 
 There was another pause, while Bateman thought 
 over his facts and arguments, but nothing was forth- 
 coming at the moment. Willis continued : " You 
 must consider also that reputed relics, such as you 
 have mentioned, are generally in the custody of re- 
 ligious bodies, who are naturally very jealous of 
 attempts to prove them spurious, and, with a pardon- 
 able esprit de corps, defend them with all their might, 
 and oppose obstacles in the way of an adverse decision ; 
 just as your own society defends, most worthily, the 
 fair fame of your foundress, Queen Boadicea. Were 
 the case given against her by every tribunal in the 
 land, your valiant and loyal Head would not abandon 
 her ; it would break his magnanimous heart ; he 
 would die in her service as a good knight. Both 
 from religious duty, then, and from human feeling, it 
 is a very arduous thing to get a received relic dis- 
 owned." 
 
 " Well," said Bateman, " to my poor judgment 
 it does seem a dishonesty to keep up inscriptions, 
 for instance, which every one knows not to be true." 
 
 " 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 not settled ; you may 
 say that individuals have settled it, or it may be settled, 
 but it is not settled yet. Parallel cases happen fre- 
 quently in civil matters, and no one speaks harshly of 
 
 21 
 
322 Loss and Gain. 
 
 existing individuals or bodies in consequence. Till 
 lately the Monument in London bore an inscription to 
 the effect that London had been burned by us poor 
 Papists. A hundred years ago. Pope, the poet, had 
 called the ' column ' ' a tall bully ' which ' lifts its head 
 and lies '. Yet the inscription was not removed till a 
 few years since — I believe when the Monument was 
 repaired. That was an opportunity for erasing a 
 calumny which, till then, had not been definitely pro- 
 nounced to be such, and not pronounced in deference 
 to the prima facie authority of a statement contempo- 
 raneous 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 lies dor- 
 mant for the opportunity of fresh arguments ; when 
 none appear, then at length an accident, such as the 
 repair of a building, despatches it." 
 
 " We have somehow got off the subject," thought 
 Bateman ; and he sat fidgeting about to find the 
 thread of his argument. Reding put in an objection ; 
 he said that no one knew or cared about the inscrip- 
 tion oh' the 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 taking your account of it, for I don't 
 profess to know how the matter lies. But let us con- 
 sider the extent of the mistake. There is no doubt in 
 the world that at least they are the heads of martyrs ; 
 
Loss and Gain. 323 
 
 the only question is this, 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 as the heads of saints or martyrs ; and it 
 requires to know very little of Christian antiquities to 
 be perfectly certain that they really are saintly relics, 
 even though unknown. Hence the sole mistake is, 
 that Catholics have • venerated, what ought to be 
 venerated anyhow, under a wrong name ; perhaps have 
 expected miracles (which they had a right to expect), 
 and have experienced them (as they might well ex- 
 perience them), because they were the relics of saints, 
 though they were in error as to what saints. This 
 surely is no great matter." 
 
 " You have made three assumptions," said Bateman ; 
 " first, that none but the relics of saints have been 
 placed under altars ; secondly, that these relics were 
 always there ; thirdly — thirdly — I know there was a 
 third — let me see " 
 
 " Most true," said Willis, interrupting him, " and I 
 will help you to some others. I have assumed that 
 there are Christians in the world called Catholics ; 
 again, that they think it right to venerate relics ; but, 
 my dear 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: but I 
 really think we have had enough of disputation." 
 
 " Yes, Bateman," said Charles ; " it is getting late, 
 I must think of returning. Give us some tea, and let 
 us begone." 
 
 " Go home ? " cried Bateman ; " why, we have just 
 
324 Loss and Gain. 
 
 done dinner, and done nothing else as yet ; T 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 he was getting impatient too ; 
 time was slipping away, and no blow struck ; more- 
 over, Willis was beginning to gape, and Charles seemed 
 impatient to be released. " These Romanists put 
 things so plausibly," he said to himself, " but very un- 
 fairly, most unfairly ; one ought to be up to their 
 dodges. I dare say, if the truth were known, Willis 
 has had lessons ; he looks so demure ; I dare say he is 
 keeping back a great deal, and playing upon my ignor- 
 ance. Who knows ? perhaps he's a concealed Jesuit." 
 It was an awful thought, and suspended the course of 
 his reflections some seconds. " I wonder what he 
 does really think ; it's so difficult to get at the bottom 
 of them ; they won't tell tales, and they are under 
 obedience ; one never knows when to believe them. 1 
 suspect he has been wofully disappointed with Ro- 
 manism ; he looks so thin ; but of course he won't say 
 so; it hurts a man's pride, and he likes to be con- 
 sistent ; he doesn't like to be laughed at, and so he 
 makes the best of things. I wish I knew how to treat 
 him ; I was wrong in having Reding here ; of course 
 
326 Loss and Gain. 
 
 Willis would not be confidential before a third person. 
 He's like 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. There are so many things 
 I wished to say, about Indulgences, about their so 
 seldom communicating ; I think I must ask him about 
 the Mass." So, after fidgeting a good deal within, 
 while he was ostensibly employed in making tea, he 
 commenced his last assault. 
 
 " Well, we shall have ypu back again among us by 
 next Christmas, Willis," he said ; " I can't give you 
 greater law ; I am certain of it ; it takes time, but 
 slow and sure. What a joyful time it will be ! I can't 
 tell what keeps you ; you are doing nothing ; you are 
 flung into a corner ; you are 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 conspire to 
 gabble it over as if it mattered not a jot who attended 
 to it, or even understood it? Speak, man, speak," 
 he added, gently shaking him by the shoulder. 
 
 "These are such difficult questions," answered 
 Willis ; " must I speak ? Such difficult questions," he. 
 continued, rising into a more animated manner, and 
 
Loss and Gain. 327. 
 
 kindling as he went on ; "I mean, people view them 
 so differently : it is so difficult to convey to one person 
 the idea of another. The idea of worship is different in 
 the Catholic Church from the idea of it in your Church ; 
 for, in truth, the religions are different. Don't deceive 
 yourself, my dear Bateman," he said tenderly, " it is 
 not that ours is your religion carried a little farther, — 
 a little too far, as you would say. No, they differ in 
 kind, not in degree ; 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 to the 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, the associations in your mind of a 
 certain outward behaviour with real inward acts of de- 
 votion, might embarrass you, when you had to conform 
 yourself to other habits, and to create for yourself other 
 .associations. But this faith, of which I speak, the gre at 
 gift of God, will enable you in that day to ov ercome 
 jourself and to s ubmit, as your judpjment. your will, 
 j[our reason, y our atiections, so your tastes and likings, 
 to the rule and usage of the Church^ Ah, that faith 
 should be necessary in such a matter, and that what is 
 so natural and becomingunderthecircumstances,should 
 have need of an explanation ! I declare, to me," he 
 said,.and he clasped his hands on his knees, and looked 
 forward as if soliloquising,^" to me nothing is so con- 
 soling, so piercing, so thrilling, so overcoming, as the 
 Mass, said as it is among us. I could attend Mas.ses for 
 ever and not be tired. It is not a mere form of words, 
 
328 I.OSS and Gain. 
 
 — it is a great action, the greatest action that can be on; 
 earth. It is, not the invocation merely, but, if I darei 
 use the word, the evocation of the Eternal. He become^ 
 present on the altar in flesh and blood, before whom 
 angels bow and devils tremble. This is that awful 
 event which is the scope, and is the interpretation, of 
 every part of the solemnity. Words are necessary, but 
 as means, not as ends ; they are not mere addresses to 
 the throne of grace, they are instruments of what is far 
 higher, of consecration, of sacrifice. They hurry on as 
 if impatient to fulfil their mission. Quickly they go, 
 the whole is quick ; for they are all parts of one integi-al 
 action. Quickly they go ; for they are 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 along the lake in the days 
 of His flesh, quickly calling first one and then another. 
 Quickly they pass ; because as the lightning which 
 shineth from one part of heaven unto the other, so 
 is the coming of the Son of Man. Quickly they pass ; 
 for they are as the words of Moses, when the Lord came 
 down in the cloud, calling on the Name of the Lord as 
 He passed by, ' the Lord, the Lord God, merciful and 
 gracious, long-suffering, and abundant in goodness and 
 truth'. And as Moses on the mountain, so we too 'make 
 haste and bow our heads to the earth, and adore '. So 
 we, all around, each in his place, look out for the great 
 Advent, ' waiting for the moving of the water '. Each 
 in his place, with his own heart, with his own wants, 
 with his own thoughts, with his own intention, with his 
 
Loss and Gain. 329 
 
 own prayers, separate but concordant, watching what is 
 going on, watching its progress, uniting in its consum- 
 mation ; — not painfully and hopelessly following a hard 
 form of prayer from beginning to end, but, like a con- 
 cert of musical instruments, each different, but concur- 
 ring in a sweet harmony, we take our part with 
 God's priest, supporting him, yet guided by him. 
 There are little children there, and old men, and simple 
 labourers, and students in seminaries, priests preparing 
 for Mass, priests making their thanksgiving ; there are 
 innocent maidens, and there are penitent sinners ; but 
 out of these many minds rises one eucharistic hymn, 
 and the great Action is the measure and 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 is wonderful!" he cried, rising up, "quite 
 wonderful. When will these dear good people be 
 enlightened ? O S apientia, for titer suaviter que disponens 
 omnia, O Adonai, O Clavis David etExspectatio gentium, 
 veni ad salvandum nos, Domine Deus noster." 
 
 Now, at least, there was no mistaking Willis. Bate- 
 man stared, and was almost frightened at a burst of 
 enthusiasm which he had been far from expecting. 
 " Why, Willis," he said, " it is not true, then, after 
 all, what we heard, that you were somewhat dubious, 
 shaky, in your adherence to Romanism ? I'm sure I 
 beg your pardon ; I would not for the world have 
 annoyed you, had I known the truth." 
 
 Willis's face still glowed, and he looked as youthful 
 and radiant as he had been two years before. There 
 was nothing ungentle in his impetuosity; a smile. 
 
330 Loss and Gain. 
 
 almost a laugh, was on his face, as if he was half 
 ashamed of his own warmth ; but this took nothing 
 from its evident sincerity. He seized Bateman's two 
 hands before the latter knew where he was, lifted him 
 up out of his seat, and, raising his own mouth close to 
 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 muchsuch as 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 had closed ; presently he began to 
 give expression to his thoughts. " Well," he said, 
 " he's a brick, a regular brick ; he has almost affected 
 me myself. What a way those fellows have with 
 them! I declare his touch has made my heart beat; 
 how catching enthusiasm is 1 Any one but I might 
 really have been unsettled. He «ja real good fellow; 
 what a pity we have not got him ! he's just the sort of 
 man we want. He'd make a splendid Anglican; he'd 
 convert half the Dissenters in the country. Well, we 
 shall have them in time ; we must not be impatient 
 But the idea of his talking of converting me! 'in little 
 and in much,' as he worded it! By-the-bye, what 
 did he mean by ' except these chains ' ? " He sat 
 ruminating on the difficulty; at first he was inclined 
 to think that, after all, he might have some misgiving 
 about his position ; then he thought that perhaps he 
 had a hair-shirt or a catenella on him ; and lastly, he 
 came to the conclusion that he had just meant nothing 
 at all, and did but finish the quotation he had begun. 
 
Loss and Gain. 331 
 
 After passing some little time in this state, he looked 
 towards the tea-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 up the other, 
 left the parlour and wound like an omnibus up the 
 steep twisting 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 the enthusiasm of his Catholic 
 friend, though, from a difficulty in finding language 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. 
 I have thought of you at Mass many times. Our 
 priest has said Mass for you. Oh, my dear friend, 
 quen ch not God's grace ; listen to H is call ; you have 
 had what others have not. What you vvant is faith. 
 I suspect you have quite proof enough j enough to be 
 converted on. Bu<- <"^'>^' ''= a p^'f t: pray for that great 
 gift, without wh ic h you c a nnot come to t he C hurch ; 
 with out which," and he paused, " vo u.„. cannot walk 
 aright when you are in the Church. And now fare- 
 well ! alas, our path divides ; all is easy to him that 
 believe th. May God give you that gift of faith, a s He 
 has given me ! Farewell again ; who knows when I 
 may see you next, and where ? may it be in the courts 
 of the true Jerusalem, the Queen of Saints, the Holy 
 
332 Loss and Gain. 
 
 Roman Church, the Mother of us all!" He drew 
 Charles to him and kissed his 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 and brambles 
 which the pale twilight discovered in his path. It 
 seemed as if the kiss of his friend had conveyed into ' 
 his own soul the enthusiasm which his words had 
 betokened. He felt himself possessed, he knew not 
 how, by a high superhuman power, which seemed able 
 to push through mountains, and to walk the sea. With 
 
 _winter around him, he felt within hke the springtide, 
 when all is new and bright. _He perceived that he had 
 found, what indeed he had never_ _sought, becau sehe 
 had never know n what it vvas,_b ut wha t he had ever 
 wanted — a soul sympathetic with his own. He felt 
 he was ho longer alone in the world, though he was 
 
 -losing that true congenial mind the very moment he 
 had found him. Was this, he asked himself, the com- 
 munion of Saints ? Alas ! how could it be, when he 
 was in one communion and Willis in another? "0 
 mighty Mother 1 " burst from his lips ; he quickened 
 his pace almost to a trot, scaling the steep ascents and 
 diving into the hollows which lay between him and 
 Boughton. " O mighty Mother 1 " he still said, half 
 unconsciously ; " O mighty Mother ! T come. O mighty 
 Mother ! I come ; but I am far from home. Spare me 
 a little ; I com e with what speed 1 may, but 1 am slow 
 o f foot, and n ot as other s, O mighty Mother ! " 
 By the time he had walked two miles in this excite- 
 
Loss and Gain. 333 
 
 ment, bodily and mental, he felt himself, as was not 
 wonderful, considerably exhausted. He slackened his 
 pace, and gradually came to himself, but still he went 
 on, as if mechanically, " O mighty Mother 1 " Sud- 
 denly be cried, " Hallo ! where did I get these words ? 
 Willis did not use them. Well, I must be on my 
 guard against these wild ways. Any one can be an 
 enthusiast; enthusiasm is not truth. . . . O mighty 
 Mother ! . . . Alas. I know where my heart is ! but I 
 must g o by reason. ... mighty Mother ! " 
 
 'Ux^ A^Lt-tc^^tyjCL /(J meX^/^^^^ 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The time came at length for Charles to return to 
 Oxford ; but during the last month scruples had arisen 
 in his mind, whether, with his present feelings, he 
 could consistently even present himself for his exami- 
 nation. No subscription was necessary for his entrance 
 into the schools, but he felt that the honours of the 
 class-list were only intended for those who were bond, 
 fide adherents of the Church of England. He laid his 
 difficulty before Carlton, who in consequence did his 
 best to ascertain thoroughly his present state of mind. 
 It seemed that Charles had no intention, either now or 
 at any future day, of joining the Church of Rome ; 
 that he felt he could not take such a step at present 
 without distinct sin ; that it would simply be against 
 his conscience to do so ; that he had no feeling- what- 
 e yerjhat God called him to do so : that he felt that 
 nothing could justify so serious an act but the convic- 
 tion that he could not be saved in the Church to which 
 he belonged ; that he had no such feeling ; that he had 
 no definite case against his own Church sufficient for 
 leaving it, nor any definite view that the Church of 
 Rome uas the One Church of Christ ; — that still he 
 
Loss and Gain. 335 
 
 could not help suspecting that one day he should think 
 otherwise ; he conceived the day might come, nay, 
 would come, when he should have that conviction 
 which at present he had not, and which of course 
 would be a call on him to act upon it, by leaving the 
 Church of England for that of Rome ; he could not 
 tell distinctly why he so anticipated, except that there 
 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, 
 the greater cause he had to admire and revere the 
 Roman Catholic system, and to be dissatisfied with 
 his own. Carlton, after carefully considering the case, 
 advised him to go in for his examination. He acted 
 thus, on the one hand, as vividly feeling the changes 
 which take place in the minds of young men, and the 
 difficulty of Reding foretelling his own state of 
 opinions two years to come ; and, on the other, from the 
 reasonable anticipation that a contrary advice would 
 have been the very way to ripen his present doubts 
 on the untenableness of Anglicanism into conviction. 
 Accordingly, his examination came off in due time ; 
 the schools were full, he did well, and his class was 
 considered to be secure. Sheffield followed soon after, 
 and did brilliantly. The list came out ; Sheffield was in 
 the first class, Charles in the second. There is always 
 of necessity a good deal of accident in these matters ; 
 but in the present case reasons enough could be given 
 to account for the unequal success of the two friends. 
 Charles had lost some time by his father's death, and 
 
33^ Loss and Gain. 
 
 family matters consequent upon it ; and his virtual rus- 
 tication for the last six months had been a considerable 
 disadvantage to him. Moreover, though he had been 
 a careful, persevering reader, he certainly had not run 
 the race for honours with the same devotion as Shef- 
 field ; nor had his religious difficulties, particularly his 
 late indecision about presenting himself at all, been 
 without their serious influence upon his attention and 
 his energy. As success had not been the first desire 
 of his soul, so failure was not his greatest misery. He 
 would have much preferred success ; but in a day or 
 two he found he could well endure the want of it. 
 
 Now came the question about his degree, which 
 could not be taken without subscription to the Articles. 
 Another consultation followed with Carlton. There 
 was no need of his becoming a B. A. at the moment ; 
 nothing would be gained by it ; better that he should 
 postpone the step. He had but to go down and say 
 nothing about it ; no one would be the wiser ; and if, 
 at the end of six months, as Carlton sanguinely anti- 
 cipated, he found 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 little difficulty here either what to propose- 
 He had better be reading with some clergyman in the 
 country ; thus he would at once be preparing for orders, 
 and clearing his mind on the points which at present 
 troubled him ; besides, he might thus have some oppor- 
 tunity for parochial duty, which would have a tranquil- 
 lising and sobering effect on his mind. As to the 
 books to which he should give his attention, of course 
 
Loss and Gain. 337 
 
 the choice would rest with the clergyman who was to 
 guide him ; but for himself Carlton would not recom- 
 mend the usual works in controversy with Rome, for 
 which the Anglican Church was famous ; rather those 
 which are of a positive character, which treated subjects 
 philosophically, historically, or doctrinally, and dis- 
 played the peculiar principles of that Church ; Hooker's 
 great work, for instance ; or Bull's Defensio and Har- 
 monia, or Pearson's Vindicice, or Jackson on the Creed, 
 a noble work ; to which Laud on Tradition might be 
 added, ^though its form was controversial. Such, too, 
 were Bingham's Antiquities, Waterland on the Use of 
 Antiquity, Wall on Infant Baptism, and Palmer on the 
 Liturgy. Nor ought he to neglect practical and devo- 
 tional authors, as Bishops Taylor, Wilson, and Home. 
 The most important point remained ; whither was he 
 to betake himself? did he know of any clergyman in 
 the country who would be willing to receive him as a 
 friend and a pupil ? Charles thought of Campbell, 
 with whom he was on the best of terms ; and Carlton 
 knew enough of him by reputation to be perfectly 
 sure that he could not be in safer hands. 
 
 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 some books which he 
 had left in a friend's room, and then to bid adieu, at 
 least for a time, to the cloisters and groves of the 
 University. He quitted in June, when everything was 
 in that youthful and fragrant beauty which he had 
 admired so much in the beginning of his residence 
 
 three years before. 
 
 22 
 
^nxt III. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 But now we must look forward, not back. Once 
 before we took leave to pass 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 con- 
 signed to oblivion, and the reader shall be set down 
 in the autumn of the year next but one after that 
 in which Charles took his class and did not take his 
 degree. 
 
 At this time our interest is confined to Boughton 
 and the Rectory at Sutton. As to Melford, friend 
 Bateman had accepted the incumbency of a church in 
 a manufacturing town with a district of lo.ooo souls, 
 where he was full of plans for the introduction of the 
 surplice and gilt candlesticks among his people, and 
 where, it is to be hoped, he will learn wisdom. Willis 
 also was gone, on a different errand : he had bid adieu 
 to his mother and brother soon after Charles had 
 gone into the schools, and now was Father Aloysius 
 de Sancta Cruce in the Passionist Convent of Pen- 
 nington. 
 
 One evening, at the end of September, in the year 
 
Loss and Gain. 339 
 
 aforesaid, Campbell had 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 keep him. The best years of his life are going, 
 and, humanly speaking, there is not any chance of 
 his changing his mind, at least till he has made a trial 
 of the Church of Rome. It is quite possible that ex- 
 perience may drive him back." 
 
 " It is a dreadful dilemma," she answered ; " how- 
 can we even indirectly give 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 done whatever I told him. You know I have 
 employed him in the parish ; he has taught the 
 Catechism to the children, and been almoner. Poor 
 fellow, his health is suffering now ; he sees there's no 
 end of it, and hope deferred makes 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 not countenance it ; he can't be kept in 
 leading-strings for ever, and there has been a kind of 
 bargain. He wanted to make a move at the end of the 
 first year — I didn't think it worth while to fidget you 
 about it — but I quieted him. We compounded in this 
 way : he removed his name from the college-boards, — 
 there was not the slightest chance of his ever signing 
 the Articles, — and he consented to wait another year. 
 
340 Loss and Gain. 
 
 Now the time's up, and more, and he is getting im- 
 patient. So it's not we who shall be giving him 
 countenance ; it will only be his leaving us." 
 
 " But it is so fearful," insisted Mary ; " and my poor 
 mother — I declare I think 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 it, indeed, distinctly a year ago ; 
 but seeing Charles so often, and he in appearance 
 just the same, I fear she does not realise it. She has 
 never spoken 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 which I am quite unequal. 
 But have a talk with Charles first. When it comes . 
 to the point, he may have a greater difficulty than he 
 thinks beforehand." ; 
 
 And so it was settled ; and, full of care at the 
 double commission with which he was charged, Camp- 
 bell rode back to Sutton. 
 
 Poor Charles was sitting at an open window, looking 
 out upon the prospect, when Campbell entered the 
 room. It was a beautiful landscape, with bold hills in 
 the distance, and a rushing river beneath him. Camp- 
 bell came up to him without his perceiving it ; and, 
 putting his hand on his shoulder, asked his thoughts, 
 
Loss 'and Gain. 341 
 
 Charles turned round, and smiled sadly. "I am like 
 Moses seeing the land," he said ; "my dear Campbell, 
 when shall the pnH ^p?" 
 
 "That, my good Charles, of course does not rest 
 with me," answered Campbell. 
 
 " 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 
 indirectly countenance you in what, with all our love 
 of you, we think a sin," said Campbell. 
 
 "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 it to your poor mother; Mary 
 thinks it will be her death ". 
 
 Charles dropped his head on the window-sill, upon 
 his hands. " No," he said ; " I trust that she, and all 
 of us will be supported.'' 
 
 "So do I, fervently," answered Campbell; "it will 
 be a most terrible blow to your sisters. My dear 
 fellow, should you not take all this into account? Do 
 seriously consider the actual misery you are causing 
 for possible good." 
 
 " Do you think I have not considered it, Campbell? 
 Is it nothing for one like me t o be breaking all these 
 dear ties, and to be~Iosing"THe esteem and sympathy 
 of so many persons I love? Oh, it has bee n a most 
 -""piercing t hought ; but I have jexhau sted it, I hav e, 
 drunk it~out. J hr>-iir. yr)f fpmiH ar with the prospect 
 now , and a m fully reconciled. Yes , T p-ive up hnme^ T 
 give up all who have ever known me, loved me, vajuqd 
 
342 Loss and Gain. 
 
 m e, wished me well ; I know well I am making myself 
 a by- word and an outcast/ [^^ 
 
 "Oh, my dear Charles," answered Campbell, "beware 
 of a very subtile temptation which may come on you 
 here. I have meant to warn you of it before. The 
 greatness of the sacrifice stimulates you ; you do it 
 because it is so much to do." 
 
 Charles smiled. "How little you know me!" he 
 said; "if that were the case, should I have waited 
 patiently two years and more ? Why did I not rush 
 forward as others have done ? You will not deny that 
 I have acted rationally, obediently. I have put the 
 subject from me again arid again, and it has returned." 
 
 " I'll say nothing harsh or unkind of you, Charles," 
 said Campbell ; " but it's a most unfortuna:te delusion. 
 I wish I could make you take in the idea that there is 
 the chance of its being a delusion." 
 
 "Ah, Campbell, how can ybu forget so?" answered 
 Charles ; " don't you know this is the very thing which 
 has influenced me so much all along ? I said, ' Perhaps 
 I am in a dream. Oh, that I could pinch myself and 
 awake!' You know what stress I laid on my change 
 of feeling upon my dear father's death ; what I thought 
 to be convictions before, vanished then like 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 
 I rooted in me; it endures against the prospect of loss of 
 j mother and sisters. Here I sit wasting my days, when 
 I might be useful in life. Why? Because this hinders 
 me. Lately it has increased on me tenfold. You will 
 
Loss and Gain. 343 
 
 be shocked, but let me tell you in confidence — lately I 
 have been quite afraid to ride, or to bathe, or to do 
 anything out of the way, lest something should happen, 
 an d I mig ht be taken away with a great duty unac- 
 complished. Mo, by this time I have proved th at it is 
 a real conviction. ^My beiiei m tne (Churchof Rome is 
 part ot myselt : l cannot act against it without acting 
 
 " It is a most deplorable state of things certainly," 
 said Campbell, who had begun to walk up and down 
 the room ; " that it is a delusion I am confident ; per- 
 haps you are to find it so, just when you have taken 
 the step. You will solemnly bind yourself to a foreign 
 creed, and, as the words part from your mouth, the 
 mist will roll up from before your eyes, and the truth 
 will show itself. How dreadful 1 " 
 
 " I have thought of that too," said Charles, " and it 
 has influenced me a great deal. It has made me shrink 
 back. But I now believe it to be like those hideous 
 forms which in fairy tales beset good knights, when 
 they would force their way into some enchanted palace- 
 Recollect the words in Thalaba . 'The talisman is faith'- 
 If I have good grounds for believing, to believe is a 
 duty ; God will take care of His own work. I shall. 
 not be deserted iri my utmost need. Faith ever begins 
 with a venture, and is rewarded with sight." . 
 
 " Yes, my good Charles," answered Campbell ; "but 
 the question is, whether your grounds are good. What 
 I mean is, that, since they are not good, they wiU'not 
 avail you in the trial. You will then, too late, find 
 they are not good, but delusive.'' 
 
344 Loss and Gain. 
 
 "Campbell," answered Charles, " I consider that all 
 reason comes from God ; our gr ounds must at best be 
 imperfect ; but it they appear tobe sufficient after 
 -prayer, diligent sear ch, obedience, wait ing, and, in 
 "sho7t7doin"g ou^ they are His voice calling us on. 
 
 He it is, in that easel wflo ma'^elTEem'S'Fem convincing 
 to us. I am in His hands. 1 he only question is. what 
 would He have me to do? I cannot risk the convic- 
 tion which is upon me. This last week it has possessed 
 me in a different way than ever before. It is now so 
 strong, that to wait longer isto^es j'it Gnd,,, Whether 
 I join the Cathblic'Churcli is now simply a question 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 Church to 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 our case, Charles, as well as your own ; throw 
 yourself into our state of feeling. For myself, I cannot 
 deny, I never have concealed from you my convictions, 
 that the Romish Church is antichristian. She hasten 
 thousand gifts, she is in many respects superior to our 
 own ; but she has a 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 a person 
 saying, ' Let me go and hang myself ' ; Met me go sleep 
 in a fever-ward ' ; 'let me jump into that well ' — how 
 can I 'let you go'? " 
 
 "Ah," said Charles," that's our dreadful difference; 
 we can't get farther than that. I think the Church of 
 
Loss and Gain. 345 
 
 T?nrpff ^ he Prophet of God ; iw. the tool of the 
 devil." 
 
 "I own," said Campbell, "I do think, that, if you 
 take this step, you will find yourself in the hands of a 
 Circe, who will change you, make a brute of you." 
 
 Charles slightly coloured. 
 
 " I won't go on," added Campbell ; " I pain you ; it's 
 no good ; perhaps I am making matters worse." 
 
 Neither spoke for some time. At length Charles got 
 up, came up to Campbell, took his hand and kissed it. 
 " You have been a kind disinterested friend to me for 
 two years," he said ; " you have given me a lodging 
 under your roof ; and now we are soon to be united by 
 closer ties. God reward you ; 'let me go, for the day 
 breaketh '." 
 
 " It is hopeless ! " cried Campbell ; " let us part 
 friends : I must break it to your mother." 
 
 In ten days after this conversation Charles was rea.dy 
 for his journey ; his room put to rights ; his portman- 
 teau 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 him not 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 
 to attempt an interview sooner. 
 
 Charles leapt from the gig with a beating heart, and 
 ran up to his mother'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 
 said for a little while ; then, without leaving off her 
 
34^ Loss and Gain. 
 
 occupation, she said, " Well, Charles, and so you are 
 leaving us. Where and how do you propose to employ 
 yourself when you have entered upon your new life ! " 
 
 Charles answered that he had not yet turned his 
 mind to the consideration of anything but the great 
 step on which everything else depended. 
 
 There was another silence ; then she sdid, " You 
 won't find anywhere such friends as you have had at 
 home, Charles ". Presently she continued, " You have 
 had everything in your favour, Charles ; you have 
 , been blessed with talents, advantages of education, 
 I easy circumstances ; many a deserving young man 
 has to scramble on as he can ". 
 
 Charles answered that he was deeply sensi ble how 
 much he.Qwed in.l&aLBoral matters to Providen ce, and . 
 that it was only at His bidding that he 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 up what was so very dear to him'* 
 what was part of himself; there was nothing on earth 
 1 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 in Scripture how people we're 
 obliged in the Apostles' times to give up all for Christ." 
 
 " We are heathens, then," she replied ; " thank you, 
 
I^oss and Gain. 347 
 
 Charles, I am obliged to 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 stood up and leaned his elbow on the 
 mantelpiece, supporting his head on his hand. 
 
 "Well, Charles," she continued, still going on with 
 her work, "perhaps the day will come" . . . her 
 voice faltered ; "your dear father" . . . she put down 
 her work. 
 
 " It is useless misery " said Charles ; " why should T 
 stay ? good-bye for the present, my dearest mother. I 
 leave you in good hands, not kinder, but better than 
 mine ; you lose me, you gain another. Farewell for 
 the present ; we will meet when you will, when you 
 call ; it will be a happy meeting." 
 
 He threw himself on his knees, and laid his cheek 
 on her lap ; she could no longer resist him ; she hung 
 over him and began to smooth down his hair as she 
 had done when he was a child. At length scalding 
 tears began to fall heavily upon his face and ijeck ; 
 he bore them for a while, then started up, kissed her 
 cheek impetuously, and rushed out of the room. In a . 
 few seconds he had seen and had torn himself from 
 his sisters, and was in his gig again by the side of his 
 phlegmatic driver, dancing slowly up and down on his 
 way to Collumpton. ^ 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 The reader may ask whither Charles is going, and, 
 though it would not be quite true to answer that he 
 did not know better than the said reader himself, yet 
 he had most certainly very indistinct notions what was 
 becoming of him even locally, and, like the Patriarch, 
 " went out, not knowing- whither he went ". He had 
 never seen a Catholic priest, to know him, in his life ; 
 never, except once as a boy, been inside a Catholic 
 church ; he only knew one Catholic in the world, and 
 where he was he did not know. But he knew that the 
 Passionists had a Convent in London ; and it was not 
 unnatural that, without knowing whether young 
 Father Aloysius was 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 be leaving 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 done 
 under his circumstances. It seemed, too, to be inter- 
 posing what they would consider a last chance of 
 averting what to them was so dismal a calamity. 
 
 To Oxford, then, he directed his course ; and, having 
 
Loss and Gain. 349 
 
 some accidental business at Bath, he stopped there 
 for the night, intending to continue his journey next 
 morning. Among other jobs, he had to get a 
 " Garden of the Soul," and two or three similar books 
 which might help him in the great preparation which 
 awaited his arrival in London. He went into a 
 religious publisher's in Danvers Street with that 
 object, and while engaged in a back part of the shop 
 in looking over a pile of Catholic works, which, to the 
 religious public, had inferior attractions to the glitter- 
 ing volumes, Evangelical and Anglo-Catholic, which 
 had possession of the windows and principal table, 
 he heard the shop-door open, and, on lookfng round, 
 saw a familiar face. It was that of a young clergy- 
 man, with a very pretty girl on his arm, whom her 
 dress pronounced to be a bride. Love vvas in their 
 eyes, joy in their voice, and affluence in their 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 when he was sea-sick. He re- 
 treated behind a pile of ledgers and other stationery, 
 but they could not save him from the low, dulcet, 
 tones which from time to time passed from one to the 
 other. 
 
 " Have you got some of the last Oxford reprints of 
 standard works?" said the 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 arc 
 extremely dangerous ; I mean real Church-of-England 
 divinity — Bull, Patrick, Hooker, and the rest of them." 
 
350 Loss and Gain. 
 
 The shopman went to look them out. 
 "I think it was those Adaptations, dearest," said 
 the lady, "that the Bishop warned us against." 
 " Not the Bishop, Louisa ; it was his daughter." 
 "Oh, Miss Primrose, so it was," said she; "and 
 there was one book she recommended ; what was it?" 
 "Not a book, it was a -speech," said White ; "Mt. 
 O'Ballaway's at Exeter Hall ; 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 the frontispiece of a little book 
 she got hold of; " do look, Henry ; whom does 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 just hers. I wonder it doesn't strike 
 you," 
 
 " It does — it does," said he, smiling at her ; " but. 
 it's getting late ; you must not be out much longer in 
 the sharp air, and you have nothing for your throat. 
 I have chosen my books while you have been gazing 
 on that little St. John." 
 
 " I can't think who it is so like," continued she ; 
 " oh, I know ; it's Angelina's aunt. Lady Constance." 
 " Come, Louisa, the horses too will suffer ; we must 
 return to our friends." 
 
Loss and Gain. 351 
 
 " 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 the Apostles' ? or, 'The English Church 
 older than the Roman ' ? or, ' Anglicanism of the 
 Early Martyrs'? or, 'Confessions of a Pervert'? or, 
 '^Eustace Beville'? or, 'Modified Cehbacy'?" 
 
 " No, no, no," said Louisa ; " dear me, it is so 
 stupid." 
 
 "Well, now really, Louisa," he insisted, "you must 
 come another time ; it won't do, dearest ; it won't do." 
 
 " Oh, I recollect," she said, " I recollect — ' Abbeys 
 and Abbots ' ; I want to 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 is full of designs." 
 
 The book was found and added to the rest, which 
 had been already taken to the carriage. " Now, 
 Louisa," said White. "Well, dearest, there's one 
 more place we must call at," she made answer ; " tell 
 John to drive to Sharp's ; we can go round by the 
 nursery — it's only a few steps out of the 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 hus- 
 band ; " we shan't be at home this month to come ; " 
 
352 Loss and Gam. 
 
 and then, with due resignation, he directed the coach- 
 man to the nurseryman's whom Louisa named, as he 
 put her into the carriage, and then followed her. 
 
 Charles breathed freely as they went out ; a severe 
 text of Scripture rose on his mind, but he repressed 
 the uncharitable feeling and turned himself to the> 
 anxious duties which lay before him. ' 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 Nothing happened to Charles worth relating before 
 his arrival at Steventon next day ; when, the afternoon 
 being fine, he left his portmanteau to follow him by 
 the omnibus, and put himself upon the road. If it re- 
 quired some courage to undertake by himself a long 
 journey on an all-momentous errand, it did not lessen 
 the difficulty that that journey took in its way a place 
 and a person so dear to him as Oxford and Carlton. 
 
 He had passed through Bagley Wood, and the spires 
 and towers of the University came on his view, hal- 
 lowed by how many tender associations, lost to him for 
 two whole years, suddenly recovered — recovered to be 
 lost for ever ! There lay old Oxford before him, with 
 its hills as gentle and its meadows as green as ever. 
 At the. first view of that beloyed; place he stood still 
 with folded arms, unable to proceed. Each college, 
 each church — he counted them by their pinnacles and 
 turrets. * The silver Isis, the grey willows, the far- 
 stretching plains, the dark groves, the distant range, of 
 Shotover, the pleasant village where he had -lived with 
 Carkon, and Sheffield— wood, water, stone, all so calm, 
 so bright, they, might have been his, but his they were 
 
 23 
 
354 Loss and Gain. 
 
 not. Whatever he was to gain by becoming a Catholic, 
 this he had lost ; whatever he was to gain higher and 
 better, at least this and such as this he never could have 
 again. He could not have another Oxford, he could 
 not have the friends of his boyhood and youth in the 
 . choice of his manhood. He mounted the well-known 
 ' gate on the left, and proceeded down into the plain. 
 There was no one to greet him, to sympathise with him ; 
 there was no one to believe 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 
 defend him. He had suffered much, but there was no 
 one to believe that he had suffered. He would be 
 thought to be inflicting merely, not undergoing, suffer- 
 ing. He might indeed say that he had suffer ed ; buUie 
 would be rudely told that every one follows his own.. 
 
 will, and that if he had given up Oxford, it was for a 
 whim which he liked better than it. But rather, there 
 was no one to know him ; he had been virtually three 
 years away ; three years is a generation ; Oxford had 
 been his place once, but his place knew him no more. 
 He recollected with what awe and transport he had at 
 first come to the University, as to some sacred shrine ; 
 and how from time to time hopes had come over him 
 that some day or other he should have gained a title to 
 residence on one of its ancient foundations. One night 
 in particular came across his memory, how a friend 
 and he had ascended to the top of one of its many 
 towers with the purpose of making observations on the 
 stars ; and how, while his friend was busily engaged 
 with the pointers, he, earthly-minded youth, had been 
 
Loss and Gain.' 355 
 
 looking down into the deep, gas-lit, dark-shadowed 
 quadrangles, and wondering if he should ever be Fellow 
 of this or that College, which he singled out from the 
 mass of academical buildings. All had passed as a 
 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 brisk youths pass, two and two, with 
 elastic tread, finishing their modest daily walk, and 
 nearing the city. What had been a tandem a mile 
 back, next crossed his field of view, shorn of it? leader. 
 Presently a stately cap and gown loomed in the dis- 
 tance ; he had gained the road before their owner 
 crossed him ; it was a college-tutor whom he had 
 known a little. Charles expected to be recognised ; 
 but the resident passed by with that half-conscious 
 uncertain gaze which seemed to have some memory of 
 a face which yet was strange. He had passed Folly 
 Bridge ; troops of horsemen overtook him, talking 
 loud, while with easy jaunty pace they turned into 
 their respective stables. He crossed to Christ Church, 
 and penetrated to Peckwater. The evening was still 
 bright, and the gas was lighting. Groups of young 
 men were stationed here and there, the greater number 
 in hats, a few in caps, one or two with gowns in 
 addition ; some were hallooing up to their companions 
 at the windows of the second story ; scouts were carry- 
 ing about CBger dlnnGYs ; pastry-cook boys were bringing 
 in desserts ; shabby fellows with Blenheim puppies 
 were loitering under Canterbury Gate. Many stared 
 but no one knew him. He hurried up Oriel Lane ; 
 
356 Loss and Gain. 
 
 suddenly a start and a low bow from a passer-by ; who 
 could it be ? It was a superannuated shoeblack of his 
 col-lfegej to whom he had sometimes given a stray shilling. 
 He gained the High Street, and turned down towards 
 the Angel. What was approaching? the vision of a 
 proctor. Charles felt some instinctive quiverings; but- 
 it passed' by him, aiid did no harm. Like Kehama, he 
 had a charmed life. And now he had reached his inn, 
 where he found his portmanteau all ready for him. He 
 chose a bedroom, and, after fully inducting himself into 
 it, turned his thoughts towards dinner. 
 
 He wished to lose no time, but, if possible, to proceed 
 to London the following morning. It would be a great 
 point if he could get to his journey's end so early in the, 
 week, that by Sunday, if he was thought worthy, he - 
 might offer up his praises for the mercies vouchsafed to 
 him in the great and holy communion of the Universal 
 Church. Accordingly he determined to make an 
 attempt on Carlton that evening ; and hopedy if he 
 went to his room between seven and eight, to' find him 
 returned from Common-Room. With this intention he 
 sallied out at about the half-hour, gained Carlton's 
 College, knocked at the gate, entered, passed on, up the 
 worn wooden steep staircase. The oak was closed ; he 
 descended, found a servant ; " Mr. Carlton was giving 
 a dinner in Common-Room; it would soon be over". 
 Charles determined to wait for him. 
 
 The servant hghted candles in the inner room, and 
 Charles sat down at the fire. For awhile he sat in re- 
 flection ; then he looked about for something to occupy 
 him. His eye caught an Oxford paper; it.was but a 
 
Loss and Gain. 357 
 
 few days old. " Let us see how the old place goes on," 
 he said to himself, as he took it up. He glanced from 
 one article to another, looking who were the Univer- 
 sity-preachers of the week, who had taken degrees, 
 who were public examiners, &c., &c., when his eye 
 was arrested by the following paragraph : — 
 
 " Defection from the Church. — We understand 
 that another victim has lately been added to the list of 
 those whom the venom of Tractarian principles has 
 precipitated into the bosom of the Sorceress of Rome. 
 Mr; Reding of St. Saviour's, the son of a respectable 
 clergyman of the Establishment, deceased, after eating 
 the bread of the Church all his life, has at length 
 avowed himself the subject and slave of an Italian 
 Bishop. Disappointment in the schools is said to have 
 been the determining cause of this infatuated act. It 
 is reported that legal measures are in progress for 
 directing the penalties of the Statute of Praemunire 
 against all the seceders ; and a proposition is on foot 
 for petitioning her Majesty to assign the sum thereby 
 realised by the Government to the erection of a 
 ' Martyrs' Memorial ' in the sister University." 
 
 " So," thought Charles, " the world, as usual, is 
 beforehand with me;" and he sat speculating about 
 the origin of the report till he almost forgot that he 
 was waiting for Carlton. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 While Charles was learning in Carlton's rooms the 
 interest which the world took in his position and acts, 
 he was actually furnishing a topic of conversation to 
 that portion of it who were Carlton's guests in the 
 neighbouring Common-Room. Tea and coffee had 
 made their appearance, the men had risen from the 
 table and were crowding round the fire. 
 
 " Who is that Mr. Reding spoken of in the Gazette 
 of last week? " said a prim little man sipping his tea 
 with his spoon, and rising on his toes as he spoke. 
 
 " You need not go far for an answer," said his neigh- 
 bour, and, turning to their host, added, " Carlton, who 
 is Mr. Reding?" 
 
 " A very dear honest fellow," answered Carlton : " I 
 wish we were all of us as good. He read with me one 
 Long Vacation, is a good scholar, and ought to 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 to a young Fellow of Leicester,_yo«, 
 Sheffield, were at one time intimate with Reding?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Sheffield ; " and Vincent, of course, 
 
Loss and Gain. 359 
 
 knows him too ; he's a capital fellow ; I know him 
 exceedingly well ; what the Gazette says about him is 
 shameful. I never met a man who cared less about 
 success in the schools ; it was quite his fault T 
 
 "That's about the truth," said another; "I met Mr. 
 Malcolm yesterday at dinner, and it seems he knows 
 the family. He said that his religious notions carried 
 Reding away, and spoiled his reading." 
 
 The conversation was not general ; it went on in 
 detached groups, as the guests stood together. Nor 
 was the subject a popular one ; rather it was either a 
 painful or a disgusting subject to the whole party, two 
 or three curious and hard minds excepted, to whom 
 opposition to Catholicism was meat and drink. Be- 
 sides, in such chance collections of men, no one knew 
 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 much sece- 
 ders from the Anglican Church were giving up, which 
 kept down any disrespectful 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 is their line." 
 
360 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " Leicester sends four." 
 
 " It will be a large class-list, from what I hear." 
 
 "Ah ! indeed ! the Michaelmas paper is always a 
 good one." 
 
 M.eanwhilp the conversation was in another quarter 
 dwelling upon poor Charles. 
 
 "No, depend upon it, there's more in what the 
 Gazette says than you think. Disappointment is gene- 
 rally at the bottom of these changes." 
 
 " Poor devils 1 they can't help it," said another, in a 
 low voice, to his neighbour. 
 
 "A good riddance, anyhow," said the party ad- 
 dressed ; " we .shall have a little peace at last." 
 
 " Well," said the first of the two, drawing himself 
 up and speaking in the air, " how any educated man 
 
 should 7-" his voice was overpowered by the grave 
 
 enunciation of a small man behind them, who had 
 hitherto kept silence, and now spoke with positiveness. 
 
 He addressed himself, between the two heads which 
 had just been talking in private, to the group beyond 
 them. " It's all the effect of rationalism," he said ; 
 " the whole movement is rationalistic. At the end of 
 three years all those persons who have now apostatised 
 will be infidels." 
 
 No one responded ; at length another of the party 
 came up to Mr. Malcolm's acquaintance, and said, 
 slowly, " I suppose you never heard it hinted that there 
 is something vixoxx^here in Mr. Reding," touching his 
 forehead significantly ; " I have been told it's in the 
 ■family." 
 
 He was answered by a deep powerful voice, belonging 
 
Loss and Gain. 361 
 
 to a person who sat in the corner ; it sounded like 
 " the great bell of Bow," as if it ought to have closed 
 the conversation. It said abruptly, " I respect him 
 uncommonly ; I have an extreme respect for him. He's 
 an honest man ; I wish others were as honest. If they 
 were, then, as the Puseyites are becoming Catholics, so 
 we should see old Brownside and his clique becoming 
 Unitarians. But they mean to stick in." 
 
 Most persons present felt the truth of his remark, and 
 a silence followed it for a while. It was broken by a 
 clear cackling Voice : " Did you ever hear," said he, 
 nodding his head, or rather his whole person, as he 
 spoke, "did you ever, Sheffield, happen to hear that 
 this gentleman, your friend Mr. Reding, when he was 
 quite a freshman, had a conversation with some attachk 
 of the Popish Chapel in this place, at the 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, who was passing at the moment. 
 My eye has been on Mr. Reding for some years." 
 
 "^So it seems," said Sheffield, "for that must have 
 been at least, let me see, four or five years ago." 
 
 " Oh," continued Fusby, " there are two or three 
 more yet to come ; you will see." 
 
 "Why, Fusby," said Vincent, overhearing and 
 coming up, " you are like the three old crones in the 
 Bride of Lammermoor, who wished to have the straik- 
 ing of the Master of Ravenswood." 
 
 Fusby nodded his person, but made no answer. 
 
 " Not all three at once, I hope," said Sheffield. 
 
362 Loss and Gain. 
 
 "Oh, it's quite a concentration, a quintessence of 
 Protestant feeling," answered Vincent ; "I consider 
 myself a good Protestant ; but the pleasure you have 
 in hunting these men is quite sensual, Fusby." 
 
 The Common-Room man here entered, and whis- 
 pered to Carlton that a stranger 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 North and from Ireland." 
 
 "That's no reason, with railroads." 
 
 " I see they have begun our rail," said Vincent ; "I 
 thought the University had opposed it." 
 
 "The Pope in his own states has given in," said 
 Sheffield, " so we may well 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 Holiness is coming to England ? " 
 
 " Oh, oh," cried Vincent, " come, I can't stand this. 
 I must go ; good-night t'you, Carlton. Where's my 
 gown ? " 
 
 " I believe the Common-Room man has hung it up 
 in the passage ; — but you should stop and protect me 
 from Fusby." 
 
Loss and Gain. 363 
 
 Neither did Vincent turn to the rescue, nor did 
 Fusby profit by the hint ; so poor Carlton, with the 
 knowledge that he was wanted in his rooms, had to 
 stay a good half-hour tite-a-tUe with the latter, while 
 he prosed to him in extenso about Pope Sixtus XIV., 
 the Jesuits, suspected men in the University, Mede on 
 the Apostasy, the Catholic Relief Bill, Dr. Pusey's 
 Tract on Baptism, Justification, and the appointment 
 of the Taylor Professors. 
 
 At length, however, Carlton was released. He ran 
 across the quadrangle and up his staircase ; flung open 
 his door, and made his way to his inner room. A person 
 was just rising to meet him ; impossible 1 but it was, 
 though. " What ? Reding ! " he cried ; " who would 
 
 have thought! what a pleasure! we were just . . . 
 
 What brings you here ? " he added, in an altered 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 have anything ? have 
 you dined ? What a pleasure to see you, old fellow ! 
 Are we really to lose you ? " They were soon in con- 
 versation on the great subject. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 "If you have made up your mind, Reding," said 
 Carlton, " it's no good talking. 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, sympathising friend in you, 
 Carlton. You have always listened tome, neversnubbed 
 me except when I deserved-it. You know more about 
 me than anyone else. Campbell is a dear, good fellow, 
 and will soon be dearer to me still. It isn't; generally 
 known yet, but he is to marry my sister. He has borne 
 with me now for two years ; never been hard upon me ; 
 always been at my service when I wanted to talk with 
 him. But no one makes me open my heart as you 
 do, Carlton'; you sometimes have differed from me, 
 but you have always unaerstood me.'' 
 
 " Thank you for your kind words," answered Carlton ; 
 " but to me it is a perfect mystery why you should leave 
 us. I enter into your reasons : I cannot, 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 agree with you." 
 
Loss and Gain. 365 
 
 "We must leave these things to a higher power," 
 said Carlton. " I hope we sha'n't be less friends, Red- 
 ing, when you are in another communion. We know 
 each other ; these outward things cannot change us." 
 
 Reding 3ighed ; he saw clearly that his change of 
 religion, when completed, would not fail to have an 
 effect on Carlton's thoughts about him, as on those of 
 others. It could not possibly be otherwise j he was 
 sure himself to feel different about Carlton. 
 
 After a while, Carlton said gently, " Is it quite im- 
 possible. Reding, that now at the eleventh hour we 
 may retain you ? What are your grounds ? " 
 
 "Don't let us argue, dear Carlton," answered Red- 
 ing ; " I have done with argument. Or, if I must say 
 something for manners' sake, I will but tell you that I 
 have fulfilled your request. You bade me read the 
 Anglican divines ; I have given a great deal of time to 
 them, and I a m embracing that cree d which al one is the 
 scope to which the y converge in their separate teach- 
 ings ; t he creed which upholds the divinity of tradition 
 with Laud, consent of Fathers with Beveridge, a visible 
 Church with Bramhall, 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 
 a Church, which in these, and a multitude of other 
 points, is nearer the Apostolic Church than any exist- 
 ing one ; which is the continuation of the Apostolic 
 Church, if it has been continued at all. And seeing it 
 to be like the Apostolic Church, I believe it to be tbe 
 same. Reason has gone. first, faith is to, follow." 
 
366 Loss and Gain. 
 
 He stopped, and Carlton did not reply ; a silence 
 ensued, and Charles at length 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 her farewell. All is determined,; 
 I cannot go back." 
 
 "Is that a nice feeling?" said Carlton, half re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 " Understand me," answered Reding ; "I have come 
 to my resolution with great deliberation. It has re- 
 mained on my mind as a mere intellectual conclusion 
 for a year or two ; surely now at length without blame 
 I may change it into a practical resolve. But jignp "f 
 us can answer that those habitual and ruling convic- 
 tions, on which it is our duty to act, will remain before 
 
 our consciousness every moment, when we come into 
 
 the hur ry of the WOrH , anH arp aggjilpH V>y I'nrlnfP- 
 
 ment s and motives of various kinds. Therefore I say 
 that the time of argument is past ; I act on a con- 
 clusion already drawn." 
 
 " But how do you know," asked Carlton, " but what 
 you have been unconsciously biassed in arriving at it ? 
 one notion has possessed you, and you have not been 
 able to shake it off. The ability to retain your con- 
 victions in the bustle of life is to my mind the very 
 test, the necessary test of their reality." 
 
 " I do, I do retain them," answered Reding ; " they 
 arc always upon me." 
 
 " Only at times, as you have yourself confessed," 
 objected Carlton : " surely you ought to have a very 
 strong conviction indeed, to set against the mischief 
 
Loss and Gain. 367 
 
 you are doing by a step of this kind. Consider how 
 many persons you are unsettling ; what a triumph 
 you are giving to the enemies of all religion ; what 
 encouragement to the notion that there is no such 
 thing as truth ; how you are weakening our Church. 
 Well, all I say is, that you should have very strong 
 convictions to set against all this." 
 
 " Well," said Charles, " I grant, I maintain, that 
 the only motive which is sufficient to justify such an _ 
 act, is the convirtj"" that nnp''; ^alvatinn depends on 
 it. Now, I speak sincerely, my dear Carlton, in 
 saying that I don't think I shall be saved if I remain 
 in the English Church." 
 
 " 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 
 afjhp rkk of my sniil" 
 
 " God ' calls' you ! " said Carlton ; " what does that 
 mean ? I don't like it ; its dissenting language." 
 
 " You know it is Scripture language,'' answered 
 Reding. 
 
 " Yes, but people don't in Scripture say ' I'm 
 called ' ; the calling was an act from without, the 
 act of others, not an inward feeling." 
 
 " But, my dear Carlton, how is a person to get at 
 truth, now, when there can be no simple outward 
 
 "That seems to me a pretty good intimation," 
 answered Carlton, "that we are to remain where 
 Providence has placed us." 
 
368 Loss and Gain. 
 
 "Now this is just one of the points on which I 
 can't get at the bottom of the Church of. England's 
 doctrine," Reding replied. "But it's so on so many 
 other subjects ! it's always so. Are members of the 
 Church of England to seek the truth, or have they it 
 given them from the first ? Do they seek it for theni- 
 selves, or is it ready provided for them ? " 
 
 Carlton thought a moment, and seemed doubtful 
 what to answer ; then he said .that we must, of course, 
 seek it. It was a part of our moral probation to seek 
 the truth. 
 
 " Then don't talk to me about our position," said 
 Charles ; " I hardly expected you to make this answer 
 but it is what the majority ot Church-of-England 
 people say. They tell us to seek, they give us rules for 
 seeking, they make us exert our private judgment; but 
 directly we come to any conclusion but theirs, they 
 turn round and talk to us of our 'providential position'. 
 But there's another thing. Tell me, supposing we 
 ought all to seek the truth, do you think that members 
 of the English Church 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't believe the bulk of the English clergy, 
 the bulk of Oxford residents. Heads of houses. Fellows 
 of Colleges (with all their good points, which I am not 
 the man to deny), have ever sought the truth. They 
 have taken what they found, and have used no private 
 judgment at all. Or if they have judged, it has been in 
 the vaguest, most cursory way possible ; or they have 
 
Loss and Gain. 369 
 
 looked into Scripture only to find proofs for what they 
 were bound to subscribe, as undergraduates getting up 
 the Articles. Then they sit over their wine, and talk 
 about this or that friend who has ' seceded ' and con- 
 demn him, and " (glancing at the newspaper on the 
 table) " assign motives for his conduct. Yet after all, 
 which is the more likely to be right,-^he who has given 
 years, perhaps, to the search of truth, who has habi- 
 tually prayed for guidance, and has taken all the means 
 in his power to secure it, or they, ' the gentlemen of 
 England who sit at home at ease ' ? No, no, they may 
 talk of seeking the truth, of private judgment, as a 
 duty, but they have never sought, they have never 
 judged ; they are where they are, not because it is true, 
 but because they 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 had annoyed him. But, without 
 taking that into account, there was enough in the cir- 
 cumstances in which he found himself to throw him 
 out of his ordinary state of mind. He was in a crisis of 
 peculiar trial, which a person must have felt to under- 
 stand. Few men go to battle in cold blood, or prepare 
 without agitation for a surgical operation. Carltonj 
 on the other hand, was a quiet gentle person, who was 
 not heard to use an excited word once a year. 
 
 The conversation came to a stand. At length Carlton 
 said, " I hope, dear Reding, you are not joining the 
 Church of Rome merely because there are unreason- 
 able, unfeeling persons in the Church of England ". 
 
370 Loss and Gain. 
 
 Charles felt that he was not' showing to advantage, 
 and that he was giving rise to the very surmises about 
 the motives of his conversion which he was depre- 
 catmg. 
 
 " It is a sad thing," he said, with something of self- 
 reproach, "to spend our last minXitefe in wrangling. 
 Forgive me, Carlton, if I have said anything too 
 strongly or earnestly." Carlton thought he had ; he 
 thought him in an excited state ; but it was no use 
 telling him so ; so he merely pressed his offered hand 
 affectionately and said nothing. 
 
 Presently he said, dryly and abruptly, " Reding, do 
 you know any Roman Catholics ? " 
 
 " No," answered Reding ; " Willis indeed, but I 
 hav'n't seen him these two years. It has been 
 entirely the working of mv own mi nd." 
 
 Carlton did not answer at once ; then he said, as 
 dryly and abruptly as before, " I suspect then, you will 
 have much to bear with when you know them ". 
 
 " 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 yourself with men 
 of rude minds and vulgar manners." 
 
 " My dear Carlton, a'n't you talking of what you 
 know nothing at all about ? " 
 
 " Well, but you should think of it, you should con- 
 
Loss and Gain. 371 
 
 template it," said Carlton; " I judge from their letters 
 and speeches which one reads in the papers." 
 
 Charles thought awhile ; then he said, " Certainly, I 
 don't like many things which are done and said by 
 Roman Catholics just now ; but I don't see how all 
 this can be more than, a trial and a cross ; I don't see 
 how it affects the great question ". 
 
 " No, except that ybu may find youtself a fish out of 
 water," answered Carlton ; " you may find yourself in 
 a position where you can act with no one, where you 
 will be quite thrown away." 
 
 " Well," said Charles, "as to the fact I know nothing 
 aboilt it ; it may be as you say, but I don't think much 
 of your proof In a ll-eoiBmunities. the worst is on the^ 
 outside, yyhat offends me ;in Catholic Bubli c proceed- 
 ings-need be no measure, nay, I believe c annot be a 
 ■ measureTof the inward Catholic mind. I would not 
 judge the Anglican Church by Exeter Hall, nay, not 
 byEpiscopal Charges. We see the interior of our own 
 Church, the exterior of the Church of Rome. This ig 
 not a fair comparison." 
 
 "But look'at their books of devotion," insisted 
 Carlton ; " they can't write English." 
 
 Reding smiled at Carlton, and slowly shook his head 
 to and fro, while he said, "They write Etiglish, I sup- 
 pose, as classically as St. John writes Greek". 
 
 Here again the conversation halted, and nothing was 
 heard for a while but the simmering of the kettle. 
 
 There was no good in disputing,- as might be seen 
 from the first ; each had his own view, and that was 
 the beginning and the end of the matter. Charles 
 
372 Loss and Gain. 
 
 stood up. "Well, dearest Carlton," he said, "we must 
 part ; it must 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 
 pledge that 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 to strangers," he 
 went on ; "I do not wish it, but I cannot help it ; I 
 am called, I am compelled." He stopped again ; the 
 
 tears flowed down his cheeks. " All is well," he said, 
 recovering himself, " all is well ; but it'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 his palms one on 
 another. "It must be," he whispered to himself, 
 " through tribulation to the kingdom, sowing in tears, 
 reaping in joy . . ." Another pause, and a new train 
 of thought came over him ; " Oh," he said, " I fear so 
 very much, so very much, that all you who do not 
 come forward will go back. You cannot stand where 
 you are ; f or a time you will think you do, then you 
 will oppose us, and still think you keep your ground 
 while you use the same words as before ; but your 
 belief, your opinions will decline. You will hold less. 
 And then, in time, it will strike you that, in differing 
 with Protestants, you are contending only about words. 
 They call us Rationalists ; take care you don't fall into 
 Liberalism. And now, my dearest Carlton, my one 
 friend in Oxford who was patient and loving towards 
 
Loss and Gain. 373 
 
 me, good-bye. May we meet not long hence in 
 peace and joy. I cannot go to you ; you must come 
 to me." 
 
 They embraced each other affectionately ; and the 
 next minute Charles was running down the staircase. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Charles went to bed with a bad headache, and woke 
 with a worse. Nothing remained but to order his bill 
 and be off for London. Yet he could not go without 
 taking a last farewell of the place itself. He was up 
 soon after seven; and while the gownsmen were rising 
 and in their respective chapels, he had been round 
 Magdalen Walk and Christ Church Meadow. There 
 were few or none to see him wherever he went. The 
 trees of the Water Walk were variegated, as beseemed 
 the time of year, with a thousand hues, arching over 
 his head, and screening his side. He reached Addison'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. He pursued it, and onwards 
 still, till he came round in sight of the beautiful tower, 
 which at length rose close over his head. The morning 
 was frosty, and there was a mist ; the leaves flitted 
 about; all was in unison with the state of his feelings. 
 He re-entered the monastic buildings, meeting with 
 nothing but scouts with boxes of cinders, and old 
 women carrying off the remains of the kitchen. He 
 crossed to the Meadow, and walked steadily down to 
 
Loss and Gain. 2)7 S 
 
 the junction of the Cherwell with the Isis ; he then . 
 
 turned back. What thoughts came upon him ! for the 
 
 last time ! There was no one to see him ; he threw his 
 
 arms round the willows so dear to him, and kissed 
 
 them ; he tore off some of their black leaves and put 
 
 them in his bosom. " I am like Undine," he said, 
 
 " killing with a kiss. No one cares for me ; scarce a 
 
 person knows me." He neared the Long Walk again./ 
 
 Suddenly, looking obliquely into it, he saw a cap and 
 
 gown; he looked anxiously; it was Jennings; there 
 
 was no mistake ; and his direction was towards him. 
 
 Charles always had felt kindly towards him, in spite 
 
 of his sternness, but he would not meet him for the 
 
 world ; what was he to do ? He stood behind a large 
 
 elm, and let him pass ; then he set off again at a 
 
 quick pace. When he had got some way, he ventured 
 
 to turn his head round ; and he saw Jennings' at the 
 
 moment, by that sort of fatality or sympathy which is 
 
 so common, turning round towards him. He hurried 
 
 on, and soon found himself again at his inn. 
 
 Strange as it may seem, though he had on the wnole 
 had as good success as Carlton in the " keen encounter 
 of their wits" the night before, it had left an unsatis- 
 factory effect on his mind. The time for action was 
 come ; argument was past, as he had himself said ; 
 and to recur to argument was only to confuse the 
 clearness of his apprehension of the truth. He began 
 to question whether he really had evidence enough for 
 the step he was taking, and the temptation assailed 
 him that he was giving up this world without gaining 
 the next. Carlton evidently thought him excited ; 
 
37^ Loss and Gain. 
 
 what if it were true ? Perhaps his convictions were, 
 after all, a dream ; what did they rest upon ? He tried 
 to recall his best arguments, 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 have 
 served God well in his generation, where he had been 
 placed? He recollected some lines in the Ethics of 
 Aristotle, quoted by the philosopher from an old poet, 
 in which the poor outcast Philoctetes laments over his 
 own stupid officiousness, as he calls it, which had been 
 the cause of his misfortunes. Was he not a busybody 
 too? Why could he not let well alone? Better men 
 than he had lived and died in the English Church. 
 And then what if, as Campbell had said, all his so- 
 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 ; all had turned 
 out well with him — a good class, a fellowship, merely 
 or principally because he had taken things as they 
 came, and not gone roaminp: after visions. He felt 
 himself violently assaulted ; but he was not deserted, 
 not overpowered. His good sense, rather his good 
 Angel, came to his aid ; evidently he was in no way 
 able to asgue or judge at that moment; the deliberate 
 conclusions of years ought not to be set aside by the 
 troubled thoughts of an hour. With an effort he put 
 the whole subject from him, and addressed himself to 
 his journey. 
 
 How he got to Steventon he hardly recollected ; but 
 gradually he came to himself, and found himself in a 
 first-class of the Great Western, proceeding rapidly 
 
Loss and Gain. 377 
 
 towards London. He then looked about him to 
 ascertain who his fellow-travellers were. The farther 
 compartment was full of passengers, who seemed to 
 form one party, talking together with great volubility 
 and glee. Of the three seats in his own part of the 
 carriage, one only, that opposite to him, was filled. 
 On taking a survey of the stranger, he saw a grave 
 person passing or past the middle age ; his face had 
 that worn, or rather that unplacid appearance, which 
 even slight physical suffering, if habitual, gives to the 
 features, and his eyes were pale from study or other 
 cause. Charles thought he had seen his face before, 
 but he could not recollect where or when. But what 
 most interested him was his dress and appearance, 
 which was such as is rarely found in a travelling- 
 companion. It was of an unusual character, and, 
 taken together with the small ofifice-book he held 
 in his hand, plainly showed Charles that he was op- 
 posite a Roman ecclesiastic. His heart beat, and he felt 
 tempted to start from his seat ; then a sick feeling and 
 a sinking came over him. He gradually grew calmer, 
 and journeyed on some time in silence, longing yet 
 afraid to speak. At length, on the train stopping at 
 the station, he addressed a few words to him in French. 
 His companion looked surprised, smiled, and in a hesi- 
 tating, saddish voice said that he was an Englishman. 
 Charles made an awkward apology, and there was 
 silence again. Their eyes sometimes met, and then 
 moved slowly off each other, as if a mutual recon- 
 noitring was in progress. At length it seemed to 
 strike the stranger that he had abruptly stopped the 
 
378 Loss and Gain. 
 
 conversation ; and, after apparently beating about for 
 an introductory topic, he said, "Perhaps I can read 
 you, sir, better than 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 did not seem in a humour for 
 talking, proceeded to various questions about the 
 University, as if out of civility. What, colleges sent 
 Proctors that year? Were the Taylor Professors 
 appointed? Were they members of the Church 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 necessi- 
 ties ; yet the opportunity was likely to pass away, and 
 nothing to come of it. After one 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. 
 Time went forward, the steam was let off and put on ; 
 the train stopped and proceeded, and the office was 
 apparently finished ; the book vanished in a side-pocket. 
 
 After a time Charles suddenly said, " How came 
 you to suppose I was of Oxford ? " 
 
 " Not entirely by your look and manner, for I saw 
 you jump from the omnibus at Steventon ; but with 
 that assistance it was impossible to mistake." 
 
 " I have heard others say the sariiej" said Charles ; 
 "yet I can't myself make out how an Oxford man 
 should be known from another." 
 
Loss and Gain. 379 
 
 "Not only Oxford men, but Cambridge men, are 
 known by their appearance ; soldiers, lawyers, beneficed 
 clergyman ; indeed every class has its external indica- 
 tions to those who can read them." 
 
 "I know persons," said Charles, "who believe 
 that handwriting is an indication of calling and 
 character." 
 
 " I do not doubt it," replied the priest ; " the gait is 
 another ; but it is not all of us who can read so 
 recondite a language. Yet a language it is, as really 
 as hieroglyphics on an obelisk." 
 
 " It is a fearful thought," said Charles with a sigh 
 " that we, as it were, exhale ourselves every breath we, 
 draw." 
 
 The stranger assented ; " A man's moral self," he 
 saidt "is concentrated in each moment of his life; it 
 lives in the tips of his fingers, and the spring of his 
 insteps. A > very little thing tries what a man is 
 made of." 
 
 "I think I must bespeaking to a Catholic priest?" 
 said Charles : when his question was answered in the 
 affirmative, he went on hesitatingly to ask if what they 
 had been speaking of did not illustrate the importance 
 of faith? "One did not see at first sight," he said, 
 "how it was rational to maintain that so much 
 depended on holding this or that doctrine, or a little 
 more or a little less, but it might be a test of the heart." 
 
 His companion looked pleased ; however, he ob- 
 served, that "there was no 'more or less' in faith; 
 that either we believed the whole revealed message, 
 or really we beheved no part of it ; that we ought to 
 
380 Loss and Gain. 
 
 believe what 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. 
 
 "Thfi qnestinn " said hi s fellow-traveller, " is__ 
 whether they s ubmit th eir reason implicitly to that 
 _whi^J:hey have received a s God's word." 
 
 Charles assented. 
 
 " Would you say, then," he continued, " that the 
 Unitarian really believes as God's word that which he 
 professes to receive, when he passes over and gets rid 
 of so much that is in that word ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," said Charles. 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 "Because it is plain," said Charles, " that his ulti- 
 mate standard of truth is not the Scripture, but, 
 unconsciously to himself, some view of things in his 
 mind which is to him the measure of Scripture." 
 
 "Then he believes himself, if we may so speak," 
 said the priest, " and not the external word of 
 God." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "Well, in like manner," he continued, "do you 
 think a person can have real faith in that which he 
 admits to be the word of God, who passes by, with- 
 out attempting to understand, such passages as 'the 
 Church the pillar and ground of the truth ' ; or, 
 ■ whosesoever sins ye forgive, they are forgiven ' ; or, 
 ' if any man is sick, let him call for the priests of the 
 Church, and let them anoint him with oil ' ? " 
 
Loss and Gain. 381 
 
 "No," said Charles; "but, in fact, we do not profess 
 to have faith in the mere text of Scripture. You 
 know, sir," he added hesitatingly, " that the Anglican 
 doctrine is to interpret Scripture by the Church ; 
 therefore we have faith, like Catholics, not in Scripture 
 simply, but in the whole word committed to the 
 Church, of which Scripture is a part." 
 
 His companion smiled : " How many," he asked, 
 "so profess ? But, waiving this question, I understand 
 what a Catholic means by saying that he goes by the 
 voice of the Church ; it means, practically, by the voice 
 of the first priest he meets. Every priest is the voice 
 of the Church. This is quite intelligible. In matters 
 of doctrine, he has faith in the word of any priest. 
 But what, where, is that ' word ' of the Church which 
 the persons you speak of believe in ? and when do they 
 exercise their belief? Is it not an undeniable fact, 
 that, so far from all Anglican clergymen agreeing 
 together in faith, what the first says, the second will 
 unsay ? so that an Anglican cannot, if he would, have 
 faith in them, and necessarily, though he would not, 
 chooses between them. How, then, has faith a place 
 in the religion of an Anglican ? " 
 
 " Well," said Charles, " I am sure I know a good 
 many persons — and if you knew the Church of Eng- 
 land as I do, you would not need me to tell you — who, 
 from knowledge of the Gospels, have an absolute con- 
 viction and an intimate sense of the reality of the sacred 
 facts contained in them, which, whether you call it faith 
 or not, is powerful enough to colour their whole being 
 with its influence, and rules their heart and conduct as 
 
382 Loss and Gain. 
 
 well as their imagination. I can't believe that these 
 persons are out of God's favour ; yet, according to your 
 account of the matter, they have not faith." 
 
 " Do you think these persons believe and practise 
 all that is brought home to them as being in Scrip- 
 ture? " 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 are passages in it to which they are in- 
 sensible, as about the sacraments, penance, and extreme 
 unction, or about the See of Peter, I should in charity 
 think that these passages had never been. brought home 
 or applied to their minds and consciences — ^just as a 
 Pope's Bull may be for a time unknown in a distant 
 part of the Church. They may be ^ in involuntary ig- 
 norance. Yet I fear that, taking the whole nation, 
 there are few who on this score can lay claim to faith." 
 
 Charles said this did not fully meet the difficulty ; 
 faith, in the case of these persons, at least was not faith 
 in the word of the Church. His companion would not 
 allow this ; he said they received the Scripture on the 
 testimony of the Church, that at least they were 
 believing the word of God, and the like. 
 
 Presently Charles said, "It is to me a great mystery 
 how the English people, as a whole, is ever to have 
 faith again ; is there evidence enough for faith ? " 
 
 ' " Errantes invincibiliter circa aliquos articulos, et credentes 
 alios, non sunt formalitec h^eietici, sed habent fidem supernatu- 
 ralem, qu^ credunt veros articulos, atque adeo ex ei. possunt 
 procedeie actus perfects^ contritionis, quibus justificentur et sal- 
 ventur." — De Lugo de Fid., p. 169. 
 
Loss and Gain. 383 
 
 His new friend looked surprised and not over-pleased ; 
 " Surely," he said, " in matter of fact, a man may have 
 more evidence for believing the Church to be the mes- 
 senger of God, than he has for believing the four 
 Gospels to be from God. If, then, he already believes 
 the latter, why should he not believe the former ?" 
 
 " But the belief in the Gospels is a traditional belief," 
 said Charles ; " that makes all the difference. I can- 
 not see how a nation like England, which has lost the 
 faith, ever can recover it. Hence, in the matter of 
 conversion, Providenqe has generally visited simple 
 and barbarous nations." 
 
 " The converts of the Roman Empire were, I sup- 
 pose, a considerable exception," said the priest. 
 
 1 " Still it seems to me a great difficulty," answered 
 Charles ; " I do not see, when the dogmatic structure is 
 once broken down, how it is ever to be built up again. 
 I fancy there is. a passage somewhere in Carlyle's 
 ' French Revolution ' on the subject, in which the 
 author laments over the madness of men's destroying 
 Avhat they could not replace, what it would take centuries 
 and a strange combination of fortunate circumstances to 
 reproduce, an external received creed. I am not deny-" 
 ing, God forbid ! the objectivity of revelation, or saying 
 "that faith is a sort of happy and expedient delusion ;' 
 but, really, the evidence for revealed doctrine is so built 
 up on probabilities that I do not see what is to intro- 
 duce it into a civilised community, where reason has 
 been cultivated to the utmost, 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 he 
 
 \ 
 
384 Loss and Gain. 
 
 finds himself unable, though wishing, to believe, for he 
 has not evidence enough to subdue his reason. What 
 is to make him believe ? " 
 
 His fellow-traveller had for some time shown signs of 
 uneasiness ; when Charles stopped, he said, shortly, but 
 quietly, "What is to piake him believe? the will, his 
 wiir. 
 
 Charles hesitated : he proceeded : " If there is evi- 
 dence enough to believe Scripture, and we see that 
 there is, I repeat, there is more than enough to believe 
 the Church . The evidence is not in fault ; all it re- 
 quires is to be brought home or applied to the mind : 
 if belief does not then follow, the fault lies with the will.' 
 
 " Well," said Charles, " I think there is a general 
 feeling among educated Anglicans, that the claims ol 
 the Roman Church do not rest on a sufficiently intel- 
 lectual basis ; that the evidences, or notes, were well 
 enough for a rude age, not for this. This is what 
 makes me despair of the 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 ol 
 God ". 
 
 " Do you mean," said Charles, with a beating heart 
 " that before conversion one can attain to a present 
 abiding actual conviction of this truth ? " 
 
 " I do not know,'' answered the other ; " but, at least 
 he may have habitual moral certainty; I mean, a con- 
 viction, and one only, steady, without rival conviction 
 or even reasonable doubt, present to him when he is 
 
L.OSS and Gain. 385 
 
 most composed and in his hours of solitude, and flashing 
 on him from time to time, as through clouds, when he 
 is in the world ;— a conviction to this effect, ' The 
 Roman Catholic Church is the one only voice of God, 
 the one only way of salvation '." 
 
 " Then you mean to say," said Charles, while his 
 heart beat faster, " that such 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 act of the will, and at 
 the dictate of reason and prudence, embrace the truth, 
 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 the light of the 
 Spirit." 
 
 Charles said that he feared there was a great tempta- 
 tion operating on many well-informed and excellent 
 men, to find fault with the evidence for Catholicity, 
 and to give over the search, on the excuse that there 
 were arguments on both sides. ^ 
 
 " It is not one set of men," answered his companion ; 
 "it is the grievous deficiency in Englishmen altogether. 
 F.nglishmen have many gifts, faith they have not. 
 Other nations, inferior to them in many things, still 
 have faith. Nothing will stand in place of it; not a 
 sense of the beauty of Catholicism, or of its awfulness, 
 or of its antiquity ; not an appreciation of the sympathy 
 which it shows towards sinners ; not an admiration of 
 the Martyrs and early Fathers, and a delight in their 
 
 25 
 
386 Loss and Gain. 
 
 \ 
 writings. Individuals may display a touching gentle- 
 ness, or a conscientiousness which demands our reve- 
 rence ; still, till they have faith^ they have no t the 
 foundation, and their superstructure will faUT They 
 will riot be blessed , theywol'l etfect nothing nT feTigiou s 
 matters, till they begin by an act of unreserved faith in 
 "the "worcTof Go37wIial"5vSr~!t bfe j'TiTrtheygo out ot 
 
 themselves ; till they cease to make something within 
 them their standard ; till they oblige th eir will to per fect 
 what reason leaves sufficient, indeed, bu t mcomplete. 
 And when they shall recognise this defect in themselves, 
 and try to remedy it, then they will recognise much 
 more ; — they will be on the road very shortly to be 
 Catholics." 
 
 There was nothing in all this exactly new to Reding; 
 but it was pleasant to hear it from the voice of another, 
 and him a priest. Thus he had sympathy and autho- 
 rity, and felt he was restored to himself. The conver- 
 sation stopped. After a while he disclosed to his new 
 friend the place for which he was bound, which, after 
 what Charles had already been saying, could be no great 
 surprise to him. The latter knew the Superior of San 
 Michaele, and, taking out a card, wrote upon it a few 
 words of introduction for him. By this time they had 
 reached Paddington ; and scarcely had the train stopped, 
 when the priest took his small carpet-bag from under 
 his seat, wrapped his cloak around him, stepped out 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 as quietly as he could ; and had 
 adopted what he considered satisfactory measures 
 for this purpose. But such arrangements often turn 
 out very differently from their promise ; and so it was 
 in his case. 
 
 The Passionist House was in the eastern part of 
 London ; so far well ; — and as he knew in the neigh- 
 bourhood a respectable publisher in the religious line, 
 with whom his father had dealt, he had written to him 
 to bespeak a room in his house for the few days which 
 he trusted would suffice for the process of his reception. 
 What was to happen to him after it, he left for the 
 advice he might get from those in whose hands he found 
 himself. It was now Wednesday ; he hoped to have 
 two days to prepare himself for his ctjnfession, and then 
 he proposed to present himself before those who were to 
 receive it. His better plan would have been to have 
 gone to the Religious House at once, where doubtless 
 the good fathers would have lodged him, secured him 
 from intrusion, and given him the best advice how to 
 proceed. But we must indulge him, if, doing so great 
 
388 Loss and Gam. 
 
 a work, he likes to do it in his own way : nor must we 
 be hard on him, though it be not the best way. 
 
 On arriving at his destination, he saw in the deport- 
 ment of his host grounds for concluding that his coming 
 was not only expected, but understood. Doubtless, then 
 the paragraph of the Oxford Gazette had been copied 
 into the London papers ; nor did it relieve his unplea- 
 sant surprise to find, as he passed to his room, that the 
 worthy bibliopolist had a reading-room attached to his 
 shop, which was far more perilous to his privacy than 
 a coffee-room would have been. He was not obliged, 
 however, to mix with the various parties who seemed to 
 frequent it ; and he determined as far as possible to 
 confine himself to his apartment. The rest of the day 
 he employed in writing letters to friends : his conver- 
 sation of the morning had tranquillised him; he went 
 to bed peaceful and happy, slept soundly, rose late, and, 
 refreshed in mind and body, turned his thoughts to the 
 serious duties of the day. 
 
 Breakfast over, he gave a considerable time to devo- 
 tional exercises, and then, opening his writing-desk, 
 addressed himself to his work. Hardly had he got into 
 it when his landlord made his appearance; and, with 
 many apologies for his intrusion, and a hope that he 
 was not going to be impertinent, proceeded to inquire if 
 Mr. Reding was a Catholic. " The question had been 
 put to him, and he thought he might venture to solicit 
 an answer from the person who could give the most 
 authentic information." Here was an interruption, 
 vexatious in itself, and perplexing in the form in which 
 it came upon him ; it would be absurd to reply that he 
 
Loss and Gain. 389 
 
 was on the point of becoming a Catholic, so he shortly 
 answered in the negative. Mr. Mumford then informed 
 him that there were two friends of Mr. Reding's below, 
 who wished very much to have a few minutes' conver- 
 sation with him. Charles could make no intelligible 
 objection to the request ; and in the course of a few 
 minutes their knock was heard at the room door. 
 
 On his answering it, two persons presented them- 
 selves, apparently both strangers to him. This, how- 
 ever, at the moment was a relief; for vague fears and 
 surmises had begun to flit across his mind as to the faces 
 which were to make their appearance. The younger of 
 the two, who had round full cheeks, with a boyish air, 
 and a shrill voice, advanced confidently, and seemed to 
 expect a recognition. It broke upon Charles that he 
 had seen him before, but he could not tell where. " I 
 ought to know your face," he said. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Reding," answered the person addressed, 
 " you may recollect me at College." 
 
 " Ah, I remember perfectly," said Reding; " Jaclc 
 the kitchen-boy at St. Saviour's." 
 
 " Yes," said Jack ; " I came when young Tom was 
 promoted into Dennis's place." 
 
 Then he added, with a solemn shake of the head, " I 
 have got promotion now." 
 
 " So it seems. Jack ;" answered Reding; " but what 
 are you ? Speak." 
 
 " Ah, sir," said Jack, " we must converse in a tone 
 of befitting seriousness ;" and he added, in a deep 
 inarticulate voice, his lips not being suffered to meet 
 together, " Sir, I stand next to an Angel now ". 
 
390 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " A what ? Angel ? Oh, I know," cried Charles, 
 " it's some sect ; the Sandemanians." 
 
 " Sandemanians ! " interrupted Jack; "we hold 
 them in abhorrence ; they are levellers ; they bring in 
 disorder and every evil work." 
 
 " I beg pardon, but I know it is some sect, though I 
 don't recollect what. 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 a Propraetor, " I am a member of the 
 Holy Catholic Church." 
 
 " That's right, Jack," said Reding ; " but it's not 
 distinctive enough ; so are we all ; every one will say 
 as much." 
 
 " Hear me out, Mr. Reding, sir," answered Jack, 
 waving his hand ; " hear me, 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, what do men ? " 
 
 " Men," said Jack, not understanding, however, the 
 allusion — " men call us Christians, professing the 
 opinions of the late Rev. Edward Irving, B.D," 
 
 " I understand perfectly now," said Reding ; " Ir- 
 vingites — I recollect." 
 
 " No, sir," he said, " not Irvingites ; we do not follow 
 man ; we follow wherever the Spirit leads us.; we have 
 given up Tongue. But I ought to introduce you to 
 my friend, who is more than an Angel," he proceeded 
 modestly, " who has more than the tongue of men and 
 angels, being nothing short of an Apostle, sir. Mr. 
 
Loss and Gain. 391 
 
 Reding, here's the Rev. Alexander Highfly. Mr. 
 Highfly, this is Mr. Reding." 
 
 Mr. Highfly was a man of gentlemanlike appearance 
 and manner ; his language was refined, and his conduct 
 was delicate ; so much so that Charles 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 his conversation to clash with that profession. He 
 explained that he had heard of Mr. Reding's being 
 unsettled in his religious views, and he would not lose 
 the opportunity of attempting so valuable an acces- 
 sion to the 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, " for which I am asking your 
 co-operation. I am giving you the fellowship of 
 Apostles." 
 
 " It is, I recollect, one of the characteristics of your 
 body," said Charles, " to have an order of Apostles, in 
 addition to Bishops, Priests, and Deacons." 
 
 " Rather," said his visitor, " it is the special charac- 
 teristic ; for we acknowledge the orders of the Church 
 of England. We are but completing the Church 
 system by restoring the Apostolic College." 
 
 "What I should complain of," said Charles, "were 
 I at all inclined to listeri to your claims, would be the 
 very different views which different members of your 
 body put forward." 
 
 " You must recollect, sir," answered Mr. Highfly, 
 " that we are under Divine teaching, and that truth is 
 tjat gradually communicated to the Church. We do 
 
392 Loss and Gain. 
 
 not pledge ourselves what we shall believe to-morrow 
 by anything we say to-day." 
 
 " Certainly/' answered Reding, " things have been 
 said to me by your teachers which I must suppose 
 were only private opinions, though they seemed to be 
 more." 
 
 "But I was saying," said Mr. Highfly, "that at 
 present we are restoring the Gentile Apostolate. The 
 Church of England has Bishops, Priests, and Deacons, 
 but a Scriptural Church has more ; it is plain it ought 
 to have Apostles. In Scripture. Apostles had the 
 supreme authority, and the three Anglican orders were 
 but subordinate to them." 
 
 " I am disposed to agree with you there," said 
 Charles. Mr. Highfly looked surprised and pleased. 
 " We are restoring," he said, " the Church to a more 
 Scriptural state ; perhaps, then, we may reckon on 
 your co-operation in doing so? We do not ask 
 you to secede from the Establishment, but to ac- 
 knowledge the Apostolic authority to which all ought 
 to submit." 
 
 " But does it not strike you, Mr. Highfly," answered 
 Reding, " that there is a body of Christians, and not 
 an iriconsiderable one, which maintains with you, and, 
 what is more, has always preserved, that true and 
 higher Apostolic succession in the Church ; a body, I 
 mean, which, in addition to Episcopacy, believes that 
 there is a standing ordinance above Episcopacy, and 
 gives it the name of the Apostolate ? " 
 
 " On the contrary," answered Mr. Highfly, " I 
 consider that we are restoring what has lain dormant 
 
Loss and Gain. 393 
 
 ever since the time of St. Paul ; nay, I will say it is an 
 ordinance which has never been carried into effect at 
 all, though it was in the Divine design from the first. 
 You will observe that the Apostles were Jews ; but 
 there never has been a Gentile Apostolate. St. Paul 
 indeed was Apostle of the Gentiles, but the design 
 begun in him has hitherto been frustrated. He went 
 up to Jerusalem against the solemn warning of the 
 Spirit ; now we are raised up to complete that work of 
 the Spirit, which was stopped by the inadvertence of 
 the first Apostle." 
 
 Jack interposed : he should be very glad he said, 
 to know what religious persuasion it was, besides his 
 own, which Mr. Reding considered to have preserved 
 the succession of Apostles as something distinct from 
 Bishops. 
 
 " It is quite plain whom I mean — The Catholics," 
 answered Charles. " The Popedom is the true Aposto- 
 late, the Pope is the successor of the Apostles, particu- 
 larly 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 their ritual : but we are 
 not accustomed to consider that we resemble them in 
 what is our characteristic and cardinal tenet." 
 
 " Allow me to say it, Mr. Highfly," said Reding, "it 
 is a reason why every Irvingite — I mean every mem- 
 ber of your denomination — should become a Catholic. 
 Your own religious sense has taught you that there 
 ought to be an Apostolate in the Church. You 
 consider that the authority of the Apostles was not 
 
394 Loss and Gain. 
 
 temporary, but essential and fundamental. What that 
 authority was, we see in St. Paul's conduct towards St. 
 Timothy. He placed him in the See of Ephesus, he 
 sent him a charge, and, in fact, he was 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 sole proper successor of the 
 Apostles, though Bishops may be improperly such also.* 
 And hence Catholics call him Vicar of Christ, Bishop 
 of Bishops, and the like ; and, I believe, consider that 
 he, in a pre-eminent sense, is the one pastor or ruler of 
 the Church, the source of jurisdiction, the judge of 
 controversies, and the centre of unity, as having the 
 powers of the Apostles, and especially of St. Peter." 
 
 Mr. Highfly kept silence. 
 
 " Don't you think, then, it would be well," continued 
 Charles, " that, before coming to convert me, yoii 
 should first join the Catholic Church ? at least you 
 would urge your doctrine upon me with more authority 
 if you came as a member of it. And I will tell you 
 frankly, that you would find it easier to convert me to 
 Catholicism than to your present persuasion." 
 
 Jack looked at Mr. Highfly, as if hoping for some 
 decisive reply to what was 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 con- 
 
 1 " Successores sunt, sed ita ut potius Vicarii dicendi sint Apos- 
 tolorum, quam successores ; contra, Romanus Pontifex, quia verus 
 Petri successor est, nonnisi per quendam abusum ejus vicaiiu* 
 diceretur." — Zaccar. Aitti/ebr., p. 130. 
 
Loss and Gain. 395 
 
 tinuing the interview ; but your last remark leads me 
 to observe that prosefytzsm was not our object in coming 
 here. We did not propose more than to inform you 
 that a great work was going on, to direct your atten- 
 tion 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. I believe, then, we need not 
 take up your valuable time longer." With that he got 
 up, and Jack with him, and with many courteous bows 
 and smiles which were duly responded to by Eeding, 
 the two visitors took their departure. 
 
 "Well, I might have been worse off," thought 
 Reding ; " really they are gentle, well-mannered crea- 
 tures, after all. I might have been attacked by some 
 of your furious Exeter- Hall beasts ; but now to busi- 
 ness. . . . 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 the 
 door gently opened, and a young lady, not without 
 attractions of person and dress, presented herself. 
 Charles started up with vexation ; but there wais no 
 help for it, and he was obliged to hand her a chair, 
 and then to wait, all expectation, or rather all impa- 
 tience, to be informed of her mission. For a while she 
 did not speak, but sat, with her head on one side, 
 looking at her parasol, the point of which she fixed on 
 the carpet, while she slowly described a circumference 
 with the handle. At length she asked, without raising 
 her eyes, whether it was true — and she spoke slowly, 
 and in what is called a spiritual tone— whether it was 
 true, the information had been given her, that Mr, 
 
396 Loss and Gain. 
 
 Reding, the gentleman she had the honour of address- 
 ing — whether it was true, that he was in search of a 
 reUgion more congenial to his feelings than that of the 
 Church of England ? " Mr. Reding could not give her 
 any satisfaction on the subject of her inquiry ; " — he 
 answered shortly, and had some difficulty in keeping 
 from rudeness in his tone. The interrogation, she went 
 on to say, perhaps might seem impertinent ; but she 
 had a motive. Some dear sisters of hers were engaged 
 in organising a new religious body, and Mr. Reding's 
 accession, counsel, assistance, would be particularly 
 valuable ; the more so, because as yet they had not any 
 gentleman 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 the points on which we should covet the 
 privilege of the advice of a gentleman so well qualified 
 as Mr. Reding to assist us in our deliberations." 
 
 " And your tenets, ma'am? " 
 
 " Here, too," she replied, " there is much still to be 
 done ; the tenets are not fixed either, that is, they are 
 but sketched ; and we shall prize your suggestions 
 much. Nay, you will of course have the opportunity 
 as you would have the right, to nominate any doctrine 
 to which you may be especially 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 you something more about myself 
 personally. I was born in the communion of the Church 
 
Loss and Gain. 397 
 
 of England ; for a while I was a member of the New 
 Connexion ; and after that," she added, still with droop- 
 ing head and languid sing-song voice, " after that, I 
 was a Plymouth brother." It got too absurd ; and 
 Charles, who had for an instant been amused, now 
 became full of the one thought, how to get her out 
 of the room. 
 
 It was obviously left to her to keep up the conver- 
 sation : so she said presently, " We are all for a pure 
 religion ". 
 
 " From what you tell me," said Charles, " I gather 
 that every member of your 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 ; we may differ, but we agree. 
 Still it is so, as you say, Mr. Reding. I'm for election 
 and assurance ; our dearest friend is for perfection ; and 
 another sweet sister is for the second advent. But we 
 desire to include among us all souls who are thirst- 
 ing after the river of life, whatever their personal 
 views. I believe you are partial to sacraments and 
 ceremonies ? " 
 
 Charles tried to cut short the interview by denying 
 that he had any religion to seek after, or any decision 
 to make ; but it was easier to end the conversation 
 than the visit. He threw himself back in his chair in 
 despair, and half closed his eyes. " Oh, those good 
 Irvingites," he thought, "blameless men, who came 
 only to protest, and vanished at the first word of oppo- 
 sition ; but now thrice has the church-clock struck the 
 quarters since her entrance, and I don't see why she's 
 
398 Loss and Gain. 
 
 not to stop here as long as it goes on striking, since she 
 has stopped so long. She has not in her the elements 
 of progress and decay. She'll never die ; what is to 
 become of me ? " 
 
 Nor was she doomed to find a natural death ; for, 
 when the case seemed hopeless, a noise was heard on 
 the staircase, and, with scarcely the apology for a knock, 
 a wild gawky man made his appearance, and at once 
 cried out, " I hope, sir, it's not a bargain yet ; I hope 
 it's not too late ; discharge this young woman, Mr.- 
 Reding, and let me teach you the old truth, which 
 never has been repealed." 
 
 There was no need of discharging her ; for as kindly 
 as she had unfolded her leaves and flourished in the sun 
 of Reding's forbearance, so did she at once shrink and 
 vanish — one could hardly tell how — before the rough 
 accents of the intruder ; and Charles suddenly found 
 himself in the hands of a new tormentor. " This is 
 intolerable," he said to himself, and, jumping up, he 
 cried, " Sir, excuse me, I am particularly engaged this 
 morning, and I must beg to decline the favour of 
 your visit ". 
 
 " What did you say, sir ? " said the stranger ; and, 
 taking a note-book and a pencil from his pocket, he 
 began to look up in Charles's face and write down his 
 words, saying half aloud, as he wrote, " Declines the 
 favour of my visit ". Then he looked up again, keeping 
 his pencil upon his paper, and said, " Now, sir ". 
 
 Reding moved towards him, and, spreading his arms 
 as one drives sheep and poultry in one direction, he 
 repeated, looking towards the door, " Really, sir, I feel 
 
Loss and Gain. 399 
 
 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 dainty lady has been good part 
 of an hour here, and now you can't give me five 
 minutes, sir." 
 
 " Why, sir," answered Charles, " I am sure you arc 
 come on an errand as fruitless as hers ; and I am sick 
 of these religious discussions, and want to be to my- 
 self, and to save you trouble." 
 
 " Sick of religious discussions," said the stranger to 
 himself, as he wrote down the words in his note-book. 
 Charles did not deign to notice his act or to explain 
 his own expression ; he stood prepared to renew his 
 action of motioning him to the door. His tormentor 
 then said, " You may like to know my name ; it is 
 Zerubbabel ". 
 
 Vexed as Reding was, he felt that he had no right 
 to visit the tediousness of his former visitor upon his 
 present ; so he forced himself to reply, " Zerubbabel ; 
 indeed ; and is Zerubbabel your Christian name, sir, 
 ■or your surname ? " 
 
 " It is both at once, Mr. Reding," answered Zerub- 
 babel, "or rather, I have 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, I myself was once a deacon in 
 the Church of England." 
 
 "Then you are not a Jew?" said Charles. 
 
400 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " I am a Jew by choice," he said ; " after much 
 prayer and study of Scripture, I liave come to the 
 conclusion that, as Judaism was the first religion, so 
 it's to be the last. Christianity I consider an episode 
 in the history of revelation." 
 
 "You are not likely to have many followers in such 
 a belief," said Charles ; " we are all for progress now, 
 not for retrograding.'' 
 
 " I differ from you, Mr. Reding," said Zerubbabel ; 
 "see what the Establishment is doing; it has sent a 
 Bishop to Jerusalem." 
 
 " That is rather with the view of making the Jews 
 Christians than the Christians Jews," said Reding. 
 
 Zerubbabel wrote down : " Thinks Bishop of Jeru- 
 salem is to convert the Jews " ; then, " I differ from 
 you, sir ; on the contrary, I fancy the excellent Bishop 
 has in view to revive the distinction between Jew and 
 Gentile, which is one step towards the supremacy of 
 the former ; for if the Jews have a place at all in 
 Christianity, as Jews, it must be the first place ". 
 
 Charles thought he had better let him have his talk 
 out ; so Zerubbabel proceeded : " The good Bishop in 
 question knows well that the Jew is the elder brother 
 of the Gentile, and it is his special mission to restore a 
 Jewish episcopate to the See of Jerusalem. The Jewish 
 succession has been suspended since the time of the 
 Apostles. And now you see the reason of my calling 
 on you, Mr. Reding. It is reported that you lean to- 
 wards the Catholic Church ; but I wish to suggest to 
 you that you have mistaken the centre of unity. The 
 See of James at Jerusalem is the true centre, not the 
 
Loss and Gain. 401 
 
 See of Peter at Rome. Peter's power is a usurpation 
 on James's. I consider the present Bishop of Jerusalem 
 the true Pope. The Gentiles 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 of unity and a Pope." 
 
 " Certainly," said Zerubbabel, " and a ritual too, but 
 it should be the Jewish. I am collecting subscriptions 
 for the rebuilding of the Temple on Mount Moriah ; 1 
 hope too to negotiate a loan, and we shall have Temple 
 stock, yielding, I calculate, at least four per cent." 
 
 " It has hitherto been thought a sin," said Reding, 
 " to attempt rebuilding the Temple. According to you, 
 Julian the Apostate went the better 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 one of the greatest 
 discoveries of this age. We must make the first step 
 towards them. For myself, I have adopted all which 
 the present state of their religion renders possible. 
 And I don't despair to see the day when 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 a brisk, off-hand manner, " May I not 
 hope you will give your name to this religious object, 
 and adopt the old ritual ? The Catholic is quite of 
 yesterday 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. 
 
 26 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Charles's trials were not at an end ; and we suspect 
 the reader will give a shudder at the news, as having 
 a very material share in the infliction. Yet the reader's 
 case has this great alleviation, that he takes up this 
 narrative in an idle hour, and Charles encountered the 
 reality in a very busy and anxious one. So, however, 
 it was : not any great time elapsed after the retreat of 
 Zerubbabel, when his landlord again appeared at the 
 door. He assured Mr. Redint; that it was no fault of 
 his that the last two persons had called on him ; that 
 the lady had slipped by him, and the gentleman had 
 forced his way ; but that he now really did wish to 
 solicit an interview for a personage of great literary 
 pretensions, who sometimes dealt with him, and who 
 had come from the West End for the honour of an 
 interview with Mr. Reding. Charles groaned, but only 
 one reply was possible ; the day was already wasted, 
 and with a sort of dull resignation he gave permission 
 for the introduction of the stranger. 
 
 It was a pale-faced man of about thirty-five, who, 
 when he spoke, arched his eyebrows, and had a pecu- 
 liar smile. He began by expressing his apprehension 
 
I^oss and Gain. 403 
 
 that Mr. Reding must have been wearied by imperti- 
 nent and unnecessary visitors — visitors without in- 
 tellect, who knew no better than to obtrude their 
 fanaticism on persons who did but despise it. "I 
 know more about the Universities," he continued, 
 " than to suppose that any congeniality can exist be- 
 tween their members arid the mass of religious sect- 
 arians. You have had very distinguished men among 
 you, sir, at Oxford, of very various schools, yet all able 
 men, and distisguished in the pursuit of Truth, though 
 they have arrived at contradictory opinions." 
 
 Not knowing what he was driving at, Reding 
 remained in an attitude of expectation. 
 
 "I belong," he continued, "to a Society which is 
 devoted to Irfie extension among all classes of the pur- 
 suit of Truth. Any philosophical mind, Mr. Reding, 
 must have felt deep interest in your own party in the 
 University. Our Society, in fact, considers you to be 
 distinguished Confessors in that all-momentous occu- 
 pation ; and I have thought I could not pay yourself 
 individually, whose name has lately honourably ap- 
 peared in the papers, a better compliment than to get 
 you elected a member of our Truth Society. And here 
 is your diploma," he added, handing a sheet of paper 
 to him. Charles glanced his eye over it ; it was a 
 paper, part engraving, part print, part manuscript. An 
 emblem of Truth was in the centre, represented, not 
 by a radiating sun or star, as might be expected, but as 
 the moon under total eclipse, surrounded, as by cherub 
 faces, by the heads of Socrates, Cicero, Julian, Abelard, 
 Luther, Benjamin Franklin, and Lord Brougham. 
 
404 Loss. and Gain. 
 
 Then followed some sentences to the effect that the 
 London Branch Association of the British and Foreign 
 Truth Society, having evidence of the zeal in the pur- 
 suit of Truth of Charles Reding, Esq., member of Ox- 
 ford University, had unanimously elected him into their 
 number, and had assigned him the dignified and re- 
 sponsible office of associate and corresponding member. 
 
 " I thank the Truth Society very much," said 
 Charles, when he got to the end of the paper, " for 
 this mark' of their good will ; yet I regret to have 
 scruples about accepting it till some of the patrons 
 are changed, whose heads are prefixed to the diploma. 
 For instance, I do not like to be 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 from deliberately embracing error." 
 
 " No, not so," answered Mr. Batts ; " he thought it 
 Truth ; and Julian, I conceive, 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 dif- 
 ference between your principles 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, in which you will 
 find some fundamental truths stated, almost in the 
 way of aphorisms. I wish to direct your attention to 
 page 8, where they are drawn out." 
 
Loss and Gain. 405 
 
 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 posses- 
 sion of Truth. 
 
 8. As Catholicism begins with faith, so Protestant- 
 
 ism 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 similar character. He returned the 
 pamphlet to Mr. Batts. " I see enough," he said, " of 
 the opinions of the Truth Society to admire their in- 
 genuity and originality, but, excuse me, not their good 
 sense. It is impossible I should subscribe to what is 
 so plainly opposed to Christianity." 
 
4o6 Loss and Gain. 
 
 Mr. Batts looked annoyed. " We have no wish to 
 oppose Christianity," he said; "we only wish Chris- 
 tianity not to oppose us. It is very hard that we may 
 not go our own way, when we are quite willing that 
 others should go theirs. It seems imprudent, I con- 
 ceive, in this age, to represent Christianity as hostile 
 to the progress of the mind, and to turn into enemies 
 of revelation those who do sincerely wish to ' live and 
 let live'." 
 
 " But contradictions cannot be true," said Charles : 
 " if Christianity says that Truth can be found, it must 
 be an error to state that it cannot be found." 
 
 " I conceive it to be intolerant," persisted Mr. Batts: 
 "you will grant, I suppose, that Christianity has 
 nothing to do with astronomy or geology; why, then, 
 should it be allowed to interfere with philosophy ? " 
 
 It was useless proceeding in the discussion; Charles 
 repressed the answer which rose on his tongue of the 
 essential connexion of philosophy with religion ; a 
 silence ensued of several minutes, and Mr. Batts at 
 length took the hint, for he rose with a disappointed 
 air, and wished him good morning. 
 
 It mattered little now whether he was left to himself 
 or not, except that conversation harassed and fretted 
 him ; for, as to turning his mind to the subjects which 
 were to have been his occupation that morning, it was 
 by this time far too much wearied and dissipated to 
 undertake them. On Mr. Batts' departure, then, he did 
 not make the attempt, but sat before the fire, dull and 
 depressed, and in danger of relapsing into the troubled 
 thoughts from which his railroad companion had ex- 
 
Loss and Gain. 407 
 
 tricated him. When, then, at the end of half-an-hour, 
 a new knock was heard at the door, he admitted the 
 postulant with a calm indifference, as if fortune had now 
 done her worst, and he had nothing to fear. A middle- 
 aged man made his appearance, sleek and plump, who 
 seemed to be in good circumstances and to have profited 
 by them. His glossy black dress, in contrast with the 
 crimson colour of his face and throat, for he wore no 
 collars, and his staid and pompous bearing, added to 
 his rapid delivery when he spoke, gave him much the 
 look of a farm-yard turkey-cock in the eyes of any one 
 who was less disgusted with seeing new faces than 
 Reding was at that moment. The new comer looked 
 sharply at him as he entered. " Your most obedient," 
 he said abruptly ; " you seem in low spirits, my dear 
 sir ; but sit down, Mr. Reding, and give me the oppor- 
 tunity of offering to you a little good advice. You may 
 guess what I am by my appearance : I speak for myself; 
 I will say no more ; I can be of use to you". ,Mr. 
 Reding," he continued, pulling his chair towards him, 
 and putting out his hand as if he was going to paw him, 
 " have not you made a mistake in thinking it necessary 
 to go to the Romish Church for a relief of your reli- 
 gious difficulties ? " 
 
 " You have not yet heard from me, sir," answered 
 Charles gravely, " that I have any difficulties at all. 
 Excuse me if I am abrupt ; I have had many persons 
 calling on me with your errand. It is very kind of 
 you, but I don't want advice ; I was a fool to come 
 here." 
 
 " Well, my dear Mr. Reding, but listen to me," 
 
4o8 Loss and Gain. 
 
 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 the Establishment is, that you cannot carry out 
 the surplice in the pulpit and 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 upon his house, when he merely wanted his 
 door-steps scrubbed. Why become a convert to Popery, 
 when you can obtain your object in a cheaper and better 
 way? Set up for yourself, my dear sir — set up for 
 yourself; form a new denomination, sixpence will do 
 it ; and then you may have your surplice and candle- 
 sticks to your heart's content, without denying the 
 gospel, or running into the horrible abominations of 
 the Scarlet Woman." And he sat upright in his chair, 
 with his hands flat on his extended knees watching with 
 a self-satisfied air the effect of his words upon Reding. 
 " I have had enough of this," said poor Charles ; 
 "you, indeed, are but one 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 seventh 
 person — I can't count them — who has been with me 
 this morning, giving me, though with the best inten- 
 tions, advice which has not been asked for. I don't 
 know you, sir ; you have no introduction to me ; you 
 have not even told me your name. It is not usual to 
 discourse on such personal matters with strangers. Let 
 me, then, thank you first for your kindness in coming, 
 and next for the additional kindness of going." And 
 Charles rose up. 
 
I.OSS and Gain. 409 
 
 His visitor did not seem inclined to move, or to notice 
 •what he had said. He stopped awhile, opened his 
 handkerchief with much deliberation, and blew his 
 nose ; then he continued : " Kitchens is ray name, sir, 
 Dr. Kitchens ; your state of mifid, Mr. Reding, is not 
 ■unknown to me ; you are at present under the influence 
 ■of the old Adam, and indeed in a melancholy way. I 
 was not unprepared for it ; and I have put into my 
 pocket a little tract which I shall press upon you with 
 all the Christian solicitude which brother can show 
 towards brother. Here it is ; I have the greatest con- 
 iidence in it ; perhaps you have heard the name; it is 
 known as Kitchens's Spiritual Elixir. The Elixir has 
 enlightened millions ; and I will take on me to say, 
 will convert you in twenty-four hours. Its operation 
 is mild and pleasurable, and its effects are marvellous, 
 prodigious, though it does not consist of more than 
 eight duodecimo pages. Here's a list of testimonies to 
 some of the most remarkable cases. I have known one 
 hundred and two cases myself in which it effected a 
 saving change in six hours ; seventy-nine in which its 
 operations took place in as few as three ; and twenty- 
 seven where conversion followed instantaneously after 
 the perusal. At once, poor sinners, who five minutes 
 before had been like the demoniac in the gospel, were 
 seen sitting ' clothed, and in their right mind '. Thus 
 I speak within the mark Mr. Reding, when I say I 
 will warrant a change in you in twenty-four hours. I 
 have never known but one instance in which it seemed 
 to fail, and that was the case of a wretched old man 
 who held it in his hand a whole day in dead silence, 
 
4IO Loss and Gain. 
 
 without any apparent effect ; but here exceptio prohat 
 regulam, for on further inquiry we found he could not 
 read. So the tract was slowly administered to him by 
 another person ; and before it was finished, I protest to 
 you, Mr. Reding, he fell into a deep and healthy slum- 
 ber, 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 that even separate leaves 
 of the tract have a proportionate effect. And, what is 
 more to your own purpose, it is quite a specific in the 
 case of Popery. It directly attacks the peccant matter, 
 and all the trash about sacraments, saints, penance, 
 purgatory, and good works is dislodged from the soiil 
 at once." 
 
 Charles remained silent and grave, as one who was 
 likely suddenly to break out into some strong act, 
 rather than condescend to any farther parleying. 
 
 Dr. Kitchens proceeded : " Have you attended any 
 of the lectures delivered against the Mystic Babylon, or 
 any of the public disputes which have been carried on 
 in so many places? My dear friend, Mr. Macanoise, 
 contested ten points with thirty Jesuits — a good half of 
 the Jesuits in London — and beat them upon all. Or 
 have you heard any of the luminaries of Exeter Hall ? 
 There is Mr. Gabb ; he is a Boanerges, a perfect Nia- 
 gara, for his torrent of words ; such momentum in his 
 delivery ; it is as rapid as it's strong ; it's enough to 
 knpck a man down. He can speak seven hours run- 
 ning without fatigue ; and last year he went through 
 
Loss and Gain. 4 1 1 
 
 England, delivering through the length and breadth of 
 the land, one, and one only, awful protest against the 
 apocalyptic witch of Endor. He began at Devonport 
 and ended at Berwick, and surpassed himself on every 
 delivery. At Berwick, his last exhibition, the effect 
 was perfectly tremendous ; a friend of mine heard it; he 
 assures me, incredible as it may appear, that it shattered 
 some glass in a neighbouring house ; and two priests of 
 Baal, 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 his bed, 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 had this effect on them ? 
 Why, it was Mr. Gabb's notion about the sign of the 
 beast in the Revelation : he proved, Mr. Reding — it 
 was the most original hit in his speech — he proved that 
 it was the sign of the cross, the material cross." 
 
 The time at length was come ; Reding could not 
 bear more ; and, as it happened, his visitor's ofTence 
 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 1 ' 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 his writing-desk ; and he held it before 
 Dr. Kitchens's face. 
 
412 Loss and Gain. 
 
 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 ; " and he still confronted Dr. Kitchens 
 •with it, while he kept it out of Dr. Kitchens's reach. 
 
 " Take it away, Mr. Reding, I beseech you," cried 
 Xitchens, still retreating, while Charles still pressed on 
 iiim ; " take it away, it's too much. 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 miser- 
 able man began to dance about, still eyeing the sacred 
 sign, and motioning it from him. 
 
 Charles now had victory in his hands : there was, 
 indeed, some difficulty in steering Kitchens to the door 
 from the place where he had been sitting, but, that 
 -once effected, he opened it with violence, and throwing 
 Tiimself on the staircase, he began to jump down two 
 ■or three steps at a time, with such forgetfulness of 
 ■everything but his own terror, that he came plump 
 «pon two persons who, in rivalry of each other, were 
 in the act of rushing up : and, while he drove one 
 against the 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 it had just now 
 been issuing. When a noise was heard at his door,, 
 and knocks succeeded, he took no further notice than 
 to plant his feet on the fender and bury his face in. 
 his hands. The summons at first was apparently 
 from one person only, but his delay in answering it 
 gave time for the arrival of another ; and there was a 
 brisk succession of alternate knocks from the two, 
 which Charles let take its course. At length one of 
 the rival candidates for admission, bolder than the 
 other, slowly opened the door ; when the other, who 
 had impetuously scrambled upstairs after his fall^ 
 rushed in before him, crying out, " One word for the 
 New Jerusalem!" "In charity," said Reding, without 
 changing his attitude, "in charity, leave me alone. 
 You mean it well, but I don't want you, sir ; I don't 
 indeed. I've had Old Jerusalem here already, and 
 Jewish Apostles, and Gentile Apostles, and free 
 inquiry, and fancy religion, and Exeter Hall. What 
 have I done? why. can't I die out in peace? My dear 
 
414 Loss and Gain. 
 
 sir, do go ! I can't see you ; I'm worn out." And he 
 rose up and advanced towards him. "Call again, 
 dear sir, if you are bent on talking with me ; but, 
 excuse me, I really have ha:d enough of it for one day. 
 No fault of yours, my dear sir, that you have come the 
 sixth or seventh." And he opened the door for him. 
 
 " A madman nearly threw me down as I was com- 
 ing up," said the person addressed, in some agitation. 
 
 " Ten thousand pardons for his rudeness, my dear 
 sir — ten thousand pardons, but allow me ; " and he 
 bowed him out of the room. He then turned round 
 to the other stranger, who had stood by in silence : 
 "And you too, sir ... is it possible!" His counten- 
 ance changed to extreme surprise ; it was Mr. Mal- 
 colm. Charles's thoughts flowed in a new current, 
 and his tormentors were suddenly forgotten. 
 
 The history of Mr. Malcolm's calling was simple. 
 He had always been a collector of old books, and 
 had often taken advantage of the stores of Charles's 
 landlord in adding to his library. Passing through 
 London to the Eastern Counties Rail, he happened 
 to call in ; and, as his friend the bookseller was not 
 behind his own reading-room in the diffusion of gos- 
 sip, he learned that Mr. Reding, who was on the point 
 of seceding from the Establishment, was at that 
 moment above stairs. He waited with impatience 
 through Dr. Kitchens's visit, and even then found 
 himself, to his no small annoyance, in danger of being 
 outstripped by the good Swedenborgian. 
 
 " How d'ye do, Charles ? " he said, at length, with 
 not a little stiffness in his manner, while Charles had 
 
Loss and Gain. 415 
 
 no less awkwardness in receiving him ; "you .have 
 been holding a levee this morning ; I thought I should 
 never get to see you. Sit yoy down ; let us both sit 
 down, and let me at last have a word or two with 
 you." 
 
 In spite of the diversified trial Charles had sustained 
 from strangers that morning, there was no one perhaps 
 whom he would have less desired to see than Mr. 
 Malcolm. He could not help associating him with 
 his father, yet, he felt no opening of heart towards 
 him, nor respect for his judgment. His feeling was a 
 mixture of prescriptive fear and friendliness, attach- 
 ment from old associations, and desire of standing 
 well with him, but neither confidence nor real love. 
 He coloured up and felt guilty, yet without a clear 
 understanding why. 
 
 " Well, Charles Reding," he said, " I think we know 
 each other well enough for you to have given me a 
 hint of what was going on as regards you." 
 
 Charles said he had written to him only the even- 
 ing 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, and could not finish his sentence. 
 
 "A friend, who, of course, could give no advice," 
 said Mr. Malcolm, drily. Presently he said, " Were 
 those people some of your new friends who were call- 
 ing on you? they have kept me in the shop this 
 three-quarters of an hour ; and the fellow who has 
 just come down nearly threw me over the baluster." 
 
4i6 Loss and Gain. 
 
 " Oh no, sir, I know nothing of them ; they were- 
 the most unwelcome of intruders." 
 
 "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 you from 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 not so in your father's lifetime."' 
 
 " My dear sir," said Charles, " it pierces me to the 
 heart to hear you -talk 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 
 hope you will forgive it. I acted for the best ; but I 
 have been, as you must feel, in a most trying situa- 
 tion. My mother has known what I was contemplat- 
 ing this year past." 
 
 " Trying situation ! fudge ! What have you to do-, 
 with situations ? I could have 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 quite well. I have seen such things before ;. 
 only I thought you a more sensible fellow. There was- 
 young Dal ton of St. Cross; he goes abroad, and falls int 
 with a smooth priest who persuades the silly fellow 
 that the Catholic Church is the ancient and true Church 
 of England, the only religion for a gentleman ; he is- 
 introduced to a Count this, and a Marchioness that, and 
 returns a Catholic. There was another; what was his- 
 name? I forget it, of a Berkshire family. He is smit- 
 
I.OSS and Gain. 417 
 
 ten with a pretty face ; nothing will serve but he must 
 marry her ; but she's a Catholic and can't marry a 
 heretic ; so he, forsooth, gives up the favour of his uncle 
 and his prospects in the county, for his fair Juliet. 
 There was another — but it's useless going on. And, 
 now I wonder what has taken you." 
 
 All this was the best justification for Charles's not 
 having spoken to Mr. Malcolm on the subject. That 
 gentleman had had his own experience of thirty or 
 forty years, and, like some great philosophers, he made 
 that personal experience of his the decisive test of the 
 possible and the true. " I know them," he continued 
 — " I know them ; a set of hypocrites and sharpers. 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 chape! ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Do you know anything of Catholic books, Catholic 
 doctrine, Catholic morality ? 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's all idle fancy. You are going as 
 a bird to the fowler." 
 
 Reding began to rouse himself; he felt he ought to 
 
 say something ; he felt 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. 
 
 27 
 
41 8 Loss and Gain. 
 
 Now, do think ; had I known this or that priest, you 
 would have said at once, 'Ah, he came over you'. If 
 I had been familiar with Catholic chapels, 'I was 
 allured by the singing or the incense'. What can 
 I have done better than keep myself to myself, go by 
 my best reason, consult the friends whom I happened 
 to find around me, as I have done, and wait in patience 
 till 1 was sure of my convictions ? " 
 
 "Ah, that's the way with you youngsters," said Mr. 
 Malcolm ; '' you all think you are so right ; you do 
 think so admirably that older heads are worth nothing 
 to the like of you. Well," he went on, putting on his 
 gloves, " I see I am not in the way to persuade you. 
 Poor dear Charlie, I grieve for you ; what would your 
 poor father have said, had he lived to see it? Poor 
 Reding, he has been spared this. But perhaps it would 
 not have happened. I know what the upshot will be ; 
 you will come back — come back you will, to a dead cer- 
 tainty. 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 a worse ; you might have 
 run through your money. But perhaps you'll be giving 
 it away, as it is, to some artful priest It's grievous, 
 grievous ; your education thrown away, your prospects 
 ruined, your poor mother and sisters left to take care 
 of themselves. And you don't say a word 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 come to your father's friend some 
 day in a different temper. Good-bye." 
 
i Loss mid Gain. 419 
 
 There was no help for it ; Charles's heart was full, 
 but his head was wearied and confused, and his spirit 
 sank ; for all these reasons he had not a word to say, 
 and seemed to Mr. Malcolm either stupid or close. He 
 could but wring warmly Mr. Malcolm's reluctant hand, 
 and accompany him down to the street-door. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " This will never do," said Charles, as he closed the 
 door, and ran upstairs ; " here is a day wasted, worse 
 than wasted, wasted partly on strangers, partly on 
 friends ; and it's hard to say in which case a more 
 thorough waste. I ought to have gone to the Convent 
 at once." The thought flashed into his mind, and he 
 stood over the fire dwelling on it. " Yes," he said, " I 
 will delay no longer. How does time go? I declare 
 it's past four o'clock." He then thought again : " I'll 
 get over my dinner, 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 not wonderful that it was near six 
 before he arrived at the Convent. It was a plain brick 
 building ; money had not been so abundant as to over- 
 flow upon the exterior, after the expense of the interior 
 had been provided for. And it was incomplete ; a large 
 church had been enclosed, but it was scarcely more 
 than a shell — altars, indeed, had been set up, but, for 
 the rest, it had little more than good proportions, a 
 broad sanctuary, a serviceable organ, and an effective 
 choir. There was a range of buildings adjacent, capable 
 
) Loss and Cain. 421 
 
 of holding about half-a-dozen fathers ; but the size of 
 the church required a larger establishment. By this 
 time, doubtless, things are different, but we are look- 
 ing back at the first efforts of the English Congrega- 
 tion, when it had scarcely ceased to struggle for life, 
 and when friends and members were but beginning 
 to flow in. 
 
 It was indeed but ten years, at that time, since the 
 severest of modern rules had been introduced into 
 England. Two centuries after the memorable era 
 when St. Philip and St. Ignatius, making light of those 
 bodily austerities of which they were personally so 
 great masters, preached mortification of will and reason 
 as more necessary for a civilised age — in the lukewarm 
 and self-indulgent eighteenth century, Father Paul of 
 the Cross was divinely moved to found a Congregation 
 in some respects more ascetic than the primitive her- 
 mits and the orders of the middle age. It was not fast, 
 or silence, or poverty which distinguished it, though 
 here too it is not wanting in strictness ; but in the cell 
 of its venerable founder, on the Celian I^ill, hangs an 
 iron discipline or scourge, studded with nails, which 
 is a memorial, not only of his own self-inflicted suffer- 
 ings, but of those of his Italian family. The object 
 of those sufferings was as remarkable as their intensity ; 
 penance, indeed, is in one respect the end of all self- 
 chastisement, but in the instance of the Passionists the 
 use of the scourge was specially directed to the benefit 
 of their neighbour. They applied the pain to the 
 benefit of the holy souls in Purgatory, or they under- 
 went it to rouse a careless audience. On their missions, 
 
422 Loss and Gain. 
 
 when their words seemed uttered in vain, they have 
 been known suddenly to undo their habit, and to 
 scourge themselves with sharp knives or razors, crying 
 out to the horrified people, that they would not show 
 mercy to their flesh till they whom they were address- 
 ing took pity on their own perishing souls. Nor was 
 it to their own countrymen alone that this self-con- 
 suming charity extended ; how it so happened does 
 not appear ; perhaps a certain momento close to their 
 house was the earthly cause ; but so it was, that for 
 many years the heart of Father Paul was expanded 
 towards a northern nation, with which, humanly speak- 
 ing, he had nothing to do. Over against St. John and 
 St. Paul, the home of the Passionists on the Celian, 
 rises the old church and monastery of San Gregorio, 
 the womb, as it maybe called, of English Christianity. 
 There had lived that great Saint, who is named our 
 Apostle, who was afterwards called to the chair of St. 
 Peter ; and thence went forth, in and after his ponti- 
 ficate, Augustine, Paulinus, Justus, and the other Saints 
 by whom our barbarous ancestors were converted. 
 Their names, which are now written up upon the pillars 
 of the portico, would almost seem to have issued forth, 
 and cros-sed over, and confronted the venerable Paul ; 
 for, strange to say, the thought of England came into 
 his ordinary prayers ; and in his last years, after a 
 vision during Mass, as if he had been Augustine or 
 Mellitus, he talked of his "sons " in England. 
 
 It was strange enough that even one Italian in the 
 heart of Rome should at that time have ambitious 
 thoughts of making novices or converts in this country ;. 
 
/ Loss and Gam. 423 
 
 but, after the venerable Founder's death, his special 
 interest in our distant isle showed itself in another mem- 
 ber of his institute. On the Apennines, near Viterbo, 
 there dwelt a shepherd-boy, in the first years of this 
 century, whose mind had early been drawn heaven- 
 ward ; and, one day, as he prayed before an image of 
 the Madonna, he felt a vivid intimation that he was 
 destined to preach the Gospel under the northern sky. 
 There appeared no means by which a Roman peasant 
 should be turned into a missionary ; nor did the pro- 
 spect open, when this youth found himself, first a lay- 
 brother, then a Father, in the Congregation of the 
 Passion. Yet, though no external means appeared, the 
 inward impression did riot fade ; on the contrary, it 
 became more definite, and in process of time, instead of 
 the dim north, England was engraven on his heart. 
 And, strange to say, as years went on, without his 
 seeking, for he was simply under obedience, our peasant 
 found himself at length upon the very shore of the 
 stormy northern sea, whence Cxsar of old lo6ked out 
 for a new world to conquer : yet that he should cross 
 the strait was still as little likely as before. However, 
 it was as likely as that he should ever have got so near 
 it ; and he used to eye the restless, godless, waves, and 
 wonder with himself whether the day would 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 Providence which thirty years before had 
 given him the anticipation of it. 
 
 At the time of our narrative. Father Domenico de 
 Matre Dei had become familiar with England ; he had 
 
424 Loss and Gain. ^ 
 
 had many anxieties here, first from want of 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 religious bodies was the cause, 
 his community did not increase, and he was tempted to 
 despond. But every work has its season ; and now for 
 some time past that difficulty had been gradually lessen- 
 ing ; various zealous men, some of noble birth, others 
 of extensive acquirements, had entered the Congrega- 
 tion ; and our friend Willis, who at this time had 
 received the priesthood, was not the last of these acces- 
 sions, though domiciled at a distance from London. 
 And now the reader knows much more about the 
 Passionists than did Reding at the time that he made 
 his way to their monastery. 
 
 The church door came first, and, as it was open, he 
 entered it. It apparently was filling for service. When 
 he got inside, the person who immediately preceded 
 him dipped his finger into a vessel of water which 
 stood at the entrance, and offered it to Charles. Charles 
 ignorant what it meant, and awkward from his Con- 
 sciousness of it, did nothing but slink aside, and look 
 for some place of refuge ; but the whole space was 
 open, 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 at his ease. He stood 
 near the door, and began to look about him. A pro- 
 fusion of candles was lighting at the High Altar, which 
 stood in the centre of a semicircular apse. There were 
 side-altars — perhaps half-a-dozen ; most of them with- 
 
J 
 
 Loss and Gain. 425 
 
 out lights, but, even here, solitary worshippers might 
 be seen. Over one was a large old Crucifix with a 
 lamp, and this had a succession of visitors. They came 
 each for five minutes, said some prayers which were 
 attached in a glazed frame to the rail, and passed away. 
 At another, which was in a chapel at the farther end 
 of one of the aisles, six long candles were burning, and 
 over it was an image. On looking attentively, Charles 
 made out at last that it was an image of Our Lady, 
 and the Child held out a rosary. Here a congregation 
 had already assembled, or rather was in the middle of 
 some service, to him unknown. It was rapid, alternate, 
 and monotonous ; and, as it seemed interminable. Red- 
 ing turned his eyes elsewhere. They fell first on one, 
 then on another confessional, round each of which was 
 a little crowd, kneeling, waiting every one his own 
 turn for presenting himself for the sacrament — the 
 men on the one side, the women on the other. At the 
 lower end of the church were about three ranges of 
 moveable benches with backs and kneelers ; the rest of 
 the large space was open, and filled with chairs. The 
 growing object of attention at present was the High 
 Altar ; and each person, as he entered, took a chair, 
 and, kneeling down behind it, began his prayers. At 
 length the church got very full ; rich and poor were 
 mixed together — artisans, well-dressed youths, Irish 
 labourers, mothers with two or three children — the 
 only division being that of men from women. A set 
 of boys and children, mixed with some old crones, 
 had got possession of the altar-rail, and were hugging 
 it with restless motions, as if in expectation. 
 
426 Loss and Gam. *, 
 
 Though Reding had continued standing, no one 
 would have noticed him ; but he saw the time was 
 come for him to kneel, and accordingly he moved into 
 a corner seat on the bench nearest him. He had hardly 
 done so, when a procession with lights passed from the 
 sacristy to the altar; something went on which he did 
 not understand, and then suddenly began what, by the 
 Miserere and Ora pro nobis, he perceived to be a litany ; 
 a hymn followed. Reding thought he never had been 
 present at worship before, so absorbed was the atten- 
 tion, so intense was the devotion of the congregation. 
 What particularly struck him was, that whereas in the 
 Church of England the clergyman or the orga-^ was 
 everything and the people nothing, except so far as the 
 clerk is their representative, here it was just reversed. 
 The priest hardly spoke, or at least audibly ; but the 
 ivhole congregation was as though one vast instrument 
 or Panharmonicon, moving all together, and what was 
 most remarkable, as if self-moved. They did not seem 
 to require any one to prompt or direct them, though 
 in the Litany the choir took the alternate parts. The 
 words were Latin, but every one seemed to understand 
 them thoroughly, and to be offering up his prayers to 
 the Blessed Trinity, and the Incarnate Saviour, and 
 the great Mother of God, and the glorified Saints, with 
 hearts 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 pitch of 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 
 
Loss and Gain. 427 
 
 of being unfinished ; but the Living Temple which 
 was manifested in it needed no curious carving or rich 
 marble to complete it, " for the glory of God had en- 
 lightened it, and the Lamb was the lamp thereof". 
 ■' How wonderful," said Charles to himself, " that 
 people call this worship formal and external ; it seems 
 to possess all classes, young and old, polished and 
 vulgar, men and women indiscriminately ; it is the 
 working of one Spirit in all, making many one." 
 
 While he was thus thinking, a change came over the 
 worship. A priest, or at least an assistant, had mounted 
 for a moment above the altar, and removed a chalice or 
 vessel which stood there ; he could not see distinctly. 
 A cloud of incense was rising on high ; the people 
 suddenly all bowed low ; what could it mean ? the 
 truth flashed on him, fearfully yet sweetly ; it was the 
 Blessed Sacrament — it was the Lord Incarnate who 
 was on the altar, who had come to visit and to bless 
 His people. It was the Great Presence, which makes 
 a Catholic Church different from every other place in 
 the world ; which makes it, as no other place can be, 
 holy. The Breviary offices were by this time not un- 
 known to Reding ; and as he threw himself on the 
 pavement, in sudden self-abasement and joy, some 
 words of those great Antiphons came into his mouth, 
 from which Willis had formerly quoted : " O Adonai, 
 et Dux domus Israel, qui Moysi in rubo apparuisti ; O 
 Emmanuel, Exspectatio Gentium et Salvator earum, 
 veni ad salvandum nos, Domine Deus noster". 
 
 The function did not last very long after this ; 
 Reding, on looking up, found the congregation rapidly 
 
428 Loss and Gain. ' 
 
 diminishing, and the lights in course of extinction. He 
 saw he must be quick in his motions. He made his 
 way to a lay-brother who was waiting till the doors 
 could be closed, and begged to be conducted to the 
 Superior. The lay-brother feared he might be busy at 
 the moment, but conducted him through the sacristy to 
 a small neat room, 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, and had 
 a grave yet familiar manner. Charles's feelings were 
 indescribable, but all pleasurable. His heart beat; not 
 with fear or anxiety, but with the thrill of delight with 
 which he realised that he was beneath the shadow of a 
 Catholic community, and face to face with one of its 
 priests. His trouble went in a moment, and he could 
 have laughed for joy. He could hardly keep his coun- 
 tenance, and almost feared to be taken for a fool. He 
 presented the card of his railroad companion. The 
 good Father smiled when he saw the name, nor did the 
 few words which were written with pencil on the card 
 diminish his satisfaction. Charles and he soon came to 
 an understanding ; he found himself already known in 
 the community by means of Willis ; and it was ar- 
 ranged that he should take up his lodgings with his new 
 friends forthwith, and remain there as long as it suited 
 him. He was to prepare for confession at once ; and it 
 was hoped that on the following Sunday he might be 
 received into Catholic communion. After that, he was, 
 at a convenient interval, to present himself to the 
 Bishop, from whom he would seek the sacrament of 
 confirmation. Not much time was necessary for re- 
 
Loss and Gain. 429 
 
 moving his luggage from his lodgings ; and in the 
 course of an hour from the time of his interview with 
 the Father Superior, he was sitting by himself, with 
 pen and paper and his books, and with a cheerful fire, 
 in a small cell of his new home. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 A VERY few words will conduct us to the end of our 
 history. It was Sunday morning about seven o'clock, 
 and Charles had been admitted into the communion of 
 the Catholic Church abnut an hour since. He was still 
 kneeling in the church of the Passionists before the 
 Tabernacle, in the possession of a deep peace and 
 serenity of mind, which he had not thought possible on 
 earth. It was more like the stillness which almost 
 sensibly affects the ears when a bell that has long been 
 tolling stops, or when a vessel, after much to.ssing at 
 sea, finds itself in harbour. It was such as to throw 
 him back in memory on his earliest years, as if he were 
 really beginning life again. But there was more than 
 the happiness of childhood in his heart ; he seemed to 
 feel a rock under his feet ; it was the soliditas Cathe- 
 drce Petri. He went on kneeling, as if he were already 
 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 fare- 
 well to you before I go ". He looked around ; it was 
 Willis, or rather Father Aloysius, in his dark Passionist 
 
I^oss a,id Gain. 431 
 
 habit, with the white heart sewed in at his left breast. 
 V\/illis carried him from the church into the sacristy. 
 "What a joy, Reding!" he whispered, when the door 
 closed upon them; " what a day of joy ! St. Edward's 
 day, a doubly blessed day henceforth. My Superior 
 let me be present ; but now I must go. You did not 
 see me, but I was present through the whole." 
 
 " Oh," said Charles, " what shall I say ?— the face 
 of God ! As I knelt I seemed to wish to say this, 
 and this only, with the Patriarch, 'Now let me 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 ; toolate 
 have I found Thee, First and only Fair.'' 
 
 " All is well, except as sin makes it ill," said Father 
 Aloysius ; " if you have to lament loss of time before 
 conversion, I have to lament it after. If you speak of 
 delay, must not I of rashness ? A good God overrules 
 all things. But I must away. Do you recollect my 
 last words when we parted in Devonshire ? I have 
 thought of them often since ; they were too true then. 
 I said, 'Our ways divide'. They are different still, 
 yet they are the same. Whether we shall meet again 
 here below, who knows ? but there will be a meeting 
 ere long before the Throne of God, and under the 
 shadow of His Blessed Mother and all Saints. ' Deus 
 manifeste veniet. Deus noster, et non silebit.' " 
 
 Reding took Father Aloysius's hand and kissed it ; 
 
432 Loss and Gain. 
 
 as he sank on his knees the young priest made the 
 sign of blessing over him. Then he vanished through 
 the door of the sacristy ; and the new convert sought 
 his temporary cell, so happy in the Present, that he 
 had no thoughts cither for the Past or the Future. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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