1^000 nni §un; 
 
 THE STORY OF A CONVERT. 
 
 ADHUC MODICUM ALIQUANTULUM, 
 
 QUI VENTURUS EST, VEISIET, ET NON TARDABIT. 
 
 JUSTUS AUTEM MEUS EX FIDE A^IYIT. 
 
 €\\\\ (0Mtinn. 
 
 DUBLIN : 
 
 JAMES DUFFY, 7 WELLINGTON QUAY. 
 
 1858. 
 
JOHN F. FOWLER, PRINTER, 
 
 3 CROW STREET, DAME STREET, 
 
 DUBLIN. 
 
ITS 3^ 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The following tale is not intended as a work of contro- 
 versy in behalf of the Catholic Religion; but as a 
 description of what is understood bj few, — the course 
 of thought and state of mind, or rather one of those 
 coui'ses and states, which issue in conviction of its 
 Divine origin. 
 
 Nor is it founded in fact, to use the common phrase. 
 It is not the history of any individual mind among 
 the recent converts to the Catholic Church. The prin- 
 cipal characters are imaginary ; 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 otherwise 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 say- 
 ings and doings which are characteristic of the time 
 and place in which the scene is laid. And moreover, 
 when a general truth or fact is exhibited, as in a tale, 
 in individual specimens of it, it is impossible that the 
 
 810IFJ0 
 
IV ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 ideal representation sliould not more or less coincide, 
 in spite of the author's endeavour, with its existing 
 instances or champions. 
 
 It must also be added, to prevent a fiirther miscon- 
 ception, that no proper representative is intended in this 
 tale, of the religious opinions which had lately so much 
 influence in the University of Oxford. 
 
 Feb. 21, 1848. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Charles Reding was the only son of a clergyman, 
 who was in possession of a valuable benefice in a midland 
 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 dis- 
 advantages of pubHc 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 anns round me ; but his soul is as much 
 out of my sight as if he were at the antipodes. I am 
 not accusing him of reserve, dear fellow ; his very love 
 
 2 
 
Z LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 and reverence for me keep him in a sort of cliarmetl soli- 
 iiide- I cannot expect to get at tlie 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 knoAv 
 Charles's secret thonghts. 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 Univer- 
 sity, 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 
 in<piisitive 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, yet not 
 without a tinge of melancholy in his character, which 
 sometimes degenerated into mawkishness. 
 
 To Eton, then, he went; and there had the good for- 
 tune to fall into the hands of an excellent tutor, who, 
 A\hile he instructed him in the old Church-of-England 
 
LOSS AND GAIN, 3 
 
 principles of Mant and Doyley, gave his mind a religious 
 impression, which secured him against the allurements of 
 bad company, whether at the school itself, or afterwards 
 at Oxford. To that celebrated seat of learning he was 
 in due time transferred, 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 Oxford, it is needless to say, he had found a great 
 number of his 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- 
 nexions, had fairly cut him on coming into residence, or, 
 being entered at other Colleges, had lost sight of him. 
 Almost every thing 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 little to induce him to mount any 
 staircase 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 Reding was 
 brought across William Sheffield, who had come into 
 residence the same term as himself. 
 
4 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 The minds of young people are pliable and clastic, 
 and easily accommodate themselves to any one they fall 
 in with. They find grounds of attraction both where 
 they agi'ce with one another and where they differ ; what 
 is congenial to themselves creates sympathy ; what is 
 correlative, or supplemental, creates admiration and es- 
 teem. And what is thus begun, is often continued in 
 after-life by the force of habit and the claims of memory. 
 Thus, in the selection of friends, chance often does for us 
 as much as the most careful selection could have effected. 
 What was the character and degree of that friend- 
 ship 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 fresh- 
 manship, good talents, and t]ie 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, hiid little knowledge as yet of prin- 
 ciples or their bearings, but understood more deeply than 
 Sheffield, and held more practically what he had once 
 received ; he was gentle and affectionate, and easily led 
 by others, except when duty clearly interfered. It should 
 be added, that he had fallen in wuth various religious deno- 
 minations in his father's parish, and had a general, though 
 not a systematic, knowledge of their tenets. What they 
 Avere besides, will be seen as our narratise advances. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. O 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 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 fol- 
 lowed 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 formosis- 
 simus annus; every thing is beautiful ; the laburnums 
 are out, and the may. There is a greateifc 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 
 Chcrwell ; 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 
 it was unbi'oken, nay, when you might walk under it in 
 hard rain, and get no wet. I know I got drenched 
 there the other day". 
 
 Sheffield laughed, and said that Charles must put ou 
 his beaver, and walk with him a diff'erent way. He 
 wanted a good walk ; his head was stupid from his lec- 
 tures ; 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 mi- 
 racles", and of their " dying for their testimony", till he 
 
6 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 did not know whether he hmiself was an ens phjsiologi- 
 cum or a totum metaphysicum., 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 sen- 
 tence to see the impression he was making, that un- 
 couth fellow. Lively, moved by what happy inspiration 
 he did not know, suddenly broke in, apropos of nothing, 
 nodding his head, and speaking in a clear cackle, -VAitli, 
 "Pray, sir, what is your opinion of the infalhbility of the 
 Pope ?" Upon which every one but Jennings did laugh 
 out ; but he, au contraire, began to 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 \\\\q\q 
 lecture out of the room. 
 
 Charles laughed in his turn, but added : " Yet, I as- 
 sure 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 feel- 
 ing, and has gone out of his way to do me favours. I 
 see poor bodies comiug to him for charity continually ; 
 and they say that his sermons at Holy Cross are excel- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 7 
 
 lent". 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 excel- 
 lence, another that ; no one is every thing. 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 Oxley, a vil- 
 lage 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 ap- 
 proved Oxford bandbox cut of trimness and prettiness. 
 Sheffield was turning into the High Street, when Reding 
 stopped him : " It always annoys me", he said, " to go 
 down High Street in ' a beaver ; one is sure to meet a 
 Proctor". " All those University dresses are great 
 fudge", answered Sheffield ; " how are we the better for 
 them ? they are mere outside, and nothing else. Be- 
 sides, our gown is so hideously ugly". " Well, I don't 
 go along with your sweeping condemnation", answered 
 Chai'les ; " this is a great place, and should have a dress. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 1 declare, when I first saw the procession of Heads at 
 St. Maiy'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 
 tlie 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 
 p:reat University are all there to listen. The pageant 
 does but fitly represent the great moral fact which is be- 
 fore 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 Eeding. " 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 I ' Ye shall 
 praij ; because old Latimer or Jewell said, ' Ye shall 
 praie', therefore we must not say, ' Let us pray'. Pre- 
 sently he brought out", continued Sheffield, assuming 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, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. W 
 
 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 big- 
 ger thought. Then followed, ' the pious and munificent 
 founder', in the same twang, ' of All Saints' and Leicester 
 Colleges'. But his chef-d'ceuvre was his emphatic recog- 
 nition of ' all the doctors, hoth the proctors', as if the 
 numerical antithesis had a graphic power, and threw 
 those excellent personages into a charming tableau vi- 
 vanf. 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 crosshig the bridge, when, on the 
 opposite side they saw before them a tall, upright man, 
 whom Sheffield had no difficulty in recognising as a ba- 
 chelor 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 tliey were 
 going themselves, and they tried to keep behind him ; 
 but they walked too briskly, and he too leisurely, to al- 
 low of that. It 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. 
 
1 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 It is only on the long-run tliat he is ascertained. Then, 
 indeed, he is felt; 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 sick, 
 or holds you fast when you wish to keep an engagement, 
 or hinders you listening to important conversation, — 
 then there is no mistake, the truth bursts on you, appa- 
 rent dircefacies^ 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 story would be the bore as much as he. The 
 reader, then, must believe this upright Mr. Bateman to 
 be, what otherwise he might not discover, and thank us 
 for our consideration in not proving as well as asserting it. 
 Sheffield bowed to him courteously, and would have 
 proceeded on his way ; but Bateman, as became his na- 
 ture, would not suffer it ; he seized him. " Are you dis- 
 posed", 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-house ; 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 
 liistory of the chapel — all it had been, all it might have 
 bceuj all it was not, all it was to be. " It is to be a real 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 1 1 
 
 specimen of a Catholic chapel", he said ; "we mean to 
 make the attempt of getting the Bishop to dedicate it to 
 tlie 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 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 congregation is nothing to the purpose ; I 
 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 
 some place of miracle, as a record ; but our service is 
 * Common Prayer', and how can you have that without 
 a congi'cgation ?" 
 
 Bateman replied that, even if members of the Univer- 
 sity did not drop in, which he expected, at least the bell 
 would be a memento far and near. " Ah, I see", re- 
 torted 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 congregation is outside, not in- 
 side ; it's an outside concern. I once saw a tall church- 
 tower — so it appeared fi*om 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 re* 
 
12 LOSS AND GAIN, 
 
 Storing the chapel, quite independent of the service. It 
 has been a chapel from time immemorial, and was con- 
 secrated bj 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 ?" AVhether Sheffield- understood this or no, at 
 least it was beyond Charles. Was the Common Prayer 
 the English Mass, or the communion-service, or the Li- 
 tany, or the sermon, or any part of these ? or were Bate- 
 man's words really a confession that there were clergy- 
 men who actually said the Popish Mass once a week ? 
 Bateman's precise meaning, however, is lost to posterity ; 
 for they had by this time arrived at the door of the cha- 
 pel. It had once been the chapel of an almshouse ; a 
 small farmhouse 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 introduction, in con- 
 sequence, took place. " Eeding of St. Saviour's — Bate- 
 man of Nun's Hall" ; after which ceremony, in place of 
 holy water, they managed to enter the chapel in company. 
 It was as pretty a building as Bateman had led them to 
 expect, and veiy 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 handsome brass 
 candlesticks. Charles asked the use of the piscina, — he 
 did not know its name, — and was told that there was al- 
 ways a piscina in the old churches in England, and that 
 there could be no proper restoration without it. Next 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 13 
 
 he asked the meaning of the beautifully 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 Bateman, 
 that images of saints were forbidden by tlie 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 lights in ser- 
 vice — 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 oflf an invitation to break- 
 fast, in a few days, at Bateman's lodgings in the Turl. 
 
 CHAPTER ni. 
 
 Neither of the friends had what are called views in re- 
 ligion : by which expression we do not here signify that 
 neither had taken up a certain line of opinion, though 
 this was true also ; but that neither of them — how could 
 they at their age ? — had placed his religion on an intel- 
 lectual 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 per- 
 sons, then, for the first time look upon the world of po- 
 litics or religion, all that that they find there meets their 
 mind's eye as a landscape addresses itself for the first 
 time to a person wlio has just gained his bodily sight. 
 
14: LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 One thing is as far off as another ; there is no perspec- 
 tive. The connexion of fact Avith fact, truth with truth, 
 the bearing of fact upon truth, and truth upon fact, what 
 leads to what, what are points primary and what se- 
 condary, — all this they have yet to learn. It 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 
 connexion in their minds wdth the world of yesterday ; 
 time is not a stream, but stands before them round and 
 full, like the moon. 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 recollec- 
 tions. 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 pe- 
 netrates, nothing has its place in their minds. They lo- 
 cate 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 consistency 
 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 of argument di- 
 verge ; nothing comes to a point ; there is no one centre 
 in which their mind sits, on which their judgment of men 
 and things proceeds. 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 wmds and waves ; and, 
 without being Radical, Whig, Tory, or Conservative, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 15 
 
 High Cliurcli or Low Church, they do Whig acts, Tory 
 acts, CathoUc acts, and heretical acts, as the fit takes 
 them, or as events or parties drive them. And some- 
 times, when their self-importance is hm't, they take refuge 
 in the idea that all this is a proof that they are unfettered, 
 moderate, dispassionate, that they observe the mean, that 
 they are no " party men" ; when they are, in fact, the \ 
 most helpless of slaves ; for our strength in this world is, ( 
 to be the subjects of the reason, and our hberty, 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 sim- 
 ply at hap-hazard ; 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 al- 
 ready enunciated, that we must measm-e people by what 
 they are, and not by what they are not. 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 popidar 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 
 
16 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 himself a poet, he was in the season of poetry, in the 
 sweet spring-time, when the year is most beautiful, be- 
 cause 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 them in a gay confusion, which 
 is a principal element 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 Newington 
 — 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 it seemed on 
 that occasion quite touchingly beautiful ; and a soft me- 
 lancholy 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 un- 
 known and full of mystery. A tree or two in the dis- 
 tance 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 gi'een hedges, 
 wound and vanished, yet were not lost to the imagina- 
 tion. Such was our first journey ; but when we had 
 gone it several timesj the mind refused 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 retm-n to our story. Such was Reding. But 
 Shefiield, on the other hand, without possessing any real 
 view of things more than Charles, was, at this time, 
 
LOSS AND CtAIN. 17 
 
 fonder of hunting for views, and more in danger of tak- 
 ing np false ones. That is, he was " viewy", in a bad 
 sense of the word. He was not satisfied intellectually 
 with things as they are ; he was critical, 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 ^ould not relish it ; and, moreover, he felt some 
 little repugnance to such opinions and such people, un- 
 der 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 con- 
 tempt. He did not see why clergymen, however respec- 
 table, should be collecting undergraduates about them ; 
 and he heard stories of their way of going on, which did 
 not please him. Moreover, he did not like the speci- 
 mens of their followers whom he fell in with ; they were 
 forward, or they " talked strong", as it was called ; did 
 ridiculous, extravagant acts ; and sometimes neglected 
 theh' college duties for things which did not concern 
 
18 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 them. He was unfortunate, certainly : for this is a very 
 unfair account of the most exemplary men of that day, 
 who doubtless 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 opposite still, many men, or most men, 
 are a compound of precious and worthless together, and 
 theii' 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 ^vish 
 there was less of fudge and humbug every where", 
 said SheflSeld ; " one might shovel off cart loads 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. AVe are forced to walk 
 on what you call humbug ; we put it under our feet, but 
 we use it". " I cannot think that ; it's like doing evil 
 that good may come. I see shams every where. I go 
 into St. Mary's, and I hear men spouting out common- 
 places in a deep or a shrill voice, or with slow, clear, 
 quiet emphasis aad significant eyes, as that Bampton 
 preacher not long ago, who assured us, aiwopos of the 
 resurrection of the body, that ' all attempts to resusci- 
 tate the inanimate corpse by natural methods had 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 19 
 
 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 
 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 piscinre without water, and niches 
 without images, and candlesticks without lights, and 
 masses without Popery ; till I feel, with Shakespeare, 
 that ' all the world's a stage'. Well, I go to Shaw, 
 Turner, and Brown, very different men, pupils of Dr. 
 Gloucester — you know whom I mean — and they tell us 
 that we ought to put up crucifixes by the wayside, in 
 order to excite religious feeling". 
 
 " Well, I really think you are hard on all these 
 people", said Charles; "it is all very much like decla- 
 mation ; you w^ould 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 sight of the image is the 
 music". " To those who have the pious feehng, cer- 
 tainly", said Sheffield ; " but to put up images in Eng- 
 land 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 diff'erently : do you like music ?" " You 
 ought to know", said Charles, " whom I have frightened 
 
20 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 mdely 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 endm-ed, in having to 
 stand up to dance, and to walk about with a partner ! — 
 every body 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 a while to see some equestrians take the hurdles. 
 They then mounted the hill, and looked back upon Ox- 
 ford. " 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 other, 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 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 religious by placing images in the streets ; 
 tills is not the English way, and only offends us. If it 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 2 I 
 
 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 cere- / 
 monies". "Then do you mean", said Charles, "that' 
 the English Romanists are shams, because they use cru- 
 cifixes?'' " Stop there", said Shefiield ; " now you are 
 getting upon a diflerent subject. They believe that 
 there is virtue in images; that indeed is absurd in them, 
 but it makes them quite consistent in houom-ing 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 worship, 
 as having been handled by great saints years ago, as hav- 
 ing 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 connexion 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 
 is a sham merely because he mistakes the particular mode 
 of teaching best suited to his own country ?" " 1 did 
 not say that Dr. Gloucester was a sham", answered 
 Shefiield ; " but that 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 be- 
 
22 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 guu in lecture with Vincent, and which we thought so 
 acute — that habits are created by those very acts in 
 which they manifest themselves when created ? We learn 
 to swim well by trying to swim. Now Bateman, doubt- 
 less, 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 piscina is univer- 
 sal?" 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 Bateman 
 makes piscinae universal among us, what has he achieved 
 but the reign of a universal humbug ?" " But, my dear 
 Sheffield", answered Reding, " consider 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 doth hedge a king', though it has lost the meaning 
 which the Church of Rome gave it ? Or are you of the 
 number of those, who, according to the witticism, think 
 majesty ,whcn 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, un- 
 natural to revive when it has failed ; but this is a ques- 
 tion of discretion and judgment". " Then you give it 
 against Inateman", said Shetheld. 
 
 A slight pause ensued ; then Charles added, " But 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 23 
 
 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, 
 if 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 
 gi-eat 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 ont of it". " 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 
 Avear 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 hesi- 
 tated, 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, AVhy send a person to the Uni- 
 versity for three or four years at an enormous expense, 
 A\ liy teach him Latin and Greek, on purpose to read what 
 
24 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 any boy could be taught to read at a dame's school ? 
 What is the virtue of a clergyman's reading ? Some- 
 thing of this kind, Bentham 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 conversa- 
 tion 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 re- 
 formed 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 elderly don, 
 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 Univer- 
 sity, and had from time to time been a guest at the par- 
 sonage. Charles had, in consequence, 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 expedition towards Faringdon ; and had 
 promised him tickets for some ladies, lionesses of his, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 25 
 
 who were coming up to the Commemoration. He was 
 a shrewd, easy-tempered, free-spoken man, of small de- 
 sires and no ambition ; of no very keen sensibilities or 
 romantic delicacies, and veiy little religions pretension ; 
 that is, though unexceptionable 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 fechng at first awkward on finding himself 
 with two such difterent 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 looking 
 in at a pretty little chapel on the common, which was 
 now in the course of repair. Mr. Malcolm laughed. 
 "So, Charles", he said, ^^ yoiCre bit with the new 
 fashion". Charles coloured, and asked, " What fashion?" 
 adding, 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 fiishions 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 fiishion. 
 There is no principle of stability in Oxford, except the 
 Heads, and they are always the same, and always will be 
 
 3 
 
26 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 the same to the end of the chapter. What is in now'", 
 he asked, " among you youngsters ? drinking or cigars ?" 
 Charles laughed modestly, and said he hoped drinking 
 had gone out every where. " Worse things may come 
 in", said Mr. Malcolm ; " but there are fashions every 
 where. There was once a spouting club, perhaps it is in 
 favour still ; before it was the music-room. Once geo- 
 logy was all the rage ; now it is theology ; 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 iiTegularly, 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 himself, 
 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 
 many, 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 
 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 27 
 
 part hi 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. " Peo- 
 ple 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 land- 
 scape, if it deserves the name, is always presented in a 
 new dress. I have knoAvn Shotover there take the most 
 opposite hues, sometimes purple, sometimes 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. The 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 com- 
 parison ; rather, Oxford is like an alms-house for clergy- 
 men's widows. Self-importance, jealousy, tittle-tattle, 
 are the order of the day. It has always been so in my 
 time. The two great ladies, Mrs. Vice-Chancellor and 
 Mrs. Divinity-Professor, can't agree, and have followings 
 respectively: or Vice-Chancellor himself, being a new 
 broom, sweeps all the young masters clean out of Con- 
 vocation 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. Mi- 
 chael's, thinks that his pretty bride has not been received 
 
28 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 with due honom*s ; 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 (jnajor^a movemiis) three colleges in- 
 terchange a mortal vow of opposition to a fourth ; or the 
 young working masters conspire against the Heads. Now, 
 however, we are improving ; if Ave must quarrel, let it 
 be the rivalry of intellect and conscience, ratl.er than of 
 interest or temper ; let us contend for things, not for 
 shadows''. 
 
 Sheffield was pleased at this, and ventured to say that 
 the present state of things was more real, aud therefore 
 more healthy. Mr. Malcolm did not seem to hear him, 
 for he did not reply ; and, as they were now approacli- 
 ing the bridge again, the conversation stopped. Shef- 
 field looked slyly at Charles, as Mr. Malcolm proceeded 
 with them up High Street ; and both of them had ihoi 
 triumph and the amusement of being convoyed safely 
 jmst a Proctor, who was patrolling it, mider the protec- 
 tion 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 Shefiield'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 vege- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 29 
 
 tate very quickly; it was sure uUimately to be pursued 
 into its cousequeuces, and to aftect 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. Con- 
 tradictions could not both be real : when an affirmative 
 was true, a negative was false. All doctrines could not 
 be equally sound : there Avas 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 latitudi- 
 narian principle, when carried out, and he is Hkely to be 
 still more opposed to it. 
 
 Bateman, among his peculiarities, had a notion that 
 bringing persons of contrary sentiments together was the 
 likeliest way of making a party agreeable, or at least 
 useful. He had done his best to give his breakfast, 
 to which our friends were invited, this element of per- 
 fection; 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 aesthetic, 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 Shef- 
 
so LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 field was pouring out coffee, and a plate of muffins was 
 going round, and Ijateman was engaged, saucepan in liand, 
 in the operation of lauding 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 Jewell. You recol- 
 lect the stafi" Jewell gave him: that was a type. It was 
 like the sending of Elisha's staft' 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 any thing, 
 and disproves any thing". " That is only till it's 
 sanctioned", said White ; " when the Catholic Chm'ch 
 sanctions it, we're safe". " Yes, we're safe", said Bate- 
 man ; " it's safe when it's Catholic". " Yes", con- 
 tinued White, " things change their nature altogether, 
 w^hen 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 in- 
 deed". Mr. Freeborn suspended his breakfast opera- 
 tions, and sat back in his chair. " AVhy", continued 
 
LOSS ANT) GAIN. SI 
 
 White, " is not idolatry wrong ? yet image-M'orsbip is 
 right". Mr. Freeborn was in a state of collapse. " That's 
 a bad instance, AVhite", said Sheffield ; " there are people 
 in the world who are uncatliolic enough to think image- 
 worship is wrong, as well as idolatry". " A mere Jesui- 
 tical distinction", said Freeborn with emotion. " Well", 
 said White, who did not seem in great awe of the 
 young M.A., though some years, of course, his senior, 
 " I will take a better instance : who does not know that 
 baptism gives gi-ace ? 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 bap- 
 tism". " 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, " now i/ou are going too 
 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 Free- 
 bora. " The Anglican", answered Bateman. " The 
 Roman", answered White ; both in the same breath. 
 There was a general laugh. " There is nothing to laugh 
 at", said Bateman ; " Anglican and Roman are one". 
 "One! impossible", cried Sheffield. "Much worse 
 than impossible", observed Mr. Freeborn. " I should 
 make a distinction", said Bateman ; " I should say, they 
 arc one, except the corruptions of the Romish Chm-ch". 
 
32 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 " That is, one except where they differ", said Sheffield. 
 " Precisely so", said Bateman. " liather, / 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 where they are two ; 
 and Freeborn says that they are two except where they 
 are one". 
 
 It was a relief at this moment the cook's boy came in 
 with a dish of hot sausages ; but though a relief, it Avas 
 not so much as a diversion ; the conversation proceeded. 
 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 re- 
 move the repugnance which he had to engage in the 
 dispute. Freeborn, in fact, thought theology itself a 
 mistake, as substituting, as he considered, worthless 
 intellectual 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 different thing 
 in Scripture ; that Scripture said much of faith and holi- 
 ness, 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 com- 
 munion with particular churches — all were but " flatter- 
 ing unctions to the soul", if they were considered neces- 
 sary ; the only safe way of using them was to use them 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 33 
 
 with the feeling that you might dispense with them ; 
 that none of them went to the root of the matter, for 
 that faith, that is, firm belief that God had forgiven you, 
 was the one thing needful ; that where that one thing 
 was present, every thing else was superfluous ; that where 
 it was wanting, nothing else availed. So strongly did 
 he hold this, that (he confessed he put it pointedly, 
 but still not untruly), where true faith was present, a 
 person might be any thing in profession ; an Arminian, 
 a Calvinist, an Episcopalian, a Presbyterian, a Swedcn- 
 borgian — nay, a Unitarian — he would go further, look- 
 ing 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". 
 " 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 be- 
 lieve any thing else". Reding put in his word ; he 
 said that in the Prayer-book, belief in the Holy Trinity 
 was represented, 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 Avas, 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; 
 
34 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 " the Prayer-book only deduces from Scripture ; the 
 Athaiiasian 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 justi- 
 fied 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 propound is 
 necessary for salvation", added Bateman. 
 
 All this was very unfair on Freeborn, though he had 
 provoked it. Here were four persons on him 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 Free- 
 bom's views by this process of badgering. At least he 
 did not improve his temper, which was suffering. Most 
 of the party were undergraduates ; he (Freeborn) was 
 a Master : it was too bad of Bateman. He finished in 
 silence his sausage, which had got quite cold. The con- 
 versation flagged ; there was a rise in toast and muffins ; 
 coftee-cups were put aside, and tea flowed freely. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 35 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Freeborn did not like to be beaten ; he began again. 
 Religion, he said, was a matter of the heart ; no one 
 conld interpret Scripture rightly, whose heart was not 
 right. Till our eyes were enlightened, to dispute about 
 the sense of Scriptm-e, to attempt to deduce from Scrip- 
 ture, was beating about the bush : it was like the blind 
 disputing about colours. " If this is true", said Bate- 
 man, " no one ought to argue about religion at all ; but 
 you were the first to do so, Freeborn". " Of course", 
 answered Freeborn, " those who have found the 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 unconverted, not for the converted. It 
 is the means of seeking". Freeborn persisted that the 
 reason of the unconverted was carnal, and that such 
 could not understand Scripture. "I have always 
 thought", said Reding, " that reason was a general gift, 
 though faith is a special and personal one. If faith is 
 really rational, all ought to see that it is rational ; 
 else, from the nature of the case, it is not rational". 
 " But St. Panlsays", answered Freeborn, "that * to the 
 natural man the things of the Spirit are foolishness' ". 
 " 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 some- 
 
30 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 what puzzled except White, who had not been attending, 
 and was simply wearied ; he now interposed. " It would 
 be a dull world", he said, " if men w^ent 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 good, and the holy. Eeligion 
 is the beautiful ; the clouds, sun, and sky, the fields and 
 the woods, are religion". " This would make all re- 
 ligions true", said Freeborn, " 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 is beautiful. You 
 would see what I mean if you went into a fo/eign ca- 
 thedral, 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 out the Ki/rie ; and the priest and his 
 assistants bowing low, and saying the Confiteor to each 
 other. This i^ worship, and it is far above reason". 
 This was spoken with all his heart ; but it was quite 
 out of keeping with the conversation which had preceded 
 it, and White's poetry wiis almost as disagreeable to the 
 party as Freeborn's prose. " White, you should tui n 
 Catholic out and out", said Sheffield. " ^ly dear good 
 
LOSS AND TrAIN. 0< 
 
 fellow'', said Bateman, " think what you arc saying. 
 You can't really have gone to a schismatical chapel. 
 Oh, for shame !"' Freeborn observed gravely, that if 
 the two churches icere one, as had been maintained, he 
 could not see, do what he would, why it was w^rong to 
 go to and fro from one to the other. "You forget", 
 said Bateman to White, " you have, or might have, all 
 this hi yonr own church, without the Romish corrup- 
 tions". "As to the Romish corruptions", ansv/ered 
 White, " I know very little about them". Freeborn 
 groaned audibly. " I know very little about them", re- 
 peated 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 wdiat is good. You can't deny that what I admire is 
 veiy good and beautiful. You try to introduce it into 
 your ow^n 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, which sounded at the door, suc- 
 ceeded 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 me ; — I can take tho 
 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. 
 AVell 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 
 
 4 
 
o8 LOSS AND GAIN'. 
 
 partly admiring, partly not knowing what to think, partly 
 wondering at what was coming. " What do yon think 
 my plan is ?" he continued. " You twitted me, Shef- 
 field, 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 become a chantry. But now, 
 Avhat will you say if we have a copy of these splendid 
 medieval monuments round the burial-place, both sculp- 
 ture 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 Batemau, in 
 fear of Freeborn ; " we'll have none of your Popery. 
 It wdll be a simple guileless chapel, in which the Church 
 service will be read". Meanwhile Sheffield was slowly 
 tm-ning over the plates. He stopped at one. " What 
 will you do with that figure ?" he said, pointing to a 
 drawing of the Madonna. " Oh, it will be best, most 
 prudent, to leave it out; certainly, certainly". Shef- 
 field 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 in- 
 voking 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. Mean- 
 while he said, " Oh, yes, true, there are some things ; 
 but I have an expedient 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 vir- 
 tues ; and as to that saint's life, St. Ranieri's, it shall be 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 39 
 
 a Catholic ' Pilgrim's Progress' ". " Good ; then you 
 must drop all these Popes and 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 
 the m'ouths, in old English. This St. Thomas is stout ; 
 make him say, ' I am Mv. 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 tempta- 
 tion ; what's this ? Here's the fiend in the shape of a 
 cat on a wine-barrel". " Really, really", said Bateman, 
 disgusted, and getting possession of it, " you are quite 
 offensive, quite. We will look at them when yon 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 Ca- 
 tholicism, and yon have spoilt all. I hoped soineihing 
 would have come out of this breakfast. But only think 
 of Wliite ! it will all out. Freeborn will tell it to his 
 set. It is very bad, very bad indeed. And you, my 
 friend, are not much better ; never serious. What could 
 you mean by saying that our church is not one with the 
 
40 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Romish ? It was giving Freeborn such an advantage". 
 Sheffield looked provokingly easy ; and, leaning with his 
 back against the mantelpiece, and his coat-tail almost 
 playing with the spout of the kettle, replied, " You had 
 a most awkward team to drive". Then he added, look- 
 ing sideways at him, with his head back, " And why 
 had you, most correct of men, the audacity to say that 
 the English Church and the Roman Church were one ?" 
 " It must be so", answered Bateman ; " there is but one 
 church — the Creed says so ; would you make two ?" 
 *' I don't speak of doctrine", said Sheifield, " 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 a while; and Charles employed him- 
 self 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 instruc- 
 tion, " 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 something abstract, a 
 mere name, a general idea ; is that yom- 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 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 some- 
 thing else". " Some paradox", said Bateman. " Of 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 41 
 
 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 pnt on a demnre 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 Shef- 
 field ; " don't be hard with me ; what have I done ? 
 Where did the sacredness begin ? 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 sub- 
 ject gravely", said Sheffield ; " I will begin again. I 
 am veiy sorry, indeed I am. Let me put the objec- 
 tion more reverently". Bateman relaxed : " My good 
 Sheffield", he said, " the thing is irreverent, not the 
 manner. It is irreverent to liken your holy mother to 
 the Wesleyan schismatics". " 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, how 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 Roman- 
 ists ?" " But Romanists say", answered Sheffield, " that 
 that is not enough for unity ; that we ought to be in 
 
42 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 communion with the Pope". " That's their mistake", 
 answered Bateman. " That's just what the Wesleyaus 
 say of us", retorted Sheffield, " when we won't acknow- 
 ledge their succession ; they say it's our mistake". 
 " Their succession !" cried Bateman ; " they have no 
 succession". " Yes they have", said Sheffield ; " they 
 have a ministerial succession". " It isn't apostolical", 
 answered Bateman. " Yes, but it is evangelical, a suc- 
 cession of doctrine", said Sheffield. " Doctrine ! Evan- 
 gelical !" 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 Bate- 
 man, not quite seeing whither he was going. " And 
 we act against the Pope", said Sheffield. " We say 
 that the Pope isn't necessary", said Bateman. " And 
 they say that bishops are not necessary", returned 
 Sheffield. 
 
 They were out of breath, and paused to see where they 
 stood. Presently Bateman said, ''My good sir, this is a 
 question of fact^ not of argumentative cleverness. The 
 question is, whether it is not true that Bishops are neces- 
 sary to the notion of a Chm'ch, and whether it is not 
 false that Popes are necessary". " No, no", said Shef- 
 field, " 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", Sh.effield added, 
 " succession is not unity, any more than doctriue". " Not 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 43 
 
 unity? What tlicn is unity?" asked Batem an. "One- 
 ness of government", answered Sheffield. 
 
 Bateman thought awhile. " The idea is preposterous", 
 he said; "here we have j^ossession ,• here we are estab- 
 lished 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, doc- 
 trine stamped and perpetuated in stone ; all the mystical 
 teaching of the old saints. AVhat 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's the Chm-ch of England, as like a Pro- 
 testant Establishment as it can stare ; Bishops and peo- 
 ple, all but a few like yourselves, call it Protestant ; the 
 living body calls itself Protestant; the Hving body ab- 
 jures Catholicism, 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 Pro- 
 testant 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 often- 
 ded at it?" Silence gave consent, and Sheffield pro- 
 ceeded. " Why, once on a time, a negro boy, when his 
 master was away, stole into his wardrobe, and deter- 
 mined to make himself fine at his master's expense. So 
 
44 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 he was presently seen in the streets, naked as usual, but 
 strutting 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 VIII. 
 
 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 spiri- 
 tual tea-parties, and has introduced me to old Mr. 
 Grimes, a good, kind-hearted old /o^/e, but an awful evan- 
 gelical, 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 tAventy, 
 freshmen, bachelors, and masters, who sit in a circle, 
 with cups and saucers in their hands and hassocks at 
 their knees. Some insufferable person 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 justification, or assurance, monopoli- 
 sing the conversation. Then tea-things go, and a 'por- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 45 
 
 tiou of Scripture' comes instead; and old Grimes 
 expounds ; very good it is doubtless, though he is a lay- 
 man. He's a good old soul ; but no one m 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 hassocks begin. Then 
 we go ; and Mr. Grimes and St. Mark's man call it a pro- 
 fitable 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 pew 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 di-esser and wardrobe in the sacristy". " One", 
 said Willis, counting, " where the pulpit stands, that'll 
 be the high altar ; one quite behind, that may be Our 
 Lady's ; two on each side the chancel — four already ; 
 to whom do you dedicate them?" "The church is 
 not wide enough for those side ones'', objected White. 
 " Oh, but it is'', said Willis ; " I have seen, abroad, 
 altars with only one step to them, and they need not be 
 \Qry broad. I think, too, this wall admits of an arch — 
 look at the depth of the window ; that would be a gain 
 
46 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 of room". "No", persisted White; "the chancel is too 
 naiTOw" ; and he began to measure the floor with his 
 pocket-handkerchief: '' What should 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 Ca- 
 tholic girls, and really kind, charitable persons into the 
 bargain. We cannot add, that they were much wiser at 
 that time than the two young gentlemen 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 tenderest hearts ; and that nothing short of se- 
 vere 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 
 endowed. 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) 
 was to see the old woman, who was at once a subject 
 and organ of their bounty, and to say a word about her 
 little gi'and-chikken, in whom they were interested. 
 As may be supposed, they did not know much of mat- 
 ters ecclesiastical, and they knew less of themselves ; 
 and the latter defect White could not supply, though he 
 w^as doing, and had done, his best to remedy the for- 
 mer deficiency ; and every meeting did a little. 
 
 The two parties left the church together, and the 
 gentlemen saw the ladies home. " We were imagining. 
 Miss Bolton", Wiiite said, walking at a respectful dis- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 47 
 
 tauce from her, " we were Imagining St. James's a Ca- 
 tholic chnrch, and trying to arrange things as they ought 
 to be". " What was your first reform ?' asked Miss 
 Bolton. " I fear", answered White, " it would fore 
 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, " Impos- 
 sible", said Miss Bolton ; " are women, then, to remain 
 Protestants?" *' Oh, no", answered White, "the good 
 lady will re-appear, 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. " 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 
 ecclesiastical vestments". "I hate all reforms", answered 
 Charlotte, " from the Reforaiation 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 
 the Asperges. How different all things will be !" con- 
 
48 
 
 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 tinned she; yet I clou't quite like, though, the idea of 
 a cardinal in Oxford. Must we be so very Koman ? 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 stiff- 
 ness", said Miss Bolton ; " I hear they never walk with- 
 out two servants behind them ; and they always leave 
 the room directly dancing begins". " Well, I think Ox- 
 ford L-ust bo just cut out for cardinals", said Miss Char- 
 lotte ; " can any thing 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", continued White, " he is obliged to write 
 them down and confess them, lest they should be drawn 
 into precedents". " And he is obliged, during a func- 
 tion, 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 con 
 fess like another man". " Oh, certainly", answered 
 White, " every one confesses". " Well", said Charlotte, 
 " I can't fancy Mr. Hurst of St. Peter's, who comes here 
 to sing glees, confessing, or some of the grave heads of 
 douses, who bow so stiffly". "They will all have to 
 confess", said White. "All?" asked Miss Bolton; 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 49 
 
 " you don't mean converts confess ? I thought it was 
 only old Catholics". There was a little pause. 
 
 " And what will the Heads of houses be?" asked Miss 
 Charlotte. " Abbots or superiors", answered White ; 
 " they will bear crosses ; and when they say Mass, there 
 will be a lighted candle in addition". " What a good 
 portly abbot the Vice-Chancellor will make !'' said Miss 
 Bolton. " Oh, no ; he's too short for an abbot", said 
 her sister ; " but you have left out the Chancellor him- 
 self : 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 11 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 
 your plan, Mr. White", said Miss Bolton: " the Heads of 
 houses have got wives ; how can they become monks ?" 
 " Oh, the wives will go into convents", said White : 
 " Willis and I have been making inquiries in the High 
 Street, and they are most satisfiictory. 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 com- 
 pulsion whatever must be put on them. They are the 
 judges. But it would be useful to have two convents — 
 one of an active order, and one contemplative : Ursuline, 
 for instance, and Carmelite of St. Theresa's reform". 
 
50 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Hitherto their conversation had beeu on the verge of 
 jest and earnest ; now it took a more pensive, or even 
 tenderer tone. " The nuns of St. Theresa are very strict, 
 I believe, Mr. White", said ]\Iiss Bolton. " Yes", he 
 made reply ; " I have fears for the Mrs. Wardens and 
 Mrs. Principals who undertake it". "Perhaps younger 
 persons", she said timidly, " might more fitly lead the 
 way". They had got home, and White politely rang 
 the bell. " Younger persons", said White, " are too 
 delicate for such a sacrifice". She was silent ; presently 
 she said, " And what will you be, Mr. White?'' " I 
 know not", he answered ; " I have thought of the Cis- 
 tercians : they never speak". " Oh, the dear Cister- 
 cians !" 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 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 up-stairs. When they 
 entered the drawing-room, they found their mother sitting 
 at the window in her bonnet and shawl, dipping into a 
 chance volume in that unsettled state wdiich implies that 
 a person is occupied, if it may be so called, in waiting, 
 more than in any thing 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 51 
 
 again". " The only thing we did besides", said Char- 
 lotte, " 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. WilHs ; 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 ; Ave 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". " 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 be- 
 ginning ; 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 Charlotte, "so it is abroad: 
 they come in and go out when they please. It's so de- 
 votional". " My dear girl", said Mrs. Bolton, " I am 
 too old to understand all this ; it's beyond me. I sup- 
 
52 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 pose Mr. White has been Staying 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 ex- 
 ample. 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 many people would 
 go to church if they might be late". " Well, my dear, 
 all things are changed now : in my younger days. Ca- 
 tholics Avere the formal people, and we were the devo- 
 tional; now it's just the reverse". "But isn't it so, 
 dear mamma?" said Charlotte; " isn't it something much 
 more beautiful, this continued 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 na- 
 tural". " Free and easy, / think", said her mother ; 
 " for shame, Charlotte ! how can you speak against the 
 beautiful Church-semce ! you pain me". " I don't", 
 answered Charlotte ; " it's a mere puritanical 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 53 
 
 done when a preachev is heretical ? what else can be 
 done? — it's so distressing to a Catholic mind". " Ca- 
 tholic, Catholic !" cried Mrs. Bolton, rather vexed ; 
 " give me good old George the Third and the Protestant 
 religion. Those were the times ! Every thing went on 
 qnietly then. We had no disputes or divisions ; no dif- 
 ferences 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 mo- 
 ther ; " 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 oJBT, and come and let us have 
 some quiet work before luncheon-time". 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Some persons fidget at intellectual difficulties, and, suc- 
 cessfully or not, are ever trying to solve them. Charles 
 was of a different cast of temper ; a new idea was not 
 
54 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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, by the slow spontaneous action of the mind. 
 Yet perplexity is not in itself a pleasant state ; and he 
 would haye hastened its removal, 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 accustomed, as we 
 have seen, to fix his mind on persons, 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 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 
 Shefiield 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 
 then- unreal way of talking, though they did not feel it 
 to be unreal themselves. In like manner, if the Roman 
 Catholic system was untrae, 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 jii'cat sham, let him be as sincere as he would. Pie 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 55 
 
 mistook words for things, and so far fortli, lie could not 
 respect liim more than he respected White or Bateman. 
 And so of a Unitarian ; if he believed the power of un- 
 aided 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 professing 
 Christian made the Almighty a being of simple benevo- 
 lence, and lie 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), he could not respect him. Thus 
 the principle of dogmatism gradually became an essential 
 element in Charles'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 inteiTals 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 ; but there was this under- 
 current, ever in motion, and sounding 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 col- 
 lege-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 des- 
 cribed were busy within him. 
 
 Discussions, however, and inquiries, as far as Oxford 
 
56 ' LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 could afford matter for them, were for a while drawing 
 to an end ; for Trinity-tide was now past, and the Com- 
 memoration 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 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 tells 
 us that " all shallows are clear", Ave may perhaps dis- 
 tinguish him by both epithets. Revelation to him, in- 
 stead 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 incomprehensibility itself, with 
 certain heretics of old ; but he maintained that in Re- 
 velation all that was mysterious had been left out, and 
 nothing given us but what was practical, and directly 
 concerned us. It was, moreover, to him a marvel, that 
 every one did not agree with him in taking this simple, 
 natural view, which he thought almost self-evident ; and 
 he attributed the phenomenon, Avhich 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 57 
 
 numerous hearers ; and on this occasion the church was 
 overflowing 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 con- 
 trasted 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 am- 
 biguity of language, or confusion of thought, on which 
 he was animadverting. In like manner, we say that the 
 reason why the wind blows is, that there is a change of 
 temperature in the atmosphere ; and the reason why 
 the bells ring is, because the ringers pull them ; but 
 who would say that the wind reasons or that bells 
 7'easonf There was, he believed, no well-ascertained 
 fact (an emphasis on the word factj 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 previous 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 descending, 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 
 
58 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 the faculty of reasoning was characteristic of the human 
 species ; and this being the case, it certainly was re- 
 markable 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 ; 
 and that a spice of good logic would have put an end to 
 dissensions, which had troubled the world for centuries, 
 — would have prevented many 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 di-agoons 
 using the boomarang. 
 
 He proceeded to observe, that fi-om 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 any correct thinker would 
 be able to see. Nothing, then, was to be altered in 
 them ; they were to be retained in theu' integrity ; but 
 it was ever to be borne in mind that they were Angli- 
 can 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 59 
 
 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 inw^ard 
 spirit, /r«*^/i", as he himself expressed it, " was all in all"; 
 and with a hint that nothing would go well in the Uni- 
 versity till this great principle was so far admitted, that 
 they should — not indeed, give up their own distinctive 
 formularies, no — but consider their direct contradictories 
 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 fa- 
 ther had heard it, he would not have made it an excep- 
 tion 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 Unita- 
 rians were only bad reasoners, and might be as good 
 Christians as orthodox believers ? He could mean no- 
 thing 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 we need not 
 be annoyed at any one. 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 ra- 
 ther no one is respectable. We can't do without some 
 outward foim of belief ; one is not truer than another ; 
 that is, all are equally i\-y\Q...All are true... That is the 
 better way of taking it ; none arc shams, all arc true. All 
 
GO LOSS AND GATX. 
 
 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 ?" 
 
 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 dan- 
 gerous 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 speci- 
 men of shallow philosophism : 
 
 " Father of all, in every age, 
 In eveiy 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 undergi-aduate 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, and on several mornings 
 made him take some turns with him up and down the 
 Fellows' walk in the college-garden. 
 
 A few years make a gi-eat difference in the standing 
 of men at Oxford, and this made Mi'. Vincent what is 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 61 
 
 called a don in the eyes of persons who were very little 
 yoniiger 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 vale- 
 tudinarian. He had come off from school on a founda- 
 tion fellowship, and had the reputation both at school 
 and in the University of being a first-rate scholar. He 
 was a strict disciplinarian in his way, had the under- 
 graduates under his thumb, and having some hoiiJiomie 
 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 conversa- 
 tion 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 Avere imbedded upon the heads of the gentle- 
 men 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. 
 
62 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 gi-eat 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 pursue a 
 truth to its limits, nor boldness enough to hold it in its 
 simplicity; but he was always saying things and unsaying 
 them, balancing his thoughts in impossible positions, 
 and guarding his words by unintelligible limitations. 
 As to the men and opinions of the day and place, he 
 would in the main have agi-eed with them, had he let 
 himself alone ; but he was determined to have an intel- 
 lect 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 torn- to re- 
 cruit himself after the labours of an Oxford year ; mean- 
 while he was keeping hall and chapel open for such men 
 as were waiting either for Respousions, or for their bat- 
 tel 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 civiHties, 
 asked him to breakfast a day or two before he went down. 
 A tutor's breakfast is always a diflicult aftair both for 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 63 
 
 host and guests ; and Vincent piqued himself on the tact 
 with which he managed it. The material part was easy 
 enough ; there w^erc 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 ate to his heart's, or rather his appetite's, 
 content. It was a more arduous undertaking to provide 
 the running accompaniment of thought, or at least of 
 words, without which the breakfast would have been little 
 better than a pig-trough. The conversation or rather 
 mono-polylogue, as some great performer calls it, ran in 
 somewhat of the following strain: — 
 
 "Mr. Bruton, what news from Staffordshire? Are the 
 potteries pretty quiet now? Our potteries grow in im- 
 portance. You need not look at the cup and saucer be- 
 fore you, Mr. Catley ; these come from Derbyshire. But 
 you find English crockery everywhere on the continent. 
 1 myself found half a willow-pattern saucer in the crater 
 of Vesuvius. Mr. Sikes, I think you have heen in Italy?" 
 "No, sir", said Sikes; "I was near going; my family 
 set off" a fortnight ago, but I was kept here by these con- 
 founded 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 meteo- 
 rologists of the sister University are right in their pre- 
 dictions. 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 
 
64 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 have given a better proof that his rejection was de- 
 served". 
 
 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. 
 " Sir, is it true", began one of them at length, "that the 
 old Principal is going to be manied ?" " These are 
 matters, Mr. Atkins", answered Vincent, " which we 
 should always inquire about at the fountain-head ; 
 antiquam exquirite matrem, or rather patrem; ha, ha! 
 Take some more tea, Mr. Reding ; it won't hurt your 
 nerves. I am rather choice in my tea ; this comes over- 
 land 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 rc^ 
 cent experiments on the composition and resolution 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 eftects are astounding, quite astounding ; and there 
 are several remarkable coincidences. 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 some- 
 thing very distinctive in smells. But what is most 
 gratifying of all, and is the great coincidence I spoke of, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. G5 
 
 Ills ultimate resolution of fetid gases assigns to them the 
 very same precise number as is given to existing com- 
 plaints in the latest treatises on pathology. Each com- 
 plaint has its gas. And, what is still more singular, an 
 exhausted receiver is a specific for certain desperate dis- 
 orders. For instance, it has cfiected 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 bril- 
 liant variety of colour", said Tenby. " Bat there is some- 
 thing 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 Eng- 
 land ; only there are other colours too". " But I can't 
 help fancying", said Charles, " that that mixture of co- 
 lours takes ofi" 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 be- 
 gins to be most beautiful. The walks and meadows are 
 so fragi-ant and bright now, the hay half carried, and the 
 short new grass appearing". " Reding ought to live 
 here all through the Long", said Tenby: " does anyone 
 live through the vacation, sir, in Oxford ?" " Do you 
 
66 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 mean they die before the end of it, Mr. Tenby ?" asked 
 Vincent. " It can't be denied", he continued, " that 
 many, like Mr. Reding, think it a most pleasant time. 
 / am fond of Oxford ; but it is not my habitat out of 
 term-time". " Well, I think I should like to make it so", 
 said Charles; "but, I suppose, undergraduates are not 
 allowed". Mr. Vincent answered Avith more than neces- 
 sary 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 mys- 
 teriously. Charles answered that, if it was against col- 
 lege rules, there was no help for it ; else, were he read- 
 ing 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 company", says 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 out of the room, to task his wits how 
 best to fulfil it. The question seemed to strike the com- 
 pany 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. Wat- 
 kins returned sooner than could have been expected. 
 He said that Mr. Vincent was right ; to-day he had 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. G7 
 
 found was " the feast of the Apostles". " The Vigil 
 of St. Peter, yoii 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 him- 
 self alone with the college authority ; who began to 
 speak to him in a more confidential tone. " Mr. Pieding", 
 said he, " I did not like to question you before the others, 
 but I conceive you had no particular 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 al- 
 ways feel anxious about young men of talent ; there is 
 the greatest danger of the talent of the University being 
 absorbed in party". Reding expressed a hope, that no- 
 thing 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 systeni". Charles was so much taken aback 
 by the charge, that the unexplained mystery of the Long 
 Vacation went out of his head. He said, ho was " very 
 sorry", and " obliged" ; and tried to recollect what he 
 
08 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 could have said to give ground to jMr. 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 Imow 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 
 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 2^rin- 
 ciples. 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 Weslcyans cherish the devotional prin- 
 ciple ; the Irvingites, the symbolical and mystical ; the 
 High Church party, the principle of obedience ; the 
 Liberals are the guardians of reason. No party, then, 
 I conceive, is entu-ely right or entirely wrong. As to 
 Dr. Brownside, there certainly have been various opinions 
 entertained about his divinity ; still, he is an able man, 
 and I think you will gain fjood, gain good from his 
 teaching. But mind, I don't recommend him ; yet I 
 respect him, and I consider that he sajs many things 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 69 
 
 very well worth your attention. I would advise you, 
 then, to accept the good wdiich his sermons offer, with- 
 out committing yourself to the had. That, depend upon 
 it, Mr. llediug, 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 w^hich he 
 might see at once wliat the true Church of England doc- 
 trine 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. 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 continued ; "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 richness, too, such a mine of thought, 
 such a world of opinion, such activity of mind, such in- 
 exhaustible resource, such diversity, too. Then they 
 were so eloquent ; 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 
 
70 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 he did stop. It was prose, but it was pleasant prose to 
 Charles ; he knew just enough abont these writers to 
 feel mterested 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 in- 
 diiferent things are perverted to the purposes of party. 
 At this moment the names of some of our greatest divines 
 are little better than a watchword, by which the opinions 
 of living individuals are signified". " Which opinions, 
 I suppose", he 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 drav/ing attention in this lax day to the old 
 Chm-ch-of-England divinity. But it is one thing to 
 agree with these gentlemen ; another", laying his hand 
 on Charles' shoulder, "another to belong to their party. 
 Do not make man your master ; get good from all ; think 
 well of all persons, and you will be a wise man". 
 
 Eeding inquired, with some timidity, if this was not 
 \ something like what Dr. Brownside had said in the Uni- 
 ' versity pulpit ; but perhaps the latter advocated a tolera- 
 tion of opinions in a difierent sense ? Mr. Vincent 
 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 
 Avitliin her pale. Even our greatest divines differed 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 71 
 
 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 gi-cat and beautiful production of nature, — a tree, 
 which is rich in foliage and fantastic in limb, no sickly 
 denizen of the hothouse, or helpless dependent of the gar- 
 den-wall, but in careless magnificence 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 use- 
 ful hints. He had already been averse to parties, and 
 offended 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; bnt 
 what could he mean by suspecting a tendency in himself 
 to push things too far, and thereby to implicate himself 
 in party? He w\as obliged to resign himself to ignorance 
 on the subject, and to content himself with keeping a 
 watch over himself in future. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 No opportunity has occurred of informing the reader 
 that, during the last week or two, Charles had acciden- 
 tally been a good deal thrown across Willis, the wnhra 
 
72 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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, how- 
 ever, 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 
 I a glass case, was a conspicuous ornament between the 
 I windows ; an engraving, representing the Blessed 
 Trinity, as is usual in Catholic countries, hung over the 
 i fire-place ; and a picture of the Madonna and St. Dom- 
 / inic was opposite to it. On the mantel-piece 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 ; 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 im- 
 pure 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, 
 
LOSS AJs^D GAIN. id 
 
 Indeed, that Willis had been detained in Oxford, as he 
 had been himself; but what had compelled him to a 
 visit so extraordinary as that which he had just made, 
 Charles had no means of determining. " Willis", he 
 cried, as he stopped. Willis colom-ed, 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 recollect 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 
 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 me". " I don't indeed". " It's the Catholic 
 church", said Willis. Reding was silent a moment ; 
 then he said : " Well, I don't think you 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 matriculation at 
 
 6 
 
74 LOSS AND GAIIsr. 
 
 the Vice-Chancellor's, and what oaths and declarations 
 you made ?'' " I don't know Avhat I made : mj tutor 
 told me nothing about it. I signed a book or two'\ 
 " You did more", said Reding. " I was told most care- 
 fully. 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. "Oh, don't speak so", said Charles; "you 
 know it's meant to include them. The statute wishes ns 
 to keep from all places of worship whatever but our 
 own". " But it is an illegal declaration or 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 engage- 
 ment, yon should not continue 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 
 stipulation". " You take it too seriously ; there are half 
 a hundred statutes you don't keep, any more than I. 
 You are most inconsistent". " Well, if we don't keep 
 them", said Charles, " I suppose it is in 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 walk- 
 ing down High Street in beaver", answered Willis ; " for 
 the Proctors march up and down, and send you back, if 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. / O 
 
 they catch you". " But tliis is a different matter", said 
 Reding, changing his ground ; "this is a matter of re- 
 ligion. It can't be right to go to strange places of wor- 
 ship 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, not 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 CathoHc 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 
 dear Mr. Spoutaway or the preaching cobbler, 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 smeU there, and 
 the pews hide every thing ; I can't see through a deal 
 board. But 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 
 
76 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 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 
 I 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 your- 
 self, 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 thoughtless than you : do many of the 
 gownsmen go there ?" " Not that I know of; one or 
 two have gone from 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 WiUis, gently ; then, disengaging his arm from 
 Reding's, he suddenly darted away from him, saying, 
 " Good-bye, good-bye ; to our next merry-meeting — 
 au revoir''\ 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. il 
 
 There was no help for it. Charles walked slowly 
 home, sayiug to himself : " What if, after all, the Roman 
 Catholic Church is the true church ? I wish I knew 
 what to believe ; no one will tell me what to believe ; 
 I am so left to myself". Then he thought : " I suppose 
 I know quite enough for practice — more than I do prac- 
 tise ; and I ought surely to be contented and thankful". 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Charles was an affectionate sou, and the Long Vaca- 
 tion passed very happily at home. He was up early, and 
 read steadily till luncheon, and then he was at the ser- 
 vice 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 like the 
 other ; and, after the excitement of Oxford, the secluded 
 parsonage was like a haven beyond the tossing of the 
 waves. The whiii of opinions and perplexities 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 turnpike-road had the charm, not of 
 novelty, but of long familiar use ; they had the poetry 
 of many recollections. Nor was the dilapidated deformed 
 church, with its outside staircases, its unsightly galleries, 
 its wide-intruded windows, its uncouth pews, its low 
 nunting table, its forlorn vestry, and its damp earthy 
 
YO LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 smell, without its pleasant associations to tlie inner man; 
 for there it was that, for many a year, Sunday after Sun- 
 day, 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 — Avhich had arrested his imagi- 
 nation, 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; "I 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 sup- 
 pose 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 Va- 
 cation 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 turn, 
 and he anticipated the future more vividly than he en- 
 joyed the present. Mr. Malcolm had come to see them, 
 after an absence from the parsonage for some years; his 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. rJ 
 
 visit was a great pleasure to Mr. Reding, aud not much 
 less to himself, to whom a green home and a family cir- 
 cle 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 specta- 
 cles, 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 neither 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 
 fi-iendly 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, se- 
 cured him his newspapers from the neighbouring town, 
 and hstened to his stories about Oxford and Oxford men. 
 He really liked him, and wished to please him ; but, as 
 to consulting him in any 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. 
 
80 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 "You ought to know that we have no peaches hi 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 tnie, he had a bit of 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 mulberry- trees there in record of better days". 
 "At that time too", said Charles, "I suppose, the more 
 expensive fruits wei*e 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 
 and dislikings on fancies. He began to eat olives directly 
 he read the ffidipus of 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 
 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 81 
 
 Charles to his father. " There's more than that", said 
 Mr. Reding, "if I 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 mthout breadth!" 
 " Did you ever hear the like?" said Mrs. Reding, laugh- 
 ing 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. 
 
 " But sounds surely more than scents", said Mr. Mal- 
 colm. "Pardon me; the reverse, as / think", answered 
 Charles. "That is a paradox, Charles", said Mr. Mal- 
 colm ; " 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 
 from 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 
 
82 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 — these scents arc perfectly distinct from each other, 
 Siud 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 has'nt been to Oxford for nothing", said his 
 mother, laughing and looking at Mary; " this is what I 
 call chopping logic !" 
 
 "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 be satis- 
 fied with smelling at yom- dinner, and grow fat upon it. 
 It's a shame you sit down to table". " Well, sir", an- 
 swered 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-Prin- 
 cipal Daffy used to lay a train along her arm, and fire it 
 with her nose. Doctors of medicine took it as a preser- 
 vative against infection, and doctors of divinity against 
 drowsiness in church". " They take wine against in- 
 fection now", said Mr. Reding ; " it's a much surer pro- 
 tective". "Wine?" cried Mr. Malcolm, "oh, they 
 did'nt take less w ine then, as you and I know. On cer- 
 tain solemn occasions they made a point of getting drunk, 
 the whole college, from the Vice-Principal or Sub-War- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 83 
 
 den down to the scouts. Heads of houses were kept iu 
 order by their wives ; but I assure you the jolly god 
 came very near Mr. Vice-Chancellor hioiself. There 
 was old Dr. Sturdy of St. Michael's, a great martinet 
 in his time. One day the King passed through Oxford; 
 Sturdy, a tall, upright, iron-faced man, had to meet him 
 in procession at Magdalen Bridge, and walked down with 
 his pokers before him, gold and silver, vergers, cocked 
 hats, and the rest. There wasn't one of them that 
 was'nt 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, preferring the former subject ; " there's old Mr. 
 Butler of Cooling; his wig is so large and full of pow- 
 der, that when he nods his head, I am sure to sneeze". 
 " Ah, but all these are accidents, young lady", said 
 Mr. Malcolm, put ont 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 about 
 him odd and strange to young eyes. Charles, don't you 
 be an old bachelor. No one cares for old people. 
 Many, 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. Mal- 
 colm continued ; " Don't wait till you want some one to 
 
84 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 buy flannel for your rheumatism or gout ; many be- 
 times". " You will let me take my degree first, sir ?" 
 said Charles. " Certainly take your M.A.'s, if you will; 
 but don't become an old Fellow. Don't wait till forty ; 
 people make the strangest mistakes". " Dear Chaiies 
 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 ex- 
 pected 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. Malcolm, " and young ladies ought to 
 marry betimes too". " Come, Mary, your turn is com- 
 ing", 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 shrubbery. 
 *' How strange it is !" said Mary, as they strolled along 
 the winding walk ; " we used to like Mr. Malcolm so, 
 as children ; but now, I like him 6fj7/, but he is not the 
 same". " We are older", said her brother; "different 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 85 
 
 things take us now". " He used to be so kind", con- 
 tinued 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 I 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 o^vn excessive prosperity, and 
 therefore made a sacnfice to fortune. I mean, he gave 
 up something which he held most precious ; he toot 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, if we do but enjoy God's gifts thank- 
 fully, and take care not to set 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, 
 
86 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 did I give my heart to any creature, I should be with- 
 drawing it from God. How easily could I idolise these 
 sweet walks, which we have known for so many years !" 
 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 
 external can be to us, whether as given or as taken 
 away". Charles made no answer. " What has come 
 to you, dear Charles ?" she said, stopping and looking 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's 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 w^e build on 
 the future". " We can rely on each other", she repeated. 
 " Ah, dear Mary, don't say so ; it frightens me". She 
 looked round at him surprised, and almost frightened 
 herself. " Dearest", he continued, " I mean nothing ; 
 only every thing 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 presump- 
 tuous to say so. David and Jonathan w^ere 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 nothiug ; no, I only mean that there 
 is One only who cannot die, who never changes, only 
 one. It can't be wrong to remember this. Do you re- 
 collect Cowpcr's beautiful lines ? I know them without 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 87 
 
 having 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 neighbouring town, from 
 which the omnibus ran to the railroad, 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, Christinas will soon come", 
 he said ; " we must part, it's no use delaying it. Write 
 to us soon, dear boy ; and tell us all about yourself and 
 yom* 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 
 
88 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 of them. Your tutor seems a valuable man, from Avhat 
 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 ; and you 
 may be late for the rail. 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 blest. Blessings 
 have been poured on me from my youth, far above my 
 deserts ; may they be doubled upon you ! Good-bye, 
 my beloved Charles, good-bye!" 
 
 Charles had to pass a day or two at the house of a re- 
 lative 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 
 town ; and he reached it about noon. 
 
 He found Willis in company with a person apparently 
 two or three years older. \^ illis 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 
 Kcding ; I have much to tell you". Charles sat down 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 89 
 
 all suspense, looking at Willis with such keen anxiety, 
 that the latter was forced to cut the matter short. 
 " Reding, I am a Catholic". 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 for- 
 ward, with his elbows on his knees, and his head on his 
 hands, he said in a low voice, " Willis, what have 
 you done !" " Done ?" said Willis ; " what you should 
 do, and half Oxford besides. Reding, I'm so happy!" 
 "Alas, alas!" said Charles; " but what is the good of 
 my staying ? — all good attend you, Willis ; good-bye*'. 
 *']S"o, 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 ; 
 Ave shall have luncheon soon, and you must not go with- 
 out 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, " Willis, so you have separated 
 yourself from us for ever !" he said ; "you have taken 
 your course, we keep ours : om- 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, WilHs", he said, 
 "your exact position ; in what sense are you a Catholic? 
 AVhat 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 
 
90 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 received into the Catholic Church". " I have not intro- 
 duced 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 
 hira 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 ; 
 "?/0M 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 
 yom- 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 some object of taste ; 
 and you pursued your object by disobeying the authorities 
 set over you". It was as much as Wilhs 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". 
 Wilhs thought him rude, and would not speak. 
 
 Mr. Morley began: " If you knew the circumstances 
 better", he said, "you would doubtless judge differently. 
 I consider Mr. Willis to be just the very person on whom 
 it was incumbent to join the Church, and who will make 
 an excellent Catholic. You must blame, not the venera- 
 ble priest who received him, but me. The good man 
 saw his devotion, his tears, his humility, his earnest de- 
 sire ; but the state of his mind he learned through me, 
 who speak French better than Mr. Willis. However, he 
 had quite enough conversation Avith him in French and 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 91 
 
 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 un- 
 just to him and you", said Charles ; "however, I can- 
 not 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 
 earnestness the more intense, because quiet. Charles 
 felt himself reproved by his manner ; his good taste 
 suggested to him that he had been too vehement in the 
 presence of a stranger ; yet he did not feel the less con- 
 fidence 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. "/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 
 CathoHc 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 not faith". 
 
 This was a home-thrust ; the controversies of Oxford 
 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 con- 
 tent to hold that faith, to hold what she holds, without 
 professing to be a divine. This is the doctrine which I 
 
92 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 have been taught at Oxford. I am under teachmg 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, 
 " 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 some- 
 thing. 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 
 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 extraordinarily", 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 pre- 
 suppose faith ? I have much to learn, I am conscious ; 
 but I wish to learn it fi'om the church under whose 
 shadow my lot is cast, and with whom I am content". 
 " He confesses", said Willis, " that he has no faith ; he 
 confesses that he is in doubt. My dear Reding, can you 
 sincerely plead that you are in invincible ignorance after 
 what has passed between us ; now, suppose for an in- 
 stant that Catholicism is true, is it not certain that you 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 93 
 
 now have an opportimitj 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 
 AVillis'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 w6re 
 obeyed with promptitude by those who were called ; 
 and that our Lord would not suffer one man even to go 
 and biuy his father. Reding answered, 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 whe- 
 ther the Church of Rome did or did not speak with the 
 voice of Christ ? That surely we ought to act prudently ; 
 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 elsewhere (which 
 he had not), but if he had, he should certainly think 
 that Christ called him in the way and method of care- 
 ful examination, — that prudence was the divinely ap- 
 pointed means of coming at the truth. " Prudence 1" 
 cried Willis, " such prudence as St. Thomas's, I suppose, 
 when he determined to see before believing". Charles 
 hesitated to answer. " I see it", continued Willis ; and 
 starting up, he seized his arm ; " come, my dear fellow, 
 come with me directly ; let us go to the good priest who 
 lives two streets off. You shall be received this very 
 dav. On with vour hat". And before Charles could 
 
94 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 show any resistance, he was half out of the room. He 
 could not help laughing, in spite of his vexation ; he 
 disengaged his arm, and deliberately sat down. " Not 
 so fast", he said ; "we are not quite this sort of per- 
 son". 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 
 Mowbray or Father Agostiuo 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 my 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". And he 
 went on brushing his hat with his glove, as if on the 
 point of rising, yet loath to rise. 
 
 Morley now struck in : he spoke all along like a 
 gentleman, and a man of real piety, but with a great 
 ignorance 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 
 straggle between conviction and motives of this world is 
 often 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 connexion 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 University you have so many inducements 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 05 
 
 to fall ill with the prevailing tone of thought ; prospects, 
 success in life, good opinion of friends — all these things 
 are against you. They are likely to choke the good seed. 
 Well, I could have wished that you had been able to fol- 
 low the dictates of conscience at once ; but the conflict 
 must continue its appointed time ; we will hope that 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 hur- 
 ried 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 w^hich 
 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 what had passed, he was still less 
 satisfied with it or with himself. He had gone to lecture, 
 and he had been lectured ; and he had let out his secret 
 state of mind ; no, not let out, he had nothing to let out. 
 He had indeed implied that he was inquiring after re- 
 ligious truth, but every Protestant 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 recol- 
 lected distinctly his tutor laying down, on one occasion, 
 the duty of private judgment. This was the very dif- 
 ference between Protestants and CathoHcs ; Catholics 
 begin with faith, Protestants with inquiry ; and 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 ! 
 
96 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 it was most extravagant. He wished this had but struck 
 him during the conversation, but it was a reUef that it 
 struck him now ; it reconciled him to his position. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The first day of Michaelmas term is, to an imder- 
 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 his scout had smiled and bowed, as he ran up 
 the worn staircase and found a blazing fire to welcome 
 him. The coals crackled and spht, 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 received his too ample remu- 
 neration, 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 
 you. Where have you been all this time ? Come, tell 
 us all about yom'self. Give me some tea, and let's 
 have a good jolly chat". Charles liked Sheffield, he 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 97 
 
 liked Oxford, he was pleased to get back ; yet lie had 
 some remains of home-sickness on him, and was not 
 quite in cue for Sheffield's good-natured boisterousuess. 
 Willis's matter, too, was still on his mind. " Have you 
 heard the news ?" said Sheffield ; " I 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 any thing of. Jack, who is a bit of a divine him- 
 self, 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 discom- 
 moned, 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 com- 
 plete 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 a-top of him". 
 " 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 pleasantest. 
 Did you know Willis, of St. George's ?" " I think I 
 once saw him at wine in your rooms ; a modest, nice- 
 
98 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 looking fellow, who never spoke a word". " Ah, I as- 
 sure you, he has a tougue in his head, when it suits 
 him", answered Charles; "yet I do think", he added 
 musingly, " he's very much changed, and not for the 
 better". " Well, what's the upshot ?" asked Sheffield. 
 "He has turned Catholic", said Charles. " What a 
 fool !" cried Sheffield. There was a pause. Charles 
 felt awkward ; then he said : " I can't say I was sur- 
 prised ; 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!" 
 ansAvered 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 swallow- 
 ing, 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 ! . . . 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 obliged to profess ; but how an English- 
 man, a gentleman, a man here at Oxford, with all his 
 advantages, can so eat dirt, scraping and picking up all 
 the dead hes of the dark ages — it's a miracle". 
 
 " Well, if there is any thing that recommends Ro- 
 manism to me", said Charles, " it is what you so much 
 dislike : I'd give two pence, if some one, w^hom 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 99 
 
 said to mj'self : ' 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 mean : you said, 
 ' I can't believe this or that' ; now you ought to have 
 said, ' I can't believe the Pope has 2^oiver 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 could ; " for you are ever talking against shams, 
 and laughing at King Charles and Laud, Bateman, 
 White, roodlofts, and piscinas". 
 
 " Now you are a Puseyite", said Sheffield, in surprise. 
 " You give me the name of a very good man, whom I 
 hardly know by sight", said Reding ; " but I mean, that 
 nobody knows what to believe, no one 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 Mahomet his Prophet' ? " "I did not 
 say a creed was every thing", answered Reding, " or 
 that a religion could not be false which had a creed ; 
 but a religion can't be true which has none". " W^ell, 
 
100 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 somehow that doesn't strike me", said Sheffield. " Now 
 there was Viucent at the end of terra, after you had 
 gone down", continued Charles ; " you know I stayed 
 up for Little-go ; and he was very civil, very civil in- 
 deed. 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 satis- 
 fied ; 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 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 Apos- 
 tolic, 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 dislike, having 
 a will of my own, when I have not the means to 
 use it justly. In such a case, to tell me to act 
 of myself, is like Pharaoh setting the Israelites to 
 make bricks without straw. Setting me to inquire, to 
 judge, to decide, forsooth ! it's absurd ; who has 
 taught me ?" 
 
 " 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 101 
 
 to ask him if he might communicate in tlie Catholic 
 churches ; he could not get an answer from him ; he 
 would not say yes or no". " Then he won't have many 
 followers, that's all", said Charles. " But he has more 
 than Dr. Pusey", answered Sheffield. " Well, I can't 
 understand it", said Charles ; " he ought not ; perhaps 
 they won't stay". "The truth is", said Sheffield, "I 
 suspect he is more of a sceptic at bottom". " 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 pull- 
 ing down", answered Sheffield ; " Coventry, in his Dis- 
 sertations, makes it quite clear that Christianity is not a 
 religion of doctrines". " Who is Coventry ?" "Not know 
 Coventry? he's one of the most original writers of the day ; 
 he's an American, and, I believe, a congrcgationalist. 
 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 corres- 
 pondent of the first men of the day ; he stopped v/ith 
 the Dean of Oxford when he was in England, who has 
 published an English 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 New- 
 lights", 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 j^rinciple', said 
 Sheffield ; " for it is that which Coventry lays such 
 
J. 02 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 stress on. He sajs that Christianity has no creed ; 
 that this is the very point in which it is distinguished 
 from other religions ; that you will search the New 
 Testament in vain for a creed ; but that Scripture is full 
 oi principles. The view is very ingenious, and seemed 
 to me true, when I read the book. According to him, 
 then, Christianity is not a religion of doctrines or mys- 
 teries ; and if you are looking for dogmatism in Scrip- 
 ture, it's a mistake". Charles was puzzled. " Cer- 
 tainly", 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 Athanasiau creed", he added 
 quickly, " is iliat in Scripture ? It either is in Scrip- 
 ture, or it is not. Let me see, it either is there, or it is 
 not. What was it that Freeborn said last term ? . . . 
 Tell me, Sheffield, would the Dean of Oxford say that 
 the creed was 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 addi- 
 tion". " 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 repre- 
 sented Christianity as a revelation of doctrines or mys- 
 teries 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 St. 
 Mary's before the Vacation ; it's part of the same sys- 
 tem. Oh, it was after you went down, or just at the 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. lOo 
 
 end of term : you don't go to sermons ; I'm inclined 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 ; and 
 the friends parted. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 There could not have been a lecture more unfavourable 
 for Charles's peace of mind than that in which he found 
 himself this term placed ; yet, so blind are we to the fu- 
 ture, he hailed it with great satisfaction, as if it was to 
 bring him an answer to the perplexities into which 
 Sheffield, Bateman, Freeborn, White, Willis, Mr. Mor- 
 ley, Dr. Browuside, Mr. Vincent, and the general state 
 of Oxford, had all, in one way or other, conspired to 
 throw him. He had shown such abihties 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 Re- 
 formers were introduced ; and notiiing was wanting, at 
 
104 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 least in the intention of the lecturer, for fortifying the 
 young inquirer in the doctrine and discipline of the 
 Church of England. 
 
 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 orthodox}', Lutheranism, 
 Calvinism, and Zuiuglism ; and this too on no principle; 
 that it Avas but the work of accident, if there be such a 
 thing as accident ; that it had come down in the parti- 
 cular 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 say- 
 ing what the faith of the English Church was. On al- 
 most every point of dispute the authoritative standard of 
 doctrine was vague or inconsistent, and there was an im- 
 posing 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 applica- 
 tions 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 di- 
 rectly given us, or whether we had to seek it for our- 
 selves from Scripture. Several Articles led to this 
 question ; and Mr. Upton, who was a High-Churchman, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 105 
 
 answered him, that the saving doctrine neither was ^we/i 
 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 seeking and ])roving; for 
 how can we prove except by seeking (in Scripture) for 
 reasons ? He put the question in another form, and 
 asked if the Christian Religion allowed of private judg- 
 ment ? This was no abstruse question, and a very prac- 
 tical one. Had he asked a Wesleyan or Independent, 
 he would have had an unconditional answer in the affir- 
 mative ; had he asked a Catholic, he would have been 
 told that we used our private judgment to find the 
 Church, and then the Church superseded it ; but from 
 this Oxford divine he could not get a distinct answer. 
 First, he was told that doubtless we must 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 doctrine 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 om- Lord 
 after the resurrection, " they worshipped Him, hut 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 " w/iw5 a'termis'\ as the Latin has it ; or " such 
 
106 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 conld 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 
 2)rotest. Reding asked whether this meant that the 
 Creed did not contain a distinctive view of its own, 
 which alone was safe, but was merely a negation of error. 
 The clauses, he observed, were positive, not negative. 
 He could get no answer further than that the Creed 
 taught that the doctrines of " the Trinity" and "the In- 
 carnation" were " necessary to salvation", it being appa- 
 rently left uncertain what those doctrines consisted in. 
 
 One day he asked how grievous sins were to be for- 
 given, 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 pardons 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, ^. e. in the faith of the 
 recipient; that is, 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 eftect. Mr. 
 Upton answered decidedly "in effect", which seemed to 
 Reding to mean no real presence at all. 
 
 He liad had some difficulty in receiving the doctrine 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 107 
 
 of eternal punishment; it had seemed to him the hardest 
 doctrine of revektion. 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 bound to believe it, I can't bcKeve 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 Mth 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. Cer- 
 tainly 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 he 
 took his degree he should have to sign the Articles, not 
 on faith as then, but on reason ; yet they were unintelli- 
 gible ; and how could he prove what he could vot construe ? 
 
1 08 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Batemau 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 straightforward 
 way, and take them naturally. "What a bugbear you 
 are conjuring up ! You are in an Article-lecture in youi* 
 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 conversa- 
 tion ; then I go to chm-ch, 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 unlike the Prayer-book. Upton has 
 brought this out in his lectures most clearly". " Now, 
 my most respectable friend", said Bateraan, " do think 
 for a moment what men have signed the Articles. Per- 
 haps King Charles himself ; certainly Laud, and all the 
 great Bishops of his day, and of the next generation. 
 Think of the most orthodox Bull, the singularly learned 
 Pearson, the eloquent Taylor, Montague, Barrow, Thorn- 
 dike, 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 Batemau. " And how am I to sign as 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 109 
 
 a Master, and when I am ordained ?" asked Charles. 
 *' That's what I mean by fidgetmg", answered Bateman. 
 *' 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 ad- 
 vice ; 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 cu- 
 riosity, 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 yowY ground f^ "Oh, I had many grounds. I can't 
 recollect in a moment what happened some time ago". 
 " Oh, 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 Protes- 
 tant sense of this statement is point blank opposite to 
 our standard divines : the question was, what I was to 
 say when asked my sense of it". " I understand", said 
 Charles ; " now tell me how you solved the problem". 
 " Well, I don't deny that the Protestant sense is hereti- 
 cal", answered Bateman ; " and so is the Protestant sense 
 of manv other things in the Articles ; but then we need 
 
 8 
 
110 LOSS AND GAIN- 
 
 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 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 document can be 
 a dead letter ; it must be the expression of some 
 mind ; and the question here is, ivhose is what may be 
 called the voice which speaks the Articles. Now, if 
 the Bishops, Heads of houses, and other dignitaries 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 they said they 
 meant. But they do not agree together ; some of them 
 are diametrically opposed to others. One clergyman de- 
 nies Apostolical Succession, another affirms it ; one de- 
 nies the Lutheran justification, another maintains it ; 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. Ill 
 
 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 S 
 Nestorius against the Church, a fifth is a Sabellian. It 
 is plain, then, that the 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 school- 
 men call the form of the Articles. But perhaps the 
 writers themselves of the Articles will supply it ? No ; 
 for, first, 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 oi-iginal authors would not like to be responsible 
 for them. Well, let us go to the Convocations which 
 ratified them : but they, too, were of difterent senti- 
 ments ; the seventeenth century did not hold the doc- 
 trine of the sixteenth. Such is the state of the case. 
 On the other hand, ive 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 the form, is the one true sense and in- 
 terpretation of the Articles. They may be ambiguous 
 in themselves ; they may have been worded with various 
 intentions by the individuals concerned in their composi- 
 tion : but these are accidents ; the Chm-ch knows no- 
 thing 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 
 
112 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 rest were Bishops ; according to the words of Scripture, 
 ' one body, one faith' ". Bateman assented ; Cliarles 
 proceeded : " Then the Articles must not be considered 
 primarily as teaching ; they have no oue sense in them- 
 selves ; they are confessedly ambiguous ; they are com- 
 piled from heterogeneous sources ; but all this does not 
 matter, for all must be interpreted by the teaching of the 
 Catholic Church". Bateman agreed in the main, except 
 that he had stated the case rather too strongly. " But 
 what if the latter contradicts a doctrine of the Fathers ? 
 am I to force the letter ?" " If such a case actually 
 happened, the theory would not hold", answered Bate- 
 man ; "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 fortunately, or rather providentially, this 
 is not the case ; we have merely to explain ambiguities, 
 and harmonise discrepancies. The CathoUc interpreta- 
 tion does no greater violence to the text than any other 
 rule of interpretation will be found to do". " Well, but 
 I know nothing of the Fathers'', said Charles ; " others 
 are in the same condition ; how am I to learn practi- 
 cally 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 Bate- 
 man ; " the Ai'ticles themselves are received, but there 
 is no authoritative interpretation of them at all. That's 
 what I was saying just now ; Bishops and Professors 
 don't agree together". " Well", said Charles, "is it a 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 113 
 
 tolerated view r" " It has certainly been strongly op- 
 posed", answered Bateman ; " but it has never been con- 
 demned". " That is no answer", said Charles, who saw 
 by Batemau'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 questions, as they were succes- 
 sively put to him. " I thought so", said Charles, when he 
 had made his answer : " I know, of course, whose view 
 you are putting 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 adop- 
 ted this mode of interpreting the Articles ; but from what 
 you tell me, it certainly Aa,5 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 in- 
 fluential, 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 mis- 
 understood him. The thought, however, passed away as 
 suddenly as it came, and perhaps would not have oc- 
 curred to liim again, -ohen an accident gave him some 
 data for determining the question. 
 
114 LOSS AND GAIJf. 
 
 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 ce- 
 lebrated, and which, as the sun went down, was colour- 
 ing Marston, Elsfield, and theii* half-denuded groves with 
 a pale gold-and-brown hue, when he found himself over- 
 taken and addressed by the said Freeborn in propria, 
 persona. Freeborn liked a tete-d-tete talk much better 
 than a dispute in a party ; he felt himself at more ad- 
 vantage in long leisurely speeches, and he was soon put 
 out of breath when he had to bolt-out or 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 
 -V ?i all by nature displeasing to Him, till He justifies us freely 
 "*' for Christ's sake. Faith is like a hand, appropriating 
 personally the merits of Christ, or is our justification. 
 Now, what can we want more, or have more, than those 
 merits ? Faith, then, is every thing, and does every 
 thing 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, every thing else may take its 
 chance ; we shall at once see the folly of contending 
 about ceremonies, about forms of Church-government, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 115 
 
 about, I will eveu 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 tiuie. It was a very simple matter. Faith 
 not only justiSed, it regenerated also. It was the root 
 of sanctificatioii, 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 hra of Dr. Brownside. Freeborn 
 added, that it was a docti-iue suited to the poor, that it 
 put all the gospel into a mtshell, that it dispensed with 
 criticism, primitive ages, teachers, in short with authority 
 in whatever form. It swept lieology clean away. There 
 was no need to mention this last consequence to Charles ; 
 but he passed it by, wishing tctry the system on its own 
 merits. "You speak of true fath", he said, "as produ- | 
 cing good works : you say that m faith justifies but true 
 faith, and true faith produces giod works. In other 
 words, I suppose, faith, which is cefain to be fruitful, or 
 fruitful faith, justifies. This is veiv like saying that 
 faith and works are the joint mean, of justification". 
 " Oh, no, no", cried Freeborn, " that i deplorable doc- 
 trine : it is quite opposed to the gospel, t is anti-Chris- 
 tian. We are justified by faith only, aiart from good 
 
116 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 "NA orks '. ' I am in an Article lecture just now", said 
 Charles, " and Upton told us that we must make a dis- 
 tinction of tJm kind: for instance, the Duke of Welling- 
 ton is Chancellor of the University, but, though he is as 
 much Chancellor as Duke, still he sits in the House of 
 Lords 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 tms what you 
 mean?" "Not at all", said Freeborn ; "that was Me- 
 lancthon's doctrine ; he explained away a cardinal truth 
 into a mere matter of words: he made^aith a mere sym- 
 bol, but this is a departure from the v^ire gospel : faith 
 is the iristrumerd, not a syrtihol of juptification. It is, in 
 truth, a mere apprehension, and notiiing else : the seizing 
 and clinging which a beggar migiit venture on, when a 
 king passed by. Faith is as pofi* as Job in the ashes : 
 it is like Job stripped of all p'ide and pomp and good 
 works : [it is covered with filtly rags : it is without any 
 thing good: it is, I repeat, a mere apprehension. Now 
 you sec what I mean". " J 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 sorely not every one who seizes 
 them, gains them ; be(^use dissolute men, who never 
 have a dream of thor<iigh repentance or real hatred of 
 sin, would gladly so^e and appropriate them, if they 
 might do so. They would like to get to heaven for no- 
 thing. Faith, ther, must be some particular kind of ap- 
 prehension: ivJiat^mi].} good works cannot be mistaken, 
 but an ' apprehension' may. What, then, is a true ap- 
 prehension? w/at is faith?" "What need, my dear 
 friend", answei^d Freeborn, "of knowing metaphysically 
 
LOSS AND GAIX. 117 
 
 what true faith is, if we have it and enjoy it? I do not 
 know what bread is, but I eat it ; do T wait till a che- 
 mist analyses it ? No, I eat it, and I feel the good 
 effects afterwards. And so- letups be content to know,^\ ^ 
 not what faith is, but what it does, and enjoy our bles- y- 
 sedness in possessing it". " I really don't want to intro- 
 duce metaphysics", said Charles, "but I will adopt your 
 own image. Suppose I suspected the bread before me 
 to have arsenic in it, or to be merely 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", an- 
 SAvered Charles. "Then why suspect faith?" asked 
 Freeborn. " Because it is, so to say, a new substance"' 
 — (Freeborn sighed) — " because I am not used to it, 
 nay, because I suspect it. I must say suspect it ; be- 
 cause, 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 jDlace, 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 
 pride of Charles's natural man, or the blindness of his 
 
118 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 mistaking 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 submis- 
 sion of the reason to mysteries; nor, again, is it that sort 
 of trust which is required for exercising the gift of mira- 
 cles. 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 justifying 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 des- 
 cribed pretty well what justifying faith is". Charles 
 hesitated : " By describing what it Is not, you mean", 
 said he; "justifying faith, then, is, I suppose, living 
 faith". " Not so fast", answered Freeborn. " Why", 
 said Charles, " if it's not dead faith, it's living faith". 
 "It's neither dead faith nor living", said Freeborn, "but 
 faith, simple faith, which justifies. Luther was displeased 
 with Melancthon for saying that living and operative 
 faith justified. I have studied the question very care- 
 fully''. " Then do you toil 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 submis- 
 sion of the reason to mysteries, or acceptance of Scrip- 
 ture as an historical document, I should knoAv perfectly 
 well what you meant ; that is information : but when 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 110 
 
 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 not ask for definitions. Strangers need verbal 
 descriptions; the heii'S of the kingdom enjoy. Oh, if 
 ^,. you could but be persuaded to put off high imaginations, 
 -' to strip yourself of your proud self, and to experience 
 in yourself the wonderful change, you would live in 
 praise and thanksgiving, instead of argument and criti- 
 cism". 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 me I cannot 
 possibly have that certainty 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 car- 
 dinal doctrine about justification, 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 reconcile it to God ?" " I don't like 
 you to talk so", said Eeding; "I know very little about 
 the real nature of Popery ; but when I was a boy, I was 
 once, by chance, in a Roman Cathohc chapel ; and I 
 really never saw such devotion in my life — the people 
 all on their knees, and most earnestly attentive to what 
 
1 20 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 was going on. I did not understand what that w^as; 
 but I am sure, had yon been there, you never would have 
 called their religion, be it right or wrong, an outward 
 form or carnal ordinance". Freeborn said it deeply 
 pained him to hear such sentiments, 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 conversation. 
 
 After a time, Reding ventured to begin again. " If 
 I understand you", he said, " faith carries its own evi- 
 dence with it. Just as I cat my bread at breakfast 
 without hesitation about its wholesomeness, so, when I 
 liave really faith, I know it beyond mistake, and need 
 not look out for tests of it ?" " Precisely so", said 
 Freeboni ; " you begin to see what I mean ; you grow. 
 The soul is enlightened to see that it has real faith". 
 " But how", asked Charles, " are we to rescue those 
 from their dangerous mistake, who think they have faith, 
 wliilc they have not? Is there no w^ay in w^hich 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 w^orld. 
 Some men are self-righteous, trust in their works, and 
 think they are safe w hen they are in a state of perdition ; 
 no formal rules ca?i be given by w^hich their reason might 
 fur certain detect their mistake. And so of false faith". 
 "Well, it docs seem to me AA'onderful", said Charles, "that 
 there is no natural and obvious wai-ning provided against 
 tills delusion; wonderful that false faith should be so ex- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 121 
 
 actly like true faitli that tlie event alone determines their 
 differences from each other. Effects imply causes : if one 
 apprehension of Christ leads to good works, and another 
 does not, there must be something 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 de- 
 finite idea to me, yet justification depends on it. Is it, 
 for instance, wanting in repentance and amendment ?" 
 "No, no", said Freeborn; "true faith is complete with- 
 out conversion ; conversion follows ; but faith is the 
 root". " Is it the love of God which distinguishes true 
 faith fi-om fidse ?" " Love ?" answered Freeborn ; 
 " you should read what Luther says in his celebrated 
 comment on the Galatians. He calls such a doctrine 
 *" pestilens Jigmentum\ '• diaholi portentum' ; and cries out 
 against the Papists, ' Fereant sophistcB cum sua male- 
 dicta glossd T '^ "Then it differs from false faith in 
 nothing". " Not so", said Freeborn ; " it dijffers 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 iyw\ts> 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 certainly has not 
 the clearest of heads" ; then aloud, " Well, I despair of 
 getting at the bottom of the subject". " Of course", 
 answered Freeborn, \\\{\\ au air of superiority, though 
 in a mild tone, " it is a very simple principle, ' Fides 
 justijkat ante et sine charitate' ; but it requires a divine 
 
1 22 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 light to embrace it". They walked awhile iu silence ; 
 then, as the day was now closing in, they turned home- 
 wards, and parted company when they came to the 
 Clarendon. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Treeborn was not the person to let go a young man 
 like Charles without another effort to gain him ; and in 
 a fcAv 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 ow^n 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 natm-e or elasticity 
 in the party, but a gi-eat intention to be profitable. 
 
 " Have you seen the last ' Spiritual Journal' ? " asked 
 No. 1 of No. 2 in a low voice. No. 2 had just read it. 
 "A very remarkable article that", said No. 1, "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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 123 
 
 No. 3 ; " he' seems to have died a believer". A sen- 
 sation. Charles looked as if he wished to know more. 
 " The * Journal' gives it on excellent authority", said 
 No. 2 ; " Mr. O'Niggins, the agent for the Roman 
 Priest^Conversion Branch Tract Society, was in Rome 
 duringjiis 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 of 
 all creature mediators. He announced to him the glad 
 tidings, and assured him there was pardon for all. He 
 warned him against the figment of baptismal regenera- 
 tion ; 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 consider- 
 able emotion. When it was ended, he answered Mr, 
 O'Niggins, thatjt was his fervent hope that they two 
 would not^die without finding themselves in one commu- 
 nion, 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 expressed it — a 
 remarkable phrase". " In what language was the con- 
 versation 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 continually by certain mem- 
 bers 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 ; 
 
124 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 " the Pope was coming forward into light". " One 
 
 ought to interpret everything for the best in ^ real Pa- 
 pist", said Freeborn, " and every thing for the worst in 
 a Pnseyite. That is both charity and common sense". 
 " This was not all", continued No. 2 ; "he called toge- 
 ther the Cardinals, protested that he earnestly desired 
 God's glory, said that inward religion was all in all, and 
 forms 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 my- 
 self, that the way to convert Ptomanists is first to con- 
 vert 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 gi-eatest 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 
 I'aith was without love or any other grace besides itself, 
 and that no one could at all tell what it was, except 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 125 
 
 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 them- 
 selves 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 re- 
 ward of previous obedience ; and sham faith, or what 
 merely looks hke faith, a judicial punishment". In pro- 
 portion as the drift of the former part of this speech 
 was uncertain, so was the conclusion very distinct. 
 There was no mistake, and an audible emotion. "There 
 is no such thing as previous merit", said No. 1; "all is 
 of grace". " Not merit, I know", said Charles, " but' 
 — " We must not bring in the doctrine of de condigno 
 orde congruo", said No. 2. "But surely", said Charles, 
 " it is a cruel thing to say to the unlearned and the mul- 
 titude, ' Believe, and you are at once saved ; do not 
 wait for fruits, rejoice at once', and neither to accom- 
 pany this announcement by any clear description of 
 what faith is, nor to secure them by previous rehgious 
 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. Be- 
 lieve that salvation is yours, and it is yours ; good works 
 follow after' ". " On the contrary", said Charles, con- 
 tinuing his argument, "when it is said that justification 
 follows upon baptism, Ave have an intelligible something 
 pointed out, which every one can ascertain. Baptism is 
 
126 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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. " / 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", con- 
 tinued 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. 1. " 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", said Freeborn, " it is, as my friend says, 
 an appreliension. An apprehension is a seizing ; there 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 127 
 
 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 ' Commentary' on the Ga- 
 latians. It is nothing in itself — it is a mere instrument ; 
 this is what he teaches, when he so vehemently resists 
 the notion of justifying faith being accompanied by love". 
 
 " I cannot assent to that doctrine", said No. 1 ; "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 fiiith 
 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". " As Luther calls it ' venenum infernale' ", 
 said Freeborn. " It is just what the Puseyites preach 
 at present", said No. 3. " On the contrary", said No. 
 1, "it is the doctrine of Melancthon. Look here", he 
 continued, taking his pocket-book out of his pocket, " I 
 have got his words down, as Shuffleton quoted them in 
 the Divinity-school the other day. '•Fides signijicatfidu- 
 ciam; injiducid inest dilectio; ergo etiam dilectione su- 
 mus justV ". Three of the party cried Impossible ; the 
 paper was handed round in solemn silence. " Calvin 
 said the same", said No. 1 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. Luther 
 says, ahem, 'faith is without \oYe\ meaning, 'fiiith with- 
 out love justifies'. Melancthon, on the other hand, 
 says, ahem, 'faith is with love', meaning, 'faith justifies 
 
128 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 with love'. Now both are true : for, ahem, faith-with- 
 oiit-love justifies^ yet faith justifies not-ivithout-love'\ 
 There was a pause, while both parties digested this 
 explanation. " On the contrary", he added, " it is the 
 Romish doctrine that faith-"\vith-love justifies". Free- 
 born expressed his dissent ; he thought this the doctrine 
 of Melancthon which Luther condemned. "You 
 mean", said Charles, "that justification is given to faith 
 tvith love, not to faith and love". "You have ex- 
 pressed my meaning", said No. 4. " And what is con- 
 sidered the difference between with and and?"" asked 
 Charles. No. 4 replied without hesitation, " Faith is the 
 instrument, love the sine qua non^\ Nos. 2 and 3 inter- 
 posed 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 Free- 
 born ; " ' condition' is a legal word. How can salva- 
 tion be fi'ee 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, sui-prised. " No 
 obligation to the regenerate", answered No. 3 ; " they are 
 above obligation ; they are in a new state". " But 
 surely Christians are under a law", said Charles. 
 " Certainly not", said No. 2 ; " the law is done away in 
 Christ". " Take care", said No 1 ; " that borders on 
 Antinomianism". " Not at all", said Freeborn ; " an 
 Antinomian actually holds that he may break the law ; 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 129 
 
 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. Hfijaever had much lean- 
 ing tOAvards the evangelical doctrine ; and Freeborn and 
 his friends, who knew what they were holding much bet- 
 ter than the run of their party, satisfied him tliat he 
 had not much to gain by inquiring into that doctrine fur- 
 ther. So they will vanish in consequence from our pages. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 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 fcAv hours. 
 
 my poor dear Charles, I sympathise with you keenly 
 all that long night, and that indescribable waking in 
 the morning, and that dreary day of travel which followed 
 it ! By the afternoon you were at home. piercing 
 change ! it was but six or seven weeks before, 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! .... 
 
130 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 The funeral is over by some days ; Charles is to re- 
 main at home the remainder of the term, and does not 
 retuni to Oxford till towards the end of January. The 
 signs of grief have been put away ; the house looks 
 cheerful as before ; the fii'e as bright, the mirrors as soft, 
 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 ex- 
 cept in the inward consciousness 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 131 
 
 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 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 festivals, saw his Bishop 
 once or twice a year, was on good terms with the country 
 gentlemen in his neighbourhood, 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 any thing harsh, or petty, 
 or low, or uncourteous ; and died esteemed by the gi'eat 
 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 difference between 
 what was real and what was not. All the doubts, in- 
 quiries, surmises, views, which had of late haunted him 
 on theological subjects, seemed like so many shams, which 
 flitted before him in sunbright 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 
 
132 LOSS AND GAIX. 
 
 theories, as if they had taken him iu ; and he secretly 
 resolved never more to have any thing 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 w^ell in the schools. The Church of 
 England as it was, its Articles, Bishops, preachers, pro- 
 fessors, 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 ; a 
 quiet time in the country, at a distance from all excite- 
 ments, a round of pious, useful work 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 washed, 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 over, when she w^ould have to 
 quit a place ever dear, and now sacred to 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 w^earied 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 
 ages. Youngest sons in a family, like monks in a con- 
 ^-ent, may remain children till they have reached middle 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 133 
 
 age ; but the elder, should their father die prematiu-elv, 
 are suddenly ripened into manhood, when they arc almost 
 boys. Charles had left Oxford a clever, unformed youth ; 
 he returned a man. 
 
PART II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 About four 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-turreted city itself. Over its broad smiimit 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 too the rain greedily, so that 
 the wide common is nearly always fit for walking ; and 
 the air, unUke 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 cot- 
 tage 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 
 afiliction, and the time had not been unprofitably spent 
 either by himself or his friend. Both had read very 
 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 ac- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 135 
 
 qiiainted with their tenets and their characters ; but he 
 did not dwell upon any thing which he met with, nor 
 attempt to determine the merits or solve the difficulties 
 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 Col- 
 lege system afforded him. Nearly a year stiU remained 
 before his examination; and, as Mrs. Reding had not yet 
 fully arranged her plans, but was still with her daughters, 
 passing from friend to friend, he had listened to Shef- 
 field'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 good 
 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 fann-house upon the other. Besides, the 
 farm-house suited him better, as being nearer to a 
 hamlet which he was serving during the Vacation. 
 
 " 1 don't think you like Carlton as well as I do", 
 said Reding to Sheffield, as they lay on the greensward 
 with some lighter classic in their hands, waiting for din- 
 
136 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 uer, and watching their friend as he approached them 
 fi'om his lodging. "He is to me so taking a man ; so 
 equable, so gentle, so considerate — he brings people to- 
 gether, and fills them with confidence in himself, and 
 friendly feeling towards each other, more than any person 
 I know". "You are wTong", said Shefiield, "if you 
 think I 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 con- 
 sequences. 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 contradic- 
 tions: but Carlton is a really clever man; he is no com- 
 mon thinker ; this makes it so provoking. When I 
 write an essay for him, — I know I write obscurely, and 
 often do not bring out 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 extrava- 
 gant 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, what 1 like in Carlton, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. lo/ 
 
 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 SheflSeld. " 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 the Agamemnon. He knows his books 
 by heart, can repeat his plays backwards, and weighs 
 out his Aristotle by grains and pennyweights ; but, for 
 generalisations, 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", an- 
 swered Reding. 
 
 Carlton had now joined them, and, after introductory 
 gi-eetings 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". " 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 bom 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 
 
1.38 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 in the quarter where infliieiicc 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 minister, 
 I have understood, is not acknowledged in the constitu- 
 tion ; 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 of a party is 
 merely a recurrence to the original mode 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 supersedes in- 
 fluence ; from that time the exertion of influence 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 involve 
 party-action. For instance, has not the crown an im- 
 mense personal influence ? we talk of the Court party ; 
 yet it does not interfere with law, it is intended to con- 
 ciliate 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 a 
 support to the law, yet not created or defined bv the 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 139 
 
 law. The law docs not recognise what some one calls 
 truly a ' resident gentleman' in every parish. Influence, 
 then, instead of law is not ueccssaifly the action of party". 
 " So again, national character is an influence distinct 
 from the law", said Shefiield, " according to the line, — 
 ' Quid leges sine morihus f " " LaAv", said Carlton, 
 " is but gradually formed and extended. Well, then, 
 so far as there is no law, there 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 sul3ject, the 
 defects of the law. Charles the First 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 associations 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 con- : 
 stituted authority to take it. It was a recurrence to the | 
 precedent of Deioces". " Manzoni gives a striking in- 
 stance of this, in the beginning of his Promessi Sposi^\ 
 said Shefiield, " when he speaks of the protection which 
 law ought to give to the weak, being in the sixteenth 
 century sought and found almost exclusively in factions 
 or companies. I don't recollect particulars, but he des- 
 cribes the clergy as busy in extending their immunities, 
 the nobility their privileges, the army their exemptions, 
 the trades and artizans their guilds. Even the lawyers 
 formed a union, and medical men a corporation". 
 
 " Thus constitutions are gradually moulded and per- 
 
140 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 fccted", said Carlton, " by extra-constitutional bodies, 
 either coming under the protection of law, or else being- 
 superseded by the law's providing for their objects. In 
 the middle ages the Church was a vast extra-constitu- 
 tional body. The German and Anglo-Norman sovereigns 
 wished to bring its operation under the law ; modem 
 parliaments have superseded its operation hy law. Then 
 the state wished to gain the right of investitures ; now 
 the state mames, registers, manages the poor, exer- 
 cises ecclesiastical jurisdiction, instead of the Church". 
 " This will make ostracism parallel to the Reformation 
 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 monarch, 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 Charles, " which falls in 
 with what you have been saying. In the last half 
 century there has been a gradual formation 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 sys- 
 tem of newspapers ; 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 things, the wretched princi- 
 ples, 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 repre- 
 sented in parliament ; the Commons are not their voice, 
 but the voice of certain great interests. Consequently 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 141 
 
 the press comes in, to do that which the constitution 
 does not do, to form the people into a vast mutual -pro- 
 tection 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 si- 
 milar 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 recognised as the 
 legitimate instrument by which the masses make their 
 desires known, and secure the accomplishment of tliem. 
 Just as a bill passes in Parliament, after certain read- 
 ings, 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 
 current with the Parliamentary process. The first in- 
 stance of this was about fifty or sixty years ago, when 
 . . . Hallo !" he cried, " who is this cantering up 
 to us ?" "I declare it is old Vincent", said Sheffield. 
 " He is 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 a reading 
 man. For myself", he continued, " I am just now an 
 eating man, and am come to dine Avith you, if you wdll 
 let me. Have you a place for my horse ?" There was 
 a farmer near, who could lend a stable ; so the horse 
 
142 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 ^\'as led off by Charles ; and the rider, wifehont any 
 delay — for the horn- did not admit it — entered the cot- 
 tage to make his brief preparation for dinner. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 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 w^as also the habitation of a gardener, who took his 
 vegetables to the Oxford market, and whose wife, what 
 is called, did for his lodgers. 
 
 Dinner was suited to the apartment, apartment to the 
 dinner. The book table had been hastily cleared for a 
 cloth, not over white, and, in consequence, the sole re- 
 maining table, which acted as sideboard, displayed 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 ne.ck-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 a 
 zest. Visit it, do not live in it, if you would enjoy it. 
 Country air is a stimulus ; stimulants, Mr. Eeding, 
 should not be taken too often. You are of the country 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 143 
 
 party. I am of no party. I go here o^id there, like the 
 bee ; I taste of every thing, 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 oldei*". 
 *' I have heard of an American illustration of this", said 
 Sheffield, " which certainly confirms what you say, sir. 
 Professors in the United States are sometimes of two or 
 three religions at once, according as we regard them 
 historically, personally, or officially. In this way, per- 
 haps, 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. Accordingly he was brought to a stand. 
 Charles came to his relief. " Before dinner", he said, 
 " we were sporting what you will consider a great para- 
 dox, 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 mean. 
 I halve your words ; parties are not good, but necessary ; 
 like snails, I don't envy them their small houses, or try 
 to lodge in them". •' You mean", said Carlton, " that 
 parties do our dirty work ; they are our beasts of burden ; 
 we could not get on without them, but we need not 
 identify ourselves with them; we may keep aloof". 
 " That", said Sheffield, ^' is something like those re- 
 
144 LOSS AND GAIX. 
 
 ligioiis professors who say that it is sinful to engage in 
 worldly though necessary occupations ; but that the re- 
 probate undertake them, and work for the elect". " There 
 will alw^ays be persons enough in the world who like to 
 be party men, without being told to be so", said Yin- 
 cent ; " it's our business to turn them to account, to use 
 them, but to keep aloof. I take it, all parties are partly 
 I'ight, only they go too far. I borrow from each, I co- 
 operate with each, as far as each is right, and no fur- 
 ther. Thus I get good from all, and I do good to all ; 
 for I countenance each, so far as it is time". 
 
 " Mr. Carlton meant more than that, sir", said Shef- 
 field ; " 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 w'ould not defend the extreme opinions, 
 which, alas, exist among us at present, and are progress- 
 ing every day". " I was speaking of political parties", 
 said Carlton, " but I am disposed to extend w^hat I said 
 to religious also". " But, my good Carlton", said Vin- 
 cent, " Scripture speaks against religious parties". 
 " Certainly I don't wdsh 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 opi- 
 nions ; and the expression of those different opinions, by 
 the various persons w^ho hold them, is what is called a, 
 party". " Mr. Carlton has been great, sir, on thegencral 
 subject before dinner", said Sheffield, " and now he 
 draws the corollary, that whenever there arc parties in a 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 145 
 
 Church, a Church may thank itself for them. They are 
 the certain effect of private judgment ; and the more pri- 
 vate judgment you have, the more parties you will have. 
 You are reduced, then, to this alternative, no toleratioup 
 or party ; and you must recognise party, unless you re- 
 fuse toleration". " Sheffield words it more strongly than 
 1 should do", said Carlton ; " but really I mean pretty 
 much what he says. Take the case of the Roman Ca- 
 tholics ; they have decided many points of theology, 
 many they have not decided ; and wherever there is no 
 ecclesiastical decision, there they have at once a party ; 
 and when the ecclesiastical decision at length appears, 
 then the party ceases. Thus you have the Dominicans 
 and Franciscans contending about the Immaculate Con- 
 ception ; they went on contending because authority did 
 not at once decide the question. On the other hand, 
 when Jesuits and Jansenists disputed on the question of 
 grace, the Pope gave it in 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 Leicester, and sometime Ireland Es- 
 sayist, 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 judg- 
 ment, 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 allow^ed in our Church 
 recognising parties as an element of the Church". 
 ^' Well, well, mv good Carlton", said Vincent, frowning 
 
 10 
 
14G LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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, refor- 
 mation, 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 orna- 
 ments, Mr. Vincent". " A sentiment or argument does 
 not lose in your hands", said Carlton; "but wdiat I meant 
 was simply that party leaders are not dishonourable in 
 the Church, 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 gooseberiy-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 I 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 JMr. 
 Willis of St. George's a friend of yours, Mr. Reding ?" 
 asked Vincent. Charles started ; " I knew him a little 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 147 
 
 ... 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 return- 
 ing". "A melancholy history, anyhow", answered 
 Charles ; " most melancholy, if this is true". " Ra- 
 ther", said Vincent, setting him right, as if he had 
 simply made a verbal mistake, " a most happy termina- 
 tion, you mean ; the only thing that was left for him to 
 do. You know he went abroad. Any one who is in- 
 clined to Romanise 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 beg- 
 gars in the streets of Rome and Naples ; so much 
 squalidness and misery ; no cleanliness ; an utter ab- 
 sence of comfort ; and such superstition ; and such an 
 abuse 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 Vir- 
 gin as a goddess ; and they see miracles at the corner 
 of every street. Their images are awful, and their ig- 
 norance 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 
 Charles. " He is said to be with his mother in Devon- 
 shire, 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". 
 
148 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 There was a short pause in the conversation ; then 
 Vincent added, " But such perversions, Carlton, I sup- 
 pose, thinks to be as necessary as paities in a pure Pro- 
 testant Church". " I Ciin'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 political party be indefensible ; so is reUgious, 
 if it leads to apostasy". " You know the Whigs ivere 
 accused in the last war", said Sheffield, " of siding with 
 Bonaparte ; accidents of this kind don't aflFect general 
 rules or standing customs". "Well, independent of 
 this", answered Charles, " I cannot think religious parties 
 defensible on the considerations which justify political. 
 There is, to my feelings, something despicable in head- 
 ing 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 in- 
 dividually 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 Carlton, " 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, I 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 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. \ 149 
 
 difficult to conceive", said Vincent, " th\n any state- 
 ment which has been hazarded this afternooii". " 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 believe", 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 cff'ect. Effects imply agents ; agency, will and 
 consciousness". " There are different modes of in- 
 fluence", interposed Sheffield ; " influence is often spon- 
 taneous and almost necessary". " Like the light on 
 Moses' face", said Carlton. " Bonaparte is said to have 
 had an irresistible smile", said Sheffield. "What is 
 beauty itself, but a spontaneous influence ?" added Carl- 
 ton ; " 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 lufluence, its kinds and causes', and Mr. Shef- 
 field shall get it ; and as to Carlton, he shall be my 
 Poetry Professor, when I am Convocation". 
 
 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 cot- 
 tage: but the terse ^'littera scripta^\ abridges won- 
 drously the rambHug ^^vox eviissa" ; 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 
 
150 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 ready laid, and the kettle speedily forthcoming. The 
 bread and butter were excellent ; and the party did jus- 
 tice 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 primary, 
 purest, and best comment on Scripture, is not pressed 
 and forced out, but consists of a natural exudation. 
 This is the case in Italy at this day ; and they call the 
 juice '•lagrimcC. 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 be- 
 comes poisonous. I am a great patron of tea ; the poet 
 truly says, ' It cheers, but not inebriates'. It has some- 
 times 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 English drink our liquors 
 too hot. It is not a French failing ; no, indeed. In 
 France, that is in the country, you get nothing for break- 
 fast but acid wine and grapes ; this is the other ex- 
 treme, 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 ca- 
 momile in the tea is not perceptible. Don't make faces, 
 ^Ir. Shefiield; a little, I say; a Httle of every thing is 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 151 
 
 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 intended 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 ! but I have some very rough ground to pass over. 
 I daren't canter over the ruts with the gravel-pits close 
 before me. Mr. Sheffield, 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 them. 
 They are most unfairly attacked, that is certain ; how- 
 ever, 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. Meamvhile, I do think it. but £air_ta_keep in 
 view that the existence of parties is no fault of theirs. 
 They are but claiming their birth-right as Protestants. 
 When the Church docs not speak, others will speak in- 
 stead ; and leiirned men have the best right to speak. 
 
152 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Again, when learned men speak, others Avill attend to 
 them ; and thus the formation of a party is rather the 
 act of those who follow than of those who lead". 
 
 CHAPTEE 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 re- 
 sidence. Charles had lost sight of him, or nearly so, 
 since he first knew him; and at their time of life so con- 
 siderable an interval could not elapse without changes in 
 the character for good or evil, or for both. Carlton and 
 Charles, who w^re a good deal thrown together by Shef- 
 field'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 w^as returning. They had 
 not proceeded very far before they were joined by Shef- 
 field and Mr. Barry, the curate of Chalton; and thus 
 the party was swelled to five. 
 
 " So you are going to lose Upton ?" said Bany to 
 Reding; "a capital tutor; you can ill spare him. Who 
 comes into his place ?" " We don't know", answered 
 Charles ; " the Principal 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 153 
 
 his subjects so thoroughly. His lecture in the Agricola, 
 I've heard your men say, it might have been publislied. 
 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 ; every 
 thing he said had a meaning, and was wanted". " He 
 has got a capital living", said Barry ; " a substantial 
 modern house, and by the rail only an hour from Lon- 
 don". " 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 num- 
 ber of good families round about". " They say he's 
 going to marry the Dean of Selsey's daughter", said 
 Barry ; "do you know the fiimily ? 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 jm-isdiction ; 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. " Mij friends !" said AVhite ; " 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 M'ith great satisfaction to what he heard 
 there, as inclining him to Eumanisni". " I wish preachers 
 
154: LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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, 
 BaiTy", said Sheffield ; " you mean present company 
 excepted. You, White, I think, come under the deno- 
 mination 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 
 w^orse. 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 earnest- 
 ness; "you have misunderstood me grievously. I have 
 ever been most faithful to the Church of England. You 
 never heard me say any thing inconsistent with the 
 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 
 advantage from the Romanists. But I have ever loved, 
 and hope I shall ever venerate, my own Mother, the 
 Chm-ch of my baptism". 
 
 Sheffield made an odd face, and no one spoke. White 
 continued, attempting to preserve an unconcerned man- 
 ner : " It is remarkable that Mr. Bolton, who, though a 
 layman, and no divine, is a sensible, practical, shrewd 
 man, never liked that pulpit ; 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 155 
 
 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 onlj person — " " Well, well, I 
 know it, I know it", said Sheffield ; " we're only canon- 
 ising 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 to the Church of 
 Eome 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 Romanism and Anglicanism 
 were two religions ; that you could not amalgamate 
 them ; that you must be Roman or Anglican, but could i 
 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 be- 
 cause he thought he should hke it better ; that he had 
 found out by experience that no one could live on senti- 
 ment; that the whole system of worship in the Romish 
 Church was different from what it is in our own ; nay, 
 the veiy idea of worship, the idea of prayers ; that the 
 doctrine of intention itself, viewed in all its parts, con- 
 
15G LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 stituted a new religion. He did not speak of himself 
 definitely, but he said generally that all this might be a 
 great discom-agement 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 ex- 
 citable a person, as he seemed to me, is capable of exer- 
 cising. At the same time there is nothing in all this to 
 prove that he is sorry for Avhat he has done". "I have 
 granted this", said White; "still the effect of the letter 
 was to keep people back from following him, by putting 
 obstacles in their way ; and then we must couple this 
 with the fact of his going home". Charles thought a 
 while. *' Vincent's testimony", he said, " is either a 
 confirmation or a mere exaggeration of what you have 
 told me, according as it is independent or not". Then 
 he said to himself, " White too has more in him than I 
 thought ; he really has spoken about Willis very sensi- 
 bly : what has come to him ?" 
 
 The paths soon divided ; and while the Chalton pair 
 took the right hand, Carlton and his pupils tm-ned to the 
 left. Soon Carlton parted from the two friends, and 
 they reached then- cottage just in time to see the set- 
 ting sun. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A FEW days after, Carlton, Shefiield, and Reding were 
 talking together after dinner out of doors about White. 
 *' How he is altered", said Charles, '' since I first knew 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 157 
 
 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". "I! 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 af- 
 ford it; he has a good living waiting for him; and, 
 moreover, he is thus losing no time, which is a great 
 thing in life. Much time is often lost. White will 
 soon find himself settled in every sense of the word, in 
 mind, in life, in occupation". 
 
 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 seen 
 some beautiful nun sculptured on a chancel-screen, and 
 was carried awav bv romance — as others have been and 
 
158 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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', a very tottering column too". " Do you really 
 think", said Charles, " that people mean so little what 
 they say ?" " You take matters too seriously, Eeding", 
 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 any thing". 
 " 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 years more of life", 
 said Carlton smiling, "will make your judgment kinder". 
 " 1 don't like talkers", continued Charles ; "I don't 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 159 
 
 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 of work ; then I give over : but 
 you prose, and muse, and sigh, and prose again". And 
 so he left them. 
 
 "What does he mean?" asked Carlton. Charles 
 slightly coloured and laughed : " You are a man I say 
 things to, 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 with it", said Carlton. " Why, to 
 tell^iie 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 Shef- 
 " field fancies I have some sneaking kindness for . . . 
 celibacy myself". " Kindness for whom ?" said Carlton. 
 " Kindness for celibacy". There was a pause, and Carl- 
 ton's face somewhat changed. " Oh, my dear good fel- 
 low", 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 conge- 
 nial and very fond of each other. There Avas a pause 
 for a few seconds. 
 
 " You are so sensible a fellow, Reding", said Carlton, 
 
lt)0 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 "it surprises nie that you should titke up this notion". 
 " 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 Tha- 
 laba's punishment". Carlton put 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 bluuder, if you are for 
 introducing celibacy into the Anglican Church". "There's 
 nothing against it in Prayer-book or Articles", said 
 Charles. " Perhaps not ; but the whole genius, struc- 
 ture, working of our Church goes the other way. 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 indefinitely 
 superior to all the monks that were ever shaven. I de- 
 clare, I think the Bishop of Ipswich is almost justified 
 in giving out that none but mamed men have a chance 
 of preferment 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- 
 pediency or feasibility of the thing, but at what seemed 
 to him best in itself, and what he could not help admir- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 161 
 
 ing. " I Siiid nothing about the celibacy of clergy", 
 he observed, " but of celibacy generally". " Celibacy 
 has no place in our idea or our system of religion, de- 
 pend on it", said Carlton. " It is nothing to the pur- 
 pose, whether there is any thing 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 three hundred years 
 is surely abundant for our purpose ; if we don't know 
 whnt our religion is in that time, what time will belong 
 enough ? there are forms of religion which have not 
 lasted so long from first to last. Now enumerate the 
 cases of celibacy for celibacy's sake in that time, and 
 what will be the sum total of them ? Some instances 
 there are ; but even Hammond, who died unmarried, 
 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 excellence 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 mar- 
 riage as to compel celibacy, 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 prac- 
 tical difficulty to you at this moment", said Carlton ; 
 " no one is asking you to go 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 any thing veiy foolish ; you don't suppose I argue 
 on such subjects with others". 
 
162 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 They had by this time strolled as far as Carlton's lodg- 
 ing, 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 
 stopd in front of the house, before entering it. " Tell 
 me, Reding", said Carlton, " for really I don't under- 
 stand, 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 beginning, 
 * Increase and multiply' ; therefore celibacy is unnatural". 
 '^ Supernatural", said Charles, smiling. " Is not that a 
 word without an idea ?" asked Carlton. " 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 super- 
 natural. The Wesleyan convulsions are preternatural ; 
 why not supernatural ?" " I really think that our di- 
 vines, 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 supernatural", said Carl- 
 ton ; " I want to get at what t/ou think, you know". 
 "It seems to me", said Charles, "that Christianity, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 1G3 
 
 being the perfection of nature, is both like it and unlike 
 it ; — like it, where it is the same or as much as nature ; 
 unhke it, where it is as much and more. I mean by su- 
 pernatural the perfection of nature". " Give me an in- 
 stance", said Carlton. " Why consider, Carlton ; our 
 Lord says, * Ye have heard that it has been said of old 
 time, — but I 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 the 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 di- 
 vorces, had fallen below nature. ' Let no man put 
 asunder', was the rule in paradise". — " Still, surely the 
 idea of an Apostle, unmarried, pure, in fast and naked- 
 ness, 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. I am not derogating from Gideon or Caleb ; 
 I am adding to St. Paul". " St. Paul's is a very par- 
 ticular case", said Carlton. — " But he himself lays down 
 the general maxim, that it is ' good' for a man to con- 
 tinue as he was". — " There we come to a question of 
 criticism, what ' good' means ; I may think it means 
 'expedient', and Avhat he says about the 'present dis- 
 tress' confirms it". — " Well, I won't go to criticism", said 
 Charles : " take the text, ' in sin hath my mother con- 
 ceived 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 Ptcdiug", said Carlton, astonished, 
 
164 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 "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 per- 
 sons 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 perfec- 
 tion 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 spirit as well 
 as mind. Spirit, or the principle of religious faith or 
 obedience, should be the master principle, the hegemoni- 
 con. 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 in- 
 / tellect and body too. What is fiiith but the submission 
 \ of the intellect ? and as ' every high thought is brought 
 j into captivity', so are we expressly told to bring the body 
 into subjection 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 
 l)erfection 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", 
 
loss AND GAIN. 1()5 
 
 ansAvered Carlton, " you make Christianity a very dif- 
 ferent 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 
 this sort of gloomy penitential state ? How much is said 
 in St. Paul about peace, thanksgiving, assurance, com- 
 fort, 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 tridy sorry or penitent ; whether he is so 
 or not, his future hfe will show". " Well, somehow, I 
 cannot master this idea", said Charles ; " I think most 
 serious persons, even for a little sin, would go on fidget- 
 ing themselves, and not suppose they gained pardon di- 
 rectly they asked for it". " Certainly", answered 
 Carlton ; " but God pardons those who do not pardon 
 themselves". " That is", said Charles, " who don't 
 
166 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 at once feel peace, assurance, and comfort ; who clonH 
 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 forgiv^ing them- 
 selves, their sorrow, and trouble, pleasiug to God ?" — 
 " Surely". — "Thus a certain self-infliction for sin com- 
 mitted is pleasing to Him ; and, if so, how does it matter 
 whether it is inflicted on mind or body ?" " It is not 
 properly a self-infliction", answered Carlton ; " self-inflic- 
 tion implies intention ; grief at sin is something spon- 
 taneous. When you afflict yourself on purpose, then at 
 once you pass from pure Christianity". " Well", said 
 Charles, " I certainly fancied that fasting, abstinence, 
 labours, celibacy, might be taken as a make-up for sin. 
 It is not a 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 say- 
 ing that cehbacy 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 have clear ideas upon the sub- 
 ject. I have talked more than I like. Let us at 
 length give over". 
 
 They did, in consequence, pass to other subjects con- 
 nected 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 167 
 
 not quite his own, as if something had annoyed him. 
 Next morning he was as usual. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It is impossible to stop the growth of the mind. Here 
 was Charles with his thoughts turned away from reli- 
 gious controversy for two years, yet with his religious 
 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 discussion with a friend, such 
 as the above with Carlton, would bring out what he 
 really did hold to his own apprehension, — would ascer- 
 tain 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 theological form ; nor could they, under his cir- 
 cumstances, be expressed in theological language ; but 
 here he was, a young man of twentj^-two, professing in 
 an hour's conversation with a friend, what really were 
 the Catholic doctrine and usages, of penance, purgatory, 
 councils of perfection, mortification of self, and clerical 
 celibacy. 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 some- 
 thing, as he expressed it, " very unlike the Church of 
 
168 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 England" ; sonietliiug new and unpleasant to him, and 
 withal something which had a body in it, which had a 
 momentum, which could not be passed over as a vague 
 sudden sound or transitory cloud, but which had much 
 behind it, which made itself felt, which struck heavily. 
 
 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 Chm'ch must begin with private judgment; 
 they use it in order ultimately to supersede 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 gUttering chandeliers, the bright ladies and 
 the well-dressed gentlemen, say to hiin 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 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 lived out of it, who 
 would not use his privileges, who would not exchange 
 reason for faith, who would not accommodate his thoughts 
 and doings to the glorious scene which surrounded him, 
 who was groping for the hidden treasure and digging fur 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 169 
 
 the pearl of price In the high, lustrous, all-jewelled Tem- 
 ple of the Lord of Hosts ; who shut his eyes and specu- 
 lated, 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. Cir- 
 cumstances 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 exis- 
 ting. Charles, for instance, felt a difiiculty in deter- 
 mining 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, j 
 doubtless, before him they had occurred ; but these num- ) 
 bers had looked abroad, and seen nothing around them | 
 to justify what they felt, and their feelings had, in con- 
 sequence, either festered within them, or withered away, j 
 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, explains his feelings ; he under- 
 stands that it numbers, corrects, harmonises, completes 
 them ; and he is led to ask what 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 Eng- 
 land from the very time that Christianity was introduced 
 here ; that, as far as historical records go, Christianity 
 and Catholicism are sjTiouymous ; that it is still the faith 
 of the largest section of the Christian world ; and that 
 
 11 
 
170 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 the faith of his own country is held no where but within 
 her own limits and those of her own colonies ; nay farther, 
 that it is very difficult to say what faith she has, or that 
 she has any, — then he submits himself to the 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 criti- 
 cise themselves out of it again. Nor is it denied, on the 
 other hand, that some who are not Catholics may pos- 
 sibly choose (for instance) Methodism, in the above 
 moral way, viz. because it confirms and justifies the in- 
 ward feeling of their hearts. This is certainly possible 
 in idea, though what there is venerable, awful, super- 
 human, in the Wesleyan Conference 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 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 spirit, 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 171 
 
 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 
 destiuy which the grace of his Itedeemer had stamped 
 on his soul in baptism, which his good angel had seen 
 written there, and had done his zealous part to keep in- 
 violate and bright, Avhich his own cooperation 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 defrauded 
 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)^ie 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 could 
 be near them, and made them look curiously and anxi- 
 ously 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 one way, 
 Shefiield had been growing 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. 
 
172 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Carlton had opened the small church he was serving, 
 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 walk 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 chm'ch was over, Carlton had to attend a sick- 
 call which lay still further from Horsley, and the two 
 young men walked back together. 
 
 " I did not know Carlton was so much of a party 
 man", said Shefiield; "did not his reading the/Uhana- 
 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 ques- 
 tion were not, is that direction now binding ? the sense, 
 the understanding of the Church of this day determines 
 its obligation". " The prima facie 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 adhe- 
 rence to old customs surely may be the badge of a party. 
 Now consider; ten years ago, before the study of Church- 
 history was revived, Arianism and Athanasianism either 
 were not thought of at all, or, if thought of, were con- 
 sidered as questions of words, at least as held by most 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 173 
 
 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 instance the unlearned, who 
 were, in Arian communities, spoke Ai-ian 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. 
 Athanasiiis, 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 hetero- 
 dox school in our Church — I know that well enough — 
 but it never has been powerful. Your lax friend was 
 one of them". " I believe not, indeed", answered Shef- 
 field ; "he lived out of controversy, was a literary, ac- 
 complished 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 was unpopular". 
 " So little was knov/n 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, Divi- 
 nity Professor; no one will call him in any sense a party 
 man: he was put in by the Tories, and never has com- 
 
174 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 mitted himself to any liberal theories in theology. !Now, 
 a man who attended his private lectures assm-es me that 
 he told the men, ' D'ye see', said he, ' I take it, that the 
 old Chnrch-of-England mode of handling the Creed went 
 out with Bull. After Locke wrote, the old orthodox 
 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 educated laity of our Church 
 are Sabellians'." 
 
 Charles was silent, and hardly knew what reply to 
 make. Sheffield Avent 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 Avith party, and the near relation and 
 connexion of high dignitaries, about a plan of his OAvn 
 for writing a history of the Councils. This good and 
 able man listened with politeness, applauded the pro- 
 ject ; then added, in a laughing way, ' You know you 
 have chosen just the dullest subject in Church-history'. 
 ISow the Councils begin with the Nicene Creed, and em- 
 brace nearly all doctrinal subjects whatever". " My dear 
 Sheffield", said Charles, " you have fallen in with a par- 
 ticular set or party of men yourself ; very respectable 
 good men, I don't doubt, but no fair specimens of the 
 Avhole Church". " I don't bring them as authorities", 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 175 
 
 answered Sbeffield, " but as witnesses". " Still", said 
 Charles, " I know perfectly well, that there was a con- 
 troversy 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 a defence of the Athanasian Creed, 
 I know well", said Sheffield; "for the subject came into 
 Upton's Article-lecture ; it was w^ith Priestley ; 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 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-Eng- 
 land doctrine', thinking it right, indeed, to be maintained, 
 but not caring themselves to maintain it, or at most 
 professing it just when mentioned, but not really think- 
 ing about it from one year's end to the other. And so 
 with regard to the doctrine of the Trinity, they say, 
 'thegi'eat Horsley', 'the powerfid 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-d-pie^ 
 who has put down dissent, who has cut off the head of 
 some impudent non-protectionist, or insane chartist, or 
 rehgious innovator, 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 
 vaiious orthodox writers, whom no one would call party 
 men". " Stop", said Sheffield, " understand me, I Avas 
 
176 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 not speaking against them. I was but saying that these 
 anti-Athanasian views w^ere 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 was promoted 
 when I w^as w ith him ; and Sheen told me that he wrote 
 to him on that occasion, ' What shall I read ? I don't 
 know any thing of theology'. I rather tliink 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 tlie 
 doctrine of the Trinity. What makes this stronger 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. AVoukl he have eaten the 
 bread of the Church, as it is called, for a day, unless he 
 had felt that his opinions were not inconsistent with his 
 profession as Dean of l^ath, and Prebendary of Dor- 
 chester ? Is it not plain that he considered the prac- 
 tice of the Church to have modified, to have re-inter- 
 prcted its documents ?" " Why", said Charles, " the 
 practice of the Church cannot make black wdiite ; 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 177 
 
 the day has great infiiience 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 Athanasian 
 Creed Sabellian ; I think not". " Certainly not", an- 
 swered 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 Uni- 
 tarian 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 somid enough for preferment". " If 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 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'." 
 
178 LOSS AND GAIX. 
 
 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 sub- 
 ject ; but Sheffield's hand was in, and he vrould not be 
 baulked ; so he presently began again. " I have been 
 speaking", he said, " of the liberal section of our Church. 
 There are four parties in thci Church. Of these the old 
 Tory, or country party, Avhich 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 
 docs not deny it ; it may not kuow^ingly 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 Athauasian 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, ^ter the Tory party 
 comes the Liberal; which also dislikes the Athauasian 
 Creed, as I have said. Thirdly, as to the Evangelical ; 
 I know you have one of the Nos. of the ' Tracts of the 
 Tin^.es' about objective faith. Now that tract seems to 
 prove that the Evangelical party is implicitly Sabelllan, 
 and is tending to avow that belief. This too has been 
 already the actual course of Evangelical doctrine both on 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 179 
 
 the Continent and in America. The Protestants of 
 Geneva, Holland, Ulster, and Boston have all, I believe, 
 become Unitarians, or the like. Dr. Adam Clark too, 
 the celebrated Wesleyan, held the distinguishing Sabel- 
 lian tenet, as Doddridge 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 Athana- 
 sian Creed". " I don't agree with you at all", said 
 Charles ; " yon say a great deal more than you have a 
 warrant to do, and draw sweeping conclusions from 
 slender premisses. This, at least, is what seems to nie. 
 I wish too you would not so speak of ' making out a 
 case'. It is as if these things were mere topics for dis- 
 putation. 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". " 
 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 your pardon, 
 if I have said anything to annoy you, or have expressed 
 myself intemperately. But surely one has no need to be- 
 lieve what so many people either disbelieve or disregard". 
 The subject then dropped; and presently Carlton over- 
 took them on the farmer's pony, which he had borrowed. 
 
180 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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, uncomfortably re- 
 minded him of his debt to the University and Church ; 
 and the nearer approach of his examination 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, to- 
 wards the end of the Vacation, he had been led to speak 
 of the number of rehgious opinions and parties in Oxford, 
 which had so many bad effects, making so many talk, so 
 many criticise, and not a few perhaps sceptical 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. " 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 be- 
 cause 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 operates". There 
 was a pause; then Carlton went on : " It is the fault of 
 most young thinkers to be impatient, if they do not find 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 181 
 
 perfection in every thing; 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 cannot 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, "I should 
 not like to say it to any one but you, Carlton ; but, do 
 you know, I was very uncomfortable about the Articles, 
 going on for two years since ; I really could not under- 
 stand them, and their history makes matters worse. I 
 put the subject from me altogether ; but now my exami- 
 nation and degree are coming on, I must take it up 
 again". " You must have been put into the Article- 
 lectm-e 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 especially to 
 thoughtful people like yourself. It should not annoy 
 you". " But my fidget is", said Charles, " lest my dif- 
 ficulties should return, and I should not be able to re- 
 move them", " You should take all these things 
 calmly", said Carlton ; " all things, as I have said, have 
 their diflficulties. If you wait till every thing is as it should 
 be, or might be conceivably, you will do nothing, and 
 will lose life. The moral 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. 
 
 12 
 
] 82 ^ LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 You must choose, you cannot make". " I know", said 
 Reding, " I 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 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 Plyniouth-brotherism. As 
 to the Romish Church, I suspect it has more difficulties 
 than we have. You must sacrifice your private judg- 
 ment". " All this is very good", answered Charles ; 
 " but what is very expedient, still may be very impos- 
 sible. The finest words about the necessity of getting 
 home before night-fall 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 Sovereign 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 183 
 
 whither it went, where it ended. Presently he said ab- 
 ruptly, " Why do yon think there are more difficulties 
 in the Church of Rome ?" " Clearly there are", an- 
 swered Carlton ; " if the Articles are a crust, is not 
 Pope^ Pi"s's Creed a bone?" "I don't know Pope 
 Pius's Creed", said Charles ; " I know very Httle about 
 the state of the case, certainly. What does it say ?'' 
 " Oh, it includes infallibility, transubstantiation, saint- 
 worship, and the rest", said Carlton ; "I suppose you 
 could not quite subscribe these". "It depends", an- 
 swered 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 IGtli century ; and again, it is not clear 
 how far they are, or are not, modified by the unauthori- 
 tative views of the 19th. I am obliged, then, to exercise 
 my own judgment ; and I candidly declare to you, that 
 my judgment 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 on faith'\ "You- mean, I sup- 
 pose", said Charles, " that I must consider our Church 
 infallible". Carlton felt the difficulty; he answered, 
 " No, but you must act as if it were infallible, from a 
 sense of duty". Charles smiled ; then he looked grave ; he 
 stood still, and his eyes fell. " If I am to make a Church 
 infallible", he said, "if I 7nusf give up private judg- 
 ment, if I must act on faith, there is a Church Avhich has 
 a greater claim on us all than the Church ^of England". 
 " My dear Reding", said Carlton with some emotion, 
 
184 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 " where did you get these notions ?" " I don't know", 
 answered Charles ; " somebody has said that they w^ere 
 in the air. I have talked to no one, except one or two 
 arguments I had wath different persons in my first year. 
 I have driven the subject from me ; but when I once be- 
 gin, you see it will out". 
 
 They walked on awhile in silence. " Do you really 
 mean to say", asked Carlton at length, " that it 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 ivhat I am signing when I sign, yet T 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 justi- 
 fication 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 Melanc- 
 thon, 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 veiy first glance", said 
 Carlton, "and all maybe surmounted with a little care". 
 " On the other hand, it has struck me", continued 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 185 
 
 Charles, "that' the Church of Rome is undeniably con- 
 sistent in her formularies ; this is the very charge 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 con- 
 demn itself. Consistency is not truth, but truth is con- 
 sistency. Now, I am not a fit judge whether or not 
 a certain system is true, but I may be quite a judge 
 whether it is consistent with itself. When an oracle 
 equivocates, it carries with it its own condemnation. I 
 almost think there is something in Scripture on this sub- 
 ject, comparing in this respect the pagan and the in- 
 spired 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 fiiith ; 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 
 truth on earth, or the Church of Rome is that prophet. 
 
180 LOSS AND GAIX. 
 
 That there is a prophet still, or apostle, or messenger, or 
 teacher, or whatever he is to be called, seems evident 
 by om- believing in a visible Church. Now common sense 
 tells us what a messenger from God^ust be ; first, he 
 must not contradict himself, as I have just been saying. 
 Again, a prophet of God can allow of no rival, but de- 
 nounces all who make a separate claim, as the prophets 
 do in Scripture. Now, it is impossible to say whether 
 our Church acknowledges or not Lutheranism in Ger- 
 many, 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 intelligible position in Angli- 
 can doctrine. On the other hand, the Church of Rome has 
 i\\\s prima facie mark of a prophet, that hke a prophet 
 in Scripture, it admits no rival, and anathematises 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 ag^e 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. The Church of Rome inspires me with confidence; 
 I feel I can trust her. It is another thing whether she 
 is true ; I am not pretending now to decide that. But 
 I do not feel the like trust in our own Church. I love 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 187 
 
 her more than I trust her. She leaves me without faith. 
 Now you see the state of my mind". He fetched a deep 
 sharp sigh, as if 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 Chilling worth right, when he talks of Popes 
 against Popes, Councils against Councils, and so on. 
 Certainly you will not be allowed by Protestant contro- 
 versialists to assume this perfect consistency in Romish 
 doctrine. The truth is, you have read very little ; and you 
 judge of truth, hot by facts, but by notions ; I mean, you 
 think it enough if a notion hangs together ; though you 
 disavow it, still, in matter of fact, consistency is truth to 
 you. Whether 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 Ptomanists 
 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 infalli- 
 bility of the Church, and prove it by Scripture, and then 
 they prove Scripture by the Church. They think a 
 General Council infallible, tvhen, but not before, the Pope 
 has ratified it ; Bellarmine, I think, gives a list of Gene- 
 ral 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 the 
 case is as you say, that I ought to know the matter of 
 fact more exactly before attempting to form a judgment 
 on these subjects ; 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 
 
188 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 Latitiidinarian ; 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 mor- 
 bid 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 ii 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 
 communions 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 knoAvledge 
 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 189 
 
 emphatically a silent toil. While others might be steam- 
 ing from London to Bombay or the Havannah, 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 to 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 1. ^y raw fogs hanging about the hills, and 
 storms of wind and rain. The grass no longer aflforded 
 them a seat ; and when they betook themselves indoors, 
 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 ga- 
 thered 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 hur- 
 rying 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 
 
3 90 
 
 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 had been but a respite ; and he h.ad vividly brought 
 before his memory the sad reverse which came upon him 
 two years before — what a happy summer — what a for- 
 lorn 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 contemporaries, 
 some had already taken their degrees and left ; others 
 Avere reading in the country ; others had gone off to 
 other Colleges on Fellowships. A host of 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 imagina- 
 tion, could only attach to those who had possessed them 
 when he himself came into residence, ^he College 
 seemed to have deteriorated ; there was a rowing set, 
 which had not been there before, a number of boys, and 
 a lai-ge 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 likings 
 and dislikings ; in short, they had not such congenial 
 minds as they fancied when they were freshmen. There 
 ■^^ as not so much heart in their conversations, and they 
 more easily endured to miss each other's company. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 191 
 
 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 character, exemplary in his con- 
 duct ; but he was content with what the perishable world 
 gave him. Charles's characteristic, perhaps above any 
 thing else, was an habitual sense of the Divine Pre- 
 sence ; a sense which, of course, did not insure uninter 
 rupted 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, and 
 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 con- 
 nected with their common studies. They read together, 
 examined each other, used and corrected each other's 
 papers, and solved each other's difficulties. Perhaps it 
 scarcely came home to Sheffield, sharp as he was, that 
 there was any flagging of their intimacy. Religious 
 controversy had been the food of his active intellect 
 when it was novel ; now it had lost its interest, and his 
 books took its place. But it was far diffi3rent with 
 Charles ; he had felt interest in religious questions for 
 their own sake ; and when he had deprived himself of 
 
rj2 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 the pursuit of them, it had been a self-denial. Now 
 then, when they seemed forced on him again, Sheffield 
 could not help him, where he most wanted the assistance 
 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 sys- 
 tem of espionage prosecuted by various well-meaning 
 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 not per- 
 ceive the danger such a course involved of disposing 
 young men towards Catholicism, by giving them the 
 bad report of it, and of forcing them further, by inflict- 
 ing on them the inconsistencies of their position. Ideas 
 which would have lain dormant or dwindled away in 
 their minds, were thus fixed, defined, located within 
 them ; and the fear of the world's censure no longer 
 served to deter, when it had been actually incurred. 
 When Charles attended the tea-party at Freeborn's, he 
 was on his trial ; he was introduced 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 acquaintance Avith AVillis ; 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 Freeborn, who had entered to pay him a call, pry- 
 ing into his books. A volume of sermons, of the school 
 of the day, borrowed of a friend for the sake of illustra- 
 ting Aristotle, lay on his table ; and in his book-shelves 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 193 
 
 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 bed-room door was 
 open, and No. 2 of the tea-party saw one of Overbeck'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- 
 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 be- 
 tween him and the Principal and Vice-Principal of his 
 College in consequence of it. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 When Ptcding 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 
 
l[)-i LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 came into his cheek ; it was a repulse inflicted only on 
 idle men, who coald 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 borne out 
 the character with which he had come from school; but 
 there were duties to be observed towards the community, 
 and its under-graduate 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 misunderstand- 
 ing, 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 ex- 
 pression ?" 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 brow- 
 beat an unhappy juvenile who incurred his displeasure; 
 and, though he really was a kind-hearted man at bottom, 
 he not unfrequently used his power. Charles did not 
 know how to answer his question ; and on his silence it 
 was repeated. 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 dis- 
 respectful to some who might be better men than him- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 195 
 
 self. Mr. Vice was silent, but not from being satisfied. 
 "What would you call a party, Mr. Reding? 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, "ilfy view!" thought 
 Charles ; " what can he mean ? my vieiv of the Articles ! 
 like my opinion of things in general. Does he mean my 
 'view', whether they are English or Latin, long or short, 
 good or bad, expedient or not, Catholic or not, Calvinist 
 or Erastian ?" Meanwhile Jennings kept steadily regar- 
 ding him, and Charles got more and more confused. "I 
 think", he said, making a desperate snatch at authorita- 
 tive 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 : " Vv^hat is jus- 
 tification ?" " Justification", . . . said Charles, repeating 
 the word, and thinking; then, in the words of the Arti- 
 cle, 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". 
 " Plight", 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 justifica- 
 tion was in itself, for the Articles do not define it any 
 more than faith. He answered to this effect, that the 
 
ll)f) LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 in- 
 fallible". Charles was silent; Jennings tried to force his 
 decision upon him. 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 Ar- 
 ticles ?" " I wish to take them", Rediug 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. Jen- 
 nings would not allow this ; it w^as a bhnd. Popish re- 
 liance ; it wais very well, when he first came to the Uni- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 197 
 
 versity, before he had read the Articles, to take them on 
 trust ; but a young man, who had had the advantages of 
 Mr. Reding, who 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 doc- 
 trine of justification. 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 inter- 
 cession of Saints ?" Charles said that he did not recol- 
 lect 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 in- 
 tercession of Saints, but does not expressly say that they 
 intercede for us", &c. &c. Jennings sat upright in his 
 easy chair, with indignation mounting into his forehead. 
 At length his face became like night. " That is your 
 opinion, Mr. Reding". Charles began to be frightened. 
 " Please to take up that Prayer-book, and turn to the 
 22d Article. Now, begin reading it". "The Romish 
 doctrme", said Charles, — " the Romish doctrine concern- 
 
198 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 ing purgatory, pardons, worshipping and adoration 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 invoca- 
 tion'. Jennings gave a little start in his arm-chair, 
 and slightly colom-ed, " 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 abomina- 
 tion. I am ashamed of 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 viola- 
 tion 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 so- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 199 
 
 phistries and Jesuitries which unhappily have found en- 
 trance 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 be- 
 fore now had raised a congregation in a wild part of the 
 country, had instructed the ignorant and fed the poor ; 
 but now in the end of his days, falling on evil times^ was 
 permitted, for inscrutable purposes, to give evidence of 
 that evil puritanical leaven which was a secret element 
 of his religion. He had been kind to Charles hitherto, 
 which made his altered manner more distressing to him. 
 " We had hoped", he said, " Mr. Reding, that so good 
 a young man as 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 Ba- 
 chelor ? oh, I see your gown". Charles said he had not 
 yet been into the schools. " Well, sir, when you come 
 up to be examined, I should say — to 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! 
 
200 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 conceive, 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 minds, sir", he said,^ 
 " you will corrupt their minds". Then he added in a 
 sepulchral tone, which came from the very depth of his 
 inside, " You will introduce them, sir, to some subtle 
 Jesuit — to some subtle Jesuit, Mr. Reding". 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Mrs. Reding was by this time settled in the neighbour- 
 hood 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 tlian 
 himself. 
 
 " Come, shut your dull books, Charles", said Caroline, 
 the youngest, a girl of fourteen; "make way for the tea; 
 I am sure you have read enough. You sometimes don't 
 speak a word for an hour together ; at least, you might 
 tell us what you are reading about". " My dear Cary, 
 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 good part of RoUiu, besides Pope's Homer". "Ca- 
 pital !" said Charles; "well, I am reading about Pelopi- 
 das , who was he ?" " Pelopidas !" answered Caroline, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 201 
 
 "I ought to know. Oh, I recollect, he had an ivory 
 shoulder". " Well said, Gary ; but I have not yet a 
 distinct idea of him either. Was he a statue, or flesh 
 and blood, with this shoulder of his ?" "Oh, he was 
 alive ; somebody ate him, I think". " Well, was he a 
 god or a man ?" said Charles. " Oh, it's a mistake of 
 mine", said Caroline ; " he was a goddess, the ivoiy- 
 footed — no, that was Thetis". " My dear Caroline", 
 said her mother, " do not talk so at random ; think be- 
 fore you speak; you know better than this". " She has, 
 ma'am", said Charles, "what Mr. Jennings would call 'a 
 very inaccurate mind'." " I recollect jDcrfectly now", 
 said Caroline, " he was a friend of Epaminondas". 
 " When did he live ?" asked Charles. Caroline was 
 silent. " Oh, Cary", said EHza, " 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 arti- 
 ficial 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 pronounce than the numbers 
 to learn", said Caroline. " That's because you have very 
 few dates to get up", said Charles ; " but common 
 writing is a memoria technica'\ " That's beyond Caro- 
 line", said Mary. " What are words but artificial signs 
 for ideas?" said Charles; "they are more musical, but 
 as arbitrary. There is no more reason why the sound 
 * hat' should mean the particular thing so called, which 
 we put on our heads, than why *abul-distof ' should 
 stand for 1520". " my dear child", said Mrs. Reding, 
 
202 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 " how you run on ! Don't be paradoxical". " My dear 
 mother", said Charles, coming round to the fire, " I 
 don't wish 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 
 Cray 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, ' Cary, where's your common sense ?' 
 If I am going out of doors, Eliza runs up, ' Cary', 
 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 Dalton, she says, 'Use your 
 common sense, my dear'." "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. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 203 
 
 "In the Preacher", said Charles, and he continued the 
 quotation ; " 'AH 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 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 melancholy?" 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 
 
204 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 hues into which the sober green changes ; he Ukes the 
 dull uniform of summer". " No, it is not that", said 
 Charles ; " I sever saw any thing so gorgeous as Mag- 
 dalen Water-walk, for instance, in October ; it is quite 
 wonderful, the variety of colours. I admire and am 
 astonished ; but I cannot 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 intrinsic 
 beauty ; we may like them for their own sake". " No, 
 no", said Charles, " we always go by association ; else 
 why not admire raw beef, or a toad, or some other rep- 
 tiles, which are as beautiful and bright as tulips or cher- 
 ries, 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 I" 
 persisted Mrs. Reding. " Oh, my dear mother", he an- 
 swered, " I can't explain ; 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN, 205 
 
 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. Eeding, " you 
 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 obsta- 
 cle to w^alkiiig, 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, my dear", said Mrs. Reding, " you'll then walk 
 too much, as you now walk too little. My good boy, you 
 are so earnest about every thing". " It's a shame to 
 find fault with him for being diligent"', said Mary : " you 
 like him to read for honours, I know, mamma; but if he is 
 to 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 Beet- 
 hoven, the one I call ' The voice of the dead'." " Oh, 
 Charles, you do give such melancholy names to things !" 
 cried Mary. " The other day", said Eliza, " we had a 
 
 ]3 
 
206 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 most beautiful scent uafted 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 melan- 
 choly when I say it". " Oh, yes", said Caroline, " be- 
 cause 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 
 gi'owing on you". 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 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 degTce justified the consideration 
 of them. No addition indeed was made to their sub- 
 stance, 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 insur- 
 mountable, 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 cir- 
 cumstances in which he found himself at the time, and 
 was this, viz. :_ how he could subscribe the Ai'tide ex 
 a?iimo, w^ithout faith, more or less, in his Chm-ch as the 
 imponent ; and next, how he could have faith in her, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 207, 
 
 her history and present condition being what they were. 
 The fact of these clifficulFies was a great source of 
 distress to Charles. 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 
 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 every thing", 
 answered Charles. " Yon do well to liken yourself to 
 the melancholy Jacques", she replied. " 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 continned, " 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 Jen- 
 nings, 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 any 
 
208 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 where". " Oh, it is a temporary mistake", said Mary ; 
 " I 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 even- 
 ing-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 heads. 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. 
 Jennings 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 feel- 
 ings ; but I have always been able 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 Hke a summer- cloud, come and gone". 
 " And then it damps me, and interrupts me in my read- 
 ing. 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 
 she will think of it when it comes to her ears ; and 
 come it must". " Nonsense", said Mary, " don't make 
 a mountain of 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". 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 2C9 
 
 said he; "it is no summer-cloud ; it may turn to rain, 
 for wliat 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 reside there". "That 
 is very absurd", said she ; " it's what I meant by brood- 
 ing 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 vehemence; then 
 seeing by her face how much he w^as 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 !" " Mary, which do you think 
 would be the best judge whether my flice was dirty and 
 my coat shabby, you or I ? Well, then, perhaps Jen- 
 nings, or at least common report, knows more about me 
 than I do myself". " You must not speak in this way", 
 said Maiy, 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 
 
210 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Mill bear any thing, 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 po- 
 sition, 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 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 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 Psalm, ' I am a 
 stranger upon earth', describe what I always feel. No 
 one thinks or feels like me. I hear sermons, I talk on 
 religious subjects with friends, and every one seems to 
 bear witness against me. And now the College bears 
 
LOSS AND GAIX. 211 
 
 its witness, and sends me down". " Oh, Charles", said 
 Maiy, "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 every thing. We 
 used to laugh and say, ' All Charlie's geese are swans'. 
 What has come over you?" She paused, and then con- 
 tinued: "Don't you recollect those lines in the Chris- 
 tian 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 suppose it is coming oat 
 of shadows into realities". " There has been much to 
 sadden you", she added, sighing ; " and now these nasty 
 books are too much for you. AVhy 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 kim^ or 
 rather, if he 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 every where. 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. 
 
212 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Here are miuisters of Christ with large incomes, living 
 in finely fiu-nished 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 any thing to make them 
 clergymen but a black coat and a white tie. And then 
 Bishops or Deans come, with women tucked under their 
 arm ; and they can't enter church but a fine powdered 
 man runs first with a cushion for them to sit ou, and a 
 warm sheepsldn to keep their feet from the stones". 
 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 every thing, as unlike as possible 
 the spirit of the Gospels. I don't impute to the dons 
 ambition or avarice ; but still, what Heads of houses, 
 Fellows, and all of them evidently put before 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 ob- 
 ject is to be comfortable, to marry, to have a fair income, 
 station, and respectability, a convenient house, a pleasant 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 213 
 
 coiiiitrj, 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 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 worst 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 al- 
 most 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 
 
214 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 remained single in the Church of England". Poor 
 Charles was so serious, and the proposition which he re- 
 lated 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 most extraor- 
 dinary 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 a- ery 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 people, 
 some of whom you cared nothing for, telling you that 
 you were not in your place, would make you think so, 
 imless 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 Ca- 
 tholic". " 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 yon have made 
 up your mind, there's no help for it. It is not others 
 
loss AND GAIX. 215 
 
 who drive you, who bear witness against you. Dear 
 Charles, don't mistake me, and don't deceive yourself. 
 You have a strong wilV. 
 
 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 XIIL 
 
 Neither to brother nor to sister had the conversation 
 been a satisfaction or relief. " I can go no where for 
 sympathy", thought Charles ; " dear Mary does not un- 
 derstand me more than others. I can't bring out what 
 I mean and feel ; and when I attempt to do so, my state- 
 ments 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 by, she has gone off believing about twice as much 
 as the fact. I was going to set her right, when Gary 
 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 Catho- 
 lics. The simple question is, whether I should go to the 
 Bar or the Church. I declare I think I have made 
 
216 LOSS AND GAIX. 
 
 vastly too mucli of it myself. I ought to have begnn 
 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". 
 
 Poor Mary, on the other hand, was in a confusion of 
 thought and feeling as painful as it was new to her ; 
 thongh for a time household matters and necessary duties 
 towards her younger sisters occupied her mind in a diffe- 
 rent 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 noAv 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 had turned out 
 some one else. It was like a great breach of trust, h he 
 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 clergy- 
 men being accused, in consequence, of Popery — a charge 
 which she had laughed at. But noAv it was actually 
 brought home to her door that there -svas something in it. 
 Yet it was to her incomprehensible, 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. 
 
 x\nd where had he got his notions ? — Notions ! she 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 217 
 
 could not call them notions ; he had nothing to say 
 for himself. It was an infatuation ; he, so clever, so 
 sharp-sighted, could say nothing better in defence of him- 
 self than that Mrs. Bishop of Monmouth was too pretty, 
 and that old Dr. Stock sat upon a cushion. Oh, sad, sad 
 indeed ! How it was 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 " stu'-up" 
 collect just before Advent ; the beautiful collects in Ad- 
 vent itself, with the Lessons from Isaiah reaching on 
 through Epiphany ; they were quite music to her ear. 
 Then the Psalms, varying with every Sunday ; they were 
 a perpetual solace to her, ever old yet ever new. The 
 occasional additions too, the Athanasian 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 slie 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 
 
 14 
 
218 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 ever. They were all of them women but he ; he was 
 then- only stay, now that her father had been taken 
 away. What was now to become of them ? To be 
 abandoned by her own brother ! oh, how terrible I 
 
 And how was she to break it to her mother ? for 
 broken it must be sooner or later. She conld not de- 
 ceive herself ; she knew her brother well enough to feel 
 sm-e that, when he had really got hold of a thing, he 
 would not let it go again without convincing 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 calcula- 
 tion. 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 be- 
 traying 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 natm-al to them ; self-con- 
 trol 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 him- 
 self to her company. He read to them, but he had little 
 to talk about ; and Ehza and Caroline both wished his 
 stupid examination past and over, that he might be 
 restored to his natural liveliness. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 219 
 
 As to Mrs. Reding, she did not observe more than 
 that her son was a very hard student, and grudged him- 
 self 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 life 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 contem- 
 plate harassing her with the recital of his own 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 conversation, 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 sus- 
 picion 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. Descend- 
 ing, 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, 
 
220 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 altered hiin more than he could have expected. Bate- 
 maii'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 Boughtou 
 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. 
 
 " 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, oiu' 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 ecclesiastical structures". " Our an- 
 cestors did a good deal too", said Mrs. Reding ; " how 
 many churches, my dear, were built in London in Queen 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 221 
 
 Anne's time ? St. Martin's was one of them". "Fifty", 
 said Eliza. " Fifty were intended ", said Charles. 
 "Yes, Mrs. Reding", said Bateman; " but by ancestors I 
 meant the 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 
 Enghsh Churchmen before it". " Ah, poor creatures", 
 said Mrs. Reding, " they did 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 Maiy 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 con- 
 tentedly 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 necessary iu these matters, or you do as much harm 
 
222 L038 AND GAIN. 
 
 as good; you get into hot water with church- wardens and 
 vestries, 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 ap- 
 prove 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 unshapely". " 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. " Impos- 
 sible, 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 my parishioners 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. " Well", said Mrs. 
 Reding, surprised out of her propriety, " did one ever 
 hear the like !" Bateman looked round at her, startled 
 and frightened. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 223 
 
 *' 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 improvements 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 Bate- 
 man ; " for no one can see or hear me in the pews 
 either, till the sides are lowered". *' One thing only is 
 ivanting besides", said Charles, smiling and looking ami- 
 able, lest he should be saying too much; "since you are 
 fall 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 rea- 
 son to sit than to stand". "With these precautions", 
 said Charles, " I really think you might have ventured 
 on your surplice in the pulpit every Sunday. Are your 
 parishioners contented ?" " Oh, not at all, for from it", 
 cried Bateman ; " but they can do nothing. The altera- 
 tion is so simple". "Any thing besides?" asked Charles. 
 "Nothing in the architectural way", answered he; "but 
 one thing more in the way of observances. I have for- 
 tunately picked up a very fair copy of Jewell, black- 
 
224 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 letter ; and I have placed it in church, secm-ing 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 him- 
 self, " I'll back t'lie old parsons against the young ones 
 any day, if this is to be their cut". Then aloud : 
 " ComQ, 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 conversa- 
 tion with Charles. 
 
 " Reding, my good fellow", said he, " what is the 
 meaning of this report concerning you, which is every- 
 where about?" " I have not heard it", said Charles 
 abruptly. " Why, it is this", said Bateman ; " I wish 
 to approach the subject with as great delicacy as possi- 
 ble : 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. 
 They say you are going to leave the Chm'ch of your bap- 
 tism 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-din- 
 ner in Wales". " So", thought Charles, " you are 
 bringing your witness against me as w^ell as the rest". 
 " Well but, my good Reding", said Bateman, "Avhy are 
 you silent ? is it true ? is it true ?" " What true ? that I 
 am a Roman Catholic? Oh, certainly; don't you under- 
 stand that's why I am reading so hard for the schools?" 
 said Charles. " Come, be serious for a moment. Re- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 2 Z.J 
 
 ding", 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 en- 
 tirely". " May I give it a plain, unqualified, uncondi- 
 tional, 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. 
 
 Bateman began again. " You see", he said, " it 
 would be such a wonderful blindness, it would be so ut- 
 terly inexcusable, in a person like yourself, who had 
 known what the Church of England was ; not a Dissen- 
 ter, not an unlettered layman ; but one who had been at 
 Oxford, who had come across so many excellent 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 candle- 
 sticks, ciboriums, faldstools, lecterns, antependiums, pis- 
 cinas, 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 circumstances of your 
 being sent down. The old Principal was full of the sub- 
 
226 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 ject''. "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 
 you held that the saints reigning with Christ interceded 
 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 gi'eat 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 overworked where you are. If 
 you are so at any time, don't scruple to drop into 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 Roman- 
 ism. I could name others, but content myself with 
 these at present. They perfectly settle the matter ; you 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 227 
 
 can't help being convinced. I'll not say a word more ; 
 good-bye to you, good-bye". 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Much as Charles loved and prized the company of 
 his mother and sisters, he was not sorry to have gen- 
 tlemen's society ; so he accepted Avith pleasure an invi- 
 tation 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 Eng- 
 lish divines, he thought he might incidentally hear some- 
 thing 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 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 archi- 
 tecture — an event which gave unmixed satisfaction to 
 all parties. The subject would have died out, almost as 
 soon as it Avas started, for want of a difference upon it, 
 had not Bateman happily gone on boldly to declare, that, 
 if he had his will, there should be no architecture in the 
 English churches but Gothic, and no music but Gre- 
 gorian. This was a good thesis, distinctly put, and gave 
 scope for a very pretty quarrel. Reding said, that all 
 
228 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 these adjuncts of worship, whether music or architec- 
 ture, were national ; they were the mode in which reli- 
 gious 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 worsliip in one's own way, as to be merry in one's 
 ow^n way. " The Greeks", he said, " cut the hair iu 
 grief, the Romans let it grow ; the Orientals veiled their 
 heads in worship, the Greeks uncovered them ; Chris- 
 tians take oiF their hats in a church, Mahomedans 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 reforms". " But sorely, my worthy friend", 
 answered Bateman, " you don't mean to say that there 
 is no natural connexion between internal feeling and out- 
 ward expression, 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 
 crucifixes in the highways. Each is the representative 
 of a particular locality 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". " 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 fintl 
 in uniting Gothic and Gregorians". " Oh, pardon me", 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 220 
 
 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 Bate- 
 man ; "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 it for Gregorians ?" said Campbell; 
 "I suspect they are called after Gregory the First, 
 Bishop of Rome, wdiom Protestants consider the first 
 specimen of Antichrist". "It's nothing to us what Pro- 
 testants think", answered 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 dis- 
 tinction. The Church of Rome has not corruiited 
 the faith, but has admitted corruptions among her 
 people". "It won't do", answered Campbell; "depend 
 on it, we can't stand our ground in controversey, unless 
 we in our hearts think very painfully 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 
 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 Mas 
 the life of the movement". " With Ultra-Protestants, 
 not with us", answered Bateman. " Such Ultra-Pro- 
 testants 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 Rcfor- 
 
230 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 mation, so a belief, which I have aud you too, that 
 there is something bad, corrupt, perilous in the Church 
 of Rome — that there is a spirit of Antichrist living in her, 
 energising in her, and ruling her, — is necessaiy 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 Chnrches". " 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 ! She opens her arms. — 
 oh, the fragrance of 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 dis- 
 proved, I should join her communion to-morrow". 
 "This is not very edifying doctrine for Reding", 
 thought Bateman. " Oh, my good Campbell", he said, 
 " you are paradoxical to-day". " Not. a bit of it", 
 answered Campbell ; " our Reformers felt that the only 
 way in which they could break the tie of allegiance 
 which bound us to Rome was the doctrine of her serious 
 corruption. Aud so it is with our divines. If there is 
 one doctrine in which they agree, it is that Rome is 
 Antichrist, or an Antichrist. Depend upon it, that doc- 
 trine is necessary for our position". 
 
 "I don't quite understand that language", said 
 Reding ; "I see it is used in various publications. It im- 
 plies that controversy is a game, aud that disputants 
 are not looking out for truth, but for arguments". " You 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 231 
 
 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 gently 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 it ?' 
 Yes, you must, if it is true : ' Tell truth and shame the 
 Devil'. Recollect you don't use your own words ; you 
 are sanctioned, protected by all our divines. You must, 
 else you can give no suflScient reason for not joining 
 the Church of Rome. You must speak out, not 
 what you donH think, but what you do think, 2/ you do 
 think it". " Here's a doctrine !" thought Charles ; " why 
 it's putting the controversy into a nut-shell". 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 pro- 
 tests against Rome, either are looking towards her, or 
 have no eyes to see". " All we say", answered Bate- 
 man, " is, as I said before, that we don't wish to inter- 
 fere 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 
 
232 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 ill parts, I caii't help speaking, I cau't help it. Tt 
 would not be honest, and it would not be consistent". 
 
 " Well, he has ended better than he began", thought 
 Bateman ; and he chimed in, "0 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 
 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 oiF pleasantly indeed, but not very intel- 
 lectually. 
 
 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 Ave 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, Avith so much 
 sense, should have so little common sense !" " Well, 
 then", said Campbell, " my quarrel with Gothic and 
 Gregorians, when coupled together, is, that they are 
 two ideas, not one. Have figured music in Gothic 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 233 
 
 chui'ches, keep your Gregorian for basilicas". " My 
 good Campbell", said Bateman, " you seem oblivious 
 that Gregorian chants and hymns have always accom- 
 panied Gothic aisles, Gothic copes, Gothic mitres, and 
 Gothic chalices". " Our ancestors did what they could", 
 answered Campbell ; " they were great in architecture, 
 small in music. They could not use what was not yet in- 
 vented. 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 nnison. 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, 
 the old music and the old architecture were both in- 
 artificial and limited, as methods of exhibiting their 
 respective arts. You can't have a large Grecian temple, 
 you can't have a long Gregorian Glorid!\ " Not a long 
 one !" said Bateman ; " why there's poor Willis used to 
 comi^lain 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 and twice as wide as the Parthenon ; but you would 
 
234 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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's like taxing a musical instrmnent 
 beyond its powers". 
 
 " You but try, Bateman", said Reding, " to make a 
 bass play quadrilles, and you will see what is meant by 
 taxing an instrument". " Well, I have heard Lindley 
 play all sorts of quick tunes on his bass", said Bateman, 
 *' and most wonderful it is". " Wonderful's the right 
 word"', answered Reding ; " it is very wonderful. You 
 say, 'How can he manage it ?' and ' It's very wonder- 
 ful 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 re- 
 gards Gregorian music", said Campbell ; " instruments 
 did not exist in primitive times which could execute 
 any other. But I am speaking 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, v,\\o wrote not two hundred years ago, 
 hardly ventures on the shift. The piano, again, I have 
 heard, has almost given birth to Beethoven". " 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 vault- 
 ing was brought to perfection. Great mechanical inven- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 2o5 
 
 tioiis have taken place, both iu architecture and in 
 music, since the age of basilicas and Gregorians ; and 
 each science has gained by it". " It is curious enough", 
 said Keding, " one thing I have been accustomed to sav, 
 quite falls in with this view of yours. AVhen people, 
 who are not musicians, have accused Handel and Beet- 
 hoven of not being si7nple, I have always said, ' Is 
 Gothic architecture simpleT A cathedral expresses one 
 idea, but is indefinitely varied and elaborated in its parts; 
 so is a symphony or quartett of Beethoven's". 
 
 " 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 iu 
 their place", answered Campbell. " I exceedingly pre- 
 fer Gothic architecture to classical. I think it the one 
 true child and development of Christianity ; 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 toleration. Give Gothic an ascen- 
 dency ; be respectful towards classical". 
 
 The conversation slackened. " Much as I like mo- 
 dern music", said Charles, " I can't quite go the length 
 to which your doctrine would lead me. I cannot, indeed, 
 help liking Mozart ; but sui'ely his music is not religious". 
 " I have not been speaking in defence of particular com- 
 posers", said Campbell ; " figured music may be right, 
 yet Mozart or Beethoven inadmissible. In like manner, 
 you don't suppose, because I tolerate Roman architecture. 
 
236 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 that therefore I like naked cupicls 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 sa- 
 cred 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", an- 
 swered Campbell ; " it is a mixture of two things, each 
 good in itself, and incongruous together. It's a mixtm-e 
 of the first and second courses at table. It's like the 
 architecture of the facade 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 princi- 
 ples ; and, to tell the truth, I can't help liking the mix- 
 ture myself, though I can't defend it". 
 
 Bateman rang for tea ; his friends wished to return 
 home soon ; it was the month of January, and no sea- 
 son for after-dinner strolls. " Well", he said, " Camp- 
 bell, you are more lenient to the age than to me ; you 
 yield to the age when it sets a figured bass to a Gre- 
 gorian tone ; but you laugh at me for setting a coat 
 upon a cassock". " It's no honour to be the author of 
 a mixed type", said Campbell. " A mixed type ?" said 
 Bateman ; " rather it is a transition state". " What 
 are you passing to ?" asked Charles. " Talking of tran- 
 sitions", said Campbell ; " do you know that your man 
 Willis — I don't know his college, he turned Romanist — 
 is living in my parish, and I have hopes he is making a 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 237 
 
 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, 
 Avhere does he find a chapel ?" asked Bateman. " At 
 Seaton". " A good seven miles from you", said Char- 
 les. " Yes", answered Campbell ; " and he walks to 
 and fro every Sunday". " That is not like a transition, 
 except a physical one", observed Reding. " A person 
 must go somewhere", answered Campbell ; " I suppose 
 he went to church up to the week he joined the Ro- 
 manists". " Very awfal, these defections", said Bate- 
 man ; " but very satisfactory, a melancholy satisfaction", 
 with a look at Charles, " that the victims of delusions 
 should be at length recovered". " Yes", said Camp- 
 bell ; " 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 issuch 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 ? — How can they help it ?" con- 
 inued he, standing up over the fire ; " their Catholic 
 principles lead them on, and there's nothing to repel 
 them back". " Why should not their love for their 
 own Church ?" asked Bateman ; " it is deplorable, un- 
 pardonable". " They will keep going one after another, 
 as they ripen", said Campbell. " Did you hear the re- 
 port — I did not think much of it myself", said Reding 
 
238 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 — "that Smith was moving?" " Not impossible", an- 
 swered Campbell, thoughtfully. " Impossible, quite 
 impossible", cried Bateman ; " such a triumph to the 
 enemy ; 1 11 not believe it till I see it". " Not impossi- 
 ble", repeated Campbell, as he buttoned and fitted his 
 great coat about him ; " he has shifted his ground". 
 His carriage was announced. "Mr. 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Ca:\ipbell 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 
 Letter days, had been a rehgious emblem, but had served 
 in latter times to mark the boundary between two con- 
 tiguous parishes. The moon was behind 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 sur- 
 prise, saw distinctly a man kneeling on the little mound 
 out of which the Cross gi'ew ; 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 239 
 
 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. " happy times", he cried, 
 " when fiiith was one ! blessed penitent, whoever 
 yon are, who know what to believe, and how to gain 
 pardon, and can begin where others end ! Here am I, 
 in my twenty-third year, uncertain about everything, be- 
 cause I have nothing to trust". He drew near to the 
 Cross, took off his hat, knelt down and kissed the wood, 
 and prayed a while, that, whatever might be the conse- 
 quences, whatever the trial, whatever the loss, he might 
 have grace to follow whithersoever God should call him. 
 He then rose and turned to the cold well ; he took some 
 water in his 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 some- 
 thing whispered, " 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. 
 
 " 1. What is meant by the One Church of which the 
 Creed speaks ?" 
 
 " This is too much for to night", thought Charles, "it is 
 late already"; and he folded it up again, and threAv it on 
 
240 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 his dressiug-table. "Some well-meaniug 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 MTiting", 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 ivhom 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 Scrip- 
 
 ture calls the Church a kingdom ? 
 
 7. Is it a visible kingdom, or an invisible ? 
 
 8. Can a kingdom have two governments, and these 
 
 acting in contrary directions ? 
 
 9. Is identity of institutions, opinions, or race, 
 
 sufficient to make two nations one kingdom ? 
 
 10. Is the Episcopal form, the hierarchy, or the 
 Apostles' Creed, sufficient to make the Churches 
 of Home and of England one ? 
 
 11. Where there are parts, does not unity require 
 union, and a visible unity require a visible union? 
 
 12. How can two religions be the same, which have 
 utterly distinct worships and ideas of worship ? 
 
 13. Can two religions be one, if the most sacred and 
 peculiar act of worship in the one is called * a 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 241 
 
 blasphemous fiible and dangerous deceit' in the 
 other? 
 
 14. Has not the One Church of Christ one faith ? 
 
 15. Can a Church be Christ's whicli has not one faith? 
 
 16. What is contradictory to itself in its documents ? 
 
 17. And in different centuries ? 
 
 18. And in its documents contrasted with its divines? 
 
 1 9. 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 Cluirch, does she claim to be, a 
 
 messenger from God ? 
 
 25. Does she impart the truth, or bid us seek it ? 
 
 26. If she leave ns to seek it, do members of the 
 
 English Church seek it with that earnestness 
 which Scripture enjoins ? 
 
 27. Is a person safe who lives without faith, even 
 
 though he seems to have hope and charity ?" 
 
 Charles got very sleepy before he reached the 
 " twenty-seventhly". " 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 
 
 15 
 
242 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 would accept it 
 eagerly and thankfully if found. But it's a work of 
 time ; all the paper-arguments in the world are unequal 
 to giving one a view in a moment. There must be a 
 process ; they may shorten it, as medicine shortens 
 physical processes, but they can't supersede its necessity. 
 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. Convic- 
 tion is the eye-sight of the mind, not a conclusion from 
 premisses ; God works it, and His works are slow. At 
 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. I must move in what seems God's way ; I 
 can but put myself on the road ; a higher power must 
 overtake me, and cany me forward. 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 proceed in that path. God 
 can bless my reading to my spiritual illumination as well 
 as any thing else. Saul sought his uncle's asses, and 
 found a kingdom. All in good time. When I have 
 taken my degi'ee 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 writ- 
 ten — better than Willis could write; it's not Willis's. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 248 
 
 There's something about that Willis I don't uuderstand. 
 I wonder how he and his mother get on together. I 
 do'nt think he has any sisters". 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Campbell had been much pleased with Charles, and 
 his interest in him was not lessened by a hint from 
 Bateman, that his alliance 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 invitation, 
 and Campbell had accepted it, the beginning of an ac- 
 quaintance was formed between the rectory at Sutton 
 and the family at Boughton, which grew into an intimacy 
 as time went on. Campbell was a gentleman, a travelled 
 man, of clear head and ardent mind, candid, well-read 
 in English divinity, a devoted Anglican, and the incum- 
 bent of a living so well endowed as almost to be a dignity. 
 Mary was pleased at the introduction, 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 bears upon the line of our narrative ; so let 
 them pass. 
 
 One day Charles called upon Bateman, and, on enter- 
 ing the room, was surprised to see him and Campbell at 
 
244 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 him- 
 self, which he could not control. It was Willis ; and 
 apparently submitted to the process of reconversion. 
 Charles was evidently de trop, 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 diffi- 
 culty 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 eveiything 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 fdness, 
 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 
 season", said Charles, as he helped himself, "for we are 
 none of us Devonshire men". " It's not peculiar to 
 Devonshire", answered Campbell; "that is, 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 245 
 
 oil was the substitute". " Rome is not so warm as you 
 faucy", 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 natu- 
 ral, but the only naturally palatable, I suppose, — a crust 
 of bread and a draught from the stream", replied Camp- 
 bell. " Or the Clerk of Copmanhurst's dry peas", said 
 Charles. " 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 recherche. Thus Horace speaks of the '^jere- 
 grina lagois\ What nature yields sponte sua around 
 you, however delicious, is no luxury. W ild 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 sixpenu'rth of tea", 
 said Bateman ; " for it comes from i hina". Campbell 
 was posed for an instant. Somehow neither he nor Bate- 
 man were (piite at their ease, whether with tliemselvcs 
 
248 LOSS AND GAIX. 
 
 or with each other; it might be Charles's sudden intrnsioii, 
 or something which had happened before it. Campbell 
 answered at length that steamers and railroads were 
 making strange changes; that time and place were vanish- 
 ing, and price would soon be the only measure of luxury. 
 " This seems the measure also of grasso and magro 
 food in Italy", said Willis ; " for, I think there are 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", ob- 
 served Campbell ; " for it's absurd to keep Lent on beef 
 and mutton". " Oh, Campbell, what are you saying?" 
 cried Bateman ; " past ! are we bound by their lax ways 
 in Italy ?" *' I do certainly think", answered Campbell, 
 " that 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 P" 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 binding ? — Pass it, to him, Willis, if you please. 
 Yes, it comes from a farmer, next door. I'm 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 2*47 
 
 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 story". " Oh, for shame !" cried Bateman; 
 " you should aid your mother in a difficulty, and not be 
 like the priest and the Levite". " My mother does not 
 wish to be aided", continued Campbell. " Oh, how you 
 talk ! What shall I do ? What can be done ?" cried 
 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 Camp- 
 bell, " 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 w^here we were. The Church of Rome 
 does but give expression to tliis common-sense view". 
 " Well then", said Bateman, " I will appeal to the 
 Church of Rome too. Rome is part of the Catholic 
 Church as well as we: since, then, the Romish Chui-ch 
 has ever kept up fastings, the ordinance is not abolished ; 
 the ' greater part' of the Catholic Church has always 
 
248 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 observed it". " 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>«e.?" " In 
 every sense", answered Bateman, " but that of inter- 
 communion". " That is, I suppose"', said Willis, "they 
 are one, except that they have no intercourse with each 
 other". Bateman assented. Willis continued : " Ko 
 intercourse ; that is, no social dealings, no consulting or 
 arranging, no ordering and obeying, no mutual support ; 
 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 uniort\ 
 " 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 still a king- 
 dom. That, I conceive, is the real condition of the 
 Church ; in this way the C hurches 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 249 
 
 is successful, or if the parties in a civil war manage to 
 divide the power and territory between them, then forth- 
 w^ith, 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 
 the kingdom now .P 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 be- 
 tween its separate portions is so languid, that each se- 
 parate Pasha may almost be termed a separate sovereign ; 
 still it is one kingdom". " The Church, then, at pre- 
 sent", said Willis, "is a kingdom tending to dissolution?" 
 " Certainly it is", answered Campbell. " And will ulti- 
 mately fail ?" asked Willis. " Certainly", said Camp- 
 bell ; " when the end comes, according to our Lord's 
 saying, ' Wlieu 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 Willis, " according to the view you take 
 of failing. How can any separation be more complete 
 than exists at present between Rome, Greece, and 
 England ?" " They might excommunicate each other", 
 said Campbell. " Then you are willing", said Willis, 
 "• to assign beforehand 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 difiicult to see our way '. 
 " No", said Willis ; " you certainly ivould be in a diflfi- 
 culty ; but you would find your way out, I know. In 
 
250 Loss AND GAIN. 
 
 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 Strang, and pure, and perfect, as the Pro- 
 phets describe it. Look at its cathedi-als, 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/aci 
 that the branches of the Church are divided, while we 
 maintain the doctrine that the Church should be one". 
 " I don't see that at all", answered Bateman ; " no, we 
 need not allow it. There's no such thing as Churches, 
 there's but one church every where, and it is not divided. 
 It is merely the outward forms, appearances, manifesta- 
 tions of the Chm'ch that are divided. The Church is 
 one as much as ever it was. Just as in the Consecrated 
 Bread, the material substance is broken, but the Pre- 
 sence of Christ remains one and the same". " 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 ; " Bate- 
 man, you are describing an invisible Chm-ch. You hold 
 the iudefectibility of the invisible Church, not of the 
 visible". 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 251 
 
 •• ihey 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 
 appearance from another ; but it does not follow that, 
 in fact, they have not a visible agreement too. All 
 difference implies agreement ; the English and Ro- 
 man 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 different is church from church ! Our 
 churches are Gothic, the southern churches are Pal- 
 ladian. How different is a basilica from York Ca- 
 thedral ! yet they visibly agree together. No one 
 would mistake either 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 reli- 
 gious dispute ; so they continued the lighter conversation 
 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 tlicm, I feel awe in them, but I love, I feel a 
 sensible pleasure at the sight of the Gothic arch". 
 " Tiiere are other reasons for that in Rome", said 
 
2.32 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Campbell ; "the churches are so unfinished, so untidy. 
 Rome is a city of ruins ; the Christian tejjiples are built 
 on ruins, and they themselves are generally dilapidated 
 or decayed ; thus they are ruins of ruins". Campbell 
 was on an easier subject than that of Anglo-Cathohcism, 
 and, no one interrupting him, he proceeded flowiugly : 
 " In Ivome you have huge high buttresses in the place of 
 columns, and these not cased with marble, but of cold 
 white plaster or paint. They impart an indescribable 
 forlorn look to the churches". Willis said he often 
 wondered what took so many foreigners, that is Protes- 
 tants, to Rome ; it was so dreary, so melancholy a 
 place ; a number of old, crumbling, shapeless, brick 
 masses, the ground unlevelled, the straight causeways 
 fenced by high monotonous walls, the points of attrac- 
 tion 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 peri- 
 lous. Naples was an earthly paradise ; but Rome was 
 a city of faith. To seek the shrines it contained was a 
 veritable penance, as was fitting. He understood Ca- 
 tholics 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 ball-room ; your host, whom you bow to 
 in the first apartment, is a Frenchman ; as you advance, 
 your eye catches Massena's granddaughter in conversa- 
 tion with Mustapha Pasha ; you soon find yourself 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 253 
 
 seated between a Yankee cliarge-cV affaires and a 
 Kussian 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 quarter of an hour 
 past, did not find himself in spirits to try much to de- 
 tain 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 — fai* 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 tm*ned it to an ad- 
 vantage ; 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 im- 
 pression 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 
 owu thoughts, which are very plever, original certainly, 
 
 '\ 16 
 
254 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 but never considering liis company. And he's so posi- 
 tive, 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 de- 
 clare 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 ? there was 
 something else, I know. I recollect ; that the Catholic 
 Church was in ruins, had broken to pieces. Wliat 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 
 Eubrics, and then the whole controversy would be at an 
 end, ... I knew there was something else. He said we 
 need not fast ! But Cambridge men are always pecuhar, 
 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 baptism; 
 and his thoughts took a different direction. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 255 
 
 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 de- 
 signs on the latter, but it was an anxious question how 
 best to conduct them. As to Campbell, he was re- 
 solved 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 con- 
 jectured that, by making him his confidant and employ- 
 ing him against Willis, he really might succeed in giviug 
 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, and that 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 care- 
 fully got up some of the most popular works against the 
 Church of Rome. After much thought, he determined 
 to direct his attack on 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 exemplifi- 
 cation which he had before his eyes, of the issue of its 
 peculiar doctrines when freely carried out. Moreover, 
 
256 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 to tell the truth, our good friend had not a very clear 
 apprehension 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", an- 
 swered Bateman, " so that every thing is done consis- 
 tently 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 which inspired text, I presume, 
 what one sees in foreign churches is not very consistent". 
 " What, I suppose you mean antependia, rere-dosses, 
 stone-altars, copes, and mitres", said Willis, innocently; 
 *' which certainly are not 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, especially the Blessed 
 Virgin, and of relics, the gabbling over prayers in an 
 unknown tongue, Indulgences, and infrequent commu- 
 nions, I suspect are directly unscriptural". " My dear 
 Bateman", said AA'illis, " you seem to live in an air of 
 
LOSS AND GAiN. 257 
 
 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 been all 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 which I thought he would agree with 
 me, that there were many corruptions of worship in 
 foreign churches". At last, when his silence was ob- 
 servable, 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 a humour, perhaps he was too tired 
 to continue it. So they ate and drank, with nothing 
 but very commonplace remarks to season their meal 
 withal, till the cloth was removed. The table was then 
 shoved back a bit, and the three young men got over 
 the fire, which Bateman made bum 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 \\ illis spent in easy converscX- 
 
258 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 tion ; 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 temp- 
 tation 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 Chm-ch to criticise, he 
 said, but to learn. " I don't know", he said, " what 
 is meant by saying that we ought to have faith, that 
 faith is a gi-ace, that faith is the means of our salvation, 
 if there is nothing to exercise it. Faith goes agninst 
 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 be- 
 come Mahometans ? we should have enough to believe 
 then. 
 
 " Why, just consider", said Willis ; " supposing your 
 friend, an honourable man, is accused of theft, and ap- 
 pearances 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 259 
 
 ground for faith ; we do not believe without reason ; 
 and the question is, whether what the Church 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 certainly consider it is very imcertaiii 
 whether he will take the view of Catholic worship which 
 he ought to take. It may easily happen that he will 
 not understand it". "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 
 perplex 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 Ca- 
 tholics 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 judging a i^riori; 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 ! Fur 
 
260 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 instance, 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 
 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 single 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 back- 
 ward ; nay, he pronounces your professed 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 profess 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 inter- 
 fering 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 
 Bateraan : " 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 mu^t be so'." 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 2G1 
 
 There was a pause in the conversation, and then Bate- 
 man recommenced it. " 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 un- 
 truths ?" Willis laughed too ; " W^e must define the 
 words truth and U7itruth''\ 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 Bate- 
 man ; " well then, is it not quite certain that in Rome 
 itself there are rehcs which all learned men now give 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 gteat Roman basiUca, 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", answered Willis ; " but you are opening a 
 large question, which cannot be settled in a few words. 
 If I must speak, I should say this : I should begin with 
 the assumption that the existence of relics it 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. "Well, and relics may be identifietl. 
 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 
 
2G2 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Scipio". '' To the point", cried Bateman, " quicker". 
 " St. Peter", continued Willis, " speaks of David, 'whose 
 sepulchre is with jou unto this day'. Therefore it's no- 
 thing 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 beat- 
 ing about the bush", cried Bateman impatiently ; " get 
 on quicker". " Let me go on my own way", said Willis ; 
 " then there is nothing improbable, considering Chris- 
 tians have always been very careful about the memorials 
 of sacred things — " " You've not proved that", said 
 Bateman, fearing that some manauvre, he could not tell 
 what, was in progress. " Well", said Willis, " you don't 
 doubt it, I suppose, at least from the fourth century, 
 when Saint Helena brought from the Holy Land the me- 
 morials of our Lord's passion, and lodged them at Rome 
 in the Basilica, which she thereupon called Santa Croce. 
 As to the previous times of persecution. Christians of 
 course had fewer opportunities of showing a similar de- 
 votion, 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 im- 
 mediate disciple of St. John, after he was burnt ; as of 
 St. Ignatius before him, after his exposure to the beasts ; 
 and so in like manner the bones or blood of all the mar- 
 tyrs. 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 263 
 
 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 favoiu'. 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, sup- 
 pose there are circumstances which confirm the one, the 
 other is weakened still further, and at length the proba- 
 bility of its truth may become evanescent ; and when a 
 fair interval has passed, and there is no change of evi- 
 dence in its favour, 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 that Charles the First 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 preserved 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 ac- 
 count of it. It has to be proved, then, that it was St. 
 Paul's head which was found with his body ; for, since 
 
2(54 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 he was beheaded, it wonld 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 genera- 
 tion to oh-oh it ; 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 
 Laterau were, after ail, those of the two Apostles, and 
 that she had cast them aside. Questions, I say, revive. 
 Did not Walpole prove to admiration that the two little 
 princes had a place in the procession at King Richard's 
 coronation ? yet, some years ago, 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 me- 
 mory, but the general fact which I am illustrating is un- 
 deniable. 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 forthcoming 
 at the moment. Willis continued : " You must consider 
 also that reputed relics, such as you have mentioned, 
 are generally in the custody of religious bodies, who 
 are naturally very jealous of attempts to prove them 
 spurious, and with a pardonable 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 2G5 
 
 every tribunal iu the land, your valiant and loyal Head 
 would not abandon her ; it would break his magnani- 
 mous 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 re- 
 ceived relic disowned". " 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 frequently iu civil matters, and no one speaks 
 harshly of 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 re- 
 paired. That was an opportunity for erasing a calumny 
 which, till then, had not been definitely pronounced to 
 be such, and not pronounced, in deference to the prima 
 facie authority of a statement contemporaneous with the 
 calamity which it recorded. There is never a ■point of 
 time at which you can say, ' The tradition is now dis- 
 proved'. When a received belief has been apparently 
 exposed, the question lies dormant, for the opportunity 
 of fresh arguments; when none appear, then at length an 
 accident, such as the repair of a building, dispatches it". 
 " We have somehow got off the sulgect", thought 
 
266 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 inscription on the 
 Monument, but religious veneration was paid to the two 
 heads at St. John Lateran. " Eight", 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 consider the extent of the mis- 
 take. There is no doubt in the world that at least they 
 are the heads of martyrs ; 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 i-equires to know very little of Chris- 
 tian 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 any how, under a wrong name ; 
 perhaps have expected miracles, which they had a right 
 to expect, and have experienced them, as they might 
 well experience them, because they icere 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 AVillis, interrupting him, " and I 
 will help you to some others. I have assumed that 
 there are Christians in the Avorld called Catholics ; again, 
 that they think it right to venerate relics ; but, my dear 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 2()7 
 
 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 return- 
 ing. Give us some tea, and let us begone". " Go 
 home ?" cried Bateman ; " why, we have just done 
 dinner, and done nothing else as yet ; I had a great 
 deal to say". However, he rang the bell for tea, and 
 had the table cleared. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The conversation flagged ; Bateman was again busy 
 with his memory ; and he was getting impatient too ; 
 time was slipping away, and no blow struck ; moreover, 
 Willis was beginning to gape, and Charles seemed im- 
 patient to be released. " These Romanists put things 
 so plausibly", he said to himself, " but very unfau-ly, 
 most unfairly ; one ought to be up to their dodges. I 
 dare say, if the truth were known, WilHs has had 
 lessons ; he looks so demure ; I dare say he is keeping 
 back a great deal, and playing upon my ignorance. 
 Who knows ? perhaps he's a concealed Jesuit". It was 
 an awful thought, and suspended the course of his re- 
 flections some seconds. " I wonder what he does really 
 think ; it's so difiicult to get at the bottom of them ; 
 they won't tell tales, and they are under obedience ; 
 one never knows when to believe them. I suspect he 
 has been wofully disappointed with Romanism ; he looks 
 so thin ; but of course he won't say so ; it hurts a man's 
 
268 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 pride, and he likes to be consistent ; 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 
 Eeding here ; of course 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 
 I thing it is to have tact ! it requires very dehcate tact. 
 There are so many things 1 wished to say, about Indul- 
 gences, 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. 
 
 " WeU, we shall have you back again among us by 
 next Christmas, WiUis", 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, 
 r- just tell me, how can you justify the Mass, as it is per- 
 formed abroad; how can it be ualled a 'reasonable 
 \ service', when all parties conspire to gabble it over, as 
 if it mattered not a jot who attended to it, or even un- 
 derstood it ? Speak, man, speak", he added, gently 
 shaking him by the shouldei-. " These are such difficult 
 questions", answered Willis ; " must I speak ? Such 
 difficult questions", he continued, rising into a more ani- 
 mated manner, and kindling as he went on ; "I mean, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 260 
 
 people view them so differently ; it is so difficult to con- 
 vey to one person the idea of another. The idea of 
 worship is different in the Catholic Chnrch from the 
 idea of it in your Chnrch ; for, in truth, the religions 
 are different. Don't deceive yourself, my dear Bate- 
 man", he said tenderly, " it is not that ours is your 
 religion carried a little farther, — a little too for, as yon 
 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 yom'self 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 devotion, might 
 embarrass you, when you had to conform yourself to 
 other habits, and to create for yourself other associa- 
 tions. But this faith, of which I speak, the great gift 
 of God, will enable you in that day to overcome your- 
 self, and to submit, as your judgment, your will, your 
 reason, your affections, 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 becoming under the circumstances, 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 Masses for 
 ever, and not be tired. It is not a mere form of words, 
 — it is a great action, the greatest action that can be 
 
270 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 on earth. It is, not the invocation merely, but, if I 
 dare use the word, the evocation of the Eternal. He 
 becomes present on the altar in flesh and blood, before 
 whom angels bow and devils tremble. This is that 
 awful event which is the end, 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 integral 
 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 shiueth 
 from one part of the 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 own 
 prayers, separate but concordant, watching what is 
 going on, watching its progress, uniting in its consum- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 271 
 
 mation ; — not painfully and hopelessly following a hard 
 form of prayer from beghming to end, but like a concert 
 of musical instruments, each different, but concurring 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, pnests 
 making their thanksgiving ; there are innocent maidens, 
 and there are penitents ; but out of these many minds 
 rises one eucharistic hymn, and the great Action is the 
 measure and the scope of it. And oh, my dear Bate- 
 man", he added, turning to him, " you ask me whether 
 this is not a formal unreasonable service. It is wonder- 
 ful !" he cried, rising up, " quite wonderful. When 
 will these dear good people be enlightened ? Sapientia, 
 fortiter suaviterque disponens omnia^ Adonai, 
 Clavis David et Exspectatio gentium^ veni ad salvan- 
 dum nos, Domine Deus noster'\ 
 
 Now, at least, there was no mistaking Willis. Bate- 
 man stared, and was almost frightened at a burst of en- 
 thusiasm 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 Avorld 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 im- 
 petuosity ; a smile, 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 
 Batemau's two hands, before the latter knew where he 
 
272 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 much such as I am, ex- 
 cept 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 my- 
 self. What a way those fellows have with them ! I 
 declare his touch has made my heart beat ; how catching 
 enthusiasm is ! Any .one but I might really have heen 
 unsettled. He is a real good fellow ; what a pity Ave 
 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 1' By the by, 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. 
 
 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 273 
 
 parlour, and wound like an omnibus up the steep twist- 
 ing staircase to his bed-room. 
 
 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 Batemau, 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 Ox- 
 ford, 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, quench not God's grace ; listen to His 
 call ; you have had what others have not. What you 
 want is faith. I suspect yon have quite proof enough ; 
 enough to be converted on. But faith is a gift ; g.pray 
 for that great gift, without which you cannot come to 
 the Church ; without which", and he paused, " you 
 cannot walk aright when you are in the Church. And 
 now farewell ! alas, our path divides : all is easy to 
 him that believeth. May God give you that gift of faith, 
 as He has given me! Farewell again; who knows 
 when I may see you next, and where ? may it be in the 
 courts of the true Jerusalem, the Queen of Saints, the 
 Holy Roman Church, the Mother of us all !" He drew ' 
 Charles to him, and kissed his cheek, and was gone be- 
 fore 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 
 
274 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 pale twilight discovered iii 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 super- 
 human power, which seemed able to push through moun- 
 tains, and to w^alk the sea. With winter around him, 
 he felt within like the springtide, when all is new and 
 bright. He perceived that he had found, what indeed 
 he had never sought, because he had never known what 
 it w^as, but w^hat he had ever wanted, — a soul sympa- 
 thetic with his own. He felt he was no longer alone in 
 the world, though he w^as losing that true congenial 
 mind the very moment he had found him. Was this, 
 he asked himself, the communion of Saints ? Alas ! 
 how could it be, when he was in one communion, and 
 Willis in another? " mighty Mother !'' burst from 
 his lips ; he quickened his pace almost to a trot, scahng 
 the steep ascents and diving into the hollows which lay 
 between him and Boughton. " mighty Mother !" he 
 still said, half unconsciously ; " mighty Mother ! I 
 come, mighty Mother ! I come ; but I am far from 
 home. Spare me a little ; I come with what speed I 
 may, but I am slow of foot, and not as others, mighty 
 Mother !" By the time he had walked two miles in this 
 excitement, 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, " mighty Mother!" Suddenly 
 he cried, " Hallo ! w^here 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 ; en- 
 thusiasm is not truth. . . . mighty Mother ! . . . 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 275 
 
 Alas, I know where my heart is ! but 1 must go by 
 reason .... mighty Mother !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The time came at length for Charles to return to Oxford ; 
 but during the last month scruples had risen in his mind, 
 whether, with his present feelings, he could consistently 
 e^en present himself for his examination. No subscrip- 
 tion was necessary for his entrance into the schools, but 
 he felt that the honours of the class-list were only in- 
 tended for those who were honci fide adherents of the 
 Church of England. He laid his difficulty before Carl- 
 ton, who in consequence did his best to ascertain tho- 
 roughly 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 whatever that God called 
 him to do so ; that he felt that nothing could justify so 
 serious an act but the conviction 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 was the One Church of 
 Christ : — that still he 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 
 
276 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 fore- 
 telling 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 oflf in due time ; 
 the schools were full, he did well, and his class was con- 
 sidered 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 
 family matters consequent upon it ; and his vktual 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 Sheffield ; 
 nor had his rehgious difficulties, particularly his late iu- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 277 
 
 decision 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 prefeiTed 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 anticipated, 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 op- 
 portunity for parochial duty, which would have a tran- 
 quillising and sobering eifect on his mind. As to the 
 books to which he should give his attention, of course 
 the choice w^ould rest with the clergyman who was to 
 guide him ; but for himself he would not recommend the 
 usual works in controversy with Rome, for which the 
 Anglican Church was famous ; rather those which a 
 of a positive character, which treated subjects philoso- 
 phically, historically, or doctrinally, and displayed the 
 peculiar principles of that Church ; Hooker's great work, 
 
 17 
 
278 LOSS AND GAIN 
 
 for instauce ; or Bull's Defensio and Harmonia, or 
 Pearson's VincUcice, 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 Anti- 
 quity, 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 every thing was in that youth- 
 ful and fragrant beauty which he had admired so much 
 in the beginning of his residence three years before. 
 
PART III. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 But now we must look forward, not back. Once be- 
 fore 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 space of more than the same length shall 
 be consigned 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 manufac- 
 turing town with a district of 10,000 souls, where he 
 was full of plans for the introduction of the surplice and 
 gilt candlesticks among his people. 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 Pennington. 
 
 One evening, at the end of September, in the year 
 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, 
 hnmanly speaking, there is not any chance of his chang- 
 
280 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 ing his mind, at least till he has made a trial of the 
 Church of Rome. It is quite possible that experience 
 may drive him back". " It is a dreadful dilemma", she 
 answered ; " how can we even indirectly give him per- 
 mission 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 re- 
 commended 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 wi'ong", 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 con- 
 sented to wait another year. Now the time's up, and 
 more, and he is getting impatient. So it's not we who 
 shall be giving him countenance, it will only be his leav- 
 ing 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 2^1 
 
 Cliarles so often, and he in appearance jnst 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 before- 
 hand". And so it was settled ; and, full of care at the 
 double commission with which he was charged, Campbell 
 rode back to Sutton. 
 
 Poor Charles was sitting at an open wdndow, looking 
 out upon the prospect, when Campbell entei-ed the room. 
 It was a beautiful landscape, with bold hilis in tlie dis- 
 tance, and a rushing river beneath him. Campbell 
 came up to him Avithout his perceiving it ; and putting 
 his hand on his shoulder, asked his thoughts. Charles 
 turned round, and smiled sadly. "I am like Moses 
 seeing the land", he said ; " my dear Campbell, when 
 shall the end be?" "That, my good Charles, of course 
 dues 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 in- 
 directly 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 re- 
 ply ; then he said, " I shall have to break it to your 
 poor mother ; IMary thinks it will be her death ". 
 Charles dropped his head on the window-sill upon his 
 
282 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 to be breaking all these dear ties, and to 
 be losing the esteem and sympathy of so many persons 
 I love ? Oh, it has been a most piercing thought ; but 
 I have exhausted it, I have drank it out. I have got 
 familiar with the prospect now^, and am fully reconciled. 
 Yes, I give up home, I give up all who have ever knor/n 
 me, loved me, valued me, wished me well ; I know well 
 I am making myself a bye-word and an outcast". " Oh, 
 my dear Charles", answered Campbell, " beware of a 
 very subtle 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 ? AVhy 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 and again, and it has returned". 
 " I'll say nothing harsh or unkind of you, Charles ", 
 said Campbell ; " but it's a most unfortunate 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 yo* 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 283 
 
 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 con- 
 victions 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 rooted in 
 me ; it endures against the prospect of loss of mother 
 and sisters. Here I sit wasting my days, when I might 
 be useful in life. Why ? Because this hinders me. 
 Lately it has increased on me tenfold. You will 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, and I 
 might be taken away with a great duty unaccomplished. 
 No, by this time I have proved that it is a real convic- 
 tion. ,_JIy_bfi]ief in the Church of Rome is part of my- 
 self; I cannot act against it without acting against 
 God". " 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 confi- 
 dent ; perhaps 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 wall show itself. How dreadful !" " I have 
 thought of that too", said Charles, " and it has in- 
 fluenced 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. Re- 
 collect the words in Thalaba — ' The talisman is faith\ 
 
284 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 1^ I hav^e good grounds for believing, to believe is a 
 duty ; God will take care of His own work. I shall 
 not be deserted in my utmost need. Faith ever begins 
 with a venture, and is rewarded with sight". " Yes, 
 my good Charles", answered Campbell ; " but the ques- 
 tion is, whether your grounds are good. What I mean 
 is, that, since they are not good, they will not avail you 
 in the trial. You will then, too late, find they are not 
 good, but delusive". " Cam.pbeH", answered Charles, 
 " I consider that all reason comes from- Ood ; our 
 grounds must at best be imperfect ; but if they appear 
 to be sufficient after prayer, diligent search, obedience, 
 waiting, and in short, doing our part, they are His voice 
 calling us on. He it is in that case, wiio makes them 
 seem convincing to us. I am in His hands. The only 
 question is, what would He have me to do ? I 
 cannot resist the conviction 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 is to resist God. Whether I join the 
 Catholic Church 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 yon are going, there would be no need 
 to ask ; but 'let you go', how cau 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 con- 
 cealed from you my convictions, that the Romish Church 
 is auti-chrlstian. She has ten thousand gifts, she is in 
 many respects superior to our own ; but she has a some- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 285 
 
 thing 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 ; ' let 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 further than that. / think the Church of 
 Rome the Prophet of God ; tjou^ tEe^tool of the devil". 
 " r"own", said Campbell, "I do think that, if you take 
 this step, you will find yourself in the hands of a Circe, 
 v/ho 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 mat- 
 ters 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 ; but '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 ready 
 for his journey ; his room put to rights ; his portman- 
 teau strapped ; and the gig at the door, which was to 
 take him the first stage. He was to go round by Bough- 
 ton ; 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 
 
28G LOSS AND GAIN-. 
 
 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 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 con- 
 sideration of any thing but the great step on which eveiy 
 thing else depended. There was another silence ; tlien 
 she said, "You won't find any where such friends 
 as you have had at home, Charles". Presently she con- 
 tinued, " You have had every thing in your favour, 
 Charles ; you have been blessed with talents, advan- 
 tages of education, easy circumstances ; many a de- 
 serving young man has to scramble on as he can". 
 Charles answered, that he was deeply sensible how much 
 he owed in temporal matters to Providence, 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 Avith you ; you have 
 taken your line". Poor Charles said that no one could 
 conceive what it cost liim to give up what was so very 
 dear to him, what was part of himself ; there was nothing 
 on earth which he prized like his home. " Then why 
 do you leave us ?" she said, quickly ; " you must have 
 your Avay ; 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 peojile were 
 obliged, in the Apostles' times, to give up all for Christ". 
 " We are heathens, then", she replied ; " thank you, 
 Charles, I am obliged to you for this" ; and she dashed 
 
LOSS AXD GAIN. 287 
 
 nway a toar from her eye. Charles was ahnost beside 
 himself ; he did not know what to say ; lie stood uj), 
 and leaned his elbow on the mantel-piece, 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 I 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 Avill 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 npon his face and neck ; he bore 
 them for a while, then started up, kissed her cheek im- 
 petuously, 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 II. 
 
 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 
 
288 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Catholic Priest to know him in his hfe ; 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 liis 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 interpo- 
 sing 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 
 some accidental business at Bath, he stopped there for 
 the night, intending to continue his journey next mor- 
 ning. 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 rehgious publisher's 
 in Danvers Street with that object, and, while engaged 
 in a back part of the shop in looking over a pile of Ca- 
 tholic works, which, to the religious public, had inferior 
 attractions to the glittering volumes, evangelical and 
 Anglo-Catholic, which had possession of the windows and 
 principal table, he heard the shop-door open, and, on 
 looking round, saw a familiar face. It was that of a 
 young clergyman, with a very pretty girl on his arm, 
 Avhom her dress pronounced to be a bride. Love was 
 in their ejes, joy in their voice, and affluence in their 
 gait and bearing. Charles had ^^. faintish feeling come 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 289 
 
 over him ; somewhat such as might beset a man on 
 liearing a call for pork-chops when he was sea-sick. He 
 retreated behind a pile of ledgers and other stationery, 
 but they could not save him from the low, thrilling 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 are \ 
 extremely dangerous ; I mean real Church-of-England 
 divinity — Bull, Patrick, Hooker, and the rest of them". 
 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, love ; it was a speech", 
 said White; " Mr. 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 recal the name". " You 
 mean Dr. Crow's *New Refutation of Popery', perhaps; 
 but the Bisho]) recommended thaf\ 
 
 The shopman returned. " Oh, what a sweet face I" 
 she said, looking at the frontispiece of a little book she 
 got hold of; " do look, Henry dear ; 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 Prim- 
 rose", said she, " the hair is just hers. I wonder it 
 doesn't strike you", " It does — it does, dearest", said 
 he, smiling at her ; " but it's getting late ; you must not 
 be out much longer in the sharp air, and vou have no- 
 
 18 
 
290 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 thing 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 sufier ; w^e must return to our friends". 
 " Oh, there's one book, I can't recollect it ; tell me wtiat 
 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 Eoman' ? or, ' Anglican- 
 ism of the Early Martyrs' ? or, ' Confessions of a Per- 
 vert'? or, 'Eustace Beville'? or, ' Modified Celibacy' ?" 
 " No, no, no", said Louisa ; " dear me, it is so stupid'^ 
 " Well, now really, Louisa", he insisted, " you must 
 come another time ; 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 car- 
 riage. " 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 neigh- 
 bourhood". " What is the good, Louisa, now ?" said 
 her husband ; " we shan't be at home this month to 
 come" ; and then, with due resignation, he directed the 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 291 
 
 coachman 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 
 censorious or 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 required 
 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, hallowed 
 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 beloved 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 plea- 
 sant village where he had lived with Carlton and Shef- 
 field — wood, water, stone, all so calm, so bright, they 
 might have been his, but his they were not. Whatever 
 
292 IX>SS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 yonth in the choice of his manhood. 
 He mounted the well-known gate on the left, and pro- 
 ceeded down into the plain. There was no one to greet 
 him, to sympathise with him ; thei-e was no one to be- 
 lieve he needed sympathy ; no one to believe he had 
 given up any thing ; no one to take interest in him, to 
 feel tender towards him, to defend him. He had suf- 
 fered much, but there was no one to believe that he had 
 suffered. He would be thought to be inflicting merely, 
 not undergoing, suffering. He might say that he had 
 suffered ; but he 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 vir- 
 tually three years away ; three years is a generation ; 
 Oxford had been his place once, but his place knew him 
 no more. He recollected with w^hat 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 looking 
 down into the deep, gas-lit, dark-shadowed quadrangles, 
 and wondering if he should ever be Fellow of this or that 
 
LOSS AND CAIN. 293 
 
 College, which he singled out from the mass of academi- 
 cal 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 its leader. Presently a stately 
 cap and gown loomed in the distance ; he had gained 
 the road before it 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 hat, 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 ceger dinners ; 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 ; suddenly a 
 start and a low bow from a passer-by ; who could it be ? 
 it was a superannuated shoeblack of his college, 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 
 
291 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 felt an instinctive- quivering ; but it passed by liim, and 
 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 hira. He chose a bed-room, 
 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 hoped, if he went to his 
 room between seven and eight, to find him returned fi-om 
 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 de- 
 termined to wait for him. 
 
 The servant lighted candles in the inner room ; and 
 Charles sat do^vn at the fire. For a while he sat in 
 reflection ; then he looked about for something to 
 occupy him. His eye caught an Oxford paper ; it 
 was but a 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 University-preachers of the week, who had taken 
 degrees, who were public examiners, etc., etc., when his 
 eye was arrested by the following paragraph ; 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 295 
 
 ^' Defection from the Church. — We imder- 
 staiid 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 res- 
 pectable 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 rea- 
 lised by the Government, to the erection of a ' Martyrs' 
 Memorial' in the sister University". 
 
 " So", thought Charles, "the world, as usual, is be- 
 forehand with me"; and he sat speculating about the 
 origiu of the report, till he almost forgot that lie was 
 waiting for Carlton. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 While Charles was learning in Carlton's rooms the in- 
 terest which the world took in his position and acts, he 
 was actually furnishing a topic of conversation to that 
 portion of it which was assembled in social meeting in 
 the neighbouring Common Room. Tea and coffee 
 had made their appearance, the guests had risen from 
 table, and were crowding round the fire. " Who is 
 that Mr. Reding, spoken of in the ' Gazette' of last 
 
296 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 neighbour, 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 Lei- 
 cester, '■'•you, Sheffield, were at one time intimate with 
 Eeding". " Yes", answered Sheffield ; " and Vincent 
 of course 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. 
 ^' That's about the truth", said another ; " I met Mr. 
 Malcolm yesterday at dinner, and it seems he knows 
 the fiimily. He said that his religious notions earned 
 licding away, and spoiled his reading". 
 
 The conversation was not general ; it went on in de- 
 tached 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 Avhole party, two or three 
 curious and hard minds excepted, to whom opposition to 
 Catholicism was meat and drink. Besides, 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 con- 
 sciousness how much seceders from the Anglican Church 
 
LOSS AND GAIX. 207 
 
 were giving up, which kept clown any disrespectful men- 
 tion of thera. 
 
 " 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". 
 " Om* men know their books well, but I should not say 
 that science is their line". " Leicester sends four". 
 " It will be a large class-list, from what I hear". "Ah ! 
 indeed ! the Michaelmas paper is always a good one". 
 
 Meanwhile the conversation was in another quarter 
 dwelling upon poor Charles. " No, depend upon it, 
 there's more in what the ' Gazette' says than you think. 
 Disappointment is generally at the bottom of these 
 changes". " Poor devils ! they can't help it", said 
 another in a low voice, to his neighbour. " A good 
 riddance, anyhow", said the party addressed; "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" — his voice was over- 
 powered by the grave enunciation of a small man be- 
 hind them, who had hitherto kept silence, and now 
 spoke with positiveness. He addressed himself, between 
 the two heads which had been just talking in private, to 
 the group beyond them. " It's all the effect of ration- 
 alism", 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 
 
208 toss AND GAIN. 
 
 heard it hinted that there is something wrong here in 
 Mr. Eeding", touching his forehead significantly ; " I 
 have been told it's in the family". He was answered 
 by a deep, powerful voice, belonging 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 
 Brownslde 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 yon ever, Sheffield, happen to hear that 
 this gentleman, your friend Mr. Reding, when he was 
 quite a freshman, had a conversation with some attache 
 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, 
 five or six 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 tlie three old crones in the Bride of 
 Lammermoor, who wished to have the straiking of the 
 Master of Ravens wood". Fusby nodded his person, but 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 209 
 
 made no answer. " Not all three at once, I hope", 
 said Sheffield. " Oh, it's quite a concentration, a 
 quintessence of Protestant feeling", answered Vincent ; 
 " I consider myself a good Protestant ; but the pleasure 
 jou have in hunting these men is quite sensual, Fusby". 
 The Common Room man here entered, and whispered 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 meet- 
 ing late, many of our men come from the north and 
 from Ireland". " That's no reason, with railroads". 
 " I see they have begun ours ", said Vincent ; " I 
 thought the University had opposed it". " The Pope 
 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, over- 
 hearing ; " 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 P\isby". Neither did Vincent 
 turn to the rescue, nor did Fusby profit by the hint ; so 
 poor Carlton, with the knowledge that he was wanted 
 hi his rooms, had to stay a good half hour tete-a-tete 
 with the latter, while he prosed to him in extenso 
 about Pope Gregory XVI., the Jesuits, suspected men 
 in the University, Medc on the Apostasy, the Catholic 
 
300 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Kelief Bill, Dr. Puse/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 ! 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 CathoHc", 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 conversation on the great subject. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 " If you have made up your mind, Reding", said Carl- 
 ton, " it's no good talking. May you be happy wher- 
 ever you are ! You must always be yourself ; as a 
 Romanist, you will still be Charles Reding". " I know 
 1 have a kind, sympathising friend in you, Carlton. You 
 have always listened to me, never snubbed me except 
 when I deserved it. You know more about me than any 
 one else. Campbell is a dear good fellow, and will soon 
 be dearer to me still. It isn't generally known yet, but he 
 is to marry my sister. He lias borne with me now for two 
 years; never been hard upon me; always been at my ser- 
 AMce when I wanted to talk with him. But no one makes 
 nie open niyjieart as you do, Carlton ; you sometimes 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 301 
 
 have differed from me, but you have ahvays understuod 
 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". " We must 
 leave these things to a higher power", said Carlton ; " I 
 hope we sha'n't be less friends, Reding, when you are in 
 another communion. We know each other ; these out- 
 ward things cannot change us". Reding sighed ; he saw 
 clearly that his change of religion, when completed, would 
 not fail to have an effect on Carlton's thoughts of him, as 
 on those of others. It could not possibly be otherwise : 
 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 Reding ; f I ha ve done 
 with argument^ Or, if I must say something for man- 
 ners' 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 am em- 
 bracing that creed which alone is the scope to which 
 they converge in their separate teaching; the creed 
 which upholds the divinity of tradition with Laud, con- 
 sent of Fathers with Beveridge, a visible Church with 
 Bramhall, a tribunal of dogmatic decisions with Bull, 
 the authority of the Pope with Thorndike, penance with 
 Taylor, prayers for the dead with Ussher, celibacy, asce- 
 ticism, ecclesiat'tical discipline with Bingham. I seek a 
 
r>02 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Church, which in these, and a multitude of other points, 
 is nearer the apostolic Church than any existing 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 helieve it to be the same. Reason 
 has gone first, faith is to follow". 
 
 He stopped, and Carlton did not reply ; a silence en- 
 sued, 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 
 reproachfully. " Understand me", answered Reding ; 
 " I have come to my resolution with great deliberation. 
 It has remained on my mind as a mere intellectual con- 
 clusion for a year or two ; surely now at length without 
 blame I may change it into a practical resolve. But 
 none of us can answer that those habitual and ruling 
 convictions, on which it is our duty to act, will remain 
 before our consciousness every moment, when we come 
 into the hurry of the world, and are assailed by induce- 
 ments and motives of various kinds. Therefore I say 
 that the time of argument is past ; I act on a conclusion 
 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 oiF. The ability to re- 
 tain your convictions 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 are al- 
 ways upon me". " Only at times, as you have yom-self 
 confessed", objected Carlton : " surely you ought to have 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 803 
 
 a very strong conviction indeed, to set against tlie mis- 
 chief 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 en- 
 couragement to the notion that there is no such thing as 
 truth ; how you are weakening our Church. Well, ail 
 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 suffi- 
 cient to justify a move, is the conviction that one's sal- 
 vation 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. "No, but I am talking of myself; it's 
 not my place to judge others. I only say, God calls 
 me, and I must follow at the risk of my soul". " God 
 'ca^/6' you!" said Carlton; "what does that mean ? I 
 don't like it ; it's dissenting language". " You know it is 
 Scripture language", answered Reding. " Yes, but people 
 don't in Scripture say ' I'm called' ; the calling 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 call ?" " That 
 seems to me a pretty good intimation", answered Carlton, 
 " that we are to remain where Providence has placed us". 
 "Now this is just one of the points on which I can't get at 
 the bottom of the Church of England's doctrine. But it's 
 so on so many other subjects ! it's always so. Are mem- 
 bers of the Church of England to seek the truth, or have 
 they it given them from the first ? do they seek it for 
 tlicmselves ? or is it ready provided for them ?" 
 
304 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Carlton thought a moment, and seemed doubtful what 
 to auswer ; 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 of 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 seek- 
 ing, the duty of thirsting after the truth ? I don't be- 
 lieve 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 looked into Scrip- 
 ture only to find proofs for what they were bound to sub- 
 scribe, as undergraduates getting up the Articles. Then 
 they sit over their wine, and talk about this or that 
 friend who has ' seceded', and condemn him, and" 
 (glancing at the newspaper on the table) " assign mo- 
 tives 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 habitually prayed for 
 guidance, and has taken all the means in his power to 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 305 
 
 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 posi- 
 tion', 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 circumstances 
 in which he found himself to throw him out of his ordi- 
 nary state of mind. He was in a, crisis of peculiar trial, 
 Avhich a person must have felt to understand. Few men 
 go to battle in cool blood, or prepare without agitation 
 for a surgical operation. Carlton, 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 unreasonable, unfeeling persons in the Church 
 of England". Charles felt that he was not showing to 
 advantage, and that he was giving rise to the very sur- 
 mises about the motives of his conversion which he was 
 deprecating. " It is a sad thing", he said with some- 
 thing of self-reproach, " to spend our last minutes in 
 wrangling. Forgive me, Carlton, if I have said any 
 thing too strongly or earnestly". Carlton thought he 
 had ; he thouglit 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 
 
306 LOr-S AXD GAIX. 
 
 Reding ; " Willis indcetl, but I liav'u't seen even him 
 these two years. It has been entirely the working of 
 my own naind". 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 Eeding. " 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, ar'n't you talking of what you know nothing at 
 all about?" "Well, but you should think of it, you should 
 .contemplate it", said Carlton; "I judge from their 
 letters and speeches, w^hich one reads in the papers". 
 Charles thought a while ; 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 you may 
 find yourself a fish out of water", answered Carlton ; 
 " you may find yourself in a position where you can act 
 Avith no one, where you will be quite thrown away". 
 " Well", said Charles, " as to the fact, I know nothing 
 about it ; it may be as you say, but I don't think much 
 j of your proof. In all communities the worst is on the 
 outside. AVhat offends me in Catholic public proceed- 
 ings need be no measure, nay, I believe cannot be a 
 measure, of the inward Catholic mind. I would not 
 judge the Anglican Chnrch by Exeter Hall, nay not by 
 
LOSS ANT) (IAIN. 807 
 
 Episcopal Charges. We see the inteiior of our own 
 Church, the exterior of the Church of Rome. This 
 is 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 English, I suppose, 
 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 end of the matter. Charles 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". " Yon 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 
 sloAvly 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, 
 
308 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 that all you who do not come forward will go back. 
 You cauuot stand where you are ; for a time you w^ill 
 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 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 oft" 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 w^herever 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 A^^alk ; there 
 he had been for the first time Avith his father, when he 
 was coming into residence, just six years before to a 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 309 
 
 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 reentered 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 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 oif 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. He 
 always had felt kindly towards him, in spite of his stern- 
 ness, 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 whole 
 had as good success as Carlton in the " keen encounter 
 of their wits" the night before, it had left an unsatis- 
 
310 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 factory eftect on liis 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 ap- 
 prehension 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 w^orld without gaining the next. Carlton 
 evidently thought him excited ; what if it were true ? 
 Perhaps his convictions were, after ail, a dream ; what 
 did they rest upon ? He tried to recal 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, where the poor outcast Philoctetes laments 
 over his own stupid officiousness, as he calls it, w hich 
 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 w^iat 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 
 roaming 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 argue or judge at that moment; 
 the deliberate conclusions of years ought not to be set 
 
LOSS AND GAIN, 811 
 
 aside by the troiibied thoughts of an hour. With an 
 effort he put the whole subject from him, and addressed 
 liimself 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 
 towards London. He then looked about him to ascertain 
 who his fellow-travellers were. The further compart- 
 ment 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, Avas 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, which was such as is rarely found in a travelling- 
 companion. It was of a foreign character, and, taken 
 together with the small office-book he held in his hand, 
 plainly showed Charles that he was opposite 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 gi-ew calmer, and jom-- 
 neyed on some time in slleuce, longing yet afraid to 
 speak. At length, on the train stopping at the station, 
 he addressed a few words to him in French. His com- 
 panion looked surprised, smiled, and in a hesitating sad- 
 dish voice said that he was an Englishman. Charles 
 made an awkward apology, and tliere was silence again. 
 
312 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Their eyes sometimes met, and then moved slowly off 
 each other, as if a mutual recounoitering was in pro- 
 gress. At length it seemed to strike the stranger that 
 he had abruptly stopped the 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 civiHty. What col- 
 leges sent Proctors that year ? Were the Taylor Pro- 
 fessors appointed ? Were they members of the Church 
 of England ? Did the new Bishop of Bury keep his 
 headship ? etc., etc. Some matter-of-fact conversation 
 followed, which came to nothing. Charles had so much 
 to ask ; his thoughts were busy, and his mind full. 
 Here was a Catholic priest ready for his necessities ; 
 yet 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-tra- 
 veller began, as quietly as he could, to say office. Time 
 went forward, the steam was let oiF and put on ; the 
 train stopped and proceeded, and the office was appa- 
 rently 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 same", said 
 Charles ; " yet I can't myself make out how an Oxford 
 man should be known from another". " Not only Ox- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. ' 313 
 
 ford men, but Cambridge men, are known by their ap- 
 pearance ; soldiers, lawyers, beneficed clergymen ; indeed j 
 every class has its external indications 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 being", he said, "is concen- 
 trated 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 thhik I must be speaking 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 observed, that 
 " there was no ' more or less' in faith ; that either we 
 believed the whole revealed message, or really we be- 
 lieved no part of it ; that we ought to 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 Evan- 
 gelical", objected Charles. " The question", said his 
 fellow-traveller, " is, Aviiether they submit their reason 
 
 10 
 
314 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 implicitly to that which they have received as God's 
 word". Charles assented. " Would you say, then", 
 he continued, " that the Unitarian really believes as 
 God's w^ord 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 ?" " Be- 
 cause it is plain", said Charles, " that his ultimate 
 standard of truth is not the Scripture, but, unconsciously 
 to himself, some view of things in his mind which is the 
 measure of Scripture". " Tiien he believes himself, if 
 w^e may so speak", said the priest, " and not the ex- 
 ternal 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, w^ho passes by, without attempting to understand, 
 such passages as, ' the Chm-ch 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' ?" 
 " Yes", said Charles ; " but, in fact, lue do not profess 
 to have faith in the mere text of Scripture. You know, 
 sir", he added hesitatingly, " that the AngUcan 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 Cluu'ch, of which Scrip- 
 tui-e is a part". His companion smiled ; " How many", 
 he asked, " so profess .'' But, Avaving 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 8 1 5 
 
 persons you spenk of believe in ? and when do they ex- 
 ercise 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 does, though he would not, choose be- 
 tween them. How, then, has faith a place in the re- 
 ligion of an Anglican ?" " Well", said Charles, " I am 
 sure I know a good many persons,-— and if you knew the 
 Church of England as I do, you would not need me to 
 tell you, — who, from knowledge of the Gospels, have an 
 absolute conviction 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 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 Scripture ?" asked his 
 companion. " Certainly they do", answered Charles, 
 " as far as man can judge". " Then perhaps they may 
 be practising the virtue of faith ; if there are passages 
 in it tOAvhich they are insensible, 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 con- 
 sciences, — -just as a Pope's Bull may be for a time un- 
 known in a distant part of the Church. They may be 
 in involuntary ignorance.* Yet I fear that, taking the 
 whole nation, they are few among many". Charles said, 
 this did not fully meet the difiiculty ; faith, in the case 
 * " Errantes invincibiliter circa aliquos articulos, et credentes 
 
/ 
 
 316 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 gi^eat mystery 
 how the English people, as a whole, is ever to have faith 
 again ; is there evidence enough for faith ?" His new 
 friend looked surprised and not overpleased ; " Surely", 
 he said, " in matter of fact, a man may have more evi- 
 dence for believing the Church to be the messenger 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 cannot see how a nation Kke 
 England, which has lost the faith, ever can recover it. 
 Hence, in the matter of conversion, Providence has 
 generally visited simple and barbarous nations". " The 
 converts of the Roman empire were, I suppose, a con- 
 siderable exception", said the priest. " 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 what they could not replace, what it 
 would take centuries and a combination of fortunate cir- 
 cumstances to reproduce, an external received creed. I 
 
 alios, non sunt formaliter hajretici, sed habent fidem supernatura- 
 lem, qua credunt veros articulos, atqiie adeo ex ea possunt proce- 
 dere actus perfectaB contritionis, quibus justificentur et salventur". 
 — De Lugo de FiU., p. IGO. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 817 
 
 fim not denying, God forbid! the objectivity of rcvehition, 
 or saying that faith is a sort of happy and expedient de- 
 hision ; but, really, the evidence for revealed doctrine is 
 so built up on probabilities, that I do not see what is to 
 introduce 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 been ; and he 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 make him be- 
 lieye^! the will^ his wiW. 
 
 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 requires 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 feel- 
 ing among educated Anglicans, that the claims of the 
 Roman Church do not rest on a sufficiently intellectual 
 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 con- 
 viction that the Catholic or Roman Church, and none 
 other, is the voice of God". " Do you mean", said 
 Charles, Avith a beating heart, "that before conversion 
 one can attain to a present abiding actual conviction of 
 this truth ?" " 1 do not know", answered the other ; 
 
318 LOSS AND GATX. 
 
 " but at least he may have habitual moral certainty; I 
 mean, a conviction, and one only, steady, without rival 
 conviction, or even reasonable doubt, present to him when 
 he is 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, 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 grace after it. You approach the Church in the 
 way of reason, you live in 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 ar- 
 guments on both sides. " It is not one set of men", an- 
 swered his companion; "it is the grievous deficiency in 
 Englishmen altogether. Englishmen have many gifts, 
 fiiith 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 apprecia- 
 tion of the sympathy which it shows towards sinners ; 
 not an admiration of the Martyrs and early Fathers, and 
 a delight in their writings. Individuals may display a 
 touching gentleness, or a conscientiousness which demands 
 our reverence j still, till they have faith, they have not 
 
LOSS AND GAIX. 319 
 
 the foundation, and their superstructure uill iall. They 
 will not be blessed, they will do nothing In religious mat- 
 ters, till they begin by an act of unreserved faith in the 
 word of God, whatever it be ; till they go out of them- 
 selves; till they cease to make something within them 
 their standard, till they oblige their will to perfect what 
 reason leaves, sufficient indeed, but incomplete. 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 Charles; 
 but it was pleasant to hear it from the voice of another, 
 and him a priest. Thus he had sympathy and authority, 
 and felt he was restored to himself. The conversation 
 stopped. After a while he disclosed to his new friend 
 the errand which took him to London, which, after what 
 Charles had already been saying, could be no great sur- 
 prise to him. The latter knew the Superior of San 
 JNIichaele, and taking out a card, wrote upon it a few words 
 of introduction for him. By this time they had reached 
 Paddington ; and before the train had well stopped, the 
 priest had taken his small carpet-bag from under his seat, 
 wrapped his cloak around hira, stepped out of the cai^* 
 riage, 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 taken 
 what he considered satisfactory measures for this pur- 
 pose. But such arrangements often turn out very differ- 
 ently from their promise ; and so it was in his case. 
 The Passionist House was in the eastern part of Lon- 
 
320 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 don ; so far well ; — and as he knew in the neighbourhood 
 a respectable publisher in the religious line, Avith 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 confession, 
 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 doubt- 
 less 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 
 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 liis destination, he saw in the deport- 
 ment of his host grounds for concluding that his coming 
 was not only expected, but understood. Doubtless, 
 tlien, the paragraph of the " Oxford Gazette" had been 
 copied into the London papers ; nor did it relieve his 
 unpleasant 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 pos- 
 sible to confine himself to his apartment. The I'est of 
 the day he employed in writing letters to friends ; his 
 conversation of the morning had tranquillized him ; he 
 went to bed peaceful and happy, sle})t soundly, rose late, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 321 
 
 and, refreshed in mind and body, tiu'iied 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 soHcit an 
 answer from the person who could give the most authentic 
 information". Here w^as an interruption, vexatious in 
 itself, and perplexing in the form in which it came upon 
 him ; it would be absurd to reply that he was on the 
 point of becoming a CathoHc, 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' conversation with him. 
 Charles could make no intelligible objection to the re- 
 quest ; and in the course of a few minutes their knock 
 was heard at the room-door. 
 
 On his answering it, two persons presented themselves, 
 apparently both strangers to him. This, however, at 
 the moment Avas 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 yoimger of the two, 
 who had round full cheeks, with a nose turned up 
 towards the right eye, and a shrill voice, advanced con- 
 fidently, 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. 
 
322 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 " you may recollect me at College". " Ah, I remember 
 perfectly", said Reding ; " Jack the kitchen-boy at St. 
 Saviom-'s". "Yes", said Jack; " I came when young 
 Tom was promoted into Dennis's place". Then he 
 added, with a solemn skake of the head, " / have got 
 promotion now". "So it seems, Jack", answered 
 Reding ; " but what are you ? Speak''. " Ah, sir", 
 said Jack, " we nmst 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". " A what ? Angel ? Oh, 
 I know", cried Charles ; " it's some sect ; the Sande- 
 manians" — " 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 
 Cathclic 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 Char- 
 les, "I see; that's what the 'gods' call you ; now, what 
 do men ?" " Men", said Jack, not understanding, how- 
 ever, the allusion — " men call us Christians, professing 
 the opinions of the late Rev. Edward Irving, B.D. " "I 
 understand perfectly now", said Reding ; " Irvingltes — 
 1 recollect" — " No, sir", he said, " not Irvingites ; Ave 
 do not follow man ; we follow wherever the Spirit leads 
 us ; we have given up Tongue. But I ought to introduce 
 
LOSS AND GAIX. 3'23 
 
 you to my friond, who is more than an Angel", he pro- 
 ceeded modestly, " who has more than the tongue of 
 men and angels, being nothing short of an Apostle, sir. 
 Mr. Reding, here's the Rev. Alexander Highflj. 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 
 bis tone in speaking to him. He came to Mr. Reding, 
 he said, fi'om a sense of duty ; and there was nothing in 
 his conversation to clash with this profession. He ex- 
 plained that he had heard of Mr. Reding's being un- 
 settled in his religious views, and he would not lose the 
 opportunity of attempting so valuable an accession 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 Dioraede", answered Mr. 
 Highfly; *'for which I am asking your cooperation. I am 
 giving you the fellowship of apostles". " It is, I re- 
 collect, one of the characteristics of yom* body", said 
 Charles, " to have an order of Apostles, in addition to 
 Bishops, Priests, and Deacons". "Rather", said his 
 visitor, " it is the special characteristic ; for we acknow- 
 ledge the orders of the Church of England. We are but 
 completing the Chm'ch system by restoring the Apostolic 
 College". " What I should complain of", said Charles, 
 " were I at all inclined to listen to your claims, would 
 be the very diiferent views which different members of 
 your body put forward". " You must recollect, sir", 
 answered Mr. Highfly, " that we are under divine teach- 
 ing, and that truth is but gradually communicated to the ^ 
 Church. We do not pledge ourselves what we shall be- 
 lieve to-morrow, by anything we say to-day". " Cer- 
 
324 LOSS AND GAIX. 
 
 taiuly", 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 Scrip- 
 tural Church has more ; it is plain it ought to have 
 Apostles. In Scripture, Apostles had the supreme autho- 
 rity, 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 
 cooperation in doing so ? We do not ask you to secede 
 from the Establishment, but to acknowledge the Apos- 
 tolic 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 incon- 
 siderable one, which maintains with you, and, what is 
 more, has always preserved, that true and higher Apos- 
 tolic succession in the Church ; a body, I mean, which, 
 in addition to Episcopacy, believes that there is a stand- 
 ing 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 doraiant ever since the time of St. Paul ; nay, I 
 will say it is an ordinance which never has 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 
 w^ent up to Jerusalem against the solemn warning of the 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 325 
 
 Spirit ; now we are raised np to complete that work of 
 the Spirit, which was stopped by the inadverteuce 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 suc- 
 cession of Apostles, as something distinct from Bishops. 
 " It is quite plain whom I mean — the Catholics", an- 
 swered Charles. " The Popedom is the true Apostolate, 
 the Pope is the successor of the Apostles, particularly of 
 St. Peter". " We are very well inclined to the Koman 
 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 rea- 
 son for every Irviugite — I mean every member of your 
 persuasion — becomi'^ a CathoUc. Your own religious 
 sense has taught yoa that there ought to be an Aposto- 
 late in the Church. You consider that the authority of 
 the Apostles was not temporary, but essential and fun- 
 damental. 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. Noav, 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 pro- 
 per successor, of the Apostles, though Bishops may be im- 
 properly such also.* And hence Catholics call him 
 
 * " Successores sunt, sed ita ut potius Vicarii dicendi sint 
 AposLolorum, quam successores ; contra, Romanus Pontifex, quia 
 verus I'etri successor est, nonnisi per quendam ahusum ejus vica- 
 rius diceretur". — Zaccar. Antifebr. p. 130. 
 
 20 
 
326 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Vicar of Christ, Bishop of Bishops, and the like ; and, 
 I believe, consider that he, in a preeminent sense, is the 
 one pastor or ruler of the Church, the source of juris- 
 diction, the judge of controversies, and the centre of 
 unity — as having the powers of the Apostles, and spe- 
 ciallj of St. Peter". Mr. Highfly kept silence. " Don't 
 you think, then, it would be well", continued Charles, 
 "that, before coming to convert me, you should first join 
 the Catholic Church? at least, you would urge yom- doc- 
 trine upon me with more authority if you came as a mem- 
 ber 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 continuing the interview ; but your last remark leads 
 me to observe that proselytism was not our object in 
 coming here. "We did not propose more than to inform 
 you that a great Avork was going on, to direct yoiu* at- 
 tention to it, and to invite your cooperation. We do 
 not controvert; we only wish to deliver our testimony, 
 and then 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 Reding, 
 the two visitors took their departure. 
 
 " Well, I might have been worse off", thought Reding; 
 " really they are gentle, Avell-mannered animals, after all. 
 I might have been attacked with some of your furious 
 Exeter-Hall beasts ; but now to business . . . What's 
 that ?" he added. Alas, it was a soft, distinct tap at 
 the door ; there was no mistake. " Who's there ? come 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 327 
 
 in !" he cried ; upon which the door gently opene<1, and a 
 young lady, not without attractions of person and dress, ' 
 presented herself. Charley started up with vexation ; but 
 there was no help for it, and he was obliged to hand her 
 a chair, and then to wait, all expectation, or rather all 
 impatience, 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 inforoiation had been given her, that Mr. Red- 
 ing, the gentleman she had the honour of addressing — 
 whether it was true, that he was in search of a religion 
 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 ac- 
 cession, 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 per- 
 suasion ?" " 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 
 
328 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 of England ; for a while I was a member of the 
 New Connexion ; and at present", she added, still with 
 drooping head and languid sing-song voice, " at present, 
 I am a Plymouth brother". It got too absurd ; and Char- 
 les, 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 conversa- 
 tion ; so she said presently, " We are all for a pure re- 
 ligion". " 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 in- 
 clude among us all soids who are thirsting 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, 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 329 
 
 and vanishecl at the first word of opposition ; but now 
 thrice has the church-clock struck the quarters since her 
 entrance, and I don't see why she's 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, its 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 Redlng'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 in- 
 tolerable", he said to himself; and jumping up, he cried, 
 *' Sir, excuse me, I am particularly engaged this morn- 
 ing, 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, say- 
 ing 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 the honour of your call ; 
 but another day, sir, another day. It is too much, too 
 much". " Too much?" said the intiiider ; " and I wait- 
 
330 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 ing 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 
 are come on an errand as fruitless as hers ; and I am sick 
 of these religious discussions, and want to be to myself, 
 and to save you trouble". " Sick of rehgious discus- 
 sions", 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 Zerubbabel, 
 " 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 Avas once a deacon in the Church 
 of England". " Then you're not a Jew ?" said Charles. 
 " I am a Jew by choice", he said ; " after much prayer 
 and study of Scripture, I have 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 fol- 
 lowers in such a belief", said Charles ; " we are all for 
 progress now, not for retrogi-adiug". " I differ from you, 
 Mr. Reding", replied Zerubbabel ; " see what the Es- 
 tablishment is doing ; it has sent a Bishop to Jerusalem". 
 " That is rather with a view of making the Jews Chris- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 331 
 
 tians, than the Christians Jews", said Reding. Zerub- 
 babel wrote down: "thinks Bishop of Jerusalem is to 
 convert the Jews" ; then, " I differ from you, sir ; on the 
 contrary. I fancy the excellent Bishop has in view to re- 
 vive 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 Jcavs, 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 spe- 
 cial mission to restore a Jewish episcopate to the See of 
 Jerusalem. The Jewish succession has been suspended 
 sinc^. the time of the Apostles. And now you see the 
 reason of my caUing on you, Mr. Reding. It is reported 
 that you lean towards the Catholic Church ; but I wish 
 to siggest to you that you have mistaken the centre of 
 unitj. The See of James at Jerusalem is the true centre, 
 not the See of Peter at Rome. Peter's power is a usurpa- 
 tion en James's. I consider the present Bishop of Jeru- 
 salem lie true Pope. The Gentiles have been in power 
 toolon^; it is now the Jews' turn". " You seem to 
 allow", said Charles, "that there ought to be a centre 
 of unit} 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 Mouit Moriah ; I hope too to negotiate a loan, and 
 we shall lave Temple stock, yielding, I calculate, at least, 
 four per sent." " It has hitherto been thought a sin", 
 said Redng, " to attempt rebuilding the Temple. Ac- 
 cording io you, Julian the Apostate went the better way 
 to worl". "His motive was wrong, sir", answered the 
 other ; " but his act was good. The way to convert the 
 
332 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Jews is, first to accept their rites. This is one of the 
 great 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 sacrifi- 
 ces 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, 
 Zeriibbabel wrote down in his book : " Refuses to take 
 part in our scheme" ; and disappeared from the roon, as 
 suddenly as he entered it. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Charles's trials were not at an end ; and we su:pect 
 the reader will give a shudder at the news, as haviig a 
 very material share in the infliction. Yet the reider's 
 j case has this great alleviation, that he takes up tlis nar- 
 I rative in an idle hour, and Charles encountered the reality 
 in a very busy and anxious one. So, however, i was ; 
 not any great time elapsed after the retreat of Zo'ubba- 
 bel, when his landlord again appeared at the door. He 
 assured Mr. Reding that it was no fault of his :hat the 
 last two persons had called on him ; that the hdy had 
 slipped by him, and the gentleman had forced lis way ; 
 but that he noAv really did wish to solicit an iiterview 
 for a personage of great literary pretensions, wlo some- 
 times dealt with him, and who had come from tie West 
 End for the honour of an interview with Mr. Jeding. 
 Charles groaned, but only one reply was possible ; fhe day 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 333 
 
 was already wasted ; and with a sort of dull resignation 
 he gave permission for the introduction of the stranger. 
 It was a pasty-faced man of about thirty-five, who, 
 when he spoke, arched his eyebrows, and had a peculiar 
 smile. He began by expressing his apprehension that 
 Mr. Reding mnst have been wearied by impertinent and 
 unnecessary visitors — visitors without intellect, who knew 
 no better than to obtrude their fanaticism on persons who 
 did but despise it. " I know more about the Universi- 
 ties", he continued, " than to suppose that any congeni- 
 ality can exist between their members and the mass of 
 religious sectarians. You have had very distinguished 
 men among you, sir, at Oxford, of very various schools, 
 yet all able men, and distinguished in the pm-suit 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 the extension among 
 all classes of the pursuit of Truth. Any philosophical 
 mind, Mr. Reding, must have felt deep interest in your 
 own party in the University. Our Society in fact con- 
 siders you to be distinguished Confessors in that all-mo- 
 mentous occupation ; and I have thought I could not 
 pay yourself individually, whose name has lately honour- 
 ably appeared 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 pa- 
 per to him. Charles glanced his eye over it; it was a 
 paper, part engraving, part print, part manuscript. An 
 emblem of tmth 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, Lu- 
 
334 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 ther, Benjamin Franklin, and Lord Brougham. Then 
 followed some sentences to the effect, that the Loudon 
 Branch Association of the British and Foreign Truth 
 Society, having evidence of the zeal in the pursuit of 
 Truth of Charles Reding, Esq., member of Oxford Uni- 
 versity, had unanimously elected him into their number, 
 and had assigned him the dignified and responsible 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 ; " from embracing what he thought 
 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 difference 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 youi- attention to page 
 8, Avhere they are drawn out". Charles turned to the 
 page, and read as follows : 
 
 " On the pursuit of Truth. 
 
 \ 1 . It is uncertain whether Truth exists. 
 
 • 2. Tt is certain that it cannot be found. 
 
 3. It is a folly to boast of possessing it. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 335 
 
 4. Man's work and duty, as man, consist, not in pos- 
 
 sessing, but in seeking it. 
 
 5. His happiness and true dignity consists 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 reh'gion is the love, not the possession, of Truth. 
 
 8. As Catholicism begins with faith, so Protestantism 
 
 ends with inquiry. 
 
 9. As there is disinterestedness in seeking, so is there 
 
 selfishness in claiming to possess. 
 
 10. The martyr of Truth is he who dies professing that 
 it is a shadow. 
 
 1 1 . A life-long martyi'dom 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 fol- 
 lowed of a similar character. He returned the pam- 
 phlet to Mr. Batts. " I see enough", he said, " of the 
 opinions of the Truth Society, to admire their ingenuity 
 and originality, but, excuse me, not their good sense. 
 It is impossible I should subscribe to what is so plainly 
 opposed to Christianity". Mr. Batts looked annoyed. 
 " We have no wish to oppose Christianity", he said ; 
 " we only wish Christianity 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 im- 
 prudent, I conceive, 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 Tnith 
 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 Chris- I 
 tianity has nothing to do with astronomy or geology : | 
 
336 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 why, then, should it be allowed to interfere with philo- 
 sophy ?" It was useless proceeding in the discussion ; 
 , Charles repressed the answer which rose on his tongue, 
 I 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 w^earied and dissipated to under- 
 take them. On Mr. Batts's departure, then, he did not 
 make the attempt, but sat before the fire, dull and de- 
 pressed, and in danger of relapsing into the troubled 
 thoughts from which his railroad companion had extri- 
 cated him. When, then, at the end of half an horn-, a 
 new knock was heard at the door, he admitted the pos- 
 tulant 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 pro- 
 fited by them. His glossy black dress, in contrast with 
 the pink colour of his face and throat, for he wore no 
 collars, and his staid and pompous bearing, added to his 
 rapid delivery, Avhen he spoke, gave him much the look 
 of a farm-yard turkey-cock, in the eyes of any one Avho 
 Avas 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 opportunity of offer- 
 ing to you a little good advice. You may guess what 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 337 
 
 I am by my appearance : I speak for myself ; I will say 
 no more ; I can be of use to you. Mr. Reeling", he con- 
 tinued, 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 religious 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", answered his perse- 
 cutor, spreading out the fingers of his right hand, and 
 opening his eyes wide ; "I am right, I believe, in appre- 
 hending 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 per- 
 son who should turn the Thames in upon his house, 
 when he merely wanted his door-steps scrubbed. "Why 
 become a convert to Popery, Avhen you can obtain your 
 object in a cheaper and better way ? Set up for your- 
 self, my dear sir — set up for yourself; foiin a new de- 
 nomination, six pence will do it ; and then you may have 
 your surplice and candlesticks to your heart's content, 
 without denying the gospel, or running into the horrible 
 abominations of the Scarlet Woman". And he sat up- 
 right 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 uotiiiug to do with the rest ; but I cannot help re- 
 
338 L0S3 AND GAIN. 
 
 garcling 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 intentions, 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 per- 
 sonal matters with strangers. Let me, then, thank you 
 first for your kindness in coming, and next for the addi- 
 tional kindness of going". And Charles rose up. 
 
 His visitor did not seem inclined to move, or to notice 
 what he had said. lie stopped a while, opened his 
 handkerchief with much deliberation, ^nd blew his nose; 
 then he continued ; " Kitchens is my name, sir ; Dr. 
 Kitchens : your state of mind, Mr. Reding, is not un- 
 known 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 in 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 confidence in 
 it ; perhaps you have heard the name ; it is known as 
 Kitchens' 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 plea- 
 surable, 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 remark- 
 able cases. I have known one hundred and two cases 
 myself, in which it efi'ected a saving change in six hours; 
 seventy-nine in which its operations took place in as [qw 
 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 359 
 
 gospel, were seen sitting ' clothed, and in their right 
 mind'. Thus I speak within the mark, Mr. Eeding, 
 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, without any apparent effect ; but here 
 exceptio probat 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 
 slumber, perspired profusely, and woke up at the end of 
 twelve hours a new creature, perfectly new, bran new, 
 and fit for Heaven, w^hither he went in the course of the 
 week. "We are now making further 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 soul 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 further 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 earned on in so 
 many places ? My dear friend, Mr. Makanoise, con- 
 tested 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 Niagara, for 
 his torrent of words ; such momentum in his delivery ; 
 
340 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 it is as rapid as it's strong ; it's enough to knock a man 
 down. He can speak seven hours running without fa- 
 tigue ; and last year he went through England, de- 
 livering 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 tre- 
 mendous ; a friend of mine heard it ; he assures me, in- 
 credible 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 a while, then he con- 
 tinued : " 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 Reve- 
 lation : 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 offence gave 
 him the means, as well as a cause, for punishing him. 
 " Oh", he said suddenly, "then I suppose. Dr. Etchens, 
 you can't tolerate the cross ?" " Oh, no ; tolerate 
 it !" answered Dr. Kitchens; "it is Antichrist". "You 
 can't bear the sight of it, I suspect. Dr. Kitchens ?" " I 
 can't endure it, sir; what true Protestant can?" "Then 
 look here'', said Charles, taking a small crucifix out of 
 his writing-desk ; and he held it before Dr. Kitchens' 
 face. Dr. Kitchens at once started on his feet, and re- 
 treated. " What's that ?" he said, and his face flushed 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 341 
 
 np 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 
 it to Dr. Kitchens, while he kept it out of Dr. Kitchens' 
 reach. " Take it away, Mr. Reding, I beseech you", 
 cried Dr. Kitchens, still retreating, while Charles still 
 pressed on him ; " take it a^vay, 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 
 miserable 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 diffi- 
 culty in steering Dr. Kitchens to the door from the place 
 where he had been sitting ; but, that once eifected, he 
 opened it with violence, and throwing himself 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 upon 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. 
 
 iX 
 CHAPTER ll. 
 
 Charles threw himself on his chair, burying the Cruci- 
 fix in his bosom, quite worn out with his long trial and 
 the sudden exertion in which it had just now been issu- 
 ing. 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 
 
342 L033 AND GAIN. 
 
 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 up stairs 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 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 Avith me ; but, excuse me, I really 
 have had 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 coming 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 
 countenance changed to extreme surprise ; it was ]\Ii'. 
 Malcolm. 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 343 
 
 adding to his library. Passing through London to the 
 Eastern Counties rail, he happened to call in ; and as 
 the worthy bookseller was not behind his own reading- 
 room in the diffusion of gossip, he learned that Mr. 
 Reding, who was on the point of seceding from the Es- 
 tabhshment, Avas at that moment above stairs. He 
 waited with impatience through Dr. Kitchens' 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 no less 
 awkwardness in receiving him ; " you have been hold- 
 ing a levee this morning ; I thought I should never get 
 to see you. Sit you 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, or respect for his judg- 
 ment. His feeling was a mixture of prescriptive fear 
 and friendliness, attachment from old associations, and 
 desire of standing well with him, but neither confidence 
 nor real love. He coloured up and felt guilty, yet with- 
 out 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 evening before. " Ah, when there was 
 not time to answer your letter", said Mr. Malcolm. 
 
 Charles said he wished to spare so kind a friend 
 
 he bungled, and could not finish his sentence. " A 
 friend, who, of course, could give no adyice", said Mr. 
 
344 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 Malcolm, dryly. Presently he said, " Were those people 
 some of yom- new friends who were calling 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". "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 no- 
 thing 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 fa- 
 ther's lifetime". " My dear su-", 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 eiTor 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 contemplating 
 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 Avell. I have seen such things be- 
 fore ; only I thought you a more sensible fellow. There 
 was young Dalton of St. Cross ; he goes abroad, and falls 
 in 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 intro- 
 duced to a Count this, and a Marchioness that, and returns 
 a Catholic. There was another ; what was his name ? I 
 foj-getit, of a Berkshire family. He is smitten with apretty 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 345 
 
 face; nothing will serve but he must many her; but she's 
 a Catholic, and can't marrj 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 goingon. 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 sulyect. 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 pos&l- 
 ble 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 .P" " No", answered Charles. " Did you ever 
 see a Popish chapel ?" " No". " Do you knoAv any 
 thing of Catholic books. Catholic doctrine. Catholic mo- 
 rality ? I Avarrant 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". 
 
 Eeding 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. 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, con- 
 sult the friends whom I happened to find around me, as 
 I have done, and wait in patience till I was sure of my 
 
346 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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". There was no help for it ; 
 Charles's heart was full, but his head was wearied and con- 
 fused, and his spirit sunk : 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 re- 
 luctant hand, and accompany him down to the street- 
 door. 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 847 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " This will never do", said Charles, as he closed the 
 door, aud ran up stairs ; " 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 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 build- 
 ing ; money had not been so abundant as to overflow 
 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 sanc- 
 tuary, a serviceable organ, and an effective choir. There 
 was a range of buildings adjacent, capable of holding 
 about half-a-dozen fathers ; but the size of the church 
 required a larger establishment. By this time, doubt- 
 less, things are very different, but we are looking back 
 at the first efforts of the English Congregation, 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 Eng- 
 land. Tu'o centuries after the memorable era when St. 
 Philip aud St. Ignatius, making light of those bodily 
 
348 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 austerities of wliicli they were personally so great masters, 
 preached mortification of will and reason as more neces- 
 sary for a civiHzed age, — in the lake- warm and self-in- 
 dulgent eighteenth century, Father Paul of the Cross was 
 divinely moved to found a Congregation in some respects 
 more ascetic than the primitive hermits and the orders of 
 the middle age . It was not fast, or silence, or poverty, 
 which distinguished it, though here too it is not want- 
 ing in strictness ; but in the cell of its venerable Founder, 
 on the Celian Hill, hangs an iron discipline or scourge, 
 studded with nails, which is a memorial, not only of his 
 own self-inflicted suflferings, but of those of his Italian 
 family. Their object was as remarkable as their inten- 
 sity ; penance, indeed, is in one respect the end of aU 
 self-chastisement, but in the instance of the Passionists 
 the use of the scourge is specially directed to the benefit 
 of their neighbour. They apply the pain to the benefit 
 of the holy souls in Purgatory, or they undergo it to 
 ix)use a careless audience. Ou their missions, when their 
 words seem uttered in vain, they have been known sud- 
 denly 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 wdiom they were addressing took pity on their 
 own perishing souls. Nor was it to their own countrymen 
 alone that this self-consuming charity extended ; how it 
 so happened does not appear ; perhaps a certain me- 
 mento 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, hu- 
 manly speaking, 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 monasteiy of San 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 349 
 
 Gregorio, the womb, as it may be called, of English 
 Christianity. There had lived that great Pope, who is 
 named om- Apostle, who was afterAvards called to the 
 chair of St. Peter ; and thence went forth, in and after 
 his pontificate, 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 crossed 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 ; but, after 
 the venerable Founder's death, his special interest in our 
 distant isle showed itself in another of the same Religion. 
 On the Apennines, near Viterbo, there dwelt a shepherd- 
 boy in the first years of this century, whose mind had 
 early been drawn heavenward;' 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 northeni sky. There appeared no means by 
 which a Roman peasant should be turned into a mis- 
 sionary ; nor did the prospect 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 not 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, 
 
 21 
 
350 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 our peasant found himself at length upon the very shore 
 of the stormy northern sea, whence Caesar of old looked 
 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 
 had many anxieties here, first from want of funds, then 
 still more from want of men. Year past after year, and, 
 whether fear of the severity of the rule — though that 
 was groundless, for it had been mitigated for England — 
 or the claims of other religious bodies, was the cause, his 
 community did not increase, and he was tempted to de- 
 spond. 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 Congregation; 
 and our friend Willis, who at this time had received the 
 priesthood, was not the last of these accessions, though do- 
 miciled 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 oflfcred it to Charles. Charles, igno- 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 351 
 
 rant what it meant, and awkward from his consciousness 
 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, how- 
 ever, 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 profusion of 
 candles were lighting at the High Altar, which stood in 
 the centre of a semicircular apse. There were side-al- 
 tars — perhaps half-a-dozen ; most of them without 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 further 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 mono- 
 tonous ; and, as it seemed interminable, Reding turned 
 his eyes elsewhere. They fell first on one, then on an- 
 other 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 
 
352 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 prayers. At length the church got very full ; rich and 
 poor were mixed together — artisans, well-drest 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. 
 
 Though Reding had continued standing, no one would 
 have noticed him ; but he saw the time was come for him 
 to kneel, and accordiugly 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 attention, so intense was 
 the devotion of the congregation. What particularly 
 struck him was, that whereas in the Church of England 
 the clergyman or the organ was every thing and the 
 people nothing, except so far as the clerk is their re- 
 presentative, here it was just reversed. The priest 
 hardly spoke, or at least audibly ; but the whole con- 
 gregation was as though one vast instrument or Pan- 
 harmonicon, moving all together, and, what was most re- 
 markable, as if self-moved. They did not seem to re- 
 quire 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 
 
LOSS AND GAIN. 353 
 
 they uttered. There was a little boy near him, and a 
 poor womau, 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 of 
 being unfinished ; but the Living Temple which was mani- 
 fested in it needed no curious carving or rich marble to 
 complete it, "for the glory of God had enlightened 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 Sacra- 
 ment — 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 unknown 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 AVillis had formerly quoted: "0 
 Adonai, et Dux domus Israel, qui Moysi in rubo appa- 
 ruisti ; Emmanuel, Exspectatio Gentium et Salvator 
 earum, veni ad salvandum nos, Domine Deus uoster". 
 
 The function did not last very long after this ; Red- 
 
354 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 ing, on looking up, found the congregation rapidly di- 
 minishing, 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 from the tlu-ill 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 countenance, 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 arranged that he should take up his lodging 
 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- 
 moving his luggage from his lodgings ; and in the course 
 of an hour from the time of his interview with Father 
 
• LOSS AND GAIN. 355 
 
 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 XI. 
 
 A VERT 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 about an hour since. He was still kneeling in the 
 church of the Passionists before the Tabernacle, in thepos- '» 
 session 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 which had long been tolling stops, or when a 
 vessel, after much tossing 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 Cathedrce Petri, He went on kneeling, as 
 if he were already in Heaven, with the throne of God be- 
 fore 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 
 habit, with the white heart sewed in at his left breast. 
 Willis carried him from the church into the sacristy. 
 "What a joy, Reding!" he said, when the door closed 
 upon them ; " what a day of joy ! St. Edward's day, 
 a doubly blessed day henceforth. My Superior let me 
 
358 LOSS AND GAIN. 
 
 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 Keding", said Father Aloysius, 
 " have keen fresh feelings ; mine are blunted by fami- 
 liarity". "No, Willis", he made answer, "you have 
 taken the better part betimes, while I have loitered. 
 Too late have I known Thee, Thou ancient Truth ; 
 too late have I found Thee, first and only Fair". " All 
 is well, except as sin makes it ill", said Father Aloysius ; 
 " if 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 manifesto veniet, Deus noster, et 
 non silebit'." Keding took Father Aloysius's hand, and 
 kissed it ; 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 either for the Past or the Future. 
 
 THE END. 
 
GENERAL LIBRARY ■ U.C. BERKELEY 
 
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