Since the last conversation which we recorded between the Vicar and Mr. Dole, the character of the latter had become much softened. On various occasions they had been brought into each other's company, and the consequence was that each had begun to think more favourably of the other, and to find some unsuspected good qualities which promised well to establish between them that cordial good feeling and mutual respect which ought always to exist between a Pastor and each member of his flock.

The following close of a long conversation might explain the loss of esteem and influence which many a parish priest, besides the Vicar of St. Catherine's, has had to deplore:—

"Well, Mr. Ambrose, had we known each other more, we should have understood each other better; my lips, at least, would have been saved the guilt of many hard words; perhaps, too, sir, you would have thought of me a little more charitably."

"There may be truth in that, Mr. Dole," said the Vicar; "but then you must own that you have always shown such sternness and severity to wards me as to forbid any friendly approach on my part. I have, indeed, put it down, in a great measure, to that harsh judgment of the conduct and opinions of others which I considered your form of dissent tended to foster—but this has not relieved me of my difficulty."

"I suppose I must confess that those who hold very strictly to the doctrines in which I have been brought up, have generally a severe and sour bearing to wards others who do not believe as they do, and, indeed, very often to wards members of their own body also. Then, you see, sir, at their prayer meetings, and their Sabbath services, they get much more excited and animated than people do at church, and so, perhaps, it's natural for them to be a little more subdued and less lively when they are out of 'meeting.'"

"Yes, that's natural; and no doubt what you say accounts for some differences in the opinions we form of each other's characters. At 'meeting' I am aware persons are commonly wrought up, by exciting appeals, loud words, and wild gestures, to a state of high pressure, of which we at church know little; and so they consider the calm, dignified solemnity of our services as cold and lifeless. Out of 'meeting' a reaction takes place, and they become comparatively depressed and undemonstrative, and we consider them morose and ill-tempered; we have no such reaction to undergo, and to us the world seems brighter than to them, and so they think us frivolous and worldly. But for my part, Mr. Dole, I can't possibly see what is the use of a man's speaking ten times louder than is necessary in order to make himself heard, just that he may produce a fever-heat in the pulses of his congregation. If continued for any length of time, it leads to something very like temporary madness; if not, it is likely to subside into a dull, sullen apathy. Moreover, I have yet to learn that it is wrong, provided we do not abuse them, to enjoy the good things God gives us, with a cheerful countenance—aye, and with a merry heart, too.

"On that point I have for some time been inclining to your opinion, sir; though, I fear, you will think I have not given much outward proof of it. But, nevertheless, you have in this matter as yet partly mistaken me—indeed we have partly mistaken each other. Perhaps my religion may, in some degree, account for my seeming gloominess and indifference; but these have arisen quite as much from home sorrows and disappointments, and the coldness and cruelty I have experienced from others. I will not, however, trouble you with these matters now, more than to say, that if you could have overlooked the ungracious words I may sometimes have said to and of you, and have looked in upon me, and for my evil have returned good, by speaking some kind and friendly words to me, you would have done much to brighten a life that has known but little sunshine; for I have longed more than I can tell you for a friend to whom I could fearlessly tell the sorrows of my heart. I know I have been to blame, for I always used to think you too proud to take much interest in my cares and troubles; may be, sir—I am sure you will forgive my plain speaking—may be we have been both a little to blame.

"Now, Mr. Ambrose," continued his parishioner, in a far more cheerful voice than was usual with him, "you know that since your friendly conversation with me that day in the church, I have followed the advice you then gave me, and have never failed to be one of your congregation at least once on the Sunday. I trust I have profited by what you have taught me: will you not be offended if I for a moment turn the tables, and preach a few words to you? I don't mean to you yourself personally, sir, but I mean to you as one of the ministers of the Church."

"I am sure you will not say any thing that will give me just cause for offence, my friend, and so I promise not to be offended."

"Well then, sir, you know I have always lived amongst Dissenters, so I know pretty well who and what they are. You will agree with me, that there are many excellent people among them, and there are some learned people among them; but generally they have but little learning. Very often their attention has been almost solely directed to a single point of doctrine which itself forms the ground of their dissent from the Church—just as with me; though I do not think the Church is quite right on some other matters, yet I should not separate from it could I be persuaded that the Church was right about Baptism. That has always been my one great stumbling-block. But I think, sir, speaking with all respect for yourself, that there is one great cause in the Church ministers themselves which has kept the Dissenters from coming back to the Church. I know that this has more to do with the past than the present; I know too that it could not of itself justify any one in separating from the Church. But, sir, look at the class of people Dissenters are of, in this country; their whole strength lies in the middle and the small-trade class. There are among them comparatively very few rich and educated, very few poor. You will say the love of the power and position which those people obtain for themselves in the meeting-house, but which they could not possess, in the same way, in the Church, naturally draws them to the Dissenters. That is no doubt partly true; giving them also credit—as I am sure you do, sir—for higher motives. But I see another reason; and that is, the wide difference between the Church ministers and the people."

"I see what you mean," said the Vicar: "the difference in their social position. I admit that the social position of the dissenting preacher is more on a level with that class of which, as you say, Dissenters are chiefly composed than is that of the Clergy. But then, Mr. Dole, the Church does not only retain its hold on the upper and the educated classes, but also on the poor (of course I speak generally; for there are, alas! a large number of these which are beyond the reach of any religious ministrations whatever)."

"Ah, yes, sir, that's the very point. I think in times past the Church ministers have stood too much on their social and worldly dignity: they have made too much of the man, and too little of the office. It's different now almost every where. But you see, sir, this just separated them from the tradespeople, but it didn't separate them from the poor. They didn't feel their pride wounded when they took the horny hand of the labourer; but it was a greater trial of humility to shake hands with the tradesman over the counter, and to go and sit down in the parlour behind the shop, in the same friendly way in which they visited the poor cottagers. Then, you know, sir, there were many other ways in which this class was neglected: we think it was lest too great attention should lead to too great familiarity. The wealth and education of a tradesman perhaps sometimes made his social position border too closely on that of the Church minister, and perhaps the minister felt it his duty carefully to guard the narrow barrier; but, oh, dear me, sir, what is all that compared with the work God has given him to do! I don't think that one who has the salvation of his people at heart will stop to consider whether a friendly, faithful pastoral visit may or may not result in a more familiar nod from his parishioners for the future. Do you know, sir, I think this is one of the loose stones in your spiritual House."

"I agree with much that you have said, as regards past years: but you must not put all down to pride; you must make more allowances for men's peculiar habits, and circumstances, and manners. Only just now you excused a kindred fault in yourself on the ground of private cares and anxieties. However, our views on this matter are not far apart. I consider, with you, that a clergyman's office overrides all social distinctions; and that he should be equally at home at the squire's mansion, the tradesman's parlour, and the meanest cottage in his parish; none should be too high for his familiarity, none too low for his friendship: as Chaucer says, 'the beggar is his brother.' His social position is certainly as nothing compared with his official, and should always be made subservient to it. I cannot understand how any clergyman, who rightly estimates the high dignity of his sacred office as a priest, can take a different view from this. However—God be praised!—times are altered in this respect: the Clergy have thrown away almost every where that reserve which no doubt lost to the Church many of the class which the Dissenters have gained. And we see now the good results; for in thousands of parishes the sons and daughters of these very people are working hand-in-hand with their Pastor, and are among the most zealous and faithful children of the Church, bringing again within the walls of her Temples multitudes of those who have been fellow-wanderers with themselves, and so helping to repair, one by one, the many breaches which have, alas! been made in the House of the Lord."

CHAPTER XV

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THE FONT

"Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of heaven."

Luke xviii. 16.