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 was 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 remaining 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 neck-handkerchief, a shoe-horn, a small slate, a large
clasp-knife, a hammer, and a handsome inlaid writing-desk.
"I like these rides into the country," said Vincent, as they began
eating, "the country loses its effect on me when I live in it, as you
do; but it is exquisite as a zest. Visit it, do not live in it, if you
would enjoy it. Country air is a stimulus; stimulants, Mr. Reding,
should not be taken too often. You are of the country party. I am of no
party. I go here and there--like the bee--I taste of everything, I
depend on nothing."
Sheffield said that this was rather belonging to all parties than to
none.
"That is impossible," answered Vincent; "I hold it to be altogether
impossible. You can't belong to two parties; there's no fear of it; you
might as well attempt to be in two places at once. To be connected with
both is to be united with neither. Depend on it, my young friend,
antagonist principles correct each other. It's a piece of philosophy
which one day you will thank me for, when you are older."
"I have heard of an American illustration of this," said Sheffield,
"which certainly confirms what you say, sir. Professors in the United
States are sometimes of two or three religions at once, according as we
regard them historically, personally, or officially. In this way,
perhaps, they hit the mean."
Vincent, though he so often excited a smile in others, had no humour
himself, and never could make out the difference between irony and
earnest. 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 paradox, I am afraid; that parties were
good things, or rather necessary things."
"You don't do me justice," answered Vincent, "if this is what you think
I deny. I halve your words; parties are not good, but necessary; like
snails, I neither envy them their small houses, nor try to lodge in them
myself."
"You mean," said Carlton, "that parties 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 religious professors
who say that it is sinful to engage in worldly though necessary
occupations; but that the reprobate undertake them, and work for the
elect."
"There will always be persons enough in the world who like to be party
men, without being told to be so," said Vincent; "it's our business to
turn them to account, to use them, but to keep aloof. I take it, all
parties are partly right, only they go too far. I borrow from each, I
co-operate with each, as far as each is right, and no further. Thus I
get good from all, and I do good to all; for I countenance each, so far
as it is true."
"Mr. Carlton meant more than that, sir," said Sheffield; "he meant that
the existence of parties was not only necessary and useful, but even
right."
"Mr. Carlton is not the man to make paradoxes," said Vincent; "I suspect
he would not defend the extreme opinions, which, alas, exist among us at
present, and are progressing every day."
"I was speaking of political parties," said Carlton, "but I am disposed
to extend what I said to religious also."
"But, my good Carlton," said Vincent, "Scripture speaks against
religious parties."
"Certainly I don't wish to oppose Scripture," said Carlton, "and I speak
under correction of Scripture; but I say this, that whenever and
wherever a church does not decide religious points, so far does it leave
the decision to individuals; and, since you can't expect all people to
agree together, you must have different opinions; and the expression of
those different opinions, by the various persons who hold them, is what
is called a party."
"Mr. Carlton has been great, sir, on the general subject before dinner,"
said Sheffield, "and now he draws the corollary, that whenever there are
parties in a church, a church may thank itself for them. They are the
certain effect of private judgment; and the more private judgment you
have, the more parties you will have. You are reduced, then, to this
alternative, no toleration or else party; and you must recognise party,
unless you refuse toleration."
"Sheffield words it more strongly than I should do," said Carlton; "but
really I mean pretty much what he says. Take the case of the Roman
Catholics; they have decided many points of theology, many they have not
decided; and wherever there is no ecclesiastical decision, there they
have at once a party, or what they call a 'school;' and when the
ecclesiastical decision at length appears, then the party ceases. Thus
you have the Dominicans and Franciscans contending about the Immaculate
Conception; they went on contending because authority did not at once
decide the question. On the other hand, when Jesuits and Jansenists
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 Essayist, is not
preferring the Church of Rome to the Church of England?"
Carlton laughed; "You won't suspect me of that, I think," he answered;
"no; all I say is, that our Church, from its constitution, admits,
approves of private judgment; and that private judgment, so far forth as
it is admitted, necessarily involves parties; the slender private
judgment allowed in the Church of Rome admitting occasional or local
parties, and the ample private judgment allowed in our Church
recognizing parties as an element of the Church."
"Well, well, my good Carlton," said Vincent, frowning and looking wise,
yet without finding anything particular to say.
"You mean," said Sheffield, "if I understand you, that it is a piece of
mawkish hypocrisy to shake the head and throw up the eyes at Mr. this or
that for being the head of a religious party, while we return thanks for
our pure and reformed Church; because purity, reformation, apostolicity,
toleration, all these boasts and glories of the Church of England,
establish party action and party spirit as a cognate blessing, for which
we should be thankful also. Party is one of our greatest ornaments, Mr.
Vincent."
"A sentiment or argument does not lose in your hands," said Carlton;
"but what I meant was simply that party leaders are not dishonourable in
the Church, unless Lord John Russell or Sir Robert Peel hold a
dishonourable post in the State."
"My young friend," said Vincent, finishing his mutton, and pushing his
plate from him, "my two young friends--for Carlton is not much older
than Mr. Sheffield--may you learn a little more judgment. When you have
lived to my age" (viz. two or three years beyond Carlton's) "you will
learn sobriety in all things. Mr. Reding, another glass of wine. See
that poor child, how she totters under the gooseberry-pudding; up, Mr.
Sheffield, and help her. The old woman cooks better than I had expected.
How do you get your butcher's meat here, Carlton? I should have made the
attempt to bring you a fine jack I saw in our kitchen, but 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 Mr. Willis of St. George's a friend of yours, Mr. Reding?"
asked Vincent.
Charles started; "I knew him a little ... I have seen him several
times."
"You know he left us," continued Vincent, "and joined the Church of
Rome. Well, it is credibly reported that he is returning."
"A melancholy history, anyhow," answered Charles; "most melancholy, if
this is true."
"Rather," said Vincent, setting him right, as if he had simply made a
verbal mistake, "a most happy termination, you mean; the only thing that
was left for him to do. You know he went abroad. Any one who is
inclined to Romanize should go abroad; Carlton, we shall be sending you
soon. Here things are softened down; there you see the Church of Rome as
it really is. I have been abroad, and should know it. Such heaps of
beggars in the streets of Rome and Naples; so much squalidness and
misery; no cleanliness; an utter want of comfort; and such superstition;
and such an absence of all true and evangelical seriousness. They push
and fight while Mass is going on; they jabber their prayers at railroad
speed; they worship the Virgin as a goddess; and they see miracles at
the corner of every street. Their images are awful, and their ignorance
prodigious. Well, Willis saw all this; and I have it on good authority,"
he said mysteriously, "that he is thoroughly disgusted with the whole
affair, and is coming back to us."
"Is he in England now?" asked Reding.
"He is said to be with his mother in Devonshire, who, perhaps you know,
is a widow; and he has been too much for her. Poor silly fellow, who
would not take the advice of older heads! A friend once sent him to me;
I could make nothing of him. I couldn't understand his arguments, nor he
mine. It was no good; he would make trial himself, and he has caught
it."
There was a short pause in the conversation; then Vincent added, "But
such perversions, Carlton, I suppose, thinks to be as necessary as
parties in a pure Protestant Church."
"I can't say you satisfy me, Carlton," said Charles; "and I am happy to
have the sanction of Mr. Vincent. Did political party make men rebels,
then would political party be indefensible; so is religious, if it
leads to apostasy."
"You know the Whigs _were_ accused in the last war," said Sheffield, "of
siding with Bonaparte; accidents of this kind don't affect general rules
or standing customs."
"Well, independent of this," answered Charles, "I cannot think religious
parties defensible on the considerations which justify political. There
is, to my feelings, something despicable in heading a religious party."
"Was Loyola despicable," asked Sheffield, "or St. Dominic?"
"They had the sanction of their superiors," said Charles.
"You are hard on parties surely, Reding," said Carlton; "a man may
individually write, preach, and publish what he believes to be the
truth, without offence; why, then, does it begin to be wrong when he
does so together with others?"
"Party tactics are a degradation of the truth," said Charles.
"We have heard, I believe, before now," said 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 difficult to conceive," said Vincent, "than any statement
which has been hazarded this afternoon."
"Not at all difficult," answered Carlton: "do you mean that there is
only one way of gaining influence? surely there is such a thing as
unconscious influence?"
"I'd as easily 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 effect. Effects imply agents, agency, will and consciousness."
"There are different modes of influence," interposed Sheffield;
"influence is often spontaneous and almost necessary."
"Like the light on Moses' face," said Carlton.
"Bonaparte is said to have had an irresistible smile," said Sheffield.
"What is beauty itself, but a spontaneous influence?" added Carlton;
"don't you recollect 'the lovely young Lavinia' in Thomson?"
"Well, gentlemen," said Vincent, "when I am Chancellor I will give a
prize essay on 'Moral Influence, its Kinds and Causes,' and Mr.
Sheffield 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 cottage; but the terse _littera scripta_ abridges
wondrously the rambling _vox emissa_; and there might be other things
said in the course of the conversation which history has not
condescended to record. Anyhow, we are obliged now to usher them again
into the room where they had dined, and where they found tea ready laid,
and the kettle speedily forthcoming. The bread and butter were
excellent; and the party did justice to them, as if they had not lately
dined. "I see you keep your tea in tin cases," said Vincent; "I am for
glass. Don't spare the tea, Mr. Reding; Oxford men do not commonly fail
on that head. Lord Bacon says the first and best juice of the grape,
like the 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 '_lagrima_.' So it is with
tea, and with coffee too. Put in a large quantity, pour on the water,
turn off the liquor; turn it off at once--don't let it stand; it becomes
poisonous. I am a great patron of tea; the poet truly says, 'It cheers,
but not inebriates.' It has sometimes a singular effect upon my nerves;
it makes me whistle--so people tell me; I am not conscious of it.
Sometimes, too, it has a dyspeptic effect. I find it does not do to 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 breakfast but acid wine and grapes; this is the other extreme, and
has before now affected me awfully. Yet acids, too, have a soothing
sedative effect upon one; lemonade especially. But nothing suits me so
well as tea. Carlton," he continued mysteriously, "do you know the late
Dr. Baillie's preventive of the flatulency which tea produces? Mr.
Sheffield, do you?" Both gave up. "Camomile flowers; a little camomile,
not a great deal; some people chew rhubarb, but a little camomile in the
tea is not perceptible. Don't make faces, Mr. Sheffield; a little, I
say; a little of everything is best--_ne quid nimis_. Avoid all
extremes. So it is with sugar. Mr. Reding, you are putting too much into
your tea. I lay down this rule: sugar should not be a substantive
ingredient in tea, but an adjective; that is, tea has a natural
roughness; sugar is only 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 misunderstand 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; however, they are accused of wishing to make a display, of
aiming at influence and power, of loving agitation, and so on. I cannot
deny that some things they have done have an unpleasant appearance, and
give plausibility to the charge. I wish they had, at certain times,
acted otherwise. Meanwhile, I do think it but fair to keep in view that
the existence of parties is no fault of theirs. They are but claiming
their birthright as Protestants. When the Church does not speak, others
will speak instead; and learned men have the best right to speak. Again,
when learned men speak, others will attend to them; and thus the
formation of a party is rather the act of those who follow than of those
who lead."