"You should have heard," said Douglas, eagerly, "the pitched battles he and I fought at vacation over the vexed question of High and Low Church. I just went for him; and anyone overhearing would have thought me an itinerant pedlar of theology—in the vulgar tongue, street preacher—scorning all form as Papal; one would have thought me encased in Gladstonian armour of Disestablishment, to have heard my harangue. Poor Bob; in vain he expatiated on the glories of the ancient fathers; in vain he took all the saints out for an airing; in vain he talked of the ritual coming to us from the Jews of old; in vain he asserted that Ritualism had brought life and vigour into a slumbering church; in vain he talked of the old fox-hunting clergy; in vain he talked of what a glorious thing for our church to give in a little, and Rome to give in less; of how union would be strength, and of the brave front we would show to all Christendom; of all we could do in stamping out infidelity and rationalism; in fact, he was sanguine of taking in everybody; all dissenters were to join us en masse. Upon my word, Bob was eloquent; I assure you, he was so enthusiastic, that in my mind's eye I saw the whole human family— black, white, and copper-coloured, London belles and factory girls, swells and sweeps—all with one voice singing the most pronounced of High Church hymns, a cross in every hand, and all clothed, not by Worth or a London tailor, but in the garb of monk and nun. His earnestness so carried me away that I did not awake to myself and things of earth until I felt the pins sticking into my flesh under my monkish robe. I then thought it time to don the armour of the Low Churchman, and come to the rescue of the human family, engaged, clothed and ornamented as above. So, to slaughter the vision, I fell to by telling him he belonged to the Anglo-Catholics; was as one with the Greek Catholics, and any liberal Catholics in the Latin Church who did not accept extreme Roman Catholic views."
"And what answer did you receive from Father Douglas?" enquired
Bertram; "did he acknowledge the truth of your charge?"
"Yes, by Jove, he did; he acknowledged that the union of the Anglican with the Roman communion was the dearest wish of his heart; that he would strain every nerve in the struggle to bring about its fulfilment; that though, no doubt, infidelity was making rapid strides, still churchmen generally united in thinking that before long, and for the common good, petty differences would be sunk in the grand magnitude of the act of the union of the churches, when infidelity would be drowned in the waves of truth."
"And a grand, majestic scheme," said Vaura; "but we are too easy-going in our religious paces to carry it out; to be sure, we all go to church to-day; but why? Because, forsooth, it is respectable and fashionable. But, I believe that where the ceremonial is conducted in the most imposing manner—and the worship of the King of Kings could not be conducted with too much splendour—that there, we gay butterflies of to-day, are compelled to think of whose presence we are in, are awed into the thought of whose honour all this is done in. Yes, one there has other thoughts than one's neighbour's tout ensemble."
"There is something in what you and Robert say, Vaura," said her godmother; "but, to tell the truth, I bother myself very little as to our church differences. Disestablishment, by Hon. Gladstone, is a real unrest to me."
"Oh, I don't know; let it stand or fall by its own merit," said
Douglas.
"Yes, I go with Gladstone," cried Bertram; "that 'stand and deliver' tithe business has given the church a bad odour in the nostrils of dissenters."
"Still, I fear, should we sever Church and State," said Vaura, "that other old institutions will topple over. Events seem every day to be educating us up to preparing us for greater changes than disestablishment. 'Tis, indeed, 'a parting of the ways.' The Church Established seemed a strong wall or fortress supporting other (some would say) old fancies. I must confess in this, our very pleasant age of novelties, I like to know there is something old still in its niche of time."
"Yes, I see; I must now sing a requiem over the departing forms of
Miss Vernon and Father Douglas, as they pass into the arms of Pope
Pius at Rome," said Roland, jestingly.
"Not over me, my dear boy; I am too comfortable where I am. I expect you, Mr. Bertram, are this moment wondering that a woman of to-day can interest herself in anything so old as the Church; but methinks even the butterfly (that we are named after) is in a quieter mood when the sun is behind a cloud, and he cannot see the beauteous flowers; we, too, have our dreamy quiet."