my extracts from Newman's Sermons were more pointed, or whether
I became more impatient with my congregation, I cannot tell, but it was
very evident that my words were beginning to take effect at last; for as
I went on preaching and protesting against the people and against
schism, my "bass viol" called on me one day, and said, "If you go on
preaching that doctrine, you will drive away the best part of your
congregation." "Excuse me," I answered, "not the best part; you mean the
worse part." "Well," ho said, "you will see."

On the following Sunday, I gave out my text, and had scarcely read three
pages of my manuscript when I heard a voice say, "Now we will go." With
this, the "bass viol," the other fiddles, the clarionet, the ophicleide,
and the choir, came stumping down the gallery stairs, and marched out.
Some of the congregation followed their example, with the determination
never to come back to the Church again. I waited till the noise was
over, and then went on with my sermon meekly, and thought myself a
martyr for Church principles.

I little thought that the people were being martyred; yet they were
right, and enlightened in the truth, while I was altogether in the dark,
and knew nothing about it. From this time there was a constant feud
between the parishioners and myself. I thought that they were
schismatics; and they knew that I was unconverted, and did not preach
the Gospel.

One day, a Dissenter called to pay a burial fee for the funeral of his
child, which he had purposely omitted paying at the proper time because
he wished to tell me a piece of his mind. I was absent on the occasion
on some architectural or archaeological business, which was to me all
important. "I know," he said, "why you went away and would not bury my
child." "Do you?" I asked. "Yes; it was because I am a Dissenter." "Oh!"
I said, "I would bury you all to-morrow if I could; for you are no good,
and can do none either."

This went round the parish like wildfire, and did not advance my
popularity or do my cause any good.

Seriously at this time I thought that separation from the Church of
England was a most deadly sin--it was schism. Idolatry and murder were
sins against the Mosaic law; but this was a sin against the Church. I
little dreamt then that many of the people with whom I thus contended,
and whom I grieved so much, were real spiritual members of Christ, and
had only ceased to be members of the Church of England because I d