that religion,
socialism, militarism, and revolution possibly reserve a store of cogent
surprises for the economist, utilitarian, and whig.

In 1865 he was invited to prepare a new edition of his Church history.
Whilst he was mustering the close ranks of folios which had satisfied a
century of historians, the world had moved, and there was an increase of
raw material to be measured by thousands of volumes. The archives which
had been sealed with seven seals had become as necessary to the serious
student as his library. Every part of his studies had suffered
transformation, except the fathers, who had largely escaped the
crucible, and the canon law, which had only just been caught by the
historical current. He had begun when Niebuhr was lecturing at Bonn and
Hegel at Berlin; before Tischendorf unfolded his first manuscript;
before Baur discovered the Tuebingen hypothesis in the congregation of
Corinth; before Rothe had planned his treatise on the primitive church,
or Ranke had begun to pluck the plums for his modern popes. Guizot had
not founded the _Ecole des Chartes_, and the school of method was not
yet opened at Berlin. The application of instruments of precision was
just beginning, and what Prynne calls the heroic study of records had
scarcely molested the ancient reign of lives and chronicles. None had
worked harder at his science and at himself than Doellinger; and the
change around him was not greater than the change within. In his early
career as a teacher of religion he had often shrunk from books which
bore no stamp of orthodoxy. It was long before he read Sarpi or the
_Lettres Provinciales_, or even Ranke's _Popes_, which appeared when he
was thirty-five, and which astonished him by the serene ease with which
a man who knew so much touched on such delicate ground. The book which
he had written in that state of mind, and with that conception of
science and religion, had only a prehistoric interest for its author. He
refused to reprint it, and declared that there was hardly a sentence fit
to stand unchanged. He lamented that he had lost ten years of life in
getting his bearings, and in learning, unaided, the most difficult craft
in the world. Those years of apprenticeship without a master were the
time spent on his _Kirchengeschichte_. The want of training remained. He
could impart knowledge better than the art of learning. Thousands of his
pupils have acquired connected views of religion passing through the
a