ing. It has caught
either a Sydney Smith or a Tartar.

He has too much humour to be a bigot, and too much humanity to be
satisfied with a cell. For the moment he seems to embrace Original Sin,
to fling his arms round the idea of an offended God, and to shout at
the top of his voice that there is no violence to his reason and to his
common sense which he cannot contemplate and most gladly accomplish, in
the name of Tradition; but the pulses cool, the white heat of enthusiasm
evaporates, fears take wing as we grow older, and whispers from the
outer world of advancing and conquering men find their way into the
oldest blockhouse ever built against the movements of thought.

"Science," says Dr. Inge, "has been the slowly advancing Nemesis which
has overtaken a barbarised and paganised Christianity. She has come with
a winnowing fan in her hand, and she will not stop till she has
thoroughly purged her floor."

I am sure Ronald Knox was never meant to shut his eyes and stop his ears
against this movement of truth, and I am almost sure that he will
presently find it impossible not to look, and not to listen.

And then . . . what then?

DR. L.P. JACKS

JACKS, LAWRENCE PEARSALL, Principal of Manchester College, Oxford, since
1915; Professor of Philosophy, Manchester College, Oxford, since 1903;
Editor of the _Hibbert Journal_ since its foundation, 1902; b.
Nottingham, 1860; m. 1889 Olive Cecilia, d. of late Rev. Stopford
Brooke. Educ.: University School, Nottingham; University of London
(M.A., 1886); Manchester College; Goettingen; Harvard, U.S.A.; Hon. M.A.,
Oxford; Hon. L.L.D., Glasgow; Hon. D.D. Harvard; entered Ministry as
assistant to Rev. Stopford Brooke, in Bedford Chapel, 1887; subsequently
at Renshaw Street Chapel, Liverpool, and the Church of the Messiah,
Birmingham.

[Illustration: Dr. L.P. Jacks]

CHAPTER IV

DR. L.P. JACKS

_As an excellent amateur huntsman once said to me, "If you must
cast, lead the hounds into the belief that they are doing it
themselves_."--JOHN ANDREW DOYLE.

One of the great ladies of Oxford was telling me the other day that she
remembers a time when friends of hers refused, even with averted eyes
and a bottle of smelling salts at the nose, to go down the road where
Mansfield College had presumed to raise its red walls of Nonconformity.

To-day Manchester College, the seat of Unitarianism, stands on this same
dissenting road, and thither the ladies of Oxford go up