e ones. That is, he was "viewy," in a bad sense of the word. He
was not satisfied intellectually with things as they are; he was
critical, impatient to reduce things to system, pushed principles too
far, was fond of argument, partly from pleasure in the exercise, partly
because he was perplexed, though he did not lay anything very much to
heart.

They neither of them felt any special interest in the controversy going
on in the University and country about High and Low Church. Sheffield
had a sort of contempt for it; and Reding felt it to be bad taste to be
unusual or prominent in anything. An Eton acquaintance had asked him to
go and hear one of the principal preachers of the Catholic party, and
offered to introduce him; but he had declined it. He did not like, he
said, mixing himself up with party; he had come to Oxford to get his
degree, and not to take up opinions; he thought his father would not
relish it; and, moreover, he felt some little repugnance to such
opinions and such people, under the notion that the authorities of the
University were opposed to the whole movement. He could not help looking
at its leaders as demagogues; and towards demagogues he felt an
unmeasured aversion and contempt. He did not see why clergymen, however
respectable, should be collecting undergraduates about them; and he
heard stories of their way of going on which did not please him.
Moreover, he did not like the specimens of their followers whom he fell
in with; they were forward, or they "talked strong," as it was called;
did ridiculous, extravagant acts; and sometimes neglected their college
duties for things which did not concern them. He was unfortunate,
certainly: for this is a very unfair account of the most exemplary men
of that day, who doubtless are still, as clergymen or laymen, the
strength of the Anglican Church; but in all collections of men, the
straw and rubbish (as Lord Bacon says) float on the top, while gold and
jewels sink and are hidden. Or, what is more apposite still, many men,
or most men, are a compound of precious and worthless together, and
their worthless swims, and their precious lies at the bottom.

CHAPTER IV.

Bateman was one of these composite characters: he had much good and much
cleverness in him; but he was absurd, and he afforded a subject of
conversation to the two friends as they proceeded on their walk. "I wish
there was less of fudge and humbug everywhere," said Sheffield; "one
might