Whether 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 did not preach the Gospel; that, in fact, I was the cause of their leaving the services; that I was the schismatic, for I was separated from Christ:  they only, and that for a good reason, had separated from the communion of the Church of England, which I misrepresented.