the beautiful mountains which before had been so completely veiled that
it was difficult to believe in their existence.

So it was with me. I could see ecclesiastical things, but the more
glorious view of spiritual realities beyond them, in all their full and
vast expanse, was as yet hidden.

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