an Catholics . . . have to serenade the British public from
the drive; we Anglican Catholics have the _entree_ to the
drawing-room.

His enthusiasm for the Roman service was such that in one place

I had to travel for three quarters of an hour to find a church
where my manner of celebrating, then perhaps more reminiscent of
the missal than of the Prayer Book, was tolerated even in a Mass of
Devotion.

About this time I celebrated at a community chapel. One of the
brethren was heard to declare afterwards that if he had known what
I was going to do he would have got up and stopped me.

At the conclusion of one of his celebrations abroad, an Englishman in
the congregation exclaimed, "Thank God that's over." After his first
sermon in Trinity Chapel, an undergraduate ("afterwards not only my
friend but my penitent") was heard to declare excitedly:

"Such fun! The new Fellow's been preaching heresy--all about
Transubstantiation."

Such fun! This note runs through the whole of _A Spiritual AEneid_. A
thoroughly undergraduate spirit inspires every page save the last.
Religion is treated as a lark. It is full of opportunities for plotting
and ragging and pulling the episcopal leg. One is never conscious, not
for a single moment, that the author is writing about Jesus of Nazareth,
Gethsemane, and Calvary. About a Church, yes; about ceremonial, about
mysterious rites, about prayers to the Virgin Mary, about authority, and
about bishops; yes, indeed; but about Christ's transvaluation of values,
about His secret, about His religion of the pure heart and the childlike
spirit, not one single glimpse.

Now let us examine his intellectual position.

In the preface to _Some Loose Stones_[7], written before he went over to
Rome, he explains his position to the modernist:

. . . there are limits defined by authority, within which theorising
is unnecessary and speculation forbidden.

But I should like here to enter a protest against the assumption
. . . that the obscurantist, having fenced himself in behind his wall
of prejudices, enjoys an uninterrupted and ignoble peace.

The soldier who has betaken himself to a fortress is thereby in a
more secure position than the soldier who elects to fight in the
open plain. He has ramparts to defend him. But he has, on the other
hand, ramparts to defend. . . . For him there is no retreat.

The