surface of the reader's heart that it can be appealed to at any moment and is relieved by the appeal. This nearness of emotion supplies a dangerous rhetorical weapon which it is easy to wield in accordance with preconceived opinions. Moral indignation is skilfully enlisted on one side only, and a partial standard of judgment is applied. It is easier to point out this danger than to say how it can be avoided. We cannot altogether omit moral judgment without degrading the subject and losing the sense of its real issues. Especially in ecclesiastical matters ought our moral standard to be lofty. All that we can do is to apply it impartially, and regulate our judgment fairly by a view of all the conditions of the time. Generally this method leaves us a sense of disappointment. Heroes are dwarfed and great events seem robbed of their greatness. It is hard to admit that if we cannot level up, fairness demands that we should level down. But this is the first part of a process which will lead to the discovery of deeper truths. Better than hero-worship is the discovery of great principles. If truth requires us to admit grave defects and serious errors, let us then in all charity attempt to discover what good remains. The history of the Church too often tells the story of human imperfection and frailty—of the passionate pursuit of unworthy or trivial ends. This ought not to turn our eyes from the good which was mingled with the ill, or make us forget that the good, whether great or small, would not be fostered by any other means.
I turn to another point Ecclesiastical history is necessarily concerned with the growth of opinions;
