Bernard Leslie; or, A Tale Of The Last Ten Years

gresley1“Depend upon it, we cannot too closely conform to the direction of the Church. Nothing can be so preposterous as the custom of the present day, to preach against ordinances, when they are so lamentably neglected. It almost looks as if clergymen wished to drive away their congregation on the festivals, in order that they may not have the trouble of performing the service. And then to enlarge on spiritual worship, as if the two were adverse, or incompatible one with the other; whereas the express object of Christian ordinances is to raise the soul to spiritual things. For what do we commemorate the deeds of saints and martyrs, but that, by the contemplation of their zeal, and faith, and holiness, a spirit of emulation may be kindled in our own dull souls? For what do we follow the steps of our blessed Saviour and the prophets and apostles, in frequent fasting and prayer, but that we may inure our souls to self-denial, and raise them above the carnal vanities of life? Have the Christians of the nineteenth century any right to think that they can safely dispense with aids to devotion which the holiest of men in all ages have employed? I am convinced,” continued Mr Manwaring, rising from his seat and speaking with more than usual energy, “I am convinced that our people are perishing by thousands, from the neglect of the means of godliness prepared for them in the Church. This is the grand stumbling-block of the Evangelicals, and is the cause of the comparatively small effect of their exertions upon the masses of the people. Much as I respect the zeal with which they have brought forward many vital and peculiar doctrines, I must freely say, that, practically, they have entirely failed in accomplishing any great amount of good. Their work is hollow and insubstantial, and will not endure the fiery trial.”

It’s my own fault, of course.

When I realised in the course of Stephen Jenner’s Steepleton; or, High Church And Low Church that the novel had been written in response to an earlier, factionally-opposed work, it seemed to me that in the interests of fair play I was obliged to give that earlier work equal air-time. The work in question, Bernard Leslie; or, A Tale Of The Last Ten Years, is a Tractarian manifesto by one of the first people to recognise that the novel could be powerful and far-reaching vehicle for the dissemination of doctrinal positions. William Gresley was already the author of several successful non-fiction works on church history and practice when he turned to fiction as a way of broadening his audience. A number of his works were intended for a younger audience (what we would today call “young adult”), and use tales from history to entertain and preach, but his Bernard Leslie is an unapologetic polemic intended to explain, on one hand, not merely the content of the controversial Tracts For The Times, but their essential rightness, and on the other the many doctrinal and practical failings of the faction that Gresley chooses to call “Evangelical”.

Having struggled through both Bernard Leslie and Steepleton, I have to say that my sympathies are with the Low Church faction. At least Stephen Jenner pretended to be writing a novel for about 50% of his work, before dropping the façade of fiction and lecturing me unmercifully about the treacherous proceedings of the Tractarians and, conversely, the doctrinal soundness of the Low Church. William Gresley, on the other hand, is not even a quarter of the way into his 300-page work before he strips off the gloves.

Bernard Leslie and Steepleton are written on almost exactly the same scheme; a deliberate move on the part of Stephen Jenner, no doubt. Both novels follow a young man through his early education (the only thing that Gresley and Jenner agree on is that education at the time was grossly inadequate, both generally and particularly as a preparation for ordination), his first church appointments, and his subsequent rise to prominence as an advocate for his doctrines. Both start out with their protagonist declaring that he belongs to no faction; after joining a clerical society, eye-opening encounters with various fellow-clergymen, and much reading and reflection, the young ministers eventually come down on one side of the factional fence, though of course Bernard Leslie and Frank Faithful end up on opposite sides. Both works depict their minister-heroes as the personification of correct doctrinal practice. Both devolve into a series of long, hectoring lectures intended to support one position and undermine the other.

(The other thing these novels have in common is their attitude to women, who are essentially invisible in both. Like Frank Faithful, Bernard Leslie marries—and her bare existence is all we ever hear of Mrs Leslie, although her husband takes the opportunity to expound for a full chapter upon the question of whether clergymen should marry.)

It is unclear how much of Stephen Jenner ended up in Steepleton, but Bernard Leslie is clearly a semi-autobiographical work. Ironically, neither William Gresley nor his literary counterpart set out for a career in the church. Here, we are offered only the cryptic comment, Owing to circumstances which need not be detailed, the plan originally laid out for me by my father was abandoned; in reality, Gresley suffered an injury which damaged his eyesight and compelled him to give up his plans to become a barrister: the church was his second choice.

Since Gresley did not condescend to anything as prosaic and unnecessary as “a plot”, his Bernard Leslie is not really a reviewable work. That said, several things did leap off its pages at me, in addition to those issues which Stephen Jenner specifically highlighted in Steepleton—or, more correctly, wrote Steepleton in order to highlight. I think all I can do here is point out what particularly struck me on the way through.

The first thing, perhaps the most significant thing, is William Gresley’s choice to designate his opponents under the title “Evangelical”. Here immediately I stumble into difficulties, because – heaven knows! – I’m no expert in the finer points of the hair-splitting 19th century religious vocabulary. (For example, I’m still trying to figure out why “Puseyism” is a derogatory term.) However mistakenly, I was under the impression that “Low Church” and “Evangelical” were not necessarily interchangeable terms, though there was certainly overlap; although the difference was perhaps one of attitude rather than doctrine.

It seemed to me that by his blanket use of “Evangelical”, William Gresley was unfairly bundling some disparate factions together under a single heading in order to dispose of them collectively with a sometimes misapplied but sweeping condemnation—and I received some support for my uncertain views from some unexpected quarters, in the first place from William Gresley himself, in what struck me as a piece of revealing disingenuousness.

The contentious question of the correct response to the Tracts For The Times raises its head in the district in which Bernard Leslie’s first curacy is situated. The Evangelicals want them denounced, but a High Church clergyman named Mr Manwaring, who becomes Leslie’s doctrinal mentor and the novel’s voice of High Church reason, compels the Tracts’ enemies to admit publically that they haven’t read them. (I don’t have any trouble believing that was frequently the case.) This admission shocks the still-naïve Leslie, who responds by obtaining and studying the Tracts under Mr Manwaring’s tutorage—on the whole embracing them, occasionally pointing out passages which seem to go too far, or act as the expression of a personal opinion rather than church opinion. The first of several chapters devoted to the contents of the Tracts is also where the word “Evangelical” begins to intrude upon the narrative, and concludes with the following footnote:

There is an obvious objection to use a word of so excellent a meaning as “Evangelical” to designate a mere party. There seems, however, no alternative but the substitution of some offensive nickname. I have thought it better, therefore, to employ a word which conveys to all persons the notion which is meant to be expressed, and is not offensive to the party to whom it is applied: though of course I should maintain that High Churchmen are the most truly evangelical, in the right sense of the word,—that is, they keep to Gospel-truth more strictly than others.

Presumably the “offensive nickname” that Bernard Leslie chose not to use was “Low Church”: we may recall that in Steepleton, in all likelihood provoked by this very quote, Stephen Jenner has his Frank Faithful take to himself the term “Low Church” as a badge of honour: Now it is an undeniable fact, which is of great moment in this inquiry, that the appellation “High Church” is assumed—the designation “Low Church” imposed: the one is arrogantly claimed—the other meekly borne.

We might dismiss all this as a fairly childish exchange of name-calling except that, most tellingly, two contemporary publications that embraced Bernard Leslie, both of them unabashedly High Church, to say the least, each expressed unease at the novel’s use of “Evangelical”—indicating that the substitution was indeed a misapplication of the term.

The Gentleman’s Magazine was a publication that lasted for almost 200 years, appearing in monthly issues from 1731 to 1922. During that time it changed content and approach several times, and in the first half of the 19th century was openly a Tory / High Church publication that campaigned against reform and “liberalism” and supported the Tractarians during the controversies of the Oxford Movement. Indeed, so devoted was it to its cause that in its review of Bernard Leslie, which appeared in the August 1843 issue (and must have been of the second edition), it finds itself capable of praising the author in the following terms: He understands the art of composition, and can impart his knowledge in a lively, dramatic form, without weakening its effect, or impairing the dignity of its subject…

If I were to make a list of words that do not describe Bernard Leslie, “lively” and “dramatic” would be somewhere near the top of it. However, doctrine is the real issue. The magazine’s praise is almost unstinting, but even so, evidently a squirm of conscience prompted the reviewer to observe in a footnote: The term “Evangelical,” it has been by some observed, is a misnomer…

And footnotes also intrude in a far more surprising context: The Christian Remembrancer was a High Church magazine that ran from 1819 to 1868, and a prominent vehicle for the leading Tractarians. In the July 1842 issue, Bernard Leslie is one of the works considered at length as part of an examination of “the great movement”: lengthy quotations are included, and Gresley is praised for his clarity of argument and his handling of the Tracts, in particular his ability to distinguish issues, and to separate doctrine from opinion. Yet even here, a caveat suddenly appears: The truth of this remark of course depends upon the sense in which the party term “Evangelical” is used…

Startlingly in some respects, the article in which Bernard Leslie is examined is titled “The Progress Of Anglo-Catholicism”—and startling, too, at least from certain perspectives, is the novel’s attitude to Catholicism, which is declared to be correct in its essentials: it is the Evangelicals who are the enemy, not the Catholics, who have simply, and rather foolishly, allowed a crust of human arrogance to overgrow correct doctrine and appropriate submission to church authority. “Dissenters—Wesleyans, for instance, or Socinians, or Papists, who as we believe, are born and educated in an erroneous system,” declares Mr Manwaring, and so are not to be blamed for their errors, which are circumstantial. The Evangelicals, on the other hand, have with eyes wide open chosen to reject many of the church’s traditional beliefs and practices, and are consequently damned.

My own use of the word “traditional” evokes an involuntary shudder. Even as in Steepleton Stephen Jenner devoted pages to the implications of “hereby” and “thereby”, here William Gresley, via Mr Manwaring, gives us a painfully lengthy and detailed explanation of why “tradition”, often a term of abuse applied to Catholicism and a way of summing up everything wrong with that religion, is actually a good and right thing:

    Mr L. “I begin to think that no satisfactory conclusion can be arrived at, unless we have a regular logical definition of tradition, or at least a mutual understanding as to what it means. Will you tell me, dear sir, what tradition really is?”
    Mr M. “I will endeavour to do so. You are quite right as to the importance of settling the meaning of the term. To have done so would have saved the controversialists a great deal of unnecessary trouble:—To begin, then, secundum artem. Tradition, as I need scarcely remind you, is derived from the Latin word trado, which signifies ‘to hand down’. But it is important to observe, that the English word tradition answers to two Latin words, traditio and traditum. Tradition (traditio) is the act of handing down; a tradition (traditum) is a thing handed down. Now the modes of handing down are various. A thing may possibly be handed down from generation to generation by mere word of mouth, and never committed to writing; or it may be handed down in writing; or it may be handed down for two or three generations by word of mouth, and then committed to writing…”

And so on.

Of course, within the context of the Oxford Movement this stance towards Catholicism is not surprising at all: at the very heart of the movement was a revival of traditional practices, and the propagation of the idea of the Established Church as a truly “catholic” body. However, when you have become accustomed to the bitterly hostile anti-Catholic voice that marks so much English literature over a period of some three hundred years, this sudden apparent embrace of Catholicism is jolting, to say the least. On the basis of Bernard Leslie, it is certainly not difficult to understand why the enemies of the Tractarians declared them to be, in truth, “backdoor Catholics”.

In addition to its examination of the Tracts, much of the narrative of this novel concerns the young minister’s efforts to revive various traditional church practices that have been allowed to fall to the wayside under the wicked influence of the Evangelicals. When he is appointed as rector of a parish, Leslie finds things in a deplorable state:

My two predecessors had been, the one, I am sorry to say, negligent in his duties, and the other, who succeeded him, not possessed of a zeal according to knowledge, but one who considered the feelings of the times, rather than the ordinances of the Church, to be the ground of his operation. Many of the practices which he had introduced into the parish were directly opposed to the rubrics and canons…

Deciding that he might as well start as he means to continue, Leslie revives in his parish various discarded practices including fasting, the observance of feast days and daily prayer, re-orders his services with respect to the sermon, psalms and prayers, and introduces a weekly lecture which he uses to explain himself to his bemused parishioners; who, once they understand why these things have been done, embrace them wholeheartedly. (Even The Gentleman’s Magazine found this instantaneous conversion somewhat improbable.) For a while Leslie has things all his own way:

Fortunately, there had not then arisen that wicked newspaper-agitation, which represents conformity to the ordinances of the Church as popery, and the minds of my parishioners had not been poisoned. At the present time, in consequence of the ignorant prejudices of some, and sinful misrepresentation of others, it is very doubtful whether a clergyman who conscientiously acted upon the established order of the Church would not be in danger of offending, or even driving from the Church, many unstable and ill-instructed persons…

But there is one group looking on in deep disapproval—

These were the Dissenters, who abounded in the parish when I arrived there, but, I am thankful to say, have since much diminished in numbers. Manifold were the expedients to which they resorted in order to prejudice me in the eyes of the congregation. Of course, the principal charge against me was, that I was an abettor of popery. What could be so popish as to keep fasts and festivals? What so uncharitable as to revive the Anathasian Creed? What so monstrous as the doctrine of apostolic succession, which unchurched all those who did not belong to the Establishment? Then there was the soul-destroying heresy of baptismal regeneration…

(I have been re-reading The Last Chronicle Of Barset, in which it is observed of the fiercely Evangelical Mrs Proudie – no problem with designating her an Evangelical – that, Services on saints’ days she regarded as rank papacy, and had been known to accuse a clergyman’s wife, to her face, of idolatry, because the poor lady had dated a letter, St. John’s Eve.)

Ah, yes—baptismal regeneration. You might recall that Steepleton devoted three whole chapters to arguing the Low Church stance on baptismal regeneration, clearly in response to what had been said on the High Church position in Bernard Leslie. This was one of the critical divisions between the factions, which (to put it simply and superficially) disagreed on the necessity of baptism, or rather upon whether or not the ceremony did in fact confer “regeneration”. Leslie’s own researches lead him to conclude that baptism is absolutely necessary, that the ceremony cleanses the child of original sin, and that, in suggesting that, “Our Church, in calling baptised children regenerate, speaks the language of charity…she expresses her hope and trust that the baptised person possesses, or, through God’s grace, at some future time may possess, the requisite qualification”, Mr Flavel, an Evangelical who has had great influence upon Leslie up to this point, is either misinterpreting the text or guilty of deliberate sophism. It is upon this point that Leslie turns his back upon Flavel and his followers:

I verily believe it was this discussion about the doctrine of regeneration that saved me from Evangelicalism, into which I was fast descending. I had  been struck with the usefulness and apparent zeal of Mr. Flavel, and others of his way of thinking,—had made him my counsellor, and adopted many of his views. But this discussion staggered me. I did not for a moment consider Mr. Flavel as dishonest; but I thought there must be some strange perversion of the understanding which could explain away the scriptural doctrine held by the Church of baptismal regeneration. If Mr. Flavel could so palpably distort the language of our formularies, supported as they were by Scripture, in one instance, how could I trust his advice in other matters?

And henceforth Leslie studies at the feet of the High Church Mr Manwaring.

The suggestion that the Evangelical Mr Flavel had been guilty of “palpably distort[ing] the language of our formularies” was another thing pounced upon by Stephen Jenner in Steepleton, who retaliated by accusing William Gresley of misunderstanding – or misquoting – the Catechism, in order to support his views on baptismal regeneration; arguing – at great length – that the substitution of “thereby” for “hereby” alters the entire thrust of the very passage he is quoting to make his case.

Be that as it may— We left Bernard Leslie about to have a smackdown with the Dissenters in his parish, who accuse him of “popery” when he reintroduces what he considers to be sound High Church practices:

But the principal cause of their anger was the progress which Church-opinions made, and the secession of some of their own members from the meeting-house. All these things gave ample scope for discussion in a small community like that of High Kirkstall. I was attacked several times, with some bitterness and scurrility, in the radical papers; but of this I took no notice. Tracts and handbills were spread profusely amongst my congregation, though without much effect. I might well have declined to answer them. But as I believed the Dissenters themselves to he a portion of that flock over which, as parochial minister, I was by the providence of God appointed, I thought it a good opportunity, in preference to preaching in the church, where the Dissenters would not hear me, to draw up my views on the subject in the form of a tract or pamphlet, which I circulated amongst them.

What follows is a sixteen-page-long argument against the dissenting stance, which attracted enormous attention at the time of Bernard Leslie‘s publication, to the extent that it was finally reprinted and disseminated as a tract in its own right.

Meanwhile, we also get an illustration of William Gresley’s indulgent view of Catholicism. A new curate arrives in the parish, a Mr Monkton (subtle!), who is devout and hardworking, granted, but who horrifies the congregation and dismays Bernard Leslie by wearing a cassock-like coat, making the sign of the cross, shaving his head to produce a tonsure, and substituting wafers for the wheaten bread generally used during communion. All of these things, however dangerously Papist at first glance, turn out to be some of those silly human additions of which the Catholics are guilty, not wicked but unnecessary and confusing for the congregation. Between scolding and argument, a chastened Mr Monkton is shown the error of his ways, and as a consequence settles down to become a good churchman. (It is, it is clearly implied, just that easy to convert Catholics, if only someone would take the job on!)

Having won over both the Dissenters and the Catholics to his way of thinking, Bernard Leslie then takes on his chief enemies: the conclusion of this novel is a diatribe against the Evangelicals. Many and varied are the ways in which they err, we learn, and somewhat curiously, given the stereotype of the joyless, hectoring, hard-line Evangelical (see also: Mrs Proudie), it seems that their main sin is that they leave their parishioners too much to themselves, and allow too much to depend upon the experience of the individual. Their faith is placed, literally, in personal conversion; it is in conjunction with this that the importance of baptismal regeneration is downplayed. All of this, in Bernard Leslie’s view, is not just wrong but deeply sinful: the Evangelicals are leading their followers into damnation by not “claiming” them at the time they are born, and holding them hard to a single way of proceeding from there. (And if that sounds very much like the Jesuit aphorism, Give me a child until he is seven—, well, I’m sure it’s only a coincidence.)

And here, I think, the problem with the dodgy definition of “Evangelical” rears its head in earnest:

I maintain, therefore, that the unsound and defective views, which I have specified as characteristics of the Evangelical party, are shared by all who belong to that party. All Evangelicals are unsound in the doctrine of baptismal regeneration, and in the doctrine of the one Catholic and Apostolic Church. Not one only here and there, but all. All confound the doctrine of the visible Church with the communion of saints; and all refuse to receive, in its true and natural sense, the doctrines of the Church respecting baptism. All, more or less, exalt the doctrine of justification by faith, to the disparagement of other great doctrines,—though some more than others. All cry down ordinances, and more or less neglect the fasts and festivals appointed by the Church. It is these characteristics which constitute the Evangelical party. Those who do not hold these views are not Evangelicals.

But our friend Bernard is only getting warmed up:

    In a word, it is to be feared that Evangelicalism has so obscured the doctrine of baptismal regeneration, and so unscripturally smoothed the way of repentance, that multitudes have been beguiled to their destruction. Multitudes have been destroyed, not so much by what the Evangelicals teach, as by what they leave untaught…
    They are unsound in the doctrine of the one Catholic and Apostolic Church, confounding it with that of the communion of saints, or the invisible Church, holding it in a different manner from that in which it has been held by the Church universal from the beginning, and adopting the doctrines of the Dissenters.
    They associate with schismatics on the platform and elsewhere, contrary to the express command of Scripture; and by so doing, and by the near approach
which they make to the doctrine and practices of the Dissenters, they have confused the minds of the common people as to the duty and necessity of union with the Church, and the sin and danger of schism. This conduct has been the main cause of the lamentable state of schism and religious discord to which the nation has been reduced,—schism which, alas, has been communicated to our colonies in distant lands, and spread by our influence through the world, so as to impede the advance of Gospel-truth, and render the union of the Church more hopeless than ever…

Fortunately, however, a breath of fresh air is currently blowing through the church—causing much wailing and gnashing of teeth in certain quarters:

    They have now stood forward in a new light. They are no longer contending for the souls of men, but struggling to maintain a waning popularity. They see growing up around them, perhaps settling in their own parishes or neighbourhood, a zealous and laborious body of men who have devoted themselves to restore the ancient energy and purity of the Church. These men are gradually gaining an influence over the public mind, to the prejudice and annoyance of the Evangelicals. Hence their rage against them; and because these men blame as defective the effete Evangelicalism of the day, they are accused of being enemies to the Reformation; and because they endeavour to restore the ancient usages of the Church, which have been sinfully neglected, they are accused of popery and held up as departers from the Church’s discipline by men who err themselves in a tenfold greater and more dangerous degree. The effrontery with which these men accuse their brethren is marvellous. The daily newspapers and monthly magazines have been filled with false charges and injurious reports against those who are endeavouring to raise the tone of religion. Instead of that generous rivalry which ought to influence men engaged in the same great cause of winning souls to Christ, there has sprung up amongst the Evangelicals a bitter hostility and ungenerous jealousy; they bar the kingdom of heaven against men; they neither go in themselves, nor suffer those that are entering to go in…
    Under these circumstances, my feeling with regard to this party is changed. I no longer respect them as I used. They have assumed the attitude, not only of violent partisans of a defective system, but they stand forth as opponents of those who would raise the Church to her true position; and thus are fast approaching the sin of antichrist…

And having thus unburdened himself, William Gresley stops to draw breath:

It may appear to some that these accusations are penned in a spirit of harshness…

Heavens, no, William!—heavens, no…

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13 Responses to “Bernard Leslie; or, A Tale Of The Last Ten Years”

  1. Wow, a book of antidisestablishmentarianism.

  2. I deeply resent your five-word summation of my 4500-word post!

  3. Ah, that’s cheating. You go giving your lead character a name like Bernard Leslie, rather than Godlyman Allevangelicalswillburninhell, and you fool the reader into thinking he might actually be getting a work with a story in it. At least with Frank Faithful you know what you’re up against.

    By the mid 1800s Catholicism wasn’t really a threat to the High Church Anglicans the way the Low Church was; it was a religion for Irishmen and other low forms of life, and the occasional old recusant family like the Dukes of Norfolk, but it wasn’t for the most part competing for the right sort of people. So the Highs could quite happily say that, well, of course it was misguided, but it wasn’t wrong-headed the way the Low movement was. (And at least from an outsider’s perspective the Anglo-Catholics ended up becoming the Catholics in most respects except that inconvenient “submission to Rome” stuff.)

    • The difference being that William Gresley was an experienced novelist by the time he wrote Bernard Leslie, whereas Stephen Jenner only picked up a pen when provoked into it. I admit to being curious about Gresley’s earlier works, although not quite curious enough to actually read one unless forced.

      Well…yes and no. Certainly the accusation that Tractarianism was Catholicism by another name was the standard Low Church position. As they perceived it, the danger of Tractarianism is that it was (wittingly or unwittingly) leading “the right sort of people” back to Catholicism.

      It occurs to me – evidently I’m in a martyrish sort of mood – that I need to try and find a Tractarian novel and an anti-Tractarian novel published about three years later. Bernard Leslie and Steepleton were published when “going over to Rome” was still the Low Church’s theoretical boogeyman. When the news broke of John Henry Newman’s conversion, it must have been quite a moment. (“Bloody hell! We didn’t think he’d really do that!”)

  4. “offensive nicknames”? It’s interesting to note that both “Quakers” and “Methodists” were originally meant to be offensive and insulting (as well as “Yankee Doodle Dandy”, a song originally meant by the British soldiers to ridicule the American rustic bumpkins). Sometimes, the best way to take an insult is to take it as a compliment.
    He also seems to include Martin Luther in his condemnations. “Justification by faith” was Luther’s main reason for splitting from the Catholic church.
    As someone born into the Evangelical United Brethren Church (which then became United Methodist), I would like to argue with this guy some time.

    • Martin Luther is referenced in Bernard Leslie as a kind of Evangelical, meaning well but going off the rails. 🙂

  5. It does sound like the whole high vs low church debate was just a surrogate for catholicism vs protestantism. By being Established, the Anglican church managed to incorporate both sides.

    • As always, the impulse is to turn to Trollope:

          “I never saw anything like you clergymen,” said Eleanor; “You are always thinking of fighting each other.”
          “Either that,” said he, “or else supporting each other. The pity is that we cannot do the one without the other. But are we not here to fight? Is not ours a church militant? What is all our work but fighting, and hard fighting, if it be well done?”
          “But not with each other.”
          “That’s as it may be. The same complaint which you make of me for battling with another clergyman of our own church, the Mohammedan would make against me for battling with the error of a priest of Rome. Yet, surely, you would not be inclined to say that I should be wrong to do battle with such as him. A pagan, too, with his multiplicity of gods, would think it equally odd that the Christian and the Mohammedan should disagree.”
          “Ah! But you wage your wars about trifles so bitterly.”
          “Wars about trifles,” said he, “are always bitter, especially among neighbours. When the differences are great, and the parties comparative strangers, men quarrel with courtesy. What combatants are ever so eager as two brothers?”

  6. I thought the name Manwaring was familiar, and I finally tracked it down. Mr. Manwaring was Lady Susan’s paramour (or possibly just flirt) in Jane Austen’s “Lady Susan”. So of course I had to read it again.

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