Now all this was not carried without considerable opposition. There was a hubbub, of course. The parish raved about "the restoration of Popery." The rector smiled and alluded suavely to "a reversion to first principles." The parish protested--fumed--threatened. A section of it growled, and stayed away; a larger section growled, but continued to attend. The bulk of it, however, ceased to growl, for it discovered that there was, on the whole, nothing so very terrible about all this; then it entered heartily, and with not a little enthusiasm, into the new order of things. Apart from any intrinsic merit underlying the new system there were many causes at work, all gravitating towards its general acceptance. The rector was wealthy, and did a great deal for the town. He was very popular and very persuasive, and it would be a mere question of time to carry the greater portion of his flock with him. He was a resolute man--not obstinate, simply determined--and where principle was involved he was adamant. Other considerations carried him through. Apart from his reputation for learning--though this involved a wide and general knowledge rather than erudition in any particular branch--he was a man of considerable means, and was open-handed to a fault. The other was his enormous personal popularity, for he was the most kind-hearted and genial of men. He had the same sunny smile, the same cheerful greeting, for those whom he knew to be in opposition to him--for those who went to chapel, and for those who went nowhere. So he was on all sides voted a "good fellow," "the right sort," "a charming man," or "a perfect gentleman," according to the station in life or the sex of his admirers.