“Ah! and with _that_ razor will she cut her own throat. The present state of things, Bryan, _cannot last_: that, remember, is the strongest point in my argument; a revolution must come. It depends on the—religious bodies—what sort of a revolution it shall be. And, whereas, in the case of their opposing or even hanging back, they might find themselves exceedingly uncomfortable under the new _régime_, don’t you see that if Christianity were regarded as the friend and ally of Socialism (I don’t say the nursing mother, which is, however, true), there would be no difficulty at all in treating ecclesiastical property as belonging to the nation, but used, rent-free, for public purposes, like stores, art-galleries, museums, etc.?” “I see; and if the Church could see, it would be all very well; but that day will never dawn, Ernest.” “I confess that I have more hope of Protestantism,” said Mr. Clare; “and yet the Roman Church as a whole is in herself a magnificent Commune. She understands human nature better than any Protestant body; and her missionaries and religious orders have always steadily upheld the true worth of manual labor.” “Aha! I expected that! Some one said of you the other day, ye spalpeen, that ye dignified your trade.” “Did you say that I hoped my trade might dignify me? It is quite true, Bryan; there’s nothing like working with one’s hands to keep the body in health and the soul at peace. I wish every clergyman and brain-worker in the country had some handicraft to work at for an hour or two every day; though not in the present condition of the labor market,” he hastened to add, with a smile. “Well, as between labor and capital, I’m afraid most of the clergy would choose capital,” said Father McClosky with a grin. The rector of St. Andrew’s also had his private protest to make. “I’ve read that book of Bellamy’s, my dear Clare,” he said, “and, while I admit that his Utopia would be an ideal state of affairs, I see two reasons why it can never be realized. In the first place, if earth were so delightful a place, man—the average man—would never long for heaven. Of course, religious people might; but I mean, as I say, the average man.” “‘And so shall we ever be with the Lord!’” quoted Ernest Clare. “That is the true sweetness of heaven, rector, and no earthly happiness can lessen it. As for your average man,—well, in the first place the average of those days will be considerably higher than the present, you know; and in the second I fancy we shall all need to rise far above any average that is ever likely to prevail, before we get to heaven at all.” “That is very true,” said the rector. “But don’t you think that a Commune would tend to reduce all alike to a uniform dead level of the commonplace?”