Résumé · The spiritual life of the parish had left the church, had followed the crooked paths of politics to Parliament, had found diversion in dissenting chapels, yawned a little over art, and barred its credulous head before science. Its celestial aspiration was buried with the dead in the churchyard. Religion had become a mole, and was only noticed when from time to time a new "cast" appeared among the old mounds in the churchyard. The church held possession of the dead bodies, the living had their hearts full of "Progress". Of course they went to church, but for amusement, not for worship. The parson was a man of gifts, a speaker who could hold the attention. But when they went home it was with the same emotions as they would have carried away from a theatrical performance or an impressive lecture. Their imagination was stirred, but no religious life lived in them. Had they grown out of their religion? Was the religious feeling about to become homeless, perhaps vanish altogether? Were the small beer of the Gruntvigians and the acrid lees of the Evangelicals signs that the cask was almost empty?