heard reports which he met neither with encouragement nor denial, but with reserve. Some of his followers began to whisper, "Our great admiral will transfer his flag to another ship." Others said, "The Church of England will be the better for losing a formidable guest. The acorn blown by a chance gust into a china vase, if it continued to grow there would break it up."

In 1845 Newman's secession was not attended by that of as many others as had been expected, though it included one, a great power in himself, the poet Faber, who renounced poetry for a higher work; but it left profound misgivings in the breasts of others, who continued their researches, carried their principles out in their parochial labors, and watched the signs of the times. They had not to wait long. The "Gorham judgment" was pronounced, and within a few years about three hundred, some say four hundred, of the Anglican clergy, as I am informed, had followed his example, many of them to their worldly ruin and that of their families, together with a far larger number of highly educated laymen. Newman's "Lectures" were believed to have assisted many persons in doubt at that crisis. R. H. Hutton, whose work on Newman appears to me far the best thing on the subject which I have seen, wrote in it as follows:

Mr.

When Newman at last made up his mind

thing which he had hitherto written. Never did a voice seem better adapted to persuade without irritating.

I was among the many present at those lectures in 1850, and to me nothing, with the exception of the "Divina Commedia” and Kenelm Digby's wholly uncontroversial "Mores Catholici," had been so impressive, suggestive, and spiritually helpful. I was also struck by their impassioned eloquence, which brought to me the belief that "if this man had chosen for himself a parliamentary career he must have carried all before him." The extreme subtlety which belonged to his intelligence was then shown to be but one of many faculties, and opposed no hindrance to his equal power of exciting vehement emotion, though he did so apparently unconsciously, on this occasion, perhaps, restrained by the solemnity of the subject discussed and the circumstance that the lectures were delivered in a church. Many passages might be cited in illustration of this remark, such as the last half-dozen pages of Lecture 10, contrasting the calamitous condition of the Church in the days of Jansenism, the French Revolution, and Napoleon, when the pope was his prisoner, and when many among the Church's enemies boasted that the papacy was at an end, with the sudden change when her chief enemies had vanished, and there had returned to her an energy and health not hers for a very long preceding time.

bloomed out with a force and freedom such as he never displayed in the Anglican Communion;

remarkable than the celerity with which they were composed. They

were written as they were read-once or twice a week, I think-a rapidity as

The "Lectures on Anglican Difficulties" was the first book generally read, amongst Protestants, in which the measure of his literary power could be adequately taken. ... Here was a great subject with which Newman was perfectly intimate, giving the fullest scope to his powers of orderly and beautiful exposition, and opening a far greater range to his singular genius for gentle and delicate irony than any

His ge

chapters of his "Apologia" followed each other many years later. nius was always stimulated by a sudden pressure.

The

I had become a Catholic more than five years later than Newman. time when I saw most of him was in 1856. Soon after the Catholic University had been opened by him in Dublin at the command of Pope Pius the Ninth, he requested me to deliver at it

a series of lectures on literature. I thought myself incompetent for such a task; but I could not refuse compliance with a wish of his, and, although not a professor, I delivered about a dozen, the substance of two among which was long afterwards (A. D. 1889) published in a volume of essays. When the day for the delivery of the first lecture arrived, Newman invited me to take up my abode in the larger of the two university houses, over which he presided personally, surrounded by a considerable number of Irish students, together with a few foreign youths of distinguished families attracted by his

name.

The arduous character of Newman's enterprise in Dublin became the more striking from the contrast afforded by the humble houses which bore the name of the "Catholic University" to the monumental buildings of Trinity College, Dublin, not to speak of the magnificent homes provided for learning and religion at Oxford and Cambridge by the piety of Catholic ages. The difficulties connected with the creation of a new university are great under the most favorable circumstances; here they were immeasurably increased by the determined opposition of successive governments and Parliaments, which steadily refused to concede to the Catholic University a charter, a public endowment, or university buildings. The opposition was stimulated by a vehement doctrinaire enthusiasm in favor of the "Queen's Colleges," long since admitted to be (excepting that at Belfast) a failure. The purely secular character of those colleges was solemnly protested against by the larger part of Ireland, both Catholic and Protestant, on the double ground that they violated the "rights of parents," nearly all of whom preferred "religious education," and also because in them, though not in popular education, religion was banished from those higher studies with which it is so vitally connected, and banished at a time when youths are deprived of the safeguards of home. The error was a grievous one, and both

England and Ireland feel its consequences to this day. It added a new secular ascendancy to the sectarian one. The poverty to which religious education was thus condemned, besides its more serious consequences. had others with a touch of the ludicrous about them; but, as some one remarked, "No one who laughs with consideration would laugh at such a jest." I confess I was pained by the very humble labors to which Newman seemed so willingly to subject himself. It appeared strange that he should carve for thirty hungry youths, or sit listening for hours in succession to the eloquent visitors who came to recommend a new organist and would accept no refusal from him. Such work should have fallen on subordinates; but the salaries of such it was impossible to provide. The patience with which he bore such trials was marvellous, but he encountered others severer still. I cannot think that he received from Ireland aids proportioned to what ought to have been his. The poor, who had no direct interest in the university, paid for it in large annual contributions several hundreds of thousands of pounds; the middle and higher classes were proportionately less liberal; and there were, perhaps, jealousies besides to which it is now needless to advert. In Ireland, however, Newman found many private friends who honored him aright and were greatly valued by him. Among these were Dr. Moriarty, long the head of "All Hallows College," and later Bishop of Kerry; Dr. Russell, principal of Maynooth, the learned, the accomplished, and the kind; Dr. O'Reilly, S. J.; the late Judge O'Hagan, and others. He worked on,

cheered by the grateful sympathy of men like these, including that great Irish scholar, Eugene O'Curry, to whom he had given the Irish professorship, and whose lectures, the most valuable storehouse of Irish archæology, he attended. He was cheered by the great interests of religion which he believed to be at stake, and by the aid which Irish genius and Irish aspirations, if true to their noblest mission,

must largely, as he also believed, have ministered. In that hope he gave Ireland three of his noblest volumes and seven of the best years of his life. Newman was one of those who could work and wait. I remember his saying to me once, when things were looking dark:

We must not be impatient. Time is necessary for all things. If we fail at present to create a Catholic University there remains another great benefit which we may confer on Ireland. We can in that case fall back upon a second college in the Dublin University, one on as dignified a scale as Trinity College, and in all respects its equal; one doing for Catholics what Trinity College does for Protestants. Such a college would tide over the bad time, and eventually develop into a Catholic University.

Many years have passed since he spoke, but neither a Catholic University nor a Catholic college, founded at once on the two principles of "religious education" and of educational equality. has yet been provided. A Newman was given to Ireland, one longing to make of her what she was named in early Christian times, viz., "the School of the West," and apparently she knew as little what to do with the gift as England had known. The opportunity was lost.

A foundation-stone was laid. On that occasion I wrote an ode, not worthy of its theme, but one aspiration of which may yet be fulfilled. It was that the statue of Newman might one day stand in the chief court of an Irish Catholic University.

When I had been but a few days in Newman's house I fell ill of scarlatina, and the first of my lectures had to be read aloud by another person. I wished to be taken out of that house, lest the infection should spread; but for some time that course was interdicted; and every day, in spite of countless other engagements, Newman found time to sit by my bedside occasionally and delight me by his conversation. When advancing towards convalescence I went to Bray for sea air, and he drove out to see me. I remember urging him

to make an expedition with me, when I was well enough, amid the beautiful scenery of Wicklow, and his answering with a smile that he was full of work more important than the enjoyment of mountains and lakes-a remark which Wordsworth would have thought highly irreverent. I remember also saying to myself, "The ecclesiastical imagination and the mountain worshipping imagination are two very different things; Wordsworth's famous "Tintern Abbey' describes the fields and farms, as they could only river Wye, its woods and waters, its have been described by one whose eye saw things visible and things invisible both. The one thing which it did not see was the great monastic ruin, for of it that poem says not one word; and now here is this great theologian who, when within a few miles of Glendalough Lake, will not visit it, though St. Kevin consecrated it by flinging the beautiful Cathleen from the cliff into its wave beneath." I had to pass many a day at Bray, for my scarlatina was followed by other maladies, and so exhausted my strength that my poor attempts at exercise often ended by my having to lie down at full length on the road. A little later I went to Wicklow, and thence to Killarney, in hopes that the mountain air might restore me. That hope was long unfulfilled. I used to look at Mangerton and say, "Is it possible that I ever climbed a mountain?" But I am degenerating into "inferior matter." At Killarney I met my honored friend, Dr. Moriarty, with whom I had first made acquaintance when he was the head of that admirable missionary college, All Hallows, which the Irish Church owes to a priest of lowly degree and of no high ability, but rich in charity and faitha man to whom far lands have owed many of their best pastors. The bishop was making a visitation of his diocese, and offered me a place in his carriage. I gladly accepted it, and rejoiced the more when I found that our road passed through some of the most beautiful scenery in Europe-that combination of mountain and seacoast which

has ever to me appeared to surpass in spirit-stirring beauty every other kind of scenery. As we drove along by cliff and bay, our discourse was chiefly of Newman. One night we slept at Derrynane, O'Connell's home. He would have liked Newman better than Newman would have liked him.

It was one of fortune's strangest freaks that brought two of Oxford's most eminent sons to Dublin, Dr. Whately, Protestant archbishop there, and Newman. For seven years they dwelt nearly opposite to each other, at the northern and southern sides of St. Stephen's Green; but, I believe, never met once. Newman considered that it was not for him to pay the first visit, and the archbishop perhaps thought that a renewed intimacy with his old friend might excite polemical jealousies in Dublin. I was present, however, at a meeting, the first since their Oxford days, between Newman and Gladstone. It was at the hospitable board of my dear friend, Sir John Simon. They sat next each other after the ladies had left the dining-room, but their conversation was confined to the topics of the day. Newman, however, at a later time, when in London, was the guest occasionally of Dean Church and of Lord Blachford.

Newman and Sir Henry Taylor had also a singular sympathy for each other, though they had never met and though there was so much antagonistic in their opinions and dissimilar in their characters and pursuits. If they had met early, they would probably have been friends. They had in common a fearless sincerity and a serene strength; but one of them had found his training in the schools and the other in the world and in official duties. Another man of letters for whom Newman had a great love was Walter Scott. He delighted not only in the "Waverley Novels," but, like Mr. Ruskin, in Scott's chivalrous poetry. His own great poem, "The Dream of Gerontius," Sir Henry Taylor used to say, resembles Dante more than any poetry written since the great Tuscan's time. Sir Henry could not have failed to ad

mire also some of his short poems, such as his beautiful "Lead Thou Me on," so strangely called a hymn, and another poem, not less admirable, though little known, respecting that painless knowledge of earthly things possessed by the happy departed. The last stanza of it expresses the theological teaching that it is neither with merely human feelings nor with eyes turned towards the earth that the souls of the blest regard the shapes of this lower earth. On the contrary, their eyes are fastened on the Beatific Vision; and it is in the "mirror of the Divine Knowledge" that they contemplate so much of the earthly things as is needed, in that region where charity is perfected, for the exercise of intercessory prayer. The mode in which they possess a serene knowledge of earthly things is thus illustrated in connection with a well-known passage in the Apocalypse:

A sea before

The Throne is spread. Its still, pure glass
Pictures all earth-scenes as they pass;
Share, in the bosom of our rest,
We, on its shore,
God's knowledge, and are blest.

The "Dream of Gerontius," as Newman informed me, owed its preservation to an accident. He had written it on a sudden impulse, put it aside, and forgotten it. The editor of a magazine wrote to him asking him for a contribution. He looked into all his "pigeon holes," and found, nothing theological; but in answering his correspondent he added that he had come upon some verses, which, if, as editor, he cared to have, were at his command. The wise editor did care, and they were published at once. I well remember the delight with which many of them were read by the Bishop of Gibraltar, Dr. Charles Harris, who was then on a visit with us, and the ardor with which we all shared his enjoyment.

Newman's tale of "Callista" is a book singularly different from his "Loss and Gain," one being a vivid picture of a certain section of modern English life and the other a not less vivid picture

of life in the days of the old Roman Empire. The last was written, as he informed me, chiefly with a pencil in railway carriages, during a continental tour. No one who has read that work can doubt that it was no less within the power of its author to have become a master of prose fiction than to have become a great poet or a first-rate parliamentary orator. Such versatility would to most men have proved a serious peril, and we have probably lost much of the best poetry we might otherwise have inherited from Scott, Coleridge, Southey, and Landor, owing to the circumstance that they had equal gifts for other things as for poetic tasks; but Newman was saved from such snares by his fidelity to a single and supreme vocation. He was eminently fitted, as I believe, to be a great historian, and a history of the early Church by him, as his "Historical Essays” prove, even if it had descended only to the time of Charlemagne, must have been among the most valuable of historical works, from the absorbing interest of the theme and the many years which Newman had given to the study of early Christian times. Newman's other avocations prevented us from having such a book from his hand. In the mean time we possess in the work of a great friend as well as ardent admirer of Newman (I allude to Mr. Allies's work, "The Formation of Christendom,") a treatise on the Philosophy of early Ecclesiastical History, at once so profound and so eloquent that it may largely console us for the loss of one more work by Newman.

At one time the pope had given Newman a commission to make a new English translation of the Holy Scriptures from the Vulgate. He told me that he had heartily desired to undertake the task, but that unexpected difficulties, connected in part with vested interests, had presented themselves, in addition to those inherent in such a work; and thus another "frustration" was added to the many which beset his life, frustrations of which I never heard him complain; and certainly self-pity was no weakness of his.

If he had translated the New Testament and the Psalms alone into English worthy of them, it would have imparted to countless readers "the freedom of no mean city," opening out to them those treasure houses of manly and spiritual devotion the Breviary and other office books of the Church.

After Newman had ceased to be connected with the Catholic University of Ireland, which I trust may yet reward his labors, even if it does not wholly fulfil his ideal, I saw him chiefly through my annual visits on my way to the Cumberland mountains and to Wordsworth's grave. I never stood beside that grave without a renewed wish that those two great men, surely England's greatest men of thought in her latter day, had known each other. In many of their opinions they would have differed; but the intensely English character of both and the profound affection cherished for his country by each would have been a bond between them.

There often exists between very different men a latent resemblance, sometimes even a physical resemblance, which long escapes observation. I was interested by hearing that after Wordsworth's death, several friends permitted to take a last look at one whom they had long loved and honored, as he lay on his bed of death, were deeply impressed by the resemblance which his face then bore to that of Dante, as preserved in the best portaits, a reşemblance which they had never noted before.

One of my most interesting visits to Newman was paid when I was on my way to Rome, early in 1870, the year of the General Council. Of course we spoke of the definition of the "Papal Infallibility" then regarded as probable. I well remember the vehemence with which he exclaimed, "People are talking about the definition of the papal infallibility, as if there were and could be but one such definition. Twenty definitions of the doctrine might be made, and of these several might be correct, and several others might be exaggerated and incorrect."

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