JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, the eldest of a family of six children, was born within sound of Bow Bells, and he had his own experience of the "Turn Again Whittington" legend. For him, as well as for my Lord Mayor, certain phrases chimed, and they directed his steps. The child's Tolle, lege-tolle, lege," converted St. Augustine; and St. Augustine's "Securus judicat orbis terrarum" converted Cardinal Newman. Face to face with the parallel between the Donatists and the Anglicans drawn by Cardinal Wiseman in the Dublin Review, Newman was left unmoved until he caught the words. "Securus judicat orbis terrarum, kept ringing in my ears. Securus judicat orbis terrarum! Bý those great words of the ancient Father, interpreting and summing up the long and varied course of ecclesiastical history, the theory of the Via Media was absolutely pulverized." From the head-centre of worldliness-the city of London, and from its innermost shrines of mammon and money-the bankinghouses, may be said to have issued forth those two captains of war upon the world -the great contemporary English Cardi nals. Cardinal Manning's father was connected with the Bank of England, Cardinal Newman's was a partner with the Ramsbottoms in Lombard Street; the relative positions of the two banks, one official and the other a private venture, being afterward reproduced in the ecclesiastical careers of the two boys born within a decade of years of one another, and friends, counterparts, and contrasts during sixty years.

Newman's father, whose family were emall landed proprietors in Cambridgeshire, was a man of cultivation, equally enthusiastic as a musician and as a Freemason. He married Miss Jemima Fourdrinier; and it is a little curious to remember that Newman, by his mother, was, like Faber by his father, a direct descendant of Huguenot refugees. The Fourdriniers were paper-makers, who had introduced improvements into the process of manufacture, and the name is still to be seen on a plate by the wayfarer on Ludgate Hill. The bank failing, Mr.

Newman took a brewery at Alton, working at it with a perseverance that did not command success. The mother's jointure was all that finally remained to the family, and even this was diminished by Goschen-like feats in national finance. It was said that John Henry Newman was to go to the Bar, had things flourished; just as young Manning seemed settling at the Colonial Office when the fortunes of his father, too, fell or fluctuated. The Established Church offered to both a readier livelihood, and though it is suggested that Cardinal Manning and Mr. Gladstone might have changed places with advantage to both, no one, probably, has ever seriously believed that the one Cardinal, any more than the other, was without a clamorous vocation for an ecclesiastical career. Assuredly never did temporalities, or the need of them, so work for spirituality as in this story of the ways and means of families-a story which, in Newman's case at least, is not mere rumor and afterthought. It became one of John Henry's pleasures to be able to give his father, at a time of care and embarrassment, the good news of his election to a Fellowship at Oriel. This was in 1823, and the father died not long after, to be followed very suddenly, about 1828, by a daughter Mary. The family drifted from place. to place to Brighton; to Strand-on-theGreen; in 1829 to a cottage at Horspath, which they exchanged for a cottage in Nuneham Courtney, offered to Newman by Dornford, a Fellow of Oriel. "In the Midlands," says Thomas Mozley, "it would have been set down as the habitation of a family of weavers or stockingers.

But it had its associations. Jean Jacques Rousseau had lived in it; and Nuneham was supposed to be Goldsmith's "deserted village.' It was there that a group of the family was drawn by Miss Maria Giberne, a lady who much admired Newman in those days and who did hin service afterward in Italy, hunting up as witnesses the unfortunate women whose testimony was so fatal to Dr. Achilli's character, though it failed to win the verdict of the court. That group, which has the affectations of the time, added to the

drawing and composition of a lady ainateur also of the time, was described by the Cardinal, in a letter he wrote to me late in his life, as a libel on my mother and her children;" but it was differently regarded by other members of the circle. From Nuneham, Mrs. Newman and her daughters went to Iffley; whence they took in hand the school and the poor at Littlemore, a hamlet, attached to the pastorate of St. Mary's, at which Newman built, out of his own resources, first a church and then his monastic home. But just before the church was consecrated, and long before the monastery was begun, Rosebank Cottage was emptied of its folk. The spring of the year 1836 saw the mariage of Mr. John Mozley with Miss Jemima Newman, the Cardinal's second sister; and a few days afterward Mrs. Newman fell ill, to die in a fortnight. As John Henry, who loved her tenderly, said:

"One moment here, the next she trod

The viewless mansion of her God."

A few months later, in September, 1836, Miss Harriett Newman, the elder sister, was married to the Rev. Thomas Mozley. Four years before these marriages, a brother of the two husbandsthe Rev. James Mozley-had written home to his sister: "Newman is going to introduce me to his mother and sisters. The Miss Newmans are very learned persons, deeply read in ecclesiastical history and in all the old divines, both High Church and Puritanical. But, notwith. standing this, they are, I believe, very agreeable and unaffected.” By the marriage of Thomas Mozley, Newman secured not only a brother-in law but also a Boswell He had been Mozley's tutor at Oriel, and he was also his hero. Mozley's services to Tractarianism are as many as his thousands of articles in the Times on matters pertaining to religion in England. And as each contemporary and friend fell out of the ranks, there was a tribute to him least expected in the place where it appeared the obituary column of the paper to read which is, says Mr. Ruskin. inoral deterioration. His two volumes of "Reminiscences of the Oxford Moveinent" are a record, unequalled in vitality and vivacity, of a group of men devoted to God and to each other, as have been few men so incongruously brought to

gether. That Cardinal Newman did not wholly appreciate Mozley's labors which bore to outsiders the aspect of being those of love as well as of authorship-is one of the freaks of fate which brothers-in-law are called upon to endure. The truth is that Cardinal Newman, once the "Apologia" was written, desired that the story he had told should stand, no man daring to add to it anything or to take anything

away.

Next in fame to John Henry comes William, about four years his

Francis junior.

Frank followed his brother to Dr. Nicholas's school at Faling, each going at a bound to the top. When the elder went to Trinity College, Oxford, Frank, too young for college, followed to Oxford, and, says Mozley in chosen terms, pursued his studies, as far as was compatible with an amiable but universal and persistent antagonism, under John Henry Newman's directions, in lodgings.' In other substantial ways, John Henry was able to be of use to this brilliant younger brother, who, in due course, gained easily one of the best double-firsts ever known. When Francis came of age, the future Cardinal addressed to him a set of rhymes, of which these are some:

"Dear Frank, we both are summoned now
As champions of the Lord;
Enrolled am I, and shortly thou

Must buckle on the sword;
A high employ, nor lightly given,
To serve as messengers of Heaven."

But Frank Newman had already-in this year 1826-other thoughts. Two years of Oxford life had seen his fervent Evangelicalism evaporate. He was full of diffi. culties, and he did not seek a solution of them at the hands of his elder brother, to confer with whom even the Queen of Sheba was setting forth from the ends of the earth. It may be noted, in illustration of the old truth as to the households of prophets, that not one of Cardinal Newman's immediate family followed him to Rome, though he drew the stars after him ;" that Father Faber's army of converts included none of his near relatives and that Cardinal Manning may regard it as the most wonderful of his many wonderful successes, that one of his brothers, the late amiable and refined Mr. Charles Manning, trod in his steps. In his "Phases of Faith," Mr. Frank Newman

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"One person there was at Oxford who might have seemed my natural adviser-I mean my elder brother, the Rev. John Henry Newman. As a warm-hearted and generous brother who exercised toward me paternal care I esteemed him, and felt a deep gratitude; as a man of various culture and peculiar genius I admired and was proud of him; but my doctrinal religion impeded my loving him as much as he deserved, and even justified my feeling some distrust of him. He never shared my strong attraction toward those whom I regarded as spiritual persons on the contrary, I thought him stiff and cold toward them. Moreover,

soon after his ordination he had startled and distressed me by adopting the doctrine of Baptismal Regeneration, and in rapid succession worked out views which I regarded as full-blown 'Popery.' I speak of the years 1823-6. It is strange to think that twenty years more had to pass before he learned the place to which his doctrines belonged."

When John Henry Newman arrived at his mother's cottage after his eventful tour in Southern Europe, in 1833, Frank had just returned from Persia. Before the end of that year the two brothers were not on speaking terms. The estrangement is told in the " Apologia": "I would have no dealings with my brother, and I put my conduct upon a syllogism. I said, Št. Paul bids us to avoid those who cause divisions; you cause divisions; therefore I avoid you.' That mood did not last long; and though the difference of belief became more emphatic with the passage of time, and Professor Francis Newman did not, with years, acquire a less positive utterance, there were many meetings of tolerance and of fraternal affection, even down to the last years of the Cardinal's life, when his brother came from Weston-super-Mare to be with him at his holiday retreat at Rednal, now his restingplace forever.

"There was also another brother, not without his share in the heritage of natural gifts. This is all that even Thomas Mozley has to say of Charles Robert Newman, alive at the time the "Reminiscences' were written. His death subsequently, and now the death of Cardinal Newman, make it possible to give him a fuller mention. "But has not every house its trial ?" asks Charlotte Brontë, by strange way of comfort that misfortunes are for many, not for one. The New mans had their household trial in the wayward brother whose eccentricities took a

to him in blood. At the time of his death, in 1884, a clergyman contributed to a newspaper some rather wild hearsay about the conduct of Charles Newman when he was acting as master in a school at Hurstmonceaux. This clergyman had been curate at Hurstmonceaux to Julius Hare, who had known Charles Newman there a few years before. According to hiin:

To Hare he lamented the narrow-mindedness of his brothers, John and Francis, who had entirely cast him off and left him to fight his way in the world unaided because of his professed infidelity. At the time I am speaking of, somewhere between 1834 and 1844, Newman was miserably poor, entirely dependent on his small pittance as an usher in a third-rate country school. The task of teaching rude Sussex lads was, as might be imagined, tolerably irksome to a man of Newman's high intellectual power. The relations between him and his principal soon became strained; and the engagement was suddenly terminated by a tussle between the usher and his class. Hare, I remember, used to make excuses for Newman's religious and moral obliquities on the ground of partial insanity 'there was a screw loose some

where.'

This writer does not appear to have even seen the ne'er-do-well to whom his sympathies went out so cheaply-but, as commonly happens in such matters-at the heavy expense of the surviving relatives. They treated the insinuations with silence-all that was possible to them. As one of them expressed it to me in a letter at the time (April, 1884), which I may now venture to quote :

"I suppose Precentor V is a clergyman and has the feelings of a just and gentle man. I therefore marvel that he should think it

right to drag before the public events of forty or fifty years back concerning an obscure person lately carried to the grave-matters not creditable if true, and not refutable if false or falsely colored; and should couple with them statements against me and my brother which we cannot duly repel and dispel except by attacking our brother just deceased. No man has a right to impose on us this odious task."

Very briefly may be stated the main facts, but only those which his surviving brothers were convinced that Mr. Charles Newman himself would not call in question.

When not far out of his teens, Charles Newman wrote to some cousins renouncing his family, and begging that they would not consider him to be a Newman, his only reason for the renunciation

being that the family were too religious. His mother was still alive, and she and his sisters tried to win him, but without success, from the life of loneliness and isolation he elected to lead. Never was a kindness denied him, however one-sided the arrangement might be. Both his brothers, after they had been "cast off" by him, not he by them, managed to put together funds for sending him to take a degree at Bonn University, at his earnest desire. But he came away without even offering himself for examination, a step he explained by saying that the judges would not grant him a degree because of the offence he had given by his treatment of faith and morals in an essay which they called teterrima. This was only one of a series of aids given to Charles by John Henry and by Francis, who, unlike in so much, resembled each other in their generous desires and actions toward their mother's youngest son. But in him they found, as one of them expresses it in a private letter, only "the closest representation of an ancient cynic philosopher this nineteenth century can afford."

A man is entered in a Biographical Dictionary by the date of his birth; but it is really the date of death that ranges him in the memories of mankind. Macaulay and Newman belong to a different epoch, but were born within a month or two of each other. Newman was a baby when Keats, a child of four or five, who had not yet heard of Lemprière, was standing with a drawn sword at the door of his mother's bedroom to shield her from disturbance during an illness. Shelley, just over eight, was already exciting the admiration of his sisters by his declamation of Latin verse. Byron was beginning his troublesome teens, scribbling his first verses, and being well hated at Harrow. Newman hardly ranks as the contemporary of these, though he was twenty when Keats died, was of age when Shelley died, and when Byron died was twenty-three. With Coleridge, Southey and Wordsworth, Wordsworth, though these were all born between thirty and thirty-five years before him, he lived in the world for thirty-three, forty-two, and forty-nine years. In 1836, Faber, returning to Oxford from the Long, which he had spent at the Lakes, reported that "Wordsworth spoke of Newman's sermons, some of which he had read and liked exceedingly. Walter Scott was

thirty when Newman was born, and when Scott died Newman was beginning the Tractarian movement which was to give Abbotsford to Rome.

Newman's literary admirations were in great part those of the period. For Scott he had all Mr. Gladstone's enthusiasm. The tinsel of that mediævalism did not disconcert him; and he gratefully mentions Scott as having in some sort, by his scenes of chivalry, prepared the path for the Catholic revival; surely a route to the Oratory by way of Wardour Street. Scott's novels he put into the hands of the boys at the Oratory school at Edgbaston as prizes, and even examined in them. Perhaps he had his happiest holiday when he spent five weeks at Abbotsford at the end of 1852, the guest of Mr. Hope-Scott, who, like his wife, Lockhart's daughter, had become a Catholic. When Newman got the invitation he wrote in reply: “It would be a great pleasure to spend some time with you, and then I have ever had the extremest sympathy for Walter Scott, and it would delight me to see his place. When he was dying, I was saying prayers (whatever they were worth) for him continually, thinking of Keble's words, Think on the minstrel as ye kneel.' Lockhart was still alive, and the visits his daughter and son-in-law paid him in London, he repaid at Abbotsford, whither, finally, he had his books taken. There, in the breakfast-room, because he could not leave the ground-floor, and because he shunued the dining-room where Sir Walter gave up the ghost, the old editor, a stoic amid suffering, a Protestant among Catholics, passed away, with Father Lockhart, a distant cousin, at his unresponsive side, and the sound of his daughter's voice, reading prayers from her "Garden of the Soul," in his ears.

One can well imagine the mystification of the old editor of the Quarterly in presence of the Popery which sat at his hearth, although he had been willing to give Tractarianism a distant hearing in his Review. In 1837, one of the party at Oxford complacently records that" Lockhart finds he must have an infusion of Oxford principles; it takes with people now- -that is, such people as read the Quarterly ;" and Philip Pusey, the member of Parliament, told his brother Edward that one of Newman's greatest triumphs was his "getting hold of the Quarterly."

A little later this complacency must have been shaken by the report that Murray had said he would have given a thousand pounds to be able to suppress the article referred to. Though the Quarterly might have turned half an ear timidly toward the preacher of St. Mary the Virgin, such leniency could not be expected from the rival Review. Of course Macaulay was cock-sure, even before reading one of Newman's Anglican books, that he could reply to it. Writing to the editor of the Edinburgh, Napier, in February, 1843, he says: "I hear much of a defence of the miracles of the third and fourth centuries by Newman. I have not yet read it. I think that I could treat that subject without giving any scandal to any rational person; and I should like it much. The times require a Middleton." There was no weak openness to conviction lurking behind those words; nor yet behind these, written eight months later, also to Napier, and also before he had read the book he was eager to smash: "Newman announces an English hagiology in numbers, which is to contain the Lives of such blessed Saints as Thomas à Becket and Dunstan. I should not dislike to be the devil's advocate on such an occasion.' In his essay on the "Comic Dramatists of the Restoration," Macaulay just alludes to the Tractarians, saying that Jeremy Collier's notions touching "the importance of vestments, ceremonies, and solemn days, differed little from those which are now held by Dr. Pusey and Mr. Newman". -a sentence which suggests to the initiated that the writer wrote once more without having read Newman-who was never a Ritualist, and treasured no husk except it held a kernel.

After all, it was left to Sir James Stephen and to Henry Rogers to pillory Popery in the pages of the Edinburgh. The first of these, after confessing in a letter to Napier, in 1841, that whatever comes he cannot but cherish the good old Protestant feelings of our ancestors," thus conveniently explains away Mr. Newman : "As for Newman himself, I am sorry that his integrity should be impugned. I am convinced that a more upright man does not exist. But his understanding is essentially illogical and inveterately imaginative; and I have reason to fear that he labors under a degree of cerebral excitement, which unfits him for

the mastery of his own thoughts and the guidance of his own pen. It is worth noting, that while Newman was being thus described on hearsay as a literary lunatic, Pusey, his constant companion, was writing of him to a friend: "You will be glad to hear that the immediate excitement about Tract 90 is subsiding. It has been a harassing time for N., but he was wonderfully calm."

Macaulay, instead of reading the books he had already prejudged, probably contented himself with reading the Edinburgh attack on them (April, 1843), and not all of that. "I have read three or four pages of the article on the Puseyites, which I like very much. I should be glad to know who wrote it." The writer was Henry Rogers, who congratulated himself with the true Whig confidence, when he sent his MS. to the editor, that he had. "not spared ridicule'' in treating "publications which are having a large sale, and are doing immense mischief among the young, the ardent, and the sentimental.”’ But 66 the young, the ardent, and the sentimental had grown into men and reviewers by the time the "Apologia" appeared; and Newman, for the first time, found himself seriously considered, whether favorably or not, by secular publica

Indeed, the young, the ardent, and the sentimental" of the early forties had made themselves felt in the other walks of life, as well as in literature, before many years were over. They manned the Anglican Church. Rival Prime Ministers, if they fought all the week, sat under the same Tractarian shepherd in Mayfair. A Lord Chief Justice ranked it as his highest honor to be the host of Cardinal Newman, even after his secession; and there was no house in London where he was more welcome than at the Deanery of St. Paul's. Dean Church was one of that immense body of actual contemporaries or immediate juniors who came under Newman's personal influence, and who, in their turn, spread the principles which have trausformed the Anglican Communion. In one sense-Catholics do not hesitate to admit it-the Guardian expresses the bare truth when it speaks of Newman as the founder of the Anglican Church as it now is," and says: Great as his services have been to the Communion in which he died, they are as nothing by the side of

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