Letters and Correspondence [1827-1829]

{141} THE Autobiographical Memoir being now concluded, the letters are resumed from the commencement of 1827.


Oriel College: February 1, 1827.
Doubtless you have expected to hear of or from me before this; but you know I am very busy. Shall I tell you my adventures in town if I had any? You know I was puzzled where I should lodge myself. Mr. E. recommended some hotel in Albemarle Street—he forgot the name. When I got there I found near a dozen hotels on each side of the way, and was obliged to choose one at a venture. They would not take me in without knowing my name, and I (though anticipating the absurdity which would follow) was obliged to give a card, and was then admitted. I stayed with the W.'s till past ten, and the ladies cajoled me into buying a trumpery piece of music, in the sale of which they were interested, and which they declared to be beautiful, heart-moving. I went to Cartwright, and underwent operations (for they were many) more severe than I ever experienced. I am sure many surgical operations would be less painful ... He told me they would pain me for some time in consequence, and, sure enough, I have been nearly in constant pain since, and my face is swollen up. But vinegar has made my nerves so much stronger that the toothache is not now the prostrating, overwhelming, down-throwing, flattening pain it was to me. The pain however, of the operation was very considerable ... In the midst of my agony the wretch had the face to murmur out, 'A very ungrateful sensation this.'

I called on Bowden, as I passed Somerset House, and found him prepared for my arrival by a notice in the 'Morning {142} Post,' among the 'fashionable arrivals' (my card!). From what I have learnt since I fancy I figured among the fashionable departures. Fine subject for quizzing for my pupils!

The Bishop of Oxford died last night, and it is supposed that Lloyd will be his successor, though Copleston, Pearson, the Warden of Wadham, the Bishop of Sodor and Man, are respectively spoken of.

P.S.—I have not forgotten your wishes about some simple and plain commentary, yet I have not been able to satisfy them.

At this date—1827—the country was agitated by the question of Roman Catholic Emancipation, the Bill for which was passed in 1829. Mr. Newman's sister meets in society a clergyman who wishes to hear her brother's views on the question.


March 19, 1821.
As to Mr. W.'s absurd question about my opinion on the Catholic question, tell him that I am old enough to see that I am not old enough to know anything about it. It seems to me a question of history. I am not skilled in the political and parliamentary history of Elizabeth, the Stuarts, and Hanoverians. How can I decide it by means of mere argument—theoretical argument, declamations about liberty, the antecedent speculative probability of their doing no harm? In my mind he is no wise man who attempts, without a knowledge of history, to talk about it. If it were a religious question I might think it necessary to form a judgment; as it is not, it would be a waste of time. What would be thought of a man giving an opinion about the propriety of this or that agrarian law in Rome who was unacquainted with Roman history? At the same time I must express my belief that NOTHING will satisfy the Roman Catholics. If this be granted, unquestionably they will ask more.

News came this morning of the Dean of Durham's death, late head of Ch. Ch. Pusey has lost a brother.

There is, as has been already shown, an easy tone in Mr. Newman's letters to his Mother which gives them a distinctiveness that may interest the reader, though the writer would have little thought of subjecting them to the eyes of strangers. {143}

J. H. N. TO HIS MOTHER [Note 1]

March 30, 1827.
… Copleston has been very unwell. He is just returned from Tunbridge Wells, where he had been for about a fortnight, and thinks of returning again immediately. Whately is there and Dr. Mayo the physician, a late Fellow of Oriel, in whom the Provost has great confidence.

The new Bishop [Lloyd] presented himself in his wig in church last Sunday. He is much disfigured by it, and not known. People say he had it on hind part before ... Blanco preached a very beautiful sermon at St. Peter's last Sunday. What is the matter with Jemima, so mum is she? But she is industrious. Ah, I believe I owe her a letter, so the fault is mine. Young Oakley was elected Fellow of Balliol the other day.

Does the sea blossom? Are green leaves budding on its waters, and is the scent of spring in its waves? Do birds begin to sing under its shadow, and to build their nests on its branches? Ah! mighty sea! Thou art a tree whose spring never yet came, for thou art an evergreen.

There is a pastoral! With love to all, yours ever most dutifully,

Tell Mary I was quite delighted with her lines; they showed great elegance, poetical feeling, and good religious feeling, which is better still.

… I open my letter to answer your question from Mrs. O.

The yearly college expenses with us do not amount to 80l. This includes board, lodging, servants, dues, tuition, coal washing, letters, and hair-cutting. I believe other colleges are about the same. The great EXPENSES of a college residence are in the private extravagance of the young man. If he will indulge in expensive wines and desserts, if he will hunt, if he will game, what can the college do? It forbids these excesses, indeed, and tries to prevent them; but where there is a will to do wrong there is a way. The college expenses of a careless man are indefinite. {144}


May 7, 1827.
Tell Jemima Miss M. [Miss Mitford?] is clever, but her naturalness degenerates into affectation and her simplicity into prettiness. She is rather the ape of nature—a mimic—ars est celare artem. But some of her pieces are very good, e.g. the old bachelor. Tell her she has no business to say we are getting old. Let her speak for herself. Tell her I am quite vigorous; particularly the last week, when I have hunted from the college two men ...


June 10.
… I find that sooner or later I must submit to enter the Schools, and I must prepare for it, so I intend this Vacation once for all to read up some works which, learned as I am, are yet strangers to me. At one time I thought I should have to go into the Schools after the Vacation, but now that seems improbable, and I certainly won't go without a six months' notice.

By-the-bye, I have not told you the name of the individual who is to read with me [in the Long] ... he will not occupy more than an hour a day. At least, I have consented to give no more, and he consents to be a hermit at Brighton and then at Hampstead [where Mr. Newman had undertaken duty for six weeks of the Vacation, occupying the vicarage during the incumbent's absence]. By-the-bye, talking of hermits puts me in mind of Keble's Hymns, which are just out. I have merely looked into them [the word 'hermit' occurs]. They seem quite exquisite ... To return to my pupil, I think you have heard his name before; it is Onslow ...

June 22.—Ah, the longest day is passed even before I send this, Mute Mary! Well, since writing the above, we have heard from Pusey; he passes through Oxford July 2, which tempts me to stay till that day here ... My friend G. [Golightly] comes on July 4. I like him much, as far as I know him, and doubt not, whether you see him little or much, you will like him too, though he is better to know than to see. We are having rows as thick as blackberries. What a thing {145} it is to be vigorous, J. [Jemima], and to be dignified, H. [Harriett]. I am so dignified it is quite overpowering.
Yours ever most dutifully,

His Mother replies:

June 26, 1827.
It gives me great pleasure to see you appear so strong at the end of a troublesome term. I hope you will have effected a 'radical reform' by your vigorous measures, and that you are properly seconded.

The following letter is without date, but is written from Germany:


August 26, 1827.
I received the enclosed prospectus yesterday with an application, either personally or through friends, to contribute the accounts of the progress of God's kingdom which this country would supply. My acquaintance being both confined and, what I have, almost limited to one party of one religious denomination in this country, I should be utterly unable to give a general view either of the general progress or retrogradation in the whole or its parts. The great activity in almost every class, the variety of the phenomena, the approach, I think, of some crisis, infinitely increase the at any time great difficulty of judging of the religious state of a country, where the development proceeds from so many different points, of conjecturing the final issue, or of appreciating the importance of any particular set of facts as affecting the general result. A long study, &c., seems absolutely necessary either to conjecture what the result of the composition must be, which now seems, before many, nay perhaps before one, decennium is elapsed, unavoidable.


July 5, 1827.
I cannot but feel most grateful to you for your kindness to me, which has indeed, I can say without affectation, been to me that of an elder brother.

Again, a month later:

I am quite jealous of Golightly, that he should be making {146} ground in your acquaintance, while I am deprived of the advantage which, however, I prize, I believe, as much as he can.

In September 1827 Mr. Newman visited Mr. Rickards at Ulcombe, Mr. Robert Isaac Wilberforce being there at the same time. Mrs. Rickards writes a report of her visitors to Miss Newman.

Ulcombe: September 12, 1821.
I trust we shall keep John till he must go to Oxford. We have great designs upon him, and I shall not rest till we have done our part towards accomplishing them—Samuel is even more vehement than I am, and will talk to more purpose—which are neither more nor less than to make him idle enough to rest himself; for we think his looks bespeak that he has been reading too hard. If he improves in looks at Ulcombe, how delightful it will be!

He was very tired all the evening, but we managed to talk a good deal, and R. Wilberforce was as merry as he generally is. This morning I was treated by all three gentlemen coming into the drawing-room after breakfast, when a long discussion began which lasted near two hours, after which they adjourned, R. W. to read, the other two to talk and walk about the garden, from whence they only just returned to be ready for dinner at two o'clock. And now here is John come to keep me company, or rather to be plagued by the children. I wish you only could see him with both on his lap in the great arm-chair, pulling off and then putting on his glasses. They are quite overjoyed to see him ...

Thursday.—This is a very rainy day. We have actually fires in each sitting-room. The gentlemen are all together in the larger room, employed upon the Epistle to the Romans, which is one of the things they are bent upon studying most diligently. I did not understand your warning respecting the designs afloat against Samuel. I have been asking him if he has discovered any. He says only that they seem determined to pump him well, and find out all he knows, enlightening him when he is deficient, &c. He says such examinations are worth more than three times as many hours of study alone. I hope the rest find the same to be the case. I cannot describe to you the enjoyment I have in listening. There is no intellectual pleasure so great or any from which one ought to profit so much as such conversation—but I shall talk of nothing else if I suffer my pen to go on on this subject ... {147}

Last evening Mr. G.'s manuscript was read and commented on, but it was voted too prolix and dull to be continued. I do not know what we shall have tonight. We have read one of Keble's hymns all together and shall have more of them I hope.—Your affectionate friend,
L. M. R.

Later on, J. C. N., in a letter to her sister, says of this meeting of friends: 'They seem to have spent their whole time in their readings and discussions. Their lightest reading, John says, was Cudworth's sermons.'


Ulcombe: September 24, 1827.
The R.'s press most pressingly your coming here with Mary ... You must come before you return. I shall go from hence to the Wilberforce's; when, I do not know. Rickards has given some most admirable characters of Froude, Blanco White, S. Wilberforce, and others [Note 2].

To explain a passage in the following letter from Ulcombe—Mrs. Rickards had an album in which she wished all her friends to write verses on flowers. The flower chosen by Mr. Newman was the Snapdragon. The verses begun when this letter was written were finished October 2. They may be found p. 17 of 'Verses on Various Occasions.' [Verses, No. 7]


Ulcombe: September 29, 1827.
Though I have a good deal to say, I doubt whether I shall say it, yet I hardly know why—perhaps I am lazy. Ulcombe is as pretty as it was last year; the weather, however, has not been favourable, yet we have not neglected to take prodigious walks. We have seen Mr. Gambier twice, and the second time dined with him. He is a very interesting person. I applaud your determination to pass an independent judgment on what you read. It is very necessary to keep in mind the necessity of making up one's mind for oneself; but I am rather stupid at this moment, or I would enter into a disquisition on the {148} subject. Tell Harriett that Mrs. Wilberforce has invited you (some or all) to Highgate with me. I think two might go, but who I leave to yourselves.

… What if I have begun some lines on a flower? I am not obliged to do it. What if I have not? Who can make me ... We have had discussions without end on all subjects, and have been reading various things most assiduously, but what the Schools will say I know not.


Oriel College: October 18, 1827.
Our tutorial staff is very strong this term. Four tutors (Froude coming in additional), and Pusey as Censor Theologicus, that is, reviewer of the sermon notes. My Fathers are arrived all safe—huge fellows they are, but very cheap—one folio costs a shilling! and all in this extravagantly moderate way ...

St. Mary's is sadly out of order inside, as might be expected, but it will be all set right by Christmas, and on the whole the alterations will (I doubt not) be a vast improvement. Trinity Chapel is under a course of restoration. Merton Grove is at length finished, and Alban Hall is rising from its ruins. R. Wilberforce will reside (I fancy) this term.

I am much satisfied that you went to High Wood, though but for a day. I was much taken with Mr. Wilberforce. It is seldom indeed we may hope to see such simplicity and unaffected humility, in one who has been so long moving in the intrigues of public life and the circles of private flattery.


October 22, 1827.
I have no lectures this term; my kind colleagues have set me at liberty for the Schools' sake. But I have to prepare, instead, the young candidates of distinction for their trial. This will at once accustom me to examining and be of service to them. I am, besides, reserved for general purposes. It is most useful to have a person reserved in this way. A corps de réserve for all contingencies, on the principle that the first Lord of the Treasury has so little to do ...

I have been admitted a Congregation Examiner today. I have taken the oaths.
Yours ever most dutifully,
J. H. N. {149}

In allusion to anxieties which had lately been heavy upon her, Mrs. Newman writes to her eldest daughter:

November 5.
I have been a good deal plagued in various ways, but yet I hope the main things go on right. I have had various communications with dear John Henry; he is, as usual, my guardian angel.


Brighton: November 1827.
I have found a decided and gradual progress towards improvement since I have been here. I found even the fatigue of the journey a relief. Even the first day, when a deep fog hung heavy on land and sea, was reviving in some measure, and since it has been clear, the constant presence of the sea's deep roar, the sublimity of gazing on an interminable expanse of waters, with all the other feelings associated with this wondrous element ... have removed for the most part depression of spirits ... When my nerves were laid to rest I at any time recovered them. I inhale sea air night and day. I bathe every morning at seven in the sea, and allow three hours in the day to the more immediate imbibing of sea air and exercise; and, what you will think more important, only get through the emending and writing notes on two chapters of Isaiah in the course of the day, my present object being to regain health. I do not grudge the time which it costs, and shall probably, even from this time, change the mode of life which my health could once stand.

Since writing the above I have seen Sir M. Tierney [the Brighton physician]; his views are not very encouraging. After a very short time he plainly said that my case was 'very nearly what they called a general breakdown of the system.' Such, I think, were his words. I did before much wish to return to Oxford, to resume the office, &c. ... but after this statement, which is confirmed by the feeling of most painful weakness and liability to faintness, I fear it would be madness to attempt it.

At this time Mr. Newman's two younger sisters were visiting Mrs. Rickards at Ulcombe, from whence Mary writes to her brother; fragments of her letters are given, partly for the sake of the superscription on the packet in which they {150} were found, and partly to show the charm of Mr. Rickards's personal influence on young people.

Ulcombe: November 27, 1827.
Is it not odd that Jemima and I should be here alone? Yet I feel quite at home. It is enough to make one feel glad only to look at Mr. Rickards, and Mrs. Rickards makes me laugh so ... O John! how absurd of me to tell you all this, which you know. How I long to see you! ... I can fancy your face—there, it is looking at me ...

Again, writing on her return home:

Brighton: December 4, 1827.
I must tell you about Mr. Rickards. You know, as Harriett would say, he cannot let anyone alone; so he has given me a great deal of good advice. He has recommended me several books to read—Ray's 'Wisdom of God in the Creation.' It is extremely interesting, but the style is so heavy that till I got used to it I found much difficulty. Two other books I am to read—'The Port Royal Art of Thinking,' and 'Watts on the Mind.' Mr. Rickards has also advised me to do what you used to make Harriett and Jemima do—turn 'Telemachus' into verse.

What a nice creature Mrs. Rickards is! I always think of the word, I believe, you applied to her, 'fascinating,' for I think that is exactly what she is; and it is so amusing to hear Mr. Rickards and her talk to each other.

I am so impatient to see you. How long is it before you come? Can it be three, nearly four weeks? I think it seems longer since I saw you than ever before. This letter is not to go till tomorrow—it will wait for our having seen Pusey.
Dearest John, your most affectionate sister,
M. S. N.

Upon the above letter is inscribed these words: 'Scarcely more than four weeks after, she suddenly died.'


December 2, 1827.
Dear Pusey lodges at 5 Eastern Terrace. My Mother will send her card and he will call. He is very unwell; his nerves very much tried. He is not well in mind or body. All {151} of you be very dull when he calls, for he can bear nothing but dulness, such as looking out upon the sea monotonously.

I do not see how my Mother can be civil to him. He does not go out to dinner, and as to breakfast, it would be so strange to ask him.

Well, Copleston is a bishop and a dean. Shall we have a new Head or not? Which will be best, Keble or Hawkins?


December 1827 [Saturday evening].
Mr. E. Pusey begs to present his best thanks to Mrs. Newman for her kindness in thinking of him, and for her obliging present. He has not yet been able to try it, but is sure that anything sent in so kind a manner must be palatable as well as beneficial.

It may, perhaps, be interesting to Mrs. Newman to know that there will be a vacancy in the Oriel Provostship. Mr. Pusey does not believe that it is any longer a secret, but it may be as well not mentioned beyond Mrs. Newman's immediate family. Should there be a difference of opinion as to the successor, it is a satisfaction to agree with J. N. on the subject.

The following entry in the 'Chronological Notes,' under date Nov. 26. 1827, marks the commencement of that illness which, in looking back, is, in the 'Apologia,' classed with bereavement:

Taken ill in the schools while examining, was leeched on the temples.

November 28.—B. Wilberforce took me off to Highwood. Consulted Mr. Babington.

December 14.—Went from London to Brighton.

This is the first mention of the valued medical adviser on whom Mr. Newman relied with unfailing trust till death removed his friend from him. Some letters remain of Dr. Babington's amongst Mr. Newman's papers.

The reader will remember that in the account of his failure, when he stood for honours in 1820, there is an allusion to this attack in 1827 as a repetition of the same symptoms, only in a severer form, from which he then suffered. {152}


Highwood Hill: December 11, 1827.
I have been at Wilberforce's several days; finding myself tired with my Oxford work, he kindly proposed it and I accepted it. I find myself quite recruited, and return to Oxford tomorrow or Thursday. When you will see me I hardly know—the election of Provost may detain me; I had some idea of coming to you today, had I not sufficiently refreshed myself by coming here. See how dutiful I am to tell you all this, even at the risk of your thinking me unwell. It will be a great shame if my very candour and fairness in telling you I am tired make you think so.

Thank yourself, Mary and H. for your joint letter.

Golden Square: December 13.
It is my intention, God willing, to come down to you tomorrow for the vacation, though, doubtless (and I hope), I shall have to return to Oxford for the election. I am very much better, nay, almost well, but my kind medical adviser here (a friend of W.'s), with whom I dine and lodge till tomorrow, is against my returning to business.

The reader has not now to be told that at the election of Provost Mr. Newman voted for Mr. Hawkins. From the following letter it may be gathered that Mr. Keble had keen interests on the question, which, however, is a different thing from desiring for himself such a total change of life.


Marine Square, Brighton: December 19, 1827.
Though I have not written to you on the important college arrangement which is under our consideration at present, and in which you are so nearly concerned, you must not suppose my silence has arisen from any awkward feeling (which it has not) or any unwillingness to state to you personally what you must have some time heard indirectly. I have been silent because I did not conceive you knew or understood me well enough to be interested in hearing more than the fact, any how conveyed, which way my opinion lay in the question of the Provostship, between you and Hawkins. This may have been a refinement of modesty, but it was not intended as such, but was spontaneous. {153}

I write now because Pusey has told me that you would like to receive a line from any of the Fellows, even though you have already heard their feelings on the subject before us all; and I am led to mention my reason for not having written before (which I otherwise should not have done), lest you should think my conduct less kind to you than in intention it has really been. I have been so conscious to myself of the love and affectionate regard which I feel towards you, that the circumstance of my not thinking you the fittest person among us in a particular case and for a particular purpose seemed to me an exception to my general sentiments too trivial to need explanation or remark—to myself; but I have forgotten that to you things may appear different—that this is the first time I have had an opportunity of expressing any feeling towards you at all; and that, consequently, it would have been acting more kindly had I spoken to you rather than about you. Forgive me if I have in any way hurt you or appeared inconsiderate.

I have lived more with Hawkins than with any other Fellow, and have thus had opportunities for understanding him more than others. His general views so agree with my own, his practical notions, religious opinions and habits of thinking, that I feel vividly and powerfully the advantages the College would gain when governed by one who, pursuing ends which I cordially approve, would bring to the work powers of mind to which I have long looked up with great admiration. Whereas I have had but few opportunities of the pleasure and advantage of your society: and I rather suspect, though I may be mistaken, that, did I know you better, I should find you did not approve opinions, objects, and measures to which my own turn of mind has led me to assent. I allude, for instance, to the mode of governing a college, the desirableness of certain reforms in the University at large, their practicability, the measures to be adopted with reference to them, &c.

It is ungracious to go on, particularly in writing to you above others; for you could easily be made to believe anyone alive was more fit for the Provostship than yourself. I have said enough, perhaps, to relieve you of any uneasy feeling as regards myself: the deep feelings I bear towards you, these I shall keep to myself.—Yours ever affectionately [Note 3]. {154}


December 28, 1827.
I have made up my mind that it is on the whole unadvisable for me to allow my name to be mentioned on this occasion, and have written to Hawkins and Froude, and intend writing to Plumer tonight to say so. It was very kind in you to write to me, but surely your opinion required no explanation or apology. However partial one might be to oneself, your knowing so much more of Hawkins is enough to prevent anyone with a spark of common sense in his head from being hurt at your preference of him.


The first entry in the 'Chronological Diary' for the year 1828 is in these words:

January 5.—We lost my sister Mary.

In the 'Apologia' there is the following allusion to this event:

The truth is, I was beginning to prefer intellectual excellence to moral: I was drifting in the direction of liberalism. I was rudely awakened from my dream at the end of 1827 by two great blows—illness and bereavement.

It happened to the present writer to read—more than fifty years after this bereavement—a letter from Mary Newman to her Mother, so remarkable for sweet playfulness, and, if the term may be used, for the quality of simplicity, in its most bright picturesque form, that, on occasion of writing on some family concern to Cardinal Newman, it was natural to {155} speak of the impression it had made. Shortly after came the following note from him, with an enclosure:

You spoke with so much interest lately of my dear sister Mary that I send you what I have just received from Maria Giberne [Note 4].

The letter brings the scene so vividly before the reader that its insertion will not be thought out of place here.


… But I do not want to talk of myself. I want to tell you of my entire sympathy with you in what you say and feel about the anniversary of our dear Mary's death. This season never comes round without my repassing in my heart of hearts all the circumstances of those few days—my first visit to your dear family. Who could ever behold that dear sweet face for any length of time and forget it again? And again, who could ever have been acquainted with the soul and heart that lent their expression to that face and not love her?

My sister Fanny and I arrived at your house on the 3rd [of January], and sweet Mary, who had drawn figures under my advice when she was staying with us at Wanstead, leant over me at a table in the drawing-room, and in that sweet voice said, 'I am so glad you are come; I hope you will help me in my drawing.' I forget about the dinner and evening on that day, for I was doubtless under considerable awe of you in those first days; but the next day Mr. Woodgate and Mr. Williams dined there, and dear Mary sat next you, and I was on the other side; and while eating a bit of turkey she turned her face towards me, her hand on her heart, so pale, and a dark ring round her eyes, and she said she felt ill, and should she go away? I asked you, and she went: I longed to accompany her, but dared not for fear of making a stir. It was the last time I saw her alive. Soon after Jemima went after her; and then your Mother, looking so distressed; and she said, 'John, I never saw Mary so ill before; I think we must send for a doctor.' You answered as if to cheer her, 'Ah, yes, Mother, and don't forget the fee.' How little I thought what the end would be! Next morning Harriett came to walk with us about one o'clock—after the doctor had {156} been, I think—but though she said Mary had had a very bad night, she did not seem to apprehend danger. We went to dine with a friend, and only returned to your house about nine. I felt a shock in entering the house, seeing no one but you—so pale and so calm, and yet so inwardly moved; and how, when I asked you to pray with us for her, you made a great effort to quiet your voice, sitting against the table, your eyes on the fire, and you answered, 'I must tell you the truth: she is dead already.' Then you went to fetch vinegar, which I did not need, for I felt turned to stone. Fanny cried—I envied her her tears.

You told us a little about her, with gasping sobs in your voice, and then you left us. My tears come now in writing it, though they would not then. I never cry suddenly—I must think about it first. Now, dearest Father, I hope while I relieve my own heart by speaking of these sad scenes, I am not selfishly overtaxing your feelings; but I think you will not mind it, for you like to go over old times as well as I do, I think; and I cannot tell all this to anyone but you. Do you recollect that you and I are the only survivors of that event?

And then how can I ever forget all your kindnesses to me because of my toothache [she had undergone a painful, unsuccessful operation at the dentist's]? How your Mother sent out for soft cakes soaked with wine—the only thing I could manage to eat. You all seemed so unselfish in your grief, forgetting your own trouble to minister to my wants. I was deeply touched, and learnt a lesson which, though I have not practised as I ought, I have always striven to imitate: not to suffer myself to be so absorbed by my own feelings as that I could not feel for others.

This scene, recalled after fifty years, is given as fulfilling the promise or the prophecy made in the first freshness of sorrow, which forms the closing verse of the poem entitled 'Consolations in Bereavement.'

From these home scenes of trial Mr. Newman, in returning to Oxford, had to take share at once in a college election which had issues important to himself, and with which the fourth chapter of the Memoir is concerned. {157}


January 31, 1828.
I was hastening to write a few lines to you before breakfast in time for our new Provost (as he will be in two hours) to take to town to save a day's post, when your letter came.

My journey fagged me much. I arrived here by half-past six. The Bishop [Copleston] was in the Common-Room, and I joined the party. He left yesterday morning. Yesterday I took a long and delightful ride, but the stench of the retiring waters in our quadrangle is odious, and the air in Oxford is thick and damp. The inside of St. Mary's is nearly complete.

The following letter from his Mother dwells on the subject foremost in her mind.

February 18, 1828.
My dear, dear Son,—It was very kind of you to write when you had such comforting news as your 'strikingly amended health.' I pray earnestly that it may continue to improve, and that you may be preserved from such accumulated and successive trials as it has pleased God you should experience in your entrance into life. The chastening Hand who brings these severe inflictions does mitigate them, and often, in greater mercy, renders them blessings; such has it been to you, my dear, and through you to all of us. It is delightful to think that your dear departed sister owed so much of her religious and right feelings to you; and her knowledge of her own insufficiency, and her submission and fitness to obey her awfully sudden call. These reflections, which call for our thankfulness, must soothe us for the bitter trials we have been repeatedly called on to endure.

Dr. Hawkins, as Provost, resigned St. Mary's. The following entries in the 'Chronological Record' give the dates:

March 9.—Did duty at St. Mary's in the afternoon, and preached.
March 12.—The Provost (Hawkins) resigned the living of St. Mary's.
March 14.—I was instituted by the Bishop of Oxford to St. Mary's.
March 16.—Did duty at St. Mary's, preaching. {158}
March 20.—Inducted into St. Mary's by Buckley of Merton.
March 23.—I read in—i.e. read the Thirty-nine Articles.
March 27.—Disputed with Arnold for B.D. degree, Provost presiding.
March 28.—Dined with Provost to meet Arnold.

The following letter to his sister Jemima is taken from her collection of his letters. The reader of Mr. Newman's parochial sermons will recognise in that entitled 'The Lapse of Time,' passages which had their impulse in the thoughts here expressed.

Oriel College: March 9, 1828.
I hope you have not thought my silence unkind, dear Jemima. I have all along been going to write to you, but somehow or other, though I have not much to do, I find it difficult to make time. I am going out of the Schools, and Dornford (I fancy) will supply my place for the ensuing examination.

Dear Jemima, I know you love me much, though your disposition does not lead you to say much about it, and I love you too, and you (I trust) know it. Carefully take down, if you have not already, all you can recollect that dear Mary said on every subject, both during the time of her short illness and the days before; we shall else forget it. Would it not, too, be desirable to write down some memoranda generally concerning her?—her general character, and all the delightful things we now recollect concerning her. Alas! memory does not remain vivid; the more minute these circumstances the better. To talk of her thus in the third person, and in all the common business and conversation of life, to allude to her as now out of the way and insensible to what we are doing (as is indeed the case), is to me the most distressing circumstance, perhaps, attending our loss [Note 5]. It draws tears into my eyes to think that all at once we can only converse about her, as about some inanimate object, wood or stone. But she 'shall flourish from the tomb.' And, in the meantime, it being but a little time, I would try to talk to her in imagination, and in hope of the future, by setting down all I can think of about her. But I must not selfishly distress you. God bless you, my dearest Jemima. {159}


March 17, 1828.
… I cannot bear to think that I should ever cease to feel as much towards dear Mary as I have all my life, but I think I am sure I shall not. I dare say strangers think us much at our ease, and in good spirits; but I always wish to say when I speak to anyone who did not know her, 'Ah, you little think what she was in herself and to us all.' Dear John, how you delighted me once when you said she was so singularly good! I never heard you speak so much about her, but I was sure you thought so; and indeed we, John, know more of her than you could know; I especially, who have be always with her.


April 1, 1828.
Last week I did my exercises for my B.D. degree, merely to keep Arnold company, since one man cannot dispute with himself [and he could get no one], and its being in Latin and in Collection week, I found it too hard work.

I take most vigorous exercise, which does me much good. I have learned to leap (to a certain point), which is a larking thing for a don. The exhilaration of going quickly through the air is for my spirits very good. I have a sermon to prepare for Warton tomorrow [Note 6].


Oxford: April 21, 1828.
On my journey hither I comforted myself with writing the following lines. Do not show them to my Mother, if you think they would distress her.


Death was full urgent with thee, sister dear,
And startling in his speed;
Brief pain, then languor till thy end came near:
Such was the path decreed,
The hurried road
To lead thy soul from earth to thine own God's abode. {160}

Death wrought with thee, sweet maid, impatiently;
Yet merciful the haste
That baffles sickness; dearest, thou didst die;
Thou wast not made to taste
Death's bitterness,
Decline's slow-wasting charm, or fever's fierce distress.

Death came unheralded;—but it was well;
For so thy Saviour bore
Kind witness thou wast meet at once to dwell
On His eternal shore;
All warning spared,
For none He gives where hearts are for prompt change prepared.

Death wrought in mystery: both complaint and cure
To human skill unknown:
God put aside all means, to make us sure
It was His deed alone;
Lest we should lay
Reproach on our poor selves that thou wast caught away.

Death urged as scant of time: lest, sister dear,
We many a lingering day
Had sickened with alternate hope and fear:
The ague of delay;
Watching each spark
Of promise quenched in turn, till all our sky was dark.

Death came and went: that so thy image might
Our yearning hearts possess,
Associate with all pleasant thoughts, and bright
With youth and loveliness;
Sorrow can claim,
Mary, nor lot nor part in thy soft soothing name.

Joy of sad hearts and light of downcast eyes!
Dearest, thou art enshrined
In all thy fragrance in our memories;
For we must ever find
Bare thought of thee
Freshen our weary life, while weary life shall be. [Verses, No. 9]

I am conscious they need much correcting, which at times it will be a solace to me to give, but such as they are you will not dislike them. It goes to my heart to think that dear Mary herself, in her enthusiastic love of me, would so like them could she see them, because they are mine. May I be patient! It is so difficult to realise what one believes, and to make these trials, as they are intended, real blessings. {161}


Oriel College: May 10, 1828.

… Poor Pusey came here last Monday. He is much thrown back, and his spirits very low. He proposes being ordained on Trinity Sunday. I suppose his marriage will take place shortly after. He, Pusey, is going to change his name to Bouverie; this, however, is quite a secret.

… In accordance with my steady wish to bring together members of different colleges, I have founded a dinner club of men about my own standing (my name does not appear, nor is known as the founder). We meet once a fortnight. One fundamental rule is to have very plain dinners [Note 7].

I am very regular in my riding [enjoined by his doctor], though the weather has not on the whole been favourable. On Thursday I rode over to Cuddesdon with W. and F. and dined with Saunders. It is so great a gain to throw off Oxford for a few hours, so completely as one does in dining out, that it is almost sure to do me good. The country, too, is beautiful; the fresh leaves, the scents, the varied landscape. Yet I never felt so intensely the transitory nature of this world as when most delighted with these country scenes. And in riding out today I have been impressed more powerfully than before I had an idea was possible with the two lines:

Chanting with a solemn voice
Minds us of our better choice.

I could hardly believe the lines were not my own and Keble had not taken them from me. I wish it were possible for words to put down those indefinite, vague, and withal subtle feelings which quite pierce the soul and make it sick. Dear Mary seems embodied in every tree and hid behind every hill. What a veil and curtain this world of sense is! beautiful, but still a veil.


May 17, 1828.
It is some time since, through your kindness, I opened a communication with Mr. Pusey, who gave me encouragement to hope that, as the historical portion of the 'Encyclopædia {162} Metropolitana' approached the birth of Mohammedanism, he might be inclined to assist us in Oriental history. As I very much wish to negotiate with him further, I take the liberty of requesting information from you, who, I think, may be able to furnish it.


May 29, 1828.
Mr. Pusey is quite disposed to engage in the task you wish to impose upon him; but, as was the case when he was applied to before, he feels considerable doubt whether his present studies will allow him to pledge himself to undertake it. He has for some time past been occupied in a translation of the Old Testament, to which he feels he must give an undivided attention for the whole of the next year.

For myself, my college engagements do not allow me to keep pace with the 'Encyclopædia.' I am now slowly turning my attention to Gnosticism.

Will you allow me to express the concern I felt at hearing there was some hesitation in the minds of the proprietors of the 'Encyclopædia,' concerning the right of the contributors to publish their papers in a separate shape? For myself, I have no present intention of exerting the right, supposing it to be one, as I certainly understood it was, when I sent Mr. Mawman the article on 'Cicero and Apollonius.' ... This feeling is entertained by every Oxford contributor whom I have heard mention the subject.

Dr. Whately requests me to inform you that his friend, Dr. Hampden, lately editor of the 'Christian Remembrancer,' [Note 8] is not unwilling to have his name added to the list of contributors to the 'Encyclopædia,' if you have employment for him, and he considers you will find him a great acquisition.


June 1828.
The history of Mohammedanism will not be approached yet awhile; nevertheless, I much fear that, if Mr. Pusey's attention is engrossed by so important a subject as a translation of the Old Testament, we should have little chance of obtaining his assistance in time for our notice of the Koran. {163}

In June 1828 is entered into Mr. Newman's 'Chronological Notes' the following passage:

June 1.—Pusey ordained. [He read prayers for me in the evening at St. Mary's, and reminded me years afterwards that I said to him, 'If you read from your chest in that way it will kill you.' And, in fact, about 1832 he had read himself dumb.]


June 4, 1828.
Pusey took orders Sunday last, and is to be married next week. His book has been out about ten days. It is sadly deformed with Germanisms: he is wantonly obscure and foreign—he invents words. It is a very valuable sketch, and will do good, but will be sadly misunderstood, both from his difficulty of expressing himself, the largeness, profundity and novelty of his views, and the independence of his radicalism. It is very difficult, even for his friends and the clearest heads, to enter into his originality, full-formed [sic] accuracy, and unsystematic impartiality. I cannot express what I mean: he is like some definitely marked curve, meandering through all sorts and collections of opinions boldly, yet as it seems irregularly.

Good-bye, my dear Harriett, both our minds are full of one subject, though we do not speak of it. Not one half-hour passes but dear Mary's face is before my eyes.

The following letter—the first that is found of his correspondence with Hurrell Froude—is notable also as showing an intimacy with Mr. Henry Wilberforce, and a recognition, veiled under a tone of disparagement, of the charm of his bright and playful wit.


June 22, 1828.
I should have sent you more of a letter, but that plague, Henry Wilberforce, has been consuming the last half-hour before ten by his nonsensical chat. He bids me ask you whether you returned him a MS. on the Differential Calculus by Walker of Wadham. Did you read Pusey's book on the coach-top as you intended? {164}

In July Mr. Newman joined his Mother and sisters at Brighton.


Brighton: July 16, 1828.
There is a spare bed in our [himself and pupil] lodgings, which we should be most happy if you would take … The fact is, the noise of other lodgers in this house was most injurious to me, as it kept me awake for whole nights together. The only remedy was to take the spare bedroom ...

Whately was here two days; unfortunately I was too ill to enjoy to the full the pleasure of his company. But it was really amusing to see him playing at ducks and drakes with D. [Blanco White's pupil], and beating him hollow. He ate and drank and joked like Hercules in the 'Alcestis.' There is no man with whom I have associated so many classical passages. What do you think of the following description of our friend going to an Oxford dinner?—Nunc in reluctantes (Magistros) Egit amor dapis atque pugnæ ...

July 25, 1828, there is an entry in the 'Notes':

Sent letter to the Bishop of London (Howley) accepting Whitehall preachership. [N.B. This is quite consistent with what is said in my 'Apologia.' At this time there were twelve preachers from each university. I agreed to be one of these, but when Blomfield soon after became Bishop of London he turned all twenty-four out, and began a plan of one (or two?) from each University, and it was one of these (preacherships) which he sounded me about, and which I conditionally accepted.]


July 28, 1828.
I have a serious complaint to make against you, viz. that you have totally prevented me from preaching. According to my old notions, I could have got on tolerably well, and though I should have been dissatisfied with the execution, I should have believed myself on the right road. Now, you have convinced me I am altogether off the road, and every step I take I only get deeper in the mire. So you see you must preach both times if we take Elliott's Chapel (Q.E.D.) {165}


July 1828.
I have been thinking some time of claiming your promise of coming to see us, but we have been rather in a whirl of visitors, which as yet we have hardly got out of; and my two companions [his father and sister] are neither of them used to seeing many friends together.


11 Marine Square, Brighton: July 31, 1828.
I propose returning to Oxford by the end of next week, August 9. If then it meets your convenience, it would give me much pleasure to pay my Fairford visit in the course of the week beginning August 10 ... Dornford has kindly offered me his Nuneham cottage, should I be able to prevail upon my Mother to take up her abode there for a part of the vacation, in which case I should probably post myself there too.

I have just heard of the appointment of John Sumner to Chester, which has given me sincere pleasure. I suppose it will be generally popular ... I am employed in reading with great interest Heber's Journal ... I think it may do a great deal of good. Most pious men who have gone out, have hardly had that flexibility and elasticity of religious principle which can accommodate itself to the world, and have worked stiffly. Henry Martyn, in spite of the romantic interest attending him, is (is he not?) an instance.
Yours ever affectionately.

The name of Dr. Pusey and his work for the Church have become such world-wide facts, that it may interest the reader to see some criticisms (one notice has already been given) of his first work before his name was widely known.


August 7, 1828.
You know R. Wilberforce is kind enough to come here next month; as you could not come again I feel that in him I have the man upon whom, next after yourself, I should be most delighted to leave over my flock. I have read your {166} favourite Pusey's book [about Germany], and I am so nearly disappointed in it that I can hardly permit myself to speak to you about it; and yet I can still less bring myself to be silent on the subject. It appears to me the hasty work of a man not formed or conditioned to move in haste; struggling partly under a vast accumulation of matter, partly under press of time, and mainly under a more than common difficulty of combating successfully with such untoward circumstances. The style, surely, is often odious; his spirit, more surely, very delightful; and I cannot think he has made out his case with sufficient fulness and clearness, nor drawn the result towards which he tends nearly enough to a point. If it succeeds in gaining much attention I am clearly wrong. I am aware that the reverse will be no proof that I am right.


August 12, 1828.
I hear from Robert Wilberforce that you are returned from Brighton, and mean to stay in Dornford's cottage at Nuneham. He tells me that you are at present much better, but fears that you will go again into the Schools. If you really intend this, I envy, without approving, your resolution; but I sincerely hope you will not be called to exert it ...

I have a brother now at home [William Froude] who is coming to Oriel next term, and will make a very good hand at mathematics unless he is very idle.

After plans for his Mother's and sisters' stay at Nuneham, Mr. Newman tells his sister Jemima of his first visit to Keble, then living with his father. He writes after a rainy season:

Oriel College: August 19, 1828.
The glass was rising the whole of the last week, and now stands almost at fair; besides, there was a change of the moon yesterday, and yesterday and today are certainly more auspicious ... As we unfortunately dined out on the Friday, I, after all, saw little of the Fairford party, so much so that I was discontented with myself. They have a very nice garden—not large, but nice—and a tree-surrounded paddock, most retired and quiet, with a walk round it. Mr. Keble said it was all the world to Elizabeth (his daughter), who travelled round it in a chair many miles in the course of the year. It is quite an affecting and most happy world. He was born {167} and has lived in Fairford all his life ... Keble's verses are written (as it were) on all their faces. My head ran so upon them that I was every minute in danger of quoting them. Mr. Keble as well as John shows much playfulness and even humour in his conversation. But it was such dull weather when I was there, it made us all stupid.

The letter then diverges to other persons and things, ending with:

... What a gossiping letter this last half has been! It is quite a girl's letter. Ah! I feel ashamed.


August 20, 1828.
The higher powers here were sorry to let you go without their benediction; so the sooner you come to receive it, all quite properly, the better.

On the question of the tutorship Mr. Robert Wilberforce writes to Mr. Newman:

September 3, 1828.
I wish to embody the ideas in which we agreed when at Brighton, in relation to the appointment of some one period when the freshmen of each year should come up. The advantages of it appeared, I think, to be:

1. The increased facility of dividing the men into proper classes. At present perhaps one set of freshmen have entered upon a course of historical reading, and made some way in it—when a single one comes up, who is put in temporary lectures with men of quite different standing, that he may wait till enough are come to form a second historical class.

2. A further advantage would be that the men would not so soon become indifferent to exposing themselves before one another as they do at present. Now, when a freshman is put into a lecture with senior men, and sees them neglect all preparation, he learns to do the same. A lecture composed entirely of freshmen is always most easy to manage.

3. Another advantage would be that the tutor would be able to judge more accurately of the progress of his pupil by comparing his advance with that of his contemporaries. {168}

4. Another difficulty at present existing, is that felt in giving advice to a pupil as to the quantity of subjects he should undertake, the preparation he should make for the Schools, &c. It is only, of course, by observing a number of persons, seeing how long they went on attending [or not attending—J. H. N.] to fresh subjects, and when they began to concentrate their attention, that we can form any rule for our guidance in giving such advice.

5. As regards the men themselves. It is a great advantage to them to know whereabouts they are in their academical life. Many respectable men spend a great deal of time in study during the early part of their residence; but, postponing perhaps an accurate attention to scholarship, or the reconsideration of what they have done, suddenly find themselves without time for so doing. Were there a larger number who went on together, they would be in a certain degree a check upon one another.

6. Were more men brought together, a greater degree of stimulus would be given to them. If a man finds himself inferior to one who came up before him, he does not think of referring it to any deficiency in exertion.

The thing cannot be effected immediately, though I don't see why it should not be done next year. The temporary inconvenience of the men cannot weigh against their own permanent good, which is the object proposed.

If anything of this kind is to be done, it would be advisable, perhaps, to suggest it to the Provost [Hawkins], that, if approved by him, it might be submitted to the absent Fellows, who, as owners of rooms, are interested in it.


September 11, 1828.
I desired the Provost to acquaint you with the mental squall which has for the twentieth time driven me out of my intended course. I was quietly paddling across a little pool of Greek and Latin, just to land my pupil in the Schools on the lee side of the infamous scopuli [Note 9], at the mouth of that longed-for haven, when in an unguarded moment I was blown off into the broad and tempestuous sea of Reviews, exposed to the attacks of the 'genus irritabile,' both large monsters and small fry, which take their pastime therein. Was it {169} rashness, was it ignorance, that exposed me to this unexpected trial? It was neither, my dear friend. Dr. Mayo came on purpose from Tunbridge Wells to make me the proposal of the editorship. He found me sick of Livy and Thucydides, promised me an addition of health from a more enterprising occupation, spoke of comforts for approaching old age, and made me in a moment start up from my drowsiness as young and as bold as if I had been five-and-twenty, and had just left Oxford with a double first.

Reflection soon came to tell her sad tale; but it was too late: and here I am with an engagement upon me which I dare say alarmed at one time the formidable Gifford [Editor of the 'Quarterly.' Murray tried to get Blanco White over to him, giving up the prospect of the 'London Review.'—J. H. N.], who had the sting of a wasp at the tip of each of his fingers. There is but one way for such an [aoplos] creature as myself to be saved from being crushed—my friends must stand round me, especially my Oriel friends. Well, then, sharpen your pen and give me an article on any subject you like, Divinity excepted for the present, for of that I expect a flood. You must not decline, my dear Newman. You must also do me the kindness to engage Pusey to write something for me. Will you inquire the direction of Mills of Magdalen for me? Do you think your brother would write for me? I want materials for two numbers before I publish the first.

I intend to spend a month in Oxford during the next full term. I will keep lodgings there till the fate of the Review is ascertained.

Mr. Newman seems to have answered Blanco White in a friendly and encouraging tone, for within a fortnight he writes in reply:


September 23, 1828.
It gives me great pleasure to find that you consider the intended Review almost as an Oriel cause. But you must contribute to its success with your pen. I know how difficult it is to persuade a mind like yours to write without preparation; but I should strongly advise you to venture upon the strength of your household stuff—on the reading and reflection of many years. Write without much concern; you are sure {170} to write well. Take up any book you like; imagine yourself in our Common-Room, myself in the corner, Dornford passing the wine, &c., and tell us your mind on paper. Should you prefer a subject connected with your daily occupations, tell us how the leading classical writers should be read. You must have marked a number of passages which come home to the bosoms and business of men. Have you a taste for Memoirs? Would you like to write those of Dr. Parr? I write this day to Dornford for a military article. Neate has proposed two very good subjects ...

A day or two later he acknowledges another letter from Mr. Newman, in which it appears he had suggested two subjects: one on poetry, which was written at once, and has been reprinted among the author's works under the title 'Poetry with reference to Aristotle's "Poetics,"' and a second on music, which seems to have remained an idea only. The Review, for reasons given in a note to the republished article, ended with its second number [Note 10]. Blanco White writes to a friend, May 20, 1829, 'My compact with the evil spirit, the demon of the book-market, is almost at an end ... I hope very soon to be entirely free from the nightmare of the "London Review."'


August 20, 1828.
Today I have brought together the letters I have received since August 1826, just two years (348 letters). It is a pleasant yet painful employment. As I was sorting them into years, my eye caught a hand [Mary's] which so discomposed my {171} head that I have been obliged to lock them all up again, and turn my thoughts another way. I ought not to be talking of it now, but who can refrain?


October 9, 1828.
I hear Pusey's name mentioned as likely to succeed Nichol [N.B. as Regius Professor of Hebrew]; tell me how the matter goes. The only fear I have is that he may not be quite old enough; and also I am a little apprehensive of his reading himself to death. For I suppose, by the Rule of Three, Fellowship: Canonry : : Headache : Apoplexy. I hope you are all well and comfortable at the Nuneham cottage.


[Note by J. H. N.—This letter is a good specimen, from the 'My dear sir' at the beginning to the 'My dear sir' at the end, of his real kindness, yet ingrained donnishness.]

October 28, 1828.
My dear sir, ... What you say about the commencement of Michaelmas term at Oriel quite startled me. The 18th was the second Saturday in term, the established day of meeting. It used to be a mistake that some of our junior Fellows made, supposing St. Luke's day to be a day of audit business. Our audit (I still cannot help calling it so) is to finish before St. Luke's day. Everything therefore is concluded on the morning of the 17th, and why the young men should not come in on the following day I do not know, except that the fifth of Dr. Hill's reasons for drinking is also applicable to the case of prolonging vacations.

I hope your health is quite restored, and I am inclined to conclude that it is by your silence on the subject. Dornford also is not the worse, I trust, for his Highland rambles. I was glad to hear of him from a lady who met him en route.

It is well that Oriel has so good a treasurer as yourself. Without meaning any reflection on former treasurers, I think you will improve the system; at least you will not be content with copying precedent blindly, but will accommodate your method to the changes which time is for ever bringing on, {172} and study continual improvement, which is the way in all things to prevent both degeneracy and revolution.

I beg to be kindly remembered to the Provost, and to all your colleagues, and am, my dear sir,


November 8, 1828.
I have read your MS. in all the hurry of pleasure. I will read it again with all the composure of a critic, if I can, for you are a treacherous writer, you slip so softly through the critic's fingers. Well, then, my dear friend, you must write for me constantly; you want an outlet for your mind and heart, which are running over where there is no call for their riches. Tell the world at large what you feel and think. Talk with the people of England through my journal, and let me have the benefit of their delight. I write in a great hurry, and yet I cannot help inclining to poetry in my style, such is the effect of your article. Adieu, my Oxford Plato.


After describing a busy day:

November 11, 1828.
… My ride of a morning is generally solitary; but I almost prefer being alone. When the spirits are good, everything is delightful in the view of still nature which the country gives. I have learned to like dying trees and black meadows—swamps have their grace, and frogs their sweetness. A solemn voice seems to chant from everything. I know whose voice it is—her dear voice. Her form is almost nightly before me, when I have put out the light and lain down. Is not this a blessing?

Dear Pusey is gazetted. I hope he will not overwork himself. How desirable it seems to be to get out of the stir and bustle of the world, and not to have the responsibility and weariness of success! Now, if I choose to wish a scheme, and in my solitary rides I sometimes do, I should say, 'Oh, for some small cure of a few hundreds a year, and no preferment, as the world calls it.' But you know this is wishing for idleness, and I do not think I shall have this obscurity, {173} because I wish for it. Yet, see, I talk of the comfort of retirement—how long should I endure it were I given it. I do not know myself.



January 10, 1829.
Your opinion on my [Hebrew] Lectures [i.e. as relates to beginners] is precisely what I had myself felt. It was always my own theory that as little grammar as possible should be taught at first, i.e. until the student is sufficiently familiar with the language to take interest in the instances, &c., and the general structure of a language so different from our own; until, in fact, he be in some degree acquainted from his own experience with the problems which are to be solved. I am very much obliged to you for all your hints, and hope to profit by them, especially as they confirm my own practical views, though these had begun to give way before the interest which I myself felt in the theories of grammar. I hope for more criticisms from you soon.


Oriel College: February 6, 1829.
My dear Rickards,—I have been out of humour with you for your abuse of Pusey [Note 12]—and that's the truth. However, I shall say nothing about it, only hoping you may gain wisdom as you grow up, and it's no harm wishing this for any of us. You have heard of our proceedings at Oriel, I presume, from X., but I do not account him a very fair judge. Not, indeed, that I know what he said, or even that he said anything; but it is natural he should say something, and it's almost certain he would say wrong. He annoys me by his way of railing against the Provost, and I shall tell him so some day. If he has railed to you, don't believe him. We have gone through the year famously; packed off our lumber, parted with spoilt goods, washed and darned where we could, and imported several new articles of approved quality. Indeed, the College is so altered that you would hardly know it again. The tangible improvements of system have been, first, the diminishing the Gentlemen Commoners from twenty to eight or nine; {174} then the dismissal of the Incurables; then the rejecting unprepared candidates for admission—the number is awful, some twice; then the giving chance vacancies to well-recommended and picked men; then the introduction of paper work into the Collection examinations; then the refusing testimonials to unworthy applicants; then the revival of a Chapel sermon at the Sacrament; then the announcement of a prize for Greek composition. The most important and far-reaching improvement has been commenced this term—a radical alteration (not apparent on the published list) of the lecture system. The bad men are thrown into large classes, and thus time saved for the better sort, who are put into very small lectures, and principally with their own tutors, quite familiarly and chattingly. And, besides, a regular system for the year has been devised. But we do not wish this to be talked about. We hope soon to give some Exhibitions or Scholarships. All these alterations are, you observe, additional to that grand act at the election, of throwing open two Fellowships. Pretty well, we hope, for a year. Hawkins's spirits are not what they used to be, and persons who have known him long say he is ageing. I have sometimes been made quite sad at the sight of him. But this, of course, entre nous. He has not (nor should a head) taken the initiative in these innovations, but has always approved—sometimes kept abreast with us—and at Collections has slain the bad men manfully. It is said in College by the undergraduates that, 'Now, alas! the Provost was as bad as a Tutor.' Whereas, at Collections they used to hope the Provost would retaliate on the Tutors the blows they received from the latter.


February 8, 1829.
I began my Littlemore Evening Catechetical Lecture last Sunday. I am now returned about an hour from it, and am not fatigued. I hope no one will interrupt while I write to you, for everything is hushed around me. Why is a feeling of calm melancholy pleasing? Is it that the languor after exertion gives rise to a pleasing bodily temperature, or is it mental? I was much struck with this evening's first lesson [Note 13]. It seemed to apply to the Church. You know I have no {175} opinion about the Catholic Question, and now it is settled shall perhaps never have one; but still, its passing is one the signs of the times, of the encroachment of Philosophism and Indifferentism in the Church.

From this state of pensive calm melancholy there follows the rebound, which is a characteristic of Mr. Newman's nature, and which may be observed throughout his course.


February 17, 1829.
Peel resigned; Ch. Ch. gave him up. This was a great thing, and among others I exerted myself to gain it. Unluckily our meddling Provost just then returned from London, where Oxford men, being chiefly Liberal lawyers, were for Peel. He joined the Merton men—Whately, Shuttleworth, Macbride, &c.—in nominating Peel. He suddenly formed a committee in London, and—vigorously employing the Ch. Ch. interest, which Ch. Ch. had precluded itself from using—began an active canvass. The party opposed to Peel's reelection consisted of all the College Tutors and known resident Fellows in Oxford; but they agreed in one point, only differing in their view on the Catholic Question, but all thinking Mr. Peel unworthy to represent a religious, straightforward, unpolitical body, whose interest he had in some form or other more or less betrayed. Besides, they thought it an infamous thing if Oxford was to be blown round by the breath of a Minister, signing a petition one day and approving of the contrary next. At the first meeting they could agree only not to have Mr. Peel, and so the protest stands in the papers. On Saturday they proceeded to nominate their candidate, and the difficulty of doing this was the strength of their opponent. They at length selected Sir R. Inglis. So urgent was the case, and so strong our dislike of Mr. Peel, that it was done unanimously in an hour's meeting. But the Peelites, having Ch. Ch., having London, and an early day of election (our voters being mostly clericals from the country), above all having the Government interest, will, I doubt not, get their way. Let them. I would have signed a protest had there been no opposition. The great Captain, wise as he is, has thought the Church and Oxford his tool—and that we should turn round at the word of command. When Oxford is spoken {176} of, the residents are always meant. Oxford, by seventy residents, has rejected Mr. Peel, and, if it elects him, elects him by non-resident lawyers. It is said we shall all be in great disgrace, and that certain persons have ruined their chance of promotion. Well done. I rejoice to say the Oriel resident Fellows have been unanimous anti-Peelites [Denison and Neate were Probationers, not M.A.'s], and I have just heard that the modest Keble has come forward with a paper of questions against Mr. Peel, signed with his own fair name. I have no fault whatever to find with the other side, except that they have presumed to bring in the non-residents against the residents, which, I dare say, they think quite fair. Pusey is against us, thinking Peel an injured man, and us hot-headed fellows. The Bishop of Oxford [Lloyd]—whom I wish to love and do love—will, I fear, be much hurt with what I and others are doing; he has already in his time promoted, or helped in the promotion of, four Oriel Fellows [Pusey, Jelf, Churton, Plumer].


February 26, 1829.
At three o'clock today Sir R. Inglis was head of the poll by 70—190 Peel, to 260 Inglis. He ended [today] by being 40 ahead.

I will tell you why the Provost is 'meddling'—because when Ch. Ch. had resigned Peel, he chose to turn the opposition to him, without inquiring, into a cabal; and suddenly got up an opposite party without speaking to any of us [i.e. the Oriel Common-Room] on the subject, and brought clamour and faction in, when Ch. Ch. was quietly seeking for a member, and would most probably have chosen a man moderately favourable to Catholic Emancipation. This I call awkward 'meddling'; and if he fails he will have burned his fingers. If he succeeds he will bring in by a poor majority a man who has hitherto come in unanimously—this is a sorry triumph.

I am deeply grieved at something else. Blanco White (I know his way so well) wrote a letter to some Oxford friend stating his change of views about Catholic Emancipation. Why not let him change with the mass of the nation? No, it served the purpose of the Peelites to bring his name forward. He is asked to publish—generously and devotedly he does it; {177} and thus he is made the victim of an electioneering purpose. He has brought upon himself all sorts of attacks, odious personal attacks.

It is too bad to inflict upon individuals favourable to Catholic Emancipation the most difficult task of striking a balance between their disgust of Mr. Peel and their friendly disposition towards the Catholic question. Hence some Emancipatists have taken one side, some another; some have remained neuter; some have taken a side and half repented—all have felt a difficulty. This, I say, all arose from the indelicacy of those who thrust Mr. Peel on the University.


March 1, 1829.
We have achieved a glorious victory. It is the first public event I have been concerned in, and I thank God from my heart both for my cause and its success. We have proved the independence of the Church and of Oxford. So rarely is either of the two in opposition to Government, that not once in fifty years can independent principle be shown. Yet, in these times, when its existence has been generally doubted, the moral power we shall gain by it cannot be overestimated. We had the influence of Government in unrelenting activity against us—the 'talent' so called of the University, the town lawyers, who care little for our credit, the distance off and the slender means of our voters—yet we have beaten them by a majority of 146 votes, 755 to 609. The 'rank and talent' of London came down superciliously to remove any impediment to the quiet passing of the great Duke's bill; confessing at the same time that of course the University would lose credit by turning about, whatever the Government might gain by it. They would make use of their suffrage, as members of the University, to degrade the University. No wonder that such as I, who have not, and others who have, definite opinions in favour of Catholic Emancipation, should feel we have a much nearer and holier interest than the pacification of Ireland, and should, with all our might, resist the attempt to put us under the feet of the Duke and Mr. Brougham.

Their insolence has been intolerable; not that we have done more than laugh at it. They have everywhere styled themselves the 'talent' of the University. That they have rank and station on their side I know; and that we have the {178} inferior colleges and the humbler style of men. But as to talent, Whately, with perhaps Hawkins, is the only man of talent among them; as to the rest, any one of us in the Oriel Common-Room will fight a dozen of them apiece—and Keble is a host; Balliol too gives us a tough set, and we have all the practical talent, for they have shown they are mere sucking pigs in their canvass and their calculations. Several days since, their London chairman wrote to Mr. Peel assuring him of complete and certain success. They strutted about (peacocks!) telling our men who passed through London that they should beat by eight to one, and they wondered we should bring the matter to a poll. We endured all this, scarcely hoping for success, but determining, as good Churchmen and true, to fight for the principle, not consenting to our own degradation. I am sure I would have opposed Mr. Peel had there been only just enough with me to take off the appearance of egotism and ostentation; and we seriously contemplated about ten days since, when we seemed to have too slight hopes of victory to put men to the expense of coming up, we the resident seventy, simply and solemnly to vote against Mr. Peel, though the majority against us might be many hundreds. How much of the Church's credit depended on us residents! and how inexcusable we should have been, if by drawing back we had deprived our country friends of the opportunity of voting, and had thus in some sort betrayed them.

Well, the poor defenceless Church has borne the brunt of it, and I see in it the strength and unity of Churchmen. An hostile account in one of the papers says, 'High and Low Church have joined, being set on rejecting Mr. Peel.'

I am glad to say I have seen no ill-humour anywhere. We have been merry all through it.


March 13, 1829.
What a scribbler I am become! But the fact is my mind is so full of ideas in consequence of this important event, and my views have so much enlarged and expanded, that in justice to myself I ought to write a volume.

We live in a novel era—one in which there is an advance towards universal education. Men have hitherto depended on others, and especially on the clergy, for religious truth; {179} now each man attempts to judge for himself. Now, without meaning of course that Christianity is in itself opposed to free inquiry, still I think it in fact at the present time opposed to the particular form which that liberty of thought has now assumed. Christianity is of faith, modesty, lowliness, subordination; but the spirit at work against it is one of latitudinarianism, indifferentism, and schism, a spirit which tends to overthrow doctrine, as if the fruit of bigotry and discipline—as if the instrument of priestcraft. All parties seem to acknowledge that the stream of opinion is setting against the Church. I do believe it will ultimately be separated from the State, and at this prospect I look with apprehension—(1) because all revolutions are awful things, and the effect of this revolution is unknown; (2) because the upper classes will be left almost religionless; (3) because there will not be that security for sound doctrine without change which is given by Act of Parliament; (4) because the clergy will be thrown on their congregations for voluntary contributions.

It is no reply to say that the majesty of truth will triumph, for man's nature is corrupt; also, even should it triumph, still this will only be ultimately, and the meanwhile may last for centuries. Yet I do still think there is a promise of preservation to the Church; and in its Sacraments, preceding and attending religious education, there are such means of Heavenly grace, that I do not doubt it will live on in the most irreligious and atheistical times.

Its enemies at present are: (1) The uneducated or partially educated mass in towns, whose organs are Wooler's, Carlisle's publications, &c. They are almost professedly deistical or worse. (2) The Utilitarians, political economists, useful knowledge people—their organs the 'Westminster Review,' the 'London University,' &c. (3) The Schismatics in and out of the Church, whose organs are the 'Eclectic Review,' the 'Christian Guardian,' &c. (4) The Baptists, whose system is consistent Calvinism—for, as far as I can see, Thomas Scott, &c., are inconsistent, and such inconsistent men would in times of commotion split and go over to this side or that. (5) The high circles in London. (6) I might add the political indifferentists, but I do not know enough to speak, like men who join Roman Catholics on one hand and Socinians on the other. Now you must not understand me as speaking harshly of individuals; I am speaking of bodies and principles. {180}

And now I come to another phenomenon: the talent of the day is against the Church. The Church party (visibly at least, for there may be latent talent, and great times give birth to great men) is poor in mental endowments. It has not activity, shrewdness, dexterity, eloquence, practical power. On what, then, does it depend? On prejudice and bigotry.

This is hardly an exaggeration; yet I have good meaning and one honourable to the Church. Listen to my theory. As each individual has certain instincts of right and wrong antecedently to reasoning, on which he acts—and rightly so—which perverse reasoning may supplant, which then can hardly be regained, but, if regained, will be regained from a different source—from reasoning, not from nature—so, I think, has the world of men collectively. God gave them truths in His miraculous revelations, and other truths in the unsophisticated infancy of nations, scarcely less necessary and divine. These are transmitted as 'the wisdom of our ancestors,' through men—many of whom cannot enter into them, or receive them themselves—still on, on, from age to age, not the less truths because many of the generations through which they are transmitted are unable to prove them, but hold them, either from pious and honest feeling (it may be), or from bigotry or from prejudice. That they are truths it is most difficult to prove, for great men alone can prove great ideas or grasp them. Such a mind was Hooker's, such Butler's; and, as moral evil triumphs over good on a small field of action, so in the argument of an hour or the compass of a volume would men like Brougham, or, again, Wesley, show to far greater advantage than Hooker or Butler. Moral truth is gained by patient study, by calm reflection, silently as the dew falls—unless miraculously given—and when gained it is transmitted by faith and by 'prejudice.' Keble's book is full of such truths, which any Cambridge man might refute with time greatest ease.


March 10, 1829.
I am continuing in fact my letter to my Mother. Well, then, taking the state of parties in the country as it is, I look upon the granting of the Catholic claims not so much in itself as in the principle and sentiments of which it is an indication. It is carried by indifference, and by hostility to the Church. {181} I do not see how this can be denied. Not that it is not a momentous measure in itself; it is certainly an alteration in our Constitution, and, though I am used to think the country has not much to dread from Romanistic opinions (the danger seeming to be on the side of infidelity), yet there is a general impression, which Blanco White's book confirms, that infidelity and Romanism are compatible, or rather connected with each other. Moreover, it is agreed on all hands that the Emancipation will endanger the Irish Protestant Church; some even say it must ultimately fall.

All these things being considered, I am clearly in principle an anti-Catholic; and, if I do not oppose the Emancipation, it is only because I do not think it expedient, perhaps possible, so to do. I do not look for the settlement of difficulties by the measure; they are rather begun by it, and will be settled with the downfall of the Established Church. If, then, I am for Emancipation, it is only that I may take my stand against the foes of the Church on better ground, instead of fighting at a disadvantage.

That Emancipation is necessary now I think pretty clear, because the intelligence of the country will have it. Almost all who have weight by their talent or station prefer, of the alternatives left to us, concession, to an Irish war. But that the anti-Catholic party, who have by far the majority of number, should have been betrayed by its friends suddenly, craftily, and that the Government should have been bullied by Mr. O'Connell into concessions, is most deplorable. Perhaps there are circumstances in the background of which we know nothing. I have thought, perhaps, the Duke wants to have the energies of the country free and ready for a Russian war.

I do not reckon Pusey or Denison among our opponents, because they were strong for concession beforehand; and Pusey, I know, thought most highly of Mr. Peel's integrity and generosity.


March 28, 1829.
In good earnest I do not repent, nor can I imagine anything, humanly speaking, at all capable of making me repent, of the line I took in the late election; except, indeed, that Sir Robert [Inglis] were to fight a duel, which, however, I can hardly imagine. {182}

I do repent of some unkind thoughts and words which I fear I was guilty of at first towards Mr. Peel, and it is my expression of this feeling to one or two correspondents which, I presume, has won for me the most undeserved honour of being enrolled among the new converts ...

On moral grounds, therefore, I am disposed to respect and admire him; but on political grounds I am more and more pleased that he was not elected. To say the truth, I never wish to see a Minister of State or leader of a party representing the University again. I had rather have a straightforward country gentleman.


March 29, 1829.
They wish me to go into the Schools again. I have refused it point-blank and unconditionally.

I must have tired you about the Catholic question. The Duke, even though right in his policy itself, seems to be acting quite unjustifiably in passing the measure against the loud and decided voice of the nation. However admirable it may be in a great captain, it is unworthy of an honest statesman. The people have been betrayed by those in whom they confided. The forced submission, too, of the Lords to the Commons is an alarming precedent.

Mr. Newman has spoken in his Memoir of his relations with Dr. Lloyd. The reader will recall the description given of him in his lecture-room. The following letter shows how warm his feelings were towards him personally.


June 4, 1829.
We were much alarmed about the Bishop of Oxford (Lloyd) about ten days before his death. You may suppose Pusey is in a good deal of distress. I do not doubt that vexation and anxiety had much to do with his (Lloyd's) illness. He had all the odium of Mr. Peel upon him. His speech in the House got him into trouble, though as far as the argument is concerned he seemed to me to be quite right. He has been assaulted in the papers continually, and in a brutal way, {183} beside the coldness of private friends, and, as I know, the anonymous attacks in the shape of letters addressed to him. Pusey's appointment, moreover, was made matter for abusing him, and perhaps Pusey's book.

His death shocked me much; it must most men. Apparently in sound and robust health, with the certainty of the noblest preferment before him, probably the Archbishopric of York. No one could tell what his complaint was—he had a violent cough, which they thought the whooping-cough, and his lungs were found inflamed after death; but he also had a bilious fever for certain, and others speak of other complaints. He took so little care of his health by exercise, that I do not wonder at his constitution giving way when attacked suddenly and violently.

I had the greatest esteem, respect, and love for him as a most warm-hearted, frank, vigorous-minded and generous man. His kindness for me I cannot soon forget. He brought me forward, made me known, spoke well of me, and gave me confidence in myself. I have before my mind various pictures of what passed in his lecture-room; how he used to fix his eyes on me when he was pleased, and never put his Ch. Ch. friends unduly forward. I wish he ever had been aware how much I felt his kindness.

Oriel Fellows of mark of the third and fourth decade of this century have been made known to the reader through the portraiture of one of their number. It has startled the Editor to find the following sketch of the artist himself in the first promise and blossom of his youth. The reader will remember that Mr. Newman, in writing this letter, was addressing a late Fellow of Oriel.


April 28, 1829.
I do not expect to finish this by post-time; but here goes. You are a cunning fellow to write me a letter just before our election. Well, I understand your meaning, so I tell you we have elected two Oriel men, nomine Mozley and Christie. The particulars of the election I will tell you when we meet, should I recollect them at that time. In the meantime know, in brief, that I never was at so perplexing and anxious an {184} election, though all in which I have been concerned have been important ones.

I am persuaded we have done what we ought to do. Mozley, if he turns out according to his present promise, will be one of the most surprising men we shall have numbered in our lists (ut apud Orielensem Orielensis de Orielensi aliquid jactem); it will be some time doubtless before he comes to maturity. He is not quick or brilliant, but deep, meditative, clear in thought, and imaginative. His [ethos] is admirable, and during his residence with us he has conducted himself unblamably; he is amiable and, withal, entertaining in parlance, and, to sum up all, somewhat eccentric at present in some of his notions. And now you will confess that I have given you a full description. His standing was quite a chance, and connected with some interesting circumstances too minute for a letter.

The excitement of the election over, Mr. Newman returned with freshened appetite to the course of reading to which he had devoted himself.


June 25, 1829.
I am so hungry for Irenæus and Cyprian I long for the vacation.

On leaving Brighton, July 21, the family party settled for the Long Vacation at Horspath, Mr. Newman riding in to Oxford in the morning and returning to dinner. Both at Horspath and Oxford there was music. 'Woodgate's piano' was sent to Horspath. Quintets, in which Blanco White took a part, are often mentioned. 'Henry Wilberforce' had lodgings near, and read with Mr. Newman. 'S. Wilberforce' came over from Checkendon. It was an harmonious period, that might well live in the memory of all concerned in it, and perhaps raise gloomy contrasts as time went on.

The first letter preserved from Newman to Hurrell Froude shows the interest of the two friends in the Tutorship, and the harmony of their opinions in the conduct of their office: {185}


August 15, 1829.
… He [N.B. a youth examined for entrance] is at present a youth somewhat unformed in manner, rusticior paulo; but I am somehow not displeased with such men. For, though they come up quizzes somewhat, they form sound men in these bad days, and I liked the [ethos] of the youth, though there was something odd in his exterior. I have also entered for you one of two brothers, by name ——. They are frank youths. They are to be gentlemen commoners, which I could not help, and, to tell the truth, if we can get gentlemen commoners to our taste, I do not know why they should be sent elsewhere, where they will want the sound instruction and pastoral care of Adam de Brome. They will not, I am sure, do us discredit. They come with a very high character from Eton. I wish I could speak of another youth as favourably, who, I fear, will give us much trouble. I could not pluck him; but he is only just so much prepared as to neglect his lectures if he has a mind.

Mozley [Note 14] just now made his appearance in my rooms, having arrived for a few weeks' hermitage here ... Dornford was, on the whole, I think, pleased with what he saw in Ireland, but did not see much, and was disappointed in the Irish character (its wit, I believe). I like what he says as far as it goes. He met some very clever Irish lads (Roman Catholics) who knew a great deal about their own tenets, and argued well. He seems to think a reformation to Protestantism quite chimerical, and likes the idea of a gradual improvement in the Roman Catholic system itself. This is Arnold's system too, bigot! And why it is not a good one I do not know.

You prophesied ill of the weather, yet for enjoyment it has been excellently well adapted; except the last day or two: I sleep at Horspath, ride in here to breakfast, and ride back to dinner, and get wet through (yesterday, for instance) now and then. I am doing nothing, i.e. recovering arrears. I have been from four to six hours at it daily, and have not done. While I am about it I shall go through all my papers and letters, burn and arrange, and by the end of the vacation be quite comfortable; but as to the Fathers ne hilum quidem. {186} I must, in the course of time, give up the tuition and be a gentleman, or, rather, a Fellow. [N.B.—I meant (as I was wont to hold) that a Fellow ought not to be a mere tutor, but take a substantial place as a student, writer, &c.]


I have sent the first five chapters of my book, including Inspiration of the Fathers, to the press. There are some parts which I want you much to see, especially one in which, à propos of Irenæus, I have made some observations (I believe, in your spirit) on the Inspiration of the Church; and, as if justifying Irenæus, have said that there was nothing harsh in supposing that those who wilfully, &c., separated from the Church, excluded themselves from some of the benefits intended by God for us, since some can only, it appears, be thus conveyed; and I have said proof might be brought from the partial manner in which Christianity has generally been embraced by separatist bodies. What think you of this? I shall send them in hopes that you will criticise freely that others may not severely.

The 'Morning Star' [his little child Lucy] longs to shine upon you, although her rays are sometimes, and not unfrequently, watery.


September 11, 1829.
Much as you boast of your situation on the water, and justly, yet I doubt after all whether it is finer than the inland Shotover. The weather indeed has been sad, but the lights most exquisite. I never saw tints half so enchanting. Certainly rain brings with it this compensation.

I wrote first to Robert Wilberforce, and since he on the whole declines, I write to you to know whether you feel at liberty to join me [in the care of my parish]; at least can you propose any one? …

I mean ultimately to divide the duty of St. Mary's from Littlemore, and wish the person I gain to take Littlemore at once, having nothing to do with St. Mary's. This ensuing audit I shall begin my stir about a chapel, which, when (if) built, will be his. Till then I fear I must confess he will be {187} without public duty. As to the vacations, I do not suppose there will be much difficulty in arranging them. I would divide the residences with him. At least you can give your counsel.

[N.B.—The Provost was to the last opposed to dividing off Littlemore as a separate cure from St. Mary's. Crawley alone, who settled at Littlemore, was able at length, about 1843, to persuade him. He went and had a talk with him, I prophesying that he would not succeed. As the building a chapel tended to the separation of the cure, as an almost necessary ultimate result, I think I am right in saying that the Provost always steadily threw cold water on the building. It was not begun till 1835.]

I have been reading a good deal lately of the times of the first James and Charles, the Parliamentary debates of the day, &c., and am struck by the resemblance of those times and these—all times may be like all times for what I know.

My home party at Horspath has been delighted with the place in spite of the weather, and my Mother is much better. I am dismayed at the decreasing limits of the vacation, though this is most ungracious, considering it is at least an accident of full term to bring the Tutors together. It is a shame to rail at Oxford as so many of us do. We have all sorts of comforts and advantages there, yet it is fashionable to abuse it in the abstract.

I suppose Pusey's book will be out in the autumn [N.B. Answer to Rose]. His view of inspiration I think you will be much pleased with. It is one which has by fits and starts occurred to me. He has put it into system, and I do believe it is the old Orthodox doctrine. He holds the inspiration of the Church and of all good men, for example Socrates; and, indeed, I never could find out why Hooker is not to be called inspired.


Keswick: September 27, 1829.
I am very much gratified to find that you and Pusey take a view of inspiration which exactly (as far as I understand you) agrees with mine. I have got it written in a crude form, as it occurred to me when I first heard the subject canvassed; and shall have great satisfaction in talking it over with you. I hope Pusey may turn out High Church after all. {188}

A propos of these last words, the following letter is given, written within the year 1829, but with no fuller date:


I do not know how to thank you for all the trouble which you have taken. I wish I could do justice to the subject ... The notices, however, will be useful to me. In Beveridge I have found something to my purpose, though he is higher Church than I.


[Writing from his brother's.]

Checkendon: September 28, 1829.
I have given Sam your kind invitation to visit you at Horspath, and, as I expected, he values it most truly. Tomorrow we intend to ride over. I hope we shall be there in time for your dinner. I hope when we have got Sam safe we may prevail on him to stay, instead of returning to the solitary home he has here. In the meantime there is no danger of my being idle, Sam being fully employed; so that Aristotle and Horace will profit rather than suffer by my day's delay.

On October 23, Mrs. Newman and her daughters moved to Mr. Dornford's cottage at Nuneham. It was a dreary wintry time. Before Christmas, snow lay thick on the ground and frost made slippery paths. The change was great from Horspath. The added chill of solitude told on the elder sister, whose letters also indicate that she could not go along with her brother in his growth of view, and possibly had some mistrust of the new influence which was telling upon him.


November 14.
We go on very quietly in these parts ... I hope you can give us a decent lengthened call. I should like a quarter of an hour's quiet talk with you.

... We have long since read your two sermons; they are {189} very High Church. I do not think I am near so High, and do not quite understand them yet.

As secretary of the Church Missionary Society, to which office he had been elected March 9 of this year 1829, Mr. Newman's mind was much occupied with the system on which it was conducted. Early in the following year there are private entries on the subject, thus: 'Sketched letters about Church Missionary Society,' &c. The following letter, to the Rev. John Hill, Head of St. Edmund Hall, gives the first note of this dissatisfaction.


December 1829.
I have just found that the sermons [Note 15] preached at St. Ebbe Church last Sunday, in aid of the funds of the Church Missionary Society, have been supposed to be authorised by the Oxford Association; and, considering that the doctrine reported to be contained in them is not at all in necessary connexion with that professed by the Church Missionary Society, I am anxious to consult with you [N.B.—He and I were the secretaries] about the propriety of adopting, if possible, some measure calculated to remove so erroneous an impression, and of introducing the subject to the meeting on Monday.

I have written at once, since I am not certain it will be in my power to call on you tomorrow, and I am unwilling that you should not be informed of my feeling on the subject as soon as possible.


December 12, 1829.
The collection on behalf of the Church Missionary Society at St. Ebbe's last Sunday, and the appointment of the preachers, originated in the minister of that parish; nor has the Society, I conceive, anything to do with either, except to view thankfully the contributions thus freely offered to its funds. {190}

It is true that one of the preachers employed some expressions in his sermon which the other considered to be not altogether correct, who therefore felt it right to allude to the subject in the afternoon. But while it is open to the friends of each to converse with them on the subject according to their own judgment, surely the committee or secretaries of the Society are not authorised to interfere, as those opinions had no reference to the Society, nor were adduced as the sentiments of the Society. As to myself, I would not, on any account, allow myself to become a party to any measure which might appear like a disclaimer against either of the individuals in question. I should, on the contrary, deem such a proceeding totally inconsistent with Christian candour and love. Both the men are devoted servants of Christ, and actuated in an eminent degree by love of God and man—as their whole conduct and spirit testify. Both are, as to the general character of their preaching, faithfully announcing the Gospel of Jesus Christ. With regard to the point of difference between them, I conceive (so far as I can judge from the reports I have received of their sermons, and from my previous knowledge of their sentiments) that Mr. Bulteel is most correct, because more clearly adhering to the spirit and language of Scripture; yet I entertain at the same time a very high regard for the piety and usefulness of Mr. Sibthorp; nor can I believe that the difference between them on the particular subject in question is so great as some casual expressions may have led some to suppose.

Mr. Newman's further action towards the Missionary Society belongs to the following year, 1830, but it was one of the questions occupying his mind at this time, along with all the business his bursarship brought upon him at the close of the year.

In all pecuniary matters involving responsibility Mr. Newman was rigidly exact—enforcing punctilious promptitude and accuracy on juniors working under him. That in his College office (as treasurer) he gave satisfaction may be gathered from the following playful recognition of his services. {191}


December 3, 1829.
'Two hundred pounds and possibilities is good gifts,' to use the phrase of a revered and learned Welshman of old—Sir Hugh Evans. The opening of your letter led me to expect something very different—more in accordance with the state of the times; so that when I came to 200l. actually put to my account at Hoare's, I felt as if my most sanguine expectations had been far outdone. And then came the 'possibilities.' If you were to treat us so every year I shall vote that you be made perpetual treasurer. Far from thinking you late in writing—knowing something of your engagements—I did not expect to hear before the end of term, and now you have so amply satisfied whatever cravings I had as to possibilities, I shall wait with the utmost patience.

With all these cares and duties on his hands, the last words of the year show a sense of pressure.

J. H. N. TO H. E. N.

Oriel College: December 31, 1829.
I have nothing to say except that, if I had but one-tenth part to do of what I really ought in various ways, I should have quite enough.

The Christmas vacation was mainly spent at Nuneham with his Mother and sisters, Mr. Newman walking from and to Oxford day after day.


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1. Lately settled at Eastern Terrace, Brighton.
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2. Mr. Rickards gave characters from handwritings. It was an especial favour reserved for intimate friends for him to do this in the presence of others.
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3. The above letter from Mr. Newman to Mr. Keble will help to clear away the difficulties that have arisen as to Mr. Newman's part in the election, which are noticed in Dean Burgon's Twelve Good Men. The following letter from Dr. Pusey is here given; it was written on the same sheet of paper with that of Mr. Newman:—'My dear Keble,—N. having spared me a small space in his letter, which was written in consequence of seeing your kind answer to mine, I am very glad to be able to express my sincere gratitude for that kindness. I knew that whatever was done honestly would meet with your approbation; but it is a satisfaction to have that expressed in such a manner. I suppressed much in my last letter that I would willingly have said, but dreaded its, at the moment, appearing insincere; but I now find that it would probably give you less pain not to be the object of the choice of the Fellows than it will, I expect, be to me to vote otherwise than for you.—Affectionately yours, E. B. PUSEY.'
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4. This lady, sister-in-law of the Rev. Walter Mayer, has been described in Reminiscences of Oriel. She died at Autun, Dec. 2, 1885 in the Convent of the Order of Visitation.
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5. See Parochial Sermons, vol. vii. p. 4, 'The Lapse of Time.'
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6. Rev. Walter Mayer's funeral sermon.
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7. The members were: 1, R. H. Froude; 2, H. I. Wilberforce; 3, J. H. Newman; 4, J. Bramston; 5, Rickards; 6, Round.
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8. In its monthly form.
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9. 'Infames scopulos Acroceraunia,' Hor. Od. I. iii. 20.
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10. The following is extracted from 'Note on Essay I,' in Essays Critical and Historical, vol. i. p. 27:—

'‘The time was favourable for a new Quarterly, so far as this, that the long-established Quarterly was in the crisis of a change of editors. In fact, its publisher entered into correspondence with Mr. White with a view to an arrangement which would supersede the projected Review … the new publication required an editor of more vigorous health and enterprising mind, of more cheerful spirits and greater powers of working, and with larger knowledge of the English public than Mr. White possessed; and writers less bookish and academical than those, able as they were, on whom its fate depended. Southey, by anticipation, hit the blot. As a whole, the Review was dull.'
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11. This date given, but with a doubt expressed as to exact correctness.
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12. See Letter on p. 165.
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13. That Sunday was the Fifth Sunday after Epiphany. Therefore by the Old Lectionary the evening first lesson was the 64th of Isaiah.
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14. Thomas Mozley, elected Fellow of Oriel April 1829.
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15. By Bulteel and Sibthorp.
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Newman Reader — Works of John Henry Newman
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