[Letters and Correspondence—1834]


June 15, 1834.
 … Was it not a strange mishap that, much as you abused me for making you a cat's paw, yet when the time of danger came, you should get out of the way and leave innocent me to trouble? So it was; only think how mildly I have always spoken of Arnold, and how bitterly you; never did I use a harsh word against him, I think, except that once, and then at Rome, and with but one or two friends. Yet even from Rome those few words are dragged forth, and I have to answer for them, in spite of my very great moderation and charity as touching him. In the next place, my tracts were abused as Popish—as for other things, so especially for expressions about the Eucharist. Here, as you well know, it was you who were apt to be unguarded—not I.

I could tell you much, only it is renewing sorrows and {43} nothing else, of the plague the tracts have been to us; and how we have removed them to Rivington's. That the said tracts have been of essential benefit it is impossible to doubt. Pamphlets, sermons, &c., on the Apostolic Succession are appearing in every part of the kingdom; and every other Sunday we have a University sermon on the subject ...

H. Wilberforce engaged to marry Miss S. last December—was afraid to tell me, and left Oxford without; spread abroad I had cut R. for marrying. Yet he has not ratted, and will not (so be it). Marriage, when a crime, is a crime which it is criminal to repent of.

I have in writing my prediction, given in to the Provost four years since, that if our system of tuition were stopped, the classes would fail; and I referred him to the fact that when Tyler, Keble, and Whately ceased to take private pupils, the series of honours stopped in 1823. Now observe Eden came up the term before, Bliss the term after I was appointed tutor; they are the two first new honours of our series. Rogers took his honours two years since; he was the last of my pupils, and the last of our (Classical, i.e. in College) honours. Nothing is doing now. Men, like young [James] Mozley, who might have been anything, are doing nothing. Well; Denison [the tutor] now wishes to found scholarships (from the Fellows' proceeds, I believe) in order to encourage reading. Qu.: Should not the tuition money supply the fund? [N.B.—October 17, 1860.—I believe from that time till now, and in spite of the scholarship scheme being carried out, Oriel has never regained its place in the class list.] Since schemes are going about, I have a scheme of my own [about the Bosworth lecture]. At present it is useless. Oriel is famous for its careless divinity in the schools. Balliol has catechetical lectures. It is highly desirable then to endow Bos, make the men attend the lectures, &c. &c.

June 21.
I have long come to the conclusion that our time is not come: i.e. that other persons can do the day's work as well as or better than we can, our business being only to give them a shove now and then. You send home flaming papers, but after all I fall back to what I said last year on your articles about the Prĉmunire. Not that it is not right (very right) to accustom men's imaginations to the prospect of changes; but they cannot realise the arguments, they are quite beyond them. I see this in the case of some of the tracts compared with {44} others; and (I am sure) recalling the memory of my own feelings in past years, I can quite understand it. This is our gain, and I intend to make use of it ...

Meanwhile let us read, and prepare ourselves for better things. I am sitting in the Bodleian, collating manuscripts of Dionysius, &c., and intend to be happy. I reflect with some pleasure that some of our most learned men lived and acted in most troublous times, as Usher, Hammond, Taylor, and in primitive times Clement of Alexandria, Dionysius, and Origen. Surely our intervals of repose (so be it) will be many, and give room for much reading and thinking.

The edition of Dionysius I am engaged on opens a wide field of reading; it will appear in Latin, and is written therefore for myself chiefly, and the genius loci; but still I hope it may be of use elsewhere. In Germany they eagerly read everything; one may suggest views. Again to have edited respectably such a work gives one a solid influence, built on a foundation which no one can shake, because no one can criticise. It is a [ktema], removed from the profane populace, and the more 'magnificum' because it is unknown. So that even for our purposes it is not without its use; and abundantly useful if it bring me acquainted with the history of the early Church.

The Bishop of Lincoln [Kaye] has, in a letter to Rose, criticised my account of the Disciplina Arcani; and he thinks lightly of my learning, which truly is little enough, but yet, I think, enough for my purpose, and far more than he thinks. Because I have given conclusions without noticing objections, and their answers, he thinks me ignorant of the existence of the objections. My present notion is that, in the course of time, I must publish a series of dissertations in a second volume [of the 'Arians']: for example, 'On the Disciplina Arcani'—'On the Primitive Church's Notion of the External World,' &c. &c.

As to Rose, he is a fine fellow, certainly he is, and complains he has no one all through London in whom he can confide. Oh, that you were well enough to assist him in London! You are not fit to move of yourself, but you would act through Rose as spirit acts on external matter through a body. He has everything which you are without, and is so inflammable that not even muscles are more sensitive of volition than he would be of you. I wish he were not so passionate. I and Keble have had a quarrel with him; so {45} has Sewell—amantium irĉ, I trust. I want to tell you as a deep secret that the successor of Sanctus Thomas [i.e. Dr. Howley, Archbishop of Canterbury] being indisposed, took up a work on the Arians, which quite took, and fidgeted him. Thanks to Ogilvie and Rose, he is much more decided this session. But every one says, if bad times really come, he will be a confessor, then a martyr.

It is now a year since I have been anxious to begin a weekly celebration of the Lord's Supper, but as yet I have not moved a step. I think I shall begin with Saints' days first. What I have done is to have a Wednesday evening's service, beginning in April with the long days, which is followed by a lecture extempore on the Creed. Next year I may take some lives—Hooker, Ridley, Bull, &c. I am quite fluent, although I never shall be eloquent. I at first drew above a hundred, chiefly University men, though they fell off. Further, I think I mean on St. Peter's day, i.e. next Sunday, to announce my intention of reading the morning service daily in the chancel while and whenever I am in Oxford, according to the injunctions of the Church, whether people attend or not. I shall have a desk put up near the altar, facing the south, from which I shall read the Psalms and Lessons, kneeling, however, towards the east. It seems to me that the absurdity, as it appears to many, of Tom Keble's daily plan is, his praying to empty benches. Put yourself near the altar, and you may be solitary. I see this agrees with a notion of yours. I am the more eager to begin this service because the Provost pointedly refused to let me keep open the chapel at Christmas [N.B.—though I was Dean]. I have waited long enough to show that I am not acting from 'irritation.' I shall go on through the term; in which I think there will be no impropriety towards the College [N.B.—i.e. in not attending College chapel], it having been formally ruled by Jenkyns that the Dean had no more to do with the chapel than another Fellow. I gave up my part of the chaplaincy [i.e. College chaplaincy, which was divided between several Fellows] in a quiet way to Eden, on his going into Orders. It seems very desirable that you or I should be Dean; in that way we know the men.


June 16, 1834.
 … As you suppose, I have seen Keble's Installation Ode in the papers, but I shall much prize a copy. It is worthy of {46} its author. I can give you a strong proof of the intensity of my admiration of it. I found yesterday that I knew it by heart, and I do not think that I shall ever forget it.


June 18, 1834.
 … Have you seen Gobat's 'Abyssinia'?—a missionary sent out by the Church Missionary Society, who has been telling that Church in our name that baptismal regeneration is one of their most grievous errors; that a Church has no right to anathematise any but those who do not love the Lord Jesus; that regular fasts are very self-righteous wicked things. Pray tell me if you belong to the Church Missionary Society. The book has been out about three months, I believe. Gobat was in Abyssinia from February 1830 to February 1833. The book is prefaced by a history of the Abyssinian Church by Professor Lee.


June 22, 1834.
I have been much surprised to find an injunction in the preface to the Prayer Book, to the effect that all priests and deacons are to say daily the morning and evening prayers, either privately or openly, not being let by sickness or other urgent cause. Do you consider this binding? I have thought not, for (1) I read in the next clause that the incumbent in every parish church or chapel is to say the same in his church, a practice which has been long discontinued ... (2) I find so many of the Rubrics no longer acted upon, and in the endeavours to enforce which you would not be supported by your Diocesan; (3) no allusion is made to it in the Ordination Service.


June 24, 1834.
 … I was rather amused, and very much bored, by the debate on the Dissenters' admission. Herbert made a gentlemanly speech, well worded and well delivered, and with tolerably good sentiments on the subject, and was very much complimented on all hands, by Peel, Goulburn, Spring Rice, {47} Wood (the mover.). The object of the Opposition appeared to me to be to secure the independence of the colleges, and in that they certainly succeeded. The mover, a Unitarian, said, in answer to Peel, that he intended the Dissenters should be compelled to attend College Chapel! It was repeated over and over again by the Liberals, that they did not intend interfering with the present religious discipline and education; and the Tories went on still assuming that they would interfere, and expatiating on the evils of so doing. It is really quite amusing how completely one or two clever pamphlets give the tone to the arguments on the different sides of the question. I think we were remarking it generally some time since, and certainly the members of the House of Commons are not exceptions to the general rule ...

Mr. Newman's protest to a friend against the uses to which Westminster Abbey was about to be applied has been given in a previous letter. Mr. Bowden writes after the event:


July 3, 1834.
The Dean of Westminster seems to have had a sort of guilty consciousness about the festival. It took so well that much interest was made for a continuation of the concerts, and he, not wishing to make the Abbey quite an ancient concert-room, took the only way of putting an end to solicitations by setting about demolishing the fittings-up with an absurd rapidity. The last chorus, I hear, was scarcely concluded when the work of demolition began. The departing audience, I know, found their way impeded by the upholsterer's carts intended to receive the trappings, and a few hours sufficed to put the Abbey hors de combat for any further concerts. I went the other Sunday morning; there was no service at all that day; the church was shut up for a Sunday, St. Peter's Abbey for St. Peter's Day. The week-day service, at least, as at St. Paul's, has also been suspended for some days, in consequence of the engagements of the choir at the concert rehearsals, &c. This I heard the other day in the church itself, whither I went to show it to John [his son] as a special favour. {48}


July 2, 1834.
Copeland says you talked about a daily service, which I was very glad to hear of, if it would not be too much of a tie upon you. But I think the only ground on which it can be sustained, and without disappointment, is that the Rubric commands that we should read the service, and if we are bound to do so, it may be done at church as easily as elsewhere.


July 3, 1834.
 … Allow me to say it is a very bad way to say 'I don't agree with what I believe is your opinion on this point,' without specifying what that fancied opinion is. It often happens that the speaker is not well instructed in what one's view is, and there is no means of explaining this. As you are somewhat given to this, I propose to name it the 'Wilson fallacy?' ... I had an instance of it the other day in a letter from Acland. He maintains that my 'metaphysical views' (!) agree with Coleridge, which he is rejoiced to find. Then he adds, 'But Wilson gave me such an idea of your severely practical doctrines as to make me quite afraid of you,' or words to that effect.

As to the number of persons you can visit [pastoral visits], it depends on many circumstances; for example, you are a bad walker. When I was at St. Clement's, I could visit sixteen people without inconvenience, taking half one day and half another; but then they were almost next door to each other.

As to the injunction to read the Church service daily, it is curious you should just now have mentioned the subject. After many months' deliberation I have taken advantage of the Long Vacation [when the College Chapel is closed] to begin daily morning service at St. Mary's; how it will succeed is still to be seen ... The whole question of the Rubrics is a melancholy one. Things are so bad that one keeps silence.

The following lines, it will be seen, were transcribed from a letter as a sort of act of parting from an old friend, and are inserted here for the sake of the tender recollections they {49} awake in the transcriber, with whom early friendships were very sacred things.


Whittlesea: July 5, 1834.
 … I am aware that my composition is faulty. I believe the fault lies somewhere in my early training, when I learnt so much French and Italian, and the English was neglected.

[July 4, 1860.—I have kept whole a few letters of this dear friend, so simple, so affectionate, so true, so cheerful. Most of his letters I must destroy as of no interest except to me.—J. H. N.]

July 1 of this year (1834) is signalised in the notes by the following entry:

Declined marrying a couple, the lady being unbaptized.

When questions of principle were once started and an opinion formed, it was Mr. Newman's nature to act. The marriage of Dissenters had given rise to such a question. He was asked to marry a parishioner, a Dissenter with whom he had held conversations on her religious opinions and on the rite of baptism; thus he could not act in ignorance of the fact that she was unbaptized. To his Mother he writes:

July 8, 1834.
You will like to hear what I have to say [about the Jubber matter]. Till the last hour I have felt to be one man against a multitude. No one, apparently, to encourage me, and so many black averted faces, that unless from my youth I had been schooled to fall back upon myself, I should have been quite out of heart. I went and sat twenty minutes with Mrs. Small [the old dame schoolmistress at Littlemore] by way of consolation.

However, I had taken courage to send Keble my letter to the Bishop, and to Pusey a notice I mean to put into the paper, and within the last hour I have had both their opinions. I could not hope that they would be favourable, but they are both quite so, and I think you will like to hear them.

Pusey says: 'I like your letter very much'; he adds, 'I am glad of what you have done, and trust it will do good, “through evil report and good report.”' {50}

Keble says: 'I hope such a distinct and conscientious protest against one of our crying grievances may have a good effect. It is much to be hoped that no controversy immediately connected with the present case may arise, and I hope, too, the Bishop's answer (which I have no doubt will be as evasive as he can make it) will not be such as to make you think further measures immediately necessary.'

I seem as if I could bear anything now. I felt that I could not have done otherwise than I did. Yet it is very distressing to be alone. I do not know that it is inconsistent to say this, much as I think I agree with Keble and Pusey. In new cases and sudden emergencies the most accordant minds differ in judgment.

I am more pleased at these letters than I can say. I had taken my vexation as a sort of punishment for my many sins, and did not expect thus to be comforted.


Oriel College: July 13, 1834.
Perhaps you have seen in the papers the Jubber affair. The only thing that annoyed me was that I was represented to have spoken rudely, which was not the case. As to refusing marriage to unbaptized persons, we must make a stand somewhere. Things are rolling downhill so gradually that, wherever one makes a stand, it will be said to be a harsh measure. But I am determined (please God) that, as far as I am concerned, the Church shall not crumble away without my doing in my place what I can to hinder it. I had had conversation with this man before on the subject of his daughter's baptism; I did not seek out the case, and it was a new one in St. Mary's. I had no time to refer to the Bishop. I never can be sorry for what I have done; nothing can make me sorry, though existing Church authorities should declare against me. Keble and Pusey have both taken my part, and I care not at all, I think, what odium comes on me so that I make my protest.


July 14, 1834.
 … About your learning German. [Bowden gave me a set of books for this purpose as early as (?) 1823.] I scarcely recommend it—not but that you would soon obtain proficiency {51} enough to read it if you gave yourself up to the study for a few weeks. But how are you to do this? Your time is too precious to be spent in indirect labours for the Church.

With regard to the Jubber business, I saw the story in the 'Times,' and at once concluded that the rudeness was an unfounded charge. Rose dined with me the day on which it appeared. He said that he did not well see his way while the law recognised no marriages but Church ones. I thought it highly desirable that the anomaly should be shown, and that the point should be brought to an issue.


July 20, 1834.
[I have no copy of this. I have transcribed it from Perceval's letter to Arnold, 1841.]

As to the Tracts, every one has his own taste. You object to some things, another to others. If we altered to please every one the effect would be spoiled. They were not intended as symbols ex cathedra, but as the expression of individual minds, and individuals feeling strongly; while, on the one hand, they are incidentally faulty in mode or language, on the other they are still peculiarly effective. No great work was ever done by a system, whereas systems rise out of individual exertions. Luther was an individual. The very faults of an individual excite attention; he loses, but his cause, if good, and he powerful-minded, gains. This is the way of things; we promote truth by a self-sacrifice. There are many things in ——'s tract which I could have wished said otherwise for one reason or other, but the whole was to my mind admirable, most persuasive and striking.

[This letter was in answer to a letter of his of June 7, 1834, which I have transcribed elsewhere. On the outside of it I have made a memorandum, as was my custom, 'Answered July 20, 1834,' which agrees with the above. I don't know who the —— is. In Perceval's letter there is no allusion to any particular tract.—J. H. N.]


July, 1834.
 … By the way, I saw your name in the papers in connection with the Dissenters' Marriage Question, ... I met Sir Robert Inglis yesterday, who talked over your act, and seemed {52} much to applaud it. Jacobson told me that he had no doubt you were acting quite conscientiously, as your brother had done; but he thought there had been as much want of judgment in the one as in the other, &c., but that perhaps you did it only to bring things to a crisis that you might force some alteration about the marriage of Dissenters. I urged the obvious reasons, and asked whether he could conscientiously use the service if he knew the party was unbaptized. He said no; but by going into the church, in the present state of the law, a person virtually undertook to fulfil all the functions which the State required of him, of which this was one.


Oriel College: July 30, 1834.
Thank you for a sight of Lady W.'s letter. Since you have let me see her opinion of me, I suppose the best return I can make is to let you know my opinion of her. And I am led first of all to express my thanks at her benevolent intention of having me shown up in some Review or other, which is not the less benevolent because it is impracticable in the way she wishes. I mean it would be easy to get some party or professedly eclectic Review to lash me, but that would not answer her purpose. On the other hand, a Church Review, such as the 'British Critic,' though it might not agree with me, would know enough of Church theology to find it was a very difficult thing to convict me of running counter to the great stream of our divines. Sit anima mea cum Hammondo and such like. This is, indeed, a very curious feature of her remarks. She knows (apparently) nothing of the Church of England as such. She jumbles us with what she calls 'Protestants,' and thinks it sufficient to prove that so-and-so is not the 'Protestant' doctrine. Now I should frighten good people if I were to say I disown the word 'Protestant,' yet in the sense she uses it I do disown it. I protest as much against Calvin as against the Council of Trent, whereas Protestant in her sense is a crooked stick, bent on one side. The word Protestant does not, as far as I know, occur in our formularies. It is an uncomfortable, perplexing word, intended to connect us—and actually connecting us—with the Protestants abroad. We are a 'Reformed' Church, not a Protestant.' I care not a whit for the Diet of Augsburg. Calvin is no guide to me, not even as an authority, and as for Bucer I {53} wish he had never crossed the sea. That the Puritanic spirit spread in Elizabeth's and James's time, and did sad havoc, tainting even good and wise men, is certain. Blessed is he who is not corrupted by his age, who keeps his garments white and clean! Who can do it except, so to say, by miracle? Even Hooker, I should think (I speak under correction), but gradually worked his way out of his Puritanic education, but he did do so. The spirit of Puritanism has been succeeded by the Methodistic (of course, I do not use the word reproachfully but historically.) We, the while, children of the Holy Church, whencesoever brought into it, whether by early training or afterthought, have had one voice, that one voice which the Church has had from the beginning. As far as I can make out, the good and holy men of every age have not much differed from each other—Hooker and Taylor from St. Bernard, St. Bernard from St. Chrysostom. Meanwhile, the Church of Rome apostatized at Trent. It is too much to say that we, the children of Ridley and Laud, are innovators, introducing opinions, and open to warnings such as Lady W. gives us. Show me I am an innovator, and without question I will be silent. Then she need not speak of consequences of my doctrine, and I will be silent in that. But if I but speak as the Church has ever spoken, let her, if she will, still 'protest,' but let her quite understand her position, as external to the Church, as herself being one of, on the whole, an innovating party. Whether right or wrong, she, not I, must show cause why she says what she says. But doubtless the torrent of the day is so much with her, that I must consent to be in an apparent minority, and to rest on the scenes of past years, from 'the upper room' in Acts i. to the Court of Carisbrooke or Uxbridge. Doubtless I have made up my mind, as every one must who tries to stand against the torrent, to be misunderstood and called names. She many be quite sure that not a word has she said by way of accounting for my holding what I hold, but I could have said more plausibly before her; I could have made out a more specious story against myself, have spoken of reaction, &c. But, after all, what is the fact? That, however I came to hold what I hold, I hold it with such men as Hammond and Wilson, and therefore I am consoled, as well as prepared, for the names Pelagian, Papist, or anything else—[me genoito].

I would wish to ask Lady W. whether she uses such words as Pelagian historically or not. If she does, let her tell me {54} what Pelagius's doctrine was and show I agree with it; if not, it is indirectly assuming that I have so committed myself as to fall under the expressed censure of the Church, which is unfair. Next, I observe that it is inconsistent in her calling me a Pelagian and yet spiritually-minded. Let her be quite sure that when I think a person a heretic, I shall never call him religious. A spiritually-minded heretic may exist in the 'Protestant' world, but not in the Church.

I conceive a clergyman is likely to have seen as much of persons in distress of mind as Lady W.

To conclude, I doubt not you have before now given my Lady a hint on the confident way in which she, a lay person, speaks of Christ's ministers. At first I was amused at the way in which she laid down the law, but on second thoughts it seemed a more serious thing. It is part of the evil of our present system, which puts great people about the Church, and, if they are religious, makes them little Queen Besses. She may be quite sure that, if she comes into collision with me, I shall take some quiet opportunity of hinting this to her. I write currente calamo, having no time for a very finished letter.


Oriel College: August 10, 1834.
Pray give yourself no great trouble about the German Athanasius. When I shall have an opportunity of correcting my 'Arians' is, of course, very uncertain, and of distant date. I fancy I shall continue fidgety till I have learned a smattering of German, but that, of course, is of a date still further removed. You see we stand a chance of being inundated with German divinity, and they have (I believe) written some useful books, too, in my line; both which reasons make me anxious to understand them.

I have been engaged in editing Dionysius since I wrote to you [Note 1]. It is not a very laborious business; most of it was done to my hand, and I have now managed nearly to break the neck of it; so I shall almost lay it by and take it up from time to time, or keep it quietly in hand. I thought it was good to take something easy as a beginning. If you say, Why edit books at all? I answer I have great fears of being {55} superficial. Nothing is a greater temptation in writing such a book as the 'Arians' than to take facts and Fathers at second hand; and I wish to withdraw myself as much as possible from it.

The last week I have taken up the subject of the Anglican Convocation, have rummaged out of the library a certain number of pamphlets, and have begun reading and writing. I have long plagued my friends on every side to undertake and get up this passage of history, which seems to me very important now; and, failing, have at length begun myself ... I have a visitation sermon to preach at home, and was unwilling to be away any part of the time, but shall take some of the l689-1780 pamphlets with me afterwards. I go to J. Keble's for a week.

I took your hint about Popery immediately, and wrote the tract called 'Via Media,' which appeared the beginning of this month, though I am diffident whether it will answer your aim. I am quite prepared for the charges of both Popery and Pelagianism, nor do I see how to escape them. In my view of the matter, the flood of Puritanism is pouring over the Church, as Liberalism over the world; and any one who believes this and makes a stand will be sure to incur the reputation of those heresies which are the contrary of the fashionable ones. There are multitudes of men who shrink from styling themselves Calvinistic, and yet accuse all doctrine which is short of Calvinism of Pelagianism; again, who call themselves Churchmen, and speak in a sentimental way about the Church (as Cunningham), yet call any man a Papist who begins to act as if he loved it. And now I believe the Saurinians, Peculiars, or in whatever other name they rejoice [Evangelicals], having, after long labour, made progress, and seeing the goal before them, are much irritated at the thought of being thrown back again. Mr. Wilks, of the 'Christian Observer,' seems to pant for the comprehension contemplated in 1689, has schemes for removing the Popery of the services, bringing in Dissenters, and is both frightened and angry at the 'British Magazine,' the Oxford proceedings, &c. How is it possible one can escape? I do not expect, though (of course) the more protests (as you say) one puts on record against the imputations cast on one, the better.

As to my marriage business. I suppose the hubbub is at an end. I have gained my point; so let those laugh who win: no one can rail away the protest I have made. I could {56} not avoid it. I did not hunt out the parties. I never should 'ask questions' for conscience sake. I knew the young woman was unbaptized. I had had some months before conversation with her father about it; so had Williams: and she would not be baptized. One of the sons had inquired about baptism with some secular purpose. None of them seemed to have a notion of its religious character. It was not a question of Dissenter or Churchman; not a question who baptized. She was not baptized at meeting-house or church. I could not have taken on me the responsibility, against the wish and spirit of the Church, to commit an act which might have made me the instrument of encouraging persons in a fatal delusion—the notion that baptism was a mere ceremony. It was not a question of infant or adult baptism. I had no time to ask the Bishop. Indeed, I am quite easy, thank God.


August 21, 1834.
I have just seen a paper, the 'Times' of the 19th, which contains a letter from a Dissenter about my refusing to marry. To my surprise he says it has been always considered that the law is with me. And he mentions cases of clergymen who have acted as I did. However, his own view is that the law says nothing either way, which, you know, is what I have thought all along. He refers to another letter which had appeared in the 'Times' on the subject. So, I suppose, a sort of discussion has been going on. He writes temperately, and does not seem to be angry with me, though he complains of the system. I am very glad people have been brought to attend to the subject.

Mr. Newman's feeling for places was part of his strong memory from a child. Wherever he had lived, thought, formed friendships, enjoyed or suffered, the scenes in which events ran their course remained sharply imprinted on his mind, to be revived, often to painful acuteness, at the sight of them. In writing to his Mother, it was natural to him to describe his feelings more freely than to the closest friend. So to her he wrote on revisiting Alton [Note 2] while the impression was still vivid: {57}


Alton: September 20, 1834.
I left Stevens this morning and got here about two o'clock. As I got near the place I many times wished I had not come. I found it so very trying. So many strong feelings, distinct from each other, were awakened. The very length of time since I was here was a serious thought, almost half my life; and I so different from what a boy, as I then was, could be not indeed, in my having any strong stimulus of worldly hope then which I have not now—for, strange though it may seem, never, even as a boy, had I any vision of success, fortune, or worldly comfort, to bound my prospect of the future—but because, after fifteen years, I felt, after all, that I was hardly the same person as to all external relations, and as regards the particular tempering and colouring of my mind.

And then the number of painful events, and pleasant too, which have gone between my past and my present self. And, further, the particular season at which we lived here, when I was just entered at Oxford, so that this place is, as it were, the record, as it was the scene, of my undergraduate studies and opinions. The Oxford reminiscences of that time have been effaced by my constant residence there since, but here I am thrown back upon those years which never can come again.

There are many little incidents stored in my memory which now waken into life. Especially, I remember that first evening of my return from Oxford in 1818, after gaining the scholarship at Trinity, and my Father saying 'What a happy meeting this!' Often and often such sayings of his come into my mind, and almost overpower me; for I consider he did do very much for me at a painful sacrifice to himself, and was so generous and kind ...

All these various thoughts so troubled me as I came along, and the prospect opened clearer and clearer, that I felt quite sick at heart. There was something so mysterious, too, in seeing old sights, half recollecting them and doubting. It is like seeing the ghosts of friends. Perhaps it is the impression it makes upon one of God's upholding power which is so awful—but it seemed to me so very strange that everything was in its place, after so long a time. As we came near, and I saw Monk's Wood, the church and the hollow on the other side of the town, it was as fearful as if I was standing on the {58} grave of some one I knew, and saw him gradually recover life, and rise again. Quite a lifetime seems to divide me from the time I was here. I wished myself away from the pain of it, and then the excitement caused a reaction, and I got quite insensible and callous, and then again got disgusted with myself and thought I had made a great fool of myself in coming here at all, and wondered what I should do with myself now I was here. Meanwhile the coach went on and I found myself at the Swan.

In the Long Vacation of 1834, Mr. Newman pays a few days' visit to Mr. Golightly, then just settled at Godalming, and, writing to his sister, describes his house:

September 25, 1834.
 … But I ought to tell you something about Golightly's house. It has the advantage of being close to the church, of being in the town in front, and behind in the country most entirely; of having a quiet garden with a pretty prospect and fine trees, a most extensive homestead—buildings, courtyards, and offices without end—of having eight windows in front (it is not high), a quadrangle, and numerous hiding-places for troublous times (G. is going to make one behind a chimney, hot!) It has the disadvantage of being an old, ramshackle, up-and-down place, with innumerable floors, staircases, closets and windows, white wainscoting and black doors, old daubs of family portraits, low ceilings, small windows, and dark rooms, endless draughts, and enormous chairs. The soil is sandy and dry; but there are low meadows with the Wey through them just below the house, ditches of filthy mud, and a mephitic pond, all which must be very disagreeable in winter. This house is close to the Workhouse; the people are not very interesting, and the incumbent would certainly soon quarrel with our friend were he not soon going away for his health.

G. is very merry and sportive. I am very well, but people seem to think me very thin, and I certainly think I am.

The following thought, or feeling, is more characteristic of the writer's temperament than of his teaching. Addressing the same sister after going over a house splendidly fitted up, he could put into words his personal objection to show and state, and all that might minister to self-indulgence, which no change of circumstances could change in him. {59}

I confess I could not (I think) live in so beautiful a place. I should destroy the conservatory, and turn the inner-drawing-room into a chapel. Natural beauties I feel no grudge against; but artificial, whether exotic plants, foreign gems and marbles, rare viands, statues and paintings, seem as out of place as to be waited on by slaves. I think the principle of objection to both is the same.


Tunbridge Wells: October 2, 1834.
I dined with the Dean yesterday, who is a kind unassuming man ... He has no views, and in consequence is like a ship without a rudder. Since I have been away I have read Butler's 'Book of the Roman Catholic Church,' Marsh's 'Comparative View,' and Faber's 'Romanism' almost, and have more of a view. To become a Romanist seems more and more impossible; to unite with Rome (if she would let us) not impossible; but she would not, without ceasing to be Rome. Somehow my own confidence in my views seems to grow. I am aware I have not yet fully developed them to myself. There are opinions as yet unknown to me, which must be brought out and received; inconsistencies, too, perhaps to be set right; but, on the whole, I seem to have a grasp of a system, very comprehensive. I could go on a great way with Rome, and a great way with the Evangelicals; nay, I should not despair of religious Dissenters. I think our system will be very taking from its novelty, its sublimity, and its argumentative basis. I see persons struck and puzzled at it. Such is M. Bunsen, who, when I first had some words with him, looked at me with interest, as one who was on ground which he had once occupied. I am conscious to myself I easily bring a person to a stand, and to say: 'Really I have not considered it in that point of view.' (Whether a permanent effect would be produced is another matter.) I attribute this, not to any powers of argument which I have (for, if I had my will, I never would argue, and I suppose, on the other hand, one likes to do what one can do well), but simply to my having got hold, somehow or other, of an imposing view, call it right or wrong. I should not be surprised (though sorry) if an Apostolical School started up at Cambridge, as the Shelleian, Utilitarian, &c. As to the Evangelicals I have been much struck with a most sensible account of the state of India, just {60} received here from Mr. Tucker, in almost every word of which—it is full of practical and doctrinal matters—I agree. Though he is a Calvinist, I do believe our differences would in India almost be a matter of a few words. He gives a most exciting account of his field of labour, without intending it. At this moment, could I choose, and have all circumstances and providences at my disposal, I would go as an independent Bishop to his part of India, and found a Church there. This, you will say, is an ambitious flight. I am sure some one ought to be sent as Bishop; but the State, the State! we are crippled. I can fancy the day coming when India might be a refuge, if our game was up here.—Love to my Mother and Frank.

 … P.S. There is a lady here who plays most beautifully. I think I never heard such a touch—why, I cannot make out, for she has not long fingers. Your touch is very good; but I thought it required long fingers to be brilliant. So you must set yourself to rival her. It would be interesting to examine the causes of expression, which you might easily do. Strength of finger is one thing, certainly. This lady is not brilliant in the common sense—that is, smart and rattling—but every note is so full-toned, so perfect, that one requires nothing beyond itself. This in Beethoven's effective passages produces a surprising effect. I accompanied her last night, and am to do so again tonight.


October 7, 1834.
Mrs. B. is a warm, young, amiable person; full of feeling—says everything she thinks. She is very pleasant to talk to. I went with her to visit a nunnery near, yesterday. Whether they sympathized in my appearance or not I cannot tell, but they treated me with a confidence which, my friends tell me, was unprecedented. Not only did I go all through the schoolgirls' dormitories, but one of the nuns introduced me to her own cell. I liked everything but the gloom. The cleanliness of every part of the house was exquisite; but the bed in the cell had black curtains and a green baize coverlet. This looked dirty as well as dismal. In consistency the sheets ought to have been black too.

The following letters are taken from the Life of Archbishop Whately [Note 3]:{61}


Dublin: October 25, 1834.
My dear Newman,—A most shocking report concerning you has reached me, which indeed carries such an improbability on the face of it, that you may perhaps wonder at my giving it a thought; and at first I did not; but finding it repeated from different quarters, it seems to me worth contradicting for the sake of your character.

Some Oxford undergraduates, I find, openly report that when I was at Oriel last spring you absented yourself from chapel on purpose to avoid receiving the Communion along with me, and that you yourself declared this to be the case. I would not notice every idle rumour, but this has been so confidently and so long asserted, that it would be a satisfaction to me to be able to declare its falsity as a fact, from your authority. I did, indeed, at once declare my utter unbelief, but then this has only the weight of my opinion, though an opinion resting, I think, on no insufficient grounds. I did not profess to rest my disbelief on our long, intimate, and confidential friendship, which would make it your right and your duty, if I did anything to offend you, or anything you might think materially wrong, to remonstrate with me; but on your general character, which I was persuaded would have made you incapable, even had no such close connection existed between us, of conduct so unchristian and inhuman. But, as I said, I should like for your sake to be able to contradict the report from your authority.—Ever yours, very truly.


Oriel College: October 28, 1834.
My dear Lord,—My absence from the Sacrament in the College chapel on the Sunday you were in Oxford was occasioned solely and altogether by my having it on that day in St. Mary's; and I am pretty sure, if I may trust my memory, that I did not even know of your Grace's presence there till after the service. Most certainly such knowledge would not have affected my attendance. I need not say, this being the case, that the report of my having made any statement on the subject is quite unfounded: indeed, your letter of this morning {62} is the first information I have had in any shape of the existence of the report.

I am happy in being thus able to afford an explanation as satisfactory to you as the kind feelings which you have ever entertained towards me could desire; yet on honest reflection I cannot conceal from myself that it was generally a relief to me to see so little of your Grace when you were in Oxford, and it is a greater relief now to have an opportunity of saying so to yourself. I have ever wished to observe the rule, never to make a public charge against another behind his back; and, though in the course of conversation and the urgency of accidental occurrences it is sometimes difficult to keep to it, yet I trust I have not broken it, especially in your own case, i.e. though my most intimate friends know how deeply I deplore the line of ecclesiastical policy adopted under your archiepiscopal sanction, and though in society I may have clearly shown that I have an opinion one way rather than the other, yet I have never in my intention—never, as I believe, at all spoken of your Grace in a serious way before strangers; indeed, mixing little in general society, and not over-apt to open myself in it, I have had little temptation to do so. Least of all should I so forget myself as to take undergraduates into my confidence in such a matter.

I wish I could convey to your Grace the mixed and very painful feelings which the late history of the Irish Church has raised in me—the union of her members with men of heterodox views, and the extinction (without ecclesiastical sanction) of half her candlesticks [Note 4], the witnesses and guarantees of the truth and the trustees of the Covenant. I willingly own that, both in my secret judgment and my mode of speaking concerning you to my friends, I have had great alternations and changes of feeling—defending, then blaming, your policy, next praising yourself and protesting against your measures, according as the affectionate remembrances which I had of you, rose against my utter aversion of the secular and unbelieving policy in which I consider the Irish Church to be implicated. I trust I shall never be forgetful of the kindness you uniformly showed me during your residence in Oxford, and anxiously hope that no duty to Christ and His Church may ever interfere with my expression of it. However, on the {63} present opportunity I am conscious to myself, that I am acting according to the dictates both of duty and gratitude, if I beg your leave to state my persuasion that the perilous measures in which your Grace has acquiesced, are but the legitimate offspring of those principles, difficult to describe in few words, with which your reputation is associated—principles which bear upon the very fundamentals of all argument and investigation, and affect almost every doctrine and every maxim on which our faith and our conduct depend. I can feel no reluctance to confess that, when I first was connected with your Grace, gratitude to you and admiration of your character weighed strongly upon me; and had not something from within resisted, I should certainly have adopted views on religious and social questions such as seem to my present judgment to be based on the pride of reason, and tending towards infidelity, and which, in your own case, nothing but your Grace's high religious temper, and the unclouded faith of your mind, have been able to withstand. I am quite confident that, however you may regret my judgment, you will give me credit, not only for honesty, but a deeper feeling, in thus laying it before you.

May I be suffered to add that your name is ever mentioned in my prayers, and to subscribe myself, your Grace's very sincere friend and servant,


Temple: Saturday, November 1, 1834.
I was truly pleased to hear from Rogers that you returned to Oxford in such good health and spirits.

I have enjoyed very comfortable health, and have had many blessings to be thankful for. For the last month, owing to the emptiness of London and a delightful freedom from interruption, I have been able to follow other studies more congenial than the law, giving to the last as much attention as duty enjoins. I have chiefly been attending to our own history as regards Church matters.

As not alien to this matter, I will just mention how much I have been interested by your two 'Via Medias,' [Note 5] as containing a more systematic exposition of your views than I was before possessed of, and as accounting, to my mind at least, {64} for the mode and form in which your 'Parochial Sermons' exhibit Divine truths. You will be interested, I think, by my referring you to a passage in the preface to the third volume of Burnet's 'History of the Reformation,' p. 13, ed. Clarendon, beginning at 'I cannot conclude' to 'Roman Communion.'


Exeter College: November 1834.
I am going to Harrison's this evening about 8 o'clock to chat over with him the subject of Subscription.

I have just heard that the Heads of Houses meditate bringing forward the abolition of it even this term. Surely something ought to be done. Could we meet this evening at Ch. Ch.?

Mr. Newman, writing some notes at the back of Mr. Sewell's letter, concludes with the following sentence:

There seems to be a general foreboding that religious quarrels and party divisions will be the consequence of such relaxation; and, whether this occurs or not, it is certain that the prospect of religious indifference will impose it as a duty upon such as feel a value for Divine truth, to make every feeling and influence secondary to their determination to support the view they believe to be Scriptural against all, &c.


November 10.

You will have heard that the Heads of Houses have decided by a majority of one to displace the Articles from undergraduate subscription. I will gladly join in any measures which can be adopted to fight the battle efficiently in Convocation.


Oriel: November 10, 1834.
The Heads of Houses have today by a majority of one decided on introducing a measure into Convocation, to remove undergraduate subscription to the Articles. What they propose to substitute for it I have not yet learned. Two measures are talked of: either a simple declaration that the person to be matriculated would conform to the discipline and worship of the place, which, in fact, is bringing us to Cambridge; {65} or this with the addition that he does not dissent from the Articles. Burton has gone over. Pusey is staunch the other way. Sewell is staunch, and Harrison annis non animo minor. We all seem to agree that we would go as far as this, viz. to allow of an additional sentence in the Epinomis explanatory of our meaning in imposing the subscription. If we are misunderstood (which is the ground taken against us), then let us explain ourselves; to alter would be implying we are wrong. Pusey has drawn up a sketch of an explanation; it runs as follows:—

'The University supposes that those who, coming for her instructions, subscribe the Articles, thereby profess, according to their different attainments, that they receive these Articles as believing them to be true, either from their own conviction or at least upon the authority of the Church. She would not, however, wish altogether to exclude those of a scrupulous conscience, who might hesitate to state this of themselves, and yet knew of no opinion which they held opposed either to the discipline or doctrine of the Church of England.'

P.S.—Rogers heard from Froude yesterday. He says nothing about his health, but is evidently home-sick and lonely.

In Froude's 'Remains,' p. 374, we find the letter probably here spoken of, beginning in the half-fretful, half-humorous tone natural to an expectant, suffering under the intolerable delay incident to distant correspondence in those days. Froude writes:

September 25, 1834.
By the time you get this, it will be near a year since I have heard a word about you … Of N. I heard as late as December 15, 1833. I have just referred to the rascal's letter. But as to K., C., and you, and the M.'s, &c., I am in utter ignorance on which side the Styx you are all residing.

By the same post seems to have come some direct letter or message to the N. here spoken of, which elicits the following self-justification and tender remonstrance:


November 12, 1834.
I am not surprised you should be so unjust to me, for I should be so to you under the same circumstances. You see {66} we expected you here with the Bishop of Barbadoes till the middle of May, and therefore did not send letters. When we found him here without you, we instantly began to write; by accidents which we could not help (e.g. the box was a fortnight on the road to Dartington), it was August before it was off. However, you had news of Oxford up to the minute of its going.

In the vacation I worked hard at Dionysius Alex., and then at subjects connected with the Anglican Convocation, the fruits of which are beginning to appear in the ['British'] Magazine, though they are not satisfactory. Since that I have got into controversy with a Parisian Abbé, whom Harrison, arabicising with De Saci, fell in with. The war is to be or the whole Romish question, and I have been reading Laud, Stillingfleet, &c.

Keble's father has taken to his bed, and is so ill that Keble does not leave him. This keen weather makes his illness very serious. I suppose we shall have a good election. Perhaps Vaughan of Ch. Ch. will stand; a clever man, a friend of Denison's, a connexion of the Provost's.

November 18.
Vaughan is going to the law, yet last Long Vacation, for love of Oxford, took up his abode here, and attended daily service at St. Mary's. Rogers says that he is his own forming. Rogers was elected Vinerian Scholar unanimously last Wednesday.

I am so angry with you, I cannot say. Have we not sent you a full box? That up to September 29 you had not received it, is as hard for us to bear as for you. Why will you not have a little faith? I was week after week saying: 'Now the time's nearly come for the box to arrive,' &c. How I long to see you again if so be! I suppose all this is for your good. You want a taming in various ways. It is to wean you from your over-interest in politics. You are certainly [alethos politikos], and I miss you continually in advice; but of course one is fond of what one does well; so you see you are being taught to unlearn the world—the ecclesiastical as well as the worldly world. A strange thought came across me about you some six weeks ago, when I saw a letter from Tucker of C. C. C., giving an account of his prospects in India. He is not at all an imaginative or enthusiastic man; but really a religious spirit has sprung up among military men at our stations; and having no angel {67} to direct them to Joppa, they have turned Evangelicals The various sects there have a leaning towards the church, and the men of colour are forming centres of operation. My thought was, if your health would not let you come home, you ought to be a bishop in India. It quite amused me for a while, and made me think how many posts there are in His Kingdom, how many offices, Who says to one, Do this, and he doeth it, &c. It is quite impossible that, some way or other, you are not destined to be the instrument of God's purposes. Though I saw the earth cleave, and you fall in, or Heaven open and a chariot appear, I should say just the same. God has ten thousand posts of service. You might be of use in the central elemental fire; you might be of use in the depths of the sea [Note 6].

The tracts now form a thick volume. We have put a title-page and preface to them, and called them 'Tracts for 1833-4.' I think you will like them as a whole. You go too fast yourself. Williams has been so unwell, we were going to send him out to you, but he has lately mended. I have just engaged with Rivington to publish another volume of sermons. The first volume was nearly sold off in the course of nine months—1,000 copies.

I have not dared all along to indulge the hope that I should be favoured with having you here again; but now really the prospect seems clearing. I do not like to say so lest I break a spell. Rogers's eyes are little or not at all {68} better. Gladstone is turning out a fine fellow. Harrison has made him confess that the doctrine of the Apostolical Succession is irresistible.


November 17, 1834.
We have now, I suppose, peace for a time, which is a great blessing. I conclude, namely, although I have heard nothing from authority, that the idea of substituting a Declaration is at an end. The Queries [they were Pusey's], especially one of yours, seem to have done the work. Keble, I suppose, will not want any copies now.

[N.B.—To avoid confusion 'Declaration' in these letters means sometimes (1) the Lay Declaration of January 1834, following up the Address to the Archbishop; (2) as here, the Declaration proposed as a substitution for Subscription of the Articles, in the case of Undergraduates at Matriculation; (3) the Declaration of Parents or Guardians against the admission of Dissenters in the spring of 1834; (4) the Declaration. of Adherence and Concurrence in spring of 1834.]


November 23, 1834.
Do you know I am hungry to hear about you, and whether your health stands in the midst of your occupations. My father tells me your sermons are talked of in all directions. I have not seen the two last Nos. of the 'British Magazine,' which is a sort of letter from you, quoad 'Lyra,' and 'Letter on the Church of the Fathers.'

I really believe that an external inflammation which I have been keeping up for some time on my chest touches the internal disorder ... I have entirely left off meat; my dinner is toast and a basin of very weak chicken broth. Breakfast is my chief meal, and consists of a vast joram of milk and arrowroot. It is an odd thing, milk never used to agree with me, but I find that by putting a good lot of cinnamon into it I can digest any quantity. I find I must not take exercise so as to put me out of breath, as that increases my cough; yet the more I take the stronger I get; so that I am in a dilemma, which I shall cut by borrowing one of the Bishop's horses instead of walking.

I am perforce as idle as possible; my chief occupation {69} being to keep thoughts out of my head. In this respect I find my friend Sanctus Thomas of infinite use. Dawdling over translations, and picking facts out of allusions, just keep one going for the time, without supplying any materials to brood over.

If you see Keble, congratulate him on the Yank edition of the 'Christian Year,' which has gone on Oakeley's plan of putting the fine passages in italics. It is amusing to see the selection which he [the Yankee editor] has made.


[This letter was the beginning of hostilities in the University.]

November 28, 1834.
The kindness which has led to your presenting me with your pamphlet encourages me to hope that you will forgive me, if I take the opportunity it affords to express to you my very sincere and deep regret that it has been published.

Such an opportunity I could not let slip without being unfaithful to my own serious thoughts on the subject.

While I respect the tone of piety in which the pamphlet is written, I feel an aversion to the principles it professes, as (in my opinion) legitimately tending to formal Socinianism.

And also I lament that, by its appearance, the first step has been taken towards an interruption of that peace and mutual good understanding which has prevailed so long in this place; and which, if ever seriously disturbed, will be succeeded by dissensions the more intractable, because justified in the minds of those who resist innovations, by a feeling of imperative duty.

[The pamphlet was Hampden's application of his Bampton lectures to the question of Subscription in Oxford.]


December 1, 1834.
The Duke did not advise us to alter the Matriculation Statute, I really believe. He said a Commission was coming down, advised us to set our houses in order, and among other things asked whether a stiff Declaration would not do instead of Subscription, since our 'Parliamentary friends' were {70} puzzled at our present state. Under colour of this the Hampden party pushed forward for a change. We have defeated them for the present by a strong protest; but I doubt not they will be meddling and fidgeting again.


Godalming: December 3, 1834.
I am rejoiced to hear that Pusey is restored again to health and usefulness. I cannot tell you what an influence Pusey's writings and character have had upon me. So many interesting pursuits open upon me that it requires constant self-denial to keep myself in anything like a regular line of reading.

The subject of the following letter is of so private and personal a nature, that the only reason for inserting it here is that one passage in it throws a light on Mr. Newman's habits of devotion, shown in the habitual remembrance in his private prayers of his friends, and those in any way concerned with his daily round of duty and intercourse:


December 17, 1834.
Somehow I was taken by surprise by your letter this morning. Thank you for your account, which is very consoling; and that not merely for the time. Such seasons remain, and expand upon the memory, and are afterwards quite fragrant, a foretaste of what shall be. It has been my privilege to think in prayer of your now happy sister, morning and evening, up to this day. What a blessed thing it is to have died, if prepared! Who knows what is in store for him in that last cup!


About Christmas, 1834.
I would not have had these two sermons left out for more shillings than I can well spare [Nos. 372, 373. They are Easter Monday and Tuesday, in vol. ii. 'Parochial Sermons.'] The view is most true and seasonable, I think; perhaps it will want a little more developing, which you can give it in subsequent {71} sermons at your leisure. Of course you must not mind being attacked. I trust you will not over-exert yourself in any way.

[N.B. The following are some of Keble's remarks or emendations on particular passages:—

No. 372.—'Barren orthodoxy; technical subtlety, and the like.' See a letter of Hannah More's to H. Walpole, in which she speaks with bitter contempt; thus, 'Constantinopolitan' metaphysics, or some such expression.

No. 373.—'How does the authority of the Psalms stand with their opinions, except at best by a forced figurative interpretation?' There was a lady here who once fairly said to me, 'Don't you think it would be better to have something more spiritual than the Psalms?' Concerning the Sermon on the Mount, see Bickersteth's 'Scripture Help,' one of the most popular of these tracts. 'Moreover as to religious journals.' About religious journals, is not Bishop Wilson's the best mean, who, instead of exactly recording his thoughts, wrote down prayers or texts, having more or less reference to them; thus keeping a sort of journal in cypher? and by the very act of devising the cypher a little withdrawing the mind from itself. Something in the nature of a journal is a kind of medicine to many persons.]


December, 1834.
A comfortable Christmas to you, dear Newman, and much success in all your good undertakings; in which I wish I could be more a pars major than I am; but then you see, I am I, and you are you.

Well, but as to Perceval's paper. I am rather in the mind that he should send it to the 'British Magazine' ... as to the Sermon, it is clear, true, and edifying; but query, is it enough out of the common to warrant publication? I presume the passage for the sake of which he thinks of printing it is the statement about Melchizedek ... I cannot find it either expressed or necessarily implied in Scripture, that Melchizedek had long before performed the self-same service, &c., and from the little I have as yet read, I am not able to satisfy myself that such was the tradition of the Church. {72}

My difference with the Archdeacon [Froude] was not very serious. I thought, and still think, that private representations to the Bishops are better than public ones.


December 26, 1834.
You seem disappointed at not hearing from me. If I were malicious, I ought to be glad; for I am sure I have been disappointed enough at having packet after packet arrive for a whole year without tidings of you or Keble. The last packet was the one corresponding to that I came out in.

My father's letter was a dismal one altogether. He tells me, Isaac is far from well, and Sir G. and Lady Provost obliged to leave England. Also that my poor sister P. has just sailed for Madeira to escape the winter for fear of an affection just like mine ... Also that Mr. Keble [J. K.'s father] is supposed to be on his death-bed. About you personally I hear nothing.

As for myself, it really seems as if I were going to have respite. Every one says, and I cannot help observing, that my looks are greatly altered for the better ... but the pertinacity of my trifling ailment has sometimes seemed to me like a warning that fate has put its hand on me for the next world.

I find the less I do the better I am, and so on principle resist doing a good deal that I am tempted to. One of the Bishop's horses has contributed much to my recovery, as well as amusement. To my great satisfaction I have found that just beyond the range of my longer walks there is a range of real fine scenery that I had not a dream of.

[Ourea te skioenta thalassa te echeessa].

I start sometimes between three and four, and come back between six and seven, in which interval the thermometer averages between 78 and 76, and there is generally a roaring wind from the sea.


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1. Mr. Newman had agreed to Dr. Burton's request to edit Dionysius for the University Press.
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2. Mr. Newman's father on leaving London had settled with his family for a few years at Alton. His children always remembered the place with affection.
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3. Life of Archbishop Whately, vol. i. p. 233.
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4. By the Irish Church Temporalities Act (passed August 14, 1833, two archbishoprics were prospectively abolished, and the Suffragan bishoprics reduced by consolidation from eighteen to ten.
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5. Nos. 38 and 40 of Tracts for the Times.
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6. In vol. ii. of the Parochial Sermons there is a passage which throws light on this ardent, confident strain, prompted as it evidently is by the failure of hope in his friend's recovery for service in this present scene:—

'Moreover, this departure of Christ, and coming of the holy Ghost, leads our minds with great comfort to the thought of many lower dispensations of Providence towards us … his is a thought which is particularly soothing as regards the loss of friends, or of especially gifted men who seem in their day the earthly support of the Church ... Doubtless “it is expedient“ they should be taken away; otherwise some great mercy will not come to us. They are taken away perchance to other duties in God's service, equally ministrative to the salvation of the elect as earthly service. Christ went to intercede with the Father; we do not know, we may not boldly speculate; yet it may be that Saints departed intercede, unknown to us, for the victory of the Truth upon earth ... they are taken away for some purpose surely; their gifts are not lost to us; their soaring minds, the fire of their contemplations, the sanctity of their desires, the vigour of their faith, the sweetness and gentleness of their affections, were not given without an object.'—'Ascension Day,' p. 214.
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Newman Reader — Works of John Henry Newman
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