Part II., Vol. i., has five papers and some fragments, none of which

are on secular themes; and the final volume is given up to the History of the Contest between Thomas à Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, and Henry II., drawn from original documents and State Papers, left unfinished by Hurrell Froude, and carried on and edited by the Rev. James Bowling Mozley.

The collecting of ‘dearest Froude’s papers’ had begun before April, 1836; they were looked over at Hursley in July; by September, Newman, otherwise busy as he was, writes that he is getting on with the transcriptions, and that James Mozley has been hard at work during the whole Vacation on S. Thomas of Canterbury. Archdeacon Froude sends up his auxiliary supplies in October, from Dartington Parsonage.

‘… I sent off a parcel to you, three days ago, by Henry Champernowne: it contains the text of dear Hurrell’s manuscripts. All your letters to him that I can find are also enclosed. With the latter I must confess I have not parted without regret. They are memorials of your affectionate friendship with one whose image is ever before me, and to which I could never turn without a delightful interest that I cannot describe. His correspondence for many years with myself[267] turns principally on little passing incidents, or relates to matters of private concern; but it is of great value to me as a sort of journal from early boyhood nearly to the time of our separation.’

_Lyra Apostolica_ was issued in November, and several of the critics had taken pains to single out ‘β’s’ poems for special commendation, even if at the expense of Keble and Newman: certainly Samuel Wilberforce did so, in his asked-for review, the tone of which was so disconcerting and unexpected to the asker;[268] and _The Christian Observer_ had saluted Hurrell as ‘the most spiritual and least bigoted of the whole set.’ All this was encouraging to the projectors of the _Remains_, who knew better than outsiders of how keen and high an intellect, how holy an inspiration, their cause had been deprived. Newman’s notes, as the editing progressed, are very sanguine.

To the Rev. JOHN KEBLE, June 30, 1837.

‘… I have transcribed [R. H. F.’s] Private Thoughts, and am deeply impressed with their attractive character. They are full of instruction and interest, as I think all will feel. I have transcribed them for your imprimatur. If you say Yes, send them to me; I propose to go to press almost immediately. These Thoughts present a remarkable instance of the temptation to rationalism, self-speculation, etc., subdued. We see his mind only breaking out into more original and beautiful discoveries, from that very repression which, at first sight, seemed likely to be the utter prohibition to exercise his special powers. He used playfully to say that his “highest ambition was to be a humdrum,” and by relinquishing the prospect of originality he has but become the more original.’

On July 5, Newman gives to Rogers categorical reasons for his plan of publication.

‘1. To show his … unaffectedness, playfulness, brilliancy, which nothing else would show. His Letters approach to conversation, to show his delicate mode of implying, not expressing, sacred thoughts; his utter hatred of pretence and humbug. I have much to say on the danger which I think at present besets the Apostolical Movement of getting peculiar in externals, _i.e._, formal, manneristic. Now Froude disdained all show of religion. In losing him we have lost an important correction…. His Letters are a second-best preventative.

‘2. To make the work interesting, nothing takes so much as these private things.

‘3. To show the history of the formation of his opinions. Vaughan[269] was observing the other day that we never have the history of men in the most interesting period of their life, from eighteen to twenty-eight or thirty, while they are forming: now this gives Froude’s.

‘4. To show how deliberately and dispassionately he formed his opinions. They were not taken up as mere fancies: this invests them with much consideration. Here his change from Tory to Apostolical is curious.

‘5. To show the interesting growth of his mind, how indolence was overcome, etc.; to show his love of mathematics, his remarkable struggle against the lassitude of disease, his working to the last.

‘6. For the intrinsic merit of his remarks.

‘If you think the notion entertainable, I wish you could put the MS. into the hands of some person who is a good judge, yet more impartial than ourselves, in order to ascertain his impression of it…. If you and the other agree in countenancing the notion, then send down the MS. to Keble, with an enumeration of [my] reasons for publishing.’

To the Rev. JOHN KEBLE, July 16, 1837.

‘… Williams has suggested the publication of extracts from Hurrell’s letters. I feared at first they would be too personal as regards others; but then I began to think that if they could be given, they would be next best to talking with him, and would show him in a light otherwise unattainable. Then there are so many clever things in those he sent me: the first hints of principles which I and others have pursued, and of which he ought to have the credit. Moreover, we have often said the Movement, if anything comes of it, must be enthusiastic. Now here is a man fitted above all others to kindle enthusiasm. I have written to William Froude about it, who caught at the idea, which he said had already struck him. Considering the state of the University, everything which can tell against Hampdenism[270] will be a gain.’

Newman continued sanguine.

To J. W. BOWDEN, Esq., Hursley, Oct. 6, 1837.

‘… I am here for a week to consult with Keble about Froude’s papers, which are now in the press, and require a good deal of attention. You will, I think, be deeply interested in them. His father has put some into my hands of a most private nature. They are quite new even to Keble, who knew more about him than anyone…. All persons of unhackneyed feelings and youthful minds must be taken with them; others will think them romantic, scrupulous, over-refined, etc.’

The ‘papers of a most private nature’ dated chiefly from Hurrell’s twenty-third to his twenty-seventh year. ‘They have taught me,’ Mr. Keble writes to that friend, his own earliest biographer, whom they were to disturb and shock when once in print, ‘they have taught me things concerning him which I never suspected myself, as to the degree of self-denial which he was practising when I was most intimate with him. This encourages me to think that there may be many such whom one dreams not of.’

How Froude came to leave these secret manuscripts behind him is not perfectly clear. Mr. Keble had advised burning them, long before. During the months and even years when there was natural opportunity for disposing of all his affairs, Froude had abstained from destroying his papers. The only explanation is that he was too completely indifferent, in all such matters, to make a move of any sort. He belonged to a journal-keeping age and a journal-keeping family: to write, and to dismiss the writing from memory, were to him easy matters. Neither his kind of memory, nor his degree of self-attentiveness, would have helped him to produce an _Apologia_. His diaries, properly speaking, have absolutely no egotism: he is merely dramatically concentrated on R. H. F. as a moral ‘dummy’ convenient for observation and correction, and it was quite in keeping with his habit that he should have taken no thought whatever of a testamentary nature, towards the end. He could, of course, have had no suspicion of the ultimate use to which his confessions were soon to be put. Besides, he would harbour no fear of depreciation, but would rather have desired that, even in the grave.

On the fly-leaf of the finished book they placed a sweet motto from the _Adeste, sanctæ conjuges_, the midnight hymn appointed for the Office of the Commemoration of Holy Women. It came from the Parisian Breviary, in which Froude had delighted. Newman was editing the Hymns included in it at this very time.

‘_Se sub serenis vultibus Austera virtus occulit, Timens videri, ne suum, Dum prodit, amittat decus._’

Isaac Williams’ sensitive translation is a fit mate for the Latin:

‘Neath [a] look serene concealed, Stern Virtue hid her shield, Fearing to lose that Love, within, Which half is lost by being seen.’

Such a motto, it might be urged, was both too personal and too deprecatory. The perfect posy for the venture would have been, instead, a word of Felippo di Boni:

‘_Son soldato Ancor io: Stringo una spada Che forte in pugno Ed immortal mi sta. Dio mi l ha data; Equando morto io cada, Fatta spirito mio, Combatterà!_’

The Editors felt, no doubt, that anything like this, for all of its fitness, would have imported a note of unnecessary defiance. To print the _Remains_ at all was certainly war-cry enough.

The first Part, comprising two volumes, appeared at mid-winter, 1838. It was much talked of, as was inevitable, among the interested friends and foes of the High Church party, and it bred the most contrary impressions. Beyond the familiar circle, Froude’s comrades and their followers, what success the book won was a frank _succès de scandale_. Its one tangible result was to urge on Low Church zealots to build the Martyrs’ Memorial at Oxford. It was dedicated in 1841; and subconsciously, it was from plinth to finial what Mr. Keble called it, ‘a public dissent from Froude.’[271] Love for Ridley, Latimer, and the great Cranmer who, as F. Rogers once predicated, ‘burned well,’ were less potent in raising that graceful landmark than heated disapprobation of Froude, Newman, and Keble himself. _Sic vos non vobis._ Hurrell liked ironical situations. Here was one to his hand.

The sale of the _Remains_ was never great; in fact, it was so restricted that the publishers, about seven months after the launching of the first Part, made considerable demur before bringing the second Part out at all. No extra edition was called for; the work has stood, ever since, among the out-of-print rarities of London catalogues. Of the mass of writing which it comprised, sacred or secular, there has been but a single paper reprinted: the remarkable paper on State Interference in Matters Spiritual, issued by Selwood in 1869, with a strongly corroborative Introduction from the pen of that good militant shepherd, the Rev. William J. E. Bennett, Vicar of Frome.

On March 29, 1838, Newman wrote from Oxford to Keble, on the subject then uppermost in their minds.

‘You must not be vexed to have a somewhat excited letter from Edward Churton[272] on the subject of dear Hurrell’s _Remains_. I doubt not, too, you really will not be so. All persons whose hearts have been with Cranmer and Jewel are naturally pained; and one must honour them for it. It is the general opinion here that the Journal ought to have been published, and is full of instruction. Yesterday morning I had the following pleasant announcement from William Froude: “My father is much pleased with Hurrell’s book. He had been rather alarmed by some comments made upon it in a letter from Sir John Coleridge; but the book itself has quite reassured him. The Preface says exactly what one wished to have said.”’

If Archdeacon Froude felt satisfied, that would atone for much. Mr. Rose’s opinion was next in importance to the Archdeacon’s, to the Oriel men responsible for this particular exercise of it. Fortunately, he was sufficiently favourable, writing to Pusey from King’s College on March 14, 1838, to ask for ‘an account,’ or ‘a sketch’ of ‘poor Froude’s most interesting _Remains_. I do not know to whom to give them for review. For very few can understand or appreciate his very peculiar excellences. A book so miscellaneous, touching on so very many points is a very hard matter for a regular reviewer.’[273] Apart from these graded expressions of private sympathy, there was censure and even ridicule to bear; and self-earned troubles are proverbially not the sweetest. Violent denunciations arose on all sides, and especially within the bosom of an ungrateful Church. The Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity fulminated from the very University pulpit; the Bishop of Ferns and Leighlin, the most persevering ‘charger’ of all, thundered against ‘that very rash and intemperate young man.’ Even the House of Commons was, on one occasion at least, disturbed by godly zeal exerted against the book. To James Mozley, during July, Newman wrote: ‘You see Lord Morpeth[274] has been upon me in the House, as editor of the _Remains_. Gladstone has defended me; Sir R[obert] Inglis the University.’[275] And Rogers sends his vivacious message to Newman: ‘What do you think of Gladstone’s exculpation of you? And what of the face Froude would have made at being quoted in the House of Commons as “an accomplished gentleman” by Lord Morpeth?’[276]

The _Remains_, quickly as it fell out of print, was a storm-centre. Mr. Gladstone, concerned with defending the good faith of the editor-in-chief, yet handled the oppugned work with repeated regrets.[277] He has left it upon record, referring to an earlier year, and echoing the adjectives of Bishop O’Brien just quoted: ‘My first impressions and emotions in connection with [the Oxford Movement] were those of indignation at what I thought the rash intemperate censures pronounced by Mr. Hurrell Froude upon the Reformers.’[278] Newman’s _Correspondence_[279] gives quite a roll-call of the Bishops, editors, magazines, and private persons ‘opening on us.’ He adds: ‘I can fancy the old Duke sending down to ask the Heads of Houses whether we cannot be silenced.’

Some who took the _Remains_ to heart were more than half sorry that it was published. The real reasons for that measure had been in the Prefaces a little obscured, because largely taken for granted as obvious. So much is clear: the need had been felt of issuing a book to serve as a dead friend’s only monument. But the moment one came to handle his compositions, all warlike, all new, one foresaw the ethical risk of putting them forward, without first educating a public to read them. Mr. Wilson, representing his own earliest feeling, and that of Mr. Keble his Vicar, sympathised, in the very beginning, with Newman over ‘the great difficulty and perplexity you must be in at present, as to what course to take…. We cannot afford by any shock even to throw back into their former upright posture of indifference or suspicion some who are now leaning our way.’ To publish poor Hurrell at all turned out a large diplomatic matter. Confident that he needed only to be known to be loved and trusted, Newman resolved to make him intimately and unmistakably known, and his opinions, in consequence, heeded as they deserved. The _Remains_ is almost the first among modern English books to expose what is sacredly private: we are all used now, whether with diminishing or undiminishing protest, to exhibitions of the spiritual anatomy of humankind. The Editors’ challenge to an Erastian world seemed based on the belief that their cause had bred its perfect flower in Froude, and that only to show him as he was, with his mighty single-hearted zest, his aspirations towards holiness, and his playful gentleness, would be to show also the attaching loveliness of their cause. They proceeded upon one or two syllogisms which had no flaw, but also no application. For, plainly, Froude was impossible to be understanded of the people, and the more he himself was expounded the worse it was for the system which he personified. An eminent critic led the way in dwelling, not on the question so unmistakably thrust forward, of Præmunire, but on Hurrell’s confessed and repented glance to see ‘whether goose came on the table at dinner!’ That goose is well known to a number of contemporary persons who have never owned a copy of the _Remains_, nor heard what ascetic theology has to say of such a thing as concupiscence of the eyes. Hurrell, in a secret hour, had named the goose only to his guardian angel, between whom and himself the sense of humour could hardly come into play. Keble’s humour, and Newman’s likewise, were almost incomparably keen: one knows not how these passages survived the proofreading. It was inevitable, however, that public attention should fasten upon them with disrelish and horror. They were unusual, they were not ‘self-respecting’; they belonged to types outgrown and superseded; in short, they were fatally ‘un-English,’ to that most respectable year 1838. It was bidden to admire a humility and disinterestedness in which it could not believe. A completely non-sentimental religion was a trying spectacle, even to the most religious among Early Victorian readers. A young man ever accusing himself, a young man waiving his own profit, and doing these monstrous things by force of will and habit, all his life, was simply an offence to common morals. Natural virtues are well enough: truth, industry, ambition, family affection, are at least legal: they are not a slap in the face to what is called a Christian community. But a temper fed from hidden springs, and full of austerity and detachment, must ever look to the mass of men like an alien thing, the outcome of hypocrisy or sheer foolishness. Nothing but an outward and visible career passed in nursing the sick in hospitals can, to this day, redeem it.

‘The public,’ says a sociologist,[280] with charming scorn, ‘are acquainted with the nature of their own passions, and the point of their own calamities; can laugh at the weakness they feel, and weep at the miseries they have experienced: but all the sagacity they possess, be it how great soever, will not enable them to judge of likeness to that which they have never seen, nor to acknowledge principles on which they have never reflected. Of a comedy or a drama, an epigram or a ballad, they are judges from whom there is no appeal; but not of the representation of facts which they have never examined, of beauty which they have never loved.’ The good public and anything which savours of the merely supernatural, the good public and the Kingdom of Heaven, in short, are incongruous. But it is only fair to them to quote, again, the word of a far more practical observer, which had, from the first, a bearing on those whom the writer calls ‘the firebrands of the Movement’: ‘I do not say the English are a people of good sense, but I say they abhor extremes, and always fly off from those who carry things too far.’[281] They do indeed. But every conclusion becomes an extreme, and a thing carried too far, where they are concerned.

Froude had always trimmed his sails not so much to the wind, as according to a theory of navigation. It follows that ‘the picture of a mind,’ his mind, such as his friends wished to exhibit it, was not a ‘necessity to the times’: in fact, it was an intrusion upon them. It was in deadly hostility not only to their low ideals, but to their ordinary characteristics and best accepted spirit. Froude, or his unconscious influence, was only too well organised to ‘toss and gore several persons,’ and the self-satisfied Establishment which had honourably reared them. An illustration of existing contraries may not be far to seek. Two good men of mark, born and dying in the roomy Church of England, once expressed, each in his turn, his feeling about his epitaph. Mr. Robert Southey was pleased to say (with what his age considered perfect decorum, with what our age must admit to be perfect truth): ‘I have this conviction: that die when I may, my memory is one of those which will “smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.”’ He also repeated the sentiment in verse. But the testamentary ideas of Richard William Church ran in another mould:

‘_Rex tremendæ majestatis, Qui salvandos salvas gratis, Salva me, Fons Pietatis!_’

It is safe to predicate that thinking persons who sympathise with the one, revolt from the other. Now the cleavage between the dispositions which brought about these irreconcilable expressions, is the cleavage in the national ideals. What is so sure of blossoming in the dust, although professedly it lay all stress upon the Vicarious Atonement, is Protestantism. The belief in the necessity of the co-operative human will in the scheme of Redemption, although it attain only to an awestruck hope of the Almighty Mercy, is, well――not precisely Protestantism! Between the two moods there is no mutual approach, still less, amalgamation: for between them is set up the Sign to be contradicted. It is to be feared that Hurrell Froude, had he known of an admired poet’s intention for ever to ‘smell sweet,’ could hardly have been restrained from quoting his kinsman Hamlet’s ‘Pah!’ Piety which of malice prepense smells sweet, will like Hurrell Froude no better now than it liked him in the Tractarian twilight. It will be seen that Mr. Southey was not enthusiastic over the _Remains_.

To put the _Remains_ on the open market was too bold a venture of faith, though they would have served their dialectic purpose well, and found their own readily, even had they been privately issued, even if edited with greater reserve. It was quite natural that Froude should have passed posthumously for a mere agitator given up to triviality and impudence. If it were true that for him living, ‘one constantly trembled, in mixed society,’ what can have possessed his Editors to think that his anarchist voice (the voice, really, of a great constructive critic) would be suffered in a four-volume monologue? All he was, all he thought, separated him by whole elements and universes from the ordinary citizen. Accost between them turned farcical in the act: ‘as if a dog should try to make friends with a fish!’ His disqualifications for the final mission given him were intellectual as well as moral. To name but two among them, he was in love with the ‘Dark’ Ages, the fountainhead of hard logic and thorough craftsmanship, and still more in love with the original document, at a period when historical research was not only unfashionable, but inferentially abhorred; and his animus must needs have seemed ‘Popish’ or worse, when it but led him to handle as self-evident fallacies the darling predilections of centuries of British basilolatry.

It would have been bad enough had his convictions been expressed always in academic terms, such as he himself, after all, did employ pretty constantly in addressing the magazine public. But Hurrell’s ‘little language,’ superadded to his strong opinions, was too much for a day of buckramed dignity. His verbal polity spared neither himself nor the species, and it must have been appalling to others beside the Holy Willies. Moreover, there was such gusto and emphasis in all he said, that the effect was almost that, as it were, of calling a spade a spade, with a plebeian ‘swear-word’ before it. Nobody else in that English generation, not even Welby Pugin, dealt in so elastic a vernacular. But surely, private letters may take what tone and pace they please? Why did it not occur to everyone to allow, in extenuation of this too lively fashion of ‘sparks running to and fro among the reeds,’ that the Rev. Mr. Froude was young, and younger, moreover, than his years? The ideas of personal chronology then current were illiberal. We know that men and women aged thirty were looked upon as fairly venerable figures in the world of our grandfathers, and were bound to have shed the last of the pin-feathers of indiscretion. For purposes of general protest against the common vanities of plumage, primitive attire may with profit be retained: but it is likely to enrage the barnyard. There is a good deal to be said for the speech which suggests to us not Court dress, not even dressing-gown and slippers, but overalls. It puts everything at once on a workmanlike basis. A masterly critic has observed how great a debt Newman owed to Hurrell Froude in the development of his peerless ease and naturalness. To go further, it may truly be said that one caught up the living accent of the other. As a good latter instance, take Newman’s famous passage in the _Apologia_ about ‘seeing a ghost’ when the point raised in an article on the Donatists first arrested him in 1839. The echo is yet clearer in a contemporary letter. ‘It gave me the stomach-ache,’ he says. Such sportive phraseology sounds the majestic capacity of educated human expression. But sportive phraseology had its disadvantages, when it was sent forth broadcast to ‘dictate to the clergy of this country,’ or contribute towards ‘the picture of a mind’ known by the picturers to be chastened and grave. The innumerable chapters of the _Remains_ which were sober as a monochrome were quite overborne, in popular estimation, even where that estimation inclined to friendliness, by some few prancing words or lines. The amice and cope of the stately Muse of Theology symbolised nothing to the carpers who believed that they had once caught a handmaid of hers in the neat no-drapery of the _corps de ballet_. Indisposed to look below the surface of Froude’s puzzling temperament, they found only effrontery in his clear, terse, vivacious call, and only dulness in his underlying mood, master of statement and definition, and of armoured synthesis. It was not altogether their fault: because his slang, it may as well be admitted, constitutes a defect of character. It was a conscious revolt against all that goes to make up ‘donnishness,’ and in so far an element of strength as well as of comedy; but it was also the makeshift of a man who contemned himself almost to the point of eccentricity, and who often could not bear without a mocking grimace, the serious utterance of his most serious thought. Keble was full of fun, but Keble had no Hurrellisms, no ‘little language.’ With the other, it is the note of a certain spiritual unrest; an impiety against his own nature which all sensitive human nature resents in some degree: the jest, indeed, of a philosopher who never lost courage, but who never found joy. Self-valuation and its calmly pompous accents are understood, and even commended, all over the intellectual world. But this bitter mood, as of a Cabinet Council plus the Court fool, is too strange and new. There are those now, as there were then, whom it shocks and deters.

Closely allied with all this is the question of his so unceremonious dealing with men and things. As we are reminded by his Editors, most of it was impersonal enough, for his mind was set on principles only. ‘I allow hatred is an imperfect state, but I think it is just young people that it becomes’: is a remark from his remembered talk. ‘The most difficult virtue to attain,’ he went on, ‘seems to me the looking on wanton oppressors as mere machines, without feeling any personal resentment.’ This is akin to a curious axiom of Hazlitt’s, which would exonerate almost any cynic and sluggard, that ‘to think ill of mankind, and not to wish them ill, is perhaps the highest genius and virtue.’ Many adherents, unblessed with imagination, of Froude’s own party, might be brought to bay by his Common Room pronouncement that ‘the cultivation of right principles has a tendency to make men dull and stupid.’ (His friend Thomas Mozley goes even farther in the impious generalisation, and accuses Evangelical goodness, ‘mixed with poverty and a certain amount of literary or religious ambition,’ of producing ‘an unpleasant effect on the skin!’) These endearments were, as was but just, not confined by Froude to the elect. He was a hard hitter also against individuals non-Jacobite and non-Apostolical; he made ninepins of living and dead, great and small. On this faculty, however, he was very far from priding himself. No one could be more keenly aware of his sharp tongue than he. Given events as he saw them, and his naked eye to transpierce them, and his store of natural animation fostered in a home atmosphere which was at all times highly charged with criticism, and we have some explanation of his merciless proficiency in adverbs and adjectives, applied impartially to the Bishop Jewels of a past age, or the undergraduates of his own. From the first, he had felt this smartness of speech to be his pitfall. His journals are full of self-accusations, prayers, and resolutions on the subject. ‘To-day, when ―――― called on me, I was forced to watch myself at every turn, for fear of saying something irreligious or uncharitable.’ … ‘I have again been talking freely of people.’ … ‘Not to go out of my way to say disrespectful things … not to say satirical things either in people’s presence or behind their backs, or to take pleasure in exposing them when they seem absurd, or to answer them ill-naturedly when they have said offensive things.’ … ‘I said I thought ―――― an ass, when there was not the least occasion for me to express my sentiments about him. And yet I, so severe on the follies, and so bitter against the slightest injuries I get from others, am now presenting myself before my great Father to ask for mercy on my most foul sins, and forgiveness for my most incessant injuries. “How shall I be delivered from the body of this death!”… I see nothing for it but not to talk at all, and let myself be reckoned stupid and glumpy: and this I will do. I must give up talking altogether except where civility absolutely requires it. I am not to be trusted with words.’

All this ‘mortal moral strife’ dates from his earliest manhood. He certainly never relaxed the effort toward humbleness and mental correction; though a superficial reader might question whether he had, at the end, succeeded in attaining any appreciable measure of either. But it is worth while to remember here that his whole effort would be not to let his friends at Oxford become aware of his victory, if he gained it. Sooner than face human approval in these matters, he would say, every day in the week, that he ‘thought ―――― an ass,’ if only to keep up appearances.

Again, and apart from the amenities, the _Remains_ are not edited in a way to conciliate the unwilling. In one department, they are provokingly presented with raggedly-pieced phrases, names suppressed, and divers eliminations, almost enough to kill interest; in another, they commit to the general scrutiny amorphous themes, repetitions, the mere crude bones of theory, fragments never shaped for the press. Never was it truer, of any book or of any man, that

‘――you must love him ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.’

The just apprehension of such an one is never discoverable from what he may write. To be told that here was an Oxford Fellow of genius and culture, and to be shown, in proof of it, no professional arts whatever, but a stripped argument, and ‘the rigour of the game,’ flying personalities, tonic commonplaces, buried first principles,――this was somewhat disconcerting. Those who knew Hurrell Froude would take pride in the Spartan simplicity of his every page, where sincere words are welded with sincere thought. Those who knew him not might turn away from that as from downright incapacity.

Of Keats, in his marvellous development, Mr. Lowell beautifully says: ‘He knew that what he had to do had to be done quickly.’ So, in a contrasted fashion, with Hurrell Froude, intent not upon his own artistic perfection, but upon the leavening of the national mind. Graces were just what he could best afford to neglect in that too hurried working-hour. He had begun to die at eight-and-twenty, and he was to die unconsummated; therefore speech compacted and anticipative became his sole concern. He is not light reading. His typical sentences, apart from his many paradoxes, move like the Latin axioms which break the heads of unwilling schoolboys in walnut-time. A skeleton style, it must be confessed, has its disqualifications as a miscellaneous entertainer. Anything more unlike the golden, glowing, misleading glide of the language of another Froude with whom this generation is more familiar, can hardly be imagined. Yet it was Hurrell who was the poet. It was Hurrell who, according to all evidence, communicated in even higher degree the extraordinary fascinations of that fascinating family. It is not the least lovely of his attributes that he sacrificed the literary possibilities of a born historian, as he sacrificed everything else, to his holy master-passion, and carried his genius for reigning into a hidden door-keeping of the House of God.

The novelty and unexpectedness inseparable from his original mind appear in print only as by innuendo, and in the conduct of some coherent train of thought. Slyly quiet can be the manner in which he understates, and negatively proceeds through harmless analogies, until, of a sudden, readers find with surprise, and cannot shake off, that ‘sting in their bosoms’ which is referred to in a piercingly apposite phrase, itself of classic origin, of the second Preface (1839) of the _Remains_. All his papers, at least, of whatever nature, display his faculty, which was like a scout’s or frontiersman’s, of discovering, breaking, and defending border ground. They are remarkable chiefly for their practical far-seeing sagacity. Written over seventy years ago by a mere unconscious young prophet with no conceit of himself, they have an amazing modernity. The keen prescience of the few random secular essays is, however, intensified in the other essays on religious subjects. They ‘look before and after.’ They have not begun to seem out-of-date, nor to label their author as fit only for the never-dusted top shelf. In a day when views of Inspiration and Revelation are no longer Butler’s or Paley’s; when new keys are tried, and new tools taken up, and in the ancient workshops men live and die to a different and far more perplexing spheric music, such staying power, independent of any encouragement of it, is sufficiently remarkable. It gives Hurrell Froude an illustrative importance. His very catchwords have a diverting contemporaneousness; witness his uses of ‘Protestant’ as applied by him to the unloved majority in his Church. The stuff of his intellectual daily life is never altogether the timid, domestic, and amateurish thing which Anglicanism must be, even at its best. In Froude himself there is nothing very cognate to the long development of European Christian thought; but at least he is no slave of conventions, and from that tendency towards shrinkage and encrustation which makes ‘every Englishman an island’ he is always shaking himself free, by a half-unconscious gesture. It is this good chronic revolt, this heroic reaching-forth, which lends to him, in his incompleteness, a sporadic air of greatness. In the spirit, as in the flesh, he was the traveller of the party. His written pages are not, like Newman’s, literature for ever. Their worth is that they show, with loyal plainness, not only Froude’s dedicated interests, but the weight and depth of his selfless intelligence; his bold adventurings and outridings; his habit of looking unflattering deductions in the face; his preoccupation with framework and foundation, and with them exclusively; his instinct for the essential, for major issues, for one or two premises which matter most, on subjects of faith, and for the events of real significance in the history of England which bear upon the Church. This instinct, in him, was spontaneous and uncompanioned. In the whole field of dogma, he first, of the seeking Wise Men of that generation, was drawn towards the ‘Eucharistic doctrine with its huge wealth of meaning, its promises of light, its complicated connection with the body of revealed truth, to a great extent unexplored, a mine of treasures hardly touched’;[282] in the whole field of ecclesiastical discipline, he alone fastened upon the principle of freedom as the divine prerogative of the Church. He inspired another to write of Hildebrand; he himself wrote of the great Becket who was honoured, we know, by Henry VIII. with a hatred highly intelligent and quaintly contemporary; he notes more than once how Henry VIII.’s tyrannising work, yet active, was in many respects the very work attempted by Henry II., against whose ideals S. Thomas of Canterbury flung his influence and his life. On these topics of incalculable importance, Froude laid his pausing finger. He never occupied himself for one moment with accidents and incidentals. Yet it has been said: ‘The Movement brought into action not a few who, like Mr. Richard Hurrell Froude, could never advance beyond the impertinent minutiæ and the ecclesiastical fopperies which became the badges of their fraternity.’[283] It has been said. Let it pass for ‘funny tormenting.’

Coleridge remarked, in summing up his old friend Charles Lamb,[284] that he had more totality and universality of character than any man he had ever known. In some such terms must be couched the eulogy of Hurrell Froude. He is all of a piece. ‘From his very birth,’ as his mother put it, ‘his temperament has been peculiar.’ He knew his mind, and went his way. He, at least, did not

‘――half-live a hundred different lives.’

He paid for such concentration of purpose with long oblivion. Biography, a purblind creature, took him at his own valuation, as we have seen, and gathered him not to her bosom. The history of all the other Tractarians was written, the history of the men who lived very long, long enough to see as Cardinal Manning once said, the polarity of England changed, when the one among them who died young was given his chance. Until Dean Church, abetted by Lord Blachford, made his worth plain, in the beautiful subduing art of a book where all is charity and serene wisdom, Froude had inhabited shadow-land, and was less than the phantom of his brother’s brother. Eventually no mystic, but a wide-awake, matter-of-fact person, he yet had always a sort of seal upon him of the objective, the remote, the unearthly. Now that he has his station and we have our perspective, these qualities increase rather than diminish. The enfranchised vision of him now is his inner self, more like a harper than a trumpeter. We seem to see the thin tender face ‘shine’ out of night air, as it shone at parting on his friend at Dartington, fifty-four years before it smiled again at him out of the Light. Time is the only crystal which gives us the souls of men and things. Whatever looks like idealisation there must be the literal truth.

Hurrell Froude’s poet-friend Williams calls him

‘Like to himself alone, and no one else.’

But he is unique without being isolated. His habitual mood was a country of far distances, not unlike his own Devon, where the rote is audible from a stern coast, and the desolate tors stand up abrupt and sharp against the white February horizon: a country which gets, in due season, its own merriment of interlying verdure, and builds a most delicate overhanging opal sky. There is in him, though unexpressed, a wholeness and relativity as of this landscape. His saliency and roguery, his affection, his wistful oddity, his extraordinary intensity of life, the endearing charm which has served to keep his memory bright as racing sea-fire, only remind us the more how fully he belongs to the issues to which he gave himself of old. The temptation to think him a good deal like the sworded poets of the Civil Wars, with their scarcely exerted aptitudes for the fine arts, whose names leave a sort of star-dust along the pages of the anthologies, need not blind us to his severer aspect: he is also a good deal like the more militant among the Saints. His first Editors thought so, and say so in that most fragrant and touching Preface of theirs to his volumes printed in 1839. He was wing and talon to them and to their holy hope. ‘Froude of the Movement’: he is that, first and last. Great as is to the mere humanist eye his individual interest, he cannot fairly be separated for a moment from the ideal to which all that was in him belonged; to which he belongs in its present and its yet unrevealed phases; to which he will belong when, as the very vindication of his foregone career, helping to breathe into successive generations the spirit of cleansing scrutiny and renewing faith, Catholicism shall triumph in England.

With that thought, we come suddenly out, as through a black mountain-pass, into a quiet-coloured vista rolling between us and the dawn. It is only too possible, in the beclouded state of fallen man, to mistake some stage of a vast progress for a disconnected trivial episode. But who are they so unblest as to do it in this instance? Chiefly those enemies who belong to the household. It was a convert squire of Leicestershire, the friend of Montalembert, who in the boldness of sanguine charity welcomed the very first _Tracts_ as nothing less than a pledge, given as it were in sleep, of ‘the return of the Church [of England] to Catholic Unity and the See of Peter’;[285] and it was an Oxford Dean, long after, who denied any orthodox future or any legitimate past to the Ritualists of his day, refusing to connect them or their great popularising leaven with the theoretic fathers that begat them. There is little morality in this preference for reducing everything to scraps and segments. Those who dare search for processes rather than for dead issues may at least be respected. To them, in an hour of all Latin degeneracy, the old sap of the strongest of the northern races laughs in a stock long barren but sound. Great outlooks call for great patience, lest they strain the sight; and so with a spiritual event, believed-in, and hardly descried. The lens of controversy will never bring it nearer; only constant prayer, like an eye purged and made new, can peer forward, and rest on the horizon-brink. If Catholicism indeed triumph in England, Hurrell Froude’s cannot ultimately remain a hidden and homeless name. Is it not undeniable that he is to his own communion to-day, exactly what he was long ago, a Hard Saying? Who have fought shy of him, who have even belittled, hushed, buried him, if not they? Has a single one of the vital questions which his restless agitation opened, been settled by the exerted authority of the corporate Church of England? In her immense miraculous increase of ‘Catholic-mindedness,’ who has gone beyond this wild, pathetic, precursive child in groping towards the fulness of Revealed Truth, yet groping in the dark? He loved reality, and entity: they were there next his hand, and he felt them not. He seems never to have surmised the existence beside him of the down-trodden _Ecclesia Anglicana_ of Continental sympathy, which in his brief day timidly lifted up her long-shrouded penal head. But she, on her part, saw him reconstruct, as in a worshipping dream, her every lineament. It was a remark of Mr. Bernard Smith’s[286] which impressed Dr. Wiseman, that ‘my friends at Oxford all think and speak of Catholic practices and institutions as past or possible, not as things actually existing and acting.’ That remark would not need to be made now, when a people who owe nothing to their Tudor organisers have won back by the power of what Sir Thomas Browne calls ‘reminiscential evocation,’ so much of the spirit of the religion which is their heritage. But when it was made, the remark was curiously accurate. Even Froude, in his _Becket_, cites the never-suspended usage of religious houses in having books read aloud in the refectory, as an English custom of ‘those times.’ As in trifles, so in graver matters: Froude, and the contemporaries never quite abreast of him, knew nothing of the continuity of family habit in the historic Church. Newman tells us that while he was in Italy, (and it can hardly have been otherwise with his friend,) he did not guess at the significance of the burning sanctuary lamps in Churches. ‘Radiantly sure of his position,’ as Canon Scott Holland says, Froude was indeed; he had no personal misgivings; his good faith was intact. Yet even he feared for his ‘Branch’;[287] and he laid stress upon something in himself higher than loyalty. If certain reforms did not follow, he would set up for a ‘separatist.’[288] He did not live long enough to make his choice; but those reforms have not followed. It stands for little that some of his nearest relatives, and especially the one friend whom he had most breathed upon, were constrained to go the ‘separatist’ way; it stands for something more that to a group of able observers of various creeds, he himself has seemed a moving aurora, and not a fixed star of the Anglican heaven. The speculation whether or no Froude would have been ‘out in the ‘45’ has no lasting pertinence; but it has its illicit unavoidable interest. No one who studies him tries to blink it. Some among the distinguished High Churchmen who have written of him are practically unanimous in the conviction that longer lease of life would have made no difference in his views, or that in any case he would have dwelt always in the tents where he died. But the majority, having broached the contrary opinion, encourage it, and lean towards it: of this company are the Nonconformists, the Deists, the Catholics. Dr. Rigg, a profound student of ethics, goes so far as to say ‘there can be no doubt’ that Hurrell Froude would have changed his creed; Dr. Abbott’s strong arraignment implies nothing less; many reviewers of Dean Church’s history propound the question and assent to it; and Mr. James Anthony Froude saw fit to play with it. The men of the ‘extreme Left,’ in this convocation, speak after a non-committal fashion, yet there is no mistaking their longing, partly unexpressed: M. Thureau-Dangin, Cardinal Wiseman, and the rest of their following, seem to be ever thinking what only Canon Oakeley quotes: _Cum talis sis, utinam noster esses!_ They might make, with perfect justice, the indisputable claim that the _Remains_ exerted the deeper influence over those very men whose consciences drove them at last to leave the Church as by Law Established in these Realms: the book bore a confessedly vital part in the formation of William Lockhart, of James Robert Hope-Scott, of Frederick William Faber, of William George Ward. It is curious that the Rev. Thomas Mozley should father the statement, that the _Remains_ ‘never brought any one to Rome.’[289] But he may have had only direct or primary causation in mind. That prickly book, moreover, active as Hurrell himself, may be said, without exaggeration, to have reacted on Newman’s ‘young men’ at Oxford, who first disturbed, and then outstripped, their master. It was the very crux of the complaint against them that, as Newman himself was to say so accurately of Froude, they were ‘powerfully drawn to the Mediæval, not to the Primitive Church.’ We know how the cross-currents, coming from Ward, Oakeley, Dalgairns, and the other extremists, cut across the path of Newman turned anchorite, like a spring freshet from unimagined hills. The ‘new party’ spoken of in Stephens’ _Life_ of Dean Hook,[290] as being ‘as different in its teachings from the original Tractarians as they had been from the Evangelicals,’ were men almost all of whom entered the Catholic Church of the Roman Obedience. They were filled with the idea of the ever-living Interpretative Voice, as against the mere bookish appeal to Christian antiquity. They were strong in zeal, will, and prayer, and self-sacrificing; they were also rash, notional, irrepressibly gay. Newman, whom they so worried, did not suspect their descent; no critic seems to have suspected it since: but were they not the true and immediate seed of Hurrell Froude? If they were not, then, in the language of the heralds, _obiit sine prole_. How difficult it were to accept that as part of the epitaph of so generative a spirit! No school of thought in any communion, since 1836, has reproduced so markedly the singular physiognomy of the author of the _Remains_. To them alone he was not in the least ‘dangerous.’ But it is clear that in what has been called the Church of Lord Halifax, there are a thousand young Froudians, a collateral kindred with plenty of trouble before them, flying his crest.

If we know aught about the trend of human character, we know that there was a highly integrant strain in Hurrell Froude; his whole short life was a thirst after the coherence and continuousness of the things of faith. If we know aught about the laws of moral motion, we know that he could neither have gone round in a circle, nor stood still. Like the paradoxical Briton he was, _il savait conclure_. It is far truer, potentially, of him, than of Newman. Says Père Ragey, after the neat and merciless manner of Frenchmen: ‘_Pour pousser ses idées jusqu’à leurs dernières conséquences, Newman, n’avait eu qu’à suivre la nature même de son esprit. Il était un de ces esprits (assez rares parmi nos voisins d’outre Manche) qui se laissent conduire par la logique, qui vont jusqu’au bout de leurs idées, et qui savent conclure. La vie et les écrits de Pusey, au contraire, nous montrent en lui un de ces esprits anglais si bien décrits par Taine, qui “restent en chemin et ne concluent pas.” … De plus, il sentait bien qu’il n’était pas seul. Il avait avec lui plus que des corréligionnaires, plus que des collaborateurs, plus que les disciples: il avait avec lui et pour lui l’esprit anglais. Les anglais, tout en admirant beaucoup Newman, et en le plaçant au-dessus de Pusey, reconnaissent mieux leur esprit dans Pusey que dans Newman._’[291]

Nothing can be safer for all of us conjointly than to answer ‘No’ at once to that pithless query: Would Froude have followed Newman? Froude would never have _followed_ Newman. Nor would the latter have paced up and down for long lonely years in Oriel Lane, and in the _Limbus Innocentium_ at Littlemore, nor invented _Oret pro nobis_ for an anodyne, had Froude been alive. It is the summing-up of a thoughtful review that ‘most readers of the _Apologia_ are under the impression that [Newman] had started on the road to Rome as soon as Froude’s influence succeeded to Whately’s; and that if he were not unfaithful, he had to go on to the end…. Certainly, it does seem as if, after he had lost Froude, Newman was very liable to be perplexed by opposition, to watch for omens, to be at the mercy of accidents.’[292] Nothing gives one such an idea of the immense propelling force which Hurrell Froude was, as the untoward indecision into which Newman soon fell, though he still had Pusey’s fortress-like strength at his side. Even Keble, without the beloved ‘poker,’ burned with a somewhat darker flame. His silent beneficent career at Hursley was a different matter from his career as Oriel captain of artillery; and no careful student can fail to notice that his later spiritual direction tended more and more towards the nebulous. As for Hurrell, he was bound to be astir, living or dead, in one direction or another. Without being prepared to look frankly upon October 9, 1845, as his true field-day, open-minded persons may harbour a sympathetic wonder whether in the English event which crowns it he were quite unimplicated? ‘Was it Gregory or was it Basil, that blew the trumpet in Constantinople?’ When Newman sadly transferred himself to Oscott, in the February of 1846, he would have remembered, after his remembering habit, how strangely, yet naturally, in the Providence of God, he was keeping the tenth anniversary of the loss of his dearest friend, no part of whose office could be filled even by an Ambrose St. John, ‘whom God gave me when He took all else away.’

‘Hurrell Froude lives,’ says Principal Fairbairn epigrammatically, ‘in Newman.’ It would be an interesting task for a biographer to examine and define the measure of response with which ‘the Vicar,’ in his historic seclusion, worked into one scheme his ideas, and the ideas bequeathed to him by the least ‘flinching’ Anglican in the world. Froude had managed to give Newman, (and with no more ceremonial pomp than one infant employs in tossing sea-shells to another,) the norm of every single one of his great theories. This short span beside that old age, this quick, forward-reaching, never-ripened thought beside the ‘long gestation’ of the sublime soul whom we know better, may not unfitly be compared to a keynote struck in a grace-note before the full major chord. The chord owes nothing of its position, or its compotent harmony, to the mere sweet hint which announces it and is instantaneously whelmed in it, but it certainly does owe to it almost all of what may be called its idiomatic beauty. To no educated ear is the chord with that apposition, and the chord without it, conceivably the same.

It is his glory that Froude cannot be severed, early or late, from the superior genius once so ‘fain to be his heir.’ As he stands fast with what Mr. Wilfrid Ward has named ‘that great crisis of spiritual animation, unparalleled in our age and country,’ which has transformed the Church of England, and with his Achates, as that Achates was up to 1845, so he walks on with the white-haired Cardinal of all men’s honour, through whom a torrent of new life streamed, and streams, into the English-speaking children of the Apostolic See, but who

‘――came to Oxford and his friends no more.’

Newman’s unnecessary readiness to acknowledge any moral debt, was surely no small part of his delightful greatness. Never was it better justified than in his lifelong sense of obligation to the clear brain and pure devout heart of a young man of no celebrity, whose full significance is not past, but to come.

To a Catholic, Froude has something yet finer than his ‘totality and universality of character.’ He has the grace of God. He stands in a mysterious place,

‘Beautiful evermore, and with the rays Of dawn on his white shield of expectation,’

and it would be covetous indeed, it might be even impious, to wish to dislodge him. Such as he is, and where he is, he stands pledge enough for Reunion. Meanwhile, let him enjoy the irony for what it is worth, that to compensate for many of his own who esteem him not, many ‘swallowers of the Council of Trent as a whole’ esteem him well. The English Oratory has for him a sort of veneration, as for a little brother lost who had Saint Philip’s very brow and mouth;[293] the Benedictine monks at Buckfast Abbey, near his old home, familiarly remember him, on birthdays, with prayer which is both a gift and a petition; and there are lay hearts which cannot think of his lonely burial-place, in snow-time or in rose-time, without the sense of hearing over it a solemn music from the _Purgatorio_:

‘_Qui sarai tu poco tempo silvano; E sarai meco senza fine cive Di quella Roma onde Cristo è Romano._’

That wonderful prophetic strain, meant for eternity, must linger in the ear of every ‘Roman’ who has learned to love Hurrell Froude.

THE END.

[1] The present Editor once hit upon a copy of the _Remains_ in a bookstall, which had many of these names filled out in pencil; several of them, not all, proved to be accurate, and have been incorporated without acknowledgment to a nameless and deceased annotator.

[2] ‘What is Mysticism?’ in _The Faith of the Millions_. First Series. By George Tyrrell, S.J. Longmans, 1901, pp. 254-255.

[3] _Un Grand Feudataire, Renaud de Dammartin de la Coalition de Bouvines._ Par H. Malo. Paris: Champion, 1898.

[4] _Reminiscences chiefly of Oriel College and the Oxford Movement_, by the Rev. T. Mozley, M.A. London: Longmans, Green & Co., 1882, ii., 42-43.

[5] See p. 75. The incident was recognised by the Rev. T. Mozley when he again saw the sketch, in 1891, as having taken place in the Common Room, not in ‘Newman’s rooms.’

[6] _A Study of British Genius_, by Havelock Ellis. London; Hurst & Blackett, 1904, p. 53. The passages cited first appeared in _The Monthly Review_, during 1901.

[7] This, and much of the condensed genealogical information following, is from a paper on the Froudes or Frowdes of Devon in the _Reports and Transactions of the Devonshire Association_, 1892, written by the Rev. R. E. Hooppell, M.A., LL.D., D.C.L.

[8] Always so spelled, in this family.

[9] Archdeacon Froude, sixty years Rector of his parish, died Feb. 23, 1859. See _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for that year, i., 437, and _Boase’s Modern English Biography_, i., 1110.

[10] W. Brockedon, F.R.S., F.R.G.S. (b. 1787, d. 1854), was a watchmaker and inventor at Totnes. In 1809 he was enabled by Archdeacon Froude and Mr. Holdsworth, M.P. for Dartmouth, to go up to London to study at the Royal Academy till 1815, when he went abroad and started upon his career.

[11] ‘Poor Att’ [little Anthony Froude], Hurrell wrote in 1828, ‘is such a very good-tempered little fellow that in spite of his sawneyness [_i.e._, sensitiveness, or softness] he is sure to be liked.’ ‘I,’ he goes on to say, ‘was an ill-natured sawney, and do not at all wish my time at School to come again.’

[12] _Eton School Lists_, edited by H. E. Chetwynd. Stapleton, 1864.

[13] She married William Mallock, Esq. The distinguished writer, Mr. William Hurrell Mallock, is their son.

[14] The ‘Passon Chowne’ of Mr. Blackmore’s _Maid of Sker_.

[15] 1826.

[16] ‘To do our best is one part, but to wash our hands smilingly of the consequence is the next part of any sensible virtue.’ _The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson._ New York: Scribner, 1899, i., 342.

[17] _i.e._ extravagant or emotional.

[18] In the now obsolete sense of fanaticism.

[19] Oxford.

[20] ‘Mere’ in _Remains_.

[21] Archdeacon Froude had come into possession of his Denbury estate, through the three coheiresses of the last feoffee, in 1807, when his eldest son was four years old.

[22] His two elder sisters are always so called in his letters.

[23] Keble quitted Oxford when his mother died, and took sole charge of East Leach, Burthorpe and Southrop parishes, near his father’s home in Fairford. He had one thousand people to look after, in all; the three livings aggregated but £100 a year.

[24] The Rev. S. Baring-Gould, _The Book of the West_. Devon, i., 319.

[25] Buckland-in-the-Moor, near Ashburton, celebrated for its rocky heights and magnificent views.

[26] Mr. Keble’s first visit.

[27] Milton, as early as 1817, was one of Keble’s own big bold prejudices. It is but fair to Froude to quote, in order that his remark may not be misconstrued, his conviction that ‘it is not perhaps too much to say that [Milton’s] was the most powerful mind which ever applied itself to poetry.’ Like Professor Raleigh in our own day, Froude denied that colossal genius to be, properly speaking, a religious poet at all. See _Remains_, part i., ii., 318-321, and Note.

[28] The moral philosophers of the ancient world.

[29] Phillis, widow of Robert ffroud.

[30] Torquay.

[31] Peter Elmsley, S.T.P., 1773-1825, then Principal of S. Alban Hall, and Camden Professor of History in the University of Oxford.

[32] _A Memoir of the Rev. John Keble, M.A., late Vicar of Hursley_, by the Right Hon. Sir J. T. Coleridge, D.C.L. Oxford: Parker, 1869, p. 121.

[33] _i.e._, poetry.

[34] ‘His rapier he’d draw, And pink a _bourgeois_,

(A word which the English translate “Johnny Raw”).’――‘The Black Mousquetaire,’ _Ingoldsby Legends_.

[35] There is no old elm tree now on Dartington Parsonage lawn [1902].

[36] Piercefield Park, Chepstow, Monmouthshire, where Elizabeth Smith had lived from 1785 to 1793.

[37] Her translation of the _Memoirs of Frederick and Margaret Klopstock_ form, in most editions, the second volume of Miss Elizabeth Smith’s _Fragments_. ‘Old Klopstock’: Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock, 1724-1803, married Margarethe Möller (Meta) who died in 1758; and in 1791, in his sixty-eighth year, her cousin Johannah von Wenthem.

[38] Dr. Charles Lloyd, 1784-1829; then Canon of Christ Church, and Regius Professor of Divinity in the University of Oxford, appointed a year later Bishop of Oxford.

[39] The first was Robert Isaac Wilberforce, 1802-1857, second son of William Wilberforce, and the flower of a remarkable family of brothers. He became Vicar of East Farleigh, preceding there his brother Henry, and Archdeacon of the East Riding. He died at Albano in 1857, while preparing for the priesthood at Rome.

[40] _Oriel College_ (College History Series), by David Watson Rannie, M.A. London: Robinson, 1900, p. 185.

[41] _Reminiscences chiefly of Oriel College and the Oxford Movement_, by the Rev. T. Mozley, M.A. London: Longmans, 1882, ii., 388.

[42] Merton College lies south-east over against Oriel: the beautiful tower stands up just behind the roof of Hurrell’s rooms.

[43] Hurrell seems to have known and liked his senior, Edward Hawkins (1798-1884, Fellow of Oriel, 1813, Provost, succeeding Copleston, 1828), at this time. But ‘not the least of a Don’ is emphatically not descriptive of him, but of Richard Whately, 1787-1863, afterwards Archbishop of Dublin. ‘No Don was ever less donnish … he revelled in setting conventions at naught,’ etc. Dr. Rigg, in the _Dictionary of National Biography_, lx., 423-429, _inter alia_.

[44] John Davison, 1777-1834, Fellow and Tutor of Oriel, afterwards Vicar of Old Sodbury, Gloucester, and Prebendary of Worcester Cathedral. He had a very high repute at Oxford, and, like Whately, was mentioned ‘with bated breath.’

[45] ‘Newman’s relations with Whately largely cured him of the extreme shyness that was natural to him.’ W. S. Lilly, in the _Dictionary of National Biography_, xi., 342.

[46] Probably Hurrell’s old friend, Robert Isaac Wilberforce, then, like himself, a newly-made Fellow of Oriel. (‘Old’ was Hurrell’s most endearing adjective: he applies it unexpectedly in one letter: ‘old Becket.’) Robert Wilberforce’s temperament was far more studious and calm than that of his genial younger brothers, but apparently he could be ‘funny’ and ‘good-natured’ too. ‘R. Wilberforce was as merry as he generally is,’ writes his hostess, Mrs. Rickards, from Ulcombe, to Miss Jemima Newman, in the autumn of 1827.

[47] Keble.

[48] ‘To’ in _Remains_.

[49] Isaac Williams, 1802-1865: Scholar of Trinity, afterwards perpetual Curate of Treyddn, Flintshire, and author of _The Cathedral_.

[50] Sir George Prevost, Bart., 1804-1893, M.A., Oriel, 1827, married Jane, sister of Isaac Williams, 1828. Curate to Thomas Keble at Bisley, 1828-1834: afterwards perpetual Curate of Stinchcomb and Archdeacon of Gloucester.

[51] See p. 236 for Mr. Keble’s rebuke to Hurrell for a verbal flippancy. ‘When at Oxford, I took up Law’s _Serious Call to a Holy Life_, expecting to find it a dull book, as such books generally are, and perhaps laugh at it. But I found Law quite an over-match for me; and this was the first occasion of my thinking in earnest of religion, after I became capable of rational inquiry.’ _Boswell’s Johnson_, edited by George Birkbeck Hill, i., 68.

[52] _The Exemplary Life and Character of James Bonnell, Esq. [1653-1699], late Accomptant General of Ireland_, by William Hamilton, A.M., Archdeacon of Armagh. The book was first published in 1703.

[53] The common flash going on. R. H. F.’s note.

[54] A foot wanting. R. H. F., _ut supra_.

[55] Edward Copleston, 1776-1849: from 1814 to 1828 Provost of Oriel, afterwards Bishop of Llandaff. The Hurrells had Copleston blood.

[56] _Reminiscences chiefly of Oriel College and the Oxford Movement_, by the Rev. T. Mozley, M.A. London: Longmans, 1882, i., 384.

[57] From the chapter entitled Edward Hawkins, the Great Provost, in _Lives of Twelve Good Men_, by John William Burgon, pp. 208-209.

[58] ‘Bob.’

[59] William Ralph Churton, Fellow of Oriel, the brilliant and much-loved younger brother of the better-known Edward Churton, Archdeacon of Cleveland. He died at his home in Middleton Cheney, Northamptonshire, during the following month. His _Remains_ were privately printed in 1830, and are dedicated to the then Archbishop of Canterbury, and to nine clergymen, the Oxonians Keble, Ogilvie, Cotton, Perceval, and Froude among them. Their friendship, says the Preface, ‘honoured him in his death’; perhaps they bore together the expenses of publication. There is nothing particularly memorable in the book.

[60] Misprinted ‘situated’ in R. H. F.’s _Remains_.

[61] _John Henry Newman, Letters and Correspondence to 1845._ Edited by Anne Mozley. Longmans, 1890, i., 103.

[62] _Short Studies on Great Subjects_, 4th Series. London: Longmans, 1883, p. 235.

[63] _Reminiscences chiefly of Oriel College and the Oxford Movement_, by the Rev. T. Mozley, M.A., sometime Fellow of Oriel. London: Longmans, 1882, i., 18.

[64] Sculptor. How recently has ‘statuary’ become an obsolete word!

[65] A print of it appears in the _Remains_, i., 235.

[66] _John Henry Newman, Letters and Correspondence to 1845_, i., 8.

[67] The interval of a second in music: an amusing employment of the word, in this sense then, as now, obsolete and rare.

[68] _The Christian Year_: Forms of Prayer to be Used at Sea, line 5, not quite correctly quoted:

‘The wild winds rustle in the piping shrouds As in the quivering trees.’

[69] Joseph Dornford, 1794-1868, Fellow of Oriel; after a military career, Rector of Plymtree, Devon, and Canon of Exeter Cathedral. He had travelled in Ireland this summer.

[70] The word now has come to imply a sort of hero-worship based on a questionable social motive; but in Froude’s day it meant only those who showed, described, or patronised celebrated places, these being the ‘lions.’

[71] A half-legendary contemporary of S. Columbkille. Sir Walter Scott had crawled into the Hole or Bed at Glendalough in 1825.

[72] _Remains of the Rev. Richard Hurrell Froude_, part i., ii., 318, Note.

[73] At Greenaway on the Dart, between Dartmouth and Totnes, opposite Dittisham.

[74] The lines were written in some lady’s autograph album during this visit.

[75] _The Christian Year_: Septuagesima Sunday, closing stanza.

[76] Arthur, eldest son of Arthur Champernowne, Esq., of Dartington Hall, died during this year, 1831, aged 17. His next brother Henry died in 1851, aged 36.

[77] Newman, _Letters and Correspondence_, ii., 73.

[78] Of course in allusion to the proverb that rain on July 15 (S. Swithun’s Day) means a more or less prolonged downpour.

[79] William I., King of the Netherlands, formerly William Frederick, Prince of Orange.

[80] Thomas Elrington, M.A., D.D., formerly President of Trinity College, Dublin, an active and devoted prelate. He lived until July 12, 1835.

[81] The name of the Bishop who was the great antagonist of the Lollards, Fellow of Oriel in his day, is properly spelled Pecock.

[82] ‘The Time-Spirit of the Nineteenth Century,’ in _Problems and Persons_, by Wilfrid Ward. Longmans, 1903.

[83] Robert Isaac Wilberforce. His mind was truly profound, and it was ‘authentic,’ to borrow the word beautifully applied to him in a memorial verse of his friend Mr. Aubrey de Vere.

[84] On Justice as a Principle of Divine Governance. _University Sermons_, VI.

[85] Neander: this playful Hellenising of Newman’s name was general, at one time, among Oxonians of his own circle.

[86] Henry Bellenden Bulteel (1800-1866), a Devonshire man, Fellow and Tutor of Exeter College, Hurrell’s former contemporary at Eton. He got into difficulties with the Church of England and the University in 1831; after his calling the Heads of Houses ‘dumb dogs,’ from the pulpit of S. Mary’s, Bishop Bagot revoked his licence; he then married a pastry-cook’s sister in the High Street, spent £4000 building the Baptist Chapel in the Commercial Road, and set up as an independent dissenting minister. He was the anonymous author of _The Oxford Argo_. A good deal laughed at in his day, Bulteel had, according to evidence, the sympathy of Hurrell Froude in his ill fortunes. ‘Froude went about for days with a rueful countenance, and could only say: “Poor Bulteel!”’ _Reminiscences_, Mozley, i., 228.

[87] James Yonge, M.D., F.C.P., 1794-1870, a graduate of Exeter College, Oxford, and resident at Plymouth, where his practice was famous in its day, all over England.

[88] Of Oriel College.

[89] Hurrell had visited Keble there early in April, and caught a fresh cold.

[90] See p. 257.

[91] Prosperity, in _Lyra Apostolica_. Edited by H. C. Beeching, M.A. London: Methuen [1900], p. 146.

[92] Mary Sophia Newman, the youngest of the family, died, aged 17, on January 5, 1828.

[93] _Histoire de la Conquête de l’Angleterre par les Normands._ Par Augustin Thierry. Paris: Santelet, 1826. Tomes 1-4, 2de edition, 8o.

[94] A sentimental complaining fellow: the ‘dreary prospects’ being the prospects of a single life devoted to moral reforms.

[95] The usurper of the Portuguese crown, third son of King John VI. The English destroyed his fleet off Cape St. Vincent, July 5, 1833.

[96] ‘Stare’ in the _Remains_.

[97] Six weeks later, an English lady, Miss Frere, writes home from Malta of our three tourists, ‘Archdeacon Froude, his son, and another clergyman’ … ‘all very agreeable.’ She laments the ill-health of Mr. Newman, but adds that ‘the son, on whose account they are travelling, is quite well.’ _Works of the Rt. Hon. John Hookham Frere_, vol. i., Memoir, by the Rt. Hon. Sir Bartle Frere. London: Pickering, 1874, p. 242.

[98] Newman says, ‘It was at Rome that we began the _Lyra Apostolica_’ (_Apologia_, 1890, p. 34); this letter antedates the arrival at Rome by some days. Newman dates the _Lyra_ from Froude’s choosing its motto from the _Odyssey_ on the eve of magazine publication.

[99] The Rev. C. A. Ogilvie? or Frederick Oakeley? or the young Devonian Nutcombe Oxenham, who, like Isaac Williams, his tutor and lifelong friend, was a Scholar of Trinity? The associates of Mr. Williams were almost exclusively of Oriel.

[100] Froude had visited Samuel Wilberforce there, at Brighstone.

[101] ‘We are keeping the most wretched Christmas Day … by bad fortune we are again taking in coals…. This morning we saw a poor fellow in the Lazaret, close to us, cut off from the ordinances of his Church, saying his prayers with his face to the house of God in his sight over the water; and it is a confusion of face to me…. The bells are beautiful here … deep and sonorous, and they have been going all morning: to me very painfully.’ Newman to his sister Harriett, _Letters and Correspondence_, i., 274.

[102] Major John Longley, afterwards Lieutenant-Governor of Dominica. Charles Thomas Longley, Head Master of Harrow School from 1829 to 1836, became Archbishop of Canterbury. Cythera is Cerigo.

[103] Spiridion or Spiridon, patron of the island, Bishop of Tremithus near Salamis, present at the first General Council of Nice, and at the Council of Sardica. The Greeks keep his feast on the 12th, the Western Church on the 14th of December.

[104] [Mount Scollis in Elis.]

[105] _Correspondence_, i., 293-300, _passim_: and p. 332.

[106] The well-known novel by Susan Edmonstone Ferrier, published at first anonymously in 1818. A beautiful edition, marking some revival of popularity, was issued in 1902.

[107] He could jump well, too: ‘a larking thing for a Don!’ as he tells his mother. _Letters and Correspondence_, i., 159.

[108] Provinces now merged in the kingdom of Roumania.

[109] _Life and Letters of Frederick William Faber, D.D., Priest of the Oratory of St. Philip Neri_, by John Edward Bowden of the same Congregation. Richards, 1869, p. 78.

[110] A quaint phrase from the Oriel Statutes. They read: ‘_Quoniam omnia existentia tendunt ad non esse_.’

[111] ‘I am drawn to [Sicily] as by a loadstone. The chief sight has been Egesta: its ruins with its Temple. O wonderful sight! full of the most strange pleasure…. It has been a day in my life to have seen Egesta … really, my mind goes back to the recollection of last Monday and Tuesday, as one smells again and again at a sweet flower.’ Newman to his sister Harriett, _Letters and Correspondence_, i., 302.

[112] Joseph Severn, Keats’ friend, 1793-1879.

[113] Friedrich Overbeck, 1789-1869. He became a Catholic in 1814.

[114] Rev. Hugh James Rose, founder and editor: 1795-1838, M.A. of Cambridge University, Rector of Hadleigh, Suffolk; Principal of King’s College, London.

[115] ‘On The Hateful Party: probably the Liberal Party of 1833.’ _Lyra Apostolica_, Beeching’s edition, p. 140. But possibly the reference is to the English Reformers, and the poet’s idea that they should be considered serviceable, in a way, to the very spirit of Catholicism which they did their best to destroy. However, the context of Froude’s letter to Keble, going on to mention, as it does, a current political interest as inspiration (not forthcoming) for the next copy of verses, tends to bear out Mr. Beeching’s theory. _Lyra Apostolica_ began as a separate poetic section of _The British Magazine_ in June, 1833. The poem above is an unconscious expansion of S. Augustine’s _Ne putetis gratis esse malos in hoc mundo, et nihil boni de illis agere Deum_.

[116] Exactly what this interpretation was is not apparent from Lord Grey’s biographers, nor from his _Letters_. On this ground, he was suspect, after his significant remark in the House of Lords, on May 7, 1832: ‘I do not like, in this free country, to use the word Monarchy.’

[117] Christian Carl Josias, Baron Bunsen, 1791-1860, Minister Plenipotentiary, and German Ambassador to England from 1841-1854.

[118] Misread, and misprinted ‘ability’ in the _Remains_.

[119] The first audit at Oriel, Mr. Christie being then, as Froude’s successor, Junior Treasurer of the College.

[120] Afterwards Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster.

[121] [All this must not be taken literally, being a jesting way of stating to a friend what really was the fact, viz., that he and another availed themselves of the opportunity of meeting a learned Romanist to ascertain the ultimate points at issue between the Churches.] Note, _Remains_, 1838, i., 306.

[122] Newman writes to a friend then out of England, R. F. Wilson, Esq., on Sept. 8 following: ‘… If we look into history, whether in the age of the Apostles, St. Ambrose’s, or St. Becket’s [_sic_], still the people were the fulcrum of the Church’s power. So they may be again. Therefore, expect on your return … to see us all cautious, long-headed, unfeeling, unflinching Radicals.’ Newman, _Letters and Correspondence_, i., 399.

[123] The contributors to the _Lyra_ numbered but six, in the end. Mr. Christie is not among them.

[124] Sir Edmund Walker Head, Bart., 1805-1868, an accomplished Oriel man, Fellow of Merton, M.A., D.C.L., F.R.S., and K.C.B., Governor-General of Canada, author of a _Handbook of the Spanish and French Schools of Painting_, and of various philological and literary essays. Hurrell might have named also a young Mr. Gladstone, late of Christ Church, already eminent in the Oxford academic world and beyond it, who spent a good part of this year, 1832-1833, in Italy.

[125] William Whewell, 1794-1866: Master of Trinity College, Cambridge. The particular ‘book’ may be, judging from the context and the date, the _Astronomy and General Physics, considered with Reference to Natural Theology_.

[126] Adam Sedgwick, 1785-1873: Woodwardian Professor of Geology in the University of Cambridge.

[127] Connop Thirlwall, 1797-1875: historian and Bishop of S. David’s.

[128] Julius Charles Hare, 1795-1855, of Trinity College, Cambridge, afterwards Incumbent of Hurstmonceaux, and Archdeacon of Lewes. Like Thirlwall, he was a familiar friend of Baron Bunsen. For a passing instance of the ‘puffing’ contemned by Froude, see _Memorials of a Quiet Life_, 1876, iii., 224.

[129] John of Salisbury, afterwards Bishop of Chartres, the companion and biographer of S. Thomas à Becket, and ‘for thirty years the central figure of English learning.’ (Stubbs, _Lectures_, p. 139.) He was born _circa_ A.D. 1118, and died in the year 1180.

[130] Anglicised Latin, that is: Latin taught with the Continental pronunciation, or any approach to it, being unheard-of in the England of that time.

[131] _Remains of William Ralph Churton_ (Private Impression), 1830, p. 162.

[132] _Reminiscences_, etc., i., 294.

[133] Froude means the Abbé de Lamennais, Lacordaire, Montalembert, and their friends, to whom he was strongly attracted. Lacordaire, newly withdrawn from _L’Avenir_, was at this time at Nôtre Dame, not yet a Dominican. What a friend he would have been for R. H. F.!

[134] The Absolutions, in the Book of Common Prayer.

[135] [Here, and in many other places, it is the author’s way to bring forward as motives of action for himself and others what were but secondary, and rather the reflection of his mind upon its acts, and that as if with a view to avoid the profession of high and great things. Such, too, is the Scripture way: as where we are told to do good to our enemies, as if ‘to heap coals of fire on their heads,’ and to take the lowest place, in order to ‘have worship in the presence’ of spectators.] Note, _Remains_, 1838, i., 314.

[136] The motto appears first in _The British Magazine_, Dec., 1833, followed by: ‘Compare _Daniel_ i., 7.’

[137] Dan. xii., 13.

[138] The reading here, slightly altered and bettered from the copy printed in the _Remains_, is from _Lyra Apostolica_, 1836.

[139] Ezek. xxvii., 11.

[140] The text in 1833 has ‘wandering.’ The Rev. H. C. Beeching adopts it, with this Note: ‘Perhaps the line should run: “Far-wandering from the East.”’

[141] In _The British Magazine_ for May 1835 (vii., 518) this poem first appears, and there bears no motto, and has ‘The Exchange’ for title. The title in the _Remains_ is ‘Farewell to Toryism.’

[142] S. Paul, Eph. ii., 8.

[143] _The Anglican Revival_, by J. H. Overton, D.D. London: Blackie, 1897, p. 206.

[144] James William Bowden, 1798-1844, the most zealous lay participant in the early Movement.

[145] _Reminiscences_, Mozley, i., 580.

[146] _Specimens of the Table-Talk of the late Samuel Taylor Coleridge._ Murray, 1835, ii., 26. The curious inference may be made, in regard to Froude’s Editors, that they did not light upon Coleridge’s passage at first-hand, but that somebody brought it to their attention: they, on their part, had accomplished, by chance, the extraordinary feat of ignoring Coleridge. ‘In extreme old age Newman wrote to a friend: “I never read a word of Kant. I never read a word of Coleridge…. I could say the same of Hurrell Froude, and also of Pusey and Keble.”’ _Newman_, by William Barry. Literary Lives Series. Hodder & Stoughton, 1904, p. 30. The inclusion of the name of Dr. Pusey, Germanic by temperament and by his line of study, is remarkable.

[147] This was July 9, 1833. The Froudes had never had word by post since he had parted from them, and they knew something had gone wrong.

[148] Arthur Philip Perceval, 1799-1853, of Oriel, brother of Lord Arden, and Vicar of East Horsley; afterwards Royal chaplain, and expounder of High Church principles, on one celebrated occasion, before Queen Victoria.

[149] Nobody but Dean Hook calls him ‘learned,’ and the concession may have been thrown in to balance the depreciatory context. ‘With a kind heart and glowing sensibilities, Mr. Froude united a mind of wonderful power, saturated with learning, and from its very luxuriance productive of weeds, together with many flowers.’ _A Call to Union on the Principles of the English Reformation_, 2nd ed., 1838, p. 167.

[150] _Remains_ of R. H. F., part i., ii., 307. On the Causes of the Superior Excellence of the Poetry of Rude Ages.

[151] This is not among his published Sermons, but may have gone to make up the mosaic of State Interference papers in the _Remains_, part ii., i., 184-269.

[152] ‘Snug’ in _Remains_.

[153] The Queen.

[154] _The British Magazine_ for July, 1833, vol. iii., The Appointment of Bishops by the State. Correspondence under the same title opens in the September number, v., 290 _et seq._, signed ‘F.’

[155] Newman figures as responsible for it in the valuable Appendix to the third volume of the _Life_ of Dr. Pusey.

[156] _Correspondence_, i., 421.

[157] John Mitchinson Calvert of Crosthwaite, Cumberland, and of Oriel, M.A., M.D., who knew Froude well, and was his own age.

[158] S. Thomas à Becket’s word for the poor.

[159] The ‘man’ is Jean Bon de St. André, Deputy to the Convention for the Department of Lot during the Reign of Terror; he was preferred by Napoleon, and died in 1813. He was present when Earl Howe defeated the French fleet on June 1, 1794, and distinguished himself after the fashion commemorated in the Elegy which appeared in the _Anti-Jacobin Review and Magazine_ on May 14, 1798, and was the joint production of Canning, Gifford, and Frere:

‘Poor John was a gallant captain In battles much delighting; He fled full soon, On the first of June, But he bade the rest keep fighting.’

The stave appears again, of course, in _Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin_, Edited with Explanatory notes by Charles Edmonds, 3rd edition, London, Sampson Low, etc., 1890, p. 187. The _New Anti-Jacobin_, a brilliant monthly advocating high Tory principles, sprang into life for April and May, 1833, and died. Froude must have been deeply interested in it. Nothing we know of him is more engaging than this very gallant applying to himself of such a quotation at such a time, and for such a reason.

[160] Rev. Anthony Buller, 1809-1881, afterwards Rector of Mary Tavy; ordained at Exeter on Oct. 27 of this year.

[161] _The Arians of the Fourth Century._

[162] Mr. Rose’s friend, William Rowe Lyall, 1788-1857, then Archdeacon of Colchester, afterwards Dean of Canterbury. Owing to Mr. Rose’s failing health, the two exchanged livings this year, and Archdeacon Lyall remained at Hadleigh till 1841, Mr. Rose having died in Italy.

[163] Of 1831.

[164] William Hart Coleridge, 1789-1849, brother to George, Master of Ottery Free School; first Bishop of Barbados and the Leeward Islands, 1824, and reorganiser of Codrington College. He resigned in 1841, when the diocese was divided.

[165] ‘Unconnected’ in the text of the _Remains_, but corrected in the little list of _errata_.

[166] This, of course, is one of the passages upon which the Editors of the _Remains_ rely to prove negatively their contention that Froude’s Anglicanism was immutably fixed. The ‘Popery’ in this passage is not in its ‘grammatical sense,’ but plainly refers to furtherance of O’Connell’s measures.

[167] Jeremy Collier’s _Ecclesiastical History of Great Britain_, first published in two volumes folio in 1708, 1714.

[168] Lieutenant-Colonel J. Lyons Nixon, L.G.

[169] [If they had had the _whole body_ of the English Church in agreement with them. The sort and amount of alteration which the writer probably contemplated may be seen in _Tracts for the Times_, Via Media.] Note, _Remains_, i., 348. So sure was Newman of R. H. F.’s posthumous approbation.

[170] Thomas Fowell Buxton, 1786-1845, M.P., knighted in 1840, prison reformer (brother-in-law of Mrs. Fry), and William Wilberforce’s successor as head of the Anti-slavery party in England.

[171] John Spedding Froude.

[172] A ‘Z’ stood, in Tractarian, for an ‘Establishment man.’

[173] Thus in the _Remains_, but ‘if,’ by a misprint, in The Newman _Correspondence_, ii., 33.

[174] Keble was eleven years older than Froude, nine years older than Newman.

[175] Founded by a bequest to the S.P.G. of Christopher Codrington, 1668-1710, the munificent Fellow of All Souls, Oxford; licensed by Queen Anne; opened as a Grammar School in 1742; but not a Collegiate institution for West Indian clergy, as originally intended, until 1830.

[176] To ‘battel’ is a verb purely Oxonian by origin. Battels are a man’s College accounts for supplies from kitchen and buttery, or else all College accounts, inclusive of board, lodging, tuition, rates, and sundries.

[177] _The Arians of the Fourth Century; their Doctrine, Temper, and Conduct, chiefly as Exhibited in the Councils of the Church between A.D. 325 and A.D. 384_, by John Henry Newman, M.A., Fellow of Oriel College. London: Rivingtons, 1833. The book is dedicated to Keble. The review is in _The British Magazine_ for January, 1834, v., 67. Mr. T. Mozley thinks that _The Arians_ is the landmark of Newman’s progress from Low Church to High Church.

[178] There are two brief papers and a poem signed ‘C.’ in _The British Magazine_ Supplement, Dec. 31, 1833, in vol.