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.

iv. The matter referred to is probably that dealing

‘Apostolically’ with Confirmation and First Communion. The

Editor has not been able to identify ‘C.’

[179] This still exists, the tallest, (a huge tree in

Froude’s time,) being over one hundred feet high.

[180] Vol. v., pp. 667 _et seq._; vi., 380 _et seq._

[181] ‘Some one, I think, asked in conversation at Rome

[1833], whether a certain interpretation of Scripture was

Christian. It was answered that Dr. Arnold took it; I

interposed: “But is _he_ a Christian?” The subject went out

of my head at once.’ _Apologia pro Vita Sua_, 1890, p. 33.

[182] The Rev. George Dudley Ryder, second son of the Hon.

and Rt. Rev. Lord Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry. He

married in June, 1834, Sophia Lucy, youngest daughter of the

Rev. J. Sargent, Rector of Lavington, Sussex, sister of Mrs.

Henry and of Mrs. Samuel Wilberforce, and of Mrs. H. E.

Manning.

[183] To ‘rat,’ a favourite verb with the two hide-bound

purists who used it daily, means obviously to forsake or

abandon anything, as rats skurry away from a sinking ship.

[184] The Rev. John Hothersal Pinder, M.A., Cambridge, first

Principal, from 1830 to 1835, subsequently first Principal

of Wells Theological College.

[185] North-east of Torquay.

[186] Newman, prompted by Isaac Williams, and following

Thomas Keble at Bisley, had, unknown to Froude, begun a

month before to read the two Church services daily in the

chancel of S. Mary’s at Oxford: but a daily Eucharist was

then unheard of in the Church of England.

[187] _Reminiscences_, i., 217.

[188] Frederic Rogers, afterwards Lord Blachford, 1811-1889.

He had been Froude’s pupil, and also Newman’s, through a

dazzlingly brilliant University career. He occupied Froude’s

rooms at Oriel on staircase No. 3 for at least one term

during his absence.

[189] In reference to Lib. iv., Carm. iii., 19-20: Ad

Melpomenen.

[190] Vol. i., 369-372.

[191] J. H. N., _Letters and Correspondence_, i., 397-399.

[192] _Essays Critical and Historical_, by John Henry

Cardinal Newman. London: Longmans, 1891, ii., 375.

[193] _Chronicle of Convocation, Sessions, July 3-6, 1887._

The capitals occur there, as here.

[194] J. H. N., _Letters and Correspondence_, i., 423.

[195] John Tucker, 1793-1873, Fellow of Corpus Christi

College, and at this time Dean; Vicar of West Hendred,

Berkshire.

[196] The Note in the _Remains_, i., 405, calls attention to

the circumstance that R.H.F. was speaking of the Church

_system_ only; _i.e._, the Establishment.

[197] Both Newman and Froude often employ this word in a

sense now quite obsolete. ‘The notion of diversion,

entertainment, is comparatively of recent introduction into

the word. To amuse was to cause to muse, to occupy or

engage, and in this sense indeed to divert, the thoughts and

attention.’ Trench, _Select Glossary_, 1890, p. 7.

A perfect example of the bygone function of the word occurs

in Daniel’s _Musophilus_, where he condoles with ‘Sacred

Religion, mother of form and fear,’ in the days when she must

‘Sit poorly, without light, disrobed; no care

Of outward grace to amuse the poor devout.’

[198] Joram or jorum is a drinking-bowl.

[199] _I.e._, the work, then in progress, on _The Life and

Times of Thomas à Becket_.

[200] _The Christian Year: Thoughts in Verse for the Sundays

and Holy-days Throughout the Year._ First American Edition.

Philadelphia: Carey, Lea and Blanchard, MDCCCXXXIV.

[201] Frederick Oakeley, 1802-1880: Tutor and Lecturer of

Balioll College, Select Preacher to the University in 1831,

Minister of Margaret Chapel (on the site of All Saints,

Margaret Street, London W.) 1839-1845, and for the last

thirty years of his life priest and Canon of the Archdiocese

of Westminster.

[202] The American editor, ‘G. D. W.’ [George Washington

Doane].

Among the footnotes is the following: ‘The Editor is

accountable, throughout the volume, for the use of the

Italic letter. He has adopted that method of designating

such lines as possess, in his judgment, peculiar beauty.’

The preface is dated July 1, 1834. More than twenty-five

editions had been published in England at this time.

[203] With Froude always, though not with Newman,

domesticity spelled desertion of the Cause: to be married

was, practically, to ‘rat.’

[204] _The British Magazine_ for September, 1834, had

announced the marriage of H. W. Wilberforce, Esq., M.A.,

Oriel College, to Mary, second daughter of the late Rev. J.

Sargent, Rector of Lavington.

[205] Hurrell may well have known the state of poor

Williams’ heart in regard to Miss Caroline Champernowne of

Dartington Hall: the marriage, however, did not come off

until 1842. Mr. Keble is not mentioned in his worshipping

disciple’s incriminating list, but he had married Miss

Charlotte Clark at Bisley on the tenth of the preceding

October. He was then in his forty-fourth year. The

engagement was of several years’ standing.

[206] Mr. Christie married in 1847.

[207] John Frederick Christie, M.A., Fellow of Oriel,

received Deacon’s Orders in the Cathedral at Oxford, on May

25, 1834, and Priest’s Orders in the same place, on December

20, 1835.

[208] [Such as the necessity of holding by the union of

Church and State; of contenting himself with the English

liturgical services, etc. Note, _Remains_, i., 386.] The

Editors mistook Hurrell’s word ‘one’ in the text, printing

it as ‘me.’

[209] To _smug_ is to confiscate without ceremony.

The _Exeter Flying Post_, during the last week of the

preceding May, had announced the arrival of ‘the Bishop of

Barbados and his family, on a visit to Mrs. Coleridge’s

father, the venerable Dean of Winchester.’ The ‘thorough Z’

was in delicate health, and it forced him, ultimately, to

resign his charge. His only son, a young child in Froude’s

time at Barbados, Mr. Rennell Coleridge, has just died at

Salston, Ottery St. Mary (May, 1904).

[210] Isaac Williams was long believed to be hopelessly ill,

but recovered.

[211] The Rev. John Keble, Sr., Vicar of Coln St. Aldwyn,

father and sole educator of John and of Thomas Keble, up to

the time of their entering the University. He had inherited

what he so splendidly transmitted: the Carolian and

Nonjuring tradition.

[212] He was by no means alone in indulging this pious

sentiment. On all sides, in 1835, ‘from Newman to Macaulay,

from Cobbett to Arnold, the Reformers were receiving

scathing criticism.’ The Life-Work of Cardinal Wiseman, in

_Problems and Persons_, by Wilfrid Ward. Longmans, 1903.

[213] Of Nov. 18, 1834. This is a homespun boyish

acknowledgement of Newman’s beautiful flight of words,

straight to the heart of his friend.

[214] Newman’s note some thirty years later, _Letters and

Correspondence_, ii., 7. ‘_N.B._――Froude would not believe

that I was in earnest, as I was, in shrinking from the views

which he boldly followed out. I _was_ against

Transubstantiation.’

[215] In the standard modern edition, _Pensées Fragments et

Lettres de Blaise Pascal_ … par M. Prosper Faugère, Paris,

Leroux, 1897, the passage occurs in Lettre V. (à

Mademoiselle de Roannez), fin d’Octobre, 1656, pp. 52-53.

[216] Probably in a letter. Mr. Christie was at this time

devoting himself to Ridley, whom he looked upon, Mr. Mozley

tells us, as a Saint and an Authority; his papers appeared

later in _The British Critic_.

[217] Sir William Hamilton’s celebrated (anonymous) article

on ‘Admission of Dissenters to the Universities,’ _Edinburgh

Review_, vol. lx., pp. 202 _et seq._, for October, 1834,

includes some telling paragraphs on the Practical Theology

(in reference to the countenancing of polygamy) and the

Biblical Criticism (boldly destructive) of Luther, Bucer,

and Melancthon.

[218] First published as Tract 18: _Thoughts on the Benefits

of the System of Fasting enjoined by our Church._ It is

dated Oxford, The Feast of S. Thomas [1834], and signed E.

B. P., being the first of the _Tracts_ to bear a signature,

by way of disassociating its author from the real

Tractarians.

[219] The ‘Dartington one’ is, as we have seen, ‘Scripture a

Record of Human Sorrow’; the ‘Naples one’ is possibly

‘Religious Emotion,’ Nos. xiv. and xxv. in _Parochial

Sermons_, by John Henry Newman, M.A., Vicar of S. Mary the

Virgin’s, Oxford, and Fellow of Oriel College. London:

Rivington, 1834.

[220] Did Froude mean to write ‘Gallican’? Saint Francis de

Sales as a Jansenist fills a new rôle.

[221] ‘The Rise and Fall of Gregory,’ chapter ix., in _The

Church of the Fathers_. Reprinted from _The British

Magazine_, by Rivington, 1840, p. 146.

[222] Robert Isaac Wilberforce, as Vicar of East Farleigh,

near Maidstone, Kent, was out of Oxford life practically

from 1831 to 1849.

[223] Choused means swindled, duped.

[224] _Sic._

[225] Unidentified.

[226] He has forgotten, for the moment, his own illuminating

word spoken two years before: ‘Surely the promise “I am with

you always” means something?’ …

[227] The famous emendation of the thirteenth stanza in the

Gunpowder Treason hymn, which now reads in all editions of

_The Christian Year_,――

‘There present in the heart

As in the hands,’

was made after Keble’s death, by his executors, and in

accordance with his own request. The request was based upon

that of ‘my dear friend Hurrell Froude,’ over thirty years

before. Keble had long held out against the alteration, and

for what he thought good cause, even against Pusey,

maintaining that ‘Not in the hands’ should be understood as

‘Not [only] in the hands.’ He had precedents and analogies

to lean upon. But when Bishop Jeune on February 9, 1866,

quoted the original lines in Convocation as against the Real

Objective Presence, the poet, then near his end, eagerly

effected the change. The ordinary reader may wonder whether

a more astounding variant be known to doctrinal statement.

[228] Both quotations are from one of the loveliest and

tenderest numbers of _The Christian Year_: that entitled

‘Holy Baptism,’ stanzas v. and iii.

[229] ‘Someone’ was of course quoting from the Vulgate, the

Song of Solomon, iv., 11.

[230] The Rev. John Keble, Sr., died on Jan. 24, 1835, aged

89.

[231] Thus in the Newman _Correspondence_, ii., 94. In the

_Remains_ the reading is ‘little to boast of.’

[232] Froude would not have heard of the famous contest for

the Speakership on Feb. 19, 1835, as he left the West Indies

in March, or early April. James Abercromby, Esq., of

Edinburgh, obtained on that day a majority of ten over Sir

Charles Manners Sutton, who thereupon retired in chagrin

from public life, and was created Viscount Canterbury.

[233] _Letters of Frederic Lord Blachford_, edited by George

Eden Marindin. London: Murray, 1896, p. 24.

[234] _Reminiscences_, ii., 14.

[235] ‘The Oxford Counter-Reformation,’ in _Short Studies on

Great Subjects_, 4th Series: 1883.

[236] Tract 63, afterwards published, with additions, in the

_Remains_, part i., ii., 383-423.

[237] (With dogma: not with disease!)

[238] _The Ritualists, or Non-Natural Catholics._ London:

Shaw & Co., 2nd edition, 1867, p. 73.

[239] In the Church of England, he means. Catholic altars

were, and are, always of stone, the custom of stone altars

having been ruled as obligatory at the Council of Epaon,

A.D. 517. Dr. Pusey’s dismay will be remembered at the

adverse decision given on 31st January, 1845, against stone

altar-slabs, as ‘revived’ in S. Sepulchre’s Church at

Cambridge. (Liddon’s _Pusey_, ii., 483.)

[240] _La Renaissance Catholique en Angleterre_, par Paul

Thureau-Dangin de l’Académie française. 1re Partie. Paris:

Plon, 1899, p. 160.

[241] ‘_Que se passa-t-il entre eux? Wiseman ne l’a jamais

révélé._’ _Idem_, p. 104. M. Thureau-Dangin’s treatment of

Froude throughout is exquisite and just, though he contrives

to miss a point or two.

[242] Newman warns us in the Preface to _Loss and Gain_

against actual identifications of his scenes and characters;

and the warning is just, because there is no warrant for the

identifications. But reading between the lines is

particularly profitable with every page of Newman’s,

dictated by an almost unexampled deliberation and

sensitiveness. Reding (for one instance out of many),

quitting his beautiful and beloved Oxford, goes early in the

morning to kiss the willows along the Water-walks good-bye.

It is almost impossible that the man who thinks such a thing

should not also be the man who has done it.

[243] ‘Things,’ one is left to infer, which depended more or

less on the proximity of the Bodleian, and implied something

in the way of historical fiction.

[244] In vol. vii., 1835. The article for June, pp. 662-668,

is Letter No. xii. in _The Church of the Fathers_, and

consists of a little essay on S. Augustine, with excerpts

from his treatises and private correspondence on the subject

of the religious life.

[245] The Statutes excluding married Fellows being still in

force.

[246] Years after this was written, late in the seventies,

he must have passed near it, going to visit his

brother-in-law, the Rev. Thomas Mozley, at Plymtree.

[247] _I.e._, haranguing against ‘Romanism.’

[248] James Shergold Boone, 1799-1859, an Oxonian, then

editor of _The British Critic_.

[249] Copleston.

[250] The Rev. Charles Portates Golightly, 1807-1885, M.A.,

Oriel: King of the ‘Peculiars.’

[251] The Rev. Benjamin Harrison, 1808-1887, M.A.,

Christchurch, afterwards Archdeacon of Maidstone and Canon

of Canterbury.

[252] Probably Thomas Mozley, newly appointed Junior

Treasurer of Oriel.

[253] The Rev. Robert Francis Wilson, M.A., Oriel, was

appointed Mr. Keble’s Curate in 1835, and became his

lifelong friend.

[254] In the review of Blanco White’s _Observations on

Heresy and Orthodoxy_.

[255] The Rev. John Richard Bogue, a Cambridge graduate,

then, or later, Curate of Cornworthy, towards Dartmouth.

[256] _Life of Edward Bouverie Pusey_, by Henry Parry

Liddon, D.D., etc. London: Longmans, 1893, i., 359.

[257] John Mozley and Jemima Newman were married on April

28, 1836. Thomas Mozley’s first wife was Harriet Newman,

married to him in September of the same year. Not only the

Mozleys of the Tractarian group, but two of the Wilberforces

(Samuel and Henry), and the two Kebles, married sisters.

[258] A ‘prose,’ in this pleasant sense, seems always, with

Oxford men of that date, to mean a disquisition in the

nature of a monologue.

[259] Hurrell Froude’s first instalments of the articles

embracing translations of S. Thomas à Becket’s original

letters (from the Vatican Archives and other original

sources) appeared in _The British Magazine_ for November,

1832, ii., 233-242, and had run on pretty regularly ever

since.

[260] In the theological sense.

[261] William Palmer (Vigornensis, as he was locally called

to distinguish him from his namesake at Magdalen College),

and Newman, in lesser measure, were responsible for this

Tract, numbered 15.

[262] During this month Blanco White had avowed himself a

Unitarian, and quitted Archbishop Whately’s house in Dublin.

[263] By accident, the same adjectives had instinctively

occurred in a postscript of Harriett Newman’s, written a

month or two before. ‘Who can refrain from tears at the

thought of that bright and beautiful Froude?’ she writes.

‘He is not expected to last long.’

[264] Coleridge’s _Memoir of John Keble_, p. 235.

[265] ‘Separation,’ _Lyra Apostolica_, Beeching’s edition,

p. 17. See p. 331 of this book.

[266] Cholderton (Thomas Mozley’s Rectory), Oct. 3,

1839.――‘Keble’s Preface to the _Remains_ [Part II.], which

awaited me here, is very good, as far as I can judge; but

somehow I want the faculty of judging anything of

Keble’s.’――_John Henry Newman, Letters and Correspondence to

1845._ Longmans, 1890, ii., 213, 257.

[267] Lost.

[268] Newman. The anonymous review appeared in _The

Christian Observer_ for July, 1837, pp. 460-479. The volume

bears no number.

[269] Probably Henry Halford Vaughan of Christ Church,

1811-1885; the distinguished jurist; elected Fellow of Oriel

in 1835; afterwards Regius Professor of Modern History.

[270] Renn Dickson Hampden, D.D., 1793-1868, received in

October, 1836, his famous (Dean Burgon’s adjective was

‘scandalous’) appointment by Lord Melbourne to the Regius

Professorship of Divinity in the University of Oxford,

against the vehement and prolonged opposition of both Low

Church and High Church, to whom ‘Hampdenism’ meant nothing

less than the negation of Christian doctrine and the

Catholic spirit. Hampden, if not ‘Hampdenism,’ was to be

greatly crippled by the Oxford Convocation of the following

May.

[271] The Rev. R. C. Fillingham’s wit, wasted on a winter

Sunday morning in the Pembroke Street Chapel, Oxford, may be

worth hoarding up. ‘The Martyrs died to protest against the

ridiculous doctrine of the Real Presence, and the man who

preached that doctrine from the pulpit was a traitor, and

deserved to be drummed out of the Church. (Applause)…. The

new religion of the Church of England was founded in 1833 …

in order to save the endowments, and was really a pecuniary

dodge. The Martyrs’ Memorial protested against it, and said

this new thing was not the religion of the true Church of

England. The Memorial protested against dishonesty; it stood

as a protest against shams, etc., etc.’――_The Oxford Times,

Jan. 16, 1904._

[272] The Rev. Edward Churton, 1800-1874, Rector of Crayke,

the Spanish scholar, biographer of Joshua Watson.

[273] _Lives of Twelve Good Men_, by John William Burgon,

B.D., late Dean of Chichester. London: Murray, 1891, p. 129.

[274] Afterwards seventh Earl of Carlisle.

[275] _Correspondence_, ii., 255.

[276] _Letters of Frederic Lord Blachford_, edited by George

Eden Marindin. Murray, 1896, p. 50.

[277] _Life of William Ewart Gladstone_, by John Morley.

Macmillan, 1903, i., 306.

[278] _Idem_, p. 161.

[279] _Remains_, vol. ii., 229, 250, and elsewhere.

[280] Mr. Ruskin.

[281] Rose to Pusey, in Burgon’s _Lives of Twelve Good Men_,

p. 125.

[282] ‘A More Excellent Way,’ in _The Faith of the

Millions_. First Series. By George Tyrrell, S. J. Longmans,

1901, p. 5.

[283] Sir James Stephen, ‘The Evangelical Succession,’ in

_Essays in Ecclesiastical Biography_. London: Longmans,

1860, 4th edition, i., 462.

[284] Quoted in _The Monthly Repository_ for 1835,

discovered and reproduced in Mr. Bertram Dobell’s

_Sidelights on Charles Lamb_, 1903, p. 325.

[285] _Life and Letters of Ambrose Phillipps de Lisle_, i.,

199. Compare the Rev. Spencer Jones’ remarkable article,

‘Who Makes the Division?’ in _The Lamp_ for April or May,

1904. ‘The _terminus ad quem_ of the Oxford Movement, by

logical and divine necessity, seems to us to be the return

of the Anglican Church to the supreme authority of the Holy

See. To it we must come, if we desire to possess a sanctuary

once more.’

[286] Canon Smith, Rector of S. Peter’s Catholic Church at

Marlow, once the Anglican Rector of Leadenham, died, aged

89, on October 24, 1903, while the first sheets of this book

were passing through the press.

[287] It is the saying of a contemporary wit: ‘Did you ever

see a clever Anglican who did not worry over his Church? and

did you ever see a clever Roman who did?’

[288] See p. 148.

[289] _Reminiscences_, i., 441.

[290] _Life and Letters of Walter Farquhar Hook, D.D.,

F.R.S._, by his Son-in-Law, W. R. W. Stephens. Bentley,

1878, ii., 103.

[291] _L’Anglo-Catholicisme_, par le Père Ragey. Paris:

Lecoffre [1897], pp. 4, 7.

[292] Mr. Simcox in _The Academy_, May 22, 1891, xxxix.,

481.

[293] The physical resemblance between R. H. F.’s

child-portrait and _il buon Pippo_, becomes none the less

noteworthy when one turns towards what Newman wrote from

Rome to his sister about S. Philip Neri, on January 26,

1847. ‘This great Saint reminds me in so many ways of Keble,

that I can fancy what Keble would have been … in another

place and age; he was formed on the same type of extreme

hatred of humbug, playfulness, nay, oddity, tender love of

others, and severity.’ _John Henry Newman, Letters and

Correspondence to 1845_, ii., 424.

HURRELL FROUDE

II

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