I 
 
 BX 
 
 4705 
 
 M3M57 
 
 A 
 A 
 
 \ 
 
 I 
 
 1 | 
 
 2 I 
 
 6 ! 
 I 
 
 2 1 
 
 7 I 
 
 3 I 
 
 Cardinal Manning 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IPrav for tbe Soul 
 
 OF 
 
 ttbe Wen? IRevcrenO 
 
 flDgr. IRouse. 
 
 1904. 
 
• 
 
7/w— U* k~~ /C^^l^L ^ 
 
 ffep*£i&^. fv~*r <t-l~^ i*-~ s~~. <r~ e~l~^~*ty fci /¥. r» 
 
 K^t^yLcZTr^LGz: *# «- ^ — * — ? <^ — *■<-• 
 
 <*i-w ,rw£u*<^» m^Lt-w -e«-*o ">^- *-^~ "yV" » t ^-p-^— . ^"~ 
 
 7U- £j^ ^ *c=o" K - A-—-' J 'V-**CW^ 
 
 C/i. f^^Ui, r*-j-<- .-*-«_ t/~.^4jl*- : 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 .^/^ /&*— 3^w^ 
 
 
 •iu 
 
 $> 
 
 
 -i V- ££0 C**-» t, tcr^— "= ~~ w - 
 
 
 7Ac 
 
 
 
 t^ 
 
 r (i iU "^r»T^t3 C^-i7 LO-^-USl (ftc^Xt-^^-tW «^» ■>«.*«*-<-. 
 
 n.£i*~~^Af 
 
 cta-^^rr l^*~-~o uA^+jr J(~ Cr. "Il*^ XK 
 
 ^^-/ /\m,e£^~~* , Jjfc. xL. l/l^|w^JZ?"J^^< 
 
 "^^ y~Ar be a 
 
 
 Q^.z-*-<x— eGZ fc^_-c. — 1.^„^_ t~~^~jl° f*~i 
 
 • 
 
 ^ — pUiCw nk^-^^^'&zL. „__ ^ ^jz^&fZi*, «^jL.Vt^ -K^.K~. ^yJitf ^~<~^L^- ^Arv--— ^~3> 
 Fac-simile of an article written by Cardinal Manning for "The Weekly Register." 
 
MEMORIALS OF 
 
 Cardinal Manning 
 
 From Barraud's Photograph. 
 
 ARRANGED AND EDITED BY 
 
 JOHN OLDCASTLE 
 
 
 LONDON : BURNS & OATES, Ltd. 
 NEW YORK: CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY. 
 
SLonfcon : 
 
 THE WESTMINSTER PRESS, 333 HARROW ROAD, W. 
 1892. 
 
 IMH6-M 
 
 
 
M3h57 
 
 Defcication. 
 
 TO THE MOTHER-GENERAL 
 
 AND TO THE COMMUNITY 
 
 AT NAZARETH HOUSE, HAMMERSMITH, 
 
 WHO LAID 
 
 THE FIRST WREATH UPON HIS GRAVE, 
 
 THESE FIRST MEMORIALS OF CARDINAL MANNING 
 
 ARE INSCRIBED. 
 
 149189 
 
 l& 
 
To meet a ivide demand, these Memorials, originally prepared 
 fr a Magazine, are now issued in a more permanent form. 
 
 The Editor heartily thanks the correspondents who have 
 so kindly favoured him with Letters and Reminiscences for 
 publication in these Memorials. 
 
 "Merry England 51 Office, 
 
 43, Essex Street, Strand 
 
MEMORIALS OF CARDINAL MANNING. 
 
 THE LIFE AT LAVINGTON. 
 
 *fp\ENRY EDWARD MANNING was twenty-six years of 
 age when he went from Oxford to Lavington. He took 
 with him to this Sussex village, situated amid lovely downs, the 
 reputation of a brilliant career at the University. Perhaps the 
 Sussex villagers who formed his first congregation of a dozen or 
 twenty at the little outlying hamlet at Upwaltham did not care 
 much for such antecedents. Possibly they did not lay great 
 stress on appearances either, and were unaware that the curate 
 was rated by Mr. Gladstone as one of the three handsomest 
 men of his time. But both the glory of his career and the 
 spiritual beauty of his countenance were likely to be observed 
 by the family of the patron of the living, Mr. John Sargent, the 
 old Squire of Lavington. He had then an elderly son, the Rev- 
 John Sargent, who held the family living, and who had four fair, 
 daughters. It was as their father's curate that Manning began 
 his life at Lavington. The four daughters of his Rector made a 
 remarkable group. They had been to Oxford more than once 
 to see a brother, and Manning met them there. " In 1829," says 
 the Rev. Thomas Mozley, " I met all the four celebrated sisters to- 
 gether at breakfast at Robert Wilberforce's, and looked at them 
 with astrong mixture of curiosity and admiration." Talkingthem 
 over the next day with Henry Wilberforce, Mozley chanced to 
 say that he admired Mary's "cool " expression and manner — a 
 
The Lije at Lavington. 
 
 phrase which he was reminded of for fifty years. The eldest of 
 the four girls — Emily — married Samuel Wilberforce, afterwards 
 Bishop of Oxford. Mary, the second girl, to whose calmness 
 and recollection Mozley had given the dubious epithet, became 
 Mrs. Henry Wilberforce. The third daughter, Caroline, lives in 
 the memory of a few as Mrs. Henry Edward Manning, and 
 the youngest — Sophia— (" a very sylph in form and feature") 
 married the Rev. George Dudley Ryder. The four girls had a 
 brother — Henry. " I met him," writes Mr. Mozley, "at a Common- 
 room breakfast at Oriel, the day of his matriculation. His life was 
 watched by many who had heard the old saying, that no heir to 
 the Lavington estate had ever succeeded his own father. 
 He seemed to me in health and strength. I did, indeed, see 
 the peach-blossom in his cheeks, but saw no harm in it. A 
 fortnight after that he was gone." The Squire of Lavington, 
 losing thus his only grandson in the male line, was also to 
 lose his only son, so that the Rectory was left empty of its 
 natural occupant as well as of its natural heir. Thus it was that 
 when the Rev. John Sargent died in 1833, aged fifty-three, his 
 curate of only a few months' standing was presented by the 
 Squire, who survived his son and his grandson, to the livings of 
 Lavington and Graffham. It was seven months later, on the 
 7th of November, 1833, that the new Rector married the grand- 
 daughter of his patron. There, in the Rectory, sheltered by the 
 Downs and covered with roses nearly throughout the year, 
 Manning passed what he always remembered as the happiest 
 years of his life. His study is well remembered by his nephew, 
 the present Squire of Lavington, as " a long room with a southern 
 aspect, the walls covered from ceiling to floor with books, the 
 high desk where Manning stood, not sat, to write."* A very 
 
 * Mr. Reginald Wilberforce has placed readers under a deep obligation by 
 his article on " Cardinal Manning in the Church of England " {Nineteenth 
 Century, February, 1892), which contains, besides most interesting personal 
 reminiscences, a full account of certain aspects of the Anglican life of the 
 Archdeacon which can be only glanced at here. 
 
The Lije at Lavington. 
 
 different look-out, over a piece of waste land, with a vista of stores 
 and workman's dwellings, belonged to the library of his future 
 home — Archbishop's House, Westminster. That was not, how- 
 ever, the room in which he read and wrote, though he would 
 come from his own inner room to be photographed there, as he 
 is seen in a portrait we print ; and in that room, too, he received 
 many visitors who will recognise the now empty chair in which 
 they 'were wont to see him, and which is the subject of another 
 illustration. In the Lavington library the young Rector read 
 the Record week by week ; and the " Tracts for the Times." 
 The Record began to hold him less, the "Tracts" to hold him more ; 
 and by steady degrees he assimilated the great doctrines which 
 in seven years led him to give up Lavington and to join the 
 Catholic Church. It is true that " Tract XC." mystified and even 
 vexed him. He thought its special pleading was less than 
 English in outspoken honesty. It was in that library, with the 
 late roses trellising the windows, that Gladstone, the rising 
 hope of the State, sat with Manning, the rising hope of the 
 Church,* when the secession of Newman had come on the one 
 and the other like a blow. True, the Churchman made haste 
 to comfort himself with the reflection that the dangers of " one 
 man leadership," and of a clique taking the place of the com- 
 munity, had been eased or ended by this apparent catastrophe 
 (it was really absolute continuity) in the " Newmania " at Oxford. 
 He was taking other aids to himself, which in after years must 
 have struck him as more shadowy still. So when Mr. Gladstone 
 asked : " Are all these conversions to be regarded as separate 
 testimonies to the truth of Rome, or can they all be explained 
 away by some common defect ? " the Archdeacon (he was a 
 very young Archdeacon) replied : " They can be so explained. 
 There is one defect undermining the character of the seceders — 
 
 * Bishop Philpotts..." Henry of Exeter "—used to say at this time that 
 there were three men to whem the country had mainly to look : Manning in 
 the Church, Gladstone in the State, and Hope-Scott in the Law. 
 
The Unresting Rector and Archdeacon. 
 
 want of truth." The memory of " Tract XC." still worked in 
 his mind ; but his own subsequent conduct was to afford the 
 most practically complete retractation of the judgment too 
 hastily expressed. 
 
 THE UNRESTING RECTOR AND ARCHDEACON. 
 
 Among his other clerical activities the unresting Manning 
 pulled down and rebuilt both the churches at Lavington and 
 Graffham. The church at Lavington is still the same as Manning 
 left it ; carrying on its eastern front a large flint, set there by his 
 own hands. The font was a present from his dear friend, 
 destined to be his fellow-convert, Mr. Hope-Scott, Q.C. Graffham 
 Church was less successful, for it was too dark on dull days 
 to be without candles. " See how an Archdeacon with the best 
 intentions can spoil a church," he used to say when he showed it 
 to his friends. It has been since rebuilt as a personal memorial 
 to his brother-in-law, Bishop Samuel Wilberforce. Manning's 
 habit was to robe in the Rectory, and walk the short distance to 
 the church for both morning and evening prayer in full canonicals ; 
 and his beautiful figure is still a local tradition. When, as 
 a Cardinal, he visited the re-built church, his nephew, Mr. 
 Reginald Wilberforce, showed him a New Testament, with the 
 inscription " H. E. Manning, 1845." He laid his hand on the 
 book, saying, " Times change and men change; but this never 
 changes." As Rector he was beloved in his parish, his nephew 
 bears witness. " One of his old parishioners still rejoices in the 
 fact that for some years she led the singing in Lavington Church, 
 ' saving his poor voice, and giving it a rest, dear man.' To the 
 children he was invariably kind, constantly giving them small 
 money presents. It is told of him that when he saw a child 
 with bad boots on, he used to say : ' Now, my child, I will give 
 you one new boot if your mother can afford to buy you the other '; 
 then he went to the village shop and paid for one boot for the 
 
The Grapple with Grief. 
 
 child." When the Cardinal died, some of those old boys of his 
 at Lavington had their rugged faces "wet with tears of genuine 
 love and sorrow, while many a younger man, who knew him only 
 by tradition, asked, ' Is it true that the Archdeacon is dead ? ' " 
 
 THE HUSBAND. 
 
 But it must be with the domestic life of the future Cardinal 
 that Lavington Rectory is most intimately associated. The 
 marriage with Caroline Sargent, at which Samuel Wilberforce 
 officiated, on the 7th of November in 1833, resulted in an 
 ideally happy companionship, closed by death at the end of a 
 little more than three years and a-half. " I have a vision of his 
 lovely wife which I shall never forget," writes Lord Coleridge, 
 whom the Cardinal knew from the time when the future Lord 
 Chief Justice was a boy, and whose career he watched with 
 affectionate pride. " Many still remember," Mr. Reginald Wilber- 
 force writes, " his young wife, with beautiful eyes and the char- 
 acteristic fairness of the Sargent family." What a large part 
 his experiences of happy married life had in the formation of his 
 character, and how it showed itself in his wise and tender re- 
 lations with women, all must be aware who were intimate with 
 the Cardinal Archbishop. 
 
 THE GRAPPLE WITH GRIEF. 
 
 And the impression made upon Henry Edward Manning 
 by the loss which befell him in 1837 was equally marked. 
 It is best told in Mr. Reginald Wilberforce's words : 
 " That the early death of his beautiful wife deeply affected a 
 character like Manning's is not to be wondered at ; but it did 
 more than transient!}' affect him, it set a seal on his character 
 that was never afterwards effaced. After her death he found 
 himself unable to dwell on the past except in direct acts of 
 devotion : ' At those times, in church, but specially day by day 
 
1 he Grapple with Grief. 
 
 at home, I both can and do fully and fixedly, and they are the 
 most blessed moments of my present life. At all other times I 
 feel the absolute need of full employment, and to the best of 
 my power I maintain a habit of fixed attention, and suffer as 
 few intervals of disengaged time as I can.' " There was the 
 secret of that rigid restraint and that fixity of purpose which 
 marked him out henceforth from all other men. To the end of 
 his life, the 24th of July was a day when he religiously kept the 
 memory of the beloved dead. At the time of her death he 
 recorded what he describes as " a sort of grapple with what was 
 crushing me" — persuasions against grief, how powerful yet poor! 
 
 Had you not rather bear yourself all the affliction of anxiety 
 and grief which clouds a season of death ? The hopes, fears, 
 blights, faintings, and recoils of cold blood on the overwhelmed 
 heart ? The quick step, sudden message, hasty summons, the 
 agony of lingering expectation. Somebody must bear this, for 
 it is appointed unto all men once to die, and you must die too 
 at the last. Would you not that they should be spared all you 
 suffer? 
 
 Is the solitude of bereavement afflicting? 
 
 Would you not rather endure it and let them enter into the 
 fellowship of Saints and Angels? The heavy days, long evenings, 
 leisure changed into loneliness. The sad nights, and sadder days, 
 when the reality of our bereavement breaks in upon us. Sleep, 
 much more dreaming, puts us back where we were, but waking 
 thrusts us again into the present. 
 
 Is death terrible, and its avenues rough? 
 
 Will you not rejoice for them that they have got their trial 
 well over, and that now there remains for them no more suffering 
 and sickness, because no more sin ; that the spirit is now en- 
 franchised, the body laid up for renewal. They shall be re- 
 stored, not with the hollow eye and sharp severe cries of distress, 
 but in a transfigured perfection of all they once were. Death 
 has dominion only while we are dying. They are born to a 
 new life when the spirit passes forth. 
 
 Is it blessed to enter into rest? 
 
 Then do you not rejoice that they have entered — aye, so 
 soon ? Would you not give way to them, and yield any lesser 
 blessing to them? And will you not rejoice that they have 
 entered into the greatest at the cost of your sorrow and soli- 
 
s& i&m- 
 
 HENRV EDWARD MANNING, 
 
 RECTOR OF LAVINGTON AND ARCHDEACON OF CHICHESTER 
 
 {After the Portrait by George Richmond, R.A.) 
 
The Widower. 
 
 tude? This is only the greatest act of self-denial you have 
 ever been called to for their sakes. 
 
 THE WIDOWER. 
 
 To her mother Mrs. Manning said on her death-bed, " I am 
 sure you will do all you can to take care of Henry." Mrs. 
 Sargent therefore took up her abode with her widower son-in- 
 law. On the second anniversary of her daughter's death she 
 wrote to another daughter, Mrs. Samuel Wilberforce (soon to 
 follow to the grave) : 
 
 This has been a week of much painful feeling to dear Henry, 
 and he has wished to spend it exclusively in religious exercises 
 and in his parish. On Wednesday we went soon after breakfast 
 to the shepherd, and dearest H- — — administered the Sacrament 
 to him and Mrs. Graysmark, and Mrs. Reeves, and me. He 
 then shut himself up in his room, and after some hours he called 
 me to give me a few memorials for which I had once asked. He 
 was quite in an agony of tears, and only in the evening appeared 
 in the calmest state of mind, and we had service in the church as it 
 was the Eve of St. James. Yesterday we had two services : in the 
 morning here, evening at Graffham, and two nice little lectures. 
 As we were going into this church, Henry said, "My dear friend 
 Gladstone is just now going to be married "; and upon my say- 
 ing something of the strange differences in the lot of those we 
 love, he said, in the most plaintive voice, " Yes, but it all leads 
 to the same blessed end." 
 
 The link between him and Lavington he felt was forged for 
 ever. In 1838 he wrote : "Till the last six months I have never 
 known what it is to have irresistible local affection. Once a little 
 self-denial would make all places alike ; for all that makes one 
 place differ from another would have followed me like a shadow. 
 Now there is only one place unlike all others, and therefore 
 unchangeable." Once, when in after years duty brought him 
 into the neighbourhood of Lavington, his first visit was to the 
 little churchyard, where he remained in silence for many minutes 
 by his wife's grave. No stone is placed upon it ; nor does any 
 inscription appear on the window in Chichester Cathedral which 
 
Development. 
 
 records her memory and the love borne to it by him who 
 survived her for more than half-a-century. 
 
 DEVELOPMENT. 
 
 Archdeacon Manning's belief in the Catholic Church as 
 a visible and teaching body, guided by the Holy Ghost 
 gained in strength as the years at Lavington passed away. 
 Proportionately did the Anglican Establishment as a branch 
 of that Catholic Church lose his allegiance. The Gorham Case 
 came as a crisis. An Anglican clergyman could hold that 
 baptism was a mere empty form, and a secular court upheld him 
 in his benefice. Would the Establishment rise to purge itself 
 of that decision ? If not, how could it claim to be an infallible 
 witness to truth? A meeting of earnest Anglicans was held in 
 Mr. Hope-Scott's house in Curzon Street, and a protest was 
 drawn up which Archdeacon Manning was the first to sign. 
 Mr. Gladstone, who stood and warmed himself by the fire, was 
 the first layman who was asked to sign. But he refused. The 
 Archdeacon took him aside. "How can I, consistently with my 
 oath as a Privy Councillor ? " he asked. The Archdeacon then 
 announced that Mr. Gladstone's reason for refusal affected no 
 one but himself, and passed to the next name. Father Morris, 
 who says that the Archdeacon believed then as always in " Mr. 
 Gladstone's perfect sincerity and complete good faith of many 
 years," adds the following anecdote : 
 
 The quiet state of Mr. Gladstone's conscience is illustrated by 
 a story the Cardinal told me of the moment when his own mind 
 was made up to submit to the Church. Mr. Manning had left 
 his Archdeaconry and had come to London, where, as the guest 
 of his sister in South Audley Street, he spent much time in 
 deliberation and prayer before becoming a Catholic. It is one 
 thing to lose faith in the Church of England ; it is another thing, 
 against the prejudices of a life, to arrive at the belief that the 
 Roman Catholic Church, of which the Pope is the visible Head, 
 
Last Words as an Anglican. 
 
 is the one true Church of Christ upon earth. This belief was 
 slowly maturing in his mind and heart. One Sunday Mr. 
 Manning and Mr. Gladstone were out walking together, and they 
 dropped into a proprietary chapel in Palace Street, close to the 
 Buckingham Palace stables. The preacher was the Rev. Thomas 
 Harper, who afterwards as a Jesuit Father wrote a reply to 
 Pusey's " Eirenicon " and also an elaborate work called " The 
 Metaphysics of the Schools." His sermon ended with a series 
 of the solemn texts in which Our Lord bids men leave all things 
 to follow Him. " He that loveth father or mother more than 
 Me, is not worthy of Me." " Unless a man renounce all that he 
 possesses, he cannot be My disciple." " If any man would come 
 after Me, let him take up his cross daily and follow Me." — " Does 
 all that say anything to you ? " This was the question that Mr. 
 Manning put to Mr. Gladstone when they had left the chapel. 
 "No, I cannot say it does," was Mr. Gladstone's answer. "Well, 
 then, it does to me," said Mr. Manning, "and I am going to act 
 upon it at once." 
 
 LAST WORDS AS AN ANGLICAN. 
 
 On the iith of December, 1S50 — three months before his 
 reception into the Church — Archdeacon Manning dated from 44, 
 Cadogan Place, where he was staying with his sister, a letter to 
 Hope-Scott, in which he said : " It is either Rome or license of 
 thought and will." This letter is well known to readers of the 
 already published collection of His Eminence's letters. It may 
 here be supplemented by a letter written from the same address 
 on the very next day, to an Evangelical clergyman who wrote 
 to dissuade him from leaving the Anglican Church, and who 
 asked him to confer with Richard Waldo Sibthorp — then 
 temporarily halting between two opinions. The Rev. Lord 
 Forrester himself publishes the Archdeacon's reply : 
 
 44, Cadogan Place, December 12th, 1850. 
 
 My dear Brother in Christ, 
 
 I put private on this letter that I may write with 
 no restraint, and that what I write may be held by you 
 
Last Words as an Anglican. 
 
 as sacred in the charity which unites us, who have never 
 met except before the Throne of Grace. First, let me say I am 
 sorry to be so slow in returning the enclosed letters ; they are to 
 me most instructive, and draw me as much to the writer as they 
 warn me from the path in which he outwardly is walking. 
 Would to God I could walk with him in the inward path where 
 his feet tread surely. Also let me thank you for the enclosed 
 hymn, which is beautiful and soothing. I am thankful that you 
 do not find more in my notes on baptism to dissent from, and 
 still more that you hold the great law that the substance and 
 reason of Holy Scripture is the true and Divine source of 
 doctrine. It seems to me that even here " the letter killeth." I 
 have often thought that Holy Scripture is like a crystal in 
 the solar light, perfectly transparent and suffused, luminous and 
 radiant, and yet neither the source of light, nor possessing it, 
 except in the Light. This Light I believe to be the presence 
 of Christ in the Spirit, dwelling in His mystical Body, and 
 the illumination of Faith in which alone Scripture can be 
 read aright. You asked me once how I should answer the 
 question, How can a man be just with God ? My faith would 
 answer, by the indwelling of Christ. And now let me thank you 
 for your kind words towards myself. I do indeed believe that, 
 far apart as we seem, we are more deeply in communion than 
 many who arc intellectually agreed. Your heart's desires and 
 mine are, I trust, the same: to love and to preach the Lord Jesus 
 May my few words and poor endeavours be given to Him alone 
 I know of nothing on this side the grave that has any fairness 
 and sweetness besides this. It is true that I have been in trials, 
 and, after long and painful deliberation, I felt that I could not 
 preserve the integrity of my conscience without resigning what 
 I hold. It has been a keen trial ; for Our Lord is the Rock in a 
 primitive, essential, and incommunicative sense, and Peter is 
 so called in a figurative, representative way, because he was used 
 ministerially and instrumentally in founding the visible Church. 
 In the same sense, though not with the same personal circum- 
 stances, the same idea is extended to all the Apostles in the 
 Ephesians and the Apocalypse. But I did not mean to run on 
 so far. All this seems to me to be included in the Christ Personal 
 and Christ Mystical. I have often wished to see Richard 
 Sibthorp again. I saw him soon after he returned from the 
 R. C. Church, and heard much of his mind from him. Since 
 that I have had frequent and trusty means of knowing his 
 thoughts. If I do not make any promise, believe me that it is only 
 
The Cardinal and the [csuits. 
 
 from a fear of entangling myself more than I ought. But I will 
 write to him, and ask whether we could meet. And now I will 
 add to this nothing but my hope that every good gift may be 
 with you, and yours, abundantly from the Father of Lights. 
 Believe me, always affectionately yours in Jesus Christ, 
 
 H. E. Manning. 
 
 "WHAT AN ESCAPE MY POOR SOUL DID HAVE." 
 
 Mr. Mozley has given a wide currency to the gossip of an irres- 
 ponsible moment by making " the sagacious Bishop Samuel 
 Wilberforce " say to the Prince Consort : " If Manning had been 
 made a Bishop he would have been with us now." When 
 Wesley was leading a multitude after him, " Make him a Bishop " 
 was the vulgar recipe given to heal the schism. In one case 
 as in the other the motives and character of the men were 
 utterly misunderstood. As, however, the story of the Arch- 
 deacon (whose ultimate preferment in the Anglican was as secure 
 as his future in the Catholic Church was unpromising) has been 
 repeated here and there in obituary biographies, the following 
 little anecdote, sent to us by one who lived under the Cardinal's 
 own roof and heard it from his own lips, is worth a record : 
 
 Shortly before Archdeacon Manning left the Establishment he 
 was told by a member of the Government for the time being that 
 he was to have the next vacant bishopric. Not long after his 
 reception into the Church a see (Salisbury, I believe) fell vacant, 
 and a Cabinet Minister meeting him said : " We should have 
 appointed you "; to which he made the characteristic remark : 
 " What an escape my poor soul did have!" 
 
 THE CARDINAL AND THE JESUITS. 
 
 It was by a Jesuit that Archdeacon Manning was received 
 into the Church — Father Brownbill, in the Hill Street resi- 
 dence then attached to the Farm Street Church. In that 
 church, too, he was accorded a confessional, where his friends 
 might have ready access to him during the first year of his 
 Catholic and priestly life. Again the Jesuits entered into his 
 
 3 
 
The Cardinal and the Jesuits. 
 
 life when Father Whitty, who had been made Provost of West- 
 minster in 1852, wished to resign his post in 1857 to enter the 
 Society. Cardinal Wiseman at once found a new Provost in 
 Dr. Manning. Again the Jesuits entered into his life — and quite 
 differently. The Jesuits were to receive into their Society clergy 
 of his own, his lothness to part with whom moved his very 
 soul. Father John Morris, a secular priest in the year 1865, 
 was breakfasting in a cafe" within the shadow of Quimper 
 Cathedral, when his eye fell on the words of a French news- 
 paper : "Monseigneur Manning a refit ses bulks de Rome" 
 From Brest he telegraphed : " If this news is true send me your 
 blessing." The answer came : " Return at once : it is true, 
 though I cannot understand it." So Father Morris returned 
 and sat in the seat of the Archbishop's secretary. How and 
 why he left it shall be told in his own words :* 
 
 I must now speak of a very personal matter, but for it I owe 
 Cardinal Manning a great debt of gratitude, of which I am 
 anxious now to pay some instalment. I was living in his house, 
 and I was his Diocesan Secretary. An ancient desire had revived 
 in my heart with irresistible force, and I was most anxious to be 
 permitted to enter the Society of Jesus. In Cardinal Wiseman's 
 time, and in the early days of Archbishop Manning, it would not 
 have been possible. There was no one to take my place in an 
 office that must necessarily be filled and that no one coveted. 
 Many strings were in my hands, and unless someone else would 
 take charge of them, I could not move. Such a one was found, 
 and I have always looked on his coming as a special favour 
 bestowed by God's goodness upon me. One day I said to the 
 Archbishop that the physical labour of so much writing was too 
 much for me. He agreed at once, and said that two priests 
 were coming for their destinations that day, and I might have 
 either of them to help me. He suggested one of them, and I 
 acquiesced ; but a little while afterwards I went to him, saying, 
 "My Lord, that choice just now was a mistake. Let me have Dr. 
 Johnson instead. I am sure that he will do." Dr. Johnson came, 
 and it was soon clear that he could do my work far better than I 
 
 * From his very valuable article on "The Cardinal Archbishop" (the 
 Moiith y February, 1892). 
 
The Cardinal and the Jesuits. 
 
 could do it. Literally before long I was without an office, and 
 Archbishop Manning had a Diocesan Secretary immeasurably 
 better than I. While the Archbishop was debating with himself 
 what he would do with me next, he went out of town, and I seized 
 the opportunity to go to Roehampton to make a Retreat. Father 
 Fitzsimon accepted me only on the condition that I did not 
 trouble him, as he was busy with the long Retreat of his novices. 
 I did not need him, for I had no sooner set foot in the chapel 
 where the novices were making their meditation than I saw 
 clearly — and the light, thank God, has never faded away — that 
 the time was come and that it was God's will that I should enter 
 the Noviceship. In consequence of Dr. Johnson's perfect fitness 
 for my duties, Archbishop Manning coidd let me go ; but would 
 he ? I asked Father Weld, who was then Provincial, whether 
 he would receive me, and he said that if I came with the full 
 consent of the Archbishop he would, but he " would not fight 
 for me." He would take me if I were free to come ; and on 
 that supposition I asked him how long he supposed it would be 
 before I could hope to enter the Novitiate. His answer was 
 that if I was out of that house in six months I might consider 
 myself fortunate. I was out of the house, with the Cardinal's 
 full leave, in less than a month. I asked him on the Vigil of St. 
 Andrew, 1864, and before Christmas he had let me go. That 
 Vigil of St. Andrew I am not likely ever to forget. It was against 
 his Grace's wish that I should leave him, and against his judg- 
 ment too, for he did not believe that I had a vocation to the 
 Religious life ; but this only makes his speedy acquiescence all 
 the more generous. I never had from him an unkind word, he 
 never did a harsh thing in my regard ; and though by my own 
 act I separated myself from him and all his interests, he never 
 shut me out from his friendship. I never noticed any coldness 
 in his manner towards me at any time during these five-and- 
 twenty years. I am fully aware that I am not saying anything 
 complimentary to myself, if I add that the Cardinal felt it much 
 more when his nephew, Father Anderdon, left his house and 
 Father Humphrey left the Oblates in order to enter the Society. 
 Those who knew his house and remember William Newman, 
 the faithful servant who had been for many years butler to 
 Cardinal Wiseman, and who continued in the service of Cardinal 
 Manning — those who know what the loss of Newman was to 
 him, will be able to appreciate the humour with which he said : 
 " To make it quite complete, Newman should go to be a lay- 
 brother." 
 
The Cardinal and the Jesuits. 
 
 In the July of 1890 Father Anderdon passed away to his 
 reward ; and some " Memorials " of him were prepared for this 
 magazine. The story of his life would have been incomplete 
 without a reference to this episode, and the words in which it 
 was told may be of interest now since they passed under the 
 eyes of the Archbishop, and had his tacit approval. Speaking 
 of Father Anderdon's departure from Ireland, the writer said : 
 
 On the Feast of St. John the Baptist, 1865, came a call to 
 London. His uncle, having ascended the archiepiscopal throne 
 at Westminster, at once summoned to his side the nephew to 
 whom he had ever been as an elder brother. To York Place 
 Father Anderdon came, taking the post of Archbishop's secre- 
 tary ; finding, even from that, spare hours in which to preach 
 and to write. He was in the head-quarters of hard work — his 
 element ; and it seemed as if a link of common labour and of 
 common love had been formed such as only death could sever. 
 When else had so supreme a model a copy so apt ? He, too, 
 was hungry for work ; and he had capacities as preacher, writer, 
 and guide of souls, which reflected those of his chief, to whom 
 even his face had more than a fancied resemblance. His very 
 handwriting reproduced his master's, as another " William's " 
 was to resemble another Cardinal's in the years to come. But 
 a parting came at York Place under circumstances bitter to both. 
 It was a rending of hearts, leaving a wound which time itself, in 
 the little spaces on this side of eternity, could hardly heal. It 
 is given to most converts to feel the pangs of an uprooting 
 once. But Father Anderdon took them all upon himself once 
 and again. " A wrench is good to teach detachment," he had 
 said. That was his way of learning the necessary lesson ; and 
 he spared himself no pains in the teaching. A wrench this was 
 in its suddenness. He sought not the counsel he had steeled 
 himself not to accept ; and he made no sign, until he suddenly 
 said : " I am going." And he was gone. 
 
 It remains only to be added that to the then Father Rector 
 at Roehampton, who announced the news of the death of Father 
 Anderdon, His Eminence made the following reply : 
 
 Archbishop's House, Westminster, SAV., July, 1890. 
 My dear Father Scoles, 
 
 I thank you for your kind note giving me tidings 
 
Oblate of St. Charles. 
 
 of a true sorrow. My dear nephew grew up from child- 
 hood as a younger brother to me, and I loved him as 
 such. He was, as you say, and as I well know, both 
 innocent and childlike. He must have been loved by you all 
 for his singular goodness." His end, as you tell me, must have 
 been in every way painless and peaceful, for he was always 
 prepared. I need not say that my prayers in Holy Mass will 
 be united with yours. Believe me always, my dear Father 
 Scoles, yours affectionately, 
 
 •h Henry E., Card. Archbishop. 
 
 OBLATE OF ST. CHARLES. 
 
 In 1856 Dr. Manning drew up the Rule for the Oblates of St. 
 Charles Borromeo in England, and in the following year he 
 established the Mother-house of St. Mary of the Angels, Bays- 
 water, where he continued to reside until he left it for 8, York 
 Place, as Archbishop of Westminster. Father Herbert Vaughan, 
 afterwards Bishop of Salford, and always the Cardinal's close 
 friend, was one of the first members of the Bayswater Com- 
 munity; and it was his enthusiasm for St. Charles which had, we 
 believe, in the first instance called the special attention of the ex- 
 Archdeacon, who became the Saint's devoted lover and assiduous 
 follower, to the great Cardinal Archbishop of Milan. Of his 
 constant affection for that Congregation, every member of which 
 he loved as a brother, sufficient records will be elsewhere made. 
 We content ourselves with printing here the words in which the 
 Very Rev. Dr. Butler, O.S.C., his beloved Father Confessor, 
 strove to express his own feelings, and those of the Fathers, on 
 the death of their English Founder and first Father Superior : 
 
 " For if you have ten thousand instructors in Christ, yet not 
 many fathers. For in Christ fesus by the Gospel I have begotten 
 your — 1 COR. iv. 15. 
 
 I have the sad privilege of speaking a few words, my dear 
 brethren in Jesus Christ, to express rather to the ear of God than 
 as a discourse addressed to you the depth and the keenness of 
 
Oblate of St. Charles. 
 
 the sorrow which has fallen upon us here. A family and a home 
 are mourning for the loss of a Father. Many have described, 
 and in eloquent language, the nobleness of the life which God 
 has now closed in peace and which men are recalling and storing 
 up worthily in their memory. We may be forgiven if we come 
 back to the early years of one so dear to us and console our- 
 selves under an affliction deeply personal by reflecting on what 
 we know, in some ways best of all, of the outset of such a life. 
 We will suppress our mourning with an effort and for a few 
 moments ask our memory to bring back the presence of our 
 Father, rudely sketching the portrait of his mind and character. 
 It will soon be thirty-five years since these holy walls first heard 
 the clear and sweet tones of a voice which they will echo no 
 more. One warm heart and one wise and eloquent tongue 
 have endeared our home to us. Without a pause, prayer, praise 
 of God, and the busy intercommunion of the priests and the flock 
 have ever since been accumulating graces and holy joys, and an 
 ever increasing sense that God loves this sanctuary of St. Mary 
 of the Angels ; but from that evening of Our Lady's Visitation 
 in 1857, when he first preached upon Mary, the Queen of the 
 Angels, all this holy and happy history has been bound up with 
 him, our Father, our Founder, and our ever vigilant Bishop. To 
 speak so soon is a severe obedience laid upon me ; but there are 
 two urgent reasons — (1) God is looking to see us recognise our 
 full debt of gratitude ; and (2) our Father, whose eyes are closed 
 to this world only, expects us to follow lovingly his precious 
 soul with our suffrages fervent in proportion. It is far too soon 
 for those who have lived under the powerful sway of his personal 
 influence to turn and reflect upon that influence, so as to give an 
 account of it and to analyse its working. And the more deeply 
 and more strongly from long and happy intimacy we have each 
 known its hold upon us, the more calm and more slow shall we 
 need to be in appreciating what we have possessed. The charm 
 will not die gradually away, because the secret of so holy a 
 power upon our lives, of so holy a light penetrating and shining 
 through our minds, was the breath of God's Holy Spirit, 
 the same Divine Comforter ever present in the true pastors 
 of God's flock, Who made the disciples of St. Paul so 
 love him that, falling upon his neck, they kissed him, grieving 
 most of all because of that word that they should see his face 
 no more. One after another we have grown familiar with the 
 alternations of his eventful life and its vast successes. We were 
 privileged to know the purity of his motives as he set forth, the 
 
HENRY EDWARD MANNING, 
 
 FATHER SUPERIOR OF THE OBLATES OF ST. CHARLES 
 
 AND PROTONOTARY APOSTOLIC. 
 
 {From a Portrait at St. Charles's College, Bays-water. ) 
 
Oblate of St. Charles. 
 
 soundness of the means upon which he laid his hand, and what 
 it cost him to succeed. One can tell of the morning when, 
 before he rose to go to his early Convent Mass, his hearing be- 
 came affected by the anxiety of the first trials which God sent, 
 to prove that this Community of Diocesan priests had the sign 
 of the Cross, and therefore the blessing of the Cross, upon its 
 foundation. Long after this he said to me, as we went together 
 to the two Convents which we then served : " Every footstep as 
 I take it resounds loudly through my head." He never lost the 
 discomfort following upon that pain ; and it ended in the partial 
 deafness of his latest years. It was in the sense of relief, at the 
 closing of that trial, that he preached his sermons on confidence 
 in God: one of those small cherished writings in which thousands 
 of those suffering in mind or body, and especially the dying, 
 have found their consolation. He preached on the love of 
 Jesus to penitents, and his words are as a manual to many and 
 many precious souls for whom and from whom he suffered much 
 as he wrestled for and rescued them, one by one — God alone 
 knows how many — during his forty years of unseen pastoral toil. 
 "You put both your hands into the fire," I once said to him, 
 " to rescue that poor soul." " Indeed I did," was his reply. 
 His life could easily be divided into periods by the successive 
 movements, generally of far reaching interest and importance, 
 in which his gift of discovering in which direction to find 
 a just issue or a just conclusion made him take the un- 
 popular side. The worldly spirit inseparable from a Church 
 established by the law of our national government brought his 
 conscience to a crisis as soon as his power of governing men had 
 begun to be appreciated. He declined what he used to call the 
 first step of the ladder of preferment in that body, and prepared 
 for the greater sacrifice of the position of authority itself which 
 he was holding as Archdeacon Manning. We can recall in 
 detail the two kinds of reply which he uniformly made to 
 personal or public assaults upon him. The oft repeated text, 
 41 It hath seemed good to the Holy Ghost and to us to lay no 
 more burthen upon you excepting these necessary things," 
 was the beginning of that didactic exposition of the trea- 
 sures of the Faith, and of the life of inward purity and out- 
 ward loyalty, to which, week by week, he summoned every 
 Christian, as London heard him in every part. Expounding the 
 Faith was his first reply to controversial challenges. To go on 
 more with the work of God was the second. His characteristic 
 restless energy I leave to the eloquent to describe, both 
 
Oblate of St. Charles. 
 
 in itself and in the copious successes with which God blessed 
 it. But in intimate contact you perceived that in his 
 whispers in conversation, his dreams at night, his confidences 
 given into sympathising ears, he was the same, as the Orator, or 
 the Ruler, or the Counsellor of Holy Church. He took to heart 
 with a sensitiveness corresponding to his vivid insight into prin- 
 ciples and truths the enterprises, great or small, into which he 
 poured all that Nature and grace bestowed upon him, As 
 he walked down a street we who knew him could detect the 
 warmth with which he fixed his gaze on fine young English 
 youths, capable of so much, whose souls had not the light of faith. 
 He loved St. Paul's words : " But what then ? So that every 
 way, whether by occasion, or by truth, Christ be preached : in 
 this also I rejoice, yea, and will rejoice " (Phil. i. 1 8), although 
 he knew full well how this arrested and perhaps shocked those 
 who had not his fearless love of souls. No sooner was he a 
 Bishop than he lay awake at night, thinking of the little ones that 
 were perishing. And it was no excitement that made him often say, 
 as he spoke of the starving peasants of Ireland: "My whole soul is 
 with them." As God lengthened his life,He deepened his sympathy 
 and enlarged his view of the world of souls, and his capacity of 
 reaching and gathering them. Who does not know that his eye 
 kindled as he detected any broader grasp of life, any brighter view 
 of God's charity, of man's dignity, of the action of the Holy 
 Ghost in His reign over all, or in His control of each, any more 
 refined sympathy with the patience and sweetness of God with 
 His little ones, little by suffering, or helplessness, or pitiable 
 because of sin. He was a master of his own language ; but he had 
 a rare gift added, of which he himself was only partially conscious, 
 as his surprise will show when he found his young disciples 
 entangled in their thoughts as well as labouring to find language. 
 The clearness of his speech followed after the clearness of his 
 thoughts. This appeared when in other countries he sat in 
 conversation or debate on the great questions of Holy Church or 
 the Supreme Pontiff. The Bishops of France, in their loyalty 
 and their prudence, urged him to write the three Pastorals, to 
 which, as a book, he gave the name of " Petri Privilegium." 
 He had no sooner arrived in Rome, at the time when 
 our beloved Pontiff Pius IX. was hastening tohis crown, than before 
 the day was out the foremost and wisest of the Cardinals of 
 Rome came humbly to confer, to listen, and to be led. There 
 is much which only a distant future will make known, which 
 made the holy reigning Vicar of Christ on earth speak of him 
 
Oblate of St. Charles. 
 
 in memorable words. The New Testament was his manual, he 
 used to say, not for curious study, not for quotation on occasions, 
 but for the ever fresh awakening of his mind to the full light 
 for which he prayed — for the renewing of joyous thought and 
 courage in the onward progress of his life and ministry. It is 
 the principle of Holy Church in her training and guiding of 
 the young and old of her clergy, that by ministering to God 
 the minister becomes worthy ; and therefore a self-conscious, 
 timid, and narrow way of keeping God's law he tolerated 
 unwillingly ; but a free, self- forgetful, ever ready spirit which 
 leaves in God's keeping the question how the worker fares, and 
 presses on, not because worthy but because urged and invited 
 by Divine charity — that he cherished. Prayer came of his 
 work, as the repose and the reaction ; and the worker went 
 forth from prayer confident that He Who says "Come," can 
 make feet of flesh walk upon the waters, even in the stormy 
 night. He clothed himself with his work, because his work 
 was his life; to love and to labour were one; to lean on God, 
 to presume Him present, to give all natural gifts their full, free 
 scope and intensity, this was his daily life. This was the sense 
 of his maxim, " Depend on no one but God and yourself." 
 And this brings me to a reflection which, my brethren, may be 
 already in your minds. Was it presumption or is it presumption 
 to follow as I have ventured to do, and as the minds and hearts 
 of priests and faithful of St. Mary of the Angels have done, 
 a great Archbishop and a Cardinal long removed from his humble 
 parish ? He was called to plan and accomplish for the whole 
 Church of Westminster, of England, of the world. For the 
 moment let me only answer, I am sure that we shall be forgiven if 
 personal affection claimed to take as a domestic subject each and 
 every enterprise of his life. But it is time to show that I re- 
 member that the just man is an accuser of himself in the 
 beginning of his speech. It would have been unseemly to lift 
 the veil and gaze upon his secret daily colloquy with God, but 
 he frankly has used for others the very prayer with which he was 
 every day cleansing his own soul before his God. I will venture 
 to quote it every word. It is his soul ; it is our inheritance. He 
 once told me that for, I think, thirty years he had never missed 
 one day to appeal thus to the Holy Spirit of God : 
 
 ®<5oo tbe Ibols Obost, TWlbom 3- bave sltgbteo, Griet>eo, 
 resisteo from mg cbilDbooo unto tbis oa\>; reveal 
 unto me ZIbp personality, XTb\? presence, Ub£ power. 
 
Oblate of St. Charles. 
 
 /Ifeafee me to fenow Ubv. seven=folb Gifts,— tbe spirit of 
 wisdom anb unberstanbinQ, of counsel anb fortitube, of 
 ftnowlebGe anb pietv, ano of tbe fear of tbe Xorb. © 
 ttbou Mbo act tbe Spirit of tbe jfatber anb tbe Son, © 
 XCbou Mbo art tbe love of tbe jfatber anb tbe Son, © 
 Ubou TKUbo baptisest witb fire anb sbebbest abroab tbe 
 love of Goo in our hearts, sbeo abroab Zhy love in mv. 
 beart. ©ne tbing bave 3 besireO of tbe Xorb, tbat will 3- 
 seek after; not wealtb, rank, power, worlolv. borne, 
 worlblv bappiness, or anv. worlbtp qooo; but one Orop 
 of tbat bolp flame, one Orop of tbat bolv. fire, to fcinMe 
 me anO set me all on fire witb tbe love of mv (Bob. Xet 
 tbat bolv flame burn up anb consume in me everv. spot 
 anb soil of tbe flesb anb tbe spirit, puritv, me seven*folb 
 witb ZTbv. Gifts ; receive me as a bolv sacrifice wbollv. 
 acceptable unto TIbee; mnble me witb 3eal, melt me 
 witb sorrow, tbat 5 mas live tbe life anb bie tbe beatb of 
 a fervent penitent. 
 
 And now it is time for us to address ourselves, and to apply 
 these few reflections and many more in the form of an appeal to 
 every group and Community amongst us, and to the conscience 
 and the charity of each one of us. I will not speak of the 
 longing desire which he had not to be forgotten by his own, but 
 to be followed by our multiplied and persevering prayers. I 
 will only read the well-known words of a Saint who was specially 
 enlightened — St. Catherine of Genoa : 
 
 I see Paradise has no gate, but that whosoever will may enter therein; 
 for God is all mercy, and stands with open arms to admit us to His 
 glory. But still I see that the being of God is so pure (far more than 
 one can imagine) that should a soul see in itself even the least mote of 
 imperfection it would rather cast itself into a thousand hells than go with 
 that spot into the presence of the Divine Majesty. When a soul is 
 approaching to that state of first purity and innocence which it had 
 when created, the instinctive desire of seeking happiness in God 
 develops itself, and goes on increasing through the fire of love, which 
 draws it to its end with such impetuosity and vehemence that any 
 obstacle seems intolerable, and the more clear its vision the more 
 extreme its pain. 
 
 Let us think thus as we pray for his precious soul. 
 
Impressions of him as a Preacher. 
 
 MADE ARCHBISHOP. 
 Pius IX., who had made Manning's acquaintance while he was 
 still an Archdeacon, who had placed him in the College of Noble 
 Ecclesiastics at Rome after his conversion, and who had made him, 
 at Bayswater, a Doctor of Divinity and a Protonotary Apostolic, 
 appointed him in 1865 to the Archbishopric of Westminster, 
 vacant by the death of Cardinal Wiseman. Others had claims 
 and supporters, notably Archbishop Errington ; but precedents 
 were set aside to place in the See one who was " a Heaven-born 
 Archbishop." Pius IX., when he first saw Manning after his 
 appointment, confessed that many people had opposed it : " But 
 I had a voice in my ear that continually said to me ' Put him 
 there, put him there ! ' ' That no choice was made less way- 
 wardly, however, or was justified more splendidly, first and last, 
 is the verdict of every observer, casual or close, of his rule of 
 twenty-seven years. 
 
 MEMORIES AND PORTRAITS. 
 
 To get a precise portrait of this "Archbishop to his finger 
 tips" baffled the wit of any painter. "If ever a man feels a 
 fool," he used to say, " it is when the photographer uncaps his 
 camera ;" yet certain photographs give a better view of the 
 real Manning than do such portraits as those painted by Legros 
 and by Long. If his face was a difficult one to catch in paint, 
 so was his personality a difficult one to portray with pen and 
 ink. From a variety of tributes that have reached us we 
 select such as seem to express most truly some trait of the 
 great Archbishop, or some sentiment he inspired in others. 
 
 IMPRESSIONS OF HIM AS A PREACHER. 
 
 " One who knew him well " writes to us as follows : 
 
 I first heard him preach in Rome, at the English College, on 
 the Feast of St. Thomas of Canterbury. He was very patriotic 
 
Distinction of Manner. 
 
 on that subject, very much an Englishman, very full of the 
 liberties of the English Constitution. But no sentence suited 
 him so well as " The Archbishop, but no traitor," when he came 
 to the scene of the Saint's martyrdom. It was then that one's 
 heart ratified that title as his by all the claims and all the rights. 
 At that moment he had some dramatic fire in him. His voice 
 was low and clear, every word was cut as finely as his own features. 
 His syllables fell " like snow" — the phrase he himself applied to 
 Bishop Wilberforce's and to Newman's. Seeing that Englishmen 
 have completely lost the genius of dramatic action, it is perhaps 
 a pity that convention should still impel them to use gesture 
 in the pulpit. On the stage it is perhaps inevitable ; a play 
 carried on with the uneloquent bodies, faces, voices of real life, 
 would be a lifeless thing to see. Yet for this one little reason — that, 
 for Englishmen, life and the drama are quite separate worlds of 
 action — the English stage must always be the scene of distressing 
 conventionalities, and vital acting an impossibility. But in the 
 pulpit a man may stand and speak in his natural immovable way 
 without the slightest offence. Cardinal Manning was English all 
 through — English in the fibre and blood and in the habit of 
 his temperament — and so he was incapable of natural gesture, 
 and he therefore avoided all action in the pulpit save that of an 
 admonitory finger. How English was his tongue, how English 
 his throat, was shown by his " Italian " Latin. Of course, like all 
 ecclesiastics, he had acquired what is considered to be the Italian 
 pronunciation, and he had even taken evident pains to be very 
 Italian indeed, as an act of homage to the Italian conditions of 
 modern English Catholicism. His c's were Italian, and his j's, 
 and his vowels were open. But the English tongue made of his 
 Latin the most British thing conceivable, all the same. I never 
 heard him speak French, but I know precisely the kind of accent 
 he must have had. This insular trick of speech is smiled at 
 abroad, but I love it — it is so refined and reticent. 
 
 DISTINCTION OF MANNER. 
 
 A lady, who had the honour of a long acquaintance, writes : 
 
 His courtesy to women was marked, and he always had a truly 
 royal air of conferring distinction on the person he addressed. 
 One thing he disliked so much that he said it affected his 
 manners — conspicuous dress. On one occasion he averred that 
 he had hardly had patience to finish the talk with a visitor 
 because she was wearing a gown with very large checks in 
 
Intended Toils. 
 
 it. He was observant in these things, and very severe on the 
 natural vanities. He himself was placed so high above those 
 little anxieties which are really much more common than self- 
 complacency. He looked precisely as he must have wished to 
 look. One wondered whether, if Nature had set his soul in a 
 coarse and undignified person, he would have been so severely in- 
 different to appearances. No man accustomed to the routine of 
 homage ever overlooked the solecisms of others with a more 
 graceful unconsciousness. I remember introducing to him, in 
 my own house, a lady who, though a Catholic, was not versed in 
 the rules for greeting Princes of the Church ; but no one would 
 have guessed from the subtlest sign in his aspect that she had 
 omitted anything. Once as I passed out of his room, I was 
 succeeded by a non-Catholic philanthropist, and I just heard, 
 with a little shiver, the clapping, smacking shake of 
 the hand, and the violent, "Well, Cardinal, how are you?" 
 in a cheery Nonconformist twang, to which His Eminence's 
 reply seemed to be everything that was cordial. One heard of 
 his coldness and hardness; there were the current stories, of course, 
 about the Marble Arch-bishop and about having been too long 
 with a Cardinal and taken cold : but I never saw a discouraging 
 or repellent look in his face. Certainly, there was always a sense 
 that in speaking, however freely, and in smiling, however gaily, 
 he held himself somewhat removed. And in his demeanour 
 there was always " presence " — that " air " which was so greatly 
 esteemed in the last century : but it was a natural gift. People 
 thought him tall, though he was of quite ordinary height; and 
 wherever he appeared, though he had borne no titles, he would 
 have been important. 
 
 INTENDED TOILS. 
 
 A correspondent who thinks it may comfort some to know 
 that " even the Archbishop had unaccomplished projects," says: 
 
 Though " excitable " was the last epithet to apply to Cardinal 
 Manning, yet he was often possessed by a new idea, or an idea 
 newly realised, in such a manner that for a time he gave way to 
 strong feeling, and sometimes, I may almost say, took fright. 
 Perhaps it was about the depravity of society ; or about an evil 
 within his own fold. Catholic children attending Protestant 
 schools — at one time he was suddenly convinced of the existence 
 of such in their hundreds and thousands in the slums of London. 
 He made an irresistible pulpit appeal to members of Catholic 
 
"Gay 
 
 ivithotit actual laughtei 
 
 & 
 
 congregations to help him to lay hands upon these children. 
 In consequence, a number of ladies undertook to hunt in the 
 several districts of the London parishes, and after a house-to- 
 house visitation extremely few children were unearthed that 
 were not more or less in touch with the local Catholic clergy. 
 Of course, I do not know how it was with other parishes ; but to 
 judge from the results of rounds in some very bad slums, the 
 idea was of the nature of a panic. Those who disapprove of 
 total abstinence doubtless hold that the Cardinal's convictions 
 as to the evils of alcohol were also touched with panic. But 
 what panic has ever been equal to the authentic horror in this 
 case ? More than once he would talk with great feeling about 
 some scheme, and ask me to come again to finish the subject. 
 When I came a week later the subject had been allowed to 
 lapse. There were no bounds to his desires and plans in well- 
 doing, but the weariness of years and the pressure of other affairs 
 prevented their fruition. 
 
 "GAY WITHOUT ACTUAL LAUGHTER." 
 
 The following is a tribute paid to the memory of the Cardinal 
 by one who deeply mourns for him : 
 
 He had a habit of looking with a keen, yet composed, observa- 
 tion into any stranger's face ; and the habit was significant of his 
 relation to man, woman, and child who was, or who might be, of 
 his flock. And they on their side had his face so well by heart 
 that it seemed to them that his sermons had reached them as 
 private exhortations, that he must know of those mental ex- 
 periences of their own with which his words, spoken and written, 
 had dealings so direct. Nor is this to be said of him merely as it 
 might be said of any conspicuous and influential Prelate. The 
 Gospel is hardly more certainly the singular concern of every 
 several soul than was every several Catholic of London in singular 
 relation with the Pastorate of the Cardinal. Perhaps no great 
 priest has ever left a more general conviction of his spiritual 
 austerity. Of his strictness towards himself the time has not 
 come to speak. But this may be said now — that it never im- 
 paired his humour, or dimmed his wit, or discouraged the gay 
 talk — gay without actual laughter — which was so frequent in 
 times of rest The Cardinal Archbishop had never assumed 
 a dignity, and thus he never laid it by ; and to some he 
 seemed to keep an unrelaxed state, but it was a state in in- 
 separable union with his nature. A stern ecclesiastic he might 
 
The Apostolate of Letter-writing. 
 
 be, but the poor did not think so. Those who were incapable 
 of thought or of gratitude would not have thought so — the 
 martyr-children of London, whom he sought to save, or the 
 animals he would have rescued from vivisection. The penitents 
 of the streets did not think him austere, nor the inebriates, nor 
 even any thrice unhappy who, once of the sanctuary itself, had 
 lost their Faith and everything with it. If he was " narrow " it 
 was that he walked in the narrow way of this difficult world ; 
 his narrowness excluded none who would walk there with him. 
 But indeed the accusation was a foolish one, uttered by rote. 
 In politics, in social economy, in scientific interests, the Cardinal 
 was of exceptional liberality. Great Prelate, illustrious English- 
 man, devout Christian, patriot, and scholar, the second Cardinal 
 Archbishop of Westminster leaves none but noble memories. He 
 never spared himself in life ; and death, to which he must often 
 have sent in advance a message of welcome, spared him any 
 hard suffering. " II vaut bien la peine de vivre sans plaisir pour 
 avoir le plaisir de mourir sans peine." The sentence is rather 
 ingenious than loftily spiritual. The Cardinal did not live a 
 hard life in the hope of avoiding pain in his last hour; he lived 
 it for the love of God, as, we may hope, he lives the second life 
 already. 
 
 THE APOSTOLATE OF LETTER-WRITING. 
 
 It might be thought that the Cardinal had his time and atten- 
 tion filled by the exercise of his private pieties and the discharge 
 of his duties as a Diocesan. But, besides this, there was the 
 constant succession of visitors to Archbishop's House, a 
 door that was closed to none. Nor did the visitor ever 
 enter that little inner room without finding on the floor 
 a patchwork of envelopes. Not to tread on them was a 
 matter of some agility at times. Every hour of the day 
 letter after letter was written — an apostolate of penmanship, the 
 extent of which will never be realised. No labour did this 
 great disciple spare himself in the service of his Master. Not 
 merely to friends or acquaintances, nor to strangers who applied 
 to him direct, did these letters find their way. Perhaps a Nun 
 who had never seen the Cardinal would write to tell him of a 
 lady who was in some distress of body or mind, to whom a word 
 
 4 
 
The Apostolate of Letter-ivriting. 
 
 from him would come with healing. To one such lady were the 
 following letters, addressed. She was a recent convert then and 
 did not feel at home in her new environment. A Nun wrote to 
 the Archbishop stating her case, and he immediately sent her 
 a copy of " The Temporal Mission of the Holy Ghost," and a 
 letter asking her to call on him if she came to town. The 
 following letters, which are placed at our disposal, will show the 
 zeal with which he followed up even a casual case of the kind : 
 
 8, York Place, W. ; April 17th, 1871. 
 
 Dear Mrs. P , 
 
 Your letter has just reached me. Be sure that I would 
 have written, but that as yet I could not know where your per- 
 plexity begins. I feel sure that if you will read the book I sent, 
 you will find, and be able to point out to me, where your doubts 
 lie. Your letter shows me the general state of your mind, 
 which appears to me to be caused by two things : the one a 
 need of precise appreciation of the nature and grounds of faith ; 
 and the other temptation against faith. You have faith though 
 you think you have not. And the proof is that you are tempted 
 against faith, which proves that you have it, and that the 
 tempter would rob you of it, as he would of hope, charity, 
 humility, and the like. I would ask you to do three things : 
 
 1. To read that book more than once, slowly and with 
 prayer. It took me long to write it ; I feel sure that it needs 
 time to read it. 
 
 2. To go on steadily and humbly. . . . 
 
 3. To mark the points in the book on which you wish me to 
 write. 
 
 I hope that you will come to London, and that I may then be 
 
 able to speak ; for writing is a slow and uncertain process. 
 
 Meanwhile, I will not fail to remember you in Holy Mass. 
 
 May God give you a docile and faithful heart in all things. 
 
 Believe me always, 
 
 Faithfully yours in Jesus Christ, 
 
 •h HENRY E., Archbishop of Westminster. 
 
 Dear Mrs. P- 
 
 8, York Place, August 23rd, 187 1. 
 
 I was glad to he'ar from you and to know that you are 
 better. I had hoped to see you in London ; but as the time 
 
The Apostolate of Letter-writing. 
 
 slipped away, I supposed you would not accomplish your in- 
 tention this summer. It is a good sign that you cannot read 
 the book. You have, I hope, no need of it. The book itself is 
 the penance of a soul painfully finding the truth ; and it is good 
 for those who, like prodigals, have left their Father's house. 
 You are in it, and have the light of Faith, which is better than 
 life itself. The law is not made for the just man, and that book 
 is not written for the children of the Household of Faith. You 
 have by grace what it proves by reason. I hope you have been 
 persevering humbly and with gratitude in your confessions and 
 communions. Lively faith is the love of the Sacred Heart of 
 Jesus. May God bless and keep you in His holy fear. 
 Believe me always, 
 
 Yours faithfully in Jesus Christ, 
 ■£ Henry E., Archbishop of Westminster. 
 
 8, York Place, W., November 13th, 1871. 
 
 My dear Mrs. P. , 
 
 I shall be most happy to see you to-morrow at any 
 time between 10 and 12.30 ; and I hope that without any such 
 promises you would not have gone through London without 
 coming to me. Believe me always, 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 *£■ HENRY E., Archbishop of Westminster. 
 
 8, York Place, W., July 28th, 1872. * 
 My dear Child, 
 
 I do not think there has been any forgetfulness on your 
 part or on mine. But I was glad to receive your letter. Its 
 contents gave me neither surprise nor anxiety, for I understand 
 the turns and temptations of your mind enough to account for 
 the freaks you describe. They are of no reality. They do not 
 come from malice, or from a will hostile to our Divine Lord, 
 His Faith, or His Church. They are the gusts, and flaps, and 
 flaws of the thoughts and imagination, helped by illness and a 
 highly sensitive state. I enjoin you to think no more of them ; 
 to do them no more ; or if you do, to confess them humbly. 
 Our Lord knows all your care. I shall pray that God may 
 carry you safely through the trial you speak of. I hope you 
 will see your confessor, and have the strength and solace of Our 
 Lord's absolution and of Holy Communion. You are not 
 likely to be in London this year, nor I to be in the North, or I 
 
A Talk of Ten Years ago. 
 
 should gladly offer any help I could give. Be as a child at the 
 feet of our Divine Master. Have great confidence in Him. 
 Contrition and confidence are enough. No penitent soul can 
 perish, and no soul that loves God can be lost. Be humble and 
 docile, and full of fidelity to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. May 
 His blessing be with you. 
 
 Always yours very truly, 
 
 *F Henry E., Archbishop of Westminster. 
 
 THE READY PEN. 
 
 A priest of the Diocese of Shrewsbury writes to us : 
 
 When I was at Ushaw, in upper classes, I asked Cardinal 
 Manning's blessing on a small religious " offering of the actions 
 of the day." His Eminence wrote back promptly to grant my 
 request, adding : " Practise this devotion to the Passion of Our 
 Lord for me." 
 
 On December ioth, 1888, the same priest received the 
 following letter : 
 
 My dear Father, 
 
 I thank you for your kind letter, and for saying Mass 
 for me. Thank God, I am fairly well again ; but eighty years, and 
 my late illness, make me slow in regaining strength. Thank also 
 the good Nuns for their prayers. The Faithful Companions are 
 my staff officers in this diocese, and I have great confidence in 
 them. I am truly thankful that you have found help in my 
 little book.* May God be with you, your Flock, and the Con- 
 vent. Believe me, 
 
 Yours affectionately in Jesus Christ, 
 
 HENRY E., Cardinal Archbishop. 
 
 A TALK OF TEN YEARS AGO. 
 
 The Rev. George Angus, writing to us from St. Andrews, 
 
 says : 
 
 At one time when resident in Kensington, and occupying the 
 post of Bursar at the short-lived Catholic University College, I 
 used to see a good deal of Cardinal Manning. His Eminence 
 
 " The Eternal Priesthood." 
 
% A Talk of Ten Years ago. 
 
 used to sit in an armchair drawn as close as possible to the fire, 
 his legs and feet being closer, at the risk, as I used to think, of 
 being scorched. The Cardinal did not write at a desk or table, 
 but on his knee, as does, I believe, Miss Braddon, the novelist. 
 Once when I was sitting close to him he dropped his pen ; I 
 stooped to pick it up : " Never mind it," he said, " life is too 
 short to be wasted in picking up pens"; and he took another 
 from a bundle of quills lying on the table beside him. His 
 Eminence used to throw down his letters, when written and in 
 their envelopes, upon the floor ; then they were gathered up and 
 posted by the servant. Not liking such an untidy litter, I 
 essayed one day to pick up the letters. " Don't do that," said 
 the Cardinal, "they will never be posted if not left on the floor." 
 I told him that I had heard that Bishop Samuel Wilberforce (his 
 brother-in-law) used, when writing in the train, to toss his letters 
 into an umbrella open, and placed on the floor of the carriage. 
 " Ah ! " said the Cardinal with a somewhat grim smile, " if he 
 
 had never done anything worse than that ." In former days, 
 
 before I became a Catholic, I was intimate with a well-known 
 London clergyman, now dead — Edward Stuart, founder and 
 first Vicar of St. Mary Magdalene's, Munster Square. Mr. 
 Stuart always professed a great admiration for the Cardinal, 
 whom he had known well as Archdeacon of Chichester, 
 and once pointed out to me a house in Regent's Park, 
 formerly the residence of Mr. Dodsworth, of Christ Church, 
 Albany Street (afterwards a convert of the Catholic Church), 
 where the Archdeacon, Mr. Dodsworth, and Mr. Stuart 
 used to meet and take counsel regarding Anglican affairs. 
 At one time Mr. Stuart had been on the point of be- 
 coming a Catholic, but having met Archdeacon Manning 
 somewhere on a journey (if I remember rightly), was dissuaded 
 from leaving the " Church of his baptism " by the Archdeacon. I 
 told Cardinal Manning of this, and asked if it was true ? " Quite 
 true," was the reply, " and may God forgive me for it." Cardinal 
 Manning had a great aversion to the use of tobacco, whether 
 in the shape of smoking or of snuff. Once in my presence, when 
 the Cardinal was speaking to a priest, the Reverend Father, in 
 an unguarded moment, produced a silver snuff-box and regaled 
 himself with a pinch. "Give me that box," said His Eminence. 
 The priest meekly handed it over to the Cardinal, who put it in 
 his pocket. Whether the priest ever regained his snuff-box, I do 
 not know. His Eminence perferred plain song in church, and much 
 disliked the other music commonly used. He was wont to say 
 
As Dissentei r s saw him. 
 
 " I can always make a better act of faith when I hear the Credo 
 sung to Gregorian music." I once ventured to point out that, 
 in this matter, the churches in Rome often set a very bad 
 example. " Too true," rejoined the Cardinal, " and what is the 
 consequence ? Victor Emmanual is at the Quirinal." I happened 
 to be with the Cardinal in the sacristy of a London church when 
 some very elaborate and florid music was being performed which 
 I knew the Cardinal disliked. A priest present asked His 
 Eminence what he thought of some decorations in the church ? 
 " I'll tell you what I think of your music," said the Cardinal; " it 
 is diabolical." "An English gentleman," His Eminence once 
 remarked to me, " should know his Aristotle, and ride to 
 hounds." Cardinal Manning's carriage was — as I recollect it — 
 of a very unassuming, I might say shabby, appearance. I 
 expressed my wish that His Eminence had a nicer turn-out, as 
 befitted a Prince of the Church. "That is all very well," he 
 rejoined ; " but sometimes when people drive in fine coaches they 
 drive to the devil." 
 
 AS DISSENTERS SAW HIM. 
 
 The Rev. Benjamin Waugh, the Nonconformist minister who 
 has devoted himself to the rescue of suffering childhood, was 
 sure by all titles to win a welcome from the Cardinal. To Mr. 
 Waugh, though he had a " strong constitutional and principled 
 dislike" of the Catholic Church, the Cardinal's " sweetness and 
 sanctity" seemed those of a child. 
 
 He was a king. His robes and jewels, and shields and 
 heraldry, and tower of strength were that his great mind and 
 heart went out to his race. He was at the summit of all the 
 humanity you had known. Your reverence for him sprang from 
 the glimmer of himself in you. There was a deep, tender 
 fear in it which was akin to worship, and which tended to 
 make men of no religion' and men of every variety of religion, 
 kneel for his blessing as Jacob's sons knelt for Jacob's. To 
 this personality was added the subtle suggestion of his coming 
 to you from a still larger world than the vast world of men. In 
 all his bearing was the saying: "lam a stranger and sojourner with 
 you." He was a son of the living God and Father of all. Men, 
 rude and refined, of his Church, of no Church, and of all Churches, 
 while revering and loving him for himself, had their unbelief put 
 
HENRY EDWARD MANNING, 
 
 ARCHBISHOP OF WESTMINSTER AND CARDINAL OF THE 
 
 HOLY ROMAN CHURCH. 
 
 (From a Photograph by Elliott & Fry.) 
 
"A little child shall lead them." 
 
 a little to shame, or their faith gladdened, by the subtle, luminous 
 power in which his strong, clear faith and joy in his God and 
 theirs bathed him, and, for the moment, them. They had 
 seen none such wonderful manhood. The sense of eternal 
 things which filled his presence, men, to their surprise, 
 felt in a degree haunting themselves. They had glimmers 
 of a nimbus around his venerable head which made 
 them, perhaps, dimly understand why painters had gilded 
 aureoles around the heads of those Saints which hung upon his 
 walls. Yet not the humblest docker, not the youngest child, 
 not the hardest unbeliever, found in him any " greatness," as 
 earth's great personages are great. He had the gentleness, the 
 deference of a father pitying his children. He was aware not in 
 the least that he was a Cardinal Archbishop : to be of service to 
 you seemed the special object of his life. It was thus that " My 
 son," as he used to address an earnest man, seemed so well to 
 become his lips. Yet was his pleasure in his service so child- 
 like, that his heart seemed to bound and sing with the enjoy- 
 ment of the thought that he could be anything of a helper to 
 the helpless among men. 
 
 "A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM." 
 
 The same writer, in his^'Reminiscences of Cardinal Manning," 
 in the Contemporary Review (February, 1892) tells these stories : 
 
 His interest in children was like his character — an all-round 
 one, and of the most genuine and simple kind. " I like to go 
 into the parks on Sunday," he said on one occasion, "to see the 
 children and talk with them ; and I give them my blessing." 
 Then, with a pleased smile, he added : " Nobody can say that I 
 am proselytising in that." Referring on one occasion to a 
 depressed remark I had made to him on the small results of the 
 past year's work : " Only seventy cases ! " he exultingly ex- 
 claimed. " Small result ! Think of seventy little children's 
 tears dried, and seventy little children's pains stopped ! We 
 can never say that that is nothing. It is glorious ! " In a still 
 more solemn voice, he continued : " A child's needless tear is a 
 blood-blot upon this earth." A worker for the Society, after a 
 tour in Ireland, called upon him, at his request, to tell him the 
 result. On hearing that the Catholic priest and the treasurer 
 of the Irish Church Missionary Society, Parnellite and Mc- 
 Carthyite, Orangeman and Home Ruler, had met together on 
 
The Scarlet Gentleman. 
 
 our platform, and had joined in forming our Aid Committees, 
 he clapped his hands and exclaimed : " How happy the old 
 prophet would have been ! The good days are coming. It is 
 the little child that will be their leader. People will find their 
 brotherhood in little children." On one occasion he told me 
 this story in slow periods, in which every word was a reality : 
 " I was going down that street," pointing out of the window to 
 a double row of mansions that were being built, " and I met a 
 little boy going along his happy way, with poor dress, but a 
 lovely, thoughtful, pale, open face ; and I stopped him for the 
 pleasure of speaking to him. ' Well, my little man, how are 
 you, and where are you going with that little bundle in your 
 hand ? ' He told me ' there ' — pointing to one of the houses 
 being built, 'to his father.' 'What is your father?' I asked. 
 'A carpenter, Sir,' he replied." Then the Cardinal added slowly, 
 " I was awed and startled ! I had met a carpenter's son ! My 
 Lord was once a little servant like that boy. Oh, Mr. Waugh," 
 he exclaimed, almost in tears, " what depths of love were in 
 Christ ! " He then in the simplest way disclosed that he had at 
 once returned home and sent all that he had then to give to 
 some institution for the children of the poor. " I feel at times," 
 he said, " ashamed to own anything." I saw in that moment 
 how intense upon him was the power of the life of Our Lord. 
 
 THE SCARLET GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Mrs. Sheldon-Amos, a philanthropic lady of strong Pro- 
 testantism, went to the Cardinal for advice on one occasion ; and 
 having heard much of him from others, she was " not surprised to 
 find how sweetly genially humorous he was — in fact, half-chaffing 
 on some subjects, while burning with indignation on others." 
 Other interviews followed, all most pleasant to her to remember, al- 
 though she was perhaps a little apt to fancy that her Protestantism 
 was under attack. It is so easy if you are talking to a Cardinal 
 to see at each turn the eager proselytiser. The Cardinal 
 always noted with a smile this nervousness on the part of 
 sensitively Protestant visitors, but it did not displease him. Mrs. 
 Sheldon- Amos tells, in the Contemporary Reviezv (February, 1892), 
 the story of one such interview : 
 
 At the end of my business he said : " Have you seen So- 
 
The Scarlet Gentle?7tan. 
 
 and-so (a recent 'vert to the Catholic Church) lately ? " I said 
 I had, and that I was charmed to see what his Christianity 
 could do for an Agnostic. " Yes, that is a true conversion. That 
 is a true conversion — a conversion as you Methodists understand 
 it, too." And presently he seemed to think this was his first 
 good chance with me, and said, " And when are you coming 
 nearer?" " I am not likely ever to come nearer in the sense I 
 think you mean," I said ; and he urged on me the benefits of 
 confession. I must say that I did little but parry the attack, 
 because I could not bring myself to say plainly what I thought. 
 He seemed too good and gentle to be opposed. But he gave 
 me a book of his, and asked me to discuss it with him later on. 
 The next time he saw I was unwilling, and said nothing till we 
 had said good-bye. Then came a pause, and " Well ? " I said, 
 " No. I only came to you for the business we have settled." 
 " Very well, very well. But you know you need guidance." 1 
 avoided the whole question, and for a tmie or two he left all 
 such personalities alone. Then he gave me a little book on the 
 Office of the Holy Spirit, and pressed me for comments on it. 
 At last I frankly told him that his dignity and kindness about 
 other things made it painful to speak plainly, but that I agreed 
 with his book as far as he could quote Scripture in support of 
 his teaching, but that he presently came to his doctrine of the 
 Church, and had no quotations, and that then I differed. He 
 said gently, " You do not see your need of confession and of the 
 Church, but it is there." I said, " No. You suggest to me 
 means by which to get what I have already — peace with God 
 through Jesus Christ, and access to God by the Holy Spirit. 
 You have really nothing better to offer me. And I can say this 
 freely to you, because you understand life as no ordinary priest 
 can. You have lived a complete life, and understand. You 
 know that I have all I need." He said quickly, with a sharp 
 look at me, "Are you content with yourself then ?" Of course 
 I said no, but with the faith and doctrine I had received. 
 And I added again : "You knotv I have what satisfies my soul's 
 needs." He paused, nodded his head repeatedly, and then said : 
 " I know that I think that you would always follow the truth." 
 I said, " More than that. You know that I see the truth differ- 
 ently from you, and that I have what satisfies me, while you 
 have what satisfies you. Forgive me ; I must speak plainly 
 when you press me." He turned to me, and said very solemnly : 
 " The Church has a doctrine of the intention of the heart." 
 
Room for General Booth. 
 
 "BUT YOU LADIES ARE TORPEDOED" 
 
 The same lady took the Cardinal to task on another occasion 
 
 in a letter, and she got a letter in revenge : 
 
 I thought that in his remarks on the Encyclical he had fallen 
 into the almost universal clerical error of laying the burden of 
 parental responsibility on mothers. I wrote to him, saying 
 plainly that I thought that the [Anglican] clergy generally said 
 this sort of thing naturally ; because if they returned to the 
 earlier doctrine that it is incumbent on fathers to teach their 
 children as they walk in the way, they would have to practise 
 what they preached, and society pressed in the opposite direction. 
 I begged him, from his freer position, to set the example of a 
 better doctrine, and to try to stir fathers up to do their share. I 
 told him I despaired of true doctrine until women took their 
 place in pulpits and on platforms. He quickly replied : 
 
 " I began reading your letter without knowing from whom it 
 came, and I said to myself, ' Hey-day, here is a fine lady 
 scolding ! I wonder who it is.' I then looked at the end, and 
 wondered no longer. What can be more unjust than you ? I 
 was writing not against the women, but against employers. 
 Mothers are partly driven into work, as you say, by the selfish- 
 ness of fathers and the temptation of employers. What have I 
 been doing for twenty years but preaching to fathers, in pledging 
 them to total abstinence from drink,and in binding them to spend 
 all they earn on their homes, by which the mothers can live a 
 domestic life ? Even the context of what you quote contains all 
 this. But you ladies are torpedoes, and not legislators or 
 preachers. There ! I have had my revenge. But how can our 
 people have homes until the land laws and the house property 
 laws have been revised ? I hope you are getting a good 
 holiday." 
 
 ROOM FOR GENERAL BOOTH. 
 
 As " a work of human benevolence " the social undertaking of 
 the Salvation Army had the Cardinal's warm sympathy. His 
 Eminence, who wrote to thank "dear General Booth" for his 
 book, and who received him at Archbishop's House, drew up in 
 1890 a statement of his views, in which he says : 
 
 Who that cares for human misery and human ruin can forbid 
 
AN EMPTY CHAIR AT ARCHBISHOP S HOUSE, 
 JANUARY 14, I 89 I. 
 
Room for General Booth 
 
 others to do what they cannot do themselves ? General Booth 
 has at his command a vast organisation of devoted men and 
 women ready to go and wade in the midst of this dead sea of 
 human suffering. And it is only by human sympathy and 
 human voices appealing, face to face, with these outcast and 
 ruined souls, that they can be won back again to human life and 
 to the law of God. If General Booth can gather under human 
 influence and guidance those whom all our other agencies for good 
 have not yet reached, who shall forbid him ? If his zeal shall 
 rebuke the indolence of some, and shall restore those whom 
 others have rejected, and recall to order and rectitude those who 
 have been passed by as hopeless and worthless, it is a salutary 
 lesson to be thankfully learned. If sheep are lost it is the 
 shepherd's fault. He may have been sleeping or dreaming in a 
 fool's paradise, or sounding his pastoral music in a refined life of 
 blameless morality without a shadow of the Cross : or to 
 come nearest to the reality, he may have inherited a work 
 which the neglect of his forefathers has put beyond his reach. 
 How could East London have ever existed if authorities — 
 religious, civil, municipal, parochial, social, domestic, and per- 
 sonal — had not been asleep, or, if awake, culpably neglectful of 
 duty? If General Booth can reclaim this no-man's-land, where 
 the name of God is unknown, we will wish him in reward the ful- 
 ness of all grace and truth. Lastly, General Booth's work is both 
 like and unlike all that has hitherto been attempted. It is irrele- 
 vant to point out how much has been already done, and is doing 
 by others. They have not done all, and they cannot do all : and 
 they have not the means to cover the whole instant and urgent 
 need. In providing for those whom others cannot reach, he will 
 not clash with any existing work. Moreover, he has a trained 
 body of agents ready for the work. The man-power and the 
 woman-power of others is neither sufficient in numbers, nor 
 trained to a life of exceptional hardness. Let him try his hand, 
 and if he fail, let others do better. Above all, it is intolerable to 
 hinder General Booth in feeding the starving, and reclaiming the 
 criminal of this day, because in the next generation a normal 
 state of capital and labour may provide employment for posterity. 
 In the meanwhile, must they starve ? Again, it is a feeble 
 criticism to say that in all his proposed work there is nothing 
 new. Old needs can be met by old remedies ; bread will still stay 
 hunger, clothing keep out the cold, and work earn wages. If 
 the scale of the application be adequate, the work is done. 
 And for the means to make these remedies adequate he is now 
 appealing. 
 
For the Worthless. 
 
 It may be of interest to record that Lord Ripon, in sending a 
 handsome subscription to the Home Colony of General Booth, 
 did so only after consultation with Cardinal Manning. 
 
 FOR THE WORTHLESS. 
 
 To a visitor who in 1890 talked with the Cardinal upon the 
 provision of work for the unemployed by public authorities, His 
 Eminence said : 
 
 I am strongly of opinion that it is the duty of every common- 
 wealth, in times of exceptional distress, such as the cotton famine 
 in Lancashire some years ago, or exceptionally hard winters by 
 which tens of thousands of able-bodied and deserving workmen are 
 thrown out of work, and are reduced with their families to want 
 and great suffering — in such cases it is the duty of public 
 authorities, to which such affairs may appertain, to provide relief ; 
 and, in my opinion, the best relief in such cases would be in the 
 form of employment upon works of public utility. This was the 
 opinion of political economists such as the late John Stuart 
 Mill and the late Professor Fawcett, although I am sorry to say 
 certain writers at this time, with shallow philosophy, have in 
 newspaper letters considered it a mischievous error. I will go 
 further and say that this principle of giving food or work is 
 embodied in the old statute law, and prevails in the spirit of our 
 laws to this day. The 5 Elizabeth, cap. 3, appointed overseers 
 of the poor, and made it penal to give money to any rogue or 
 vagabond or sturdy beggar ; but it provided relief for those who 
 are " whole and mighty in body and able to labour." The 
 18 Elizabeth, cap. 3, runs as follows: " To the intent that 
 youth may be accustomed and brought up in labour and 
 work and not grow to be idle rogues, and to the intent also 
 that such as be already grown up in idleness, and so are 
 rogues at present, may not have any just excuse in saying that 
 they cannot get service or work and be then without means of 
 livelihood, and that poor and needy persons may be set to 
 work" — the Act goes on to provide that in "every city, town, 
 and market, and market town, authorities should be enjoined to 
 order a competent stock of wool, hemp, flax, or other stuff by 
 taxation of all ; so that every poor and needy person, old or 
 young, able to work and standing in need of relief, shall not fear 
 want of work, go abroad begging, or committing pilfering, or 
 
The Peace Society. 
 
 living in idleness." Let it be noted that these provisions are 
 made for the worthless ; how much more does the spirit of these 
 enactments intend that relief should be given in times of 
 exceptional distress to the honest, able workman, skilled or 
 unskilled, who through no fault of his own is reduced to distress ! 
 I know all that has been said about not disturbing the labour 
 market, and not retarding the happy day when employment and 
 labour shall be so balanced that there shall be no unemployed ; 
 but I contend that to suffer the worthy and deserving to remain 
 wretched and starving in times of distress, which they have in 
 no way brought upon themselves, and for which they cannot be 
 considered responsible, but which arise from the vicissitudes of 
 nature or of their own honest industries — to suffer them to starve 
 would be a crime in a Christian commonwealth. It is terrible 
 work, terrible work (said His Eminence in conclusion), and we 
 are tyrannised over by a certain school of political economists, 
 which makes the remedy all the more difficult to obtain. 
 
 THE PEACE SOCIETY. 
 A Peace Society deputation had an interview with the 
 Cardinal Archbishop, at the end of 1890. One of those present 
 — Mr. Thomas Snape, President of the Liverpool Peace Society 
 — writes : 
 
 We arrived in front of a large, square mansion, and were ad- 
 mitted by a man-servant,' in plain livery, to the hall. Thence 
 we were conducted up a flight of stone, uncarpeted steps, and 
 by a corridor into a lofty reception-room, the plainness of whose 
 furniture was in keeping with the other appearances of the 
 house that we had seen. Library shelves, filled with ancient 
 volumes of patristic literature, in faded bindings, covered one side 
 of the room. An unframed canvas — a well-executed portrait, 
 in oils, of the late Cardinal Newman — reposed against 
 the bookcase. A well-worn carpet covered about three parts of 
 the room. A pedestal, surmounted by a sculptured bust of 
 Cardinal Manning himself, stood on the boards beyond. A 
 good coal fire, in an old fashioned grate, blazed out a cheerful 
 and grateful welcome, for the day was cold and wet. The 
 attendant had taken our cards and letter of introduction, and 
 presently, through another door than that by which we had 
 come, the Cardinal entered the room. Bidding us be seated, 
 and seating himself in an armchair near, retaining his biretta in 
 
An Irish Woman s Impressions. 
 
 hand, he soon engaged us in an interesting conversation upon 
 the object of our visit. He had, he said, the fullest sympathy 
 with the desire to promote peace and substitute arbitration for 
 war. He was himself a Vice-President of a Peace Society. In 
 the general conversation which followed, we pointed out to the 
 Cardinal that the Peace Society we represented was originally 
 founded by members of the Society of Friends; and, though not 
 now confined to them, was still largely indebted to them for 
 support. Cardinal Manning then spoke to us in the warmest 
 terms of his appreciation of the Society of Friends. It was a 
 Quaker, he said, who had given Father Mathew the Temperance 
 pledge ; it was the Quakers who had originated the Anti-Slavery 
 Society and the Aborigines' Protection Society. He took blame 
 to himself that in these and similar efforts so little help had 
 been given them from outside. Though we were in the presence 
 of a Prince of the Roman Catholic Church, and a man of high 
 intellectual distinction apart from his high dignity, we were 
 most courteously and affably received, and we came away greatly 
 encouraged by the evident sympathy of Cardinal Manning with 
 our work. 
 
 AN IRISH WOMAN'S IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 Miss Katharine Tynan, whose poetry the Cardinal greatly 
 admired, writes of a visit paid to Archbishop's House in the 
 September of 1889 : 
 
 Presently the Cardinal came in, a tall old man and thin to 
 attenuation, with the face of a Saint, colourless and ascetic, in 
 which the eyes, full of kindness, smiled for the stern mouth. He 
 was attired in a long cassock trimmed with the red of his Car- 
 dinalate, and on his thin silver hair there was a scarlet skull-cap. 
 As he seated himself in an armchair he drew his Irish visitor a 
 chair by his left hand with a gesture of fatherly kindness. One 
 felt filled with a mixture of awe and reverent affection for him. 
 He was tired with the labour and anxiety of the strike, and 
 leaned back in his chair, looking very frail. His strength must 
 be far greater than its seeming, or he could never get through 
 the work he does. He talked first of poetry, mentioning among 
 recent poetry which had interested him, that of Mr. Arthur 
 Symons, whose " Days and Nights," dealing, as they often do, 
 with painful social problems, would naturally interest so 
 great a social reformer as the Cardinal. Other poetry 
 
An Irish Woman s Impressions. 
 
 which he mentioned with much appreciation was that of 
 Mrs. Hamilton King. Presently he branched off to other topics. 
 Ireland, lying near his heart, easily came uppermost. He spoke 
 of the goodness of her people. Before the Royal Commission 
 on the Housing of the Poor it had been proved, he instanced, 
 that in the most extreme cases of poverty and overcrowding no 
 such evils had arisen as in other countries ; drink was the only 
 trouble, and the drink question seemed to lie heavily on him. 
 He referred with satisfaction to the Temperance work being done 
 in Cork by Mrs. Barry and her helpers. He said the Irish made 
 homes under the protection of God, and no enemy came to break- 
 through except drunkenness. " Men," said the Cardinal, " can 
 build houses, but only God can build a home." Then he 
 branched away to the newspaper press, and what it was doing, 
 with especial reference to the Catholic press. The doings of a 
 certain class of anti-Irish English Catholics and its mouthpieces 
 in the Press must needs vex his heart. The Weekly Register, he 
 said with emphasis, " never offends." My friend had brought 
 him a newspaper cutting which purposed to give an authentic 
 account of his way of living — how he had a farm in the country 
 whence came fowls and eggs and butter for his table — a pretty 
 fiction over which His Eminence smiled as he read it. "There 
 is my only farm," he said, pointing to the desolate plot of build- 
 ing ground outside. The news of yet another YVhitechapel 
 horror seemed to move him deeply ; his face took on a new 
 pallor, if that be possible, and as he closed his eyes, in pain 
 and horror, he looked like a Saint whose reward is already 
 come. The sin and misery of the great city must lie 
 heavily at his heart, though scarcely any other man has done 
 as much to lessen the burden. I thought of what Lord 
 Shaftesbury's son wrote when his father lay dead : " I often 
 heard my father say of you that wherever there was good to be 
 done and evil to be fought he was always sure of you." One 
 carried away two impressions from the Cardinal — his stateliness 
 and his meekness. He never for a moment was less than a 
 Prince, and there was an atmosphere of Royalty about him which 
 might well be missing in the Courts of this world, so that the 
 recipient of his sweetness felt at the heart a little throb of 
 passionate loyalty with the reverence and love which went out 
 to answer his graciousness. He did more to reconcile the English 
 Protestant mind to the idea of priesthood than all the generations 
 of priests who went before him. To the most unlikely places — 
 social gatherings, and public meetings, and into the hives of men 
 
A Hope Unfulfilled. 
 
 — he went carrying his Master's standard, and drawing eyes and 
 hearts to follow it. He had the fullest possible life — the life of 
 the world and the life of the cloister alike were open books to 
 him. He had travelled through many prosperities and many 
 trials to this grey palace of his, whither went the prayers and 
 heart-beats of his spiritual children in London, and the myriad 
 of his spiritual children elsewhere, who were so through love and 
 loyalty. 
 
 A HOPE UNFULFILLED. 
 
 An American visitor to the Cardinal at the end of 1887 made 
 the following record of the talk : 
 
 In speaking of English politics, he said it was probable that 
 no people were better satisfied with the structure of their Govern- 
 ment and its institutions than those of Great Britain. In no 
 Government in the world was there such a degree of absolute 
 personal liberty as in Great Britain. One never knew there 
 was any law until he ran against it. Scotland and England 
 were completely fused in identity of interest. It was different 
 with Ireland, because of the different treatment. That un- 
 happy island had been ruled by England for more than three 
 centuries by force alone. It was under Henry VIII. that the 
 policy was inaugurated which had made and kept Ireland 
 disaffected. Had it not been for this, Ireland would have been 
 as devoted and as loyal to the English crown as Scotland. 
 He was an Englishman to the backbone, but he knew and 
 loved the Irish people. A more true, a more loyal, and a 
 more noble race never existed. In his view t 1 " • ''cgislative body 
 to be created for Ireland should not be one wiLi the prerogatives 
 of a Parliament as commonly understood, but a chamber which 
 should have the control of legislation affecting local matters 
 only. I said to him I had found no sentiment worth speaking 
 of in London in favour of Irish Home Rule, and inquired what 
 he thought about its prospects. He replied that London was 
 intensely aristocratic, intensely wedded to custom, and therefore 
 opposed to change. But it was not so in the Provinces. The 
 feeling in favour of Home Rule was growing rapidly every day 
 in the country, and he had the strongest belief it would event- 
 ually be strong enough to control both Houses of Parliament 
 and force justice to be done to the Irish. He could not venture 
 to predict when this day would come, but he hoped to see it. 
 
Verse from East and West. 
 
 VERSE FROM EAST AND WEST. 
 
 The death of Cardinal Manning, on the 14th January, 1892, 
 and within a few hours of that of the Duke of Clarence, gave to 
 poets and to pressmen a ready contrast between the old Prince 
 of the Church and the young Prince of the State. This note 
 sounds alike in the doggerel sung among his " dear dockers " — 
 sufficiently characteristic to be here reproduced — and in the 
 lines forwarded to us by Sir John Croker Barrow, between whom 
 and the Cardinal was a long intimacy. In the pages of Merry 
 England Mr. Francis Thompson wrote an article on u Catholics 
 'n Darkest England " which caused the Cardinal to send for him 
 to receive his personal thanks and congratulations ; an interview 
 alluded to at the beginning of the poem now printed " To the 
 Dead of Westminster." 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 BY SIR JOHN CROKER BARROW, BART. 
 
 On Church and State hangs one same purple pall, 
 Love-wove by hands of Lord and Commoner, 
 All way from Sandringham to Westminster, 
 
 For youthful Prince, and ageful Cardinal ! 
 
 Rest they in peace of Death ! each wept by all — 
 By royal Prince and loyal Minister — 
 By Guild of Capital and Labourer — 
 
 By League Conservative and Liberal. 
 
 Pray we for them ! May we not further pray, 
 That he, from age transainted into youth, 
 
 Will still, in spirit, guide us on our way 
 
 Towards the threshold of Eternal Truth ? 
 
 Though farther gone, yet seems he nearer grown, 
 
 For " face to face," he knows " as he is known." 
 
Reprint of an East End Leaflet. 
 
 {Reprint of an East End Leaflet.) 
 
 Lines on 
 
 THE DEATH 
 
 OF 
 
 Cardinal Manning. 
 
 Tune — Lived together. 
 
 We grieve for the loss of bold Arch- 
 bishop Manning, 
 
 There's many will miss every hair 
 of his head, 
 
 And the bold Duke of Clarence be- 
 loved by the nation, 
 
 In country and town they say 
 prayers for the dead. 
 
 We honour their names with true 
 love and devotion, 
 
 In memory they'll live for some 
 time to come, 
 
 And the soldiers and sailors that's 
 ploughing the ocean, 
 
 With hearts like a lion, shed tears 
 every one. 
 
 Chorus — 
 
 But they've gone for ever, gems to- 
 gether, 
 
 And bitter tears are shed, 
 
 With fond effection and recollec- 
 tion, 
 
 For those that's laying dead, 
 
 With sympathy we say God rest 
 their souls today 
 
 The brave young duke and Cardinal, 
 
 Its filling us all with dismay. 
 
 What can we say, can we ever 
 
 describe, 
 It seems as though magic had 
 
 woven a spell, 
 In so short a time to be called by 
 
 their maker, 
 The young Duke of Clarence and 
 
 Cardinal Manning. 
 Eyes red with crying, and hearts 
 
 fairly broken, 
 
 Will gather ere long round the 
 
 tomb of the dead, 
 To take a last look and drop many 
 
 a token, 
 On their mortal remains as the 
 
 prayers will be said. 
 
 He worked with a will, for the good 
 
 of the people 
 Helping the Dockers when they 
 
 were in need, 
 He knew their distress and the way 
 
 they were treated, 
 A good hearty soul, the Cardinal 
 
 indeed, 
 So dearly beloved, and a friend to 
 
 the people. 
 We honor his name and regret the 
 
 sad change, 
 The bells will be tolling in many a 
 
 steeple, 
 With love and respect to his mortal 
 
 remains. 
 
 Such a generous soul, when in life 
 
 ever ready, 
 To render assistance to those in 
 
 distress, 
 In the temperance cause he was 
 
 upright & steady. 
 The love that we bear, no tongue 
 
 can express, 
 To rest thee in peace there's a 
 
 mightier power, 
 Who judges us all in our time so 
 
 they say, 
 I'm sure that he's gone to the 
 
 beautiful bower, 
 There happiness reigns and the 
 
 clouds pass away. 
 
 J. HAYDON. 
 
The Dead of Westminster. 
 
 TO THE DEAD OF WESTMINSTER. 
 
 BY FRANCIS THOMPSON. 
 
 I will not perturbate 
 Thy Paradisal state 
 With praise 
 Of thy dead days ; 
 
 To the new-heavened say, — 
 " Spirit, thou wert fine clay : " 
 This do, 
 Thy praise who knew. 
 
 I saw thee only once ; 
 Although thy gentle tones, 
 Said soft, — 
 " Come hither oft." 
 
 Therefore my spirit clings 
 Heaven's porter by the wings, 
 And holds 
 Its gated golds 
 
 Apart, with thee to press 
 A private business ; — 
 Whence, 
 Deign me audience. 
 
 Your singer did not come 
 Back to that stern bare home : 
 He knew 
 Himself and you. 
 
The Dead of Westminster. 
 
 I saw, as seers do, 
 That you were even you ; 
 And — why, 
 I too was I. 
 
 Both in the world, not of it, 
 I scorned, but you could move it 
 My wall, 
 Material, 
 
 And inward, like yours bare. 
 Too far alike we were, 
 Too far 
 Dissimilar. 
 
 I, in weak wayfaring, 
 Do need the poets' spring, 
 Do prize 
 Some human eyes. 
 
 You smelt the Heaven-blossoms, 
 And all the sweets embosoms 
 The dear 
 Uranian year. 
 
 You saw the tender eyes 
 Which light the upper skies, 
 With blood 
 Filled on the Rood. 
 
 The carpet was let down 
 (With golden moultings strown) 
 For you 
 Of the angels' blue. 
 
The Dead of Westminster. 
 
 But I, ex-Paradised, 
 The shoulder of your Christ 
 Find high 
 To lean thereby. 
 
 I on a lower plane 
 Walk in acquainted pain ; 
 And take 
 It for mistake, 
 
 If any sweet surprise 
 Of undreamed respite rise, 
 And say — 
 11 Be glad to-day ! " 
 
 Life is a coquetry 
 Of Death, which wearies me, 
 Too sure 
 Of the amour ; 
 
 A tiring-room where I 
 
 Death's divers garments try, 
 
 Till fit 
 Some fashion sit. 
 
 It seemeth me too much 
 I do rehearse for such 
 A mean 
 And single scene. 
 
 The sandy glass hence bear — 
 Antique remembrancer ; 
 My veins 
 Do spare its pains. 
 
The Dead of Westminster* 
 
 With secret sympathy 
 My thoughts repeat in me 
 Infirm 
 The turn o' the worm. 
 
 Beneath my appointed sod ; 
 The grave is in my blood ; 
 I shake 
 To winds that take 
 
 Its grasses by the top ; 
 The rains thereon that drop 
 Perturb 
 With drip acerb 
 
 My subtly answering soul ; 
 The feet across its knoll 
 Do jar 
 Me from afar. 
 
 As sap foretastes the spring ; 
 As Earth ere blossoming 
 Thrills 
 With far daffodils, 
 
 And feels her breast turn sweet 
 With the unconceived wheat ; 
 So doth 
 My flesh foreloathe 
 
 The abhorred spring of Dis, 
 With seething presciences 
 Affirm 
 The preparate worm. 
 
The Dead of Westminster. 
 
 I have no thought that I, 
 When at the last I die, 
 Shall reach 
 To gain your speech. 
 
 But you, should that be so, 
 May very well, I know, 
 May well 
 To me in hell 
 
 With recognising eyes 
 Look from your Paradise — 
 " God bless 
 Thy hopelessness ! " 
 
 ■Call, holy soul, O call 
 The hosts angelical, 
 And say, — 
 " See, far away 
 
 " Lies one I saw on earth ; 
 One stricken from his birth 
 With curse 
 Of destinate verse. 
 
 " What place doth He ye serve 
 For such sad spirit reserve, — 
 Given, 
 In dark lieu of Heaven, 
 
 " The impitiable Daemon, 
 Beauty, to adore and dream on, 
 To be 
 Perpetually 
 
The Dead of Westminster. 
 
 " Hers, but she never his ? 
 He reapeth miseries, 
 Foreknows 
 His wages woes ; 
 
 " He lives detached days ; 
 He serveth not for praise ; 
 For gold 
 He is not sold ; 
 
 " Deaf is he to world's tongue ; 
 He scorneth for his song 
 The loud 
 Shouts of the crowd ; 
 
 "He asketh not world's eyes ; 
 Not to world's ears he cries ; 
 Saith, — • These 
 Shut, if ye please ; ' 
 
 " He measureth world's pleasure, 
 World's ease, as Saints might measure ;. 
 For hire 
 Just Love entire 
 
 " He asks, not grudging pain ; 
 And knows his asking vain, 
 And cries — 
 ' Love ! Love ! ' and dies ; 
 
 " In guerdon of long duty, 
 Unowned by Love or Beauty ; 
 And goes — 
 Tell, tell, who knows ! 
 
 " Aliens from Heaven's worth, 
 Fine beasts who nsoe i' the earth,. 
 
The Dead of JVestnnnster, 
 
 Do there 
 Reward prepare. 
 
 " But are his great desires 
 Food but fcr nether fires ? 
 Ah me, 
 A mystery ! 
 
 " Can it be his alone, 
 To find, when all is known, 
 That what 
 He solely sought 
 
 " Is lost, and thereto lost 
 All that its seeking cost ? 
 That he 
 Must finally, 
 
 " Through sacrificial tears, 
 And anchoretic years, 
 Tryst 
 With the sensualist ? 
 
 " He wrought the gift, pursued 
 The love, by God imbued ; 
 May this 
 Lead to the abyss ? " 
 
 So ask ; and if they tell 
 The secret terrible, 
 
 Good friend, 
 I pray thee send 
 
 Some high gold embassage 
 To teach my unripe age. 
 Tell! 
 Lest my feet walk hell. 
 
Bibliography of Cardinal Manning. 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF CARDINAL MANNING. 
 
 At the instance of the Compiler of these Memorials, Cardinal 
 Manning, only a few weeks before his death, prepared the 
 following list of his published works, assisted in the task by one 
 of his closest friends. The early volumes are now nearly all 
 out of print ; and some of them are marked at fancy prices in 
 the second-hand catalogues. The writings of his Catholic life 
 are published mostly by Messrs. Burns and Oates, a firm with 
 which he began to have relations when he was Archdeacon of 
 Chichester, and when Mr. James Burns was a prominent Anglican. 
 While he refused to reprint the books of Anglican days — though 
 finding little or nothing in them to repudiate — he had a hope 
 that those of his Catholic life would always remain within reach 
 of readers. These copyrights passed, by his will, to his executors, 
 to whom also was assigned the charge of all his papers and 
 correspondence. The executors are three of his beloved Oblates 
 of St. Charles (Dr. Butler, Dr. Richards, Father Dillon) and the 
 head of the House of Expiation in Chelsea — Canon Keens. 
 With these old and trusted friends will lie the responsibility of 
 deciding in what form the mass of interesting correspondence at 
 their disposal shall be given to the world. 
 
 PUBLICATIONS DURING HIS ANGLICAN LIFE. — 1835-45. 
 
 Date. Title of Work* Fortn. Editions. 
 
 1835 The English Church — its 
 Succession and Witness 
 for Christ ... ... Sermon 
 
 „ Address to the Archbishop 
 
 of Canterbury on Synods, 
 
 etc. ... 
 
 „ Sketch of the origin of 
 
 Canonical Synods, etc. 
 1838 Principle of the Eccle- 
 siastical Commissioners 
 Examined ... ... Letter 
 
 June 13, 1838 The Rule of Faith ... Sermon 
 
 (preached 
 Chichester 
 Cathedral) 
 
Bibliography of Cardinal Manning. 
 
 PUBLICATIONS DURING HIS ANGLICAN LI 
 
 Date. 
 1838 
 
 May 31, 1838 
 1840 
 
 1841 
 
 '41, '42, '45, 
 '46, '48, '49 
 
 Nov. 27, 1842 
 
 1843 
 Sept. 26,1843 
 
 Sept. 28, 1843 
 1844 
 
 1 84 1 to 1849 
 1S41 
 
 1842 
 
 1842 
 
 1842 to 1844 
 
 1842 
 
 Nov. 20, 1842 
 
 Mar. 12, 1843 
 Nov. 5, 1843 
 
 1843 
 1844 
 
 Title of Work. 
 
 The Rule of Faith (Ap- 
 pendix) ... 
 
 National Education 
 
 Preservation of Unendowed 
 Canonries 
 
 Essay on the Cathedral 
 Act 
 
 Sanctity of Consecrated 
 Places 
 
 Moral Design of the Apos- 
 tolic Ministry ... 
 
 Charge to Clergy of Arch- 
 deaconry of Chichester 
 
 The Mind of Christ the 
 perfection and Bond of 
 the Church 
 
 Blessings and Duties of 
 those who have put on 
 Christ 
 
 Visitation Charge... 
 Christ, our Rest and King 
 
 Report of Meeting, S.P.G. 
 Additional Bishoprics 
 
 Charges Delivered at 
 
 Chichester 
 Fund f o r E n d o wi ng 
 Colonial Bishoprics, (p. 
 
 20) 
 
 The Bliss of Heaven 
 Frequent Communion 
 Reasons for Daily Services 
 Sermons before the Uni- 
 versity of Oxford : — 
 
 (1) The Danger of Sinning 
 in the midst of Privileges 
 
 (2) The Probation of the 
 Church ... 
 
 (3) The Work appointed us 
 
 (4) Christ's Kingdom not 
 of this World 
 
 (5) Love : the Preparation 
 for Christ's Coming 
 
 (6) The Beatific Vision ... 
 
 fe. — 1835-45. {Continued.) 
 Form. Editions. 
 
 Sermon 
 Letter (to 
 Bishop of 
 Chichester) 
 
 Sermon 
 Whitsuntide 
 
 Sermon 
 
 (Ordination 
 
 at Chichester) 
 
 Sermon 
 
 Sermon 
 
 (preached 
 
 St. Botolph, 
 
 Bishopsgate) 
 
 Sermon 
 
 (preached 
 
 York) 
 
 Essay Eng, 
 Review 
 
 Sermon 
 
 Sermon 
 Advent 
 SS. Philip 
 James's 
 Sermon 
 
Bibliography of Cardinal Manning. 
 
 PUBLICATIONS DURING HIS ANGLICAN LIFE. — 1835 — 45. 
 
 Date. 
 
 1844 
 
 May 8, 
 
 1843 
 
 1S44 
 
 1844 
 
 1846 
 
 1S47 
 
 1850 
 
 1850 
 
 1845 
 
 Title of Work. 
 (7) The Gift of Illumination 
 
 Festivals and Fasts 
 
 Penitents and Saints (Ser- 
 mon on behalf of Mag- 
 dalen Hospital)... 
 
 Review of Dr. Grant's 
 Bampton Lectures on 
 Missions... 
 
 Christ's Presence the Sup- 
 port of Faith 
 
 Work of the Comforter ... 
 
 The Literary Fund (p. 27) 
 
 Society for the Propagation 
 of the Gospel (p. 41) ... 
 
 Church in the Colonies 
 
 (P- 19) 
 
 Work of Mercy for Lent... 
 
 The Lost Sheep (Opening 
 of St. Paul's, Brighton) 
 
 Self-sacrifice 
 
 Appelate Jurisdiction of 
 the Crown in matters 
 Spiritual 
 Sermons in 4 Volumes. 
 
 Vol. I. \ Written in 1840. 
 
 Vol. II. \Editions every 
 
 Vol. III. [year up to iSjo. 
 
 Vol. IV. J Ten in all 
 
 Unity of the Church (Con- 
 tinuation of Mr. Glad- 
 stone's book) 
 
 Form. 
 
 Sermon 
 
 (preached 
 
 Trinity 
 
 Sunday) 
 
 Sermon 
 
 Sermon 
 
 Letter 
 
 (Continued.) 
 Editions. 
 
 7 Editions 
 4 Editions 
 3 Editions 
 2 Editions 
 
 2 Editions 
 
Bibliography of Cardinal Manning. 
 
 PUBLICATIONS DURING HIS CATHOLIC LIFE.— 
 
 Date. Title of Work. 
 
 1852 Grounds of Faith ... 
 
 Confidence in God 
 
 1866 Temporal Power of the 
 
 Pope 
 1 87 1 Fourfold Sovereignty of 
 
 God 
 
 Four Great Evils of the 
 Day 
 
 1867 England and Christendom 
 
 1865 
 
 Temporal Mission of the 
 
 
 Holy Ghost 
 
 1863-73 
 
 Sermons on Ecclesiastical 
 
 
 Subjects ... 
 
 1889 
 
 Lost Sheep Found 
 
 
 Sin and its Consequences 
 
 1864 
 
 The Blessed Sacrament : 
 
 
 the Centre of Immutable 
 
 
 Truth 
 
 1877 
 
 Independence of the Holy 
 
 
 See 
 
 1875 
 
 Internal Mission of the 
 
 
 Holy Ghost 
 
 1877-88 
 
 Miscellanies 
 
 1871 
 
 Petri Privilegium ... 
 
 1877 
 
 True Story of the Vatican 
 
 
 Council ... 
 
 1883 
 
 The Eternal Priesthood ... 
 
 1880 
 
 Holy Ghost the Sanctifier 
 
 1876 
 
 Glories of the Sacred 
 
 
 Heart 
 
 1887 
 
 Religio Viatoris 
 
 1888 
 
 National Education* 
 
 DLIC LIFE.- 
 
 -1852-88. 
 
 Form. 
 
 Editions. 
 
 Four 
 
 Lectures in 
 
 St. George's 
 
 Southwark 
 
 9 Editions 
 
 
 3 Editions 
 
 
 3 Editions 
 
 Letter to 
 Dr. Pusey 
 (Reprint) 
 
 
 
 4 Editions 
 
 3 Vols. 
 Sermon 
 
 7 Editions 
 
 3 Vols. 
 
 2 Editions 
 5 Editions 
 
 2 Editions 
 8 Editions 
 
 5 Editions 
 4 Editions 
 
 * This is a Sermon. There is also a little volume of articles, with same title, pub- 
 lished by Burns and Oates in 1889. 
 
The Cardinal as a Dramatic Critic. 
 
 THE CARDINAL AS A DRAMATIC CRITIC. 
 In no more unexpected character could the Cardinal be shown 
 than in that of a dramatic critic. His feeling against the theatre 
 was deeply rooted, and he had only once in his life sat in the stalls. 
 But when Madame Sara Bernhardt came to London in 1881, 
 and " La Dame aux Camelias " was licensed by a Catholic Lord 
 Chamberlain for the English stage, his indignation, aroused by 
 the mere newspaper reports of the play, found expression in 
 the following article which' was published anonymously in the 
 Weekly Register at the time. We reproduce here in exact fac- 
 simile the MS. of the article : one of those marvellous manu- 
 scripts he wrote resting the paper on his knee (as St. John wrote 
 his Gospels in the old masters' pictures), with no ruled lines to 
 guide the pen that made so straight a track across that wilder- 
 ness of paper. 
 
 Though the Comedie Francaise is over for this season it may 
 visit us again next year. Therefore we think it well that our 
 readers, and especially the heads of Catholic families, should 
 know its true nature. Many have gone to it from fashion ; some 
 from frivolity ; some from the vanity of being able to talk about 
 it. But most, we hope, from simple unconsciousness of its per- 
 nicious character. We will give one sample : and it shall be 
 described not by us, but by the eulogistic critic of a leading 
 journal. The comedy was " La Dame aux Camelias," of Dumas. 
 In passing, we must add that the book from which the comedy is 
 taken is an outrage upon every instinct of modesty in woman 
 and in man. The critic says that : " M. Dumas's apotheosis of a 
 notorious woman of the demi-monde shocked the Parisians them- 
 selves," that " the etherealised courtesan " was one of Sarah 
 Bernhardt's " finest and most successful creations," that the play 
 is " unsavoury," " a miry pool," that the heroine is " a woman who 
 scandalised Paris by her luxury, her ostentation, and her ex- 
 travagance," that she ruined " her titled lovers by the score." 
 The critic admits that " it requires a certain effort of the imagina- 
 tion to conceive such a woman to possess the gentle, affectionate, 
 pure, lofty nature " of M. Dumas's Marguerite. " But this point 
 conceded," the " idyl of love is charming, provided only the 
 spectator can forget the gross, repulsive elements out of which it 
 
The Cardinal as a Dramatic Critic. 
 
 is constructed." He then goes on to describe Madame Bernhardt's 
 " creation " : its " ineffable sweetness," " fine womanly instinct," 
 etc., "are so true that the audience lose all consciousness of the 
 art by which these results are achieved." Finally, Marguerite is 
 dying of consumption. " Madame Bernhardt plays this scene with 
 angelic sweetness which gives it almost the character of a trans- 
 figuration. We can almost fancy we see the halo of a Saint upon 
 her forehead." " She dies in her lover's arms with the words Ah 
 queje suis Men upon her lips." 
 
 We have given the critic's own words : for any paraphrase of 
 ours would have lessened their moral enormity. And yet the 
 critic all through had a high sense of the grossness of the matter, 
 the iniquity of the author, the evil influence of the actress, and 
 the suspension of moral sense in the audience. Here are four 
 distinct heads of indictment against this abominable offence 
 to all that is chaste in women and honourable in men. 
 But we will not treat of the two first counts. M. Dumas is 
 beyond our reach. The subject matter we leave to the first 
 instincts of all that is pure and noble in human life. The 
 author of " La Dame aux Camelias " belongs to a world that 
 would despise us as much as we abhor it ; and in this reciprocal 
 and inextinguishable variance we leave the author and all his 
 works. But of the actress we must say that it is a perilous gift 
 to be able so to play a false and evil part as to draw to false- 
 hood and evil the sympathy and admiration of those who are 
 true and good. If this be not putting " darkness for light and 
 light for darkness," we do not know what it is. The drama is 
 defended as a means of moral education. If so, what defence 
 is to be made for " La Dame aux Camelias," la virginite" de I'&me, 
 and la redemption par r amour, with its angelic sweetness, its 
 transfigurations, and its halos of Saints ? Human nature is 
 unreal enough already. The intellectual simulation of what 
 we are not is so widespread that few escape it. We are told 
 that 
 
 All the world's a stage 
 
 And all the men and women merely players. 
 
 They have their exits and their entrances. 
 
 We are dramatic enough without these elaborate " creations " 
 of transfigured profligacy, and unchastity in halos. We do not 
 desire that our conception of angels should be transferred to 
 courtesans. There is nothing chivalrous in this perversion of the 
 moral life. Vice does not here " lose half its evil by losing all 
 its grossness." It becomes doubly evil because of its intoxicating 
 
Mr. Gladstone s last Tribute. 
 
 fascinations. But enough of all this. We hold the Lord Cham- 
 berlain gravely responsible for allowing this infamy upon the 
 stage. So high an office demands a little courage; not much : just 
 so much as an independent man always has in incurring, if need 
 be, the enmity of those who put amusement before moral sense. 
 If, however, we cannot acquit the Lord Chamberlain, we must 
 condemn the English fathers and mothers who for any plea or 
 motive exposed themselves and, still more, their children to such 
 subtle and poisonous imaginations. There was a time when the 
 matronly gravity and the maidenly dignity of English women 
 would have resented such a comedy as an insult. We hope, if 
 the like shall come hereafter, some public censure will be 
 branded on it. 
 
 MR. GLADSTONE'S LAST TRIBUTE. 
 
 The following letter, containing Mr. Gladstone's own and last 
 
 review of his relations with Cardinal Manning, may be fitly 
 
 inserted here. 
 
 Villa Magali, St. Raphael, 
 January 25th, 1892. 
 Dear Mr. . 
 
 It was indeed very kind of you to write, and to give 
 me such interesting particulars of the deceased Cardinal. The 
 public grief about the Duke of Clarence involved considera- 
 tions of great width, and seemed to absorb most other matters ; 
 but the concurrent death asserted itself, and showed that 
 a deep and extended impression had been made on the 
 general mind — more deep and extended than in the case of 
 Cardinal Newman ; and this caused me some surprise. My 
 own relations with Cardinal Manning were very peculiar. First 
 there was a mere acquaintance of two undergraduates at Oxford, 
 which lay wholly on the surface. Then, after an interval, a very 
 close and intimate friendship of somewhere about fifteen years, 
 founded entirely on interests of religion and the Church. Then 
 came his change, which was simultaneous with that of my second 
 and even perhaps yet closer friend, Hope-Scott. Altogether it 
 was the severest blow that ever befell me. In a late letter the 
 Cardinal termed it a quarrel ; but in my reply I told him it 
 was not a quarrel, but a death ; and that was the truth. Since 
 then there have been vicissitudes. But I am quite certain that 
 to the last his personal feeling never changed ; and I believe also 
 that he kept a promise made in 185 1, to remember me before 
 
The Bishop of Newport s Eulogy. 
 
 God at the most solemn moments : a promise which I greatly 
 valued. The whole subject is to me at once of extreme interest 
 and of considerable restraint. This I can only illustrate by 
 saying that I was in close relations with Dr. Dollinger (begun in 
 1845); and between these two there was a sharp antagonism. 
 There is an admirable record of his active friendship with me 
 before 185 1 in the series of his own very valuable letters, which he 
 recovered from me at the time; I knew I was parting with a trea- 
 sure. On Wednesday evening the 13th I received, with surprise as 
 well as pain, at Nimes, a telegram from Sir A. Clark which 
 intimated the crisis and suggested that I should send a message. 
 I did this the same evening, but addressed it to Sir A. Clark ; as 
 I did not know whether the suggestion was his own, and felt a 
 scruple about a spontaneous invasion of the death chamber 
 when it may be said the soul is alone with God. I imagine his 
 life to have been as much lifted above the flesh, and as warm 
 with devotion, as many that are justly famous : his reluctance to 
 die may be explained by an intense anxiety to complete unful- 
 filled service. Repeating my thanks, 
 
 I remain, very faithfully yours, 
 
 W. E. Gladstone. 
 
 THE BISHOP OF NEWPORT'S EULOGY. 
 
 "And he spoke to the man that was clotlied with linen and said : 
 ' Go in betzveen the zvheels that are under the cherubim, and fill thy 
 hands ivith the coals of fire that are betzveen the cherubim, and pour 
 them out upon the city' " — EzECHIEL x. 2. 
 
 The Bishop of Newport, taking the above text, said : 
 
 An era has closed in the history of Catholicism in Eng- 
 land, and a new one has opened. Death is known to be 
 inexorable. The laws of nature, which are the will of God, are 
 fixed and certain, and the end of a human life is as inevitable in 
 its arrival as the beginning of that life is an unchangeable fact. 
 Yet when life has gone on from year to year, when the years 
 have brought no feebleness to the intelligence, no slackness to 
 the will, no lessening of the heart's warmth, hardly a dimness to 
 the eyes, only by slow degrees an observable feebleness to the sense 
 or movement — when such a life is ended, the end is a shock, 
 and there is a feeling as if a great ship, freighted with human 
 
 * Preached at the London Oratory on the occasion of the funeral of the 
 Cardinal Archbishop, January 21st, 1892. 
 
The Bishop of Newport's Etilogy, 
 
 lives, had struck on a rock in mid-ocean. In Westminster, an 
 old man, suddenly, yet not out of Nature's course ! At Sandring- 
 ham, a young man, suddenly too, but at an age when death 
 brings not only grief, but consternation, to those who love 
 the dead ! This nation and Empire are mourning at this 
 moment the disappearance of one on whom its hopes have been 
 set. This cruel winter has killed a blossom of its ancient tree, 
 for whom loving hearts were auguring the genial showers of 
 many a spring, the sun of many a ripening summer. It is only 
 those who believe in what is unseen and what is to come who 
 can explain why a father and mother have thus been visited, why 
 a tender heart has been wrung, why a widowed Sovereign has 
 once more been crushed beneath the wreck which death has 
 shaken down upon her head. It is only those who believe in 
 God who can explain how it is that man is so helpless before 
 Nature's blind onset ; only those who trust in eternity, who do 
 not despair to see goodness arrested in its tender promise, to see 
 the faculties which nature had given droop and wither like the 
 hand of a dead infant, so lovely in its hope, so pitiful in its cold 
 stillness. The Prince who has been taken from his heart-stricken 
 family, from the wider circle of those who knew and loved him, 
 from the far spread community of a hundred races and tongues 
 which, amid all their differences, looked to him as the heir to the 
 throne which makes them one — has not lived his short life in 
 vain if he has stirred so vast and diverse a brotherhood of peoples 
 with one of those rare and precious emotions which do more than 
 books and philosophy to join men together in love for one 
 another. Providence has given the world a glimpse of him — a 
 brief glimpse — and nothing more. What he might have been we 
 know not. It did not seem presumptuous to see in the future — 
 when some half-a-century had gone by — a gentle, wise, and genial 
 king, honoured by confederated nations, trusted by every class 
 who do the Empire's work, loved by men of every race and 
 colour round the world's circumference. It might have been. In 
 the person of the dead Prince it will never be. " The Lord gave, 
 and the Lord hath taken away." Yet, in that He did give, and that 
 in the taking away He has shown His unspeakable loving kind- 
 ness — blessed be the name of the Lord ! So much could not but 
 be said at a moment when the land is mourning. We turn now 
 to our own loss, and to the sorrow which, a few brief minutes 
 before death visited the Royal House of Britain, fell upon the 
 Catholic Church of England, and the Church throughout the world. 
 After eighty- three years of life, after some forty as a priest of the 
 
THE OBSEQUIES : 
 A PENCIL SKETCH AT THE ORATORY, JANUARY 2isr, 1892. 
 
 [By P. Ponsonby Staples.) 
 
The Bishop of Newport's Eulogy. 
 
 Church of Christ, after six-and-twenty as Bishop of this diocese, 
 Metropolitan of the Province of England, and one of the fore- 
 most workers in the greatest capital of the world, there is now 
 to be committed to the earth all that is left to the earth of the 
 Most Reverend and Most Eminent Henry Edward Manning, 
 Cardinal Priest of the Holy Roman Church, Archbishop of 
 Westminster. When we look back, standing by the side of his 
 newly-made grave, to such a career as his, it is difficult to know 
 which feeling is the stronger — whether that of regret that such 
 a head and such a heart are lost to us, or consolation to think 
 of the grand and precious work done in his life, which will now 
 be for all time our inheritance. It seems, on the one hand, as 
 if he might have still gone on. Not three weeks before his 
 death he was writing strongly, lucidly, and warmly, on that 
 difficult problem, how the Catholic body in its poverty can do 
 justice to its devoted and hard-worked teachers. But one week 
 before the end came he was dictating from his bed arrange- 
 ments for a meeting of the Bishops on this very subject. 
 During these last months — months of rain, of storm, and of 
 darkness— as he sat at his post in the midst of the roar and 
 gloom of this London where his lot was cast, his mind 
 followed with unfailing observation the chronicle of humanity 
 day by day ; his door was open to visitors and questioners 
 of every colour and feature, and his word came from him as full 
 of light and distinction almost as in his best days. Such a man 
 can ill be spared. The work is dropped, the pen lies useless, 
 the threads are tangled ; the words of counsel will never be 
 completed ; the luminous ideas, slowly forming in the at- 
 mosphere of thought and prayer, will now remain without 
 form. Who shall take up his work ? Who shall fill his place ? 
 Who shall lift the lance that is fallen, or wear the armour that 
 he has borne so bravely and so long ? When the two prophets of 
 old stood on the river's bank, the younger one — he that was to be 
 left — asked for the " double spirit " of his master. When the 
 fiery chariot parted them, he cried out, " My father, my father; 
 the chariot of Israel and the driver thereof!" — and as he rent 
 his own garments the mantle of Elias fell at his feet. To mourn 
 a master and a leader lost is to prove that we know the worth of 
 those things for which he fought ; and the cry which goes up 
 from those who still have to live on and still have to strive is 
 the pledge that they will honour his memory with the best 
 tribute that is possible — the intelligent resolution to carry on 
 the work that will always be linked with his name. There 
 
The Bishop of Newport 's Eulogy. 
 
 are men who are bidden to fill their hands with the fire 
 which is under the wheels of angelic chariots, and to 
 scatter that fire upon the earth. These men are prophets 
 and apostles, inspired singers, forerunners of Divine visitation. 
 It is not exaggeration, but simple truth, to say that a great 
 priest, with a great office and a great mission, may be, and 
 is, called to gather and to spread heavenly fire. The call need 
 not be limited to great priests, or even to priests at all. Yet, 
 if there is such a thing as the Apostolic succession, the giving 
 of the Holy Ghost, and the mission of teaching men by Christ 
 the Son of God, then have Bishops such a charge as was given 
 in the vision of Ezechiel to him that was clothed in the linen 
 garment. But if pastors, and other men as well, are called, each 
 in his own way, to search for God's fire, and to be the means of 
 kindling it upon the earth, yet not all have the same power to 
 find it, nor have all the same gift to utter it to men. The 
 Divine Spirit, which is continually moving, illuminating, and 
 directing the race of men, has His own ways, His own instru- 
 ments, His own seasons. What He imparts to the earth is 
 fitly called "fire"; for as fire, so does God's word set aflame the 
 intelligence and the will of man ; so does it spread from mind 
 to mind, from heart to heart ; so does it from time to time, in 
 vast conflagration, sweep over countries and nations and con- 
 sume all that cannot stand its searching trial. Sometimes it is 
 a revelation to a people, sometimes the inspired word of a 
 prophet ; sometimes it comes in the wind and shock of Pente- 
 cost ; sometimes in the speech of a Stephen before the Council; 
 sometimes, again, in the preaching of an Apostolic band. These 
 are occasions which are out of Nature's course — when the veil of 
 God's Holy of Holies seems rent in twain, and the Heavenly 
 Father, Who so loves the world, sends forth heavenly fire by the 
 very Seraphim of His presence. But the world is never without 
 men who, without being called into the darkness of Sinai, may 
 with truth be said to be touched by the fire from the altar of 
 Heaven. Such men are moved to see the truth and to give them- 
 selves to the expression of it. They are gifted with the power 
 of utterance — a marvellous power, in some respects little short of 
 creation itself — which, out of vague and formless matter, out of 
 the mere hints and flashes of the stream of things as it flows, first 
 forms a living idea, and then gives it an embodiment in language 
 which stamps it upon the intelligence of a generation. It is 
 unnecessary to narrate at length the history and career of the 
 Prince of the Church whose earthly record has now closed for 
 
The Bishop of Newport "s Eulogy. 
 
 ever. That he was at the age of forty-three a convert from 
 Anglicanism all men know. That he was already a distinguished 
 Churchman of the Anglican Establishment, connected by intel- 
 lectual ties and bonds of friendship with many of the leaders of 
 the Tractarian Movement, is equally well known. So long as he 
 believed the Church of England to be a part of the Church of 
 Christ, he loved it and honoured it with a filial reverence, and 
 laboured to serve it with fidelity and with conspicuous ability. 
 He was happy during those years. " I loved," he says, " the 
 parish church of my childhood, and the college chapel of my 
 youth, and the little church under a green hillside where the 
 morning and evening prayers.and the music of the English Bible, 
 for seventeen years became a part of my soul. Nothing is more 
 beautiful in the natural order ; and if there were no eternal 
 world, I could have made it my home." And the love of those 
 personal friends, so dear to him then, still remained with him 
 in after years, "sweet beyond all words" that he could find to 
 express it. When the sentence of the Crown in the Gorham Case 
 made it clear that in law two absolutely contradictory views on 
 the vital point of the efficacy of Baptism were equally tenable 
 in the Church of England, thirteen members of that Church met 
 together and drew up certain resolutions, which were published 
 in the press. Cardinal Manning spoke, in after times, of the 
 long and earnest discussions which were held in preparing these 
 resolutions, and especially of the " last night, or rather early 
 morning, when at length they were finally agreed to, and the 
 moment to sign them was come." One of those present said to 
 the others — we may easily guess which of them, it was — " If, 
 then, the Church of England shall not clear herself of the 
 Gorham Judgment, we are all, I suppose, prepared to leave her." 
 One spoke in reply — for himself and apparently for some others. 
 Come what might, he said, he had no intention to leave the 
 Church of England. But with Manning it was different. With- 
 out passion, without precipitation, in full consciousness of what 
 was due to the sacredness of truth, to public confidence and 
 private friendship, to the truths and duties of past life, he and 
 five others of that conference, feeling that the Anglican Church 
 had confessed she had no power to teach, submitted to the only 
 Church who made any claim to such power. " From that hour," 
 he says, " what was before a conclusion of the intellect became a 
 consciousness of the soul ; and an intuition of truth, based upon 
 a Divine certainty, so filled my whole heart and mind, that not 
 only no shadow even of a momentary doubt has ever passed 
 
The Bishop of Newport's Eulogy. 
 
 over my conscience or my reason ; but a sense of wonder has 
 arisen, how we could so long have failed to perceive a truth 
 which is now self-evident. All I can say is, ' One thing I know, 
 that whereas I was blind, now I see.' " Thus Henry Edward 
 Manning received the Faith ; that is, he entered into the 
 possession of what he afterwards called, in many a strong and 
 cogent discourse throughout the length and breadth of this 
 country, " the full light of the Day of Pentecost." I need not 
 recall to those who have heard even one of the innumerable 
 sermons which he delivered in London and elsewhere, how 
 constantly he came back to this. To him there was no more 
 precious gift than the gift of Faith. All his teaching was 
 grounded upon Divine faith. He was never weary of saying 
 that England and Wales had not rejected Faith, but had rather, 
 in the persons of their dumb millions, been robbed of it. His 
 one appeal was to implore them to take it again. " This 
 is what England needs," he used to say ; " not wealth, not 
 intellect, not power (though all be good because gifts 
 of God), but the supernatural grace of Faith." What he 
 prayed for, for his countrymen, he cherised and prized for 
 himself. To put faith, religious belief, in front of one's intellectual 
 array, cannot be done without some humiliation of the spirit, 
 some repression of natural prompting, some risk of the contempt 
 of the world. But he knew what was good for himself and 
 for humanity. For men may try to teach the world ; but 
 unless their teaching is firmly fixed in God's own word, 
 interpreted by Christ's Church, the teaching of such men 
 will be either discordant from God's Word, and therefore mis- 
 chievous, or at least inadequate, partial, exaggerated, and 
 incomplete. Among those outside the Catholic Church, in this 
 country during the past half-century, who lifted up their voice 
 in the pulpit, on the platform, and in the Press, and tried to 
 teach the nation, or the world, some have been very great 
 men. Their words have had the power and effect of fire. But 
 the very thunder of their true witnessing has too often made 
 rents and fissures in the temple of truth. This is the Catholic 
 view. We do not expect the world to accept it. But it was 
 Cardinal Manning's. His mind after his conversion was anchored 
 in the harbour. The glory and the danger of adventurous voy- 
 ages over the seas of theory and fancy unrestrained were not for 
 him. The dangers were real, the glory only imaginary. But he 
 never rested in his efforts to scatter the fire of God. Religion 
 and the spiritual welfare of his flock came first in his heart and in 
 
The Bishop of Newport's Eulogy. 
 
 his work. But except politics, which he left alone, is there any 
 province of human interest in which he has not done what is good 
 and lasting ? On Education, on the great Labour Question, on 
 the treatment of the Poor, in the promotion of Temperance, he 
 has spoken and written with unceasing devotedness. Ever)- one 
 of these subjects is full of danger in the hands of a man who is not 
 in the possession of the light of Divine faith. It is our consolation, 
 and, I may add, our glory, as children of the Catholic Church, to 
 possess, in the writings of the great Prelate now gone before us, 
 a body of most valuable truth ; valuable, because whilst all that 
 he has written is distinguished by his lucidity of thought and the 
 classical penetration of his style, every word is carefully adjusted 
 to God's revelation as interpreted by the Church, and every page 
 bears the impress of a mind which is conscious of Christian and 
 pastoral responsibility. Such words must live ; such teachings 
 must spread like the fire of the cherubim. There will be many 
 who will make this very fidelity to supernatural life a reproach; 
 many who will see in it only a proof that he was narrow, retro- 
 grade, and inadequate. With such this is not the place nor the 
 moment to contend. It is sufficient, on this occasion, to say that 
 Henry Edward Manning rested his work on the rock of his faith. 
 " Truth comes from Him Who knows what is in man, from Him 
 Who bears in His hand the key of the human intelligence and 
 the human heart. The truth of God . . . alone is the true 
 Key. . . . We see every day that those who try their 
 mutilated religions upon the human intellect and the human 
 heart break the wards and hamper the lock. There is but one key, 
 and that is the key of David. . . . We must choose between 
 two things ; we must either believe the Catholic faith, or find 
 a rational and intellectual solution of the unity of truth, and of its 
 adaptation to human nature, and of the existence of the Christian 
 world." I have dwelt upon his religious Faith, because the 
 Cardinal's greatest glory is to have arrested the world's atten- 
 tion by his power of utterance, and at the same time to have 
 ceaselessly reiterated in its hearing the profession of his creed 
 and the psalm of his worship. Many men, and many orders 
 of men, mourn him on this day ; and with every one the earnest 
 conviction of his unfailing Catholicism is a powerful element in 
 the kindly thoughts which crowd about his memory. With 
 some — with those of his own Church — it is the subject of 
 praise to God, the motive of regret for his loss, of prayers for 
 his soul. With others — with the many non-Catholics who knew 
 him, who followed his course, who admired his speech and his 
 
The Bishop of Newport's Eulogy. 
 
 writing — it must be in a certain degree a mystery ; perhaps an 
 annoyance, or a pain. So it must remain. Nothing can alter 
 it now — except that those who think of his Catholicism as a 
 diminution of his fame should, by the grace of God, come to 
 see it in another light. If he prayed and worked for that con- 
 summation when he was amongst us, what will he do in that 
 other world, where he is nearer to the throne of Jesus, and 
 more acceptable to Him Who wills to dispense His mercy at the 
 prayer of His holy servants? It is touching to imagine it. 
 " People have come to me with their doubts and anxieties," he 
 has said. Ah ! how many ? How many men and women, with 
 no faith, or with the vagueness of half-faith, with perplexities 
 of their own, or the weight of others' burdens, with questions 
 on religion, on education, on the rights and duties of working men 
 — seeking for light in the diverse concerns of humanity, from 
 war and peace to the very dwellings and the food of the poor — 
 how many have stood at that door in Westminster, climbed those 
 stone steps, and sat down close to that attenuated form and those 
 kindly eyes, to be helped by his lucid words and cheered by his 
 interest and attention ? For a quarter of a century of weeks and 
 days how unfailingly has he been there to bid them welcome, in 
 those rooms which needed nothing to make them genial and in- 
 viting except his own presence. No one who ever spoke to him 
 can doubt how, like St. Paul, "he loved everyone in the bowels 
 of Jesus Christ." And even when no visitor was there — during 
 the long hours of his solitude, in the intervals of his prayer, his 
 breviary, and his writing — he turned with wistfulness to the 
 busy life going on round about his watch-tower, longing to help, 
 to lift up, and to save. " With all our faults as a race," he has 
 said, " I recognise in my countrymen noble Christian virtues, 
 exalted characters, beautiful examples of domestic life, and of 
 every personal excellence which can be found where the fulness 
 of grace and truth is not, and much, too, which puts to shame 
 those who are where the fulness of grace and truth abounds." 
 And again: "The Empire of Britain cannot be neutral upon 
 this earth. Its mass is too great to incline this way or that 
 without inclining the world as it sways. For good or evil 
 it must leave its stamp upon the future. Under its shadow 
 must spring up surpassing forms either of life or death. As 
 the Greek and the Latin of old, so the Saxon blood and 
 speech are now spread throughout the earth ; a prelude, now 
 as then, of some profound design of God. . . . The earth 
 is girdled with our race, bearing forth with them the institutions, 
 
The Bishop of Newport 's Eulogy. 
 
 traditions, custom, the nerve, the intelligence, the endurance, the 
 will of England. . . . Not without purposes in Heaven is 
 all this accomplishing. . . . Let us fear nothing but mis- 
 trust. We need but Faith, and Faith, too, is a gift of God." Of 
 the bright future foreshadowed, or prayed for, in these words, 
 he saw but little come to pass. Yet not on that account are 
 those words empty. What he himself did for souls and for their 
 needs will never be known till the Judgment Day. There are 
 hundreds, I will be bold to say, listening now to these words, 
 who could speak on this matter far more eloquently than the 
 most eloquent preacher, because they could relate what he did 
 for themselves. And if so many of his friends are still far from 
 his own cherished Faith, what his life failed to accomplish may 
 be accomplished by his death. If the men and women, with 
 genuine hearts, if sometimes with strange and unconventional 
 theories, who came to see him — if they still, perhaps, fail to 
 sympathise with his religion, yet there is that Divine Spirit 
 in Whom he so thoroughly believed ; that Spirit Who 
 worketh also outside that Church in which He specially 
 dwells ; and the words of the departed may still be 
 fruitful, the seed may still spring up, the bread cast upon 
 the waters may in time be found again. But it is naturally 
 among the brethren of his own household that there is in this 
 hour the deepest mourning for his loss, the truest thanksgiving 
 for his achievements, and the keenest hope from the harvest of 
 his sacrifice and his devotion. And here we venture to think 
 of one who, in his old age and his solitary eminence, can ill 
 afford to lose a friend. Our Holy Father the Pope loved him 
 and leaned upon him. I have heard him speak with his own 
 lips of the wise advice and useful information he received from 
 the Cardinal Archbishop. The Holy See never had a more 
 staunch or more persistent defender. We cannot forget how he 
 wrote upon the " Prerogative of Peter." To him, who fled into 
 the arms of the Catholic Church for safety and security of faith, 
 the Vicar of Christ's Infallibility when addressing the Universal 
 Church on faith or morals was the logical outcome of the 
 Redeemer's promise that against her the gates of hell should 
 never prevail. He read this everywhere in the never-failing 
 Catholic tradition ; and as he read it, he laid it before the world 
 in language that was worthy of Tertullian or Cyprian. It has 
 been suggested, even in this hour of his departure, by those who 
 had felt the keenness of his blade, that he exalted the Sovereign 
 Pontiff for the sake of Pontifical honours and rewards. We 
 
Th9 Bishop of Newport's Eulogy. 
 
 need not repudiate this unworthy sneer ; but one spark of 
 imagination would have enabled an honest writer to place 
 himself within the heart of the illustrious pastor and to see that 
 such a state of feelings was, to him, impossible. I will not 
 pause to say how he is mourned by the Bishops of this province, 
 over whom he has presided during so many years. But I cannot 
 forget, and no Bishop that ever knew him will ever forget, that 
 admirable power of rapid thought, perfect form, and lucid 
 utterance, which made every occasion on which he presided at 
 their deliberations one of the rarest intellectual pleasures. But I 
 have a right to turn to the clergy of this diocese. They knew 
 him. It was they whom he loved. They will tell you three 
 things. First, that there is no body of clergy in Europe who 
 have received more earnest, more impressive, and more touching 
 words of instruction than they have been privileged to receive 
 for six-and-twenty years. Next, that no one of them ever went 
 to him without finding in him a father and a friend. And, 
 thirdly, that his personal help, his visits, his marvellous sermons, 
 were regular, unceasing, and kept up to the very last. Well 
 might he say that the dearest wish of his heart was the formation 
 of good and devoted priests. Remember him, O Lord, for 
 this thing ! As he prayed and worked to give a worthy and 
 zealous clergy to his flock, so he was himself the chief and 
 most zealous Pastor of all. His name is associated with 
 every pastoral movement, but with none more than the edu- 
 cation of the children of the poor. If ever the fire of Heaven 
 was required upon this earth, it is in the Education 
 battle which is raging now in this country and the world over. 
 It was in the very first years of his episcopacy that Cardinal 
 Manning wrote these words : " A Christian child has a right to 
 a Christian education — a Catholic child has a right to a Catholic 
 education." They are the words on which he fought for a quarter 
 of a century. The battle of the children in the unions came 
 first. As far back as 1866 he wrote indignantly on the injustice 
 of forcing Catholic children, whose only crime was poverty, to 
 attend non-Catholic worship and learn non-Catholic catechisms. 
 " We must move every one," he said, " from our gracious Queen 
 — who is the true example of a mother to her children and her 
 subjects — to the least who can contribute a name to a petition." 
 Move he did, and with effect. Partly by means of a change in 
 the law, and partly through his fellow-countrymen's sense of 
 what is right and just, I believe there is not one metropolitan 
 union which now does not send its Catholic children to Catholic 
 
The Bishop of Newport's Eulogy. 
 
 institutions. Then came the great and wide question of National 
 Education. To preserve the religion of his own flock he en- 
 couraged pastors, built and supported schools, fostered training 
 colleges, and was the warmest friend of teachers. But the world 
 knows that he did more than this. He spoke to the English 
 people. " Is the Christianity of England worth preserving?" 
 This was the question on which he wrote article after 
 article, on which he gave lecture after lecture throughout 
 the country. After the long and patient labours of the 
 Royal Commission, in which he took his full share — with 
 the fullest information, urged by the feeling left upon his 
 mind by inter-communication with the foremost men of the 
 country, he rose to the height of that great occasion, and 
 he formulated his view, that what the country requires is 
 not opposition of conflicting interests, but union of resources — 
 that the School Boards of the country must not be the School 
 Boards that we know too well, but that these must be absorbed 
 and transformed into a grand and general system which shall 
 encourage every Christian teacher's efforts, and neither rob men 
 with a conscience nor deprive any parent of the freedom which 
 is his right. His noble words will not be forgotten. They, too, 
 will live. The struggle is not yet over. Perhaps the hottest and 
 the deadliest hour of the battle is not far off. When it comes he 
 will not be far from us. His powerful words will not lose their 
 power because the voice which uttered them is silent. For we 
 contend, as the Hebrew people under Judas Machabeus, for 
 " our most venerable and holy laws "; and it will not be a vain 
 imagination to see, as was given to the army of Judas 
 to see, even in our midst, one who may fitly be called 
 " the lover of his brethren — he that prayeth much for the 
 people and the holy city "; to feel his presence and to hear him 
 say : " Take this holy sword, a gift from God, wherewith thou 
 shalt overthrow the adversaries of my people " (Machabees 
 xv. 14). My people ! That word reminds us that his people 
 were not solely those who venerated him as their spiritual 
 pastor. It was not in virtue of any peculiar mental charac- 
 teristic that his heart responded to the people's sufferings 
 or the people's aspirations, throughout as wide an area as 
 can be traversed by modern methods of communication. 
 All Christian pastors are the servants of the poor and the 
 labouring man. Above all this is the tradition of great Bishops. 
 No theories of democracy or social rights enter into the motives 
 which force the conscience of a Bishop to labour for those whose 
 
The Bishop of Newport's Eulogy. 
 
 condition most resembles that of Christ. But Cardinal Manning 
 had two advantages, which few have in the same degree. He 
 knew the people ; and he could speak, both to them and others, 
 in words that none could help attending to. He was infinitely 
 patient in listening and finding out ; and he was magnificently 
 convincing in speech when the moment for speech came. Many 
 have seen him with the people; I do not mean in his own house, 
 or in the pulpit of his own church, or formally welcomed by 
 the thousands of his children who loved him ; but in some room 
 where chance had brought him — in a shed, perhaps, or a ware- 
 house, or a bare schoolroom, far from the quarters of the rich, 
 on a winter's night, discussing, by the fog-dimmed light, with 
 men who stood and sat around him anyhow — men straight from 
 the street, the workshop, or the river-side, their faces too often 
 whitened with want and sometimes dangerous with passion — 
 discussing, attending, questioning, suggesting, and then finally, 
 with the dignity of his years and his priesthood, holding the 
 assembly silent by the light of his idea and the tones of that 
 earnest voice. The men who labour are not always reasonable ; 
 neither are those who employ labour. But Cardinal Manning 
 thought that those who labour have less chance of making them- 
 selves heard than those who are better off; and, therefore, like 
 Pope Leo XIII., he spoke for them. The well-known Encyclical 
 "On the Condition of Labour" owes something, beyond all doubt, 
 to the counsels of Cardinal Manning. And there is one sentence in 
 that Letter which, if it was not his in form, most certainly expresses 
 his conviction. " There is a dictate of nature more imperious 
 and more ancient than any bargain between man and man, that 
 the remuneration of the wage-earner must be enough to support 
 him in reasonable and frugal comfort." These words might be 
 inscribed upon the dead Cardinal's grave. We have recalled him, 
 my brethren, in love and mournfulness to our memories in 
 the last hour when we have his remains amongst us. There 
 are some of you who will remind me that I have omitted one 
 picture from this retrospect. It is the picture of one who 
 speaks from a platform — often with humorous words, but always 
 in the deepest earnest — to an audience composed in great part 
 of those children of his, mostly of the race of St. Patrick, 
 whom he loved so deeply. When he thought and spoke of 
 Catholic Ireland — of its fondly treasured Faith, of its piety, 
 which is perennially fed from the fountains of the Sacra- 
 ment of the Altar and of devotion to the Immaculate Mother 
 — he almost wept. " A narrow channel of sea divides us 
 
The Bishop of Newport's Eulogy. 
 
 from a people who speak the same tongue, who are of the 
 same family with us, who are our fellow-countrymen, 
 who are our brothers." It was for them that he instituted 
 the League of the Cross. It was for them that he made some 
 of the very best addresses — so strong, so full of individual 
 character and personal feeling, and withal so affectionate and so 
 fatherly — that he has ever been known to make. He knew well 
 that though drunkenness is a curse, yet there are worse and 
 darker sins. But he also knew that if he could rescue his flock 
 from the sin of excessive drink, situated as they were, he could 
 do nothing better for them. And thousands have blessed his 
 words, his efforts, and that personal asceticism which spread the 
 sacred fire of Temperance throughout this country. Shall the 
 fire die out? Shall the crusade melt away? No; but other 
 hands will take it up, and other voices — not his, yet earnest, too, 
 and persuasive — will bring his words back as the years go on ; 
 and, like the bones of the twelve Prophets, his honoured remains 
 will " spring up out of their place " to strengthen pastors and 
 people in the noble cause which he has made his own more than 
 any man, perhaps, of this generation. It is time, now, to let the 
 solemn chant recommence, and to allow the ancient prayers with 
 which the Catholic Church implores rest and refreshment for the 
 souls of its departed children to resume their course. A few 
 more invocations of mercy and the body of a great man will be 
 carried forth, to be laid reverently in the consecrated earth. 
 Not long ago he wrote these words : " Sooner or later — soon at 
 latest, for the longest life is short and fleet in ending — it will go 
 abroad that we are dying. Our turn will come. . . . Will 
 that day come upon us unawares?" He can answer that question 
 now. But it seems to me that we, too, without presumption, 
 can answer it. Many priests know well that touching page in a 
 little book of his in which he describes the death of a " fervent 
 priest." " He has lived by the side of his Divine Master. . . . 
 He has lived among his people, and their feet have worn 
 the threshold of his door. . . . In that dying room, what 
 peace and calm. . . . He fears death, for the Holy 
 Ghost has taught him to know the sanctity of God. 
 . . . But it is a fear that casts out fear, for it is a pledge 
 that the Holy Ghost is in the centre of his soul. . . . Such 
 a death cannot be unprepared. His whole life is a preparation 
 for death." So believe all who knew Henry Edward Manning. 
 And whilst we pray that he may quickly be released from the 
 expiation of the lesser faults of human nature, we think of him 
 
The Bishop of Newport 's Eulogy. 
 
 as standing, as he will stand, before the Great White Throne* 
 where glows in its centre the fire which the angels minister and 
 which mortal men are privileged to gather and spread. The men 
 and women who have known him in life will disappear one by one. 
 A generation will soon have sprung up who never heard his voice 
 or gazed upon that keen, spiritual, and kindly face. He will be a 
 memory ; but a memory bright and lightsome as was his 
 living word and glance. For it is not the stone with its 
 prayer for remembrance that will keep his name before the 
 Church and before his countrymen ; not any monument or 
 hatchment, painted picture, or marble bust ; but it is the 
 work that he has left ; it is the pages in which he has 
 written of the Sacred Heart and of the Holy Spirit, of the 
 priesthood, of the Faith, of the sacredness of childhood, the 
 dignity of the soul, and the nobility of Labour. The fire he found 
 will be bright as long as these conditions of the world last, and 
 these conflicts wage their course. The fiery star has set ; but 
 the luminous trail of glory which it has scattered in its passage 
 across the sphere will be there for men to gaze upon, and gazing, 
 to thank God for one who has served so loyally our Heavenly 
 Father and loved with such devotedness the creatures whom the 
 Father loves. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Jj^ L AUG 6 '82 
 
 1NTERL1BRARY 
 
 JUtU i 
 
 LOANS 
 
 iB82 
 
 DUE TWft WEEKS ROM 
 
 DATE 
 
 L 
 
 JUL 21 1982 
 
 OF RECEIPT 
 
 Form L9-Series 4939 
 

 158 00766 4336 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LI8RARY FACILI1 
 
 AA 001 260 273 6 
 
m 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 WsMztfM 
 
 ■■''■;:■■'■■:■■ 
 
 i^»^p 
 
 
 DHbwb