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sent purpose, it will suffice to give the substance of the discussion. In his letter replying to Mr Kingsley's reference, Dr Newman states that he had gone through the sermon in question with great care; that he could discover nothing therein which, either directly or indirectly, teaches as Mr Kingsley had affirmed; that Mr Kingsley would do well to adopt a similar course; and that he (Dr Newman) is open to correction should the result, after this second investigation, be in any respect different from that at which he had himself arrived. Dr Newman then goes on to explain, that whatever may be the moral obliquity of the teaching in that sermon, if moral obliquity there be, the fault must not be laid to the door of the Romish Church, because the preacher was not a Romanist but an Anglican at the time when the sermon was delivered; and that the sermon itself is therefore a Protestant, not a Romish sermon. Unable to withstand this reasoning, Mr Kingsley accepted as true his correspondent's affirmation. He acknowledged that the sermon was not beside him when he wrote the offensive passage in his essay, and professed his readiness to believe Dr Newman's account of the mode and object of its teaching.
As the offence had been given publicly, Dr Newman considered himself justified in making public
likewise the issues to which it led. He therefore printed and put forth the whole correspondence in the shape of a pamphlet, to which he added, as was not unnatural, a few "reflections" and a title-page. It would have been well had Mr Kingsley submitted quietly to this mortification. He had done a foolish thing, and the punishment, as it could have in no degree injured him in the good opinion of his friends (for it is the offence and not the punishment which brings shame on the culprit), so it might have been borne patiently. But patience is not one of Mr Kingsley's virtues. The
Newmanian lash cut deep; Mr Kingsley smarted under it, and forthwith set himself to pay back with interest the mortification which he had himself endured. 'A Reply to a Pamphlet lately published by Dr Newman,' came out in due time, under the searching title, What, then, does Dr Newman mean?' It is a very remarkable production in its way. The writer, affecting to be bound over by the admission which, he more than insinuates, had been filched out of him, proceeds not only to reiterate but to justify, by reference to the ethical teaching of Roman Catholics in general, all, and more than all, that he had previously asserted:
"My object," he says, alluding to his previous correspondence, "had been throughout to avoid war, because I thought Dr Newman wished for peace. I therefore dropped the question of 'many passages of his writings,' and confined myself to the sermon entitled 'Wisdom and Innocence,' simply to give him an opportunity of settling the dispute on that ground. But whether Dr Newman lost his temper, or whether he thought that he had gained an advantage over me, or whether he wanted a more complete apology than I chose to give,-whatever, I say, may have been his reasons, he suddenly changed his tone of courtesy and dignity for one of which I shall only say, that it shows sadly how the atmosphere of the Romish priesthood has degraded his notions of what is due to himself; and when he published (as I am much obliged to him he appended to it certain reflections, in for doing) the whole correspondence, which he attempted to convict me of not having believed the accusation which I had made.
"There remains for me, then, nothing but to justify my mistake as far as I can.
"I am, of course, precluded from using the sermon entitled 'Wisdom and Innocence' to prove my words. have accepted Dr Newman's denial that it means what I thought it did; and heaven forbid that I should withdraw my word once given, at whatever disadvantage to myself! But more; I am informed by those from whose judgment on such points there is no appeal, that, en hault courage and strict honour, I am also excluded, by the terms of my explanation, from using any other of Dr
Newman's past writings to prove my assertion. I have declared Dr Newman
to have been an honest man up to the 1st of February 1864; it was, as I shall show, only Dr Newman's fault that I ever thought him to be anything else. It depends entirely on Dr New man whether he shall sustain his reputation so recently acquired. If I give him thereby a fresh advantage in this argument, he is most welcome to it. He needs, it seems to me, as many advantages as possible. But I have a right, in self-justification, to put before the public so much of that sermon, and of the rest of Dr Newman's writings, as will show why I formed so harsh an opinion of them and of him, and why I still consider that sermon (whatever may be its meaning) as most dangerous and misleading. And I have a full right to do the same by those many passages of Dr Newman's writings which I left alone at first, simply because I thought that Dr Newman wished for peace."
We beg that our readers will give to this curious passage a second perusal, and observe what it states, what it promises, and what it shows that the writer is prepared to do. First of all, we have the acknowledgment-implied, indeed, rather than expressed—that Mr Kingsley's opinion regarding the untruthfulness of his adversary never, from first to last, underwent the slightest change. He had, indeed, "declared Dr Newman to be an honest man up to the 1st of February 1864;" but between making a statement of this sort, and believing what is stated, there is all the difference in the world. In spite of this declaration, Mr Kingsley feels that his original charge is capable of justification; and being goaded to the attempt by Dr Newman's ungenerous mode of accepting the amende which had been tendered, he resolves to go through with it. But difficulties at once arise. "I am of course precluded from using the sermon entitled 'Wisdom and Innocence' to prove my words;" and, harder case still, "I am informed by those from whose judgment on such points there is no appeal, that, en hault courage and strict honour, I am also
excluded, by the terms of my explanation, from using any other of Dr Newman's past writings to prove my assertion." Ordinary mortals, thus hampered, would have done nothing. They might have fretted a little over the unpleasant nature of the scrape in which they found themselves, but the sermon and the past writings of their tormentor being sealed books to them, they would have bent to the blast, and thereby saved their own credit as men of honour. Not so Mr Kingsley. "I have a right," he before the public so much of that says, "in self-justification, to put sermon, and of the rest of Dr Newman's writings, as will show why I formed so harsh an opinion of them and of him." It is very well to talk of "hault courage" and "strict honour" in the abstract. They would, of course, deter me, if I paid attention to them, from following a certain line, and I assure the public that no man holds them, abstractly speaking, in more profound respect than I; but there is a matter which I hold in more profound respect still, and that is, that I should stand well with the world. Therefore, the exclusion of which I speak, and the fine flourish of chivalrous sentiment which follows, are to be taken for no more than they are worth. Dr Newman's sermon, and, indeed, all his writings, are fair game to me, and as such I mean to hunt them down. Accordingly, the pamphlet is neither more nor less than a series of quotations from Dr Newman's works, interspersed with commentaries from the pen of the pamphleteer-of the pamphleteer who sets out with the uncalledfor and ostentatious announcement that he cannot, except at the cost of self-respect, make any use of them at all!!!
We are afraid that this disposition to play fast and loose with hault courage and "strict honour" is a principle scarcely of yesterday's growth with Mr Kingsley. Not that we charge him, as he charges Dr Newman, with writing and teaching that
"truth, for its own sake, need not, and, on the whole, ought not, to be regarded as a virtue." But truth, like the chameleon, can change its colour, or appear to do so, when a clever man has an object to serve and is bent on serving it. A good many years ago Mr Kingsley published a novel which, with much in it that was noxious, and still more that was absurd, attained, as it deserved to do, a large share of public favour. Alton Locke, the tailor and poet, ran, indeed, such rigs as the tailor or poet in real life never did or could run. But he served well enough the purpose which the author appeared to have in view; he was an appropriate hero in a tale which aimed at the inculcation of Christian communism. It happened that, among other vivid scenes, undergraduate life was described in this novel; and the description gave, as indeed it well might, decided offence to all classes in the University of Cambridge. 'Alton Locke' professed to paint the Cambridge men of 1849. We are not aware that the habits of Cambridge men were very different in 1849 from what they are now; and Mr Kingsley's account of them, if it was a just account then, may probably be taken as a just account still. But, just or unjust, it made the writer extremely unpopular. That was a circumstance of very little moment so long as the writer rested in the obscurity of a country curacy; but from the obscurity of a country curacy, his own merits, and the favour of a Liberal Ministry, gradually withdrew him. Mr Kingsley became rector of Eversley. A canonry was next conferred upon him; by-and-by, the honourable office of Chaplain to the Queen; and, last of all, the Regius Professorship of History in the University of Cambridge. Here, then, was a dilemma out of which it would have been difficult for almost any other Christian communist than Mr Kingsley to find a way. He could not hope to exercise an in
fluence for good over youths whom he had so deeply offended. He could not, assuming that he had told the truth, unsay what had been said. Mr Kingsley, however, is not to be arrested by common obstacles. As he has recently dealt with Dr Newman, so in 1863 he handled both Alton Locke' and the undergraduates of Cambridge. He prepared a new edition of the book, re-wrote the objectionable passages, and brought them out, in their altered form, with a preface explanatory of his reasons for so doing. The reasons are charming. Under the sunshine of a continuous Whig Government, society has everywhere ripened in the interval between 1849 and 1863. The Church, the army, the manufacturing population, undergraduate life in Cambridge itself, all acknowledge this power. There was a
time when society seemed to be composed of elements everywhere discordant-when the rich oppressed the poor, and the poor hated the rich. There were days, not very long ago, when the very sports of young aristocrats insulted and offended plebeians.
"How changed, thank God, is all this now! Before the influence of religion, both Evangelical and Anglican-before the spread of those liberal principles founded on common humanity and justice, the triumph of which we owe to the courage and practical sense of the Whig party-before the example of a Court virtuous, humane, and beneficent, the attitude of the British upper classes has undergone a noble change. There is no aristocracy in the world, and there never has been one, as far as I know, which has so honourably repented and brought forth fruits meet for repentance-which has so cheerfully asked what its duty was, that it might do it. It is not merely enlightened statesmen, philanthropists, devotees, or the working clergy, hard and heart ily as they are working, who have set themselves to do good as a duty specially required of them by creed or laymen, as far as I can see, a humanity by station; in the generality of younger in the highest sense of the term has been awakened, which bids fair, in another generation, to abolish the last remnants
of class prejudices and class grudges. The whole creed of our young gentlemen is becoming more liberal, their demeanour more courteous, their language more temperate. They inquire after the welfare, or at least mingle in the sports, of the working man with a simple cordiality which was unknown thirty years ago. They are prompt, the more earnest of them, to make themselves of use to him, on the ground of a common manhood, if any means of doing good are pointed out to them; and that it is in any wise degrading to associate with low fellows,' is an opinion utterly obsolete, save, perhaps, among a few sons of squireens in remote provinces, or of parvenus who cannot afford to recognise the class from whence they themselves
have risen. In the army, thanks to the purifying effects of the Crimean and Indian wars, the same altered line is patent. Officers feel for and with their men, talk to them, strive to instruct and amuse them, more and more year by year. And as a proof that the reform has not been forced upon the officers by public opinion from without, but is spontaneous and from within, another instance of the altered mind of the aristocracy, the improvement is greatest in those regiments which are officered by men of the best blood; and in care for and sympathy for their men, her Majesty's Foot Guards stand first of all."
If there be not in all this the very essence of what Carlyle calls "flunkeyism," and vulgar flunkeyism too, we really do not know what the expression means. Can Mr Kingsley be ignorant that the Young England party to whom much of this renewed intercourse of class with class may be attributed is not, nor ever was, composed of Whigs? Has he never heard of such men as Benjamin Disraeli, Lord John Manners, and Lord Robert Cecil? And must he be told that it enters, and always did enter, into the spirit of Toryism to acknowledge the influence of that common humanity about which he prattles? Or is it an attempt to ingratiate himself still more with the powers that be?—a palpable exhibition of that kind of gratitude which the great Whig Minister so well understood, and so aptly defined in the days of the first Georges? As to her Majesty's Foot Guards, we are inclined to believe
that they will scarcely thank him for a compliment of which they best understand the value. They know -he evidently does not that of all the officers in the Queen's service, none see so little or know so little as the Guards about their men. This is not their fault, but the fault of a system which, denying to these them off from the opportunity of gentlemen rooms in barracks, cuts cultivating those friendly relations with their men into which, as the rest of the army is well aware, they have, from time out of mind, been ready to enter as often as circumstances threw them together. this is not the only mistake into which Mr Kingsley falls. "If I wish," he says, "for one absolute proof of the changed relation between the upper and the lower classes, I have only to point to the Volunteer movement. In 1803, in the face of the most real and fatal danger, the Addington Ministry was afraid of allowing volunteer regiments, and Lord Eldon, while pressing the necessity, could use as an argument that if the people did not volunteer for the Government they would against it. So broad was even then the gulf between the governed and the governors." The Addington Ministry, afraid of allowing (the formation of) volunteer regiments! A gulf between the governors and the governed in 1803! Why, it was in the early summer of that very year that a movement began, which, before the autumn closed, assembled upwards of 300,000 volunteers under arms. Has Mr Kingsley never looked into the Annual Register, nor read Lockhart's Life of Scott,' or even Lord Stanhope's 'Life of Pitt?' This is really too bad; but it is of a piece with the wisdom which, while it bids the undergraduates beware of a Conservative reaction, and deprecates a crusade against tradesunions, goes out of its way to flatter royalty by proclaiming that the "House of Lords will be conserved, just in proportion as the upper classes shall copy the virtues of
royalty, both of him who is taken from us and of her who is left."
If Mr Kingsley expected to ride away triumphantly upon his pamphlet he grossly deceived himself. Nothing could have occurred more satisfactory to Dr Newman than the appearance of such a publication under such a name What, then, does Dr Newman mean?' It was the question above all questions which he most desired to have put to him; and to have it put under circumstances so propitious gladdened the old man's heart. He felt acutely—he had often, we understand, admitted-that his past career, looked at as a whole, stood in need of explanation. Not that he cared for the eloquence of Exeter Hall, or the weekly abuse of religious newpapers; but he was sensitively alive to what might be thought of him by friends from whom, not without a pang, he had withdrawn himself. No decent opportunity had, however, as yet presented itself of pleading his own cause fully and fairly before the world. Now it came, and it was a satisfaction to him to think that the bitterest of all his revilers had supplied it.
"He," writes Dr Newman in reply to Mr Kingsley's last attack, "had a positive idea to illuminate his whole matter, and to stamp it with a form, and to quicken it with an interpretation. He called me a liar-a simple, a broad, an intelligible, and, to the Eng lish public, a plausible arraignment; but for me to answer in detail charge one, by reason one, and charge two by reason two, and charge three by reason three, and so to proceed through the whole string both of accusations and replies, each of which was to be independent of the rest, this would be certainly labour lost, as regards any effective result. What I needed was a corresponding antagonist writing in my defence, and where was that to be found? . Yes, I said to myself, his very question is about my meaning,- What does Dr Newman mean?' It points in the very same direction into which my musings had turned me already. He asks what I mean. Not about my words, not about my arguments, not about my actions as his ultimate point, but about
that living intelligence by which I write, and argue, and act. He asks about my mind and its beliefs and its sentiments, and he shall be answered. Not for his own sake, but for mine; for the sake of the religion which I profess, and of the priesthood in which I am unworthily included, and of my friends, and of my foes, and of that general public which consists of neither the one nor the other, but of well-wishers, lovers of fair play, quirers, curious lookers-on, and simple sceptical cross-questioners, interested instrangers, unconcerned, yet not careless about the issue.'
Having arrived at this conclusion, Dr Newman is content, in a brief introduction, to extinguish Mr Kingsley as a logician. This done, he addresses himself to his more important task; and how grave and solemn he feels it to be, may be gathered from the tone almost more than from the matter of the
short sentences with which the
"It may easily be conceived how great a trial it is to me to write the following history of myself, but I must
not shrink from the task. The words Secretum meum mihi keep ringing in my ears; but as men draw nearer towards their end they care less about disclosures. Nor is it the least part of my trial to anticipate that my friends written, consider much in it irrelevant may, upon first reading what I have thinking that, viewed as a whole, it to my purpose; yet I cannot help will effect what I wish it to do."
We cannot tell what Dr Newman's anticipations may have been, but we have no hesitation in stating the effect which his remarkable history has produced upon ourselves.
We believe him to be now, and always to have been, a thoroughly honest man. We do not distrust one word of all that he has written about himself. confessions may appear to some childish-to others forced and unnatural; in our eyes they take at once the character of absolute simplicity and candour. He has painted a mind in great distress about great things; bent upon discovering the right way, not for itself only, but for others pausing,