out of sight of the sanctuary. Dr. Casartelli, the Rector, was preaching; the subject seemed remote enough from the Bishop's thoughts-it was the mission of St. Patrick. Suddenly came a sentence which riveted all his attention. The preacher told how St. Patrick was sixty when he first set foot in Ireland. The moment the sermon was over the Bishop left the church, and at once asked what authority there was for the remarkable statement that St. Patrick was sixty when he began the work of converting the people of Ireland. He listened to the reply, and then said eagerly," Then I may take courage about Westminster."

During the few weeks he spent in his old diocese before going to Westminster he spoke twice in public, and on each occasion went out of his way to reproach himself before his people because he had been a Bishop among them so many years before he awakened to the truth that hundreds of Catholic children were being lost to the faith every year for want of a shepherd's care. Speaking at a great meeting of the Rescue Society in the Free Trade Hall, he said that "though their Bishop for fourteen years, he had been ignorant of what was going on around him, and he ought to have known, and he begged his hearers to atone for his neglect by new efforts." It was a note strangely out of harmony with the congratulations which were everywhere greeting him, but it stood for a thought that lived with him. In the same address he made use of a simile he was fond of-it summed up his outlook upon the world: "Their work was like a game of chess. Every one of them was useful to the game-the king, the queen, the knights, the pawns-they were all made of the same stuff and each played his own part for the time, but at the

end of the game all alike were swept off the board by the same hand into the same box." Once using the same figure of speech in conversation, he added with a smile, referring to himself, "and the king is just as wooden as the rest."

The new Archbishop came to town to take up his residence permanently in May. The manner of his entry into London was characteristic. In the morning of the day he was coming I was surprised to get a telegram from him asking me to meet him in the early afternoon at King's Cross. I was on the platform at the time named, and as the train drew up the Archbishop greeted me, and said smilingly, "You are not in a hurry, are you?" and then without waiting for a reply he went on, "They don't expect me at Archbishop's House for some time, so let us have a good talk." Then, giving his luggage in charge of a porter, he led the way to the broad drive in front of the Midland Station Hotel, and there for the best part of two hours we paced up and down. The whole time he talked eagerly and earnestly, pouring out his hopes and plans and fears. They were all based on the assumption that he might live or perhaps another ten years. He felt that was an outside estimate, and that the term of his active life would probably be shorter. But whether it were longer or shorter he meant that it should be filled with service. He was so full of his subject, had all the work he meant to do, and did do, so clearly mapped out, he seemed to take such a pleasure in building up his own projects into words, that I was able for the most part to be a listener. I have often wondered since at the method and perseverance with which the words of that afternoon were redeemed in the years that followed. His scheme for a Central Seminary,

his plans for bringing clergy and laity together, the Catholic Social Union, the Society of the Ladies of Charity, and, above all, Westminster Cathedral, were all put forward as so many things to be accomplished. When he told me he meant to build a great Cathedral I received the news in a silence of dismay. People are always so quick to say “Ut quid perditio haec?" when money is lavished upon bricks and mortar, and I thought the task of collecting the money hopelessly beyond his strength. He admitted the difficulty of doing the thing, but preferred to dwell upon the importance of getting it done. He was sure that the revival of the Catholic Church in England had reached a point in its development when the restoration of the life of the Cathedral was a necessity. And he looked to a Cathedral not only as necessary for the perfection of the liturgy and worship of the Church, but also as the centre of all Catholic life and activity. He had no money for building a Cathedral, but was confident that the Catholics of England would come to his help if only the right appeal were made to their hearts.

Then, talking of work amongst the poor, and the part which women might play in it, he stopped suddenly as though another thought had struck him, and said, "Tell me, have you ever got to like visiting the poor ?" There was the embarrassment of a moment, and I could only point out that his query was an assumption as well as a question. "Yes," he said, with a laugh, " and that is an answer as well as an evasion." Then in graver tones he went on, "Then you are like me; I cannot bring myself to like visiting them in their homes. But I must, it is my

plain duty-the way to their souls is often through their

temporal concerns." He spoke with an earnestness and a depth of feeling which were unusual with him. I felt at the moment that, whether or not Westminster Cathedral were ever begun, no effort would be spared to do something permanent in the way of bringing the rich and the poor of the diocese into closer contact. A few minutes later the Archbishop's luggage was being put on a fourwheeler, and so Herbert Vaughan started for his new home.

The enthronement of the Archbishop-Elect took place on Sunday, May 8th, at the Pro-Cathedral, Kensington. It was a very quiet ceremony, only one other Bishop being present. An address of welcome was read on behalf of both clergy and laity, to which the Archbishop replied. After a high tribute to each of his great predecessors in the See, Wiseman and Manning, he went on to plead, as though in mitigation of his own presence there, that it was unreasonable to suppose there would be no break in a succession of great leaders—it was inevitable that the turn of smaller men should come. "Perhaps it is not to be expected that there should be no break in the line of men of exceptional power and individuality, specially raised up by God to lead His Church in this country through a critical passage of her history. From time to time there will come a season of mediocrity, when the ordinary work of the Church must be carried on by instruments of the common and ordinary kind. Such a period is designed to develop the higher loyalty of men to the Church. For when less can be accomplished by the Captain alone, greater must be the generosity of the subordinates in putting forth all their resources."

But it was not in Herbert Vaughan's nature to be discouraged by a handicap or to be frightened by odds.

If he had some natural misgivings when he compared himself with those who had gone before him, there was another thought which at once restored his confidence and gave him all the strength he needed. How had he become Archbishop? Surely not by his own seeking or doing. All the several steps enjoined by the Church had been taken, and every rule observed, with the result that he had been elected. And that thought cast out fear. He had been chosen by the Holy See, and it was his business now to justify the choice in the eyes of all men. This feeling found expression in these words: "In such matters as the nomination to a share in the Apostolate God makes known His Divine will through the appointed channel of His Church. When the discipline and law of the Church have been faithfully served; when the clergy of the diocese and the Virgins consecrated to God, and the whole Catholic flock have persevered in prayer; and, finally, when the Vicar of Jesus Christ has deliberately made up his mind and declared that the lot has fallen on such an one-we may then believe with confidence that the great Prince of Shepherds has Himself made known His choice and His Will. The feeble human instrument thus elected becomes at once clothed with an official character, and his personality becomes merged and lost in his representative position. He becomes strong because his feet are planted upon a divine foundation, because his back is placed against the impregnable Rock. His course is made clear to him because he is under the patronage of Peter, the Fisherman of the world. As to what seas he shall traverse, and with what winds and weather, that is the affair of God. God will use him as an instrument according to His Will, if only he be not unfaithful."