I love music, but seldom have any time to hear it.  The next three or four years of your life are very precious.  They are like the ploughing-time and the sowing-time in the year.  You are learning to know God, the Holy Trinity, the Incarnation, the presence and voice of the Holy Ghost in the Church of Jesus Christ.  Learn all these things solidly, and you will love the Blessed Sacrament and our Blessed Mother with all your heart.  And now you will pray for me that I may make a good end of a long life, which cannot be far off.  And may God guide you and guard you in innocence and in fidelity through this evil, evil world!  And may His blessing be on your home and all belonging to you!  Believe me always a true friend, Henry Edward, Card.  Abp. of Westminster.”

The Cardinal had, I should say, rather a contempt for women.  He exercised a great influence over them, but I question if he rated their intellectual and moral qualities as highly as he ought, and their “rights” he held in utter detestation.  General society, though in his later days he saw little of it except at the Athenaeum, he thoroughly enjoyed.  Like most old people, he was fond of talking about old days, and as he had known hosts of important and interesting men, had a tenacious memory, and spoke the most finished English, it was a pleasure to listen to his reminiscences.  He wrote as well as he talked.  His pointed and lucid style gave to his printed performances a semblance of cogency which they did not really possess; and his letters—­even his shortest notes—­were as exquisite in wording as in penmanship.  As he grew older, he became increasingly sensible of the charms of “Auld Lang Syne,” and he delighted to renew his acquaintance with the scenes and associations of his youth.

On July 15, 1888, being the first day of the Eton and Harrow Match at Lord’s, a few old Harrovians of different generations met at a Harrow dinner.  The Cardinal, who had just turned eighty, was invited.  He declined to dine, on the ground that he never dined out, but he would on no account forego the opportunity of meeting the members of his old school, and he recalled with pride that he had played for two years in the Harrow Eleven.  He appeared as soon as dinner was over, gallantly faced the cloud of cigar-smoke, was in his very best vein of anecdote and reminiscence, and stayed till the party broke up.

The Cardinal’s friendships were not, I believe, numerous, but his affection for Mr. Gladstone is well known.  It dated from Oxford.  Through Manning and Hope-Scott the influence of the Catholic revival reached the young member for Newark, and they were the godfathers of his eldest son.  After their secession to Rome in 1851 this profound friendship fell into abeyance.  As far as Manning was concerned, it was renewed when, in 1868, Mr. Gladstone took in hand to disestablish the Irish Church.  It was broken again by the controversy about Vaticanism, in 1875, and some fifteen years later was happily revived by the good offices of a common friend.  “Gladstone is a very fine fellow,” said the Cardinal to me in 1890.  “He is not vindictive.  You may fight him as hard as you like, and when the fight is over you will find that it has left no rancour behind it.”