him to recommend some good Eton men for admission at Oriel.  Frederic Rogers, so the story goes, was one of those mentioned; at any rate, he entered at Oriel, and became acquainted with Mr. Newman as a tutor, and the admiration and attachment of the undergraduate ripened into the most unreserved and affectionate friendship of the grown man—­a friendship which has lasted through all storms and difficulties, and through strong differences of opinion, till death only has ended it.  From Mr. Newman his pupil caught that earnest devotion to the cause of the Church which was supreme with him through life.  He entered heartily into Mr. Newman’s purpose to lift the level of the English Church and its clergy.  While Mr. Newman at Oxford was fighting the battle of the English Church, there was no one who was a closer friend than Rogers, no one in whom Mr. Newman had such trust, none whose judgment he so valued, no one in whose companionship he so delighted; and the master’s friendship was returned by the disciple with a noble and tender, and yet manly honesty.  There came, as we know, times which strained even that friendship; when the disciple, just at the moment when the master most needed and longed for sympathy and counsel, had to choose between his duty to his Church and the claims and ties of friendship.  He could not follow in the course which his master and friend had found inevitable; and that deepest and most delightful friendship had to be given up.  But it was given up, not indeed without great suffering on both sides, but without bitterness or unworthy thoughts.  The friend had seen too closely the greatness and purity of his master’s character to fail in tenderness and loyalty, even when he thought his master going most wrong.  He recognised that the error, deplorable as he thought it, was the mistake of a lofty and unselfish soul; and in the height of the popular outcry against him he came forward, with a distant and touching reverence, to take his old friend’s part and rebuke the clamour.  And at length the time came when disagreements were left long behind and each person had finally taken his recognised place; and then the old ties were knit up again.  It could not be the former friendship of every day and of absolute and unreserved confidence.  But it was the old friendship of affection and respect renewed, and pleasure in the interchange of thoughts.  It was a friendship of the antique type, more common, perhaps, even in the last century than with us, but enriched with Christian hopes and Christian convictions.

Lord Blachford, in spite of his brilliant Oxford reputation, and though he was a singularly vigorous writer, with wide interests and very independent thought, has left nothing behind him in the way of literature.  This was partly because he very early became a man of affairs; partly that his health interfered with habits of study.  It used to be told at Oxford that when he was working for his Double First he could scarcely use his eyes, and had to learn much of his