problems of science; both felt and followed the attraction of deeper and
more awful interests. Both had the same love of beauty; both suppressed
it. Both had the same want of wide or deep learning; they made skilful
use of what books came to their hand, and used their reading as few
readers are able to use it; but their real instrument of work was their
own quick and strong insight, and power of close and vigorous reasoning.
Both had the greatest contempt for fashionable and hollow "shadows of
religion." Both had the same definite, unflinching judgment. Both used
the same clear and direct language. Both had a certain grim delight in
the irony with which they pursued their opponents. In both it is
probable that their unmeasured and unsparing criticism recoiled on the
cause which they had at heart. But in the case of both of them it was
not the temper of the satirist, it was no mere love of attacking what
was vulnerable, and indulgence in the cruel pleasure of stinging and
putting to shame, which inspired them. Their souls were moved by the
dishonour done to religion, by public evils and public dangers. Both of
them died young, before their work was done. They placed before
themselves the loftiest and most unselfish objects, the restoration of
truth and goodness in the Church, and to that they gave their life and
all that they had. And what they called on others to be they were
themselves. They were alike in the sternness, the reality, the
perseverance, almost unintelligible in its methods to ordinary men, of
their moral and spiritual self-discipline.

SUPPLEMENTARY TO CHAPTER III[26]

Hurrell Froude was, when I, as an undergraduate, first knew him in 1828,
tall and very thin, with something of a stoop, with a large skull and
forehead, but not a large face, delicate features, and penetrating gray
eyes, not exactly piercing, but bright with internal conceptions, and
ready to assume an expression of amusement, careful attention, inquiry,
or stern disgust, but with a basis of softness. His manner was cordial
and familiar, and assured you, as you knew him well, of his affectionate
feeling, which encouraged you to speak your mind (within certain
limits), subject to the consideration that if you said anything absurd
it would not be allowed to fall to the ground. He had more of the
undergraduate in him than any "don" whom I ever knew; absolutely unlike
Newman in being always ready to skate, sail, or ride with his
friends--an