and not a word, not a sign, came from Dr. Cullen. At last, after
dangling for more than two years in the uncertainties and
perplexities of so strange a situation, Newman was summoned to
Dublin. There he found nothing but disorder and discouragement.
The laity took no interest in the scheme; the clergy actively
disliked it; Newman's authority was disregarded. He appealed to
Cardinal Wiseman, and then at last a ray of hope dawned. The
cardinal suggested that a bishopric should be conferred upon him,
to give him a status suitable to his position; Dr. Cullen
acquiesced, and Pius IX was all compliance. 'Manderemo a Newman
la crocetta,' he said to Wiseman, smilingly drawing his hands
down each side of his neck to his breast, 'lo faremo vescovo di
Porfirio, o qualche luogo.' The news spread among Newman's
friends, and congratulations began to come in. But the official
intimation seemed to be unaccountably delayed; no crocetta came
from Rome, and Cardinal Wiseman never again referred to the
matter. Newman was left to gather that the secret representations
of Dr. Cullen had brought about a change of counsel in high
quarters. His pride did not allow him to inquire further; but one
of his lady penitents, Miss Giberne, was less discreet. 'Holy
Father,' she suddenly said to the Pope in an audience one day,
'why don't you make Father Newman a bishop?' Upon which the Holy
Father looked much confused and took a great deal of snuff.

For the next five years Newman, unaided and ignored, struggled
desperately, like a man in a bog, with the overmastering
difficulties of his task. His mind, whose native haunt was among
the far aerial boundaries of fancy and philosophy, was now
clamped down under the fetters of petty detail and fed upon the
mean diet of compromise and routine. He had to force himself to