It is all over for the present. I have yielded to the pressure of the Court of Chancery, my guardians, and the Oxford people, and given them a promise not to be received until I am of age. I do assure you that the state of hopelessness in which I am is sad to a degree. When I see you next I can tell you, if you like, the details of a very wretched business. I have a favour to ask, which is that you will get for me one of those crosses such as you have hanging on your beads. I hope you will not refuse me this kindness, although I remain external to the Faith. Believe me always, with many thanks for all your kindness, most sincerely yours, BUTE. A letter to the same correspondent, towards the close of the year, mentions the names of some recent or prospective converts to the Roman Church, in whom Bute was naturally interested. Dumfries House, _Christmas Eve_, 1867. I was for two nights at Blenheim at the end of term; they were rather full of Lady Portarlington's[3] {64} conversion, and told me also that the young Norths had been received and their mother was about to be. We heard there also of the reception of Lord Granard and Lord Louth--an unusual event, I imagine, in Ireland. I met at Blenheim an old Admiral, Sir Lucius Curtis[4] (at least eighty), who became a Catholic, he told me, soon after Newman, more than twenty years ago. Two men connected with Aberdeen, George Akers of Oriel[5] and William Humphrey,[6] the Bishop of Brechin's chaplain, are both going over, I hear, almost at once. Akers is, I believe, an able man; but a more distinguished convert is Clarke, fellow of St. John's[7] (and a famous rowing man). George Lane Fox and Hartwell Grissell are both _certain_, I believe. So you see Oxford is moving. [Sidenote: 1868, Fatality at Christ Church] The friendship between Bute and Capel, begun at Danesfield, was strengthened during the summer term of 1868, the latter part of which Mr. Capel spent at Oxford, in residence at the Catholic presbytery. He arrived there a day or two after a sad fatality at Christ Church, the shock of which was deeply felt by all--even the most wild and thoughtless--of the members of the House. A letter from Bute thus describes it: {65} Ch. Ch., _May_ 14, 1868. One of the most frightful accidents I have ever known took place here last night. A man called Marriott, whom I knew well, one of the sporting set (he rode my horse in a steeplechase only last term), fell out of the top windows of Peckwater, and died in about half an hour. You may conceive what a state Ch. Ch. is in.... Mr. Capel is coming next Wednesday, and I am sure his visit will do good. Indeed I think this opportunity an admirable one, when the sight of death has awakened many from the dream of sensuality in which they habitually lie asleep. A letter to the same correspondent next day gives a curious picture of the state of feeling at the House: Ch. Ch., _May_ 15, 1868.