When we add to this Newman's impulsiveness we have a sufficient explanation of the aberrations of his reasoning. He tried to be and thought he was cautious; but he was mistaken. The pause he was accustomed to make before taking decisive action had only the appearance of caution; and the real impulsiveness of his nature is indicated by several things in his own narrative. For example, the phrase of St. Augustine, _Securus judicat orbis terrarum_, rings in his ears and recurs to his mind and produces more effect than volumes of argument. 'By those great words of the ancient Father, interpreting and summing up the long and varied course of ecclesiastical history, the theory of the _Via Media_ was absolutely pulverised.' Was such a result ever before produced by such a cause? or was it that the _Via Media_ was in truth built of loose rubbish over shifting sand? The fact is that Newman's talent for philosophy, though considerable, nay, almost great even in a strict use of the word great, was insufficient to construct a comprehensive system without better guidance than he could find. He was 'Wandering between two worlds, one dead, The other powerless to be born;' and, unable himself to bring about the birth, he turned back upon the dead old world, a conspicuous, though personally blameless and most attractive, specimen of the class of those who sink 'from the van and the freemen' back 'to the rear and the slaves.' Great part of Newman's power and attractiveness depended upon his exquisite literary gifts. His mind grew up at Oxford, and few have shown so much of the _genius loci_. He is academical in the best sense. There is a polished scholarliness in all his work, and very little English prose can be ranked as superior to his. Yet it is perfectly simple. With the true scholar's instinct he strives for lucidity rather than magnificence. His writings frequently breathe passion, but there could be nothing less like what is commonly called 'impassioned prose.' Compare him with De Quincey or with Ruskin. They frequently betray a straining for effect, Newman rarely or never. His passages of eloquence come, like his friends, 'unasked, unhoped,' because the fervour of his own thought, or the pressure of circumstances, like the calumnies that provoked the _Apologia_, wrings them from him. Always clear, faultless in taste, capable of great elevation but never too high for the occasion, Newman's prose is as likely to be permanently satisfying as any of this century. [Sidenote: Edward Bouverie Pusey (1800-1882).]