It was all useless; Cardinal Wiseman began to think of
other things; and the scheme faded imperceptibly into thin air.
Then a new task was suggested to him: "The Rambler", a Catholic
periodical, had fallen on evil days; would Dr Newman come to the
rescue, and accept the editorship? This time he hesitated rather
longer than usual; he had burned his fingers so often-- he must
be
specially careful now. 'I did all I could to ascertain God's
Will,' he said, and he came to the conclusion that it was his
duty
to undertake the work. He did so, and after two numbers had
appeared, Dr. Ullathorne, the Bishop of Birmingham, called upon
him, and gently hinted that he had better leave the paper alone.
Its tone was not liked at Rome; it had contained an article
criticising St. Pius V, and, most serious of all, the orthodoxy
of
one of Newman's own essays had appeared to be doubtful. He
resigned, and in the anguish of his heart, determined never to
write again. One of his friends asked him why he was publishing
nothing. 'Hannibal's elephants,' he replied, 'never could learn
the goose-step.'
Newman was now an old man--he was sixty-three years of age. What
had he to look forward to? A few last years of insignificance and
silence. What had he to look back upon? A long chronicle of
wasted efforts, disappointed hopes, neglected possibilities,
unappreciated powers.
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