f my volume. It
was ready for the press in July, 1832, though not published till the
end of 1833. I was easily persuaded to join Hurrell Froude and his
Father, who were going to the south of Europe for the health of the
former.

We set out in December, 1832. It was during this expedition that my
Verses which are in the Lyra Apostolica were written;--a few indeed
before it, but not more than one or two of them after it. Exchanging,
as I was, definite tutorial labours, and the literary quiet and
pleasant friendships of the last six years, for foreign countries and
an unknown future, I naturally was led to think that some inward
changes, as well as some larger course of action, was coming upon me.
At Whitchurch, while waiting for the down mail to Falmouth, I wrote
the verses about my Guardian Angel, which begin with these words:
"Are these the tracks of some unearthly Friend?" and go on to speak
of "the vision" which haunted me:--that vision is more or less
brought out in the whole series of these compositions.

I went to various coasts of the Mediterranean, parted with my friends
at Rome; went down for the second time to Sicily, at the end of
April, and got back to England by Palermo in the early part of July.
The strangeness of foreign life threw me back into myself; I found
pleasure in historical sites and beautiful scenes, not in men and
manners. We kept clear of Catholics throughout our tour. I had a
conversation with the Dean of Malta, a most pleasant man, lately
dead; but it was about the Fathers, and the Library of the great
church. I knew the Abbate Santini, at Rome, who did no more than copy
for me the Gregorian tones. Froude and I made two calls upon
Monsignore (now Cardinal) Wiseman at the Collegio Inglese, shortly
before we left Rome. I do not recollect being in a room with any
other ecclesiastics, except a Priest at Castro-Giovanni in Sicily,
who called on me when I was ill, and with whom I wished to hold a
controversy. As to Church Services, we attended the Tenebrae, at the
Sestine, for the sake of the Miserere; and that was all. My general
feeling was, "All, save the spirit of man, is divine." I saw nothing
but what was external; of the hidden life of Catholics I knew
nothing. I was still more driven back into myself, and felt my
isolation. England was in my thoughts solely, and the news from
England came rarely and imperfectly. The Bill for the Suppression of
the Irish Sees was in progress, and filled m