Je trouve un singulier plaisir à déterrer no beau vers dans un poète méconnu; il me semble que sa pauvre ombre doit être consolée, et se réjouir de voir sa pensée en fin comprise; c'est une réhabilitation que je fais, c'est une justice que je rends.
In the Jesuit church of St. Aloysius, Oxford, is a holy-water font of vari-coloured marble bearing this simple inscription:
In memory of
FATHER GERARD HOPKINS, S.J.,
who died June 8th, 1889, R. I. P.
Sometime Priest on this Mission.
Formerly of Balliol College.
It was erected by two devoted friends (the Baron and Baroness de Paravicini) and stands to-day as one of the very few objective memorials of a fine and glowing spirit—a poet who, when he shall come into his just inheritance of human praise, may well be known as the Crashaw of the Oxford Movement. Very early the imperious obedience of the religious life took him from a purely literary career; early, too, came the great Silencer.
Gerard Manley Hopkins was born at Stratford, near London, 28 July, 1844. It was a year of significance. The Oxford Tracts had done their work; the face of religion was changed; and art and literature were destined to take on the rainbow colouring. That tremendous re-discovery of the Christian past—that vision which included the mystic communion of all Saints, the Real and sacrificial Presence of the Living God, the brood-
