kindness, begin to twinkle merrily when I tell him I want to take his memory back to sixty or seventy years ago—his boyhood days. He is fond of children. He tells me that he has letters from them in the United States, Australia, Canada, and how on every birthday—he was born on July 15, 1808—bunches and bunches of flowers come, the chapel and house are full of flowers. "But, go and see the house. In half an hour we will sit down and talk together."
Entrance hall.
There is the house dining-room, the windows of which look on to the street, interesting from the fact that it contains authentic portraits of the Vicars Apostolic from the time of James I., since the breach with Rome. On a pedestal near the window is a bust of Father Mathew, the great temperance advocate; and on the mantelpiece, on either side of the clock, are two small busts of Pius IX. and the present Pope. The Cardinal takes all his meals alone, and is next-door to a vegetarian. The domestic chapel is in close proximity to the dining-room. Through a little ante-apartment, where the vestments are kept, and past a small confessional exquisitely carved in oak, the door of the chapel is opened, and the rays of light stream through the windows on to a simple altar. Here, in a glass case, is the mitre of white silk, to which the gold trimming still clings, worn by St. Thomas à Becket, whilst in residence at Sens. At another corner is a relic of St. Edmund. There are seats on the green baize benches for a dozen worshippers; the gilt chair once used by the Cardinal is in the centre, with a black knee cushion richly worked with flowers. The relics, one of the most precious collections in the kingdom, are preserved in a case at the far end. They are a sight of rare beauty—wonderfully carved specimens of Gothic work in ivory, elaborate gold, silver,
The Cardinal's father.
