Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

'Mr Squills, exclaimed my mother, and the bedcurtains trembled, 'pray see that Mr Caxton does not set himself on fire;-and, Mr Squills, tell him not to be vexed and miss me-I shall be down very soonshan't I?'

'If you keep yourself easy, you will, ma'am.' 'Pray, say so ;—and, Primmins '

'Yes, ma'am.'

'Every one, I fear, is neglecting your master. Be sure'(and my mother's lips approached close to Mrs Primmins' ear)' be sure that you-air his nightcap yourself.'

Tender creatures those women,' soliloquised Mr Squills, as, after clearing the room of all present save Mrs Primmins and the nurse, he took his way towards my father's study. Encountering the footman in the passage, 'John,' said he, take supper into your master's room, and make us some punch, will youstiffish?'

O'Connell.

But not to Erin's coarser chief deny,
Large if his faults, Time's large apology;
Child of a land that ne'er had known repose,

Our rights and blessings, Ireland's wrongs and woes;
Hate, at St Omer's into caution drill'd,

In Dublin law courts subtilised and skill'd;
Hate in the man, whatever else appear
Fickle or false, was steadfast and sincere.
But with that hate a nobler passion dwelt-
To hate the Saxon was to love the Celt.

Had that fierce railer sprung from English sires,
His creed a Protestant's, his birth a squire's,
No blander Pollio whom our Bar affords
Had graced the woolsack and cajoled 'my Lords.'
Pass by his faults, his art be here allow'd,
Mighty as Chatham, give him but a crowd;
Hear him in senates, second-rate at best,
Clear in a statement, happy in a jest ;
Sought he to shine, then certain to displease;
Tawdry yet coarse-grain'd, tinsel upon frieze :
His Titan strength must touch what gave it birth;
Hear him to mobs, and on his mother earth!

Once to my sight the giant thus was given,
Wall'd by wide air, and roof'd by boundless heaven;
Beneath his feet the human ocean lay,
And wave on wave flow'd into space away.
Methought no clarion could have sent its sound
Even to the centre of the hosts around;
And as I thought rose the sonorous swell,

As from some church-tower swings the silvery bell.
Aloft and clear, from airy tide to tide,
It glided, easy as a bird may glide;
To the last verge of that vast audience sent,
It play'd with each wild passion as it went ;
Now stirr'd the uproar, now the murmur still'd,
And sobs or laughter answer'd as it will'd.

Then did I know what spells of infinite choice,
To rouse or lull, has the sweet human voice;
Then did I seem to seize the sudden clue
To the grand troublous Life Antique-to view
Under the rock-stand of Demosthenes,
Mutable Athens heave her noisy seas.

(From St Stephen's.)

The Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of Lord Lytton (vols. i-ii. 1883), by his son, comes down only to 1832, and must be supplemented by the political Memoir, also by the Earl of Lytton, prefixed to the Speeches of Lord Lytton (2 vols. 1874).

Henry Lytton Bulwer (1801-72), Lord Lytton's elder brother, was educated at Harrow and Cambridge for diplomatic service, and was attaché at Berlin, Brussels, and the Hague. During 1830-37 he sat in Parliament as an Advanced Liberal, and in 1837 became secretary of embassy at Constantinople. In 1843-48 he had a difficult task as minister plenipotentiary at Madrid, and at the time of the 'Spanish marriages' made protests, and was ordered to quit Madrid, but at home was made K.C.B. and G.C.B. As Sir Henry Bulwer -long a famous name-he was sent in 1849 to Washington, where he concluded the ClaytonBulwer Treaty; in 1852 to Florence; and in 1856 to Bucharest. From 1858 to 1865 he was ambassador to the Porte, ably carried out Palmerston's policy on the Eastern Question, and was created Lord Dalling and Bulwer in 1871. He published a series of admirable works, including An Autumn in Greece (1826); France, Social, Literary, and Political (1834-36); a Life of Byron (1835); Historical Characters (1868-70), sketches of Talleyrand, Canning, Cobbett, and Mackintosh; sketches also of Peel and Melbourne; and an unfinished Life of Palmerston (1870-74).

Edward Bouverie Pusey (1800-82), son of a Bouverie (son of Viscount Folkestone) who had assumed the name of Pusey when the Pusey estates were bequeathed to him, was born at Pusey in Berkshire. He was educated at Eton and Christ Church, Oxford; in 1823 was elected a Fellow of Oriel; and in 1825-27 studied theology in Germany-then a rare enterprise for an Oxford graduate. In 1828 he was appointed regius professor of Hebrew at Oxford, and this post he retained until his death. His first work was an essay on the causes of Rationalism in recent German theology; and the aim of his life was to prevent the spread of Rationalism in England. When in 1833 Newman began the issue of the Tracts for the Times, Pusey soon joined him, and they, with Keble, became leaders of the movement. Pusey's chief contributions to the Tracts were those on Baptism and the Holy Eucharist; in 1836 he began the Oxford Library of the Fathers. Newman's celebrated Tract 90 was condemned in 1841, and in 1843 Pusey was suspended for three years from preaching in Oxford for a university sermon on the Holy Eucharist; at the first opportunity he reiterated his teaching, but before his suspension was over Newman, with several of his leading disciples, had joined the Roman communion. Pusey and Keble now strove to reassure Churchmen staggered by the secession; it was Pusey's moral weight mainly that prevented a much greater catastrophe to the Church of England when the encroachments of the civil courts in the Gorham case, and the attacks of bishops and others upon the Oxford movement, brought about the secession to the Roman Church of Manning with another band of distinguished

men. Pusey loyally laboured on in his increasingly anxious and responsible task. His numerous writings during this period included a letter on the practice of confession (1850), a general defence of his own position (1851), The Doctrine of the Real Presence (1855-57), and the Eirenicon (1865–70), designed to prepare the way for reunion between the Church of England and that of Rome. Pusey took a very keen interest in all Oxford University affairs, and was much disturbed by changes which tended to destroy the intimate bond between the university and the Church. By 1860 the tide had turned, and the teaching for which the Tractarians had laboured was beginning to be recognised. And for the rest of his life Pusey was mainly busied in the struggle against growing religious indifference and Rationalism; therefore it was that he prosecuted Professor Jowett for his commentary on St Paul's Epistles, and that he took so prominent a part in the later controversy about the Athanasian Creed. His chief works in this connection are Lectures on Daniel (1863), defending the early date of the book, and What is of Faith as to Everlasting Punishment? For six years he toiled at the drudgery of completing A Catalogue of the Arabic Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library (1835). The Commentary on the Minor Prophets (1860-77) was his contribution to a projected commentary on the whole Bible. His work in literature is incommensurate with the influence he and it exerted on the life and thought of England. He was rather a patristic antiquary than a theologian, acute rather than profound or brilliant in polemic; his vast correspondence was mainly with the multitudes who appealed to him as spiritual director; his sermons are unquestionably heavy. And though perhaps he made the best of the case for Daniel's authorship of the prophecy, his views were antiquated even when he set them down.

The Life of Pusey, left unfinished by Canon Liddon at his death in 1890, was completed by the Rev. J. O. Johnston and the Rev. R. J. Wilson (4 vols. 1893-97).

John Henry Newman (1801-90) was the son of a London banker of Cambridgeshire family, Dutch in origin; his mother, who was of Huguenot stock and French name (Fourdrinier), deeply influenced his early religious views. From a private school at Ealing he went up to Trinity College, Oxford, in 1817; and though the stoppage of his father's bank (1819) compelled him to graduate next year, he was in 1822, in spite of his secondclass, elected a Fellow of Oriel, where he formed his close intimacy with Pusey and Hurrell Froude. In 1824 he was ordained, in 1828 he became vicar of St Mary's, and in 1830 he broke definitely with Evangelicalism. His first book, The Arians of the Fourth Century (1833), argued that Arianism was a Judaising heresy which sprang up in Antioch. In 1832-33 he accompanied Hurrell Froude and his father on a Mediterranean tour; on this voyage were written most of the smaller poems, many of

them very remarkable for their power, published in his Lyra Apostolica (1834). In Sicily he fell ill of malarial fever; and it was while becalmed in the Strait of Bonifacio on his passage in an orange-boat to Marseilles that he wrote 'Lead, kindly Light.' He was present at Keble's Oxford assize sermon on National Apostasy (July 1833), the beginning of the Tractarian movement; into this he threw himself with energy from the first, contributing himself some of the more important of the Tracts for the Times. It was, indeed, Newman who began the Tracts, which were all intended to assert the authority of the Anglican Church, to claim apostolical descent for the Anglican episcopate, to advocate the restoration of a stricter discipline and the maintenance of a stricter orthodoxy, to insist on the primary importance of the sacraments, and to guard the divine ritual of the Church. In Tract 90 (1841), the most famous of them all, Newman contended that the intention of the Thirty-nine Articles was Catholic in spirit, and that they were aimed at the supremacy of the pope and the popular abuses of Catholic prac tice, and not at Catholic doctrine. But Tract 90 provoked an explosion which was the end of this stage of the Tractarian movement, and brought about the conversion to Rome of the most logical of the Tractarians. Newman, whose sermons were perhaps almost as influential a part of the movement as the Tracts, struggled for two years longer to think his position tenable; but in 1843 he resigned the vicarage of St Mary's, which he had held since 1828, and retired to Littlemore. The magnificent sermon on Development in Christian Doctrine' was the last he preached in the university pulpit (2nd February 1843), and was the first draft of a famous book on the same subject, published in 1845, which recognised that the great dogmas were many of them not primitive, but grew naturally and inevitably, under Divine Providence. In October 1845 he invited the Passionist Father Dominic to his house at Littlemore in order that he might be received into the Roman Catholic Church.

Henceforward his life was, on the literary side, much more free and natural than under the repressions and limitations of the Anglican period. He went to Rome for a year and a half, and on his return in 1848 he published Loss and Gain, the story of an Oxford conversion very different from his own, full of delicate and happy sketches of Oxford life and manners. Shortly afterwards he began Callista, the story of a third-century martyr in Africa, instinct with literary genius as with religious devotion— the story of the conversion and death of a fair Greek girl sculptor of idols, prepared for Christianity, but also at first steeled against it by passionate Greek idealism; the pictures of the devastation of locusts and of demoniacal possession are marvellously vivid and impressive. In 1847 Newman obtained a papal brief to establish in England the congregation of St Philip Neri, and

in 1848 planted at Edgbaston the community of which he was elected the Superior; and there in the same year he devoted himself with the utmost zeal to the sufferers from cholera. The lectures on Anglican Difficulties (1850) drew public attention to Newman's great power of irony and the singular delicacy of his literary style, and were followed by the lectures on Catholicism in England (1851), the book which gave occasion to the famous action for libel by Dr Achilli, an apostate Dominican whose character Newman had exposed. Newman's justification, put into court, was a scathing and terrible document, magnificent in its invective; but it failed to ward off a verdict in Achilli's favour.

JOHN HENRY NEWMAN. From the Drawing by George Richmond, R. A., in the National Portrait Gallery. (Drawn about 1840.)

Newman's long series of Oxford sermons contain some of the noblest ever preached from an Anglican pulpit; and the Roman Catholic series-Sermons addressed to Mixed Congregations (1849) and Sermons on Various Occasions (1857)-though less restrained, less severe in taste, and less remarkable for their tender pathos, are even fuller of powerful rhetoric, often vehement, almost always singularly dignified. In 1864 a casual remark by Canon Kingsley in Macmillan's Magazine on the indifference of the Roman Church to the virtue of truthfulness, an indifference which he asserted that Dr Newman approved, led to a correspondence which contained on Newman's side the most triumphant and finished irony, and resulted in the publication of the ever-memorable Apologia pro Vitâ Sud, afterwards more than once slightly recast and described as 'A History of My Religious Opinions,' perhaps the most significant and impressive religious autobiography of the nineteenth

century. To many Englishmen less directly hostile than Kingsley, Newman's subtlety seemed often to become sophistry, to make him lose breadth and proportion; from their point of view he split hairs and magnified trifles; unsympathetic critics, like Carlyle, were accordingly led grossly to undervalue Newman's intellectual gifts. Ruskin was at Oxford during the critical stage of the 'movement;' but, as Sir Leslie Stephen has said, while his ablest contemporaries were undergoing theNewman fever,' Ruskin seemed never to have known that such a person as Newman existed. Towards those of very opposite schools of thought Newman was himself somewhat unsympathetic; he too judged those harshly whose beliefs he disliked. In him, as always, high idealism involved too great disdain for the humbler and more prosaic temperament, and lofty theological theories sometimes made him blind to the truly religious element in views and systems he disapproved. In 1865 Newman wrote a poem of singular beauty, The Dream of Gerontius, a vision of the unseen, with angelchoruses more after the manner of a spiritualised Faust than of Dante; it was republished with the Verses on Various Occasions in 1874, and set to music by Dr Elgar in 1900. The famous hymn 'Praise to the Holiest in the height' is from Gerontius. In 1870 he published his Grammar of Assent, on the philosophy of faith. In the controversies which led to the Vatican Council Newman sided with the Inopportunists. Himself an Ultramontane in belief (he always accepted papal infallibility), he was at this time in vehement opposition to the policy of the Ultramontanes under Manning and William George Ward, and the bitterness between the two parties ran very high. In 1879 Pope Leo XIII., anxious to recognise the great convert's services, summoned Newman to Rome to receive the cardinal's hat. His last years were spent at Edgbaston, and there he died; he was buried at Rednall in Worcestershire. The extracts are selected to show various aspects of his manner.

[graphic]

Music as a Symbol.

Let us take another instance, of an outward and earthly form, or economy, under which great wonders unknown seem to be typified; I mean musical sounds, as they are exhibited most perfectly in instrumental harmony. There are seven notes in the scale; make them fourteen; yet what a slender outfit for so vast an enterprise! What science brings so much out of so little? Out of what poor elements does some great master in it create his new world! Shall we say that all this exuberant inventiveness is a mere ingenuity or trick of art, like some game or fashion of the day, without reality, without meaning? We may do so; and then, perhaps, we shall also account the science of theology to be a matter of words; yet, as there is a divinity in the theology of the Church, which those who feel cannot communicate, so is there also in the wonderful creation of sublimity and beauty of which I am speaking. To many men the very names which the science employs are utterly incomprehensible. To speak of an idea or a

subject seems to be fanciful or trifling, to speak of the views which it opens upon us to be childish extravagance; yet is it possible that that inexhaustible evolution and disposition of notes, so rich yet so simple, so intricate yet so regulated, so various yet so majestic, should be a mere sound, which is gone and perishes? Can it be that those mysterious stirrings of heart, and keen emotions, and strange yearnings after we know not what, and awful impressions from we know not whence, should be wrought in us by what is unsubstantial, and comes and goes, and begins and ends in itself? It is not so; it cannot be. No, they have escaped from some higher sphere; they are the outpourings of eternal harmony in the medium of created sound; they are echoes from our home; they are the voice of angels, or the Magnificat of saints, or the living laws of divine governance, or the divine attributes; something are they besides themselves, which we cannot compass, which we cannot utter-though mortal man, and he perhaps not otherwise distinguished above his fellows, has the gift of eliciting them.

(From Sermons before the University.)

Original Sin.

Starting, then, with the being of a God (which, as I have said, is as certain to me as the certainty of my own existence, though when I try to put the grounds of that certainty into logical shape I find a difficulty in doing so in mood and figure to my satisfaction), I look out of myself into the world of men, and there I see a sight which fills me with unspeakable distress. The world seems simply to give the lie to that great truth, of which my whole being is so full; and the effect upon me is, in consequence, as a matter of necessity, as confusing as if it denied that I am in existence myself. If I looked into a mirror and did not see my face, I should have the sort of feeling which actually comes upon me when I look into this living busy world and see no reflection of its Creator. This is, to me, one of those great difficulties of this absolute primary truth to which I referred just now. Were it not for this voice, speaking so clearly in my conscience and my heart, I should be an atheist, or a pantheist, or a polytheist when I looked into the world. I am speaking for myself only; and I am far from denying the real force of the arguments in proof of a God, drawn from the general facts of human society and the course of history, but these do not warm me or enlighten me; they do not take away the winter of my desolation, or make the buds unfold and the leaves grow within me, and my moral being rejoice. The sight of the world is nothing else than the prophet's scroll, full of 'lamentations, and mourning, and woe.'

To consider the world in its length and breadth, its various history, the many races of man, their starts, their fortunes, their mutual alienation, their conflicts; and then their ways, habits, governments, forms of worship; their enterprises, their aimless courses, their random achievements and acquirements, the impotent conclusion of long-standing facts, the tokens so faint and broken of a superintending design, the blind evolution of what 'urn out to be great powers or truths; the progress of things, as if from unreasoning elements, not towards final causes; the greatness and littleness of man, his farreaching aims, his short duration, the curtain hung over his futurity, the disappointments of life, the defeat of good, the success of evil, physical pain, mental anguish, the prevalence and intensity of sin, the pervading

idolatries, the corruptions, the dreary hopeless irreligion, that condition of the whole race, so fearfully yet exactly described in the Apostle's words, 'having no hope and without God in the world '-all this is a vision to dizzy and appal; and inflicts upon the mind the sense of a profound mystery, which is absolutely beyond human solution.

What shall be said to this heart-piercing, reasonbewildering fact? I can only answer, that either there is no Creator, or this living society of men is in a true sense discarded from His presence. Did I see a boy of good make and mind, with the tokens on him of a refined nature, cast upon the world without provision, unable to say whence he came, his birthplace or his family connexions, I should conclude that there was some mystery connected with his history, and that he was one of whom, from one cause or other, his parents were ashamed. Thus only should I be able to account for the contrast between the promise and the condition of his being. And so I argue about the world ;—if there be a God, since there is a God, the human race is implicated in some terrible aboriginal calamity. It is out of joint with the purposes of its Creator. This is a fact a fact as true as the fact of its existence; and thus the doctrine of what is theologically called original sin becomes to me almost as certain as that the world exists, and as the existence of God. (From the Apologia.)

Protestant Misconceptions.

In this case its fountain springs up, as it were, under our very feet, and we shall have no difficulty at all in judging of its quality. Its history is as follows: Coaches, omnibuses, carriages, and cars day after day drive up and down the Hagley Road; passengers lounge to and fro on the footpath; and close alongside of it are discovered one day the nascent foundations and rudiments of a considerable building. On inquiring, it is found to be intended for a Catholic, nay, even for a monastic establishment. This leads to a good deal of talk, especially when the bricks begin to show above the surface. Meantime the unsuspecting architect is taking his measurements, and ascertains that the ground is far from lying level; and then, since there is a prejudice among Catholics in favour of horizontal floors, he comes to the conclusion that the bricks of the basement must rise above the surface higher at one end of the building than at the other; in fact, that whether he will or no, there must be some construction of the nature of a vault or cellar at the extremity in question, a circumstance not at all inconvenient, considering it also happens to be the kitchen end of the building. Accordingly, he turns his necessity into a gain, and by the excavation of a few feet of earth, he forms a number of chambers convenient for various purposes, partly beneath, partly above the line of the ground. While he is thus intent on his work, loungers, gossipers, alarmists are busy at theirs too. They go round the building; they peep into the underground brickwork, and are curious about the drains; they moralise about Popery and its spread; at length they trespass upon the enclosure, they dive into the half-finished shell, and they take their fill of seeing what is to be seen, and imagining what is not. Every house is built on an idea; you do not build a mansion like a public office, or a palace like a prison, or a factory like a shooting-box, or a church like a barn. Religious houses, in like manner, have their own idea;

they have certain indispensable peculiarities of form and internal arrangement. Doubtless, there was much in the very idea of an oratory perplexing to the Protestant intellect, and inconsistent with Protestant notions of comfort and utility. Why should so large a room be here? why so small a room there? why a passage so long and wide? and why so long a wall without a window?—the very size of the house needs explanation. Judgments which had employed themselves on the high subject of a Catholic hierarchy and its need found no difficulty in dogmatising on bedrooms and closets. There was much to suggest matter of suspicion, and to predispose the trespasser to doubt whether he had yet got to the bottom of the subject. At length one question flashed upon his mind: what can such a house have to do with cellars? cellars and monks, what can be their mutual relation? monks-to what possible use can they put pits, and holes, and corners, and outhouses, and sheds? A sensation was created; it brought other visitors; it spread; it became an impression, a belief; the truth lay bare; a tradition was born; a fact was elicited which henceforth had many witnesses. Those cellars were cells. How obvious when once stated! and every one who entered the building, every one who passed by, became, I say, in some sort, ocular vouchers for what had often been read of in books, but for many generations had happily been unknown to England, for the incarcerations, the torturings, the starvings, the immurings, the murderings proper to a monastic establishment.

Now I am tempted to stop for a while in order to improve (as the evangelical pulpits call it) this most memorable discovery. I will therefore briefly consider it under the heads of: (1) THE ACCUSATION; (2) ITS GROUNDS; (3) THE ACCUSERS; and (4) THE Accused.

First, THE ACCUSATION. It is this - that the Catholics, building the house in question, were in the practice of committing murder. This was so strictly the charge, that, had the platform selected for making it been other than we know it to have been, I suppose the speaker might have been indicted for libel. His words were these: 'It is not usual for a coroner to hold an inquest unless where a rumour had got abroad that there was a necessity for one; and how was a rumour to come from the underground cells of the convents? Yes, he repeated underground cells: and he would tell them something about such places. At this moment, in the parish of Edgbaston, within the borough of Birmingham, there was a large convent, of some kind or other, being erected, and the whole of the underground was fitted up with cells; and what were those cells for?'

Secondly, THE GROUNDS OF THE ACCUSATION. — They are simple; behold them: (1) That the house is built level; (2) and that the plot of earth on which it is built is higher at one end than at the other.

Thirdly, THE ACCUSERS.-This, too, throws light upon the character of Protestant traditions. Not weak and ignorant people only, not people at a distance-but educated men, gentlemen well connected, high in position, men of business, men of character, members of the legislature, men familiar with the locality, men who know the accused by name-such are the men who deliberately, reiteratedly, in spite of being set right, charge certain persons with pitiless, savage practices; with beating and imprisoning, with starving, with murdering their dependents.

Fourthly, THE ACCUSED.-I feel ashamed, my brothers, of bringing my own matters before you, when far better persons have suffered worse imputations; but bear with me. I, then, am the accused. A gentleman of blameless character, a county member, with whose near relatives I have been on terms of almost fraternal intimacy for a quarter of a century, who knows me by repute far more familiarly (I suppose) than any one in this room knows me, putting aside my personal friends; he it is who charges me, and others like me, with delighting in blood, with enjoying the shrieks and groans of agony and despair, with presid ing at a banquet of dislocated limbs, quivering muscles, and wild countenances. Oh, what a world is this! Could he look into our eyes and say it? Would he have the heart to say it if he recollected of whom he said it? For who are we? Have we lived in a corner? have we come to light suddenly out of the earth? We have been nourished, for the greater part of our lives, in the bosom of the great schools and universities of Protestant England: we have been the foster-sons of the Edwards and Henries, the Wykehams and Wolseys, of whom Englishmen are wont to make much; we have grown up amid hundreds of contemporaries, scattered at present all over the country, in those special ranks of society which are the very walk of a member of the legislature. Our names are better known to the educated classes of the country than those of any others who are not public men. More. over, if there be men in the whole world who may be said to live in publico, it is the members of a college at one of our universities; living, not in private houses, not in families, but in one or two apartments which are open to all the world, at all hours, with nothing, I may say, their own; with college servants, a common table-nay, their chairs and their bedding, and their cups and saucers, down to their coal-scuttle and their carpet brooms-a sort of common property, and the right of their neighbours. Such is that manner of life-in which nothing, I may say, can be hid; where no trait of character or peculiarity of conduct but comes to broad day-such is the life I myself led for above a quarter of a century, under the eyes of numbers who are familiarly known to my accusers; such is almost the life which we all have led ever since we have been in Birmingham, with our house open to all comers, and ourselves accessible, I may almost say, at any hour; and this being so, considering the charge, and the evidence, and the accuser, and the accused, could we Catholics desire a more apposite illustration of the formation and the value of a Protestant tradition? (From The Present Position of Catholics.)

The Sinner before the Judgment-seat. O what a moment for the poor soul, when it comes to itself, and finds itself suddenly before the judgment-seat of Christ! O what a moment, when, breathless with the journey, and dizzy with the brightness, and overcome with the strangeness of what is happening to him, and unable to realise where he is, the sinner hears the voice of the accusing spirit bringing up all the sins of his past life, which he has forgotten, or which he has explained away, which he would not allow to be sins, though he suspected they were; when he hears him detailing all the mercies of God which he has despised, all His warnings which he has set at nought, all His judgments which he has outlived; when that evil one follows out the growth and progress of a lost soul, how it expanded and was confirmed in sin-how it budded forth into leaves and

« AnteriorContinuar »